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“Is that really an angel?”
Takumi keeps his face forward, looking at the man beside him from the corner of his eye. He’s seen Officer Izumo around the precinct before, but this must be his first time seeing an angel on scene if his slack-jawed expression has anything to show for it. It’s almost a ridiculous question – while the blood and gore was difficult to ignore, it was impossible to miss the tall halo protruding from the angel’s head, as well as dark wings obscuring their form. They were what the dispatcher described when a call came in of ‘something violent’ happening near the center of town. ‘Something violent’ apparently described the angel.
The angel in question turns, suddenly, and it’s only through experience and sheer willpower that Takumi stops the full-body shudder as glowing red eyes bore into his.
The angel raises their chin, an almost imperceptible nod, and just like that, they vanish. The evidence of their presence, however, remains spread on the concrete in mangled heaps, strewn ligaments and bits of flesh now on clear display. There’s a strangled sound beside him, and Takumi would have jokingly accused Izumo of pissing his pants if he himself hadn’t done nearly just that the first time he saw them. The ever-present wail of the siren comes to a halt, scene dim again in the absence of blue and red lights.
Like this, yellow tape a redundant ‘keep-out’, the scene is like something out of a movie, too horrible to behold and presumed false for the sake of sanity. At the very least, Takumi thinks, the sun is already setting, the few passerby drunk or exhausted. It doesn’t help the atmosphere, though.
“He was a serial killer,” he says, casually, instead. “Seven confirmed victims, more unconfirmed. A lot worse than this – he would’ve been given the death penalty anyway.”
“This still seems rather... excessive.”
“They say God moves in mysterious ways.”
Apparently, the ends justify those ways, no matter how morbid. The brutality of the execution would deter criminals from approaching the area for a good while, but all that meant was that the bloody mess would be in the next town over instead. They’ve never made an attempt to apprehend the angels – at least, that’s the only thing they could call them.
Otherwise, what would they be but monsters?
“I’d suggest not openly questioning it. Best not invite their wrath.”
Officially, he is an Authority, an angel of the Second Sphere presiding over life and death.
To the humans, he is Nagai Kei.
Kai is known as a demon no matter where he goes.
The humans don’t care as much as they used to. When broken, halos cannot be hidden. Instead, they become symbols of stratification, the horns of devils. The crowd parts, a wide berth for him, but it is a vast improvement to the immediate immolation that would have taken place centuries ago. His right horn remains almost twice as long as his left, sharp edges straining towards the sky as they stray from their original orbit. Most fall would simply trim it for the sake of symmetry – perhaps he wants to hold on to his last vestige of holiness. Perhaps he just doesn’t care.
Still, it takes a certain level of foolhardiness for a demon to walk around in broad daylight, their status displayed for all to see.
“Hey,” he says, waving amiably.
Kei does not acknowledge him. There is no one else he can be addressing – interactions with humans are suspicious enough, and there are no other angels in the immediate vicinity. A more pious angel, after all, would have immediately smote him, but Kei has been around long enough this particular demon that he knows he’s done nothing prototypically demonic, and if it’s not broken...
(It’s not because of their former friendship. Kei makes sure of that, for such a thing would be heretical.)
As an Authority, he should brandish his sword and drive the demon away. Banish him from the earth, if feasible. Right now, though, he is Nagai Kei, and the reassuring weight of his weapon remains absent from his hip. On any other occasion, he would resolutely avoid any interaction possible – there were other ways to do his job. For now, however, he drags his eyes up in a cold glare, reluctantly meeting the demon’s gaze.
(His eyes are just as gold as they were years ago. They are still open, unbearably sincere. It must be a lie – he is a demon, after all. It must be why it is painful to ever look at him.)
Kai gets the hint. He lowers his arm, shrugs – it doesn’t stop him from smiling his crooked smile as he leaves.
Years ago, angels were sent down from the heavens.
That was the story, anyway.
A child in South Africa was reported to have a strange growth protruding from his head, hard and smooth like fingernails. It was when his wings came in, feathers and all, that people began to suspect this was something more than a biological oddity, and by then, such cases were popping up all over the world. The news said they had too-knowing eyes, a maturity they shouldn’t have and a wisdom inhuman – sensationalism at its finest, but the public were wary and suspect of their presence. It didn’t help that the first sightings of adult ‘angels’, far too old to have been born at the outbreak, occurred shortly thereafter, sending the media into a frenzy.
Just as quickly, they seemed to disappear.
They said angels were being sent to live as human children, time on earth experience for the coming events. Some religious claimed the Apocalypse to be nigh – that the angels were here to claim the innocent. Others claimed a trick of the devil, an infiltration of society. They were a parasitic race, they were sent to give salvation, they were a dying species without caregivers, they were sent to right the wrongs of humanity.
In any case, they quickly integrated into society, an uneasy halfway existence with no confirmed explanation of their origins. Their introduction was accepted to be a confirmation of the dismal state of affairs, a warning of widespread depravity and excessive irresponsibility. It was the greatest irony, headlines would report, that the godlessness of the world was emphasized only through beings of God.
Angels are not above the law.
Whose law, it was up for debate. Either way, Tosaki knew it was a lost cause to try and apprehend one as they are now, punishment impossible outside of whatever incomprehensible system they functioned under.
The research of Ogura Ikuya, biophysicist and angelologist, had suggested promise for a method of locking them in their ‘weakened human forms’, but as for yet it has born no fruit. This may have had something to do with the fact that in a press statement, he’d colourfully dismissed the idea as a severe misunderstanding of his findings – he might be eccentric, but he’s also the highest authority on the scientific side of angels. A few years ago, Tosaki would have thought it absolutely absurd for angelology to be considered a scientific field, of all things. Now, angels are an unfortunate and undeniable fact of life.
He should know – he’s been saddled with a high-ranking position in the newly developed Human-Angel Affairs Bureau. This is not to say he’s complaining; he just wishes they’d listen to him when he says any attempts at enacting justice upon them are completely hopeless.
Not the way they are now.
“Tosaki-san?”
He knows he can change that. If only they’d fucking listen to him.
(It doesn’t help that Sokabe, rat that he is, is constantly harping on him about his decisions and shortcomings, a constant threat on his authority. In a different world, he wouldn’t have hesitated to put him in his place.)
