The shattering of an overly large window heralded Michael’s return to Centola’s office.

Yes, they most definitely could have just entered the office intangibly without causing any damage, but also they were annoyed and it felt satisfying to pitch the man who just tried to kill them through a pane of glass.

Centola was less happy with their decision though. “MY WINDOW!! Why would you do that!?”

“Did you hire this idiot?”

“Wha–N-No! No, of course not! I wouldn’t try to kill a Cardinal, I’m not insane!”

“Hm.” Well, he does look too surprised and cowardly to have anything to do with it…The angel also took idle note of how none of Centola’s servants had moved to try to defend him, instead just standing and staring curiously at the assassin currently groaning on their floor. Speaking of.

Michael moved over to the assassin and hoisted him up by his black shirt, glaring at their attempted-murderer. “Who hired you to kill me?”

“Pardon, Master Cardinal, but by his attire and the turtle shell designs on his belt, I believe your assailant is a member of the Black Shell Assassins Guild,” Merapi commented quite politely.

“Ooo, hey, this is a pretty sweet rifle!” Vesuvi, meanwhile, confiscated the assassin’s weapon.

“Hm. Is that true?” they asked, turning back to the assassin in their grip.

“Gh–Th-The Black Shell never reveals its clients!”

“So you are a member of the Black Shells then.”

“...I-I have no obligation to answer that question!”

“Hm. And where might I find your employers?”

“I-I’ll never talk!”

Michael simply raised their free hand and let it burst into flames.

“...S-So what did you want to know?”

----------------------------------------

The Black Shell Mercenary/Assassin Guild was a secretive organization, despite actively advertising their services in many cities. The shadowy cabal of assassins worked deep in the dark to do what most would never dream of: commit murder for money.

Well, aside from all those other mercenary guilds that did the same thing, just more blatantly. Because sure, yes, technically mercenaries were indeed people paid to commit murder for money, and one could even extend that to adventurers in general just with monsters instead of people, but there were differences! The Black Shell were assassins! They did things with poison and guile, stealth and secrecy! A blade in the dark could change the course of a nation!

…Or so they liked to tell themselves.

Regardless, in the spirit of that secrecy, the guild also completely broke the rule of sticking the “mercenary district” on Dock 2 of Orindaco. They didn’t even use the guildhall over there, aside from having a couple secretaries and clerks to send messages for convenience. No, the true guildhall of the Black Shell was hidden, quite stealthily, outside of the city! More specifically, in Seatown, the town directly to the east of Orindaco itself. Not to be confused with Baytown, the city on the western shore, nor Oceantown, which was actually further up the river and only had that name for advertising purposes.

The True Black Shell Guild Hall resembled a manor, foreboding and dark, completely at odds with the surrounding seaside town’s generally bright, tourist-attracting architecture. Really, if it weren’t for the place’s status as technically nobility-owned, the local tourism board would have had the place torched years ago.

In the depths of this foreboding manor, the Black Shells made their home amidst collected weapons and armor, stolen artwork and literature, and rather morbid paintings depicting former targets of interest and importance, including one of a sinking ship that no one really quite got the significance of, but generally thought it looked neat. Here they dealt with the minutiae of running a guild of murderers, from taking and assigning contracts to accounting for all their murder money. And, of course, discussing ongoing problems.

Dressed in figure concealing black cloaks and metallic masks decorated with either flower or tortoiseshell patterns, the assassins gathered around their round table would look almost like a proper death cult, were it not for the fact that their leader had her head in her hands.

“...” Jordinia Lachlan, Jordy to her friends and Hellebore to her coworkers, took a slow, deep, aggravated breath. “So. So so so. That’s…what? Sixteen counts of fucking up one contract today?”

“Seventeen,” Hydrangea corrected, making a note on the blackboard they had set up in the meeting room, “We just received a report that Acacia ran into Giacomo Belsito.”

There was a collective wince amongst the management present before Jordy let out a slow, displeased sigh.

"Honestly, how hard can it be to kill a single vacationing paladin? I've dealt with some myself before!" Jordy muttered as she leaned back in her chair.

"From my understanding, it seems this paladin is passively reinforcing her body with her magic. Jacaranda nearly broke his fingers trying to jab her with a poisoned nail."

"Let me guess, he wants time off until it gets healed up? Tell him he has another hand if he's that worried about it."

“Will do.”

