"Damn it, what is that guy?"
The angel, bearing a face nearly identical to Ancient One's, tended to its wounds.
Its left wing was half-torn, leaving it in a pitiful state.
Gabriel, its name. No one could pin down its gender.
Like Tyrael, hidden beneath a hood, its true appearance was a mystery.
Thankfully, angels didn't care for phrases like "read my face."
Angels, supposedly genderless, weren't defined by male or female.
They were a different lifeform entirely—perhaps hatched from eggs?
Or born from a pool where countless angels bathed?
Who cares!
Gabriel had planned to let Hell's scheme succeed, spreading Heaven's glory to harvest faith.
It had its reasons, but they weren't worth explaining now.
The barbarian's appearance nearly derailed its plan.
The girl had died, which was good—her sister would serve as Hell's anchor. Once the Spear of Destiny was secured, the plan still had a shot.
But Gabriel's pristine, holy form was ruined. The wing Bul-Kathos had torn off refused to heal, no matter how much power it poured in.
Now, Gabriel looked like a beaten stray, slumped on the floor, covered in blood and grime.
Knock, knock, knock!
Urgent pounding at the door forced it to tuck away its wounded wing and muster some composure.
"Dear Gabriel, still no ticket to Heaven for me?"
Constantine's flippant, lazy voice grated on Gabriel's nerves.
"Constantine, wait outside a moment."
Gabriel strained to maintain its usual tone, speaking with effort.
Bloodstains lingered on the floor. It needed to clean up.
Constantine was less trustworthy than a demon.
With a wave, Gabriel erased the blood with its power.
"Surprising. Even Archangel Gabriel does housekeeping? I thought angels lived in spotless realms."
Constantine's figure appeared inside, casually closing the door behind him.
"If you keep acting like this, you'll be in Hell sooner than you think."
Gabriel suppressed a flicker of unease, slowly turning around.
With its wings hidden, Gabriel wore a tailored suit, its beauty radiant.
A beauty beyond gender, pure and absolute.
Slightly curled golden hair glowed, lending a touch of holiness.
"Oh, that'd be a shame, my angel! Save your lost lamb!"
Constantine spread his arms, the Ska cigarette between his fingers still burning.
"How many times must I say it, Constantine? No matter how many demons you send back to Hell, it's all for yourself. You're not getting into Heaven!"
Gabriel regained its composure, though its tone was sharp, pain lingering despite its hidden wings.
"What's wrong, dear angel? You don't look so good."
Constantine took a deep drag, blowing smoke toward Gabriel.
"Welcome to my life, Gabriel!"
His fearless grin was as infuriating as ever.
"What do you want?"
Gabriel didn't flinch at the smoke cloud.
"By the way, know an angel named Manny?"
Constantine dropped his playful demeanor, signaling the question's weight.
"I've been on Earth too long. I don't know every angel. Sorry."
Gabriel's expression didn't waver.
"Pity. Care to give the Lord's lamb a hug?"
Constantine, getting the answer he wanted, slipped back into his flippant act.
"If you're truly the Lord's lamb, find your own way to Heaven."
Gabriel turned to resume its usual tasks.
"What a shame. I'll leave you to it."
Constantine opened the door and stepped out, fiddling with the lock using a thin wire.
With a click, he locked it from outside, leaving no trace of his visit.
Jill and his father sat on a bench outside the forge, stargazing, each holding an ice cream.
Frank hadn't touched his.
A large bag of snacks and two packs of the priciest beer Frank could find sat nearby.
Jill wasn't short on pocket money—a bag of cash still hung carelessly inside the forge.
But snacks were rare. Bul-Kathos didn't care about food quality.
In Sanctuary, scarcity meant simple meals, with no room for culinary finesse.
"Jill, I'll be done soon. Then I'll build a house nearby, and we'll live together."
Frank ruffled his son's hair, savoring the fuzzy texture.
He quickened his strokes.
"I'll wait till you're done. I'm doing fine now."
Jill licked his ice cream.
"When you grow up, we'll live like normal people. You could be a lawyer, or maybe a dentist."
Frank's words felt more like a monologue than a conversation with Jill.
His heart had shattered with his wife and daughter's deaths, but his son's survival kept him going.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Dad, if you're not eating your ice cream, can I have it?"
Jill looked up, his tone playfully childish, finally acting his age.
"Of course."
Snapped back to reality, Frank handed over the ice cream.
Bul-Kathos sat on a park bench, chugging liquor.
Today's rage burned hotter than usual. The girl's body, ravaged by demons, had no chance of survival.
Even his potions couldn't save her.
Her soul was entrusted to Ancient One, who'd ensure it reached its proper place.
The death of a noble soul rarely awakened the numb. More often, it fueled the ignorant's revelry.
Like Cain's death, which didn't spur cowards to fight but left Leah in boundless grief.
People's joys and sorrows rarely align—sometimes, they just make noise.
Bul-Kathos thought of Sanctuary's wailing wounded, his mood sinking.
"What was that girl's name?" he muttered, straining to recall.
(End of Chapter)
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