“Tosaki-san.”
Izumi closes the door behind her with a gentle click. For all intents and purposes, she seems perfectly human. No halo, no wings, no otherworldly aura or flickering form with undefinable edges, lines seeping into the fabric of reality.
In the eyes of the Ministry, that’s all she’ll ever be.
(The Ministry is polarized on the subject of angels. Those who did not believe in a divine origin maintained an intense suspicion, and the revelation that one walked among them without their knowledge would be anything but welcome. Those that did believe didn’t believe angels capable of wrong, and would not accept accusations of criminal activity against them. Even if they could commit crime, who were humans to take the right to judge? Tosaki wonders how in the world the bureau was even created.)
“Shimomura.”
She pauses, hesitant, then sits down across from him.
Angels, she told him, had this idea of Falling. To fall was a consequence of disloyalty, of revealing what is not meant to be revealed, of coveting what is not meant to be coveted. This was, at least, what they believed. Outliers became exceptions became minorities until they were unable to be ignored. She won’t say it, but the fear in her eyes, the tenseness of her shoulders tell him everything he needs to know. The uncertainty was an open secret that could not be discussed, risking ‘divine wrath’ upon violation.
Her cooperation with him and confiding of information push the boundaries of that secret. Every word is carefully tested out on a field of eggshells, and Tosaki learns to push down his impatience and frustration at each ambiguity and non-elaboration.
“I wanted to discuss a potential ally of the former Archangel Satou...”
A stretch of the imagination could grant angels the explanation of evolution, a natural extension of humanity.
Flight, however, quickly became one of the less troubling questions to this.
To put it simply, angels don’t die.
A truck in the United States sideswiped an angel child one busy weekday. An accident – the driver hadn’t been watching, or was inebriated, and immediately afterwards drove the vehicle into a traffic light. The child was essentially bisected, no hope of survival even without the blood loss. His human mother screamed, pedestrians calling for help and cars brought to a screeching halt. Later, witnesses would report having ‘feared for their life’, scared of divine retribution at the death of an ‘angel’. What happened next continues to be the subject of debate, technologically manufactured hoaxes being increasingly difficult to differentiate from reality.
The child sat up.
Videos were posted all over the net of a small body stringing itself back together, sewn by an obscure matter that enveloped its pieces. The sound was cut out of many of the videos – the videos that did have sound indicated the cracking of bone and the slide of sinewy muscles weaving themselves into place, as well as the screaming and shouting of the impromptu audience. It became the singular event that cemented into the public awareness the stringent belief that angels were something more than human, the lynchpin of divine and demonic arguments of origin.
Reports of the angels’ strange abilities were thereafter much less supported by evidence. Scattered testimony of their paralysing screams, their superhuman strength, all formed a niche of pseudoscientific media that was dismissed as the hottest new subject of conspiracy. People claimed telepathy, telekinesis, sights of outdated weaponry and shapeshifting.
Had their status of divinity not been a significant issue throughout the globe, their potential as a weapon would have been seriously considered.
A government facility in Britain was reduced to rubble one January. A medical facility – near all staff in the building were dead, with several injured passerby. The scene was symptomatic of an explosion, but no evidence of responsible devices were found, and the case was eventually concluded as a fault in the pipes. Police arrested a woman that same month, put in holding and recorded as due for trial. The following morning found no trace of her in the cell, the lock untouched and everything inside intact. An internal investigation turned out nothing but the apparent inebriation of one of the involved officers, and so the incident was chalked down as a fevered dream of a drunkard despite corroborating eyewitness accounts.
There were few who would look deeper into these events, suspecting an ulterior plot or hidden deception. People who suggested the role of angels in these proceedings were dismissed as conspiracy theorists, desperate for a tangential connection to the divine.
Then came the Nakamura Shinya incident.
The resounding attitude of most of society was this:
Angels were not to be harmed.
There was, in the authority, a very real fear of revolt from the people should they ignore their beliefs. In countries where Christianity (and to a lesser extent, other Abrahamic religion) was not the majority, this fear was less pronounced, but the eyes of the world kept careful watch of the treatment of angels. In most cases, angels did not, in any case, give much reason for their arrest, living up to their lawful expectations.
The angel known as Satou changed this.
Kou’s eyes flick worriedly between the two parties.
“Hello,” Nagai intones, dryly. “What do you want?”
The man in front of them is human – a human man, clad in a crisp white suit and a frosty glare that’s entirely undeserved. That gives Kou enough pause, and makes him seriously consider restraining Nagai. He might technically be his superior, but that didn’t meant he could go around attacking humans willy-nilly. Given his track record, it was a very likely possibility.
The woman behind him, though – she meets his eyes, then immediately looks away, shoulders tense. There are no visible halos, no wings, but it’s unmistakeable: she’s an angel, too (though she’d be an angel even without them, in Kou’s opinion), recognisable in the same way that a predator acknowledges another in the hunt. Something about this whole situation makes Kou think they’re the prey, though.
“Nagai Kei,” the man says suddenly, gruff, and Kou feels more than sees Kei jump. “An angel, aren’t you? As is Nakano Kou?”
“An Authority,” Nagai spits, and if his tone wasn’t hostile before, it is now. “Nakano Kou is under my jurisdiction. I’ll ask you again: what do you want?”
“Dude,” Kou starts, but he quickly shuts his mouth when Nagai sends him a brief but withering glare. His shoulders are tense, too, fists clenched and body angled like he’s expecting an attack, eyes wary as he stares them down apprehensively. It seems like an overreaction – the strangers have given no indication of wanting a fight, the man unarmed and the woman without weapon or wings – and he’d tell him so when he sees it. If Kou didn’t know any better, he’d think – he’d think Nagai is panicking, fingers trembling from against his thigh.
“Tosaki Yuu, Human-Angel Affairs Bureau,” the man says, tossing over a business card. Nagai ignores it completely, but Kou manages to catch it with minimal embarrassment. “Are you siding with the angel known as Satou, wanted for murder and terrorism?”
Geez. They’re really not beating around the bush. Kou wants to laugh at the mere thought, and he’d feel worse about it if Nagai didn’t look in as disbelief about it as he was.
“What would make you think that?”
