4 months later...

November 30th, 10782, Roshma, Evening.

"Come on, Devon. Wakey wakey! We're here."

"I am so replacing you with a kinder alarm clock."

"Well, if you feel like being a little baby and want to sleep in a little longer, I'd be happy to take your place on the mission."

"You are not taking my spot! I'm ready for this info drop."

"You're never ready for anything in your puny little life."

"You're just sore because you weren't picked to engage with the contact, Bevore."

"Both of you be quiet. Now is not the time to be bickering like twelve-year-olds on a school playground."

"Sorry, sir."

"Sorry, Archie."

Devon stood up and stretched his legs. The shuttle ride over the Divide had taken much longer than he'd anticipated. His legs and back were incredibly stiff and his neck ached. Reaching up to the ceiling, he sighed nervously. "So what is Heenas Territory really like? Are there a lot of giant cities?"

Archie nodded. "There are plenty of small towns as well. Most of the big cities are extremely complicated to manage, so many people live in small towns where simple jobs can be assigned more efficiently."

Bevore snorted like everything his commanding officer had said was completely childish. "As if that would work in the real world. There's no growth if everyone just sticks to the job they're assigned. I would go nuts in a society like that. I'd probably kill my way to the top!"

Devon rolled his eyes. When would Bevore learn anything about life? "Could you at least pretend to have some basic decency?"

Bevore's face turned tomato red with anger. "Why you little-"

"Stop it, you two! Will I have to file a report against one of you by the end of this mission?" Archie said with controlled features. Annoyance bled from the cracks in his mask.

Devon gulped. A report? He'd be demoted. He wouldn't be able to go on missions again for a long time. Oh no. No way was Bevore going to mess this up for him. "No, sir. I will try my best to refrain from any friction between myself and Second In Command Bevore."

Archie nodded in acceptance. Then he turned his eyes on his SIC. Bevore practically shrank from the gaze. There was only one person Bevore was scared of, and it was the man in front of him.

"Sorry, Archie. Won't happen again."

Archie waved both of them off. "Very good. I hate doing mountains of paperwork." At this mild dismissal Devon's lips parted and he stared at Archie indignantly. "Now lets see that you prepare. Devon, I know that this is your first time on an undercover mission in Heenas Territory, so I will send Bevore along with you to make sure the information transfer is successful. You will approach the contact at a black tie event for a partyman who is running for appointment to the Roshma City Council. I will be on point, following everything from our shuttle, which will be cloaked." Archie shot laser eyes at the boys. "I expect you to behave in accordance with your undercover identities, not like little children. This is a very important information drop and I will not have a blemish on the team's record because you two can't keep your little insecurities in check. Do I make myself clear?"

Devon and Bevore nodded. Neither dared make a sound, not even to breathe.

"Good. Bevore, you are Bevore Fon, you will be Devon Doro's bodyguard. Devon, you are a rich investor who is planning to contribute to the partyman's campaign. If you have to talk to anyone about anything, ask them about their jobs. It'll help keep from the fact that you haven't had a full briefing on the cover ID. Read this document. It goes over most of the partyman's platform."

Devon took the proffered file. He'd read it on the way to the drop site.

"Good luck, you two." Archie gave a salute.

"Wait," Devon said, his brow furrowing. "How will I know who my contact is? How will they know who I am?"

Surprisingly, Archie smiled, making Devon frown. "I've worked with him before. He has ways of knowing who to look for. Once he makes contact with you, it'll be obvious. As long as everything goes to plan, this should be a piece of cake."

Devon sighed exasperatedly, allowing his eyes to drifly lazily through the crowd. After such a long time on high alert, he'd tired and succumbed to a more relaxed stance on his cover ID. Just because he was surrounded by wealthy Heenas nobility who could discover him any moment didn't mean he had to be so uptight about it all. Why not have a little fun with the cover?

