Being in Heaven became painful for me. So, I decided to spend as little time as possible there as I could manage. I spent a majority of my time on The Surface, watching people. Never interacting, just watching.

It is part of an angel's DNA to love humanity, to protect them. If you look at Fallen, very rarely does their Fall have anything to do with humans. In fact, the only one I know who Fell that way was Lucifer, and it is my understanding he came to loathe humans after he Fell. No, most angels Fall due to corruption, a newfound loyalty and sympathy to Lucifer. Heaven isn't perfect; angels have Fallen over politics, different factions of ideology butting heads. So while yes, God is the end all be all, that's not to say is angels aren't prone to philosophical debates long into the night.

I was sick of everything so I spent a lot of time studying what made humans so special. It took me but days to absolutely fall completely and hopelessly in love with all of humanity. I viewed them as innocent children, something to be cherished, something to protect. Yes, they could be infuriating at times, with their pointless squabbles, their wars, and their general distaste for understanding one another. In fact, their judgemental attitude towards each other was a bit repulsive. Yet as I said, we have our own problems in Heaven, so who am I to judge?

I think one of the most amazing things about humans is their souls. They're not as cut and dry as an angel's. Some souls are brighter than others—and that isn't to say the strength of soul is a gauge of moral compass, because it's not. Some of the most evil people in history had the purest souls. I also took note that some of the brightest souls were also the least happy, and I spent a good chunk of time trying to decipher why that is.

I was unable to come to an answer. I have my theories, but nothing concrete. I also was hard pressed to find any other angel in all of Heaven who had devoted so much time to observing humans. Most just fritter about their days, fulfilling their duties, being loyal to God and knowing that through that loyalty humans will thrive. Even the guardian angels; they spend their days assigned to one single mortal, and their devotion lies with them only.

Truthfully after a point I became frustrated that I seemed to be the only angel that actually gave a damn about humans in a non-abstract way, so I stopped going to The Surface as often. I threw myself headlong into work after that. I partially felt it was an obligation; no one else stepped up during the continued absence of God. It was also an obvious escape.

I tracked down the angel who had comforted me the day that Mikha'el died. I found out her name was Rosalyn. She was a top ranking scholar, so I utilized her help often as possible. After a point I realized how absolutely brilliant she was in her own right, and having her help me with work was no longer a lame excuse for me to spend time with her.

I also kept up with my social life. Malael and Zera still stop by for dinner at least once a week. I try and insist I'm too busy, but they strong arm me into it.

"It's unhealthy for you to sit at your desk for days on end," Malael reminds me often. Or, if she's feeling particularly pushy, "Zera misses you."

That one gets me every time. And she knows it.

I spend not nearly enough time with Auriel as I should. Truthfully it is still painful for me, because sometimes when I look at him all I can see is my long lost ward. It's not fair to him, but then again life isn't fair.

Rarely do I see Metatron, and I have no need to interact with Gabriel. I think, at least with the latter, it digs up too many memories and soft spots that are still tender for him to see me. Occasionally I will pass him on the street, and we will nod at one another, but that is really the extent of my interaction with Gabriel at this point.

I lived like this, year after year after year, until it dawned on me one day I was surviving, not living. Day in and day out droned the same bullshit. It never changed. But, once again, I had my obligation to Heaven so I plugged away, keeping my head down.

All that changed in the year 1990 A.D. A cherub had summoned me, saying my presence was requested down at courthouse green (the one with the green painted door, if you'll remember). I was further intrigued when the cherub said he couldn't tell me what I was being summoned for. As such, I followed him across Heaven, wondering what was going on.

You can imagine my surprise when I was led to one of the first rooms. Upon opening the door, a pair of hairy legs greeted me. I looked up, finding a minotaur standing. I gulped, trying to remain neutral and hide the fact that I probably would have pissed myself had I still been human.

"Oh. Hello. Er, how might I assist you?"

It let out a guttural, loud greeting. It then handed me a green envelope (tiny in its massive hand). It then let out a shriek and walked away. I had never bothered to learn minotaur, so I didn't know what it had said. I watched it leave the courthouse.

"Oh. Um. Goodbye then. Thank you."

