Messenger of Letters

by Spiralled Fury

When someone heard the name 'Gabriel', they might think of the Archangel. Ask a member of an old secret society, though, and they'd remember the name 'Gabriel Moran', a dangerous hunter. Now, Gabriel the Archangel, wounded from both his idiot brother's prize fight and a fall from burned wings, wanders back to the second best place he ever called 'home'; The Men of Letters Bunker.

17. CH 17 Counting Bodies Like Sheep

So uh... We're back... with 18,994 words.

Well shit, I didn't mean for this to be this long.

This is all about some sad stuff. From foreshadowing, to prophecies, to just plain depression.

I'm so sorry about this mess.

The AKA is 'Everything Black'

---

{Winter, Before}

"C'mon, Mike-a! Keep up!" Gabriel called over his shoulder, twisting his body effortlessly to maneuver around a tree, his six wings undulating perfectly as he circled.

"Not..." Michael panted. "My fault... You're fast." He swerved about the trunk with far less grace than Gabriel, but managed to keep his wingbeats well-timed.

"Come on, I had a cast off less than fifty years ago! You're just getting slow in your old age, Mickey!" Gabriel laughed, diving for the ground as Michael let out an irritated scoff and followed.

"I am not old, Gabriel. And how do you keep getting these nicknames, anyway?" Michael shouted after his quickly moving brother.

"Pull them out of my feathers, Mickle!" Gabriel cackled. "I'm amazed that you haven't figured that out yet!"

"I'm not as silly as all that, Gabriel." Michael plunged close, intending to ram the smaller Archangel before Gabriel pulled to the side, almost causing Michael to hit the ground. The white wings braced and flapped up at the last second, shooting him back at level with his brother.

"You need to live a bit, Mich!" Gabriel barrel-rolled around a tree, wings pulled close before flaring out again. "Besides, you came out here with me."

"Only because Lucifer was helping Father, and Raphael is still recovering from the incident with the monsters." Michael rolled his eyes, pretending to be disenchanted, but really, he liked flying over the so-far noncorporeal plane of earth with his siblings.

"Foo bah. Don't pretend you don't like it, My-cake!"

"That nickn- That didn't even make sense!" Michael laughed loosely as he followed Gabriel through the trees.

"Really? I thought it was quite good." The younger grinned, playfully swooping to fly upside-down over his elder brother, smiling like nothing could stop him. "C'mon, let's find somewhere to land! You pick this time!"

"Alright." Michael nodded with a soft hum, turning his nose to the west as Gabriel fell into formation behind him, rising slowly above the tree line where the air was slow and cushion-y, making their flight only easier.

Michael's broad, soaring wings barely twitched as they glid over the forests of earth, simply enjoying the scenery of what the currently rocky, bare planet was to become.

"Over there, Gabriel. That... marsh, it looks like." Michael nodded to the side, turning in the direction of the place he saw, wings tilting to compensate for the motion.

Matching his brother pace for pace, Gabriel dipped below an errant branch of a particularly tall tree, his sharp-shaped wings more built for speed than power. Even with the massive updraft, Gabriel still had to flap every so often to keep the speed he needed to stay aloft.

"Where's this marsh? And why a marsh, anyway? Squishy, slimy places, I thought you didn't like getting dirty." Gabriel questioned as he sped forward, in line with his brother now.

"I'm curious." Michael shrugged. "There will be much of this world to learn of, and more of it to explore. I wish to at least know the 'lay' of the planet before it is truly a..." His voice dropped off.

"A place? Not just this... Construct?" Gabriel tried to finish, dipping under his brother to talk up at him.

"Exactly." Michal nodded with a soft sigh. "I don't want to... have to learn once this planet exists. I want to simply explore." He turned his wings down, slowly dipping back below the treeline, Gabriel following and landing on a branch high above, smiling down at his elder brother, who had landed on a moss-covers fallen log.

"Is it slippery?" Gabriel questioned, watching him like a jungle cat, wings even hunched over his thin form.

"It is a bit, yes." Michael absently answered, squatting down to poke at the mud. "It's not nearly as gritty as a seabed, but it's more gritty than a swamp."

"Swamps are pretty soft, bro." Gabriel responded, jumping onto the next tree as Michael skipped forward, landing on a small outcropping of drier dirt, once again leaning down to observe the mud and grass.

"Yes, but this is less so, Gabriel." Michael murmured, rubbing some of the mud between his fingers. "It's getting squishier, as though trying to absorb more." He murmured, fluttering to a small, thin root that arced over the water, seemingly more unstable than the liquid itself.

Somehow though, Michael managed to get balanced and leaned down again to examine the muck.

"Hey, Gabriel, don't lean on that branch too much. It might break." Michael glanced up at the younger Archangel.

"I'll be fine, Mikey. Go back to playing in the mud." Gabriel answered with an eye roll as he examined a leaf on another tree.

"It's not playing, it's-"

The crack of a branch interrupted them, causing both Archangels to freeze.

Then the root of the tree snapped, and Michael fell into the mud.

"Ugh, disgusting!" The older Archangel snapped, his white wings raised high above the mud, even the lightly tinged blue lower ones pulled up almost to the middle of his back. Gabriel laughed so hard he had to float down to safe ground, watching his brother's irritation. Michael, noticing that the water seemed to be absorbing him now, flapped his wings a few times to try and fly out.

Then the mud started clinging to his feathers.

"Um... Gabriel..?" Michael stared at his hips, now stuck in the mud, eyes slowly widening as he started to realize he was in trouble, cold mud sucking a his body.

"This is priceless, by Dad..." Gabriel managed to choke out through laughter.

"...Gabriel? Can you help me out?" Michael questioned, watching the ... mud eat him slowly.

"Wow, stuck, huh..." Gabriel stared, long and hard at the white-feathered Archangel, slightly concerned now. "Alright, Michael... Where's a good place to land?" He took off, circling the swamp as Michael sank.

"There's that sandbar over there." Michael held his arms above the clinging, sticky half-liquid that pulled him down until the goop was level with his mid-chest, his lower two pairs of wings almost completely buried, the third held high above him. "There's- ah, there's a stone here. I can stay like this." Michael smiled warily, glancing down at the muck before returning to stare at Gabriel.

"So, you're good for a second?" Gabriel questioned, and Michael nodded. "Ok then, stay here for a bit." He insisted, darting around the jungle for a moment, returning with a long strand of vines. "Here, Mikey. I'll get you out of there in a flash." He landed on the sandbar again, handing Michael the end of the vine and tying it around a tree branch some feet above their heads. "Though, uh, your feathers won't thank me for it."

"I'll deal." Michael responded uneasily, holding tightly to the vines, wrapping them around his one arm for extra security. Mostly, he just wanted free of the cloying goo.

"Alright then..." Gabriel's wings flipped back as a counterbalance, holding out one hand to Michael. "Let's get you out."

Once the pair was holding on, Gabriel started to pull up and forward, slowly drawing Michael out of the mire he had been trapped in, wings fluttering to give a boost to his overly slow rising.

"Gabriel, I am not weak, you can pull fast-"

"Michael, I'm really worried about you slipping deeper, so shut up." Gabriel growled out, all focus and concentration that Michael rarely saw on the youngest of their group.

So Michael, and his eternal impatience, pressed the balls of his feet to the rock under the water, and pushed upward.

Instead of going forward and up, like he should've, the rock gave a shudder, shifting under his weight right before sliding fully out from under him, giving way to a steep incline.

Michael had half a second to gasp out 'oh sh-' before his full weight hit Gabriel's smaller, sharper wings, hopeless to support that amount of pressure, barely having time to land and dig his heels into the sandbar, wings sweeping backward as the top corners of them snagged on a few tree branches, acting as huge second bracing arms.

The elder stared for a moment, impressed. He had certainly never thought to use his wings like that. Then he resumed flapping the free pair, the mud on their tips spraying to the sides as he kicked and ran up the muddy lakebed, trying to get free of the watery death trap. Unfortunately, on that particular plain of existence, he was capable of drowning, which only made the thought of sinking scarier.

And then his feet slipped from under him.

His chest hit the marsh plants with a hollow sounding splat, followed by his wings, quite unprepared to be suddenly fired forward, landing flat in the mud. Gabriel's hand slipped off his, and just like that, Michael was underwater.

Gabriel let out a small shriek, watching his brother's hands claw at the open air, his wings uselessly flapping against the thick, heavy liquid trapping him.

There was no way he could get Michael out by himself. No freaking way.

So Gabriel did the one thing he could do.

"LUCIFER!" He screamed, hovering over the marsh and grabbing Michael's one wing, trying to pull him back up. The other wing fluttered in pain and fear. "LUCIFER HELP!" He howled again, grace roaring his panic and desperation.

Lucifer's grace answered with a confused question that shifted to worry, while Raphael just showed worry and started flying toward him.

By the time that the pair of middle brothers got there, Gabriel was almost sobbing, wings shaking with exertion at trying to draw out the sinking sibling. Michael's wings, all of them, had stopped moving entirely, the one simply laying on the mud, half sunk.

"Gabriel, what the-" Lucifer began.

"Michael was looking an' he fell! He won't come up and he's not moving!" Gabriel screeched, backbeating like his life depended on it. His brother's probably did.

Lucifer didn't have anything to add, his huge sunset-red eagle's wings flared to their widest as he landed in the muck, stuck his arms into it and yarded, straining his arms and wings as he pulled his elder brother to safety.

It was a long few minutes to Gabriel and Raphael, standing nervously at the side, wings wrapped around each other as Lucifer repeated small words over and over, wind kicked up by his wings blowing over small trees.

Then finally, Michael's dark-brown-topped head pulled free.

Lucifer growled a dull noise of encouragement, wings never slowing as he carefully extracted his brother's mud-coated body from the mire.

The minute that Michael's wings came fully out, Lucifer turned around and flew to the shore, cradling his elder sibling to his chest as he landed on his knees, bracing Michael's upper body against his own. Michael's breathing was low and raspy, like a small, soft choking sound. It was horrific, the tiny, breathy gagging noise that seemed to take up too little space for something so strong as Michael.

"We gotta get him to Dad." Lucifer mumbled, gathering up the huge plumes of messy wings and lanky, but strong limbs to his abdomen, wrapping Michael protectively in his lowest pair of wings, the upper two taking the brunt of the force required to lift another Archangel into Heaven.

Gabriel, meanwhile, couldn't help but feel it was his fault.

-{[|]}-

Lucifer paced in front of the bedroom, wings twitching in irritation, worry, impatience and slight pain as their Father worked whatever quiet ritual would help their brother heal.

"He does not blame you, Gabriel. I am certain." Raphael reassured for at least the fifth time in an hour, to the youngest Archangel nodding with his face buried in his hands.

Lucifer turned on a dime, marching the five steps to the other side of the hall.

Raphael and Gabriel sat, leaned against the wall across from the door, wings still mostly entangled in each other's, while Lucifer walked the hallway repeatedly, moving up and down the walkway with swift assurance, his rhythmic footsteps a tether to reality for the younger two.

