Gabriël banged his fist on the ground in a violent rage. The dark hole had closed right after Joan fell through it, mere seconds before he had reached her. It had been too late to follow her. She was gone. Ripped away. Lost.
He looked up, searching for the man responsible for taking Joan from him. Michael knelt beside Isabelle, who cried for the terrible loss she'd had to endure yet again. Only one thing coursed through Gabriël then. Only one clear thought.

"Come with me, Isabelle," said Michael. "I will escort you back to the Hospitium."

"She was my daughter, Michael," Isabelle sobbed. "My daughter! You always said she was vital to Our Lord's cause. So why then? Why? Because of a broken rule?"

"I understand you are hurt, but I need not explain myself to you. I did my duty. Come now."

Before Michael had the chance to take Isabelle's hand, Gabriël's arm came up around him. He pressed the cold steel of his dagger to Michael's throat with his free hand.

"You'll pay for this, Michael," he hissed. "I don't care what happens to me, but I swear to God Almighty that you will suffer for what you have done to her!"

"It was your own actions that led to this, Gabriël," spoke Michael, remarkably calm for someone with a blade against him. "Your union with Joan has had more dire consequences than you could realise. She is -"

"Michael, please don't!" exclaimed Isabelle suddenly. "Not like this! Not now!"

Gabriël looked up at Joan's mother. Her grief-stricken expression was edged with panicked terror. His grip on Michael weakened long enough for the latter to take advantage of the distraction Isabelle inadvertently provided. The Lord Protector slid his own dagger from under his wrist cuff, and with one swift move, he struck it into Gabriël's side, right where Borgia had struck him weeks ago. Gabriël staggered back and stumbled to the ground. Michael towered over him, the blood-dripping dagger in his hand.

"Accept it, Gabriël. Joan has fallen. She will live amongst the mortals on Earth, cursed for eternity. Only with the Grace of God will she receive salvation. And you will never see her again."

Gabriël tried to speak, but he couldn't. The pain in his side, the pain of losing Joan, of knowing something might be wrong with her, was too much. He lost consciousness, falling into the embrace of the darkness that whispered louder than even before.

***

Joan gasped when her eyes shot open. Her body burned from within. She felt the remnants of her angelic powers desperately trying to hold on to her, clawing at her being, but it was no use. They slipped away slowly until there was nothing left. Nothing but a gaping hole that could never be filled again.
Though still difficult to breathe, Joan managed to steady herself, sitting up on the icy surface she lay on. For the briefest moment, Joan believed she was still in the cavern under the waterfall. That Michael had taken her wings but had allowed her to stay after all. But he wasn't there. Neither was her mother. Nor Gabriël. She was alone.
Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and Joan found she was in a cave. Water dripped somewhere. And then... light. She blinked a few times to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her, but it really was there.

Staggering, Joan got to her feet. She took one step when she believed to have regained some balance, but immediately fell to her knees. She had never felt so weak. With the rest of her strength, she crawled over the ground towards the light.
A cool breeze met her as she drew closer to what seemed to be the cave entrance. Leaves crunched under her hands. She sought support against the rocks to pull herself up, trembling on her legs. Taking a deep breath, Joan took in her surroundings.
A deer darted between the trees. The full moon was rising above her. Somehow, the sight of that silver, luminescent orb in the night sky comforted Joan. She tried to gather her thoughts, but could only think of Gabriël.

My love, be strong, she thought. Michael won't keep us apart. We will be together again. I swear it.

Joan heard rustling near her. Every warrior instinct she possessed was instantly on high alert. A tree branch on the ground broke. Another deer? Another animal? Whatever it was, she was not alone. 

"Joan of Arc, we meet again."

Her head jerked toward the familiar voice. Fear crept inside her as Cesare Borgia appeared out of the shadows. Of all demons, she had to stumble on this bastard. What were the odds?

"I would like to say it is nice to see you," he said smugly, "but I'd be lying if I did."

"The feeling is mutual," Joan spat back.

"Hm, a weak response, don't you think? And so very unlike you." Borgia came closer, a devilish smirk plastered on his face. "Where is that fighting spirit you had when we last saw each other? Or was that just a show you put on, for your lover's sake? For weak Gabriël?"

Joan tried to stand straight. If she'd had her powers, she would have beaten him to a pulp for making that remark about Gabriël. But all she could do was try to look brave. The Borgia Bastard continued towards her. The moonbeams captured his raven black hair, hung loosely over his shoulders. His armour differed from the one she had seen before, black with what appeared to be golden flames on the breastplate. A sword on one side, a dagger on the other.

And another undoubtedly hidden somewhere, Joan thought. 

She saw two shadows hidden between the trees on her left. Another two on her right. So even if she had been at full strength, she would have been outnumbered. Without a weapon... Wait!

"I do hope you had fun while it lasted," said Borgia. "Gabriël is a feeble fighter, but perhaps his prowess in the bed-chamber is more... well, just more. Do tell, I am curious. Did little Gabriël have the stamina to please you? Or would you like a real man to fuck you good now that the rules don't apply to you anymore?"