I flipped over the envelope. A golden wax seal which I had never seen the likes of before made it shut. After examination the strange crest for a moment, I opened it. In neat, cursive handwriting, it said:

Damon Ferguson

~Fate

I growled in annoyance. Even so, a memory from thousands of years previous popped to the forefront of my mind, something Mikha'el had told me.

You yourself are not only a Destroyer. You are also going to become the ward of someone very important, eventually. I can't tell you who, because quite frankly I know little about them. All I know is they don't even exist yet, and won't for centuries.

With a deep sigh and a roll of my eyes, I transported myself to The Surface to look for this Damon Ferguson.

It took me a while to find him. I didn't even know where to begin. I started in Ireland, because it sounded like a strong, Irish name.

He wasn't there.

Then I implored the help of Rosalyn. She pulled the names of all mortals currently alive under they name.

It was a lot. No help there.

Finally, desperately, I asked anyone and everyone who'd listen if that name held any significance to them. I finally got my answer in the most unsuspecting place ever.

A bar.

I held zero shame, especially when it comes to humans who are largely beneath me. By that point in my searches I was so desperate I simply started asking mortals. I had caught a lead, someone might know someone or something in Idaho Falls, USA. The lead led me to a spiritual shop—it disgusted me. The store owner claimed to be a medium (she was not). Her job was swindling innocent, grieving people, praying off their desperation to reach dead loved ones for a buck. She also made an honest living of selling tarot cards, crystals, incense, and the like at the front of her store. Besides, I wasn't there to pass judgment in this insignificant, albeit slightly amoral, mortal.

This woman not only knew Damon, but he was a regular customer of hers. When I asked what services he garnered from her, she began to laugh.

"Who wants to know?" she asked.

I could easily wipe her memory. So, I made my eyes glow. Her mouth dropped open. Snapping out of it she began to, very poorly, recite an incantation in Latin. I snuffed my glowing eyes and looked at her curiously.

"Who are you?" I asked. "That was a very powerful wall of protection spell you were attempting."

"What are you?"

Besides a questionable business practice, I felt no ill will coming from her. After a quick scan of her mind I decided she was, largely, benign. So, I unfurled my wings and dropped my glamor spell so she could see them.

"You're an angel!"

"Yes. Now—Damon?"

She told me if he were still in town I could find him in the bar. So, I went there. She also informed me he regularly bought supplies from her whenever he was in town. I wasn't sure why a man would regularly buy from a store that held nothing but dream catchers, chalk, candles, etc., so I wasn't sure what I was getting into.

I asked the smattering of people if they were Damon or if they knew if Damon was there. I was left with a single man sitting at the bar, drinking. He was dressed all in black from head to foot, with black hair and striking hazel eyes. As I approached I felt him tense, a well oiled machine that was like a coiled cobra ready to pounce. I also noticed how young he looked, and idly wondered if he were old enough to be drinking the bottle pressed to his lips.

"Excuse me. Are you Damon Ferguson?"

He paused and gave me the up-down side eye. "Depends on who's asking."

"I'm supposed to meet him here."

The man chuckled and shook his head. He put the bottle down, took out his wallet, threw some money on the counter, and squared off to me. I noticed he had a scar over his right eyebrow, and how he looked extremely cocky.

"One, you're a terrible liar. Two, I'm not supposed to meet anyone here. Who are you?"

"Oh, so you are Damon Furguson. Claire from Claire's Clairvoyance And Specialty Shop said I could find you here."

I could tell he was trying to keep his cool. He nodded, wiping off his mouth a second. "You talked to Claire, huh? Well c'mon, let's go chat."

We left the bar out the back entrance. We were in an ally. The second we were outside he had me shoved up against the wall with a knife pressed against my throat.

"What did you do to Claire?" he snarled at me.

"Nothing," I replied utterly nonplussed.

"Well who are you?"

"My name is Seraphin."

He looked confused. "Like the angel?"

I rolled my eyes. I had come to regret naming myself that, because of the clarification I had to always make. "Yes but, with an 'n'. You can call me Sera if you'd like."

"Fine. Still doesn't explain why you're here."

I assumed he wouldn't believe me if I told him. So, I showed him.

Now, whenever I had gone to The Surface, I didn't just create a glamour spell to conceal my true form. I "powered down"--that is to say I would dampen my angelic presence to go relatively undetected. An extra security measure; I knew I was powerful, and I knew that sort of energy would draw attention, perhaps from people and entities I didn't necessarily want to know they had a full fledged seraphim walking amongst them. When I did this, I'd say I was working at relatively fifty percent capability. The rest of my angelic essence and power was neatly tucked away into the angelic dimension, existing on a plane I could easily tap into.

