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Stuck in the Middle (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

“Zath…” She whimpered, fighting him for control. One hand came inches off the balustrade, before he slapped it back down, and she cried out in wordless frustration. The iron bar of his erection ground against her ass almost painfully, and it made her even hungrier for him, and his body.

Zath, meanwhile, teased her with the idea of sucking the humans and demons in his service. Taunted her with the idea of allowing them slake their desires within her body.

She’d taken a few human lovers before; mostly out of curiosity. But never so many, and never at their whim. And yet, a frisson adrenaline-laced arousal moved through her, exciting her, despite herself. Would Zath enjoy such a show? Would it make him jealous? She was about ready to agree to anything, so long as it soothed the lust that raged within her.

“Or are you going to let me use you for my pleasure, before them all?”

“Yes.” The word escaped before she could take it back. Before she could tame the need the seized her. Before she could question him or reason with him or negotiate with him or even think. “Please… please Zath, use me. “
 
Even without the desperate lust in her voice, he would have known how hungry she was for him. He could smell her lust, thick and rich in the air. Feel it dripping from her as he slid his shaft between her thighs, slicking his shaft on her lips. Feel it in the tension of her body straining against the iron grip that pinned her wrists to the balcony.

He let the length of his shaft slide along her lips again, stroking her clit without entering her. “I plan to use you,” he husked, the sound of his own lust hot in her ear. His hips shifted, dragging the blunt head of his cock over her lips now. His dick slipped and slid for a moment and then penetrated, driving deep into her liquid heat with a single thrust that clawed a moan of pleasure from his throat.

He released one of her wrists, clawing and dragging at the silk over her stomach. “Touch yourself,” he demanded, his hand crawling up her torso and over her breasts in time with his thrusts. “Finger-fuck yourself while I pound your cunt raw.”

Cheers drifted up from the courtyard as he drove into her. His hand closed on her throat, squeezing. “They’re all watching,” he growled into her ear. “Everyone. So... fuck yourself!” He drive into her again, stomach slapping her ass, driving her hips into the balustrade. “Let them... see... just... how much... you love... demon.,, dick...”
 
Her legs shook under the weight of her desire, and the balustrade was all that held her up when Zath impaled on his length. Zerachiel couldn’t even deny what he said, because every thrust forced a breathy moan from her lips. Fingers obeyed him, hiking up her own skirt to touch herself. Stroking her pulsing clit in time with his deep, hard strokes into her. Her fingers stroked her opening, and felt Zath’s cock as he pistoned in and out of her.

Her wings flapped, keeping her balance as her torso hung over the edge of the balcony, until Zath held her with a tight grip on her throat. That left her even more lightheaded, captive to the bliss he forced into her with each thrust. “Zath… Oh fuck, Zath!”

She wanted this, wanted him, bad. Madly. Even still, she refused to let him set the pace. As her orgasm built –again–, she fucked back against him. Meeting his hips with her ass, and even pursuing him as he drew back. She demanded a rhythm that suited her, a rhythm that matched the trip-hammer pulse of her heartbeat. Her wings beat the air, lending power to her movements, and she clenched Zath tight when she slammed back against him. Holding him fast inside her, while their bodies moved together.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” she admitted. Announced. Declared. The cheers from the courtyard intensified, feeding the pleasure that trembled within her.
 
“Fuck her!” someone shouted from below. “Wreck that bitch!”

“You... hear that?” Zathael gasped out, squeeze by her throat and forcing her to stare down at their audience. “You... you love it? Don’t you? Getting... fucked... with an... an audience?”

“I’m cumming,” she moaned out, to the delight of the gathered crowd. “I’m cumming!”

He didn’t need her anguished admission of pleasure to tell him that. The way her cunt gripped him, milking his shaft, was proof enough of that. “Little slut,” he growled, slapping her ass hard as he drove her thighs into the balustrade. “Who said you could cum? Who said you could cum on my thick meat?” He slapped her ass again, hard enough to leave a stinging handprint. “Who said?”

“Punish her!” someone catcalled, to general whoops of laughter and catcalls of encouragement. “Fuck that bitch up!”
 
In Hell for less than an hour, and already Zath had turned her into a wanton little slut who craved this rough fucking and his big cock.

Despite herself, that slap on her ass made Zerachiel cum even harder. Nearly painful, as Zath maintained his demanding pace, forcing quaking muscles to take his thick cock. His momentum left her whimpering, hoping it would never stop. Each stroke was too much, and she loved every second of it.

