Chapter - 22

Azazel couldn't suppress the cold chill that rolled down his spine as Michael stepped into his office. The leader of the Grigori was powerful to be sure – if he hadn't been, God never would have charged him with watching over humanity all those years ago. The darkness of his wings was testament to the power that filled him despite his fall from grace.

But even if Azazel's wings were dark as the void, Michael's were golden and bright as the sun. The War in Heaven had been thousands of years ago, but the memory of the Archangel's great and terrible power lingered.

Michael might be the genial statesman that could be credited more than anyone else with the movement towards peace between their factions, but that didn't mean Azazel could forget that utterly fearsome wrath.

"Yo." The leader of the Grigori grinned, shoving back the irrational desire to fight or take flight. "You caught me at a bad time, any chance I could convince you to come back later?" Azazel was clad in nothing more than a rumpled sleeping robe. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, and his mingled blonde and ebony strands were so messy a bird could nest in them.

Michael smiled back, green eyes softened. "Hard at work again I see." Stepping over the pizza boxes that littered the floor, the leader of Heaven threw back the drapes and opened a window.

Sirzechs' expression was a touch less welcoming. The rank smell of unwashed body odor and old food made the Crimson Satan wrinkle his nose. "How is it coming along?" the devil asked, sweeping the room with a swirl of red light to dissolve the piled garbage. Combined with the breeze from the open window, it made Azazel's office almost instantly smell fresher.

"Ahh, well it's coming. Take a seat." Scratching at the unshaven scruff of his beard, Azazel threw himself into the chair behind his desk. "I have to hand it to the Old Man, creating Sacred Gears is a lot more difficult than I expected it to be. I wonder if they depend on the System for stability too? Or maybe He just used it to distribute them to humans? You got any advice for me?" he prodded the Archangel, getting a bland smile in return.

Go figure. Azazel might have been a fallen angel, but even when he was a regular angel he wasn't privy to the secrets of how God's System functioned. No one really knew how God had been able to harness the power of prayer with his 'system'. All gods drew power from human belief, but the God of the Bible had taken it a hundred steps further than that. No one really even understood what the System actually was; whether it was spell or machine or artificial life form. Michael was even more tight lipped about it than the old man had been. If Azazel had thought he'd get away with it, he would've demanded access to study the thing during peace negotiations.

Michael eyed Azazel's couches with a vaguely dubious expression, but the Supreme Commander of Heaven eventually dropped onto one of them. Sirzechs' was far less polite, openly prodding a finger into the fabric in search of filth before caving and sitting across from the Archangel.

Ah well, Azazel couldn't blame them. It was probably his fault for smelling like a rank sewer. When he felt close to a breakthrough, the Governor-General had a tendency to focus obsessively on his experiments. Sleep and bathing were forgotten, and the only reason he even ate was because his Vice Governor-General stopped in from time to time with some kind of food.

"Shemhazai said you'd been holed up for three weeks this time." Sirzechs sighed, tugging at the crisp collar of his fancy noble clothes. The Satan was probably jealous that Azazel got to slum it up while he was stuffed into freshly starched outfits multiple times a day. Ah well, it was the kid's own fault for tying the knot with the old ball and chain. Grayfia might be one of the most beautiful women Azazel had ever seen with lovely teats and a sweet ass, but that didn't make her any less uptight.

Still, three weeks? "That must be some kind of record." Summoning a cigar with a green sparkle of magic, the fallen angel lit it and sucked in the heady mix of smoke and spices. The cherry red of the burning end glowed, and Azazel exhaled slowly. "Now then, while I don't mind you two dropping by, I doubt this is a social call."

Threading his fingers, Sirzechs settled his elbows over his knees and gave Azazel a steady gaze. "Unfortunately, you're right. We've had further… issues with moving towards the peace treaty."

Azazel thinned his lips in annoyance, leaning back to prop his feet up on his desk. "There's no need to be diplomatic about it Sirzechs, I think we're beyond formality and other nonsense. Let me guess, Kokabiel is stirring up trouble again? What's he doing this time?" The fallen angel may have gone three weeks without a wink of sleep, but he was still a genius, and it wasn't that hard to guess that there would be more complaints about that particular troublemaker.

"He is interfering with the humans again." Michael interjected, a faint frown making its way onto the gentle archangel's face. "He is stealing souls, assassinating key figures in several organizations of interest, and leading his cadre in deliberate assaults on our allies as well as hunting angels and devils he can catch on his own in the human world."

Pinching his nose at the building headache, Azazel summoned a glass of brandy and took a fortifying sip. "Fine, fine. I'll rein him in. Maybe I'll order him to train the younglings or something to keep him busy. It's not my fault he still thinks it's the middle of the war or something."

"Azazel." All kindness slid away from Michael's expression, leaving cool unyielding austerity. It wasn't the humble angel, but the General of Heaven's armies speaking now. "These are assurances you've made to us before. We can no longer accept simple promises. We are walking the path to peace, but peace with Heaven requires certain sacrifices on the part of the Underworld. It is not in the nature of angels to accept the abuse of mortals. Our Father did not design us to tolerate evil, and if you are enabling it you will become our enemy again."

Eying the blank faced archangel, the Crimson Satan sighed. "Kokabiel's actions are more serious than you know Azazel. One rogue fallen angel couldn't endanger the peace, even if he was wandering around publicly assaulting people. But a fallen angel with followers at his back and acting without retribution from his government can. As more and more devils hear about the way Kokobiel is enriching himself and gaining power without censure, it becomes more difficult for the Satans to quell the dissent. It appears as though we are holding them to a double standard, and the demands that we too begin abusing the human world once again grow."

"It's not as easy as you're making it out to be." Azazel pointed out defensively. "As you say, Kokabiel has people backing him. What can I do? Imprison him? Kill him? I don't want to start another civil war within the Grigori – the last one when we decided to write up a peace treaty was bad enough. It's not like I've got blood to spare around here you know. I've warned him plenty of times, but he just keeps acting out."

Shaking his head, Michael pressed further "This peace is important to all of us – angels, fallen angels, and devils alike. I understand that you don't want to ignite another conflict within your faction, but you must act." The archangel urged, not unkindly. "Spilling blood or ordering violence is never an easy choice, but we no longer have the luxury of easy choices. Will you allow your reluctance of conflict to reignite the Great War?"

"We can provide aid if you need it." Sirzechs rushed to offer, not liking the darkening of the Governor-General's expression. "Overt or covert. Whatever you need, we'll be there. We don't want you to think that this is some roundabout method of weakening your people further. If conflict comes we're ready to stand on the battlefield beside you."

Azazel's wine-red eyes shifted coldly from Satan to archangel before he snorted. Tipping back the glass clenched between his fingers, the fallen angel slammed down the rest of brandy in a gulp. He dismissed the glass with a brighter glimmer of magic than was necessary. "Fine then." Azazel declared in a bitter tone. "I'll deal with him. But I swear to God if I need you then you better be there."

"Of course." Both rushed to reassure him.

"Che." Azazel's gaze moved from the two faction leaders sitting on his couches to stare with dark consideration at the messy notes spread over his desk. "I'll let you know when he's handled. Don't be surprised if he suddenly disappears."

And for the sake of their own stomachs, they'd better not ask what became of Azazel's soon-to-be-former comrade. Sacred Gear research could get pretty grisly, and those two seemed too posh for it.