As Heaven is Wide - Chapter 1

Prologue


* * *


Jaldabaot was very pleased.

For months he'd been drifting in and out of awareness, managing to get a grip on himself for a while too short to rejoice, just before a will far greater than his own plunged him back into oblivion. He could not see, hear or feel anything then. And the recently very scarce moments of painful awareness were filled with agony, as his God-crafted body convulsed, trying to turn inside out appalled at the unnatural dark intrusion it had to endure time after time. The only agony worse than that was what he felt when the Anticreator took direct control of him all over again. The pain was excruciating, it left no space for thought or feeling, or even comprehension. Only when Darkness let him be, everything that happened around his body, while he was blinded and deafened by pain, came back to him at once, flooding his mind with conversations, visions and actions, almost none of which memories were pleasant.

Except for that recent one. The one that involved Frey being reduced to his knees, just before the Angel of Destruction was horribly mutilated by Mastema - the powerful puppet in Shadow's hands that Jaldabaot was reduced to.

That must have been a gift for me from the Anticreator. A shitty gift, Jaldabaot thought bitterly, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking hand. The silver angel staggered to his feet and stepped away from the puddle of cold coal-black taint, that just poured out of his body, as it struggled with the after-effects of the recent possession. Those were never pleasant. He could still feel the Shadow's claws digging inside his skull, but the grip was far not as firm as usually. He served his purpose, the invasion of Shadow’s forces into the Kingdom was inevitable. The former Eon of Eons and Regent of Cosmos managed to take a few steps more, even though his whole body trembled uncontrollably. He closed his eyes as he finally managed to reach a wall to lean on. He didn’t care much for his surroundings at present. All he knew was that this was one of the provinces in Sixth’s Heaven, that Och gave over to Shadow in exchange for the Book. Most importantly he wasn't in the Abyss filled with the overwhelming presence of Shadow. He’d had enough of that realm to last an eternity.

Jaldabaot sank down and sat on the floor breathing deeply, focusing on the grip Anticreator still kept over his being. He felt it quiver. The war must have already started. His captor's mind was elsewhere, focused on something completely different. Busy opening the passage, issuing orders to his black hive-like armies. Jaldabaot mustered a pained triumphant smile. Now was the time. He knew who would win the battle the very moment he heard the words Sower spoke to Frey through his own lips, before he left Abaddon in the middle of wasteland without dealing the final blow.

I will not kill you, because whether or not you live is without meaning - yes, sure, Jaldabaot thought sarcastically. According to the prophecies, Daimon Frey was the only threat to Sower and yet Shadow left the black angel a chance to live, when he had the opportunity to kill him and secure his victory. Instead, the Anticreator was preparing for another bloody defeat.

Jaldabaot tensed, abandoning the thoughts of what was to come and focusing on the mental restraints inside his mind. His early attempts at rebellion had almost ended with his mind being wiped clean. And so swallowing his pride, the silver angel had been forced to change his tactics and abandon his mental defenses, before they were crushed by Sower's dark power. For what felt like years, but probably was mere months, he had allowed Shadow to do as it pleased with him. He had allowed his puppeteer to get used to his submission, waiting for the right moment, when he would have a fighting chance. And now that moment was nearing.

Somewhere out there, a bloody war was raging over the Kingdom. Jaldabaot thought he could hear its cacophony in the distance. And the Anticreator was getting more and more absorbed by it, his attention was slipping off of Jaldabaot. All the former demiurge needed was to be ignored for a mere moment to rip his mind out of Shadow’s clutches without harm and substitute it with something similar. Something his tormentor in his distracted state would mistake for him, giving the Eon of Eons a chance to flee.

Minutes, maybe hours, or even days passed. The demiurge lost track of time in his preparations.

Sweat trickled down Jaldabaot's temple. Finally, he felt his loose mental shackles were about to open. But he didn't dare to escape. Not yet. He could not risk the Anticreator noticing his little revolt. He needed Shadow to be absorbed by the conflict fully to escape unnoticed. Otherwise, distracted as he was, the Anticreator could simply crush his mind, while trying to restrain it. And so the demiurge spent his time perfecting the image of the one, who was to replace him in the Shadow’s slipping hold.

His hands ran over silver feathers gently. Perfect, he thought, looking into empty silver eyes, that stared back at him dumbly. The posture was all wrong and his copy crouched in a beastly manner on the floor instead of standing straight, but those were insignificant details. At least as far as Shadow was concerned.