“Punish her!” someone catcalled, to general whoops of laughter and catcalls of encouragement. “Fuck that bitch up!”

The comment made her gasp, and clench tighter around Zath’s invading cock. It was so fucked up, but turned her the fuck on. Would he? What would he do to her? Why did she want it so badly?

“Zath… please…” She screamed again, his brutal rhythm making her even wetter. Wet slaps of his cock splitting her open echoed as loud as her erotic cries, as loud as the cheers below them. “Please… please use me… punish me… just… don’t stop….”
 
Zathael dragged himself from her tight cunt with an effort and a cry. His cock, iron-hard and glistening with her lust, throbbed in the chill-feeling air between them. “Punish you?” he hissed, biting his lip to keep from shooting his cum all over her back. “Oh, I plan to.”

His shaft slid over the firm curve of her ass, leaving a sticky trail of her desire in her skin. “You love the audience, don’t you?” Just and hunger dropped from his voice, hit on her ear as he palmed her breasts and dug his fingers into the soft skin. “Love letting all of them use you.”

He let his six wings drift over her, feathers trailing over her skin, beating lazily to keep them upright. His lips and tongue traced the back of her neck and shoulder, exploring where her own wings arched into the sky. “Beg me,” he whispered, pressing the head of his cock against the tight bud of her ass.

“Beg me,” he repeated, tightening his grip on her breasts as he pushed into her, his head breaching her resistance on a film of her own hunger for him. “Fill your cunt with your fingers, and beg me to pump my cum into your ass.”
 
Zerachiel gasped as Zath pushed his cock against, and then into her ass, his thick shaft pushing all other thought out of her mind. Whether she could not, it didn’t matter; Zath would make her take him. All of him.

But her body didn’t resist him, didn’t fight his penetration. She wanted even this, she knew. Only Zath could bring out this side of her, this greedy, desperate lust. And he’d take her, lay claim to every inch of her body.

“I want it Zath, I want you.” Her fingers fought for space inside herself, feeling Zath’s swollen cock through the thin membrane. “More,” she rasped, timing her strokes to counter his. “Everything.” He changed his rhythm on the fly, slamming his hips int her as she stuffed herself with two fingers. Euphoric screams tore form her throat, all other concerns lost under her lust drunk haze. “Pump me full of cum, Zath. Pump me full of you.”
 
Her desperate, pleading demands drove Zathael her to an eager frenzy of lust. “What do you want?” he growled, fingers slipping and gripping her breasts as he drove into her. “What?”

“I want it Zath, I want you.” He could feel her fingers, stroking his cock through her walls.

“What?” he snarled, teeth bruising her skin. His stomach battered against her ass as he forced more of his cock into her. “What... do you want?”

“More,” she sobbed out. “Everything.”

His hands slipped from her breasts, sliding on a thin film of sweat to grip her hips once more. His thrusts took him onto the tips of his toes with each stroke, one set of wings spread wide for balance. The other two folded around her, feathers drifting over bare legs and arms. “Tell me,” he demanded, grunting as he drove into her. “Tell... me...”

“Pump me full of cum, Zath,” she screamed as he felt her orgasm in the tension of her body and the grip of her ass on his meat. “Pump me full of you.”

Zathael roared in pleasure, body arching to bury himself to the hilt in her ass. Cum erupted from his steel-hard cock, each hot stream accompanied by a punishing jerk of his hips. Incoherent sounds clawed from his throat as he climaxed, whispering over her bruised skin as he spent himself into her.

“Too... too fucking long,” he gasped. “You... were always... the best... fuck...”
 
Zerachiel laughed, and then winced. Fucking Zathael was incredible, and he left aching in the best possible way. But also, truly aching, with the bruises and bite marks to show for it. “Too… too long,” she agreed.

She turned, half sitting on the balustrade, and leaned into his bare chest. “I’ve missed… this.” You, her mind wanted to add, but she clamped down on the traitor thought. They were temporary allies; they weren’t back together. Clearing her throat, she tried to push away the feelings that bubbled up. “But this hardly feels like resting. If anything, you’ve given me even more I need to recover from.” And yet, if he moved on her again, she spread herself once more. Even now, she was formulating a plan to get payback on Zath, and the delightful way he tormented her.

But that wouldn’t help her get her revenge on Lilith, or reclaim her position in Heaven. With a sigh, she kissed him on the cheek. “We need to plan our next move.”
 
