The Blood of the Saints (IC)

[Katelyn]

OOC
CS

The Blood of the Saints







Los Angeles, CA.

The wind picked up as the ocean pulled hard to the beckoning of the shifting moon, the sliver of light it allowed bathed the ocean as it lay like a beast in waiting, the subtle waves lying as to what lay beneath. Her long blonde hair swirled around her as if dancing to the sound of some ancient rhythm, her only movement the soft rising and falling of her chest. She need not to breathe, but having been on earth's surface for more than two millennium, she'd succumb to the ways of those that walked beside her. The war would be won in heaven, the future was clear in that respect, but the battles were being won by the likes of hell. She was the only one left standing from heaven's gates, her curse to forever walk the path of a guardian of this world.

Her father had sent down more angels to help her, but one in particular stung at her very being. Michael. He was her brother, her friend, her companion, her replacement as the leader and protector of the guardians. Nothing could cause a deeper ache than the failure that was laid on her shoulders at the death of those that had served along side her. Heaven knew not what hell was capable of, but her words of warning fell on deaf ears and so in a form of self preservation, she closed her lips and spoke not about it again. Her city was the city of angels and yet she was never more alone than now. The whispering of all that lived in the deep swirled around her, her ears perking up at the sound of suffering.

She moved from the waters edge and scanned the beachfront to ensure that no one would witness her glory. Wings made of white silk and feathers sprung from her narrow back, her tanned skin standing out against the black skin tight shirt and pants that she wore. Twisting her long locks into a bun, Aramia lifted into the darkness of the heavens and flew efficiently to the south side of LA, a young man in his twenties locked to his bed by the twisting of his limbs. She hovered outside the window, the black tendrils of the warrior demon wrapped tightly around him. His elderly mother sat beside him, crying softly as he moaned and twitched violently.

"God have mercy on us," she whispered as she moved through the wall and walked toward the young man, his mother unaware of the principalities at work in the very room where she sat. He looked at Aramia, a sick smile on his face, thick white drool seeping from his swollen and crack lips.

"Come to play? Come to show daddy what you're made of little girl?" He laughed and the sound split, three voices echoing in the room as his mother stood up and screamed, backing up to the door and rushing from the room.

Aramia knew she should answer with kindness and perhaps scripture, but being left to fend for herself and her kind for as long as she could remembered had numbed her to the presence and power of God's love for these creatures. She felt her own lip rise in a menacing grin.

"You bet your ass I am..." She growled and walked toward the bed.

[Huscarl]

Helen was out in the forest, running the track. The air was freezing but fresh, like a cold shower after a long training session. The sound of her breath and her heart and the crunch, crunch, crunch of her feet against the February snow filled the world around her, which was otherwise dead silent. Most of her friends brought their phones with them when they ran so that they could listen to music while they ran, or call for help is some weirdo appeared. Helen didn't bring hers. She liked the stillness and silence of the trees, and what were the chances of running into a villain in this quiet little neighborhood? The idea of unavailability appealed to her. When she was out here, she was all alone. Noone could disturb her. She could hear her own thoughts, actually hear them, and could think things through at her own pace. Needless to say, this was her favourite passtime. She'd picked it up from Clara, a friend at work, who'd persuaded her to run with her one day after work. At first Helen had sucked at it and had become embarassed at her terrible stamina. Clara had smiled at her and told her she would get better if she just stuck with it. She'd been right. Now, Helen could run for 10 kilometers without stopping. She was in great shape, and that felt terrific. She would keep doing this for as long as her body would allow her.

She was just coming around a bend which circled a small hill when she saw him.

A man, or at least the silhouette of a man, standing on the road just a short distance ahead of her. She'd bumped into strangers before on the track, but she knew instinctively that this was different. This was him. The weirdo. He'd finally come to claim her, and she didn't have her phone. She slowed down and came to a halt. Then she just stood there, looking at the man. A part of her brain told her to call out to him, but fear kept her mouth shut. What if he didn't answer? What if he did? What would she do if he suddenly came at her? That question, at least, she could answer. She would run. It was eerie, the way the man stood. He was completely motionless; almost as if he was dead. And yet she knew just from looking at him that he wasn't. He had an air about him, a kind of presence, and dead people didn't have that. He was most definetly alive, and what was worse, he was looking right at her. Again, she couldn't really tell at this distance, but she knew. Suddenly, there was a rustling sound coming from the woods behind the man. Then came a shrill scream, and that was Helens cue. She turned and ran as fast as she could and didn't look back. Screw unavailability, from this day on she'd carry that phone with her into the fucking shower if she had to.

<><><>

Malak had turned to face the horror that crept in the bushes behind him. The girl had finally done the right thing, which was to leave, and now he could begin his work. This particular demon had turned out to be a quite nasty one; it had taken him three days to track it down from when he'd first heard the rumor of a strange disappearance in Vallentuna. The Snatcher was responsible for not just one but five abductions. Needless to say, the demon needed to die. The angel produced the three tools of his trade from the inside pockets of his coat and prepared himself for what was to come. The crucifix he hung around his shoulders, to protect his person from harm. The bible he held in his left hand, opened on the page he'd chosen the night before. The holy water he held in his right hand, ready to use it against the fiend, should it try to attack him. He then started walking out amongst the trees, treading carefully as to avoid twigs and sticks on the ground. This would be a trying hunt.