So, I got the feeling this smarmy Damon guy wouldn't believe me if I said "I'm an angel". So instead I released all my angelic fusion. That's not to say I revealed my true form–no. I kept my humanoid boundaries. But I unfurled my wings and let him see them, and I allowed my eyes to glow. As soon as I did that he dropped his knife and stumbled back a few feet. Also, as soon as I did that, my breath was taken away.

Souls look exactly how I have described them as my angelic power. They really are just globes of pure essence, of good will or malcontent depending on your alignment. When an angel looks upon a mortal, truly looking as I had, we can see their soul. And this guy?

This man's soul was pure. It was white.

"Oh," I murmured softly, stunned by what I had discovered.

"You're an angel," he gasped, sounding just as shocked as I was over his magnificent soul.

I was beyond intrigued now. I stooped over and picked up his knife. When I did, I felt the handle was rough in my palm. I looked down; a symbol–a very specific symbol I had seen several times throughout modern history–stared back at me. Once more I was surprised. I checked the butt of the knife, which was gelded in gold, and found exactly what I had expected.

"You're a hunter," I said with a nod, and then held out the knife to him, holding the blade so he could take the handle. Looking at me warily he took the weapon back. "The hunters sigil is on the handle, and the butt has the cross on it. Very standard."

Damon was looking properly freaked out now. "Why do I have an angel looking for me?"

"I..."

"Well?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? What do you mean you don't know?"

"I was told that, one day, I would have to look out for someone very important." I blinked. "I think it was you."

It was, indeed, Damon. He wasn't just a hunter–he was a top hunter. I had heard of him the past few years, being referred to simply as The Hunter. Any evil being feared him. No one wanted The Hunter after them, because by the time you learned he was after you, you might as well be dead already. I imagined he was the subject matter of scary stories monsters told (if that was even a thing). Damon Ferguson was their boogeyman.

He came from a long line of hunters. He was a real deal, baptized and everything, coming from a long trail of ancestry, some who were even canonized. It was his legacy.

Our relationship was very tumultuous. He didn't like me very much, at first.

"I don't need a babysitter," he told me several times.

His tune changed when a demonic possession went south. He exorcized it but, unknowingly, had released it instead of sending it on its merry way back to Hell. It tried to possess him. When that didn't work, it tried to kill him instead. I ended up smiting the bastard before it did any serious harm to Damon.

He gawked at me, and then at the charred corpse. Then back at me, then the dead demon. He did that a few more times before breaking out into a smile and proclaiming, "Cool!"

I had rolled my eyes and healed him.

After that first time saving his life, he warmed up to me. I'm not sure when it happened, but we even became friends. We both realized it at the same time. We were at a bar, sharing a pile of nachos. I caught him looking at me.

"What?" I asked.

He wiped his mouth on his napkin, shaking his head and chuckling. "Man, I used to hate you."

I snorted. "The feeling was mutual."

Damon looked at me wistfully. "What happened?"

What had happened? I didn't know but he was right; at some point, something had shifted between us. I shrugged and ate another nacho.

"Whatever," Damon said once he realized he wasn't getting a response out of me, "I'm just glad I don't anymore."

I felt the same. I picked up another nacho and didn't say anything.

The years went by. I learned so much from him; once I appeared and he was pulling on a suit like scientists wear when working with chemicals. It was white, zippered in the front. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

"What are you doing?"

"My turn to do rounds," he had exclaimed happily.

I cocked an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "Rounds? Rounds for what?"

He stooped over and picked up a long nozzle to a tank filled with water. He held it out, squirting me with it. Completely unamused, I moved out of the way and glared. He laughed.

"Holy water."

I blinked.

"I know you know what holy water is."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I do–but why?"

He squirted it at me again and laughed before answering. "Deterrent against vampires. And other things. So, we take turns pretending to be lawn care services and spray the shit out of the grass with Holy water."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Can't they just walk on the sidewalk?"

Damon shrugged. "Well, sure, but it still puts them on edge."

Another time I caught him playing the videogame Castlevania. That amused me.

