Every angel waited anxiously for Gabriël and Raphael to return from the Mortal Realm. Soon, the whispers coming from the Gates grew louder, all saying the same thing; one of the Resia Nephilim was dead. She could scarcely believe it. These were the same Nephilim who had taken in Joan, considered the strongest and most valiant of all of God's warriors on Earth. If one of them could die... what hope was there for the rest?
Gabriël came back alone, having left Raphael behind to treat the wounded at the Castel. He confirmed the death of Juan Ponce de Leon, lover of Olympe de Gouges, and asked for volunteers to retrieve bodies from the Sanctum. When he mentioned a young girl might still be alive, many stepped forward to join him.
As soon as Margaret saw their returning figures appearing in the grey morning sky, she hurried to the Hospitium. The angels who had helped Gabriël were already leaving; their heads hung in defeat, their morose expressions chilling Margaret to the bone. She came upon Gabriël in the corridor which led to the surgery.

"How many?" she asked.

"One dead, one barely alive," he replied dejectedly. "The healers are attempting to save the girl. I've already sent for—Raphael!"

Before Margaret could turn around, Raphael sprinted past them without saying a word, going straight for the operating theatre. The door slammed shut behind him, and an eerie silence fell in the corridor. Margaret slipped her hand into Gabriël's, hoping to bring him some comfort. He felt ice cold.
After an hour, Raphael came back out. He met their hopeful gaze. Tears glazed his brown eyes as he quickly averted, his lips pressed into thin lines. Margaret had never seen him struggle with his emotions so badly. It could only have meant one thing — the girl hadn't made it. Gabriël approached the physician, but Raphael raised a hand.

"Please don't. Not now."

Nodding in understanding, Gabriël fell back. Margaret's heart went out to the despondent Archangels. And to the Nephilim, who had lost far too much in so little time.

"The girl has been taken to the same room her mother is in," said Raphael. "I never thought I would be confronted with the fact we don't have a proper morgue. I'm not sure what to do with them."

"I do." Gabriël and Raphael turned to Margaret as she spoke. "Tell me where they are. I will take care of them."

"Marina, I cannot ask you to do that," said Gabriël.

"You're not asking; I'm offering. I'm tired of feeling useless. This is something I can do, so please, let me do it."

The Archangels briefly glanced at each other but eventually nodded their consent. Margaret made her way to the recovery room after getting directions from Raphael. She shut the door, closed the drapes and dimmed the lights. Then she filled a bowl with water and grabbed several washcloths, a comb, and some gowns as well, believing it would be more appreciated to dress the bodies in something fresh.
Margaret couldn't bear to see the teenager lying in torn and bloodstained clothes, so started with her. Gently, she removed every piece of clothing. Her breath caught at the wounds the girl had suffered. It was a miracle she had held on for so long. The hand-shaped bruises on her throat suggested strangulation. Her upper body revealed all shades of red, blue, and dark-purple. But her legs, and the inside of her thighs... and higher still.
Margaret tried to keep her emotions in check as she washed the blood away as carefully as possible, but she nearly burst into tears when she discovered semen sticking to the skin. Her hands shook, and she had to steady herself before continuing. It pained Margaret to look at the teenager's youthful face. Underneath the blood and dust lay a perfect porcelain doll. She would've grown into a beautiful young woman had she not met the monsters the Circles had spat out during the night.

A soft flutter of wings drew Margaret's attention away. She gasped upon seeing the Angel of Death before her. Last she heard, the Archangels were looking for Samael, wanting to question him over something that happened long ago. Gabriël had warned everyone in the Vale to stay away from Samael and alert him immediately if they saw the Angel of Death.
Her gaze flicked toward the closed door. She wasn't that far away. But he would undoubtedly catch her if she tried to move toward it. Yet Margaret didn't believe he would harm her. Not intentionally.
Samael drew closer, halting on the other side of the bed. He raised his hand to touch the girl's face but seemed to change his mind and stroked her hair instead.

"It's never easy," he said. "Especially not with those so young."

Margaret stared at him. His voice sounded strangely hollow. And his expression was... blank. As if all emotion had been drained from him. He seemed so different from the last time they spoke.

"Do you know what happened to them?" Samael met her gaze.

