Da Pacem Domine- The Apocryphal Attempts

by MJTR

The three collected attempts to complete Angel of the Bat III: Da Pacem Domine before my latest top-down revision. Remaining online as a curiosity.

15. The Complete Second Failed Attempt

The Second Failed Attempt Chapter One

Prologue:

Blood stained the sands of Acre and ran down into the Levantine Sea. The single day's casualties numbered dozens if not a hundred in total. Of the over seventy knights of Britain who had stepped off the ship from Genoa, only one still stood. The damned sand dogs who were so eager to taste the bite of his blade were less than a third of his force, nearly all of them laid dead in the dirt. Only one of the worms remained, but he was the one who had almost singlehandedly leveled the crusaders. In the setting sun, his opponent's cloak seemed to glow as if it was made of fire. The lone knight struggled to even hold his footing but would never surrender. His opponent raised a scimitar toward him and stared with those pure, white, prophet's eyes that seemed to pierce the soul.

The one dressed in flames was not used to speaking English, but he knew enough to deliver a message. "You will live. Go back to your masters, tell them what you have seen. Tell them to leave my people be, your lives needn't be forfeit."

The knight clutched his chest and squeezed the handful of the cross-marked shirt over his chainmail. It was difficult for him to speak, but he pressed on. "My master is greater than yours, dog of Termagant! I shall fear no evil, to die to see the Holy Land again purified is to accept sanctification!"

"The prophet, Jesus, peace be upon him, would never wish your blade raised upon mine," the flame-cloaked man said. "Cruel men corrupted his words, as they have corrupted your heart."

"You do not dare speak to me of the works of Christ, you heathen dog!" The crusader pulled a second sword of the hand of a dead comrade and raised the blades toward his opponent. "Make your peace with Mohammed now, I'll send you into the pits to join him! Deus vult!"

With the power that ran through that specter's body, he could have reduced the bullheaded fool to ash in the blink of an eye. The wrath of Allah was with him, if he so chose to use it. But Allah abhorred needless bloodshed, and perhaps if just this one fool could be convinced to tell the European kings what power laid ready to guard Jerusalem, they would end their cursed crusades.

With his scimitar clutched close to his chest, the specter prayed, "Alsalam ealaykum," and ran to meet him in battle again.

-000-

Chapter One

It seemed like such a normal night off patrol. There had been sushi, laughter, and a terrible struggle for balance. A blade in the hand seemed so easy compared with one strapped to each foot.

"How are you so bad at this?"

"First time. Shut up, stop laughing."

"You can meditate while standing on your head and probably walk a mile on your hands." The first of the two, a young woman in a big, leather coat with hair short enough to tuck under her stocking cap, examined her partner. "But ice skating? Ice skating is your kryptonite?"

From the wall that surrounded the outside of the rink, the second shook her fist as she took one clunky step at a time. With her struggle for balance and petite frame, it was hard to look intimidating. "I'll push you."

The short haired girl glided past her, curved to turn around and stuck out her tongue. "You'd have to catch me first." As she spoke she pressed onto her heels a little to slow down.

Parents with their children, lovers and even a van of church teens all swooped up and down the Gotham's Bayside Skating Rink. The speakers played inoffensive music, little ones cried out of fear of falling, and snow fell gently from the sky. For most of them it was just a pleasant night out. For the two girls, it was another precious moment in a too-rare reunion.

Cassandra grit her teeth a little. Sadie was right, she was oddly bad at this activity. She couldn't pick up any decent momentum, the stress made her sweat a little, and the center of her feet hurt from the odd balance of the ice skates. But deep down, she didn't really mind any of those things. In spite of her struggle, she tried to pick up the pace. Sadie had slowed significantly and still seemed so far away.

"Come on," she said. "Go for it. You gotta want it!"

Was there ever any doubt about that?
When Sadie and almost stopped completely, Cassandra took a lunge. She was practically running on the ice and it made her already sore feet sting even more. But that was okay. She nearly tripped, but didn't, caught up to Sadie and wrapped her arms around her tight from behind.

Sadie smirked as Cassandra nuzzled into her. "Good job." With a few kicks of her own, Sadie led Cassandra toward the center of the floor.

A little pain in her feet, a struggle with balance, some sweat, none of those things really mattered. Sadie's winter break back in Gotham only lasted a few short weeks. If Sadie wanted to be at an ice skating rink, Cassandra wanted to be there too.

After a last, labored circle around the ice the girls finally peeled off their ice skates. The skating rink had been close enough to the bay to hear the splashes of the ocean and watch how building lights reflected off the water. As Cassandra stretched out her toes, finally free of their prison, Sadie bought hot chocolate and brought it to their seats.

"To winter break." Sadie raised her cup.

Cassandra tapped it with her own. "Toast." And rested her head against Sadie's shoulder.

"Seems like you have a lot more free time these days." Sadie sipped her hot chocolate. "Your dad not keeping you so busy anymore? Or is it just when I'm in town?"

Cassandra shrugged. "Hadn't noticed. Still feel busy."

That was a lie, even if it wasn't a malicious one. In the two years since Sadie had gone off to college, Bruce's already impressive dragnet had increased. Dick was a call away again, Barbara was often available to give a second opinion to anything technical. Tim and Stephanie, were never far away and Damian had adjusted surprisingly well with a little discipline. Bruce's once rarely seen cousin Kate wore a uniform of her own, Katana trained a new group of Outsiders, it seemed like there was just less and less to do. There was a faint thought in the back of Cassandra's mind that, maybe someday soon, Bruce wouldn't need so many people patrolling his streets. Maybe the wrath that had plagued Gotham for so long could finally fade away.

As Sadie laid a peck sticky with chocolate on her forehead, Cassandra couldn't help but figure that was a better way to spend a night.

The two returned to Sadie's car slowly, holding hands and taking one another's questions over sips of increasingly chilly cocoa.

Sadie asked, "Any chance you have a spare invitation to Steph and Tim's wedding? I think the mailroom lost mine. I know when it is, obviously, I just want it for sentimental reasons."

"Yes," Cassandra said. "Or get another one."

"Just please don't tell Stephanie I never got it."

"Why?"

Sadie feigned a guffaw. "Because she's busy enough trying to plan for it. If she knows my invitation got lost, she'll start thinking all of them got lost."

Cassandra laughed a little. "All right. Painting going well?"

"I had a whole module this last term on healthier stress relievers than pulling your hair out and turning to booze," Sadie said. "Thank God you got me doing tai chi and stuff or I might be bald and addled by now."

A smile crossed Cassandra's face but it was only for show. She'd seen what the drug-ridden of Gotham looked like, it was not a state she liked picturing her girlfriend in.

"I tried painting you something that would look like stained glass, but everything I made came out… I dunno, abstract."

That brought a genuine grin to Cassandra's face. "I don't know the difference."

"It didn't seem good for a gift. More of a pretty card design, I thought… maybe for a wedding invitation or something. Guess we're back to that subject now."

"Would you paint them for our—" Cassandra's heart skipped a beat as she spoke and she didn't finish the sentence. She'd made a promise, two years before. She wasn't supposed to ask questions like that.

Sadie shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."

Cassandra released Sadie's hand and stopped moving as her heart missed a second palpitation. Sadie kept walking for a few steps before she turned around with a not entirely innocent smirk on her face. "Yeah? Was it something I said?"

Blood rushed into Cassandra's cheeks. "Told me I shouldn't talk about that—"

"Yeah, I know," she said. "But, y'know, it's my rule. I can take it back if I feel like taking it back."

"Do you… want to?"

Sadie stepped back toward her and took one of her hands again. "You haven't been carrying a ring every time I've come home and we've been out, have you? Because as endearing as that would be, it'd be kind of creepy too."

Cassandra shook her head, unsure if the question was a joke or not.

Sadie bumped her forehead against Cassandra's. "I'm saying I think I'm ready to work my way there," she said. "We still wouldn't be able to in Jersey, unless that case Pete mentioned ends up going through, but whatever. I'm having a blast at school, I'm doing what I love. But most of the year, there's still this hole in the middle of it all." She leaned in closer and the two shared a kiss. "And I think you're exactly the right size to fill it."

In the dark of a Gotham night mostly lit by streetlamps and snow on the ground, Cassandra felt a blazing warmth within. As Sadie turned back around to take the last few steps to the car, Cassandra clutched the little, silver cross around her neck and mumbled, "Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you."

Even something as simple as the drive toward the manor was lovely. Cassandra settled deep into the front seat and Sadie gave her a hand to hold the whole time. Every now and again she raised Sadie's free hand and kissed the top of it.

"Geeze, Cassie, I don't know the last time I've seen you swoon like this."

"Was a good night," Cassandra said. "Miss you when you're away."

As Sadie reached a red light, she leaned toward Cassandra and bumped her head against hers. That quiet, totally contented moment felt like it could last forever.

Then there came a sudden, constant blast of car horns. Both women jumped and looked to the right. A yellow blur rushed through the sidewalk as pedestrians ran and jumped out of the way.

Sadie flinched. "What the hell is going on over there?"

Cassandra leaned toward her window and squinted as a blast of what looked to be black fire came blasting out the window. The car jolted to a sudden stop, two men stumbled out from it and ran toward the building just beyond the sidewalk. Which Cassandra realized, with a sinking heart, was Saint Michael's Cathedral. Instinct brought her hand to her seatbelt and unbuckled it.

As she reached for the door, Sadie asked, "What are you doing?"

"My church," Cassandra said. "Want to make sure it's all right."

"Are you crazy? Call the cops or something, but don't just jump—"

"Stay here," Cassandra said. "Stay safe. Be right back."

Cassandra threw open the door and ran for the doors of the church. If someone wanted to make trouble there, they'd have to go through her. Unbeknownst to Cassandra, as she ran at the church in indignation, a figure garbed all in red slowly approached the car. By the time Sadie shook off enough shock to notice him, it was too late for her to lock the door.

-000-

Stephen Montrose tasted blood in his mouth when the sound of snapping awoke him from unconsciousness. He shook his head and struggled to see clearly in the dark. With a test of his arms and legs, he confirmed he was bound to what he assumed was a cushioned old chair. And in the darkness, cut only by the dusty windows that let in the moonlight, he couldn't clearly see the only other living person he shared the space with. Though, based on the figure's pea coat and fedora-wearing outline and the totally featureless face, he recognized her anyway.

"Question." Montrose turned his head and wheezed. "Of course you'd turn up. Where the hell are we?"

