"No," the Lord snarled. "You can't interrupt the ritual now—this is a pivotal moment!"

Hunter turned his weary eyes toward the figure that entered the room. He was in crystalline white armor with silver accents. It managed to appear both powerful and delicate. Tassels hung from armored pauldrons with silver inscriptions embroidered into them. A white hood covered the beings face and shrouded its features from view while a rotating halo of silver shards floated in the air behind his head. Ephemeral blue-white wings graced the figure's back. They were beautiful but appeared ill-suited for flight.

The most intimated part about the angel was the long sword that it carried in its right hand. It was one long silver piece with a crossguard that resembled the halo of shards above the angel's head. White flame licked across the length of the blade, but there was nothing warm about its fire. It gave Hunter the same impression as a scalpel. It wasn't a work of art—it was a tool. It was cold, precise, and designed to cut away infection.

The angel leveled the weapon at the Lord of Hell while its hidden gaze scanned the interior of the room. His visage didn't even pause at the sight of Hunter. He continued his sweep of the surroundings while treating Hunter as little more than furniture.

"That's exactly why I'm here." The angel responded. "You needed to be engaged in the ritual just enough that you couldn't escape."

The Lord hissed. "If you stop me now, you'll kill this human. Surely, your kind cares about them if you don't care about us."

"One human doesn't concern me much. He isn't on the side of the Host. I sense no Faith from the boy. What does his loss compare to the destruction of a Lord of Hell?"

Hunter shivered at the angel's tone. He hadn't realized how genuinely replaceable he was to both the Horde and the Host. He was nothing but collateral damage in a war that had lasted an indeterminable amount of time.

The demon hissed at the latest information. He raised both of his hands, and gigantic balls of fire sprang into being. He tossed them toward the angel in quick succession. Hunter winced at the expected explosion, but nothing happened.

The angel flicked his blade as if he were swatting a fly. The angel's blade consumed the emerald fire from the Lord of Hell.

"Enough, demon." The angel thundered. "I grow weary of your attempts to escape. You have to know by now that your power is for naught. You haven't manifested far enough into this realm to be a threat to me. Your magic binds you while I am free from restriction."

The angel walked forward on confident steps. It spared a glance for the circle where the other angel used to reside. Hunter heard the creature murmur something under his breath, but even with his enhanced hearing, he couldn't make out the exact words.

Finally, it crossed the black tiles until it stood just in front of the Lord of Hell. The demon's face was apoplectic. It looked enraged beyond all measure but powerless to prevent what was happening.

The angel hefted its sword and placed the tip against the armored chest of the demon. It studied the monster's eyes for a moment.

"When you return to the other side. Inform your master that the Archangel Sandalphon banished you from this plane. Do not return, for I will be waiting to end you for good."

The demon grit his teeth but otherwise remained silent.

Hunter saw the flexing of muscles in the archangel's arms as the tip of the sword slowly slid into the demon's body. As soon as it broke the skin, a howling sound rushed from the wound. It was like a thousand times a thousand storms blowing at once. It shattered the stone columns in the rooms and cracked the tiles. Hunter felt his eardrums pop and blood start running down the sides of his neck.

He felt a stabbing pain in his own heart, and he clutched his hands to his chest. He knew he was screaming, but he couldn't hear the sounds of his own anguish. It felt like his body was on fire and frozen at the same time. He felt his consciousness fade in and out as the archangel's sword kept sliding into the Lord of Hell.

He looked up at his ghostly grandparents in a moment of consciousness and saw that they were grimacing. They looked like an invisible wind was buffeting them. They held onto his shoulders like it was the one refuge in a violent storm. He saw them look at each other and nod their heads. Hunter saw their lips moving, but he could no longer hear any words.

Their spectral images began to grow brighter. They started to shine until Hunter could no longer make out their shapes. He saw the light bend and twist until it formed into threats of soul energy. They began to weave themselves into complicated patterns like the weave of fate itself.

Still, the pressure increased in the room. Hunter felt like his body was being torn in half. He peered through the weave of soul energy to see that the sword had finally punched through the back of the demon. He looked down at his own body, expecting to see the same previous wound, but there was nothing but the pain.