The man – Tosaki – flicks his phone out, eyeing it critically after scrolling for a few moments. It seems like a stereotypical attempt at intimidation, but Kou is thoroughly intimidated – the man is wearing black leather gloves, for crying out loud, and he can still use a smartphone with them.
“’Secret facility exposed, angel Satou assists escape of victims’, released last year,” Tosaki reads out loud, tone completely unimpressed.
Nagai goes completely still.
“Are you saying you have no connection to Satou?”
“That was just him doing whatever he wants,” Nagai says, carefully, acidly. Kou wishes he knew what was going on. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“Fine, then,” Tosaki says, and he looks far from pleased about it. The woman behind him shifts, uncomfortably. “You are familiar with the fallen angel known as Kaito. Does that man have an affiliation with Satou?”
Well. That’s news to Kou.
He turns to look at Nagai, but he’s not looking at him. He’s staring accusingly at the woman standing behind Tosaki, brows knit tight. He steps forward, once, twice; she quickly moves to stand in front of Tosaki.
“Shimomura Izumi, Guardian of Tosaki Yuu,” she says, words spilling out faster than Nagai can walk over. “We believe that your cooperation with us will lead to the arrest and containment of Satou and his allies.”
His feet come to a halt. His face is screaming murder, like he wants nothing more than to let his wings out and get rid of them, but – his self-control is locked down too tight, nothing escaping his heavy gates. For once, Kou is glad for it – they may be in a fairly isolated area, by a wide alley behind a corporate carpark, but there’s no doubt in his mind that an altercation wouldn’t end well.
For a long moment, his body is held taught like a string, pulled too tight. Then he scoffs.
“You want to arrest Satou? Good luck.”
That’s the end of it. Nagai turns, not even sparing a glance at Kou as he begins to walk away.
“Nagai Kei! You can’t just ignore this!”
“Can’t I?” he calls over his shoulder, still walking. On the one hand, Kou really wants to stay and hear what Miss Izumi has to say, but he also doesn’t want Nagai to lecture him later.
“You know what Satou is capable of! As an Authority, it’s your responsibility to maintain the order of the Spheres – it’s your duty to stop the former Archangel Satou!”
That gets him to stop, feet pausing mid-step. He doesn’t turn. Kou shakes his head vigorously, waving the blade of his hand frantically across his neck – Izumi powers on, determination etched into the lines of her expression.
“He’s harming innocent humans. You can’t just stand back without doing anything.”
He turns around. His face is blank, schooled into nonchalance.
“Satou says angels are superior to humans, you know,” he says, a frank statement.
“That’s why we have to protect them. That’s what angels are for.”
He considers this, eyes wandering to the side.
Then he’s turning away from them once more, unfurling his wings. His next words are quieter than Kou ever expected them to be.
“Angels are good for nothing but following God. You better give up trying to contain Satou – the only way to make him stop is to keep him dead.”
“Wh- Nagai, wait–”
He’s gone.
Kou stares, at the spot Nagai was once standing. For a moment, he doesn’t move – his head is throbbing with the amount of information he’s trying to process, and the fact he just got ditched isn’t helping things. Maybe he can just go home and take a nap, now. He turns back to the two; Izumi, who looks frustrated, and Tosaki, who looks plain irritated. He scratches the back of his head, sheepish.
“He’ll come around.”
Being Kai’s friend wasn’t even a question, at the time.
Everyone knew his father had fallen – an angel, stripped of his powers, was as easy to apprehend as a mere human, and he’d fallen to become a common criminal. As though sin could catch, they refused to associate with him or draw close his kin. It didn’t matter that the sturdy halo sprouting from the top of his head and the downy wings on his back were proof of his clean slate – from the original sin, the descendants were doomed to depravity.
If the mother rat’s tail were cut, would the children be born without tails? Call it the influence of a human upbringing, but Kei disregarded their attitudes as utter nonsense, and he befriended him anyway. He was young enough (as young as an angel could be) that thoughts of how their friendship could affect his future were far from his mind, but he was old enough to consider the stigma wholly contradictory to the idea of angelic kindness. He was not a spiteful person, but if he was self-righteously smug about it, he made sure not to show it.
That remained unchanged when minute cracks began to mar his halo, spreading like slow disease.
By then, however, he was old enough that the future was to him a freight train, and his human mother declared their friendship over if he ever wanted to ascend to a higher Sphere. And ascend he did, for what is an angel without loyalty to God?
Kai fell, and Kei rose.
That should have been the end of the story.
“Wasn’t that a demon?”
“He’ll be fine,” Ogura says, flippantly, scribbling on the open newspaper before him. Kou sends an apprehensive glance at the ash threatening to fall from his cigarette, straight onto the (very flammable) paper beneath it. “Demons can die, after all. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Kou stares.
“What?”
Ogura looks up at him. He squints, down, at the paper again (presumably at a particularly stubborn set of Sudoku), then he’s looking back up with an entirely too dramatic sigh.
“You’re an angel, aren’t you? You should know this. Then again, you should be able to hide your halo, too.”
“I can’t, I’ve tried,” Kou says, automatically, answer longsuffering. Then he’s worrying his lip, brows furrowed. It’s after a pause in which Ogura seriously considers using the godforsaken paper to roll a cig, if only to make it useful, that Kou starts again, words treading uncertainly. “There aren’t exactly a lot of angels, much less demons. That’s the first time I’ve actually seen one.”
Ogura looks cryptically at him.
“Nagai didn’t tell you anything?”
Kou snorts.
“Nagai doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Sounds like him.”
The ashtray smokes as Ogura puts out his cigarette, rising in a thin plume as he tosses his crumpled newspaper haphazardly. It catches the edge of the side-table before slipping into a sad lump on the floor. He doesn’t even acknowledge it – he’s raising a hand to his mouth, the one with the little finger missing, before he realizes he’d already put out his smoke. He reaches into his pocket.
“The ‘divine’ power of the angel comes from their halo. When one falls, their halo breaks – or maybe it’s the other way around. Once that happens, you’ve got a fancy human with horns that can kick it any second.”
“I don’t get why that means they can die, though.”
“We’ve got a TV antenna on this building,” Ogura says. Kou stares blankly at him, blinking. “Nothing special, but I’m willing to bet we got better reception than some of those smaller buildings ‘round these parts. Definitely we’re pickin’ up some channels they’re not.”