"Abandoned motel across the street from where I found you. Let's make this quick, Kerning," the other said. "My office got a call of a missing college kid named Brock Aldrich two weeks ago. His mother reported finding a copy of the Crime Bible laying under his bed, I cooperate with my old friends in the police to track his cell phone's last known whereabouts. Within a mile of that location, I find you bloody and unconscious in an alley less than half a mile away. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Kerning eyed his opponent, still cloaked in shadows, and hoped to keep her from coming any closer. No matter how many times he'd looked upon her visage it always unsettled him. He looked down toward the floor, rolled blood and saliva in his mouth and spat at the floor. "I'll bet you'd have killed him yourself, if you'd known what he'd bragged about when he contacted us."

The figure crossed her arms. "That isn't important to me right now. The boy wasn't among the dead. Do you believe he's alive or not?"

"His mommy and daddy paid good money to keep what he did out of the courtroom. And that sweet little drunk girl's going to college from their checkbook next semester. The kid, he figured we wouldn't take him fingering a blacked out girl in the back of his truck all that seriously."

His words gave the Question brief paused before she said, "You're dodging my question."

"He'd been trying to get in with us for a while. We don't like college kids, they don't know how to keep secrets. But these guys showed up on our doorstep and shoved this weird book in our hands. Wanted to know what they'd have to pay for us to complete a little ritual. And if we knew any sinners we could offer up for it."

The Question stepped into the light, Montrose shut his eyes tight and turned his head away. A moment later he felt the blunt trauma of a Billy club smack him upside the face.

"Open your eyes," the Question said. When Montrose did nothing, she struck him again, he cried out in pain, and she commanded, "Look at me!"

The cultist grit his teeth, opened his eyes, and looked up. His integrator looked down upon him with an eyeless, mouthless, expressionless face that seemed to run seamlessly down her neck and into her button up. The effect was far more convincing than a simple mask. If this creature actually had a face at all underneath whatever it was he looked upon, he never knew it.

"I will deal with what he did, if what you're saying is true. But first you're going to tell me what you did with him."

Through grit teeth and a sustained battle with pain, Montrose said, "Their work required a sacrifice, and we told them they couldn't have one of our own. So we invited the little brat to come down for his 'initiation.'"

The Question grabbed ahold of Montrose by his hooded sweatshirt and jerked him close to her faceless visage. "And so you killed him?"

"We did as the book commanded us, five men in different parts of the room and a sacrifice in the center. The punk didn't even realize what we were doing until it was too late. The whole room went red and hot, I didn't even think it was actually going to work—"

The Question wrapped a leather gloved hand over Montrose's throat and cut off his words. "Is he alive or not? Nod for yes, shake for no."

With some struggle the bound Montrose managed to swallow, then shake his head. She then released her grip and punched him in the face. After his shout of pain, she said, "Murderers. And where are the rest?"

"Probably dead." Montrose hacked and wheezed before his breathing stabilized a little again. "If whatever that thing was that came out had anything to say about it."

The Question still had not released her hold on his coat. "That thing that came out?"

Montrose sneered at her. "Who would make a sacrifice if they didn't expect something to come out after they did?"

If Montrose could see a mouth on the Question, he'd have guessed it was half open to demand another answer from him when a series of loud, constant blares from a car horn reverberated from within the room. The Question stepped toward the window, as a loud crash followed the honks of the horn. Montrose craned his neck, but couldn't see more than a yellow flash as it passed the window. The screech of a set of brakes followed just afterwards. The Question remained at the window for a moment, turned toward Montrose, and said, "I'm going to need to look into that. I'll be back for you shortly."

Montrose scoffed. "Take your time, bitch, take your time."

She ran outside and left the cultist alone in the dark motel room. Montrose struggled against his bonds, but the Question had bound him well. It was just after his resignation to the situation he heard the creek of a door as it opened somewhere behind him.

"What the—who's there?" Montrose heard only the soft footsteps of boots on the carpet after he asked. "How'd you even get in here? Have you been listening to that whole thing?"

The soft footsteps grew just a little louder and, without being able to see the walker, Montrose sensed it getting closer.

"Look, I don't know what you people want, but we did what you asked us to do. You didn't tell us who you are, so I couldn't even spill anything about it. Why don't you just cut me free and we can be done here?"

The footsteps stopped, and Montrose felt something cold against his neck. After just a moment of internal questioning, he realized what was about to happen.

"No—NO! Question! Question get back here! He's here, one of them is here! Please! Please don't let him—"

The figure cut his throat from ear to ear. Montrose felt no pain and could only muster a few agonized gurgling sounds. As his attacked slipped the knife away and Montrose watched his life flow down from his neck, the assailant uttered the last three words Montrose would ever hear.

"Da pacem, Domine."

-000-

For the passengers aboard the Airbus a330 from London to Gotham near seats 32 A and B, the flight could not have landed fast enough. International travel had its own share of aches and pains by itself, but the two blonde men in those seats seemed to radiate unease and discomfort. One had twitched and mumbled constantly, quiet enough to seem easy to ignore but too sporadic to keep a mental shield up for. His companion had seemed all right initially but sounded like he'd start a fight with the stewardess when he stood up to cram his trench coat into an overhead compartment. Whoever the both of them were, their fellow passengers hoped never to encounter them again. And, the longer he spent with his client, the more John Constantine hoped the same.

"Evil hands are at work now, Mr. Constantine." The client rubbed his hands together and he bit his under lip had enough to threaten blood as they two boarded a tram within the Gotham airport. "Monsters, demons, devils, they may well be ants to what is to come."

"What about angels then?" Constantine hoped to throw the madman off his balance, maybe that would make him pipe down. "Plenty of those apples are rotten too, you know."

He glared toward Constantine as he slipped his hands into his white and red jacket. "I'm an angel, you know."

"Uh huh. Of course you are." Constantine felt an involuntary spasm of his own as the train lurched to a stop. He needed a cigarette.

His client sputtered again. "It's a title! I'm not being literal about myself, but them, him—"

"All right, all right, shut your gob," Constantine said. "Thought you wanted to avoid detection."

A transatlantic flight with a twitchy bloke who kept making the sign of the cross every five minutes was usually more than Constantine could tolerate. It was only the healthy advance the man had provided that brought him this far. There was someone the so-called angel needed to see about Judgement Day, and apparently he was desperate enough to run to a dark magician for protection. Once he reached some old church in Gotham, the rest of the money would be in John's pocket and he could head right back for home.

Constantine finally got a little breathing room from his client when he went to sign for the rental car. The magician stepped outside into the brisk, snowy Gotham night and slipped a cigarette into his mouth. Security took his lighter back on the other side of the Atlantic, he had to improvise. With a rub of his fingers and an incantation, he produced a tiny flame, held it to his Silk Cut, and took a long drag.

"Bloody rapture wankers." He mumbled the future of the scenario to himself under his breath. "The end of the world didn't happen this time, but not because we were wrong. We weren't wrong the last time it didn't happen either. God just works in mysterious ways. Now that the thought that the Lord was wrong passed through all yer heads, make sure to be extra generous in yer tithing today, you sinful lot." He took another deep inhale from the cigarette and smoke mixed with his visible breath. "Next time call that wanker in Chicago why don't you? He's got a number in the phone book, only one in the city claiming to be a wizard—"

Constantine glanced up from his frustrated rant long enough to catch a glimpse at a figure that stood within the short term parking garage across the street. The figure was a tall, pale man with a jet black beard and hair and a blood red cloak could have been his only garment. As a powerful wind whipped through the air and tossed the bottom of Constantine's trench coat about, the hair and cloak of the pale one seemed totally unperturbed, as if he was a heavy statue. Cars passed behind him and their stare-down was momentarily interrupted by a family that stepped in their way. Whatever the motionless thing was, Constantine was beginning to suspect no one but he could see it.

"Mr. Constantine? Mr. Constantine?"

The magician flinched and turned toward his client. "What?"

"I have the car keys. We need to hurry. We need to—" His client frowned as he noticed Constantine's fixed gaze. He looked up to where Constantine was so focused. The statuesque figure revealed the life within him as a sinister sneer came across his face. As he did, the client went pale with horror. "God save us—move, MOVE!"

The creature in red lunged toward the pair, the screams of travelers confirmed to Constantine that whatever had rendered him unseen before was gone. And, judging by the way gravity didn't coax him back down, it seemed the thing could also fly. It was the point in which the creature drew a whip of fire out from its cloak the cynical magician stopped being surprised.

"Your master was a rat, Arlington!" The creature swung the whip of flames toward Constantine's client, who only barley managed to evade it. "And you will pay for his sins!"

Arlington, as if he saw no other way, ran into a nearby taxi cab and pulled out the driver.

"No, no!" The cab driver tried to struggle against Arlington, but he possessed great strength for a man of his relatively meager stature. "That thing will kill me!"

"It's me he wants!" Arlington turned and shouted to Constantine, "John, hurry up, get in!"

Constantine hazarded a look toward the demon in the red cloak as he swung the blazing whip toward him. A surge of energy rushed through the magician's hands as he raised them, clawed in opposite directions, and formed a shield sufficient to absorb the impact of the fire.

"Hate this country." Constantine rushed toward the cab. "Been back here thirty minutes and I hate it all."

Arlington slammed onto the gas pedal and peeled out of the airport with a wretched screech. The demon in red held his mad glare and flew toward the speeding taxi. Constantine slipped his head out the window to watch the creature's pursuit. Arlington had put some distance between them and the demon, but he was catching up quickly.

Constantine rolled up the window and grit his teeth. "Turn off the heat. Turn up the air."

Arlington flinched. "What?"

"Never mind, I'll do it." Constantine grabbed at the temperature control and cranked it as low as it would go. Though the temperature fell immediately, it would still be a few minutes more before it would be optimal for Constantine's purposes.

A devilish hiss came from the back window as the demon swung his whip of fire and it clashed with the rear window.

Arlington jerked the wheel to and fro as best he was able as he turned onto the highway. Other cars honked and swerved around him, only some of whom were aware of the monster on their trail.

"It's winter out there!" It wasn't cold enough to elicit the chatter of teeth, but Arlington's did anyway. "Turn the heater back on!"

"Don't you dare touch the temperature." Constantine held out his hands to the ducts as they blasted cold air toward him. He cringed a little as he absorbed the ever more chilling air into his body and began to utter an incantation. He was interrupted when Arlington swung the car to the left and the blazing whip took out the rearview mirror on Constantine's side. The turn nearly threw the magician into his client. "Jesus Christ! Take it easy!"

Arlington glared in his direction an extra second before he turned back toward the roads. "You will not take the Lord's name in vain."