"Hail. Hail. Praise Lord's Right Hand," the marble-skinned angel said clearly, holding a cracker between his fingers.

"Hail! Hail! Praise Lord's Right Hand!" his visually perfect copy repeated exaltedly, intently watching the treat with wide-open eyes.

Jaldabaot offered the cracker to the other angelic being, and the creature caught it with its front teeth, starting to chew it hungrily and awkwardly, crumbs falling down on the exquisite white robes.

The Eon of Eons smiled and said "On your knees. Here comes the Eon of Eons, Lord of the Seventh Height."

"On your knees! Here comes the Eon of Eons, Lord of the Seventh Height!" the other repeated, grinning madly.

Jaldabaot smiled tensely. It was almost time.

The copy grinned and looked around tilting its head under peculiar angles. "Hail Jaldabaot!"

The demiurge smirked silently, glancing at the creature one last time. Almost there. The Shadow seemed to have forgotten about him completely. He looked at the red liquid glimmering in cup he held in his other hand. Just a little longer. He closed his eyes and focused.

That's it.

Jaldabaot’s silver eyes peered into the redness in the cup, letting it pull him in.

The cup fell to the floor, blood spilling out of it. The demiurge’s copy flapped its wings angrily and stepped from one foot to another. "Hail! Hail! Sing praise!" it shouted towards the cup. "Here comes the Eon of Eons! Brightness Incarnate! Hail!"

Until Raziel's agents found it, the cup was all the company it was left with.

* * *


Chapter 1


- Trouble Men -


Limping, his step as heavy as his thoughts, Drago Gamerin, the one winged war hero of commando Sheol, stopped in the doorway leading into the "Burning Bush", a tavern in one of the shadiest districts of Limbo, perched just next to the Rahab's Bay. The “Burning Bush” had always been a haven not only to the veterans of wars, battles and brawls but also to all kinds of smugglers and scoundrels of the deepest dye, both angelic and demonic alike. Once it was also Drago's favourite place to come and drink.

Once. Because now he could hardly take a step around Limbo anymore without thinking about all the little things he had lost. Those things that made an angel feel needed and happy. A drop of love, a bit of happiness, time spent together on things so silly they didn't even make sense. A lot of smiles and warmth. He really loved Drop, his little angel girl. But they just couldn't work out. Not because of wry looks they were getting walking through the streets of Limbo hand in hand, not because of million other things or people that could stand in their way. Dealing with obstacles was Drago's specialty, one that he didn't give up even after he had lost his wing.

No, none of the things one could name as a probable cause for a failed relationship were the reason for Drago and Drop drifting apart. The reason proved to be much closer, hidden deeper. The enemy from within. The problem proved to be Drago himself.

Drop was always so fragile, so delicate, like a flower, one of those that she was selling now, ever since Gamerin left and never returned. She was too fragile. Too happy, too naive. A guardian of little children once, she was childish herself. And Drago found all of it charming, endearing and beautiful, to the very last day. She was never a problem in their relationship.

He was.

Ex-commando, so rough and always on his guard. His instincts honed by war and endless battles scared Drop. Once with a smile, she tried to creep on him from behind, to surprise-tickle him, or put her hands on his eyes. He almost broke her arm that day, and even though he apologized a million times over for the automatic reflexes he would need another several centuries to unlearn, she never tried that again. Of course Drop forgave him for that. She would always forgive him for everything, for every single imperfection, but when he woke up screaming from the nightmares of fights from the past, bloody dreams filled with faces of his dead friends, and he looked into Drop's face, so pale and scared, even though each time she would assure him it was alright, that it was just a dream, he knew it wasn't alright.

Because she was not alright. She would never admit that to him, but each and every day, watching her, talking to her, hugging her, he saw that somewhere deep inside he terrified her. And he couldn't stand that. She was just too good for him, too lovely and delicate. A flower that a soldier notices and appreciates only when its brittle stem breaks under his heavy boot. When it is already too late. And since Drago had the luck to have noticed the flower even before he approached it, the least he could do, was to leave before he crushed it, like he knew he would have in the end.

But those months with Drop were the most beautiful time of his life. That truth made his heart feel even heavier, as he looked at familiar decorations and furnishings of the tavern, letting go of the door and walking in with a sigh. He hadn't visited the place for months on end. It was a part of his old self, a reminder of the Sheolite inside him, the identity that he had tried so hard to forget and abandon for his little angel girl. But it would mean abandoning the bigger part of who he was. The part that made him Drago Gamerin.

