“Beur, the Black Rose just arrived. Visiting.” The demon glanced over at his doorway.
“Thank you, Agares.” he said in curt tone, slipping away from the window and out the door before his informant had the chance to reply. He stared straight ahead with an expectant expression, fidgeting absently with that damn lock of hair that always managed to get in the way. He had prepared, oh, probably a thousand elegant speeches, hitting all the practical reasons and altering the levels of persuasion as surreptitiously as possible, and he still could feel his hands trembling, insides turning. The chance of the God of Paradise simply saying no was like...the chance of the Adversary of Lies lying to someone. But he had to say yes, oh man, he had to, or he’d be royally screwed over for the rest of his miserable immortal life.
Beur abandoned the stubborn lock in favor of twiddling his thumbs, which he in turn abandoned once he caught sight of the Black Rose, who was making his way through the corridors with a horrendously cold, stern expression. He shivered, mustering up all the courage he could find within his fragile frame. The demon thought it a miracle that he hadn’t been killed due to his obvious frailty by now. He assumed the only reason he was still alive was because he was faster than many. Hm, or maybe they hadn’t gotten around to killing him yet. Yeah, probably.
He nodded once, as if to assure himself, before taking one confident step towards the god. This is my only other chance, he thought. I just need to remain calm--
“Halt!” Beur let out a whimper, courage fleeing and eyes widening as he stared at his more-than-startled expression on the reflection of a sword twice the size of him. His eyes widened even more as he followed the handle of the massive weapon to a large hand, trailing up to an arm layered with muscle, wide shoulders, and finally up to smirking lips and blue eyes narrowed in mirth. Never in his life had he been more convinced that he was about to die.
“Well, what business have you with my beloved Lord Jair?” the blonde interrogated, although behind that tone the demon thought he could hear amusement. Out of the corner of his eye he caught immense white wings fluttering. An angel? He was practically dead already. Oh, well.
“It’s important! Why should I tell you?” he replied. He might as well go down with something akin to a fight, right? Eh.
The angel laughed--a booming, warm sound. Beur tilted his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed. Was this guy really laughing? And all this time he had thought that angels were supposed to be merciful.
“What are you laughing at?” he demanded heatedly, feeling his face flush. He watched as the blonde strapped the sword to his waist, a waist covered in some sort of black, silky cloth. He kept a wary eye on the weapon that could cleave him in half with ease, but then the angel was moving towards him, and he was stepping backwards, naked back pressed up against the wall, and the tremble in his hands from before had returned and spread to the rest of his body. The giant leaned forward until he was literally an inch from his face, and the smell of virtue overwhelmed him.
Nauseating.
Beur’s stomach twisted again, watching as his antagonist flashed a wide smile full of perfectly straight white teeth.
“I thought it was pretty obvious,” he replied, still grinning that unbearable grin. “I think I was laughing at you, my friend.”
“F-Friend?” the demon protested. “Back up!” he ordered, cringing away from the madman, who had somehow managed to get closer without crushing him against the wall. “I’m not into angels, sorry.”
All he received was a blank stare and a slow blink. Was he actually that thick?
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Beur asked with a sigh.
“Hmmm, no, you missed me at that last part,” the angel replied, smiling again. He brought up a hand to the demon’s face and patted him on the cheek, earning him another wince. “Camael,” he said abruptly. Beur stared at him.
“What?”
“You see? Now we’re even. My name is Camael, thank you for asking,” he introduced himself, leaning back and looking at Beur as if he were waiting for something. And still, that smile was there.
“Beur,” he replied grudgingly, glaring up at the angel. Camael leaned towards him again, like he was scrutinizing his face. “Would you—would you stop that? Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?” he said, waving his arms between him and his clueless antagonist.
“Somebody didn’t love you enough as a child, did they?” the blonde observed, taking only one step back and nodding his head sympathetically. “How does that make you feel?”
“Shut your face. I don’t need counseling, much less from an angel.” he snapped.
Camael let out a tragic sigh. “I see,” he said. “I understand, you’re a terribly sad soul, aren’t you?”
