"I couldn't love a man so purely

Even darkness forgave his goofy way

I've learned love is like a brick you can

Build a house or sink a dead body."

- Lady Gaga, Judas

How could I ever forget that he's my main enemy? That he's an angel, vanished temporarily from the house of Angels, in the land of Heaven, who serves greater purpose on Earth? I don't know if Hadraniel, or Adrian – whatever his name is, is a warrior angel, or an Angel who has a greater role to serve.

I'm not afraid of him. No, I'm far from that. I wasn't even thinking about fear until now. If he were to have his power back, use it against me, he's still no match for me. I have a power – an ancient power – that can kill millions and millions of angels. Well, I had a power that could kill millions and millions of angels. No kidding. But I have yet to obtain that again.

As of the moment I bear the title of a Great Marquis of Hell when I used to be a Great Duke of Hell, just like Dantalion. But I lost that title after being captured, and locked out in a purified cell, by the angels, specifically by the King and Queen of the Angels. Fortunately, I got out, got freed, after a few of the prophecies happened. Just thinking of those bastards who locked me in a holy cell is enough to boil my blood, and since Dantalion crosses my mind, I want to wreck things, pour his blood all over his body while his head is being ripped off. Of course demons don't really die, just like the angels.

If we demons get killed physically, our soul will be buried hundred feet under Hell, and we will be formed, then we will be reborn. First the conscious, then the mind, then the urge for blood, then body, and then mind. Angels are different. If they die, well, I don't have any idea. Angels are not much of a storyteller. I had captured an angel before, and the angel wasn't really talking much at me but he did a lot of talking back, which led me to kill him earlier than intended.

I still remember the way his eyes roll at the back of his head as I clawed his chest, tearing the stupid uniform of theirs, which were apparently holy. It burned my hands, but it wasn't enough to hurt me. Well, it hurt, but not much. I clawed him so much that after I was done with him, I wasn't able to recognize him. From his face down to his body. I was hungry for the blood of the angels – there was so much rage, hatred, and anger living inside my body. And the fact that it was a war between angels and demons (it has always been the war between the two), made me want to kill more and more and more angels. There was this thirst that needed to be quenched, and the only way it could be quenched was to see the angels' blood, ichor, cake all over me, all over the road I walk on, all over the place I would be.

"So what's up? Why are you staying here in my place?" Aeshma asks, my greatest friend ever. Or not. I got used to Aeshma being around me. He's basically my follower, though Aesha has his own team to supervise and lecture and train. Aeshma, in a demon world, is a demonification (personification), if that's even a word for rage, or wrath, or fury. I think that was the reason why we're friends, or acquaintance, or buddies, or whatever we are. "Something's troubling you." And then his eyes twinkle brightly. Aeshma isn't really the brightest demon. "The fallen angel."

I look away. I'm not ashamed to tell the truth, after all we only tell the truth, the truth that most angels and mortals don't want to hear, but it has me thinking: Why should I tell him that this disturbance is being caused by an angel who has been punished to be a mortal for Satan knows how long? I shake my head. He may or may not be the brightest demon ever, but he can see right through me. We demons share the same goal: kill the angels, unleash the evil, and rule the Earth, the mortals. But tonight I'm not sharing my goal, which I don't even know what is.

Aeshma doesn't push me further. Instead he grabs a chocolate chaud, offers one to me, and I take it gladly from his hand. Aeshma's army is in Paris, France, but he grows fond of the city of Brooklyn. Despite the beauty of the Paris, he finds solace and peace (should demons even be finding solace and peace in the first place?) in this city. And that's the reason why he's here while his army is slacking off their asses. Paris, France is beautiful, and it will be even more beautiful once it's destroyed.

"Nothing," I mutter under my breath, staring into the sea of people strolling across the streets of Brooklyn, easing their way, squeezing themselves, as they rush towards their destinations. They look pathetic.

He stands beside me, watching the city. "In the mortal dictionary, its definition is bullshit," he says to me, turning his body to look at me. I look at him from the corner of my eyes. I'm a lot older than him – thousands, but he looks more mature than me. I have experienced almost everything while he still needs to experience a lot of things. Aeshma is yet to experience being captured by the enemies you swore to kill and end their race. Although I have killed a lot of angels, the latter is still in pending status. "And in my dictionary, I will agree with the mortal dictionary."

"You're right, it's the fallen angel." I admit. There's no point in lying. In the mortal dictionary, nothing means bullshit. I agree with the mortal dictionary as well. "That holy fallen angel."

