The next thing Azazel recalled was marching towards the forest with ten villagers in tow, each holding a torch in one hand and whatever weapons they could find in the other: a kitchen knife, a wood-cutting axe, or a board with a nail in it. Only Mirthsky was reasonably armed, with his musket. His rusty musket. Azazel closed his eyes, and his body wreathed itself in tongues of white flame. The blaze illuminated the dark (when did it get dark?) and Azazel led the way.

“Mirthsky!” called out Azazel.

The hunter hurried up to his side, but he averted his eyes from Azazel’s bright face. “How kin I help?”

Azazel pointed to the ground. “Can you find a trail? Anything?”

“Let me see.” The bushy-bearded hunter crouched down and brought his face close to the soil. “Yep.” He pointed off to the south-east. “That way! Tracks are fresh!”

Azazel steered his sword to the south-east and led the way. The canopy above was too low for him to fly, so if the angel wanted to keep an eye on his human companions, he’d have to walk with them.

Montu, god of war, I beg you to guide our steps to victory!

Azazel kept the flames around his body low and close. Enough to shed some light on their surroundings, but he was careful not to light the forest ablaze. The flame’s fingers reached out at every passing shadow, longing to illuminate all the darkness around.

Mentors had told him time and again, “When you immolate yourself, keep the flames out far enough that someone would actually burn themselves before their blades can reach you. Then they must at least endure that pain to do you harm.”

In these woods, however, the young angel didn’t have that luxury. Azazel’s hands shook at this realization, and he glanced behind him with the thought to turn back. Yet, when he saw the faces of the brave villagers behind him (Is that one wielding a sack full of rocks?) he swallowed his fear and forced a confident smile.

They don’t have the sacred fire to protect them, but they’re ready to march right into the demons’ lair nonetheless. Can’t I at least be as brave as they?

“Master?” came a low voice from Azazel’s side.

The angel turned to see a young man with a few hairs growing from his chin and a wooden hoe slung over his shoulder. He wore on his head a straw hat with holes in it, and an apron with frying pans strapped to it.

“Your name?” Azazel asked.

“Bigby, master,” said the villager.

“Bigby,” Azazel repeated. “What can I do for you, Bigby?”

Bigby glanced back and forth, then gestured back to the crowd and whispered, “See that woman there?” The young farmer gestured to a woman with short, red hair, who wielded a broken stool leg.

“Yes.”

“That’s my sister, Marlene,” whispered Bigby. “I think you should tell her to head back… to the village, I mean.”

Azazel snorted. “Really? Why’s that?”

Bigby opened his mouth to speak but yelped when an owl screeched nearby and took off from the trees.

“Please let go of my hand,” said Azazel.

Bigby looked down at his fingers locked with the angel’s, blushed, and pulled them away. Some of the other village men close by snickered. “My sister…” Bigby whispered. “Her husband left her because she miscarried their baby. The midwife said it wasn’t her fault, just one of life’s tragedies, but when she heard there were demons in the woods…”

“She blamed them?” asked Azazel.

Bigby nodded. “She thinks they cursed her womb. Now she wants revenge. I’m afraid Marlene’s gonna do something stupid, get herself killed.”

“Bigby, your sister is a grown woman, she can do as…” both of them stopped as rodents scurried by on the forest floor. “…she can do as she wishes.”

“But…”

“If you don’t think she should be here, you tell her so yourself.” Azazel turned to Mirthsky. “Which way now?”

Again, the hunter lowered his face to the ground, discerned the tracks, and pointed further into the woods.

“Onward!” Azazel shouted.

On and on the group marched, with Mirthsky occasionally stopping to check the tracks and pointing them in a new direction. It seemed like hours had gone by, but up ahead Azazel could see light.

“SURRENDER, YOU UNHOLY VIPERS!” he shouted just as he left the tree line.

But he stumbled and stopped dead.

“PREPARE TO DIE!” shouted Boots and Chip in unison.

The villagers behind Azazel, ready to charge, collided with his outspread wings.

The few who’d managed to remain on their feet exchanged looks of confusion.

Ahead of them lay their home village.

Those creatures led us in circles!

And as the young angel looked back at his followers, he stopped and took stock of them. He counted the number of torches he saw, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Someone’s missing…” he said.

“Bigby?” said Mirthsky.

“Oh, gods!” shouted Marlene. “Where’s Bigby? Bigby!” Without a moment to think, she took off into the woods.

