All echoes of shouts had faded away. The moon shone over a thick forest just outside a village on the border of Ostia, its light illuminating a smoke that rose above a small clearing.

Jaffar, the Angel of death stood beside a pyre, piled high with wood. He had laid the limp body of Nino across it and had set fire to it using the flint he carried with him in one of the many pockets in his cloak.

No patch of earth was deserving enough to house his beloved's body. Her spirit belonged with the true Angels. It would rise with the smoke to the heavens; St. Elimine would protect her on her journey. Because that's what St. Elimine did for the innocent, isn't it?

Head bowed, beside the column of fire, Jaffar let one tear paint a shining river down his cheek. It was shed for her, the only person who could move him as she did. It was made clear to him at that moment, in death or life, Jaffar's heart belonged to Nino, now and forever. Between the ground and the cold stars in the heavens above, there was no one who would take her place.

Jaffar knew this in his heart, his belief as unshakable as the earth, as the curling smoke rose into the sky, paving a pathway which a young soul would follow on silver wings.

Jaffar remained beside the funeral pyre until the sun peeked over the horizon as though afraid. He returned to the inn, the gruff keeper letting him in grudgingly. Jaffar had a letter to write

The assassin now sat at a rough edged desk, an equally shabby quill clutched in his hand, an unfamiliar tool. He sighed, knocking his fist against his head in frustration, trying to put an end to the rambling letter that he had written. He composed himself and continued.

…Matthew, the man's name is Sceleris. He is the last of Nergal's creations. He willingly surrendered his love and life for the enhanced archery abilities that becoming a morph would grant him. I will not rest until Nino is avenged. I want you to be there. Do it for Leila and if not for her, then for me. I need your help.

Jaffar

The assassin signed the end of his letter and sealed it. Wandering through the town, he was able to find an eager young man who agreed to take the letter to the Castle and to deliver it to Matthew as quickly as possible. Coins exchanged hands. Jaffar watched as the villager disappeared into the distance. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the pendant Nino had given him six years ago. He had considered placing it on the pyre with her at first, but, as the last piece of Nino that remained in the mortal world, he wanted it to be present when the cost of taking her life was exacted.

Jaffar returned to the inn, collected his few belongings and marched to the abandoned store house that was located at one corner of the village. He did not wear his cloak, held his head high and strode through the crowds of bustling people, sensing their fear as they saw the face of the man who had been the subject of so many "wanted" posters.

The store house was rundown, glass shattered, much of the wood rotted by too many winters. Jaffar roughly kicked the door through and strode into the centre of the empty building, looking around in mild interest. In every recess, countless spiders had made their abodes. Sunlight pushed through the dusty remains of windows, catching the dust that hung in the air.

Like the spiders that had been the only inhabitants of the store house, Jaffar settled into the darkest corner, pulled out his two faithful daggers and a stone, and began to sharpen his blades. He could only wait now, for the buzzing insects to stumble unwittingly into his trap.

The light dimmed even more than it already had. It was gradually replaced with moonlight, which, pale with illness, could hardly cast any light through the dirty broken shards of glass.

Jaffar's blades were as sharp as they would ever be. He lay them down beside his leg, but in easy reach in case the hunters came earlier then planned. But he knew them; they only sought him out at night, when innocents could be "protected" from the methods necessary to bring down villains such as himself.

A thin lipped smile stretched itself across the face of the assassin. Sceleris was more of a villain than Jaffar would ever be. He had traded his emotion in so that his natural weaknesses could be replaced with body enhancing dark magic. The magic turned his hair jet black and the malevolent glow of the spell began to shine out of the man's eyes. Sceleris was now half morph, he lacked the magical prowess of Nergal's later creations, but his skills in archery had made him just as much a threat from a distance as Ephidel, Limistella and Sonia had been. It had been both luck and Jaffar's own unearthly agility that had saved him from the sting of Sceleris's trademark steel arrows. How ironic that it was this monstrosity that now pursued him. For Nino's revenge to be taken, Jaffar would need luck and assistance again, just as he had the night before...before…

The man held his eyes tightly closed, only the smallest of droplets leaking out from the corners of his eyes. If there was one time where the Angel of Death's unmerciful will was needed, it was now. Jaffar would need to be burned in the fires within the Angel's soul. The Angel would rise again.

Jaffar readied himself, and stood up, clapping the dust off of his dark clothes. He bent down and picked up his daggers before facing the figures that had come through the fragmented doorway. A total of eleven silhouettes against the moonlit sky.

Mishchief mage: Sorry for the short chapter. I've figured it out, it will be a three chapter fic with two long chapters and a short one in the middle...and this was it.