Hunter felt tears drip down his face and blood drip down his neck.

So this is it? This is the end? I get to die alongside the demon that captured me? How is this fair? Fuck the Host. Fuck the Horde. I'm tired.

Hunter felt like a piece of himself died. It was appropriate, he thought. If he was going to die, he might as well allow his belief to die alongside him. He dipped his head and waited for the end. He felt a cooling sensation on his back and shoulders. The teenager lifted his eyes, and his mouth dropped open as the weave of soul energy settled over him like a mantle of protection. The feeling both soothed the raging volcano and warmed the blizzard raging against his body.

He stared at the tableau of the Lord of Hell and the Archangel. It was like watching a silent movie. The two exchanged words, and then finally, reality appeared to crumble around the demon. Space was twisted, and the form of the Lord was disfigured. It folded up like an origami figure before disappearing. At the point where it disappeared, a wave of force blew from the implosion. It ruffled the angel's wings and dispersed the hellish transformation that had happened in the throne room.

Hunter was blown backward, and he landed on his back. He felt the pain of the impact, but it was strangely muted like his hearing. Oddly, the young warrior felt at peace.

This must be what dying is like, he thought.

Hunter closed his eyes and faded from consciousness.

Outside of Hunter's field of view, a black miasma spread from the archangel's sword. The heavenly warrior stepped back. Confusion was writ in the being's posture.

"What's this?"

The miasma wasn't the only other strange event. A shining light filled with warmth appeared where the angel of charity had been slain. The archangel turned his gaze from one to the other. The ritual should have dispersed the energies. They would return to their various realms and hopefully be reincarnated into different bodies. The power shouldn't have stayed in this realm.

Both of the energies, one black and one white, started to drift toward the dying boy on the ground. Fear filled Sandalphon's heart for the first time since he arrived on this plane. He took another step backward until he could watch the unfolding events at the same time.

A crash and the sound of tinkling glass made the heavenly being look toward the ceiling. There were small colored glass windows that he hadn't noticed before. A black-feathered shape sped through the broken window before billowing out its wings to arrest the momentum of its dive.

An eagle had appeared in the room and was flapping its way toward the boy. It landed near the human's head and shuffled toward him with an awkward gate. It paused in front of the human and then studied the approached energies with a raptor's gaze.

Sandalphon watched as a silver mask appeared on the human's face. It was a perfect replica of the human's own visage. The mouth on the mask opened, and a great vortex appeared above it. Both of the energies were caught up in the suction, and they begin to spiral together as they flowed into the body of the human.

The archangel brandished his sword, fearing a demonic attack in the making. He tried to communicate with the Archivist for further instructions, but the instrument of the Architect was strangely silent. The lack of response made Sandalphon nervous.

Finally, all of the energy had entered the human's body, but the angel couldn't see any overt changes to the human. He cocked his head in wonder as the boy continued to lay there. He could sense that the mortal was still alive. Not only that, Sandalphon could feel faith within his body. There was the taste of charity and the taint of greed. Both powers were within the boy in a strange mix that felt foreign and alien to the angel.

Sandalphon stowed his sword in the pocket dimension designed for such things. He slowly walked toward the human and reached down. The eagle snapped at the angel warningly, and Sandalphon smiled behind his hood.

"You're a loyal companion. Fear not—I have no intention of harming your bonded. It's time we leave this Rift, and he's a miracle that I need to investigate."

There was a long moment where neither creature moved. At last, the bird dipped its head in acceptance. Taking his cue, Sandalphon reached down and picked the teenager up, and cradled him in his arms. He was about to walk away, but the bird caught his attention with a screech.

The angel turned to look and saw that the bird was unsuccessfully trying to lift a twisted silver staff. Sandalphon intuited that the weapon must belong to the human. With a wave of his hand, the staff disappeared inside his pocket dimension.

Now freed from his burden, the bird squawked in surprise at the missing staff before balefully glaring at Sandalphon.

The angel just chuckled at the outraged bird as he turned and left the room.