I've seen things go to Hell in a handbasket many times, but, usually, Heaven isn't involved as well.

The angel from Above was here, in the Nightside. I couldn't sense it, but its light still seared my flesh and mind and soul. And I had a theory as to why it was here.

Fear not, indeed.

The instant the dark angel, or whatever the hell it was, appeared, Chris coated himself in his purple aura again, to engage it in a duel. Now, they were two blurs, one brilliant purple, one black as ink, clashing over and through the city for as far as I could see.

And Chris was losing.

More and more often, he had to dodge blows and roll with the ones he couldn't avoid, but I still heard his grunts of pain. I couldn't even help him-they were moving to fast for me to get a bead on the dark angel, let alone try and jump into close quarters.

And Chris was tiring. I knew he needed far more food than a man his size, even when he wasn't pushing his powers to the limit, due to his strange, unique physiology.

Dead Boy and I stood in the office of the Pit's former managers. The wall separating it from the outside had been pulverized when Chris had tackled the dark angel through it, with an impact that would have shredded a tank.

Malahidael, it had called Chris. I knew he was more than he seemed-which was saying something, given how many things he seemed-but...it had seemed like the dark angel knew him, or at least of him. Before, Chris had alluded to being God's champion of Earth, and, since he didn't seem crazy, I hadn't tried to contradict him. Besides, he knew more about spiritual matter than I did.

Dead Boy approached me, clearing his throat, as if he though I couldn't hear him.

"Uh, Jason?" His voice was hesitant, which was completely unlike him. It meant he was either scared or wising up, and I wasn't sure which possibility I hated more. "They've gotten kinda far. You think you can throw me at them from here?"

I turned to look at him sharply. "The hell?"

"You know! Like Colossus does with Wolverine all the time!"

"Of all the times to reference comics-"

Our little chat was interrupted by Chris flying at us like he'd been shot out of a cannon. I tried to dodge, but couldn't, and the impact cracked my body armor, sending me flying as well. We both smashed into the opposite wall, leveling it.

I pushed Chris away from me, and tried to get a look at him, check for wounds. He shot to his feet instantly, then shuddered. His limbs and backs were covered in small but deep cuts, which were releasing noxious black smoke.

"I'm fine," Chris said in the deeper, gravelly voice of his combat persona. "You should see the other guy."

Grim, as Chris called his other self, didn't usually display a sense of humor, hence the name. When it was joking, it was a sign you should look for cover and pray.

"Did you kill it?" I asked. "Or at least neutralize it?"

Chris shook his head, his eyes focused on the rubble resulting from his clash with the angel. Thankfully, most buildings close to the Pit were uninhabited, or inhabited by absolute scumbags, but...I hated the possibility of innocents-such as they were, in the Nightside-having gotten caught in the crossfire.

"I don't think I could, Jason. Even if it stood still and let me wail on it." By now, his voice had returned to normal. "It was...different, from the demons we dispatched in the club. Like people to apes. Smarter, more refined...far more dangerous."

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"Where is it now? I can't sense it." I couldn't sense it even when it had been right in front of me, but I had to ask.

"It's hard for me to sense it, too. Such a dark presence should be choking, but it's like trying to grab shadows with your hands." He looked at a heap of rubble, and his purple eyes darkened briefly. "It's gone now."

"It's retreated?"

"Not retreated. More like...it's gone back home, to ask for reinforcements."

And wasn't that such a happy thought?

"We must pass the word on. Walker must know, if he doesn't already. We'll gather the Nightguard, and-"

The dark angel burst from a shadowed corner like a snake. I barely saw it in my peripheral vision before a clawed hand punched through my spine, coming out of my chest.

I gasped, my wolfish healing kicking into overdrive. I tried to move, but couldn't. The dark angel was holding me in place, its arm transfixing me.

Dead Boy shouted a challenge and jumped at it, but his heavy fists sank into the angel like it was made of tar, doing no damage. Dead Boy stepped back, swearing.

Chris snarled, his aura gathering around him, spinning like flames. It changed from purple to a blinding white, and for a few moments, my world drowned in flames.

When I recovered, the dark angel crumpled on the floor, its body covered in white spots. Burns, from whatever Chris had done?

Chris nicked one of his wrists with an aura-edged finger and stepped closer to me, holding it.

"What are you trying to do?" I rasped, eyeing his wrist dubiously. My healing was working overtime, but it was all it could do to keep me alive.

"My blood should be able to heal you. Come on."

He placed his bleeding wrist over my chest, and his blood-brighter and thicker than a human's-dripped into the wound. I sensed my wolf growl in contentment, and, boosted by Chris' blood, my healing finished the job.

We parted, and I looked at the floor, at the fallen angel. I had expected it to disappear, or fade into smoke, but it hadn't. Instead, it was shakily trying to rise to its feet.

"Care to do the honors, boss?" Chris asked in a deceptively light tone.

"With pleasure," I replied. I hefted my multigun, and shot the dark angel in the head with a holy water round. The wounded angel hissed, like a deflating balloon, and began falling apart.

I looked at the spot where it had been in surprise.

"Is it still here? Hiding again?" I asked.

"I couldn't sense it when it hid the first time, but...I don't think so. I think it's really gone, Jason," Chris replied, sounding just a surprised as I felt.

"Still," Dead Boy said, hands on his hips. "What were the chances of a single round offing one of Old Scratch's heavy hitters like that?"

"You have me to thank for that, boys," a new, amused voice said from behind us. We turned-I hadn't sensed anything, again, and I was getting sick of that-and saw a Transient Being.

Like others of her ilk, Lady Luck was not a deity, as such. She held dominion over an abstract, universal concept. In her case, her namesake.

Lady Luck was a petite, dark-skinned woman, with old eyes that belied her youthful appearance. She walked to the spot where the dark angel had been, not even touching the rubble littering the floor, and sniffed.

"Hell's thugs here...I swear, the Nightside was always meant to be free from the tyranny of Good and Evil. It seems like anyone can barge in, nowadays..."