This was one of the reasons why he never brought Drop into the "Burning Bush" either. He wanted to do that once. At the very beginning, when they moved to their new house in Limbo that Gabriel gifted to Drago for his invaluable service to the Kingdom. After a while though, he decided it would be for the better if neither of them appeared in the inn again. Now, however, when Drop was no longer a part of his life, Drago needed to somehow fill the hole that was torn in there by the loss. That was one of the reasons why he had done everything he could to get on the current mission that commando Sheol had been asked to partake in. And it was rather customary that before a mission a decent commando really needed to get at least half piss-drunk, while "Burning Bush", so full of memories and familiar faces, was exactly the place to do it.

Shaking his head to get rid of any dark thoughts that would stop him from enjoying himself at least a bit, Drago ventured into the room filled with all kinds of visitors.

The "Burning Bush" was as lively as usually on this evening. The big crowded room stank of beer, fish, old leather, smoke and all sort of other things, which most of the patrons never noticed anyway, having gotten used to the atmosphere in the inn both literally and figuratively. There were all sorts of angels and demons, busy talking, drinking, laughing, playing cards and not caring, as long as they were here, about who’d sworn revenge on whom and who’s intending to stab who in the back right after they leave. The "Bush" has always had its own rules and everyone was obliged to follow those, unless they wanted to stand up alone against everyone else in the tavern and end up thrown out into a puddle of mud outside with half of their teeth missing.

In search for a seat Drago passed a bunch of demons playing dice, which as one of them roared were loaded. Further a group of both angels and demons was cheering to a Winged and a Depth-dweller engaged in a drinking contest, where the competing angel was on the verge of throwing up, but still struggling to down another shot not to disappoint his comrades. The place seemed to be filled to the brim, there was not a single empty seat in sight. Suddenly Drago almost bumped into the demoness waitress, his good old friend, who gracefully avoided their collision, managing to somehow balance two trays with many beer mugs on each. They looked too heavy even for a bulky man to carry around, but she seemed to be doing just fine.

"Drago, darling, long time no see," the demoness offered him a charming smile, lowering and tilting one of the trays and sliding the mugs onto the rough wooden table to the cheers of the thirsty Depth-dwellers around it, without spilling even a drop of beer. "How you've been?"

Drago grins to her, offering an almost genuine smile as he felt half of the weight and worries being lifted off his heart for a moment at the mere sight of the dear old friend. "Margot, old hag," he said with a smile, obviously joking, because the demoness was, as always, tall and absolutely gorgeous. "Ah, don't ask. What matters is that I'm here now, and I'm thirsty as hell".

Margot measured him with a look, and being a very wise woman, decided not to investigate for the possible reasons of Drago's rather joyless mood, that couldn’t be hidden behind a smile from a friend as old as her. "No Golden Hydra today?" she asked softly, offering Gamerin a gentle smile, while stomping hard on the foot of a drunk demon, whose hand was reaching under her skirt.

Drago, stomping on the guy's other foot casually, shook his head. "No, sweetheart. Just the usual." There was nothing to celebrate.

* * *

With a glass in his hand, Drago ventured further, renewing his search for a place to perch on. One from which he would be able to peacefully watch the happenings in the tavern. He'd rather it was crowded this time, to keep his mind busy, and not let it slip into the gloomy thoughts that haunted it everyday since the day he left the perfect little life he had never really been supposed to be a part of.

The only empty seat that was not "reserved" for someone who was out to take a piss or in another part of the room "socializing", appeared to be at a small table fit only for two in the corner. A gloomy-faced bulky djinni walked away from there, not looking like he was ever again going anywhere near the smirking demon he left sitting at the table. The said demon wore a cape and was busy hiding some coins under it, looking most content. "Ha! That guy beat you with one hand tied behind his back, Hassan! You suck!" an efreet welcomed his gloomy friend back merrily. "That guy" meanwhile rested his left elbow on the table, flexing his fingers and glancing around for other challengers, who would want to arm-wrestle with him.

Standing a bit away, Drago sipped his "Dragon's Blood" for a moment, glancing at the table, and the tempting empty seat opposite to the guy in the cape, soon arriving at a decision.

* * *

"I'll take you on," Gamerin dropped into the chair opposite to the Depth-dweller, putting a golden coin on the table before the man. "But if I win, I get to keep the seat."

