Chapter 2: Judgement Day in White

When I open my eyes again, I’ve become the Commander of Heaven, revered by all the realms.

It’s like waking up in a dream where you’re suddenly the principal of your old high school—everyone’s staring at you, waiting for you to say something profound. The air is charged with silent expectation, and there’s no backing out.

The décor around me is strange—everything’s white. The clothes too. The whole place looked like a cross between a Silicon Valley startup lobby and a high-end funeral home—white walls, echoing footsteps, and that weird lemon-cleaner smell.

It’s eerily sterile, like the waiting room of an upscale hospital or a minimalist chapel. The walls are so clean you could eat off them, and the only color comes from the nervous faces peeking up at me. The vibe is more unsettling than majestic—like someone planned a party and forgot to invite any joy.

I can’t help but sigh. The world really has changed.

If you’d told me ten years ago that angels and demons would become this bland, I would’ve laughed you out of the room. Back then, they were larger than life—each one a force of nature, impossible to ignore. Now? They’ve been sanded down, their edges filed off for the sake of harmony.

Back in the day, angels and demons each had their own unique personalities. Now, you can only tell them apart by their clothes and makeup.

Seriously, it’s like being at a themed costume party where everyone got the same memo. The sparkle’s gone; even their expressions are muted, dulled by routine. No wonder everyone’s obsessed with romance—they’ve got nothing else to do.

Standing below the main hall are a man and a woman.

They’re center stage, like contestants about to get voted off Survivor. The tension is thick—audience silent, phones ready for the next viral moment.

The woman is named Lily White—her true form is a cloud.

Her hair is a soft puff of silver, eyes restless and stormy, like she’s just blown in from a summer thunderstorm. There’s a restless energy to her, as if she could float away at any moment.

The man is called Caleb Young, just a poor college student from the human world.

He stands a step behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched in that way only broke students have. There’s something stubborn in his jaw, like he’s ready to fight the whole system—if only he could figure out how.

Right now, Lily White is glaring at me.

She fixes me with a look I’ve only ever seen on teenagers who just got grounded. That blend of hurt and righteous fury, like I’ve committed the greatest injustice known to man.

"Mr. Commander, do you know what love is? We truly love each other. Would you really tear us apart just because of some ancient rule? Isn’t love supposed to matter most?"

Her voice cracks, but there’s iron in it. Her fists balled at her sides, knuckles whitening. I could see her jaw tremble, but her eyes never left mine. I can almost hear the social media campaign brewing behind her words—#LoveIsLove, trending by morning. She stares straight through me, daring me to argue.

"Yes, we did break the heavenly rules. But can rules really stop love?"

She’s got that protest-sign energy, eyes shining with the certainty of youth. The crowd murmurs, some nodding, others shrinking back. She’s speaking for all of them, the brave and the foolish.

She sounds nothing like someone who’s guilty. It’s as if I’m the one who broke the rules.

There’s no trace of apology—just indignation, as if the universe itself is unfair for standing in their way. For a second, I almost buy it.

Caleb hides behind Lily, a smug look in his eyes.

He peeks out from behind her shoulder, lips curled in the faintest smirk, like he’s already planned his victory speech. There’s a glint there—too self-assured for someone on trial. He’s betting on his luck, and on Lily’s charm.

In his mind, so many angels have broken the rules and nothing happened—this is just for show.

I can see the calculation in his eyes: nothing bad’s ever happened to anyone else. This’ll be another slap on the wrist, a story to tell back at the dorms.

I narrow my eyes.

My gaze sharpens, cold and assessing. Let’s see if you still feel lucky when the stakes get real.

Do they really think I’m still that indecisive Commander?

Not today. That guy’s gone, and I’m not about to let them run this circus.

Suppressing my anger, I say, "I’ll give you a chance. Each of you returns to your own realm, and this matter will be treated as if it never happened."

I keep my tone even, measured—the way a seasoned judge would when handing down a deal. It’s a lifeline, but not a free pass. One last shot to step back from the edge.

Caleb frowns. "Mr. Commander, it’s not rare for angels and demons to fall in love. We’re just an angel-human couple—why make things difficult for us?"

He shrugged, all fake casual, like he was trying to win an argument in a dorm room at 2 a.m. after too many Red Bulls. He leans into the underdog role, hoping sympathy will win the day. If he had a lawyer, I bet she’d be prepping a TikTok defense video right now.

I look at Caleb. He looked more like the guy who’d hack the cafeteria Wi-Fi than ace a philosophy test. Who knows how he managed to land a pixie?