"Hello, sir. I have to say, I've never seen you around one of these parties." A man in a dark blue suit and a slim black tie said. He smiled at Devon with the teeth of an obviously rich man who didn't know what to do with himself. Devon gave a courteous bow of the head.

"Yes, I haven't been to many of these before. I recently came into a large sum of money from an anonymous benefactor. I've been trying to decide where to invest, and it seems like Partyman Morsubita is a safe bet."

The other man grunted and swiped two drinks off of a pasing waiter's platter. "That's what I thought as well. Got some policy that anyone can get behind." He passed a glass over to Devon, who raised it.

"I can drink to that." They both took a sip of their drinks. Devon's brow furrowed slightly as the man began to nod, almost like a bobble head.

"That is a fine drink. And you are a fine young man. Say, have you ever considered joining the military? You have a straight backed look about you."

"Just go with what he says. Say you've got a bit of military time but didn't enjoy it." Archie advised.

"I once joined the army on the advisory of a friend from my small town. I certainly did not enjoy it. I prefer to deal with money and information, not brute force and thick-headed infants."

"Very good, young man. We need less people in the military and more to focus on the things that matter. If you ask me, I say we're wasting our time trying to fight a war that won't be won by either side and will only ruin the Heenas economic system. Not to mention, it would be better for everyone if we left the Cai to their own barbaric devices. Maybe they'll end up tearing themselves apart with no one to fight."

"Good job," Archie congratulated over comms. "Looks like you're a natural, blending in enough to sympathize with the general opinion of the Heenas."

Devon smiled tightly. "I think you're right. War certainly won't bring us any monumental economic gain." But it will bring the Cai a victory that will be remembered for generations.

The man looked away for a moment and his face lit up in surprise. "Ah, well if it isn't my dear old friend Partyman Morsubita himself! Come, sir, let us greet him." Before Devon could decline, he was ushered forward, quite awkwardly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bevore watching his every move. "Partyman!" the man called. "It's so good to see you."

Partyman Morsubita turned his face brightened. "Fasco Nenum. What are you doing here, friend? I thought you'd sworn off coming to events like this. Guess you couldn't resist free drinks."

Nenum laughed heartily and Devon almost rolled his eyes in disgust.

"I was just talking to this young gentlemen about the investment he is about to make to your campaign. He's just come into a great deal of money from an anonymous benefactor."

"Well now, have you?" Morsubita said, scrutinizing Devon. "You are awfully young to be involved in the assets business."

"I am only 21, it's true, but unlike many of my elders in this profession I know the importance of making valuable connections." Devon fought hard to keep a polite face. "It never hurts to familiarize oneself with the receiver of the investment one is making, especially if that person is as renowned as respected as yourself." At this, Partyman Morsubita's face brightened and he stuck out his hand jovially.

"Ah, you are certainly a smart one, kid. It is nice to know we have some young blood around who back the right side." Devon shook the Morsubita's hand and almost grimace in pain. The man had quite a strong grip.

"I can drink to that!" Nenum exclaimed. Devon sighed and looked at him sheepishly.

"I left my drink at the table. I apologize... I'll go and get it-"

"No worries!" Nenum quickly stepped over to another waiter and plucked a glass off the tray. He handed it to Devon with a toothy grin. Devon took it and clinked glasses with the party man and Nenum. Both of the other men smiled politely and everyone drank.

"Devon, the contact has entered the main hall."

"Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have some important business to attend to." Devon said, quickly excusing himself from any further conversation and made his way to the front of the main hall.

"That young man, there's something off about him," said Partyman Morsubita. "Can't put my finger on it."

Nenum nodded solemnly. "He didn't look like the kind to just 'come into money'. Perhaps it would be best to keep away from him." He turned and squinted at the partyman. "You probably won't see him again anyway. It's too bad really."

"What's too bad?" Morsubita asked distractedly.

Devon took another sip of his drink and scanned the crowd. Nobody seemed out of place. Everyone enjoyed polite conversation with someone else. Devon felt isolated, alone in a crowded room.