The demon regarded the coin, eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised, then looked up at the one winged angel and smirked. "Fine. But you'll be using your left arm," the Depth-dweller wiggled his fingers invitingly, watching the commando cockily.

Drago, a bit surprised at the condition, inquired. "Left arm? Why so?" That smelt like his opponent being left-handed, which put the demon into an immediate advantage over Drago.

"My table, my rules," the demon said, the smirk not leaving his face.

Gamerin shrugged. "Fine then." He could as well pay another coin to the man in case he lost, to keep the seat. But Drago, gulping down the rest of his drink and putting the glass away, was already in the old war veteran mood enough to be quite set on not losing.

And so they clasped hands. "One. Two. Three," the demon counted and then started slowly bending Drago's arm to the right. The Depth-dweller was much stronger than he looked and definitely left-handed. No surprise that djinni had lost. But Drago Gamerin was no average guy, he was a Sheolite and one that had survived more ordeals than most of Commando Sheol. Nonetheless, the demon in front of him proved to be a worthy opponent. For a long moment the two of them were stuck with their arms in the starting position, neither of them able to overpower the other. Almost a minute passed, when the demon finally uttered a surprised "Drago Gamerin?" and relaxed his arm just a bit from surprise, which Drago didn't fail to use to his advantage, pinning the demon's hand down on the table.

"That would be me," said Drago, with a wry smile, because most of the inn's regulars either knew him, or had heard of him. But then he looked at the Depth-dweller again, and his eyes widened in shock and recognition. "Litiel? Oh, heavens. It'd never cross my mind that I'd see you again."

Litiel grined to him. "Ha! Thought next time I'd see you, we'd be gutting each other. Who knew!" the demon chuckled, taking Drago's hand again and giving him a handshake.

Drago, still smiling in disbelief, reciprocated the handshake and then broke it, clasping his hands together on the table. He always thought the same. Especially since he knew he wouldn't have second thoughts about killing the Harap Serapel that had once saved his life. The fact that he had saved Litiel before that only added to that certainty. With their debts payed, both of them owed each other nothing.

And moreover, what did a single positive encounter mean compared to the prior eternity filled with bloody clashes of Commando Sheol and the Ravens of Death, the elite troops of Kingdom and Depths that they belonged to. "I'm glad the rumours of all of you pitch black boys being cut down in the battle with Sower were just common lies", Gamerin regarded the scars that seem to decorate the Raven's face more intricately than the last time he saw the man.

The grin was gone from Litiel's face, a bitter smile taking its place. He shook his head, putting the index finger to his lips. After regarding Gamerin for a moment with his yellow eyes, he said "I'm keeping a low profile, so I'll let you keep that chair despite the fact you cheated, Winged, as long as you cooperate," the black-haired demon leaned forward, his left arm resting flat on the table, as he spoke quietly yet casually not to attract attention. Litiel glanced at the coin that was still lying on the table, but didn't let his sulfur eyes linger on it for long, before they met Drago's and then studied all of the angel. The demon, most of whom was hidden under the crimson cape, was looking for differences between the present Drago Gamerin and the Kingdom's commando he had once smoked myrrh roll-ups with in Teratel's forest. There weren't all that many to be found.

Except for a few days worth of stubble and an additional big scar going across one of the angel's eyebrows, matching the other, older and even nastier long one that marred his chin, Gamerin was just the same as before. Perhaps even a bit happier. But judging by how the first and last time they met Drago had just witnessed all of his friends being slaughtered in Ram Izad's trap, this observation couldn’t be very objective.

Drago mustered another wry smile, following the look of yellow eyes and hiding the golden coin back into his pocket, away from the sight of onlookers, announcing with that simple gesture that the show was over and no further attention was desired. "Since I am just half-winged," Gamerin leaned back in his chair, taking a good look at Litiel "how about I half-cooperate, crow?" He was starting to feel everyday guilt slowly being replaced with tingling thrill of gambling with the unknown. And suddenly he realized that he really missed that feeling. If he called Litiel a "raven", all eyes would be on them immediately. Even drunken visitors of "Burning Bush" could usually put two and two together. Drago could not call the demon by a bird name at all and spare him the trouble, but being called "winged" by a man with a full set of those, Drago, who was however hard he tried not to admit it - a cripple in the sense of flight, decided Litiel had it coming. And a well dosed amount of trouble made things interesting, either way.

