Pipe organs called out to Azazel and his friends.

Combined with the melodic choral voices, singing in the angelic tongue (which so few of the congregants understood), the music was almost hypnotic. A gentle hand on Azazel’s heart and a firm one on his brain, pulling him toward the nearby temple.

It was the first day of the week, the day mortals were called to attend religious services at the closest place of worship. Though he was not a mortal, Azazel was quickly learning to live like one.

As he and his followers walked the town’s streets under the misty skies above, the resounding bells quickened their steps. At the temple’s steeple he saw a pair of scales, and a smile drew back his lips.

They worship Seth here.

The smile almost immediately faded when guilt pricked Azazel’s heart. He’d not prayed to Seth for several days now. He, an angel, had neglected to speak to the god of justice for too long. How was he to set an example for these mortals if he forgot the gods who sent him there to begin with?

With such thoughts on his mind, Azazel didn’t notice the moment he’d walked through the wooden double doors, into the sanctuary. He glanced back and forth, and saw that Ember, Jasper, Neji, and the Knight of Thorns had already taken seats in the pews in the back. A few of the people in the seats (especially the children) turned their heads to see the angel among them. Azazel gave a friendly wave of his hand, then took his own seat beside Ember, and folded his wings behind the pew. Only when he took his seat did he realize his sword was no longer at his side, and then recalled that he and his friends had turned in their weapons at the door.

At the head of the sanctuary stood a woman with a white cowl, blindfold, and ceremonial robes. She stood before a sculpture of a pair of scales, perfectly balanced. The blindfolded priestess held out both her hands to the congregation, and both the organist and the choir faded into silence.

“Sweet children,” said the blind-folded priestess in a voice all but too honeyed, “Never forget Seth’s charge to all of us. Justice is not merely a punishment of wrongdoing, but a restoration of what has been lost. We serve justice not merely by making sure that criminals pay for their crimes, but by caring for the vulnerable, the weak, and the downtrodden.” The priestess raised a single index finger. “For this reason, those who sin from a place of weakness, rather than a place of strength, are granted an opportunity to confess their sins with immunity from judgment. Justice will prove blind to the crimes of the repentant, if they will step forward.” The priestess clasped her hands together in front of her lap.

A long silence followed.

Then a cough from someone in the pews.

Azazel started to wonder if perhaps he should confess his own weakness. The pew under him creaked as he started to push off the seat.

But before he could get to his feet, an old woman in the third row rose to hers. She wore the black robes of a widow, with a scarf pulled over her hair. “I confess,” she began, her voice cracked and feeble, “that I have not kept up with my offerings to the gods.” She reached into her pocket, and her gnarled hands produced a single seleni coin. With the money in hand, she approached a box just in front of the pulpit and dropped her donation through the slot in the top.

The priestess smiled at the widow. “Thank you for your confession and reparations. But I ask the rest of you this question!” She pointed an accusing finger at the crowd. “Why do you think it is that Zoe neglected to make her offerings at the temple? Everyone attended Magnus’ funeral. All of you knew that without her husband Zoe would be destitute, yet no one offered to take her in.” For just a moment, Azazel forgot that he was not one of the people she was addressing and felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t taken care of Zoe. “For this reason, she kept her fist tightly closed over her money. Charity, too, is justice! Do not think that if you all persist in your miserly ways that you will escape punishment!”

“Neither will you!” came a young man’s voice from the crowd. A tall figure with white hair and clad in a long, black coat stood from the pews. On the back of his coat, Azazel saw a symbol like a sword with a cross-guard handle.

A zealot of Montu?

“Young man!” the priestess hissed. “You are disrupting temple services. Either sit down and be quiet or leave at once!”

“I will not be silenced, heretic!” the zealot shouted back. “One who consorts with demons has no authority over me!” He reached into his sleeve and drew a stiletto dagger from within. Those around him screamed and scrambled to get away.

Azazel looked to his companions for any hint of how he should react. Ember simply looked frightened. Neji’s head tilted to one side in puzzlement. Jasper and the Knight of Thorns were, as usual, unreadable.