"Don't you get enough fighting evil in real life?"

"Yeah, but this is fun."

"Hanging out with the world's most powerful angel isn't?"

"No," he replied immediately, not even looking at me.

"Ass."

He grinned.

It had come to amuse me how humans and their depictions of fiction taped into truths. I noticed a trend; sci-fi tended to come to fruition (communicators from Star Trek became cell phones. Video calling became programs like Zoom; but that didn't happen until much later than I'm talking about right now; it was still the mid-90's when I knew Damon). Conversely, things of a supernatural in nature rang true (like the classic horror movies; Bela Lugosi for example). Years later a book series, The Dresden Files, touched on a lot of truths. Once the TV show, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, came out in 1997, we started watching it. I thought it was largely terrible ("The cast isn't anywhere near their teens. They're roughly thirty." "They're not that old! Early twenties." "They still look ridiculous, playing kids in High School." "That's not the point, Sera!"); Damon liked it.

Unfortunately Damon and I never managed to finish the series because Damon had a secret, one he couldn't hide from me forever.

I had always known he had a gloomy disposition. I would catch him staring off into nothing, lost in the recesses of his mind. Every time I would address it, he would throw a charming smile at me and change the subject. However, as time went on and we grew more comfortable with one another, he slowly began to open up to me.

He was depressed. Suicidally so. It was part of why he was such a good hunter–he didn't care if he lived or died, so he threw himself into every situation not only in the mindset he wasn't going to make it out alive, but hoping he wouldn't. It broke me, hearing that come out of his mouth.

He sprinkled in bits and pieces of his life to me, late night confessions, usually when I would find him drunk. Many hunters worked together; he chose not to, sick of people he considered friends dying. Hunters (of course) had a high mortality rate. However, it was mainly confined to hunters.

Damon had a string of bad luck. Vengeful demons killed his friends, the ones that didn't know he was a Hunter. A vampire turned his best friend. The last straw was when, shortly before we met, a hunt had gone south and his father was killed right in front of him.

Damon, unfortunately, never got over that.

I was helpless to watch as he became more and more depressed. I did my best to give him a reason to live. I would show him the world, transporting him to wherever he wanted to go. I would force him to go hiking, pointing out bees, and flowers, and all sorts of birds and animals to him. I would go on long tangents, explaining to him where the animals belonged in the food chain, explaining their role in the balance of everything.

"So basically nature is, the leg bone is connected to the knee bone?"

It had made me laugh. "Yeah, actually."

That conversation was one of the last times I heard him laugh.

The depression got worse. He started drinking more. The final straw was when I accidentally walked in on him shooting up.

It was horrible. I could have handled the situation better. Instead I screamed at him. We got into a huge fight. It ended with him telling me to fuck off.

So I did. For days.

When I came back he was worse. I was surprised when he acted like nothing had happened between us. When I tried to press the issue, he got angry. So I dropped it.

His drug use ramped. I voiced my concern, not only for his health but also for his physical safety.

"You can't hunt like this," I tried to argue when I caught him shooting up before a hunt.

"What, are you my mother now?"

"No, but your mother should have raised you better."

He didn't appreciate that, let me tell you.

Once a hunt I was helping him with went wrong. Terribly so. We didn't realize what we were after was actually a high ranking demon. We only found out after we got ourselves into a bit of a pickle. And by pickle I mean my wings were damaged and I was horribly weakened. We ended up taking out the demon, but we were both in pretty awful shape. I was barely able to drop him off at a hospital and retreat to the hotel he was staying at before I collapsed. I was so weak there wasn't any way I could transport myself to Heaven, and my pride refused to pray to Raphael to come help heal me.

It was then I understood what Fate had told me thousands of years ago: Your pride will be your undoing.

It was around two in the morning. I was fitfully sleeping. Then, just like that, he was gone.

To this day I'm not really sure how I knew. I guess, maybe, him and I had grown so close that I had become naturally in tune with his life essence, his spirit. Whatever it was, I felt when he died. I sat up immediately and wanted to go to him, but all I managed was collapsing in a heap on the floor. It was only then when I called out to Auriel in absolute hysterics.

Auriel was horrified at the state I was in.

"Slow down slow down–who?"

