Taking care of the incident with the ambulance crash was taxing for Nananiel.

He eliminated as many memories as he could with a mass memory wipe spell to ensure the two young humans don’t get wrapped up in a complicated situation, he dropped them and the one in the stretcher alongside all their belongings at a park, leaving them the luxury of waking up confused, but safe. Strangely, the face of one of the humans seemed to be fleeting away from Nananiel’s mind.

Unable to do anything for the humans who fell victim to supernatural ailments.

It hurt Nananiel deeply since humans were always subjects of great interest to him.

The best of their productions filled Nananiel’s celestial mind as he soared through the starless, dark blue sky. The TV shows, the art, the technology, both the ones made for utility and the ones for mindless leisure and the greasy monstrosities they came up with, even though he did not need to eat, he was nothing more than a hopeless fanatic.

His large snow-white wings extended upward as he dipped forward. The scintillating cityscape came into view, and the angel’s expression became relaxed as the chilly wind pushed into his face, and his purple scarf flopped in the air behind him.

The feathers that shed from his wings were anything but inconspicuous and sprinkled the sky beautifully. If a human caught a glimpse, they’d brush it off as a light meteor shower and they were tenacious in quashing their questions about the world around them. A memory popped into Nananiel’s mind when angels believed humans would never understand what the sun or moon was. He wagered against them and won.

All he got for a prize was a pat on the head, a thumbs up, and an imaginary, invisible sword (“It can be whatever you want, Brother! Ooooh!” they said). Angels weren’t allowed to gamble for spoils, and that was the best they could do.

His joy was revealed to be ephemeral as work duties arose as black smoke drizzled into the sky. He sped up, veered toward a stonework bridge, and landed on its edge. His wings disintegrated into thousands of tiny downy feathers and sank to the tinted river below. Nananiel made a face as an acrid and beefy stench clung to his nostrils, and his eyes caught a foul sight.

A small tower of charred meat sat on the riverbank, where two individuals waited. Nananiel alighted from the bridge and descended soundlessly on the greenery.

The female wore a gray linen autumn coat over a casual work outfit, and the much older-looking male garbed himself with a tucked-in yellow shirt, white tie, black pants, and pointy shoes the same conspicuous shade as his shirt.

Nananiel stared at the stack of meat exuding smoke with slime and burnt blood oozing from the bottom and spilling into the once clear blue river. He looked away and scratched at the purple scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and gleamed at the female and male.

“Brother Nananiel,” the older male said with warmth.

Nananiel bowed his head a bit and greeted back, “Master Virgil.”

The female made sure her coat was buttoned for some reason she couldn’t find and straightened herself, becoming stiff all over.

It was foolish to think of himself as a man, but Nananiel did anyway. His Container was that of a young man finishing university. Why not just assume the role entirely? He did the same with other angels, depending on the gender of their Containers. Some had no quarrel in calling him an idiot for that.

Nananiel looked at the female angel, Kalmiya, and grinned as he shivered and sweat poured inside his shirt. He yanked a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“It sure is hot tonight,” Nananiel said. He pointed at the tower of meat. “What is that? Wait, I sense something from it…”

“It’s human,” Kalmiya said, keeping her voice measured and posture poise. She shook her head and corrected, “Humans, I mean.”

Nananiel gaped back at the two, slack-jawed. Ditching work to catch tonight’s Hospital General de Anita episode sounded like a great idea now. He swiped a wall of sweat from his nape, along with it his will to sin. “Irin was behind this, wasn’t she?”

A slab of meat plopped onto the ground; it sounded like a slap. Virgil, the other angel, stared and said, “Her and the Powers. With the current climate, they’ll use any excuse they can find for overkill.” He turned his head toward the pile. “These were a group of Satanists, Sister Irin insisted she found the Container at their hideout.”

Nananiel scanned the area. “What Container…?” He cut himself off as he detected the shriveled, hollow body a few feet away from them on the slope of the riverbank.