Constantine rolled down his window again as the icy energy flowed through his body. "That's what I love about all you religious types. You really got your priorities straight."

The demon in red increased his speed as Constantine leaned out the window with a shiver through his body. The creature pulled back its whip of fire and took another crack in the taxi's direction. Constantine met the attack with a burst of icy energy. For the first time since Arlington had appeared, the demon lost his smile as the blast of frost extinguished his whip and threw him backwards into an oncoming truck. A honk and a crashing sound was good enough for Constantine to turn back around.

"C-c-can we please turn the h-heat back on now?"

Constantine sneered. "You whine too much. You didn't just channel all that cold air through your body now did you?" The magician looked back out the window as Arlington continued to increase his speed. The demon would be on their trail again soon enough, he knew it, but the attack had at least bought them some time.

As Arlington sped toward Gotham, his shivers of cold began to subside, but he couldn't stop an occasion twitch. "Mr. Constantine?" There was no answer. "Mr. Constantine, I need another favor."

"Then you're gonna need to put a lot more pounds in my pocket."

"Please… I don't have any more money on me." Though everything Arlington said seemed to drip fear and paranoia, a sudden calm came over his voice. One that had the effect of making him sound even more terrified. "This could be the world, Mr. Constantine. Only a few of us know what's coming, and I may not survive this night…. Please?"

Constantine breathed a deep sigh, felt around in the pocket of his coat and found another cigarette. Again he tried to ignite it with a quick burst of magic, a much harder task with his body heat still a few degrees below normal. When he finally lit and took a drag from the Silk, he asked, "What?"

"I need you to promise to deliver this message if I should fail to," Arlington said. "You magical people, you can take oaths like that and be bound to them, can't you?"

"You're not paying me enough to bind me to anything." Constantine's concern, of course, had absolutely nothing to do with money.

"I'm begging you—you stand to lose yourself too. If you say no and I fail, you'll have sealed your fate. I swear—"

Lose myself? Constantine thought. What the hell does that mean? "All right, all right. If it'll shut you up." Despite the fierce response, Constantine was not the type of man to be annoyed into taking a magical oath. It was not irritation that drove him, he could sense the very real fear that emanated off of Arlington. And, even if he found it questionable, it did indeed frighten him. "You got a knife or some such?"

Arlington blinked as he turned off the highway. "What?"

"Gonna need blood," Constantine said. "Some of yours and some of mine."

"What? You're—you're going to do witchcraft with my blood? I thought—"

Constantine scowled. "You thought you could make a deal like that and not be involved. Well you were wrong. That's how you make a pact like this, we both need to participate."

A shudder ran through Arlington's body as he reached into his jacket and produced a pocket knife he had somehow slipped past security. "What else?"

"Terms. Solid terms," Constantine said. "If you leave any wiggle room, you're not getting my blood."

"All right, all right." Arlington swallowed his stammers. "If I should fail—"

"If you should die."

Arlington flinched. "What?"

"If you run away out of cowardice, you'll have failed and left me with your dirty work. Death is the term."

"What if I'm captured?" Arlington began to stammer again. "I can't help that."

"If you're dead or captured… and you weren't just handing yourself over for either."

"Why would I—"

"I don't take chances. Not with blood bonds."

Arlington's already terrible spasms only seemed to get worse with each qualifier. "Fine. If I am, for whatever reason outside of my own will and control, unable to deliver my message, you will deliver it in my place."

"The recipient?"

"Father Garret Day. Tonight he's waiting for me at Saint Michael's. The priest there could give you his contact information if you miss him." Arlington pulled off the interstate as he spoke and the slower traffic of in-town Gotham only made his twitching worse.

"And the message?"

"Do you have something to write it down?"

"It'll imprint, magic bonds do that."

"You need to tell him—" Arlington paused and cleared his throat.

"The one who lives but should not be,

Heir to angel and man, Nephilim is he.

Seeks to pierce the wrathful one,

By the head of Destiny.

Should he hold such, he'll bring demise.

Cinders will be mountains, valleys and skies.

For behold, all God's beauty and creation,

Is damned to darkness in his eyes."

Constantine remained silent for a few seconds before he asked, "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Arlington assured him, "It will make sense to the priest."

"If I'm going to deliver it, I outta know what it means!"

Arlington swallowed hard and glared in the rearview window. There was still no sign of the demon, at least for the moment, and Saint Michael's would only be another few miles. "I can't tell you that."

"Then I can't agree to this oath."

"Please!" The plea forced another jolt through Arlintgon and he momentarily sped up, almost into the car in front of him. "You don't understand, this is vital information. I can't just leave it with a nonbeliever—"

Constantine spoke in a snarl. "I believe you're a damn idiot, that good enough for you?"

Arlington opened his mouth to rebut but didn't get an opportunity. Something smashed into the roof of the taxi hard enough to put an indent in the ceiling. Constantine flinched backwards, Arlington screamed. The terrible red creature lurched down onto the hood of the car, the fanged grin on his face again. Arlington hit the brakes and brought the car to a fast stop, but couldn't throw the beast from his place. The demon pulled back his fist and thrust a punch into the glass, cracks spiderwebbed across the window.

"We're so close!" Arlington said. "So close—"

Constantine leaned across Arlington's body and started honking the horn. "Get on the sidewalk."

Arlington's pupils dilated. "Are you insane?"

"Wee bit." Constantine grabbed the wheel and jerked it toward the sidewalk. "Floor it and beg your god we're not about to play pedestrian bowling."

Arlington didn't want to cooperate but his survival instinct made his foot smash right into the gas pedal. The demon struggled to maintain his balance and walkers screamed, cursed and jumped out of the way. The creature pulled back his fist for another punch and shattered the windshield. With just space enough to reach in a hand and half of his arm, the demon took ahold of Arlington's shoulders and dug his claws through hoodie and skin. Arlington screamed, jerked the wheel to and fro as a horrible feeling like fire coursed through the demon's claws and into his body.

"God damn it, piss off!" Constantine jerked the wheel to a sharp right. As he did, the taxi crashed into and tossed up a hot dog cart. The food stand flew upwards, smashed into the demon, and knocked him off of the car. Constantine looked backwards, pumped his fist and shouted, "Yes! Choke on it!" After a moment reveling in victory, he turned his attention back toward Arlington, whose shakes had grown more violent than ever. Constantine leaned in to examine the wound and muttered, "Bloody hell."

Arlington demanded, "What? What did he do?"

"You, uh, you're going to have to bear with me here. Hold that wheel, keep honking." Constantine made a series of hand gestures and muttered a few words of broken Latin under his breath. He again rolled down the window, stuck one hand out the window, took ahold of Arlington's arm with the other and shouted, "Valeo!"

Out from Constantine's fingertips billowed a great blast of black fire for a few seconds before it burned out and Arlington finally brought the taxi to a rough stop outside of Saint Michael's Cathedral.

With some struggle, Arlington asked, "What… what was that?"

"Well, you know. Just some hellfire running through your veins. Don't use that arm, if you can avoid it. Let's get in there already."

-000-

"I am so grateful you could let me use the church on such short notice, George. And I really am glad to see you again, even on such short of notice."

"Of course, of course. I just wish it could have been under less mysterious circumstances."

"You have family in the old Irish mob, George. I'm sure you can appreciate that sometimes, mysterious circumstances are necessary parts of the road to salvation."

The aged and portly Monsignor Ryan sat at his desk across from Garret Day, a younger, but still weathered priest who would surely soon lose the last of his red hairs to white. Between the two, on top of the desk, sat a half-sleeping miniature poodle. The two had met during a few trips to the monsignor's ancestral Ireland and had exchanged letters on and off for years, though Father Day was usually on the move and his correspondence could come from anywhere.

"You said you had some business to do with an old parishioner of yours," Monsignor Ryan said. "Can you tell me any more about that?"

A small smile crept over Day's face as he stroked the dog between them. The tiny poodle looked up and snarled at him for a moment, but quickly thought better of it and allowed him to continue. "That's a good boy, Snowball. You know me." He turned his attention back toward Ryan as he scratched behind the dog's ears. "Are you familiar with the Order of Purity, George?"

Monsignor Ryan scratched at his last, thin hairs and bald spots. "Only a little. You're a fraternal organization, a bit like the Knights of Columbus, aren't you? But more exclusive?"

Day chucked. "In the simplest terms, I suppose. The more conspiracy minded might be more inclined to say we have more in common with the Freemasons, or the Illuminati. Or perhaps the Knights Templar, if you wish to consider Mother Church's past."

The conversation's strange turn had given Monsignor Ryan pause. "Is that how you think of your brotherhood?"

"Perhaps, even if I wish it were not so." Day's scratches behind Snowball's ears coaxed the dog to roll onto his back and show his belly. The younger priest obliged the dog's silent request and rubbed it. "The Templars have been gone for centuries, at least that's what I'd prefer to believe, but some remnant of them remains even today. There will never stop being holy warriors."

"Do you think we will always need holy warriors, though?" Monsignor Ryan studied Father Day slowly and mindfully for any change in his expressions or body language. "I think I know someone who fits that description myself, and I think they would perhaps be happier as a peaceful emissary, if that was practical at this point."

Father Day chuckled and pulled his hand away from Snowball and folded both hands as if he was saying a prayer. "Perhaps that day will come, but I fear it is still a long ways off."

The two priests sat in silence for nearly half a minute before a scream of, "Father Day! Father Day!" echoed in through the nave.

Monsignor Ryan flinched. "What was that?"

Father Day sighed and rose to his feet. "Forgive me, George. It seems my contact has arrived. I advise you both slip out the back door and run, he may have been followed."

Monsignor Ryan's mouth went dry and, with some struggle, he tried to ask, "What… what are you—"

"I didn't believe you'd let me use your church if you knew my true purposes." Day opened the door of Monsignor Ryan's office and gave his friend a last, sad smile. "Peace be with you, my brother."

Father Day stepped out from the office, hands slipped into his pocket, and walked down a dark hallway to the cathedral's entryway. An eyebrow rose almost involuntarily as he took note of the blonde haired man in a trench coat who was trying to stabilize his breathing next to Abraham Arlington.

"You made it," Father Day said. "And I see you have brought company."

"He was vital," Arlington said over deep breaths. "I'd be dead now if not for him."

"Damn straight." Constantine stood up straight, fished another cigarette out of his pocket, and stepped over to a ceremonial candle. "So, according to the eleventh commandment or some such, you need to leave me alone while I do this. 'Thou shalt not cut off a man's smoke after he's proven he's a hero' or something."

