The Beast of Gremory Chapter 6: Rising Tensions, Part 2, a Naruto + High School DxD/ハイスクールD×D Crossover fanfic

CHAPTER FIVE: RISING TENSIONS, PART 2

The human's 'First World War' was a global event that centered itself on the happenings on the continent of Europe.

It began, officially, with the assassination of a prominent figurehead, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the throne of Austria, during the summer of 1914. Rising tensions were already evident around the European nations during the early twentieth century, but for many, the Archduke's murder was the final spark that began the angry protests and cries for retribution from the faulted states.

A diplomatic crisis arose, bringing several uninvolved countries into the fold, which led to the cries of the people becoming the cries of both nation and government. It was not long, amidst strife and political instability, that the deemed 'Great War of earth' began.

Challenges between the 'great powers' of the war – the Allied and the Central – quickly saw the advancement of new-type weaponry, tactics, medicine and cruelty. The war left empires in debt; cities destroyed and millions dead. This, as would later be recorded, would classify itself as one of the bloodiest conflicts in recorded human history…

However, unaware to most residents of earth, this was not just a conflict of humanity.

Through the technological advances of the early twentieth century, human society started to become interconnected on an international basis through economic and communicative means. Their influence and growing range of capability stretched across the four corners of the earth and with it, a growing sense of importance started to build. The once-deemed 'grounded' and 'simplistic' humans were being recognized and acknowledged for something beyond their small magical potential, limited life spans and use of over a thousand languages for one race.

Prior to the turn of the century, humans were laughable to most sentient species for their lack of seeming worth or initial innovation. While mythological beings enjoyed the sacrifices and the worshipping, and they paid those of faith in return with a place in a specific heaven or preferred afterlife as gratitude, often the humans that swore fealty or absolute faith were ignored or even forgotten. The later deemed World War One was, in a way, the moment in the limelight for the human race; the tipping point in acknowledging humanity as a rising species with the potential for expansion into matters of multi-world concern.

But this consideration would be for much later discussion.

The true concern of World War One was that it made earth a calling card to all war-mongering and/or battle-hungry worlds between Heaven and the Underworld. Not since the first Great War between the Biblical Races had so many mythologies come together to fight on separate sides of a metaphysical chess board (though, thankfully, it seemed the Angels and Devils were, for the most part, staying out of conflict when either party came into contact with the other (small blessings, it seemed, could be found even in war time)).

Harpies, Ifrits, Chimeras, Cockatrice, Pantheons, Gorgons, Shapeshifters, Cursed-Beings, Ghouls, Fiends – the names and races went on with no single species deciding to completely stay out of the aforementioned conflict. Even without reason, 'monsters' found themselves out on the battlefields, scavenging and picking off anyone or anything that moved or offered a challenge. As some species of, at least, a modicum of intelligence would later quote, "World War One was the time to come out and play."

They weren't wrong.

But, as was the case in war, there were those who had their reasons for supporting one side or the other. Pride, ideals, freedom, religion, truth, grudges, love, boredom – the reasons were trivial but with the right motivation, any man or woman would willingly lay down their life for what they believed was a true reason to fight. In the case of one particular group of black-winged Fallen Angels, their reason was a proud, well-respected and simple idea for why they stood with the Allied Powers, even when the humans were unaware of their involvement.

They wished to see a better world.

The reason was idealistic, virtuous and garnered unintended attention…

Near Paris, France, June, 1918…

"…I need a platoon in the sky now! Draw their attention north and create an opening for the injured to be moved. Captain Ezain, counter those Kappas or we'll be up to our neck with acidic pus."

"Yes sir!"

"Sergeant Mansator, send a message to Baraqiel and Kokabiel, request reinforcements. Tell them to send whatever aid they can but send it quickly to the southeast checkpoint of the Marne River – we'll meet them there."

"Yes, my lord."

"And you! Get over there and help move the injured through the opening. I expect that tent to be vacant in fifteen. And for HEAVEN'S SAKE! SOMEONE GET THOSE FIRES UNDER CONTROL!"

"Yes, Lord Azazel!"

"Dismissed!"

Several sets of black wings shot towards the sky, shooting up leaves and dirt as they went to accomplish their assigned tasks. Each owner to an individual pair of black wings was watched by their grounded leader, Azazel, who easily discerned their different directions even through the fire and smoke that engulfed their campsite. They shot around the burning trees and set-afire tents, trying desperately to follow their lord's command in holding a quick retreat from the sudden and overwhelming presence of monsters and abominations that threatened their hold.

The location was believed secure and well-protected from all sides. In the case of being found, forward scouts were sent and ready to report. Prior to tonight, it seemed a strategically sound location, which wasted no magical power and little manpower to maintain.

But now, it didn't seem as powerful a move as initially perceived. Now, sixty percent of the camp was a giant pyre.

Kappas, Centaurs, Grave Eaters, Basilisks and, if Azazel heard right, a Manticore were officially reported to have infiltrated from the northwest, along with an enormous flock of Griffin who were giving no mercy to anyone who carelessly took to the skies. This coordinated move overwhelmed their position; leaving a trail of death and ruin that threatened every volunteer and Grigori soldier under his command. Even worse was the overwhelming magical presence in the nearby forested area; all modes of teleportation seemed to have been thoroughly cut by what, Azazel guessed, was leading this band of unaffiliated monsters.

Amazing. Azazel thought. And an hour ago, I was trading baseball cards...

"You, soldier!" He yelled, pointing to a heavily clothed youth, who might have been as young as eight to nine centuries in age, and gesturing him and his small group of ten over. "You're with me. Grab your friends and get ready. We're heading to the front."

The band of young Angels seemed surprised and nervous. "T-the front, my lord?" They could hear the screams all the way from the other side of the camp.

Azazel nodded. "We're helping with the withdrawal. Get ready – quickly now!" Azazel stepped in the direction of the fire and sounds of battle. Flying wasn't an option with the Griffin patrols above. They were on foot. "And remember," he called back, taking a quick glance into the burning mess of tents and smoke, "we are now up against live, hostile targets. So, if you see something move that isn't holding a pair of black feathers, that's your cue toshiv it through the chest!Understood?"

"Yes, Lord Azazel!"

Other side of Lord Azazel's Camp, a few minutes later…

Manas was a medic under the command of Lord Azazel. He was an Angel of relatively common appearance – light brown hair, violet eyes, lightly-tanned skin – and served faithfully under Lord Azazel's command since the Governor General decided to assist the Allied Powers in their defense against the Central Command. He was a low ranking medic with little ambition to forward himself through the ranks of his field but was content with such. He sought neither glory nor wealth and was very indistinguishable from many others who stood beside the founder of Grigori. He was a mook; a small member of a grand army, which he understood. He wouldn't have even participated in the war had it not been for one specific reason.

Said reason was now on the front lines; driving a metal pole through the head of a Basilisk and giggling as purplish blood splattered over her front amidst the reddish glow of the scorching tents. The very visage was both terrifying and exotic to the eyes (it was not often you saw a winged female drive a metal object through the head of a reptilian creature amidst fire and ruin).

If Manas wasn't madly in love with this violent, dark-haired, blue-eyed woman standing just feet away over a freshly skewered kill, he might have been unnerved by the image. "I believe that was thirty-two, sweetie." Manas voiced, offering a small clap as the long dark-haired woman brushed some loose sweat from her brow.

Said woman, covered in various shades of blood, smiled gleefully. "Thank you, honey-boo!" She pulled the metal pole from the monster's carcass, splattering blood onto the ash-covered grass and moved over to the only man who was crazy enough to stand close to her without flinching. "And how are my two favorite people in the whole-wide cosmos doing?"

Her giggling, almost innocent voice might have been unnerving to most. Manas took it in stride, smiling behind his medic's mask and turning around to show a rather large, camo-green backpack.

"See for yourself," he offered, reaching behind to lift the flap of his bag. The cheerful blood-soaked woman beamed as she reached into the medic's bag and pulled out a comfortably napping babe.

…No, seriously.

Lying quietly at the bottom of the large, rough-looking backpack, without issue or understanding of the immensely dangerous situation the two parents had placed the near-newborn in, the woman slowly lifted her resting child from the sack.

"Oh! You are just precious!" The woman squealed, tapping a finger to the resting baby's nose and leaving a small smear of blood. "You are just the cutest thing ever! Yes you are – yes you are!"

The woman laughed some more, playing with the child as Manas watched them quietly. Most (99.99%) of sentient life would not bring a newborn to a war-torn, hell-blazed battlefield. Logic, medic's intuition and fatherly instinct were screaming at him that he was making a bad decision (though, since meeting his wife, this wasn't a completely uncommon occurrence). And true, he had attempted to argue on the child's behalf to be sent away for the sake of safety but would hear no compliance from the mother of his child. In her defense, her child was born in a warzone, being little older than a few months in age, so it wasn't like Manas could do much about that. She wanted her close, claiming that any day could be her last with a saddened look that seemed quite different from her usual joyful expression.

In addition, as his beloved put it, the little bundle was also her deemed 'lucky charm of battle' and would not be part from it.

Three hours after giving birth and screaming 'oh-yeah-this-kid-is-mine-and-she's-a-fighter-like-her-momma,' she went off to kill a group of goblins on top of a mountain.

His wife, Captain Yuuma of the First Platoon under Commander Eizer, Fourth Command Regent under Lord Azazel, was the hardest woman he'd ever met.

But damn if I don't love her.

"Want me to get thirty-three, little one? Teehee! I bet you do!" Yuuma cooed to the sleeping child, stepping forward to place the small child into her husband's arms. Looking quite pleased with herself, the battle-hungry Spartan of a woman turned; picked the steel pole she used to kill the Basilisk from the ground where she dropped it and gave it a toss in a random direction of the camp.

It was quite for a moment. Only the sound of crackling fires was heard.

Then, "AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHhhhh…"

The dark-haired Fallen's feature brightened to the screech. "OH YEAH! THIRTY-THREE! WHO'S THE BADDEST MOM IN CAMP?! I AM – I AM! WOOOOT!"

Manas, used to this sort of unprecedented action, only rocked his child carefully, hoping to not have her wake up during such a time. His wife's love for battle and a good fight seemed to skim the lines between being a classified Wrathful Fallen and remaining a Lustful one. Certainly, she didn't seem to notice nor care about her blood-covered complexion anymore, but it seemed only her enjoyment of a 'good night's rest' was what kept her from becoming one of the taboos amongst the Fallen ranks.

Maybe he should have taken that as a boost to his ego.

"Perhaps now would be the best time to retreat and regroup with the others?" Manas asked, carefully adjusting the child in his arms. "You did say you sent them off for their protection, right?"

"Huh?" Yuuma turned and raised a brief questioning eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, right. Safety. Theirs. Right. That was my reasoning." She tried to laugh casually, though it came out blatantly sheepish. "T-thanks for reminding me, puddin.'"

Manas, with baby in arm, smiled behind his mask. "You just wanted a higher kill count, didn't you?"

Yuuma's eyes widened. "Wh-what? Phhht, no. Y-you goof! I-I was doing this out of the selflessness in my heart!" She laughed awkwardly. "You-you are such a kidder, you!"

"Uh-huh…" Manas' stare was soft but unrelenting, rocking the stirring child back to a light sleep. "And being close to your 'thousand-kill milestone' you set last Christmas has had nothing to do with it?"

"…Uhm…would you prefer I lie, or…"

This shouldn't surprise me as much as it does. "Yuuma–"

"RAAGGGGHHHH!"

Whatever Manas was about to lecture his battle-crazed wife on was stopped by the growl coming from their side. Turning to the origin of the noise, Manas' eyes widened as a large, quadrupedal beast walked casually through one of the inflamed tents; unfazed by the scorch or heat. Manas was a man of some knowledge; he understood what was in front of him and knew, above all else, why this creature was considered the apex predator of the northern Netherlands.

Body of a lion; teeth long and pointed, oozing with venomous saliva; mane of thick hair that was said to stop even an Angel's spear of light. In many regards, the appearance was very similar to an African lion; its body structure was very feline like, despite easily being thrice the size of any common large cat of the human world. It stood out further from its more commonly known species with its pair of dark, ebony-colored bat-like wings that curled close to its body and with its tail being disturbingly similar to a scorpion's. Both tail and sharpened claws glistened in the firelight, secreting something very similar to the saliva coming out from the beast's jaws.

There, standing almost proudly with an air of animalistic prowess that begged caution, was a true king of beasts.

The Manticore.

For a moment, the three just stared at one another, measuring each party carefully.

Manas tightened his grip over the newborn. "We need to leave," he whispered carefully, watching as his wife's face took on a look of seriousness in the sight of this new challenger – one that was known for its rather efficientbrutality, "we need to leave. Now." Manticore were fast, strong and constantly challenged by both their homeland elements and their species in general; seeking to make themselves the strongest they could be by any means. Through points in history, they were officially classified as extinct for their infrequent sightings. For all Manas knew, the Manticore in front of them could very well have been the last of his kind.

That made it even more dangerous.

Yuuma was not as intelligent as her husband. She was the kind of girl to 'stab-first, laugh-at-the-carcass later' but even she was familiar with the legendary feline. Right now, the skies were filled with feral-beaked Griffin, the areas around were invaded with a myriad of monster groups that a single combat-strong Fallen would even have difficulty with, and based on the look on the Manticore's face, it wasn't going to let the three Fallen leave without a limb or two lost.

These predictions left Yuuma's with an expression that sharply contrasted her usual, confident self.

If we only ran before…

Turning around, she took the babe into her arms, rocking her with a slightly soft expression on her face, pressing her lips softly to the near-newborn's temple before moving to the backpack her husband wore and slowly lowering the child back in. "Stay close and listen to what I say," she whispered, catching her husband's shock, "if we do this together, one of us might get away," she moved to her husband's side, raising her two hands and focusing the energy around them, "a Manticore's speed could challenge a sprinting wind god and it's venom has the potency to kill a dozen Cyclopes. We only have one shot at this and if one of us messes up," two shines of bright violet light shone from her finger tips, creating rigid spears within her palms, "we all die."

Her husband, though Yuuma could not see with her focus set on the beast, stared nervously to her sweating expression. Her seriousness was startling; not since the Great War had he seen such an expression of such gravity. And back then, they almost died.

"I love you," he told her, raising his own arm and feeling the light blue energy of spear form comfortably into his grip, "I always have and I always will."

Yuuma lowered her stance, prepping herself as her eyes locked onto the slit pair of the hybrid beast. "Don't get sappy with me."

She lunged.

"AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

Elsewhere in the Camp, moments later…

Azazel cut past a Grave Eater, ignoring its screams and rotten smell as he continued through camp's frontline assault. Shifting his weight, he drove past another pair of Kappa and drove his blond-stained spear into the throat of a Centaur, letting his backup deal with the smaller fry.

The blood was starting to become prevalent on his robes. With most combat during the human war, it was often long-ranged based fighting; mostly thrown spears and balls of explosive light. This close combat crap was disorganized and messy. Quick, maybe, but impractical for how he preferred things. And now, amongst screaming soldiers and terrified retreating Angels, Azazel remembered why he wanted to stay out of the war in the first place.

Crash!

He turned to see a torn-to-shreds Fallen Angel fall into one of the burning tents. Unsurprising, he didn't move after.

People dying here, up there, everywhere.

He rubbed some loose blood from his eyes.

Kappas, Centaurs, Griffins…and is that a Wyvern? His usual calm attitude was starting to erode as the number of Fallen corpses increased. And where is that damned-

"AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

…Manticore. "You three, with me! Rest of you, withdraw back to the river and meet back to the checkpoint. I'll see you there."

"My lord!"

Azazel didn't turn to see how the others took his command. He headed towards the sound of the roar, confident that the three were following closely behind. Even with crackling fires, screaming monsters, dying Angels and weapons clashing, a Manticore's roar could be heard from a mile away. Their lungs were as powerful as the rest of their bodies; you heard the roar of the Manticore, many would say it was worse than hearing the cry of a Banshee.

This has been a surprising night.

It didn't take long to find the Manticore. The sheer bulk of the creature, even lying on its side, was easily seen over the tents (or, at least, the ones that still stood).

Coming into the clearing, Azazel was the first to lay eyes on creature, his compatriots soon following. Despite being several millennia in age, the site was still one that impressed Grigori's founder, while receiving surprised gasps and amazement to see such a terror by his followers.

The beast was dead. Its torso was full of punctured holes, bleeding profusely, and its tail was hanging by threads of skin, swaying. The mane was torn; burning piles of it scattered around. A front leg was missing, along with several teeth and fangs. The grass wasn't painted red but it certainly showed stains of multi-colored hues of blood. Its corpse still stood strong among the other corpses around it; ever holding its weight in pride and strength, even in its dejected state.

If I had a minute to take a few teeth... Azazel thought, his obsessive side taking over for a moment to consider the rarity of Manticore teeth before shaking such a thought away. It was neither the time nor the place…and the four Angels were not alone.

It took half-a-minute for Azazel's eyes to move from the carcass. His wary vision wandered over the other dead creatures sprawled about, wondering for a moment if the beast had decided to go feral and attack its own side before his gaze came to a pair of figures who were most certainly not beasts.

Laying a few meters from the large corpse, covered in blood and looked little better than the corpses surrounding them, were a pair of figures.

A man in stained, dirtied robes, held a woman closely to himself.

It was a strange sight. True, the war showed many strange things but Azazel never saw anything like this. A man caring for an unmoving woman, surrounded by corpses.

It was eye catching – almost photogenic.

At first, Azazel stretched his senses out to them. Despite the direness before him, he'd dealt with Shapeshifters before and they always seemed to enjoy a sense of flare to their disguises before they attacked. He didn't take the risk that this wasn't just a ploy to lower his guard but upon sensing the residual Angelic energy inside the pair, Azazel stepped quietly towards them. The threat was gone, for now, and two Angels needed his attention. But as he got closer to the pair, taking in their appearance and state, his expression drowned into depression.

The first of the two was a man, carrying a large green and blood-stained backpack over his equally stained white clothes. Most of his person was covered by the apparel he wore befitting a medic, right down to the physician's mask covering his face, but his right arm was bleeding and his left shoulder was open with a hole which, by Azazel's guess, was roughly as wide as the Manticore's pincer.

The medic held, what Azazel assumed was, a woman, though her appearance was most certainly worse then the man's and covered in blood from top to bottom. She was a pretty thing by Azazel's opinion, despite the immense damage done to her. She wore a loose outfit that signified her under the front line command group. The First Platoon insignia held itself by tiny threads to her shoulder; under Commander Eizer's command, he guessed. Her right arm was missing; hair mostly burned away and skin looking ready to melt off. Her eyes were cloudy, peerless and unmoving.

Despite the woman's obvious lack of life, the medic held onto her tightly, muttering sweet nothings and comforts to her ear. She must have died minutes, if not seconds, before Azazel's arrival. Watching the man lower his head to dead woman's neck, wailing to her corpse, Azazel couldn't help but take note of the man's skin around the mask and neck. His veins were starting to bulge and turn a weird purplish coloring.

The venom of the Manticore coursed through him. Curable, certainly, if given an immediate antidote within the first minute of infection, but Azazel, nor any of his followers, would have felt the need to carry any with them. Avoiding the Manticore was a hollow hope he held while running to the chaos of the camp; why bring some if you planned to run at the mere sound of its coming? The folly of such an optimistic thought was dawning on him now as he watched over the two before him.

The First Platoon soldier was dead. The medic would soon follow.

Turning away, Azazel made his way back to his soldiers, who still stayed at the clearing of the tent's edge. Practicality told him the truth; no matter what Azazel attempted, the medic would die. There was no stopping it and, perhaps, leaving him to care for someone in his arms was a quiet mercy. Moving him now would just cause the venom to spread faster and, from what Manticore venom was known to do, it would probably cause the man to bleed profusely from mouth, eyes, ears, nose and several other unmentioned areas.

Yes. A Manticore was a true creature of horror.

Raising his hand, he made to gesture to the soldiers, when a straggled voice spoke up behind him.

"W…wai…"

Azazel, a little surprised by the sound, turned back to the pair. The medic, teeth grit, laid the dead woman carefully to the earth, arms shaking along with his legs as the man stood up from his position.

His breathing was pained and harsh. Azazel could make out a slight bit of red behind the mask, watching as watery drips fell from the corners. Looking at his face, Azazel first noticed the bloodshot red around the deep violet, and could see similar drops of red making their way down alongside tears. The pain must have been immense; the first step taken caused several cracks to be heard from the Governor General and his followers, the venom now turning corrosive to his innards.

Despite this, the medic took another step, grunting loudly and obviously holding back a much needed scream. Watching him, it must have seemed similar to watching a corpse trying to stand on its own; it was unnatural and almost painful to watch something so distorted move on its own when it clearly should be dead.

It was why necromancy was such a horrid thing to consider amongst magic users; the dead should remain dead (though it seemed Devils skipped the talk about leaving the dead-dead).

Azazel caught the man as his fourth step failed to hold his over-burdened body up, not even grimacing as his clothes were dampened by additional blood (after three years, you got used to the stains). Steadying the, admittedly,resolute medic, Azazel wondered what must have been going through his mind as he straightened the shaking and dying man. Gasping for hard held breath, the man took a moment to ready himself for whatever he was planning to do (Azazel wondering quietly if he was aware that he was dying), before reaching to his side and gripping the straps of his backpack. Closing his eyes form the pain, he rolled the pack over his shoulders, holding it in wobbling arms to his chest.

The medic kissed the pack, crying tears mixed with blood, as he moaned out something Azazel couldn't make out.

Hesitantly, he held the bag out, attempting to pass it to his lord, his grip tight so as not to drop it.

"H…here," the medic's voice was hoarse and freely pouring blood from his opening mouth, "t-tak…er…" his body was shaking intensely, "t-TAKE-!"

He fell again. Azazel caught the bag as the body gave out, watching as the medic slipped down to the earth; coughing and groaning as his skin began to take on a purplish hue. He almost looked like he was suffocating (and his strained breathing did not help to argue against that fact) but his throat did not tighten or expand as it should to suggest choked breath. It was just a growing, severe, overwhelming pain.

And yet, the medic endured.

"T-take…take…Ra…" The medic swallowed deeply, Azazel being reminded briefly of a drunk human he once knew who drank a cup of sawdust off a dare (and managed to succeed). This looked just as painful. "…R-Ra…Raynare…t-take Raynare…take…tssss…gahh-haa…"

The medic's eyes widened; blood covering his irises. He fell to his side, arms and legs botching together in a fetal position. He twitched sporadically, wheezing and writhing in unnatural torture from the inside.

But it didn't last long.

Fifteen seconds of constant struggle and a last, heart-sinking release of breath later and the medic was done.

Azazel watched him. He'd never seen the effects of Manticore venom and understood why something as potent as the 'Netherland Beast' was a reported 'retreat on sight' type monster for several groups. It was heart wrenching – the helplessness alongside the overwhelming self-agony of watching your men die. While often during the war, a man's death wasn't as dramatic as the medic's was, there were still those lingering moments that kept he and his men up at night.

This occurrence would most certainly be one of them.

"Bleghh! Gah! Aahh, haa haa, I'm-I'm o-…gekh, I'm okay!"

Not bothering to turn around his disgruntled soldier (taking a wild guess as to what just happened to his man and personally understanding the feeling himself), Azazel lifted the backpack to eye level, staring at it oddly with a peculiar thought:

Why would a medic, on the last seconds of life, pass on something as insignificant as his medicine bag? There were dozens of others being worked out of the ruined camp by the second towards the southern checkpoint; was he unaware of this? To be certain, supplies weren't in high amounts during war time, even for the Fallen Garrison, but was it really worth one's life to ensure they got back to ally hands?

Either this was the most dedicated medic in my whole army or…

Curiosity started to sink further in. Turning to one of his men, who comforted one of his kneeling, groaning peers, Azazel held the backpack to him.

"Hold this," he commanded, the soldier turning and quickly taking the backpack in his hands as Azazel moved his hand over it, unclipping and lifting the flap carefully to peer into the contents within.

It took a moment to adjust his eyes to the shadows of the bag inside. Even with the fire offering light around their position, Azazel and his recruits found it difficult to make out the small something at the bottom. And to be certain, there wassomething. Fallen Angels might have not had the night vision that Devils held, but they weren't blind in the dark, either. And Azazel was certain could make out something at the bottom of the sack-

The something moved.

Azazel's eyes widened. It was such a small, stiff movement that it barely shifted the bag. The Angel holding the backpack, sweating and looking uncomfortable in his position, didn't even seem to notice the move in the bag.

But Azazel did. And with its movement, a bizarre, almost impossible idea came to mind.

It can't be.

Azazel lifted a hand over the bag and shifted Angelic energy into a dim light over the flap, directing it into the bag.

Azazel's followers watched their lord examine the contents of the backpack. Whatever their peer was holding (with no small amount of anxiety or hesitance), it certainly had the Governor General's attention. Despite the rising concern of being found by monsters or the fires being too much to escape through, the founder of Grigori seemed to place his attention solely on the medic's bag.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, the private holding bag tried to voice his concerns.

"M-m-my lord, perhaps w-we s-sh-should not-"

"Sshhh!" Azazel waved a frantic hand, silencing the man but not averting his eyes from the bag. "Hold still." He whispered.

These were obviously the wrong words to say because the private almost lost his grip around the bag. Despite this nervous tension building inside him, he gave a quick nod and renewed his grip; waiting for whatever he was certain was about to happen.

Azazel, who's expression was growing more perplexed by the second, ignored the evident worry of his men and, careful in his approach, lifted both of his arms into the bag, hands reaching out for the something at the bottom.

There was a ruffle inside. This time, the private noticed and looked ready to faint even as Azazel wrapped his hands protectively over something the private could not see through his panic.

Slowly, and with no small amount of hesitance, Azazel lifted his hands from the bag with a growing expression of surprise etching its way to his features.

Then it happened.

Whatever the privates were expecting from the medic's bag – a bomb, a small monster or something equally impressive to be given such importance – it compared little to how ill-prepared they were for their lord to slowly lift from the dark, dirty, blood-stained medic's bag, a smooth, lightly pink-skinned, curly dark-haired newborn baby.

They stared at…it.

'It' being the baby.

They stared at 'it' for quite some time.

'It' was asleep.

Staring at 'it,' they held a similar thought of…what?

Perhaps it was the fact that none of the four men had seen a child in months that made the child stand out so proximately to them. Possibly it was because none of them expected to find a child being carried around in a rough, probably uncomfortable medic's bag of all things. Maybe it was even because it was just a baby in a warzone that struck them as the most unexpected and outrageous thing any of the men had seen that entire night (and when you considered the fires, the Griffin attacks, and the dead bodies everywhere, that's saying a lot).

The first private, holding the now noticeably light backpack, carefully lowered his possession to get a better look at the…the…it in their lord's hands. His squad mates were no doubt having similar thoughts, going off their awed expressions alone.

And Azazel, above all, was amazed at this new and, from what he felt, clearly Angelic being in his arms.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

Abandoned Church, Lower Level, a few minutes ago…

Naruto Uzumaki held a strict no-kill policy; a policy many who knew the heir of Lucifer were familiar with, though few could honestly say they understood.

The Lucifer household was comprised of notorious beings of power – each having killed, at least, a dozen times over. His parents alone were professionals in the art of war; both holding the ability to flip entire cities should the need arise. They were pacifists by nature, but undoubtedly held the ability to rip a common man apart with a flick of their wrist and weren't afraid to do so if threatened. And by nature, killing when needed to wasn't an idea that was slighted by Devils, unlike humans or some Angels. In fact, it was a major part of their culture: combat, power, blood, it was all political to them.

This is what made the Uzumaki child so peculiar. "Surely, even a human would feel compelled to follow Devil culture if his parents were such renowned powerhouses, right?" That was the common thought on the matter.

What only the truly few (and fewer still in his current life) understood behind the act of Naruto's adherence to preserving life wasn't for some basic sense of self-righteousness, or even entirely morally directed. Naruto, since his previous life, had aimed to be seen, perhaps not as a paragon of virtue, but as a symbol to those who watched him. A symbol to prove that any man, woman, Angel, Devil or anything in between could take a life, but it was the truly strong that showed mercy even to those who may not have deserved it. This idealism stemmed from the belief that his actions could not only affected himself, but on a larger scale, entire nations. That if he were to kill, even if it would stop some dangerous force that threatened to bring all-out war, what Naruto represented would be destroyed. It would send a message that the only way to fight a criminal, a psycho, a murderer or a 'villain' would be to become one yourself. Through that one kill, it would be too easy to justify every other death, "for the good and safety of all."

