It was hard for her to describe how she felt, once Don came to her sight, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, a soft and wicked smile.

That was Donnovan, right in front of her. And at that time, the girl was not the angel.

She was nothing but a human, who felt, thought, and spoke like a human.

By the time she stared at Don, the angel was just Becca, and Becca hugged her former uncle with all she had.

“Oh, wow! Ouch, girl, you got strong as hell!”

Everyone in the room was silent, as the reunion went on for a few seconds that lasted an eternity. However, even as the hug was about to end, the beastly-looking man stroke Becca’s hair.

He looked down to her, noticing a faint trace of desperation in her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re really feeling guilty for killing Rosenbaum, are you? You do realize it was self-defence, right?”

She looked at him, but kept quiet.

“Young angel... You know I’ve done worst things, for far less, don’t you?” he said, with a devilish grin spreading his lips.

She observed him, smelling the wild scent of the leather in his jacket, looking at the face of the one who took care of her for as long as she was capable of recalling, sipping his words as nectar from a flower.

The being held in Don’s arms was no human being. Although she didn’t feel like an angel, the killing of Jeremy Rosenbaum engraved it in her mind, in her soul, made her feel like this.

After thinking for a while, the girl let go of the embrace, smiling faintly, and a bit more conscious of her own self than before.

“So, I bet you have at least a few questions, don’t you?” Don asked.

“Y-yeah, I do.” the girl replied, uncertain.

It felt strange.

Was it only her impression, or the Grand Marquis Azazel got solemnly silent while waiting for their reunion to end?

“Azazel, we’re done here. You can go back to your duties.” Don said in a courteous tone. And after hearing those words, the powerful demon bowed to his waist level, turning around to take his leave.

“Woah, just what the fuck is going on here?” Aamon asked, astonished by the view of one of his leaders showing such servility to another demon.

“Oh, so you don’t know?” Bertrand asked, looking at both the girl and Azazel’s underling. “He’s the one who took my arm, not Azazel.” he finished, an unusual shadow blanketing his eyes.

The girl and her demonic companion stood there, awestruck.

Becca knew that Don was a demon, ever since she started recalling her memories, but she never cared to know what kind of demon he was.

It never mattered to her if he was only a Tempter or a Marquis, Don was Don all along the way.

But to think he did that to Bertrand, and seemed completely unsurprised by seeing them...

“You know something, don’t you?” she asked directly to the beast resembling man, her tone ice cold.

“Yes, I do know something, Nezariel.” Don said, sparks dancing through his retinas.

She trusted him, no matter what. So she didn’t wait any longer, and decided to play honest, showing the torn page from the heavenly book.

“What is it?” the angel asked.

“So you really had it...” he said, smashing the cigarette butt on the ashtray. Don waved with his free hand, and the page went flying straight to his grip.

An ominous aura filled the room, right after the page touched his fingers. Nezariel stood there, astonished, and her companions poked her at the same time, asking in unison.

“You trust him, right?”

As she stood there, frozen in place, their question seemed to make sense for a second, as the dark and threatening aura kept spreading along the room. She did trust him, for sure.

But should she?

***

She lost her sister to the Haled, lost her rightful place as Heaven’s judge, and now, she had lost her advent body.

To say that Uriel was angry, was a gargantuan understatement.

She was pure wrath, and now had to resort to an Exilus, risking getting trapped in the Haled until the end of times, just so that she could find her sister, and retrieve the stolen page from the Book of Life.

Uriel’s existence couldn’t get worse or more miserable.

Usually, she had red irises, white skin, wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short either, and had short, curly black hair.

The irises weren’t the only thing that differed Uriel from her twin, Nezariel. But neither of them ever knew exactly what made them different from one another.

The passageway from Heaven to Earth, or Haled, as angels and demons called the realm of human beings, was nothing but a rip in the veil of reality. Which automatically implied it to be easy for a celestial to cross between layers, and it was actually supposed to be easy. Even easier for someone like Uriel.

The only problem, is that it wasn’t as easy as she thought.

As the celestial being synchronized her vibrations to match those of the Exilus, her fingers touched the veil and got stuck in between.

It was as if reality itself was trying to deny her a simple pathway, so she forced her will against that of the veil, and crossed it little by little, but not without paying a price.

As Uriel trespassed the thin layer of pure energy that composed the veil of reality, her skin burned, as if marked by an incandescent iron brand, spreading a myriad of symbols all over the celestial’s body.

She landed in an alley, packed with wandering cats and a few garbage bags. Though besides that, none other being heard her shriek, though loud and painful as it was.

She grumbled and screamed a bit more, looking at the markings scattered across her body.

A few seconds later, fabric started spreading all over Uriel’s body, forming black trousers, held onto her by a black leather belt and suspenders, under which there was an elegant white, plain shirt, with its sleeves folded up until above her elbows.

At least it gave me clothing... Uriel thought to herself.

She tried to use her grace, to open another whole in the veil to where her sister could possibly be, but aside from faint sparks dancing around her, and causing insurmountable pain to the archangel’s Exilus, as if she was about to dismantle, nothing happened.

She growled, frustrated, enraged, and screamed once more towards the heavens.

The markings on her skin were rapidly fading, but she still felt them kind of holding on to her. Binding her to the human reality.

She felt no grace.

She felt no power, aside from a slight increase in her physical strength.

She felt...

Human.