"The... The woman's death was quick, I believe. A blade pierced her heart. But the girl was... She..." Margaret swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "She was violated."

"And you still do this alone? With nobody to support you?"

"Someone has to." Margaret braved a little smile. "And I don't mind the solitude. I've done this before."

Samael tilted his head at her words, his brow raised questioningly.

"My baby sister was born malformed and died within the hour," she explained. "My mother never recovered from her fever and died a few days later. It was customary in my time for the matriarch to prepare the dead. After she died, that duty fell to me, even though I was still very young. I was brought up by my nurse from then on. My father couldn't be bothered."

"I see."

Not wanting to discuss her past any further, Margaret gestured at the girl and her mother. "Were you there? When they died, I mean."

"I am always there. I go where I am needed, despite what the Archangels think."

Margaret knew better than to pry. She wondered if anyone had ever asked Samael how he felt about his part in the Lord's design. He was little more than a social pariah. Part of the great collective, but excluded because of what he was and did. 
Samael seemed to read Margaret's mind and said, "I made peace with my task long ago. I will never belong in the Vale. That may have been my desire once, but... no more."

He tried to appear casual, but Margaret saw right through him. She saw his pain. The resentment for how everyone treated him. The torture of his existence and agonising curse he was to bear alone. 
Margaret dropped the washing cloth in the bowl and rose to her feet. Slowly, she walked around the bed to Samael. His eyes widened when she cupped his face with both hands. His surprised and slightly panicked look told Margaret enough. He wasn't used to being touched like that. She ignored the crude, scarred skin that marked Samael's face and looked past his white, empty eye. She only saw the man inside. Tormented. Haunted. Alone.

"You can come to me," she whispered. "If you feel like it's too much, come to me. I promise you I will listen."

Samael gaped at her, perplexed at her words. Then, suddenly, he wrapped his arms around Margaret's body and dropped his head on her shoulder. She welcomed his embrace and let her fingers rake through his soft hair. It felt like the most natural thing to do.
They stayed like this for several minutes before finally parting, silently comforting each other. The Angel of Death was the first to let go, his eyes glistening with tears yet to fall. He gave Margaret a weak smile as he nudged her back. She was glad to see the façade breaking.

"Why are you so kind to me?" Samael asked. "I've done nothing for you to treat me thus."

"I just have this feeling about you. I can't explain it."

Samael lowered his eyes, a wavering expression on his contorted face. It almost seemed like he wanted to say something else, but then he appeared to change his mind. Margaret furrowed her brow. There was something curiously familiar about the way he dallied. She wondered if she had come across this Angel of Death in her past. She knew she probably hadn't, but she couldn't help but feel... connected.

"I won't keep you from your work," said Samael. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Don't be." He turned to leave, but Margaret stopped him as a thought occurred. "Samael, wait! These people... Are they —?"

"Awaiting Peter's judgment," he finished. "I see no reason for them not to cross the Gates. They'll be together in their home in the Heavens."

"And what of the Nephilim? He died once before. Can he also...?"

Margaret couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. But she didn't have to. She saw the answer she dreaded in Samael's down-turned eyes. Juan was gone. Not in the Heavens, and not in the Circles either. He was just... lost.

***

Salomé and Cosette's bodies were finally prepared to be returned to the Mortal Realm. Joan's mother volunteered to take them to the Castel Sant'Angelo so their families could say goodbye. Raphael assigned another healer to join her and a dozen guards as an escort. They would remain in Rome to help the wounded Nephilim and improve their defences.
Gabriël watched them leave from Michael's balcony, his balled fists trembling beside his body. He was angry. Mostly with himself than with anyone else. Every misfortune that had befallen the Vale and Nephilim was on him. If he hadn't told Michael to see Samael and Morpheus, the Lord Protector wouldn't be absent now. Michael would've forced the Nephilim to retreat to the Castel immediately and taken the fight to the demons himself. Had Michael stayed in the Vale, Joan wouldn't have left. He wouldn't have left. They would be together at Resia, counting the days to the birth of their child.
Gabriël raised his head towards the sky. Dark clouds drifted by, obscuring what little light the early evening twilight yet offered. It was as if the Lord didn't even want them to fight anymore. Like he wanted them to admit defeat and surrender to the looming darkness.

