An abandoned building, somewhere in town

Purson was sitting, looking at his noodles while waiting for Bertrand to do his thing.

“You know it’s very unlike for the shell of an archangel to be capable of controlling elements, right?” The demon king asked, while looking at his noodles, already hopeless, that he would have a hot meal to warm his sleep.

“And why is that?” Bertrand asked, while focusing his thoughts on his extended hand, aiming at the tiny paper pile on the floor right in front of him.

“Because the hierarchy of angels splits them in castes.” Purson started explaining. “Archangels are entrusted with protecting Yaweh, the Father of all. They have no elemental power, although their strength is fearsome to most of the demons in Sheol.”

And as the demon king kept talking, the detective surprised him with a slight cut opening up in the palm of his hand, revealing a red eye inside of it.

And the eye focused its glare to the pile of paper in front of it, emanating a warm energy that soon lit the paper on fire, a playful grin on Bertrand’s lips.

“... And the ones entrusted with the elements of creation... Are the Ishins, God’s living forces of nature... How the fuck did you do that?” Asked Purson, utterly flabbergasted.

“As soon as I understand it, I promise I’ll tell you.” Bertrand answered, looking not puzzled at all, even though his happiness carried a bit of surprise. “I tried it a few times, after I remembered what happened with my...” The pause that followed carried heavy discomfort. “With Jake... I figured out I should be able to do a bit more than just... Melt things up. And so here we are...”

“This Jake, was he your boyfriend or something?” Purson asked, like it was nothing.

“We had some history.” Bertrand answered, cutting the conversation about Jake with a tone of bitterness. “How long do you think it’ll take for Neza to wake up?”

“I have no idea, never seen anything like that happen before.” Purson looked at Nezariel, still unconscious, laying down a few steps away. The wet towel over her forehead already needed changing.

“But I thought... Never mind.” Bertrand cut his sentence before he could offend the demon king.

“Go on, ask. And pass me some more wood, I don’t want this fire dead before my noodles are ready.”

“Alright.” Bertrand replied, giving Purson some sticks, and regretting having started talking. “I mean... Your master is Lucifer, right? And you’re demons. I mean... Isn’t it common for you guys to, like... Possess people and shit?”

A sweet laugh came from Purson’s throat. So soft it didn’t even match his voice, somehow. It astonished Bertrand, because deep down, somewhere in his heart he knew.

It didn’t sound like a demon laughing.

“Yeah, you’re right.” The demon king said. “But possession is one thing. What happened at the restaurant was something vastly different.”

“How come...?” Bertrand asked, perplexed by the way Purson was speaking.

“Human bodies have flesh, mind, and spirit. When a human being is weak in one of these, it can be taken over easily, because it’s as if a barrier was lifted, and the defences of that human have been weakened. Therefore, we possess them and act like a second personality. However, the case is a bit different with Becca. With Nezariel.” The demon king corrected himself, his heart aching while looking at Nezariel and reminding himself of Uriel.

“Nezariel’s body isn’t a human body. It’s an Avatar, an angelic body designed to support the angelic conscience and its full power. But since angels don’t have a spirit, or what you humans call, a soul... Which means that the Avatars have been designed to me invulnerable to that spiritual battle humans call possession. That’s why I don’t know how to explain what happened there. Nezariel wasn’t supposed to be taken over by Lucifer, just as much as you weren’t supposed to be capable of setting things on fire.”

“So Bertrand has some kind of Ishin power inside of him, and I’m not human, even in the slightest...?”

Nezariel’s voice echoed behind Purson, taking both the demon king and the detective by surprise.

***

“What did you just say?” Uriel asked, trying to hide the shock the question caused her.

It wasn’t possible that she could stumble into one of Metatron’s hellish associates, was it? Everything that happened up until then only meant that her luck sucked real bad.

So it couldn’t be possible that the archangel could be tasting a moment of luck. Could it?

But the demon’s answer to her question kind of cleared her doubts right away.

“It was as you heard, Uriel. Why did our master, Metatron, send you to the Haled? Did he get some new information about the whereabouts of the one who stole the Page?”

“Who are you, and how in the seven Heavens do you know so much?”

She had to ask because it was way too much intel all at once. And even more, if they were on the same side of the upcoming war, then why did she wake up restrained?

There were way too many questions that needed answers.

And she was willing to go as far as it was possible, to get those answers.

The demon kept quiet, looking at her as if the answer to that question was quite obvious.

“I asked about who you are, and why you know so much about my mission. Was my voice too low?”

“I didn’t say it was, Uriel. But you are somehow a bit slower than the last time we met.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“...”

“You really don’t remember me, Judge of Flames?”

Uriel just stared at the demon.

Last time we met? What’re you talking about you piece of shit? She asked herself.

“Well, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but you can trust me. I’m Azazel, grand marquis of Hell and one of Metatron’s generals. I’m here in the Haled because the scribe of God gave me the mission of searching for the next vessel for the stolen Page of the Book of Life. What I didn’t know was that the great judge of flames would be here too.”

That was it, the point where it all would be decided.

If he really was on their side, she’d have to give it as if she had complete control of the situation.

If it meant something, that she found herself fully restrained when she woke up in that place, it was only that they were afraid of her, the archangel of flames, Uriel.

And so she went all in.

***

“How can I be sure that I can trust you?” Uriel asked.

This girl is surely a pain in the horns. Azazel thought to himself, thinking carefully on a way to get away from that question.

The problem was that there was no such way to get away from it scot-free, so the grand marquis went for the all or nothing.

He couldn’t afford to lose that battle, because she could either be a formidable source of intel, or become a dangerous enemy. It would depend only on how Azazel played the hand he was given.