“But,” continued the zealot, “as you just said a moment ago, those who sin out of weakness have a chance to confess their crimes without fear of punishment. I will give you ten seconds to confess!”

The priestess’ nostrils flared, and her face burned red. “How dare you?”

“One,” came the zealot’s stone-faced response.

Some in the sanctuary covered their eyes and looked away. “Oh, dear gods!”

Others kept pews between them and the zealot, but their eyes were pinned to the terror unfolding before them. “Seth preserve us…”

“Two.”

Without another thought, Azazel leapt over the pew in front of him and charged up the center aisle at the armed zealot. Clanging footsteps behind let him know the Knight of Thorns was also in pursuit.

“Three…” The white-haired young man turned to face Azazel, just before their bodies collided and the angel tackled him to the ground.

As their bodies smacked the floor, the priestess reached into her pulpit and drew a revolver.

Azazel’s eyes gazed up into the barrel of the gun for a lifetime.

A silver flash and the Knight of Thorns jumped in the way.

Bang!

And the sound of a ricochet.

The Knight of Thorns snatched the pistol from the priestess’ hands, then seized her by the collar and lifted her from the floor. “Both of you need a lesson in what ‘sanctuary’ means!”

“Let me go!” the zealot screamed and struggled under Azazel. “She’s been cavorting with demons!”

“He’s a liar!” the priestess yelled back, her feet kicking in the air. “Release me!”

Spittle flew from the zealot’s mouth as he shrieked, “If you let her go you damn us all!”

The sound of half a dozen leather boots trampling the floor. Azazel looked up to see the temple guards rush into the sanctuary with wooden clubs in hand.

The Knight of Thorns turned to them and held out the priestess. “Lads, you’re just in time. Take the reverend mother into custody. She pulled a gun in a sanctuary.”

“Take him too,” said Azazel as he started to rise to his feet and drag the zealot with him. “He—”

An elbow to Azazel’s nose cut off his words.

His vision went white, then black.

The zealot slipped from his grasp, and Azazel heard his fleeing footsteps.

Then the sound of a fist cracking a surprised jaw.

And wooden clubs smacking a stubborn skull.

By the time Azazel’s vision was back to normal, the temple guards had clapped the priestess and zealot both in iron manacles.

The zealot still thrashed about as the guards dragged him away. “You’re making a terrible mistake!” he growled. “I’m here on the Archangel’s orders! Metorael’s orders!”

Azazel’s blood ran cold at the sound of that name, even as the guards removed the white-haired young man from the temple and his mad shouts faded into the distance.

The Knight of Thorns leaned in his visor close to Azazel’s face. “You’ve gone pale… what’s wrong?”

Azazel licked his lips and swallowed hard. “I… I’m just praying that maniac’s exaggerating. If Metorael’s here…” He looked to Ember, Jasper, and Neji, then back to the Knight of Thorns. “Come. Let’s meet privately.”

While all the townsfolk followed the temple guards as they dragged the priestess and zealot off to the jail, Azazel and his four companions moved against the flow, to the outskirts of town. The five of them met under a large tree, and Ember took her seat upon the swing which hung from one of the lower branches.

Once he was sure they were out of earshot of any passersby, Azazel spoke to his entourage in a hushed voice. “Have any of you heard about the Battle of Lonfort?”

Ember snorted. “You mean the Massacre of Lonfort?”

Neji stared at Azazel with wide eyes. Azazel nodded to her. “Yes, that. Metorael was responsible for that.”

“Forgive me, your majesty,” said the Knight of Thorns, “but I’m unfamiliar with any of this. Please explain.”

“The city of Lonfort was infiltrated by demons,” said Azazel. Once more, he glanced over his shoulder and scanned his surroundings for any sign of eavesdroppers. Satisfied that there were none, he continued. “Lonfort was built atop one of the largest adonium mines in the rocky hills of Ithaca. Metorael went to reclaim the mine from the demons. He did so by…” Azazel sighed, “by trapping everyone in the city and then burning it to the ground.”

The Knight of Thorns’ gauntlets fell at his sides. “Dear gods…”

Father Jasper’s skull shook side to side. “No… that can’t be true…”

“I’m afraid it is,” said Azazel. “At the time, Metorael was a Principality of Montu, one rank below Archangel.”