[101 Scout1]

One song faded from his ears as another came on, Frontline by the band Pillar. Seth loved the song, and the band. Strapped to his bicep was an iPod, he wore a pair of Nike gym shorts and a sleeveless spandex running shirt. It was his usual route, he ran through the park almost daily for a couple of weeks now. He had spent a few days researching the bridge in the park. It was difficult to find information on all of the disappearances, but this one seemed relatively new. About ten years old at this point, two victims, unsolved disappearances. In all honesty, it might not exist, but Seth knew these things took time, so he passed under the bridge three times in his jog, running in a loop. Something at the entrance to the bridge seemed to waver... It was odd, but Seth recognized it. Most, especially in Dallas, would blow it off as heat affecting the vision. He picked up his pace, leaning forward slightly, and as he hit the entrance, he ducked, pushing one of his feet forward and the other holding him as he slid forward. There was a screech, but to anybody else the tunnel would appear empty. It had narrowly missed him as it dove from one wall in the tunnel to the other, trying to knock him through the demonic passage.

The angel turned around as the beast came up from the ground, making clacking and skittering noises. It was like a leech crossed with a very massive scorpion, but it was still quite a bit smaller than any human. It appeared poised for attack again, but Seth only smirked confidently. He loved these things... It was the demon he primarily hunted, actually. He absolutely despised them. Many demons were horrible, but captivity was a concept that almost made Seth nauseated every time he thought of it. He was somewhat claustrophobic when it came to things like that, he hated having no way out, being forced to do things he didn't consent to. That didn't mean he couldn't take orders, it just meant that he couldn't take them from somebody he didn't respect.

The creature dove again, and the man took a step back, grabbing its arms behind its claws as it nearly hit him in his chest. Its tail, which was somewhat fishlike, had no stinger, but if flicked around, as if it could fly through the air (which, essentially, it could, but it didn't stay airbourne). The angel slid back a few feet, it was such a forceful attack, but he turned and jumped forward, allowing its momentum to continue forward. Seth came from the ground and landed on top of the creature. It wasn't one of the strongest, as it was rather young, and he sat up, pushing a knee on its back. He pulled the prayer beads from his wrist, wrapping them around his fingers as his brow furrowed in concentration. The prayer beads weren't anything special to him, aside from a symbol of his God, he could easily obtain more. In fact, he had a few sets back in his apartment.

He snarled angrily, "The Lord is my shepherd... He makes me lie down in green pastures, leads me beside quiet waters, and refreshes my soul..." The man continued the Psalm through several more lines, the fight to hold the beast down growing more difficult with each passing moment. "... And yea, though I walk through the valley..." The angel started as the cretin beneath him squirmed futiley. The angel pressed his fist, with the beads attached, into the back of the demon's head, issuing a disgusting hiss from the creature as he continued. "... of the shadow... of death..." Between each few words were grunts of strain as he reinforced his weight on the Snatcher. "I shall fear no evil... for thou art with me," He grabbed the demon by the back of its neck and raised it up, "Back!" The angel cried out, throwing the beast downward. There was a loud crackle as the animal fizzled against the ground and disappeared moments later.

The man had to quickly concentrate and pull back his wings, as they'd burst forth from his back during the fight, as they often did in the heat of the moment. The barriers at either end of the tunnel had faded and he barely managed to retract them in time. He was breathing heavily, putting a hand on the wall to steady himself, staring at the ground. He was now covered in sweat, but he took a knee, held his beads close to his chest, "I thank thee, Lord, for the strength to fight... For the strength to carry out your bidding..." He was still trying to even out hsi breathing as he continued the prayer for another moment or two. He climbed to his feet and looked around, pushing the beads back around his wrist, putting his earbuds, and beginning to walk, feeling no need to jog anymore. Thankfully the Snatcher had been inexperienced... If it had been too old, it would have been a very difficult fight... In fact, the couple of demons he had fought had all been young... older ones were nearly impossible to take down alone, especially with only a few months of actually being in the field. He looked to his arm as he felt something running over it... He was bleeding... The thing's claw must have caught him and he put a hand over it, applying some pressure. It ran over about the middle half of his forearm. Must have been from when he caught it, but he hadn't noticed it. He would have to bandage it when he got home.

[Voltin]

The cold gusts of dusk drifted past. It was a windier day than most, and the angel's trench coat did little to block out the cold; it was a new feeling, the cold, and it was one that he just couldn't seem to get used to. Raz's time on earth had been short, having first lain his feet on the soil three month's ago to the day. Feelings like "hot" and the "cold" were very foreign to him, much like hunger and thirst, two nuisances that he could have suppressed by his simple will from being an angel, but embraced both as "the human experience" he so desperately wanted to embrace. It certainly helped that the local food and drink gave such a great relief to such pains and supplied him with a much more fulfilled feeling than he had ever achieved in Heaven ironically enough.

