Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I
Chapter 17 - The Creator's Champion

“Hades,

I hope this letter replaces you well. I know we aren’t exactly on speaking terms, but I still consider you one of my closest friends. Also … what I would like to discuss concerns someone we both love dearly.

I’m of course talking about Dufaii. It was difficult to see him when he first arrived. Obviously, there were memories of our fights in the rather recent past, and it’s never a good sign when a work one cares about is being countered by one of the few people able to do so successfully. But the hard part, I found, was seeing the state he was in.

Don’t get me wrong; his time in isolation helped with the madness spread within him from Tezcatlipoca. I wonder now if he was the one with the right idea, fixing his mind before returning to serve Hell. But what bothers me is his overwhelming sense of defeat.

We both know Dufaii’s struggled with depression and self-blame for all that the Creator has done to us. But before, he always rose to the top in any struggle set against him. Now, he mostly sits around in quiet despair.

It’s hard to believe he’s the same person who stood against the Creator, who volunteered to fight the gods, who shredded his own body to kill Tezcatlipoca. He now just watches listlessly, emotions pouring off him more than he ever allowed in the past.

It’s especially difficult for him to study the Champion. It seems he is seeing the corruption of humankind for the first time, and seeing himself in the figurative position of that child. It’s hard not to … even I have difficulty not remembering the Creator’s cruel words spoken during the First Storm. But Dufaii … for all his fear of connection … clearly has an affinity for it that he will not admit to himself. You’ve experienced that as well as I have.

I keep expecting for Dufaii to blow up in rage—slaughter the human parents, take on the guard waiting uselessly outside, or even just speak to the Champion. And while he has chastised me a time or two for my treatment of her, particularly when my … better judgment was lost to me, he’s not done anything else. I can tell that part of him wants to, but that part of him just seems small and afraid. Afraid of connecting and losing someone else as much as of making another perceived mistake he won’t be able to forgive himself for.

I’m worried for him; he needs someone. Yet you’re stuck in Hell while I am limited by the trauma inflicted on us. Why has this existence taken even our ability to give our loved one the comfort of a simple embrace? Please write him about it … if you can.”

-Ammon

(Personal Letter 50,232 from General Ammon to General Hades)

Not knowing what else he could do, Dufaii continued to watch events unfold as he had. He knew that there was something wrong in his approach to all this, but he handled it the same way he had handled similar issues in his past. That was, he became even more quiet and watched everything around him all the more critically. In this case, his attention was on the issues facing the child.

After witnessing the death she’d tangentially had a hand in, Heaven’s Champion fell into a state of prolonged grief and depression. She did not participate at all in school. Upon arriving at home, she went immediately to her room, got into bed, and stared up at the ceiling for hours until sleep took her.

The child’s parents expressed rage, at first. However, there was little to stimulate their aggression in a sight that brought them increasing levels of shame–an emotion that poured off them almost visibly. So, instead, they turned their wrath on one another.

Today, like every day before, screams could be heard from downstairs.

Dufaii stood in the corner of the Champion’s room. As in the last few months, he was trying to figure out what it was that he could possibly be doing wrong. He had meditated on the problem, he knew what Ammon intended, he had a general sense of what every party involved wanted him to do. The problem was that the big picture didn’t add up. That … and also … Dufaii had no idea what he expected of himself.

On the surface? He wanted to get through this assignment without making things worse for his people. He wanted to be out of this place … away from the demon who still stirred painful feelings inside of him.

And at the most shallow level, Dufaii wanted nothing more to do with this human child whose life was an unfolding tragedy. He had tried dehumanizing her, thinking of her as an ‘it’. He had done his best to avoid helping in any of the ways he knew a guardian angel should have been helping.

Then again … Dufaii thought to himself … he had involved himself a little more than absolute nothing. He had tried to invoke Heaven to care for the girl. He had given in to his foolish emotions twice–bandaging her face and blocking her view of the death at her school. Sure, these were basic kindnesses that anyone who wasn’t a monster would have done. But Dufaii had set out to be an observer only, even if it meant being that monster. And he’d failed.

