Joan struggled against the shadows. Whenever she struck one down, two more came in its place. It was like fighting the fabled hydra. Some souls tried to help her—the ones who had died fighting and who were not afraid to forfeit their afterlife as well. But they only had their fists to fight with and were no match for the disembodied demons.

"Stop fighting them! Just make sure they don't take anyone!" Joan shouted.

The most awful dread suddenly filled her. She tried to see how Gabriël was doing but could only catch a glimpse of him. There had to be a way to get to him. He wasn't the best fighter in the Vale's army and would certainly need help if the damn things ganged up on him. But if she came to his aid now, the souls would be left unprotected. She couldn't risk it.

Hold on, she prayed. Please, just hold on.

Where was Michael? Where were the warriors? Surely, they must have realised something was wrong by now, especially if they received Peter's message. Unless... Joan glanced at the little fisherman's hut between strikes, but couldn't see him anywhere. She hoped he had stayed inside, as she had told him to do.
One soul shouted a warning at her, pulling her back to fight. She was trapped by two shadows threatening to collide against. There was one good thing about them, though - they didn't have legs. Joan dropped to the ground and quickly rolled underneath them. She swung her sword in her tumble, and both shadows shrieked as they evaporated after the blade cut through them. Rising to her feet, she felt a sudden sting of pain. Had she been wounded? No, she was fine. Then what could have -?

"Joan, move!"

Peter's voice warned Joan just in time. She jumped out of the way as a great golden net came over the shadows. Their ear-piercing shrieks made Joan's skin crawl. She looked up to find Catherine standing with Peter, his trident in her hand. Another figure in the background ran away from his hut into the Vale – Margaret.

"What the hell were you two doing here?" yelled Joan at Catherine.

"Helping Gabriël keep an eye on your rebellious ass," she replied dryly. "You're welcome, by the way."

She started puncturing one shadow after another with the trident. They tried to wriggle from underneath the net, but Peter had a firm hold of it. There was no way these creatures would get away. The mesh was woven from silk and the purest and most dangerous substance found in the universe — Heaven's Fire.
Heaven's Fire was always dormant. It awoke when it came in contact with anything that had been affected by the darkness. And when it did, anyone who touched it felt themselves dying all over again, in agonising pain and in a constant loop. Only a privileged few could control it without being affected by it.

"Help is on the way," Peter told Joan. "Michael is mobilising the others. You help Gabriël while we dispose of these foul things."

Confident Peter and Catherine could handle the shadows, Joan left them to search for Gabriël. She found him near the border. He was on the ground, trying to get back up. A horrified gasp escaped Joan when she saw he was wounded. Her gaze shifted. Gabriël's opponent looked down on him, a cold smirk on his face, ready to strike again.

Wait... That face. Oh no, not...

She had heard the stories, and she had been present on the day of his final judgment. Never could she forget what he had done. And what he had said. In a single moment, her wings were out, and she leapt towards them.

***

There were times that Gabriël felt slightly jealous of Michael being the Lord Protector and him being 'only' the Messenger. Now was not one of those times. It was painfully clear why they'd been bestowed their respective roles. He was no warrior. Michael accommodated him the best he could by training him himself and inviting him over for battle simulations, claiming Gabriël's keen mind was valuable in formulating and understanding strategies. The belief that a true fight would differ from practice had always kept Gabriël from worrying too much about his prowess. How wrong he was.
He was nowhere near prepared for single combat with a warrior such as the Borgia Bastard. Though Gabriël fought bravely and with every fibre in his being, he was no match for him. Borgia played with him, making sure he would focus only on the great sword he wielded with one hand. And when the Archangel stood close enough, both hands on the hilt to repel his strike, the demon moved swiftly to stab him in the side with a small pugio dagger that had been hidden behind his back. Gabriël never even saw it coming.
The pain took the Archangel by surprise as the blade pierced straight through his armour and body. His sword clattered to the ground. He fell to his knees, warm blood dripping from the wound on his side, and looked down. Borgia had not even bothered to take the pugio out. It was lodged into Gabriël's body, down to the hilt. He couldn't risk taking it out, but neither could he continue fighting like this. He tried to get up, but it was no use; the pain was too great.

"Well, this sure is a dilemma, my old friend." The demon sniggered as he faced Gabriël, playing with his sword in his right hand and running the left through his black hair. "I could finish you now and have it all over with. Weaken the collective with one swift blow, and all that. But that would hardly give me the satisfaction of seeing you suffer. So I think I'll let my little poison do the work for me instead."

Poison? Of course he would use that. 

"I-I see... the Borgia Bastard... yet has his old tricks. S-still so fond... of using Ca-Cantarella?" Gabriël looked up at his foe, panting heavily. "I remember Della Rovere... Your own father... E-Even, your sister's lover."

A hard kick against the chin knocked him out for a moment after hitting the ground. Provoking Borgia with Lucrezia may not have been the best idea, but it was the only one he had right now. He had to stall long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

"You do not speak of her!" snapped the Italian. "She was mine!"

"K-Keep... telling yourself... that." Gabriël winced.

Another kick, to the ribs this time. It was getting harder to breathe. Everything was spinning around Gabriël, with only his foe as clear as day above him.

"Forget the poison. This is much better."

Borgia grinned coldly and made to strike.

***

A flutter of wings burst against the demon, smacking him down and away from Gabriël. Borgia shook his head as he recovered from the fall. He froze when his eyes fell on the angel that had dared to come between him and vengeance.

"If you ever touch Gabriël again, I will destroy you! I will kill you as many times as it takes until you are nothing more than dust, so help me God!"