The lighter clicks open, and with it a small flame. Ogura takes a deep breath in.
“Well, not anymore. It got struck by lightning the other week, and pieces of it fell off. Surprised it didn’t vaporise immediately. You don’t watch anything other than the news, so you wouldn’t know, but we’re not picking up any of those special channels that none of the other places got anymore. Makes it real fucking boring when you’re not allowed to walk out of the outpost.”
He breathes out. The smell is stifling, tobacco thick in the air, but Kou barely realizes it’s there.
“Only difference is, we can replace our antenna. Once you lose your primary IBM receiver, you’re out.”
“Nakano, was it?”
He hops, one crumbling wall to another. The only reason Kei is concerned is because despite Kai being a demon, Kei would be the one at fault if something were to happen during what would be regarded as civil court on neutral ground.
“Seems like an interesting guy. Is he under your authority?”
“As much as it pains me, yes.”
Kai laughs. His feet hit the pavement.
Talking with him, finally having a conversation with him, is strange, to say the least. To be more specific, talking at him is more of a novel experience. In all those years, he kept trying, giving Kei the chance to document every single change, every shift in his voice and every difference in his speech. It is strange to hear his own voice, matured after so long, next to his voice he knows so well. He still wonders if it’s entirely unwelcome.
“Congratulations on making Authority, by the way. I’m glad you got what you wanted. It seems fun, working under you.”
It doesn’t help that he keeps saying things like this.
Kai stops when Kei stops, two pairs of footsteps becoming one becoming none. He turns, gaze piercing and watchful. Demons are weak, Kei tells himself. They have not an ounce of the power that angels wield. Moreover, this is Kai, a man he’s known for a long time, who couldn’t harm him even if he wanted to. It doesn’t stop Kei’s hackles from going up, defences blaring alarms. The moment he slips up, reveals something (what, he does not know), Kai will know, as he always does.
“You know you can’t.”
Kai’s stare is still searching, even though Kei is certain his voice did not waver, not like the dozens of other times he ran through the situation in his head. He looks away, eventually, staring up at a grey sky while Kei pushes down relief.
“Yeah. Guess so.”
It makes sense that they’re in a secluded area. It reminds him too much of the first time he and Tosaki officially met, same greyness and same decrepit buildings. A wide back alley, in the city – much less traffic than would a road in the residential area. Catching a demon alone is most humans’ worst nightmare. Catching a demon when you’re in a group – that’s a demon’s worst nightmare.
If Kei were caught by another angel, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. It would be ‘who was that’ this and ‘why were you talking to him’ that. Or he wouldn’t even have to listen to questioning – any intruding angel may just assume he needs assistance smiting a fallen and attack on sight. The likelihood of this being one of Kai’s considerations, however, is low. It has to be. Any other demon would have used the guise of a civil discussion in order to enact vengeance with minimal witnesses.
(Sometimes he still wonders why Kai hasn’t done it, after so many years and so many chances.)
“Kai.”
And oh, is it strange to say his name after so long avoiding it, spending so much time pretending they weren’t once common on his lips. Kai’s head snaps back to him, at that, and Kei begins to regret having said anything at all.
“Why did you bring me here?”
If it wasn’t murder, then it was for some other significant reason that a lowly demon would call out an angel, an Authority no less. He’s putting his life on the line for just having asked him an audience.
“You didn’t do it just to talk.”
Kai turns to face him, fully. His wings aren’t out, but Kei knows their state – flight feathers missing, he’s grounded. He’s up against a dead end, tall buildings obscuring the city beyond. Kei wonders if he did it to reassure him. It only makes him feel more uneasy, unsettled, in such an unprecedented affair.
“Satou...”
His blood turns cold.
The wind does not reach here. Perhaps due to the buildings, their high obstruction, or that the alley faces another direction. The scattering of trees rustle, in the distance, but here there is nothing left but the ringing silence of his words.
Kai does not say anything for a long, long time. Kei’s fingers twitch, agonised – but they make no move to a weapon he knows is not there.
If Kei is not certain of anything else, he knows who Kai is. He’s been around this particular demon long enough to know.
(He knew him even in his darkest hour, when his Faith wavered. He is certain of nothing else.)
Kai smiles.
“I got you going there for a moment, didn’t I?”
No weight lifts – only a vindication of knowing he was right and always has been.
“That’s really not funny.”
“No, it’s not.” Still, he’s laughing, like all is right with the world. “But you’re looking for him, aren’t you.”
A statement. He doesn’t wonder how he knows.
“No one else can.”
“You’re not alone.”
“I suppose.”
It is then that Kei’s stomach finally sinks, heavy with dread. It’s almost an epiphany, how he knows exactly what he’s going to say, but it is buried beneath an unrelenting fear.
“I brought you here because I wanted to tell you that if you ever need me–”
“I don’t need you.”
The words are out before Kei can stop them. Kai doesn’t seem particularly surprised at the revelation, no wide eyes or sudden flinch. What’s unexpected is the blatant hurt his expression carries, gaze cast downward almost submissively and the line of his mouth twisted in resignation. What’s unexpected is that he’s still here, and that despite all this he continues to talk, words as steady as before.
“If you need me. I’ll be there, always. Just give the word.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Kei says, and he knows now that his words are desperate and frantic. Truthful, yes, but he wants so badly for these to be the words that finally discourage him, the words that get rid of that unexplainable determination in his eyes. “Satou is still an angel – he’s more powerful than you, and more powerful than me. What could you possibly do to help me?”
“If you ever need something, a place to go, a way to get there, somewhere to hide, a way to get information – it doesn’t matter what it is, Kei, but I’ll do it if you ever need me to.”
“You could be human!”
A yell, before he can stop it, the volume that had been building up reaching a peak.
Finally, Kai’s eyes are wide.
“You could be human,” Kei says, again, when neither of them say anything in the wake of his outburst. “Helping me will only turn others against you. Humans already hate you, but doing this will make other demons resent you. Other angels will only be suspicious of you, and the moment Satou finds out, you’re dead. You can leave this all behind if you shed your wings and horns, no one will even know that you’d fallen – you’d just be another regular human being leading a regular human life.
“I can’t die, but you can. Why would you want to help me?”
