Chapter 2

“—This is not acceptable behaviour, Uziel.”

I squirmed in my seat, not quite meeting his gaze. The room is made of various shades of mahogany. Table, floor, cabinets, walls, all polished to a tee. Before me are a wide-rimmed desk, a stack of documents on the left, a classy lamp on the right and a pair of white-gloved hands crossed in the centre.

The owner of said hands continued, “Despite the nature of our work, discretion is a trait that we… value. It would be prudent to not blatantly showcase less savoury results to our clients. Am I understood?”

I remained silent.

“Am I understood?” he stressed.

“...Yes,” I managed.

“Good.”

“...”

Azrael leaned back, tipping his white bowler hat over his eyes and sighed, “Uziel, you know we can’t keep doing this. Over and over again, you scare off potential clients and worlds. You, in my office, with the same guilty face and me, sitting here with my hands crossed. Even worse, you’ve gotten sloppy.”

I didn’t answer.

Over to the side, he removed one of the folders and gingerly spread it. I could that that this is my file, my name emblazoned on the side.

“Tetsuya Yamamoto, your painfully average japanese high school student and your target, had been cleared for spiritual transferal. The Writs were all there, the Veiled Scribes had been busy clearing up his future with the fates and now you got the wrong person,” the gloved hands tapped twice on the tables, “Tell me, Uziel, tell me, why would we need to clear his presence?”

“Because each target is vetted, and that transferal otherwise would be actual murder?”

“... Close enough. It’s good that you remember, but yet you somehow ended up offing Temura Ishida, a classmate. You know what it means to kill someone without the decrees, and you also know what a mess it would be to fix up your original target’s fate now. Not to mention that whatever world the soul got transferred to would be deprived of a fated individual to help them.”

He waited for an answer, and I continued looking at the floor, the faux-wood grains suddenly seemed so much more interesting than before. I was painfully aware of the silence in the room, the unnatural quietness and stillness.

After a few seconds, Azrael sighed again and stood up, pressing his palms on the desk, “I am not scolding you, Uziel, I am concerned. You have never missed a target like this before, and you certainly had never ended up getting the wrong person. We’ve worked together for a long time and I would like to say that I know you quite well by now.

“So tell me, what’s wrong?”

“...”

“Uzi, I can only read your surface thoughts, but I can’t actually read minds,” he reminded me.

I hate it when he says my name like that.

Finally relenting, I grounded out, “...I hate this.”

He leaned back slightly, standing up to his imposing ten-feet tall figure. Slowly, he reached behind his desk and took out a crystalline cup, setting it gently on the table. From seemingly nowhere, a bottle of whiskey appeared in his grasp. He uncorked it and poured some of the golden liquid into the cup, waving a hand.

Deftly, he pushed the now suddenly chilled vintage whiskey towards me.

“I-is that a Royal Salute? How did you even get your hands on one of these? You know we aren’t supposed to indulge in alcohol, right?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.”

“Then don’t ask and drink up. Don’t divert attention either. This is about you.”

Cupping the whisky, I took a sip. It was strong, burning slightly yet somehow pleasant, though I had never been much of a wine connoisseur. Much of the details were wasted on me, the ‘Nose, palate, finish’ were somethings that I couldn’t really care about.

But then, this wasn’t about wine tasting.

Gathering my thoughts, I said, “It’s… Absurd.”

“Absurd?”

“Have you ever really thought about what this department is all about?”

“You mean Incarnate.Co as a whole...?”

“Yeah. Three handlers, nine agents, all subterfuge.”

“You know very well what you signed up for, Uzi,” said Azrael, “It's not like it hadn’t been a thousand odd years.”

“But back then, it wasn’t actually about, you know, ‘spiritual transferal’ and all that.”

He made to speak, but I held up a finger to interrupt him, “I’m not complaining about my actions, Azrael. I’m complaining about the fact that we are doing this stupid job, and that this entire thing is so… covered up! No matter how you look at it, we are killing people! Everybody knows that!”

