"How many?"

"Four hundred and fifty-seven souls. Fourteen, surviving by the grace of God, Himself."

He stares out at the field, eyes exhausted, mind perplexed. His heavy emotions are shared by everyone, all of the first-responders working feverishly around him, pulling out wreckage, pulling out the dead and wounded.

He can barely see in front of him with the fog and the thick smoke blocking his sight. He can barely hear anything except for the earsplitting sirens, dying wails and wreckage. 

He takes a few steps back when another fire breaks out near him. 

Three planes. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

She isn't religious—too cynical to be— but cannot dispute his claim. She doesn't know how anyone could survive such an accident. Everything is burning. Everything is in pieces—but the sight does not affect her much. There is no substance threatening to travel up her body and out her mouth. There are no tears. Her eyes and mind remain sharp—she does not know how to feel about that. 

"So, Mr. Head NTSD Investigator, what say you?"

"It has to be some sort of a mid-air collision."

"But three planes? How is the NTSB going to explain this one?"

He shrugs; his brain throbs just thinking about it. He knows this investigation would probably last ten years, most likely more. Because accidents like the one before him does not happen. This was more than a freak accident. "Divine intervention, that's how we're going to solve it."

"What does the hunter side of you suggest?" She asks. 

"Demons being their usual asshole-selves," he offers. Truth to be told, blaming it on the demons is much easier explanation than pilot error, mechanical error or air traffic control error. But he knows he cannot officially blame them; he had a career to uphold. The federal government would never except the explanation, at least, not on paper. 

She nods, retrieving a loose cigarette from her leather jacket pocket. She holds it in between her lips. "You got a light?"

"Those things are going to be the death of you..."

"I'll take my chances."

He shakes his head but nonetheless gives it to her. 

"Thanks," she says, lighting the tobacco at its end. She takes a long drag and asks, "Anyone in custody? Potential suspects?"

He shakes his head. "No suspects. I've managed to get some victims to talk. Just a freak accident. Pilot error, maybe. That's usually the cause, or at least, one of the major factors in a mid-air collision." He pauses, and then adds in a quiet voice, "But..."

She raises an eyebrow. "But?"

He hands her a small sheet; it was the size of a standard printer paper, but it was made out from an unknown substance, durable enough not to be affected by the burning jet fuel. 

"Some claimed that they saw the Angelus Mortis, itself..."

She scrunches her nose up and looks down at the paper in her hand. 

Movement ceases to exist

Death is at the doorstep,

Waiting for the time to come,

Laughing maliciously

At the shrills of the frightened,

Rising from annihilation

It smiles at itself and realizes:

Finally, the end has come

Interesting. 

She returns the sheet to him. "Isn't it...?"

"Yes," he says, wiping some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. The continuous raging fire has made this place unbearable. "That's the problem."

That's a major problem, she thinks, scanning the as much of the field her eyes can muster. The whole area has been scarred by the accident— full of debris, fire, unearthed soil, jet fuel and dead bodies. Some whole, some in pieces. She grimaces at the sight of a bloody amputated hand. 

Realizing what she has to do, she loudly groans, kicking around some of the mangled metal on the ground. She does not want to do this, but it's obvious that she doesn't have any other choice. This does not look like a freak accident; she's heard of mid-air collisions, no doubt, but such accidents always involved two planes, not three. 

Something happened; something out of this world happened. 

"Well, there is only one way to find out," she says, dropping her finished cigarette on the ground, and crushing it under her boot. 

He isn't happy, and has no issues expresses it. He does not yell, only glares. All he does is give her an exasperated look, an almost pleading one, and whispers. “You can’t be—"

She feels for him. She does, but she has a job to do, and so does he. "Meet me near the Portae Inferni at midnight. Not a minute more. Please, don't be late," she says.

She pats his tense shoulders.

He stares at her, bewildered and terrified although he has done this many times before. 

The ones who know her, refers to her as the "Mulier sin Nomine" or simply, "Nameless." It's said that she wasn't born from any parents, but is still considered a living, breathing, being. Like some Roman or Greek goddess, born from rather untraditional methods. Her gift is complicated to describe in its entirety, but in layman's terms: she can see and interact with the supernatural,

From the human age of twelve, her job, given (forced upon her) by the Demonic Extermination Ministry of the Heavens, was to investigate any and all potentially supernatural-induced criminal behavior in the southwest region. 

