FUCK.

This is now the second time I’ve woken up on a cold, hard ground after blacking out...and with a raging headache. Wait a minute…

I crack open an eye: I’m still in the innermost sanctum. And I’m the only one in the sanctum. No War -- that fucker tried to fucking kill me! I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but--

“So you’re Lucifer’s kid, eh?” drawls a voice to my left.

I yelp and scramble back, my already-sore head hiding the stone wall. Ow.

“Oh, please,” the voice laughs. “If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have even woken up. Relax.”

Sure. Relax. There’s a laugh.

The voice belongs to a slim guy lounging against one of the pillars, one foot crossed over the other. He has a strange glow about it, like when one tries to stare straight into a naked lightbulb. But if I squint, I can see a face that I can only describe as one hundred percent sarcasm...complete with a shit-eating grin and amused eyes.

He’s dressed in a blue, striped suit and trainers, like he was on his way to the office, but got sidetracked. When he pushes himself off the pillar and walks toward me, I make what I think is a very good attempt at osmosis with the wall behind me.

This strange man, who I assume is likely some kind of angel, spins what looks like some kind of stick in his hand. I try to get a better look at it, but he spins it too fast before -- swish! -- it fades away into golden dust.

The angel crouches in front of me and the light surrounding him dulls, confirming that he looks nothing like the image of Michael in the painting Death showed me. Since he’s not immediately trying to kill me, I feel a sense of relief. The sarcasm continues to practically ooze out of every line of the angel’s smirking face-- oh...I think I got it.

“You’re Gabriel,” I manage to say with very little shake in my voice.

The grin tugs a little wider, “Aye, so you’ve heard of me.”

I nod: I did read about him in what I managed to skim from Death’s notes. They also gave me the impression that she doesn’t particularly like him much; at the very least, he clearly irritates her more than anyone else. For now, the fact that he’s not actively attempting to kill me means he’s alright with me. But he does peer at me like I’m some kind of zoo animal, which is not the most comfortable feeling in the world.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“So are you the one that stopped War?” I ask.

“Hm?” He frowns before waving his hand dismissively, “Oh no -- I’d never get directly involved in something like that. No stakes, you see.”

I now understand why Gabriel irritates Death.

“Besides,” Gabriel goes on, “Rami showed up like a dutiful sibling before anything got too out of hand.” He shakes his head with a sigh, “Lucifer never was one to take his eye off the prize. I wonder if the holy ground burned their feet.” He leans in close to me -- uncomfortably close enough that I can trace the tired lines under his golden eyes. “Does it burn yours?”

I don’t understand what any of this means, but before I can answer the doors bust open and Death storms in with eyes like murder, Conquest and Famine trailing in her wake. The former supports a half-conscious Coach across one shoulder; he sports a nasty cut on his forehead that’s bleeding like crazy. I know the head bleeds a lot, but goddamn. I rush over and take his arm from Conquest, “I got him.”

Conquest doesn’t argue, only keeps their eyes focused on Gabriel as they let go of Coach’s weight. He’s heavier than I imagined he would be, and I half-stumble before getting a more secure hold of him. I glance at Conquest and my thanks doesn’t make it from my throat to my mouth. For them it appears that Gabriel’s the only thing in the room; a conscious and deliberate effort to focus on a single thing. I recognize that look: when you try with all your might not to think about something that upsets you.

I remember Death did say that War and Conquest were closest and I open my mouth say something, but nothing comes to mind. I’m sorry your friend is...somewhere? He tried to kill me?

I find it hard to feel particularly bad about his current absence.

“You’re late, Gabriel,” Death says, and her voice is odd: tight. She’s standing a little off-kilter, as if her usual, upright and flawless posture is uncomfortable. One hand rests around the opposite side, holding it like I’ve seen others do when they have a few broken ribs. Is she hurt?

Can Death be hurt?

“As much as I love your company, my darling Death, I do have other things at hand. Like, say, the ever-unraveling Apocalypse.”

“Gabriel, I--”

He holds up a hand, “No point in words now, darling. I’m already risking quite a bit out of courtesy for our...long-standing relationship.” The gold eyes soften, “I know that I owe you more, but right now there is something more pressing.”

“Courtesy?” Conquest snorts derisively.

Gabriel glances past Death to the rest, as if only just now remembering we’re all here. His eyes move faster than any human’s ever could, briefly holding mine and Coach’s. That damn smile comes back, and he looks, again, to Death. We held his attention a moment, but not anymore.

“I fear you must tighten your saddles, my dear Death...Mikha’el knows everything. And he is coming.”