His chest tightened. He'd always been alone. Whether is was in a crowded room full of people or running as fast as he could from a home that was gone.

Something bugged Devon. He felt as though the room had become colder all of the sudden, even though he was surrounded by hoards of people. Maybe the air conditioning had finally kicked in and ended the insufferable heat.

Or maybe it was him.

Devon looked down into his drink. It looked okay, still fizzy, correct color.

His head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls. His tongue began to itch. Devon's eyes widened and his heart raced in his chest. Not good. Not good!

He rasped "Archie-"

A sudden shot rang through the enormous hall, jolting Devon out of his thoughts. Screams filled the air and somebody cried "Partyman!" Devon instinctually ducked and spun around. It was certainly the wrong move to make at that particular moment. His head reeled and he nearly lost his balance. The glass in his hand dropped to the ground and spilled his drink all over the hardwood floor. A small piece of glass embedded itself in his leg, but not he nor anyone else would know this for a while.

His drink. The Partyman was dead. Shots were fired. People were running. Devon's comms buzzed chaotically. Bevore's sightline had probably been cut off the second the party's guests had begun to run in all directions. This was bad: the perfect storm.

Devon's vision swam before him. The tightness in his chest increased and he found it hard to breathe. His comms crackled in and out but he couldn't hear Archie over the deafening roar of the out-of-control crowd. He was on his own. In a giant room of people. With poison pumping through his veins.

Remember your training, he thought. In a situation like this, what do you do?

He scanned around for a service exit, one that would lead to a fire escape, or some place that the rest of the crowd wouldn't think to go. He needed somewhere private.

Devon quickly spotted an exit door not too far away. He stumbled his way through the crowd, blinking away spots and trying his hardest to regulate his breathing. He barely got his hand on the handle before his knees buckled and he collapsed, knocking his shoulder into the door. It fell outward and he crashed to the ground, pain radiating through his right arm and spine. His vision cleared with the jarring shock to his brain and he scrambled away from the door, which promptly closed with a resounding bang. The screams of the hall ceased and the room he'd fallen into was plunged into complete blackness. Devon's head pounded and he groaned. Poisoned on his first undercover mission in Heenas Territory. Great.

Oh, but it got worse. As soon as Devon let his guard down, he felt hands reach under his arms from behind and pull him to a half standing position. His legs didn't want to work for him and he grunted in pain at the sudden change in elevation. Then his brain kicked in and he realized he was probably being attacked by the shooter, who most likely took the same exit as he did when the commotion started. In a frenzy, he tried to wriggle out of his captor's firm grasp.

"Stop moving! I'm trying to help you!" A voice hissed. Devon instantly stilled. Even if it meant being held hostage by a killer, most likely a hired assassin, there was not much else he could do.

"Did you drink the champagne? Quickly, I need to know what he used to poison you with or I could accidently kill you, and I think it's in both our best interests that that doesn't happen."

Devon nodded lethargically. His brain felt clouded. His breath was shallow. His muscles were weak. In the darkness he felt disoriented and uncomfortable. Was there some reason he was nodding?

"Ok. I'm going to put you down now. Do you promise not to move?"

Again Devon nodded. Don't move. He could do that. Just stop movement. He could do that. Devon was carefully lowered to the ground and propped up against a wall.

Mumbled words came from Devon's captor. And then everything was different. Devon's brain cleared, his chest opened and he gasped for air. He grasped his throat and breathed in cool fresh air. His feet tingled slightly and his nausea quickly faded.

With his senses returned in full force, he could feel his captor kneeling in front of him. He blindly stuck a hand out to try and grab his foe, but he misjudged and ended up slapping him in the face.

"Whoa! I just used healing magic on you less than three seconds ago. Don't go overexerting yourself just yet. There could be backlash, side affects, reaction symptoms-"

"You back off! Who are you?!"

"-general ungratefulness, obviously."

"Don't be a smart alec! For all I know you could be an assassin o-or a psychopath murderer-"

"I'd say the second one is a bit of a stretch, considering I just saved your life."

