Josiah looked back at the tiny town sitting on the hill behind him and frowned. Hopefully, what they'd done would be enough. Sickness had swept through the human's little homestead, and they, being so far from any major settlements, had not the resources to fight it.

"They'll be fine, Josiah. We've done enough." Raphael descended the incline to the rocky shore below.

The waves buffeted the craggy shoreline and sent salty spray high into the air. Apparently, on autumn evenings like this, it was common for the wind to pick up and a chill to sneak its way in. This was Josiah's first time on earth after observing it from a distance for so long. While it wasn't as beautiful as the celestial plane or even Eden, it had a charm of its own. In heaven, it was always warm and light out. On earth, the contrast of the cool spray and warm evening sun on his face was something special.

"I take it you enjoyed your time here?" Raphael asked. "What did you think of the humans?"

Josiah shrugged a shoulder. "They're even more different from us than I imagined. Frail and sickly. Their lot is hard, and I pity them."

"We can make more trips down here in the future if you wish to be more involved." Raphael waved a hand and his caduceus materialised in his palm. "Perhaps Uriel would—"

"Hello brother."

Josiah whipped around and found a man—no, not a man, another angel—sitting atop one of the high rocks. The angelic aura around him made his dark hair waver and undulate, much like the sea. His eyes were coal black, and had a depth to them that only came after seeing the best and worst of the universe and all its offerings. He was captivating, beautiful, but in a way that haunted one long after parting.

Raphael immediately stepped in front of Josiah. "What are you doing here?" His voice was low, and almost even, save for the slight quiver that belied his anger. Or fear. Josiah took a step back to give them some space.

The angel smiled and glided down from the rock like a feather on the breeze. "Perhaps I just wanted to see my little brother. It's been a long time, Raphael. You look well."

Brother? Realisation hit Josiah like a rogue wave. Lucifer. But what was he doing here on earth? Josiah had been under the impression that he stayed in the underworld and left the demons to do his bidding.

"You're no brother of mine," Raphael said.

"Oh, you don't mean that." Lucifer stepped forward and clapped Raphael's shoulder. "I miss you all. I admit, it gets quite lonesome down here."

Raphael shrugged the hand from his shoulder. "If that were true, you would've given up on this sick vendetta. Look at all the people you're hurting." He gestured back to the village. "You have nothing to gain from all this suffering. Just stop."

"Why won't They stop me?" He tilted his head and looked straight at Josiah. "You there. You're my brother's apprentice, aren't you?"

"You leave him be."

Josiah looked away. He wanted no part in this familial spat.

"Or what? Are you going to send Michael to beat me up?" Lucifer smiled as though daring him and turned his attention back to Josiah. "Josiah, is it? Why do you think They refuse to stop me? They could do it quite easily. End all this suffering. End me, even."

Josiah clenched his jaw. He'd thought of these things himself before, but never expressed his concern or confusion out loud. It didn't seem right to.

Lucifer breathed a laugh. "That's what I thought." He turned away and strode back to his rock, throwing a wave over his shoulder.. "It was good seeing you again, brother. Do give everyone else my love." And he disappeared, just as suddenly as he'd appeared.

"I'm sorry about that," Raphael said. He heaved a deep sigh and roughed up his hair. "Don't let him get to you."

Josiah nodded. "He didn't."

Josiah had lied. He absolutely did let it get to him. The seed of doubt had already been in his mind, and Lucifer planted and watered it. His unanswered questions fostered it, like sunlight and fertile soil. And that seed grew into a tree of anger and frustration. Its roots ran deeper and deeper the longer Josiah watched the humans suffer and die under Lucifer's heel.

A thousand years he'd lived and a thousand years he'd fought. He'd saved humans from disease and starvation and near extinction. To what end? Exiled from heaven, trapped on earth, and battling demons.

He leaned back on the chaise lounge. His joints popped, and he realised he'd been sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees for hours. His goblet, once filled to the brim with red wine, was now woefully empty.

Dear heavens, he'd fallen so far from grace. Once a fearsome angel, one of Raphael's most astute apprentices, now wasting away down here. Though he supposed without Zinobia, it could've been far worse. He had no means of hiding his appearance, and it was very obvious that he was not normal. Heaven only knew what these humans would've done to him.

He got up and paced the room, from the chaise lounge to the furnace. To the stairs, then the table. He'd walked this room so many times, he could do it with his eyes closed. Zinobia and Vittoria would be back from town momentarily, hopefully with naught but a scratch for their trouble.

