Angel sat in the cathedral's elevated choir section and was very nearly asleep with boredom when she felt a buzz on her wrist. The clock showed just shy of 4 AM and the sensors she'd set up at the church's front door alerted her it was opened. Angel ducked down to the edge of the rafters and looked down as a tiny shape that seemed cloaked in darkness stepped inward.

With her transmitter raised, Angel put in a communication to Batgirl. "Someone's here. Intruder."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Not sure if it's an enemy, could be someone trying to get inside for the night. Approaching," Angel slipped down the staircase and, on silent, nimble toes, pursued the intruder.

"It's a slow night out here. We're patrolling nearby," Batgirl said. "Don't hesitate to call."

Angel waited in the shadows as figure approached the altar. She paused at a small dispenser by the wall marked, "Holy Water," dipped in two fingers, and performed a sign of the cross before she resumed her trek. As she walked, a gentle song slipped from her lips.

"Da pacem, Domine, in diebus nostris/ Quia non est alius Qui pugnet pro nobis Nisi tu Deus noster."

Hugged close to the shadows, Angel followed the woman as she entered the nave and, eventually, stepped into the moonlight.

"Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto/ Sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper/ Et in saecula saeculorum./ Amen." Between the black hijab and the dark jacket she wore, all that the light revealed was the blood-red cross across the front of her body and the lightly tanned skin on her face. Finally, she came to a stop. "You know, it's funny." Only a tiny tinge of a Middle Eastern accent colored her English. "When we knew we were coming to Gotham, I wondered if our paths wouldn't cross. The story goes you defeated a raving heretic right in this cathedral. I think you deserve to be celebrated for that."

Though Angel didn't move from her hiding place, her pulse picked up with the stranger's words. The voice—the shape—did she know it already?

"We're trying to take back something that belongs to us, Angel. A building burned down the other night in our struggle to claim it. We'd probably still have it, except that the minute the building caught on fire our hands were too full trying to rescue everyone we could. That's what we do, and it's why need the icon, because we want to save people."

That clenched it—this woman was in the burning building, the one who rescued the two old women by the staircase. As she moved deeper into the cathedral, Angel followed from the darkness. At the stairs that led to the altar, she stopped again.

"If you know nothing, at least let me tell you what an admirer I am. But if you do, let's negotiate. I don't know if you were there the other night, but some of your compatriots were. If those fools from the Vatican told you they knew best, you're being lied to. The best you can hope for with them is they seal the icon away, never to let it be used again. You of all people must know what Christ said about failing to use the talents God gives to you. We would use it right."

"... Who is we?"

The stranger turned to her right as the Angel of the Bat stepped into the moonlight.

"So, there you are after all."

Again, Angel said, "Who is we?"

"My name is Nijah, and I serve the Order of Nephilim," she said.

Angel squinted her eyes in study. For the first time since the other woman entered, she took stock of the sword on her back. "Should I know that name?"

"Doubtful," Nijah said. "We are few in number, and have always operated in holy darkness." A satisfied little smirk crossed her lips. "Not so different from you and your allies."

"And what do you do?"

"We are all cursed people, and we seek to turn those curses into blessings."

Angel frowned. "Cursed?"

"But then all the world is cursed, isn't it?" Nijah said. "Cursed by original sin, at the very least. We're just a little more aware of it than everyone else."

Angel didn't respond with anything but her glare. She knew of original sin from her studies and enough Sunday sermons. A bit like the fires of Hell, she'd decided she didn't take much stock in it.

"But even the believers are straying further from God's grace," Nijah said. "Believers continue losing faith all the time. Christianity breaks off into more and more disparate branches every day. Even our mother church grows ever more into a den of thieves and hypocrites more concerned with running their mouths than saving souls."

Angel's heart skipped a beat. She'd followed this woman from the shadows prepared for a fight, but the more she spoke, the more she found she wanted to hear.

"I don't think you're some self-righteous beast doing this for the thrill," Nijah said. "You fight so that one day you won't have to anymore. The things you want for Gotham, we want for the rest of this world. And just like that equipment you carry, the icon is the key to getting it done more quickly and more effectively." She put out an open hand. "We could be allies. Maybe even friends. Help us get our icon back, Angel."

The reality remained that without the orb sealed in her hand, Sadie would die. But despite what Father Day said, maybe there was more than one way to extract it safely. And with as reasonable as this woman seemed, it felt like her order would be nothing but helpful.

But another thought buzzed at the back of Angel's mind. She'd felt disappointed enough in recent times, another question needed asked.

"What if I wasn't who you thought I was? Not completely?"

"How do you mean? Not another life saver?"

"What if I am an unwed mother?"

"Then you should have done differently, but I'm sure you've done the right thing now."

"What if I was made... artificially?"