"Don't bring your opinion into this!"

"It is a fact, not an opinion."

"That's what you say! Maybe you're manipulating me into helping you. Maybe I'll be the patsy in your little crime and you'll blame all of your murdery actions on me and by God that will not be happening any time soon! Not if I can help it!!"

"...you done?" the man asked. Devon breathed in hard and reigned in his angry fear.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm done. What do you want?"

"Well, for starters, you should know that I didn't assassinate the Partyman. And second, I want whatever information you have," the man replied. There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Devon groaned in exasperation. "You're my contact. Of course you are."

"No worries, I won't report you or anything."

Devon shook his head and slowly pushed himself into a standing position along the wall. He took a tentative step forward and instantly felt the dredges of panic seize him. He had absolutely no sense of direction. His gasp came out as a small whimper. Two hands immediately gripped his biceps and stabilized him.

"None of that now. A side effect of magical healing is disorientation and panic. I can't have you freaking out on me now can I?"

Devon nodded, then realized his contact probably couldn't see him. "Yeah I get it. Calm. Deep breaths. I just really need a light."

There were a few tense seconds of silence. Then Devon's mind was blown. The man in front of him began to glow. He cast soft low light in every direction. He turned out to be quite a young man, around Devon's age by the looks of it. He had the face of a model and the muscles of a wrestler. He wore a traditional black suit that was highlighted by the green light emanating from it.

It seemed that he was as stunned by Devon's appearance as Devon was of his. He took a step back and eyed Devon, taking in his whole form from his head all the way down to the toes and the feet, then gazing up and directly into Devon's eyes, into the windows of his soul. The stare struck a resonating cord that made him shiver in aversion. Devon had seen such vibrant green eyes only once before. With the distinct feeling of a sinking heart, he plunged into a memory.

Magical charge permeated the air. His lungs stung, his legs burned. Houses crumbled. His arrow, flying toward its target. The catch. The huge wings. Piercing green eyes, fueled by destruction, anguish, and hate.

Devon blinked and shook his head. "You can't be an Angel. You can't be him. It's not possible. Angels are condemned to death in Cai territory. You wouldn't be able to get into the military. No way."

The man squeezed his fists together and he scrunched his eyes shut. "I remember you. You were the little boy with the arrow."

Devon's eyes widened, complete shock overtaking him. It was quickly replaced by rage. "You destroyed my home. You murdered my family. I've spent my whole life waiting for the moment I would have you in my sights. My whole life to get justice for what you did." Adrenaline coursed through Devon's body, heating his core like a fuse that had just been lit. "Jensiel," Devon said. The man's eyes flickered with recognition.

The air seemed to become thick with tension. Devon breathed harshly, feeling his anger spread like a tingling itch through his skin. The entire world came to a standstill as the two stared at each other in silence.

"You deserve to die a death more painful than any form of torture imaginable," Devon growled, trembling with rage. Every instinct told him to pulverize the creature standing in front of him, but blind fury halted his motions, made him watch his adversary. Jensiel seemed stoic, unmoving in the face of a foe he recognized.

"You wish me to suffer more than you have," he stated. Devon took a step forward into the Archangel's personal space and nodded.

"Yes," he hissed. This did nothing to break the Archangel's composure, elicited not even a flinch or a movement of the eyes. Jensiel only stared at Devon like a man deep in thought, one who envisioned himself millions of miles away, not standing invasively close to one who held palpable rage.

"There is no need to fight here, nor do I want to fight you," Jensiel said. "You believe that I killed your family the day I created the Divide, no?"

Devon replied the affirmative again. Had he been less angry he might have raised an eyebrow at the Archangel's word choice.

"You shouldn't fight me," Jensiel argued factually. "I am stronger than you in every way. I would defeat you in any battle of power, every sparring match."