Dufaii pressed his fingers to his forehead. Suddenly, his inner conflict was so obvious. Part of him wanted to do his job with utmost efficiency–to play the part of assassin that he had grown so comfortable with and by which he made so many important strides for his people. The other part of him–a painful version of himself whose conviction had earned damnation for his people–clearly wanted to interfere in … some way. And by being oblivious to this side of himself, he had no doubt allowed Ammon tactical information that he could use to his advantage.

The sound of breaking glass startled Dufaii from his moment of epiphany. He looked around. To his surprise, the Champion was no longer in her bedroom!

Dufaii rushed out of the room and was horrified by what he saw when he descended the stairs.

The Champion’s father stood over a debris-strewn livingroom. Glass from a table and bits of plastic from some electronic covered the floor. In the center of the destruction, the mother was on the ground–unmoving.

And in the corner … Ammon stood. His expression blank, it was impossible to tell who was in control at that moment. However, he had in hand a fruit that–to demon eyes–shone with silvery light. While he had disguised its appearance, there was no doubt that he was holding a piece of his soul. There was almost no need to check to see that his black shirt was tremendously wet in the center, nor that a black puddle was forming at his feet.

Dufaii was so stunned that, when Ammon knelt, handed the fruit to the Champion, and said something quietly into her ear, he could not move. Like all those months ago, this seemed too perfectly orchestrated for Ammon to possibly fail.

And why should he do anything? Everything that he’d ever done only served to bring pain to those around him. It was only in his work that he was any good to anyone. And his work was to watch and report.

… And … one other thing that Hades had instructed … to do what he knew was right.

Dufaii clenched his fists, closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and then finally let go. Hades was planning around the part of his nature she knew he could not overcome. And though Dufaii struggled with what was most strategically sound, that part of him which terrified him most–the part of him that had stood against the Creator shortly before being thrown into an eternal prison–had formed a plan. It was the only thing that Ammon would never ever have been able to plan for.

The Champion was holding the piece of soul now … staring.

Dufaii, after years of invisibility, made his form seen. He walked over to the Champion, knelt, and–for the first time–did not hide his innermost thoughts and feelings. He knew he could not persuade or manipulate as Ammon could. When it came to charisma, he was entirely outmatched. His only hope … was absolute transparency.

The Champion looked up at him, startled.

Trembling, Dufaii knelt and created a psychic link … one that went both ways … and allowed the child to see everything. Their spirits spoke–not just in a verbal language–but in memories, feelings, and pain.

Seeing inside the child’s soul … a spirit that was actively dying … he gradually came to a knowing that she needed the truth and more.

Ammon had told her much of the world she had been put in against her will, as well as the challenges ahead that were absolutely impossible. How could her spirit not die at the knowledge that she was a sacrificial in a lamb in a war she knew almost nothing about? She needed hope … to stand even a fraction of a chance against the powers set against her. She needed the power to truly choose how she would handle this fate. Without it, the Challenge—and her life—were already over.

Dufaii felt all this—not only from his perspective but from hers. As their souls connected, he felt all her cold, hopeless terror as if it were his own. And before he really knew on a conscious level why he was doing it, he reached for his dagger and cut into his own chest. He did not bother with any illusion to cover up what he was doing. He carved into his literal soul, paused in a moment of ultimate fear, and then offered it to the child.

The girl whose name he’d always known … Emma … took the soul, dropped the one she had taken from Ammon, and then ate it.

As to cause her as little pain as possible, Dufaii extended his soul past his hand and, with surgical precision, took an equal part of her soul for his own. Only as he brought it to his mouth and swallowed it did he realize that the pieces they had exchanged were far larger than what Ammon ever had with any human.

Dufaii finally stood and beckoned Emma to follow him. Together, the listless duo walked towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” called out Emma’s father.

Dufaii looked back to see that he and Ammon were standing side-by-side. Their faces were perfect imitations of one another’s. And on the man’s mouth was black blood. To make matters worse, there was more of the soul dripping in his hand, like a fruit made of fresh meat.