Honestly, he looks more like someone who cuts class to play video games at the student center. I can’t help but wonder what Lily sees in him—maybe it’s that rebellious streak, or maybe she’s just bored.

Back in the day, an actor playing a scholar just had to stand there and you could tell right away: this is a scholar.

There was a dignity, an aura of quiet confidence. Now? It’s all slouch and attitude, no gravitas. I shake my head.

Kids these days—more interested in going viral than honoring tradition.

I sigh inwardly.

There’s a weight on my chest—a sense of history slipping away, replaced by cheap sentiment.

Seeing that I don’t reply, Lily stubbornly says, "I truly love Caleb. No one can stop us from being together. Besides, don’t you yourself like the Saint of the Silver Lake? If you break us up, what will the Saint think?"

That last line is a real killer.

She’s playing dirty now—throwing my own supposed feelings in my face. It’s the kind of move you only see on reality TV, where every argument is personal.

In fantasy romance shows, the Commander of Heaven rarely gets a happy ending—sometimes he’s even the villain.

It’s always the same: the hero never gets the girl, and the world moves on like he never mattered. The audience eats it up, but I’m not here to be anyone’s tragic footnote.

I could tolerate all that. What I can’t accept is the dignified Commander actually competing with other men for a woman, willingly playing the lovesick fool for some Saint.

The idea of someone in my position begging for scraps of affection? It’s humiliating. I won’t do it. Not now, not ever.

Hearing such defiant words, none of the angels present even react.

They’re numb, jaded—like this is just another episode in a series that’s run for too many seasons. Nobody even bats an eye.

Everyone’s used to it.

There’s a sense of resignation in the room. The rules are a joke; the drama, routine. It’s all background noise now.

This kind of thing has happened many times before.

I can see it in their faces—half-bored, half-curious. What will the Commander do this time? Same old song and dance?

The heavenly rules are like scrap paper—falling in love is the trend.

It’s become a badge of honor to break the rules for love. Like skipping curfew in high school, everyone’s done it at least once.

Even the Commander himself is also hopelessly infatuated.

And that’s the real problem. The person who’s supposed to set the standard has become just another lovesick fool, setting a precedent nobody respects.

Caleb pats Lily’s shoulder and comforts her: "Don’t worry, the Commander will surely understand us."

He gives her a little squeeze, the way you would when you want to look brave in front of your crush. But his eyes keep flicking up to me, searching for any sign of mercy.

I roll my eyes at him.

It’s a gesture I can’t suppress—pure exasperation. I know his type. Seen it a hundred times.

Maybe I don’t understand women, but do you think I don’t understand men?

Please. I’ve been around the block. I know a player when I see one.

Just greedy for beauty, that’s all.

That look in his eyes isn’t love—it’s conquest. He wants what he thinks he can’t have. That’s all there is to it.

Why pretend to be so deeply in love?

If only he’d admit it. It would almost be refreshing.

Pathetic.

I almost say it out loud, but bite my tongue. Let’s see how far this act gets them.

Lily snorts and pouts, "Just let us be together. If not, we’ll just rebel."

She sticks out her lower lip, arms crossed—a classic move straight from the playbook of every rebellious teen. Threatening mutiny like it’s an after-school club.

Before she finishes, a surge of heavenly might bursts out from me.

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. My power crackles in the air, as real and sharp as a thunderstorm rolling over a summer lake.

Lily is shaken and staggers back, her insides churning.

She gasps, clutching at her chest, eyes wide with shock. The bravado melts away, replaced by genuine fear.

"Lily!"

Caleb hurries to support her.

He nearly trips over himself, catching her just before she falls. For a split second, his mask drops—panic flashing across his face.

I slowly stand up and take a step forward, the pressure on my body multiplying several times over.

The floor creaks beneath my shoes, the sound echoing through the silent hall. With each step, the air gets heavier, pressing down on everyone in the room.

Lily and Caleb are both pressed down so hard they can’t move, feeling as if all the bones in their bodies are about to shatter.

Their knees buckle, sweat beading on their brows. Even the onlookers shuffle backward, unwilling to meet my eyes.

Caleb grits his teeth. "Mr. Commander, Lily just misspoke for a moment. You, as the dignified Commander, would you bully the weak?"

He’s pleading now, voice strained. He tries to sound brave, but there’s a tremor he can’t hide. The crowd senses it, their whispers dying down.

Lily wipes the blood from the corner of her mouth and sneers, "It’s fine. The Saint of the Silver Lake has already taken me as her adopted daughter. He wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me."

She spits the words out, chin raised in stubborn defiance. The crowd murmurs, weighing her claim, wondering if she’s untouchable now.