Buer spoke loudly into the phone, his thick raw luna scotan accent could be heard from the hallway across from his office room.

He was sitting on his white directorial chair flipping through some yellow papers on his desk, occasionally looking to his right at a window with a muddy view of the city below. All the while his stunted, bulbous bald head held down the handset from falling off his right shoulder. On the other end was an acquaintance from a different sector, Octavian. The two of them had been discussing for the past three and a half hours about multiple subjects, striking a deal regarding a new weapons storage facility, the upcoming auction house, and if there had been any sightings of the angel.

“...And you surely couldn’t decide if it’ll be in two weeks or three? I swear, you’re more indecisive than a woman. Wonder if Azazel’s gonna sell anything? I’ve heard some plans, most of them are that he’s gonna be attending for sure, but I’m not really in the know-how about selling anything specific. Speaking of Azzy… here he comes. I’ll get to ya later Oct, clap ya.”

Buer hung up the phone after seeing Azazel’s one-eyed face staring at him from across the office. It’s been a week since he killed the huntress, and the right side of his face was still bandaged up as the new eye was slowly healing.

“Buer.” Azazel said quietly, offering him his hand.

“Boss.” He responded, getting up from his chair and accepting the handshake. Buer himself was a massive person, shoulders broad as a wardrobe yet his limbs thin as twigs. When standing he was a head shorter than Azazel “How’s the eye healing?” He asked.

“It’ll be a few days until it’s good to go.” Azazel ran his hand through his wavy coppery hair before pulling out a cigar and lighting it. “I’m gonna need you…” He let out a deep poof of smoke. “...To get someone for me. I’d send Mephisto but… seem’s our friend won't be coming back anymore.”

“Was that your partner fella? Sucks, liked the guy, he had potential.” Buer shook his head and reached for the handset, before Azazel put his hand on it first.

“I mean, right now.” He smirked. “Without Mephisto the task of finding that damned angel falls on me. And I’d rather not piss off Baphomet by not finding her so... you’re going to visit an old friend of mine.”

“Great, so whatever you say boss.” He scratched his bald head and bit his thin lower lip. “Who is this friend of yours?”

Azazel smiled. “You are to meet her in a few hours at around six o’clock. She works at a small library on Greyford ave. and that’s when it closes on saturdays.” He pulled out a large yellow envelope and handed it to him. “Make sure she gets this.” He said before leaving in somewhat of a hurry.

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“Ah damn, I love that one. Fuck, I’m already here though.” Buer said to no one as he parked his car, a blue corvette, in the driveway of a coffee shop. He stopped the engine and checked his watch. Five minutes till six o’clock, even though the sun was already beginning to dip in the sky. He got out and crossed the one-way street towards his destination. He walked the three steps of the library and opened its simple uninteresting wooden doors, not before checking it was the right one several times. It was dark and chilly inside. The hallway was narrow but the library itself was much much larger, with hundreds upon hundreds of books of varying sizes and colors all with thousands, millions of their own little stories hidden within. But the dim lights made it difficult to see the beauty and splendor of it. Buer’s shoes made a loud clacking noise on the parquet floor everytime he awkwardly stepped forward. He made his way to the checkout counter where a lady was quietly reading a book. She was leaning back in her chair and her black boots were resting one over the other on the desk. The gleaming footwear had metallic straps instead of shoelaces and the heels were about ten centimeters long. In addition, each had a small silver chain running from the ankle to the tip of the boot.

“Ooh, you’re a juicy one.”

“Library’s closed, if you don’t mind please leave.” The woman’s voice answered, soft and whispery yet accompanied by a sharp piercing echo. Buer attributed it to the size of the chamber they were in.

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“That's not how to treat a customer.” He said somewhat annoyed. She just ignored him. “Anyhow, you the one they call Wrath?”

Her entire body froze for a moment while she slowly closed her book. She rose from her seat and walked around the desk standing face to face with Buer. The lackey finally got a good look at the woman before her. She had short curly hair, its color a bright orange-red like a burning torch. It glowed in the inky darkness, contouring her gorgeous face along with her soft chin and sharp cheekbones. Her eyes, what appeared to be pale white soon turned into two iris-less patches of yellow on her dark gray skin. Those patches were like drops of honey on a cold church slate. Her head was now adorned by two pairs of horns. Two of them grew from the side of her head, thick and black curling forward before pointing downward and the other two sprouted from her forehead, small and sharp, coiling back into her hair. What he previously believed to be part of her outfit were actually three pairs of batlike wings. The largest wings came out of her shoulder blades, the second pair from the middle of her spine and the smallest ones out of her lower back.