That was why Naruto held back and refused to land that final blow.

"GGGGGGGAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!"

"W-WUH-WAAAAAAGHHHHH!"

"N-n-no, no! PLEASE! HAVE MERCY DEVIL-SAMA!"

But in the case of Yuuto Kiba, Knight of Rias Gremory, and Koneko Toujou, Rook of Rias Gremory, no such convictions were held. In fact, against the rogue Exorcists, both seemed to be in their element.

Koneko, with her defensive ability to take anything the rogues sent at her and return it tenfold, was unfazed by the conflict around her while silently keeping count on how many rogues she 'put into the ground' (and with her strength, she sometimes did so literally). While her school uniform was somewhat torn and held several bullet-sized holes in different locations of her dress, Koneko otherwise seemed to be the same, monotonous girl, pounding heads into mush with little expression.

Yuuto (or Kiba, as he was more commonly referred to as) held a similar appearance of distress, with school uniform torn and looking beat up from the rogue's attempts at cutting him down, but otherwise appeared to be in his true state-of-mind in the basement of the church. His handsome smirk, in conjunction with his graceful step, skill with a sword and the sheer speed at which he moved made him truly come off as a gallant hero, not unlike those from Arthurian tale.

Indeed, thwarting the efforts of Fallen Angels and (former) church officials was proving to be an enjoyable experience for both Gremory servants.

Pulling his sword out of yet another corpse, Kiba let out a small laugh as he looked around at the collapsed and unmoving dark-robed individuals. "I think that's all of them." He yelled over to his friend, wiping off a bit of sweat from his brow and cleaning his sword with a wave of it to the side.

Koneko looked over to him. "One sec," crunch, "…okay. We're done." She patted her hands together, brushing off loose dust and blood as she moved to stand beside the swordsman. "You alright?"

Kiba nodded. "And you?"

Koneko paused, looking herself over. "'Could use a change of clothes…"

Kiba smiled. "Well, I can't help you there," he laughed, Koneko's expression turning slightly annoyed to her friend's playful amusement. "Come on. I think it's about time we lend Naruto a hand."

Koneko, knocked from her musings on what remained of her clothes, nodded and ran to the stairs leading back to the ground level, followed shortly by the still entertained Kiba.

While neither the Rook nor the Knight assumed Naruto would require assistance with the Fallen Angel that pursued him after he vacated the basement with the nun – having watched him quickly defeat three 'Crows' ten minutes prior, single-handedly, helped to further assure them of this fact – it did not mean that his victory was assured. The Fallen Angel had performed a ritual of unknown origin that neither of the two Gremory servants were familiar with.

But the effects were instantaneous; Kiba and Koneko easily sensed the sheer energy that practically poured from her. It was all too prevalent, even from their place in the basement. A 'beacon,' as it were. Kiba personally doubted he wouldn't have been able to sense it all the way from Kuoh if he wasn't already at its epicenter.

It was power, pure and simple, and certainly placed the dark-haired girl on a pedestal above her previously defeated peers.

To Kiba, she might have posed a serious threat. Maybe even to Rias, herself.

To Naruto…a nuisance?

Either way, Koneko and Kiba were not the spectating types. So, nearing the top of the stairs, the two readied themselves, making out the voice of the Angel as they crept closer.

"…it back? To the corpse?!" There was laughter and a sound like weapons being drawn from sheaths. From the stairway, light gleamed at the top opening, signaling the development of a spear of light to the Devils. "And what if I don't want to give it, huh?! Are you planning to take it from me?!"

Kiba turned to Koneko, who nodded in return, correcting the feel of her gloves and looking steely at where the voice came from. Kiba, in return, slowly slid his sword from its sheath and hardened his expression towards the top of the stairs.

They would have leapt then; ready to give backup to their friend. But then a slim hand found its way onto both of their shoulders, directing their attention away from the coming conflict.

Akeno smiled to them. Lifting a solitary finger to her lips, she moved to the top of the stairs, still hidden from view, and waited for the show to begin.

Outside The Abandoned Church, Ground Level, a few minutes ago…

"You didn't deserve to be used or abused or hated because of what was inside of you…"

From her downed and aching position, leaning on the outside wall of the church, Mittelt managed to hear the voices inside the church before she even saw who it belonged to. Though her body still hurt and pulling herself up from her hunched position to manage a glance through the cracks in the church's doorway took no small effort on her part. The blond hunk really did a number on her, it seemed.

Before even being able to discern what was being said, Mittelt recognized one of the tones from her previous conversation. The cold, hard tone of 'Naruto' was easily recognized amidst the quiet area around her, though it didn't sound nearly as demanding or frustrated as she remembered it being during their 'one-on-one' interrogation earlier. In fact, as she listened further to his words, he almost seemed kind.

"…it is because of it that I got to meet so many wonderful people…"

Though the second voice was weak and took her a moment to realize it was the nun, Mittelt's surprise lied with the fact that the blond managed to get her out of the basement in the first place. This surprise largely forced her to forget to listen into whatever, she was sure, pointless drabble 'Asia' gave her blond opponent on her 'oh-so-sad' life.

In honesty, she cared little for Asia or her importance for being a Sacred Gear holder. Whether the ritual happened or not was not her concern. Whether a war broke out was not something she overly desired, but could not find herself overly against it, either. She skipped the last two World Wars and did not participate in the Great War; being one of the last Angels born from her Father. She never experienced true battle before, which resulted in her neither knowing what it felt like nor understanding if she desired to see such a heavy-casualty occurrence.

She saw no practicality around forcing such an issue of two sides to occur, but this was also her reason for going rogue in the first place.

Mittelt was a strange Fallen. In the centuries that followed her falling, she held no official classification amongst the Fallen ranks. She never classified herself under a single branch, nor saw herself falling to a single sin more than another.

By her peers, she was dubbed as 'Mittelt-of-All-Sin.'

Despite her distaste to the name, it did hold some truth. She had desires and sin in her, but not in a quantity that was more prevalent then another. She did not desire food in large quantities, nor large amounts of money. She was not lazy (and preferred great amounts of activity) or overly envious of those around her. She felt pride in herself, but maybe not to the amount that would place her above others.

So that left lust and wrath.

I enjoy another's 'company' but have never felt a strong 'desire' like some of the Lustful have mentioned. She remembered musing to herself. I've never thought of a boy (or girl) like that. Flirting, sure, and I can appreciate a fine-looking 'prime steak' now and then, but lust? Phht, yeah right…hmm…so, maybe I'm Wrathful? What's wrath even like?

Mittelt did enjoy a good challenge of strength or skill. She liked the thrill that came with it; one-on-one being her favorite sort of competition. But admittedly, she never fought someone worthy of her attention before.

While by no means was she the strongest of Fallen Angels, she certainly wasn't a slouch. She challenged others before but remained wanting for someone beyond her abilities. She was deemed too young to challenge those of ages several millennia above her, and those a thousand years around her own left her disappointed. So her desire to have her ass handed to her thoroughly was not something completely unprovoked.

She almost felt like praying for such a moment her in life, but never felt the courage to ask for such a daring proposal, especially from a Father she forsook for selfish reasons.

Imagine her surprise when a 'Father Galilei' walked up to her one evening, offering to fulfill her wish…

So yes. This entire rogue action was deigned to find herself a strong foe. To make her feel some small miniscule amount of life she thought the challenge of - as Dohnaseek would put it - 'fisticuffs' would bring her. To give her pain and ache and soreness that would make her feel the thrill of life that humans felt every day. The way the blond made her feel.

She longed for this – craved it – and this 'Naruto' gave it to her.

Thoughts of the last half-an-hour excited her. The blond's tone, his threats, the way he held her wing – she wanted more. So much more. And even when thrown aside so her challenger could place his interest on something of a more immediate importance, at least to himself, she felt a building desire grow over her conscious understanding of just how much pain he put her through.

Mittelt was sure she would be blushing a bright shade of pink had it not been for the strain of even cocking her head to look through the doorway.

"…right of strength. I had the power to take what I wanted and was encouraged into doing so!"

Speaking of which, a new voice was making her appearance known to the kneeling blond. Raynare, looking lithe in her dark leather outfit and having a shit-eating grin all over her face, was standing around like a high-class stripper and appeared to be mocking the, apparently, now-dead nun-girl. Mittelt, even without needing to, could feel the new energy from the Sacred Gear now stuck within her – boosting her powers to new levels that, though she was hard-pressed to admit, trumped her own skill and ability.

Mittelt bit her bottom lip. Wow. Missing on some good stuff here. Internal monologues for later. "But, damn, what I wouldn't give for a bowl of popcorn …"

The small, vocal announcement that things were getting interesting was meant to be for her benefit only.

Imagine the Fallen's surprise when a feminine, high-class toned voice answered her back.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you with that."

Mittelt's expression turned surprised, turning her head quickly to her side to glance up to a pair of calm, teal-colored eyes.

"But I can promise you that this will be entertaining…"

Present…

Raynare caught the shift the in the boy's appearance almost instantly. His eyes were the most notable change – a shift in hue and shape to appear reddish and slit, not unlike a cat – while his hair seemed to almost thicken and grow longer at the same time. His hands clenched into fists, shaking slightly with built-up aggression, with Raynare's eyes staring in almost disbelief as the nails grew and sharpened to knife-sharp points. Even the strange birthmarks on his cheeks – things Raynare discounted as unimportant after associating and studying the blond – seemed to thicken and deepen in ridging; pronouncing their appearance and strengthening the animalistic feeling the blond gave off.

The air around the church's innards shifted; dust and tiny pieces of wood began to move from the blond's position and out in random directions of the church. The rhythm of their movement increased by the second until the area around Naruto was swarming with strong winds brushing everything that wasn't nailed down away from his position. Dust, splinters of wood, cobwebs – even the structure of the abandoned church seemed threatened to collapse by the sheer pressure of the wind that vacated away from the blond.

And all the while, Naruto never moved so much as a step towards the Fallen Angel.

Watching this all happen, Raynare wondered, as a stray thought, how she must have looked then to the changed blond. Her eyes were wide and fixated on the silent transformation, not bothering to hide her astonishment as she felt the air grow heavy with a strong, new energy. It overwhelmed the power she'd constantly released since implanting the Sacred Gear and slowly took the area over with its presence. She couldn't recognize what sort of power it was – though clearly it was neither Angelic nor Demonic and certainly not magical in appearance or feeling – and that unnerved her even more.

She wondered if Naruto, behind his stern expression, was silently amused by the terror she was inflicted with.

What is going on here?! Raynare mentally asked-screamed. How is he doing this? He's only human – how is this even – it isn't –! She tried to come up with words to describe what was happening – a trick, a manipulation of wind, something simple and explainable for a human to do. Logic helped the mind ease itself to an understanding of its surroundings, but now the opposite seemed to be true in the case of this new horror before her.

Logic was telling her to run; to remember the memory of the day in the park.

To remember the fight. The flight. The punches and the falling and-

The fear. The fear was there-always there.

The fear of falling. The fear of the blond. The fear of Naruto Uzumaki.

To remember all that and run.

…

…No…

Raynare shook her head.

No, I won't do it.

Her body started to tremble.

The sheer thought of last Sunday left her with a gnawing in her stomach, wanting her to back away and run from the now red-eyed blond before her.

No. No, no. No no no -

The remembrance of her near death left her pride shattered and her sense of worth being turned into dust to be swept by the coming breeze.

She was worthless again. The freeloader amongst freeloaders.

Raynare the Unwanted.

- no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!

Winter Solstice, Gates of Heaven, December 20, 1918…

The Gates of Heaven were monstrosities of architecture, design and defensive workmanship.

The two doors (if they could be called as much) stood several thousand meters high; made with white Cryperion stone and lined with glistening diamond-laced ridges. Each door channeled several hundred magical restoration spells over every inch of its making, alongside tens-of-thousands of additional, classified-over-protective magic that gave it such a strong feeling of mysticism and energy that even the most devout believer of science and anti-magic could not deny its powerful presence. They stood resilient and imposing with the most complex system of self-protective measures imagined that even a dozen human hydrogen bombs – combined – world not leave so much as a dent on it. Since their construction, not a single entity of any religion, mythology, Parthenon or so on, was capable of breaching the holiest of kingdoms without direct permission from the Lords of the Golden City.

In other words, no un-invited guest ever made it past the front door…

Azazel, who on that day mid-December, stood just outside the gleaming light of Heaven and its impenetrable walls. He was no fool to this understanding that the Gates were handcrafted perfection. Having lived behind the 'Pearly Gates' for most of his life, the Fallen General was quite familiar with their impenetrable nature. Even during the Great War, when he considered challenging the might of Heaven itself and was quite the warmonger, Grigori's founder knew that the only way to defeat the Holy Sanctuary was to force its gates open wide for his army to enter. Subterfuge would be required. But because the Gates had not opened in over three millennia, sneaking into Heaven was an option that seemed more and more a dreamer's dream as time went on.

But to the matter at hand: why was Azazel, Lord of Fallen, founder and Governor General of the Grigori, standing before Heaven's Gates?

During the Great War, such an action would have seen him skewered and flayed like a well-cooked ham. His presence was unaccepted by those of pure-white wings; his pure-black was an affront to all that Heaven stood for. The two divisions of Angels during the Great War had shown neither acceptance nor mercy to either side, over the basis that they would be shown none in return.

But this was not the time of the Great War. Rather, at present, this was the time of what was commonly referred to as 'The Long Ceasefire.' A time where, Azazel realized, a bit of 'leeway' could be made for someone of his significant position.

He'd never imagined standing before Heaven again (at least without an army behind him). He'd never imagined being so close to his former home and not being struck down by a thousand different variations of light-manipulated weaponry. Before today, he'd considered a hundred different scenarios on how this meeting might have ended (many of which ended with his demise) but he still held fast with his decision to stand before the Gates and speak his request, even against overwhelming opposition from friends and councilors alike.

After all, who could have more leeway on this most important matter then the Lord of Fallen himself?

And now, dressed in formal, dark-leathered Angelic-based attire, Azazel waited quietly, rocking the bundle of blankets in his arms.

The child born on the war-torn European soil seemed rather content to just sleep the day away in her foster parent's arms. The slowly growing tuft of black hair waved in the small, freshly blowing wind; her face scrunching over the cool breeze for a moment before relaxing again to the rhythmic movements of Azazel's arms.

She was a lazy baby. Azazel would comment as much several times over the months he'd seen her (when he wasn't off trying to win a war). He'd left her with cadets or some other form of caretaker during the last six months of life that she'd been 'placed' under his care. For the last five months World War One officially took place in, Azazel held an infrequent but still notable consideration for the child. Whenever there wasn't the threat of Gargoyles or Cyclopes on the horizon, he would, as if only in passing consideration, ask how the 'newest member of the Grigori' was coming along. He often had his attention centered around matters of a grander scale than just if the child was being fed properly or causing trouble for a medic or camp assistant, but otherwise, he did not forget that she was alive.

That she was important. That she was, only by pure guess on her name from what he and his three privates heard the night they found her, a true 'Daughter of War.'

She was Raynare.

Azazel continued to rock the child quietly for some time, silently hoping he could keep her asleep for as long as he was able too, silently considering what words he would need to say next just as the corner of his eye caught sight of a strange shift of light in direction of the holy city.

Turning his head away from the slumbering child in his arms, Azazel watched as a white shine of majestic light shot around the glimmering stone Gates. The light glistened off the diamond-laced gateway and sparkled like the sun on water (but a hundred-times more stunning).

It was the signal to begin.

With child in hand and back poised like the leader of one of the Three Great Factions of the Biblical Faith, Azazel turned towards the Gates, head held high, and took a couple steps forward to acknowledge the beckoning.

His head turned skyward, Azazel watching as the clouds beside the Gates, white and perfect in shape, slowly seemed to glow brighter and brighter and brighter as the seconds went on. His eyes narrowed slightly, making out the rough shape of three spherical shapes make their way past the clouds and quickly descend down towards where Azazel stood, patiently, with child in hand.

The orbs were rather simple in appearance. Each was a shining gold which illuminated a small area without causing a level of blindness to those viewing their simple yet obvious importance. They were perfectly symmetrical in shape and floated smoothly down from the clouds above to hover before the Lord of Fallen.

These three lights were the Watchers of the Gates: the deciders of who entered through the Gates of Heaven. Aside from the Seraphs, these three were the top Angels in the hierarchy of Heaven.

Azazel, acknowledging their place in Heaven and their importance to the matter at hand, offered the glowing spheres a small bow for what he could manage with the child still resting in his arms.

"My Lord Watchers!" The Fallen Angel spoke, voice loud and respectful as if he were announcing the presence of a king. "It has been some time. I see you all look…very much the same!" He managed, holding back a laugh, "How have the years been to you all? How had Heaven fared-"

Silence your pleasantries, Forsaken One.

Yes, do dispense with the charade of enjoying our presence.

We are no happier to see you as you are to see us, we are sure.

Azazel didn't even appear to be taken aback by their claim. It was true, after all, but it did make it easier to move forward with the meeting.

"Right, let's skip the foreplay and get down to business then, shall we?" Lord Azazel grinned, moving up from his bow. "Your messenger delivered my proposal, I presume? I believe it had all required details you would have desired, correct?"

It did.

We were pleased.

Even a Fallen might still have decorum to produce a proper message, it seems.

Azazel didn't rise to the bait, instead shifting the slightly rousing child carefully. "I appreciate you taking the time to consider my request and seeing me on such notice. I believe this matter can be settled with favorable circumstances that may benefit both our races for centuries to come." He smiled his bachelor smile. "Perhaps, one day, we might even see the reunification of the Angelic order under one banner again-"

Do not presume anything, Fallen One; we have not accepted your proposal yet.

Such a matter must be carefully considered, special circumstance that it is.

It has worth, we admit, but does it have enough, we wonder.

Azazel's smile did not waver, though internally he felt worse about this meeting as the Watchers spoke. "Surely, you do not suggest forbidding the acceptance of a child, do you?"

We do suggest, Black One.

A child born of two Fallen – Angels who forsook the Holy Father – would be a monstrosity of such disgrace that I dare not look upon it in your arms.

To be taken in and raised, despite this heritage, is something to be considered harshly.

Azazel looked at the three golden orbs with some astonishment and confusion. "Monstrosity?" He voiced, raising Raynare's blankets so that they might look upon her face. "Monstrosity? This is a child, you foolish gatekeepers! She was born from the love between two Angels-!"

Of lust, you mean.

A sin your race is quite proud of, I know.

But we do not accept it or her.

"…Do not accept?" He voiced out, more for his own sake then there's, almost unable to trust his own ears at that moment. Shock stood behind Azazel's face, with slowly creasing anger covering his features as this debacle of a meeting continued.

This is why I wanted to consult with Michael on this matter. Azazel thought with increasing frustration. At lease he wasn't as pig-headed as some others in Heaven, if I recall. And the next few seconds all but proved it further with the Watchers' declaration.

We, the Watchers of the Gates, have weighed your proposal and measured the degree of your desire.

But we have found it wanting, Azazel of the Fallen.

Raynare, daughter of Fallen, will not hold station in Heaven.

That final decree seemed to cause a freeze in the vibrancy around them.

The comforting breeze that flowed throughout Heaven did not seem to move through Azazel's hair, nor did Raynare's silent shifting immediately receive her lord's attention. The spheres of light and the Gates of Heaven seemed to dull in intensive glow, as if some of their impressiveness were sucked from them for that brief moment. The sounds of work could even be heard from the holy city where the Lord of Fallen stood, which made the situation all the more tense.

Everything seemed…off for that briefest of moments after the verdict was passed. As if the universe itself did not agree with that decision.

Azazel did not respond immediately. Instead, he just stared at them; the three, floating marbles. Each one was carefully looked over, with a new expression replacing the previous frustration and annoyance. Those two expressions, of which, he slowly grew and held throughout their political drabble about how they were 'so-superior-then-he' died out with their final chosen choice.

Azazel felt only one thing now: confusion.

"What," he managed to breath out, "do you mean you won't take her?"

It is as we said.

We will not accept her.

The Gates of Heaven will not open to her.

Azazel pursed his lips. "Why?"

She is Fallen.

The Fallen understand the cost of giving into their personal desires.

Desires which prevent them being allowed access into Heaven.

Azazel rolled his eyes, starting to pace impatiently in a vain attempt to keep his negative feelings towards the Watchers in check. "But she is innocent!" He told them. "She doesn't even have her first feathers, damn it! She has committed no sin!"

She exists.

Her parent's sin shall be hers.

It had been decided.

Azazel couldn't believe how 'aristocrat' the Watchers were. 'Sins of the father,' huh? "Then UN-decide it!"

We cannot.

We shall not.

We will not.

Azazel held back an annoyed groan. The talking marbles, each with their one sentence talking and different sounding tones were starting to be unbearable.

It is Father's word.

And Father's word is law.

This is known.

Of course it was known. He was an Angel and apparently God's rule was absolute.

Dad's word, Dad's word, Dad's word. Always with Dad's word.

Everything about Angel's and their decision making process was based off 'Dad's Rule.' Why would that change anytime soon?

Azazel shook his head, a crooked smile finding its way to his lips, before he pointed a finger at the middle Watcher and his golden sphere.

Well you know what I have to say to that?

"SCREW DAD!"

…

Silence from the Watchers. How about that. First time they've been talked down to in millennia, I bet. "Screw Dad and screw His law!" Raynare was starting to stir aggressively in his arms now. "This is a moment of breakthroughfor our two races! Don't you get it? If you accept this child, you are opening up the possibility for both our races to unite once more!" The Watchers' glowing spheres started to dull in color. "But instead, you would cast aside this chance to reunite Heaven with its Fallen kin, under a new, White-and-Black feathered alliance, for the sake of upholding hundred-thousand year old traditions?!" Azazel grit his teeth. "Dad would never accept this! He would neverforsake a child who asked for kindness and a home! You Angels, who call yourself so pious and pure, would deny this child a chance for a life inside Heaven because of a mistake that's not her own?! How could you do this without any kindness!

"Did Dad really screw up this bad in our making? Did he do wrong in making us so stupidly single-minded-?!"

SILENCE!

Azazel threw his hand over the child, protecting the now crying Raynare as a sharp blow of air swept over the fields of Heaven. The sky turned a grayish tinge, so unlike the previous clear blue before, and the Gates of Heaven looked almost threateningly dark behind the Watchers and their now sharply glowing spheres of golden light. The light itself almost seemed to be swirling angrily, as if wanting to lunge at Azazel and the child in his arms.

Needless to say, Azazel, and even little Raynare, could sense the threat of the Watchers.

DO NOT DARE SPEAK OF OUR FATHER, LORD OF FALLEN! YOU LOST ALL VOICE WHEN YOU FORSOOK YOURSELF FOR THE HUMAN! AND NOW YOU DARE BESMIRCH NOT ONLY OUR WORD, OUR LAW, BUT OUR FATHER, AS WELL?!

BEGONE! BEGONE NOW AND DO NOT SEEK THE GATES AGAIN, LEST YOU BE STRUCK DOWN AS AN EXAMPLE TO ALL WHO QUESTION FATHER'S LAW!

THE LAW IS ABSOLUTE! AS IT HAS BEEN AND SHALL ALWAYS BE!

The Watchers' spheres glowed brightly, laminating the area around them in fine gold, before each shot up to the sky above, quickly being lost to Azazel's eyes as they crept behind the clouds.

The area around the Gates returned to the peaceful serenity it held before the Watchers burst of fury, quickly calming the area in Heaven's brilliant shine.

Azazel cared little, though. His mind still lingered about the absolute denial of his simple request. A request he hoped would bring a new golden age of idealism and thought to the Angels, beyond what their father said was absolute.

He hoped too much, it seemed.

Holding the crying child in his arms, Azazel spoke sweetly to it, trying to settle down what he'd hoped to use as a starting point to a much better, open Angelic society. Using her in his scheme to open Heaven up to the possibility of accepting the Fallen back into their ranks might have seemed cruel, but in truth, what he hoped to offer her would have been so much more, he was sure, then any Fallen parent (or in his case, guardian) could offer their child.

She would have been protected, nurtured and happy. Of that he was certain.

Now, holding this child sweetly in his arms, not letting such torrent thoughts boggle his mind on how he would explain this occurrence to the order. Instead, as he tried to calm the 'Daughter of War,' Azazel wondered if Baraqiel had any idea what to feed this thing…

Present…

Her name was Raynare – the Fallen Angel. She was chosen to be the one to bring the Fallen Angels to new heights of glory and salvation in a world that would only see them grovel in the mud. She was to stand beside Lord Azazel, as an equal, and to earn the respect of those around her. She would be the one to bring a golden age to the Fallen and be acknowledged by all.

She would not be put down by this simpleton!

"I…hate…you…!" She cried, gritting her teeth as she pulled her arms back and threw them forward, watching the spears twist out of her arms and towards her opponent's red, unnatural eyes. "I HATE YOU!"

Seeming to ignore the constant wind pressure pouring out from around Naruto's person, the spears traveled towards Naruto's hard expression; narrowing in on one another to almost seem like a single spear to the un-wavered son of Lucifer.

Naruto watched the light projectiles without a show of concern, never letting his eyes leave the violet pair of his opponent. He could read her movements easily; the fear and rage were all too prevalently sensed by him. They were rolling off her in such large amounts it would have taken a blind-deaf man to not notice.

As it stood, her negativity made it easier to read her moves, and with a small twist of his neck, the twin spears swept past his head and through the wall behind without so much as grazing his shirt's collar.

This entire instance happened in the span of a second. The distance between the two was so short, dodging should have been impossible for her blond haired opponent. The speed at which the spears moved was that of a weightless, un-resisted force of power, impossible to completely dodge at such low distances in-between.

That was Raynare's belief.

It was proven false, much to her now swiftly increasing fury.

"Gahhh…" Raynare growled, hand twitching into curled fists as Naruto corrected his neck, looking as if he hadn't moved at all. That cool, unintimidated look made her eye twitch. "You…you…!" Her hands glowed brightly, twisting energy forming another pair of spears. "DON'T YOU MOCK ME!"

She gave one a toss, followed by another quick to follow. Then twisted the energy for another spear and tossed. Then grew another spear. Then another. Then another. And another after that. She continued to twist and form spears of light from her immense reserves, throwing them at the unperturbed boy with little need to wait.

Naruto dodged. And dodged. And dodged again, repeating this process with each spear missing without so much as grazing his school uniform. Though showing a quick reflex against the incoming attacks that Raynare brought, the blond neither seemed wavered from the effort or a loss of energy from his astonishingly quick movements that certainly weren't human-level.

Raynare was not amused by her lack of success. "DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!" She screamed with teeth grit and shouts growing louder to be heard over the low vibrating sounds of her tossed spears. Each throw made was now aimed at Naruto's body and torso, aiming towards his heart, but for each to be easily avoided without much effort (he didn't seem to find the need to avoid the spears more than he needed to) and passing outside the church's foundation through the several holes formed by her light-based weapons. "JUST DIE ALREADY!"

This continued game of throw-and-miss went on for about forty spears, Raynare using an excessive amount of the prevalent energy within herself to attack her blond assailant.

She stopped then, a small part of her still battle-competent mind overthrowing her ruthlessness, catching her breath after realizing the fruitlessness of her effort and allowing her arms to lie at her sides.

Her Angelic energy might have been immense, but her physical stamina was still limited and un-increased by her recent upgrade. It required mental and physical efforts to pull such large quantities of energy together, despite the readily available amount inside of her. And keeping the energy inside herself required some level of focus and strength the wasteful tosses did not help her with.

But she ignored the consequences and decided to openly growl at the boy.

"Why?" She hissed between deep breaths, feeling small drops of sweat on her brown. "Why can't I HIT YOU?!"

She waited, expecting a response from the usually talkative blond.

She hoped he would talk; it would be as if he were acknowledging her efforts and not as if she were yelling into thin air. To insinuate that her assault wasn't in vain and that she posed at least some threat.

But he was quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. In fact, if not for his hard stare to her tiring form, she would have assumed he was uninterested in her. Like a chore that needed doing but could have not cared less about – that was what Raynare read from those ruby-colored eyes.

Even to her opponent, she was unworthy.

"SAY SOMETHING!"

He didn't.

Instead, shifting his weight forward, Naruto walked towards the Angel.

Underworld, October 24, 1929…

Azazel was a man of simple tastes. He enjoyed his wine, the architectural achievements of races not his own, a pleasant views of nature – oh, and his collection. He couldn't forget that.