“Get the fruit!” Dufaii shouted. He dashed forward and threw a swing at Ammon. To his surprise, the maddened ones managed to block the attack, and then grab him!

Dufaii frantically shoved Ammon and the spirits controlling him into the adjoining room–as far from Emma as he could get them.

The spirits cackled and threw ferocious strike at Dufaii’s ribs. They then sent a knee into his groin.

The blows were painful, but Dufaii managed to stay standing. He’d never seen any appeal, combat value, or inherent masculinity of the blatant vulnerability most male angels and demons kept there. Thus, he was able to take the blow.

Dufaii countered by unsheathing his dagger and sending the pommel into Ammon’s jaw. This was enough to send the spirits reeling in pain. Dufaii followed up with a final strike–this time cracking Ammon’s skull with the handle of his weapon.

Ammon fell limply to the ground with a heavy thud.

Dufaii turned frantically to help Emma. However, the girl was standing over her father’s lifeless body. She radiated little stress, horror, or rage. If anything, she just seemed … exhausted. And her mind … it seemed to be … rolling. No conscious thoughts flowed from it. The emotional energy that was radiated was not reflected—as with people actively feeling things. Nor was she in the state of deadened numbness characterized after the death of her classmate. Rather, her mind seemed to have been in the process of spewing things out … willingly purging them.

Dufaii had never seen anything like it. He took an exhausted breath himself, and walked over to the front door as he beckoned her to it. Somewhat to his surprise, she followed him.

-O-

Dear Dufaii,

I understand your trepidation at your actions and the development that has followed. And while this was not an outcome I anticipated, I can’t imagine how it might have turned out better. Not the Lightbringer, nor Ammon, nor any party in Heaven could have possibly planned for you sharing your soul with the Champion solely for her own power. In fact, my spies in every direction are reporting frustration at the very least from all aforementioned parties.

Apart from surprise and ruining their plans, there is something to be said about securing the alliance of the Champion. While I don’t anticipate deciding that Ammon should win the Challenge, we now have options! Win or lose, the outcome of the Challenge is now something we can influence and possibly even decide on.

This has also struck a blow to Ammon’s credibility. While not enough, he has certainly lost some support. And our own people have expressed security in that they now perceive our side to be working towards freedom. And that it was the Godkiller who did it certainly helps.

I’ve secured housing and finances for you to have a safe place to go with the Champion. You are to go there as soon as possible and begin training her.

-General Hades

P.S. I know that this will likely be trying for you. Opening up to anyone … and especially allowing someone to view your past … it’s going to come with emotional ramifications. It’s okay to be afraid. And feel free to write me whenever you need to express that. Though I am here, I will do my best to be emotionally there for you through our correspondence … if you’ll let me. Be well.

-O-

Dufaii gripped the steering wheel under pale knuckles as he drove toward the country house that had been purchased on behalf of his new, fake identity as a human. He had taken a smaller and wingless physical form to fit comfortably inside this human vehicle without drawing any attention. There were other changes as well, like a touch of brown pigmentation that made his gray skin seem sufficiently human. And he changed his eyes so that they had pupils and gray irises.

The biggest difference in Dufaii, however, was his utter lack of confidence in any of his actions. Even compared to a few weeks earlier, he seemed a shell of himself. Of course, it wasn’t the driving that scared him. Rather, it was all the time he had throughout to contemplate the choices and mistakes that had led him here.

Sure, Hades had confidence that his actions had been appropriate and even advantageous. But she had far more faith in Dufaii’s continued ability to manage this situation than was wise.

Dufaii looked behind him to check on the Champion yet again. Exousia—as the child had mysteriously begun to call herself after the gruesome final hours in her old home—sat in the backseat and stared silently out the window. Oddly, it felt somehow to Dufaii like he was seeing her for the first time.

Exousia was still relatively small for a nine-year-old. The grisly pink scar that ran across her pale skin–from her temple to her chin–had healed well thus far. Her brown hair went almost to her neck. She wore a green hoodie that was much too big for her, over a yellow tee and jeans. She had an intense expression–like her thoughts were running a mile a minute.