Beur pursed his lips. “You could say that,” he answered. “Now away with you. Your reek is making me sick.”
“Let me do something for you,” the angel insisted. The demon gaped up at him, waiting for the blonde to break that serious expression and start laughing at him again. Any moment now.
Silence.
He sighed. “Fine, you want to do something for me?” Camael gave an eager nod. “You see that frightening, potentially death-inflicting weapon of pain at your waist?”
“…Why yes, I do,” he replied, both eyebrows arching. “Why? Do you want me to threaten some frilly fop in the Palace? You know, I’ve always wanted to do that. ”
Beur opened his arms, face bleak. “Run me through.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the blade to slip between his ribs like a hot knife through butter. It’d be easier than swatting a fly, especially for the towering angel and his equally immense sword. At least he wouldn’t give the others the satisfaction, and being killed by an angel somehow seemed more justified than by the fist of his own race.
“That’s it? Just…run you through, eh?”
“Oh, just get on with it, will you?” he said impatiently. Camael shrugged.
“If you say so,” he answered in a casual voice. And then suddenly Beur was pretty sure his face had just been set on fire, head snapping to the side with a crack! He opened his eyes, but he found that there really wasn’t a point, because everything was blurry and blobs of black corroded his vision, until it all finally faded away.
“Tch. Idiot.”

“Seven days? Agares, that’s absurd! Are you sure it wasn’t you that hit your head?” Beur sat up, eyes round.
“Quite sure, Beur,” Agares replied, raising an eyebrow. “I found you unconscious with a pleasantly red handprint burning on the side of your face. Isn’t that delightful?”
“Bite me,” he muttered, rubbing his cheek.
“I’ll consider it,” the Prince said. “In the mean time, why don’t you explain to me who exactly smacked you, and why? Don’t leave any details out, Beur. I want to applaud this person—“
“Oh, shut your face, Agares. I doubt you’ll want to thank an angel, anyway.”
“An angel?” Agares grinned wickedly. “Oh, do go on. This is the most exciting event I’ve had in decades. Knowing you, you probably made a smartass comment and the beast tried to bash in your skull. My, you’re lucky you got away with just a slap upside the head, oh yes.”
Beur glared at him. “Are you finished? I’m not going to tell you, so you might as well just let it lie.”
“Come now, Beur, you consider me a friend, don’t you? Something closely related to a companion? It’s only proper that you share everything with your sort-of-friends…or did you not know that?”
“Everything?” the demon said, quirking an eyebrow.
“Yes. Everything. So let’s have it.” The Prince smiled and sat in front of Beur on the bed, waiting expectantly.
“Well…if you say so,” he shrugged, balling his fist up tightly and crashing it into the side of his sort-of-friend’s face. Agares’s head snapped to the side, although Beur was pretty sure that it wasn’t even close to being as violent or as painful as Camael’s smart backhand.
“…Ow.” He rubbed his cheek and frowned, turning his head to look back at Beur with an expression of utter bewilderment.
“Times that by a thousand, my dear friend, and that was basically my reenactment of my experience seven days ago. Aaaaand…that about sums it up.”
“That was abusive! And besides, you forgot the extravagant wings and the halo. Oh, and don’t forget to strike a gallant pose. Here, I’ll tape a wax candle to the back of your head and light it. It won’t hurt in the slightest.”
Beur nodded thoughtfully. “Mhm…”
“What do you think?” Agares asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m trying to decide whether or not to punch you in the face again,” the demon replied with a straight face.
“Please refrain. I’m a Prince, you’re a Prince, and we’re both sort-of-friends, so punching isn’t really necessary. I understand that you have a difficult time displaying affection, so I want you to know that I accept that one love-punch. Thank you. It warms my heart.”
Beur scoffed. “You don’t have a heart, Agares.”
“Well, I have every right to pretend, don’t I? And seeing your smiling face every day does bring a tear to my eye.”
“Only because I try to will a hole through your forehead every time you rant on like this.”