“I’m your friend.”
It’s the quietest and the loudest thing he’s said to him.
“Kei, I can’t ever be human,” like the very idea hurts him, like falling again, “I can’t ever be an angel again, but I’ll never be human. These horns, these wings – they’re part of me before they’re part of a demon. I can live without them, but people can live without a lot of things. It’s what I am, and I won’t get rid of them.
“It doesn’t matter what I am, I’ll always be your friend.”
“I left you behind, Kai.”
It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, to him or to anyone, and the weight of it is heavy on his tongue. Kai looks solemn, like he’s heard it all before, this time no different. Kei wonders who’s been saying it to him.
“I know. And I’m still your friend, no matter what.”
He’s an idiot, Kei realizes. Kai is a complete idiot, and nothing Kei ever says will make him back down. Kei could give him every reason in the world that would make even the most foolish human being backtrack, but Kai would still be there, staring at him with earnest eyes and a firm resolve. It’s a good thing he can die, because otherwise Kei would never be rid of him.
No matter what Kei says, Kai will still be his friend.
“You’re an idiot,” Kei says, out loud. “This is why you fell.”
“Probably,” he says, but he’s grinning, the widest he’s seen it since they were kids.
“A demon siding with angels,” Kei muses absently. “Though it’s not that strange, considering we’re up against another angel.”
Kei looks at him. Raised right horn, a short left. Once, they formed a circle, one of the closest to perfect Kei had ever seen on an angel. He can’t imagine him with them, anymore, but he can’t imagine him without them at all.
“I don’t need you right now,” Kei says, more certain than he’s ever been. “But I’m going to protect you. I’ll make sure of it.”
It was a question that he never felt right to ask. The evidence was clear, after all, and the answer was so staggeringly obvious that the mere idea of the question was outright ridiculous. There were times, however, where everything he knew would be challenged, his whole understanding confounded in ways he didn’t know possible, and the obvious became obfuscated.
He’d been having a lot of those, ever since he met Nagai.
“Is Nagai really an angel?”
The words spill in a moment of unguardedness, a weight become heavy after years of carrying rather than a final straw. Izumi jumps, in her seat, eyes flashing guiltily at her own unspoken words made real.
“It’s just,” Kou continues quickly, eyes stubbornly trained on his clenched fists, as though looking up would send divine retribution for his doubt. “How is someone like him an angel, an important one too, while someone like him is...”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.
Among the pews, it’s an uncomfortable topic of conversation, the cross bearing down on them silent and demanding even as the cathedral is empty of other people. It would be a lie for Izumi to say she hadn’t considered the question either, though, and she’s never been at home with deception or dishonesty.
(Nagai is also honest, she realizes, the light soft through the glass-stained windows. She has never known him to outright lie, but his honesty is tactical and calculated. Is he really an angel?)
“I don’t know,” she says, quietly, finally. Her palms are pressed tightly against one another in her lap, a mimicry of prayer. “He must be doing something right. He shows no signs of falling, he’s never done anything Wrong. But it’s not something I understand, either, why someone like him would have fallen while Nagai didn’t.”
Why someone like Kai would have fallen. Still, they dare not speak his name, not while God is listening.
(Kai is honest, too, after all.)
There is no answer from above, no reassurance or proclamation. There hasn’t been for a very, very long time. She doesn’t know if there ever has been. She cannot stop the wave of guilt that washes over at the thought.
“A bigger question is why Satou is still an angel,” she says, instead, eyes on the altar. “Despite everything he’s done.”
“That guy’s got more kindness than Nagai and Satou combined.”
Despite herself, Izumi muffles a chuckle behind her palm. Isn’t that the truth?
Still.
“Maybe it isn’t kindness,” Izumi says, absently.
The two fall silent.
“Didn’t the Devil fall because he loved himself more than he loved God?”
The ringing in her ears is becoming more and more incessant, more demanding. She says nothing; then, she stands, wings and halo pulling back into nothingness. For a moment, it is quiet, silence echoing heavily in the cathedral. The candles perpetually lit by the entrance flicker once, twice.
“Lucifer became a demon because he gave up everything – his love, his fear, his duties to God – for the sake of himself. He wanted what only God could have, so he was cast out.”
She smiles, apologetically, turning to Kou.
“It was good to see you again, Kou. Sorry, I need to go check on Tosaki-san. He seems to be in a bit of trouble.”
When the video was first released, it garnered millions of views from around the world despite the efforts of the Japanese government. It went a little something like this:
“Hello,” a grainy Satou says, all smiles and squinted eyes. He looks, at first, a regular human; worn, neatly dressed, with a good posture and presence despite his age. In front of him sits a man on a wheelchair, face long and hair slicked back. In another world, his face would have been immediately recognisable as Tanaka Kouji, infamous immortal – here, he is a stranger. Atop his head a halo, fairly thin as far as halos go, and across his lap a wing, discoloured.
(In this world, it is easier to see his discomfort.)
“You may have heard of us – angels. Messengers of God, the Holy Ones. And some of you out there don’t believe in us that way, and that’s fine.
“But I like to think that’s what we were brought here to do, to carry out the work that must be done that regular ol’ human beings can’t.”
His smile drops. The clamour in the background stills, a moment, before returning to a reduced murmur.
“The thing is, apparently this isn’t enough for some people, some human beings. They want to usurp our divine power, taking it by force if needed. Wrongly, you believe that the state does not meddle in holy affairs. That is why it is so easy for them to take us.”
There are gasps, shouting from the press surrounding the two. There are more words from Satou; they are obscured in the din.
“Just as it was not a ‘fault in the pipes’, a drunk man’s daydream, or a freak accident; this,” and here, he gestures widely to the ruins of the lab behind him, still aflame, “was no mistake. Just like Tanaka-kun here, angels were experimented on, wings clipped and made to suffer, over and over again.”
“Where is the proof?”
He smiles, a bit, then. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
(On his uploaded video, the figure shown is not tall enough to be Tanaka. Their form is ambiguous, face not visible. The screams make it difficult to hear the drilling.)
“I have already uploaded it on the web. This video is something I obtained from an angel researcher’s home PC. It is confidential data. How can we accept something like this? Can we allow this injustice to carry on? Can we allow a faceless government to take advantage of our infinite compassion? Can we allow ourselves to be complacent in the unjust torture of innocent people?”