Much to her chagrin, she is good at it. She is so great, that the Ministry, barring anything catastrophic, would never allow her to leave her post. She was born to be an investigation and she will die as one. 

It was about noon when she received a message from the Ministry about the crash. They only mentioned it because they expected her to look into it, no questions asked. She agreed, but she had no choice. No one, in their right mind, would say "No" to the Ministry. So, instead on her lovely bed, snuggling under her warm soft covers in an attempt to get at least, three hours of sleep, she was field. At the field. Standing under a dreary sky, trying to ignore the cool drizzle and pick things out amidst the dense fog. 

Although slightly annoyed, she is determined as ever to crack this case. Is it out of curiosity? She does not know herself. 

As soon as she arrived at the crash site, she knew who had caused it. There was evidence everywhere, but she still decided to check it out and asked questions. Maybe she would discover something surprising. 

She spends only another twenty minutes at the site.

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

"I need information on the Angelus Mortis please?"

"Who?"

"The Angel of Death."

The librarian judges her. She knows it and does not give a damn. What she needs a direction— the librarian stares at her for a bit, not knowing how to accurately react. Eventually, he points to the direction. "On your left. In the Religion section."

She thanks the librarian and goes on her way, feeling the librarian’s eyes bore into her. She does not let it bother her. She roams around the section, aisle by aisle, shelf by shelf, tracing her fingers around the book panels, carefully examining the titles, authors and dates. She comes to a stop when she notices a book, old, probably printed in the mid-eighteenth century, sticking out of line. She takes the books, scans the cover and smiles. This is just want she needs. 

"... the Angel of Death— the reaper of souls. He has to the power to snatch them from the insides of mortals at the Lord's command. Often accompanied by his loyal servant, a turor messor, the grim reaper. He appears before the designated souls before--"

"Why does the Angelus Mortis interest you?"

She glances at the newcomer, the librarian, and then continues to skim through the book. "Nothing."

"It does not look like nothing, ma’am. I must warn you. My master will be far from pleased when I inform him that nosy humans are once again interfering in his work..."

She huffs and shuts the book.

Great. A half-breed. 

She curses herself for not identifying the being at the lobby. That certainly explained the librarian’s odd behavior moments before. "Don't you have anything better to do than stalk patrons?" She raises the book. "Thank you for providing me with some direction. I don't think I would've been able to find this."

The librarian bristles. "You will regret asking for such a thing. Once, I tell my master—"

"Please, tell Lucifer, I implore you," she taunts. The half-breed is a new one, and therefore significantly weak. Killing her would be nothing, but she refrains from doing so. She cannot attract the police or the half-breed's comrades. 

"How dare you."

"Why would your master seek possession of the Angelus Mortis? Even he cannot be that foolish. He cannot be that cowardly." She takes a step towards the half-breed. "Please, ask It and let me know what It says."

"May my master curse you."

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "If you haven't noticed, It already had," and with that, she squeezes the book inside her knapsack and leaves the library. The half-breed does not follow— a wise move for both of their sakes. 

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

He arrives four minutes before midnight. 

She's pleasantly surprised.

"I was hoping you changed your mind."

"Of course, you did," she mumbles. "You have the materials?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, please put the pail down."

He does what he is told. She takes off her shoes, and puts on foot into the bucket filled with ice-cold water. "Put your right foot in," she orders. 

He kicks off his boots. "How long is this going to take? I have a wife at home who isn’t going to be happy if she doesn’t see her husband home before dawn."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Barring anything crazy, not long," she replies. She wanted to say something snarky, but she didn't have the energy to do so. She picks up the cat and stares into its amber eyes. "Whatever you do, don't move."

The events that occur while their admittance into Hell cannot be chronicled at the demand of the Ministry. 

The Portae Infreni consist of three gates. Each used for a different purpose. The first gate is reserved for the damned; only those destined to become demons resided there, training. The middle gate is the gate of the demons and half-breeds, reserved for those who have been "blessed" enough to become Lucifer's henchmen; it is here where the followers do their dirty work. The last gate, the most important gate, is reserved for Lucifer. This is where the ruler of Hell and its "administration" hold their sessions. During these sessions, only half-breed demons, angels and occasionally particular hunters could appeal to Lucifer, in person.