When their Father finally emerged from the room, Lucifer had been at the other end of the hallway. He opened his wings as wide as the space would allow, no doubt pulling on the strained muscles used to get him into Heaven while carrying his older sibling, whirling over to his Father. "Is he alright?"

"Michael is cold, ill and confused. He will be fine, however." Chuck smiled softly, patting his second son's shoulder. "Gabriel, you did the right thing, calling for help. How did Michael get trapped, anyway?" He walked over to the younger two, kneeling in front of Gabriel.

"We were... flying, and he wanted to see the marsh. So he stood on a root while he was looking at it all, and the root broke. He just..." Gabriel shuddered. "Started sinking."

Chuck made a low 'mmh' noise of understanding before standing smoothly. "Why don't you three go to the library, and play some games and such. That way, you are close enough to Michael, as I need to return to working on earth, sorry..." He said, almost sheepishly.

"It's ok, Father." Lucifer murmured, turning away from the doorway of the room, where he had been watching his sibling, the soft rise and fall of his chest. "We understand. If Michael comes out, we'll take care of him."

With another gentle nod to their Father, Lucifer gestured for the others to follow him, leading them around the corner to the library, Raphael immediately dragging Gabriel to the side for a game of 'Bones', a strategy game that would one day be better likened to chess. Lucifer, meanwhile, pulled a book off Father's shelf, sitting in one of the chairs nearby.

Gabriel didn't exactly time it, but it was four point two-six rounds of Bones (Gabriel was winning) and almost a third of Lucifer's book before a very bleary looking Michael stumbled into viewing range, white blanket wrapped around his shoulders and wings, which slumped weakly at his sides.

"Hey, hey..." Lucifer's sudden scramble off the couch toward the hall was what attracted Gabriel and Raphael's attention, watching as Michael blindly staggered forward, glassy blue eyes searching the room with sticky, misjudged focus.

When the loose, detached skitter of his eyes brought his too-bright blue gaze to Lucifer, Michael seemed confused , though slightly relieved. "...L'k?" He mumbled thickly, eyes sliding from him to the floor. Gabriel and Raphael crept closer, faintly amused at the nickname. The younger two and their Father stuck to 'Luci', while Michael, rarely, called him 'Luka'. He was the only one allowed to call Lucifer, Luka, and even then he always got a half-glare.

This time though, the nickname didn't even phase Lucifer. "Yeah, Mikey. It's me. Eyes up here." He encouraged, placing a hand on Michael's shoulder. The elder Archangel's unfocused stare rose to meet Lucifer's. "That's it... hi." Lucifer murmured, grabbing Michael's blanket and pulling it tighter around the shaking, slight form.

"...G'br'el?" Michael mumbled, turning to look at the other two. "...R'ph'el..."

"Yes, older brother." Raphael walked closer to him, smiling softly.

"I'm ok, Mikey. We're all ok." Gabriel stated, patting one of Michael's massive wings. Michael fixed him with a blank look, before Lucifer carefully looped one arm around his shoulders.

"C'mon, Mike. How about you come and sit." Lucifer suggested, pulling Michael into his side before walking over to the couch, sitting his sibling down on it. Michael almost immediately slumped into the cushions, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion swallowed him up again, curled tightly into the opposite corner of the couch as Lucifer.

After a quick check to ensure he was still breathing, Lucifer picked up his book and just let Michael sleep, close to him or not. He had been pretty out of it when he first walked in, and Lucifer planned on letting him get back more reality before taking the permission of sibling cuddles.

Michael woke up again about two hours later, jaw cracking with a yawn that at least allowed him to focus.

"Hey, Mikey. You with us, this time?" Lucifer questioned, glancing from his book.

"I... I believe so..." Michael mumbled, rubbing his head. He was still tired, Gabriel could see it in his eyes. The way he was half-leaned over, not fully supporting his own weight, looking about the room with a sleepy stare.

"Good. Dad said that you'd probably be tired for a while." Lucifer flipped around, putting his feet on the couch beside his brother, who stared at him suspiciously.

"...What happened, fully?"

"You sank under. I pulled you out, and Dad fixed you up. You'll be fine, just tired."

"I feel as though I have slept for a year." Michael moaned, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"You look it." Gabriel muttered, making Raphael snort with laughter.

"I am never sleeping again." Michael mumbled, leaning back and blinking at the roof. He painted the perfect picture of the drunks that would appear on earth, one day.

"Uh huh..." Lucifer didn't even look from his book, merely sitting up beside Michael.

"Never. I'm going to stay awake forever." Michael restated.

"Why's that." Lucifer questioned disinterestedly.

"Because sleep feels like drowning. It sucks, Luci." The elder groaned, wings wrapped around his shoulders.

"Uh huh..." Lucifer hummed again, carefully unfolding his largest wing to subtly slide behind Michael as the first Archangel continued to rant about sleep.

"The mud was so cold, it felt as though I was being pulled down by it! You understand, yes?" The older Archangel threw up his hands in defeat, then turned to his unresponsive brother. "What are you reading?" He inquired after a pause, leaning in to Lucifer to see the pages.

To Gabriel and Raphael, who caught the subtle smirk that Lucifer shot in their direction, they realized that this is what their brother had planned all along.

"The Saddest Song. From the future." Lucifer said, opening the book a little wider and slowly wrapping his wing around Michael. "'"Why does she play upon the hill, Fen?" The young, sable furred wolf questioned her elder, ears flopping to the side.'" At Lucifer's reading, Gabriel and Raphael left their game, sitting eagerly beside them to listen. "'"She plays, Sera, for her own reasons." Fen's white fur waved softly in the wind as they watched the shifter above them, the mournful tones of her violin singing into the sky as though a lone wolf, the last of her kind. "You may, however, go ask her."'"

"'At those words, Sera started up the hill, her skillful paws making short work of the steep incline, dust kicked from her clipped, quick steps filling in her path. When she finally arrived to the side of the woman, wavy red hair flying from her ponytail as she stood with her violin on her shoulder, the dark wood shining from the firelight below, Sera found herself lost for words. Even in her less intimidating, soft human form, Vien still held an ancient shape, reminiscent to the shifters of old. She was long limbed, strong and tall. Her eyes still narrowed to slits, similar to a cat's, and her face was sharper, more elegant. "...You have questions, pup." Vien stated simply in her exotic-sounding accent.'"

Lucifer paused and took a breath before continuing. "'"I-I do." Sera nodded jerkily. "Every night, you play that song. The same one, every night." Vien laughed faintly, a rumbling purr of long-lost power. "Ah, pup..." She sighed. "You are wise to recognize it." They stood in silence after those words, watching the horizon that bridged their world and the next. "Do you know what the saddest songs are?" Vien spoke into the quiet, not looking from the edge of the world.'"

"'"N-no, ma'am. I don't." Sera answered, staring at her curiously. "The saddest songs, pup, are duets, played alone." Vien explained, voice low and soft, as though missing something deep within herself. There was a pause as Sera considered that, and then Vien continued. "A long time ago, I wrote a piece of music." She murmured. "It was the most beautiful duet I had written. I memorized half of it, like I would memorize my mate's body, or their face." Vien's eyes turned to the ground. "When I was in a city, the sheet was torn, and the second half of the piece, it's partner, it's mate, was forever lost. I have never been able to recreate it." The red-haired woman' s face rose, the stars reflected in her eyes. "That is why it never sounds right. This half of it is always waiting for a reply, like a wolf for their partner. How sad," She turned a wan gaze to Sera. "when they shall not find theirs."'"

"'"...I hope, ma'am... That your half finds the other." Sera murmured sympathetically. "Hm." Vien huffed a soft laugh, then placed the instrument on her shoulder, laying her head on the rest, and she played. The notes, drawn and soft, danced alone in the night sky, one half of a pair, forever meant to be.'" Lucifer finished, letting Gabriel and Raphael hop up onto the couch to read along with him, rather than hearing it out loud.

As Lucifer lazily read the book and flipped the pages when the group could agree on being done, his spread wing gently settling around a distracted Michael's shoulder.

It really wasn't long after that, the dark red feathers absorbing the heat and warming their brother, that Michael's head began to nod, eventually just settling on Lucifer's shoulder. The Morningstar, for all his joking attitude to his brother, didn't move or shift, simply bracing and allowing Michael to lean on him.

With a quiet giggle, Gabriel and Raphael got off the couch to resume their game, only to watch as Lucifer shifted back, resting against the one arm of the couch with his feet on the other side, dragging Michael down with him.

The elder Archangel was pulled alongside his sibling, squished between the back of the couch and the other warm body, wrapped in one gigantic red wing. Neither of them thought about it awkwardly, simply fledglings nesting together for warmth, but Lucifer would never admit to the fact that he knew it was more for Michael than for him. Gabriel knew that if it had been for him, Lucifer would've been curled in a tight little ball, hidden under his wings, but instead he was stretched out and providing heat.

They lay in silence for a few minutes, Michael attempting to not nod off, head dipping and raising consistently, eyes lidded and a yawn escaping his mouth every so often.

"Tired, Mikey?" Lucifer asked with a slight smirk.

"No." He replied petulantly. "Said I wouldn' sleep, so 'm not sleepin'." Michael slurred tiredly, the warmth acting like a catalyst for a healing sleep that he desperately needed.

"Sure, big bro." Lucifer smiled wider as Michael snuggled deeper into his wing and the couch, a safe little dark space for him to hide in.

Another three minutes, and Lucifer folded up his book with one hand, looking the elder over. "...He's out, guys." He informed the other two, making Gabriel and Raphael turn from their game, walk over and carefully pull themselves up onto Lucifer's chest. The pair of younger Archangels were no longer as small as they had been, but the four still somehow managed to fit semi-comfortably on the couch. Raphael stretched out, wings sprawled over Lucifer's folded one and Michael, laying on the Morningstar's chest. Gabriel rested near the bottom of the couch, pinning down legs to ensure that they would all be numb by the time they woke up.

Once Gabriel and Raphael were settled, Lucifer picked up his free wings and wrapped the whole group in a huge pile of warm feathers, protective and comforting all at once. Gabriel picked up the book, 'The Saddest Song', and flipped it open to the page he had stopped last.

"Still reading that silly book?" Lucifer questioned, one arm around Michael's shoulders and the other hand in Raphael's hair, gently scratching him, as though a cat.

Gabriel shrugged. "It's a good book."

"If you say so." Lucifer yawned, settling back, his feathers starting to fluff up.

"Hey, you like Vien. She's powerful and alone, but still friendly." Gabriel looked up, meeting his brother's blue eyes. "You said you liked her."

Lucifer glanced away sheepishly. "...Maaaybe I like her..."

"Oh Father." Gabriel gasped low at the Morningstar's evident blush. "You have a crush on a book character!"

"She's awesome, alright?" Lucifer snapped back playfully, not meeting Gabriel's eyes. "She's... suffered, but she's good."

"That'd be hard to do. To be hurt, damaged, but still good." Gabriel murmured, flipping back a few pages to see the drawing of Vien, her elegant figure caught strong and silent, stoic longing painted on her face. Her hair flared out in windswept red, catlike ocean eyes staring out at the cliffs, the base below. "...I wonder if there'll ever be one of us like that." Gabriel mumbled.