The Container was violated like no holy vessel should, mangled and mutilated as if Cerberus chewed on it, sizzling blackened splotches marked the Container. Nananiel plodded toward the Container and reached for a splotch. His hand pulled back on instinct. Hellfire burns are an excruciating thing to get rid of and Cherubs probably wouldn’t offer to patch him up after getting a burn so stupidly.

The Container’s face was frozen in a horrific twisted expression and a single smooth purple steel pick-like object jutted out from the eye, it was jammed into the back of the socket, the top part of its long metal body protruding behind the eyelid.

Nananiel finally looked away, but inhibited himself from showing discomfort. It was beyond barbaric, something he admitted reminded him of the old ages when humans were unhinged savages (well, a little more than they are now).

“I know we’re management, but this is just a lack of respect for our job. Irin can’t just leave the remains out here,” Nananiel said. “What if a human saw this?” He winced and paused. “She’s taunting us.”

“You, specifically,” Kalmiya said. Nananiel shot a look at her, and she flinched. “That’s what Elder Sister Irin said anyway, Sir-Elder Brother Nananiel-Sir!” Kalmiya folded her hands in front. “She left a message for me to give to you.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

“However, Elder Sister Irin ordered me to say it verbatim or I would be punished…”

“I understand, just give me the message.”

Kalmiya shuddered and fumbled with her thumbs as her eyes went in every direction except in the Dominion Chief’s. “‘Nananiel, you incompetent sorry excuse for a Dominion Chief—Again, not me, I was instructed to—“

“Keep going, Kalmiya.”

Kalmiya cleared her throat. “‘Get your act together, you dolt. A drunken fairy can do a better job in your stead, you cretin. Your subordinates should spit in your face every time they see you, imbecile. You belong amongst the ranks of those that cleanup after the waste of wild beasts. I’d call you a clown, but you aren’t funny. I’d call you a donkey, but that would be unfair to them. Yours truly, Irin.’” Kalmiya squirmed awkwardly. “Elder Sister Irin, I mean, I apologize.”

“I believe you left out a part,” Virgil said.

“Oh, yes,” Kalmiya said and nodded. She fixed on Nananiel. “‘And your tie is stupid,’” she croaked.

Nananiel waved his hand and hummed.

Virgil stole a glance at the Container. “Irin said the Satanists denied her claims, and swore they found the empty Container in the woods and were going to use it for a sacrificial ritual. Demons would love to get their hands on an angelic Container, they’d spoil anybody who gave them that. I don’t think any of the Satanists were the elusive Angel-Killer, though, but don’t you worry, Nananiel. We’ll catch the heathen soon.”

“Isn’t about time we’ve considered that this Angel-Killer could be a member of the new Tainted Generation?” Kalmiya asked in a brittle voice.

“There is no new Tainted Generation,” Virgil responded immediately. “The Thirteenth were the last and it’ll stay that way.”

Nananiel’s face creased, and he drew back. He let his mind drift off, and thought of his fan theories, wondering if any of them were going to come true in tonight’s episode of Hospital General de Anita.

“I think chaotic times are going to return, Elder Brother Virgil. The signs are everywhere. I wasn’t around to see it when the Thirteenth were walking around and now I will experience it firsthand.” Kalmiya’s face grew bleak. “The Tainted Generation frisk between both sides of the spectrums of magic, they dance with souls of the holy and the damned kind, it’s all games for them.” She waved her shaky hand to the bloody Container. “This is in tangent to their behavior, murdering Angels on a whim with no rational explanation.”

“A normal human could be behind this, young Sprog, with enough training and dedication, it can be possible.”

“With all due respect, Elder Brother Virgil, that doesn’t sound plausible. It’s them. They saved souls occasionally, only to satiate their morbid curiosity in the supernatural and liked to dub themselves as Healers but were nothing more than cosmic criminals. The Thirteenth sparked a war on a universal scale that almost tore Heaven apart, who knows what the Fourteenth iteration of the Tainted Generation could entail.”