“Now seriously, how the hell is nothing working?! I’m willing to buy the bitch might be good at shielding herself, but how in the world does that translate to nothing working on her!? Althaea, you tried the free sample trick, right?”

“Oh sure, we gave it a few tries,” the branch’s poison manager said, “I think she might be immune to poison.”

“Seriously!? How!? She’s a paladin of light! There’s no way she would have a mark of the Sommelier!”

Althaea shrugged. “Again, she might just be immune to most poisons. Maybe it’s holy magic or maybe she’s just weird. Either way, poison didn’t work.”

“And so far, darts, knives, and bolts haven’t either,” Amaryllis noted, his throat still somewhat sore from his near choking earlier that day, “Speaking of, I’m pretty sure I said earlier that this was a bad contract to take–”

“Says the idiot that screwed it up first,” Jordy sniped, irritated.

Amaryllis paused, sparing his superior an annoyed glare, before continuing. “I’m saying it because this type of problem already happened before. Taking a sudden contract that comes out of nowhere doesn’t work out for us–”

“Oh would you come off that already? Yes, the Rosian branch fucked up, but they didn’t do any fact-checking–”

“Like we haven’t? All we know about the target is that she’s a ‘false paladin’–”

“Vorco sent a damn dossier with what info he had on the target! Even if it was vague, he’s been one of our top clients since before I even started running this show, so of course we’re taking a fucking contract from him!

Amaryllis settled back in his seat, conceding the point, as Jory smacked her hands on the table. “Now does anybody else have a complaint or can I get back to how seventeen of our operatives botched their attempts on one target!?”

“You mean like how six of our members in Rosiava failed to kill–”

“Amaryllis, shut the fuck up or I will feed you one of Althaea’s tarts!”

“I have heard they do taste really good right before the poison takes effect,” the poisoner noted with some amusement.

“Then make some without poison so I can try one already! Ugh, right, back on this bullshit, aside from the fact that Redwing’s just apparently immune to projectiles, we have Jacaranda breaking his hand, Acacia getting jumped by the lesser Belsito, and I’m seeing two more counts of ‘guild interference here’.”

“Ah, yeah, on that topic,” another manager, Gerbera, said, “One of those actually counts for two attempts. While the paladin was passing through the fifth dock, Orchid and Peony tried to intercept and the Silks found them.”

“...those dumb bastards were wearing their colors, weren’t they?”

Gerbera nodded.

“Fuck…alright, so are both of them dead or what?”

“No, we fished Orchid out of the canal just fine, though she was pretty bruised. I think they decided to keep Peony though.”

“What? Why would–No, I don’t actually give a shit so long as it doesn’t blow back on us. Let him hang out with the hookers then, what’s the other problem?”

“Well it’s not an ongoing problem, at least. Carnation ran afoul of the Brown Hares while stalking the target. Apparently he didn’t even notice they’d taken everything except his underwear until the moment he tried to pull a knife.”

“...Well at least he wasn’t beaten to a pulp?”

“No, he was, after the fact.”

Jordy sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache. “How is it that we get the one paladin that actually does have divine fortune on her side?”

“Maybe we would’ve none if we didn’t take a rush job,” Amaryllis sniped, though he quickly regretted his choice of words as Jordy’s eyes snapped towards in a deep glare, “Ah…sorry, that was uncalled–”

“You’re fired.”

“What?! You can’t–”

“Yes, I can, and you’re fucking fired, jackass! Pack your things, you still get a headstart, now get moving!”

Amaryllis stood, about to protest again, when he noticed the considering looks the managers were already giving him. “Gh–Are you seriously going to consign me to death just for–”

“You’re not dying if you get away, so my conscience is clear,” Jordy taunted, her arms crossed over her chest, “Now get going already–”

Then she paused as a quick *knock knock knock* sounded out from the chamber door.

“Wh…Who the fuck would be coming back now?”

“...Oh! Oh, it might be Sage,” Hydrangea offered, “I believe he was headed out earlier with that new rifle of his.”

“Oh gods, that thing,” Gerbera complained, “I swear, he’s been on and on about his special ‘dwarven-crafted’ rifle.”

Jordy raised an unseen eyebrow. “Does it being dwarven-crafted make it better or something?”

“By his standards, probably.”

“I think he imported it from Tesoro?” Althaea offered, before pausing as whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again, more impatiently this time, “...well if no one else is going, I’ll get it.”