With a faint snort, Lucifer brushed it off. "I don't think that Dad would let anything happen to us, and who would hurt us anyway? I don't think I could ever hurt Michael, or Raphael, or you." The Morningstar gently rubbed the elder gently between the shoulder blades. His white wings shuffled as he nuzzled into Lucifer's chest with a small snuffle, the exhaustion of nearly drowning still keeping a tight hold over him.

The shift brought a small look of discomfort to Michael's face, breathing interrupted, before Lucifer shifted Michael's shoulder with his wing, and the white-winged Archangel's deep breaths resumed a normal cycle.

"There you go, Mikey..." Lucifer murmured, patting his shoulder once. Michael didn't reply. "...Don't stay up too long, 'kay Goldie?"

"I won't, Luci. Don't worry about me." Gabriel nodded, then opened back up the book and resumed reading.

A few minutes later, and the sound of steady, soft breathing told him that Lucifer was asleep as well.

When their Father walked in moments after, Gabriel was still in the back corner of the couch, reading the tales of Vien's warrior trials. "...Hello Gabriel. I assume Michael's recovering."

"Yep." Gabriel glanced up, first to Chuck, then to the angel pile across from him, his brothers' peaceful faces illuminating by Heaven's light. "...Yeah he is."

Chuck sat in the armchair across from them and picked up his own book, going through and making revisions without further comment.

{January, 1910}

When they finally pulled up to the shaded, slightly overgrown, hidden entrance of the Bunker, Raven sighed. "Well, last stop." She announced with a small smile as she turned off the car, stepping out of the buggy at the same time as Gabriel.

The driving time and it's conversations had been very interesting. Raven was an interesting person, a past as twisted as Gabriel's own, while Damian -who talked to him when Raven fell asleep in the passenger seat - was a demon who knew way too much for his own good.

"You know the location of the Knights?" Gabriel had questioned, staring at him in disbelief. He curled protectively over Raven's unconscious form, one ghostlike, clawed hand over her ears. "Kid, like... nobody knows those!"

"I do." Damian dipped his head. "There was a scroll in Hell. Pop it open, gain information, that kind of thing." He shrugged. "I stole it. Snuck right into Hell's throne room an all. Which is why I can't return to Hell."

"You'd be eaten alive."

"Exactly." Damian nodded. "I managed to get up here. Which is where..." His red eyes focused on Raven.

"Where you met her." Gabriel finished, glancing at the road. "...And nothing's changed since then?"

"There's been some rough spots, but nothing major. Nothing that could get me..." His voice dropped a bit. "There's no place safer."

Now, Gabriel stared at the entrance of the Bunker, the misty rain that fell in soft sheets around them blurring the concrete doorway slightly. "Do you want to come inside?" He asked, turning back to look at the girl leaning on the wheel of her car.

"Can't. Not without leaving Damian outside, and I don't have the time to prep his collar." She shrugged, water streaming off her hair.

"Really?"

"Blanket wards'll let me, demon warding won't." She responded simply.

"It won't?"

"Don't have my blood sigil in there." She explained easily. "Best I can do is make sure you don't die on your way to the door." She smirked at the words, glancing over at him with a light, playful grin.

"Sounds like a struggle. Should I pay you for that, miss bounty hunter?" Gabriel started for the door, smiling at her.

She clicked her tongue. "Ah, not a Bounty Hunter. I'm a Mercenary." She stuck a finger in the air with her proclamation.

"What's the difference?" Gabriel chuckled, hands in his pockets.

"Mercenary is more professional." She explained.

Gabriel threw his head back with a single 'hah!' "Please explain to me what the difference is."

"Well, Bounty Hunters go for the highest bidding and will desert their mission if better money comes up. They're offered money first, then do the deed, then get paid." She listed off on her fingers. "They're expensive and picky. And they always work on a down payment."

"And Mercenaries?"

"Where you find a Bounty Hunter, you call a Merc. You give them the assignment, and they tell you what they will do that assignment for. After that, they're bound by essentially a contract, to complete the mission." She shrugged. "Much more professional. It's more like a job."

"Is that how you get your money?" Gabriel nodded back to the car.

"How else do you think?" She laughed outright. "The Men of Letters are always willing to get a job out of the way on the down-low, as long as they don't get their prissy little hands dirty dealing with," She pretended to shudder. "Hunters."

Gabriel snorted slightly at her actions. "They do tend to grouse a lot about handling deals with them."

"You'd think they were as bad as demons." Her face twisted into a cross between a grin and a sneer, a savage kind of smirk as her eyes flicked black with a blink. The next time she blinked, the colour was back to normal. "The northern Bunker calls me in for all their dirty-work assignments."

"Heard anything from overseas?" Gabriel asked as he checked the forest around them.

"Nothing much. I can't exactly travel there, after all. The boat ticket is easy enough to get, but the wards at the entrance of the bloody place..." She rolled her eyes. "You'd think they wanted a pure breeding."

"They do."

"Idiots." She sighed.

"So, why do you bother with the assignments anyway?" He questioned, but at her strange look, he rectified his statement. "Not just the money, but you hunt normally as well, you go looking for cases, like a hunter. What's up with that?"

"Well, you know. Each hunt brings me one step closer." She said conspiratorially, rolling her head to one side.

"Closer to what?" Gabriel pressed.

"Finding the Knights of Hell." She answered with a massive, sadistic half-smile that showed off her canines.

"What?!" The Archangel exclaimed, staring at her with wide eyes. "I thought that the others-"

"You guys didn't finish off all of them." She said grimly. "From Damian's information, there's still four more. He has a whole mess of stuff about them." Raven tapped a finger to her head. "I'm no hawkshaw, but we're handling it."

"Can you take one?"

"I'm not looking to kill one. I'd need to be mad." She shook her head. "Cain's Mark and the First Blade just seem like bad planning on my part. We don't need two demons in this skull." Raven bit the corner of her lip. "There's a lot of information about it. Damian got it all, which is good... I think, unfortunately, I'd be a candidate." She sighed.

"...A candidate for what?"

"The Mark of- You don't know too much about this, do you?" She stopped walking.

"Not really. I was in Greece at the time, I think." Gabriel averted his gaze sheepishly.

"Ok, well, there's this guy, I'm positive you at least know Cain." She practically demanded, and Gabriel nodded, because that was one question he could answer.

"First demonized soul, yeah, I know of him."

"Ok, well, he took a group of demons under his wings, the Knights of Hell. You know this part too. The Knights were taken care of by Archangels, blah blah blah, Cain beat it, you know the drill." She made a 'continuing' gesture with one hand. "But his Blade and he were separated, and the remaining Knights showed up again." She folded her arms. "Now, the one thing that can actually kill them is that Blade, but the Blade's useless without the Mark." She summed. "There's a few binding rituals I can do for them, get them stuck in Hell for the rest of eternity. I can do that, at least."

"...How much do you actually know about the Blade?" Gabriel questioned slowly, watching her warily.

She exhaled a half-laugh with a mirthless grin, only for her laughter to increase gradually to a semi-crazed cackle. Then she sighed and turned over to him. "Everything, Gabriel. Damian's overloaded with it, to him it's all jumbled, but it's pretty clear to me." She explained. "Anything you ever needed to know about that damn Blade, I know. Hell's a treasure trove of knowledge, if you know how to get to it."

"...What does it say about the Knights?"

"Everything." She shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"Better question, what does it say about Cain himself?" Like can he be taken out? Gabriel added silently.

She sucked in a breath between her teeth, leaning on the wall beside the door. "...little harder. See, he vanished before too many records were made. The last thing in there regarding him is this weird prophecy." She skewed her jaw in displeasure.

"What is it?"

"Uh, ok, let's see here..." Raven's brow furrowed as she focused. "'Of the man who so loved an angel, and the brother he pulled from Hell; righteousness stands with him no longer, beware of the blood, the backfire and the shrapnel.'" She stated in prose. "There's more in the translation, some stuff about the Mark and the Knights, so I'm going to keep looking. It's better if we're prepared when they come."

"'Righteousness stands with him no longer...'" Gabriel quoted. "You think they're talking about the Righteous Man?" He wondered aloud.

"They could be." She bit the corner of her lip again. "That'll be one for you to throw in the record books. Next time I have a free weekend I'll come down here and write you a little notebook of everything I've got on these bastards." She informed, handing him a tiny slip of paper. "Burn that if you seriously need me. It's a call sigil." She explained as Gabriel examined the oddly clawed 'c' shape of the symbol. "I only give one each time I go somewhere, so don't burn it for pointless reasons. In the meantime though..." She held up her right wrist, the leather brace on it glimmering with twelve crystals in varying colours, a straight line down it's centre. She touched a single finger to the second from top crystal, a soft burnt ochre one, and backed away. Gabriel then noticed the red one near the base glimmering with an unseen light, brighter than the rest, a signal that she was needed elsewhere.

With a final wave, she turned around and disappeared into the forest, footsteps silent as Damian's navy-grey wings spread from her spine, the perfect balance of humanity and demon, more powerful than both.

Gabriel unlocked the door and pushed inside the Bunker, greeted immediately by a waft of warm air that enveloped him with soft heat and the scent of old paper, a blanket promising 'home.' The smell forced a sort of gentle relaxation on him, making him close his eyes and take a deep breath, revelling in the sensation of safety.

"Gabriel, I sware to God, if you don't close that damn fookin' door, I'm going to come up there and shank your arse!"

And there's the noise. Gabriel thought with a grin, pulling the door closed. "Hey Vincent. How was your week?"

"It was nice until you came in here makin' th' damn floor cold as Jesus fook!" Vincent shouted back as Gabriel trotted down the stairs and into the main room.

Vance, Curtis, John, Marcus and a very, very drunk Vincent sat at the table with shots and cards, making Gabriel honestly pause to question if he was the only one that actually held the Bunker together, because things seemed to go to shit without him.

"Are you guys playing Shots?" He questioned stupidly, and Vance flashed him a 'yeah, obviously' look in response. Shots was basically poker, but the winner of the hand didn't have to drink. Everyone else did, to a certain level. And judging by the light in Marcus' eyes, the ridiculous giggle that Curtis had going, and the fact that Vincent's Irish accent was coming out, Gabriel was going to say that Vance was winning and the game had been going for quite a bit of time.

"For the last hour or two, Gabe." De'van answered, observing the game backwards on a chair, chin and arms resting on the back as he watched the group sway and try to play the game.

"Ah'll call it off in about... fifteen." Amos, who Gabriel had just noticed, was sitting back in a chair across from the table, also observing the game.

"And Elvira?" Gabriel turned to the woman standing in the shadows of the kitchen, watching with a smile.

"I'm just here to make sure nobody dies of poisoning." She informed with a simple shrug.

"Sounds fair." Gabriel responded with a light smile. "I'm going to go unpack. Curtis, you throw up in the bedroom I'll shoot you."

"Point taken, Gabe. Throw up in the doorway." The younger man's voice held the tone of a sassy black lady's.

"Fuck you, Marcus!" Gabriel called good-naturedly over his shoulder.

"Why, God, why, did you let me drink that much?" Vincent moaned, one hand over his eyes while holding his head up, the other hand around a mug of coffee.