Dufaii noted that, in a way, seeing her was like looking in a mirror at who he had been, once upon a time. However, his thoughts were interrupted as he realized that he had finally reached the house with the address he had been sent. He pulled the unassuming silver sports car into the driveway.

The building was small, painted yellow, and was near a large amount of forest.

Dufaii exited the car, stretched his legs, and finally opened the front door of the house. The floor was made of wood; the walls were covered in green wallpaper; and the used furnishings seemed sufficient for the child. It appeared to be clean, empty, and well-maintained. He heard another car door open behind him.

Exousia walked in behind Dufaii, made her way immediately to the bathroom, and had nearly shut the door when she turned on the light and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She froze. After a moment of clear trepidation, she turned her face so that she could look at it from every angle, almost as if in a trance.

This went on a little while, until Exousia focused her attention on her own eyes. They were brown with the slight discolorations matching Dufaii’s that had appeared when her soul had been changed. She stared … like she wasn’t sure about what he saw. Then she reached for the light, turned it off, and looked again in the mirror. This made the color in her eyes indiscernible.

It took Dufaii a moment to realize what she was doing. He was left at a loss for words, not quite understanding why the child was making her eyes look dark like those of a demon.

“What am I?” Exousia whispered quietly enough that a human wouldn’t have been able to hear.

Dufaii stepped into the doorway and faced the child through the reflection.

“I don’t feel like I did,” Exousia said, speaking for the first time since her rebirth. Her thoughts and projected psychic feelings were an electric cloud of confusion. She looked lost … as if trying to replace herself through her reflection.

Dufaii felt like he needed to give some reply. But he had no answers and did not know how he could comfort the child without deception. So, he said the only thing he knew to be true: “You are yourself. It may seem more confusing with all the sudden changes … but believe me that most beings spend a large portion of their life trying to replace the answers to that same question.”

Exousia nodded slightly and then shut the door. She stayed in the bathroom for several hours, in silence. The shower turned on a few times, and there was a small crash that sounded like the curtains falling. The quiet was disconcerting, and the energy being projected was like fever trying to kill a sickness. But, eventually, she reemerged–her face wet and her eyes alert. Almost as if she’d just woken.

Dufaii wondered if the child had undergone another transformation. He recalled that his own change at the hands of the old god had been similarly strange. But there was something more going on here … like there had been a struggle inside the child that had nothing to do with the demon magic coursing through her soul.

Exousia was now studying the room quizzically. Unexpectedly, she turned and asked, “How do demons pay for things?”

Dufaii looked at her and raised his eyebrow a little at the question. He replied: “Our kind has pull in all arenas of power–of which money is the most common modern form.”

“So, the devil …” Exousia paused, and doubt visibly flickered behind her eyes.

“The Lightbringer,” Dufaii said, not in a correcting tone but as an offering of information.

“The Lightbringer … he owns all money?” Exousia asked.

Dufaii shook his head. “They do not rule the demon people. We have a bureau for the management of finances–secured under a number of false identities throughout the Earth. Mostly, it just sits and acquires interest—protected by the power and influence of other wealthy humans. At least, that’s my understanding. You’d do better to ask a demon that specializes in human finance or law.”

Exousia tapped her chin and made a sour face. “I don’t think I’d like that demon.”

“We’re not all savory characters,” Dufaii replied, just barely avoiding an amused smirk. He then tried to think of something else informative to say. But nothing came to mind, and Dufaii became increasingly aware of his own social struggles.

Fortunately, Exousia eventually spoke. “Well … what now? Do I go to some sort of demon school?”

“There are no demon children,” Dufaii replied, feeling again somewhat amused by the question. He shook his head, fighting off the warm feelings that discomforted him. “We are awaiting further word as to your eventual placement from the demon general, Hades. Until then, I will teach you. We’ll learn history–dating back to the beginning of time. Additionally, I will teach you combat, the many skills of an assassin, the demon language, telepathy, and mental control.”

“So … you won’t stay with me,” Exousia said, her eyes falling.