Zathael’s cheek tingled from the kiss, a gesture that seemed far more intimate than the sex. A gesture that reminded him of happier days, long ago. Before the Most High had pre imitated the War by elevating His pets above the Host. “We probably do need to plan our next move,” he agreed with a sigh.

He followed her back into the room, throwing himself down on a chair and lifting a bunch of grapes. “The various princes and dukes and all would be interested in this development,” he said, plucking a single grape and tossing it into his mouth. “But, without more evidence, there would be no clear consensus of action.”

He ate another grape. “Lucifer would, most likely, oppose her - simply because he seeks the Throne himself. And Geryon and Baalzebub and Ashtoroth would probably support him. But Belial and Belphegor and Mammon would automatically oppose him without powerful reason. And the rest would sit it out, or change sides as they see advantages.”

Another two grapes went down. “I suppose,” he sighed, “that we’d need to investigate. Try to find out what her intentions are, to see if there’s even a need to call a conclave.” He shrugged. “I mean, there’s no evidence yet that she plans to move against Hell. She already had her revenge on Asmodeus, after all.”
 
Zerachiel ate as Zathael outlined their next steps. Meats and cheese and breads, mostly, because she needed her strength to heal. And because their tryst had awoken a hunger in her, and that hunger burned bright in Zath’s presence.

Still, as much as she appreciated Zath, for focusing her anger towards productive goals, he reminded her where his loyalties lied, and it wasn’t with her. He cared so long as it affected him, or hell. And how could she blame him? It’s not as if she’d act any differently, if their position were reversed.

“It would be good to investigate,” she finally agreed, refilling her goblet once more. “I don’t even know the damage that’s been done to the court. I would need to find out if Michael or Gabriel or Raphael survived, to rally around for our counter attack. If it’s even possibly to counter attack, without guidance from Most High.”

She drained her goblet, and motioned with the empty glass. “The sooner this all gets sorted, the sooner we can get back to being…” The word died away, the tension remained. “The sooner things can get back to the way they are supposed to be.”
 
There was a morose tone to her final words, one that struck a chord on his own heart. They’d been... good, once. Together. Even with the interference of his twin, who’d wanted her himself. They’d been... close.

The War had changed that. It had changed so many things.

“The way things are supposed to be,” he sighed, then drained his goblet. “That would be nice.” He briefly considered refilling his goblet again, then cast it aside. It made a dissonant clatter as it bounced along the floor.

“How long will you need to heal your wounds?” he asked, rising. “Or do you need me to heal them for you?”
 
“Probably would be easier if I could just heal myself,” she admitted, bracing herself for one of his rants on how service to Heaven was tantamount to slavery. The worst of it is that he had a point in this case, a point she couldn’t entirely refute while her limp wing twitched. A point she couldn’t refute while his scent clung to her skin. “But you know how things are in Heaven. Our gifts are to be used in service to that which is greater than ourselves.”

“I could heal in time, but time’s not exactly a luxury we have in abundance. How much longer will it take for my armor to be repaired?”

The answer didn’t come from Zath, but from a human servant, “She’s nearly finished. All she needs is to fit it back upon you, and make final adjustments.”

“I suppose that settles it.” She rose, hiding her relief and disappointment that she no longer had an excuse to linger in Zath’s palace. Gathering her hair over the other shoulder, she bared her back to him, “We shouldn’t waste any more time.”
 
“You would be better served healing yourself,” Zathael agreed, examining her wounds closely. They were already healing, far faster than anything mortal could have healed, but her dogged insistence on cleaving to the arbitrary dictates of the Throne meant they were still ragged and bloody. “This will hurt, after all.”

Flame crackled around his hand as he raised it, touching the end of one of the bloody rents in her flesh. He pinched her skin, forcing the edges of the wound together, his burning finger tracing the seam of the wound to melt and knit muscle ad skin together. The scent of frankincense and myrrh filled the air as he worked.

Despite the pain, it was an oddly intimate act. Or was it because of the pain? The exquisite sensations of damaged nerves and muscle binding together, under the intense heat of their shared celestial natures? The gasps that escaped her as he worked were not unlike those she’d given utterance to on the balcony, and he felt himself responding to them. “What could we have been,” he wondered aloud, stroking his hand over her wounds, “if you’d come with me?”