"Well, I wasn't here for most of it." Gabriel shrugged, smiling at him faintly. "Good news though, your Irish comes out when you're drunk. And you still managed to drink Marcus under the table."

"You're a surprisingly bad player sober, and a surprisingly good one drunk. I don't even want to know how that works." Vance, who had lost only about three rounds over the course of the game, had gotten up significantly earlier than the crack of 11 AM.

Which was when Vincent, John and Marcus had finally risen from their respective graves, Curtis having been awake for nearly three hours, courtesy of Gabriel screaming in his ear and dumping cold water on his head.

The next ten minutes had been harsh southern swearing and threats on Gabriel's manhood, at least until Gabriel had held out a mug of coffee with a perfectly innocent smile. Curtis grudgingly took it, growling at Gabriel the whole time as he tried to brush his slightly-too-long brown hair out of his face.

"How's your sister?" Vance's head turned to Gabriel, innocent curiosity extruding from his being.

"She's good. Recovering just fine." Gabriel smiled. He had used some of his grace to spy on the Moran family, the middle sister recovering, but not from a disease. She had broken her arm, 'falling down the stairs'. In reality, she broke it when a shapeshifter tried to take a chunk out of it.

He did love Hunter families, or at least, where they started.

"I need to get back to work, though." He muttered.

"Speaking o' that..." Amos entered with a thump of large boots. "Gabriel, I have a new assignment."

"What's that?" He questioned. "Field work? I'm not fired, am I?"

Amos raised a white eyebrow. "No, ya' madman. I need," He slapped a tan folder in front of Gabriel. "that sorted out."

Gabriel gave him a skeptical look, before picking up the file and opening it up.

'Crossroads Demons'

Well... Gabriel smirked faintly. If the boot fits...

A new chapter had begun.

{November, 1910}

The demon had caught Vance unaware, pounced on him without a second thought, hesitation or moment to correct.

It was a dangerous, impulsive move that could've killed the demon if he didn't execute it as sporadically as he did.

Which was why, when the demon shot out of the human it was possessing during Vance's exorcism, lunging straight for the person spouting Latin at it.

It rammed into him, knocking him over and cutting off the exorcism in one sharp movement, right before surrounding his head, trying to find a way in.

Vance kept his nose pinched, shoulders hugged to his ears and mouth closed, searching desperately for an escape from the demon surrounding his head.

Which was when it dove in through his eyes.

Gabriel had spent a lot of time on earth, seen a lot of shit. But the sound that Vance made when the demon forced itself through his tear glands was on the list of the worst sounds he had ever heard.

Lunging forward with his wings plainly evident to all the demons in the room, Gabriel blocked off access to Vance with a furious snarl, shoving a bag with a Devil's Trap over his head before pulling his blade out.

And with the silver shining brightly through the darkness of the street, Gabriel snarled one word, filled with righteous hatred.

"Burn."

The scent of ozone hung heavy in the air as the atmosphere in the forest changed, air manipulating at the Archangel's beck and call. The oxygen sucked back, area turned devoid of it as the creatures before him gasped before breath. And then every demon, excluding the one trapped in the Trap protected by Gabriel's wings, began screaming.

Air rushed back to the area in a burst, the thrum of long-unseen power howling low around the woods.

And around the woods, under the cover of trees, there were columns of fire. The screaming echoed through the trees, the wails of the damned being eaten alive by an Archangel's wrath, souls screeching as they twisted and struggled against the oppressive golden light that absorbed and consumed them. The columns of blue-white flame thrashed about madly, their agony a warning to anything that turned it's attention toward the glowing area.

Gabriel watched, indifferent, as the columns of flame slowly extinguish into piles of ash, their darkening fires casting long shadows of the trees to the ground. When the last one crumbled, the forest seemed stiflingly dark, pressing in on all sides.

The minute that the amber-yellow glow faded from Gabriel's eyes, his wings folded back as he dropped beside the human gasping and struggling, weakly twitching as the demon percolated and took over his nervous system. "Jesus Christ, Vance... I'm sorry, Jesus..." He whispered, slinging his friend's possessed body over his shoulders, sprinting to the horses waiting nearby.

The Men of Letters, when they weren't using fancy modern cars, were using long legged horses that could navigate the forests easily. Jet and Pat were out with Gabriel and Vance, and while Pat was a brilliant golden pinto, Gabriel had always preferred Jet's shining black-grey coat.

Now, though, when he used his wings to boost himself into the saddle, Jet's steadfastness came into play. The black horse was unwavering, a stubborn creature, but he could sense the damage done to the other human on his back.

So when Gabriel grabbed his reigns in one hand, and Pat's in the other, the Archangel questioned the horse's intelligence, because once they were ready, Gabriel didn't say a thing.

The horse took off without a word, hooves pounding strongly though the snow-covered woods.

When Wayne pulled the hood off, the demon shrieked as it was forcibly removed from one Devil's trap, already stuck in another.

Vance's face was marred by claw-like nail scratches, and the blood that leaked from red eyes covered his cheeks like oddly coloured tears.

Those present were Marcus, Vincent, De'van, Wayne and Elvira, as well as Gabriel, who leaned against the back wall with murder in his eyes.

"This'll just go easier if you leave." Vincent growled to the demon.

"As if I'd give up this body. Vance Winchester." The demon threw back Vance's head and laughed. "Perfect."

The group circled nervously. Torture would help Vance nothing, and an exorcism could make the demon break every bone in Vance's body before being sent back to Hell.

And Gabriel knew that smiting would just purge the corpse.

"...Marcus, can I talk to you?" De'van questioned from the back.

The second in command turned around and headed over, his taller stature slightly intimidating with the furious glare that wasn't directed at De'van, Wayne or even Gabriel.

"I think I may have someone who can help, but to let her, we'd... We'd have to put down warding for a bit."

"Who?" Wayne, Gabriel and Marcus questioned at the same time.

"...I have a call sigil for Raven. She can help." De'van said after a pause. "She's... Got some expertise."

Raven. Gabriel's Archangel instincts sang. There was a feeling attached to her name, like friendship but so much... stranger. Even if she was possessed by a demon, his most inner base, the Archangel energy side, was undeniably attracted to her, like a moth to a flame. She was powerful, interesting, intelligent, dangerous - the darkness to his light.

She was something entirely unique. And he wondered, briefly, if he liked it too much.

Marcus glanced back to Wayne, circling the demon with a predatory eye, but still slightly worried. "Can she get the demon out without damaging Vance?" He growled out.

"She can try." De'van answered. "She's got the best chance."

"Call her." Marcus half-ordered, resuming his silent, subtle tic, which was shifting his weight from leg to leg, as De'van nodded and spun around, vanishing from the room.

And inside, Gabriel's Archangel instincts purred, knowing it would soon see that intriguing spot of power, the power that drew him in wth promises greater than his own capabilities. She would make a worthy ally to his Archangel grace.

He didn't want to think about the other half of that. The part that wondered, faintly, if she'd make a good partner.

Gabriel wasn't the one to answer the door when Raven arrived, but judging by the fact that he felt the warding drop for a bit, then resume, and that he could hear De'van, Marcus and another voice talking, he guessed that she had been allowed entrance.

Gabriel trotted into the main room, crossing his arms over his chest to try and hide his minor nervousness at the reintroduction of that... dark brightness that shone from her.

Over the last several months, Gabriel had spent his time researching Crossroads Demons, their deals, how the deals worked, and how someone could try to escape the deal, how to kill Hellhounds... The job had been distracting, not paying attention to what was going on in the Hunter community's daily lives. He had been too busy to ask if anyone had seen her.

"Where is he?" The voice, a light, easing tone, questioned from the hallway. Gabriel peeked around the corner at the same time that Wayne opened up the door, and Raven stepped inside.

Her black hair shone in the elegant half-light, cut down and tied in a neat, slick ponytail, now laced with no subtle amount of frost. Gabriel could sense Damian swimming around her chest, waiting for either her command or an attack.

"...And you want me to pry a Crossroads demon from him, without damaging his body?" She asked, taking off her jacket and revealing a simple shirt underneath.

"That's the idea."

"...Alright." She said smoothly. "Do you have a separate trap for afterward?"

Wayne stepped forward, handing her a jar with a Devil's trap on the bottom. She made small humming noise, placing the jar at the side, before looking to the others. "Who needs to be in the room for this mess?" She questioned, circling the edge of the larger Devil's Trap.

"...An odd ques-" Marcus began, confused.

"Let me rephrase;" Raven responded simply. "I want De'van, Gabriel and Marcus in here. Nobody else."

"And why's that?" Vincent growled low, stepping further into the room.

"Because I don't feel like it being either mine or my partner's funeral." She responded with a sharp glare.

"I can reassure you, Raven." Marcus smiled placatingly. "Nobody will harm you. Or... them." He finished hesitantly.

She looked around at the group of them, a silent judging of her chances against the group, before turning around. "Fine." Raven nodded slightly. "I'll take you at your word."

And then she stepped into the trap.

The subconscious shudder that ran through her, the vulnerability and weakness that would now infect her, played to simply emphasize the position she was putting herself into in front of them.

The demon infecting Vance twisted his face into a grin. "Well, they brought in the boss, huh? Glad, because I only deal at the top."

"Do you now?" Raven purred out with a subtle hissing undertone, arms folded behind her back. "Maybe you'll be glad to know this then."

The way the demon flinched, eyes gone wide and fearful rather than confident and cocky, Gabriel knew that Raven's eyes had just flashed partially black, revealing what exactly she was.

"That's what I thought." She growled at the demon, stepping away slightly, watching him from an angle. "Now, we can do this peacefully, or we can do this another way."

"...I won't deal with traitors to the throne!" The demon proclaimed with a shake in his voice.

"Fair enough." She responded with a shrug.

And then she opened her mouth, Damian pouring free.

Everyone excluding Gabriel and De'van flinched, staring with shocked eyes as the demon possessing Vance yelped, the noise enough to let the other black smoke creature find an entrance, flowing down his throat effortlessly.

Raven continued to circle Vance as his eyes flicked from red to black and back again, head twitching as the demons inside struggled for dominance over one another. Her nonchalance toward the event relaxed the others, but not significantly.

She paced around Vance's twitching body, mouth gaping and closing like a fish out of water, as the demons fought their war for occupation of the body. When his head finally slumped, chin against his chest, before lifting with a pained expression, Raven spoke next.

"Damian?"

"Y-yeah." Vance cracked open one eye, pure black filling it. "I-I'm here..." The demon bit out, wincing.

"Can you get him out?" Raven questioned, kneeling in front of the demon-possessed Vance and laying a hand on his cheek. "Or should I shake him a bit?"

"S-shake him!" 'Damian' growled out.

The ease and speed at which she obeyed showed practice, as if what she began saying was totally normal. "Voco te, immunde spiritus, et verba mea vitare et pati!"

The exorcism was different entirely from any Gabriel had heard or seen before, the black-eyed demon apparently unaffected, while the crossroad's demon screamed, red flashing through the black as smoke bubbled up in Vance's throat.