Dufaii felt frozen for a moment, unsure of how to reply. He stammered for a moment, replaceing himself quite unexpectedly trying to reach for something reassuring to say. “I don’t know how long I will be here. Hades may assign other teachers to you … and the Archangels as well, for that matter. But let’s not worry about all that yet. The demon bureau of financial affairs has gone through the trouble of making a false identity for me and purchasing this home and that vehicle in my name. I expect I will be here for at least a good little while.” He exhaled softly, and scratched the back of his neck. This was already more difficult than he’d thought. Not the child or her questions … but rather the wary voice in the back of his skull that warned him not to get too attached. After all, this was still a mission.

Also … Dufaii had heard stories of the trauma guardian angels faced in dealing with mortals–particularly when set for an afterlife other than what the angels called Heaven. It was a potential wound that Dufaii wished to avoid. Fortunately, his reassurance seemed to calm the child a bit.

Exousia again looked up at him. “What is mental control?”

Dufaii nodded. “An important skill so that you do not accidentally give away your thoughts to any demon or loyalist that looks you in the eyes. Also useful for cloaking your energy, so that you’re harder to read and replace.”

“And that will help me … kill Ammon?” Exousia asked, her tone somber. That’s right … she had her own history with Ammon. Given the pain in her eyes, she didn’t consider it at all pleasant. While understandable, Dufaii found even through his own trauma that she could have known Ammon before his mind had been destroyed. To her, he must have seemed like a malevolent entity, and not just a misguided one.

“To fight him … one day,” Dufaii replied, resisting overburdening her with information about Ammon she wasn’t ready for. Then he added, “You’re more talkative than I’ve seen you.”

Exousia nodded and blushed. “I feel … different. Like I was sleeping for a long time and just woke up.” She wasn’t exaggerating. There was an alertness in her eyes that hadn’t been there in many years. There were no longer any thoughts on the surface of her mind about her family, her scar, or even that final showdown with Ammon. It was as if her memories were slowly being lost in some void.

Though Dufaii did not want to remind the child of all that had happened, he needed to know more. “How much do you remember from before you woke up?”

“I … remember that I had a friend,” Exousia replied, wrinkling her forehead as she struggled for thoughts. “I remember you. I remember Ammon … offering me something. It’s hard to remember more than that.”

Dufaii though about this for a moment, scratching his chin. “When Ammon and I changed, we kept all of our memories.”

Dufaii stopped and wondered how much of this he should really be telling a human. But then, Exousia wasn’t human, was she? No, she was something different. Something between human … demon … and even god.

This would all be very new ground for them both.

-O-

“Intermittent reinforcement—it’s an obstacle I’ve struggled to overcome. When I first took the child in, her aura was chaotic after any interaction with me. If she was expected to do a chore, her anxieties were up. If she was expected to learn something, just the same. Even conversations left her studying my eyes—searching for any sign that she’d done something wrong.

At first, this seemed like it could work to our advantage. Her inner turmoil provided tremendous self-motivation when it came to training. Additionally, her natural tendency to study micro-expressions in the face made her naturally gifted at learning the psychic abilities of demons faster than even any non-mortal I had ever known.

What quickly became apparent, however, was that this stress was like burning a candle at both ends. Her grasp on her emotions was like the shell of an egg—hard enough to be dangerously brittle. If she did not feel safe, the girl would spiral—becoming so obsessive on fixing or controlling something insignificant that she would make herself ill.

I … will admit to feeling uncomfortable with myself for ever having considered using the trauma inflicted by her parents tactically. Instead, I ultimately decided on reinforcing her safety, regardless of mistakes she might have made. It took a long time, showing that there was no error she could make that would make me hurt her. However, after a long time of regular reinforcement, she finally began to gain confidence.

I wonder … with the change in the Creator due to their mental state … did their quick change in mental stability inadvertently cause the same sort of trauma in us? Like the angels slaving away on the walls, had I worked so hard even in the rebellion against them because some part of me was desperate for the safety of pleasing a higher power?”

“On Parenthood” by Dufaii the Godkiller, pg. 999

-O-

Many months had passed.