He crossed his arms and sat back down at the table, the light shining from behind his back obscuring his face again.

“So,” he said simply, “You don’t like the fact that we are the black sheep of the bunch? Or is the euphemism that’s irritating you?”

“Both, Azrael.”

“You can’t blame them for not understanding, Uziel. Not everybody here is ancient enough to know how it was.”

“I know that. The clients too — what are they expecting? Souls do not spontaneously come from nowhere. People need to die before their souls can be dislodged, that’s common sense!”

“Knowing about something doesn’t mean that they want to see it. I know about how bad durian smells but I would rather not eat it.”

I opened my mouth to speak, took another drink and then spoke, “... There is something incredibly wrong with that metaphor, but I’m not too sure what.”

“The point still stands, Uziel. They need a saviour, we can give one.”

“It’s still killing,” I argued.

“That’s why the Veiled Scribes are needed. They become non-persons. Don’t forget that I too had to approve the transferred as well,” he countered, “And it is not easy on my part as well.”

I bit down on my lips.

“Stop pouting.”

“I am not.”

“Your thoughts betray you, Uzi.”

Damn.

There was a moment of silence, neither one of us speaking. Me, having nothing to say. Him, in his enigmatic wordlessness.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, he said, “I think you need a break.”

“Excuse me?”

“You need a break.”

“No, that’s not — Why would you think I need a break?” I asked incredulously.

“You are stressed out,” he spoke as if that explained everything, “I believe that you would benefit from a more remote point of view and something to do that isn’t entirely dictated with ‘spiritual transferal’.”

“No way,” I said flatly, now staring straight at him.

“You aren’t fired, Uziel. It is just a break.”

“My job is my reason for existence.”

“Then as your superior, I say you are excused from work then.”

“...You are being awefully pushy.”

“I am.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“…”

He sighed.

I kept staring.

“You are being pointlessly difficult,” Azrael said, taking his hat off and setting it on the table, “And I had really wanted to avoid talking about this.”

With those words, I was suddenly struck with an ominous feeling.

“Show me your wings, Uziel.”

“... Why?”

“Just do it.”

Without speaking, I slowly unfurled my wings. Feathers, one by one sprouted from my shoulder blades, reaching out along the newly formed limbs. It blossoms around me, almost like a flower’s growth in fast motion until it fully extends out at my sides.

He watched the entire time with burning intensity. I looked away from him, already knowing what to expect.

“You know what happens to angels that get too attached to the mortal world, correct?”

“...Yes,” I reluctantly answered.

He slowly walked around his table, stopping next to the tip of my wings. I wanted to pull them away but I knew it would only make the problem even worse.

Gently, he traced his hand over the black feathers, ruffling through.

And the skeletal undergrowth too, just barely hidden by the plumage but easily felt.

“It is as I thought, Uziel,” Azrael spoke gravely, shaking his head.

“...I can’t help it.” I said quietly, moving my wings out of his reach, drooping slightly.

“I know it’s difficult. This is why Raziel and Urathel both do their jobs impassionately, unlike you.”

“...”

“No, I’m not comparing you to them like that. Being one of the still active agents from before the fifteen hundreds, you did a great job to remain Unburdened”

“It's not like I managed to hold on until the very end,” I muttered.

“Even angels change, Uziel. You should know that better than most.”

I stared at him. Azrael, the Archangel of Death. The bastard had stayed the same since the great AD. Same personality, same perpetually serene face. The only thing that ever changed about him was his fashion, which is still a few decades behind.

“I admit I am a pencil-pusher and that this position is rather resistant to change. But still, it doesn’t nullify the fact that you are getting Burdened. Immensely so.”

“... And now what? The secret is out. Am I going to be cast down?”

“No, as I said, you need a break.”

“You are hiding this?”