“Oh, is that what that feeling was? Hm, and here I was thinking that was love. So silly of me.”
Beur rolled his eyes and stood. “Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bathe for the first time in a week.”

A year went by before Beur ran into Camael again. And he, quite literally, ran into the massive angel, whom he found to be more of a steel wall than an angel at all.
“My nose!” the demon sobbed, watching as splatters of teal covered the floor. He was thrown to his knees, and just by accidentally running into the moron. Beur was absolutely convinced that he’d have an easier time running head on into the Palace’s marble walls than the blonde tower.
“Oh, hm. My bad. I hate it when that happens,” Camael apologized, frowning and crouching down beside him. “Raphael can heal that for you. Here, I’ll bring you to him.”
“What? No! Get your hands off me, you idiot! You just broke my nose and you didn’t even have to move! You see what you do to me?”
“Don’t be stupid, Beur,” the angel said in a firm tone, dutifully picking the demon up. “It is partially my fault, aside from the fact that it’s mostly yours. Raphael’s not that far, anyway.”
“Are you mad?” Beur screamed, silently hoping they wouldn’t draw too much attention as he clung to Camael. The drop, after all, was six feet and at least six inches down, and despite the horrifying fact that his blonde antagonist was carrying him, he favored keeping all of his bones intact. He wanted a swift death, not a long, painful one. “Did you seriously inhale some Insanity Incense?” the demon demanded.
“Hmmm, no. I know my way around,” Camael replied, making his way through one of the Palace’s many corridors with Beur still tucked neatly in his arms. The angel was…warm. “You see, Raphael is just up here. That way you won’t be bleeding all over my chest.” He winced as the teal sin sizzled against his bare skin. “Won’t that be nice?”
“And what about the Hallucination Perfume? Because, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not an angel.”
Isn’t that--? He grimaced. That was an entirely different matter—one that didn’t involve being carried around by this insane steel wall who gallivanted around as an angel with an unnecessarily large sword. The sword that failed to end his life as a Prince of Hell one year ago, with a sore cheek and a missing week as an uneven substitute. He had yet to demand a proper payment from his blonde antagonist. This time he’d make sure the oversized blade slid straight through his heart.
“I can see that clearly, considering angels don’t have horns or tails,” Camael said, turning the corner. “But I can’t have you bleeding all over the place, now can I?”
“Why not—“
“Caaaamaaael!” Beur blinked as a blur of bright blonde came flying out of what appeared to be absolutely nowhere, and the demon was suddenly squished in between two angels, one talking too fast for him to understand what he was saying, although he thought he could pick up the frequent words, like “flowers” and “rainbows” and “happy.” And then Camael was kissing this crazy angel, and Beur was positively going to hurl.
“Stop!” he demanded. They didn’t. “HEY IDIOTS. Down here!” he shouted, a disturbed expression on his face. Raphael turned to look down at him.
The Angel of Healing was by no means what the Prince had imagined. He was supposedly a powerful archangel, one of the oldest, but all he could see was a delicate frame and a way-too-beautiful face that lacked the air of corruption he had known all his life. And there were his eyes, of course, which were a tender, soft green that looked like they were constantly curved in delight. It screamed against everything that ever existed in the Underworld. Beur fought down the urge to scream himself.
Camael held out the demon in his arms as if he were handing him off to Raphael. “Be careful with him,” he warned. “He’s dainty, you see.”
“Dainty?” Beur protested, scowling at his divine antagonist, and then glaring up at the Angel of Healing. “Don’t listen to a word he says. He’s mad, you know, inhaling all that Insanity Incense and Hallucination Perfume, thinking I’m an angel.”
“Oh my,” the archangel sighed dramatically. “Is it true, Camael? Hast thy mind slipped from sanity?”
“What? No, of course it isn’t,” Camael replied, grinning that…unbearable grin. Beur twitched, staring up at the blonde and his curved lips. “I’m perfectly sane, even if Beur says otherwise.”
“Oh, alright then. And what happened here?” Raphael looked inquisitively at the mess of teal blood sizzling against Camael’s chest and spurting from the demon’s nose like a sin fountain.