"Damon. I sort of became a guardian angel to him–"

"You what? You're not a guardian. You're not supposed to do that–"

"Fuck what I am and am not supposed to do!" I screamed at him. "Since when have I ever cared about that! He's dead, we have to do something."

The only thing Auriel did was call Raphael to help me heal. Even with his help I was in no shape to move.

They both refused to resurrect Damon for me; they were afraid of Fate.

Days later I was finally able to transport myself. His soul might be gone, but I could still track his body. Or, what was left of it, anyway. It was a closed casket funeral on account of he had killed himself via stepping in front of a train.

They were about to lower him into the ground. This might be shitty of me, but I was surprised just how many people were in attendance. It broke my heart; if only he could have seen how much he meant to so many people. It was his fatal flaw–he couldn't see all the good he had done, he could only see the death that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Everything came to a screeching halt when I appeared. I hadn't even bothered to do a glamour spell. I opened up the casket, scooped him into my arms, and then disappeared.

I brought him to the White Cliffs of Dover. Out of everywhere I had taken him, it was his favorite. I had explained to him how they were formed; explained to him coccoliths, and how a hundred millions years ago all of it was under the sea. I explained how it took thousands of years and dead things to compress it into a sort of chalk, which is what gives the cliffs their coloring.

He asked me if I had seen it develop. I told him I had. I didn't explain to him about the Time Frames, how I hadn't been there when they first formed. I was a reckless bastard, but even I held a modicum of respect for Fate and his secrets. Damon had been amazed, and asked me how old I was. I simply told him I had seen the first creatures that would become humans, eventually, after much evolutionary twist and turns, crawl out of the oceans.

He had always known I was a powerful angel. He knew I was Archangel Primus. He knew that Mikha'el had been lost–I didn't go into details, because even after all this time it's still painful to talk about Mikha'el. But I think that point of reference, that I had seen the White Cliffs form and weird little things crawl out of the ocean, put me in a whole new light for him. Damon had never feared me; after that discussion, he had a healthy dose of fear for me. It was respectful, and oddly enough a fear seeded deeply in trust. The fact still remained though that he chose to spend most of his free time with an angel who had seen the dawn of time, and it rattled him.

So as I clutched his limp body and cried, I couldn't understand why he had killed himself. He should have known I would always be there for him. He should have known I would protect him, love him. But apparently he couldn't see past his own nose, and I temporarily hated him, just like I had hated Mikha'el. Yet as the day turned into night, and I still refused to let him go, a thought occurred to me.

When he woke up in the hospital...When he called out to me, prayed to me (even though I was so exhausted and couldn't hear his prayers, I knew he must have prayed; he always prayed to me), and I didn't come...He had seen what that demon did to my wings. Damon knew how badly I had been hurt, how badly he had been hurt. And all at once I realized:

Damon thought I was gone. So he killed himself.

Shortly after that I brought him back to his grave. It had been abandoned in confusion, the casket still above ground and open. I slipped him back in, planted a kiss on his brow, and then left.

For a few weeks I thought about seeking him out in Heaven, for I knew he had made it there. In all his self-loathing, I knew he didn't think he deserved to be in Heaven. All he could think of was the blood on his hands, of all the people who had died when he had wanted nothing more than to save them. Of all the innocent people that died in the crossfire of the hunter's life, the bystanders that sometimes were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I knew about the nightmares he had, nightmares that often revolved around his dad. I knew how much guilt he carried with him, convinced that he could have saved his dad from the stray bullet that killed him. I knew he felt directly responsible, which was absurd. But that's just how Damon was–he shouldered all the world's problems as though they were all his own. He wanted to just save everyone, whether they were deserving or not. He believed he could fix everything.

How ironic he couldn't even fix himself.

I didn't seek him out in Heaven. I knew he wouldn't remember me, which would be doubly-painful. I feared that even if we met, and he did remember he, the self-loathing would come back, Heaven-bound or not. I couldn't do that to him, I refused to be an accomplice to his suffering, so I kept my distance.

I returned to Heaven listless. I didn't even attend to my duties. I told everyone to go away. For as much as Damon blamed himself for his father's death, I blamed myself just as much for Damon's death. How was I supposed to be Archangel Primus when I couldn't even save one lousy human?

I lost myself.