“Here, I’ll give you this, as a token of trust.” The grand marquis spoke, while taking a knife from his belt, and sliding it against the palm of his hand.

A bluish crimson blood flowed from the cut, which Azazel let fall over the table Uriel was at, leaving a reasonable pool over the wood.

The voice that filled the air in the room was neither demonic, nor angelic. It was ancient, older than the oldest of the archangels.

***

The words echoed from Azazel’s throat, flowing out from his lips, storming through Uriel’s mind.

It didn’t seem like she knew that language, but it felt familiar to her somehow.

Father... She thought, for no reason. The word just popped up in her head.

So she waited and waited, before the grand marquis was finished with his vow.

And Uriel’s head thanked for the silence when the demon finished speaking. Blood trickled from the archangel’s nose, but it wasn’t too much to bother, just a thin warm line that made her wipe it with the back of her hand.

“Alright, after that vow, I have no reason to not believe you at all.” She said, shock and relief filling her heart at the same time.

***

Mathew felt a bit less dizzy as time went by, and the old man finally stopped looking at his eyes and analysing him.

“What kind of deal is it that you’re proposing to me?” Mathew asked, his thoughts finally getting back on track.

“Oh, it’s nothing to be worried about, child.” The old man replied smoothly. “It’s only that I’m after the same girl that you’re chasing, but as you can see... An old man like me can’t do much against a natural fighter with a crowbar, am I wrong?” the old man giggled.

“Yes, but... How do you know about the crowbar?” Mathew’s eyes became sharp with distrust.

“Well... Do you believe in Heaven and Hell, my child? Angels and demons, and the likes of it?”

Mathew almost coughed at the question.

If he believed in Heaven and Hell? No, he didn’t believe in such things, even though he most certainly experienced hell, in a manner of speaking, while his dad was still alive.

But heaven and Hell in like, angels and demons, good and evil, virtue and sin?

This church blabbering was all nothing but bullshit.

Because if there was a God, like an almighty father of all creatures, then why the fuck did he let Mathew grow up in such a shitty home?

Why the hell did this God of theirs let his dad become such a monster?

Why the fuck were there wars being fought by good people?

“I don’t believe in anything that allows the possibility of a lazy God that permits wars to happen, innocent people to die, and bad people to go around commiting all kinds of crimes and getting away unscathed.”

“Hummm...” The old man looked perplexed, almost fascinated before Mathew’s answer.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t hear that kind of answer before.

Much to the contrary, that was the kind of speech he always heard, to base the argument of why God didn’t exist.

The difference between them and Mathew was that the fire in his eyes while saying those words, was that of someone who truly believed in them.

Of someone who felt the fire and burned in it.

And because of that, the old man’s blind eyes shone greedily as he spoke.

“What if I tell you that there’s not only Heaven and Hell, or angels and demons... But if I give you a way to become a being capable of ending everything you despise so much about this world...?”

“Bullshit.” Mathew replied drily, turning around and getting ready to return to his aimless wandering.

But when he turned his back to the old man, Mathew saw his shadow growing darker. And around him, a bright light that came along with a scorching hot air wave.

Mathew thought of turning around to see, but then a voice that resembled the old man’s, spoke to him.

“I would not turn around if I were you, for I would not want to burn to death, if I were you.”

Despite the heat, cold sweat trickled down Mathew’s forehead.

“I am Metatron, the great scribe of Yaweh! And I proclaim to you, God is dead, and you are the chosen to take His place. All you have to do is accept the deal I am offering to you.”

Mathew kept silent, not knowing what to say or how to react.

“I shall give you the power to find and destroy the angel you seek, and much more, if you pledge your loyalty to Eden. And you shall become the one to change it all!”

The presence felt by Mathew was none of the old man from before. It held the power of something he never felt before, a greatness and purity only found in stories.

If Mathew wasn’t dreaming wide awake, it only meant that he was being given a chance to fix everything in his life.

I can’t let it go to waste… He thought, while falling to his knees.

“Yes, I accept the deal.” Was the only thing he had the strength to say.

“Good...” Metatron said, an unhuman smile spreading through his angelic lips. “Close your eyes.”

And Mathew did what he was told.

The young man felt the brilliance of the being called Metatron through his eyelids, closed shut.

He then felt soft fingers touching his eyes, and suddenly the whole world was a seering universe of pain, as if his eyes were being melted away from the inside out. Mathew’s lungs almost burst out with his agonising shriek, but that only lasted for a moment in the blind eyes of the scribe of God.

The next thing Mathew felt, with his eyes still closed, without any pain at that moment, was something landing in his hand.

Something that felt like skin, but drier, older.

“Open your eyes, and see.” Metatron ordered, and Mathew obeyed.

The world felt different somehow, as if the passersby seemed different in a way he couldn’t yet explain or describe.

Mathew looked at his hand, and a piece of something that seemed like parchment laid in his grip. Like a torn page or something.

“I, Metatron, The Scribe of Yahweh, hereby declared the only true keeper of the Page of Vengeance, and along with the Eyes of Despair, may you be the one true Harbinger of the new beginning!” The scribe of God sang solemnly. “Now learn the use of the eyes, make the Page one with your fists, and destroy the enemy of Eden!”

Mathew felt the difference in his eyes.

It felt as if everything was clearer to him, then somehow, he looked right at the restaurant.

And right then he knew.

There was where he would find the girl who murdered his dad.

He clenched his fists, with the page inside one of them, an electric feeling taking over his body, as the Page was being sucked right into his fist.

A calm, yet devastatingly powerful energy filling his whole being to the brim.

“Yes, my Lord.” The young man said, as he started walking towards his goal.