"Gabriël is more man than you will ever be!" Joan snapped at him, blood boiling within her. "If anything, I'd say you are the one who lacks stamina. Losing to a girl and retreating? You're a joke. But what else can one expect from a Borgia?"

The smirk fell from the demon's lips. Joan had heard Gabriël speak of the Borgia pride a long time ago. Turned out to be a perfect trigger to anger Cesare and his brother, Giovanni. They would always defend the family, even from the slightest malicious talk. But pride comes before the fall. Anger, if not controlled, leads to mistakes, especially in a fight. And that's what Joan was hoping for.

"A rematch," Borgia demanded. "Here. Now."

"Oh, you're a proper gentleman, challenging a defenceless woman. Give me a weapon, and I'll happily oblige. And why don't you tell your cronies to come out and play as well? That's why you brought them, right? Because you can't handle me on your own."

"How dare you, you little bitch!"

Joan jumped sideways and rolled over the ground, leaves sticking to her hair, as the Borgia Bastard attacked her in a blind fury. His sword struck the rocks where she had been standing. As she got to one knee, she drew the baslard that had been strapped to her calf, silently thanking Gabriël. If he had not insisted on her carrying that thing around, then she wouldn't last long against her foe now. Even if she was outnumbered, she was ready for them.

"Most impressive, mon capitaine. Those angels have taught you some new tricks, I see."

Joan froze as a voice from her past spoke to her. One of Borgia's companions, the one closest to her, came out of the shadows. He was a young man still, about mid-thirties, with dark brown hair to his shoulders and a fine moustache and goatee. Like Borgia, he wore armour, just not as grand and richly decorated. Only the smallest detail of a Fleur-de-Lys was engraved above his heart. If Joan had not known Gilles De Rais, she would have believed him to be a knight, coming to her aid. But, unfortunately, she did know him.

"De Rais? What are you doing here?"

"Monsieur Borgia heard I knew you," the Frenchman replied. "He made me an offer; my freedom from the burning torture of the Seventh Circle for information about you. I was only too glad to be of service to such a nobleman."

"So it's true." Joan looked at De Rais in disgust. "I didn't want to believe it when you were denied entrance through the Gates, but if you ended up in the Seventh Circle... Why, Gilles? Killing children? You were better than that."

"Don't pretend to know me, petite fille." De Rais raised his sword. "Just because we fought together in Orléans does not mean you know what drives me."

"I did not bring you here to reminisce about the past," interrupted Borgia. "De Rais, do not interfere in our fight. You'll find yourself back in that tomb of flames and blood if you do."

De Rais bowed his head and stayed back a few paces. Borgia scowled at Joan, prowling toward her like a hungry predator.

"Now then, let us continue."

"Explain to me one thing," Joan said, stalling as she came up with a plan. "How did you know where I would be?"

"That would be thanks to another member of my team. She has particular... abilities. My Lady Countess, would you care to introduce yourself to our Fallen Angel?"

A woman in a grey dress emerged from behind the treeline. Her face was concealed behind a see-through black veil, but Joan could still see the sharp outlines of her cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that glowed red as rubies. She wore a silver pendant, some sort of amulet.

"Good evening," she spoke, her words carrying a thick Hungarian accent. "I am Countess Erzsebet Bathory."

Icy chills ran up Joan's spine. She had heard tales of the Blood Countess, imprisoned to die alone in her castle after murdering hundreds of maidens. Her body disappeared after it was prepared for burial. Many believed Bathory had been spirited away by those yet loyal to her. But they couldn't have been more wrong.
Bathory made a deal with a higher power to keep herself young and beautiful. The maidens she killed served as sacrifices, honouring said deal. But because she also bathed in their blood, she was granted magic of the darkest sort. So either the Countess' soul was yet so powerful and connected to the darkness that she could preserve and protect her body in death, or... she wasn't dead to begin with.
Joan could have handled Gilles De Rais and Cesare Borgia. They were soldiers and men, like so many she had faced before. But the Archangels had warned every angel in the Vale many times to avoid those who handled dark powers. So even if she could defeat the two swordsmen, she would surely perish at the hands of this witch.

"You've heard of the Countess then." Borgia grinned at Joan's visible uneasiness, his previous furor quenched to a suave approach. "Perhaps you will consider coming with us without struggle, then. Altough, if I'm honest, I did always prefer girls who can put up a fight. But we can have our rematch another time. After all, our Master is very keen to meet you, Joan. He's been awaiting your arrival for some time now. From the moment I stabbed little Gabriël, actually."

Joan's eyes widened in shock. He couldn't mean... No...

"You poisoned Gabriël to get to me?"

"The Master is a shrewd man. Calculating. Patient. The poison was designed to push Gabriël to want to break the most important rule the Lord Protector enforces in the Vale with none other than his best friend. To make you irresistible to him, awakening a feeling that he would never have had otherwise. All we had to do was wait until Michael caught you and banished you from the Heavens."