Father Day opened his mouth to object as Constantine took a long drag of the cigarette, but was interrupted when not one, but two new figures rushed in through the front door. The first was a young Asian woman dressed for the winter night outside, the other was—and Day struggled to swallow the detail—some faceless creature garbed in a pea coat and a fedora. It became clear a moment later, when the Asian woman flinched at the sight of the faceless one, they hadn't intended to come in together.

It was the faceless one who spoke first and confirmed the small detail of her gender in the process. "Which one of you was just plowing down the sidewalk?"

The blonde haired man looked her up and down for a moment before he asked, "What are you supposed to be, a cop?"

"Used to be. And I still have friends on the force."

"Hm. In that case, that was him." He pointed toward Arlington with his thumb.

"Hey!" Arlington rose his hands in defense. He was about to argue further, but the Asian woman cut into the conversation first.

"Why did you run in this church?" She settled her glare on Arlington and the man in the trench coat.

Father Day spoke up before the blonde could respond. "All right, all right! All of you, settle down. First things first. Abe, were you followed here?"

Arlington gave him a bitter nod. "A demon, we think, attacked us on the way here."

"Then it is likely the rest of the Order of Cantonna is nearby. I've put word through to the Order of Dumas, but it's anyone's guess who will arrive first. Quickly, Arlington, you follow me. The rest of you should retreat out the back doors, if you still can—"

Before he could finish the thought, the doors of the church were forced open again. Father Day stumbled backwards behind Arlington as three new figures stepped into the cathedral. On the left and right stood two tall men, garbed in black uniforms with blood red crosses that ran down the center of their chests, their faces covered by tight, metal helmets. Between them stood a shorter figure, who the two appeared to look to for orders.

Father Day's heartbeat began to race as he glared at the one in the middle. "Nijah."

The figure in black spoke in a feminine voice. "Brother Day." There was a tiny tinge of some Middle Eastern accent, perhaps Arabic, in her voice. She looked toward Arlington. "And the Order's Azrael. Fine work hiding from Azmodus on holy ground. What have you told him? And who are the rest of these people supposed to be?"

Arlington stepped to the front of the group as the red and white jacket he wore began to glow in the pale light of the candles and distant bulbs. The coat's red highlights slithered like snakes into the center as his bulk began to shift and grow. Arlington's chest grew in size and definition as a suit of plate armor between him and the white jacket. His blue jeans similarly shifted to white over plate armor and the red highlights formed a huge, red cross upon his chest. As the glow began to dissipate, Arlington pulled what looked to be the handles of a pair of swords out from over his back. A dazzling orange and ethereal white light burst from the handles and took the shape two serrated longswords. Despite his best efforts, a few shakes ran down his freshly-burned arm.

As if to follow his lead, the three in black pulled what looked to be handles of their own out from behind their backs. The man on the left bore a handle that erupted into what looked to be a mace made of lava, the one on the right's handle extended into a burning spear. And the woman in the center ignited a similar orange sword to the one Arlington held.

"You are a threat," Nijah said. "The rest of you should run, I have no interest in spilling innocent blood. These two are all we're interested in."

After a moment of quiet, Cassandra stepped up to Arlington's side and took on a combat stance. "A threat to what?"

From behind Nijah, one of the men shouted, "A threat to the work and words of God! To a greater, shining future!"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed to a glare as she planted herself firmly in place. "Heard a killer say that in this church, years ago. Didn't let him get away."

Whether pushed by Cassandra's words or their own internal drives, Constantine and the Question stepped up to Arlington's side and between the Nijah and the priest.

She raised her blazing sword toward them and said, "Very well, if we have to go through all of you first, we will! Deus vult!"

The two behind her echoed the call, "Deus vult!" And the seven rushed to meet one another in battle.

Chapter Two

Outnumbered though they were, the crusaders dressed in black had the advantage of years of synergy with one another. Nijah didn't need to direct her companions. The warrior with the mace ran at Arlington's bodyguard, who they were sure must have plenty of fight in him. The soldier with the spear rushed the masked woman, who would likely be the most unpredictable since there were no facial expressions to go off of. And she would handle Arlington personally, as he was surely the most dangerous of their opponents. Whoever the Asian girl was and however spunky she acted, she probably wasn't worth the attention.

Nijah and Arlington clashed swords in the church nave, the fires that emanated off of their weapons seemed to crackle as they came into contact. Each warrior understood the true nature of the blades and, as they swiftly fell into a flurry of slashes, each remained determined not to feel the others' sting. Though as hard as he tried, Arlington still struggled to fight back the pain from the burn of the arm that wielded the white sword.

In the midst of their clashes, Cassandra rushed at Nijah from the side and threw a punch at her face. Cassandra was trying first and foremost to interrupt the fight against Arlington, but Nijah almost smirked as she accepted the hit. Even as a distraction tactic, Cassandra wasn't one for throwing soft punches, but despite the directness of the strike, the other woman didn't so much as react when the hit connected. Cassandra was so thrown off by the sheer implacability of the reaction she was unprepared when the flame of Nijah's blade was briefly extinguished, the crusader whipped around the handle like a baton, and thrust the butt into Cassandra's gut. Cassandra gasped and clenched at the afflicted spot, but regained enough focus to sidestep the next swing at her face.

As Nijah's blade was ignited again, she turned back to face Arlington, but said, "You seem like a decent kid, you should get out of here while you still can."

Nearer to the chapel, the Question struggled to get within two feet of spear-wielding opponent. She couldn't feel any heat coming off of the flaming spearhead, but she was in no hurry to find out what it felt like. The crusader who stood against her took three stabs in quick succession, the last of which she was sure cut through the edge of her jacket, before she raised a kick and knocked the crusader's spear off center. With the opening this afforded her, the Question closed the distance, pulled the Billy club out from her jacket, and swung it upside her opponent's face. She hadn't gotten a good look at what had come of Cassandra's strike a few seconds before, so she wasn't ready when the crusader just smirked at her, jumped backwards and thrust his spear into her sternum.

It took all of the Question's strength to suppress a scream as the blade entered her body. Whatever material the weapon was made of, it slipped through her coat, button up, and maybe even her skin without actually cutting a hole into anything. But in the moment the weapon was within her body, a flurry of images assaulted her mind and forced her into a brief mental fit. She couldn't even make out what the rapid blitz was supposed to be, except maybe a quick flash of a bottle and an unconscious woman, both tinted a deep red. Whatever was going on in her mind, it gave her opponent time enough to thrust the handle of his spear into her face and knock her to the ground with a pained grunt.

As Constantine darted left and right around his crusader's swings, he witnessed the man with the spear when he knocked down the question, and shouted, "Oi, piss off the girl, you pious bastard!" As he dodged the mace strikes, Constantine worked open one of his cigarettes and began to rub it around between his hands. He had watched closely at the failed strikes both Cassandra and the Question had attempted, and drawn a conclusion. After his enemy took another swing with his mace, Constantine uttered, "Here goes nothing," and blew his handful of freshly unwrapped tobacco in the mace-crusader's direction. The magic he'd imparted into the blow and rub caused it to rapidly expand into a dust cloud of smoke. The dark one looked to be unaffected for a few seconds, but thereafter his eyes began to show red and several wheezes came out from his mouth.

"You can't feel pain," Constantine said. "But I can hurt you in plenty of other ways."

As he struggled for a clean breath, the man with the mace yelled, "Satanist!"

"Ist 'im? I don't even like 'im." Constantine grabbed ahold of the shaft of the mace, kicked his opponent in the stomach, and forced him to relinquish his grip. The magician took hold of the mace and spun backwards to pick up speed. "Now let's see how you like it!"

The blazing head of the mace ran right into the crusader's body and the point of the wooden staff smacked into the side of his stomach. Despite the way the flames glowed as they entered his body, the crusader did not respond to the attack, and only glared at Constantine when he'd rubbed the tobacco dust from his eyes.

Constantine frowned as he studied the lack of reaction and uttered, "Well… bugger me then."

The crusader grabbed ahold of the end of the mace and jerked it in his direction. The skinny magician was forced toward him with the pull, the man in black delivered a punch straight to his jaw, and knocked him to the church floor.

Arlington jerked his head toward his fallen comrade almost involuntarily and shouted, "John!"

In the moment he was distracted, Nijah slashed at upper-left arm with her sword of fire, right where the demon had clawed him. The single split-second of contact made Arlington scream in pain and relinquish his grip on the ethereal blue sword. With her free hand, Nijah pulled a steel knife from her belt and cut the same spot once again. Though his skin remained in one piece for the first cut, the slash made it through his undermost layer of mock-chainmail and the second bit through skin. Arlington screamed and retreated backwards. Nijah was prepared to strike again, before Cassandra grabbed ahold of the ethereal white sword and stepped between Nijah and Arlington.

Nijah gave her own sword of flames a mocking twirl. "You even know how to use one of those, kid?"

In spite of all her confidence and her partially-covered face, Nijah had made a single micro-expression of fear the moment Cassandra had claimed the sword. For the same warrior who had tanked one of Cassandra's punches like it was nothing, that was significant. And while most opponents wouldn't have caught that tiny cringe, most opponents weren't Cassandra. With only a short pause, Cassandra gripped the blade with both hands, turned halfway to Arlington, and said, "Make some space. Now."

Arlington needed no further encouragement and ran into the chapel. Cassandra and Nijah maintained their stances for a few seconds before Cassandra whirled around and ran at the man with the spear who stood against the Question. The sudden retreat confused Nijah for a moment before she realized what Cassandra had run off to do.

Cassandra had no clear idea what the sword could do or how the crusaders would react to it. So it was better to test it on one who wasn't as prepared to feel its bite and wasn't as well trained. And, as she utilized it to deflect a spear thrust directed at the Question, she could lend a hand while she was at it. The crusader with the spear flinched when Cassandra stepped in his way, and couldn't guard in time to deflect the white-hot slash across one of his legs. As the metaphysical strike registered, his cool was annihilated and an agonized scream escaped his mouth. The Question double took for just a moment on the floor before Cassandra offered her a hand, which she accepted and used to get back on her feet. As the crusader with the spear took another thrust in their direction, Cassandra threw the Question in his direction and again the older woman swung her baton at his face. With the wrath of the lighter sword still coursing through him, this time the strike overwhelmed their opponent and knocked him onto his back.

"Damn it all." Nijah scowled and turned toward her ally who had just pinned Constantine to the ground with a barely-missed strike that dug into his coat. "Marcus! Arlington and Day retreated into the chapel, don't let them get away!"