The angel shrugged, and then cringed at the gesture. “The Prince wasn’t watching where he was going,” he explained as Raphael placed a gentle hand on his chest. The blood, as if it were alive, slithered away from his touch and splattered to the floor, the sound of searing flesh ceasing immediately. “He had a nice encounter with my back—and the solid ground.”
“How kind of you to put it that way,” Beur muttered, flinching away from Raphael’s slender fingers. “None of this would have happened if you had killed me when you had the perfect chance.”
“Don’t make me slap you again, Beur,” Camael threatened.
“Then do it! And while you’re at it, slide that dandy sword at your waist straight through me.” Raphael raised an eyebrow and placed his hands on the side of the demon’s face, earning him a long, agonized scream of pain. The nosebleed ended, but the teal blood remained streaked all over him. Beur shuddered, and his hands began trembling again.
“A low pain tolerance—and in the Underworld, nonetheless,” Camael observed in a quiet voice.
“Please, you flatter me,” he mumbled, attempting to silence his trembling body. “Now put me down, will you? Not that I have anything against an angel carrying me around like a child…”
His kind antagonist nodded and placed the demon back on his feet, handling him like a fragile doll. Beur sighed and looked up at Camael. “Now, I believe you have a debt to repay,” he said firmly.
“Please, not this again. I apologize for smacking you so hard, but I’m certainly not going to make it up to you by running my sword through your heart.”
“Why? …Oh, I suppose I should give you my written permission so that it doesn’t spawn a war.” Beur fumbled with one of his many bracelets and pulled out a slip of parchment covered in neat print. The demon held it out for his reluctant antagonist, who simply stared at it with an unimpressed eyebrow quirked. “Don’t worry,” Beur said. “My friend, Prince Agares, will recognize my handwriting, and he works under the Adversey of Lies. I guarantee the Silver Rose won’t start a war. Just hand it to him when you’re finished.”
“…And you planned this all out, did you?” Camael asked, frowning as he took the piece of parchment and scanned over it.
“I had a plan beforehand, but that didn’t work out too well, and it never will,” the demon responded blandly. “The Black Rose is visiting again, isn’t he?”
Camael nodded, noble smile flying back to his lips in an instant. Beur felt his lips twitch upwards. Lord, it was contagious!
“Yes, my beloved Lord Jair is having his annual visit with your goddess,” the blonde replied. “Why?”
“I…well, there’s nothing to lose, aside from maybe my dignity—which you happened to trample on earlier.” The demon said, shooting the angel an accusing stare.
“Oh, you’ll get over it. What is it that you wanted to speak to him about?” Camael inquired.
“Well--…” Beur paused, a small smirk suddenly appearing. “It’s important! Why should I tell you?”
“You—I should slap you for that!” the angel said, nudging the demon and laughing—a booming, warm sound.
“Agh, are you trying to throw out my arm?” he demanded, but the wide smile on his face betrayed him. When was the last time he had flashed a sincere smile?
And then Raphael was laughing as if he had just seen the funniest thing in his entire life. Beur and Camael both arched an eyebrow at the Angel of Healing, who returned their stares with a beam that the demon thought for sure would blind him.
“What?” the Prince asked.
“It’s nothing! Now go and find our glorious god, go on,” Raphael replied, making shooing motions with his hands.
“What about you? You might get lost.” Beur warned the archangel.
“Me? Oh no, I’m waiting for somebody,” he said, smiling wistfully.
“Well, who is it, then? I know most of the demons in the Palace,” the demon explained. “I could find him for you.”
“No, that’s alright, Beur. I have a feeling I’ll have to wait for quite a while.”



“Who was he talking about, Camael?” Beur asked as the two walked down the corridor and towards the Throne Room. He had washed all of the blood from earlier away and insisted that Camael kept the parchment that granted him permission to kill the demon. As a backup plan, the Prince had said.
“You know, I’ve been trying to figure that out for years,” he answered, frowning in thought. “I still have no idea.”