"Well, then, may be you will also be comfortable on half-a-chair? Since we're being so accurate here," Litiel sneered. He took his half-empty mug off a low shelf, where it had stood, stored out of harms way while he was arm-wrestling, and took a sip. He put the mug on the table. "How's Sheol doing?"

Drago's lips crooked in a smirk, as he didn't take the chair remark seriously. "Classified information, brother," he said jokingly. "Either way, what makes you assume I'm not trying to keep a low profile as well?"

Litiel gave him a "you must be joking" look and sipped his drink again. "Judging by how the personnel here discusses your private life more than their own, you aren't trying too hard," the Raven remarked, sounding like he'd been around for a while.

Gamerin looked surprised for a moment, somehow he’d assumed Litiel was new to this place. The assumption proved clearly wrong though. "Ah, Margot. She'll never shut up about a man's private business, even when nobody pays her to talk." He shook his head, slightly amused. "So you've been coming here for a while?"

"Yes," Litiel confirmed. He put the mug on the table and hid his arm under the cloak.

"I used to come here a lot. Before the battle," the honey-haired angel regarded the Harap Serapel across the table. "But I don't imagine what could possibly drive you so far up?" Going all the way to Limbo while being a member of elite force of Depths, the demon must have had a good reason to do so.

Litiel glanced around the room fleetingly, making sure nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to the two of them. "Yeah, I guess you can't. Things don't work the same way in the Depths," the demon said seriously. "I'd strongly prefer that everyone was sure those rumors you mentioned before are perfectly accurate," he continued solemnly. "Otherwise, they will stop being rumors and turn into facts," the Raven's left arm reappeared from below the cape and he drank some more.

The one winged commando also glanced around and then fixed his eyes on Litiel, looking at the Raven attentively, as he understood the meaning behind his words. "Are you saying that there is just one crow left?" he asked, quiet and serious, leaning a bit closer to avoid anyone successfully eavesdropping. Rumour had it that Harap Serapel got quite a beating. The dawn after the battle with Shadow had revealed many dead bodies. Black dragons as dead and still as their riders. But the conviction among the Sheolites was that Harap Serapel, their mortal enemies, could never die. What would the Sons of Gehenna be good for, without their evil counterparts from the Depths?

"That is exactly what I'm saying," Litiel agreed, looking Gamerin in the eyes gravely, having also leaned forward a bit, casually resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. His expression remained completely calm and even a bit cold, there was no bitterness about the death of his comrades visible on the demon's face, yet neither was there the boastful look of a sole survivor.

"How did you survive?" Drago asked the sulfur eyed demon, suddenly realizing that Litiel's other hand was staying out of sight, probably resting on the handle of a knife, or a gun. Ravens had mortal enemies even among their own kin. No surprise many would be out to get the last one of them.

"A friend found me and dragged me away, before the few other lively individuals were dealt with," Litiel didn't seem to really like the first word, accompanying it with a wince. "Then with some help, I managed to get up here without a good-bye party by the Lake of Flames... As long as, you don't tell anyone about this, we'll both be fine," Litiel spoke casually, like he was retelling the most mundane events.

Drago whistled silently through his teeth, somehow despite the treacherous nature of Harap Serapel, he believed Litiel's story. Well, at least to some extent. "Technically, I'm supposed to kill crows on sight, but I haven't been very much of a dutiful soldier these last months." Gamerin said, leaning back, indicating they shouldn't be spilling more secrets in such a crowded room. "You have my silence. Anyway, want a smoke? Bet you haven't had a proper roll-up with myrrh and incense since the times I saved your ass," Drago grinned.

* * *

"You seem to know Limbo well. Do you by any chance know someone, who would be... hiring experienced people without discrimination?" Litiel asked casually, glancing at Gamerin, who sat on the wooden pier to the left of him. Both the demon and the angel were now smoking fine Earthly cigarettes, which the Raven produced from under his cape smirking widely, just before Drago was about to start on his myrrh rolls.

Gamerin's eyes lit up with pure joy at the sight of smokes from Lord's beloved planet. Even while advertising the obligatory, trade-mark military roll-ups from myrrh, every soldier in the Kingdom who had ever tried their human-made equivalent was in fact secretly dreaming of getting a hold of at least one of those. And Drago hadn't been on Earth since the time when together with Drop and Hazar they were looking for the Book... Drago shook his head, getting those memories out of it. There was a question to be answered. "Hmm," he let some smoke out through his nostrils. "Depends what kind of job you're looking for. There are many employers here willing to take on a Depth-dweller" He said, turning to look at Litiel.