That morning, Josiah had contemplated going with them. So far, the demons hadn't been so bold as to attack humans in broad daylight. And in public. Until now. He should've known better. The situation had been evolving faster than he and Zinobia could keep up with in the last few months.

And yet... there had been no divine intervention. He hadn't sensed any of his kind since he fell. It wasn't uncommon for angels to walk amongst humans, especially those who take a human form. He'd flirted with the notion that they were all avoiding him, and the thought of it stung.

Josiah wondered if his bitterness became so unbearable that he deserved such a punishment. If he'd complained one too many times to Raphael and his fellow apprentices. They'd been nothing but kind and understanding when he expressed his frustrations.

The angels had been fighting this war since The Ascension. They alone had been protecting the humans against the whims of Lucifer's army. And while there was a single entity that could end this all with but a thought, said entity refused. Yet, the humans held them up as some benevolent, loving deity.

Sickening.

Josiah waved a hand at his staff, and it flew from the wall to his palm. A gift from his Master, the only thing that fell with him. And it was a long, hard fall from heaven. He remembered his confusion, his fear, trapped in this unfamiliar place. At times, he felt awful for taking advantage of Zinobia when she'd been in such a vulnerable state, but what else was he to do?

A click and a slam sounded from above. Speaking of. He settled back on to the lounge and waited until the thumping of Zinobia's boots came down the steps. Her clothes were dishevelled and covered in dirt. He frowned at the bloody tear in her shirt. She didn't seem to have suffered any significant injuries, thank goodness. The scratch on her side was an easy fix.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Two demons went on a rampage in the town square." She sat at the bottom of the steps. "No one was hurt, thankfully."

Josiah arched a brow. "You mean no one but you. Your safety is important as well. You and I, together, are the only ones with the means to stop this."

Zinobia breathed a humourless laugh, her eyes on the floor. "Can we truly, though? Things are getting a lot worse, a lot faster than I thought they could."

Indeed, they were. But it was his job to be the bitter pessimist and hers to stop him from spiralling, not the other way around. He couldn't have her losing heart at such a crucial time. "Tell me, Zinobia. Do you think there's any connection between the patients you've been treating so far?" Zinobia was a very solution-oriented thinker. The way to lift her spirits was to get her brain working, focused on what they could do rather than the things they couldn't help.

"The demons have hit every demographic, every class, every corner of Aldemore. It seems to have hit The Tracks the hardest, but I have no idea what that means." She looked to him, as she always did when she came to a mental dead end.

"I have flirted with the possibility of there being an unknown agent at work. Demons cannot come onto this plain on their own. They have to be invited. There could be someone else out there who knows..."

Zinobia breathed a sigh through her nose. "Alright. Let's say by some stroke of luck we find this person. Then what?"

"We kill them." He slammed the heel of his staff into the ground to accentuate his point. "And leave no traces of their existence behind. Don't give me that look," he added when she recoiled. "You humans and your so-called benevolent god have done far worse."

"Fair. But we shouldn't be so rash. This is a small town. People will notice." She rose to her feet. "For now, I suppose we keep doing what we've been doing and hope this crisis doesn't spiral to the point of no return. Any luck contacting your brethren?"

Every week Zinobia asked him this question, and every week, the answer remained the same. This time, he shook his head before looking away. He already knew the look Zinobia was giving him. Her pity seeped into his skin and stoked the flames of his ire.

"Alright," she said softly. "I'll be upstairs should you need me." As her footfalls disappeared, he balanced his staff, so it stood on its own. And only when the door shut upstairs did he let his anger out. He exhaled a long, hissing breath and the flames of the candles stretched up until they almost touched the ceiling.

Josiah cut the air with his hand to out them and plunged the basement into darkness again. Then ran his hands through his dreadlocks, the gold baubles clicking together. His staff still glimmered, strands of magic weaving through the inscriptions, mocking him.

Why? He could understand his brethren abandoning him, but Raphael? The most patient archangel in the heavens? But of course Josiah was the one who would make his patience run dry. Now here he was in this hell, surrounded by demons. He'd never even encountered demons during his training. He was barely scraping by with the bits of knowledge he'd picked up from Uriel and Michael's apprentices.

When he ascended, he'd demand an explanation from them all.

If he ascended. Isaiah shook that thought from his head before it took root. He'd get back. Even if he had to force his way in.