And then it was done. Her back and side and wing were smooth and unblemished once more. He found himself aching for her, longing to lose himself in her, to tangle himself in her embrace and forget about the Fall and the War and all of it.

“Bring her armor,” he said, drawing a ragged breath. “And garments suitable for her. And bring my own as well.”

“Your own as well?” Vatsyayana blinked in surprise.

“Yes. And parchment and ink as well.” He cocked his head, studying the soul before him. “There is much to be done.”
 
“What could we have been,” he wondered aloud, stroking his hand over her wounds, “if you’d come with me?”

In that moment of vulnerability and trust between them, temptation lived. Temptation thrived in his hypothetical. It was enough to forget the soul in the room with them, enough to forget the schism between them, for the moment at least. The heat of his touch carried his desire for her, and it inflamed her own.

Once he’d finished healing her, he distracted himself by directing his servant. She distracted herself by rolling her shoulder to test it. Stretching and flexing and tensing her muscles, and reveling in the freedom of movement. Her wings flapped, sending a gust of wind through the room and fluttering the curtains. “Thank you,” she breathed, affording him a smirk once the human soul left the room. “Perhaps I will have to show my gratitude by leaving my scent upon your sheets.” Before I return to Heaven was the unspoken understanding in that tease, because parting once more was inevitable, so long as he valued his freedom and she clung to her duty. Or perhaps Zath would get his wish, and she’d never be able to return.

Those thoughts would only upset her, and she had anger enough already. So, once the servant returned with her armor, she busied herself with donning it. Nothing hurt, not as she tightened straps or attached buckles.

Armored, she turned her attention back to Zath, and loomed closer, watching him over his shoulder. “What are you writing?”
 
“I am writing,” Zathael said in rhythm with the scratchings of his pen, “a series of brief letters to my own allies here in the Pit. Agares, and Grand Marquis Leraje, and Grand Marquis Phenex, and Princess Eisheth. Someone, I feel, should be made aware of the current changes in the balance of power.”

He looked up, smiling with black humor. “Also, this way, one of them can wrangle the reactions of the various Lords of Hell. I so rarely have the patience.” A shrug. “Or the interest, for that matter.”

He wrote for several minutes, his cherub feather quill tracing lines of flame on the thin sheets of beaten lead. Each clanked dully as he laid it upon its fellows, a growing stack of dull grey. Finally, he set the final one aside. “As far as you showing your gratitude is concerned? I’d rather wear your scent on my skin, and the tokens of your lust in my flesh. But I doubt we have time.”

Rising, he donned fresh clothing and began buckling his own armor on. “Your presence has, I assume, been noted. A Seraph entering Hell, whether Fallen or not, is a force to be courted or enslaved or destroyed, and I am not fool enough to believe there are no spies in my court.”

Settling the breastplate into place, he strapped greaves over the fine chain mail he wore. “Unless you would prefer to stay?” he added, offhandedly. “Asmodeus’ fortress and throne were claimed by his senechal Hashmedai, but he isn’t strong enough to withstand you. And Lucifer would welcome you with open arms.” A pause. “As would I.”
 
Zerachiel, who’d been watching with idle interest as Zathael dressed, shrugged. “I thought I was raising your position. Surely the word is that you have tamed yourself a Seraph consort.” Arms folded under her breasts, she leaned against a wall. “Would save me the trouble of having to fend off the various princes of Hell, so I see no reason to dispute it, for the time being.”

“Unless you would prefer to stay?” he added, offhandedly. “Asmodeus’ fortress and throne were claimed by his senechal Hashmedai, but he isn’t strong enough to withstand you. And Lucifer would welcome you with open arms.” A pause. “As would I.”

“I’ve not given up on Heaven, nor do I have much interest in the politicking of Hell.” There is but one temptation her for me, but she bit off that confession. Because Zathael was cocky enough usually, and she didn’t need to give him reason to seduce her into staying. Instead she headed back for the balcony, and unfurled the full length of her wings. Two flaps took her into the air, but she hovered near, and offered her hand.

“We will have to pass through the ten sefirots to return, just as any soul would have to. At least, if we want to enter unbeknownst to Lilith. Luckily for you, no one knows the path better than me.” She flashed him a smug smile, as if she’d proven a point on the value of duty.

Hand in hand, they ascended, passing into the material world. The first gate, Malkuth, originated here. “We should seek out Sandalphon, while we are here,” she suggested, trying to sense the presence of Ohr Ein Sof. The infinite light of Most High was mostly concealed upon this level, but she had never struggled to sense it before. Not as she did now. “It’s likely he escaped the attack altogether.”
 
