Darkness gave way to a blurry, wavering light. Cam felt strange, cold, and sluggish. It took him a moment to realise he was under water. His focus snapped back to him as he looked around the murky water, rippling light shining above him.

He pushed off the bottom of the canal and kicked his way up. Breaking the surface, pain flared in his shoulder immediately. He managed to reach the top of the brick and pull himself up, crying out as the pain in his shoulder increased. Blood mixed with the water pouring from him, pooling on the ground. He was aware of several people watching him, some pointing their phones, but he ignored them all. He dropped onto his back for a second before rolling onto his knees, coughing and wincing. He had to keep moving, get away from public eyes.

He ran for some time, avoiding boisterous calls from a few spirited passers by, and headed through a wide busy road and a side street. Car horns added to the call outs and someone mentioned calling the Garda, pointing at his bloodied shoulder.

Eventually he came to a small park, where he collapsed onto a bench. He squeezed his eyes shut, raising his face to the sun. Sharp, stabbing pain shot through his arm, his skin flaring as if it was burning.

Cam gritted his teeth, trying to calm himself and ignore the pain. He breathed, mastering himself. He was not this mortal shell, but a godly being of Light. He breathed, calling upon what remained of his memories of his holy origin so many millennia ago. Eventually he opened his eyes, blinking back the light of day.

His arm had numbed, but still felt severely injured. Flesh and bones were a part of the human form all angels took, and deep within them, in their core, was the Light they were really made of. He pulled his shirt free from the sticky blood and checked his shoulder. The wound was fleshy and raw, the skin around it darkened to a deep purple, but luckily he did not expose or leak any Light, which would have been fatal.

A black blade. The demon had a black light sword, like Balthiour wielded after he revealed himself a traitor.

Your son.

No, Cam couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t have a son. There was just no way. But… he had recognised his eyes. A part of him had rejoiced when he first saw them, his heart filling with joy for some reason, despite the circumstances. He still remembered… Alyssa’s steely blue eyes. The demon even shared Cam’s dimples and dark complexion. Could it be true… somehow?

Cam threw his head back and sighed, letting the sun dry his clothes. He considered calling his brethren, wondering why they hadn’t called him yet, and then realised his phone had been drenched in the canal. He just had to hope they got out of the apartment.

The black light sword flashed through his mind again. Another thing that should not have been possible. Demons did not possess any light; should not have the ability to create a light sword. But if this new demon was truly his son, then he was something else entirely. A being made of dark light, perhaps. Cam couldn’t even begin to understand what that meant.

Someone could help him. Bath-Kol would know what to do. Or she’d figure it out, somehow. She always did. Cam’s shoulder spiked with pain and settled to a low throb. He didn’t know if he had been infected with the demon’s darkness—somehow he felt like he’d always know when that happened, like he expected it to feel a certain way, from everything he’d heard about it. Whatever the case, he needed healing, and Bath could help him.

As he left the park, he wondered if this injury would count him out for the rest of the day. He hated the idea of not contributing to the events of a Summer Solstice, the most vital day of the year for the angels. He found his bearings and made his way back to their hideout. His clothes were drier and his appearance less dishevelled, but dried blood covering his shoulder and down his arm.

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The apartment door being slightly ajar was Cam’s first concern.

He slowed in the corridor on his approach, listening out, and through the door gap he saw splintered wood and pillows on the floor. He shoved the door open and froze when he took in the scene.

Wreckage was everywhere. Debris and broken objects scattered all over the room. The window was broken and the sounds of the streets below were obnoxiously loud and indifferent.

On the overturned sofa was Bath-Kol’s torn body.

Cam rushed to her, falling onto his knees. He ignored the pain flaring in his shoulder and pulled her body up. Scores of ripped flesh ran up her torso and arms, bloodying her flower printed dress.

“Bath,” he said urgently. “Bath, no. No. Please.”