Constantine's opponent turned and made a run deeper into the church, but Constantine regained his footing and kicked him in the back of his leg, opposite his knee. The clamp down his muscles performed was not pain induced but instead an involuntary spasm. The magician dropped to the ground and grabbed ahold of Marcus in a headlock. "Oi, you with the sword! That thing can apparently beat their little pain resistance trick, get it over here!"

Cassandra cast a look first toward Nijah, then the Question before she gripped the sword in both hands and stepped toward Constantine. Nijah grit her teeth and raised her own blade, prepared to clash with the inexplicable young woman before the electricity all throughout the cathedral began to sputter. It took Nijah a moment to realize what was happening, but a wily smirk crossed her face as she did, and she retreated for the cathedral's front doors.

"Seems they're giving you trouble, my mistress." The voice made Constantine's and, deeper within the church, Arlington's, hairs stand on end. "Allow me to help even the score."

Cassandra and Renee searched all around the room for a place the voice may have originated. Nijah threw open the door to the church, the great, red demon Constantine and Arlington had struggled against stood just on the precipice. With one hand he held a ransom's hands behind her back, and with the other he ran a long, grubby, pale finger along the underside of her chin.

"One of them rode up with this sweet thing in the driver's seat." The demon did not so much speak as he did hiss. "So, whose is she?"

Cassandra's heart began to beat hard and fast in her chest when she got a good look at the wide-eyed, horrified look on Sadie's face. She didn't know if the demon possessed any power in that finger, but apparently he had Sadie so convinced she hadn't dared to squirm or scream.

"Leave her out of this!" Despite her hope to maintain some sense of calm, rage seeped into Cassandra's voice. "Nothing to do with any of this!"

The sneer on the demon's face grew ever-wider. "I don't believe you have anything to do with this either, little girl. Why don't you throw down that sword, and get the hell out of this church?"

If Sadie wasn't there with pleading eyes between her and the demon, Cassandra was sure she'd have run at him without hesitation. She'd fought meta humans and supernaturals before, whatever he was couldn't be so different. If Sadie so much as screamed she could probably have found the strength to run at him. It was that agonizing silence that froze her with indecision.

Whether the demon's attention was totally elsewhere or he knew what the result would be, he paid no mind to the Question as she ran at him. In the time the attention had fallen to the monster, she followed the mental screams from decades before, tore free a bowl of holy water from the wall in the entryway, and threw the contents in his face. Nijah tensed in fear, but as the attack left the demon with nothing but wet hair, he just cackled.

"A holy weapon in the hands of a nonbeliever means nothing to me! And if not for the clergymen still within the walls, even this building would give you no protection." He looked back toward Cassandra as he shifted the playful finger into and open hand and used it to cup Sadie's cheeks. "Now, why don't you—"

"Oi, girl!"

Cassandra only turned toward the grounded Constantine just in time to catch a small glass bottle he tossed at her.

"You got the cross on your neck, you try it!"

If she'd thought about it for another second, the demon would have had a chance to react. But Cassandra could move on bodily instinct and nothing more. A lifetime of combat assured her of how best to toss the glass vial to both strike the demon and how hard to throw it to crack the bottle against his body.

Constantine had spent a while deciding on and off whether carrying holy water would do him any good. As the demon had alluded, it would have no effect coming from his hands. But as long as he was in the United States, there was always a good chance some believer would be within throwing range. And, coming from Cassandra's hands, the vial had power enough to rip and burn the demon's face almost instantly, and brought a wretched scream into the church. The creature grabbed at his marred face and allowed Sadie space enough to escape. The young woman ran to the other side of the threshold, slammed the doors shut, stumbled and ran to Cassandra's side. Cassandra wrapped her free hand tight around her.

"Oh my god." Quivers made their way into Sadie's words. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god, Cassie what's going on?"

"Breathe," Cassandra said. "Just breathe. Safe now." She slowly turned back toward Nijah, then Constantine and his opponent. "Just a moment."

It took little more than one leap to reach the man who was still atop Constantine and, with the magician holding his attention, Cassandra could almost effortlessly thrust the ethereal sword into his back. Like his companion had, the crusader screamed in anguish and began to writhe. To the best of his ability, Constantine pulled his head back, smashed it into his opponent's face, and knocked him off of his body.

With grit teeth, Constantine said, "Oi, girl! The blade passed right through his stomach into mine. Get it out of there, holy weapons and me don't mix!"

The thought frightened Cassandra and she pulled the blade upwards as quickly as she could as Constantine shoved his beaten adversary off his chest. As he regained his footing, he, the Question, Cassandra, and a frightened, confused Sadie turned their attention toward Nijah as she backed up toward the cathedral's chapel.

"I don't know what any of this is supposed to be about," Constantine said. "But you and your mates summoned a demon and tried to kill me and my client."

The Question pointed her baton toward her. "And you commissioned Dark Faith to kill a teenager to get that far."

Nijah slid a hand along her belt as she glared at the two for a moment before she shifted her eyes toward Cassandra. "And you? I suppose you want to tell me my sins as well?"

"That's for God," Cassandra said. "Just here to stop you."

A moment before the three could advance on her, every electrical light in the cathedral went out. The suddenness of the blackout that left only the ethereal swords and candles as light sources gave Nijah the distraction she needed to retreat deeper into the church. As she did, she muttered, "Azmodus made himself useful again."

Two detectives and the costumeless vigilante were about to pursue her before she threw a smoke pellet at the ground, assaulting the nave with a blast of acrid mist and further diminishing everyone's visibility.

"Damn it all!" Constantine struggled to speak over a pained cough as he grabbed at his eyes. "What, none of you got Kryptonian lungs or anything?"

Thanks to her mask, the Question was the one suited to walk straight through the smoke cloud and, in spite of the pain still coursing through her, ran into the chapel. Cassandra pulled Sadie away from the smoke and slapped her back to assist with her coughs.

"Thanks," Sadie said as best she could over her wheezing fit. "Cassie… Cassie what the hell is going on?"

"Don't really know," Cassandra said. "Two in the cab came for sanctuary, I think. And they still need me." She glared toward the cloud of smoke. "Stay here, the demon can't get in."

"Is that… is that really what that thing was?" Sadie shuddered in terror. "So demons are actually real? And one of them actually might want to kill me?"

Cassandra shut her eyes tight and breathed a deep sigh. When she'd awoken that morning, she hadn't believed in the kind of demons who couldn't enter churches and were burned by blessed water. And, if asked, she'd probably own not believing in Hell either. Hell, demons, damnation, surely those were just supposed to Christianity's scare tactics, just something old enemies of hers ranted about. "Don't know." Cassandra set down the ethereal sword and wrapped her arms tight around Sadie. "For now, stay safe. They want to use you against us, shouldn't try to hurt you. If anyone comes, do what they tell you. Be back soon."

But Cassie—"

Cassandra didn't wait to hear her out, ran back toward the chapel, and prepared to rush through the smoke cloud.

In the pews near the center of the cathedral, Father Day knelt and prayed as Arlington remained at his side. "I don't understand," Arlington said. "You said Valley and the others were already on their way here. What is taking them so long?"

"Patience, patience," Father Day said. "The Lord answers every prayer, Abraham, so pray now for deliverance."

The knight of the cross swallowed. "After all I've told you, all that is to come, do you think we can stop him?"

"Knowing of this demon is… troubling, to say the least," Father Day said. "I knew he was a lost soul, but I never would have anticipated he was capable of this. Or that he would bear it against me." The priest shook his head. "But this is what we prepared for. And God save this world if it isn't enough."

The priest and his servant were allowed a few moments of silent contemplation before a soft voice began to echo from across the dark chamber.

"Da pacem, Domine, in diebus nostris." A figure almost one with the darkness could be seen only by the way he obstructed a few candles near the altar. Arlington froze and his eyes went wide.

"It seems we are out of time to await the brothers," Father Day said. "Abraham, you must run."

The steps of a running Nijah at the threshold of the chapel paused and a wicked smile crossed her face.

"Quia non est alius." The shadow paused to enunciate and elongate a few syllables, as if he was singing.

Arlington looked toward the speaker, toward Father Day, and took a hard swallow. "But father—"

"No buts this time, Abe. Run." In spite of everything, the priest was resigned to his fate.

"Qui pugnet pro nobis." For just a moment, something seemed to glint at his side.

With a last look toward the priest, Arlington made a run, once again, for the front of the chapel. He came close enough to know, as Nijah's blade became enflamed again, he wouldn't be able to stop running fast enough.

Out from the darkness and smoke just behind Nijah, the Question emerged and knocked Nijah upside the back of the head with her baton. The young woman still felt no pain, but the strike was enough to knock Nijah off balance and to the floor. A smile broke across Arlington's face as he reached the cloud of smoke.

The tiny clink clink clink of a long line of chains echoed through the chapel. No one could see where it came from, but as a javelin on a long chain flew through the room, a spear of both metal and the metaphysical fire suddenly ran through Arlington's back and burst through his chest.

Cassandra, Constantine and Sadie stared into the smoke with confusion as Arlington stood, suddenly still and illuminated. A moment later, the shadow at the back of the cathedral jerked the chain taut and gored the spear out of Arlington's body. The holy warrior fell forward with a bloody thud, Cassandra looked away to fight a feeling of sickness, Sadie screamed in terror.

The shadow sang, "Nisi tu Deus noster."

Father Day stared back at where his compatriot had stood before a fury forced him to turn to the shadow. "Kedar! Kedar you son of a bitch! Is this how far you've fallen? Is this—"

The shadow, who easily towered over Father Day, knocked him to the ground with a single blow, took ahold of him by his shirt, and commanded, "Nijah! Our work here is finished. Come!"

The Question turned toward the downed Nijah and raised her baton to strike again, but the younger woman slipped past her and swiftly disappeared into the shadows. And, as if by magic, the shadow and Father Day vanished as well. No matter how she glared into the darkness, she couldn't see any sign they had ever been there at all.

Cassandra fell to her knees and shook the bloody Arlington. When she felt the cold steel of his plate armor, she tried to strip it away and only got a hand covered in blood for her trouble. Unsure or what to do, she tried to prop him up and cradle his head.

As Arlington looked up at her, the mere act of lifting his eyelids looked exhausting, he managed to say, "Young lady… I can sense what a pure soul you are."

Cassandra, for reasons she was unsure of, tried to pull at his armor, but it would not budge. "Save your breath," she said. "Hurt. Very very badly."

"Don't weep for me." Arlington wheezed violently as he touched her hand. "I'm sorry… I would stop this if only I could. Forgive me." Weakly, he looked up toward Constantine. "John… I'm sorry for what I asked of you. It is all right, I figured out something else."