"Why are You letting this happen?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Are You really this cruel? Have we failed You so badly that You just turn away from us? We are Your children, Your creation. Where are You when we need You?"

He stayed silent for a few seconds, waiting, hoping for an answer. But God failed to reply. Gabriël gripped the balcony until his knuckles went white.

"Joan was right to lose her faith. You expect us all to pray, sing Your praises, and believe in Your almighty goodness when all You do is pull at our strings. All the people who die with Your name on their lips, the wars fought in Your name, all the glorious churches and cathedrals... When will You do something for us, huh? You are no God; you're a joke! A child who throws a tantrum when we don't dance to whatever tune You sing!"

Lightning illuminated the sky. Clouds packed closer together, and thunder resonated through the Vale as Gabriël raged on.

"Go ahead!" he screamed. "Prove me wrong; I dare You! Prove to me You are worth believing in! If You let the darkness win, what the hell was it all for? WHAT WAS IT FOR?"

Another lightning flash set the grey clouds ablaze in blinding light. A bolt hit the balcony, and Gabriël was hurled back inside Michael's bed chamber. He landed hard against the wall and fell to the floor like a discarded rag doll. Gabriël felt as if his bones were demolished. His ears rang, and his vision blurred. He rolled onto his back and tried to catch his breath, which wasn't easy after being smacked against a solid stone wall.

Oh, so now You decide to answer, miserable craven.

Someone called out to him. He had difficulty recognising the voice but could make out Raphael's features when the angel stepped into the room.

"Gabriël! What happened? Are you all right?"

The physician hurried over and helped him sit against the wall.

"I had a—ah—a disagreement with God." Gabriël winced in pain.

"Some disagreement if the Lord decides to shoot lightning down on one of His Archangels."

"Yeah, well, He didn't like what I had to say."

Raphael rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Gabriël, I really wish you'd stop this little rebellion you have going on," he said.

"Rebellion?" Gabriël furrowed his brow. "I don't —"

"No? What else would you call it?"

Gabriël stared up at Raphael. He knew his friend had his own opinion on everything that had happened, but he had always supported Gabriël's decisions. To call him a rebel now... It surprised him to learn that was how Raphael saw him.
The physician sighed at seeing Gabriël's surprised expression. He moved to sit beside him and said, "All right, maybe 'rebellion' isn't the right word. But you cannot deny you have turned to the dark side, even if it's only a little. You no longer stand with us. Not like you used to."

"Neither do I stand with Lucifer," rebuffed Gabriël.

"Don't you? Our runes don't just disappear, Gabriël. You swore service to the Devil, and he gave you that slight taste of darkness. That was enough to make you damaged goods for our side. I don't know what you said to God, but He has the right to be disappointed in you. We all do, if I'm being frank."

The ringing in Gabriel's ears was finally gone, but now it felt like a thousand horses were stampeding inside his head. Yet despite that pounding, there was something about Raphael's haughty tone that kept Gabriël alert. A certain edge he hadn't heard in the physician before.

"What good did leaving really do, anyway?" questioned Raphael. "You claimed you did so because you wanted to be with Joan, but here you are, right back where you started, without your lover. If anything, your actions only made things worse for everyone else. Then again, I suppose Michael's disappearing act worked out well for you. Bit odd that happened right after you sent him to Morpheus, wouldn't you agree?"

Gabriël slowly drew back from Raphael, eyes never leaving the latter's face. Had Raphael seriously just suggested he was involved in what happened to Michael?

"You know what I still don't understand?" Raphael continued, unperturbed. "Why Michael decided that, of all the Archangels, you were the one to replace him? I mean, it's not like you know what you're doing. Every step you've taken as Lord Protector the past week has only been a step to ruin. You've pissed off Lucifer; you let the Horsemen roam free... Should I even mention the Nephilim? Because you really screwed up there. Losing one of their own broke them. It's made them realise they can die again. But where will they go this time? Where, oh, where?"

Raphael snickered and clasped his hands together. His quaint, amused expression sent shivers up Gabriël's spine. What was going on here? Why was Raphael saying all these things? 