They stand in front of the last gate. 

He’s nervous. 

She's determined. 

"So, what do we do now?"

She takes a step forward and rings the chimes. "We wait. Someone will come."

"When?"

"Now."

The moment she closes her mouth, the gate door opens. A dwarf demon comes crawling out and stops in front of them. It adjusts itself to get a better view of the visitors. "You."

"I would like to see your master," she requests. 

The demon turns to her. "For what reason?"

"To plea for a loved one's return."

The demon chuckles, but lets the visitors through. "Follow me."

Lucifer's home has never been a pleasant place. Behind them, mountains of hot lava-like material flow down a "waterfall" into a pool, tended by unfortunate but well-known damned souls. To the left, is the Regia Diaboli, the palace of Lucifer. The entire structure is on fire; its dilapidating columns are collapsing; demons pick up each piece and mends it. 

The demon stops as soon as he enters the palace. "This is the Palace of my master."

He leads the visitors into his master's chambers. 

Moments later, she stops in front of the haughty fallen angel. He does too. The dwarf demon looks at both visitors expectantly.

She looks up. He stares at the ground. He always does when he enters the underworld. He believes that if he looks into Lucifer’s eyes that he will become entranced by them—they've always said that this particular angel was enchanting. He claims it’s a precaution. She thinks that he needs to look inside his soul. She's seen Lucifer and there is nothing entrancing about it.

But she never tells him to look up. His problems are his problems, and his, alone, to solve.

"Ah, it is always nice to see you," Lucifer says in a slow drawl. This hasn't been the first time they've spoken and she fears that it won't be the last.

She has always found it ironic that Lucifer communicates via Enochian. But it makes sense; Lucifer was an angel at inception, and will perish as one.

When neither person moves, the demon speaks up. "It is customary to bow down to my master."

She wants to scoff, but she does not want to offend the fiendish being, towering over them in his fiery throne. She does not bow down to him for Lucifer is not her master. But she maintains her respect. She may despise him with every fiber of her being, he is still powerful. He can keep her down here if he desires to do so.  

She stands still.

The demon reacts.

"It's no matter," Lucifer insists, raising its hand. It is satisfied when the demon stops all movements.  It is residing in a female vessel, differently from its usual male preference. Lucifer prefers to roam its domain in a human vessel, supposedly to relate to the incoming damned souls. A way to welcome them. A way to persuade them that there is nothing to fear when they enter its realm.

It is a lie. A complete, total lie.

Lucifer turns its attention to him, intrigued that the man's gaze refuses to leave the ground. It knows this soul; it's been keeping a keen eye on this very soul for quite some time now, ever since the interesting incident over a decade ago—this is a soul that at one time, would be considered a terrific candidate to join Lucifer's realm.

But then, not long after, he ran into her, and literally saw the light.

It's such a pity; he would have been a wonderful half-breed.

Not wanting to be ignored any further, it straightens in its seat, clears its vessel's throat and orders in a calm, but stern tone, "Raise your head, human. There is nothing to fear."

She wants to tell him not to move a muscle, but then remembers the need to tread lightly in the presence of the ruler of the Damned. He does raise his head, though reluctantly.

Lucifer is pleased.

"What brings you both to my kingdom?" it asks.

She chooses her words carefully. "We are here to retrieve the Angelus Mortis."

Lucifer scoffs. "And would I ever allow such a thing to happen?"

"Sir, I am not sure you understand the severity of your actions, with all due respect, by tainting the mind of the being solely tasked with handling mortal souls..."

"Oh, I perfectly understand what I have done,” it argues. “It is all a part of my master plan. It is all that I desire the most."

She does not give up. She cannot give up. The mortal world won't allow her to. "Will an offer change your mind?" she asks, ignoring the alarmed from him.

Lucifer raises its vessel's eyebrows; it's interested, very interested. It loves deals and offers. The ruler rubs its vessel's hands together, ready to get down to business. It is known to be the best deal maker in the universe. No one can beat it, especially a mere mortal. "What do you have for me?"

She tells it. She explains her offer in an archaic form of Enochian, so remote that even some of the older demons will have trouble deciphering it.

He is concerned but keeps his opinions to himself.

The ruler rises from its throne, agreeing to her terms. "I suppose you would like to see the Angelus Mortis with your eyes?" It narrows its vessel's eyes when she nods. "Right this way."