Devon shook his head vigorously. "That's not true. Angels die all the time," Devon said disdainfully. "Humans kill them. Even if you're more powerful than I am, that doesn't mean that I am helpless to stop you from getting away from me. Otherwise you would have disappeared by now and left me here to die." Jensen grimaced and Devon know he'd hit the money with his conjecture. "Perhaps we were brought here by fate. Maybe the universe has finally decided to punish you for murdering all those people." He planted his feet firmly on the ground and set his jaw. He would not be swayed, not by a manipulative Archangel, not by anybody.

Jensiel seemed to sense Devon's unyielding resolve, because he closed his eyes and sighed slowly before speaking. "You may not regret your actions now, but if you kill me, you'll feel the repercussions down the road. I'm sure you've killed small animals before, but could you look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that you think you'll never feel any remorse over killing me?"

Devon's eyes burned with the strain of the low lighting. He wanted to say "yes" to Jensiel's query; he wanted to scream it until his voice crackled and rasped like dry grass. But there was some tiny logical part, a little piece of him that reminded him of the first time he'd killed a rabbit to feed his family during a particularly harsh winter when he was young. He remembered the indescribable feeling.

But Devon did not let his resolve waver. He planted his feet and set his knees, keeping his fists clenched tightly and his eyes fixed on his opponent.

Jensiel tilted his head to the side and his brow furrowed. He sized Devon up with an almost vacant expression, one that an interested passerby might wear when casually inspecting a boxy skyscraper. Devon was unnerved by the stare; it seemed so cold and detached. Jensiel stood as still and rigid as a stalagmite, mighty, tall, and proud in the complete darkness of its cave.

"You are young, so young that you barely grasp the ways of the world yet," he said, looking down at Devon's balled fists. "You believe that to fight me is brave, honorable even. You don't see the danger that you are in because because you don't want to lose a chance." Then to Devon's surprise, Jensiel took a deliberate step forward and rooted himself to the ground. The Archangel set his shoulders firmly and stared into Devon's eyes. "So do it. Take your shot at killing your worst enemy."

Devon hesitated to attack, his brows furrowed. "What is this? Some sick game to you?" he snapped incredulously. Jensiel shook his head once. "Then what?!" Devon practically screamed. "I've studied you, read every textbook account, every accessible document, and they all agree on one thing; You are a killer, one that plans and strategies. So why are you just giving up now?" Devon's furious queries fell on deaf ears. You can't just give up now! Not after everything I've gone through, Devon thought. Jensiel made no effort to explain himself, no move to defend his honor or intelligence. He just stood there. Devon grit his teeth. He lashed out and slapped the Archangel clean across the face. Jensiel didn't even make a sound. He just stood there. In that tiny moment, the floodgates seemed to open, spilling memories and hate. Devon remembered his mother's face. Her beautiful smile that lit up the room on even the darkest days. He remembered his sister's innocent face, her curious eyes. She would be just sixteen years old now.

With an anguished yell, he leaped forward and began to throw wild and angry punches toward his enemy. Even his training went out the window. He kicked and hit and screamed until he was winded. He fought with all his might, but Jensiel made no moves of attack, only defense. His face was calm, almost blank with indifference.

Devon swept Jensiel's leg and, to his mild shock, the Archangel fell to the floor. Devon jumped down on top of him. Devon grabbed his wrists and shoved them into the ground, hard. He panted harshly, air rattling through his chest like a speeding train. Jensiel also breathed heavily, but he looked composed, unfazed by the altercation. Devon growled and jerked back, then wrapped his hands around Jensiel's throat. The Archangel coughed and strained, choking while his arms thrashed at Devon's wrists feebly. His eyes widened and he blinked owlishly, then his startling greens narrowed and he closed his mouth. His face contorted, eyebrows pinching and angling down, mouth frowning in fury.

Jensiel's magic exploded from his body. Green tendrils shot out in every direction, some even passing through Devon's body. They curled up his arms like snakes, ensnaring him in an iron grip.

And just like that, consciousness was ripped from him.