“Well, he’s been waiting for a long time, hasn’t he? I get the feeling…”
“So I hear,” Camael replied.
“And why are you always around when the Black Rose is?” Beur inquired suspiciously, looking up at the angel, hands behind his back.
The blonde shrugged. “He considers me his favorite, I think.”
The demon blinked, stopping in the middle of the corridor. “You’d…have to be an important angel to be favored by your god, right? Like…with a high title?”
“Not necessarily, but that’s usually how it ends up, yes,” Camael said, nodding. “Why?”
“Camael,” Beur said seriously. “What’s your title?”
“I never understood why it was so important, Beur—“
“Camael, isn’t honesty a virtue?”
“You’re one to say something like that,” the angel muttered. “Do you really have to know?”
“Yes, my friend,” Beur replied. “I really do.”
The blonde straightened and lifted his chin, appearing more like the handsome, noble angels described in fairytales than the ridiculous steel wall that forced a friendship—no, sort-of-friendship between them, using Agares’s words. Lord, he was going crazy with the angels!
Demon, angel, demon, angel, he reminded himself. Hell isn’t a second Heaven. Don’t get them mixed up, Beur, you moron. It wasn’t as if either had a preference to whether he lived or died, anyway.
“My name is Camael,” the blonde began. “I am the Angel of Compassion, Born by Lord Eli, the fourth God of Paradise, Black Rose, and favored archangel of Lord Jair, the twenty-third God of Paradise, Black Rose. My rank is the second in command to Uriel, Angel of Repentance, general to the Black Rose’s army and favored archangel of the thirteenth and only Goddess of Paradise, Black Rose, Lady Sarai.”
Beur gaped at the angel—archangel, rather, and then smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead. “The counterpart to the Adversary I serve under?” he half-screamed, attacking that one lock of hair again and attempting to will a hole through Camael’s forehead. “And you neglected to tell me before--why?”
“As I tried to state before, I never understood why these titles were so important,” Camael replied, sighing.
“And…and you said you were the second in command? Favored by your god?” the demon repeated slowly.
“Hmmm, yes, I did say that, didn’t I? I can help you, Beur,” Camael said in a reassuring tone, gesturing forward, down the corridor. “Whatever it is that you want from my beloved Lord Jair, I can help you with—within reason, of course, but you get the idea.”
“Why don’t you just kill me, anyway?” he demanded.
The angel watched him wearily. “I have a lot of reasons,” he answered, “but don’t forget: I’m the Angel of Compassion, Prince. I don’t gallivant through the corridors of Hell, beheading ‘violators of the law’ and the weaklings. Or did you imagine me to be one to do something like that?”
Beur stared at him in silence. Camael let his hands falls to his sides. “You did. You don’t trust me, do you?”
“You’re an angel, you idiot! Of course I don’t trust you.” he snapped.
“Well then, what about me?” The two froze. The god Jair walked coolly towards them, arms folded and expression just as unspeakably cold as the demon had seen last year.
“My lord,” Camael bowed his head and took the Black Rose’s hand while the god held his favored angel’s face and kissed him. Beur averted his eyes. That he was sure he’d never get used to. Camael had explained to him after leaving Raphael that it was like the formal kneeling in the Underworld…except there weren’t really superiors in Paradise, and they kissed out of their somehow non-lusty super-love for each other rather than for formality’s sake. Beur suspected that it was actually because the angels weren’t quite as virtuous as they claimed.
“I am the God of Paradise, and I hold the virtues closer than anyone else in the Worlds, as it is my duty,” Jair said evenly, perhaps even without emotion, “and you have my word that Camael is not the type of person you most assuredly view him as—I cannot think of any other such being with better intentions than him.”
“My lord, pleas—“
“At ease, Camael,” the god ordered, holding his hand up. The archangel grimaced; head bowed once again, he stood faithfully by the Black Rose’s side. Jair watched the demon Prince with his gray-green eyes, one dark eyebrow arched. “I have heard all about you, Prince Beur,” he purred, a smile twitching onto his lips. It wasn’t pleasant. “You are the demon who dreams of an angel’s sword between his ribs, are you not?”