(Many of the following statements have since been identified as verses from the books of the Psalms, Romans, Jude, and the gospel of Peter, respectively.)
“As angels, we are sent by God to guard you in all your ways, to carry out His righteous deeds and uphold His righteous laws. All who sin apart from the law will also perish apart from the law, and all who sin under the law will be judged by the law.”
He looks directly into the camera, face sombre.
“To those who encourage such injustice against the Lord’s messengers, know He is told to unleash against you His hot anger, His wrath, indignation and hostility – a band of destroying angels.”
The murmurs in the background become louder, more prominently frantic.
(The meaning behind the following excerpt remains unclear.)
“And the angels who did not keep their positions of authority but abandoned their proper dwelling—these He has kept in darkness, bound with everlasting chains for judgment on the great Day.”
The crowd is quiet. Satou’s gaze does not falter.
“For God did not spare even angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell. Know that what occurs now is a violation of divine law, and that to turn a blind eye invites upon you the judgement of the Lord. Know this, and listen!
“In two days, I will be holding a protest!”
The better part of his statement is lost to the sudden uproar, reporters closing in with cameras and microphones.
“Please join the fight with me! Do this for the time when you yourself will join the heavenly choirs! And...”
Tears flow freely down his face.
“For each and everyone’s happiness.”
In an indeterminate time, at an indeterminate place, Nagai Kei closes his eyes and puts the pain and suffering out of his mind.
He’d long since stopped wondering why humans would do this to an angel, to anyone. It simply stopped mattering; the arrow would still be inside, after all, poison still thick in his blood.
Did God exist? If He did, why would He allow such an atrocity to happen?
Kei didn’t give much thought to the whole theological aspect. It was less a thing that he believed wholly true than it was simply a principle he must adhere to. Why? Because it makes sense. He is, after all, an angel, and as such it’s the only way to get by.
(As more and more time passes, he is less and less sure that there is a god at all, and he is more and more sure that he does not believe in one, nor has he ever had.)
Such thoughts, he knows, are blasphemous. It’s a one way ticket to falling.
As more and more time passes, he cares less and less about it.
“Why not kill them?” Tanaka says, in the place he’s carved out in his mind, a hollow sanctuary. “If it no longer matters to you, and you know you’re more important than them, why not just kill them? You don’t have to suffer. You can stop this right now.”
And he knows he can. It would be so easy. He shouldn’t have even let himself be caught.
“You can kill them right now. You want to. This is the real you.”
So why is he hesitating?
“I can’t,” the him in his reprieve says, because by engaging in something else he hopes he can avoid the experience of his body. In places they mix, liminal areas of sensation, and he realizes his cheeks are wet. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He can barely see his face, anymore, blurred beyond recognition, but he can hear the frustration in his voice loud and clear.
“Don’t lie – don’t pretend! You know this is what you want! Why won’t you kill them?”
Something sharp is inserted into his side, like a particularly large needle – then it’s sliding, far, far in, farther in than a needle should go. He’s wracked with a sob that clatters against his ribs. Of course he wants to, he wants he wants he wants, he’s hurting too much and why isn’t he killing them again?
(“You don’t stop being you just because your halo’s a bit cracked,” he says, voice brooking no argument. It’s a child’s finality, certainty far from informed, but it makes Kai smile, nonetheless. “It’s not like you’re suddenly going to become a bad person, or do things you wouldn’t have done before.”
“Right,” Kai says, and it’s the last time he brings it up before they’re running into the fields again, Eriko on their heels as their mother yells for them to come home soon, alright?)
The last time he’d seen those gold eyes, they had been staring at him – pity? Disappointment? He still doesn’t know what it was there, and he’s not in a state of mind to figure it out now. But he’d watched, and he’d frowned, and he went on anyway as though he hadn’t just been handed proof of his uselessness.
(“Everyone suffers, Kei,” he says, pained as though it was he who had died.
“Even you.”)
(The needle is gone, and in its place, a river of tears that burns like the Phlegethon. He hears a click, and then the sound of steel, spinning. His toes curl, stiffen, sweat lapping at the bandages encasing him.
“You have no business here, demon,” as though he hadn’t slit his own neck to stop him from reaching over, try to help with his own hands. “It’s better that you stay away.”)
“He’s still a good person.”
“What?”
The Tanaka in his head is still staring at him, looking like he wants nothing more than to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he sees what’s sensible, what’s rational. The steel is close enough to burn, inching its way slowly toward his skin.
“He’s been through Hell and he has nothing left, but he still wants to help, he still cares,” he babbles, like the words will explode if not let out, and he’s barely making sense to himself as they continue to spill. “He gives compassion, he keeps hoping when all he’s been given is hatred.”
When all I’ve given him is hatred.
“I can’t abandon that. I can’t abandon him. It wouldn’t be fair to Kai.”
“Kai? The Fallen?”
The blades start, like a pinprick – then they’re ripping, jagged lines into his flesh and gum. His screaming is the sound of suffering, a dismal hymn as God watches on.
Tanaka watches, even as his form fades, slivers of skin and edges seeping into nothingness.
“Fine. Let’s see how long you last.”
Kei wonders how long before his halo begins to break.
Nagai Ritsu was not a religious woman.
(There was, of course, the Shinto and Buddhist influence, but she’s always been more than aware that it’s a cultural phenomenon more than it ever was spiritual. There were Shinto shrine visits on the New Year and Shichi-go-san, as well as the celebration of Obon, but she’d believe in deities when she saw one with her own eyes.)
This does not change when her firstborn, her son, Kei, spontaneously sprouts a halo and a pair of wings.
To be sure, it definitely introduced a lot of uncertainty on the practical side of matters, starting (and not ending) with the question of her daughter’s biology. She’s far past the age that Kei began to develop the extra appendages, but the workings of angels are mysterious enough that it’s entirely possible that Eriko is just a late bloomer.
Partially, she blames the entire debacle for Kei’s change in projected career choice. After Eriko’s status began its slow decline, he’d say all the time how he’d become a doctor and cure her incurable illness. Him being an angel changed things – would he try to figure out what so many others failed to solve, or rather than prolonging the inevitable, would he make sure that at least her afterlife was better?