"Deus desuper, et ad inferos deorsum, et ego in vobis fructum terrae oculos!" Raven snarled again, pacing around Vance with increased fervour. "Come on, Damian... Et venit ad lucem tortiones et dolores tenebunt..."

She paused as Vance's head snapped forward, eyes turned red with a cry, before he listed to the side and she went on.

"...ab hoc corpore et anima, promissa Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." Raven nodded as the black eyes appeared in Vance's face once again. Through a contorted neutral expression, the demon nodded as well. "Audi, et uri!" Raven finished with a furious shout.

And two smoke entities, one a dark red while the other black, dumped from Vance's body.

Raven immediately grabbed the back of Vance's chair, hauling herself and the unconscious man from the circle, turning him over to Elvira's care before whirling around, staying just outside the Trap.

The black and red smoke-balls twisted around each other, streams of balled hatred, hissing constantly as though made of compressed steam. The black one was smaller, though more skilled in the evident art of non-possession combat. It swirled and danced around the other one, constricting and clawing back. Squirming from under the better opponent, the red demon shot for Raven, with one foot inside the circle, only for the tail of the black one to loop around it's end, ripping it away from Raven and slamming it back to the floor. The movement was expertly done, to the point where it looked rather impressive.

The group edged closer as Raven toed the line of the trap, watching the pair tussle with the capture jar in her hand, holding to the cork by her side, unfazed by the fact that she had almost been possessed. "Damian, stop showing off and let's get this over with." She ordered darkly as the demon smoke balls crouched on the ground, expanding and contracting as if breathing heavily.

The black one seemed to rise up, two tendrils of smoke splitting from the main body as though arms, the ends stabilizing and becoming sharp, mimicking blades.

He sat back, the blades sliding on the concrete with small clicking noises. The red one shifted nervously, as though waiting for a strike.

All three of them were waiting.

Then Raven let out a sharp, piercing whistle, stepping into the circle at the same time.

A black bolt lunged across the circle, knives spread with a terrifying hiss, the red one scrambling back desperately when one of the blades pierced it's gaseous body. The noise the demon made was akin to a scream, a hideous shriek not unlike a knife being scraped on a sheet of metal.

Everyone winced, excluding Raven, who simply watched, pacing close to the demons as the other claw came up to slash through the corner of the squirming creature. The black one howled, like wind pushed over a tiny pipe, high-pitched and reedy, calling out it's displeasure for the weaker red one stabbing significantly less sharp points into it's underside.

"Damian, ready..." She knelt beside them, holding open the jar. "Now!" Raven barked, the black demon shooting off the red one at the same time that she scooped up the gaseous form, slapping the container shut without a second's hesitation.

The room collectively let out a breath, though most of the gathering was watching the black demon with suspicion, and then alarm as Raven moved to the outer edge of the circle. She stepped through, setting the jar of furious, injured Crossroad's demon in the centre of a table, before walking back over to the circle.

"It's ok, Dami. Sit there for a second." She whispered to the black shape that followed her closely, staying at the edge of the circle, waiting for an escape.

Gabriel and De'van didn't make eye contact with anyone else, keeping their heads down and bodies small, as the others glanced between Raven, each other and the demon ensconced in the trap at the centre of the room.

It took a good bit of considering for the rest of the group, but Marcus gave a tiny nod to the others, a silent signal to take out the potential threat.

Vincent opened his mouth. "...Exorcizamus te-"

The sound of a gun's hammer cocking at the same time that it was drawn and aimed broke him off.

Raven's cold glare seemed darker than normal, glaring down a sight to point directly at Vincent's head. The swiftness of the movement made everyone in the room freeze.

"One more word and three people are dead before you hit the floor." She whispered low.

The whole group paused, room fallen silent with no small degree of fear as she stared down Vincent, who slowly raised his hands in a motion of surrender, keeping his mouth shut.

"Good choice." Raven growled, stomping one foot over the outer ring on the trap, letting Damian squirm over the broken circle, immediately swirling over her shoulders, as though a fur collar. "It's ok. Sorry." She murmured to him, lowering her arm though she didn't unclick the gun at her side. "...Now, I believe we'll be leaving." Her voice was deceptively soft, a layer of wool over a long knife, disguising and hiding the malicious intent of anyone who spoke against her.

Vincent watched with amazed curiosity as the demon swirled around her neck and chest, pressed close to her body but not possessing. When her hand rose to stroke through the ghostly form around her chest, Vincent spoke up.

"Are you controlling it?"

She paused, the mostly innocent question in his voice making her consider if she wanted to continue communicating. After a moment, she turned back to him. "No. His name is Damian. He's... my partner."

"A demon?" Marcus' face and tone held evident confusion as he relaxed his stance slightly.

"Yep." She nodded, smiling faintly as she glanced down to the smoke figure around her middle. "Has been for a while."

"He's... not possessing you." Elvira noticed, turning from Vance.

"Nope. He doesn't want to right now, or maybe he's hurt. I'm not certain." She bit the corner of her lip. "Communication is hard when he's like this."

Damian changed directions and swirled softly around her arm, which made her chuckle. Everyone waited with tensed breath, as if expecting him to break her wrist, but instead she just petted him, the demon clinging to her hand as if a limpet.

"...Let us send him back, he's manipulat-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll tell you exactly where you can shove it." Raven snarled viciously, and Damian subtly tightened his grip over her arm. "Ow, hey." She turned to him, her disposition immediately changed.

"See, this is-" Marcus stepped forward, holding out the salt.

"Back the fuck up!" She shouted, raising the gun to his head level again. "He was scared, he tensed." Her eyes were dark as Marcus immediately jumped away.

De'van was suddenly moving, stepping between them, holding up his hands placatingly. "Look, Raven, I know that they don't understand-"

"You knew about this?" Wayne, Marcus and Vincent shouted at the same time.

"But you really need to put the gun down." De'van tried, even though the gun was now practically pressed to his chest.

Raven glared, as though attempting to eat a hole through De'van with her eyes, unmoving with will potentially as great as Gabriel's. Before he could step in though, Damian unfurled from her arm and slid over the space to De'van, who immediately tensed up, watching as the demon wreathed over his shoulders and under one arm, before coming back up and returning to Raven.

She watched him with narrowed eyes, but when he came to wrap around her shoulder and neck, she relented. The gun lowered to her side, a sharp click sounding before she slipped it back in her pocket. "An exorcism starts, someone's getting shot." She promised darkly.

"And it'll be on my head." De'van finished with a grim nod.

With a slight growl, she glanced to Damian. "C'mon then." She said. "We're less welcome here than I thought."

She opened her mouth and breathed in, the demon gently flowing into her body without too much thought. She dropped her head, shook it once and pulled up straight again, blinking once to reveal black eyes with her regular blue irises, then fading away to perfectly human eyes. "...Are we good now?" Raven questioned the collective, who watched her with shocked expressions.

"...Are we speaking to you or the demon?" Vincent snapped out. She whirled on him with pure-black eyes.

"Now, you're speaking to me. Damian. Can you remember that?" The demon snarled in return, voice not even similar to Raven's. Vincent flinched back, moving sharply away from the demon. "...That's what I thought." It growled, before the black faded out and Raven was back.

"Raven, this is dangerous. You're working... with something you hunt!" Elvira exclaimed, stepping forward.

"And he's the only one who's kept my back for all these years." She growled, turning around and starting slowly for the door.

"To gain your trust! It's only a matter of time before he takes you over. Raven, you're playing with fire here!" Vincent exclaimed.

"And I've got the burn scars to prove it." She responded instantly, glancing over her shoulder with smouldering rage.

"That's- You're insane! It's controlling you!" Marcus moved for her now, reaching to her arm. "Raven, please, listen to us, we need to get it-" She whirled around, smacking his hand away from her shoulder.

Which was when her mouth opened, and with a small breath, Damian poured free. He immediately swirled above her head, landing on her shoulders, a clear sign that he wasn't controlling her, because he wasn't in her anymore.

She didn't say anything, just instead stood with an expression that said 'proof enough?'

"De'van told us you left your mother when you were younger, probably after you got possessed. You're working with that piece of filth, and you put it as higher than your family!" Vincent shouted, but then immediately seemed to realize his mistake. He knew nothing about her life or De'van's, only what he had heard. He had no idea what she could've been affected by.

There was a pregnant pause.

"...You have your friend back. I did my job. We're leaving." She said firmly, eyes steely with concealed anger.

"And what about you. And the demon you... use?" Marcus called to her back, where she picked her cloak off the side chair. "We know."

"And what are you going to gain from it?" She responded. "Contacts know I get my job done."

"They should know they're working with a demon." Vincent grumbled.

"So you're saying I might work deals?" Raven's voice was cold.

Cold enough that Gabriel flinched. The obvious accusation was dark and hurtful, but somehow she managed to turn it back on Vincent as Damian swirled around her shoulder, almost a comforting movement.

The dead, icy glare that she had fixed Vincent with never wavered.

"...Yes." Vincent admitted slowly. "...You can't keep evading... consequences, for working with something like... Like that."

"I haven't."

"Haven't what? Evaded the consequences? Because it sure looks like you have."

"The bill will come due, South." Raven stated, but it sounded more like a threat, all dark and slightly dirty sounding. "The bill always comes due. Trust me."

And in a swirl of a thick black cape, Raven pulled the furred hood over her black hair and exited the room, moving swiftly toward the door as the guard-dog of a black smoke ball flowed over her shoulder, waiting until she slammed the button for the warding to turn off, then take the stairs in a dignified, ladylike fashion, the click of her shoes as much of a warning as the slick grind of a whetstone, or the unsheathing of a blade.

When she pushed the door open into the now-snowstorm, Damian moved out first, diving through the warding quickly, his smoke form blown and swept by the wind. Raven tightened her cloak around her body, and stepped into the storm.

Gabriel took the stairs two at a time to watch her walk into the snow, cursing himself for being such an idiot. He hadn't gotten a chance to just talk to her, and now she was just leaving... Like the world still belonged to her.

He watched, the swish of her black cape and the demon by her outstretched hand staying close until the snow swallowed them up, a shadow and a wraith, lost to the faithless snow.

Like they were lost to people who might've been able to give comfort.

{?, 2014}

The attack began swiftly.

With alarms screamed over angel radio like the calls of desperate souls damned to Hell, undeservingly.

The thing hunting them was unyielding, didn't tire and never slowed down, moving elegantly through the powerful creatures before it as if the angels were made of paper.

It cut them down in flashes of a silvery blade and darkened wings, too fast for the eye to see as it stalked down hallways and searched corners, slashing out the throat of anything found alive.

They cowered before it, useless petals of an already-dead flower, slowly being consumed by something they once considered a leader. Now, it tore them into pieces, smeared their vessels and grace across the walls and floor in a bloody tapestry, a brutal Picasso of reds and softly fading blues.

The kills were precise, clean, and in order. Bodies would be left where they were found, slews of angels slaughtered before the endless march of their pursuer, the apex predator.

It hunted without remorse or enjoyment, the apathetic, blank face and a sharp gleam of powerful eyes all that they saw before death, and sometimes not even that. Sometimes it was simply a flash of yellow sunlight, right before a blade went through their ribs, grace consuming itself in a charring wave.