Zathael spread his wings, launching into the air as he took her hand. “We will have to pass through the ten sefirots to return, just as any soul would have to. At least, if we want to enter unbeknownst to Lilith. Luckily for you, no one knows the path better than me.” She flashed him a smug smile before looking upwards at the distant pinprick of light that was the mortal world.

“The long way?” he replied with a dramatic sigh. “Well, if we must, then I’ll trust that you remember the way. Better than I do, at least.” He chuckled. “It’s... been a while.”

Ascending our of the Pit was hard work, a struggle against the pressure of the Divine Light that permeated the Four Worlds. For the Fallen, at least. Zerachiel made it look easy, embracing the intensifying radiance as she allowed it to draw her upwards. But Zathael strained against it, feeling it batter and burn as he forced his way upwards until they pierced the barrier into Asiyah Gashmi.

It was all he could do to resist the urge to collapse to his hands and knees and gasp with exhaustion. But he had his dignity.

“We should seek out Sandalphon, while we are here,” she suggested, cocking her head as she searched.

“The... jumped-up monkey... Postmaster General..?” he gasped out, irritably aware that he was unsuccessful at trying not to sound winded. “Why..?”

“It’s likely he escaped the attack altogether.”

“Pity.” He forced himself to stretch. “I... never liked him. And I’m pretty sure t’s mutual.” He looked around. “But if we’re going to wander the mortal world, I need my horse back.” As he spoke his tongue tasted the air. “This way.”

-*-

Sister Martha reclined uncomfortably on her hospital bed, trying to focus on what Mother Superior was asking. It was difficult, just as trying to answer the questions the police had asked had been difficult. Everything had seemed so, so certain, until the monsters had come. She’d touched the Divine, she knew it. Even if Mother Superior had her doubts.

Hadn’t the arrival of the angel, and if the demons, been proof of that? And the miraculous fire that had struck down one of the fiends?

Martha.

She cocked her head, suddenly alert. It was the voice of her own Guardian Angel. The one that had come to her, teaching her the wisdom of God. Or... was she hallucinating?

“What is it, Sister?” Mother Superior asked.

Martha didn’t respond. A shiver passed through her as she felt her angel caress her body, twining around her in a holy embrace. Martha, the angel whispered. Do you accept me?

“Yes,” she breathed, heat pooling in her abdomen. “Oh God, yes.”

“Martha?” There was concern in Mirher Superior’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

Martha bit her lip, gasping in ecstasy as she felt her angel slide into her. A she felt the burning heat of the Divine Presence flood her soul. Content, she slumped back into her bed with a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Martha!” Mother Superior cried, seizing her hand as the various monitors attached to the young nun went crazy for a moment. “Martha! I...”

“It’s all right,” Zathael smoked, opening her eyes. “I’m fine.” She began pulling monitors off as she sat up. “Where are my pants? Not that I mind attracting attention - I mean, just look at me.” She stretched, displaying her figure in the hospital gown. “But I’ve got places to go and there’s a such thing as too much attention.”
 
Zerachiel didn’t like possessing mortals, but in this case, she had to defer to Zath’s wisdom. They needed to move through the realms without detection, and possessing a mortal would conceal them here. So she followed Zath to the hospital where his host rested.

Unfortunately, on short notice, it would be hard to pick a suitable human to inhabit. The best she could do was to intercept someone praying, seeking guidance. Someone open to the mysteries of the universe. In her case, she found a doctor, demoralized by the recent loss of one patient. He was questioning his purpose, his path in life, and while Zerachiel didn’t have any good answers for him, she could at least provide him with an important purpose in aiding her.

Open yourself to God’s purpose, and I will guide you…

There was but a moment’s confusion, a brief resistance before his spirit acquiesced to hers. Their chakras aligned as her essence enveloped his. He gasped as she gained control of his body, until his functions were under her complete control. Then she –he– stood, and walked into the hallway. Zath was nearby, and even if they were better camouflaged now, they still wanted to stay together.

“Za–“ Wait, that wasn’t his name, not in this form. Clearing his throat, he pulled the chart out of a shelf on the wall, and started again, “Sister Martha, I need to take you for further tests. Outside your room.” Motioning with his head, he urged her to follow, before flashing a smile to the older nun in the room. “We will get to the bottom of this.”
 