“Marlene, wait!” Azazel shouted and chased after her, with the other villagers in tow. The forest was so thick with trees, that all he could see of Marlene was the glow from her torch.

Then that light disappeared, and Azazel could no longer hear her footsteps.

“MARLENE!” he cried out, but only crickets answered his call. Azazel tripped on a root protruding from the ground and stumbled forward to the last place where he’d seen Marlene’s torch. The smell of smoke drew his attention to the burnt stub and broken stool leg on the ground. When Azazel bent down for a closer look, he saw splatters of blood on fallen leaves.

Mirthsky’s gruff voice spoke from behind Azazel. “Did they get her? Montu’s balls! Did they take Marlene too?”

Azazel looked up at Mirthsky to answer but yelped at what he saw behind him.

Boots and Chip’s bodies boot stood impaled through the chest upon sharpened tree branches.

The villagers screamed and fled from the forest back into the boundaries of their village, where the light from the bonfire wrapped around them as a blanket.

Bigby, Marlene, Boots, and Chip. All gone. Azazel had failed. These people would fall to despair, and humans were known to do foolish, horrific things when they lost all hope.

Azazel needed to give them a reason to believe they were safe again.

With a roar he rounded on the forest behind him, and the white fire around his body erupted outward. The blaze gulped up every shadow and patch of darkness it could find. Flames licked the leaves and branches, and soon the trees were torches. Smoke filled the angel’s nostrils, and sweat beaded up on his brow. Azazel reached into his pocket and withdrew a lustrous silver coin with the glow of adonium luminous from the eyes on the face. The edges of the goddess Liita’s pure, wise image on the coin glimmered with that same light. The blood of the first of all gods within this simple token let Azazel know the Holy Truth itself was on his side.

Liita, I need a miracle. Please.

Azazel closed his fist around the coin, and it crumbled into dust. The glowing powder fluttered away, and Azazel felt the heat from the burning trees no more. He could walk through the hottest of fires in all the world now with a dry brow.

The young angel reached out to the trees all around him, and one by one they burst into flames.

In moments, the fire spread on its own. The trees burned orange and red, and black smoke billowed overhead. Soon, the forest itself was as bright as day.

And in the light, he saw them. Five tall men with skin as black as soot and eyes as red as the embers all around them. Each creature had long, pointed ears and held a scimitar in his hand.

Azazel leapt at the demons, and the arms of fire which surrounded him lashed out.

Dreila, Azazel concluded as he saw them up close. My mentors taught me about every breed of demon there is. What did they say about dreila?

But before Azazel could recall a single lesson, the demons rushed him.

He deflected the incoming scimitar with his saber, and the demon dropped it immediately, as the hilt became red hot.

Another curved blade glanced off Azazel’s shoulder pauldron.

The angel struck out with the back of his armored fist and cracked the demon’s temple.

Three more demons were still incoming, their blades poised to strike. Azazel fluttered his wings and fell back into the burning trees behind him. His feet rested on a high branch, out of the demons’ reach.

BANG!

The shot rang out from the village, and one of the dreila slumped over dead. The demons’ attention turned back to the town. Mirthsky stood just outside the front door of his house, a smoking musket in his hand.

In every window stood a villager’s frightened face.

Madison!

One of the demons looked up at Azazel, then over to Madison. The beast’s ivory teeth flashed in a wicked grin, and he started toward the village.

Azazel leapt down from the tree and landed in the middle of the three remaining dreila. They stumbled and flailed to get away from his white-hot flames. As they fled, Azazel seized one by the arm and ran him through the back.

The two remaining demons charged at the village.

If they can get to the shadows, we’ll lose them again! Dreila are one with darkness!

Azazel’s wings beat the air as he chased after the dreila.

Just as he drew near, both of them turned and slashed at him.

Sparks flew as Azazel’s blade knocked aside the assault.

The second blow penetrated his armor just deep enough to pierce his shoulder.

Azazel reeled in pain and sliced one demon across the throat.

The remaining dreila picked up his companion’s sword and assaulted Azazel in a flurry.

The angel stumbled back, his blade flailing about to defend himself from the steel cyclone.

The demon danced and giggled as he attacked Azazel. Red burns appeared all over the demon’s flesh, but the foul beast seemed not to notice them.

BANG!

Another shot from Mirthsky’s musket, and the final dreila collapsed.

Azazel let the blood burn off his sword, and then allowed the white flames to fade away.

And when he looked up at the villagers he’d rescued, he saw their faces aglow from the forest fire behind him, shadowed with awe and terror.