Demon Angel

figure swooped down from the top of the keep, landed facing the knight, and folded great, membranous wings.
    The impulse to raise the hue and cry warred with his disbelief, his doubt that he was seeing aright. The creature was no taller than Georges, apart from the wings that rose above its head. It stood with its back to Hugh, and though the wings hid most of its form, he caught brief glimpses of long, dark hair, the elegant curve of feminine hips and waist, and strong, lean legs. Georges did not move to defend himself, and after a moment, in which it seemed he and the creature spoke, it disappeared into the night with a powerful flap of its wings.
    Georges looked up, and Hugh thought his gaze settled directly on him—or perhaps his destination had always been to Hugh's post—for he continued walking toward the wall.
    He must have been mistaken. He must have been. But try as he might, Hugh could not convince himself an owl or a falcon had deceived him for something else in the darkness. Hugh's hand settled upon his sword hilt as Georges climbed the wall steps, and he was reminded of the older knight's stance upon meeting Lilith in the courtyard earlier.
    "I do not see everything clearly," Hugh said as Georges stepped onto the allure. "But my confusion cannot be blamed on poor vision this time."
    The moon silvered the older man's hair and face, lending a marble cast to his features. "Will you skewer me for your confusion?"
    Though Hugh could not remember sliding it from the sheath, he stood with weapon drawn. An ignoble reaction toward one who had mentored him well for two years, perhaps, but he found trust difficult to recall over memory of the creature. "Do you leave me no other choice, I will. If you tell me other than the truth."
    "Truth is not always a choice," Georges said.
    Hugh smiled thinly. "Then I shall choose whether to believe you."
    He spread his hands wide, palms upturned, but Hugh did not relax his defensive stance. "Aye, I can not force you to believe," he agreed, irony tingeing his voice. "Nor will most of what I tell you require more belief than you already have."
    "What of my patience?"
    "Of that, you have an excess." Frowning, Georges dropped his arms back to his sides. "After Morningstar led his revolt on Heaven, he and his conspirators vowed to complete the fall of mankind."
    Startled by the shift of tone and subject, Hugh lowered his sword fractionally. "Aye."
    "Though the seraphim were sent to Earth, to interact with men and protect them against the demons' manipulations, they could not be as men. Before long, humans began to look upon the seraphim as gods themselves."
    "Their idolatry incurring His wrath?" Hugh guessed, his mouth twisting. "Surely you don't think I will believe—"
    "No." Georges's voice swelled and took on a melodic cadence. More than a rejection of Hugh's doubt, it surprised him into— commanded —silence. "Stirring Morningstar's jealousy. His former brethren worshipped by men? He could not tolerate it. He rose up, better prepared by time and experience of the first battle, and led his demons into a second. With him were the creatures he'd created of Hell and Chaos, hounds born of sin and death and darkness, whose bite proved fatal for the seraphim. The first defense against the demons' attack failed, and the seraphim protecting Earth fell. The second phalanx from Above arrived quickly enough, but they had to take care— even though Morningstar did not—for a full-scale battle between Heaven and Hell should not take place on Earth."
    It would tear apart and destroy those they sought to protect from the demons, Hugh realized, trying to imagine such an event.
    "Morningstar chose his arena well," Georges continued. "For though the seraphim managed to destroy many of the hounds and their demon handlers, their ranks were badly damaged due to the care they took to keep the fighting away from the human sphere. But they pressed onward, and seemed almost to prevail until Morningstar brought in a wyrm. The seraphim fell back against the terrible dragon, attempted to regroup, but were scattered."
    It was preposterous, shockingly blasphemous. Hugh turned away, but Georges's story followed him, weaving it in a voice as deep and compelling as the most talented troubadour.
    "But it was impossible to keep such a battle from the ears of men, and many rushed to join the fight."
    Hugh closed his eyes. "Only to be slaughtered, surely."
    "Neither demons nor angels have leave to take