Led by the draw demon, they are lead to a dark dungeon. The room only lights up when the demon enters with a large torch in its hand.

Her eyes follow the direction of Lucifer's finger, and quietly gasps.

She does not recognize it.

Although they've never met in person, she's well aware of its reputation—this angel's always been described to be vibrant, ambitious, determined, loyal and powerful. Everything that it's not now. Perhaps except for loyalty, but its loyal to the wrong ruler.

It's truly a pathetic sight.

The Angelus Mortis' limp forms hangs off a spiked metallic wall, bound by tight chains. Its face is shielded by its soiled, shadowy hair. Its most prized possession, its majestic bow, is ties against the angel's body in angle that will be proved deadly if the angel's dares to move.

"Release him," Lucifer orders one of the demons guarding the angel.

"Why this one?" She asks. Lucifer If she was the ruler of the Damned, she would have gone after the arch angels; their powers and influence are immense.

"The Lord you so stubbornly serve has created a force that outnumbers my current army..." it trails off, no longer willing in explaining the purpose of its moves, instead, it demands another demon to, "Take it down."

 As soon as the chains are loosened from around the angel, its frail body collapses onto the rocky ground.

Lucifer nonchalantly turns away. "Go ahead. You are to take this insignificant angel, as promised," it tells her. "But I shall warn you: enter my kingdom again without permission, and you will endure the direst of consequences. The both of you."

She does not give the fallen angel a response. She's relieved when Lucifer finally departs with its scores of demons following loyally behind it. She can now get to work.

"Do you we have to do this?" he asks.

"It's our duty to ensure that all of those people did not die in vain," she tells him. "If we don't do this, our world will fall. All of it, and they will all be damned."

She renders the angel conscious.

The Angelus Mortis moves around, disorientated. It is only when it fully understands its surroundings does it finally peer up at the newcomers. "Who are...?"

"We are here to send you back to your rightful place," she informs it.

"My master is the Lord of the Damned," it chokes out, confused.

She turns to him. He shrugs. She faces the celestial being again. "Lucifer is not your master. Your master is the Lord of the Heavens. You are the Angelus Mortis, not the Daemon Mortis."

"I only serve the Lord of the Damned. My duty is to send all mortal souls to the master's fiery realm." It stops speaking. It dazes out into space. Its mentality has obviously been faltered, perhaps as a result of the constant torture he may have endured. Its body is weak, sulking as if its’ on its last legs. It picks up its one great bow, and stares at it, distressed. "My bow..."

"It can be fixed," she promises. "If you tell me what happened? I want to help. "The angel seems puzzled. "You want to help me?"

"Yes. May I see the bow?"

The angel handles its most powerful weapon to her. "It's my life," he explains. It looks to its right and watches blankly at the numerous demons working away. They haven't noticed the commotion. "I have been possessed and I cannot help it. I am now the servant of Lucifer and only him. My duty is to send souls, even the most righteous ones, down to Hell. To make sure the Heavens become weak."

“It’s possessed alright…”

She doesn’t entertain his side comment. She steps closer. “Tell me more. Were you the cause of the triple-plane crash?”

Color drains from the angel’s features as it shakes uncontrollably. “The crash—” it chokes. “It is not my fault. Lord, I swear it was not. My master, told me to do it…”

“I understand,” she says, holding her hand out. He understands her gestures and places the note from much earlier in her hand. She holds it up in front of the angels’ face. “He found this at the crash site.”

The angel reads it. “Tonight stops. The good will not avail. The hells of Inferno will arise…”

“What does it mean?”

“My master will take the world. Step by step. Until every breathing soul is within his grasps. Even the righteous ones.”

So, her suspicions are true. Lucifer wants to start an apocalypse. “How can this be stopped?” she asks.

“You do not understand. I am not stable enough to resume my duties. If I do so, I may lose control. Again. The universe will be soulless. That’s what my master wants: all of the souls to become his servants.”

“Of course, it does,” he mumbles under his breath.

She takes his arm and leads him away. She stops a few minutes later when she detects just what she needs. She points to the weapon and whispers, "I want you to knock it unconscious."

"What?"

She does not have time for protests. "Just do what I say."

He nods only because she is his one-way ticket out of this literal Hell. He personally finds the plan foolish, but he does not voice his opinion. He sticks up the rock and follows her back to the dungeon. 