"Can… can I help with anything?" Sadie dropped to her knees next to Cassandra, stressful tears in her eyes. "Please, Cassie, do you know anything?"

Constantine flinched and looked down toward Arlington. "What… what in blazes do you mean—"

"It is a terrible burden," Arlington said with great struggle. "But God led you here, I am sure of it. And God does not make mistakes. What memories and instructions I can, I leave now to you."

Before Cassandra could ask what he meant, a fantastic light shined off of Arlington's armor. The mass of plating and the crusader's shirt looked to melt off of his body, curl around Cassandra's arm and meld into hers. The dazzling light ran up and down Cassandra's body from her neck to her fingers and toes. Cassandra looked down at her arms as her size dissipated, as if the glow had consumed her clothes and clung like a second skin. As the shine faded from Sadie, she yelped and covered her eyes. As Cassandra turned, Constantine and the Question did the same. A few seconds after the gleam settled, it reshaped itself again and increased in density. Cassandra tried to hide her confusion and disgust as the shimmering layer began to dissipate and left her hands covered in a black substance. It was only after half of a minute of looking over herself as the black moved up her arms and legs she realized it felt like Kevlar. It slowly dawned upon her as it finished that it didn't feel all that different from the costume she usually wore for nights on patrol, save for the countless tiny abrasions that made it look more like chainmail than a modern, bulletproof suit. For just a moment, the glow relented.

Cassandra's heart sank as she felt it flow, reinvigorated, toward her neck. Somehow, she suspected what was coming, even if she shouldn't have been able to. The light blazed white hot as it descended down her chest, split at her waist and the two halves extended slightly over her upper legs. The shine settled into a white surcoat and a last, thin line ran down from her sternum to the bottom of her abdomen. The glow opened like a book and formed a huge bat, colored in gold, decorated like stained glass. The bat symbol served as the surcoat's Jerusalem Cross, with the same white cross of Cassandra's Angel costume formed within it.

As the last of the shimmering silver light crawled up Cassandra's body, a last flash of the burning orange cut through the air above Arlington's body. The blade of orange fire slashed through and severed a little of the brilliant glow. Arlington stared up at it and, with the last of his strength, screamed, "No!"

She didn't know why she did what she did. It was just pure instinct to be helpful in a terrible situation, and she certainly didn't know if the glow would be lost forever if she waited another moment. On that instinct, Sadie reached out and grabbed ahold of the severed shard of Arlington's glow. As the ethereal force blanketed the entire church in its bright glow, Nijah finally turned and made her escape as the power of Azrael flowed into the two women knelt at Arlington's side. Sadie's eyes went wide, her pupils dilated, and she collapsed onto the church floor.

Barely recovered from the light's own effect on her, Cassandra reached down and shook her. "Not now—wake up, wake up!" Though Sadie's breathing remained constant, she showed no signs of regaining consciousness. With a hard swallow, Cassandra turned toward the Question and Constantine. "Need to leave, now. And get her somewhere safe."

-000-

Halfway across the country laid another witness of the night's events. He knew very little of the specifics, everything he had seen he beheld through something of a psychic second hand account. And, contrary to the shimmer that consumed the church, he was alone in total darkness.

He pulled his jacket over his face and began the beat at the wood over him with his bare hands. His incredible power wouldn't be necessary for this escape, he'd specifically sprung for a cheap coffin for this very reason.

The coat over his face blocked off the dirt that fell upon him when he smashed a hole in the coffin's door. With the first step complete, he began his slow, swim-like ascent through six feet of rock and dirt.

His breaths were hard and labored when he came to the surface under the Chicago moon, but he had been through far worse. He'd never expected to be back there, but if life and death had taught him anything, it was that the world always had another twist to live through.

Are you well then? The voice that, no matter how close it sounded, was not his own, asked. It seems Caraka and Sekuba are far ahead of us.

"I came with you because you told me it seemed no one else was better suited to face them. And so that is what we'll do, wherever we go and whatever it takes."

I hope you will forgive me for asking this of you once again, Jim.

"Well, it's not as if I have much choice in that matter, now do I?"

The one man with two voices dusted the dirt from his green coat, was satisfied with how quickly his skin seemed to have reformed, and headed toward the city. To O'Hare International, if he could still get a ticket to Gotham. In the morning, the local caretaker and later the authorities would look on with horror and wonder just who had desecrated the grave of Jim Corrigan.

Chapter Three

The dazzling light ran up and down Cassandra's body from her neck to her fingers and toes. Cassandra looked down at her arms as her size dissipated, as if the glow had consumed her clothes and clung like a second skin. As the shine faded from Sadie, she yelped and covered her eyes. As Cassandra turned, Constantine and the Question did the same. A few seconds after the gleam settled, it reshaped itself again and increased in density. Cassandra tried to hide her confusion and disgust as the shimmering layer began to dissipate and left her hands covered in a black substance. It was only after half of a minute of looking over herself as the black moved up her arms and legs she realized it felt like Kevlar. It slowly dawned upon her as it finished that it didn't feel all that different from the costume she usually wore for nights on patrol, save for the countless tiny abrasions that made it look more like chainmail than a modern, bulletproof suit. For just a moment, the glow relented.

Cassandra's heart sank as she felt it flow, reinvigorated, toward her neck. Somehow, she suspected what was coming, even if she shouldn't have been able to. The light blazed white hot as it descended down her chest, split at her waist and the two halves extended slightly over her upper legs. The shine settled into a white surcoat and a last, thin line ran down from her sternum to the bottom of her abdomen. The glow opened like a book and formed a huge bat, colored in gold, decorated like stained glass. The bat symbol served as the surcoat's Jerusalem Cross, with the same white cross of Cassandra's Angel costume formed within it.

As the realization of the glow's form dawned on Cassandra, she held a hand over her mouth to contain a gasp as she looked toward Sadie. Part of her mind shouted that the other two could plainly see her as well, but they were not her first concern. As the light finally faded away and it looked like Sadie's eyes had adjusted, per pupils almost instantly dilated.

Despite Cassandra's focus elsewhere, it was the Question who spoke first. "Huh, what are the odds?"

Constantine, who stood behind her, asked, "What in blazes is going on?" From his angle, he couldn't see the symbol.

Sadie opened her mouth to respond, paused, and swallowed. She opened it again and needed a second swallow before she could say, "So… so you're the Angel?"

Cassandra thought about lying for a moment before she submitted to a reluctant nod. The Brit stepped around to examine the costume from the front.

"Blimey," he said. "What's this supposed to be?"

Cassandra broke her look with Sadie and bowed her head toward the blackened ground. "I'm sorry. Couldn't tell you, I had to—"

Sadie interrupted her with a little chuckle that quickly escalated into a burst of laughter brought on by stress and honest amusement that echoed through the church. Once she could catch her breath, she said, "I knew it! I've been thinking about it for years and telling myself it sounds stupid, but I knew it!"

"Not to interrupt this… this." Constantine stepped between them. "But someone want to kindly tell me what the hell is going on here?" He cast looks at the two younger women and then toward the Question. "Did Arlington call for any of you? You all must have known we were on our way here."

Sadie, still struggling with stress laughter, said, "No, my girlfriend just ran in here after one of you psychos plowed right down the middle of a sidewalk. And I was dragged over by that… that thing. Whatever it was."

"I was also following the vehicular nightmare going on outside," the Question said. "With as many people as you nearly ran down, there should well be even more people here."

"Yeah well… you lot drive on the wrong side of the street around here." He gazed down at Arlington's body, stripped of its holy armor by whatever force had transferred it to Cassandra's body. "Shame what happened to him. Any of you see what happened to the other freaks with those fiery swords?"

Sadie looked around the entryway. "I was just thinking about that too. They must have slipped out in the confusion or something."

The four of them cast hesitant looks at one another, no one sure how to proceed or what needed said. With the creak of a nearby door, however, Cassandra, Constantine and the Question all took fighting stances. When Monsignor Ryan stepped into the nave with Snowball tucked under one arm, he raised the other in defense.

"Mercy, please! I waited like Garret told me, but I heard such chaos going on out here—" He paused for a moment when he recognized the one familiar face of the bunch. "Cassan—Angel?" He corrected himself. "What are you doing here?"

Cassandra breathed a deep sigh and stepped forward to the head of the group. "Not sure myself. Strange night. We should go."

Sadie blurted out, "Hell no!" Both Cassandra and Monsignor Ryan had to struggle to mask the reproach in their eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "Heck no, whatever it's okay for me to say here. The blonde guy said there's a literal demon outside, who was totally ready to bite my head off! I'm not going anywhere until I know it's clear out there."

The old monsignor raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, Miss, did you say an actual demon?"

"As in a literal hellspawn, yes indeed," Constantine said. "And seeing as how the angel burnt half of his face off with a vial of holy water, he's probably going to be pissed next time he sees any one of us."

For a moment, Monsignor Ryan considered telling him to watch his mouth while he was in God's house. But somehow, Constantine's very aura seemed to confirm he wouldn't have any reaction to hearing that. Which was an impressive feat toward a man like Monsignor Ryan who didn't believe in auras at all. As he turned his gaze elsewhere he nearly commented on the faceless woman, but then finally settled his look on Arlington's body and gasped. "Holy Mother, him, what happened to him?"

"Dead." Constantine cast his eyes down on Arlington and sighed again. "Already dead."

"Are you sure? We could call a hospital, get someone out here—"

"There was a very advanced inheritance spell placed upon his armor," Constantine said. "There's no way it would have transferred ownership to the girl if he was still alive."

Monsignor Ryan's mouth slipped open in confusion and he needed a few seconds to settle on a response. "Are you suggesting he performed some kind of magic? Surely you're not—"

Constantine sneered at the priest. "Do you believe a man who's only defining trait was the lack of personal grooming killing a thousand Philistine's with the jaw bone of an ass? And are you informed enough to know a flying powerhouse from a planet called Krypton lives across the Gotham Bay? But please, friend, tell me all about how magic doesn't exist. That is what you were about to do, wasn't it?"

The priest's mouth hung open for another few seconds before he reluctantly went quiet and only further remarked, "There's no need to be so abrasive."

A pound came from the cathedral's great doors and immediately the four outsiders, this time including Sadie, shifted to the defensive.

Monsignor Ryan motioned to them toward the main hall of the cathedral and spoke in a hushed tone. "Go in there. Hide in the reconciliation booths. Father Day was expecting others and it will only arouse suspicion if I don't answer."

As the four hesitated, the Question asked, "Why are you rushing to protect us?"