“It depends, Uziel.”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends if you still want to be an angel,” he spoke calmly, backing off to his end of the table.

“Huh?”

Whatever that I had expected him to suggest, this definitely wasn’t it.

“As far as I can see, you have very few options. As long as you are still an active agent, you are susceptible to further Burdening, break or no break. Honestly, I would suggest you to officially retire but I know that there is no chance for you to choose that. You value your freedom as an agent far too much, even though I personally can not understand why.”

“... Yeah, I don’t think I will be retiring anytime soon.”

“Then other option, obviously, is to fall.”

Carefully, I spoke, “That doesn’t sound like much of a decision.”

“That is the path you are walking towards,” he reminded me, “By inaction, nonetheless.”

I took another sip of the whiskey.

Falling, in terms of angels, is the process which they became attached to the mortal world. Their wings become barren as they lose their sense of divine purpose, being ‘Burdened’ with mortal needs and desires. When that happens, they can no longer reach Heaven and would be stuck in the mortal realm — both metaphorically and physically. We start questioning, we start having thoughts and desires of individuality.

And then, one day we will find that our thoughts had strayed too far.

In my case, I had known that it would be a problem for quite some while, but I hadn’t expected it to approach in such a way.

Agents, for better or for worse, are always the ones that have the highest risk of being Burdened. The longer they are active, the more they interact with mortals, the quicker they would become burdened and become enamoured with mortality.

Many of the ancient angels that had been agents had retired. Michael, Raphael, Gabriel and the like, they all one by one vanished into the First Circle and were never seen again. Maybe they are with the Seraphims or Cherubims now, maybe they are gone, expired, or maybe they get to go to Big G’s paradise.

No one’s quite sure where the retirees would end up.

But then, we weren’t exactly created to question it, as His servants. We were meant to do what we are created to do. Not that I was created to do this job.

“Another fallen Angel of Death doesn’t look good, Azrael. You know about how Abaddon ended up.”

Azrael grimaced. We both know that the fallen angels would be treated with as pariahs, especially amongst the Hosts. Too corrupted to be accepted in heaven, too Holier-than-thou for the denizens of the supernatural world. As a result, many of them would complete their descent and eventually turn into our natural nemesis — Demons.

That’s another topic that no one enjoys talking about.

“Abaddon is a special case,” he said tersely.

“Sorry. I know its sore spot for you —”

“Apologize not,” Azrael breathed out lightly said, “Even so, it is a valid option, if you so value your excursions in the mortal realms so much. I, as a mostly pure Archangel, do not understand your need, or much of your thoughts. However, I believe that staying in the Host would not be… conductive to your psyche.”

I didn't answer for a while.

The silence dragged on like mint taffy, coy yet sharp like ice. Azrael returned to his rhythmic tapping on the table.

“... What would I even do, then? Angels like me aren’t exactly welcomed, you know?”

He shrugged, “There is much of the mortal world to explore. While the Hosts were prohibited to directly interact with the Nephilims or much of any other supernaturals, agents or say, fallen angels are not. Perhaps you can find new kindred there.”

“That is a big maybe.”

“Are you willing to take a risk?”

“... I don’t know. It’s a big question to answer,” I admitted, “But I think… I would like to continue my work here, but the offer sounds… intriguing?”

He nodded as if that was natural. It was not.

“You are taking a break anyway. If that is what you think, I would think of something for you in the meantime.”

“... Sure.”

“That’s good,” he crossed his fingers again, “Seven days. How does seven days sound?”

“Is that a reference to Big G?”

“It’s a good number.”

“...”

Seven days. What would I even do in seven days?

“Don’t care, as long as you don’t descend into the mortal realm in the during it.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“As you said, I can’t help it.”

Bastard.

My cup was empty.

“Is this why you kept a bottle under your desk?”

He shrugged.

Shaking my head, I slowly pulled myself up from the seat, my knees suddenly weak.