She stops in front of the angel, studying its features. It is in pain, so much pain, she can feel it although she is not one of his people. She leans up and pats him. "Do you ally yourself with Lucifer? Is he your savior?"

"Lucifer?"

"Lucifer. Is this where you belong?"

The angel focuses its gaze on her. It looks miserable. "I want to return to my rightful place. Where I belong."

She is relieved. It seems that the angel, despite Lucifer’s claims, do not want to spend the rest of eternity in this fiery place. It's ready to return home, and she is more than willing to grant such opportunity. Her world has been interrupted by Lucifer’s egregious interference; it needs to return back to normal. And it will be, once Angelus Mortis finds its place. She turns to him and nods. "It's time..."

"Time?"

"Time," she repeats. "Hold, the Angelus Mortis down, please."

He gapes at her as if she has lost her mind. This wouldn't be the first time. "You want me to hold an angel down?"

The looks she gives tells him all that he needs. Gulping, he reaches out to the angel and holds him down the best he can. He cannot believe he is doing this; he cannot believe he is able to do this. Angels are some of the most powerful beings ever created; if the angel had just a tad bit more willpower, it would be able to easier smite him. But the angel does not awaken. "Why are we doing this?" he asks her in a whisper. He freezes when he feels a stir from the being in his grasp. 

She doesn't seem to concern about the movement. She pulls out the rosary from her back pocket. "Because I am going to repossess it.”

His confusion almost causes him to release his hold on the angel, but he preserves. "Are you crazy?" 

There have been times when she questioned her sanity. Plenty of times; too many times to be considered healthy, but now, she isn't crazy. She knows what she's doing; she's done this before, albeit with a much less important creature, but this isn't her first time. She looks up at him, reassures him, and approaches the still angel. She places the roses on its head and chants, loudly, forcibly, "Commodo dux poli ignosco sini vestri humilis vernula..."

The angel shoots up. It violently trembles and shouts. He tries to hold it down, but all of his effort is in vain. She does not say anything; she does not move. She only watches as the Angelus Mortis shreds any last influence of Lucifer from its being. 

She puts the rosary away. "Let him go."

He blinks. "I don't understand..."

The angel freezes and glances up, breathing heavily. "I have done you wrong," he whispers in Enochian, a language that only she understands fluently. He has a hard time translating word by word. "I have laughed at the agony of those who have suffered. I wanted them to do. Terribly, painfully. Oh Lord, please forgive my sins..."

And with that, the Angel of Death rises into the dimension of the Heavens. 

She brushes her clothes and turns to the hunter. "It’d be in our best interest to leave as soon as possible,” she advises, looking behind him. The demons are getting restless; they’ve must have heard their master’s final warning to the visitors.

He would be a fool to protest.

"What did you offer Lucifer?" he asks when they reach the end of the road. The demons have not been ordered to consume them. Yet.

She thanks the higher power for not allowing him to fully grasp the language of the angels. "That's not important."

"You made a deal with Lucifer," he reminds her. "That's very important."

She stops at the gate exist and turns around, looking at him through sharp eyes. "It is none of your concern."

"I have sinking a feeling that it's going to be."

Rolling her eyes, she turns back around and leaves the gate of Hell.

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

She’s back home. Back in her own, mortal world. She proceeds to head back to the place she resides at until she is hit by a wind of ice-cold air. The night is brisk, but not that cold. The air is still but then again, she is hit by the same brush of air.

She stills. He watches her intently, equally immobile.

"What is it?" he asks.

She looks around her. It does not take long to comprehend see what is happening. The cold air—one of the telltale signs of the restless roaming in between their old world and the new. All, thousands of them, headed to where she came from.

Lucifer officially accepted the deal.

She sighs. She feels bad, but reminders herself that sometimes, sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.

A few thousand damned is better than a few billion.

The Ministry should understand. She hopes the Ministry would understand. The problem with making an offer is that it's a two-way street—she would have not been given access to Angelus Mortis if she didn't have a deal in place. A deal that would satisfy Lucifer to the very core.

“What is—"

"It's nothing," she assures him, holding out a hand. "Until time next?"

He reluctantly shakes it. He knows she is hiding something from him; that's always been the case, but like every other time, he knows that he won't receive any information until she voluntarily offers it herself. "Until next time."