"Lets say, Raguel and the likes of him proved to be not open-minded enough," Litiel said slowly. He took the cigarette out of his lips with the left hand and tapped the ashes off into the water that splashed calmly below their feet.

"Raguel didn't want you in?" Drago sounded surprised. Of course, he was rather glad to hear that, he never liked that whole fishy enterprise that the Kingdom’s exiled ex-executioner was running. It was a parody of decent guardian angels. But Raguel and his mercenaries were known for accepting every shady creature within the ranks of their organization as long as the said creature could hit you in the face hard enough to leave you toothless. And Drago knew Litiel was well capable of that. He didn't understand what could be the possible reason for him being turned down... Suddenly Gamerin's eyes widened, as his eyes followed the simple motion of Litiel's left hand. The only hand Drago had seen the demon show from under his crimson cape today. The sudden understanding left the angel at loss for words.

"Nope," Litiel said calmly, with a bit of disdain, like that refusal made him lose all respect for the man and the organization he ran. He glanced at his silent companion and caught a glimpse of Drago's surprise, inhaling the smoke and silently watching their reflections in the dark for a moment. "So, do you happen to know any less conservative employers?"

Drago caught himself staring and turned away as well, his lips pursed in unspoken sympathy. He always had hard time accepting his life with one wing. He could only imagine how much more depressing losing an arm must have felt. For a long while Gamerin was silent, thinking. He knew people and places, jobs here and there. But he didn’t imagine Litiel would feel very useful and fulfilled pushing carts or unloading boxes with cargo in the bay, or anywhere else. Drago remembered just how obsolete and unhappy he felt when he was moved out of the active force to the work as a guardian angel. He made great friends there, especially Saturnin, but it took him a long time to adjust. And before he had really come to peace with this turn in his life and career, he was summoned back to the commando anyway.

Gamerin sat there silently. He didn’t know what to propose not to offend the Harap Serapel's pride. Because the fact that pride and honor were of a key importance in Litiel's life, just like they were in his own, Drago did not doubt.

What Drago didn’t know was that the demon beside him had already spent at least half a year doing all sorts of one-time or part-time jobs, carrying people's boxes from their carts to their shops and many other things the Raven of Death wouldn't ever want to tell anyone about. Litiel glanced at Gamerin after a very long moment of silence. Then, noticing that his cig burnt to the filter few moments ago, he tossed it into the water with his only hand, annoyed. "I see," he said, reading Drago’s silence for a “no”, surprisingly very calm still, not even sounding that grim. "Might as well move to Earth then, perhaps there's more of a vacancies variety," the demon muttered.

Gamerin took a long drag of his cig, and also tossed the remains into the water, letting out the smoke, and turning to the demon. He looked at Litiel for a long moment. To say the truth, Drago hardly knew the guy and the voice of reason told him that Litiel could stab him in the back anytime. But something different, personal bad experience of being in a situation not so different from Litiel's current one, made the grey-eyed commando come up with an idea he already knew he was going to later regret. But he spoke up anyway. "I might have a job for you, Raven."

Litiel turned to him, his sulfur eyes wide open for the first time since he recognized Drago in the tavern. "You?" he asked, sounding stunned. "You're recruiting Sheolites or what?" the Depth-dweller asked ironically after a pause, half-smirking. He kept his eyes on Drago nonetheless, attentive and may be even a little bit hopeful despite his own joking words.

The angel held Litiel's eyes with his own grey ones seriously, letting the demon know he was not making fun of him, as he said. "Sort of. There is a mission starting tomorrow. Our commando is being engaged into a search. Most likely on Earth, where you're planning to go anyway as I hear," Drago added with a shadow of smirk, then once again his tone grew serious. "We'll be working solo, all expenses while on the task covered by the Regent."

Litiel's eyes widened even a bit more and the demon whistled, hearing that last part. "Lucky bastards," he smirked. "What are you searching for exactly?" he asked, looking more and more interested with every word Drago said.

Drago smiled mysteriously. "I'll tell you, if you give me another one of those cigs," there was an amused note in the Sheolite's voice, as he added "And you better have one more yourself as well. You're gonna need it."

The demon beside him snorted and reached under his cape to produce the pack of Earthly cigs. The pack was empty except for exactly two cigarettes.