And as it so happened, he was managing to appreciate all four of these delicacies at that very moment. He held a finely crafted silver goblet in one hand, filled near to the top with a reddish elixir. The castle he currently held residence in, at least till next spring, was constructed by a most comely group of gnomish designers. The comfortable chair, which he occupied atop a courtyard just outside the castle's front doors, overlooked an absolutely stunning view of the Underworld's snow-covered mountains.

And, with the exception of about thirty percent of the mountain-side, they all belonged to his collection of fine antiquities. A collection, of which, he held great pride for and wished to continually increase so long as there was air within his lungs.

Again, a man of simple tastes.

Covered in several layers of warm blanketing, Azazel always marveled on how quickly the northern parts of the Underworld's weather could change as he sipped on his warm drink. Yesterday was warm and temperate, today was freezing with a snowstorm that covered the castle overnight. Though such changes in temperature weren't unusual for this part of the Underworld (the northern providences being a mass hysteria of magical energies that disrupted mother nature's usual weathering patterns for reasons beyond Azazel's understanding), it was a surprise for the occupants to wake up to a snow-covered citadel.

A pleasant surprise, though. Less outdoor work to be done by the castle's staff; most preferred the comfortable warmth of the estate.

But Azazel was much too cramped for the indoors. His attention was often kept on matters of the Grigori; standing over a table of financial reports here, a discussion about new home establishments on different nations there, it was more work than a man could deal with without break. And while finding brief reprieves through 'revitalization' and 'appreciating nature's majesty' were just some of his excuses for stepping away from his study, his most prominent 'excuse' was actually stomping through the snow in a huff.

Face red, hands clenched, black hair tied in a stylish knot and wearing clothes not appropriate for the cold weather – the young Fallen ward was clearly in a rare mood that suggested her lessons were not going as well as she hoped. Again.

"…stupid Mikael…stupid Benson…stupid…stupid…aggh!" Raynare grumbled, kicking up snow with each step and angrily pouting as it sunk through her socks to wet her feet. She moved to the edge of the estate's large balcony and plopped her head down dejectedly to its stone railing. "Stupid stupid stupid…"

Azazel smiled. Whether she noticed her guardian was off to her side, watching her with some amusement or not, it didn't stop him from stepping up from his chair, shedding the blankets off his person and walking over to the child.

"You know," Grigori's leader spoke up, catching Raynare's attention from her silent grumbles, "I seem to recall a certain someone having trouble with their flying the first time they tried and grumbled all afternoon about it." He said placidly/jokingly, the young Fallen huffing as she rolled her eyes at her guardian's attempt at mulling her bad mood.

"Flying was easier than this," Raynare's quipped back. "Heck, flying was a picnic. But this," she lifted her hand, small pieces of condensed light forming around her hand and seemed to be attempting to form something solid but bounced off one another, "this is so much worse." She crossed her arms, shaking her head as the light from her palm dispersed. "Mikael says I'm distracted. Benson tells me I need to focus on the light – to believe I am light. Well, you know what?" Bringing her leg back, she kicked the snow again. "What do you think I've been trying to do!"

Azazel watched from the side, sympathizing with her frustration. In Heaven, all Angels received the best training and tutors imaginable. His Father ensured that each Angel was capable in whatever they sought to do to fulfill the will of Heaven. Mikael and Benson, highly capable though they were, were not given the same tools provided readily by Heaven to treat and educate young Angels. They were brilliant, true, but could only work so much and this was undoubtedly the first child of a Fallen pair that they had to work with.

For them, Raynare was an unprecedented challenge they weren't entirely prepared for.

"How do you even become light?! What does light even feel like?!" She kept kicking the snow, huffing and yelling as she vented her pent up aggression on her lack of ability to manipulate light into solid-based object. "It's stupid, dad! Stupid stupid stupid!"

Bemused, Azazel let her speak, silently wondering what happened to that lazy baby who took long naps and was quiet as a lamb? "How stupid is it?"

"So stupid."

"Hmm. Really stupid?

"Really, really stupid!"

"Really, really, really stupid?"

Raynare looked ready to respond and play off Azazel's slightly joking responses, but the eleven year old caught herself and looked frustratingly towards him. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

Azazel shrugged. "Maybe." He said with a flippant tone, watching her face go deeper red as she didn't feel a lick of sympathy from her guardian. Usually, he was the caring father; offering comfort and empathy whenever she had a moment of distress (because frankly, growing up sucked).

Now he was acting mean and joking and she didn't like it!

Looking at the snow, now thoroughly brushed around by Raynare's kicks, Azazel had an idea. "But you know what I think," he thought aloud, turning away from the girl to lean over the railing towards the mountains. "I think you might just need a little break."

With arms still crossed, Raynare shook her head indignantly. "I'll just be angrier if I don't get this now."

Girl certainly has pride. Azazel thought, acknowledging that the girl believed she should be a naturally talented Fallen under his guidance and tutelage. But natural talent was so boring. No challenge, no feeling of hard work proven – talent was so cliché and dull.

He was happy with Raynare's lack of immediate success in all things Angelic. She had time to succeed; not everything needed to be exceptional so early in her life.

What she needs, Azazel thought, turning to look over Raynare's shoulder with a growing smile, is to appreciate her youth just a little bit more.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a break?" Azazel asked as innocently as he could, which had the opposite effect he desired and actually made the Fallen youth appear suspicious to his sudden tone change.

Cautiously, Raynare shook her head. "No. I can't stop. I'm going to go back and show them I can do this-"

Poof!

"OW!" Raynare screamed. "Who threw-" she stuttered, turning around to look for where the projectile –a snowball, of all things – came from. Her head twisted and turned around the balcony, searching for her 'snowball-attacker' and brushing loose snow from her hair.

Where did that…where did it…who…?

Her face was red still, but now from slowly growing embarrassment. No one was there. No one. So unless there was a ghost she just couldn't see, Raynare was sure the only people on the balcony was herself and -

She heard a chuckle.

Raynare paused, head stopped in its turning for a missing snowballer and slowly twisted around to look back at the quiet, seemingly uninterested in what was going on Azazel. The Lord of Fallen was staring to the mountains, lips pursed and looking like he was trying to hold back a smile.

Raynare's eyes widened. "Did you just-was that you?" She was answered by a twitch on the man's lips. A smooth, mischievous smirk crossed Azazel's face, turning his eyes to his ward as he purposely failed to hold back his guilt any longer.

From his side, just out of view from Raynare's eyes, a silvery-white snowball lifted into the air, untouched by anyone's hands as it hovered without issue against gravity, making itself known to her.

Raynare stared at him then to the floating snow, wide eyed that her adopted father would do such a childish thing…

...for about three seconds, before a matching, equally devious look spread across her face from ear to ear.

Quickly, Raynare fell to her knees, scooped up a wad of snow, pounded it together and –

"Hahaha! I got you! I beat you!" The young Fallen laughed, cheering for her 'victory' against Azazel in the battle of snowballs and forts.

Raynare lay comfortably on her back to the cold earth, a small mound of snow pushed aside from her form as she made rough snow angels (the irony being lost to the child) and looking out of breath from the skirmish of snowballs that just occurred. Azazel, smiling and lying similarly to his ward on the snow-covered balcony, chuckled as he heard the cheers.

"Hmm…nah, I'm thinking it was a tie."

"What? No way, I got you so much more then you got me!"

"Maybe, but I'm a bigger target. By that logic, you had the advantage. And I still hit you, despite how small you are. That should be, like, double the points, right?"

"What?! No way, dad, that's not fair! I totally won! I totally…"

There was a lengthy explanation following, several bizarre declarations as to why Raynare was undoubtedly the champion in the 'Snow War' of 1929. All the while, Azazel just cocked his head and watched as his little girl went into animated detail about how this and that happened on 'the fields of battle' and that was the reason why she got the advantage here or there or whenever. Azazel didn't much understand her tactical understanding of why having more snow on her fort gave her more points than his did but it wasn't really the point of the matter.

She was relaxed now. And happy – that was what was important.

Grrrr…

Raynare stopped in her talk, blinking as she turned her eyes down to her stomach. Smiling brightly, she let out a sheepish laugh. "I'm hungry."

Azazel barked a laugh. "Lunch?"

"Lunch!" Raynare jumped up, carefully stepping out of her 'Angel's snow angel' on the snowfield and ran towards the entrance of the castle, yelling excitedly about hot chocolate, cookies, sandwiches and any assortment of other fine foods she had no quarrels eating (she was eleven and skinny – why would she care about what she ate).

Stretching out stiff limbs and figuring he should go grab some warm blankets for the surely snow-soaked child to warm herself up, Azazel made towards the insides of his castle, feeling a level of accomplishment for the day –

Only to be abruptly stopped when a green colored, floating sphere appeared, hovering closely to Azazel's head and seeming rather urgent in its attempts at getting his attention.

Surprised but not completely unfamiliar with the orb's sudden appearances, Azazel calmly gripped it by his fingers and placed it to his ear. "Azazel here…ah, Tamiel! Good to hear from…uh-huh…huh? Wait, wait! Slow down, what's wrong with the market?"

Washington, D.C., United States, Mid 1932…

Raynare never stepped on soil that wasn't the Underword. She never knew a sky that wasn't violet, or what a human looked like, or how limiting it was to be tethered to the earth and forbidden to fly in the city. And for that matter, she'd never seen a city so filled with so many landmarks and was curious of the fashion trends humans seemed to keep.

Truthfully, she was forced to wear something that blended with her 'fellow humans' and did not stand out amongst the largely active city of, what she figured was, professionally dressed men and women. Her dress was a tight, gray piece of fabric, with stripes and a few polka dots that, even with being unfamiliar with human trends of fashion, could guess as much that this outfit sucked.

Seriously? Gray and polka dots? Who would wear this? Who would make this and think it would sell?! If she wasn't aware of just how important today was, she would have assumed Azazel was playing some cruel jest to her person. It wouldn't have been entirely out of his character.

The walk she was forced to endure towards the Grigori-Washington Headquarters was dreadfully dull. While being guided by her father's men so that she could 'appreciate' one of the most prominent cities in the world, Raynare forced herself to hold back grumbles and bored sighs as they continued to their destination. It would not do well, professionally or publicly, for the ward of Lord Azazel to appear uninterested or scathing. She had to remain positive, proper and the apple of his eye.

Any less would be unacceptable.

This sense of needed perfection was what made today all the more important. For today, the lord of the Grigori was allowing her to actively view a meeting of the organizations most important members to discuss a matter of, as she was made to understand, nation-wide significance. Though she was unsure of just what the meeting was to be involved with, and was semi-certain her father was not pulling her strings just to get her out of the Underworld for a time, these facts did not lessen the absolute interest she held in finally meeting some of the highest members of their order and not hearing about them from one of Baraqiel's long, unnecessarily-detailed, sleep-inducing tales.

Seriously! I don't need to know what kind of coffee Shemhazai had the day he fought a dragon! Or how long Remiel took in the bathroom to 'prepare' for his first fight with Devils – those are details I could have lived without!

And yet, despite her (mental) protests, she continued to listen. She paid attention and asked questions when her father's head of security had a moment's break to catch his breath between tales or epics. No one, not even Azazel, took the time to narrate about the days of battle and conflict of the Fallen Legion. But Baraqiel loved to tell his tales and felt some feelings of personal pride in Raynare's development. Even going so far as to take over her recent combat training himself, if only to show off, just how impressive the ability of an old lord of Grigori truly was.

Mikael and Benson's training seemed like a distant, pleasant memory by comparison...

Through it all, though, it was kind of interesting to hear a few of the stories: 'The Corrupt Warlock of the Dusk Market,' 'Penemue and the Cave Beast,' or 'Gabriel's Journey through the Infinite Prison.' Each story seemed so vivid and exciting when the 'actiony' stuff happened that Raynare (occasionally) didn't mind when it took an hour or two of exposition for Baraqiel to get to the good parts.

But this wasn't about the distant past of others and their great feats. This was about the young Fallen and her first venture onto human soil. Who, at the moment, was walking up the steps to a rather large, thick red-bricked building, smile brightening her face as she walked through the revolving doors.

Perhaps Raynare was expecting wonder. Perhaps she expected mysticism or brilliance. Perhaps she even expected some level of elevated structuring that showed off what it truly meant to be a high member of Grigori's foundation.

But in truth, the building's innards were as natural and un-magical as the rest of Washington. Simple brick structure, nice marble flooring, rooms with numbered doors for easy navigation – all very human.

It would have done little good for a building as essential to the North American faction of the Grigori to stand out as a sore thumb. Constant levels of prominent magical or Angelic machinations would have been like a headlight to all and any enemies of the Fallen Angels. Blending in with the humans and remaining an essential branch in the growing nation of the United States was the essential idea, devised by the ever wise Lords Azazel and Shemhazai.

But Raynare did not seem to notice the mundane nature of the building. The unimpressive nature of her surroundings only heightened the amazing view her young, impressionable mind was now witnessing.

Angels. Fallen Angels. Fallen Angels everywhere. At every corner of the lobby, from pairs to large groups, Raynare saw the faces of dozens of familiar, prominent, legendary members that made up the bulk of Grigori's greatness.

OH! Ohmylordohmylordohmylord! Th-that-that's Lord Tamiel! He coordinates all business transactions from the here to the Underworld! They say he only sleeps once every month-oh, OH! Lord Penemue! He-he regulates budgets foreverything! Those two are the bestest of friends-OH MY LORDS! ARMAROS! LORD ARMAROS! THE LORD ARMAROS! I LOVE YOU!

A small squeal escaped Raynare's mouth, staring at the, admittedly, even by Fallen standards, good-looking Angel.

I WANT TO STUDY THE WORLD OF MAGIC WITH YOU! TEACH ME! PRIVATELY! MY MANA IS READY!

The young Fallen certainly appeared excited. Face red and gleeful, it was taking every bit of willpower she had not openly 'happy-dance' in the lobby. And with Armaros in her sights…

One of her escorts appeared curious to her sudden exhilaration. "Uh, Ms. Raynare-?"

"Shh!" She hissed, holding up a single finger to the talking guard without turning her gaze away. "One moment, please."

The escort, though slightly taken aback, obediently complied, letting her have her…'moment.'

She stared. Hard. For a good fifteen seconds, she stared straight on to something neither of her guards was sure at what.

Then, Raynare gave a hard shudder, shifting her gaze to the floor. "Okay," She breathed out, smiling and taking deep breaths, "okay, I'm good now. Just had to," she paused again, returning her gaze back up, "wow." She giggled.

Her guards hadn't a clue what to make of this. "Ahem, Ms. Raynare? Shouldn't we be-?"

"YES! Yes, yes! W-we should be moving now!" Her high pitched voice didn't garner much attention from those waiting in the lobby for the meeting to begin, but her escorts seemed alarmed by her sudden change in composure. "D-dad must be waiting. Let's go!"

She took lead, again, her steps noticeably faster as she walked past the famous faces of the Fallen Faction. Her guards followed, but not without some bizarre glances at their lord's ward…

"…How many times must I run the predictions by you until it is clear?" Sahariel, one of the founders of the Grigori and prominent researcher over natural planetary satellites (or moons), asked with clear frustration. "Your 'candidate' has about as much chance at succeeding in office as Buchanan. He is a cripple, Azazel! How can that inspire leadership in a time when what we need is someone who can actually step on his toes?"

Traversing the Grigori's hallways with quick steps, Azazel fought back a groan. "Is there any chance we could suspend these wonderful talks about national politics until the meeting starts?" He was hopeful, but seeing the look on his colleague's face, a distinctive 'no,' killed his optimism as quickly as it came. "Besides, Hoover had his chance – no good came of it."

"Hoover was dealt a bad hand." Sahariel countered. "This economic situation has been a far-reaching, internationally-conflicting, domino-effect of unemployment and poor money holding occurrences." The two of them turned a corner. "No one predicted such a massive downturn in the stock market. Not even Tamiel, and he practically breaths stock information. If a man who's studied the human marketplace for millennia couldn't have stopped such a poor contained situation, then tell me how Hoover would possibly have been able to?" Sahariel, frowning, turned and gave a hard glance at Azazel. "I believe Hoover has potential to reform the nation; a strong faith. And not some broken governor from New York will stand out amongst someone with a term of experience and understanding of the nation's suffering."

Azazel returned Sahariel's stare, hearing the strong backing behind his words. Better to choose the devil you know then the devil you don't? Not a bad concept, but- "Roosevelt still has my vote of confidence," Grigori's leader reaffirmed. "I will not judge a man on his ability to talk and to think based on the functionality of his legs – and you would do well to not insult cripples in my presence." He pointed a finger at the lunar researcher, his point received. "The New York Governor has my interest. His 'New Deal' idea has my intrigue. And frankly, I want to see how it pans out." Humans were always so fascinating. One second, they looked they reached the peak of their potential. The next, they were scaling past that peak and moving onto the next. It was actually exciting to see; like watching a child take its first steps. Humans were so much fun to watch!

However, now wasn't the time to admire the humans for the advancements. Instead, seeing small signs of annoyance on his old friend's features, Azazel decided the talks on politics were reaching a zone of intensity neither was feeling overly comfortable with.

So, with a smirk and a casual throw of his arm around the grizzly man's shoulders, Azazel tried to ease the tension between. "Besides, when have you known me to be wrong on something as important as this? Hmm? Come on! Have a little faith in your old pal!"

Watching his old political rival purse his lips under the, admittedly, accurate boast was a little victory in itself. When it came to matters of international state, the Governor General was rarely (if ever) wrong. He did his homework, studied his opponents, and valued whatever information he was able to ascertain. It was what made Azazel the leader of the Fallen Ones. He was crafty, charismatic and intelligent. And while Shemhazai, his right-hand man, was certainly no slouch with his own intellectual capabilities, he preferred to stay in the back corner of most conversations and allow his longtime friend to say the words that needed to be said for the benefit of the Grigori and all who associated with them.

The two together were exceptionally persuasive with any and all manner of conversation or argument.

And yet, Sahariel would not fully recognize or accept Azazel's thoughts. Not that the man did not bring up or possess sound reasons behind his motivation to support the Democratic candidate – they were quite good, if he were being honest – but it did not mean he would relent. While he held strong beliefs in second chances, especially to those who he felt earned the right to have them, there was also a secondary means for why he hoped he could convince the Fallen council into supporting Hoover for reelection. Something he could not pass up.

Though selfish desires weren't frowned upon by the Grigori (in fact, you were downright encouraged to indulge yourself on anything and everything that gave you a mental, physical or emotional high), Sahariel knew if his motives behind supporting the previous, deemed inept, President of the United States were to be found out…

Brushing his old comrade's arm from his shoulder, Sahariel tightened his necktie gruffly before turning around to look down the hallway they just passed.

"Myra," he called, "is everything prepared for today?"

Turning around himself, Azazel looked over to the far corner from where the two Fallen leaders had walked past moments ago, only to see just the smallest glimmer of a figure's eye, watching them carefully, as they talked and discussed their individual matters uninterrupted.

Stepping into the hallway, a slender, well-kept woman of significant poise and obvious pride made herself known. Her skin was a light pink, with hair an almost hazelnut coloring and a glowing pair of honey gold eyes. Wearing a dark blouse over a gray jacket, with a matching skirt and dark brown high heels to finish the ensemble of a high class, highly professional woman, Myra – as Sahariel called her – stood quietly to be observed by her betters.

Azazel stared at the newest addition to their little meeting, feeling the edges of his lips turn into something akin to a smile and a smirk with a mischievous edge at the end. "Ah, so it is true then," he snickered, voice oozing with a hidden joy at what he felt was a growing, humorous situation, "the secretary of Lunar Research, Observation and Theory really does follow you everywhere." Azazel playfully poked at his associate, watching the previously hard and tempered Sahariel be flustered by to the woman's unnecessary actions. "Oh, you dog, you!"

It was common rumor that the chief lunar researcher of the Grigori had an almost frighteningly loyal secretary, who doted on the man's every need and ambition, not unlike a dedicated lover (though everyone knew Sahariel was married to his work). Every action, every theory and every consideration that came from Lunar Research had, in one way or another, his and her fingerprint on it.

Myra the Secretary was dedicated, loyal and motivated in assisting Sahariel in all matters he sought.

"My lords," said woman spoke up, her voice equally beautiful and monotonous as she offered a curt bow to the two men, "I came to inform you both that the meeting will begin in approximately thirteen minutes," she reminded, noting a standing clock in the hallway, its long point nearing the top as the men continued their little chat-and-walk through the building. "Shall we make haste to the boardroom, Lord Sahariel? I have your folders and projections accounted for and your speech prepared, but I would like to discuss the matters of-"

"DAD!"

Myra hadn't been able to finish. In fact, her voice was quickly cut off from whatever matter of importance she was meaning to discuss by the sudden, loud interruption coming from further down the hall.

Azazel and Sahariel, surprised in the own ways by the sudden disturbance to their semi-business-like environment, turned away from the secretary to look towards the quickly approaching form of a, from Sahariel's viewpoint, very young Fallen Angel, followed swiftly by a small group of well-dressed Angels.

Raynare, excited and panting from her jog around the building, in search for her guardian, quickly ran up to Lord Azazel without seeming to notice the two other important Angelic figures beside him. "Hey dad! Dad! You won'tbelieve who I saw downstairs! I-I saw Lord Tamiel an-and he was talking with Lord Penemue and I don't know what they were talking about, but it looked super important and-OH! ARMAROS! I saw Lord Armaros! And he is just so…so…haaa…"

She swooned again; face crimsoned and coupled with the completely relaxed smile that showed she was pleased with what she saw.

Azazel could only laugh, turning to the confused pair of Fallen at his side. Calming himself, he pulled Raynare to his side, smiling proudly. "Apologies, Myra. My daughter forgot herself." Raynare didn't seem to notice, still caught in the 'glow of Armaros' before feeling a small tap on her shoulder to knock her from her daydream. She finally seemed to realize she was in the presence of others. "May I introduce my daughter, Raynare. She will be joining us in the conference room as my plus one." He gestured a hand to the two Fallen. "Raynare, this is Lord-"

"Sahariel!" Raynare interrupted, excitedly ripping herself from her father to stand, positively glowing, in front of the new Angel. "You're one of the original founders of the Grigori! The lead developer, researcher, theorist and philosopher of Lunar Research, Observation and Theory, Grigori Faction!" Raynare's enthusiasm was loud, certainly, but it did seem to surprise Sahariel in a small way, if his single raised dark eyebrow was anything to go by. "Founded early tenth century with the discovery of the first pureblooded werewolf, Sahariel recognized the importance of celestial beings and planetary bodies and, alongside a small group of still loyal original members, has strived to discover the secrets of the universe, though with a currently strict focus on earth's moon since the sixteenth century."

She paused for a moment. "Remembered and decorated as a war hero for bravery at Voltinye Valley, Heathcliff's Hole and the Peregelene Peninsula. Only survivor of the Kaasah Mine Fall with a personal renowned accomplishment of going into single combat with one of the original Satan Lords, both as a Pure and Fallen Angel." She took a breath. "Oh! And your hobbies include stargazing, gardening, midnight walks on the beach and…and…uh…"

She paused for a moment. It took Raynare a moment, it seemed, to grasp the full extent of what she was saying to the elder Fallen. Her lips started to part into a gape, her eyes widened, and her reddened cheeks, if nothing else, was a dead giveaway to just how embarrassed she was feeling.

It didn't help that she could hear her father's silent snicker off to the side, or feel the cold stare of the unknown woman at Sahariel's side.

Flustered and self-conscious of her sudden and very vocalized 'understanding' of one of the original founders of Grigori, Raynare attempted to alleviate her growing sense of discomfort by bowing deeply to the perplexed Sahariel, all the while apologizing loudly with the most complex word uses she knew.

"Peace, child," the elder Fallen said, waving his hand in an attempt to stifle the insistent attempts at formal apologies. "No harm was meant nor found. You may relent on your apologies." Raynare, carefully, lifted her head to make eye contact with the hard expression of Sahariel. It was difficult to tell if he was serious about being unfazed by her blabbing or not. His facial features, like his scientific interest, was rigid, cold and unchanging, no matter the situation. "But I do find myself curious on how you found out such…familiar details about my person…"

Raynare straightened out her posture, swallowing hard at the tall, admittedly strong statured Angel. She tried to come up with an answer that summed up the entirety of how she got such personal information, without coming off as timid as a Sunday school girl.

"…Baraqiel loves to talk?" She replied, her words coming off more as a question as if this was an acceptable answer.

Sahariel, in his great wisdom and understanding of his fellow Fallen, nodded after a brief, lip-curling moment.

"Indeed." The older Fallen Angel replied, accepting her words as making the most sense out of anything else she might have given him. "The old crow certainly is a peculiar one, is he not? For someone so quiet, I do believe Baraqiel enjoys the sound of his own voice more than he should. Hmph. Certainly enjoys giving stories more detail than necessary…"

"You can say that again…" Raynare, still unable to make eye contact, agreed quietly. Turning to Azazel, who was clearly more amused about the situation than young Fallen felt he should have been, she quickly moved to his arm, grabbed hold and started to tug Grigori's leader away from the awkward scene.

"Come on, dad. Meeting's starting soon."

"Aaaah, is 'wittle Waynare' embawessed?"

"Dad, be quiet!"

Sahariel was not a bad man. Like any man – human, Angel, Devil or otherwise – he strived to further his goals and ambitions towards an end game, with the hope of a significant return on his investment and time. He acknowledged that with any long-term goal; blocks and challenges were almost certainly going to occur. Being an Angel, time was not an immediate factor of concern. And even in the case of monetary values, his personal estate was by no means lacking, either.

And yet, there still seemed to be complications of actual progress to be made, it seemed.

As the young Fallen - Raynare, he attempted to put to memory - stated, the old lord of Grigori held the office of 'Lunar Research, Observation and Theory' since its original founding, several centuries back. And as was stated, his interest in all things beyond the comforts of dimensional worlds and earthly bounds were quite well-known. Centuries of scouring the vast cosmoses of different worlds, in search of life beyond, had given him quite a practice to spend his free hours doing.

Sahariel was an Angel with his mind beyond the clouds, the skies, and the very heavens themselves...

At present, Sahariel watched Azazel, laughing and joking with his ward, walk away without worry, strife or concern down the halls of the Grigori headquarters.

In many ways, this irked him. Perhaps his sin of Pride believed he should have garnered at least some worth of unease in his political opponent.

Did he have some backup plan? Some ideas or information of worth that would sway the others to his side? Was that the reason for his unfazed attitude?

Watching the guardian and his ward walk excitedly in the direction of the meeting's room – Azazel's laughing, Raynare's pouting and yelling at her 'father' to grow up, with their guards being a monotonous and quite as they had been when they arrived – Sahariel's mind wandered to the strange happenings surrounding the Fallen child.

Myra, ever observant, noticed her lord's watchfulness.

"My lord, something troubles you?" She asked, her voice turning a touch softer then how she spoke in the presence of Grigori's leader.

Sahariel, never one to hold much back from his most trusted member of staff, turned his attention away from the pair and down to Myra's inquiring expression. "I was just…musing," he told her, "on how the young Miss Raynare is developing into a fine young woman; a true symbol of Azazel's guidance and care." He barked a laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised if Azazel was grooming her to be a prominent player in the Grigori. He always did have an interest in bringing out the utmost in his projects." It wouldn't be too farfetched; Azazel was a man of ambition and foresight. This girl might very well have been his attempt at creating a legacy for himself, should the time come to pass down the reigns of Grigori's leadership onto another.

"And this troubles you why, my lord?"

"Hmm, it shouldn't." He admitted. "It's just unusual. This Raynare; perhaps it is her association with Azazel?" So close to the summit to decide the presidency for the future of a nation, it was impossible to not feel some strife towards those associated with your political opponent – annoying, though it might have been, to be angry at a child who had no actual background in the world of Grigori politics. She certainly came off as someone to associate with easily, and under different circumstances, he might have felt a small bit of flattery at such enthusiasm and joy to be within his presence.

But though she was only a child to his eyes, she was also the child of his opponent.

This gave the man pause, as Sahariel turned to his close friend and confidant, looking her in the eyes and silently proclaiming the importance of the moment. "Myra, a question: what is your opinion of her?" He asked, and seeing tension build in her posture, lifted his hand, similar to how he attempted to calm the embarrassed Raynare, and comfortingly added, "And speak freely. I could use an extra voice on the Fallenborn child." Whether she was a future political rival to get on his good side, a thorn to consider and be wary of or just a child who he shouldn't contemplate a second of further thought towards, his secretary was certainly the more openly considerate of the two. And, if given free reign, would not shirk her words.