As she stood, Gerbera sighed in some annoyance. “Right, should we just call this one a botch? We encountered a target that we couldn’t kill, so we’ll cancel the contract, refund the money with a slight penalty fee for our trouble, and send the former target a nice, non-poisoned gift basket before adding them to the ‘do not kill’ list. Does that sound good?”

“No one ever takes the gift basket,” Hydrangea noted.

“No, no, I think we can still get this one,” Jordy said, shaking her head, “Maybe if we bring out some of the cursed weapons–”

And that’s when Althaea smashed straight into the blackboard, sending it crashing to the ground.

“...”

Jordy looked down at one of her top operatives/managers, her legs limp in the air after being smashed through the blackboard, before looking at the supposedly false paladin on the other side of the room, whose fist was still smoking after it crashed into Althaea’s face. “...ah.”

“Hello. I believe this is the official offices of the Black Shell Assassin’s Guild,” the paladin said as she straightened, her red eyes staring directly into Jordy’s, “I would like to lodge a formal complaint.”

“...We, uh…do actually have a complaint’s box in Orin, if you’d like to leave a message,” Gerbera offered, somehow sounding composed despite the fact that his mask looked like it was sweating.

“Hm. I believe I have made myself unclear. Giacomo suggested that I say that when I explained what I was going to be doing.” Misha Redwing straightened, before cracking her knuckles. “I was actually planning on enacting physical violence upon all of you.”

“...Right.”

“Ah, hey,” Amaryllis, who was still there, spoke up, raising a hand, “I was just fired, can I leave?”

Normally, Jordy would’ve been angry at him for throwing them under the cart like that, but honestly, she would’ve done the exact same thing. She was still a little annoyed though.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

“Weren’t you the man who was choking at the pastry shop?” Redwing asked, before pausing and regarding him with new suspicion, “Were you trying to kill me too?”

“...Is it better for me if I’m honest?”

“That question is an answer.”

“Hm. Hm.” Amaryllis nodded, then promptly bolted for one of the room’s secret exits, in case of emergencies like a sudden assault on the base or a very angry customer no one wanted to deal with.

Redwing, meanwhile, simply moved in front of him. Well, not quite simply, considering she went from standing in the doorway to standing in front of him in a flare of fiery wings.

“...Oh fuck that’s an angel,” Jordy muttered, prompting a nod from Redwing.

“I am, yes. You were not aware then.”

“Angels are automatically disqualified from being targets,” Hydrangea stated, looking outwardly calm, aside from the hidden knife they had in a death grip just out of view, “It’s bad for business.”

“I see.” The angel placed a hand on Amaryllis’s face, then quite casually slammed him straight into the floor with as much ease as someone dribbling a ball. “That is a good policy.”

“I agree. I would also note that you do not seem especially angry, your holiness. Perhaps you would be amenable to some discussion–”

“To be honest, assassin, I am absolutely livid at your audacity, as well as the audacity of your group of hired murderers in even existing and advertising your services. However, you have also given me an excuse to absolutely destroy your vile business and beat you all to bloodied pulps.” And then the angel smiled.

Jordy had seen a lot of death in her life, most of it caused by her own hands. Yet no gruesome demise could possibly compare to the violent promise in the angel’s eyes that the assassins here were going to live through everything the angel did to them.

“…fuck it,” the local boss of the Black Shells decided, before lunging at the angel with a knife.

Suffice to say, she was pretty sure she saw what the inside of the Sun looked like when Redwing’s fist smashed through her mask and crushed her nose into her face.

----------------------------------------

“So, who hired you to kill me?” Michael asked in a very reasonable manner as they held Hellebore by the collar of her undershirt above the burning ruins of her guild’s manor.

The head assassin choked something out of her bruised and burned face. Nothing intelligible, unfortunately, prompting a sigh from the angel before some glowing green flames engulfed the assassin, burning her wounds away in a rush of healing.

“Better?”

Hellebore coughed in their face in lieu of answering, prompting a frown from the angel and some immediate panic from the assassin. “W-Wait wait, I didn’t mean-!”

Michael made sure to catch Hellebore by the ankle before she fully plummeted into the scorched structure. “Is it the smoke? Would you be able to speak better if we moved away from the smoke?”

They took her panicked gibbering as an affirmative.

“VORCO! VORCO VORCO VORCO! STROZZINO VORCO HIRED US!” Hellebore screeched the instant she was away from the smoldering ruin. Not especially far away, just close by the pile of beaten assassins lying on the cobblestones outside the manor.

“I see.” Michael nodded thoughtfully, before frowning. “Who is that?”