"You can't be to blame for what your parents did. And if they've sought penance, they'll be forgiven too."

That answer slowed and chilled Angel, but she pressed out of her hypotheticals. "What if I'm..." she paused to consider a more honest assessment before she decided it was better to be simple and direct. "Gay?"

Nijah locked eyes with her and said, "If you joined our order, you wouldn't be the first. You were born that way, there's no shame in that."

The chill inside Cassandra turned into a full-bodied freeze. In the years since she'd started believing, no one within the church itself had ever given her a reaction like that. How long had she waited for this? In spite of everything, did it finally stand before her?

"And if we can get the icon in hand, we can make all that temptation go away."

With those words, Nijah took a hammer to the frozen Angel and smashed her calm into a million pieces. With some struggle, and a fire lighting up in her belly, Angel asked, "What?"

"Oh, I can already tell where this is going." Nijah sighed. "You don't want help, because there isn't anything wrong with you, is that it?"

Angel stood up straight and forced firmness into her words. "There isn't."

"There is no sin in being tempted. Jesus wandered a desert just so he could be tempted for forty days. It's acting on temptation that is sinful."

"I am not a sinner because of who I love."

"That's the problem with your sort" Nijah spoke with the tired resignation of someone who argued this point constantly. "You forget that after Christ broke bread with sinners, he told them, 'Go, and sin no more.'" She drew a cell phone out from her coat's inner pocket.

Faster than Nijah could spot the movement, a batarang flew from Angel's hand, hit the phone with one of its pointed ends, it flew out of Nijah's hand, and fell to the tile floor. The glass screen broke on impact.

Angel's opponent shook her head as she glared at the broken device. "So expensive, but so easy to break. Rubbish, complete rubbish." Nijah turned toward Angel, her stoney face suggested she already knew this moment was coming. She raised a hand and laid fingers on the handle of her sword. "It's come to this then?"

"I don't want the world you'd make," Angel said.

"And you'd rather stick by this one? With all its sin and vice?"

Angel didn't reply, she just drew her own sword and ran. She and Nijah crossed blades in the cathedral's center. Each met the other's swings with knee-jerk reactions, no strike seemed determined to do much more than catch the other's attention. Little observations ran through Angel's mind as she deflected and parried Nijah's slashes. Not too fast, the woman could definitely strike faster. She didn't shake at all when she blocked Angel's strikes, so her strength was impressive. Nijah didn't commit to any fancy footwork, but something in Angel's gut told her she knew plenty. Angel felt sure- her opponent was holding back. Better to take advantage of that and keep her from cutting loose.

After one of Nijah's parries, Angel switched her katana to her left hand, raised a pair of fingers with her right, and threw a pressure point jab into Nijah's shoulder. Her opponent uttered a quick, sharp grunt, but the padding in her jacket absorbed most of the impact. Her right hand still moveable by her volition, Nijah reversed her grip on the sword and punched Angel in the face with the pommel. Angel swallowed a shout, leapt backwards, and wiped a line of blood from her nose.

"You're good. I knew you would be," Nijah said. "Now, do me the honor of fighting me for real. I can take whatever you gave that giant when you brought him down ."

Angel scoffed. Nijah proved herself strong, that much seemed clear. But Angel doubted she knew she compared herself to a literal immortal. Or that she'd faced an opponent even more brutal than the Seraphim just a year later.

Still, Angel dropped the studying routine as she rushed at Nijah again. She swung quick and determined, and though Nijah remained fast, Angel proved faster. One slash in every five made its way through Nijah's defenses, and though Angel dueled with a dulled sword, each strike still beat against her enemy. Nijah landed two cuts of her own, and her slashes challenged Angel's armor, but did not reach her skin. Angel's five-to-one slash rhythm turned into a four-to-one, and as Nijah wore down, Angel added more freehanded strikes into the mix. After a parry from her sword, it was a punch right between the eyes that knocked Nijah to the ground.

Nijah breathed deep and, but by the breaks in her breath, sounded like she fought back a shout. With a hand raised to her face she felt for blood, though didn't find any.

"Leave," Angel said. "You're strong, but I'm stronger. I don't want to hurt you, and I don't like fighting in holy places." Not that it ever stopped her before, this always seemed to be how things went.

Despite her heavy breaths, Nijah laughed. "Be glad we're fighting in a church. It's the only reason my strength is so suppressed." As she spoke, she slid her left hand into her jacket. From the darkness she laid in, the motion was hard to determine.

Angel frowned, was this what Sadie was talking about when she said, 'get to holy ground?' "Suppressed? What-"

Nijah lunged off the ground, a dagger in her hand. As a glint of moonlight hit the blade it burst into a tiny plume of bright orange fire. With a slash, Nijah thrust into Angel's side with the burning blade. Angel shouted in pain and took a swing at her, but in the moment of disorientation, Nijah leapt out of the way and slunk into the shadows.