The thing didn't waste time gloating with kills, it didn't pause or stop, it didn't halt the ceaseless hunt, a constant march. Angel blood flowed from it's sword, dripping to the floor in a minute stream, half the creature's face covered in similar splatter.

It didn't say anything. No amount of talking, in Enochian or language of earth could get a flicker of recognition - a flicker of intelligence beyond the mission - to appear. It was a hunter with no emotion, no connection, no need for the flesh it left behind. It required neither sustenance nor energy, simply the endless trudge of one base to the next.

It had minuscule direction, though.

That was what Termar learned, when she attempted to get her brothers and sisters freed from a base of Malachi's angels. The creature was there in a strike of lightning, staring at her with cold, sharp eyes.

She waited, frozen in fear, as it glared, expecting to be added to the thing's body count. Instead, it simply turned away, throwing open the door with barely a flick of it's wrist.

Her friends, noncombatants, made it free, while the rest of the angels were less fortunate. They were slaughtered without pause, their lifeblood and grace spilling across the pockmarked grey concrete, turning it slick with uncongealed substances. The bodies were left to drain, their blood searching the halls for an escape as it lead Termar and her allies free.

But the surviving angels were left with a clear, nonverbal warning; If you were a combatant, you were to die.

It continued stalking, shredding armies of the warring groups, scattering their leaders and hunting around the globe, where different factions were stationed for fighting each other.

The news traveled fast, after a few attacks. The news went everywhere, and it was no light warning. It was a call, a statement, a display of power that could not be ignored, by any angel on the planet.

Five words that terrified them all, were painted on walls like graffiti by young angels, signed with grace, their noncombatant skills coming into play to provide a sharp danger sign to demons, angels, and monsters alike. It was always the same five words, each and every single time. And every single time, it made every creature shudder, hide their face and pray to what was left of Heaven, because it would stop at nothing, until it's mission was finished. So the five words, for the moment, held the rod with which the object of the sentence wielded.

'Archangel Gold is on Earth.'

Day. Overcast. No rain, not until 4:06 PM Mountain Standard, at which point it would sprinkle lightly for 57 minutes, before the rain will come down swiftly, with a cross-breeze of 42 miles per hour in sporadic bursts that would blow the rain at a 38.6 degree angle. The water itself would be 3 degrees colder than the air surrounding it, but it would not freeze.

The facts registered in his mind without much conscious thought, simply a play-by-play of what he may need to watch for. Flying above the atmospheric ceiling could cause his wings to ice, and while he didn't care about his own temperature, iced wings were slower and more cumbersome, a liability in a fight.

He touched down outside the church, the house of his Father, blade heavy and silent in his hand. His vessel was uninjured, functioning at peak capacity, his grace providing enough energy and recovery to it to keep it from decaying, the constant degradation of human flesh a gratingly unfortunate mortal adaptation.

Archangel Gold didn't bother touching the door, simply throwing it aside with his grace and stalking into the sanctuary. Humans, there for confession, prayer or otherwise took in his sharp glare with confusion and trepidation, watching as he whipped around a corner and headed for one of the confession stalls.

Angel. Male. Older. Priest in training. He could sense the grace a few hundred miles away, glittering like a dangerous spark set to light a fire that would blaze across the old-growth forests of the area.

Archangel Gold's hand bit into the wood, cracking the handle with the force as he tore it open, reached in and threw the angel out, onto the red (Dye. Artificial. Fabric is dusty.) carpet. He immediately scrambled back, eyes wide, as though not expecting the thing that greeted him.

"Y-you!" He exclaimed, vessel paling as a natural reaction to the stress and fear that the angel within was experiencing.

He didn't grace it with a reply.

When the blood sprayed over his hands from the angel's rent neck, he didn't feel the splatter. He did hear the screams, though.

The angel, screaming as he was burned alive in his vessel, grace attempting to repair a tear in itself that couldn't be fixed while choking on his vessel's fluids. The humans, screaming as they tried to escape what looked like a madman, murdering their immature priest. The nuns and their bishop, screaming in horror of a murder in God's church, demands to call the police.

Don't you know? He wanted to ask. Don't you know that God has slaughtered hundreds in the name of protecting his people? Just as I am now?

He didn't ask though. The humans didn't need to know. Instead, he stood up, calmly wiping the blade of his sword off on the corner of his shirt, a thin, filmy residue of grace clinging to it, homage to the number of times he had cleansed similar stains from the molecules and threads. After that, he glanced over the burned wingmarks on the ground, their messy, half-ruined appearance a calling to the angel in Heaven, pretending as if he was God.

Archangel Gold opened his wings, filling the church with a faintly yellow-orange glow, before taking off, vanishing to the humans. He left them with the body.

The next hunt was successful. Each one was.

Every time he traveled to a new location, he ensured he had the element of surprise, never hunting within the same area twice in a time frame.

Monday. Europe. A military encampment on the border of Iraq. 11:43 AM.

Sunny, with smatterings of thin stratus clouds casting linear, lens-shaped shadows on the ashen grey-red ground. There was no crossbreeze to slow the unending waft of sunlight heat over the people milling about tents on the sand.

None of them had noticed, though, the one of their rank who didn't seem to be having too much of an issue, moving with a small spring in his step.

This angel was a noncombatant. Skillful, resourceful, defending humans while not getting involved in the angel war. He was not what Archangel Gold was there for. He was there to protect the noncombatant.

Two angels were heading his way. One of the leaders of the warring groups, and a bodyguard. He was a larger, tougher angel, specifically warrior, but nothing he wouldn't be able to handle. It would make the capture of the leader more difficult, but the fight would be swift.

They were incoming from the northwest, a helicopter that betrayed the fact of their burned, charred wings. Archangel Gold had noticed a lot of angels that he had fought with semi-burned wings, maybe able to be saved and healed, but most of them were combatants. And in order to help the noncombatants fly again, he first had to get rid of all the fighters.

Archangel Gold checked over the small dune of sand where he hid, practically buried in it he had spent so long. The wind blew over him, sand grains gradually piling up over his still body. He didn't bother blinking, guarding the lenses of his vessel's eyes with a thin layer of grace as he observed their small, windblown encampment.

The helicopter touched down, rails sinking into the sand before the individual grains interlocked and formed a hard enough base for it to stay stable. Within it's belly were three humans and the two angels, their wings shuffling painfully behind their backs.

Rotating around and struggling free of the sand, Gold followed at a distance, observing as the noncombatant angel's wings twitched, folding tight to his spine in a display of fear.

Baring his teeth in displeasure, Gold crept closer, stalking near enough to hear the fighter angels, one in a suit and one in a militant outfit, talk to the general of the base.

Mark Edwin. That was the noncombatant's human name. Gold made another move, shifting toward them on the sand. To him, it was just the voices around him, the hum of the angel's graces, and the low, careful tones of the vessels they used.

When Mark Edwin stepped back, hiding almost behind one of his human friends, the bodyguard angel moving forward, burned wings coloured a faint tan-brown, Archangel Gold lunged.

Wings outstretched as he descended with unbelievable speed, gliding less than a foot from the sand, which flew up in a dusty yellow plume behind him. The bodyguard spun around, wings flaring to his sides as he let out a shriek of alarm, right before Gold rammed into him, wings blowing forward, pounding the lesser into the dirt.

Shouts of confusion rang up mere seconds after the Gold hit, tackling the other angel to the ground. Their wings flapped furiously, wind and dust kicked by the movement of unearthly appendages. Gold drew his wings up around his body, arched high above, casting an intimidating shadow over the other angel.

Gold shifted, bringing his wings back down to pin the angel's hands and wings to the ground, raising up his blade and plunging the sword through the chest of the vessel.

The crackling, wet pop noises of his sternum splitting open, the blade shredding the stem bronchus, echoed in Gold's ears as he sunk the sword in deep, knowing when he had gone clean through the spine of his victim.

The angel gasped and choked, eyes going wide and blank as Gold drove deep, then immediately withdrew, tip tracing a glowing line out of his body as the Archangel's wings cartwheeled him around, glittering brightly in the sunlight, before landing, sand blowing about his small body like smoke and ashes of those defeated.

Grey-blue wings. Male. Alphun. His instincts filled in as the other angel turned and started fleeing, eyes wide in terror as Gold advanced with swift assurance, blade dripping blood at his side.

One of the humans, finally realizing the danger, raised their gun and fired several shots. Archangel Gold simply lifted a wing, the hard outer edge absorbing the impact as if it was rain against his feathers before flicking the useless lumps of lead out of his ochre wing, opening the set of six to their widest and beating once.

"Impossible!" Alphun gasped, stepping back with a horrified expression.

Gold didn't answer.

Instead he moved forward, wings an arc of destruction that sliced through the sand as if it wasn't there, right before pouncing on the stunned grey-winged angel, feathers flying in all directions as Gold's wings turned sharp and hard, the blades of his feathers cutting into Alphun's own, pinning him just long enough to draw up his blade, drive it through-

And a human pounced on him.

Full body tackle, spreading his wings wide off the angel pinned beneath his grasp and flipping over, sense of direction momentarily confused before one wing shoulder twisted back and his first wing shot forward, a corner-edged punch to the human's side, flinging him a clean forty feet away without much effort.

Gold rolled to his feet, listening to the distinctive thump of a human body hitting the ground, the small crackling of his bones, and the laboured, weak thudding of his heart, a hammer on cloth.

Civilian casualty. He thought, a brief flash of... remorse running through him. It made him stumble, fall back slightly.

He remembered this.

"...It's ok, Gold. (but not Gold...) Sometimes... Things just happen, and you can't stop them."

With that memory, came the shape of snowfall-white wings, crystal eyes and a kind smile.

"FIRE!" One of the humans, a general, yelled, drawing Gold from the recesses of his grace.

Don't fail them again. You must protect, never harm. Kill the combatant, save the noncombatant, leave the humans. His grace ordered, and Gold barely twitched before his body responded, utterly ignoring the bullets that either pierced his vessel or bounced from his wings, his entire focus on the once-again pinned angel beneath his body.

Gold slashed the blade over Alphun's throat, the angel screaming once before going still, grace draining into the sand.

And just like that, the spell was broken, and Gold was gone.

Salt Lake City. 3:46 AM. Warehouse 282, owned by Bildex construction. Hiding point of a demon meeting, in favour of Knight of Hell, Abaddon.

Notes on Abbadon; Ineffective queen, impulsive and unwilling to change her plans for smarter, more future-considerate ideas. Replace with subject; Crowley.

Archangel Gold watched through a window, the demonized souls swirling within their possessed victims, milling about and simply discussing the souls and the state of their kingdom. There was 214 demons that Gold could see, and another 27 that were hidden behind walls, leaning and acting casual. They were more powerful than the commoners within, keeping lookout and offering protection to the lesser demons.

His blade vanished from his grasp, unneeded for this particular incident. There were no angels inside. All that would be left behind would be ashen shadows of bodies, as though someone had set off a bomb in the room.

Gold swept his wings forward before carefully tucking them back behind his spine, relaxed but at the ready.

The door, old and rusted and the molecules of paint no longer clinging quite so tightly, was half-locked shut on aged hinges, but he gripped tightly and pulled it open without much thought.