(Privately, she wonders if it’s the best route. What if there is no afterlife? He still has a promising future in medicine, and he knows it. He attends school with the hope of keeping the avenue available, but she wonders how much more dedicated he could have been to his studies in a world where he wasn’t an angel.)
In any case, the revelation was somewhat ironic, given who their father was and the reason he was out of the picture. Maybe he was an angel, and wouldn’t that explain a few things? Certainly not the fact that only one of her children is an angel. Perhaps the gene is recessive, which only introduced a larger slew of questions about her own ancestry.
Her son turning out to be an angel was certainly something that couldn’t have been predicted. What was more unexpected is the fact that the boy living next door was an angel, too, born to an angel father no less.
(Not anymore, but nevertheless.)
Their friendship was a small saving grace. She’d believed angels an urban legend long before she’d given birth, and even after she still knew very little about them. Not for lack of trying – only that there was so little known information about them that they might as well be urban legends. Having the boys together would at least provide socialization between alike species, and would regulate potential mechanisms unalike that of a regular human.
It was years later that Kai’s halo began to crack.
By then she knew enough about angels that no one could consider her ignorant about it. Kei’s status as an angel was kept on the down-low – it’s the main reason he can still pursue formal education without hassle. She knew the ins and outs of the laws that did exist specifically for angels, and she knew enough to keep him out of trouble. What she didn’t know was anything significant about falling.
(If there’s one thing she hates, about these organized institutions and society at large, it’s the way everyone tiptoes around taboo, refusing to discuss it for fear of heavenly punishment. As though merely speaking the words will condemn. If that’s how it is, then why confess at all?)
The brimstone, the eternal damnation – it all mattered very little to her. The brittle halos and the flightless wings were more likely the product of some congenital condition than they were symptomatic of an unforgiveable sin.
What did matter was that falling was a guaranteed death sentence for an angel’s reputation.
Regardless of why, angels and demons did not mix. It was treason against something they believed much higher than what was simply societal convention. To associate with a fallen is to throw one’s future away.
When Kai’s halo finally snapped, she made sure Kei no longer associated with him.
Eriko hated it – hated him for going along with it. She’d inherited enough from Ritsu that even she thought the demonic stigma was nonsense. It only made her angrier at her brother’s ‘betrayal’.
Even if Kai hadn’t fallen, hadn’t been an angel at all, their separation seemed inevitable. Even if Kei hadn’t expressed a desire to ascend, even if he did end up becoming a doctor – Kai’s father was still a criminal, on more levels than one. Forget his birth, his unchangeable circumstances; it was his actions that would curse his family.
She could only make sure that the same couldn’t be said for her own.
He sits as far back as the cathedral will allow, as if doing so will hide him from the eyes Above.
It’s not as though there are many churches in Japan, after all, forget their town. Any nonmortal being would recognize him when it’s the only church in the area, and a decade of absence is but a blink of the eye to them.
The only people in the congregation are a couple of elderly women in the front pew, a few children giggling in hushed voices. A Tuesday; no mass, no priest. As an angel, coming in during a service is guaranteed trouble.
An angel – ha. So that’s why he never showed up for over ten years.
Makes him wonder why he’s back here at all.
(He’s given up on finding answers. After all, He answers no one, not anymore. Now, he ignores his still pristine halo, intact and showing no signs of cracking. He doesn’t remember the last time he let them out.)
The wood of the seat creaks, heavy.
“Didn’t know demons could enter churches.”
“Me neither,” Kai admits, settling in beside Takeshi. He knows him by name only because as a fallen that refuses to lay low, he’s infamous in the locality. The last time they’d actually met, Takeshi had been telling him to fuck off and mind his own business when he’d asked for a smoke.
“For all we knew, you could’ve burst into flame the moment you stepped foot in here.”
He shuffles, getting comfortable. Hands tucked neatly on his lap, feet flat against the floor; if it weren’t for the horns, he could easily be mistaken for a goody-goody Sunday school kid. It makes Takeshi want to laugh, when his own dirty feet are hauled over the top of the seat in front of them.
“Well, I didn’t, so.”
They fall silent. A child up front squeals – then is shushed just as loud. With no service on, the cathedral is hushed, no sound but faint breathing when listening for it, the occasional words and laughter of children, the wind scattering the leaves outside. He’s always wondered why people show up when nothing’s on and the priest isn’t in, what they could possibly do here that they can’t do back home. It’s their business, of course, and being an angel doesn’t make him privy to it.
The demon – Kai – seems to be comfortable saying nothing, the picture of relaxation. He looks about ready to fall asleep, eyes closed and chin beginning to drift down onto his chest. Maybe he doesn’t get a whole lot of rest, elsewhere. Demons aren’t supposed to be treated any different from humans, but it seems unlikely they’d be willing to let one rent a house or an apartment.
Maybe Takeshi’s the only one out of his element, here.
“You here to confess or something?”
Facetious, of course, but he wants to know what he’s doing here, too. Kai doesn’t open his eyes immediately, turning his head to face him before slowly opening his eyes.
“Don’t suppose that’d really do anything.”
“Could be worth a shot.”
“So don’t suppose you’re here to confess, either?”
Takeshi doesn’t say anything. He’s never been a giving person, and he’s not about to start now. When he continues to remain silent, Kai eventually speaks.
“Though I guess angels don’t really confess, huh.”
Takeshi scoffs. There’s tittering, in the front – one of the old ladies turns, to look. Then she looks again, eyes wide. She turns back, shakes the woman next to her. No doubt they’re on their way out, now that they’ve seen a demon in the back seat. The children continue to play, oblivious.
“There are a few angels that could use a damn bit of it.”
“Satou?”
“Nagai Kei.”
Takeshi looks over at him. Kai is sitting, just that bit straighter, now. His expression is still carefully casual, but his eyes are sharper than they were a moment ago. They stare at each other, wordlessly.
“So you really are that fallen, huh? The one that follows him around.”
At that, Kai actually begins to look concerned.
“Has it been causing trouble for him?”
Takeshi stares. He laughs.
“Are you sure you’re a demon?” Takeshi pulls out his lighter, plays with it in his hands. “You’re more of an angel than he is, that’s for sure. That guy doesn’t care whether he’s causing trouble for anybody else.”
