Michael lay doubled over on the ground. The feeling of a thousand knives piercing him all at once had caught him by surprise, forcing him down. But the pain he felt wasn't his own. It wasn't his body that bled. He sensed it coming from deep within him. Someone who possessed angel blood was in severe danger. Or many someones. They were being beaten, cut, burned, bitten... murdered.
The sensation overwhelmed Michael. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to pick himself up. Sheer pain pushed him back down. A tiny hand tenderly rubbed Michael's temple. He heard the faint voice of a little girl.

"It's okay." Eve stroked his hair. "Pappa is going to help them. He'll save them."

"Wh-What is... happening?" Michael choked on his words.

"The bad souls and monsters are attacking the angel warriors on Earth. They are in a big castle near a river. You are there too."

The Castel Sant' Angelo? The Nephilim...

"I-I have to... I need to... help."

"There is nothing you can do, Michael," spoke another voice. "Not from here."

Through his watery eyes, Michael saw a female shape walking toward them. He made out her sombre grey dress, dark skin, and wavy white hair framing her beautiful diamond-shaped face. Azrael knelt down and placed Michael's head into her lap. Eve moved to sit beside her, but kept her right hand on Michael's shoulder. Their presence comforted him beyond measure. The pain lessened, and he breathed easier.

"Many Nephilim died," said Azrael, her eyes resting on Michael's face. "A few angels too. Lucifer provided the witches in the Circles all they required to break through the guards and charms placed on the Castel. Gabriël is on his way as we speak."

"N-No! G-Gabriël is... n-not a warrior. He will... die!"

"Have faith in him, Michael. You were right to choose him as your replacement. I have never seen such a resolve in him. Have faith."

***

They descended upon the demons with the might of all the Heavens. Hundreds of warriors from the Vale had followed Gabriël into battle, not knowing what to expect or if they would make it out again. The Castel was overrun with all the monsters the Circles could spit out in a single night. Many had already died at the hands of the Nephilim, but there were still many more. It was time to take back their stronghold and show the darkness that the light could not be snuffed out so easily.
With a mighty beat of his wings, Gabriël blew away the beasts clawing at Thomas Wyatt. The mage appeared to have shielded his vital parts with an incantation but bled heavily. His skin was already changing colour, dying from poison. Almost every part of his body had been bitten by those filthy creatures.
Vlad Tepes, who had returned to the Castel Sant' Angelo through a portal Peter conjured, rushed to Gabriël's side to help him with the wounded Nephilim. Gabriël noticed the decapitated body of one of Joan's old army comrades.  

"Your doing?" he asked Tepes as he gestured to the sword sticking between the Frenchman's legs.

"I wish." Tepes sneered at the wide, bulgy eyes protruded from de Rais' head. "Sir Wyatt gave that raping mongrel right what he deserved. Here, I will take him."

"You can't manage on your own."

"He is not alone."

Richard the Lionheart appeared out of the crowd, covered in blood. He put Thomas' arm over his shoulder, dropping the surgical blade in his hand. Gabriël glanced at it, silently wondering if that was whose he believed it was.

"Be thankful you did not see the Ripper's true face," said Richard. "I will never get that image out of my mind. I don't know nor care where demons go when they die again, but wherever it is, I hope he rots."

Gabriël met the King's eyes, knowing they were both thinking the same — for Juan.

"Take Thomas below to the healers," he ordered. "Strengthen the defences with the other Nephilim. Let me and the angels deal with whatever is left of the demons."

"Find Anne!" Richard called over his shoulder as he and Tepes carried Thomas away. "She's fighting Borgia!"

Borgia... Gabriël's face twisted in rage upon hearing that name. Not lingering another moment, he took to the sky. From above, Gabriël saw a flurry of white wings everywhere. The Vale's army was making quick work of the demons that remained. They used their weapons, their magic, and the inventions the artistas had created for them. This was one battle they would not lose.
Gabriël dived to the river, allowing the tip of his wings to touch the water's surface. He raised his hands and shut his eyes to concentrate. The air cooled. The calm waters of the Tiber whirled. Thin streams climbed the pillars of the bridge, slithering into the Castel like snakes until they reached the courtyard where the battle raged. No one noticed the water about them. With all the blood already spilt, it was almost impossible to do so.

"In Dei nomine, sanguinem Terre appello, ut meum facias jussionem."

As he soared back up, Gabriël felt his arm tingle. He didn't look down at it, but he knew the sensation could only mean one thing — the Lord granted him His power.
Horrid howls filled the night. The creatures from Hell bellowed and shrieked as their flesh melted off. Some of the corporeal demons grasped what was happening and promptly sought higher ground, even climbing onto the mangled bodies around them. The angels quickly spread the word everyone was to push the demons to the ground if they could. No matter how strong they were, there was no escaping holy water. Not when made by Gabriël.