"You should have busted his head a long time ago," he informs me, his tone laced with venom. His urge to kill a demon goes off, like the air inside the balloon being released all at once. "You should have killed him that fucker the very moment you saw him in that woods. If you hadn't stopped me from killing him, he wouldn't be the reason why you're being bugged like this. When or if I see that bastard again, I'll kill him with no hesitation." To be honest, killing that angel has never crossed my mind until now. Yes, there's still this urge to kill angels, but there's never the urge to kill that angel. And when Aehsma's voice turns into an accusing tone, and when he mentions that when or if he finds Hadraniel he'd kill him, that's enough to reach my limit.

"YOU WILL NEVER LAY A HAND, EVEN A FINGER, ON HIM, GOT IT?" My voice is thunderous, shaking the room we're in. There's so much malice in my voice that it makes Aeshma tense and cower in fear. When Forneous is mad, he wrecks things and makes the place around him unbearable to stand on. It's like a Hell in a Hell. And I am mad. Aeshma raises his hands up in surrender, telling me to calm the Hell down. Aeshma's ranking is lower than mine. He has a title of a Great Knight of Hell. It's high enough, since most of the demons don't have a title under their name, but I'm more powerful than him. With the flick of my finger, I can send him flying across the sky just above the city of Brooklyn. No kidding.

Aeshma walks slowly towards my direction and takes a deep breath. "I never saw you so worked up." He says truthfully. It's true. Nobody has seen me so worked up, until now. I rarely lose my cool. The last time I lost my cool is hundred years ago. I can see that Aeshma wants to say something more to me, but he never does. He turns on his back, and goes to his room without saying anything to me. Demons never apologize. Demons never do that.

Then I hear him chanting. The motherfucking angel in my unit is chanting, praying. It sets something inside me – uncomfortableness. Though it doesn't really have a huge effect on me, it pisses me off. Adrian pisses me off.

Of course the best thing to do is to ignore him, and that's what I do. I ignore all his crappy prayers, chanting, and his messages to his parents and the other angels and his savior and whatever words come out his mouth. His holy mouth. Which I want to ravish all day long and night. Every hour, every minute, and every second. Every inch, every part, every skin.

So I do the very best I can to ignore him. His sweet voice rings in my ears, cooling everything inside me, as if he's a wind and I'm made of fire. Normally if I hear an angel's voice, I'd say this it's not really pleasant to listen to, with additional snarky comments here and there, but Adrian's voice is different. The more he talks, the more I'm being drawn into him. It's like we're both magnets; I keep pushing myself to him, while he pulls me with his beautiful and sweet and melodic voice. Then his voice stops.

And I feel disappointed.

And I don't even know why.

Perhaps I like hearing his voice. For demons, our taste in music is different than angels and mortals. Our type of music is the moans, the pain, the sorrow, the anger, the hatred in the mortals' heart. Their cries when they are being killed, their cries when they are in so much pain, their cries when they're so frustrated, their cries when they feel the ultimate betrayal, their cries when they think nobody seems to be helping them, their pleads, that's the type of music demons will love to hear. I shouldn't be liking Hadraniel's voice inside my head. I shouldn't even be hearing it. But since the unit is bounded and spelled by me, all the things that are happening inside that unit, I will see, feel, and hear.

After a few moments, I don't feel his presence anymore inside the unit. I guess he got tired of praying when nobody seems to be listening to his prayers, or words. I have told him to roam the city, to not wait for me to come home, and then I felt that he was waiting for me to come back. Which pisses me off. And then I realize how dumb the angel is. For one, I have basically let him go. Second, he's dumb to realize that I have basically let him go. There's still a cord or a wire connecting us, but I've let him go.

The thoughts of me nearly kissing him on the lips flashes inside my head. I try to push it at the back of my head, but the image doesn't fade. No, it stays longer. The reason why I got the attitude to shove him away, is because I want to kiss him passionately. When demons kiss, they are rough, hard; you're basically forcing yourself into him or her, and then you will hear the cries, the pain, the flare of anger they emanate, which will force you to push yourself more into him or her, and that will be your satisfaction. But for Adrian, it's different. I don't want to do those things to him.

And that's what's bugging me.

How could I, the demon who used to hold a title of a Great Duke of Hell, don't want to do that to him when it's my job, it's my nature, to do that in the first place?

Something's wrong, I think.

Not to me, but to the nature. There's this sickly feeling coiling inside my stomach – I want to vomit. My heart races. Demons have a heart, but it's tainted with hate, fueled with rage, and covered by toxic. Then it stops. That something's wrong feeling has stopped suddenly, and then I tense. His arms. His arms. His fucking arms are around him. Dantalion's fucking arms around my angel.

And then suddenly, I've got a valid reason to end his physical body and bury his soul 100 feet under the burning ground of Hell. Without further ado, my wings flap out of my back, and then I become a darker version. I'm in my demon form. I may not have the old title I used to have before, but my power is still great. And with this, I can easily fight Dantalion. I can kick his ass, punch his face, tear him from limbs to limbs, and throw his remains in the Holy Place just to torture him. That sounds like a good plan.