Dufaii found himself pacing–alone, outside the house. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Not in the tactical sense, no … there had been no sign of Ammon since they had moved here. Word was that he was rallying his forces in Hell. No … something was wrong inside of Dufaii.

Over the months, Dufaii had watched as his apprentice threw herself into training with enthusiasm. She took to learning the demon language better than her teacher would have thought possible. She remained curious about every facet of demon existence. And when it came to combat, she was absolutely ferocious.

Dufaii taught the fundamentals of his own combat training. This was specialized for destroying joints and small bones, as well as quickly doing grievous amounts of physical harm. As a human living in a modern world, it was unfortunately impractical to plan for her having much in terms of weapons. So Dufaii taught her how to use the things around her–kitchen knives, short metal bars, staves, frying pans, and even leather belts.

Dufaii rarely exited a sparring match without bruising, a bloodied lip, or some other injury. Exousia always seemed apologetic … and genuinely confused about how she had done so much damage. Dufaii’s guess was that her body was changing in response to the new pieces of her soul.

Tezcatlipoca’s zombified slaves had boasted power far beyond that of humans. The heroes that Ammon had connected his soul to boasted great powers that were still on the scale of believable. Exousia’s physical strength and speed, even as a small child, were well beyond those of any of Ammon’s heroes–likely because of how large a piece of his soul Dufaii had exchanged with her. So teaching her meant helping her control her new strength, while also encouraging its use for a level of deadliness that would be efficient against demons and angels.

The only aspect of Exousia’s new life that she did not take to was social interaction.

At first, Dufaii feared he had passed to her the least desirable part of his own personality. Whenever humans occasionally visited the home–mostly harmless humans such as postal workers, religious pilgrims, and even the occasional child who wanted to meet her–she would hide and refuse to talk to them.

It was through reading her thoughts that Dufaii realized the reason, and thus how expected this should have been. Exousia was developing her demonic psychic abilities even before being taught. And whenever humans were around, she was picking up on their auras … and then their surface thoughts if she ever saw their eyes. Unfortunately, the stress and worry that typical humans carried were too heavy a burden to perpetually feel second-hand, whenever one came too close.

So Dufaii focused his first set of psychic teachings on meditation and mental control. At first, this was the process of sifting through one’s own emotions, recognizing the needs of each individual part of self, and then coming to terms with them. Afterward, he taught an active form of meditation to block out or diminish unwanted stimuli. Extra combat training and martial arts also seemed to have a calming effect on her. And though none of these coping strategies made Exousia want to deal with humans any more than she had before, it at least lessened the level of apprehension she showed at being around them.

That wasn’t the only way in which Exousia was becoming more like Dufaii. The way she spoke became more condensed and blunt. She began to walk with a sort of weightless, shadowy power. And the way she glared at those she disliked was through an overtly familiar inclination of her head and narrowing of her eyes–as if they were targets for assassination.

Dufaii’s realization of this mimicry came as a surprise to him; it was wholly unlike what he had experienced among angels and demons. He realized that Exousia’s identity was developing like that of any human child–through imitation of a parental figure.

… parental figure …

Dufaii froze where he stood–no longer pacing as he tried to figure out what was wrong. He knew exactly what was wrong, now. The answer, even before he thought it, brought a sickening nausea to his belly and a trembling to fall over his extremities.

Exousia had begun to perceive Dufaii as her parent.

This was the worst thing that could have happened. After all, Dufaii was an assassin demon! He knew he couldn’t muster up gestures of love and care that a human child would need to be healthy! What sort of parental figure could he hope to be? Certainly not any sort of adequate one.

And … even if Dufaii could be nurturing … wouldn’t doing so jeopardize Exousia’s life? To win the challenge, she would need to become a killing machine. That would necessarily mean a cruel and efficient teacher. And if winning was no longer the priority … well, then she deserved a good parent who would at least make her life feel fulfilled until she was destroyed by Ammon.

The thought of this eventuality made Dufaii gag. He fell to the ground and heaven nothingness. All his muscles began to spasm. If the trembling had been intense before, it was now outright violent.