Myra the Fallen Angel was a master of the art of prediction, which many considered bordered on perceived foresight. Her ability to read humans and guess the circumstances that would come of even the slightest use of a word or comment was second to none. And though she was by no means a psychic or a divine being who could perceive a limited degree of the future, many doubted that there wasn't, at least, some Godly gift bestowed upon her.

She was too accurate – too precise – in her warnings to have just a simple knack for reading the news or the people around her.

She predicted the assassination of Julius Caesar, saw the rising religious strife that would eventually bring about the Thirty Years' War and bet money on whether the United States would enter a Civil War with itself. And this was just with human conflicts. When it came to people, she most certainly had a gift; a gift, which over the millennia, many had hoped to use for their own personal projects, goals or ambitions. Her ability border lined the stuff of legends. And though not an original member of Grigori, nor a prominent fighter in the Great War, Myra was undoubtedly a valuable asset to whomever she was aligned towards and garnered just as much respect as her elder peers.

Why then had she chosen to stand beside Sahariel; a man whose focus of study was hardly oriented around the divination of the people or predicting the comings of the earth? Why, many Fallen would ask, was gifted Myra so enamored with Sahariel and his work?

From far strung rumors of blackmail to an unrequited love or even some sort of mind control, whatever the reasons, it would seem she was content with keeping the information personal and a secret from any and all inquisitors.

Guarded, capable, devoted – excellent qualities which were all readily available and given at Sahariel's command.

And now, being asked by said man on a matter of concern that brought him troubled thoughts, she decided to give her best answer on the recent addition to the Fallen ranks.

"The child is…just that." She began, choosing her words carefully as Sahariel gave her his full attention. "She is young. Knowledgeable and pretty, if by first impression alone. Her appreciation of your history does shine a somewhat better light on her then I originally placed her in, I will admit. And being the child of two lustful Fallen is…unique." Myra nodded to herself; deciding this was a good way to start her small analysis of the child. Positives, first.

And then the negatives. "However, I found her to be inconsiderate and rude for not addressing you, nor Lord Baraqiel or Lord Azazel, by their proper titles. Such an offense is irresponsible and thoughtless and should be plucked before it festers out of control." It seemed easier to find the bad and talk about it than the good. "And though apologetic, she talks first and thinks over her words second. A trait, I believe at this point in her young life, she should have better control over." She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts and breath. "Further, she is the ward to your current opponent on the matter of the presidential election. That, at least personally, gives me reason to believe we should be…"

She paused briefly, thinking of the right words for the child.

"…We should be…wary of her, at least…"

Myra finished. Perhaps she didn't notice how tightly she held to the folder in her arms, or realized the narrowed look of her cheeks as she stared absently down the long hallway. Throughout her musings and personal rendition of the Fallen child, known as Raynare, her appearance grew steadily more aggressive and hard, enthralled by her own words.

To Myra, Raynare was neither perfect nor inept. She wasn't aware of her place in Grigori's political spectrum or the importance she might hold in the near future. She was naïve in that regard, but not necessarily stupid. Youth was her only fault, which the years would no doubt fix.

But still, she was - at least for the moment and only by her association to her guardian - the enemy. One of potential growth and capability.

And enemies, even ones with only a limited potential, were still enemies…

Sahariel silently listened to his secretary, watching the shifts in composure as she discussed her observations openly. Like he asked, she spoke freely and without the fear of being judged.

He liked that about her. She was blunt as a hammer on a nail. At times, it held his annoyance and disapproval, but at that moment, it was appreciated. "Thank you, Myra. I will keep your council in mind." He kept his tone neutral, as was usual, but nodded his approval to her forthcoming. "Now, I believe we have a meeting to attend to?"

"Oh. Yes, of course. Well, before we start, I just wanted to remind you about your timing on the third valid point. It's almost perfect, however…"

Like the rest of the Fallen Headquarters, the Room of Collaboration, as it was simply named, was adequate in appearance and well-designed for its essential purpose, but was little more than that.

The Room of Collaboration, or simply 'The Room,' sponsored a single long, wooden table across the center of it, with a dozen or so comfortable-appearing chairs adjourning its sides (six on each). The walls were coated with a tannish-toned paint; corners were marble pillars that held the tall room's ceiling high (in case for a situation where wings wished to be stretched/guests that weren't Fallen Angel average heights were invited); and the corners of the room held a number of chairs that, while similar in appearance to the ones around the center table, didn't have any sort of comfort to lay items or personal effects on. Its appearance was very business in style and held little warmth to it. It was not a place for comfort or enjoyment and only to be used in the most important of discussions or meetings. A nation in desperate need of a strong leader to help produce a strong economic situation that would, in practice, help assist other nations in their own dire financial situations seemed like a good reason to use The Room.

The meeting started with Azazel, standing and addressing all attended at the head of the table, in a naturally formal and quite proud tone, befitting his station. He smiled, addressed the camaraderie of Grigori's finest and fit the position as 'Lord Among the Fallen' to the letter. All in all, the initial stages of the meeting went quite well, with Azazel allowing his opponent, Sahariel, to stand before the original founders of the Grigori and begin his portion of the debate.

While this was going on, Raynare sat quietly off to the side of the conference room, legs crossed and face tense as she tried to take in every detail, word and movement made while also attempting to hold back her excitement for actually seeing all of the founding members of Grigori in one place.

She wanted to take pictures, run the list of accomplishments each member held through her mind, perhaps even ask for an autograph but managed to refrain herself. It would have done little good to make a scene and ruin her appearance to those who closely associated themselves with her father. In a way, she represented the tutelage, guidance and ability of her father. Young though she was, even she would not deny herself some pride in knowing she was someone of import, if only through her association with the Governor General.

Raynare hoped to change that, eventually, through personal merit, hard work and dedication to improving the way of life for all Fallen. Youthful devotion and enthusiasm, though it may have simply been, there was no denying the smile it brought to Azazel's face when she openly declared her intentions to take his job from him, one day.

He looked forward to it, in fact, but back to the matter at hand.

Raynare's attention was solely kept on the first stages of the meeting. The opening reasons for the meeting, the arguments made by Sahariel, followed shortly after by a counter argument by her dad, then a repeat between the two, using large words and information she was certain wasn't readily available to the public. The way the two bantered and contradicted or even back-talked one another in ways that hoped to get a rise out of the other while still remaining true to the topic at hand was nothing short of stunning.

During the proceeds, Raynare was certain she would have screamed and shouted had she been in her father's place (tempted to do so anyway for talking against her dad like that!) but refrained, seeing as how everyone else in the room was quietly viewing the situation with an open mind and eye.

She guessed she should have considered herself fortunate; there were only thirty to forty Fallen allowed to view this important matter. Invitation was limited; each founder being limited to only one extra to be brought into the meeting, with the rest who remained being there for security reasons. While most brought in their assistants or some form of personal aide, Azazel decided to bring in his ward and show her the political side of the Grigori Organization.

Realizing this (and thoroughly touched to be considered so highly), Raynare decided that showing a little courtesy and remaining silent would not be the end of her…

It was unwise for any meeting with the several founders of Grigori to remain in the cramped, uncomfortable room for long.

The Room wasn't suited for conversations lasting usually longer than an hour, which helped its persuasive power for the Fallen Lords to reach a vote of universal decision quickly, if only to get out of the dull surroundings they were forced to remain in. The last time the lords remained in the cramped space for longer than an hour, by the end, it required a new roof, table, chairs and paint job.

The Room of Collaboration, essentially, sucked.

Thankfully, it seemed the matter of argument that required The Room's 'persuasive power' would end faster than others. With the American's Presidential Elections coming up soon, a choice would have to be made (in contrast to other issues, which could be argued over for weeks, months or even years (they were not limited by a human lifespan, so such issues were rarely of anyone's concern)). As you can imagine, this would be difficult if there were two parties opposing sides and with a shortened timeframe, this matter alone was earning quite a bit of attention and wonder on who would win.

Sadly, after an hour of arguing, no full vote was met in support of one side or another (which only ever happened once in the history of the lords arguing). Thus, the lords of Grigori broke for lunch.

There wasn't a cafeteria in the building. Such needs for food or drink would have to be done elsewhere. This would give time for the several lords to go their own ways and return some two-three hours later after cooling off whatever tense emotions were built up during their rare meet-up.

Walking out the front doors of the building, even Raynare was appreciative for the brief reprieve from the conversations and arguments. Though focused and cool during the discussions, it was still a political meeting occurring in front of a teenager. Boredom was a natural part of the age group. And now, standing outside and feeling the warmth of the sun and feeling fresh air blowing through her hair, Raynare felt quite pleased for her first breath of fresh air in what felt like hours.

"Hmmm-haaaaaa! Phew! I can breathe again!" She laughed loudly, pumping her arms up in a stretch. "Oh, and how I missed you sun! You beautiful, blinding thing in the sky!"

Azazel, following slowly behind, chuckled. He felt tempted to remind her that the meeting really did only last an hour. But, why ruin her fun? "Raynare," he caught said girl's attention, "how about a little something to eat before we have to go back, hmm? Anything you'd like, we'll get."

Now thoroughly pleased with having escaped the Room of Collaboration with the new prospect of a grand lunch ahead, Raynare felt ready to run off the list of human delicacies she'd heard about since arriving. Creativity seemed to be their main attraction; even during the economically hard times, the United States' major cities still held a place or two that held high-class accommodations. This was doubly so when considered this was the politically active and wealthy-lived city of Washington.

However, whatever joy might have been quickly growing inside the youth was thoroughly crushed by the arrival of two familiar Fallen Lords.

Baraqiel and Shemhazai walked smoothly out of Grigori's Headquarters, both dressed impressively in human-apparel which, even to one as clueless about human fashion as the young Fallen, held a sense of importance and position that spoke highly of both individuals. Baraqiel's black hair was cut close and smoothed back to avoid his eyes, while Shemhazai's shoulder-length sandy-blond was held tightly by a single string behind his neck, making his appearance more youthful then most of the Fallen Raynare was familiar with.

Their faces were straight and focused. This was what was commonly referred to by Azazel as the 'no-nonsense-we-have-work-to-do-stop-joking-around' looks that meant work was being put ahead of pleasure and relaxation at the moment.

Which meant, as Raynare was only well aware, if only by the remembrance of such occurrences happening all too frequently in her youth, of what was coming next.

Baraqiel moved to his lord's side, whispering something unintelligible to the younger Fallen but caused a frown to appear on Azazel's lips. Nodding reluctantly, he uttered a quiet, "I'll meet you both momentarily," to the two of them, receiving brief nods in return before the two turned back to the building.

Raynare frowned along with her father. "No lunch?"

He shook his head, mumbling, "Not for me, I'm afraid." He let out a long sigh, reaching into his suit's inner pocket and pulling out, what appeared to be, a large stack of green papers.

Azazel flipped his finger through the thin sheets, counting off a few sheets before pulling them out and handing them to his ward. "There's fifty. Take it anywhere you'd like and have a meal for the both of us." Raynare, guessing the handed papers were something monetary used by the humans. Certainly, they were a contrast to what she was taught and familiarized with using (gold, jewels, diamonds and so on).

Though she found it strange why printed paper could hold actual value, she couldn't deny it was easier to hold in hand. "Okay."

"Don't be afraid to spend it, I have more. Just go find someplace fancy and enjoy some music. It's not every day you're old man brings you to the human world, hmm?" He was smirking, and despite not being able to join her, Raynare managed to smile back.

"I guess." He was often busy with work. This was nothing new. "I'll have fun, I promise."

"Good." He raised a hand to ruffle her still growing black hair, earning an annoyed growl. "Now, come. I'll assemble your escort and prep them for departure. Should only take a minute or two-"

And that's where Raynare voiced her opinion on that decision. "Ahhh! Dad, come on! You can't be serious!" I'm fourteen, damn it! "I'm not a kid anymore! I can handle myself!"

Azazel crossed his arms. "Hey now, this is a big city and not exactly the safest one to be found carrying a bit of change like that around in your hands. You need someone to watch your back."

"Dad, again, I'm not a kid anymore! If someone messes with me," she lifted her arm, feeling the pull of light and energy to almost create solid form before her father quickly placed his own hand over hers, effectively dissipating whatever formation might have created.

That earned a sharp look from the man, but Raynare ignored it. "I'll be fine. Promise."

She gave him a look. The look. A look, it often seemed, every daughter innately knew since birth. A look that said 'please daddy please daddy pleeeease!' in the most affectionate way possible.

And Raynare was naturally cute. That added a practical +10 to its effectivity on anyone who was hit with its 'full effects.'

Though his eyes were hard and jaw tightly grit, Azazel's face did hold some worry and nervousness to it as he looked Raynare over. She was, by all accounts, his daughter. That came with some responsibility and obligation to put her safety above all else.

And yet, she wouldn't be a child for long…

"Nope. Nah-ah. No, definitely not." He shook his head, releasing his grip on her arm and wagging his finger pointedly in the young girl's face. "Now you listen here: you are going to wait right here until I get back with a platoon of guys to watch you eat, laugh, burp – whatever it is you do at a restaurant, you hear me?" Raynare raised an eyebrow then, frowning still. "You are not to move one step until then. You are not to go anywhere, nor do anything,until I bring out some people. You understand, little missy?" Raynare was starting to look very confused, narrowing her eyes at the bizarre tone and choice of words from the usually carefree caretaker.

Then her expression lit up. "Oh, I understand." She smiled then, nodding quickly. "I won't leave this spot. At all." She stood up straight, hands behind her back and looking positively vibrant.

Azazel, in response, nodded with firmness. "I expect nothing less from you, my dear." He stated, tone taking a weird, over-the-top firmness as he pulled the smiling girl close and placed a small kiss to her forehead. "You are a most obedientchild, you are."

Raynare giggled. "I try."

Present…

His first step forward made Raynare flinch.

His second caused her to take a nervous one back, herself.

His third, fourth, fifth, and so on, brought on a sweat that wasn't because of weariness.

Naruto didn't seem to react much to the closing distance between himself and the Fallen Angel. His eyes, for the last while, remained hard and red, glowing in the dark church. His appearance was not dissimilar to what Raynare guessed old Satan Lords must have appeared as towards the first conflicts of the Great War; tall, without fear and oozing unnatural power that shouldn't have been possible to hold.

At least for one who wasn't blessed by the Father's holy light.

She wondered if they felt what she did; the anxiety. The distress. The growing feeling that, if she were to even attempt an escape, she wouldn't make it far.

He would hunt her.

For he was the predator and she was prey.

And now, with his standing form no more than a foot in front of her, she couldn't imagine those dark, foreboding eyes belonging to anything more than some savage beast in human skin. For what but a monster could bring such unnerve with nothing more than a raw stare? Those unnatural, slitted pair of red…

She expected some form of attack. Some disorienting move that truly captured the feral appearance of Naruto Uzumaki. She wanted him to do something aggressive and rage-fueled. She wanted him to make a mistake through his anger and create an opening for a kill shot. She wanted the monster to be monstrous.

So why wasn't he? Why wasn't he angry?

She killed the nun. Did it for power; for herself. She attempted to skewer him without mercy. She insulted him, the nun, and made herself the undoubtable obstacle in whatever chalked-up plan he had for saving the dead nun.

Why, why wasn't he angry?

Why wasn't he furious, red faced, seething? Why didn't he spout words of heroism or justice – wasn't that what heroes did? Speak about righteousness and the betterment of the world? Why wasn't he doing…anything?!

Why wasn't he, Naruto Uzumaki, angry…?

Just…just…do something!

And he did.

Naruto lifted his arm, slowly and without any sign of ill intention, reaching out towards Raynare's prominently shaking form. His fingernails, she recalled, looked like they could rip the skin right off of her. And yes, even with the small light of the full moon passing through the damaged roof above, they did seem to shine like small knives on his fingers.

It was only that glisten of his nails that shook Raynare out of her stupor and realize her thoughts were being answered.

NO NO NO!

She responded quickly, her face tightening into a snarl as her arm lifted to its side. The energy came so naturally to her now, feeling it twist and solidify into a desired shape faster than she ever dreamed she would possibly be capable of. She felt the smooth ridge of her spear in her hand, felt the energy elongate and twist into something easy and quick to make. It was swift; it took even less time to bring her arm back before driving it forward, the spear's sharp edge parting the air as it narrowed the distance between its point and target.

The target being Naruto's head.

I. AM. NOT. WEAK!

Naruto's outstretch arm stopped short from the girl's body.

It shot to his side, the back of his hand brushing the spear's head and brushing it harshly to the side.

His arm was longer; his strength higher; and his speed? Inhuman.

What might have been a simple brush of his arm to the side, in an attempt to stop the spear from its desired goal, had the added effect of knocking it out of Raynare's grip and tossing it towards the church's wall – shattering it into a several dozen finger-sized spheres of light, each quickly evaporating into thin air.

Raynare, to her credit, was surprised but didn't stop her assault. Instead, seeing an opportunity, she decided to create some much needed distance between herself and her red-eyed foe. Leaping back towards one of the far corners of the church, using her wings appearing to add additional strength to her distancing of herself and the teen, she brought her hands immediately to her sides, readying another quick stream of spears – this time with added width, strength and explosive power. This was her plan.

It didn't happen. Naruto was already on her before her arms even had the chance to channel her focus.

His stance changed from its straight position. Now, he was lower to the ground, his legs bent and wide while his arms were curved. His hands were made into fists and coupled with his still red eyes, looked almost eagerly awaiting the chance to hit something.

They didn't wait long to, either. His fist almost instantly drove itself into the Fallen's stomach soon after her landing.

A punch to the stomach is a complicated occurrence.

The body instinctively tries to tighten itself to reduce the impact and internal damage one feels from the invasion of personal space. Using muscles, one's body tries to contain or prevent any harmful outside force from entering. Those muscles, either through training or natural development, are the second line of defense against attack, behind one's skin. This is often the situation or happening where other muscles or areas of attack might occur in.

In short, muscles, while being often a testament to one's strength, are also a creature's way of defense.

But, though rare, there are the occurrences where the body is unable to contort itself to prevent an oncoming attack. Being caught unaware or unassuming can lead to a body's lack of reaction to the imminent action that is about to occur.

The circumstance of Raynare's sudden fist-invading blow to the abdomen was of the latter sort: the punch came so quickly – so suddenly – and without any sort of warning that her muscles simply hadn't reacted. The blond's punch, a sharp contrast to his previous intimidation show, wasn't held back by any of the Fallen's natural instincts for self-protection and effortlessly smashed into her unguarded torso.

But she saw it all. Even without time to react. She saw it – the blur.

He was fast. Too fast. He was at the center of the church, then he was at the end, closing the gap between them and landing the first blow without so much as a speck of mercy to his features.

His eyes were still on hers. That was the last thing she saw before the pain erupted inside of her.

She remembered gagging on pained breath – her mouth agape. She could feel bits of spit (or maybe blood) slide down from the corner of her mouth. Her legs shifted backwards, attempting to keep balance while holding her now shaking form. She would have used her arms, had they not been covering the point of impact carefully, hoping to stop the pain before it became, if it were possible, worse.

Was her eye twitching? They were certainly wide enough; perfect violet orbs being stared uncompromisingly by her blond assailant. Of whom, Naruto, standing still with arm still outstretched, allowed a brief moment for the pain to fully set in his Fallen combatant; the pigeon not seeming to like being on the receiving end of the pain he was coldly bringing to her.

The shock of the attack was vibrating through her, making it difficult to think, let alone fully make sense, of what just occurred.

But one thought was obvious to her. It was just as painful a thought – revelation, if you would – as the fist driven through her abdomen.

He, Naruto Uzumaki, was in control.

And now, bringing his arm to the side again, Raynare's red-eyed assailant threw his fist in an arc across the stunned Fallen's face. The blow, echoing loudly into the church, sent her flying (this time, without the assistance of her wings) into the far corner of the church.

Washington, D.C., United States, Mid 1932, mid-afternoon…

Ominous dark clouds started to move overhead in the capital of the United States. Though unpredicted by forecast officials or meteorologists, who previously assured a bright, clear-sunny day to the city's inhabitants, it seemed many had opted to bring along appropriate clothing and umbrellas, in case of such an occurrence, with many of those who hadn't come prepared dashing into nearby restaurants or buildings to avoid the oncoming storm.

Many except for Raynare, who despite acknowledging the dark clouds on her way back to the Fallen Headquarters, did not seem to mind.

What was a little rain or mud or water to her? She certainly wasn't afraid to get the 'wonderful piece of human fashion' dirty and even snickered in hopefulness.

Her meal was fantastic. Amazing what fifty American moneys could purchase you during the early thirties. The meal was rich, hot, tenderized, well-flavored and spiced and warmed her soul to its core. Overall, sitting in her leather booth, she found this single occurrence to be a very fond experience, if a bit lonesome, though she repeatedly reminded herself that it was and that she got it and that her dad was simply busy. It was perfectly understandable and repeated the exact reasons why she understood her father's plight several times during, before and after the meal, if only to erase the loneliness of having to venture out into the big city without company.

She further reminded herself that she did go without an escort trough the city, and while being babysat wasn't her ideal case of fun, they did sometime have words to exchange with her that alleviated some boredom.

But, again, this was her choice and she would hold no regrets to it!

So now, walking the quickly quieting sidewalk, marveling in the growing silence of her surroundings and vacancy of the usually active and crowded city, Raynare relaxed herself before mentally readying herself for another agonizing hour of political talks in 'The Room.'

Brrr. Where once The Room had seemed like a silly story on how even the best Angels could go crazy in there, it was now something that made goosebumps crawl up her skin.

She rubbed her arms, smiling with a giggle. Despite the warm air, it seemed a cold breeze was passing through now. The sky was darkening and the clouds overhead were dimming from grey mounds into deep black nimbus clouds that almost seemed to be coming to the ground.

She laughed at the idea. Clouds (and Angels) were in the sky, people on the ground.

She stared at them further a little longer, laughing at her imagination.

They still seemed like they were falling. Heck, they even seemed to be growing. But, surely, that was just her mind playing with her. Clouds didn't grow. Not like that.

She cocked her head.

Still dropping.

She blinked.

Still growing wide. And she couldn't see past them.

Her smile fell a little.

Now the dark clouds were covering everything.

And they seemed to be glowing…purple.

No, wait, the clouds had purple lights coming from them. It swirled in them like they were in water. And, looking at them, she almost thought she felt something…wait…no, it couldn't be…

The energy almost looked…Angelic.

Her eyes widened

A barrier.

"Ohhh. Look what we have heeere!"

A voice shouted out from nowhere. A male's voice.

"A wittle baby Angel, looking like an adult with that pretty little dress!"

Raynare's eyes widened further, twisting around to turn to the sound of the voice. She didn't see anyone.

The voice was high pitched and giggling behind words. It seemed to come from Raynare's back at first, but now from the side. She tried to move her head to meet the voice, only to see nothing and have it switch where the sound oriented from mid-sentence.

"Oh! How utterly precious you are!

"Precious? Hardly."

A new voice now. Still male, but deeper and having a distinct snarl to it that wasn't entirely different from the first voice.

"Disrespectful, I'd say. Insolent, even. Not even calling people lord when it is proper? Not even to her father, in front of his fellow higher beings?"

There was a clicking sound of a tongue.

"Impudent child, indeed."

"Teehee! Oh, no denying that! Such a disrespectful, awful little bitch!"

The first voice turned overly aggressive at the end. It unnerved her.

Then it laughed.

"Oops! Might have gone a little far there! Yeeheehee!"

"And yet, she deserves every word."

She heard what sounded like someone spitting on the ground.

"This…freeloader of freeloaders is no more worthy to stand beside the prosperous Lord Azazel than she is to lick his boots clean!"

There wind picked up around her, waving her long hair around.

"Disgusting child. No wonder she is so…undesired."

"Heehee! We don't want her! Her parents didn't want her! HA! I bet Lord Azazel doesn't even want her!"

The voices were around her. Everywhere. Mocking and poking her mind.

She tried to ignore them. She tried covering her ears.

Then she felt a foot kick her from behind, knocking her to the earth.

"Don't you dare ignore me, you damn pubescent bitch!"

Raynare turned quickly. Whoever the owner of the voice was, it was gone again.

She stood up, warily, feeling the sting of the boot on her back.

She didn't cover her ears again.

"Disrespectful, nosy, ungrateful, ugly little-gahh! Just looking at her-"

"I know. Vermin, isn't she? Never seen a child of Fallen before. Might be the first, if I were to guess."

A harsh laugh.

"Can't say I'm surprised no one else had one. Gross, unnatural thing, she is."

"Bitch is uglier than a Grave Eater rolling in shit ain't she?"

"Now, now, don't insult the Grave Eaters. They actually have worth in the worlds, don't they?"

Laughter again. Raynare continued to swerve in a circle, trying to make out any disturbance in the area. She might have caught a shadow at one point but couldn't be sure.

But she was tired of the mockery.

She raised her arm to the side, focusing on the feeling of light.

Then she felt a smack to her side.

"Ah-ah-ahh! No! Light! From you!"

The high pitched voice was laughing again. The deeper one laughed too.

"See how she squirms? We'd be doing the world a favor of ridding it of this weakness."

"Hohohoo! Not bad, not bad! I like this idea! Can we do it – oh, please! – can we do it?!"

"Oh, we must! Surely this will be allowed-"

"Silence."

And then there was.

Raynare blinked. A third voice. Male, again. Commanding, this one, not completely unlike Baraqiel's.

And the voice was in front of her.

Turning her gaze to the sky, she made contact with the first person inside the barrier. She saw a dark cloaked form. The face was covered in rags, blocking out the definitely man's facial features.

He had a pair of black wings holding him up.

"Let us finish this." The third voice's booming tone commanded.

Beside him, two figures, similarly dressed in dark robes as the third voice but noticeably skinnier then he, appeared in the air.

Dark wings, both of them.

They were Fallen.

Raynare's eyes must have been wide, because the skinniest of the three, and the owner of the first voice, was laughing at how 'pretty' her violet eyes looked absolutely terrified.

The third man sent him a brief look, silencing him, before turning his gaze back to the young Fallen.

"Raynare of the Fallen," he shouted, voice booming, "know that I hold no ill will toward you."

He lifted his arm to the side. Silvery beads of light formed a rough sword in his hand.

"But this must be done."

He gave it a throw. It impaled her leg, right through the dress.

She screamed. She screamed loudly. She screamed louder than she ever had.

Pain. This pain was intense. Weapons of light were just as effective on Angels as anything else.

Harsh reality.

The first and second voices were laughing loudly, almost as if they were trying to laugh louder than she screamed. They wanted her to hear them laugh at her misfortune.

"Oh, this looks fun!"

A body fell in front of her.

"Tell me, does this hurt?"

The man grabbed the sword in her leg and twisted.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Yeeheehee! Yep! That hurt her! Now how about this!"

He kicked her. A kick to her stomach. The sole of his foot digging into her abdomen.

She lost the air in her lungs, falling backwards.

"YEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Oh, oh! Let me-let me!"

The sword of light was pulled from her leg. She could see through closed, pained eyes the shimmer of the sword breaking.

The sword was gone. Then she felt a leg press down on the opening of her stabbed leg.

"AAAAAHHHHH-NO-NO-AAAGGHHHHH!"

She begged. She begged loudly.

"Heh. You're right. This is kinda fun."

The second voice continued to press down on her open wound.

After a minute of screaming and pressing down, the first voice spoke up again. "Hey-hey! Wait a second! I-I think I got a great idea for her!"

His compatriot, under his disguise, raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?

"Oh yes! And it's a doozy! I call it 'the lesson plan!' Haha! You'll love it!"

They laughed some more, until the pain in her leg dulled for a moment.

Raynare barely heard them. The pain was blinding, deafening, agonizing.

Her throat hurt from all the screaming.

Then she felt herself pulled up by her hair. They weren't being any gentler.

They brought her up to their standing eye level. The pain in her leg helped her dull the pain of her hair pulled.

If only a little.

"Ahhh-AHHH-AAAHHHHH!"

The first voice was still laughing. He enjoyed her screaming.

He brought her face close to his eye level.

He whispered:

"Where's your daddy now?"

It took her a moment to make out what he said. She managed to open one eye to meet his stare.

"D…dad's-"

Punch.

"Ah-ah-ahh! No! Bad girl!" He punched her again. Twice. One to the stomach, the other to the face. "It's Lord Azazel. Not daddy! Lord!" The man pulled her by the strap of her dress. Though she could not see his face (part in due to the mask and one of her eyes now slowly being swollen shut) she could practically feel the twisted smile before her. "What was the magic word, again?"