“Yes,” he said simply, attempting to ignore the gagging smell of virtue and the overbearing presence the god was emanating. And he had thought Camael was difficult to ignore.
“So what is it that I can do for you?” Jair asked, reminding the demon of what Camael had asked only a year ago—although the Black Rose was hardlythe warmly concerned archangel. Beur furrowed his brow, looking between the Angel of Compassion and the God of Paradise. How in the Worlds did that happen? Wasn’t coldness an antonym for compassion?
He glanced timidly at Camael, who nodded and offered a smile—that one pleasant grin that was so infectious. The demon hid a quiet smile of his own before turning back to the god. He knew very well that he didn’t have any hope, but he could pretend as if he did, couldn’t he? Like Agares had said: it was their right.
“I consider it a miracle in Hell that I’m still alive, you know,” Beur said, hands trembling once again. “Although I have no reason to be and probably no right in any way, shape or form…” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Camael opening his mouth to protest, but he thought twice of it and settled for an empathetic stare instead. Jair’s expression had softened, which caused the Prince to do a double take. To say the god looked entirely different would be a frightening understatement. And still, why the change? He hadn’t asked of anything momentous—yet.
“Black Rose, will you—“
“I know what you want,” the God of Paradise interrupted, voice hushed. Beur blinked.
“W-What?”
“You heard me right, Prince. I know what it is that you desperately wish for…” Jair moved towards the demon, whose eyes had become saucers, and placed both hands on his shoulders. The god’s touch was burning with warmth. “…and I will most unquestionably grant it unto thee.”
Beur gawked at him. “B-But that’s—well, that’s impossible! I mean, it could start a war! And the Goddess—“
“Did you want to squawk about it or have it happen?” Jair raised an eyebrow.
“Of course I want it to happen—I just didn’t think it would,” the Prince confessed, beside himself.
“On one condition, however,” the Black Rose said, smiling.
“Anything.” Beur replied without a second thought.
“You will have to die, Prince Beur.”


“Agaaaaareeees.”
The other Prince glanced up from his book, one eyebrow arched and that familiar half-sneer on his lips. “Yes, Beur?”
Beur sidled up next to his friend on his bed, smiling. “How much do you love me?” His question was a way of forfeiting their unspoken game on avoiding any matters that had to do with the fact that they were fond of each other. It was more or less Agares who had started it—something to do with his constant hunger for amusement and maybe even for pride, no doubt. It had been going on for years, but now it was time for it to come to an end.
For only but a half-second the demon took on a startled expression, before he smoothly recovered and purred, “Oh, it depends, my charm,”
Beur frowned. “On what?”
“Why, on the next timewe make sweet love, of course—Ow. Your knuckles are sharp.” Agares rubbed his shoulder, looking in accusation at the other demon, who was directing an equally violent glower at him.
“I swear, if you’re spreading lies about that sick nonsense…” Beur threatened.
“Well, I was entertaining some thoughts on doing that—Ow. Alright, fine. I see how it is. I don’t love you in the least.” With that, Agares dutifully turned his back and snubbed him. Beur sighed and crossed his arms, attempting to bore a hole through the back of his friend’s head.
Silence.
“Not one bit?” Beur asked, nudging him in the side.
“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Agares snapped, book poised perfectly in one hand and cold-shoulder expression still attached to his face.
“I thought we were sort-of-friends. Not…not even a little?”
“No, Beur. Not a single drop. Now get out.” Beur sighed and sulked towards the door, biting his lip, when a sharp pain shot through his shoulder.
“Ouch—you—you ass!” he sputtered, shoving his friend’s wickedly grinning face away from his shoulder. “You bit me!”
“Well, I said I’d consider it, didn’t it?” Agares replied archly. “I just so happened to come to a verdict, my friend.”
“I hate you,” Beur groaned, “you liar.”
“Well, of course. It’s my right, didn’t you know?”
