Chapter 30: Humans
How much longer must I wait
Before I can cast off the sins of the mortal world,
To reunite with You in the paradise of Heaven,
And lay the Serpent's curse to eternal rest?
—Excerpted from *The Demon King's Diary* (Hell)
On a tranquil day during the Era of Holy Light, the red-haired Deputy to the Archseraph stood shoulder to shoulder with his superior before the teleportation portal of the Seventh Heaven, watching as heaps of mortal soil were transported up to the Starry Heaven.
From the Starry Heaven, this soil would be relayed to the area just outside the Grand Cathedral in the Crystalline Heaven.
The two angels stood upon a high platform, gazing out over the entirety of the Saturnian Heaven. The grand plaza—reserved for ceremonial festivities—unfolded before them like a blueprint; a solemn, radiant glow enveloped this sacred celestial realm, while winding currents of clouds converged to form a soft, ethereal blanket. Arranged in a harmonious yet asymmetrical pattern, the scenery offered a unique vista each day—no matter how often one looked upon it.
A Cherub, clutching a dustpan, slowly flew in from the distance; the dustpan was filled to the brim with earthy-yellow soil.
Having only recently received his wings, he was not yet fully acclimated to the environment of the Seventh Heaven; before long, he began to sway unsteadily, staggering as if intoxicated by the very air.
Clumps of yellow soil tumbled from his grasp, scattering across the cloud-blanket before slipping through the gaps in the clouds to fall back down toward the mortal realm.
"Hey! Watch out!" Michael's eyelid twitched in alarm; he immediately flew forward to intercept the Cherub, guiding him safely over to the teleportation portal.
"Your Highness, why does God require us to send soil from the mortal realm up here?" As he watched the soil vanish into the teleportation portal, Michael picked up a stray clump that had fallen just outside the threshold, holding it in his palm to examine it closely.
Lucifer was currently checking the Cherub's physical condition. Of late, the overall physical constitution of the angels had shown a worrying trend of decline; indeed, this Cherub—who could barely maintain a steady flight within the Seventh Heaven—was far from being an isolated case. Upon hearing Michael's question, Lucifer did not even lift his head.
"God intends to cleanse the mortal realm of Original Sin."
Having spent countless ages at the Divine's side—and as God harbored no secrets from him—Lucifer possessed a far greater understanding of such matters than the average angel.
For instance, he knew that ever since the great war waged many years ago, the mortal realm had become thoroughly saturated with Original Sin. He knew that the Divine Being was deeply troubled by these original sins; in recent years, He had strictly required the angels to practice self-restraint and propriety, expressly forbidding private brawls.
"This soil is rife with sin," he said, releasing the cherub whose face was flushed crimson. "The wind currents and patterns of the Seventh Heaven differ from those of the other celestial spheres; you still need to significantly sharpen your judgment regarding the proper points of leverage for your wings."
The cherub was too tongue-tied to speak, doing nothing but nodding frantically. Michael surmised that, in his current state, the cherub would not hesitate for a moment if ordered to leap down from the Seventh Heaven. Marveling at how the Arch-Seraph's charisma had grown so potent—such that even his criticisms sounded like gospel to an angel's ears—Michael asked with curiosity:
"What is sin?"
"Sin is defilement, ugliness, hatred, despair—a mélange of all such negative emotions."
"Then that must be terribly filthy!" Michael hurriedly let go, gazing at the pile of soil—destined for the mortal realm—as if it were some repulsive filth. Angels are beings of pure spirit; to them, emotions are quite literally an intrinsic part of their very selves.
They cherish positive emotions—such as joy and radiance—while darkness acts like a poison to them, something they shun at all costs.
"Whatever does the Divine Being want with such things?"
The red-haired Arch-Seraph gazed toward the direction of the Crystal Heaven, a lingering sense of trepidation in his heart, and spoke.
"Do You truly intend to use mere soil as the vessel for Your creations' bodies?" The *Book of Genesis* hovered beside the Divine Being, watching as He molded the mundane earth into a form modeled after His own likeness.