It might seem absurd, but I myself became depressed. I haunted The Surface, retracing all the places Damon and I had gone to. Often I visited the White Cliffs and just sat on the edge, doing nothing more than staring at the water and kicking my feet back and forth. Damon had a home in Idaho which he rarely went back to, usually living out of hotels as he went cross country on hunts. He had shown it to me once, a lovely large house on a big plot of land. It was his father's; I never knew what had happened to his mother, but there were pictures of her everywhere. I had a feeling Damon didn't come back often because he was an only child, the house was much too large for one man, and pictures of his parents watched him behind picture frames, stuck in a time when they were both alive.

It's silly, but I took solace in going to the house and watching Buffy weekly. Sometimes I would talk aloud, tell Damon what was happening. I'd muse on what parts he would have liked, would have hated. Watching Buffy had become our unspoken thing, so after he died I clung to it because it was something physical that still existed when he himself did not.

It unfortunately didn't last long. Once the banks realized they weren't getting payments on the house, and that the owners were dead, they took it back. In little time the house was bought. The last day I watched as a new family moved in. There was a little girl with adorable pigtails. She must've been around three, zooming through the house arms outspread. The woman was heavily pregnant, and her and her husband talked about new beginnings as the movers brought in their belongings.

I should have been happy for them. Instead I stayed tucked away in a corner, arms crossed, glaring at them.

I managed to pull myself out of my feelings of having no purpose anymore thanks to a particularly vivid nightmare. I dreamed Damon had been shot. For whatever reason, I couldn't heal him and he was dying in my arms. The last words he spoke to me were:

I just want to be happy.

I woke up hyperventilating. Once I calmed down a thought occurred to me. I appeared to Indrajala. Truthfully I scared the crap out of her, not even bothering to summon her. I just appeared.

"How do souls work?" I blurted out.

She had laughed, hand at her chest. "Goodness me! You gave me quite a fright! Now, what is this about souls?"

"I know about the multiverse, how there are infinite realities and sub realities, and how there are different versions of the same people throughout. But what about their souls?"

For a few moments she looked at me curiously. Finally she asked, "Why are you asking me this?"

I shook my head, refusing to tell her. "Souls are what make us all who we are. Which leads me to believe that the version of me in another reality would have the same soul."

She paused, now looking cautious. "Yes..."

"Ah ha! I knew it!"

She grabbed my arm before I could disappear. "It's not exactly that, but very similar. The souls are more akin to splinters. They are not exactly duplicates, but are largely the same."

"So if I know the signature of one soul, I could, in theory, seek it out in other realities?"

Now she looked suspicious. "Yes..."

I laughed. "I could kiss you right now!"

She frowned. "Please don't."

I laughed more.

"Sera..." she said slowly. "Have I just done something I am going to end up regretting?"

I could not stop grinning. "Not at all. Promise."

And I did end up kissing her, on the cheek. Then I vanished.

I had found a purpose. If I couldn't save Damon in my reality, maybe I could save him in others. At the very least, maybe I could make him happy.

So that, dear reader, is how I spend my days now. I still am largely in control of Heaven. But, like I learned about so, so long ago, I can be in several places at once. Physically I am strictly in Heaven, but spiritually I am a Destroyer. I seek out different versions of Damon. At first I was surprised by just how many versions they are, and how dissimilar they can be. I have come to realize there are four main versions:

A reality where Damon is a male hunter.

A reality where supernatural things don't exist and he is what I dub Mundane Damon.

Then there are realities where Damon is female, and is a hunter.

Then there are realities where Damon is female and, once again, it is mundane and she is not a hunter.

Of course there are thousands. There are also some realities where Damon doesn't even exist. Which, when I stumble upon a reality like that, I merely move onto the next one.

And that is why I am telling this story. I might be a jerk. I might be unconventional. But at the end of the day I am still an angel. So, if you have read this, I have one tiny favor to ask of you:

Please be kind. Please be gentle. It is not that difficult. I know it's easier to be selfish, to live in your own little bubble where nothing but what immediately affects you matters.

But it does matter. It matters so much. So yes, I spend my time looking for Damon's soul, but I also have a duty to spread love. The world is screwed up enough as it is on its own–you needn't add to the cesspool. You have that choice, you truly do. So I implore you, please choose a meaningful life of love and happiness, and be kind to one another. Please spread joy and understanding, not hate and strife.

It's all that Damon wanted.

And I think it's what Mikha'el would have wanted, too.