Joan was livid. Never had she felt such rage. That this thing, this bastard, dared to attack the Gates and wound her friend! The urge to run him through then and there made her body tremble. It only got worse when Borgia rose to his feet, a smug look plastered on his face. 

"Joan of Arc. We finally meet." He flashed a devilish grin. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am -"

"Oh, we've met before, Borgia," Joan interrupted, bristling in furor. "I don't need a reintroduction of a vile snake like you. I am giving you precisely five seconds to take your little minions away from here before I really lose my temper. And believe me, you don't want that."

The corner of Borgia's mouth twitched at her threat. Joan knew he was a proud warrior, and a supercilious man at that. A type like Borgia did not accept any back-talk, and certainly not from someone like her.

"J-Joan," Gabriël spoke weakly, "be... careful."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, but turned her attention back to Borgia when he approached her, stopping at the tip of her sword.

"Yes, Joan. Do be careful," he said menacingly. "You don't want me to lose my temper."

In a flash, Joan pulled her dagger and put it against his throat. The sharp end nicked his skin, but he didn't even flinch.

"Go on," she dared. "Try me. You'll find I'm not so easy to defeat."

Borgia's dark eyes glanced over Joan's head at the distant sky. He chuckled, then moved a lock of hair away from her face and behind her ear. She remained perfectly still.

"Another time, perhaps. But I assure you, I'll be looking forward to it... little girl."

Before Joan could strike him with her sword, the Borgia Bastard jumped back and transformed into a disembodied spectre again before vanishing over the border. Every warrior instinct within Joan moved her to pursue and stop him from escaping, but her heart grounded her, remembering there was a far more urgent problem. She dropped her weapons and ran back to Gabriël, falling to her knees beside him to take him in her arms. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. His body was limp, his breathing unsteady. He felt so cold.

"Gabriël! I'm here, do you hear me? Gabriël? Gabriël!"

***

Grigori watched from the shadows as his Master welcomed the Borgia Bastard into the room. Though he had to admit this man was an exceptional fighter, it didn't mean he had to like him. Or even wish him well, unless, of course, his actions were for his Master's benefit. Which, most often, they were not.

"Cesare Borgia. I knew it was a good decision to put you in charge of this raid."

The Master was excited. He had every reason to be after striking a blow towards the Almighty and the angels of the Vale, of course. Still, there were losses to be considered. And the Prince of Hell and Darkness would certainly do so.

"I must say, it was a nice touch with that dagger. You even had me fooled," said the Master. "Tell me, you made sure the blade had a non-lethal dose? As we planned?"

"Yes, just high enough for the recuperation to be long and painful," confirmed Borgia. "Were I a merciful man, I would have killed Gabriël then and there."

"No, no, he should live. I need him to live. He will make a fine addition."

Grigori's mouth curled up in a smile when he saw Borgia's brow wrinkle in confusion. He had taken on this assignment to make sure Gabriël would suffer. To strike a blow at 'those feathered upstarts above'. The man was a fool whose desire for revenge had been just what they needed.

"Beg your pardon, my Lord, an addition?" questioned Borgia. "Surely, you don't mean to make him one of us?"

"I most certainly do," said the Master. "We need someone to control the girl, after all."

"The girl? You mean... her?"

"When Joan of Arc falls from grace, and fall she will, the Archangel is bound to follow. He cares too much for her not to do so. Do you know what happens when an Archangel gives himself up willingly? What that does to the grand design the Lord so carefully built? It crumbles. And that, signore, is our goal."

A scowl crossed Borgia's features, much to Grigori's amusement. He truly was so easy to dupe. The Master ignored the warrior's clear discontent and continued airily, "Oh, but forgive me. You will, of course, want to rest. Please, take one of the rooms in the palace. You are one of us now, after all. I shall send you a little something later. Good work should always be rewarded."

Borgia bowed in gratitude. The heavy doors shut when the demon left, and Grigori was once again alone with the ruler of the Circles. He stepped forward, out of the shadows, and came to stand with his Master.

"Well, Grigori, your thoughts on the matter?"

The fake smile was gone and onyx eyes stared intently at the closed doors. Grigori knew he had to proceed with caution.

"We lost a lot of souls. Borgia was reckless and thought only of his own agenda. He came very close to killing the Archangel."

Silence.

"However, all may turn out in our favour," continued Grigori. "If Joan is kept away from Gabriël while he heals, she may fall out again, which will force the Lord Protector to act."

"Hmm, yes," nodded the Master. "Even if they don't quite give in to their true feelings for each other, Gabriël will still feel guilty since her demise happened because of him. He will surely follow to make amends or join her in exile. When we have both of them, Michael's forces will be considerably weakened, and we shall attack with all our might."

"Yes, Master." Grigori bowed his head. "A most favourable outcome, indeed."

"Now, what to do with Borgia? I promised him a treat, did I not? What do you think? Shall I send him... her?"

"Maybe not yet. He has undoubtedly proven himself, but we lost an entire attack force. A reward, yes, but not so high. You have already given him a room here. A regular soul shall do, I believe."

The Master laughed at the reaction.

"Grigori, you do amuse me sometimes. What do you fear? That he shall take your place? Never, my friend. You are far too valuable to me. But I suppose you are right. Let Borgia squirm just a bit more to earn that reward. She is well looked after, I presume?"

"Yes, Master. With Morpheus, in the Dream Realm, just like the others of her... importance."

"Good, very good."

Both men moved toward the wall mirror. The black surface glistened as the Master waved his hand over it, articulating Gabriël's name. Images of figures and landscapes rushed across the reflection until it focused on what looked like an infirmary.

"Now, let us see how our wounded Archangel is doing."