Razinus walked up to a cart on the corner of the street, pointing his index finger up as he had learned to do. The man working there gave Raz the sausage in a bun he so desired and in exchange presented the green currency the man had earned with his service. Greedily, he took the first bite, savoring the red and yellow pastes that topped it. "Disgusting rubbish!" the voice yelled from behind. It was a young woman, as the angel found upon turning around, her skin pale, her face hollow; she appeared to be anemic. "All of it! Processed animal parts, ludicrous gibs of garbage and the calories! You," a bony finger was stuck out accusingly at the the silent angel. "How can such an attractive face be stuffing itself with this filth!" The hot dog man was getting annoyed with her slander. "Hey lady, if you don't like it take a hike," the gruff voice resounded on the cusp of yelling. "Hm, as if this country wasn't getting worse enough, now my rights of free speech are trying to be impeded upon." A dignified 'hmph' left her throat. "Slob," she said under her breath. Razinus watched with a curious, childlike wonder at the scene that had taken place. "Harlot, trying to ruin my business. Hey man, you just going to stand there or are you going to buy another?" Raz hadn't heard him, instead he threw away the remains of his half-eaten dinner and followed the woman in a desperate pursuit not to lose her. He wrapped his coat tighter around him as another chill brushed past, this time it wasn't from the wind.

His following of her had lasted an hour with him observing the various irregularities in her behavior. She had since put her wispy blonde hair under a sky blue scarf and put on thick sunglasses that covered the majority of her face. The once bare hands were also covered by black leather gloves that the angel had spotted on the cover of one of the fashion magazines he had seen at the newsstand. All perfectly acceptable actions given the weather, but what was off-putting was her use of varying pseudonyms. 'Carolyn Bow', 'Jackelyn Summers', 'Penelo Lake' all names she gave to the various people she talked, all while she bought various items of varying suspicions. The lady didn't quite seem like she wanted to be noticed.

'Penelo', having ceased her shopping spree (and having bought from a health foods, a department, and hunting store with one fell swoop), she returned to what appeared to the angel to be her home. It was a high-rise, one that had kept new money residents in years past. Newly constructed, with a red carpet announcing the front door's presence, and a door man that greeted the people going in and out; it was precedent in how luxurious humans wanted to live, and the angel could only find amazement in how they could have such ambition. The woman trotted through the front door, ignoring the door man who had tipped his hat in greetings. Raz followed, flashing a courteous smile, tipping his own Kangol hat at the doorman who had been so wrongly been ignored. He didn't want the man feeling bad, now did he?

The lobby was crowded with people as if the place was a hotel featuring an exposee on the latest 'get rich quick' scheme. Navigating such crowds was not easy given he was losing sight of his target and the sound of her heels clicking further away was at least a bit discomforting. He caught up to her and only just barely, having caught his shoes in her elevator's door just as it was closing. He walked in casually flashing the confused woman a smile. "So you live here too butter face? What floor" Razinus glanced at the panel, and as they were the only two on the elevator, pushed the button of the floor below her. Hoping this was a suitable answer to her question, he flashed her another cheeky smile. "The charmer I see," she let a coy giggle. He observed the girl as she took a small notebook and pen out of her purse, scribbled something down and handing him the result. A number. "Come by if you ever want to have a little fun."

The angel rushed up to the next floor as fast as he could possibly muster, but the stairwell's unknown location put him far behind in his intended haste. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, he could feel physical exhaustion come over him. Pacing, was something that he never had to manage back in Heaven and putting it into practice was taking some time. He burst through the stairwell door and took a survey of the rooms on the floor, looking for the door with the number in his hand, but he didn't have to. The door he was looking for was already ajar and too obvious not to notice on first sight. He entered, precariously as he didn't know what to expect. The smell hit him, the iron in the air... it was too much for him to mistake it.

Drip.

Drip.

The angel put on the gloves that he had stuffed in his coat pockets, covering his nose as he continued his approach. The living room was dark, the sun having set only twenty minutes before, except for the small light that hung above the range of the stove. The place gave the feeling of old posh and exuberance with it's marble counters, pink ivory furniture, and animal skins hanging about the room. A twisted giggling could be heard coming from down a hall. Down it, was the only other light source from with inside the apartment, the bath room. Raz proceeded down, trying to ignore the red sickly fluid that was coming from the crack in the door. He pushed it, lightly at first, but at full force once he saw what the room contained. It was the girl, down to her once snow white lace panties and bra, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and a chunk from her abdomen held firmly in her hands. Her voice was screechy and at some points broke off as if two were speaking through her at once. "Must. Get rid of this. This faaaaaaat." She hadn't noticed him, even with the door wide open, and giggled, only coming to acknowledge him when she heard him recoil and slip in her exhumed bodily fluid. "YOU! You did thiis!" she pointed the hunting knife that she had been using to do the deed at him. "I-I was able to quell the voice- the voices before I had met, before I had met you and. and you just had to proposition me huh? Huh!?" She was getting up off the tiled floor, now covered in her blood and the vile green of vomit. She ambled toward him as he tried to crawl back from her in terror. "Just, just dieting had worked for the looooongest time. Then. then it requested the cuttting," she screeched in joy, her eyes rolling up before rolling back from the lower eye lid. "The meate. I could cutt it and it would let me be at piece. The cuttting of the faaaaaaat." She came closer, and the angel tried coming to his feet, but he had slipped again. "You, you sent it too far. BEing able to eat that filth, andto look as good as you do." She swung the knife aimlessly, not caring if it hit him or not or if she somehow cut or stabbed herself in the process.