He shook her, tilted her head up, stroked her face, his actions softening as he looked upon her serene face.

She coughed, her eyes opening suddenly. Cam brought her closer.

“Bath, y-you’re… what happened?”

Her breaths were weak, the colour drained from her. “Cam…”

“Bath.”

“Demons,” she said weakly, her eyes softening. “They were looking for… for…”

“The notebook.”

“Yes.” In a great feat of strength, she nodded behind her. “Bedroom. Panel.”

Cam’s throat tightened. He blinked back the falling tears. “Oh, Bath,” he said quietly. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”

Bath sighed softly, her eyes losing focus. “Sun…” she whispered.

Something passed over her expression; Cam thought she was smiling, and thought she said something, knew something, at that moment. Then her head slumped forward.

“No, no, no.” Cam pulled her closer, rocking gently. His tears fell onto her.

He lay there with her and said a prayer. Normally Cam prayed silently, but now he spoke clearly and loudly, moving from one prayer to another, giving Bath everything he could, whatever was left for him to give. It was all he could do.

When he finally laid her down, gently easing her back into the upright chair, he had lost track of time. He may have been there for hours.

Beside a counter in the corner, he saw an arm sticking out. He found his brethren, Dumah, lying there, his body ripped apart. Cam’s legs weakened and he steadied himself. He turned away, unable to look any longer.

One of the bedroom doors was open and he saw Nathanael still lying in bed. Cam wiped the tears from his face and stepped towards the room. As he suspected, Nathanael had been killed. Recovering from his injuries from the night before, he would have had no chance to defend himself from a demon attack. On the floor by the bed lay Haziel’s crumpled body. Her head lay across the room, at the end of a stream of blood.

Cam dropped to his knees beside her, a hand on Nathanael’s bed, and said a silent prayer. Bath-Kol, Duma, Nathanael, Haziel… all gone. Slaughtered. Grief overwhelmed him and he keeled over, crying loudly into the carpet. He wished he could make everything stop. One grand stroke of divine intervention and wipe this all away. It didn’t work that way, at all, but a part of him just wished it could.

Sounds drew him back to the world. Shifting debris, crunching glass.

Cam’s head snapped up, a fierce anger rising in him as he turned back to the main room. He burst through the door, ready to draw his light sword.

Sean jumped back, arms up defensively. “Whoa, whoa, Cam! What happened here?”

Cam caught himself, his heart racing, and steadied his breathing. “Demons,” he said.

Sean stood by the doorway, mouth open and wide eyed, taking in the scene.

“Where were you?” Cam asked.

“S-supplies,” Sean said dully, staring unfocused. Carrier bags lay by his feet. “Jesus…” He straightened and looked embarrassed, having vowed not to blaspheme around the angels.

Cam sighed. His shoulders remained tense, the anger still flowing through him. “We go,” he said. “Get what you need.”

Sean’s eyes fell to Cam’s bloodied shoulder. Cam turned away and entered the other bedroom. There he found a black T-shirt and replaced his torn one. He also picked up Bath’s mobile—he had a call to make later.

Stepping onto the bed, he pushed the loose ceiling panel away and found Balthiour’s notebook. Bath must have been in here when the demons came, Cam guessed, and probably only had seconds to hide the book before they came into the room.

His shoulder pounded. There were at least three other Mystic Angels in the city who could heal him. If he truly was infected with the demon’s darkness then he still had a day or so to seek help. But he was in no rush to announce his son to the other angels. He looked over the room blankly. Lahabiel had been here earlier also, but he had not found her body. Perhaps she got away. Or maybe she had been taken. A shiver ran through Cam and pounded into his shoulder.

A short while later he found Sean standing by the door with a large duffle bag and a determined look. Even with his mind a chaotic mess, Cam had to admire the man. Sean was always ready to step up and help however he could. If anything, Cam was glad he was with him.

Cam didn’t look back when they left the apartment and made their way down the street. A singular resolve of revenge burned through him.