“Oh absolutely, doctor,” Zathael purred, swaying her hips a little as she walked. “Feel free to get to the rest of me as well.”

“Sister Martha!” Mother Superior remonstrated. “Remember your vows!”

“I haven’t forgotten,” she assured the older woman, pausing at the doorway. “I’ll praise god the whole time.” Laughing, she closed the door. “The look on her face! And on hours, for that matter. He looks good on you.” One finger stroked Zerachiel’s cheek. “Possession was never your style. I’m impressed.”

Spinning on her heel, she strode down the hall. “I wasn’t lying, though. I am going to need clothes. Nudity attracts attention in this repressed culture, and there’s too much of a need for pockets.” Forearming a door, she walked into the surgical changing room. “I should find something...”

“Hey!” An older man, shirt half unbuttoned, glared at her. “Patients aren’t allowed...”

“Sleep,” Zerachiel said, waving her hand.

“...in ...here...”. The doctor yawned, then slowly sank to the floor.

Looking around quickly, the fallen angel selected a locker and wrenched it open. “What do you think?” she asked, pulling out slacks and a button down shirt. “Does it suit me?”
 
“It’s uh, fine.” Zerachiel shuffled awkwardly, trying not to watch Zath as she dressed. Mostly because the host was quite attractive, an opinion her own host shared, and his biology reacted to her. It was bad enough to roam the hospital in a human body, and it would be far worse to roam it sporting a hard on.

Accessing the host’s memories, he opened his locker, and took out his wallet and keys. As much as her human host provided her cover, it meant traveling the slower way, bound by gravity and their frail mortal frames.

With Zath appropriately dressed, they made their way to the exit, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might know the host doctor. They were nearly out when a machine began beeping incessantly, alarming the nearby personnel. Her host wanted to intervene as well, but he pressed on, more concerned with the mission rather than the fate of a single human. But a stern nurse grabbed him by the arm and urged him toward the patient. “Doctor, he’s coding!”

All around him, nurses tended to the man, reading off stats from their machines With celestial senses, she could see the man releasing his mortal coil, his heart failing to pump blood through his body. From within, her host urged her to help him, and fought her for control. Dammit, she didn’t have time to pick out a new host to possess!

Without a better option, he placed his hand on the man’s chest. Golden light, invisible to human sight, surged through the patient. Wounds closed, abnormalities abated, and the patient gasped deeply, of his own accord. The crash team stood stunned. “Heart rate is stable… O-2 stats normal… blood pressure is stabilizing…” The nurse turned to him, utterly slack jawed. “What did you do?

“Nothing, uh…” His gaze spanned the onlookers, reaching for some excuse that would make any sense to them. Failing that, he shrugged. “Nothing really. He’ll live. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He pushed past the stunned medical professionals, and regrouped with Zath.

“We need to reach the sefirot, quickly.” He led her out the hospital, and towards the parking lot. Clicking the key fob, they located the doctor’s vehicle. “We’ll take his car.”
 
“I thought we were keeping a low profile?” Zathael teased, falling in beside Zerachiel. “I could feel that surge of power out here.”

“We need to reach the sefirot quickly,” Zerachiel replied, leading them down the stairs two and three steps at a time.

“Are you sure?” she replied with a grin. “Plenty Of other humans here need help. We could send up more signal glares, really let Lilith’s hunting squads know that more Seraphim escaped.”

They hurried through the lobby, then listened as Zerachiel thumbed a key fob. A car chirped in the distance, and they headed for it. “We’ll take his car.”

“Ooh, nice one,” Zathael grinned, sliding into the passenger seat. Normally she preferred driving, but the angel had the key. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to let him drive. She’d pretty much always seen speed limits as mild suggestions, after all, and they needed to avoid attention. “Mm. All-leather interior. And heated seats. Not bad at all.”

Checking herself in the vanity mirror as Zerachiel backed out, she undid two more buttons on her oversized new shirt. You never knew when a little cleavage might come in handy, after all. “Any idea where the best place to look for Sandy would be?”
 
Zerachiel took a moment to familiarize himself with the car, drawing on the host’s knowledge. “We need to head east, to meet the rising sun. He should be guarding Malkuth.”

It took a few hours of driving under the moonlight to reach their destination. It didn’t look like anything, besides a cliff overlooking the ocean. A glorious view, no doubt, especially as the sun burned pink and orange over the breaking waves, but perfectly mundane. Of course, beyond what mortal eyes could see was the first gate of judgment, the Sefirot of Malkuth. One of several passages between the higher realms and the earthly domain.