A blood-curdling scream suddenly drowned out the commotion from the battle. Gabriël hurriedly searched where it came from and observed figures atop the highest tower. He sped towards them, Michael's sword in hand. But the sight that greeted him as he landed on the battlements was not that of the mighty Borgia general in all his glory.
The Italian warrior was on his knees, crying in agony. His hands gripped the right side of his face, where an arrow was sunk up to the shaft. Anne had shot it through Borgia's eye from across the tower, kneeling on one knee. An impossible shot, requiring immense strength and precision. But when Gabriël saw Anne's daughter bleeding on the ground behind Borgia, he understood how she had done this.
The Archangel leapt off the edge and caught Anne in his arms just as she lost consciousness. Carefully, he lay her down on the cold stones, then turned to his old foe. Borgia grunted and groaned as he attempted to pull the arrow out. When he finally managed, he threw it away in a wild frenzy, yelling at the top of his lungs. Blood poured out of his eye. Nothing was left but exposed raw flesh and torn skin.

"You're not looking too well, Borgia," said Gabriël as he slowly stalked over.

"You fucking cur!" Borgia crawled up, drawing a dagger from his armour and waving it before him. "Don't think for one second I am weakened by this! I will have you yet, Gabriël! I have killed the whore and her whelp, and I will kill you as well!"

"You have killed no one."

"Forgotten about what I do best?"

Gabriël stiffened at the villainous smirk. Of course... poison. Borgia staggered about, laughing maniacally.

"I HAVE WON! We have won, you pathetic fuck! Your Nephilim are dead! You will never beat us, Gabriël! What you see here is only a fraction of the true power waiting below in the Circles!"

The Archangel moved on, determined to silence the Bastard once and for all.

"There is nothing you can do." Borgia raged on in a wild frenzy. "Nothing! The darkness will triumph, and we will have you to thank for it! You and your bitch! The Devil will take your bastard child and turn it into one of our own!"

Gabriël raised his sword, anger burning inside him.

"And I will have her again... My Lucrezia."

The blade came down, and...

CLANG! Steel collided against steel when the Horseman of War blocked Gabriël's attack. He quickly recoiled, jumping to where Anne lay unconscious to protect her. The other three were still mounted on their ghastly steeds. The horses neighed and snorted. Hooves impatiently scraped the stones of the Castel. 
Taking advantage of the distraction, the Borgia Bastard took his chance and smashed a vial against the ground. A portal opened beneath him, and he fell through, throwing one last triumphant look at Gabriël. War seemed unperturbed by Borgia's vanishing act and kept his eyes on Gabriël, who clutched Michael's sword tight.

"Sheath your sword," the Horseman said. "We merely wish to talk."

"I'll keep it where it is, if you don't mind."

Gabriël recalled what happened the last time he had faced the Horsemen and hastily retracted his wings. The fighting still went on below, so it looked like he was about to face them on his own again.

"We have awaited your return to Earth, Messenger." The dual male and female voice Death spoke with sent shivers up Gabriël's spine. "We have a common foe. The one who stole his title and the responsibilities that go with it."

The cloaked skeleton revealed its severed arm. Gabriël lowered his sword. Had Samael done that? Uriël's words echoed through his mind. The Angel of Death wielding the power of Death...

"I see you already know of whom I speak," said Death. "You know what he can do with it, having experienced it yourself. You must take my hand from him if you are to win the coming battle and save the others of your kind."

"Why don't you just take your hand back yourself? Why ask me?"

"Because of the two of us, you have more to gain and everything to lose."

Gabriël remained silent. He'd expected they'd come to finish the job they started on Adam's Peak, but was taking quite a turn. The Horsemen were their own masters; they didn't answer to the Circles or the Heavens. Bargaining was certainly out of character.

"So I return your hand to you, and then what?" demanded Gabriël. "We go back to fighting each other? You know we can't allow you to continue your destruction."

"Our task is already done," answered Death. "We have played the part that was written for us long ago. Soon, we shall return to our own domain until fate calls us again. Your fight is not with us but with the Circles. Yet, we understand that you may have reservations against a truce with us. So we propose the return of what is mine for the return of your souls."

Gabriël blinked his eyes in shock. If the souls were relinquished, they could move on to their rightful place. Everyone who had died because of the Horsemen, even indirectly, would be saved.

"I have your word on this?" he asked.

A burning cross appeared on the robes of the skeleton, right where a heart would have been. The flames sank into the cloth, marking the ribcage.

"You have," promised Death.

"Very well. I'll get your hand back. Somehow..."

Death bowed and turned to mount the pale horse again. 

"Wait!" Gabriël called. "Bring them back. The Nephilim who died and others with angel blood. Bring them back."

He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try.

"You.... dare... to assssk... thissss?"