The angel finally got to his feet, and in doing so was able to get out a weapon. A flask of holy water. He pulled the cork, covering the top with his thumb as to not waste any of this limited resource. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaheheheheh, is that the best you can do you impotent little man?" The splash had little effect on her advance, causing the expected smouldering as a little of the taint was cleansed. The demon threw the knife it had been using at Raz in retaliation, landing much to his surprise dead center in his lung. He took a sharp intake of breath in his shock and realized the pain that was now coursing through his body. The girl's body charged him, her hands wringing around his neck. The demon, not very smart, was trying to wring the very life out of angel who only breathed out convenience instead of necessity. The blood on her hands though, was a much bigger and different problem. It felt like his neck was about to give way much like butter does to a hot knife, and he was panicking. He threw her off with all of the force he could muster, shocking the demon as his build had shown no hint of such strength. "AnGel." Bearing past the pain, Razinus took his flask in one hand and his rosary in the other. Grabbing the throat of the girl with the beads, it panicked, starting to kick at his knees as she was lifted off the ground. He poured the rest of the water down the abomination's throat.

The girl's body went still all at once. Knowing his job was done, he gently laid the corpse to the ground and turned his back to do his prayers. In this moment of consolidation, a heavy thump could be heard from the closed front door. "SPD, open up!" hollered the commanding voice. In this moment of distraction, the body began twitch violently, convulsing where the body was barely touching the ground any more. The demon crawled out, a purple worm with disturbingly fluffy black wings that should have been unfit for flight. Despite this, the creature burst through the glass that lined the apartment's west facing wall. "SPD! Open up!" He leaned over the girl's desecrated body, cradling her face as she took her last few breaths. "Thank you... butter fa-" She didn't get to finish her sentence as the last bit of air in her lungs left, taking her spirit with it. He closed her eyes as the police began to bust down the door. Being left with very little choice, he did the most reckless thing he could do in his condition. He let his wings billow out, and took flight. He wouldn't be doing much good in jail, now would he?

[JurassicHole]

Location: Las Vegas, NV
Miccollo

It was coming up on midnight in "Sin City", a monicker given to the city of Las Vegas by mortals for it being a beacon for all those with the need for a little debauchery in their hearts. In the midst of drunken bachelors, pricy escorts, and shamed men heading back to their hotels penniless stood a man who could have passed as any of those things. Sure he was dressed well and obviously in top shape, but his scraggly goatee and unkempt hair made him appear to be a bum pretending to be a high roller. As the humans meandered around him to their next outlet or watering hole, the lone figure couldn't help but smile. Ironic, for an angel to still be happy around so much sin, but he had a different outlook on the humans than many of his warrior brothers and sisters. He loved them all, but the one thing he didn't like was this city. The monicker of "Sin City", fit Vegas far more snug than the humans believed, as this was about as close to ground zero for demonic possessions as you could get. Not to say the entry of demons into the human world wasn't widespread everywhere, but that this was a focal point of demonic energy.

Angels didn't really know "age", at least not in the sense mortals did, but if you were to attempt to decipher the inter workings of angels then it could be said Miccollo had more experience than some of his colleagues. Otherwise, why would he be the one sent to monitor a practically "hornets nest" of demons? Don't think he took pride in this fact, far from, as hard as it may be to believe. He was one of the first few angels to spot the growing problem of the dark one's minions breaching the boundaries of the human world, but only now had their "Almighty" send them to stem the outbreak. Even though he sent his best warriors, the Almighty's angels could be compared to trying to stop a flood by tossing random stones in random spots of a river. He couldn't complain to the Almighty directly, not that he wouldn't he physically couldn't. Angels are bound by the creator's words and as such he gladly accepted the task of watching over Las Vegas. The only source of pride came from witnessing the everyday miracles of human life, as many strived to better a world that unraveled right underneath their feet. It would take the entirety of the Kingdom of Heaven to thwart the encroaching darkness, though that wouldn't happen until the enemy had already gained to much ground.

A cry in the distance snapped Miccollo back from his mind's little tangent, his heavenly energies pinpointing the source in a nearby tenement. It was a demon trying to manifest itself fully in the hosts body, as for exactly what kind or how powerful, Miccollo couldn't tell from where he was. The hundreds of people moving around him caused his angelic senses to become a bit distorted, almost like trying to tune a television in a room made of magnets. Removing his shades, his eyes seemed to glow a golden light and right before anyone noticed, he disappeared from where he was standing. Another great thing to note about humans, was that they never really paid any real attention to what's around them. So the sudden vanishing of the well-dressed hobo slipped unawares by the entire crowd.

The ability Miccollo had just used could be described as a "blink", a technique that transported him from point A to B nigh instantaneously. Sure he could have flown there just as fast, but then what was the point of being blessed with so much holy energy and not use it? He materialized in what would pass off as an "average" family home here, on the second floor. The home was quite spacious, but as he entered the next room his world became very very small.