Spit.

"Ah! Cunt spat in my eye!" He dropped her. She fell onto her knees, holding herself up. Then he kicked her in the ribs.

He did it again. And again. And again. And again. Several times again.

Ribs, mouth, legs, neck, arms, back – everywhere.

Her knees wouldn't hold her. She fell to her sides.

She felt feet on both sides of her. The second voice, no doubt, assisting his friend.

The third voice was still in the air. Watching.

It ended, eventually. The first voice, slowly, brought her up again to eye level.

This time by her neck. His grip was hard and quickly left marks.

"Got anymore snark in ya?"

She didn't. She had blood.

"Tsk. That's right, bitch." He poked her side. A bruise was already forming, and the light touch was making her flinch. "And don't you forget, little dipshit. Never forget your lesson.

"It's Lord Azazel. Not 'daddy.' Lord."

The first voice dropped her then. She fell, crumbling to the floor. She couldn't even roll herself into a ball.

Everything hurt. Everything hurt.

But, amazingly, not once did she cry.

"Ahh, hope I don't get infected or nothin.'" He almost sounded concerned. Then he laughed. "Maybe I could cut out her tongue? No more spit then?"

"Would that even work?"

"Won't know till I try-"

"That's enough."

The third voice was calling out. The sound of a landing of feet was heard.

Raynare didn't dare open her eyes.

Through closed eyes, she saw a shadow over her. The third voice, she almost hoped.

She was right. He knelt beside her, looking her over carefully.

Bleeding, bruised, beaten, grievously injured.

His associates were severe and effective.

But it was now time for his part.

"You are Raynare. You are Fallen."

Lowering his head to the whimpering girl's ear, he whispered the words he'd been required to personally deliver.

He made his mouth into a snarl.

"You hold no value in this world. You, who have been spoiled since birth, know nothing. Are. Nothing." Her whimpering stopped. She was listening. "You are an infection to all that we have strived, starved, and hardened ourselves for. We have been since before the formation of nations and have changed the course of entire planets with our actions. We have survived the horrors of war and earned the right to be here. You have not. You were born lucky and have earned nothing that has readily been given. You hold no place with us, because you are not us. You have nothing to offer, nothing to give, and nothing of value to show for yourself."

He pursed his lips hard.

"You are Raynare: the unwanted."

There was a pause before he stood.

Raynare had listened to it all. The silence was what she would remember above all else that day; the brief silence after.

How could silence hurt so much?

"Ha! Serves you right!" The first voice shouted, laughing as his partner moved away from her body. He wiped a fake tear from his eye.

Then another brilliant idea came to him.

"Hey-hey! One last thing-one last thing!" He lifted his arm up. In his hand, a pale green, sharp shaft of what looked like a knife came to his hands.

His grin behind his cowl was evil.

"I just want to ask one last little question to the class before we go."

Raynare could hear his steps slowly approaching her.

"How would you like if I pluck those pretty little wings of yours, hmm?"

He took one step closer. The step sounding almost like an earthquake going off in Raynare's mind.

She awakened then.

She jumped, twisted from her spot on the ground. She was scrambling. The threat to her wings – too much, too much!

She flew upwards. She didn't care where it led her, as long as it was away. Far away. Away from them.

She got maybe a hundred feet away. Her face was sweating, bleeding, bruised and with streams of tears fallen down her cheeks.

She was scared. Truly, utterly scared.

She got three hundred feet in the air. Above some of the nearby buildings.

She turned her head to check for pursuers.

Instead, she saw the dagger of the first voice. Its green energy makeup was narrowing the distance between herself and it.

It was only by this brief turn back on her part that allowed her to twist herself around the projectile and avoid it's sharpened point.

It passed her by, getting a few meters ahead of her before exploding in viridian light.

Present...

It was a testament to the architects of the old church that they managed to build something that still managed to hold itself up after so many years. Though heavily covered in moss, molded, covered in vegetation and still managing to withstand years of natural weather occurrences, without outside assistance, the church was made to last, that was certain.

Doubly so when, even with the sudden impact of Raynare's body into the corner, it did little more than seem to shake up the loose dust in its cracks.

Her back hit hard, shaking the church's foundations further as untouched dust shook around. The gasp for air and shout of pain was the only indication that she was even still conscious.

Even as she dropped to the floor, falling to her knees and gasping for much needed breath, drops of sweat covering her face and forming slowly on her neck and shoulders, it did not seem she was going to give into the pain. She still held on, carefully, to her awakened form, pressing her arms to the ground and pushing her worn body from the hard wood floors.

The reason behind her ability to retain consciousness from such attacks was guessable. Maybe some pride as a Fallen, trained under the Fallen Leader Azazel, Lord Among the Fallen, remained. Perhaps it was the ever present healing of the Sacred Gear, Twilight Healing, which continued to give her energy and strength to continue fighting, despite the vicious blows dealt by her opponent. Or, for all that was known, it might have simply been Raynare – prideful and determined Raynare – who's very determination to achieve victory over the challenges in her life continued to push her forward against the hero.

Whichever the reason, it seemed enough to spur the young woman forward; prevent her from giving up.

As she held herself up on all fours from the dust and dirt covered ground, Raynare's head lifted up to make eye contact with the blond.

This won't…end here...

The first thing the boy noticed in her eyes was the lack of prevalent fear they once held. No doubt the fear was now overrun by traces of the prevalent anger, aggression and fury she held since their bout began, but there was something else now.

Motivation. Motivation that even overshadowed the rage.

I won't...

Even with the blood creeping down her chin or the (already healing) bruise on her cheek, she seemed to be growing a fire inside of herself that she lacked at the beginning. In most cases, he thought while watching her attempt to stand up from her crouched position, he might have applauded her resolve. The sheer attempt to continue fighting against someone like himself – intimidating and powerful, he had no trouble admitting he was – might have seemed inspirational, were she not the enemy and the murderer of the now dead nun, sitting a dozen meters behind him. It was this only thought that kept him from encouraging her resolve.

Though truthfully, he did still need her to fight.

It was close: physical and energy levels were certainly lower than before but he still needed to push her further before he could end this conflict.

This would require a reaction out of her. A strong reaction. Strong enough to be the final push to end this night.

I refuse…

But he was Naruto Uzumaki. Garnering desired reactions from friends, foes and strangers alike was something of a natural talent of his. And using words, above all, was most certainly his specialty.

And so, with plan in mind, Naruto straightened his form, eyeing her hostilely and brought a harsh smirk to his mouth.

"Is that all? Sorry. Guess I was expecting something a bit more than a glorified light show."

And there it was; his words. He finally spoke – acknowledged her existence. And in response, he was given a murderous stare.

Raynare – grunting, sweating and with no small amount of evident fatigue – pushed herself to stand back on her own two feet. Her arms were sticky and the dust that fell over her shoulders stuck to her like tape. There might have been cobwebs, too, that tangled there was into her hair but she did not seem to care. The struggle, above all else, was the thing to push her forward.

I refuse to…!

Her back was hunched at first but slowly stood straight, offering an audible crack as it realigned itself comfortably. Her fingers were similar; squeezing them into fists with audible tension built into the joints, veins popping in her arms as they gripped tight.

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry and rough, then grit her teeth and offered a look, so vicious, it almost seemed to mirror the fanged hero.

She yelled–

"I REFUSE TO BE UNWANTED!"

–before taking to the sky.

Washington, D.C., United States, Alleyway…

Raynare the Unwanted…

"Do you see her? Do you see her?!"

"Did I say I see her?"

"Oh, shut it!"

"No, you shut it!"

"No, you!"

"You!"

"Oh, would you both just be silent for once!"

Raynare the Unwanted…

"Ahhhh criminy, guys! I don't think she's here no more!"

"Well that's just perfect! Y-you just had to try and blow her up, didn't ya!"

"Hey, that wasn't my fault!"

"How do you figure, Mr. 'How would you like if I pluck those pretty little wings of yours'?"

"…Uh...umm…g-give me a minute to think of something not crappy…"

"Argh, Wrathful…"

Raynare the Unwanted…

"Enough. Come, what's done is done. If we don't depart soon-"

"'Someone's gonna see that big barrier in the sky'-yes, we know, ma. Sheesh! We're not entirely incompetent here!"

"Says the incompetent fool who lost the girl."

"Now, see, why do you gotta be mean like that for?"

"Silence!"

"Ow!"

"Ow! Jeez, why you gotta hit so hard?"

There was a sound like flapping wings, a shift in the air like something fast was moving through the area, with an unsettling silence following.

They were gone now.

Raynare wasn't sure how they missed her. Her space of hiding was the only available place to hide in that skinny, empty alley. A lone dumpster, 'conveniently' placed right at her point of landing, which just so happened to open just wide enough for her descending, injured, and extremely sore body to perform a crash-landing into; the panels closing shut with her harsh and ill-prepared entry.

Raynare the Unwanted…

The dumpster probably belonged to a restaurant of some sort; one that served Italian, if Raynare's possibly broken nose was serving her right, with a strong secondary smell that might have been alcohol, but she might have been mistaken (there was some laws against the selling of alcohol, after all). The thing was probably covered in bacteria and germs, with flies and other buzzing insects a strong indication that certain sanitary procedures were not being met. She hoped it was only her imagination when she thought she felt the patter of hairy feet and body graze up her legs…or the squeaks and nibbling sounds that followed after…

It took her some time to realize just where she was after landing. Her ears were ringing after the explosion of the rogue Fallen's exploding dagger and the less than graceful reentry towards the earth. Her eyes had light specks that still burned every time she tried opening them to get a clear view of the garbage around her. Though her skin couldn't be burnt from any light-weapon produced explosions, the sudden push from the energy detonation was enough to disorient her sense of direction for some time. Even after regaining some of her bearings, thanks in part to the sudden shouting from the Fallen who attacked her, whose shouting awoke some of her fight-or-flight instinct and pumped enough adrenaline into her veins to waken up some of her dulled senses.

She was thankful her common sense hadn't been dulled. She might have leapt from her place of landing in fright had she not figured the idea of hiding was better than confronting three (semi) competent Fallen Warriors.

She was…lucky…

Raynare the Unwanted…

At least, that was what she thought at first.

Then came the memories. Through the darkness of the trash bin, she remembered. Remembered their words. Remembered their snarls. Remembered the kicks, hits and thrashings that came at the same time. The way they pulled her hair and threw her to the ground. The way their tones held such animosity, as if they were barely holding back silenced opinions.

Was she imagining it? No, the pain was real; their words must have been true.

Was it her father – no, Lord Azazel, who protected her this long? Did he know their feelings? Was that why he kept her in the castles? Moving around, away from Fallen society, never letting her out to the world? Was that the reason she only knew teachers, servants and affiliates of Azazel all her life? And for that matter, were the servants of his estates only pretending to appreciate her? Was it because of their pay? Had her f-Lord ensured they would not voice such cruel opinions personally?

Had her Lord suppressed his own cruel thoughts from her?

But one question stood out amongst the rest swirling around in her mind. One that shouted-demanded-begged for an answer that wouldn't readily be answered.

Raynare the Unwanted…

Raynare the Unwanted…

"…Am I not wanted?"

There was a sound like thunder outside her hidden place. Though she couldn't see it, the soft patter of rain slowly grew into a full torrent, followed quickly by an escalation in sound that announced the arrival of a significant storm.

The heavy rain, thunder and four walls of the dumpster dampened the sounds of crying coming from the alleyway…

Present…

The roof of the church had already fallen through after years of neglect and rainfall. It was open to the sky and, on that particular night, showed off a visibly pleasant full moon. The air was cool, the trees were swaying quietly with a night breeze and the stars, even against the city' lights, shone quite nicely up above. In most cases, this would have been a pleasant night for any late night situations, rendezvous or 'romantic escapades.'

But for Raynare, hovering a hundred feet in the air with wings outstretched and free from the closed confines of the church, it was open space perfect to separate herself and the boy.

She had Naruto's attention. This wasn't surprising – he never let his eyes wander from hers since they started their little bout, but a short while ago. Their fight couldn't have started but a few minutes before; ten at most.

Why did it feel longer?

She would admit, with reluctance, that the boy's presence bothered her. Though his stature, claws, and fang-like teeth certainly gave her pause to wonder just what kind of human could do such a bizarre transformation, it was his eyes that unsettled her the most. The unfeeling nature about them was most certainly inhuman and shouldn't have belonged to anything capable of sentience (but, oh, how she would have enjoyed plucking them out at that moment).

They followed her without fail and never let her out of their sight for more than a second.

And they were always focused on one thing: her eyes. Always her eyes.

Why? Why did they look at her like that? Why did she focus on his eyes so much in return?

Was it because it was the pair of things that stood out most prominently to her during the fight? Was it the way they never left her position or gave her chills down her back? Was it the unreadable nature behind them that was so different to the way she was instructed so many years ago in the ways of combat? To read your opponents' eyes and thus read the way they fought before they fought?

But how do you read those? She would wonder. What ideas or thoughts or strategies do they give away?

She did not know. There was only the piercing red. They might have seemed aggressive or angry to her, but that might have just been the overall presence of the blond. His narrowed expression, tense features and gritted teeth were the only indication of emotion that was identifiable. But beyond that, what was there to see? What lied behind the wall of his mind - thoughts, ideas, emotions, perceptions, clues or tactics? What was he thinking and what strategy could Raynare use to counter such brutal efficiency that was this hero.

Against such animalistic efficiency and psychologically unnerving fighting, what was she to do?

And the answer came to her in four simple words.

Fight fire with fire.

Brutality with brutality.

Destructive force with destructive force.

Her face was hardened then. Focus overcame fear and worry was replaced with temperament, placing all of her attention into the single point above her head. Her teeth grit harder than she could remember ever doing so from annoyance and strain; a small part of her wondering half-handedly if they would crack under the pressure.

Her arms trembled. They were tired, weak and overused now. Her constant attempts at forcing energy through them to channel the number of spears she'd used without time to rest, was now costing her precious reserves of energy and control over herself. Though the Sacred Gear residing within her was providing mystic energy that both healed and provided a deep well of power for her dispersal, it would seem her own stamina would not be quickly recovered from her stolen holy item.

But that did not matter now.

Working through pain and weary, she lifted her arms over her head, pointing them straight to the night sky; her palms were pointing upwards flat to the sky and stars.

She closed her eyes.

It took a moment to imagine her desire. To imagine the will of her energy out beyond her palms and into a form beyond her hold. She imagined the form, the creation and purpose. She delved deep into herself to think of its point, its potency and its density. The size – oh, the size! – was the worst of it. The sheer height, weight, width and measure of what she was only first attempting in her life was only made possible on that night. Each atom of her imagined creation would threaten to explode before its completion. The power was too much beyond her normal ability – screaming at her to stop and reconsider, but being refused each time.

She needed its dangerous levels of power. It would be the only chance she had.

She could see the image in her mind, now. She could see its dangerously unstable structure, barely being held together by will alone.

The image was set. It was time for its creation.

Neither Kiba, Koneko nor Akeno were especially familiar in the workings of Angelic energy. But this went without saying, of course; they were Devils, after all.

But even without applicable knowledge, the way the energy surround the hovering Angel twisted, thickened and held a weight to it like gravity was pulling them towards its center was anything but reassuring.

Koneko, in her usual straightforward way, spoke her mind. "This won't end well."

At her side, Kiba silently agreed with that gross understatement before turning to his Queen with a look of increasing urgency. "Akeno, ideas?"

A contrast from her usually smiling expression, Akeno now looked thoroughly involved in the happenings between Naruto and the Fallen Angel. Throughout their little bout, she held her focus strictly on the two of them, almost forgetting she was in the company of her Peerage.

She turned her head briefly towards Kiba. She didn't say a word, just pursed her lips tightly before returning her gaze upwards to the Fallen.

Watching was all they could do.

"No…Raynare…you can't…"

Mittelt began to shake. Her eyes were wide, staring up above the church. She'd managed to return a small bit of feeling back in her body to twist her head up towards the floating Angel.

But it would not be enough to outrun what was coming.

"Please…don't…"

The energy was too unstable. Its construct would break open from the impact with anything solid. And even if Mittelt were just to go off the growing light-based structure's size alone – a large, dark violet-colored sphere that was easily growing beyond the size of a small car – she had no doubts that the resulting release of energy would level the church, the surrounding area, and maybe a good few hundred feet in every direction around the point of impact.

She never imagined the young Fallen of Grigori could have the power, control or desperation to make something as impressively destructive as what she was witnessing. The Sacred Gear really must have been something impressive to even be able to believe she could accomplish this. It added to her power, as well as her stupidity, if she thought this last ditch effort to kill her opponent wouldn't also result in her immediate destruction.

This was borderline suicide.

"She'll kill us…she'll kill us all!"

Standing beside Mittelt, the teal-eyed beauty stared to her blond-haired friend.

He seemed utterly unfazed.

Washington, D.C., United States, Mid 1932…

"Are you sure you've checked all known possible locations? And I mean all – Georgetown, the metro tunnels, the Potomac – everywhere!" There was a reply over the phone. "Well check them again! Rip open the Capital Building if you have to! And get in contact with Armaros again; see if maybe the CIA has noticed a weird girl walking around. Father knows they're sticklers when it comes to security and everything weird." More voices over the phone. "Are you sure all restaurants were checked?" A murmur. "Fine. Meet back here if anything else develops. And don't forget to make regular rotations on scouts – last thing we need is for damned lightning to blast anyone out of the sky." He could see the American headlines already – 'Lightning Strikes Man with Angel Wings! Heaven Falling Over Washington?!' That would be a nightmare to cover up from any American news channel.

The other end of the phone responded with a positive, the line dying soon after. Azazel, after returning the candlestick telephone to its rightful place in the hotel room, was almost tempted to give it a nice toss out the window.

No word. None. No sightings, no information, no progress. For the last twelve hours, neither hint nor lick of information pertaining to a long, dark-haired girl in a gray-polka dotted dress could be found anywhere.

Azazel blamed himself. He should have seen the sign that something was wrong when she didn't show up immediately at the time for the start of the second portion of the day's meeting. He considered the idea that, because of the storm, she must have bunkered down to wait out the storm, and that shortly after, she would make her way back to the Grigori's headquarters. Though an Angel, even a Fallen, could not succumb to sickness or illness, it did not mean most enjoyed the feeling of being wet or soggy from outdoor weather conditions. Surely she must have been doing the logical, smart thing and waiting for an opportune time for the storm to wane out.

Except she hadn't.

Then the idea occurred to him that she'd contact him if there was an issue. Though he told her Angelic abilities were prohibited, she was aware of the phone numbers to his personal office, his hotel suite and the headquarters' main lobby. Surely she would find some building, business, or at least a gracious household that would allow her to use a temporary line to contact himself or a representative to ensure that he was made aware of her current, hopefully positive, situation.

Except she hadn't.

It was going now on the twelfth hour of her non-availability. He'd contacted other lords, coordinated search groups and even called upon available human recourses in search of his ward. Azazel was sweating, aggravated and wasvery tempted to go out and personally search for the girl. He could neither sense her presence nor her Angelic energy. Which meant either three things: either she was intentionally suppressing herself from his senses (which as far as he knew she wasn't educated in being able to do yet); her energy reserves were so low that they weren't able to be found by natural methods of searching (which could have been brought upon by fatigue, lack of substance or any manner of mentally afflicting conditions); or the third option, she was dead.

Azazel only grew more aggressive with these thoughts.

It was only Baraqiel, who sat quietly in a chair off to the side of the suite, near as tense as he, who managed to stop him in his foolhardy attempt at searching an entire city for one small teenager.

"We need to remain stationed here," Azazel's longtime friend offered council, "if the miss returns, we should be ready to receive her. If there is news of her whereabouts, we will receive them by telephone. If others believe you have gone missing as well," he left the implications of his departure open, Azazel reluctantly acknowledging his words and the consequences that would come if he were to leave.

And so he waited. And waited. And waited.

It was nearing midnight now.

At this point, Azazel was very tempted to break D.C.

"Baraqiel…!"

"Patience, my lord, patience," the fellow Fallen Lord was urgently trying to prevent his friend from performing something rash and/or destructive. "Have faith in the legions. They will find her – I promise."

There was a silent pause for a moment, of which Baraqiel took as a silent acknowledgement from the Governor General that he would remain calm a little longer.

Instead, slowly, Azazel turned his head around, a look of no amusement plastered on his face. In fact, contrary to the usual, he looked downright murderous. "Baraqiel…you realize you're supposed to say…'they will find heralive'…right?"

The air in the suite seemed to be growing hotter all of a sudden. Baraqiel had the grace to look sheepish...and maybe even a little worried…

"Uh, well…you see, I thought…it-it should have gone without saying-"

Click. Scree…

The door to the hotel suite opened. The two lords responded with quick turns of the head towards the far wall of the room.

Raynare stood outside the room. Just stood there. She was covered in mud; in grime; in sticky materials and other unmentionables from her toes (which lacked a pair of shoes and socks) to her black hair (which looked like it had a wrapper tucked away in its folds). Her polka dotted dress was no better; taking the brunt of most of, to the best of the lords staring her way, whatever happened between midday to the present late-night hour. Its gray sowed material was not a brown or deep black, with even the dots being mostly blocked out and unintelligible. Her face appeared muddy, but after closer inspection, was bruised from her eyes to her neck.

It took a moment for even Azazel to register that this was his daughter. That this…this…distraught young woman was his. That the usually bubbly, excitable and too full of energy young girl who always smiled in his presence was in front of him, looking absolutely ruined.

The young Fallen, in turn, didn't seem to notice her guardian even when he, in a small panic, rushed to her side, kneeling down to get closer to her eye level and trying to form words.

"Raynare! Raynare, how did-what did-where have you-what-WHAT?!" Azazel was shaking his head, using his arms to brush away some of the gunk on the young Fallen's precious face. It fell to the floor and looked ready to stain but the Lord of Fallen didn't care an inch. "Raynare? Raynare, look at me!" It took a moment, but her gaze did fall to his, though it seemed as if she were looking through him. "Wha-what happened? What happened, baby girl?"

Baby girl. A small nickname the old lord picked up from one of his estate servants, who affectionately referred to Raynare as such when she was still in diapers. It was a pet name of which he had no problem using either; he couldn't actually think of one himself that sounded better.

During her youth, he frequently referred to her by the name, which usually brought giggles to her because she enjoyed the sound of her little name so much. But, with the dreaded years of adolescence came a level of embarrassment to her. Any sort of nickname that didn't hold her approval usually received a fit, pout or tantrum from the youthful Fallen. According to her, she wanted to be seen as mature, developed and a proper Fallen Lady. Thus, she announced that she wished to be called by her full name from then on (though, Rayna was close enough that she didn't outright berate her guardian).

Though Azazel allowed himself to hold back on her old nickname (out of courtesy to the ringing in his ears that threatened to pop his eardrums), it seemed old habits died hard, especially in the present situation. The old name slipped out before he could stop himself.

He expected some sort of reaction from her. But all he received was a low, "I'm fine, d…Lord Azazel." Her eyes still didn't meet his still. In fact, the next second, she shook her way out of his touch and stepped away further into the hall. "I-I'm fine, Lord Azazel." She turned her head up and looked into the room. "B-Lord Baraqiel." She greeted solemnly.

Baraqiel raised an eyebrow. Lord? "Raynare," he returned, "is everything alright?"

She stared at him. "Yes." She said. "I'm fine." She repeated. "But…I'm dirty." She lifted her arms, signifying her less than dignified appearance. "I…I wish to wash." Her tone was dignified, proper, and stiff. Her expression was almost confused, looking between Azazel, who's expression was best described as shell shock, and Baraqiel, who to a lesser extent, matched his friend. "Might I, m-my lord?"

She was asking for permission to wash herself. She was referring to Azazel as 'my lord.' She wasn't smiling.

Azazel's eyes were looking her up and down, eying her as if she were an alien. "Raynare, Raynare, listen. T-the wash can wait." His hands reached out trying to hold her shoulders. The teen stepped away from his touch; shaking her head only the smallest amount. But the lords caught it. "What happened, Raynare? Who did…?" He gestured to her.

Raynare's eyes fell over herself.

"…I…I fell." A pause. "I fell hard. H-hurt myself." Her muddy hand went to her face, but stopped just short of touching herself. "I fell in mud. I'm fine now."

Azazel's mouth was gaping. She was in shock. "Ray-"

"Lord Azazel," Raynare spoke over him. "Please. Might I take a wash?" She was shaking her head light, looking almost dizzy. She swayed a little. "I…I feel dirty."

Azazel, who'd tried for the last minute to get eye contact with his ward unsuccessfully, stared at her dirtied expression.

At best, it was blank; lacking in everything similar to emotion.

At worst, she looked like she'd been brought back from the dead.

He didn't know what to say. He turned to Baraqiel. He didn't know what to say. His usually tough expression was a step away from completely dumbfounded. He stared back to Azazel and didn't seem to understand what to say either.

So, Azazel did what he thought was best. He nodded. "A-alright, then." He gave a few stiff nods, pursing his lips. His eyes were furrowed. "You-you get cleaned up and-and I'll get something made for you." He gave a harder nod. "An-anything you want, just name it and I'll have the hotel-"

"Thank you," she interrupted again, shaking her head even harder than before, "but…I'm tired, my lord." Her eyes were shifting between her feet in quick motions. "I think I'll just go to bed."

There were no more words exchanged. She stepped around Azazel, moving to the door, legs stiff and, now that the two lords had a better look at her bare feet, bleeding. Her visage was such a contrast to the sharp white and peach colored room that it was like watching an undead move through a living space. She dragged the filth and blood into the suite, making her way to the open door to the bathroom and closing the door quietly behind her.

The two lords stared at the doorway to the bathroom for some time. The quiet was almost ominous; Azazel expected a shout, a scream, crying or something to disturb the unease that swirled around them.

He was still kneeling outside the suite. Baraqiel was at the doorway. They hadn't moved a step.

"My lord?" Baraqiel turned then, staring down to his friend. He'd never seen the gold-black haired look so…so…unsure. Unsure of what to do or what to say or what just happened.

He looked helpless.

Azazel didn't immediately acknowledge his friend. He was still just staring to the door. He lowered his gaze after a brief moment, looking at the floor where his daughter stood.

The mud and rain would stain the floor. The trash that fell off her could be picked up. The smell would fade or be dealt with by the hotel staff. He might have to pay a little extra to deal with the damages but he didn't care. That was money; he had plenty of it. More than plenty.

But money wasn't what concerned him about that spot on the floor.

The small thing sticking out from the slosh of mud, however, was something that caught his eye.

He picked it up. His hand moved to brush loose bits of dirt from it. Baraqiel couldn't see what had the Lord of Grigori's attention. He craned his head, trying to see what was being held so carefully, only to have it kept from his view.

He would have voiced his curiosity, only for Azazel to stand then.

He turned to Baraqiel. His expression was tense that made his old friend stand at attention.

Baraqiel hadn't seen such narrowed eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a frown that screamed displeasure since the beginning of the Great War.

The Lord of Fallen was in command.

"Send word to the lords. Call off the search parties. Tell them we found her." He stepped into the suite. "I want five men to be in this room at all times. I want two dozen outside in the hallway. Tell them to not move a foot until I say otherwise." He went to the phone. "Tell Shemhazai to come in here and look after Raynare. Tell him everything that's happened. Make sure she doesn't do anything-Kokabiel," he spoke into the device, "close down all routes out of Washington D.C. Anyone who attempts to get past your people, you have my permission to detain them. If they don't comply, you have full authority to deal with them however you wish." That would make the old Wrathful happy. He could already hear a small giggling over the line. "Raynare has been found. Spread word to everyone you can. I'm spreading the word out here. Don't release the closed routes until I say otherwise." He dropped the line. "Baraqiel, you're with me. Complete the jobs then meet me at Grigori HQ. Don't tell anyone but Shemhazai where we're going."

Azazel threw on his cloak, straightening the old fabric over his suit and made for the door.

Baraqiel stared at him. "Wait, Azazel," forgetting formality, he moved to the door as Azazel walked down the hotel's hallway towards the stairs, "what's going on? What's happening?"

Azazel stopped ten feet from the door. He waited a moment, thinking quickly, then nodded. "You deserve as much," he whispered, turning back to his friend. He lifted his hand up, showing off the item he'd produced from the spot of mud Raynare stood outside the suite.

Though dirtied and still covered in spots of mud, Baraqiel realized, with no small amount of astonishment, what was being held to him.

A feather. A black feather.