“H-He’s–“

“Somewhat disappointed to hear that the Black Shell guild does not keep their clients anonymous,” said a hefty, well-dressed nereid standing nearby, who most definitely was not there a moment ago. Though he was less attention-catching than the minotaur by his side.

“Redridge?” Michael raised an eyebrow, frowning at the tall, tanned, red-haired taur, who wore the same clothes they’d seen in him back in Luceneva.

“Howdy, Redwing,” Lonnie Redridge greeted in reply with a lazy smile, tilting his hat up.

"M-Maybe if you paid attention to our no target list, I would have kept you anonymous!" Hellebore shouted, still hanging in the air before Michael tossed her onto the assassin pile and descended to face the strange pair.

“It’s still rude,” the apparent Vorco noted, before–And Michael immediately formed a wall of fire in front of the assassins, swallowing up a ball of scarlet lightning aimed at Hellebore.

"Aw, come on now Redwing, I'd have thought you'd be okay with the assassins who were after gettin’ killed," Redridge said with a smirk, hand still raised and sparking with crimson energy.

“They’re my foes to deal with,” Michael retorted, their eyes narrowed at the clearly demonic energy coming from a man they remembered having a holy aura. They attempted to Look–Then grimaced as they saw the depths of malice and despair roiling off of Vorco, who chuckled at their expression.

“Ah, it’s a wonder you didn’t spot me earlier, angel. I suppose I should thank those Lucene royals for keeping your attention.”

“Hm. Even then, I’m surprised I didn’t notice your vile presence soaking into the city as a whole.”

“It would be hard to do that, considering the city itself is sacred. Or at least close enough to a temple that it counts.” His smirk grew, showing sharp teeth. “Speaking of, I find myself surprised you never bothered to look in the temple’s direction. Maybe that holy aura is too good at covering things, ah?”

“What does that mean?” Michael asked, their brow furrowed.

“It means what it means. I might be willing to tell you, if you’re willing to make a deal.”

“I am not, demon.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you could be. Say, if you’re willing to trade those assassins over there in for the info–”

“No.” Michael formed a spear of flame and leveled it at Vorco, their eyes narrowed. “Now tell me, demon, who are you? What are you doing here? And why are you here too, Redridge?”

“Ain’t it obvious? Though, nah, never mind, I guess it wouldn’t be.” The taur kept up his lazy smile as he fingered the ring on his chest, worn like a medallion on a simple cord. “These things do good work. Real good work.”

And in one motion, he tore the ring from its bindings, and Michael fought back a flinch at the torrent of demonic force that erupted from the archdevil in front of them. The aura of rage and hate pouring off of his body was almost painful to be near and they could hear the nearby mortals choke from the heavy sin roiling off of him.

“Hooo, man, that feels nice! Refreshin’, even, like takin’ a cool bath after a hot day!” he exclaims, laughing as the air distorted around him in a haze of crackling heat. And yet, even in the distorted force, the ring he held continued to hold a holy aura. "Heh, interested?"

With a smirk and a flick of the wrist, the ring went flying towards Michael, who easily caught it.

"Wh–H-Hey, what are you doing!?" Vorca snapped, taken aback, "Blackshore won’t be happy you gave that away!"

"..." Staring down at the ring, Michael couldn't help but feel a pit drop in their chest as they held the small, innocuous golden band. Even in its current form, there was no way Michael couldn't recognize what the ring truly was. Even with its radiance dimmed, even if the reality in front of them seemed impossible, they could still feel Iudex's energy laying dormant in it.

"If he has a problem he can talk to me later. Besides, where's the fun in skul–" Bringing his arm up, Redridge blocked Michael’s fist, smirking as the flames that burst forward a moment later seared his skin and scorched his clothes. "Ha! That's more like it!"

"Where did you get this?" Michael questioned with an odd calmness in their voice.

"It was a gift!" Redridge exclaimed, before he brought his hoof up and kicked Michael back, launching them back as their wings came forth to steady themselves. "Something about angel hunting? Heh, if it makes y’feel better, apparently it was before your time, Redwing! Back when angels were more like golems. So it's not like they were someone worth missin’!"

"..." So it wasn't someone they knew. Their siblings were safe. This angel had likely been long dead. Taking in a deep breath, Michael formed a cord of fire, looping in through the ring before placing it around their wrist.

"What, don't tell me that's enough to make ya cry! Are all angels crybabies?" There was no reason to get angry, this demon was just trying to rile them up.