“You clearly seem to know of me, daring to come after sundown.” She began, the tone in her voice one of clear calm. “Who are you and who told you my name?”

“Unimportant. What is important is that you read this.” He pulled out the envelope from his jacket and placed it on her desk.

“I asked you something.” Wrath continued, the lights getting dimmer along with her growing annoyance.

“Frankly dear, I couldn’t give less of a shit if you asked me anything.” Buer said with misplaced smug confidence.

“Your accent is beyond understanding.” Wrath said, somewhat confused. Her eyes jumped at the envelope and back at Buer. With a quick motion, she reached forward and snatched it up in her slender fingers and their thin black claws. Lazily, Wrath tore it open and began reading as Buer looked at her with his dull bored face. Her eyes scanned to the bottom of the letter and she grinned, revealing her short sharp teeth and fangs. “Ah, I see.”

Dumb as a brick this one. Is she really the one the boss wants? Buer thought to himself.

“Now, let's go. The boss is waiting.” Buer pointed at the door and walked towards it. He made three steps before he heard Wrath laugh and curiosity made him turn around. He was now alone, the lights gone fully with blackness drowning him. Wrath’s laugh still rang in his ears while he pulled out his gun and loaded it. Sweat began trickling down his back.

“Alright, love, enough of your tricks… l-let’s go.” Buer slowly inched his way to the door. A blur dashed to his right from behind him, making him jump startled and shoot about seven bullets into the wall.

“If you had been nicer, perhaps I would have let you go. I fed recently so I wasn’t particularly hungry.” Her voice echoed inside his head. “But I guess it would be.. rude of me to refuse Azazel’s gift wouldn’t you say?”

Buer began begging for mercy. Wrath was silent. Panicking, he ran to the door, punching and kicking yet it would not budge. He turned back and began shooting blindly in the dark, until the chamber was empty. His lower lip trembled as he opened his mouth to beg some more. “But, boss, boss wouldn’t…”

Darkness itself coiled around his neck silencing him. More and more smoke-like black tendrils twisted around his body immobilizing him against the door. Out of the dark in front of him appeared Wrath. Her left hand was raised towards him and her right forearm had something emerging from it. It was a long blade with a deep purple glow which seemed to flow like water and mist. It was unlike any physical material he’d seen before. Buer choked and gagged, thrashing his head and body like a madman. Wrath ran her fingers around her violet lips, like fingers dancing on the petals of an iris. She smiled, her whole body shivering with pleasure.

“Stand back!” Buer shouted, ready to unleash another shot. Instead, he was yanked forward by Wrath’s shadowy tentacle. He blinked and braced himself but when he opened his eyes he was on the floor. He whimpered, shambling for his gun, before getting up, shocked to see he was alone once again. This time the lights were back to normal and the door was half open. Amazed by his luck, he scrambled to his feet and ran out the door onto the street. It was pitch black outside, save for one or two street lamps with rotten old bulbs that still shone a sickly yellowish light. He quickly rushed to his car, fumbling with the keys before opening the door and getting inside.

I made it… thank Lucifer… I made it… He thought to himself. He moved his hand to start the car but his entire body went numb as the shadows. Buer started mumbling out loud, thrashing about like a gutted fish. His eyes looked up and were greeted in the rear-view mirror by Wrath’s cold yellow ones. He made a sound similar to a squeal of a pig and tears began trickling down his cheeks.

“Shh, shh. Don’t cry, dear.” She said calmly, leaning forward and gently scratching his cheek with the back of her fingers. “There’s no need to cry.”

“W-w-why?” He stammered out before bursting into full on wailing. Wrath remained silent. “WHY?” Buer screamed in desperation for an answer.

“To give you hope.” Wrath relented, her voice echoing with anticipation and hunger. “Hope is a spice that makes a soul… so much tastier.” She said, licking her lips.

Buer screamed just once before a line of violet and red pierced his neck, emerging out through his mouth. His black blood was quickly excised from his body, soon painting every window of his blue corvette from within.