Black bolts of energy sparked randomly throughout the room, not appearing to do any harm to whatever the touched. Until his gaze locked onto the crumpled form of a young woman, probably the victims girlfriend or wife, almost devoid of all color as her skin looked a ghastly white. Whenever a tendril of energy struck the woman, she appeared to grow paler and her breathing shallower. Only did the last sight bring realization to the angel, as he saw the crumpled up form of a baby beside the possessed man. The infant was crying faintly, the tendrils of energy missing it as the woman's body protected it from them. She probably couldn't see what was actually happening, but even a mortal could feel the difference in pressure within this room, as a demon forced it's way through its host.

The tendrils sparked in added ferocity as they sensed the presence of the angel. An incomprehensible series of shrieks echoed throughout the room, but Miccollo had had enough of this and dived on top of the man's body. His hands glew with the light of divinity, forcing the demon out of the body even quicker. Now, it may seem counterproductive to aid the demon's escape, but in actuality Miccollo's "aid" was killing the creature. In a way, Miccollo was "baptizing the demon by bringing the unholy wretch into the world with blessed hands. A writhing mass of tentacles and spikes tried to struggle their way from the angel's grip, but to no avail as it crumpled into ash with one swift clap.

The demon wasn't that powerful, so how had it breached the human's body so quickly? Miccollo didn't have an answer for that chilling thought, but knew he had another demon to classify. He remained until the young family appeared to be doing better, sprinkling a bit of his own energies on them and their house as a slight precaution. Once he felt the area secure and the job done, Miccollo headed back into the night, his journal out as he scribbled away notes that would transfer his recently attained knowledge to all other angels. Might help them make a difference before the situation got to dire, as it almost had if Miccollo had shown up a minute later. The night was still young and with his journal entry finished, Miccollo continued his rounds of the city of Sin.

[Syd]

A white feather floated down swaying from side to side in the breeze, the tail of the feather rocking back and the nose of it forward. It was a cool night, with the odd breeze running it's fingers across the pavement. The feather continued its freefall, rather slowly one might add, but it reached it's goal eventually, settling on the pavement to be trod on by some Parisienne, more than likely Senegalese or Morrocan hawking his wares at the tourists. Dusk had descended as quickly as dawn had on the city of lights, darkness' tendrils never fully grabbing the city in it's clutches. It came as quick as it went and to Uriel it was all the same. Time was a concept new to him here, the days and nights had come without end, slipping through his grasp like a wind swept kiss with the pink rays of the sun penetrating the morning gloom growing brighter, brighter to only fall into darkness and allow the whole cycle to continue. Uriel sat upon the great hunk of metal jutting from the inner city reaching to the sky. A foolish, unfortunate child of our Father had attempted to build something as tall as this before, even taller to try and challenge the Father but he had failed, and all manner of languages were born to confuse mankind and also as punishment for the sin of one foolish man.

Uriel crouched upon the zenith of the Eiffel tower, wings spread out in their pale white glory. The winds brushed against him having more force up here. Such a magnificent city. Truly the city of culture and art, or at least it was. He could see specks below selling plastic mini eiffel towers to whatever tourists passed and a McDonalds in the distance. Thinking would be no good for the moment, he had an appointment to keep and best not to keep the other party busy. He flew through the clouds covered by the dark sky and the pale purple clouds to the eyes of the onlookers above but a glittering silver as he swooped about making his way. "The beauty of creation" he thought. "A pity such filth have to marr it." He flew braving the winds and keeping out of sight of the souls below until he reached a high rise car park, he surveyed for cameras and landed when the coast was clear walking across the top of the building to take the lift to the 30th floor, about halfway down. The ember of a cigarette glowed at the other end to greet him. The demonic presence here smothered his keen senses the same as the cigarette smoke wafting across to meet him. Both parties walked across and stopped in the middle. Uriel asked "Got a cigarrette?" The other figure tossed him one and he grabbed it. Gitanes. The handsome man in the pinstriped suit with the slicked back hair smiled as he lit it for him. He had sharp cheekbones which gave him the look of a hyena when he laughed, the glittering blue eyes shining in the dull lamplight. The fingernails of the hand that lit the cigarette for him were pristine and had the elegance of a pianist or a master thief about them. Uriel laughed "Gitanes, c'est un cliché mecque". The other man laughed.

"Uriel it's been so long. I'm delighted you could take the time to visit my humble abode. I'm sure it pales in comparison to the the resplendent glory of our Fathers house."
"You haven't changed a bit I see, as prideful and vain as ever. With your intelligence I thought you would have learned your lesson by now."
"Oh must we talk of the past?" The blonde man said turning over his hands to display his palms in a show of fake joviality, the intent clear in his shimmering eyes.
"Have you thought on my proposal?"
"Yes..." he replied pretending to be fascinated by a speck of dirt on his suit "bloody dry cleaners" he muttered "I'll kill them one of these days."
"And what's your answer?"
"I'm afraid I have to decline. I've carved a nice little niche for myself in Paris and I don't fancy giving it up, even for him" he said pointing upward.

Uriels blood had begun to boil, his eyes growing blacker and blacker.