“I thought we might find Sandalphon,” he announced, parking the car and hitting the lock button out of habit, for her host. “But he’s not here, apparently. I will have to search for him when I return.”

“Why? So you can strike me unaware as well?” Sandalphon appeared from between the veil between realms. A tall being, of strong build and sharp features. Since he’d been called up to serve, he had remained unchanged, not granted a malleable form of flame that could transform as needed.

“Sandalphon, it’s me, Zerachiel,” he explained, before shedding her human host. He blinked, and looked around, only vaguely aware of where he was or what he’d done. She remained cloaked in the veil of the divine.

They stood the same height, in her spiritual form, but he still managed to look down his nose at her. “I know who you are, just as I can smell the stench of Hell upon you.”

“I was chased through the realms by Nephilim, but found refuge with Zathael, while I healed.”

“Zathael?” He glared at the woman, recognizing her as host to a supernatural being. “No wonder the stink is so thick. Otherwise, I might have thought you’ve betrayed us.”

“Of course not!” The words came out sharp, as if they had tugged on her wounded wing. It was bad enough for Zath to mock her for her devotion, just to have a lesser servant question her. “I was seeking help.”

“And what are you doing now, moving through the mortal realm on a borrow body? You dare to bring the fallen,” he spat the word, eying Zath with disdain, “through the sefirots? You would sneak him into Olamot?”

“We were attacked!”

“Yes, by demons and angels alike. Demons that look like angels, perhaps? Or Seraphim who have forsaken their duty and betrayed Most High.”

“We were attacked by Lilith; not by hell. We are trying to get to the bottom of it all.”

“So you’re aligned with Hell now?”

“We’re aligned against Lilith!” Anger welled up in Zerachiel. There were enemies enough without an upstart child of clay questioning her. “If you’re not going to assist me, step aside. The path of judgment is my domain, and you have no authority to deny me.”

Blue light coalesced in his hand, and stretched to form a great blade. “I have authority to deny the enemies of Heaven entry.”
 
A sharp sound broke the sudden silence. “Oh, bravo! Bravo!” Zathael laughed, slowly applauding. “Lilith seizes the throne, and in less than a day the Host squabbles like little children.”

“Be silent, fallen filth,” Sandalphon snapped.

Zathael hopped off the hood of the car where she’d perched. “Or what, Postmaster General?” she laughed. “You’ll bar the entrance? I mean, if your history is any judge, all I have to do to get you to fuck right off to Mount Horeb is threaten to kill you.”

“You dare...” the angel began, his voice a low snark.

“Hello?” Zathael knocked on her own head. “Fallen, remember? Of course I fucking dare!” She crossed her arms. “But Lilith owns Heaven right now, and might go after Hell next, and she certainly doesn’t like you. So.” She tapped her foot on the sand. “Get out of the way, let us go have a look, and then we can figure out how to get things back to the status quo and go on killing each other like civilized people.”
 
“There is enough conflict without the three of us fighting,” Zerachiel insisted, arms crossed over her chest, “Zathael and I are going to enter the sefirots, And you aren’t going to stop us.”

Sandalphon shifted his stance, wide with his center of gravity low to the ground. Ready to strike or defend. “Is that so?”

“It’s simple math, Sandalphon.” It was her turn to be cocky, looking almost bored by her explanation. “There are two of us, and one of you.” She didn’t summon a weapon or materialize her armor, as if to signal to her fellow celestial that he wasn’t even worth the effort. And, based the expression twisted on his face, her arrogance was getting under his skin.

“You would threaten me as well?”

“My duty is to Heaven, above all else. And you can ask Zath, I never let anything get in the way of my duty.” She made a show of checking her nails, sparing Sandalphon but a moment’s glance. “Is it worth throwing your life away for something you can’t even prevent?”

For several heartbeats, there was nothing but tense silence. Was Sandalphon really so foolish? Until, finally, he relented, and diffused the blue light that had formed into his weapon. With a sigh, he nodded. “For Heaven.”

Once more, Zerachiel took Zathael’s hand, and lead him through the gate. It separated them from the physical realm, the realm of living beings and into the spiritual realm, and the lowest of the four realms. From here they would travel to the gate of Yesod, and draw closer yet to Atziluth, the highest.
 
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