"Vorco, you said it was a Blackshore that had this?" Michael asked the irritated demon in mortal guise, who was half-glaring at Redridge.

"What does it matter to you?"

"I need to know who to hunt down after this." Brandishing their spear, Michael released all their wings.

“HOO WEE BABY, NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT!” Redridge cheered, his hat flying off as the heat scorched his flesh, burning holes in his guise to reveal crimson metal underneath, “WE GOT A HOT ONE HERE!”

“Fucking maniac,” Vorco groused, side-eyeing his colleague as steam began to burn off his blue flesh, “That wasn’t yours to give away.”

“Ha, don’t think I don’t got a plan, Zol! Y’gotta give if you wanna get, right? And I’m just baitin’ the hook for somethin’ big!”

All four of Michael’s wings flared at, flames licking up the ground beneath them as the stone scorched. The assassins behind them flinched and tried to scramble back, only for those closest to blink at how strangely soothing the warmth felt. What the demons felt as a raging inferno, the mortals experienced as something more like a fireplace. Dangerous if they were closer, yet more comforting than threatening.

Something Vorco took note of. “...Really? You’re protecting them? They tried to kill you.”

“They did.” Their wings spread, keeping the assassins blocked off from the demons. “However, I am an angel. I protect mortals from demons. They are mortal, and you are demons. My decision is only natural.”

“Every last one of the mortals you’re ‘protecting’ is a murderer,” Vorco said, stepping in front of Redridge and placing a hand on his chest, holding him back. The archdemon let out an irritated noise, his clothes burning away into white fabric as his face melted to a crimson helmet, empty of any mortal features. “None of their hands are clean of blood. And it ain’t like I forced any of them into that. They all chose to profit from murder, none are innocent. Souls like that belong in Hell, don’t they?”

“Not at all.” They glanced back at the assassins, then gestured with their spear. “Leave. Never take another mortal life after this point and I will trouble you no longer.”

“You can’t be serious…Cardinal, I am willing to offer–”

“No.”

“Don’t you want to know about the halo there? Of the leviathans’ plans? If you-”

“I refuse.”

“Fine then, no deal, but what about a wager? You fight my coworker, he wins, we get the assassins rather than you, and if you win–”

“No. No deals, no wagers. These people are safe from you, demon, and I am going to kill you. That is all that will happen here. No less.”

Vorco sneered as Redridge let out a laugh, echoing and metallic in his helm. “I’m likin’ this side t’you, Redwing! You never woulda even entertained our wager if ya knew I was a demon, huh?”

“Never. Now go.”

“...uh…okay,” Lachlan mumbled, taking Amaryllis’s hand as he pulled her up. Something about the heat was making her feel…lighter, like all her aches and pains were fading. “...thanks.”

Michael didn’t reply, keeping their eyes on the pair of demons–No, archdemons–across from them, watching as Vorco sighed deeply and brushed a hand over his face, the mortal guise fading in an instant to a helm of blue metal, almost identical to Redridge’s. As was the white suit he now wore. “That stubbornness is going to get you killed, ah?”

“No, it won’t,” the angel stated, before beginning to walk towards the demons, keeping the pair’s eyes on them while the mortals behind them scurried away.

“Heh. More arrogant than a silver devil,” Vorco muttered, before taking his hand off of Redridge, “All yours–”

The blue-helmed demon didn’t even finish his sentence before Redridge lunged for Michael, his hands formed into claws of demonic flame and lightning–And their spear slammed into the side of his head, sending him spinning. His claws dig into the stone, catching–They ducked a sudden stab, registering the sharp, barbed tail the demon had. A scorpion tail? What demons have scorpion features–Some type of wrath demon, his nature is clearly related to rage in some form, though not his attitude.

Indeed, the demon seemed to be enjoying himself rather than raging, a laugh sounding out from his helm as more flames burst across his body, spines piercing through his still immaculate suit. A black mane of smoky, thunderous clouds burst from the back of his helm as a bestial growl rumbled from his throat and he lunged again, swinging and clawing at Michael who deflected each blow with their spear–Before twisting around as lance shot through where they were a second ago.

Their eyes flicked towards Vorco, noting his outstretched hand and the swirling, black hole in his palm before he flicked his hand–And they jerked back, avoiding the spears shooting up from the new hole–no, more a vortex–in the ground.