The priest looked over them as if he himself wasn't entirely sure before he asked Cassandra, "Angel, should I trust them?"

It took Cassandra a moment of her own to respond, but she said, "Fought at my side."

"That's good enough for me. Go."

Cassandra grabbed ahold of Sadie's wrist and led her into the center of the cathedral. As Constantine and the Question realized she was clearly the most familiar with the territory, they followed behind. The youngest two women had just themselves within one of the dark rooms when the priest answered the door.

In the darkness and quiet, Sadie's heart started to race again. She looked toward Cassandra based more on her grip than anything visual and whispered, "You think we're going to be okay?"

Cassandra put a finger to Sadie's lips and, silent as she could manage, said, "Shhh."

"I know, I'm being as quiet as I can, I just—"

"Shhh."Cassandra held one of her own hands to her lips and covered her mouth. After some struggle with the limited visibility, Sadie could make out the motion and its meaning became clear: Not shhh for whisper, shhh for don't speak.

After a few seconds like that, satisfied that Sadie was going to cooperate, Cassandra set both hands on her girlfriend's shoulders. She squeezed them twice, and then pulled her into a tight hug. Without words, she made a silent promise of protection.

After a few minutes of relative silence, a few voices came out from the nave, but were all too far away for any of the four within the chapel to make out. Soon after, footsteps, Cassandra listened and guessed enough for five people, echoed through the chapel.

"… And you're saying you don't know what happened to Arlington or what has become of Father Day?" The voice was unfamiliar to all who were in hiding.

"Father Day asked me to remain in my office during this meeting of yours," Monsignor Ryan said. "I heard a lot of commotion going on outside and I began to fear for my life. By the time I came out there was no sign of them except for the body of the young man in the nave."

There came an embittered sigh. "It seems our gathering was compromised then." The voice's owner bore a very slight French accent that Cassandra thought she recognized from somewhere, but she was unsure of where.

"It would seem that way, yes. If I may make a proposition, I think it seems clear Brother Arlington and Father Day were ambushed."

The four that remained in hiding each had their own internal reactions to these words, and all of them came from dread or anger.

Sadie was unable to stifle the whisper, "Nijah."

Cassandra set a hand on her again to quiet her and had to do a tiny double take on the inside. She couldn't remember the young woman outside's name without some thought, how had it come to Sadie so quickly?

"In fact, if I may be so bold, it looks as if whoever killed Arlington did so to claim the Suit of Sorrows. After all, where else would it be right now?"

Suit of Sorrows? The phrase made Cassandra's stomach turn. Was that the unsettling light force that had bonded itself to her body?

Nijah continued, "If I may suggest, Father Terrance, and Brother Valley, perhaps it is best not to linger in this place. The evil hands that committed this deed may soon return, perhaps for the armor we wear next."

The Frenchman spoke again and, together with the name "Valley," Cassandra realized where she had recognized his voice from. "Do you know what it is we stand against?"

"I have no way to be sure," Nijah said, "But I will tell you everything I already know and whatever theories I currently have on my mind. You felt something outside tonight too, didn't you, brother? A wicked force, a demon perhaps, however much I pray otherwise."

Jean Paul Valley breathed a deep sigh. "As do I… thank you for allowing us in, Father Ryan, but we shall take our leave. I pray any trouble that may come to your church leaves as we do."

"I hope you find the people responsible for that poor man's death," Monsignor Ryan said. "Go in peace."

For a few minutes of relative quiet afterwards, Cassandra and Sadie each waited on the other to be the first to step out of the confessionary. When neither did and they seemed to just linger, a soft knock eventually came at the door.

In a whisper, Monsignor Ryan said, "I think it's safe to come out now.."

Cassandra pushed open the door slowly to confirm it really was the old priest on the other side. With the additional confirmation that the Question and Constantine had already let themselves out, she finally opened the door all the way and slipped back into the chapel proper.

"Hey," Sadie said. "Your suit's gone."

Cassandra frowned and looked down at her body. Sure enough, the shimmer armor that consumed her a little while before was gone and she was back in her winter coat. That was going to be a question for later.

"Did you manage to overhear any of that?" The priest asked. "Was anything helpful said?"

"That girl who did the talking," Constantine said. "She was the one who killed Arlington."

The priest's pupils dilated. "What?"

"Actually, someone else put that spear through his chest," the Question said. "But I couldn't get a look at him at all. Did anyone else here him? He was chanting in Latin or something like it."

"But that girl was definitely Nijah," Sadie said. "She's the Order of Cantonna's top crusader, same rank as Arlington and Jean Paul Valley and—" Sadie froze when she realized the way the others stared at her and a shudder ran through her body. "Wha… what does any of that even mean? And why was it just coming out of my mouth?"

Constantine mumbled, "Oh bloody hell. Girl." He paused until Sadie looked over at him. "Gimmie a name to work with here."

"Sadie."

Cassandra elbowed her. "Don't be so clear right now."

"Ow! Come on, he's one of the guys who saved me a little bit ago, don't be so paranoid."

Constantine nodded. "All right, Sadie. And you, if it makes you any more comfortable, you can call me John. And if you really need it, I can pry dig up a business card for you."

His sarcasm wasn't terribly clear to Cassandra, who just held him with a distrustful glare to warn him against any funny business.

"So you didn't know Arlington or any of the rest of those Medieval Times rejects before tonight, right?"

"I uh… I didn't even know my girlfriend was a superhero until tonight, John."

It didn't exactly sound like a judgement, but Cassandra looked away nonetheless.

"Well, don't hold that against her too bad. It's not a friendly line of work to be stuck on the side of."

"I mean, I'm still trying to process all this, but I get that." Sadie returned the elbow nudge Cassandra had given her just before. "In fact, I might even think it's kind of cool."

Though she still didn't turn to face Sadie, Cassandra was acutely aware of some blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Well, plenty of time for that later," the magician said. "I'm trying to remember… does the phrase, 'Heir to angel and man, Nephilim is he' mean anything to you?"

Sadie seemed to almost go into a trance as she, in monotone, recited, "The one who lives but should not be, heir to angel and man, Nephilim is he. Seeks to pierce the wrathful one, by the head of Destiny. Should he hold such, he'll—" She stopped and grabbed ahold of her head. "What the hell was that? What am I even saying?"

Constantine scowled. "God damnit, he passed you the blood oath."

Sadie's jaw went a little slack. "The… the what?"

The magician was about to reply before Monsignor Ryan cleared his throat and stole away everyone's attention. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but if may say so, I'm not sure any of you are safe staying here any longer than you need to. If your enemies see I still haven't locked up the church for the night, they may well come back to investigate."

Before Constantine could get out whatever objection he seemed determined to say next, the Question said, "I agree with the priest. But that just raises the question of where we're supposed to go to try piecing all this information together."

To the other three it was a genuine question, but with a reluctant sigh, Cassandra decided she already knew the answer. When she confirmed her phone had been returned to her pocket when the armor had faded away, she slipped it out, said, "Excuse me," and stepped a few feet away from the rest of the group. After a short hesitation, she called the number listed, "Dad- EMERGENCY."

On the third ring, a deep voice asked, "Cassandra?"

"Yes. Are you free?"

"Free enough, is this something serious?"

Cassandra glanced unwillingly at the other three who had seen the fall of Arlington and sighed. "Was… outed. Seen out of my costume."

"What?" Bruce's voice suddenly sounded grave. "You weren't even carrying your costume tonight—"

"Long story… magic and demons. Maybe."

It seemed to take Bruce a few seconds to process just what she was implying. "Who saw you?"

"Sadie, two others… John Constantine, he said. And a woman in a faceless mask."

Bruce muttered a few things to himself, somehow Cassandra thought she heard him acknowledging some familiarity. "All right. I'll get Tim or Stephanie out there in some kind of suitable transport and get you all to a safe house for the night. You can tell me everything later and we'll figure this out. In the meantime, wait for one of the others to call you."

"Thank you."

The tone that followed assured Cassandra that Bruce had hung up. As she approached the others to deliver the update, she took mental stock of what little she understood at that point. She'd just fought alongside a faceless woman and a foul-mouthed man who could apparently perform real magic. A suit of armor had crawled off of a dead man and onto her body, and her girlfriend was apparently able to suddenly recite information no one, including her, understood. And a gang in crusader armor, possibly assisted by a real demon, had tried to kill them all.

In both exasperation and genuine appeal, she prayed to herself, God have mercy.

Chapter Four

Cassandra had seen the suit of armor that stood opposite her before and had to swallow the words, "Jean-Paul?" before they could slip out. Jean-Paul, in at least a basic sense, had been her friend in his last years. This man, whoever he was, could not be him, she'd already decided and was already sizing him up.

"Oi, we didn't kill Arlington and we didn't take Day." By the way he took his stance, Constantine probably knew his words would fall on deaf ears. "Take it up with those wankers in black."

"The Order of Cantonna have served as our allies for centuries." Azrael glared briefly in Constantine's direction before his eyes settled on the Suit of Sorrow. He extended one arm and clenched his fist. A telescoping blade popped out of his wrist and he pointed it toward Cassandra. "As are the Order of Purity. If you think yourself innocent, then why does she wear their champion's mail?"

"Crawled onto me," Cassandra said. "Girl in black, Nijah, she and the others killed him."

"A likely story. But if it were so—" Azrael raised his other hand, clenched his fist, and extended the second blade toward Constantine. "You'd ask me to believe Arlington sought the help of this… this heathen. We know full and well what you are, occultist."

"I'm no cultist, I just do what they do." Constantine knew nothing he was going to say would even slow down their attacker, but he never passed up the chance to act defiant. "Just like you don't worship gaudy clothing designers."

Azrael took another imposing step toward the magician and Cassandra, back in her Angel of the Bat mentality, stepped into his path. The warrior hesitated for a moment and thought back on his training. His own armor was mere decoration next to the might of the Suit of Sorrows. But even its power was determined largely by the one who wore it. And he was sure he could overpower that petty child.

With gauntlet blades extended, he ran to meet his fellow knight in the center of the living room. Angel took to defense immediately and weaved in, out, and around Azrael's slashes. The movements had been second nature for years, Angel's true concern was how easily she could strikes through the plate armor her opponent wore.

Over at the couch, still half undressed and gritting his teeth, Constantine searched his discarded pants pockets for anything that would have him aid. To his initial chagrin he found little besides a pack of cigarettes. Some of the frustration passed when he realized they could still prove useful, and then returned with a vengeance at the thought of a wasted Silk Cut.