"This doesn't belong to Raynare," Azazel told him, though his friend could see as much. Though feathers of Angels looked the same to many races, in the eyes of an Angel and Devil, there were very distinctive tellings behind a Biblical race's wing contents.

Similar to a finger print that was readable, an Angel's feather was one's identity and DNA put together. And to the trained, an Angel could tell who's wing belonged to whom, so long as they were familiar with the wing content of the person they were examining.

As part of initiation into Grigori, a single feather was required as payment into their ranks. Many saw this as just a formality – feathers were easily grown back – but this was only half of the truth.

Azazel, strong in mind and memory, took the time through the years to memorize every initiate's feather design and makeup since the initiation of the organization. His mind was like a bank, with memories being tiny vaults to be opened with pieces of information presented to him.

This black feather was a key. It unlocked a part of his memory.

"I know whose feather this is."

He had a lead.

Present…

The energy above her head was now growing to the roughly the size of a car now. Its rounded form was shifting and changing with the surplus amounts of energy Raynare continued to pump into it. With each inch gained with the expansion of compressed energy, the more it seemed ready to release itself outwards in all directions. It threatened to shift in several different directions and forms, each which would threaten the integrity of the energy and perhaps set off, what Raynare dubbed, the 'light bomb.'

It was vibrating. It shined with a violet light, none-too-dissimilar to her spears.

And after a solid minute of pumping everything she could into its form, Raynare felt that now was the time.

She turned her head down to the blond.

She would have smirked had every bit of willpower, every bit of focus she held not been focused on both her target and the energy construct above her head. He was so confident, so valiant – but this would be his end. He was foolish if he thought he could survive, in that human body, against something as magnificent and impressive as the bomb above her head.

He was a fool. An utter fool.

And this would be the end of him.

"Die."

Over the strain, her voice was little more than a whisper. The veins on her forehead were prevalent and her eyes were a step away from being downright vicious.

"DIE!"

Her muscles tightened for only a moment as she threw her arms forward, following an arc downwards towards the church below.

"DIIIIIIIIIEEEE!"

The bomb followed her arms, sweeping around her and falling towards the church.

The area of impact: Naruto.

To his credit, Naruto appeared calm; awaiting his opponent's final attempt at finishing him off.

He originally expected something similar to another barrage of spears or perhaps even something of smaller, faster, but not as destructive in nature. A dagger of light, perhaps? Hundreds of them? Instead of strength, she'd opt for speed and overwhelming numbers instead?

No.

Turns out, the exact opposite was now happening. And despite appearances, contrary to his 'holding-ground' aura and hard expression, Naruto was actually a little surprised.

He wasn't an Angel. He wasn't a Devil. He wasn't a master manipulator of all forms of energy (being limited to one or two types in his life). But he would have had to have been a complete idiot not to realize how much power was being put into the making of the sphere above Raynare's head.

If the big, swirling ball of purple wasn't a big enough clue, what would?

However, it only took someone of a common understanding around energy manipulation, formation and creation to see that whatever idea was forming in Raynare's head, it was dangerous and the energy above her was unstable. Naruto was familiar with destructive spheres of energy – another story of another life for another time – and understood that the way his Fallen opponent was going about the creation of her last attack would not only be destructive, but self-destructive.

This made the stakes a little bit higher to work with.

But, thankfully, a previous lifetime of energy manipulation and control was about to become very helpful.

"DIIIIIIIIIEEEE!"

Thankfully, the blond didn't need to wait long, as the Fallen Angel swung her arms down towards the church floor, the bomb following in direction before leaving her mental grip and flying towards the earth below.

Or, more specifically, towards Naruto's standing position.

This brought a silent smirk to his face. Good, he thought, I won't have to move around to catch it or anything. It was only a hundred feet in the air and moving towards the earth at a good pace, aided by gravity and the force of Raynare's mental toss.

But to Naruto, it was almost too slow.

Seven meters.

Six meters.

He raised his arms to the air. Not too unlike Raynare previously, he held his palms to the sky, head held up as the glow of the violet bomb closed the distance between itself and him.

Five meters.

Four meters.

He thought he might have heard a shout from his side. Kiba, maybe? Be careful? Run away? Naruto couldn't quite make it out.

Three meters.

Two meters.

He had the urge to itch his nose. He resisted it.

One meter.

Landing.

BOOM.

There was a silence that filled the church for a moment. The happenings of what just occurred took some time to process for the members of the Gremory household.

Kiba could only stare at the blond. "…Whoa."

Akeno, breathing a little easier now, giggled. "That's our Naruto-chan!"

Koneko stared at the scene. "Never doubted it."

Mittelt couldn't believe her eyes. "He's human…he can't be…that's not possible."

The young woman with the blue-green eyes shook her head, bemused. "Showoff."

Naruto was actually forced to grit his teeth a little. His legs, curved at the knees, were actually sinking into the wood floors, cracking them under the pressure of his latest physical task.

The task being: he caught the bomb.

Held up by a pair of lightly tanned arms, the violet sphere of energy was apprehended. His two hands held onto the violet glow of the energy, looking tense as they attempted to push back against the significant pressure that threatened to crush the area below the blond.

Overall, it was like lifting a big weight that fell from the sky. That threatened to explode.

Speaking of explosions, Naruto was surprised by how simple it actually turned out to be when it came to stabilizing the spherical energy within the Angel's attack. Through initial planning, he wondered attempting to manipulate the energy inside and slowly eviscerate it outwards, like releasing the air out of a balloon, would have been the best method of handling the situation. It was only after coming to an understanding that his knowledge of Angelic power would have been too limited. He couldn't have been certain his own knowledge of manipulating other, foreign forms of energy would compensate for something so above his paygrade of understanding.

So, scratching that idea, in the last moment between the bomb's touchdown and impact with Naruto's waiting arms, the blond came up with another, hopefully still successful plan.

Though un-seeable by anyone watching the blond perform what should have been an incredibly difficult, if not impossible, task, from Naruto's narrowed eyes, he could clearly see the small, hair-thin strands of reddish power coursing out from the space between his palms. His chakra – the inner energy source of his powers – was coursing around the outer shell of Raynare's last attack, spinning itself around the large projectile and solidifying the energy that threatened to burst the moment it landed into his arms. It was almost like a second container around the Fallen's energy; a cocoon around a very unstable power source. Naruto couldn't have been entirely sure his present form's power could have contained the energy the moment it impacted harshly with his hands.

There'd been no guarantee he could have spread his energy fast enough around the weaponized energy to prevent it from imploding.

He'd been lucky, in fact. Years of using his hands to create energy constructs from an inside source of almost limitless power was serving him well, even now.

But, he'd actually have to thank his sensei for this. It was only through his old (perverted) master's assistance that, for him, manipulating energy through the palms of his hands, especially something spherical and full of energy that threatened to explode into a swirl of energy that could rip people at a subatomic level –

Was child's play.

Hey Raynare, Naruto thought to himself, moving a free arm slowly away from the spherical energy, all the while still managing to balance it with a single hand still held above his head, and closing his now free hand into a fist.

CATCH!

POW!

Raynare hovered above, looking down to the church with interest.

For the last several seconds, her mind was a blur of unsure questions.

Why was her bomb not doing what bombs did – blow up? Why was it just sitting there (from her point of view), floating in air, waiting?

She could feel it still pushing towards the ground. An Angel usually possessed a certain mental connection with any and all constructs they created, so knowing that her massive energy ball was still attempting to land wasn't a doubt for her.

But a question that did cross her mind was why the sphere felt…off. Like something was holding the energy, itself. As if someone was cupping it, fully, with something she couldn't make out from the air.

What the hell was going on down there?

She wanted to make the effort to float down to the ground level. Perhaps her energy was more contained then she thought; instead of a bomb, she made a wrecking ball that crushed her opponent to smithereens. But as it stood, what little energy she had left, Sacred Gear's included, had been spent on that ball of destruction. What remained was only enough to keep her afloat in the air; if she even considered floating to the church floor, she might have just passed out from sheer exhaustion.

It was her will alone that seemed to be keeping her awake.

POW!

A sound like a gunshot rang blow. Raynare's eyes widened by the sound, thinking she was under attack from someone new, but then noticed something peculiar.

Her sphere was getting larger.

That was odd. She hadn't put more energy into it. She wasn't entirely she could have put more into it from so far –

OH SHIT IT'S COMING AT ME!

"Ahhh!"

She waved her arms forward. She wasn't sure why she made such an awkward movement mid-air; instinct took over, and like swimming, she tried to push arms away in a sweeping motion to move in a selected direction.

Raynare was by no means in the water, but she wasn't sure if her instinct would have given her the energy to dodge the incoming violet projectile heading towards her.

It turned out to be a well-placed move. Not a moment after making the move and managing somehow, barely, to push herself out of the way of the sphere's oncoming path, the bomb sped at a shocking speed above the church's roof. Then above Raynare. And then towards the night sky.

It continued up for some time. Gravity did not seem to affect it, as it slowly grew smaller and small and smaller as it widened the distance between Raynare and itself.

A second later, it was roughly the size of her fist to her eye. The next second, her finger. Soon after, it was smaller than her finger nail. And then, she couldn't even see it.

Up. Up. Up. Up.

Up. Up. Up.

Up…Up…

…Up…

…

…Boom.

"…"

Raynare could only stare into the sky. She barely heard it; like a distant firecracker, the 'boom' was barely heard. And the explosion? It barely looked like a weird, purplish star in the sky before fizzing out as quickly as it came.

"…"

All that effort. All that power. And it amounted to nothing more than a brief spark in the sky.

What happened? She wondered to herself, ignoring the sweat falling down her brow. "Where did…how did he do-"

She stopped mid word, mouth agape.

He. Him. Naruto. How did he…?

She turned her head around, turning back to look down to the wooden floors of the church –

- but instead, came face to face with him.

Naruto looked almost as if he were floating on air. He estimated the distance between himself and Raynare, considered how much energy he needed to jump the distance between them (didn't want to over jump), and made a quick leap towards the pigeon.

He got her attention. He met her eyes. She was sweating. Exhausted. She could probably barely keep herself in the air.

Perfect.

He brought his arms over his head. He curled his fingers together, making them one big curled up fist.

Whatever might have been going through Raynare's mind (shock from her failed bomb, surprise from Naruto's hundred foot leap, whatever), she still had the defensive insight to understand what was about to happen.

She brought her arms over her head, taking the defensive as Naruto's arms came crashing down on her.

WHUP-POOOW!

The blow connected. She couldn't hold herself airborne any longer. She fell, taking the brunt of the blow's power but used up the last bit of focus she had on keeping herself over the church.

She fell. Fast. The weight of Naruto's crashing fists directing her body quickly towards the church's wooden floors below.

She screamed only for a moment. The ground came to her fast enough.

BANG!

"Arggh…agh…"

Whether by intent on Naruto's part or sheer luck, Raynare managed to avoid the sharpened edges of the church's worn roof, along with missing the several pews along the center of the building's aisle way. She landed less than gracefully into the spot where Naruto caught her sphere of energy before, landing directly at the center of the church's first floor and kicking up dust and chips of wood from impact.

She fell. She fell because of Naruto. And unlike before, she didn't land safely or without injury.

This irony was lost to her, however. She was in pain and shock.

Everything hurt.

But she was alive.

"Tsk…gahh…"

The fall had not been so high above as her first encounter with Naruto. While no doubt the collapse into the church's wooden floors would leave her sore for quite a long while, even now, with all her bruises, injuries and prevalent fatigue, the young Fallen was still managing to stay awake and alive from it all.

Some might have said it was a miracle. Some would say it was God, still blessing his fallen child. Some would say it was the Sacred Gear, even with its lower than usual levels of power, that kept her life preserved.

To Naruto, however, it was just all calculated.

"Ah…ahhh…"

Raynare still struggled to breath. The air had been so roughly knocked from her lungs that it made her dizzy and disoriented.

For a brief moment, even as she pulled herself up, she forgot where she was or what was happening.

There'd never been a recorded concussion by an Angel – Fallen or otherwise. They couldn't have one. It was, like many conditions, impossible for them to receive. They might get dizzy, disoriented but never concussed. Their minds just did not function like others.

But, if Raynare were to say anything the experience she was feeling at that moment, she believed she could say, at least briefly, that she felt what the humans felt when they hurt their heads.

"Ouch…"

She brought her hand up carefully to head, inspecting it for injuries whilst rubbing it from the pounding headache she was receiving. Her eyes hurt, too, but closing them seemed to only help momentarily ease the pain. But she was aware to her condition and situation. As much as she wanted to, she could not simply close her eyes and hope this bad experience would be behind her. She was not out of danger yet.

She opened her eyes. Her head still hurt and would continue to hurt for awhile, but that didn't needed to assess herself.

She propped herself up from the floor. Her entire body disagreed with that swift action; pain in her ribs, digging soreness in her arms, and her head felt like a sledgehammer took a swing at it.

But that wasn't what concerned her.

He did.

She was in the center of the aisle. She turned to see the blond hero standing from a crouched position next to the entrance doors of the church. He'd fallen along with her, but with certainly less injury or strife. He stared at her prone form from across the aisle.

How powerless she looked. How weak. How scared.

He took a step towards her, his foot-drop echoing loudly in the quiet church.

Raynare tried to scream, then. She, on her hands and the soles of her feet, backed away further into the church and away from the closing blond. She tried to scramble to her feet but they gave out before she could even manage a sure footing, She was forced to crawl on her side, using her free leg and arms to scramble in the direction of the secret passage, down to the basement.

He was still getting closer. His steps echoed loudly in the church. His eyes glowed and his claws spoke ominously of what was about to happen.

She panicked more.

"N-n-no, no! PLEASE! S-show mercy-you must!" She tried to yell out to the blond, shaking her head frantically in a small, futile attempt at stopping him. "I-I beg of you, you, you CAN'T!"

He didn't respond. Only continued to walk towards her.

He was halfway down the aisle. She was a quarter of the church away from him.

The expectation of what would occur when he got to her-

"Please just stop! Please!" Her tears were freely falling from her scrunched eyes. This was the time in the park, times ten. This was Washington, all over again, and without chance of escape. This was every day of her life,shouting her failures as a Fallen into her face. "Please, pleee-e-e-ease!"

Her mix of scream and tears did nothing. They had no effect.

And now, she crawled as far as she could go.

Having crawled as far down the center aisle as possible from the blond, never letting her eyes leave his, lest he disappear and finish her off without even the courtesy of letting her see, what she was sure, was her death. She crawled and crawled right up to the few small steps leading to the where the altar previously stood. Raynare dared to look away to see she, indeed, could go no further without crawling of the stairs, and made an effort to position her body up so she could struggle further away from his coming form.

But it was useless. Her arms showed quickly they didn't hold the strength to hold her.

They buckled under her weight.

She sniffled at the realized futility of her weakened body, wanting to smack the stairs for their opposing state of being before remembering just what she was escaping from and turning her head quickly back around.

He was standing there. Again. Waiting and watching like he had so many times that night.

Her violet met his red again.

His were that of beasts. Hers, a princess.

…

…What do I do now?

He's staring at me. Do I beg? Do I swallow my pride and beg?

Would he let me live? Doubt it. The whole point of this was to get back the Sacred Gear to the corpse. Whatever that'll do.

Why would he even want to help her anyway? He doesn't know her. She doesn't know him. Why bother?

Is it because he thinks he's a hero? Is that it? For some stupid, moral reason? Was that it?

These thoughts were making her flustered. But she never tore her eyes from his.

Good guys never win. Doing good things never gets you far. Shouldn't he know that by now?

This isn't the world of superheroes – this is real life! There are no such things as good guys and bad guys! Just bad!

So what if what I did something 'not nice?' Do I need to die for it? Would that help anything, huh?! Two dead girls in a church?! Huh?!

She shook her head, lip quivering and eyes watering.

Does everything I do that's bad mean I have to die? Can only bad things happen to me and no one will get punished for it?

Do I have to suffer because of what I did? Must I always suffer because of things I couldn't control?

My parents died, that wasn't my fault. I was taken in by Azazel – I didn't ask to have an easy childhood! To not have to suffer to have a nice place to grow up at!

I know I wasn't born in Heaven, but that doesn't mean I don't have feelings! I care, I strive to be the best I can be, and I want to help my people!

And…and…

And, oh lord, please, please, PLEASE stop judging me with those eyes!

She was crying on the outside. She lifted her hand to cover her eyes.

No, no! Stop! You do not cry! I never cry! I'm not supposed to cry!

I'm strong. I'm strong! I can take everything people throw at me and take it!

I will not cry! Crying is for weaklings! Dad-Lord Azazel wouldn't cry! He'd stand ready and fight, no matter what!

Could you take him, huh? Could you?!

She was quivering outwardly.

You think yourself so high and mighty to me? To pass judgement on me? You think yourself God?

Well you're not! You can't just say I made a mistake and-and-and kill me for it!

She choked on her breath at the thought of her death.

You don't have the right! YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT!

So yes! I admit! I make mistakes – I, I MADE a mistake!

But that shouldn't be reason enough to kill me, right?

Right?

Right?!

He didn't seem to acknowledge her thoughts. He just kept staring.

Stop it. Stop staring!

I hate those eyes. Those bloody-red eyes.

Just…stop. Please.

Please, stop.

Please. Please.

Please.

Please…

…Please…

"Please?"

She was shaking her head. Her thoughts died down. Her tears were sliding down her cheeks in thick drops, smacking into her dirt covered knees.

Her face was covered in tears.

"Please…please? Please don't kill me…I-I don't want to die."

Naruto stared at her. He stared at her for a long moment. He gripped his hand tightly, feeling his nails dig past the skin enough to draw blood.

He rolled the blood into his palm. It was lathered on quickly; carefully making sure to have a significant amount over his palm before the wound, in an astonishing amount of speed of healing, erased itself from view. There wasn't even a mark or scar to be found.

His hand was warm and wet. He was ready.

He knelt to her side.

"I'm sorry."

He told her, bringing his blood covered hand back.

The blood glowed.

"But this will hurt."

He threw it forward, fingers breaking skin and bone with an audible tearing noise that was only barely heard over the scream.

"AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Kuoh Academy, Japan, One Month Ago…

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Would somebody please help me?!" Issei Hyoudou yelled frantically, running quickly through the wooded areas of Kuoh Academy, making great effort to keep one step ahead of the, rather fierce looking, females following quickly behind.

"Lecher!"

"Enemy of women!"

"You're dead, Hyoudou!"

"Your insides are going to be your outsides when I'm done with you!"

"WHY CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?!"

This particular 'running of the avenging females' seemed to be particularly large one that day. In Issei's attempts to escape the baseball team – his original peeping target – the young man somehow earned the attention of the female football and track teams, as well, along with small segments of additional female teams who were in the immediate area who noticed the female-chasing presence.

The young, breast-obsessed boy was now easily running from almost half of the athletic female body and making a good show at avoiding their attempts at capture with narrow avoidance and well-timed leaps of faith. The chase had been going on for well into fifteen minutes now, with Issei neither seeming to be tiring from his constant running around the academy area, nor the teenage academy girls whom seemed to be incapable of coming any closer than a foot to catching their target.

It was a lengthy game of cat (angry, flustered, furious Kuoh Academy girls) and mouse (perverted Issei Hyoudou).

This is what irked Raynare to no limit.

Oh, come on! He's right there! There-THERE! Ahhhhh, you had him-YOU HAD HIM! How could you miss, he was right in front of you!

Coordinate! Coordinate! Plan ahead! Think of where he'd going to go and cut him off! Stop trying to catch his scrawny ass by following him-IT'S NOT WORKING!

Wait for it…wait for it…yep. Missed him. Again. Big-f&%king-surprise…

From her place in the tree line of Kuoh Academy's small wooded area, Raynare let loose a rather loud groan of disapproval. The increasing number of unsuccessful attempts at capturing her designated 'protective-observation-target' was quickly beginning to eat away at the already displeased Fallen's patience. What with the female body's lack of tact or efficiency in capturing one stray pervert was only matched by the increasing distaste at her first assignment under the command of Grigori.

Her job: regularly report on the physical, mental and psychological state of the Sacred Gear holder, Issei Hyoudou.

Despite her current opinion of the work she was volunteered for, at the beginning, Raynare had been admittedly ecstatic for the chance given to her. By her knowledge, Sacred Gear users were infamous amongst humans, Angels, Devil, monsters – everyone! Their level of destructive potential was far and widely known to just about everyone who were given familiar knowledge of human legends and myths and were, as a side note, made into prime candidates for any high class Devils looking for a powerful member to add to their, what they called, 'Devil's Peerage' and race.

"Devils were always looking for a leg up," was what Raynare would say sourly.

However, by the information given to her by her chain of command, it would seem that the Devils of the immediate city's area were, in fact, unaware of the boy's possession of something so rare and, potentially, valuable. That this meant the Fallen had the lead on gathering information on the boy. Information, Raynare herself, was to divulge to the Grigori's behest in grand amounts of detail.

In other words, this was a huge job of equally large importance: to discover something of significance before any of the other Biblical Factions.

And this job was given to Raynare.

How she managed to receive such a task, especially as her first piece of work under the command of Grigori, was debatable, though with one large guess standing out from the others. No doubt her fath-Lord Azazel had something to do with her placing in such a prestigious and important place in Grigori's infrastructure – perhaps greasing the wheels of the organizations command structure to be placed somewhere of value and worth so that she would be given work that befitted her talents.

Admittedly, a part of her was miffed at the prospect that she probably hadn't earned her position but rather was given it because of her parental connections. She refrained from complaining vocally, however. She was a woman now; no longer the child that waited on her father-on Lord Azazel to return safely from wherever and whenever he left to. She was a Proud Fallen Angel who was given the task of such immense importance that, dare she say it, could have led to something huge in the near future.

She could deal with a little unwanted assistance in getting where she was.

To Raynare, the work she was performing could lead to the discovery of whether this Sacred Gear holder – this 'Issei' – was a danger or not to the Grigori. History showed that Sacred Gear holders provided nothing but trouble through the Fallen ranks and she would be the first to discover the truth. To discover if Issei Hyoudou – based on her opinion and observations – was a risk. That by providing this information, maybe she would receive some form of recognition for discovering the previously unassuming threat to her people. To prevent further travesty from a human Gear User and save potential lives that would otherwise be lost.

She wondered if this was her first test; a test to see if she was really worthy for work in the ranks of the Grigori. That this challenge of Issei Hyoudou, in some bizarre way, was a manner of seeing just how she faired with the tasks handed to her by the chain of command. To see if her mindset – a mindset dedicated to the preservation and well-being of all Fallen – was truly there and not just some young girl's dream at hoping she could play savior to her people.

To Raynare, this task would prove her worth and devotion.

She would be worthy, if only a little in the eyes of those who doubted her all those years ago.

Then, maybe, the echo of 'Raynare the Unwanted' would end…

But those hopeful thoughts at the start of her work had ended long ago. Whatever well of excitement or enthusiasm she originally held towards her information gathering on the human boy had long since dried out. The reasons were obvious: between the Hyoudou boy's loud proclamations towards wishing to grope a woman's body; to his none-to-stealthy attempts at peeping into all manner of school locations were girls would be at their skimpiest; to his outright non-embarrassed announcements to being an outright pervert (perhaps not uttering the exact word, but in context, he didn't seem to mind being a boy with an unhealthy obsession with breasts), Raynare, in the span of a few hours of her work, was hopelessly disgusted with the boy.

What was wrong with him, she could only guess.

Was it the Gear? Sacred Gear Wielders were often influenced by the items in their possessions but this attitude of extreme perversion couldn't possibly have created by the Gear, could it?

Throughout history, most wielders of particularly potent or powerful Sacred Gears had been monsters on and off the field of battle. This was just a dissolute young man with no aspirations beyond viewing naked women and pressing his fingers into their 'melons of wonderfulness,' to quote specifically.

Raynare would narrow her eyes at the mere thought of such depravity. 'Disgust' was too kind a word to describe the loathing she felt for the boy.

Not even the Lustful Fallen were this…this…bleggh.

She wanted to quit then. She wanted to leave this boy to his scummy work and never think about him again.

She even considered asking for a transfer soon into her work. She considered, but ignored her urge to quit. This was her work, her task, and she would be damned before she would give it up.

She believed herself destined to do great things for her fellow Fallen. She desired to do right by Grigori and help lead them to a brighter future. Her negative feelings towards those who saw her as nothing more than a worthless bag of feathers beside the Lord of Fallen aside, she loved her people and would see them brought to a golden age.

If she couldn't deal with one perv, how would she deal with any of the other hardships that would come?

She reminded herself of her duty: she would be reassigned before she made any attempt at moving beyond the retch she was assigned to watch.

Or he would die; whichever came first. Human life was a short thing, after all.

Back to the present, with the reminder of her determination and task in mind, Raynare grit her teeth and roughly held herself to a branch at her side, continuing to watch the boy dodge his female classmates.

He had stamina, she'd give him that. But with every scream of panic, every narrow avoidance and every screaming female who yelled for his blood, Raynare was starting to think of an idea beyond the restrictions of her task. An idea, as a woman, she couldn't entirely be blamed for.

She'd seen it done a dozen times alone this week; his invasion of the woman's facility peepholes. Each time it felt like an insult to herself and her gender. Had it been consensual, the Fallen would have given it no further thought. But to the boy, it almost seemed like the illegality and wrongness behind his actions is what made his work of peeping so much more enjoyable. Like the threat of being caught was what made this far more worthwhile.

With the knowledge of previous weeks in mind, Raynare understood that such an occurrence as the one she'd seen fifteen minutes ago would surely happen again, three times as much as she'd already seen.

It was this knowledge in mind that spurred her next choice.

Reaching her free hand out to the side, the Fallen Angel narrowed her gaze at Issei's running form, manipulating a miniature bit of light into, what could only be called, a 'dagger' of light.

Her aim and thought of mind as she formed the energy into a small, throwable projectile was simple. Pierce the pervert's ankle, have the light disperse before it was actually registered as an attack on the boy, have him fall on the ground in pain and leave the rest of her work to the female body. It would seem like he tripped and was then given his dues by those he had wronged.

A very simple plan with a very enjoyable end result: Issei would get what was coming to him, the girls would get their wrongdoer and Raynare would get some small bit of revenge for all the times she was forced to stand back and watch as he conducted his wrongdoings without consequence.

Everybody (innocent) won.

Poor Issei. Raynare couldn't help the smirk that came to her cheeks, bringing her arm back with solid-light dagger in hand. But you really should know: in this world, hell hath no fury like a woman's–

"SHIT!"

Crash!

"Alright, he tripped!"

"Dogpile him!"

"Beat him to a pulp!"

"NO HAVE MERCY-AAAAHHHHH!"

From the middle of one of the academy's courtyards, screams, cries and quite a few cheers could be heard over the sound of thrown punches and kicks. Several dozen girls, each tired in their own degrees, were very eager to place divine righteousness onto their now captured perpetrator of perversion.

It all happened in the span of seconds.

From her point in the trees, all Raynare could do, with arm drawn back and dagger glistening in hand, was blink at the sheer coincidence of what had just occurred.

"…Huh…" She managed, watching the boy scream and shout, cursing his rotten luck for the pothole he had not seen (which, admittedly, neither had the Angel). She stared at the rough treatment being dealt out by the Kuoh Academy women. "…Okay then. That'll work."

She lowered her hand, the weaponized light breaking apart into a small flash before dissipating into nothing, leaving her once more in the shadow of the tree, watching over and leaving her 'job' to his torment.

It would be a lie to say that, despite the justice being dealt to Issei Hyoudou at that moment, a small part of the Raynare would admit to being disappointed that it was not she who was the deliverer of his punishment. That it was by chance of an anomaly in the schoolyard's flooring that dealt the boy's folly and not she herself.

Perhaps in a small way, Raynare believed that this would be her way of getting back at all the debauchery the boy had committed under her watch without being able to interfere. That this way, even though it wasn't allowed, she could feel some comfort from preventing his continued rudeness and truly devilish attitude to her fellow gender, at least once. You might even say she felt as if her moment to show the boy the cost of his wrongdoing was stolen from her by the random ground cavity.

This thought brought a frown to her usually gentle features.

"AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH-MYPRECIOUS!"

…Although, watching his 'punishment' being delivered by the school's insulted females did bring a small smile to her face.

Abandoned Church, Lower Level, a few hours ago…

Raynare was a bundle of giggles and excitement as she stood over the large basement of the forgotten church. Her face was a large smile and her eyes glistened intently as she went over every necessary step and procedure that would be required for the night's grand event.