No … there was no way he could sit back and watch Exousia become a sacrificial lamb–not any more than he could become the strict and abusive teacher that would make her strong enough to be a hardened warrior.

Dufaii heaved again–his mind now forcing him to replay his failures as a teacher and a parent over and over in his mind. His memory emphasized every moment that Exousia needed a hug or reassurance–only for Dufaii to have given her tactical coping strategies. Every moment when a cruel or severe reprimand would have made her a stronger warrior, where instead he had been gentle with her. How many times had he genuinely punched her in training so that she could learn to take the full brunt of an attack from a demon? Not even once! If Ammon were to launch a crazed attack right now, one strike from him and she would be dead.

This last word caused Dufaii’s teeth to chatter audibly, and his head began to pin. Dead. He stood up, as if drunk, and began to stagger to the nearby spot in the woods.

There was stationed the same of Heaven’s guard as in the early days. The loyalist watched Dufaii approach with indifference.

Dufaii narrowed his eyes on the loyalist and growled, “Where is the teacher that is supposed to be training this human to be the Creator’s Champion? Where are the caretakers Heaven should have had ready long ago?”

The loyalist shook his head and said, “I’ve received no word from Heaven except to keep watch over her.” His tone was cold.

“What about protecting her?” Dufaii said, baring his teeth as if to show that he was a threat against her.

“I only watch,” the loyalist repeated mechanically.

Dufaii bellowed hot hair from his nostrils, feeling his blood begin to heat steadily. “And why the hell is a guard watching over her? Not a single guardian angel who would actually show a half-ounce of empathy and competency? And I swear to the Lightbringer that if you say anything about how you just watch, you will regret it.”

The warrior’s eyes flared just a little at the threat, then his face became calm. “I just-”

Dufaii balled his hand into a fist and struck with an uppercut.

It slammed the loyalist’s jaw upward and caused it to scissor off the tip of his tongue between his teeth. Golden blood gushed from his mouth, and he screamed as he raised his sword. This was a soul-weapon, but it featured a sharp, thin edge.

Dufaii drew his sword and blocked the loyalist’s blade, splitting it in half. He followed up with a swipe–grazing each of the loyalist’s kneecaps. There were two crunching sounds, followed by the thud of the loyalist’s body hitting the ground.

Dufaii picked up the remains of the broken sword and used it to cut off the loyalist’s right hand—his sword hand. He found an old enjoyment making this loyalist scream in agony–so unused to the very same pain his kind was happy to be inflicted on those who had once been their kin. It was pathetic … and yet even this moment of Schadenfreude felt surprisingly hollow.

This made Dufaii all the angrier as he whispered. “You are going to go to the Archangel Gabriel and bring him to me. His champion needs a suitable teacher, as well as a parental figure who is educated in such human affairs. If you don’t, I’m going to be taking this hand back with me to Hell, where you will never replace it.”

The loyalist garbled out words which were drowned out by the blood still flowing from his severed tongue. Then, he awkwardly moved his wings and propelled himself into the sky.

Dufaii waited, the wind feeling particularly cold to him.

-O-

“Gabriel,

My brother, I know your nature, I know your empathy toward the humans. Never would I dream of second-guessing any of it. You have a heart large enough even to include our brethren imprisoned below for their treachery against the Creator themselves.

It is because of this that I fail to understand why you have asked me to assign a member of the guard for the safekeeping of the Creator’s chosen Champion. And to have personally requested Igtoram … of all the members of the guard. I value each of my soldiers, but even I know there are some who do not meet the standards of character or efficiency that should be minimal. That’s why I had him guarding the walls.

It shouldn’t be a guard at all helping to keep watch over the child. It should be someone qualified, with perhaps one of my best men for training the Champion. If it had to be a guard, I could have chosen someone far better from among my soldiers–if only you had let me.

This human … I know she isn’t a saint, but she deserved better than this. The Creator had to have chosen her for a reason. And I think that reason would simply manifest itself more clearly if we took greater care in her training and wellbeing.

I know you said that I was too close to this matter to be involved … due to my connection to the Godkiller. I respect this. I just also can’t help but be concerned.

With all my respects,

Michael