As Angel dodged one swing after another from Azrael, Sadie and the Question both peeked out of their respective bedrooms. When he caught sight of them, the crusader stepped away from his slashes at Angel and shouted, "You two! Surrender yourselves or burn!" He pulled a pair of cartridges from his belt and threw each into one of the rooms. The Question seemed to recognize it immediately, ran out, and slammed her door shut. Sadie looked back in confusion a few beats more and only returned to her senses when the container began to crack and fizzle. By the time she put a door between herself and the gas that leaked out, a terrible, vinegar-like smell was in her nostrils. When she coughed, the Question ran over to her.

"You inhale any of that?"

Sadie gagged. "I think just a little."

"Tear gas," the Question said. "We should get you out of here."

Sadie tried to say "Thanks," but was cut off by another bad round of wheezes. Though she obviously had Angel's attention before, the oppressive hacks made her girlfriend seethe.

Azrael took another step toward them. "I told you you're not—"

Angel cut Azrael off with a sucker punch to his face. She was tough, but she knew from her few interactions with Jean-Paul that the Azrael armor could take a real beating, she had most hoped to be a distraction. What she was not prepared for was a smash into Azrael's facemask hard enough to bend it inward and make the warrior stagger backwards in pain. Angel's flinch was nearly as pronounced as her opponent's. After a moment she remembered what Bruce had said about the suit granting increased power, but it had apparently made a distractionary attack enough to dent metal.

In her moment of confusion, Azrael rushed forward and took a slash across her stomach with one of his blades. The steel slashed straight through Angel's surcoat and layer of lower black mail, the cut strong enough to even draw a thin line of blood. Angel snapped back into focus as Azrael took another swing. In answer to an instinct she wasn't sure was her own, she raised one arm to block and the blade as it came at her. Again, Azrael managed a cut through the armor and into Angel's skin, but it was then her attention returned momentarily to the first cut. Or, it seemed, the lack thereof. Despite a little pain still in her stomach, Angel touched a hand to the last slash and felt no cut in her armor, as if it had already mended itself. Similarly, as Azrael pulled back one of his arm blades, the cut through the armor along her arm vanished and her suit was again complete. She observed this for only a moment, it was one more thing to get a better grasp on later.

The Question led the still-wheezing Sadie toward the hallway door, but Azrael again took advantage of Angel's momentary distraction. With the flick of a button on his suit, he fired one of his blades at the exit and the metal weapon dug deep into the door and its frame. The sword's position was such it would take the arduous task of digging it out to even pull the door open. Almost seamlessly, the Question wheeled around with Sadie and made for the door onto the balcony.

With a clearer idea of what the Suit of Sorrows was capable of, Angel shifted into offense and struck out against Azrael. She swung a few punches into the crusader's upper pectorals, each of which produced a loud, hollow sound like a kick against a garbage can. Azrael shouted in pain and keeled downward, which allowed Angel another crack at his face. The force was enough to knock off his lower facemask, and Azrael leaned downward and spat up a mouthful of blood.

In pain and fury, Azrael swung his remaining sword about wildly. Despite the power in her armor, Angel took a few steps backwards as her opponent gasped for breath and settled a glare at her.

Outside on the balcony, the Question leaned over the rail at the edge of the balcony and looked down twelve floors to the ground. Sadie joined her and her eyes widened. "We're not going to have to escape down there, are we?"

"Depends on how your girlfriend does in there," the Question said.

Had it only been up to Angel, the situation would have been under control quickly. Unfortunately for all of them, Constantine was waiting for a good chance to offer some support and chose the wrong moment. Neither Angel nor Azrael were giving him any attention until he rose off the couch with his hands clutched together and shouted, "Oi, ya great bastard, choke on it!"

Hands opened, Constantine blew a breath of desecrated tobacco toward the crusader. With both his eyes and mouth uncovered, Azrael let out an agonized series of coughs and gags as he fought for a clean breath. Sure a follow up attack was coming from Angel, Azrael pressed on another trigger in his bladeless gauntlet. A small pipe rose out from his suit's wrist, and with a squeeze a breath of fire spat out into the room. Angel, who was halfway into another attack, stopped dead in her tracks and leapt backwards. As Azrael's flaring set fire to the couch and carpet, she just gave Constantine an exacerbated glare.

"All right, all right, I won't bother trying to help next time. Happy?"

As soon as the Question and Sadie got a good look at the sudden burst of flames, the Question reached into her coat and produced a grapple gun. "Looks like we're going to have to slide down," she said.

Sadie gawked. "You gotta be kidding me—can that thing even hold a person's weight?"

"How do you think Batman gets around, you of little faith?"

"Pretty sure Cassie's supposed to have enough faith for both of us."

The Question fired at another apartment on the other side of the street and got one of the hooks onto a porch railing. The Question turned to Sadie and said, "I'm going to jump down. You'll have to get ahold of the rope and follow afterwards."

The younger woman swallowed and looked back into the apartment as Azrael struggled to get ahold of his flamethrower. "Guess we don't have a lot of choice, do we?"

As sweat dripped from her forehead and wrinkled the skin in the suit, Angel commanded Constantine, "Go. Will finish with him."

"Well, I don't need told twice." Constantine turned toward the balcony.

"Keep Sadie safe." Angel turned back toward Azrael as he seemed to recover his vision and control of his weapon. "She's still new to this."

"All right, all right." Constantine ran for the porch just as the Question climbed up on the railing and made her jump downward into the alley below.

As smoke alarms began to screech throughout the building, the two in the Azrael suits stared one another down.

"Didn't kill him," Angel said. "Want to stop the people who did."

Red eyed and breathing heavy breaths, Azrael said, "Convenient, that. Especially for someone working alongside a known warlock and God only knows who else."

Angel clenched her fists. "Don't know him well, but saw him protect another. And fight with a demon…. Jesus said something about that. That devils don't drive out other devils."

For just the length of a sigh, as the acrid stink of burnt carpet filled his nostrils, Azrael admired her knowledge of scripture. Then he ran at her with his arm blade again, sure this time would finally be the successful one.

The instincts of the Suit of Sorrows and Cassandra's own melded together as she reached toward the back of one of her shoulders. Even she didn't know why or what feeling she was following. Out from the armor she pulled the handle of a sword and a blade of flame erupted from it.

Azrael stopped just short of her and his eyes went wide. "Wait— please, no—"

Angel thrust the blazing Sword of Sin into the crusader's chest. The weapon passed through his body easier than a knife through butter, as if it was made of thin air. For a moment, he sat in stunned silence.

Then the same man who was so ready to kill screamed in horror. The crusader fell backwards and clutched his body to himself as he screeched over and over again. It was only through these screams of terror Cassandra returned to lucidity from the battle trance she was in.

Angel's confident, unbreakable stance shattered as Cassandra looked down on the man shouting in agony. "Oh God." She couldn't contain a shake that ran through her. "What did I do? What have I done?"

As the screaming Azrael fell to the floor, Constantine shouted from the porch, "Come on then already, the room's going up in smoke!"

Though the words were intended for Cassandra, they had Sadie's heart about to beat out of her chest as well. The Question had looped the grapple gun's thin rope around the balcony's railing before she descended to the ground, so in theory she just had to get ahold and let herself drop. But with sweaty palms and blood that pumped so loud she could hear it in her ears, Sadie really didn't know how to take that first leap. She'd made it to the top of the railing with half of her feet already hanging in midair. All she had to do was let herself fall, but again and again her nerves got the better of her.

Constantine looked her way and demanded, "You waiting on something?"

For just a moment, Sadie's fear was overtaken by anger. "I'm too chicken to even bungie jump, back off!" And just as soon as she'd gotten it out, dread wrestled control back from her.

If Cassandra was in complete control of all of her faculties, she would have thrown the sword away without regret. But the subconscious force of the Suit of Sorrows forced her to just slip it back into its place on his back. As she heard screams of confusion from the apartment's hallway, the shouts from Azrael passed as he seemed to fall unconscious. At his size in his own suit of armor, Cassandra assumed he must weigh twice what she did. That wouldn't have stopped her from doing everything in her power to get him out of the blaze in the first place, but with the Suit of Sorrows, she didn't even have to wake him up. Despite their disproportionate sizes, Cassandra slipped her arms under Azrael's chest, lifted him off the ground and ran toward the balcony. She was already examining the building across the alley as the suit's subconscious fed her information when she stopped and saw Sadie frozen in place.

"You all right?"

Sadie breathed out a heavy sigh. "Uh, you know." She swallowed hard. "Not something I'm used to."

Constantine was about to get another word in edgewise before Cassandra beat him to a response. "All right. Always scary the first time. Everyone said so."

The magician shouted, "No, no, please, take your time! Just a burning building behind us!"

Two ignored him and Sadie got in another nervous breath. "You really mean that? You were scared the first time you repelled from something like this?"

"Took a lot of getting used to," Cassandra said. If not for the hand she needed to keep on Azrael, she may have gone first to show Sadie how it was done. "Question did it, knows how it's done. You can trust her. And trust me."

For just a moment, a tiny smile of hope crossed Sadie's tired, frightened face. Cassandra took that as approval enough to, with Azrael still in hand, leap over the railing and across the alley. The hope that was on Sadie's face vanished and the blood drained from her face as she screamed, "Cassie!"

Between the suit's powers and Cassandra's own years of experience, the leap was well planned. As she crossed the alley and fell, she got ahold of the railing of one of the opposing apartments, turned herself around, and jumped back toward the original building. Each jump lowered her by a floor, and she was on the ground in less than a minute.

In between a pair of sour remarks from Constantine, Sadie went from feeling horrorstricken, to awestruck, to inadequate, to determined. If her girlfriend had just pulled off a ridiculous descent like what she'd just seen with a medieval knight tucked under her arm, Sadie could handle an improved fire pole drop.

Eyes shut tight, teeth grit together, she kicked off the railing and down the side of the building. The winter air was oppressive and freezing, her hands burned with the slide of the thin rope, and she wanted to scream. But the soles of her feet hit the ground before she had a chance. She opened her eyes with hesitation and the rest of the world still seemed to move a little slowly. The Question pulled her away from the rope and directed her toward Cassandra as she set Azrael's unconscious body against the adjacent building. As soon as she'd finished, Cassandra turned toward her.

"How was it?"

"I uhh… think I might need to throw up." After a second of thought that still seemed much longer to her, Sadie added, "But maybe let out a good long laugh too."

"Sounds about right." Cassandra stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. "Safe again now."

And, in spite of everything that had just happened, Sadie actually felt like it. And to even her own relief, she shattered the tension with a pang of laughter.