She couldn't wait. If what the priest said was true, this night would be a huge step towards her goals.

She could see it now, vividly: the recognition, the dreams realized, the respect and sense of worth, coupled with the prospect of a now grand future ahead of herself, unassisted by the Governor General –

Oh, tonight is going to be wonderful!

All those put downs, sleepless nights, and constant mental detriments that told her she would never be a true Fallen Angel of Grigori – they would all end tonight.

No more nightmares. No more bad thoughts. An unsure future was disappearing for a tomorrow that was brighter than she could have possibly hoped for.

And all it would cost was one nun's…

She stopped in her thoughts. Curiously, she turned her head around to look up to the mentioned blond young girl, looking at her downed expression was she hung tightly by iron chains above a makeshift shrine. Her hair was a mess and she looked as if she'd been dragged up to the top of the shrine. Her pearl-toned skin still shined by the torchlight, reflecting similarly to the rather, if Raynare were being honest, nice looking dress some of the female rogue exorcists had outfitted her with.

Apparently, even those against the church felt ill about killing someone in a nun's outfit in a church.

So now, she was in a nice, pale dress.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't seem too pleased.

Raynare moved away from the edge of the shrine and over to the girl. She didn't say a thing – just stared at the unwavering blankness of the girl's face.

Was she accepting was going to happen? Was this her preparation? Did she realize how much pain she would be in? Didn't she know what would happen to her by the end of the night?

Did she know? Did she know?

"…It doesn't matter."

She waved her hand a foot from the nun's face. Asia's eyes fluttered for a moment, before closing silently and without another look in Raynare's direction.

The Fallen Angel returned to her work. Her enthusiasm had dulled, a little…

Present…

The pain was about what one would expect to suddenly have an arm thrusted into one's chest. The fingers felt like they broke the skin, broke past bone and organs, reaching down deep inside her. She could feel them wiggling, moving around below the first layer of the skin.

After the first fifteen seconds of screaming, the pain finally dulled. She figured she must have been dead, then, but the constant awareness that the boy was digging through her skin was still there.

She was alive, thinking that death was allowing her to witness.

It was ironic, she thought. Thinking that all her doings and schemes that night were finally coming back to bite her in the ass (or chest, as it were presently).

Was this karma? Karma was a bitch, it seemed.

But thoughts aside from death, karma and what she deserved, after the first minute of being prone and unmoving to Naruto's inward grasp, a question popped into her head.

His fingers…are…are they searching for something?

Her thoughts quickly went to the idea that, whatever his fingers must have been digging for, it must have been for the Sacred Gear. But that couldn't be right. He knew what Sacred Gears were, right? Incorporeal objects held within the very soul of a human that manifested in several ways, based on will or physical intentions alone. The core of a Gear wasn't something that could naturally be grasped without extreme conditions or prepared circumstances.

The entire purpose of the ritual held below the church was to make the usually non-physical Sacred Gear held within the girl and make it into a tangible, holdable object.

The Gear was now in her soul. What the boy was doing now wasn't going to change-

"Uh."

She blanched.

...What? What was-

"Err."

Again, she squirmed in her spot.

She felt the fingers hit something inside her.

What's going-

"Gahh."

There was something there.

What, what is he doing?

His fingers hit that something again.

"Arrrgh!"

That one hurt a lot. But, whatever he was hitting, he almost had it.

She could feel it.

Raynare lifted her dazed head upwards to look at the blond. His eyes, for once, were focused on something besides her eyes. His arm was twisting in different directions and, now that she was looking at it a little more clearly, was far deeper inside her then just reaching inside her chest.

She stared down to where the arm was.

Instead of a gaping, bleeding, protruding hole in her chest, there was, instead, a hole of violet light projecting outwards, with the hole being mostly filled with the blonds arm digging inside her.

She was about to panic. About to scream.

Then a hand fell to her shoulder.

"Don't worry."

Raynare lifted her head from her light-producing chest. Her eyes must have been wide, because she had a clear view of Naruto's entire face.

"Just remain calm. I'm going to be careful, I promise."

His eyes were still red. They were still slit and inhuman. But the expression around them never seemed so relaxed as they were that moment. His focus was on his arm in her chest, but his face was so much softer looking then she'd ever seen it that night

His face had never been so close to hers.

"I need you to promise me you will relax and remain calm." His free hand squeezed her shoulder. He was trying to calm her. She didn't immediately respond to his words until his lip twitched. "Please. Trust me. I'm here to help you."

He smiled to her, his fangs extending out. So close was that smile, so kind. It was so weird to see it with the blood-eyes.

Like a monster smiling down to a meal, most would be unnerved and disturbed by everything that was happening.

She should have been jumping, screaming, crying and begging to stop whatever she was sure was going to cause her another immense amount of pain.

She wanted to, but didn't. She paused, only for a moment, before to her own surprise, realized she was not unnerved.

She swallowed hard. "Okay." She nodded but couldn't form any other words. Her throat was dry and felt like sandpaper was waxing it smoothly.

She wanted to cry more. She truly did. She wanted to scream, smack the smiling boy and call him a list of profuse names, inappropriate even for a Fallen Angel.

But she couldn't. Or rather, she didn't.

She just nodded, calmly, smoothly and making sure not to move too much. She did not want to potentially cause an issue with this process. She just…just wanted, whatever this was, to be over.

So, turning her head down, she returned her attention back to the hole in her chest.

She dared not meet his gaze again, for fear she'd lose her nerve.

Naruto, in turn, put his full attention back to the arm in her chest. He could feel it, the rough edges. He almost had it. He had to be slow, precise in his grip and careful.

One false move and the Sacred Gear would break.

And he'd not only lose Asia.

He fumbled his fingers over the object, just out of reach of his grip. He ignored the Angel's grunts and groans and continued to push the object back and forth in his fingers. He needed it to be just right; not to left in his grip, not to right. He couldn't hold it too tightly that it would break, nor too lightly that it would slip from the pull out.

This. This was hard.

And now, going into the third minute of his fingers in her chest, with Raynare holding back shaking and tears, Naruto's eyes widened as his hand fumbled on the small, almost dangling object.

It landed into the palm of his hand. He grabbed it.

And Raynare knew this too.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She must have wanted to die. She almost wanted to, she'd admit. But he wouldn't let her.

His grip was good. He had his object. He twisted his arm back around and like a key being put just right in a lock, shot his arm out of the glowing circle in Raynare's chest.

The circle closed on itself. The skin under Raynare's glowing circle opening was gone, leaving not a singe or mark to be found. It was as if the last few minutes hadn't happened.

She looked, and even felt, fine.

What…what was…what just happened?

From Naruto's point, he was down on his knees, sweating just as much as the Fallen Angel, and looking down calmly to the arm he so effortlessly thrust into…whatever it was that was opening in her chest. The arm, generally, appeared fine. No marks or anything that suggested pain or agony from his actions. His hand, however, was actually steaming, as the blood that once covered his palm looked as if it had evaporated into thin air.

The steam made it seem as if it was a painful experience.

But that didn't matter. Not even a little. In place of blood, to the blond's wonder and growing sense of joy, was a familiar glowing green orb.

He actually chuckled then. He could almost kiss the damn thing.

So much trouble for it. And it hadn't even been a half an hour since it was taken out of its original owner.

How time flied.

"Phew! Whew-wee! That…that was an ordeal!" Naruto laughed loudly, cheerfully, standing up from the dusty ground, looking over his victor's prize with great enthusiasm. It was perfect. No scratches, no damage – nothing. A perfect extraction. And it was, actually, partially thanks to Raynare. "Heh. That was great. I really need to thank you for the help – it came out perfectly!"

"H…huh?" Raynare, catching her breath, stared up to the blond who had way too much energy. She hadn't a clue what was going on.

And Naruto didn't seem to notice her confusion, staring into the glowing sphere of the energy emanating from the Sacred Gear. "Oh, and don't worry about the whole 'dying' thing. We worked so well together, you shouldn't have any negative effects from this little extraction trick." He looked to mostly be talking to himself. "You did perfect. Couldn't have done this without you."

Raynare took in his words. She looked to his face then to the green orb in his hands. She recognized it almost instantly. "T-the Gear." She swallowed hard. Her voice was still raspy.

"Hmm?" Naruto blinked, finally turning his attention back to the Fallen youth. "Oh. Right. This," he lifted Twilight Healing up, giving her a good view of it, "yeah, guess I didn't really explain what I was doing, huh?" He scratched his chin sheepishly. That wouldn't do. But how exactly to explain a trick you learned from a previous life to someone who was completely dumbfounded with everything that was happening? "Hmm…well, simply, I reached into your soul, picked this up, and pulled it out without killing you." He waved the Gear to her stunned, wide-eyed expression. "But to get into your soul, I first had to beat you down physically, mentally and get rid of all that pesky Angelic energy that would have made getting this," he waved the Gear again, "very, very hard."

A little pain, a little exhaustion, a little mental breakage, a little blood covered hand – bada bing, one true way to reach into someone's soul (do not attempt without reading the guidance manual, given proper guidance or have a professional in the vicinity).

Throughout his description of what he did – what he did to her – she almost doubted she heard him right. "You…you stole it from me."

All that effort…all that effort for it…gone?

Her accusation surprised him. "Uh, well, I mean, yeah, but you kinda stole it first, didn't you?" Despite pointing out the truth, he looked sheepish. "I mean, I did say I was going to get it back to Asia, remember? And I did do it without killing you or anything – that's a plus." She would be sore for a few days after this, even with Angelic enhanced healing, but that was better than death, right? A little pain over 'the permanent sleep,' right? She should have been thanking him for that.

But she wasn't. She wouldn't be. She would do no such thing.

He took it from her. He took her prize. He took the thing that would give her place, purpose and worth. He took it and left her with…what? The hope that things would get better? That those around her would acknowledge her, not because of who raised her, but because of her own capabilities? That she would one day, possibly, maybe, doubtfully lose the title of unwanted?

Because that's what he left her. A life of being unwanted. He left her with nothing and was smiling.

I hate this…I hate it…I…I…

"…I just…I hate it…I hate this life."

Naruto heard the whisper, stopping in the aisle.

"I hate this life. I HATE IT!"

He turned around to the sudden shout. Raynare had rolled herself into a ball, holding her legs tightly to herself as she leaned against the small stairs which lead to where the altar of the church, now moved to the side by Naruto, roughly stood.

"This isn't fair! It isn't! I hate this so much!" She sniffled into her legs. "I hate it all. It isn't fair. It isn't fair it isn't fair it isn't…"

She was shaking her head into her legs. The weight of the last hour's mental, physical and psychological strife was catching up to her now.

She wasn't prepared for it. And now, it was taking its toll.

Naruto stared at her for a moment. Just…stared, at the Fallen Angel. That crying, almost pitiful person whom he, if she hadn't tried to actively kill him not a couple minutes prior, might have had some serious sympathy towards.

He juggled the glowing green Gear in his hand.

He stared at the Angel. Then to the unmoving Asia. Then back to the Angel.

The crying, injured, troubled Angel.

…Crap.

He sighed loudly.

Being the good guy sucked.

"Hey, uh, listen," Naruto spoke up, turning around in the direction of the Angel, getting said Angel's attention, "you, uh…you want me to give you some advice?"

She lifted her head briefly. A snarl on her face. "No! Go away! I hate you!"

She went back to crying.

Naruto pursed his lips. "…Alright, new approach then;" he knelt down, "you're going to sit there, listen to what I have to say, and SHUT UP!"

Raynare lifted her head then. It might have been the sudden scream or the fact that someone actually told her to 'shut up' in her life.

Whether that was the blond's intention or not, Raynare's attention was strictly to him.

He hoped he didn't blow it.

"Alright…you just got your beat by a human. Worse, a human allied with Devils. And from the way you're acting, I'm going out on a limb to say you're feeling like crap with that thought in mind, right?" She didn't respond. That was fine, he had more to say anyway. "Probably got the idea that Angels are supposed to be the top of the food chain, right? That we 'lowly humans' aren't strong enough to take someone like you and win?" He stared at her expression. No change. "Or maybe it's more personal than just losing to me; maybe you just never don't want to be seen as weak, hmm? Are you afraid people will put you down if you ever look less than your best?" There was a small movement in her lip's corner. He smiled. "Yeah, that's the one."

He almost felt like laughing, moving down into a sitting position across from the Angel. His whole expression, from Raynare's view, was a sharp contrast from how it was ten minutes ago. He was human again. "How are you feeling right now?"

He asked her an honest question. She didn't like having someone play psychoanalyst with her and was strongly against answering his mediocre question.

But the words came out before she could stop them. "Like shit," she admitted, "worse than shit."

His smile grew a little. "Why's that?"

As if he doesn't know. His smile was starting to piss her off (she almost missed the glaring). "Because you beat me. Because I lost."

To that, the Uzumaki raised an eyebrow. "And that's…bad?"

The look she gave him was similar to 'uh-duh.'

So he cocked his head to the side. "But why?" He asked her, honestly. "Why's that a bad thing? Why's it bad to lose to someone stronger then you?" Raynare tried to come up with a smartass answer, but Naruto kept on talking. "Is it because you're afraid someone will laugh at you for admitting it? Somebody was stronger than you – big whoop! I've had my ass handed to me hundreds of times in my life! And you know why? Because in most cases, there probably will be someone stronger then you." That was an honest truth for both of them (although Raynare's example was actually talking her down at that moment). "Don't let people judge you for losing. Why should their opinion matter to you? Why should you care for people who laugh at you when you fail?"

He felt very old with that last line. In his youth (way-past youth), he would have just told her to 'f&$k them' or 'beat the snot out of them and teach 'em who's boss.'

But that was the old (young?) him. The Fallen Angel needed guidance, not a guide to more violence.

Easy for you to say, Raynare thought, grumbling. She had her own opinion to his words. "And what would you know about being ridiculed, huh? You're strong. Really, really strong. You don't have a clue what I feel right now."

The weakness, the personal torment – how could he have felt what she felt?

He was strong – way strong. Too strong. What could he have possibly understood about being weak?

Her immediate belief was that he knew nothing. So it surprised her, after a brief pause for thought, when Naruto raised his head to her and let out a chuckle.

"…I have more of an idea about what you're going through…then you could possibly imagine."

He could have been just like her. He saw it in her eyes, heard it from Dohnaseek and Raynare's mouths. He knew, at least a little, of her story.

Her need for recognition, acceptance, and to not feel like he was unimportant – he could relate. He could relate to the overwhelming need to be recognized and noticed. He'd do so many stupid jokes and insults and yell as loud as he could, if only so people would look at him. Was that how she was? What exactly stopped him from going down a path similar to her? Where power equaled right and approval? What stopped him from becoming someone who could have hurt others to get further in life?

Friends? Teachers? People who cared about him? Raynare had all those things but still took a different direction in life.

What stopped him from being just like her?

He shook these thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to consider the philosophical 'what-might-have-been.' He had Raynare's attention. He needed to keep it. "Look, my point about this is…when you're pushed down by the people around you – the ones who say you aren't good enough – you know what you gotta do? You prove them wrong. You do what they say you couldn't. You earn the right to say you are better than what they make you out to be.

"There will be hardships and plenty of sacrifices along the way. You are going to feel like shit when you fail and beat yourself up when you let someone down. And when people push you down and say you aren't good enough? Believe me, that's worse than hell." His smile turned solemn for a second. Raynare caught it, her expression slowly changing from the scrunched up tearfulness to something, perhaps not relaxed but certainly not as strained as before.

Now, she was actually listening.

"But those sufferings will make you appreciate the good of your life so much more." Naruto continued. "And even if you haven't found that thing that makes you wake up smiling, don't worry, because you will. I know it. I know there's good in you. Corny as that might sound, you are better than where you've put yourself at tonight. You don't need some Sacred Gear to make you strong. Sacrificing the lives of anyone in your path isn't the way of true power. That idealism – it isn't you. This is someone I think you know you don't want to be."

He paused again, turning his eyes to the Sacred Gear in his hand. He juggled it once before standing over Raynare.

He offered her a smile. "Now, who knows? I could be wrong." He admitted. "Maybe this is what you truly want; to kill anyone who so much as looks at you funny. There are people like that, like Freed Sellzen, and if you're one of them, I can't change that about you. No one can." He moved his arm forward, hand outstretched in offering. The Fallen stared at it. "But even after all this; I still believe that there is some good in you. That who you are isn't identified by what others say or judge you by. It's about the choices you make and the way you want people to see you – not just as an Angel or a Fallen Angel or whatever. But as who you are, Raynare."

He emphasized her name. Raynare was somewhat taken aback by the combination of his charming, bright smile, words and the actual use of her name.

He'd never actually used her name before. It was always 'pigeon,' 'Fallen,' or 'Fallen Angel.'

Never Raynare.

It was weird, now, being called that. Being told that her name was what should have mattered to her, not the self-identity formed by those around her.

She was Raynare, but what did Raynare mean to her? That was the question.

The answer was, if only receiving a hint from the 'blond hero's' smile and words, something good?

Maybe?

She wanted it to believe that – she really did – but…

She turned her gaze away from his for a moment, looking to the side wall of the church, away from his hand or stupid smiling face.

She wasn't staring at anything in particular. She just couldn't look at him then.

Maybe if she ignored him for long, he'd leave. Yeah, that would show him. If his resolve to hold out his hand to her was shorter than her willingness to look away, then she was right and his words were bogus then and she didn't have to do a damn thing he said!

…She waited five seconds before realizing just how childish that sounded.

She was flushed, embarrassed, turning her head back to his outstretched hand and looking it over.

No dagger-claws, no aura of power, no ill-intent.

She waited a moment. Then two. Then three. Then four. She tried to think of some excuse to not accept his help: her body was tired, her hands were dirty, his hands were dirty, she didn't deserve to touch him, he didn't deserve to touch her, and so on. It was her prideful nature and need to believe she could still do things on her own that gave her hesitance. Heck, it was pride that made her not wish to reach out for the boy's outstretched, non-threatening hand.

How could she, Raynare, relent in the face of a nice smile and an offered hand? What would people think of her if she yielded to this superior opponent? How would this look upon her?

Then she remembered the words.

Don't let people judge you for losing.

Why should their opinion matter to you?

Why should you care for people who laugh at you when you fail?

You are Raynare.

Her lips pursed tightly. Her eyes shook as they went between the blond's still stupid, smiling face and his generous hand. The words were ringing through her head now – coming off as almost addicting to listen to.

She liked the sound of them. She liked the moment in front of her. She really did.

That scared her a little.

Her hand hesitated for a moment as it slowly reached out to the blond's. It reached out, but pulled back in. Attempted to reach out a little further, then was pulled back to her chest.

It took her another couple seconds, steeling her nerves, making sure her eyes met his ruby-red and did not flinch from his gaze.

Third time was the charm.

Mittelt watched them. Watched everything. Watched the fight, the struggle, the chaos of it all –

Mittelt watched it all.

She would not soon forget this night. Not ever. Not as long as she lived.

"Wow." She voiced out, seeing Naruto's offered hand accepted by Raynare. Her entire appearance was a downright mess. She looked ready to collapse and seemed as if it was only by the blond's offered hand that kept her upright.

Even after seeing all that had transpired, Mittelt still could hardly believe it.

Just…just…wow.

Beside her, the Angel's uninvited associate giggled. She was looking down at the Fallen's expression with obvious enjoyment. "Yes, I believe 'wow' aptly describes my friend, now doesn't it." She giggled a little louder, brushing her fingers through a long flow scarlet before crossing her arms under her, to Mittelt's jealous admittance, sizable chest. "But, now that this little show is over, I believe it is time for you and your ilk to go on your way now, hmm?"

Mittelt stared away from the blond and Raynare, seeing them talk in small whispers at the center of the church over matters she couldn't hear from her position, and up towards the red girl.

Her smile turned predatory. "I hope you haven't forgotten that we are enemies. If it weren't for my friend over there, I would have no quarrels stomping the life from your eyes this very moment." She lifted the slender hand she passed through her hair a moment before, showing off a small demonstration of her power as a swirl of black energy twisted around her fingers. The threat was obvious. "Leave. Now. And know that if we do see each other again, I will most certainly finish what Naruto started."

The Devil girl said no more. She took a step forward into the church and left Mittelt alone to herself.

The Fallen didn't need to be told twice. Glancing past the red-head, she saw Naruto place another hand onto Raynare's shoulder, offering a small smile to her injured form.

Mittelt was surprised when, even from her view at the edge of the church, she noticed Raynare turn her head away and smile too.

Oh, I wish I could hear what they were saying! She thought to herself, only to see no more words exchanged between Fallen and human, as Raynare, noticing the approaching red Devil, stepped away from the blond, making no further acknowledgment to him, and released her wings.

Her ascent was slow and looked quite pained. But she flew, slowly, into the night sky.

Mittelt, still unsettlingly sore, hobbled after the young Fallen, through the forests towards the city.

Her last thoughts of that night: she could use a drink.

Naruto followed the Fallen Angel as she went skyward. Indeed, it looked like it would be a rough ride to wherever she was headed (though he had a guess where), but he was confident she would survive the trip. And after soundly ripping her a new one (in more ways than one), he'd grown confident in her endurance and ability to take duress like a champ.

She was tough cookie. And beneath all that aggressive attitude, he was sure there was a good kid somewhere. She just needed to realize that herself.

Looking away from the broken roof where the Fallen took off from, Naruto turned around to see the a familiar pair of long legs, crimson hair and striking bluish-green eyes approaching him from the entrance doors of the church.

He would be lying if he said he was surprised by her presence. Between naturally knowing just the kind of woman Rias Gremory was, and having his senses peaked during his fight with Raynare, Naruto would have had to been intentionally shutting down his advanced sight, hearing, smelling, and even touch not to have noticed she was there.

But now, with all threats gone or disposed of (he could smell corpses coming from the altar's secret passage way), the former Hokage allowed himself to relax; his eyes returning quickly to a normal blue while his animalistic features dulled or lost their aggressiveness they held before.

Now with the danger gone, Naruto was back to normal. "Enjoy the show, Rias-chan?"

Smirking her full lips in a way that seemed to add to the regalness of her appearance, the heir to the Gremory house offered a small clap to the blond. "All hail Naruto-kun; the conquering hero against the Fallen Angels and quite the showman on this little 'battlefield of church,' if I do say so myself." She might have been toying with him. Sometimes it was hard to tell; many a Gremory were known for their dry wit and playful tones. Whether she was praising him or not was a guessable matter entirely.

But, as it stood, Naruto was frequently one of the targets of Rias's playfulness, which often, like presently, brought a roll of his eyes to his 'aunt.' "Thank you, you're too kind," he replied, tone thick with sarcasm in its rawest form, "glad I could make this so entertaining for you. But you know, with that bomb of hers, she could have killed us all if I hadn't stopped it."

"I was aware, I admit." She said truthfully. Behind her beauty lied a quite prevalent mind for tactics, strategy and information. "But I was fully confident in your abilities and your instinct in handling the situation without fail."

"Really?" Naruto asked, cocking his head to the side, eyes wandering to where the altar previously stood. "And what did you guys think of my little show?"

He knew they were there. Koneko, Kiba, Akeno; they did little to hide their presence from him as they stepped out of the secret basement passage and out into the open.

Naturally, Koneko was the first to voice her opinion of the fight with her usual lack of emotion. "I would have hit her more. But that's just me."

Kiba laughed at her side. "It was very impressive, Naruto."

Akeno looked pleased, smiling. "It was very hot, if you ask me."

Not sure really how to take some of those reviews, Naruto just nodded appreciatively before returning his gaze to Rias.

He hardened his eyes. It was time to finish the night.

"Rias, I have a request," Naruto's tone took a turn in formality, his features matching his tone and sounded somewhat like how a knight would address a queen or king. It was very similar to how Kiba's usual tone sounded like when he was alone with his friends and Peerage, in fact. It stood out the most when Naruto used it so suddenly.

But no one was entirely surprised. They all guessed what was coming, what with Naruto's hand still holding onto the glowing green sphere.

But Rias was willing to play along. "A request?" She repeated, still smirking. "And what, pray tell, does the conquering hero have a request for?"

He lifted his free arm, pointing to the still, pale girl at the corner of the room, wearing his jacket over top herself. "I request," he paused, briefly, "I request she be made into a…a member of your Peerage." He fumbled with the words. He was about to say 'Servant.' The word still left a taste in his mouth, at least in the context of what it meant when people said it in the Underworld.

He was thankful, though, that Rias decided not to, again, call him on his reluctance to a single word use. Instead, she turned to the girl, laying quietly on the one of the church's still standing pews.

Like Snow White, she was waiting to be awakened.

She turned back to Naruto, looking at his hand. She held out her own.

"Do you mind?" She asked, quickly receiving a quick shake of the blond's head as he handed her, carefully, the glowing sphere of Twilight Healing.

She looked it over, inquisitively. While by no means an expert on the power behind a Sacred Gear, she was the heir to one of the most prominent households in the Underworld. Her knowledge around just about everything there was to consider in Heaven, the Underworld and the worlds in between was something to be astonished by.

So, looking over the God-given object, evaluating its abilities, potential, and the way Naruto watched her, anxiously, Rias was able to quickly make up her mind.

But first, she had to be certain. "Are you sure about this?" She asked her adopted nephew, eyeing him carefully. "If I do this, there isn't any going back. She's a Devil, through and through, and a nun." She held up the Sacred Gear to him. "Are you willing to allow this? I will make her a member of my Peerage, but only if you want it."

The implications of what was about to happen were not lost to him. He understood what would happen, what could happen, and made his choice the moment he ushered the challenge to the Angel.

He understood and would accept the responsibility.

"She said she had only one regret," he spoke aloud, catching Rias's attention, "she met a boy. A boy who made her smile." The corner of his lip quirked upwards a little. "He thought she was cool. Brought her to an arcade. Heh, won her a toy." He laughed silently, shaking his head in amusement. He felt old again. Old in a teenage body. How long had it been since that occurred? "She wanted to live for him. She wanted to live to see him.

"So…I say we should, at least, give her the chance to do so."

They really were beautiful; Twilight Healing. Its constant, harmonious glow that emanated from its transparent sphere was calming and relaxing to view; even better to feel. They were never meant to be used as an energy source to power weapons or an attack of some sort. Their purpose was, since their creation millennia ago, to heal the hurt, sick and downtrodden. To not judge who they helped, so long as those that were helped were done so, not for personal gain, but for the benefit of everyone and everything.

It was one of the nicer Sacred Gears made. Asia was perfect for them.

And she would be perfect for them still.

The process for creating a new Devil was not horribly complex. In fact, it was downright easy in practice, if maybe tiring to have one's Peerage King forcibly extract a bit of his or her own soul to solidify the binding of a Devil's new life. Though the technical terms and situation for all the biological changes that rapidly occurred during the transformation into a Devil need not be discussed, know that, despite the lack of outward change at the end of the Peerage ritual, inwardly, a Devil was born.

And that was what was happening now. A Devil was being born.

Naruto had carefully placed Asia's cold corpse smoothly to the ground, gentle, even then. He allowed his jacket to remain atop of her; it would not affect the end result of the ritual, but it might have kept her warm afterwards (it was getting chilly at that time of night).

Rias waved her hand over the young girl, watching as a glyph of translucent crimson light spun under her. Rias, pleased with its making, reached into her pocket and pulled from her loose dress a skinny, long silvery chess piece. It was the Bishop piece and it was placed carefully atop of Asia sleeping form.

Naruto might have thought this strange but understood that she always carried around her Peerage pieces. Their value was incalculable. Losing one would be like losing a part of your soul.

Tonight just worked wonderfully by the circumstances of her desire for more members to add to her Peerage.

"In the name of Rias Gremory, I call upon the soul of Asia Argento."

It had begun. Rias had her arms outstretched, standing over the body of the girl and uttering the 'Chant of Servitude,' as it was commonly called. Akeno and Koneko stood at her side, watching their new sister being born. Naruto was with Kiba, watching the happenings some distance away. Kiba was beside him, offering a hand to his shoulder, trying to ease his tense form.

"Hear my command; return thy soul from the shadows of death, back into the human realm!"

The crimson glyph glowed brightly under the nun. The air around the ruined church was picking up, flowing through the teenagers and swirling the hair with the shifts in wind.

Part of Naruto wondered if, maybe, performing this Devilish, necromantic ritual in a church, of all places, was perhaps some form of bad juju to perform.

"Rise once more as my Devil's Servant! Rejoice, for you have been given new life!"

