The trio entered a spacious lobby, crowded with what could only be dozens upon dozens of rich people. They could see gold, silver, diamonds, fine cut suits and well sewn dresses all around them. Waiters and other workers passed by them hurriedly, holding plates with lots of dishes and cups above them.

For a second, they regretted the decision of entering hastily, without devising a proper strategy.

The restaurant seemed to be only for the rich, and they definitely weren’t dressed as such. But surprisingly, the three of them didn’t seem to be noticed at all by the customers, nor by the staff, which made Nezariel look towards Aamon.

“You doing this?” she asked.

“Not by any chance.” the demon replied, apprehensively.

She then looked at Bertrand, who quickly retorted.

“I don’t even know how to do this shit, Neza. Don’t even look at me.”

But they didn’t have to wait for very long until the answer for the riddle before them was given. Every single one of the restaurant’s customers and staff seemed to be walking slower and slower, until they came to a complete stand still, and then a powerful presence rose up behind them, making chills creep down their spines, followed by a clap of hands.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Harbinger and her envoys.” the voice behind them was deep, dark, dangerous. Yet soothing, clear, and welcoming.

The trio didn’t dare to turn around to face the owner of such voice.

He kept speaking.

“When the detective first came here, I did not think that he was being true to his word. But look at that, he was not only being true, the man was also faithful to his purpose. I am touched. Now... Would you little lot please turn around? I do not like to speak to backs.”

His tone was ironic, but carried a threat deep within, and because of that, Nezariel, Aamon and Bertrand turned to face the carrier of that voice.

He was a white man, with blond, short hair, blue eyes, a few wrinkles on his face, square chin, and comforting smile. His body seemed muscular for a man at his probably middle fifties, and his muscles didn’t only seem only for show. The man looked like a demon born for the kitchen, forged in the crucible of fires, blades, and kneading.

The chef carried a presence that could crush the spirit of a young assistant, if one made the tiniest mistake.

“Grand Marquis Azazel, it’s...” Nezariel started speaking, but was cut short by the man.

“Been a long time since I last was called by my true name. Nowadays I go by the name of Gordon. What do you want from me? If it’s your companion’s arm back, it depends on what you can give me in exchange.”

Aamon was about to speak, but got cut by Nezariel, who felt perplexed and wanted answers more than anyone in there, or at least that’s how she felt.

“How come you’re not threatening us or attacking us right from the start? Isn’t it what demons are supposed to do when they encounter angels?”

Azazel looked at her, his blue eyes shining with curiosity, and his tongue clicking in a strange manner.

“Do you really think I am this petty?” the Grand Marquis rebuked, his tone full of resentment. “Do you even know what I am doing here? Can't you even try to conceive why you lot are still breathing, instead of becoming part of the menu?”

The air around them started trembling violently, and Nezariel stood in front of her companions, raising her fists to protect them.

Only that as soon as she took position, everything got back to normal. Azazel crossed his arms, looking at the angel with a puzzled expression.

“You know that a graceless angel is no different from a very strong human, right?” he asked, perplexed.

Nezariel was feeling slightly like when she faced Jeremy Rosenbaum for the first time. Lost with bits of desperation, but she stood her ground anyways.

“Yeah, and since you know I don’t have my grace, it only makes it more important that I take you down with all I have, without giving you time to touch my companions...”

The grand demon looked at her, completely baffled, and spoke with a bit of disbelief.

“You are not telling me that you seriously intend on facing me head on, without your proper powers, are you?”

“Guys?” Bertrand tried to interfere.

“Yes, you’re right, Grand Marquis.” Nezariel replied, giving no attention to Bertrand.

“That is fine, then.” Azazel spoke, his voice taking deep proportions, resounding through the halls and among the unmoving people around them. “Let it be known...” the great demon took a step forward, and then another, getting closer and closer to the angel.

And the angel stood there, feeling the pressure crush around her body, her sole spirit trying to take on the whole amount of weight coming from the infernal being, so that Bertrand and Aamon didn’t get hurt behind her. And Azazel kept moving and speaking.

“That you, Harbinger... Are the most... Intriguing... Figure to ever set foot on my restaurant.”

Nezariel closed her eyes, trying not to flinch, yet sensing the imminent death that came in her direction.

She showed no fear whatsoever, and that caused her to feel even greater surprise, when she felt the touch of a very rough, yet gentle hand, to her head.

The angel’s eyes creaked slowly open in surprise, to see Azazel patting her hair. A soft smile and a warm gleam in his bright blue eyes.

“Sorry, but I had to see if he was telling the truth. Because it is generally very hard, and particularly even harder for me, to believe that there is an actual angel from the heavens, that has come to their senses, and come to aid the Haled.”

“What do you mean?” Nezariel asked, shocked and slightly baffled. Aamon and Bertrand behind her, completely lost for words, astonished.

And all of a sudden, the customers and staff members of the restaurant, who had been frozen in time and space, came to life again, as if nothing had ever happened to them, and the Grand Marquis told the trio.

“Come, I have something to give back to you, and the angel has someone who wishes to meet her.”

Azazel passed by them, walking towards a section in the far back of the establishment, and the trio followed him, accompanied by the grand demon’s bodyguards.

Nezariel and her companions paid more attention to the surroundings, noticing a very peculiar sight among the customers.

There were a lot of rich men and women tasting all kinds of expensive-looking meals, but by looking more closely, more and more homeless people started popping up among the rich, and even more shockingly, they seemed like they belonged there.

The fancy customers weren’t looking down on them.

They didn’t seem shunned by those around them.

Bertrand was about to ask, his mind completely drowned in the atmosphere and the lots of information to take in, but the Grand Marquis replied before the detective himself could put his thoughts into words.

“It is a beautiful sight, is it not?”

“Sure...” Bertrand replied, still a bit lost and perplexed. “But how is it possible? I mean... We’re still on Earth. Aren’t we?”

“Of course we are, detective. But what you see here, is what your angelic friend is trying to pursue. Am I wrong, miss Harbinger?”

Nezariel thought deeply to herself, weighing Azazel’s words carefully. She didn’t quite grasp what he meant, but had indeed a feeling of what it all was. And it just felt... Right.

“Justice” she said, without hesitating, but also without giving much thought to what left her lips.

And from the far back of the restaurant, they entered a hallway with a few doors, Azazel coming to a halt in front of the very first door to their left.

“Justice, as you very accurately spoke.” Azazel said, smiling. “Just like the page you carry with yourself was supposedly told to work. Am I wrong?”

The angel furrowed her brows, tilting her head while looking at the powerful demon in complete disbelief.

She didn’t feel any hostility from him at that point, but him knowing about the artifact she had been carrying all along, could only mean danger.

The door opened swiftly in front of them, and Azazel spoke.

“Ladies first, Harbinger. You will like what you are about to see.”

Nezariel took a step forward, emotions and thoughts all tangled together, her breathing getting heavier and more difficult. It seemed that traces of when she felt human still clung on to her, and anxiety had decided to kick in with the hatefully usual horrible timing.

That was until she saw the person sitting at the desk, with a beer can in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. The beastly look left no doubts.

She could recognize that man even if a thousand years had passed.

“Don?”

“Long time no see, little sister. Did you miss me?”