Kai continues to look, eyes expectant.
“If it weren’t for him, you would’ve been smited to Hell and back by now.”
He leaves it there. There’s no response from Kai, whose gaze lingers a moment longer before straying back to the front, to the glazed colours streaming in through the window. Not that Takeshi really cared, whether or not he’d been appropriately smited. It’s not as though he’s been doing his ‘job’, all this time. Nagai’s reputation precedes him; most would rather fall before having to face his wrath.
“He cares too much.”
Takeshi stares at him. He might as well have grown a second head.
“Nagai? That asshole?”
Kai shrugs. “He cares so much that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop. It doesn’t matter how much they hurt him.”
The bitterness is cutting and sudden, and it’s enough to make Takeshi look twice. His eyes are still trained on the cross, as though glaring hard enough will force repentance from the ‘they’ that hurt him. Half-moons a dark red on his dry knuckles; the only way one could tell he was once an angel is the pure divine wrath in his gaze.
“Awful hypocritical of you, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Kai says, and the darkness has drained from his voice, somewhat. He leans back, fingers lax, and he’s not looking up anymore. “For him. I think it’s what most people would call compassion. Not empathy, but...”
He trails off. His lighter clicks, on and off; Takeshi isn’t quite willing to start smoking in churches just yet, no matter how low his faith has fallen.
“You’re just as bad as he is.”
“I could never be as good as him,” Kai says. “He won’t even hurt the people that killed him. Maybe that’s why he won’t let me near him.”
His voice trails off. He’s said something he wasn’t supposed to, whether he knows it or not. About himself, about Nagai. Something that would make it easy, for angels to have an excuse to hurt humans, to hurt him. Takeshi blames the fact that he’s still an angel, after all, that he doesn’t feel like letting others know about that ‘something’. Maybe Kai really is a demon.
“You’re a complete idiot,” Takeshi says, finally. Kai laughs, loud and open.
“Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”
Kai stands, then, stretching with a light groan. Couldn’t have been longer than twenty minutes – he’s starting to wonder if the demon really showed up just to bother him. No more laughing, no quiet murmuring; even the wind outside has softened, barely a whisper. Takeshi is far from at peace, but the cathedral, at this moment, is by far the calmest place he’s been in. Maybe that’s why people come and go regardless of time. If that’s the case, he wonders if it wouldn’t be so bad to show up more often.
“Kai,” Takeshi says, when the light of the sunset has drifted to lilac beyond the glass panes. “Falling – what’s it like?”
Kai tilts his head back, slightly, eyes wandering to the ceiling of the cathedral. He doesn’t turn to look at him, doesn’t make to move. The humans in the audience had long since left, repelled by the arrival of a demon with dark horns. They are dull, in a way that halos aren’t, but the light grants the same golden glow, harsh broken lines mellowed in the evening. Takeshi wonders what it is about the fallen that makes them hated so.
“It’s alright,” he says, eventually, words quiet and full in the emptiness. “Once you get used to it.”
Angel-human relations are not unheard of.
Granted, rarely do they occur with angels above the Third Sphere. This is not to say that they are not frowned upon, only that they do occur.
Besides the ever-present fear of falling, notions of purity kept angel-human interaction, much less liaisons, minimal. When angel-angel relationships were rare themselves, why settle for a mortal? Still, pure angel relations are strangely fewer than mixed relations, perhaps due to the vast disparity between the populations.
Demon relations of any sort are a different issue.
Perhaps it’s because beyond the superficial, there is very little distinguishing demons from humans. This might be what helps make them hard to find, as well as the fact that they do not make themselves obvious. Even pure demon relations cannot be assumed – the very existence of fallen would have been myth if it weren’t for a select few cases well known. Again, demon-human relations would seem more common, if only because humans are the overwhelming majority.
Angel-demon relations are therefore unthinkable, despite the fact that they are the best equipped to recognise each other.
Still. This is not to say that they do not occur.
Legally, his name is Kaito, and his rights and whatnot don’t differ from that of any other human.
To others, he is known simply as the fallen, a no-good demon.
He couldn’t care less what they think. All that matters is what he is to Kei.
More often than not, he’s dressed in his high school uniform, tidy and neatly pressed, and like this, he looks just like a regular human being. His wings are tucked away, and he hides his halo in a way that Kai no longer can. So long as he doesn’t open his mouth (which tends to be the deal breaker with other angels, in Kai’s experience), people treat him like a person. The crowd shuffles and pushes as they would any other, sparing him not a single glance as they go about their own daily routines.
Kai almost envies him, the way he can choose to blend in. He supposes that’s just what the difference of a fall could afford some people.
At the very least, it makes it easier for Kei to find him, horns peeking above the sea and the crowd parting in waves.
He knows that his continuous efforts seem fruitless – pointless, even. It’s what other fallen tell him, seeking out others like themselves for support and direction. All he’s doing, they say, is accepting another reprimand, another threat of execution and making a bad name for other demons. As a demon, he should be doing his best to avoid angels at all costs. But if there’s one thing good about demons, it’s that they’ve never had the strict bureaucracy present in those of the angelic kind, no social code to adhere to.
Kei has never been an angel, to him. He is just Nagai Kei. That’s all he needs to be for Kai to love him.
“Hey,” Kai says, and he’s grown used to the quiet, the lack of response. It’s hard not to, after years of cold stares and estrangement. He can’t help but wonder how long it will take for him to get used to the thawed gaze, the softness in his eyes.
(It’s one of Kei’s giveaways, his bright red eyes. Like fresh blood, slowly deoxygenating over time. Looking at them now, wide and searching, he wonders how he ever could have thought they’d dimmed.)
“Hey,” Kei echoes. His posture is held as stiff and straight as it ever is, raised chin a first line defence in his tireless vigilance. His guard is still up, but it’s a start. His fingers still twitch, an aborted movement to the weapon that’s never there, but on his face are the beginnings of a smile Kai once knew.
(“Let’s go – all the way to Kyushu, this time.”
Where nobody knows them, and they’re just two people. This time, he can’t think of a reason to say no, not when his hands are warm on his own, firm and steady. Not when the threat of Satou is already gone, leaving him still and unhindered. Now, he’s just Nagai Kei, and he’s just Kaito again.
“Yeah. I’d like that.”)