"He has a name, and love and affection only for the likes of you to throw it back in his face. I gave you a chance, for old time's sake, but now that I know your answer be ready. I will tear down your crumbling empire brick by brick if I have to. It will start with some minor underling of yours going missing, maybe a pile of ash here and there, the tortured screaming of some pondscum you call a lackey ringing out in some deserted alley, but mark my words I will make my way up to you eventually. Now... run" Uriel growled, cocking his head to the side and looking at his old friend and now new enemy. The wings shot out of his back and were fully spread. The mans face grew dark and the affability had drained from his face, leaving nothing there but a searing hatred that can only be bourne from the purest love. He turned on his heel and walked towards his porshce a beeping noise and a flash coming out of it as he pressed the button of his key. With his back to Uriel he replied in a voice tinged with coldness "You'll have a lot of work on your hands so." And with that it was just Uriel standing in the car park, panting and heaving. It had taken every fibre of his being not to rip his throat out, but that couldn't be helped. They had agreed on the terms of the meeting.

[Katelyn]

Los Angeles, CA.

The floor shook with the effects of the door slamming of its own perdition on the far side of the room, nothing shaking the angel’s concentration as the words of the exorcist rights slipped from her full red lips.

“Exorcizo te, immunde spiritus, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine domini nostri, Iesu Christi, et in nomine Spiritus Sancti.”

The demon laughed again, the young man’s body arching at his middle, bones popping as his face lost color and terror painted its own scene. She moved onto the bed and straddled him, her hands pressing down on his midsection as she continued to chant the trinity’s power over the damnation that lay beneath her. The male twisted in agony, red tears dripping from his bony face as she pressed harder.

Her eyes were closed when it happened, her weapon strapped across her back. A warrior demon was no match for an exorcist of her talents and yet his actions took her by surprise. Large birdlike fingers pushed up around her own hands and trapped her to his stomach, the skin unbroken but stretched far too far for him to survive this.

“Dear God…” she whispered to call on help, but was cut off as the hands pulled against hers, merging her body with the humans, blood gushing all around her fingers. He opened his eyes and he smiled, blood coloring his pearly white teeth as he choked on that which held life.

“There is no God, daughter of the most illustrious spinner of false truth. Welcome to this new world, Aramia. Join us or die, beautiful one.” She pulled back, overwhelmed by the moment – scared for the first time in a long time. “Join us sister.”

She moved back and continued to pray, the blood of the demon’s sacrifice staining her hands. This just couldn’t be… what had gone wrong to leave her with one of humanities owns final breath on her fingertips? She turned as the male exhaled a final time in agony, the demon moving out of the way and making room for an inhibitor demon. They were said to have been removed from existence by God himself and yet she watched in horror beside the open window as the body mended itself back together and something beyond powerful breathed into it the tainted breath of life.

“God have mercy on us.” She turned and moved through the wall, falling to the ground and into a crouch. “Michael… I need you.”

[Deamonbane]

New York City, New York

The low thrum of a powerful engine filled the night air. Uncharacteristically quiet, in a city that was rumored never to sleep, the engine seemed even louder, reverberating over the walls, covered in colorful and creative graffiti. The distant sound of cars, buses, and people in general, but it was, as a matter of fact, distant. Most of the place was run down, piece of brick lying around the road, the buildings reeking of filth and decay, squatters looking out of windows with shattered glass. The sound of a Harley wasn't something that they heard around here every day, after all. The sound preceded the vehicle itself, by almost half a block. It rounded a corner, the headlights on high gleam. No other vehicle, working anyways, could be found here, and all the streetlights had been stripped of light bulbs a while ago. The light waved back and forward as the bike weaved through the wreck that was the back-road, careful not to ruin the tires. The bike itself was a sleep silver, tribal inscriptions covering it mostly. The driver was invisible, due to the light.

With a final reverberating thrum, the engine died, the Harley stopped. The man stepped off, no helmet. He looked to be in his mid twenties, hair cut down to barely half an inch above his head, dark blond in color. His fave had some stubble on it, but he was generally good-looking, if a little strung out. His arms were leans and muscular, his chest the same, covered in a white sleeveless shirt. Ink covered most of his arms and chest, an odd puzzle of designs, carefully crafted, intricate, even beautiful, if you were able to see all of it. His eyes were a clear blue, too clear, almost, someone had mentioned once in when he was around. But he didn't care much what people thought. His bike was his only obsession here on earth. His pants, jeans, were worn and torn, stylishly so, and he wore combat boots, the kind that you could get from a surplus store.

He stepped over a fallen wall, and stepped into the abandoned building. Unlike the others, however, it wasn't rank with human stench. It smelled clean. the man nodded. He had come to the right place. The place was dark, but the man didn't need the light to see. His eyes flickered out to the man attempting to hide in the shadows.

"Come out, unclean thing. I could smell you an hour ago."

A nervous chuckle was produced, and a short, thin man moved in front of the angel," You are not welcome here. This is not a place of purity, see?"

The man, standing 6 feet tall, even, smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. It was more of a smirk," Not now. But tomorrow, it will be. You will long gone from here," His voice was loaded with intent, confidence, and meaning. The little man screamed and jumped forward, a knife in his hands.

The man moved on hand upward, pointing at the demon. A single Word was spoken. No mortal would be able to hear the word. A few, more attuned than others, would have been sent to their knees with an extremely high pitched sound in their ears. The demon heard it though. Loud and clear. The angel could see the demon fall screaming from the human's body. The human merely sank to his knees. He would forget what happened. Hopefully. Micheal hoped so. For his sake.