Angel squinted her eyes for a better look, if she could find Nijah in the dark, she could pursue her. But the more she concentrated, the hazier her vision grew. She took a step in the direction that looked to be all darkness, but stumbled as she did. Something was wrong. Angel fumbled around her side for the dagger, but couldn't get a solid hold on it. Had she been poisoned? Cut with a hallucinogen? What disoriented her?

As she stumbled with another step, a flash of old memories ran to the forefront of her mind. Just disparate images and feelings. A pink dress. A gasp for help. The coppery smell of blood. And a congratulatory hand on her shoulder—

"What do you see?"

Slowed by whatever she was fighting, Angel whirled around too slowly, and Nijah punched her square between the eyes. Angel swallowed a shout of pain as she hit the ground.

With a dull pain in the front and back of her head, Angel shook her head hard to push the thoughts away. But in their place came others. She didn't need to go all the way back to the pink dress. The white uniform, the open display of her faith and fealty to both her adopted fathers, also knew its share of bloodshed. One image in particular—there sat a man covered in scars, the worst, most vile words spilled from his mouth. Angel shut him up, and then she kept going. And kept going. And kept going. Someone— who was a blur, but someone— screamed at her to stop, but—

Angel caught sight of Nijah's boot a second before it made contact. She rolled out of its range and got back on her feet. "Said I was a hero," she spoke through grit teeth. "This is how you face a hero?"

"Pain is the most powerful teacher." Nijah's words came slow and contemplative. She could take full advantage of Angel's struggling state to end the fight, but it seemed she didn't want to. "I see it in your eyes. Suffering has already taught you so much."

With a great mental shove, Angel forced those memories away. With her sword raised she rushed at Nijah and caught her in a blade lock, but it felt obvious Nijah only gave the block a token effort. Meanwhile, other thoughts rushed through Angel's brain.

Angel— no, not Angel, it was before those days. She remembered nights on the rooftops with Spoiler— no, not Spoiler. Stephanie. Cassandra remembered training and running on rooftops together. And she remembered all the times Stephanie and Tim held hands after a long shift, the way he kissed her, sometimes first on the forehead, and then on the lips. And even if she struggled to even consider it at the time, Cassandra knew she'd wondered, "Why can't I love you like that?" And as Angel pushed through the morass of those memories, her own voice echoed back, "She loves Tim. Stop trying to get in their way."

Nijah leaned in close to their blade lock. "That's the Sword of Sin you're feeling," she said. "You're not just fighting me—your inequities are bubbling to the surface." Nijah broke the clash and leapt backwards. The darkness she slipped back into went hazy, and it felt like other figures stood on the other side of it. "Are you really so sure you're not living in sin?"

At the end of the haze stood Sadie's slight, short-haired figure, a smirk on her face. Hers were the first lips Cassandra ever truly enjoyed kissing. In little flashes memories blended together with reality. She felt nights holding each other as they watched movies together, and dozens of little pecks all over her body. Here was a flash of one of Sadie's art exhibits. There was one of each of them laid in bed, naked and tangled with one another. Here she stood at the end of an aisle in a tuxedo, and there she waited in a dress. And all throughout the wandering, came a consistent, quickening hiss of, "Sinner, sinner, sinner, sinner, sinnersinnersinnersinnersinnerSINNERSINNER—"

"Cassie!"

Angel got a hand around the blade from her side and yanked. The haze dissipated. Nijah stood opposite her, but her attention was turned away. Because Sadie stood at the threshold of the nave.

"Get out of here!" Angel waved an arm. "Not safe here anymore—"

A black shape swooped down from the choir box and delivered a vicious kick to Nijah's face. She let out a quick scream, her feet left the floor before she stuttered to a stop on the ground.

Robin stood up straight. "The church has been compromised," he said. "We're moving plans up now. You ready to move?"

Angel shook her head, still trying to fight off the effects of the strange knife. "Our—our things—"

Batgirl's voice echoed from the vestibule. "I got packed with Sadie while you were still fighting. C'mon, let's go!"

When he saw Angel was still disoriented, Robin grabbed ahold of her arm and ran for the door. After a moment, Angel remembered her own feet, the ran to Sadie and Batgirl.

"My allies are on their way." Nijah sprinted toward them. "And once I'm outside, I won't be bound anymore. Nowhere to run—"

The four made it out of Saint Michael's great, decorative entryway. As soon as they did, Robin reached for his utility belt and whipped out his telescoping staff. With a shove he forced the metal between the door's two ornate handles. "That outta buy us some time."

A slam reverberated behind the four, but the door held. Tim led the way to his car, Batgirl quick on his tail, Angel and Sadie held hands and sped to keep up.