The Bishop piece flowed a bright red, illuminating the girl and surrounding her in a reddish aura, not to unlike Gremory household's glyph beneath her. The chess piece then sunk through Naruto's jacket, easing into Asia's skin below and merging with her.

"Wake as my healer and clergyman!"

Twilight Healing, which had been held closely by Naruto as Rias performed her task, shot from his loose grip and flew into the unmoving body of its previous owner. The action surprised him, including everyone around, especially as the reddish glow from the chess piece now seemed to be taking a somewhat greenish tone then it had previously.

The green disappeared quickly then. And then the body flinched.

Those first moments of new life were always so bizarre to witness. This was Naruto's third ritual viewing, and every time, there was always that twitch in the body that made the experience so bizarre to him.

Was it a chill? A shake? The soul of the Peerage King awakening the body from the inside? The chess piece making room in its new owner and trying to ease itself into a comfortable position between, say, the heart and lungs?

Whatever it was, it gave the ninja the chills.

Asia's eyes were the first thing to move after the shake in her form. The viridian eyes opened slowly, taking in the roof of the church as the first thing to cross her new, bettered night vision. She opened her eyes a little further, seeing a wider space but feeling very tired, nonetheless. She thought she might have recognized her surroundings a bit, shifting her glance from side to side, up and down, but wasn't too sure.

Then she noticed the people standing around her. The beautiful redhead was smiling to her, quietly, looking very pleased with whatever she was looking at. Behind her was a small, silver haired child and a dark haired teen that looked to be around the same age as the redhead. They were wearing the same kind of uniform and smiling to her.

Asia was confused. "Uh-umm. Where, exactly, am I?"

It was an honest question. One a voice behind her was happy enough to answer.

"You're still in the church, Asia."

The young nun's eyes widened, turning her head swiftly to the other side. She recognized the voice.

"And you're alive. That's what matters the most."

Naruto walked over to her. She was still wearing his jacket and staring dumbly at him. No doubt she was wondering how she was alive, who these people were and what was going on.

To make long, overly descriptive dialogue short, he told her everything. He told her how he defeated the Fallen Angel and retrieved the Sacred Gear. He told her how he managed to convince Rias to accept her into her Peerage as a reborn Devil. He begged her forgiveness for doing something she hadn't asked him to and was grateful beyond words that she would not scorn him for his actions. She even hugged him; thanking him for giving her a second chance at life.

This was Asia; pure, innocent, forgiving. A truly wonderful person in his eyes and the rest of Rias Gremory's Peerage.

And finally, he swore to her, on both of their lives, that he would never, ever let her down again.

A promise of a lifetime.

Complex Apartments, south end of city, ten minutes later…

Knock knock knock.

Azazel turned his head towards the front of his apartment. He was sitting, silently, with drink in hand, waiting for anything or anyone to appear. The three knocks on his door was the first bit of noise he'd received since angry shouts from several legion commanders, asking what in Heaven's name was going on towards the abandoned church on the north-east side of the city.

They felt the rush of energy. Energy that felt strongly Angelic. Many wondered if a lord of Heaven was descending from the forgotten church, flaunting his power to challenge any who would dare match him.

It was a dramatic idea to believe possible, but the old lord guessed it wasn't an impossible one.

But, in the end, he assured all worried parties that everything was being handled by a professional under the employment of the Grigori faction and that any and all fears would be settled soon. He even sent Lord Baraqiel ahead as backup, with very specific instructions in mind from the old lord. The use of the stern Fallen, along with the apparently trustworthy employee of their Lord Azazel, quieted many of those voicing concerns that night, for many trusted their lord and did not believe he would lie to them about, well, anything.

Their trust had been well placed. Soon after Azazel's promised, the rush of powerful holy energy had been swept away, as if erased into thin air.

To the legions, Azazel had been right, as usual.

After the last call for concern had been answered and assuaged, Azazel decided a nice cup of red drink would do his heart well. His stress levels were escalating and a cool, calming drink of one of his favorite brands would do him some good (because, even he would admit, ramen just couldn't do what alcohol was so readily awaiting to do to his nerves).

He'd only been on his third sip when the noise rang through his apartment.

He stretched his senses out, feeling the presence just outside the door.

Weak though it was, he recognized it almost instantly.

"Coming, coming, one moment!" He shouted, slamming his glass down and quickly running towards the front of his temporary residence.

He unlocked the door's simple locking mechanic, feeling several dozen additional magical runes and ties disappear with his simple twist of the door metal seal, then threw the door wide. His eyes were wide and worried and, despite the short run to the door, he appeared out of breath. But the figure, standing casually in front of his doorway, made his worried expression disappear into a fit of smiles and chuckles.

"Raynare!"

There she was. His missing ward. Standing there, outside his residency, calmly waiting as Azazel moved to stand quickly beside her. In an unwanted twist, Azazel's mind registered the scene before him was playing out as an almost painful echo from many years ago; with her scantly dress covered in dirt, her face bruised and her expression dower then such a pretty face should ever been. And while before (five days prior, specifically) Naruto had left the young Fallen in a state of mostly sore muscles and a wounded pride, this time, it seemed, he left her with more wounds on her person then just her sense of superiority.

He might have been angry at him if he wasn't just happy that she was alive.

And above all else, there was something that stood out of Raynare's appearance that was certainly more prevalent than anything that looked dirtied, ruffed up or untidied.

Raynare's eyes; had they been so vibrant the couple nights before? They were the same violet coloring but now…they shined.

The young Fallen, standing outside the lord's temporary Japanese abode, shifted awkwardly at his doorstep. "H-hey, um…hey." She was stuttering, finding her eyes strangely interested in the apartment's doormat. "I, um, I-I kind of…I did something I shouldn't…that is to say, um…" She stopped, trying to find the right words. Her fingers tightened into fists as she struggled with her own sense of fear.

She was fraught with worry. A serious case of it.

But she was trying. Trying so very hard.

Azazel himself just watched her from the doorway. He noticed her brow curling, her lips moving in ways that showed she truly was trying to tell him something and the way her ears were turning red in worry.

She was trying to confess; to talk to him.

For the first time in a very long time, she was trying to start up a conversation.

This meant she wasn't holding back.

He laughed from the doorway – a loud, almost cleansing laugh of release from the stress of the entire craziness of the night – watching the young woman's head shoot up, wide eyed, and almost scared to look at him straight in the eye. She looked fearful, vulnerable and terrified at what might happen next. Like a child with their hand in the mother of all cookie jars.

Azazel couldn't help the next words that came from his mouth.

"Did you fall down some stairs again?"

His tone was in jest, but his stature and expression was soft, understanding, and above all, kind.

His ward stared up to him. Her face was of disbelief for the briefest of moments, before her eyes, brow and mouth curled and contorted into a look of absolute defeat.

"Y-ye-e-e-essss!"

She didn't hold back the tears, the shakes or even to wait outside and be asked inside any longer. She moved forward, arms wide and wrapped them around her guardian's waist, letting the tears fall freely as she put as much effort as she could into holding the man in front of her.

How many years had it been since she hugged him? She couldn't recall. Didn't want to recall.

He was warm, welcoming and she was crying. And she was okay with that.

"I-I'm sorry, dad." She cried out her words, holding the man in front of her with all she had. She was wetting his lavender kimono with her tears. "I-I am so, so sorry. I made a mistake and did something I shouldn't have and I am sorry! Dad, I am so, so sorry…"

Dad. How he loved to hear that word. Azazel didn't wait long to wrap his arms around his child, holding her as tight as she was, brushing his fingers through her hair like he did when she was a little girl in a crib. She used to love it. Still did, in fact, even as he tried to calm her quietly through her muffled cries in his chest.

"Shh, shh, shh, don't worry baby girl, it's alright." His voice was a whisper, but his tone only gave away the smallest portion of just how happy he was to have her. "It's alright. I got you, no worries, I got you." And he had no intention of ever letting her go. Not ever.

They stayed like that for a long while – crying and comforting one another in each other's arms.

Raynare was crying years' worth of tears while Azazel performed his long overdue duties as a father.

It was such a serene, heartwarming scene. Even the figure atop the roof across the road from them, hidden from their view and watching them with a smile, admitted to himself that, maybe, it would be best to let the two have their space for the night.

He would get his needed information on what the heck was happening within the Fallen ranks of Grigori later.

Maybe tomorrow, if he didn't sleep the day away by accident.

His true self was exhausted.

Naruto laughed quietly, moving to the side of the roof, away from the father and daughter pair, and dispersed into thin air with a loud 'pop' and a small cloud of smoke that followed.

A few days later…

"It's 7:00 AM!

"Helpful advice to all you men out there: if you walk into a bathroom when a girl's already using it, and she's ready to make you look like what Vlad the Impaler did to the Turks, just remember: she should have locked the door!"

A hand reached out from underneath a thick nest of blankets to smash down on an annoying alarm clock at the side table. A loud grunt could be heard through the large apartment as a bushel of bright blond hair made its way from under the blankets that laid atop the couch.

Exhausted and looking irritable, the blond-haired owner of the clock-smashing hand stood up from his resting spot in a slouch. Scratching his mangled and stiff hair loose, the young owner of the apartment made his way out of his living room and into the kitchen, stretching out tight muscles as he did so.

The blond attempted to blink out remaining levels of exhaustion as he pulled out a carton of two-percent milk and drank it straight from the lid. Though taught better than to do so, he had a busy past week. He earned a little pass from common practices of standard living.

Once the carton was empty, he pulled his mouth away and offered a sigh of relief. Nothing beat milk in the morning.

Tossing the empty carton into a waiting trash bin, the blond casually walked to the window of his apartment; gazing out over the view of several houses, stores and the single high school building off in the distance.

Naruto smiled out to the view.

"It is looking like a really nice day today."

"Oh! Hurry up, Naruto-kun! We're going to be late if we don't hurry!" A feminine voice shouted from behind the former Hokage, followed by quickly shuffling feet and sounds of distress and questions of 'where did I leave this or that or whatnot.'

Naruto blinked, startled out of his musing on the great view to turn around and look back to the unexpected guest to his apartment.

And by unexpected, he meant that he kept forgetting that he'd been given, unceremoniously and without debate, a roommate.

The roommate being a Ms. Asia Argento.

"Oh, I knew I should have gotten everything ready last night! I was just so tired but I couldn't get to sleep and – I-I mean, your bed is very comfy, Naruto-kun, but I was just nervous and this is my first day to get registered and…and…oh."

Now, before any misunderstandings occurred, Asia was given the apartment bed by Naruto as long as she remained in his place. It was an appropriate choice to make with being in a new environment, especially with a boy living so close by. The blond ninja hoped to make her feel as comfortable as possible, even under the strange occurrence of becoming a Devil and moving into a completely strange lifestyle so suddenly.

Volunteering to sleep on the couch was the least Naruto could offer to help ease the former nun into her new life.

"Oh! I am really making a mess of everything. And on my first day of school, of all days to be so untidy." Asia looked almost ready to cry, Naruto watching from the side as she brought her hands together in a prayer fashion, turning her head to the sky, "Oh, my lord, please forgive this humble servant for her lethargy-OWIE!" Asia's arms suddenly went to her head, holding it tightly almost as if she had a brain freeze.

Funny little fact about Devils: if they prayed to the Biblical God, a shock was sent through their system, similar to if, but not nearly as harsh, a holy weapon was placed on their skin. The 'holy-shock,' as Naruto called it, was a minor, usually temporary annoyance to any Devil who prayed or used the name of God for anything. And in the case of Asia, who attempted to pray, at least once, every hour or so, it made the last two days alone a very entertaining experience for the blond hero of Kuoh.

Certainly wasn't a negative he'd put on the whole roommate experience.

Shaking his head and laughing at the innocent nun, now reborn Devil, under his care, Naruto walked to the kitchen area and gave a shout out, "Hey, Asia! You want eggs, bacon, waffles, pancakes – you name it, I make it!"

A mile or so from Kuoh Academy, sidewalk…

"Okay, okay, I just-just have to check everything one more time. Now, I have the rulers, the pencils, the erasers, the spare erasers, the pens, paper-"

"Asia."

"-and there's the textbooks, can't forget those, the lined paper, the drawing paper, the spare gym clothes, the swimsuit, the spare uniform in case I spill something on my current one-"

"Asia…"

"-and there's the mechanical pencil and there's the painting kit and…and…wait, hold on, where's my apple?! I-I was sure I had one! This is terrible! How am I going to make a good impression with the teacher if I don't have the proper greeting etiquette material for him or her?! Oh Naruto-kun, we have to go to the market and-"

"Asia!"

Naruto shouted, startling the girl out of her murmurings. She stared up to her guide from her sitting position in the middle of the city's walkways, having placed her very large backpack on the ground to look over the contents inside of it. She was panicking and making an extreme effort to come off as a perfect student for her first day of school, which required her to sit down, take all of the items out from her bag and place them on the ground, counting everything to make sure she had everything she needed for Kuoh Academy.

It would have been cute if this wasn't the third time she performed the action since leaving his apartment.

Naruto, somewhat grieved by his roommate's need to be perfect, reached behind himself to pull out the needed reddish fruit. "I've been carrying it myself, remember?"

This was the third time he reminded her. Her cheeks turned pink in remembrance, as well. "Oh. Right. I forgot. I-I didn't have enough room for the fruit." She tried laughing but it came out strained and twitchy. She started to put everything back into her bag, slowly, red-faced, and trying to avoid Naruto's gaze.

She was trying to prove herself to him. That much was obvious. And he felt like a jerk for reminding her that she had everything ready, prepared and accounted for.

She was just scared. She needed a pep talk.

"Hey, Asia, listen," he knelt down beside her, helping her put her things quickly away, "I know what you're going through. New town, new living space, and now a school – especially school – that's a lot to take in, right?" He didn't even mention the whole 'becoming a Devil' thing. That went without saying. "But I'm telling you, you're going to do fine. You have me, Rias, Akeno, Koneko, Kiba – everyone, who is willing to make your first day at Kuoh great." He put the last pencil in her bag, closing the latches for her and lifting it carefully onto her back. "So don't worry about anything, alright? We've got your back."

Asia turned around, backpack once more strapped tightly to herself, and looked nervously up to Naruto. "Yeah, I know. It's just, I'm still nervous." She fidgeted with her straps, her bottom lip quivering a little as she stared into Naruto's blue eyes. "Hey, Naruto-kun, w-would you tell me if y-you were scared on your first day at Kuoh?"

Naruto lifted his head in the direction of the school. He remembered fighting a nutcase with a sword the size of a car at the age of twelve. He punched a giant snake in the nose and broke a snake in half when it ate him. He beat up Garra of the Sand, a mass murderer at the time, when few could even touch him in life. He beat up a serial killer at sixteen. He wrecked the landscape of a forest fighting the Snake Sannin. He beat six guys who possessed eyes blessed by a literal god of Chakra. He conquered his 'inner demon' in one-on-one combat in his mind. He helped stop a war and save an army of ninja. He beat up monsters and stopped said previous god of Chakra from destroying the world.

He also fought someone on the moon, all before he even got married.

So…Kuoh Academy? Scary?

He turned his head back down to Asia's waiting face.

Naruto smiled down to her. "Terrified," he answered, seeing a surprised, and maybe a little joyful, look appear on the former nun's face, "first day at Kuoh, I was so scared, I almost walked into the girl's locker-room. Thrice." Asia was giggling now, nervousness gone. "But you know, Rias-chan was there to help me out. And Akeno-chan, too. They really helped me get used to this place in no time." He gave her his best, brightest smile. "And I'll be more than happy to help you too! No matter what!"

"Really?"

"Heheh, sure! What are friends for?" Her expression held no trace of fear now. For some reason, it reminded him of something important he had to do. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He exclaimed, reaching around to his backpack, messing with the zipper for only a moment, before his hand went into the center pocket and pulled out a small, slightly larger than his hand, toy.

It was the yellow and black mouse. The one dropped during her abduction the previous week.

Asia was shocked.

"Yeah, sorry it took me this long to get it back. It was a little dirty from where you dropped it so I kinda tried to clean it off as best I could so…here," Naruto held it out to her, "happy first day of school…or something."

Asia stared at it, mouth agape, reaching out to take it in her arms.

She stared at it hard. Tears started to form in her eyes. "I thought I lost it…"

"Ahh! Oh please don't cry! I-I'm sorry, okay, I know it's not the best gift and I should have given you something more but-"

She hugged him. Toy still in hand, she reached her tiny arms around his waist and pulled herself to him in a tight embrace.

Naruto, mid-speech, blinked surprised, turning his eyes down to the crying, hugging, smiling young girl.

"Thank you, Naruto-kun. Thank you so much."

Naruto smiled, reaching down to pat her comfortingly. "Don't mention it."

They hugged one another tightly, Asia laughing into his chest as he tried his best to hug her even with the wide load in her backpack, before the two separated. Asia looked ecstatic now. "This day is going to be wonderful." She giggled, petting the toy mouse-thing. "Yes. I'm sure it is."

Naruto was about to agree, along with a spurring forward for the pair before they actually were late to class, only for one of the most interesting of occurrence to happen at that very moment.

A voice shouted from the corner ahead of them.

"Oi! Asia-san!"

The two blonds turned to the origin of the yell.

"Asia-san! Good morning!"

Naruto couldn't hold back his surprise. Neither could Asia, though for different reasons.

"G-good morning to you too!"

Now Naruto was really surprised. He turned his head towards the smaller blonde, Asia's expression one of complete and utter joy as she lifted her free arm not holding the toy to wave excitedly. She looked ready to bounce for joy; the level of vibrancy coming off her was so pronounced and enjoyable it was difficult not to smile with her.

And all this, just from one single boy down the corner of the street.

One brown-haired, average height, all-around perverted boy of Kuoh Academy:

It was Issei Hyoudou.

"Issei-san, Issei-san! W-wait for me!" Asia yelled, running forward a couple steps, paused, then turned back around frantically, cheeks colored an embarrassed red. "I-I am sorry, Naruto-kun. I-I did not mean to run off but I, uhm, if you don't mind, I just-"

Naruto wasn't paying attention then. His mind decided to do a minor reset at what was now being fully registered as actually happening in front of his own eyes.

This was the boy? The boy she regretted leaving? Issei Hyoudou, of all people? The one he'd only recently finished watching and protecting and ensuring he lived to possibly see old age – that guy? And he was 'familiar' with Asia? Another person he just so happened to have saved from the same Fallen Angel?

What the f&%k is going on here?!

"-a-and I hope it isn't too much to ask for, but," Naruto rebooted then, turning his head down to the girl, who looked quite frantic over…something, "may I walk to school with Issei-san? Please?"

…Searching for response…searching for response…oh, wait, she was asking for-

"Oh! Uh, sure," Naruto blinked himself awake. He was only guessing what she said and, based on how it sounded eerily familiar to how Himawari (his past daughter, he had one) sounded when she asked him if she could walk to the academy with a boy one day (he remembered being very tempted into deporting said boy's entire family to the Tetsu no Kuni (the Land of Iron) at that moment). He really hoped he was right about this one. "Uh, no problem with me. Ju-just make sure to take, uh, take the, uh, banana. NO! Wait, apple. I-I meant apple."

Reboot at, apparently, forty percent.

Thankfully, Asia's excitement seemed to blind her to her friend's sudden bizarre behavior. Reaching out, she took the apple from the blond boy and nodded gratefully. "Oh, thank you Naruto-kun! I promise to make it up to you. Promise!"

Not trusting his voice after that great use of the words to make actual sentences, Naruto just nodded with pursed lips and shooed his roommate off toward the Hyoudou kid.

The boy was waiting quietly at the corner, smiling excitedly. It didn't even seem like a perverse smile. He actually seemed happy when Asia came over beside, carrying apple and toy in hand, and greeted him with an overly excited smile and an innocence that was both sweet and almost supernatural to behold. It certainly seemed to be a strong contrast to the perverse ways of Issei's usual day to day routine, especially when he reached out and tried to help carry the few of things in her arms.

Asia was blushing. Naruto could see it, even from where he stood. She was blushing at Issei Hyoudou.

He paused briefly to think of how impossibly coincidental this all was.

It was a one-in-a-million chance. That one opportunity that just didn't seem like it would happen but did.

And to Naruto, who stood back briefly to watch the boy and girl walk ahead of himself in the direction of the school, he found it all just so…so…

Funny.

"Hehehe-haha-HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He laughed loud. He laughed deeply. He might have even laughed a little crazily. But in the end, the sheer happenstance of the two meeting –

Was it fate? Was it destiny? Heck, was it God?

Naruto, still in a fit of giggles, could honestly not say with certainty which it was. But, even if it was some outside force messing with the present circumstances of those two meeting, he didn't care. Because, frankly, the two looked happy. Really, really happy.

And that was all that mattered, right?

And now, without further ado, with a bright smile on his face and a kick to his step, Naruto followed after the pair in the direction of the academy. Thinking that, maybe, Asia had been right.

Today was looking pretty amazing right then.

A little ways behind the hero, a few minutes ago…

Head covered in a tan hat, eyes covered in sunglasses and wearing a tight beige long coat, Raynare stood quietly at the far corner of the street, eyes watching the Devil and human pair converse down the city street in the direction of, if she remembered right, Kuoh Academy.

The two were smiling, talking about things she could not make out and being normal morning students who walked to school. Nothing about their actions or their individual appearances was out of the ordinary, except if one considered the idea that one of them actually died a couple days before and the other, once again, had blue eyes instead of the feral red.

Yep. Nothing weird there!

She figured they would do this – the simple lifestyle of walking to school, keeping to a state of normalcy that befitted any student in the city. She figured this would be the most likely course of action since leaving early morning from her lord's apartment. The blond hadn't stood out to her during her brief adventure as a student of Kuoh; that was because he decided to blend in with them like he was 'normal.'

She concluded, even before leaving, that this boy - this Naruto - would act in a way that avoided attention. That he would try and remain normal, unimpressive and unnoticeable to all those around him and avoid giving away any sort of hint to his untapped potential.

She figured as much, but did not try and convince herself to not stay back at her lord's…her father's apartment.

She should have been resting, healing, getting the full feeling of her arms back.

But she didn't. She left early that morning without thinking a second more about it.

Why?

Why? Why she was doing this? Why had she decided to dress up like one of Azazel's old undercover spy characters? Why was she being so secretive to people that could have cared less if she was near them or not? Why the secret agents act?

Why, why was she finding the blond's simple act of just walking away so casually and carefree so interesting?

She was better than this. He was the enemy (Maybe? Kinda? Not anymore?). Her life was spared by him, he offered advice to her, generally helped her and now she was practically stalking him to school?

What spurred this action? What would make her do something so…so…silly?

What is wrong with me?!

She grumbled to herself, gritting her teeth behind the corner wall. Even without directly being involved with her actions, Naruto Uzumaki was proving to be a menace. Even doing nothing but stand there, watching the nun girl run off ahead of him, he was being utterly infuriating!

She was a member of Grigori, damn it! Such actions were beneath her!

She trained under Azazel, learned from Baraqiel, and would prove her worth as a strong, capable, and confident Fallen Angel! She would work, she would bleed, she would give her all to Grigori so that one day, she would be looked upon as positively as her father was.

No shortcuts. No cheating. She would be Raynare; a Fallen Angel who did right by Grigori.

Her thoughts were so captivated on how awesome she was going to prove everyone she could be that she forgot what she was doing just then.

Blushing at being caught in the glow of her own passion, Raynare turned back around to look down the roadway towards the blond, watching as he laughed loudly to himself.

Why was he laughing? She missed something (crap) and now he was laughing.

What, what did I miss?

He chuckled a little more. It couldn't have lasted longer than a couple seconds, but it was joyful, cheerful and so full of energy that it was eye-catching, followed by a bright, satisfied, and downright harmonious smile, as he returned to walking in the direction of the academy.

Her eyes were fixated on him as he continued on his way to school; her eyes never leaving him until he turned down a corner and walked out of view.

She'd been silent, careful, and observant to those very last moments of view.

Or, more specifically, over the curve of his lips, more like.

That smile…

It gave her pause at the corner.

She stared at it carefully as he walked. Pearlescent teeth, absolute joy in his eyes, and the way his strange birthmarks moved with his smile in a way that made it almost seem…cute…

He was Naruto Uzumaki. Raynare watched him since he left his apartment. Before returning to her own home, she would claim that she had wasted a perfectly good morning on something that was dull, uninteresting, and had no purpose in catching her eye.

…Although…maybe…that smile of his was kind of nice to look at…

END OF BOOK ONE

OVER 50,000 WORDS, Y'ALL! AND OVER A HUNDRED AND TEN PAGES OF WRITING!

*HEAD-BANGING-ON-DESK* *HEAD-BANGING-ON-DESK* *HEAD-BANGING-ON-DESK*

Alright. Needless to say, this, like the chapter prior, has been a nightmare to write.

This chapter was terrifying; trying to give exposition and flashbacks to an almost entirely linear storyline is hard. This is doubly so when you have to create flashbacks entirely off of personal creativity or imagination. I have to create the imagery for the reader without being over excessive (because, let's face it, DIALOGUE is what most of us like to read), in addition to not being too neglectful that it doesn't give a too simple image to what I hope to convey.

I had to create a reasonable background to an otherwise one-dimensional villain such as Raynare-THAT'S NOT EASY! I didn't want her to come off as the 'Tragic Villain' or whatever. She still did bad things! But, I figure just being evil for the sake of evil and the laughs were just kind of meh.

So, background on originally unimportant canon character. Hurray.

But the worst part of this chapter? Making the situations serious. I hate serious writing scenes-they are no fun! This is a humor/romance fic, dammit! Where's my lols?! But I also know that, with this chapter having a fight scene over the death of a nun, of all things, inside of a church that I couldn't just make it a happy-go-lucky bout between two conflicted characters.

And political writing is worse than fight scenes, I swear (CURSE YOU HOUSE OF CARDS! YOU DID NOT PREPARE ME FOR THIS).

But, in the end, this was the result of my two months of work.

I wasn't sure if I was 'jumping the shark' or not with this chapter and REALLY worried about positing it. I'm a man, I should be confident in my writing, but I worry still. I have level of pride in my works. I wish to convey that. I just want to have a certain depth and feel to it that is my own, while still being closely followed by the original series. To put my own edge to an already lengthy and popular setting, created by someone else.

'Fanfiction,' if you would.

Also, do not worry about the 'jump-timeline' thing I did in this chapter. I wasn't sure how to go about it: make it from past to present, jump between past and present to allow the reader to still be interested in present dealings, something between the two – WHICHEVER! I wasn't sure how the reader would prefer it so I just went with my gut instinct. Don't expect a lot of jumping around the time stream in the history of my DxD universe after this. More linear storyboarding after this.

Poll finished on June first! Friday updates are final! Midnight-Friday is when I like to post my work, Eastern Time United States. Just a heads up.

I KNOW IT IS SATURDAY WHEN I POSTED THIS CHAPTER, BUT I DIDN'T WANT TO WAIT ANOTHER WEEK TO POST! SO THERE!

Hmm. And I think that's everything! Super psyched from E3! Final Fantasy 7 remake, Kingdom Hearts, Last Guardian, Lara Croft –

MY BODY IS READY!

(Oh, and Inside Out was legit and awesome, as well, just as a side note to the epicness of Pixar (please hire me!)).

And just one more thing:

SUPER IMPORTANT NOTE NUMBER ONE: I want to thank Kenchi618 for promoting my story on his podcast recently. I have not listened to it personally but others have openly said that they were inspired to read my work based off his promotion. I thank him greatly for it. I am a big fan of his work and am immensely pleased that he has found my work till now to be satisfactory. I hope to continue, not only to impress him personally, but ALL of my fans with my work from here to the future.

SUPER IMPORTANT NOTE NUMBER TWO: I apologize for the delay with this chapter. Between creating entirely new scenes, creating entertaining backgrounds, fight sequences, political scenes, internships, working out and frankly just trying to write an overall impressive story without issue to either myself or the readers, I have been busy. But, I still aim to write something impressive so no worries. I am in fine health and aim to impress still further with the next chapters. I have ideas and am excited to write them (plus, I got so many bad-ass speeches, if I do say so myself, for the chapters to come that I am excited by just that prospect of putting them to paper)!

SUPER IMPORTANT NOTE NUMBER THREE: Happy birthday to shadespace! You said it was going to be your birthday – a small note of congratulations couldn't hurt! And sorry I'm a day late, but I wrote over twenty-five thousand words in the span of a day and a half, trying to get it ready as a birthday gift. Still, sorry I couldn't follow through with my promise.

Anyhow, time for a small, weekend break, then back to writing! Now that the first arc is done, I can get into some serious stuff…