Famine's wheezing and angry voice had Gabriël regretting his request. War and Pestilence grabbed their weapons and made to spur their horses to attack him, but Death halted them, hollow eyes on Gabriël.

"To bring back what is dead is a miraculous feat. Only one or two possess this power, and I, surprisingly, do not. Yet... I can stop those wounded from dying. Your healers can do the rest."

"Thank you." Gabriël exhaled, relieved he had managed to save at least some of the Nephilim.

"Do not thank me, Messenger. I offer this as a sign of good faith in you. Fail me, and I will claim these souls as well."

The Horsemen rode away through the sky, disappearing into the dark clouds above. Gabriël heard a sudden gasp and laboured coughing. He dropped Michael's sword onto the stones and knelt at Anne's side. He held her close.

"A-Adeline? W-where is my...?"

She turned her head, searching for her daughter. Adeline's figure lay still on the stones. Anne reached for her, but Gabriël held her tighter. She struggled a little, then sank against Gabriël's body. Her tears stained his shirt.
The Borgia Bastard's poison had struck both mother and daughter. Because Anne was once an angel, she had taken longer to die. Death's promise to spare the wounded saved her. But it was too late for Adeline. Yet another victim in the Boleyn bloodline. Another reason to make Borgia suffer a fate worse than death.

***

It was over. The angels and Nephilim were no longer dying. Michael's breathing eased, and the pain ebbed. He turned onto his back and looked up at the Angel of Death and the little girl, and was surprised to find some striking similarities between them.
Eve held tiny specks of gold in her pupils, whereas Azrael's irises glowed bright like a fiery ring. They both had that same calming effect in their touch. And they both had scars, even though Eve's were relatively small compared to the mask Azrael's scars created around her eyes. But Michael did notice Eve's scar had grown since last he saw her. The dark veins almost embraced her left eye. Could it truly be...?

"You've guessed it." Azrael smiled.

"How?" asked Michael.

"The same old cliché, I suppose. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Gabriël's daughter is the next Angel of Death. The real one. It is how she knows what is happening out there and how I appear here. I am bound to her until she becomes what I once was. Only when she learns how to master the responsibility of being a guardian and guide to the souls will my death truly be final. Until then, I am her teacher."

Eve said nothing, but nodded to confirm Azrael's tale. It amazed Michael that a child not even born would know and so readily accept her own destiny like this. But then again, she was Joan's daughter. The simple farm girl from Domrémy had needed very little convincing herself.

"How is it I see you?" Michael's gaze returned to Azrael.

"You are the Lord Protector. Since the girl is —"

"Eve," interrupted Michael. "Her name is Eve."

"No, it is not." Azrael grinned at him, unperturbed by the disruption. "But it does not matter. We have to call her something until she is born. It might as well be Eve. As I was saying, since... Eve is part Archangel and linked to the Lord Protector, you are the only other person who can see me."

"Ow, this is giving me a headache." Michael groaned as he tried to wrap his head around it.

"I believe the cause of that pain may be the aftereffect of feeling so many of our kind die at once, but yes, I suppose it is a lot to grasp."

Azrael and Eve helped Michael sit, each holding one of his arms and supporting his back. He placed his hand atop Azrael's. 

"I must know," he said. "What happened to you?"

The corners of her mouth turned down. Her golden eyes filled with sadness. She exhaled slowly.

"I believed I could save him. I believed it would be enough if I taught him what I knew and loved him as if he were my own."

"You speak of Samael?"

"God commanded me to retrieve him in the Circles after you killed him," explained Azrael. "We hoped the darkness had not affected him yet, but we were wrong. We only realised our mistake when it was too late. Samael took the powers he did not yet possess from me and imprisoned me. I believe that is when the Lord set the plan in motion to bring Joan and Gabriël together and create a new Angel of Death as well. When I pass on to Him, I must seriously discuss His lack of time management. Six hundred years of imprisonment is bloody long, even for beings like us."

"I fear that is my fault," said Michael sadly. "I never came to look for you. Samael fooled us all. Even me, I regret to admit. If I had seen this sooner, perhaps —"

"If, if, if... If we could all go back and simply erase the wrong choices we made, what good would that really do? It would be a simple way out, but no more. Life is not simple, Michael. The challenges we face and the things we learn make life worth living."

Azrael gave Michael a penetrating stare. She was right. He'd forgotten the other perspectives she often offered him. It struck him that he missed the discussions he used to have with her. But Michael was also bothered by something she said about Samael.

"What did you mean when you said I killed him?" he asked. "I don't recall knowing the man before he appeared at your side."

"You may not have known Samael himself, but you knew his parents. You were... very intimate with one of them. Then you learned of your lover's union with a mortal girl. Driven mad by anger and jealousy, you killed Samael when he was still in his mother's womb."

Michael's breath caught in his throat. His head spun fast as he realised who Azrael truly spoke about. Samael, the false Angel of Death, was Lucifer's son!