Neji’s jaw fell open. “Surely the gods punished him for such extreme action?”

Father Jasper pointed an accusatory, bony finger at Azazel. “He’s lying! Metorael is Montu’s Archangel! The gods would never reward someone for such a crime!”

Ember rolled her eyes. “Is it really so hard to believe, Jaz? Lonfort certainly wasn’t the only city angels have wiped out before.”

Jasper rounded on her. “No, those are ridiculous rumors. Demons wiped out the cities you’re thinking of. Angels came to avenge the innocent lives lost.”

The young girl shrugged her shoulders and slipped an unlit cigarette between her lips. “I suppose that’s the story the clergy has to share in order to justify preaching on behalf of the gods. But it’s far from the story I heard.”

Azazel nodded, then snatched the cigarette from her mouth. “Ember is right. Both the Archangel of Montu and the Archangel of Ashtoreth have burned cities to the ground and been rewarded for it.”

“Liar!” Jasper protested, both his hands covering where his ears once were.

Ember chuckled. “You can keep sticking your head in the sand if you want, your holiness, but I trust the word of the guy who’s probably met Metorael and Raphael.”

Azazel gave the priest of Rakos a pleading look. “I know this is hard to swallow, Jasper, but I need you to trust me. If Metorael is here then something terrible is about to happen, and as King of Tir Shazelle it is my duty to stop it.”

Jasper stamped his feet and threw his hands in the air. “You’re talking about fighting an Archangel!”

“No!” came Azazel’s sharp reply. “I’m talking about finding out what city has fallen under demon control, so we can rid it of their presence our way. Before Metorael does it his way.”

The group stood in silence for a few moments. Neji took one of her braids and twisted the end of it between two fingers. “We should get to work right away, then, darling. You and I can both sense demons, so we can slip in, see how… infested the city’s become, then slay those filthy abominations.”

Though Jasper did not have a face, his body language did a surprising imitation of a glare directed at Neji. “You’re actually going to do as this lying blasphemer says?”

The Knight of Thorns raised his hands. “Stop it! All of you, please, stop! This is all based on wild leaps and bounds of logic. We don’t know if Metorael’s here because of a demon-infested city… we don’t even know if he’s here at all. The only thing we know is a few minutes ago a man dressed as a zealot of Montu stood up in the middle of a temple service, drew a dagger, and threatened a priestess. She drew her own weapon, then we helped the temple guards apprehend both. While the temple guards took them away, the supposed zealot claimed he was on orders for Metorael. That’s it. So, let us not get carried away by our assumptions of what that could mean.”

Azazel gave an embarrassed shrug. “You’re right. First we need to figure out whether or not he was lying.”

“I don’t need to do anything with you,” came Jasper’s cold reply. “I should have guessed you were a fallen angel from the beginning… a lone angel coming to declare himself king?” Jasper raised his accusatory finger to Azazel’s face again. “I hereby denounce you! You are no longer Tir Shazelle’s king.”

Azazel opened his mouth to reply, but before he could the Knight of Thorns stepped between them. “You have no power to denounce him, father. His right to rule comes from the support of his people. He is still my king.” The Knight’s gauntleted finger tapped the circlet on Azazel’s forehead. “So long as the Rose Crown accepts him so shall I.”

There was a grinding sound as Jasper clenched his skeletal fists. “You’ll stand by him? Even if that means you stand against the heavens?”

“I understand your frustration,” said the Knight of Thorns. “A priest’s responsibility is to put the will of the gods above all else. By defying King Ozz here you simply do your duty. But a king’s duty is to his people, and a knight’s duty is to his rightful king.”

“I can’t listen to this!” Jasper’s body shook, and his bones rattled. “I can’t abide this… this heresy anymore!” Without another word, he turned and stormed off, his fists clenched at his sides.

Azazel moved to follow him, but the Knight of Thorns held his gauntlet against the angel’s chest. “No, your majesty. Stand firm in what you believe. Father Jasper is so convinced he already knows the truth that he’s afraid to seek it out. Anu, god of wisdom, warns against such pride.”