"If only you hadn't alienated yourself from the Angel of Death. Samael would know what happens to the angels when they die. He is, after all, responsible for guiding souls to their final destination. He's far more important than anyone knows. It's a shame no one ever bothered to approach him with a kind word or gesture. A real shame."

Gabriël's eyes narrowed. His suspicion grew with every word his friend spoke.

"Why are you talking about Samael like this?" he demanded.

Raphael guffawed. "Ha-ha, oh Gabriël, you should really see the look on your face now. You're more like Michael than you realise. Just as arrogant and ignorant. Just as great a fool."

At that moment, Gabriël saw it. Only for a brief second, but he was sure he hadn't imagined it. Raphael's left eye had changed to one without a pupil or an iris. An eye with only ghostly white sclera. The man talking to him wasn't Raphael. It was the Angel of Death himself.

***

Margaret industriously cleaned the room she'd spent the past few hours in. She was glad when Catherine came to help her, but hardly spoke a word to her friend. Her mind kept wandering to her conversation with the Angel of Death. It was her second meeting with Samael, and he'd left yet another impression. Not fear, though. Nor pity. She didn't understand what she felt towards him, but knew he was special. To her, somehow, more than to anyone else. But why?
A white flash illuminated the sky outside, and Margaret looked up in concern. The storm brewing outside wasn't normal. This wasn't a weather phenomenon, but a sign — the Lord was displeased over something. Thunder roared. Another flash split the Vale in two.
Suddenly, the door burst open and Raphael stormed in. He hurried straight to the supply closet without saying a single word to them. Margaret glanced over at Catherine, who seemed as confused over Raphael's agitated state as she was. 

"What's wrong?" asked Margaret. "Did something happen?"

"That last bolt hit the Villa," said Raphael as he gathered several ointments and bandages without slowing down. "Gabriël was up on the balcony. I need to go see if he's okay."

"I'll come with you," said Catherine, already putting her cloak around her shoulders.

"Me too," said Margaret.

Under normal circumstances, they all would've flown, but it was simply too dangerous with the random lightning bolts coming down. If their wings were hit, they could burn to a crisp and lose their grace as the lightning was pure, unbound Heaven's Fire.
The trio ran to the Villa, not slowing until they were greeted with the sounds of a struggle. Raphael spread his arms to stop the girls from going further just as a falling body appeared above them. Catherine screamed when Gabriël hit the ground. Luckily, the Archangel's wings were out and broke his fall. He rolled over the floor and scrambled to his feet, sword in hand.
Another figure landed in their midst, more gracefully than Gabriël had. Margaret's eyes widened, and Raphael gasped in shock upon seeing his dark-winged twin.

"Oh, look who came to join us," said Raphael's double with a voice that sounded nothing like the original. "No point to keep up pretences then."

The man made a slow-rolling movement with his head. His hair turned to copper, his body changed to a slightly taller and muscular build, and his face morphed... both beautiful and nightmarish. Only this time, the darkness seemed to have taken hold of his fairer side. Margaret's heart stilled. Was this truly the same angel she'd seen not hours ago? The one who had embraced her when she offered to be his support? I couldn't be. 
When Margaret saw Gabriël meant to attack, something inside her urged her to move. She pushed past Raphael, his hand gripping the air as he failed to catch her, and she put herself between the two battling angels.

"Stop this, now!"

"Marina, move away!" yelled Gabriël.

She yelped when Samael suddenly grabbed her arm and held her in front of him, using her as a shield. Gabriël raised Michael's sword but did not attack. 

"Let her go, Samael," he ordered.

"Or what, 'Lord Protector'?" dared Samael derisively. "You can't harm me. God Himself saved me from the poison Michael used on my mother to kill me. He has plans for me. I will soon be in my rightful place; you'll see. You will all see!"

Gabriël feigned moving left and pushed off from a pillar so he could strike at Samael without harming Margaret. But the Angel of Death had expected a move from his opponent. All Margaret saw was the flurry of black wings suddenly covering her. Gabriël's blade slashed through the wings and cut off some feathers, but it wasn't enough to stop Samael. He made a swishing move with his hand, and a grey mist surrounded him and Margaret. His laugh echoed through the Villa as the mist pulled Samael into the very depths of the darkness.
And Margaret with him.