The Divine Being took the handful of soil originally brought up to Heaven and mixed it with the yellow clay delivered by the angels to create the primordial raw material. Although this mundane earth had absorbed the essence of the World Tree—making it appear suffused with spiritual energy—it still harbored original sin deep within its core. Coupled with the un-nurtured yellow clay from the lower realms, the resulting mixture was baffling even to the *Book of Genesis*—the Divine Being's own intrinsic divine artifact—leaving it unable to comprehend the Creator's intent.
"Heaven has its angels; Hell has its demons. But the mortal realm is vast and teeming with diversity; it, too, requires governance." The Divine Being gazed dispassionately at the body gradually taking shape beneath His hands. Pure, unblemished creations could not survive in a place tainted by sin; yet, the mortal realm was simultaneously the place where the vital force of life flowed most abundantly—and He could not bear to let it lie fallow and desolate. "The fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the beasts and creeping things of the earth—all await His guidance."
As God spoke His word, the body fashioned from clay gradually came to life; its stiff limbs grew supple and slender, and it took on the form of a handsome youth with short silver hair. Yet, its eyes remained tightly shut, for it did not yet possess life.
Even under the influence of divine power—which had transformed mere clay into a flawless, perfect body—without the spark of life, it was no different from any ordinary stone found in the mortal realm.
"How, then, will You bring it to life?" asked the Book of Genesis.
God released a spirit that had attended Him since time immemorial. Having followed God for ages, it had inevitably absorbed a measure of His divinity; it hovered and fluttered up and down, as if bowing in reverence to its Creator.
God gently stroked its translucent spiritual form, and a faint smile rippled across His golden eyes.
"Go now."
God breathed the last lingering wisp of Alan's spirit into the clay-formed body. In an instant, the chest began to rise and fall; then, slowly, it began to breathe.
The very first human in the world had been born. He opened his brown eyes—eyes filled with absolute innocence, like those of the primordial elves.
God paused for a moment, then called out:
"Rise, Adam."
Messiah had been born alongside Original Sin; Adam was born from the union of Alan's spirit and a body of dust. Yet, neither was truly His Holy Son.
Recognizing this, God felt a flicker of hesitation.
Humans were a blend of Original Sin and the purest spiritual essence; ultimately, God chose not to endow him with wisdom.
For wisdom tempts created beings to lose themselves in illusion; where wisdom exists, the potential for betrayal arises—and with it, the risk of repeating the tragic downfall of the elves.
Before long, news of God's creation of a new race spread throughout Heaven. Although this race currently consisted of a single individual, it nonetheless sparked the curiosity of many angels.
God often kept him close by His side, for Adam required instruction in all things; lacking any innate wisdom, he delighted in asking questions. Adam called God "Father." He awoke—still groggy—from what felt like a long, deep slumber. He knew nothing of himself, yet he harbored a natural, childlike devotion toward God alone. He felt not the slightest fear of the majestic and awe-inspiring Deity bathed in holy light; instead, he felt only a sense of familiarity.
Ignorant yet unashamed; curious yet unhurried—God had created all things, yet it was only in the creation of "Man" that He experienced a sense of true novelty.
He nurtured Adam with the same tenderness one would lavish upon a young child. He commanded the angels to construct a garden for Adam on the fourth day—a sanctuary designed specifically to house mankind. Until its completion, however, the human would remain temporarily within the Great Cathedral.
He summoned the Arch-Seraph and issued His instructions.
"My Lord," Lucifer stepped forward with a smile, saying, "You have always cherished solitude. Might Adam's presence in the Great Cathedral prove an inconvenience? Would it not be better to let Luci take him to the Seventh Heaven? With the angels to watch over him there, surely no harm could befall him."
The Arch-Seraph's suggestion was sound, and God readily assented; indeed, having been constantly pestered by Adam these past few days, He did feel somewhat weary.
Thus, Lucifer departed for the Seventh Heaven, taking with him both the newly created human and the mandate to construct the Garden of Eden. He settled the human within his own private annex.
He gazed at this "man," his eyes tracing a path from the face—which bore a faint resemblance to Yahweh's—down to his feet. Adam allowed himself to be scrutinized without complaint; in fact, when Lucifer—feeling a pang of discomfort as his gaze fell upon the human's naked privates—averted his eyes in embarrassment, Adam merely scratched his head.