“Yes,” he said, laughing, “I do. Now take this.” Beur fiddled with one of his bracelets again and pulled out the parchment covered in his neat print. Agares frowned and took it, eyebrow raised.
“What, pray tell, is this?”
“You’ll see soon enough. Make sure it gets to the Goddess later.”
“Beur—“
“I’ll see you around, Agares.” Beur said with a smile, and shut the door behind him. That, of course, was a lie.


“Are you ready?” Camael asked, beaming his contagious smile down at the demon.
“What will they say, Camael? I can’t imagine I’d be loved to pieces,” Beur said dubiously, fidgeting with that one lock of hair again.
“You’d be surprised,” the angel replied. He paused, looking down at the Prince with a thoughtful expression.
“What?”
“You’ll need another—“
“Is he ready?” Jair translocated in front of the pair, appearing very pleased.
“I want to know,” Beur said urgently. “Why did you agree?”
The god’s eyes curved into a smile, but he kept a straight face. “Oh, in a very short time you will see. Now Camael,” he said, looking to his favorite archangel, “you know what you must do.”
The blonde nodded and scooped the demon up gently. Beur began to tremble. “Now be honest—no sugarcoating. Will this be painful?” the Prince asked. Camael shook his head.
“Like flying from one room to another, friend,” he said jovially.
“Camael…I’ve never flown before.” Beur reminded him.
“All in good time, Beur, and you won’t be able to say that anymore,” the angel answered. “Now try to hold on. I’d rather not have you falling in between Worlds.” Camael shot up from the ground, a gold beam of light shining down from what was presumably a World away, and soon they were racing past blurred colors and shapes, away from the Underworld, and suddenly Beur could feel the space below him and the solid ground of the Human World.
“Here we go,” Camael whispered, throwing the Prince up into the air between the planes of Paradise and the Human World.
“Camael!” he cried, eyes widening as he plummeted towards the World below. His heart pounded against his ear drums. What had just happened?
I’m falling—and before I even got there, too… Everything had slowed considerably, and Beur squeezed his eyes shut while something peculiar exploded from in between his shoulder blades. What would Hell think? And Agares?
And then he was, to his surprise, alive.
“I’m here, Fadil,” the blonde said, touching his shoulder lightly. A pure, intoxicating scent drifted all around him. Beur cracked one eye open and looked over his shoulder. Elegant white wings pumped behind him, attached so perfectly to his back. He blinked and examined his arm, glowing with a soft gold—a reflection of his halo, no doubt.
“W-Who?” he asked, spinning to look at his beaming companion.
“That’s your name, friend,” he stated. “We couldn’t very well have you running about with the name of a demon Prince, now could we?”
“We—We did it? …And I’m not dead! You see that, Camael? My heart is beating!” Fadil laughed, looking down at the Human World, and through that, the Underworld. He felt naïve, and childish, and warmth pulsed through his blood like sweet gold honey. Oh, and the smell.
Camael laughed—a booming, warm sound, which had not changed, thankfully—and drifted down onto the ground of Paradise, with Fadil following and landing neatly on his rear.
“Please tell me if this is a dream now, so I can sleep forever,” he said in awe, burgundy eyes drinking in the difference between Heaven and Hell.
“No, no, you’re certainly awake,” the Angel of Compassion reassured him. Fadil touched his ears, which were bare, and he looked down at his wrists. No bracelets. He didn’t bother to try and twitch his now nonexistent tail or run his hand through his purple hair. Camael sat beside him.
“Camael,” he said, “where is Lord Jair, the God of Paradise?” His friend grimaced and looked away. “…Camael?”
Fadil furrowed his brow, and then stood up to watch other angels walking towards them with curious expressions and wide grins. Raphael literally flew at the former demon Prince, kissing his entire face and nose, squeezing him way too tightly, and talking way too fast for Fadil to catch up again. A crowd was forming and expanding around him, laughing and playing with his odd colored hair, or clapping him on the back and asking where the heck he had come from. Others hovered above the massive crowd to get a better look at the newcomer, waving and smiling whenever he looked up. Fadil groped for the right words to say, or what to do. He stood there, dumbfounded. They were…excited over him?