Micheal moved over to a door that seemed to be rather intact. Another word spoken, and the door sprung from its hinges, splinters flying all over. Micheal didn't blink as his vision was suddenly flooded with strobing lights, blindingly bright. He stepped inside. Two demons saw him, but didn't move. No fear was in their eyes, but they stank of it. Micheal didn't see them. He saw the fat man, lying on his back, two younger women, hardly out of their teens. The man stank of evil. An archdemon, no less. Nothing less drew Micheal away from his part of town, bringing him here, to the outskirts. The girls, twins, were what had alerted the Archangel of the demon's presence here.

"Bacchus," Micheal said, his tone loaded with disgust, calling the demon by his Latin name.

"Micheal?" The demon pushed himself to his feet with surprising agility.

"In person," The angel nodded, and snapped his fingers at the girls. They were naked, painted in obscure symbols, kissing each other fervently, not having noticed the angel's entrance until now. The spell broke, and the stood, screaming and ran for the door that Micheal had just entered from. Just when the passed, Micheal placed his hands o both of their foreheads, and they dropped. They would not recall their time under the demon spell. Hopefully.

"You picked the wrong time to exorcise me, Micheal!" Bacchus fairly screamed, and both of the demons, dark champions, drew blades, invisible to the human eyes, and moved forward. A single blade appeared in Micheal's hand. It was a Dacra, much like the demon blades. Only the Archangels bore them, for only archangels were given the power to kill the human vessels of demons on earth. When plunged into the vessel's body, it would slice through to the very core of the human. The amount of corruption from being possessed was shown in the amount of damage that was done to the body of the human. If the blow killed the human, it meant complete corruption.

He had a feeling that the twins would be the only humans that survived the endeavor.

The silver of the Dacra flashed, even without catching any light, and the first champion fell, clutching at her throat, blood flowing freely. The other attacked from behind. Micheal jumped back from a swing, and attacked, his own blade plunging deep into the heart of the demon, which fell dead, like his sister. Micheal was untouched. He turned to Bacchus," You will atone for the sins that you have committed, demon."

"You can't kill me!" Tentacles flowed as the human body decayed around the demon's form, fear making the room stink just as bad as the rotten corpse.

"No... but I can send you back to the abyss, for a long, long time," Micheal nodded, and speaking another word of power before another sound could be made by the demon, responsible for greed and the desiring of drink, sex, and food in abundance, and he disappeared. Micheal covered his nose, and moved over to the girls. He knelt down beside them, and picked them both up carefully, laying them on the sidewalk outside, where the sun was beginning to dawn. His hands flowed over their bodies, and they were dressed again, as well as the obscene markings on them disappearing. They would wake up t a cab arriving to take them home, free of charge, where their parents were worried sick waiting for word from the police.

He wouldn't be around to see the end of it, he knew. He felt that tug, from across the country. An angel needed him. He closed his eyes, and spoke an third word of power. The world disappeared beneath him, and he appeared in LA, looking around himself, his eyes catching onto the demons present. They fell back in terror of him, and he ignored them for the moment. It would be a while before they gathered enough courage to attack again, so he knelt beside Aramia, and spoke a prayer of healing over her," How can I help, Aramia?"

[Voltin]

*Two days later...*

Razinus's life had been halted to a standstill. With the blood of the possessed having seeped into his own wounds, he didn't have the benefit of the normal angel's regeneration, and therefore, was stuck ambling around his ratty studio apartment waiting for his rather human wounds to heal. After all, being seen with a giant white bandage wrapped around his chest would surly alert the other residents something was up with their mute neighbor.

In the meantime, he had been learning about the internet. It was a service that he had learned about as soon as he had touched down on the Earth's surface, and something that he had had installed but never had the the chance to explore. Lucky enough for him, there was an aptly named program just for that. His experience wasn't that adept with computers either, though he had picked up enough of the basics from watching the various bystanders at the library, a place that he had been visiting constantly so that he could get the most out of human literature; it always amazed him of the worlds that these mortals were all able to craft in their heads. He looked over the setup that had been placed on his desk before diving straight in. He clicked once on the blue "e", and up popped a window much to his surprise. He clicked it again, and another window appeared. He clicked it a few more times and even more windows kept popping up. He could already understand what drew humans to these machines, being able to create with such little effort certainly felt rewarding.

What came next, completely evaded him. What was displayed, was only a simple bar with a blinking black line and a six letter nonsense word with each of it's letters coated in either red, blue, yellow or green. He looked down, deciding to press the button with the first letter of the word printed on it. It was yet another shock, when the screen changed from what it was to a bunch a blue words with black text underneath it. He decided to go with it, continuing to spell a word that he held close to his own heart. The first line of blue text led to an Encyclopedia... or something like he had seen at the library. Out of curiosity, he clicked it, leading to his monitor to be flood with even more text that he would never have imagined to be stored in such a little box sitting on his floor. He clicked a few more of the of the blue words, each their own portal to new realms of new information that he assumed to be stored and read like little books that only his computer could access. How humans ever found the will power necessary to pull themselves away was a very troubling conundrum in his mind.