"Luci, is something the matter?" he asked, having adopted God's habit of addressing the Arch-Seraph by that name.
"Do not call me that," the Arch-Seraph replied coolly, though deep within his heart, he found it utterly impossible to equate the being standing before him with Yahweh. The thought of Yahweh stirred a faint melancholy within him; since their parting so many years ago, he had never seen him again.
*I wonder how he fares now...* he mused, before turning his gaze back to the naked human who was now wandering aimlessly about his chambers. "Adam." He furrowed his brows. "Can't you just put on some clothes?"
The silver-haired human looked on in confusion at the beautiful Archseraph, who seemed to glow with an inner light.
"Why should I wear clothes?" He reached out a hand, intending to touch the Archseraph's impeccably neat uniform.
"It looks so uncomfortable! You should take yours off, too!"
After barely managing to restrain himself from sending the frail human back to the dust from whence he came, Lucifer found himself rather reluctant to see Adam anymore. He felt a twinge of regret for having voluntarily taken the human under his wing from God; had he known Adam would turn out to be *this* kind of person...
The regretful angel had no choice but to look after him. Yet, Adam possessed absolutely no sense of social cues; he simply could not sit still from dawn till dusk. Even within the Archseraph's sprawling, boundless palace, Adam's figure seemed to be everywhere at once. He would name anything and everything he laid his eyes upon, and day after day, he would pester the Archseraph with a barrage of bizarre questions.
"Lucifer, I often examine myself closely—observing my hands and feet—yet I simply cannot fathom how they are able to walk and dance, connected as they are by such soft, pliable joints."
"Why don't you ask your hands and feet *why*?" Lucifer replied with a smile. At this, the human's eyes lit up; nodding vigorously as if to say, "You're absolutely right!" he then went *thump-thump-thump* and dashed off until he vanished from sight.
Lucifer had no idea—nor did he particularly care—how exactly the human went about questioning his hands and feet; he merely cast a brief glance in his direction before burying his head in his paperwork once more.
One day, the Archseraph was in the midst of conducting a meeting.
"Lucifer!" Just as Adam burst through the doors and rushed in with unbridled enthusiasm, Lucifer raised a single finger.
"Stop."
"Oh." Adam obediently halted right in front of the Archseraph, his bright eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Adam, didn't I tell you? I am holding a meeting at this time; you are not permitted to interrupt," Lucifer said with a weary sigh, gazing down at the human who stood barely a palm's breadth away—so close, in fact, that he had nearly crashed right into him.
"But I have a question—one that I simply *must* have answered right this instant..."
"Unless your hands have decided to pick a fight with your head, get out."
"No, it's not that! I just want to know: what *kind* of river is the River of Heaven?"
"Get out," Lucifer commanded coldly. "But..."
"Go."
Watching the human shuffle out dejectedly, the Archangels exchanged glances.
"So *he* is the one created from the dust of the mortal realm," Gabriel remarked. Having been stationed in the Lunar and Mercurial Spheres, he rarely returned to the Seventh Heaven; seeing Adam for the first time today, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity toward this 'human' whom rumor claimed was the object of God's favor.
"Stark... naked. Utterly devoid of shame," Samael muttered, his face darkening with instant displeasure the moment he laid eyes on the human.
"It is simply unseemly!"
"I actually don't mind it. He's full of energy—Mishi really likes him."
Due to the lingering traces of wildness in his nature, the exceptionally lively Adam got along splendidly with Michael's griffins. Whenever Michael was occupied, Adam would often help him tend to the beasts; consequently, Michael held a rather favorable opinion of the human.
However, what Michael liked, Beelzebub did not.
*Humans.*
The Archangel gazed after Adam's retreating figure. Lifting his teacup, he stared into the clear liquid within, a glint of slyness flashing through his pale eyes.
He rather fancied a meeting—to see just what sort of creature was worthy of such indulgence from both the Almighty and His Highness.
[Hebrew Mythology] *The Arduous History of Raising a World* — by the author Dan Mu'ai