Then the crowd parted, and an extremely tall blonde with a dangerous looking trident in her hand hurried over to Camael, along with an unperturbed female angel with long black hair and dark brown eyes.
“Camael, where’s our beloved god?” the trident-wielding angel asked, looking around. The Angel of Compassion clenched his jaw, as if he were trying to hold back tears.
“He’s not coming back, Hadraniel,” he replied, and the noise of the crowd soon became a wave of hushed voices. Fadil’s eyes widened.
“That’s impossible! Camael, we just talked to—“ he began to protest, but Raphael swiftly yanked him aside and ushered him away from the crowd, which was now focused entirely on Camael. “Wait, Raphae—“
“Do not tell anyone where you are from, Fadil. If they ask you where you came from, tell them you were an Innocent that just Ascended. Camael was your guardian, and Lord Jair broke the Rules, so he has been replaced by his successor, Lord Sarosh.” Raphael said with a grave face.
The former demon began to tremble again. “B-But the last part isn’t true, is it? He couldn’t have done this for just me—I mean, oh man, I’m not worth anything, e-especially not compared to…to a god. The God of Paradise.” The Angel of Healing studied him, eyes softening.
“You were one of the two reasons. Lord Jair has always feigned blank indifference, it seems, but he has a weakness for mercy,” Raphael explained.
“What about…?” Fadil left it hanging.
“Breaking the Rules and letting a demon into Paradise and become an angel is stupid, disrupts order and Balance, and will certainly kick the God of Paradise out of his position,” he replied, in which case the other angel cringed, “…and that is exactly what our beloved god has always wanted.”
Did he hear him right? Fadil blinked. “What…?”
Raphael smiled sadly. “Now come! You’ll have to choose a room to sleep in tonight, of course, and who you will sleep with.” The Angel of Healing grasped the former Prince by the arm and dragged him farther away from the crowd of angels. He could hear weeping, and he glanced over his shoulder. All he could see was anguished expressions and shaking heads. Camael was also missing, Fadil realized. And all of this because of him…
“Wait—I have to sleep with somebody else?” he demanded, irked by the thought. Agares had once snuck into his bed at night as a prank, in which case the liar received a prompt punch in the face and a door slammed on his tail as he was shoved out of the room, but that was the closest anybody had ever gotten to sleeping in the same bed with him. There was, however, a profound lack of lust-implied thoughts when Raphael had mentioned sleeping with someone.
The archangel suddenly came to a halt, not bothering to answer Fadil’s question, and burst open a door without knocking.
“Subtle.” Fadil muttered, yanking his arm out of Raphael’s clutch and stepping into the room, only to jump a considerable amount of feet into the air when he realized someone else was in the room. Camael looked up from his hunched over position on his bed, blue eyes disconsolate. He offered a shaky smile.
Raphael drifted over to the Angel of Compassion, whispered something inaudible in his ear, kissed him, and left to mourn with the other angels.
Silence.
Camael cleared his throat, and Fadil sighed and toyed with that one lock of hair, waiting for somebody to burst into the room and inform them that Lord Jair had been permitted to stay, to rule over Paradise again and kiss his favorite archangel.
Silence.
The former Prince hesitated before moving towards the miserable blonde and embracing him. He had no idea how he brought himself to do it, but even his thoughts were completely different, and something in Paradise compelled him to love every person he set eyes on. To say that made him feel much different than when he had worked under the Adversary of Hate only a day ago would be a disgusting understatement.
They stayed together in silence, with Fadil curled up next to the grief-stricken archangel, who eventually fell asleep. Everything that had happened in the past two weeks tumbled about in his head, but he was the warmest and the happiest he had been in his entire life, and the inferiority that had wormed its way into his mind years ago was disappearing like a puff of cold breath. No doubt there’d be an entire list of things he needed to get used to and learn, but that there would be a time for that later. He watched Camael’s chest rise and fall, and then allowed his eyes to shut and let sleep take him.

All he could do now was try to do as the angels do.