Two-hundred demonic eyes turned to him in shock and horror.

Gold stepped inside, sharp gaze slowly scanning the crowd gathered before him, observing the demons glance shiftily between each other, uncertain of what to do next.

Then he pulled his wings from his back, and with a smile, meant to be intimidating and nothing more, Gold filled the room with light.

It spread into every crack and crevice as his wings arched above his head, spread wide on either side of him so that all three sets were visible, feathers glowing with unearthly power, Heaven's might shining down behind him.

The demons screamed, guarding their faces with their arms, struggling to escape out windows and doors as their victim's skin boiled, bodes baked under the heat of the grace, crackling and peeling. Howling in pain, the demons squirmed under a wash of yellow-orange light which was ripping them apart.

A few tried to smoke free, their twisting, coiling black bodies and panicked faces briefly illuminated by the gold, before being consumed in a wave of energy.

The high-pitched, reedy ringing of Gold's grace gradually filled the area, growing oppressively loud as he amped up the power, accelerating the wave of horrific holy power that ate away at the creatures within.

When Gold finally started lowering his wings, pulling them behind his back and shuffling the feathers straight, the glow fading away to nothing. He shook out his shoulders, a shimmery dust falling from his wings, ash turned into small metal shards.

Subjects terminated. Gold's grace informed as he glanced around the room, then turned, spreading his wings once more to launch into the sky, gliding away silently from the place of destruction.

Archangel Gold could recognize when he was tired, exhausted even, grace needing a recharge and a rest.

And now, sitting in the canopy of a redwood tree with his wings exposed, he knew that he wouldn't need long.

He shuffled his feathers softly, the rustling a reminder that everything was how it was meant to be, the smooth primaries and secondaries in their places, fluffing up and relaxing periodically, muscles and bones lax behind him.

Gold couldn't attach a feeling to this sensation, but the awareness of how little he was doing to protect Heaven was explicitly clear in that moment. He wasn't contributing to his goal, he wasn't defending the Gates... he felt quite displeasured about the whole ordeal.

But his grace did need rest if he was to continue functioning at a high level, which meant letting his vessel sit, and allow his true form to be buoyed by the ebb and flow of energy within the human body. While it might not have been getting the air or other substances it required, it still needed some care.

Gold stroked one hand through his feathers, aligning them for best speed and agility, before standing on the branch of the tree. The huge sequoia supported his weight easily, barely bending under his vessel's short, small nature.

His wings opened up, catching the wind with a soft rustle, right before Gold dropped off the branch, feathers smoothing into hard lines as he plunged for the ground, then changing his angle and shooting back into the sky, bursting through the canopy and aiming for the next target, a few active angels meeting not far from his location.

He flew swiftly.

He burst through the window of the hotel's basement, shards of glass shining in the half-light, the new-setting sun illuminating the spinning pieces in a filigree of entropy, the light tinkle of their resonance filling his ears. His wings swept outward, reducing his landing speed as the two angels within stared in awe.

"Run!" Shouted one, the pair turning to flee.

Archangel Gold whirled around, whipping his sword at the one's outstretched wing, the sword sliding effortlessly through the muscle and bone before plunging into the concrete floor, pinning the angel to the ground.

The trapped one let out a screeching howl as Gold spun, catching the second by the shoulder. This angel, though, wasn't one to simply attempt an escape, rather, clawing back, cutting a thin ribbon of red through the Archangel's arm.

With a startled huff, Gold sprung back, glancing between the deep, angelic-made wound in his arm and the angel who had his vessel's blood dripping from the point of his sword.

Flipping blood off his fingers with a muted sensation of displeasure, what anyone else would consider annoyance, Gold stalked forward, wings flared at the ready, an intimidation show like nothing else, full energy of an Archangel a terrifying sensation, like metal and ozone and awe.

Summoning his blade to his hand, Gold moved swiftly, one hand clamping on the closer angel's wing. The surprised angel let out a shriek, squirming futilely against the grip of the much more powerful creature twisting his wing behind his back.

"Ah! Ahh!" He gasped, kicking weakly in sight lashes as Gold simply held him, turning to the brother who was attempting to flee.

"Stop." Gold ordered shortly, the angel's legs locking up with the blatant command. The angel hesitated, grace bleeding on the floor, before starting to move again. "Stop or I rip his wing off."

"Ah! No, please! Keliel, please, no!" The captive angel squirmed, panic overloading his vessel as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Keliel slowly turned around, injured wing at his side. "...What do you want from me, Archangel?"

"Where is Bartholomew." Gold demanded in a monotone. When the answer wasn't immediate, his grip tightened impatiently on the wing in his hand.

At his partner's screech of pain and horror, Keliel answered. "Ok, ok! You win!" He exclaimed, and Gold's grip relaxed minutely on the broken feathers. The other angel sobbed with relief and pain, shaking in terror and agony. "Bartholomew's dead."

Gold said nothing, but when the other angel's shrieking resumed, the answer was clear.

"Look, that's all we know! When Castiel killed Bartholomew, we got out! We didn't want to keep going like this! We couldn't be part of that faction, so we left!" Keliel swept one hand in front of him. "We don't know who's the next leader, though!"

Gold scrutinized them for a few moments, watching Keliel with narrowed, but impassive eyes. "...Understood." He shrugged, hold on the other angel easing.

The grey-green winged creature in his arms slumped, breathing shaky, shuddering breaths, interrupted by small sobs as tears dripped onto the floor.

Then Gold pulled back, turned his hand and twisted off the wing.

The slick, wet pop of the joint breaking, then the ripping of flesh like wet paper echoed in the hall, the broken, severed wing falling to the ground with a dull thud, burned feathers and flesh almost more evident with the grace leaking free.

It wasn't going to heal anyway.

Keliel's eyes were huge, utterly focused on the shattered wing lying across the ground. The other angel froze for a half second, body tensing up and freezing, uncertain about it's next actions.

Then he screamed.

True voice howling wail, the remaining glass shattering as Gold dropped the ball of sobbing, screeching angel to the floor. Each inhale of his vessel made a reedy sawing noise, as if trying to breathe through a whistle, and each exhale sounded like a cry. Or maybe a prayer.

Gold ignored it, instead walking up to the shell-shocked angel staring blankly at the wing, the dead, empty wing, turning to ash before his very eyes.

Then he turned his blade down and slashed through Keliel's vessel, the vertebrae severing like taut string before a knife, his head hitting the floor before the human's nervous system caught up to the fact that it was dead. The moments of the empty body standing upright were strangely relaxing, only peace as Gold waited, knowing that the other angel wouldn't survive more than another ten minutes.

His grace would bleed out, Gold knew, so he left him lying on the ground, sobbing weakly, one wing torn off his body.

Gold shook out his own wings, sheathing his blade, before walking for the front door, closing it carefully behind him.

Six angels in a car.

Some memory of his drew the name 'Geniel' forward, attaching it to the lead angel with pink-orange wings.

Archangel Gold watched closely for signs of movement that might indicate a change of direction as he glid over the van.

It was tan, as pure-coloured as everything the angels did. Easy to spot in the crush of semi-dusted vehicles driving on the streets of Chicago. When the van slowed to make a left, Gold leaned over, slowly banking alongside them, wings pounding at the air languidly.

While he knew that Geniel needed to be killed, he really didn't want a battle in the middle of the street if he could avoid one. They attracted spectators, and humans, easily injured, delicate humans, could get in the way.

He didn't like that.

The car finally managed to find a space beside the apartment complex where the meeting would take place, pulling into the space with a small squeal of brakes. With an angry growl, Gold turned his wings downward and prepared to attack.

It appears that they won't be driving through anything hidden. He thought, changing his vessel's appearance slightly, pulling a hood over his head, and finally, making himself visible.

Some human, thinking he was a suicide of some kind, screamed, attracting one angel's attention, right before Gold raised his arm and aimed a spark of grace.

The van exploded.

Flaming debris went in all directions as the angels were blown clear, lacerations appearing on their pressed jackets and exposed skin, cars screeching to a stop around them, swerving to avoid the sudden detonation. Other alarms wailed loudly in the area, howling as humans scrambled to get away from what may have seemed like a terrorist attack.

Geniel, in her businesslike grey pencil-dress, was guarded on either side by two angels, the other four lying in various states of consciousness on the concrete nearby.

Gold swung his legs underneath his body, wings flaring to slow his descent, a gentle backbeat cutting his speed down as his blade appeared in his hand, light flickering down it's razor edge.

The first angelic bodyguard of Geniel's summoned his own blade, the other's hand glowing red with a Rit Zien's power. The first lunged, sword slashing down for Gold, who parried easily. The blue sparks that flickered free, flecks of grace that showered onto the tar below, making small crackles as energy discharged into the ground.

"Miss, go inside." The Rit Zien ordered shortly, pushing Geniel toward the entrance with his inactive hand, before heading for the sword fight between Gold and the other angel.

Gold dodged the first strike from the Rit, twisting his spine around to escape from the red light. He wondered why the Rit could even target him. He wasn't injured, and he definitely wasn't in pain.

It was suspicious.

Gold leapt up and spun, kicking the Rit's hand at the same time that the downslash of his blade caught the other angel's arm, blood and grace welling up from the slashed wrist.

One foot hit the ground, allowing him to practically break his spine rolling over to face forwards, driving his blade clean through the angel's sternum. The crackle it made upon impact was quieter than the crunching of bone being torn down the middle as Gold picked up the body by the neck, swinging it behind him and into the Rit, the blade embedded in it's ribs carving a clean line through the chest.

The Rit staggered back, eyes wide with horror, as grace from a burning angel landed in his arms, right before the angel inside the vessel detonated. The Rit's distraction by the blinding light was more than enough time for Gold to cleave his head from his shoulders.

The second body hit the ground after he turned his back to it, walking into the apartment building with a blank expression. His grace covered him in a watery disguise, completely invisible to any human who cast a look his way, as he flew carefully up the stairs, wings bracing and banking in hallways too narrow for his span.

Gold climbed, singling out the worriedly flickering wisp of grace that was hiding between the human souls, hunting it down with unerring accuracy.

When Gold used a wing to blow a door in, focusing on Geniel without much hesitation, the humans in the room stared at him fearfully, concerned for the supposedly crazy man who launched at the terrified woman in their hallway without much thought-

And Gold hit an invisible wall.

To an angel, the noise the sigil wall made was similar to someone running into a metal door, loud and painful and abrupt as Gold bounced backward, landing on the floor.

His wide, confused eyes immediately fixed on her, then flicked up to the sigil on the roof.

"Gold, listen closely." Geniel growled low, all authority and fury, though Gold was no longer paying attention to her. "Gold!" She ordered sharply.

His empty, blank eyes turned to her.

"There. Pay attention. You are a weapon of Heaven, and we serve Heaven. Now, that sigil will contain you and hold your powers, until we can get you to somewhere safe for reconditioning." She stated, ignoring the humans.

Gold stared at her, understanding the words entirely and ready to obey, though his grace wasn't so convinced. Lies. Only those trusted and God may command.

Gold's eyes narrowed, grace switching operation. Use; Silver energy. Useful in such events.

