Evangeline Reeves gazed up at the arched ceiling of St. Paul the Divine in awe. It was covered in a war she did not want to engage in. There were seven angels, but Angie could only identify two. The one with his hand grasped tightly around a sword was Michael. White, glittering wings provided a protective fortress around him as he plunged the spear into a shadowy creature withering at his feet. The spear had a crisp, white linen ribbon wrapped delicately around the hilt. A halo of golden hair fell around his definite features. His silvery-blue eyes glared at the defeated angel that cowered at his feet. Lucifer. Fiery, golden eyes looked up at Michael with a spark of pain and complete hatred. Slick crimson coated his lean body and poured out of long gashes cut into his once perfect white wings. The beauty that the Morning Star once possessed had vanished as he was being cast down to H*ll by his brother.

Gabriel stood near by: arms spread, baring a mirror of green jasper and a lantern that encased a luminous green taper. Golden wings sheltered his slim frame, and gold eyes melted through the tuffs of dark hair that sheltered his face.

An angel with sun-kissed skin and short, dark brown hair was leading Tobit. He had worn, gray eyes with frayed wings to match, and held a physicians alabaster jar close to his side. Next to him was a towering, African angel with dark eyes and black wings had a blinding flame erupting from his hand. He also held a gleaming sword. Then there was another with fluffy brown hair, a wide smile, and boyish complexions. A triple-thronged whip was snaked tightly around his arm, and he proudly presented a golden wreath.

There were two others. One of them had black curly hair and deep brown eyes that seemed to pierce through you. He had a white rose clasped to his bare chest. The other with light brown spiky hair had his forest green eyes lowered as he prayed. He held no item, but had a feeling of importance about him.

The mural was mystifying and gorgeous in its own way- until you reached the center. The glorified angels seemed to be revolving around a bottomless pit of locusts that almost formed horse-like creatures, crowned with human faces, and wavy black human hair. There was an even more horrifying creature in the midst of the swarming locusts. It was sitting on a throne, arms mightily raised, its teeth bared. The creature had penetrating lions teeth that were yellowing at the top. Pieces of what seemed to be shredded meat lodged in between each canine, blood coating the sharp stalactite and stalagmite edges. Its locust’s wings were fully extended, aching with excruciating pains. Their jagged edges were hooked painfully with talons crusted with dry blood, and dark blue veins webbed through the thick, leathery, gray skin. A scorpion tail curved down from its spine, curling up defensively behind him. A shining gunmetal stinger protruding from the end. The creature, which resembled what once was a man, had matted black hair slick with sweat. He also had black, glimmering eyes. They had no life at all, only hallow with hate. A silent scream of pain was frozen on his face, distorted with the pain and hunger his soul was feeling.

Anixiel noticed Evangeline’s displeased expression as she stared up at the hellish creature. “That,” he said, pointing to the center of the mural, “is Abaddon, one of the most powerful demons. Those are the seven original Archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Jegudiel, Sealtiel, and Barachiel.”

Angie tried to gulp down the bile creeping up her throat. She hoped that all demons didn’t look like that. She couldn’t contemplate how something over time could even begin to look like Abaddon.

As if reading her mind, Anixiel continued, “Well, when the flesh and human complexions dissolve they will. Except for the fallen angels.”

“And you’re saying that I’m Nephilim, and that I have to send them back to H*ll?” Angie questioned, trying to at least sound calm.

But Anixiel did not seem to notice the slight trembling of her fingers, or how she would uncomfortably shift to her right side. As a full blood angel, he could not decipher the emotions of a human, or for that matter have emotions of his own, so he only replied, “Precisely… but that’s only half of it.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re afraid.”

“I’m what?” Angie squeaked, slightly offended.

“You’re afraid of fighting demons, but I’m sorry to inform you that you don’t have a choice. It’s your destiny,” he said, coldness rising in his voice.

“And what did you say your name was again?”

Standing a little straighter, the peculiar boy with the shimmering, ice-blue eyes, and spiky tar-black hair faced her, and replied, “My name is Anixiel, and I am an angel of God.”