“Gettin’ in the way there, Zol!” Redridge rumbled, before roaring again and stabbing repeatedly at Michael with his tail, who swung in an attempt to cut it off, though he pulled back too quickly each time.

“Who cares how the angel dies, Lon? You want your investment to pay out or–CAH!” Vorco yelped as Michael flung their spear at his head, scoring a cut across his temple, “YOU LITTLE–!”

His hand slammed on the ground and a dozen more vortices formed across the ground and the air, spears shooting up and down as Michael weaved through the impalement attempts, lashing out at points to cut through the shafts and taking note of just how many holes Vorco–Or Zol, apparently–could form at once. Which was a lot.

Not that they could completely focus on that given Redridge lunged at them again. Angel and demon clashed amid a maelstrom of spears, claws scraping off a spear of flame–Then Michael ducked an axe that spun for their head. More axes followed, joined by the earlier spears and now swords in the mix, a storm of steel that flew from vortex to vortex in a seemingly infinite torrent. And more than a few scored cuts across Redridge in the midst of it all.

“Damn it Zol! Wait for a shot–!” And Michael threw a ball of flame into the demon’s face, blocking his vision for the moment they needed to grab one of the flying swords and swing it straight through extended arm, splitting it from his body in a spray of crimson blood.

He stumbled back just in time for Michael to kick another blade into his chest, the angel forming another spear and lunging forward, stabbing–And they leapt, landing on his tail, stomping it down, and stabbing the spear straight through Redridge’s throat.

One move to the next, they kicked away from Redridge and flew at Vorco, the blue demon raising his hands–Draconic heads erupted from palms, lunging and snapping as Michael flew up and over before delivering a flaming kick straight to the side of Vorco’s head, sending him crashing across the stones.

“GRAGH!” he shouted, pain radiating from the holy burn across his head–Before he screamed from two spears plunged through his palms, then choked when Michael pressed their foot to his throat.

“Where did you get this halo?!” they demanded, letting their anger show.

“Gnhhhh…you could’ve just taken the deal,” he grumbled, before wheezing as they stepped down harder on his neck, “F-Fah, nh,n-n-no sense of humor, you angels–”

“WHERE?!”

“N-Not mine, that one’s Redridge–Glkh–Bl-Blackshore, I-I mentioned, it’s Blackshore’s, he used to hunt angels!” He stiffened when they snarled at the confirmation, cringing back at the heat now starting to burn against his demonic nature. “I-It’s dormant! Y-You angels have your beings in your halos, ah? S-So it’s still alive!”

Michael paused, then reigned in their rage. They needed to focus. “You’re using halos to hide from angelic senses. How many of you are doing this?”

“I have no idea, I received one and so did Lonnie! That’s all I know!”

They barely believed him, but chose to focus. “What are the leviathans planning?! You said you knew!”

“Hrh–I really regret saying that now–GH! A-Alright, alright, don’t crush my damned neck! I-It’s not something I can just say–”

“Tell me, or I will make your demise permanent!”

Vorco cringed, the prospect of burning in holy fire pushing against his already flimsy loyalties. “F-Fine, fine, fine! Sh-She’s with Blackshore! The leviathan you want, she’s with Blackshore1”

“She’s with the angel hunter? That…sounds far too convenient.”

“I-It’s the truth!”

Michael straightened, regarding the demon beneath their foot with a skeptical eye. “Hm. Then where is Blackshore?”

“Th-The best place to hide, obviously,” Vorco wheezed, a smile audible in his voice despite his position, “I already mentioned how this ‘holy’ city hides us. So what’s the holiest place in the city?”

“...The Water Temple?” How could–No, demonic forces have infiltrated the temples before…The more they considered the idea, the more likely it–And then they stomped down while forming a new spear, crushing Vorco’s neck beneath their foot as they spun, blocking Redridge’s remaining claw before it could plunge into their head.

“You’ve got some damn good senses,” the mutilated demon complimented in a bloody gurgle, “I can see why the boss likes you–”

And with a shove and a swipe, Michael split his head from his shoulders. Once it landed with a thump, they looked back at Vorco, in time to see his body melt away into shadow with the faint echo of, “Cheap shot…”

A moment later, Redridge’s body dissolved into smoke, though not without an amused chuckle from the demon’s severed head.

“Hm.” Annoyingly, Michael felt quite certain they’d be seeing that pair of demons again at some point. Hopefully not for a century or two…

No matter though. Now the angel knew where to head next.

It was time to visit the Water Temple of Orindaco.