The roof above him split, ice clawing it's way through the plaster as people screamed, fleeing the area.

"How did-" Geniel stared in awe, almost impressed that Gold had the strength to resist a sigil that powerful, Enochian woven into the blood used to draw it.

Gold didn't respond, instead raising his blade above his head as he stepped free of the sigil, driving it down on her head as she howled for mercy.

Blood welled up in the pit that he carved into her skull, quiet and warm over his supporting hand, before he spread his wings and vanished once again.

And in the room, left behind by a fleeing human, a phone rang, it's blues-y feeling song playing for the empty room to know.

'You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution... will be live.'

-{[|]}-

The next base was a little more carefully scouted.

Within were numerous elder angels, including his target, Adnachiel, but also a number of younger, smaller angels. Three had especially bright graces, and his scouting had shown that all three were extremely skilled, with decently healed wings.

This would not be a fight he would escape unscathed.

Gold slipped in through a window on the second floor, three floors from Adnachiel, knowing he'd need to fight through the small, well-trained attack-force that were serving as his bodyguards.

Creeping through the hallway, ducking into other rooms when required, Gold made slow progress in finding both the bodyguards and Adnachiel.

Footsteps, down the stairs. His head snapped to stare as he swerved into a side room, peering around the corner carefully.

One of the younger angels. The bodyguards. His grey-marked tan wings lay against his shoulders, minimal singing on their wrists and tips. He wasn't flight worthy, but he may have had a chance at recovery.

Gold popped out of the room behind him, snaking one arm over his mouth before yanking him backward, quickly tipping his head back and slicing the throat, a wet spurt of blood flying forward as the large veins in his neck were severed.

Lowering the body quietly to the ground, Gold kept moving, arriving at the second floor easily and without further interruptions.

"Hey!"

Nevermind. Interrupted. His disposition grew cold with the annoyance of being challenged, the male seraph's green and brown wings spreading at his sides. Most of his primaries and secondaries were missing, burned off by a single lash of fire, the blood feathers permanently damaged. He'd never fly again.

But for now, they were useful combat weapons.

The angel's blade dropped into his palm, followed only by Gold's own blade being drawn, and the clash of their attacks rang out over the hallway.

The angel sidestepped, blade slipping from the hilt of Gold's, his arm twisting as the Archangel caught him in a swift parry. Jumping back, the angel regained his bearings, sword at the ready for when he stepped in again. Gold met his lunge with a swift kick to the chest, knocking the other off-balance as his blade flipped in his hand, the noticeably longer Archangel blade flashing on the artificial lights within the building.

Neither said anything, the smaller's green wings fluttering behind his back as he arched them up, an intimidation spread.

And suddenly, Gold knew why they were acting so strange.

Subject; Naomi. Garrison leader with odd ideas that she called progressive. Brainwashing all angels except for leaders, using them as programmable tools.

Gold's eyes narrowed. These young angels would never act so bold against an Archangel, not unless they were forced to. Which meant that there had to be a leader angel somewhere around, someone to command the group on the field.

On the next attack, Gold ducked under a slash, his hair flaring out in a small halo around his head before he shot forward, ripping through the other angel's ribs.

Immediately, the angel staggered and went down on one knee, barely managing to deflect the blow that Gold slammed down on him, sparks flying to the floor at the gong-like crash.

Green wings flaring to his sides, the angel shot upright again and swung, intending to catch Gold on the shoulder. The roboticism of the motion was what caught Gold, a pattern to his motions, easy to block and slide through if he knew what the angel was going to do.

The attack barely nicked his arm as Gold took a step backward, faking an unbalanced motion. The angel lunged forward, intending to trip him and slice open his throat when Gold pulled forward again.

Ducking under the level slash, Gold drew up behind the angel's exposed side, burying his knife in the angel's ribs.

The gasping choke as his lungs were torn open was a brutal sound, like wet cardboard being shredded, before he collapsed to his side, curled over the bleeding rip in his side.

Gold turned away, going for the stairs again, when the raspy, steadily fading wheezes caught his attention.

Slowly, he turned around, walking back over to the dying angel.

The least he could do, for a skilled opponent, was a swift death.

Then he moved to the next floor.

When he pushed open the metal door, he was expecting, perhaps, an ambush.

But definitely not someone casually leaning against the wall about twenty feet from him.

Young angel, a pretty female. She struck him as strange, the brightness of her rusted orange wings, even with the burned edges, almost abnormal, as if her grace resonated with his own.

"Well..." She sighed, smiling grimly. "I wondered how long it'd take you to handle Nikiel and Sebastian. Not as long as I wanted, I guess." She pushed off the wall, her wings held at a light, easy elegance behind her. Their attitude, stance, even the smooth, oiled feathers showed that she was still capable of flight. Not long-distance, but flight.

Gold's head tipped. He knew this grace, recognized it. Admitted, now it was older, more seasoned, but there, never the less.

"I figured it out just days after you left." She shrugged, coming a little closer, the hallway wider than the other ones with the doors shut and locked. "The six wings, the power. The way you could fly, and make it look fun, rather than just... transport. I guessed it was you all along."

He slowly let his blade slither into his palm, hand tightening on it's handle.

"...You're not who I wanted you to be." She sighed softly. "I wanted you to be... Heaven's light, like they said you were." Her head shook, vessel's short blonde hair bouncing slightly on her head with the motion. "I went, and I searched. I searched for every angel in Heaven who knew anything about you. I wanted... To know how you were like, fighting and flying. And knowing what I know, I know you wouldn't want to be... this."

Gold remained silent, letting her speak.

When he didn't say anything, she breathed out and continued. "But I've trained my whole life to fight." She announced. "That's been my focus ever since you left me up there, by the Gate." Her grace started to force it's humming louder, melodic and slow, like the first note of a heartbeat held into eternity, wings pulling high on her spine and spreading to touch the walls of the hallway. "To be as strong as you. To come as close to being an Archangel as I could."

Her own blade dropped to her fingers, light and swift. Gold noticed with an impressed eye that the blade had been modified, thinner and sharper, featherweight and easy to handle with it's shaped hilt. It resembled an Archangel's blade.

"Well..." She breathed, raising the blade to her face and examining it slowly. "...I guess neither of us get what we want, huh, Gabriel?" She questioned.

Gold flinched subtly, but his expression and stance didn't shift the slightest bit.

They moved at the same time, mirror images of each other, blades coming from the same angle to crash together, the air-sucking sensation of grace connecting, remembering, copper and golden wisps of energy swirling between them from the crossed weapons.

The implosion from the half-done mixing of grace shattered every window on that floor, glass falling to the floor in a chaotic musical, reflecting their motions as she swept her sword down, throwing Gold's footing to the side as her wing rose up to attack.

He threw his own wing forward, suddenly forced to change his combat style just to match her, blocking the copper-orange feathers that impacted his wing. Flaring the long appendages, Gold threw off her wing and returned with a punch from his largest on the other side. She danced to the side, wings spread and beating once to duck away from the attack, barely parrying the downslash that followed the wing.

Bringing up one leg, she planted a firm kick to his stomach, forcing him back while she spun away, glass crackling under her feet. "You're fast." She purred smoothly, but Gold could sense the trepidation and wariness. The initially traded blows had shown her exactly what she was dealing with. She may have been a seraphim, much higher ranking than a common seraph, but she was still fighting an Archangel.

She jumped in, grace lancing off the tip of her blade as she swung, the burning copper energy ripping a charred scar into the drywall as his blade gleamed golden, the sparks mixing when contact was made.

Gold shoved forward, sliding his blade down to the hilt of hers and twisting, almost flipping the silvery sword free of her hand before she raised a wing and forced him to twist away and block the strike, just enough space for her to carve a thin, angry line through his ribs.

A strangled noise escaped his throat as her - evidently more modified than he assumed - blade sliced into his skin, grace searing his true form with pain as the vessel's nerve endings lit with burning agony.

Gold staggered away, staring in shock between her blade and the blood on his hand, interspersed with glittering flecks of grace.

She seemed equally as surprised as he was, meeting his eyes with a wide stare of her own, before glancing to her sword. "Huh... So it works on you too."

Then her grace flashed through the blade, illuminating blood sigils and wards wreathed into the metal. The glow was a warning as clear as a snake's rattle; the blade was meant to poison angels, prevent them from healing themselves.

With a quick shake of his head, Gold refocused and stalked forward again, wings hooding his body aggressively as golden rays scattered along the walls.

She smirked and met him move for move, refusing to back down before the powerful Archangel, her barely-singed copper wings reflecting glittering orange light within the hallway.

They began anew.

Blow after blow. Knives to the limbs, wings, even a chunk carved out of Gold's shoulder, the blood running thin as his vessel began to empty. The fight had been going on for almost half an hour, the young angel equal to his own swordsmanship at a smaller stature, with fewer feathers in the way. At the current rate he was fighting, he would be forced to retreat, and attempt this fight again another day.

When he finally recognized an error.

When she swung left, her wing pulled up, out of it's guarding position by centimetres, just enough space for him to slip into.

He shot in, catching her wing on the upper wrist, blocking it from folding inward as his wings flared out, distracting with their flashy golden colour, right as he flipped the blade around in his hand and brought it down, driving it through her spine without hesitation, the crackle of bone breaking and flesh separating loud and distinctive.

She immediately went rigid, body locking up in it's death throes as the brilliant copper wings began to char, the grace left inside eating her alive.

Slowly, she reached up with a shaking hand and grabbed his shoulder, flipping herself around gingerly, even as Gold lowered her to the ground with far more care than he should've had.

"W-well... Gabe..." She panted low, chest muscles spasming as they struggled to compensate for the damage done to her body, the last breaths of something already dead. "...G-guess-" She coughed. "G-guess we d-did g-get what w-we wanted..."

He gave her a strange, silent look, kneeling beside her struggling body.

"I g-got... to see y-you... again." She chuckled breathily, her half-limp hand rising toward his face. "A-and... y-you..." She placed it delicately on his face, as though scared she'd break him, thumb gently rubbing across his cheek. "...Y-you're th-the real... f-fixer of H-Heaven."

Her fingers were cold, shivering against the skin of his vessel, body finally starting to cease it's fight for life, energy spent. When her hand started to slide from his jawbone, he wasn't sure what possessed him to reach up and support it again, using his other hand to gather the burning, dying copper winged body into his lap, head on his shoulder.

He wasn't sure why he spoke either, but he said a few simple, final words to her halting breathing.

"...The world changes you."

Her huffed, the weak sob sounding painful to his own indifferent ears.

Then silence.

The pink-orange wings of Geniel burned within her office, trapped alone, with no backup or assistance coming. He was uncaring to the brutality of the attack, or the blood left behind. The only thing that had actually had... any sort of impact on him, was laying the copper-winged angel down, crossing her arms over her chest with her sword through the middle. A warrior's death.

She fought valiantly. She deserved that burial, not to be left by the side like a common rat.

He wasn't sure why it made him feel so...

Alone.

Archangel Gold stared at Geniel's body one final time before spreading his wings, blood flakes peeling from the feathers, before turning for the horizon and vanishing once more.