“You need to calm down. These individuals weren’t just rabid creatures, Kalmiya,” Virgil said. “They were knowledgeable and calculating; violent, but patient.”

“These random killings could be covering up a bigger plot to distract us from their primary goal.”

“We stopped the Thirteenth three hundred years ago and there hasn’t been a Tainted Generation since. We just like using those stories to scare you Sprogs and to keep you focused on training, but the truth is, it’ll never happen again. The Thirteenth were the worst of them and the last.” He turned to Nananiel, who was vacantly staring up at the sky. “Tell her, Brother Nananiel.”

Nananiel snapped back to reality and examined them deeply. He allowed the silence to linger in the air as he fished his mind for an answer to whatever was asked. Is Jessica really Anita’s long-lost sister or is only out to ruin her life somehow?

“Nananiel!”

Nananiel spun back to his superior, wild-eyed.

“You just had a meeting with the First Sphere, correct? They didn’t bring up anything about a Fourteenth Tainted Generation, right?”

“In fact, they did,” Nananiel said.

Virgil’s expression died out in a matter of seconds.

Nananiel cleaned some sweat off his brow and put away his handkerchief. “The Cherub Chief had a vision of the Seals breaking...” He paused, oblivious to Virgil’s countenances. “The Tainted Generation… the Fourteenth. They exist. They live. They’ve been here for 17 years.”

Virgil stared back with dead eyes. Kalmiya staggered and fretted in place.

Amid the silence, Virgil’s aging features sharpened, and he sniped at Nananiel with a long, icy stare.

“What? Are you mad at me?” Nananiel responded jokingly.

“Yes,” said Virgil.

Nananiel arched a brow. “It’s not my fault they’re back!”

“You could’ve lied!” Virgil complained. “I just ensured this Sprog that another Tainted Generation incident would never happen again. How does this make me look before my new student?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Nananiel whined.

“I knew they were back.” Kalmiya cheered. And then, sheer terror took over again. She hunched over and trembled. “We’re all going to die. Has anybody found out what happens to angels after they die, yet? I’d like to prepare myself properly for the worst—”

Virgil shushed her by raising a fist. His focused eyes swept across the area with the mindfulness of a sphinx.

“What is it?” Nananiel asked quietly.

No answer came from Virgil. He was fixated on a single direction, like he was mesmerized by something. The dried grass crackled.

There was a yellow flash. A spiked yellow hammer zoomed through the air and bounced off a blurry outline. Virgil maintained his arm stretched forward and squinted at the silent outline as it quivered, and blood spilled like a broken faucet.

Playful laughter emerged, and the outline dissipated, leaving the blood strewn on the grass. It was over in seconds.

“They’re gone,” Virgil said, ambling toward his hammer.

“The culprit was watching,” Nananiel said.

Kalmiya looked at both of the higher-ranked angels. “Good thing we detected them.”

“No, you don’t understand, little Sprog,” Virgil said. “They wanted their presence to be known at that moment. They’re flaunting their magical dominance.”

Nananiel pulled down his gloves. “Came here just to watch, taunt, and then vanish like nothing. The gall of this guy.”

“Arrogance like that can only belong to one of them,” Virgil hissed. “They are back.”

“We’re gathering all the Dominion, Powers, and Virtues Troops at the Sanctums.”

“Will we be enough against the Fourteenth?” Kalmiya asked.

“We are more than enough,” Nananiel said solemnly. “Aside from that. I’ve also secured a secret weapon to guarantee our victory.”

Virgil rested the oversized hammer on his shoulder. “What have you done, Nananiel? Is it something that I won’t like, or Irin won’t like?”

Nananiel fished a large skeleton key out of his pocket. “Neither of you will like it.” Nananiel smiled. Virgil frowned, and Kalmiya… just stood there.