Shuffling over to the door on the far side.

“Uziel, for all its worth, I’m sorry I can’t help you further.”

“No. You’ve been more than lenient,” I waved him off, “A week.”

I opened the door.

“See you in a week then,” he echoed, still behind the desk.

Then I closed the door.

I breathed out, my fingers pressing at the tip of my nose.

The main chamber of Incarnate.Co is empty. The tables, ladened with papers and folders, void of personales. Cabinets and shelves surrounded the circular chamber, almost like a library if it weren’t for the auditorium-styled structure the building has, linking several short stairways to a divot in the middle of the chamber. A single skylight burned down from above, lighting up the room in golden radiance.

Well, almost empty, I noted.

In one of the seats around the central table sat a certain angel. Said angel got a certain McTucker holiday special wrapping in her hands and a book in another, sitting all prim and proper.

“How’s the chew out?” asked Raziel, gazing at me with an unbearable amount of pity in her eyes.

“Glad you are enjoying the burger, you ass,” I snarked, walking over.

“Was it the target, the client or was it the wings?”

“All of them,” slumping down at a chair, arms hoisting my head up. Squinting slightly at her wrapping, I quizzed, “How come you don’t get the talk, huh?”

“Because I’m not Burdened.”

“I call bull on that. You are literally eating a burger right now.”

“No, I don’t get attached, I have curiosity. There is a difference,” she said, tossing the wrapping onto the table. Upon landing, the paper distingerated with a burst of holy fire, leaving not even ash behind in the sudden blaze, “Though tell me, how bad was it?”

“... Very bad.”

“What kind of bad are we talking about?”

“Retirement-ique bad.”

“That is very bad,” she whistled, dismissing her book with a wave, voice tinged with concern.

“Why thank you, it’s not like I don’t know about it.”

“I would presume that you punished then.”

“Yeah… It’s a seven-day suspension. Or something close enough to suspension,” I grumbled.

“Angels don’t do break time,” she stated with an eyebrow raised, “And that has absolutely no correlation with retirement — oh wait, I get it.”

“...Huh?”

“Azrael wants you to go find another job, doesn’t he?”

“... Close enough.”

She stood up from the desk, yawning slightly, “Well, my next assignment wouldn’t be starting for another day. Wanna go peruse the streets of the White City?”

“What? You know that the White City is as boring as they come! And its the only city we have!”

“See, there’s your problem,” Raziel pointed out, crossing her arms with a huff, “Most angels don’t mind going to masses, doing His work and all the fun stuff. Well, anyone but you.”

“Yeah no. I enjoy being productive a lot more than praising our glorious Big G all day. If the Seraphim would ever get off their asses instead of sitting around shouting and singing, I bet that half the problems in the world can be instantly solved.”

“I’m sure they are doing some important stuff up there,” she grumbled, “Regardless, you wanna go with me?”

After pondering for a bit, I sighed out, “Sure, why not?”

It’s not like there are any other interesting places to go to since I'm essentially grounded.

“Great! Let’s us go then.” she beamed, clapping her hands twice. At that, the various folders that littered the table suddenly sprouted wings. They floated off the table and with an audible whiz, each zooming around the room once before homing onto a shelf or a cabinet, settling in with a series of rattles and plops.

Show off.

Raziel, of course, isn’t the Raziel from the past. The Archangel too, behind Gabriel and Michael, had gone and ‘retired’ in the early seventeenth century, leaving behind the name.

Thus, Raziel the angel of death was born — or to say, spontaneously existed, as most of the angels do. She did appear to keep some of her old tendencies, as the original Raziel was the chief of Veiled Scribes, bearing multiple other titles such as “Keeper of Secrets” or “Angel of Mysteries”.

It’s a heavy name to uphold to be sure and I couldn’t say I envy her position at all.

Though, I suppose that these are the thoughts of the Burdened.

Silent again, I followed her prancing form out of the door.