Shivering, Puriel pressed a hand to the doorknob. If they could get the knob to a high enough temperature, then the lock should melt through sheer proximity…

[i]He’s not going to open the door[/i], Cherry hissed.

[i]We will obtain the nephilim[/i], they replied hollowly. At this point, it had become more of a prayer than a plan.

[i]Are you fuckin’ stupid? It’s a miracle we aren’t dead already, we gotta go![/i] They could hardly hear the knight’s threats over Cherry’s panic.

Unwilling to acknowledge either human clamoring for their attention, Puriel funneled their focus down their fingertips, steel glowing red-hot. Tunnel vision always was their biggest flaw—with all of their energy concentrated on the body, Cherry’s frantic mind was free to do as it pleased. Which in this case was to ram itself right into a particularly infernal bundle of nerves and ruin Puriel’s day entirely.

Liquid steel splattered across the floor.

Choking on an inhale, the body fizzled into Cherry’s apartment with a hand still outstretched. A moment passed in riotous coughing. Another in catching breath. One more in silence. Brimstone seared their sinuses.

“What,” Puriel gritted, jaw cracking on the vowel, “did you [i]do[/i].”

The demon knew full well what she had done, of course. Teleporting was a difficult business—they needed a tether to a particular location to appear there, making their destinations predictable and finite. In this mortal realm, their host’s home was the only place they were familiar enough with to use as an escape route. This home was also not where they wanted to be right now. They [i]wanted [/i]to be on the other side of that shitty restaurant door, pulling that insolent boy’s spine out through his mouth. They [i]wanted [/i]to capture the angelborn before the knights could poison her with human lies. They [i]wanted [/i]their host to behave for once in her entire life. But desire was a sin, so they strangled their anger and neutralized the analgesics. Cherry gasped in pain. A small penance, but it would have to do for now. 

[i]I teleported[/i], Cherry replied, because she wouldn’t know a rhetorical question if it burned her at the stake.

Though their vision was still useless, the space was recognizable enough—cinnamon air freshener and months-old weed was a concoction just sickening enough to be distinct. Puriel fell unceremoniously onto their stomach, shag carpet tickling their nose. Everything hurt.

Swirling the knight’s soul like the dregs of loose tea, Puriel surveyed the body’s injuries. Charred fingertips, metal still stuck to the pads. Probably for the best—they should’ve removed her fingerprints a long time ago. A gunshot wound in the back, just below the bottom rib. Best to leave it in for now to stop her from bleeding out, but it would have to be removed eventually. A few dozen lacerations across the body. Fucking magic. Those would have to heal naturally. They weren’t deep enough to be fatal, but they were painful. And conspicuous. Not to mention the shredded corneas. 

They laid there for a number of minutes. Mortal exhaustion was a tedious thing. They would need someone else to operate on the body if they were to heal in a timely manner. It was the practical option, but it was also horribly undignified. Unfortunately, they needed practicality right now. Which meant… [i]ugh[/i]. Puriel allowed Cherry to groan into the floor.

A demon would have to help them.

Which meant they would have to invite a demon into their home, and withstand being called a demon by said demon, even though they weren’t a demon, they were an [i]angel[/i], and it was frankly ridiculous that they couldn’t turn to their own kin for this sort of thing, but they had all been brainwashed. So. Indignity it was.

Projecting their thoughts as far as they could across the city, Puriel sought out any demonic minds. [i]I require aid. Payment will be rendered upon completion of service. Report to the source of this message.
[/i]