*Ding-dong*

The unexpected noise startled him; he never got visitors. He checked the peephole like he had learned to do, lest he want another stabbing and attempt to rob him incident, and learned that it was the little neighbor girl who had lived on one of the floors below him. Raz opened the the door with a little effort required on his part. "Hello sir, I was wondering if you would like to buy some cooki-" she stopped at the sight of the bandages, all of which were highly visible seeing how he hadn't a shirt on. Raz thought she was going to panic, thought she was going to mistake him for a bad man, and he certainly didn't want to be compared to some of those sinful men he saw on the picture box. He threw his hands out in a motion telling her to stop. He grabbed a small notepad and pen he had learned to keep in his back pocket to communicate with those humans who he truly needed to speak to. He was in the middle of scribbling a message that said that he could explain the wounds when she piped back up. "Mister, did somebody hurt you? Do you need my Gram-gram to come up here and help?" The angel couldn't help but smile at the girl's innate innocence and her want to help simply because of that. He wrote another message on another sheet, tore it out, and showed it to her. No, no. But thanks for the offer. Did you say something about cookies? "Uh, yes it for scouts. Mister, do you have trouble speaking? He had to think about that, how could he explain it to a human, and a child at that. He scribbled something else down. I can speak well enough, I just choose not to. It's a vow I took for my God. The girl tilted her head in a quizzical fashion much like a dog would. "Like Jesus? Gram-gram takes me to a place called church where they talk about him but it's so early in the morning, and on a weekend, I sometimes fall asleep." This girl was certainly endearing, and it just made Raz's smile all the more wider. He scribbled something once more. I'll take two boxes of your favorite type. That way I can have one and you can get rewarded for your hard work. Raz handed the girl the message and ran back into his apartment, grabbing his wallet and running back to hand her some of the cash that was inside. "Thanks mister, I'll be sure to come back when I got your- our cookies, 'kay?" Raz nodded and smiled again in affirmation as they both waved each other off. He shut the door, intending to get back to learning everything his black box had to teach him.

[Syd]

Darkness again. A day of this time had passed since he had met with Dantanian and night had fallen. He had walked the streets of Paris aimlessly, in search of something to do, something to take his wrath... No. Wrath was a sin. What he had wanted to do was serve his Father and help a fallen soul who had fallen into the clutches of some disreputable spirit. However his luck had run out. The only people under the influence of evil spirits were those who lay in the gutters or frequented the pubs around here, their poison of choice being alcohol and then moving onto powders and herbs and all manner of chemical substances as the night grew old. Despondency and aimlessness marked that day in Paris as he saw the worst side of God's children. Looking down upon it in the magnificent glory of eternal life where cherubs songs filled the air with sweet music and souls were finally at peace having reached their destination had made it acceptable, even noble. From there it was easy to see why these things happened, why they had to happen, but down here it was all a mess. A muddled mess with no rhyme or reason, no coherency. He could now see why Atheism had become so popular. In these surroundings it made more sense. Even if they were wrong he couldn't fault them for their reasons for coming to that conclusion. Why had he been sent here? How could he help? Would he become like those he was sent to fight against? Thoughts that plagued his mind raced inside his head for what seemed like Aeons, he fought them and beat them back, saying prayers, asking his Father for help in his hour of struggle. The last question was the worst thing to worry him. If he was as vicious as those he was sent to destroy did he become them? He didn't know. Until walking, staring at the ground he felt the warmth of the suns rays on his skin and looked up. He was standing outside a ruined church. The masonry was in disrepair and it looked like it were about to fall apart. Inscribed on the walls in red spray paint was "OUR FATHER WHO AIN'T IN HEAVEN...". He smiled and looked at it. A sign. A sign from his Father. He worked in the most mysterious of ways.

Even after that consolation he still found some things hard to overcome. Seeing Dantanian's face had brought it all back. The mutinous words muttered under his breath. Mephostopholes rising the legions of darkness to try and take over the heavens in a sing of childish petulance, unwilling to allow himself to be placed in the natural order of things. He remembered talking to Dantanian, pleading with him, Dantanian pleading with him. Both as vehement as the other, brothers wanting to help the other, save the other. How they had been the first beings he had created, to have the joy of nothing more than being in his presence serving him. By the end they both saw that there was no convincing the other, their paths having been written in the book of all things gone and all things to be. They held each other and cried. The anguish of their bond falling onto the others clothes, dampening and turning black. Then, War. War had come and ravaged everything leaving darkness in it's wake for a time. Brother turned on brother, fighting for their masters, fighting for their own reasons. The desolation and the ruin would have been bearable, but not that. Not that. As the day was won and their jubilant cries rang out as the enemy was defeated Uriel turned only to have his joy dampened and extinguished. Staring over the precipice he saw Dantanian falling, screaming, pleading, crying and reaching to him as he fell into the domains of hell, and Uriel had just stood there and watched as the flame licked at his flesh and and consumed his bones, eternal torment now his gift for his folly. With the pale moonlight falling on his outstretched wings, perched on the massive stone cross inside the desolate temple, and the serenity of his melancholy he almost didn't notice the quiet, light footstep entering the church.