This can't be, Joan thought, bewildered. Has it all been a lie? Gabriël's words, his actions... induced because of a damned poison?

"It's dawning on you, isn't it, Joan? Did you really believe that Gabriël, an Archangel, was in love with you? That it was real?"

"It... It was real," Joan whispered, more to convince herself than her enemy.

Borgia stepped up to her, stopping only inches away. He touched her face with his gloved hand. The gesture almost appeared consoling.

"You risked it all, and you lost everything. Your immortality, your angelic powers, your place in the Heavens... And for what? The mere illusion of love."

"No, no..."

"Gabriël doesn't love you," continued Borgia. "Neither he nor your other so-called friends did anything to help you. Even your own mother stood by. Do you not see it? They wanted you gone. One less nuisance for them to deal with. All Michael needed was an excuse. You have been a pawn in a game between higher powers, Joan. But you need not be a pawn anymore. Our Lord is eager to see you, to welcome you. You are precious to him - to us."

Joan's bleeding heart shattered into a million pieces. The shards cut through her with every breath, making her wish they would strike deep enough to end the unbearable truth. She looked up at Borgia, her eyes wet with tears. He held up his hand, inviting her to take it. 

"Come with me, Joan. Come home."

Home... Where was home? Joan couldn't tell anymore. It wasn't France. It wasn't the Vale. She'd always believed it was where her heart was. Without a heart, was a home even possible? She met Borgia's dark eyes. A villain. A demon. If her fate did not lie in the Heavens, did it lie in the Circles? Would salvation lie with the Devil after all?
Hesitant, Joan reached up for his hand, when suddenly, a shriek disturbed the eerie silence of the night. A gyrfalcon swept in from above and dug its talons into Borgia's wrist. She recoiled at his pained scream and watched the bird fly away into the dark again. Another figure emerged from the trees - a woman dressed in an angel's training gear with an arrow nocked on her bow, ready to release. The gyrfalcon landed on her shoulder, its onyx gaze fixated on the Borgia Bastard.

"It would seem we have arrived just in time," she said.

Borgia looked furiously at the stranger.

"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, holding his wounded hand.

The woman simply grinned at him.

"We are the ones who'll be taking Joan," she answered. "Not you, nor your Master. Go back to the Circles, Cesare Borgia, where scum like you belong."

With those words, she let her arrow fly straight to the Borgia Bastard's heart. Bathory raised her hand, and the arrow dropped out of the air. Then, an invisible force seemed to take hold of the veiled woman and slammed her hard into a tree. A handsome man with slightly curled hair appeared out of nowhere and smiled down at the unconscious witch. He wore the same training gear as the woman.

"That was easy." He chuckled. "Now, for the rest of you."

He waved his hand, and the trees hiding Borgia's strike team vanished. Two men, one dressed in a long black coat and top hat and his comrade in armour, were exposed. Behind them, two others quickly stepped up and held swords to their throats.

"Move, and they will send you back to the Circles faster than you can say 'I surrender'," said the magician, turning his attention to his friends. "Juan, Richard, you know what to do."

He then turned to Gilles De Rais, who had stayed in the background. The Frenchman raised his sword.

"Monsieur, I am not skilled in the arts of magic like you are. Chose a weapon."

"Fine by me." The magician grinned, and a sword appeared in his hand. "En garde!"

Whilst De Rais and the magician fought, the Bastard took hold of Joan's arm. He held her in front of him, using her as a living shield against the young woman. Another arrow lay ready in the archer's bow.

"I heard stories of you when I was alive, Borgia," she said. "Stories of your bravery, your excellence in battle. But now I see those stories where all tall tales. I see what you are; a coward, using a girl to hide behind. You're despicable."

"Hold your tongue, woman!" Borgia yelled in rage. "I will not hesitate to rip it out with my bare hands!"

"Let Joan go. I won't ask you again."

She loosed her arrow. It flew dangerously close to Cesare's ear as it passed. Joan felt his grip tighten in anger, but she didn't care. She didn't care if he would take her to the Circles or if these people would take her. 
Arrow after arrow went around Joan, straight for the Borgia Bastard. He threw Joan to the ground and gripped his sword with both hands to deflect the arrows. One of them pierced his armour, right in the shoulder. The warrior howled in pain again.

Upon seeing their commander in trouble, the men who had been held at bay suddenly turned to their opponents. The one called Juan was taken by surprise by the man in the coat. His attacker slashed his leg open with a knife, and Juan cried out, falling to the ground. He tried to draw his sword as the man in the coat made to slash him again, this time going for his throat. As he raised the knife, the woman's arrow knocked it out of his hand. Borgia lunged at her with his sword, but the archer was prepared. She spun around, dropping her bow to draw her own sword.
Now that his mistress was engaged in closer combat, the gyrfalcon flew away and landed on the ground next to Joan. She barely noticed the majestic bird. She didn't even pay attention to the sounds of battle around her. What did it matter to her who won? She'd already lost it all.