Aamon used all his energy to get as far away from the girl as the room allowed, but the earl had lost too much essence in its defiled body, so she wasn’t able to do much against Nezariel’s devastating power.

“What the fuck is going on? Didn’t you say you lost your grace after arriving?” Aamon shrieked, desperate, but no answer came, and no one backed her up. She looked at where Bertrand and Purson were, but they were pretty knocked down too.

Although she noticed that she was the only one who looked really hurt.

Yet, Nezariel only looked at the demon, complete darkness permeating her eyes.

Even the light that flickered between the strange amalgamation of colours in her eyes, wasn’t there.

“Your... Fault...” Nezariel finally spoke up, taking a step towards Aamon, who tried to evade any possible attack, but couldn’t move a single muscle, trying to focus on closing the wound on her shoulder.

There was a muddy substance spurting from the hole where once was the earl’s arm, and the more she lost it, the more her body seemed to lose functionality.

Maybe that was the reason why the Ophanim was being so patient, because her steps were calm, measured, even cold.

“What’s my fault you fucking... ARGH!” Aamon didn’t have enough power to ignite her healing abilities. More so because trying to heal an already dead body demanded way too much energy than what he had.

And so, not even a minute later, Aamon’s body stood completely still, like a horrendous wax statue, only capable of speaking.

“You... You made me run around in circles, searching for my uncle... FOR A WHOLE YEAR!”

Nezariel’s eyes lit up with rage, and her fingers touched Aamon’s skin, softly enough to make the earl whimper in fear.

“Yes... I did it... But what did you want me to do?” the demon asked, screaming her lungs out, sounding like the Ophanim’s touch hurt more than her lost arm. “DID YOU REALLY WANT ME TO LEAD YOU RIGHT WHERE YOU’D LEARN TO USE THAT FUCKING THING YOU CARRY AROUND? YOU’LL NEVER GET AWAY WITH THIS NEZARIEL! ALL HAIL METATRON!”

And just like that, Aamon fell silent, waiting for the cathartic moment when Nezariel would break her neck and the demon earl would go back to Hell, to report some excuse to her lord, Lucifer.

“Before being an Earl, you’re only a tempter, you know that, right?” Nezariel asked, her voice cold as ice.

“What?

“You were raised in the demonic royal rankings because you were too good at kissing asses. For this, and my ego, you fell under my benevolent grace.”

***

The pressure weighed down on Purson’s shoulders, in a way he only felt a few times in his existence. So much so, that he understood who was in front of him right away.

Even though he didn’t understand why.

It wasn’t possible.

Yet, the way Nezariel sounded while speaking those words, it certainly wasn’t her, and most certainly, no matter how he tried to look at the whole situation, it was dangerous.

***

Aamon could only move a few muscles of her face, shock and stupefaction darkening her eyes.

“H-how?” she asked.

“I myself don’t know how it can even be possible.” Lucifer spoke in Nezariel’s voice, the only thing betraying his apparition being his manners. “I never thought it’d be possible for a higher being to incarnate in another higher being. Even more if it’s not a completely mortal body. But oh, I feel it.” they paused for a moment, getting drunk on the feelings and emotions of the unexpected host. “Uh... So that’s what the Page does... King Purson...?” he called out.

“Yes, my lord...” the king answered, his eyes down to the floor.

“You’re hereby, officially entrusted with her protection until the war starts. Also, you must ensure that she stays on our side in this battle, no matter how.” the emperor of Hell announced softly, but there was not a single drop of request in his tone.

It was an absolute order, and failing to comply surely meant extinction.

“Yes, my lord!”

The atmosphere was drenched with power and royalty, so much that it was as if everyone knew the rules.

No words spoken unless the greatest being in the room spoke to you, or else, death.

Or worse.

“And now, about you...” the infernal monarch addressed Aamon once more.

But no more words were spoken.

In the softest flick of their hand, Aamon’s defiled body disintegrated in a storm of blood and that muddy fluid, staining the whole wall, leaving behind only Aamon’s last agonizing scream.

“That is for delaying my plans, and teaming up with that old geezer in the attic.” they spoke in a tone that seemed to be holding up a whole world of anger. “Urgh... Disgusting...” they said, shaking the hand they used to pulverise the lesser earl. “Purson... Make sure she finds out how to properly use the Page. Her emotions triggered it in a very peculiar way. Also... I’m against spoiling the fun, but you should beware of your face once she wakes up. She’s mad... And I like it. But I don’t want to lose a king like this.”

“Yes, my lord.” seemed to be the only words Purson was capable of speaking in that kind of situation.

“Oh, also...” Lucifer redressed the king. “It’s not wise to ally yourself with angels in the times we’re living in.”

A dreadful feeling made goosebumps run all over Purson’s body.

The most painful and heinous things passed right through his retinas, and he kept quiet, trying not to enrage his emperor even the slightest bit more.

“You sheltering a lost heavenly daughter could have caused you an insurmountable amount of pain. But I’ll let it slide, because you ended up being so useful. Now I’ll take my leave. Take care, and try not to take any unnecessary risks.” they winked at Purson, and the next second, Nezariel fell unconscious on the floor.

“Bertrand, are you okay enough to get up? Joshua?”

“Yeah...” they both grunted, stumbling in an almost vain effort to keep steady.

“Help Becca out. I’ll be right behind you.”

And off they went, carrying an unconscious Nezariel all the way out of the restaurant.

However, he didn’t go right after them.

His hands were trembling, and his knees were shaking as if earthquakes had assaulted his whole body, cold sweat trickled his forehead and soaked his shirt.

Purson was one of the Dark Archangel’s most loyal kings in Hell, and he never got in Lucifer’s line of fire.

Until now.

So that’s how it feels to be threatened by Him... The king thought to himself, trying to get back up, and failing miserably. He sat down, and staggered his way to a wall, trying to breathe properly.

“What a fucking shame... I still have a long way to go Becca... Just you wait for me.” Purson hushed to himself, sucking a deep breath and growling as deeply as his throat let him.

The trembling had finally ceased, and with a crooked, determined, and wicked grin, the wild king stood up and went after his protégé.

But while passing by the next door, he heard a faint, female voice.

“Where... Where am I...?”

So that’s Uriel’s voice, huh? He asked no one in particular, marking that tone in his mind.

And kept walking.