The Celestial Bet

He strode across the Lower Plane, his feet stomping down on the tortured souls that he used as a rug, their screams piercing through the room, carrying out over the balcony, and mingling with the greater hosts of cries in the night. Not that it was ever truly night here, or day. Such things changed as his perception of them did. And for Ruumel, it was much more often night than it was day. His best work was always done at night.

And Ruumel was carrying a heave workload. He'd had a deal in the works that he knew could rack the very balance of power, both here on the Lower Plane, and in the greater struggle. He had been working the long game, setting his pieces up and executing complex plans. And even plans within plans. A word here to raise suspicions, another word here to lower them, keeping his "allies" from tearing each other's throats while keeping them working together. It was all very close to coming together; he would soon wreak havoc upon the Upper Planes. None of his comrades knew it yet, but he was locating the keys. He already had two of them. Two of the five keys that would break this stalemate and open a new front in the war against Heaven.

He suspected the Angels knew by now. They had different networks for information than his contemporaries, they had to have caught on to his plan. Which was why he was going to such measured to protect it. Ruumel entered his inner sanctum, protected by the most potent of blood magic against scrying, against being entered by any entity but himself, and admired his collection. He had 5 pedestals laid out, and the two in the center bore the most valued items he'd acquired after long centuries of searching. They were truly not keys as such, but they were ingredients. For over 2000 years, now, the battle with the Angels had been confined to the mortal planes. And he...he had discovered the key to breaking out of that confinement, and opening all the realms once more for all out war. When he had the ingredients all together, he could cast his spell and begin a fresh new era. Two key ingredients...mortar from the house of Job. A fruit from the tree of Tree of Life. Both almost impossible to find, after all this time, but he had patience. Patience...and memory.

Ruumel seldom remembered Falling. It happened very quickly. His line of work had made him vulnerable, of course. He had dealt in death, had been a great warrior. Some said he had thought too much. Perhaps that was it. One day, one slip, one decision to go against his orders, and he was removed from Grace, cast down in the pits. And freed. Oh, so free. But some of his memories of his time as an Angel were dimmer, near forgotten, as if Heaven had stripped information he might use against them when he'd been kicked out. They had not taken everything, however.

Fuck. He felt himself being summoned. Ruumel quickly sealed the doors of his inner sanctum, leaving his two special prizes on their respective pedestals, and ensuring that the seals against detection remained in place. It was still much too early for those details, but soon. Soon he would reveal them. With a flash, he blinked from his own residence in the Lower Planes to one much larger, looming almost like a castle. It even had a throneroom-yes, Beelzebub was just arrogant enough for that. There was room for one to rule down here, and it wasn't Beelzebub, much as he liked to fashion that his position made him King. He was sitting on the throne even now, as Ruumel approached.

"Ruumel...I am surprised to find you here. I had thought you were hard at work on the mortal plane. Yet here you are, and you did not report to me. Was your work successful?"

More than you know, though Ruumel, but of course, his work was not Beelzebub's. "It was not an unconditional success. The bitch is dead, but I was unable to collect the soul you wanted." Mostly because Beelzebub was still thinking in small terms, when Ruumel had his eye on much bigger game.

"I find this most displeasing. You have yet to live up to your position, to deliver for me as promised. Surely I shall not need to find another for my tasks so soon?"

"I assure you, you will not be displeased with me for long-I have another surprise planned for you which I think shall be to your liking. And if you'll excuse me, time is important, and I must get to it now."

With that, Ruumel turned his back on Beelzebub arrogantly, marching out of his throneroom. Yes, that arrogant prick wouldn't be displeased long because Ruumel had plans to displace him, soon. He wasn't happy with his current position, and he was planning on moving up. The other deal he had in the works would see him promoted beyond that bastard, granting even greater power to rule here. And his first act would be to squash Beelzebub like a fucking cockroach. Slowly. For all the grace that he once had, Ruumel had learned that it was only in Hell that he truly had opportunity for advancement.

He felt the clock ticking. The hour of an important appointment was upon him. Ruumel quickly drew himself up, summoning his powers, and began a slow chant, which heaved him up through the aether and into the mortal plane. It was also night on this part of Earth, beneath trees that were shedding leaves with the approaching winter. A strong gale swept through the air, as if to announce his presence, along with a slight crackle of air that was displaced by his arrival. He remained in his demonic form-though there were many things he could not do in this form on Earth, this one, at least, required it. Deal-making. As he watched, the girl strode up to the appointed meeting place, her eyes still blind to his presence, before falling to her knees. It was how she had learned to communicate with beings like him.

He'd known she was important the moment he had seen her. Her soul shone with a light that radiated out of her eyes and her chest. Elena, her name was, and he had been nursing this deal for weeks. He didn't know exactly what her significance was, but he knew it was there, and he was going to make sure the Angels were deprived of it. This light haired, light skinned female was somehow critical to heaven, and she didn't even know it. He'd had to secretly work on this deal for months. He had planted seeds which had taken their time to grow, let her think hard over her circumstances, and he had finally dangled the offer, just when she was ripe. And she was here to collect.

"The...the terms I was offered. Those still stand?" She had opened her mind, after kneeling, focusing, and then her eyes opened as she looked up at him from her position in the dirt. He saw her draw back slightly at having seen his true form, but she had known what she was before ever seeing it. And there was also a slight fascination. His form was appealing to female eyes. He gave her a malevolent smile and nodded in response to her question.

"Yes. Your parents, both back. Both will live to ripe old age. As will you. And all I need is your soul. Just a little, insignificant thing, really. I promise you can live without it." Ruumel's grin showed teeth, making Elena shudder slightly, but she nodded.

"I accept."

With that, Ruumel stepped forward, leaning down to cup her chin, pulling her to feet. His lips seared downward, pressing against hers, sealing the deal with a kiss. Sweet victory...her soul was just the leverage he would need over those fuckers down below.

Ruumel

PRELUDE

There is a war. There is always a war. The Host fights. That is their reason for existing. It hadn't always been so, not when the ONE first pulled them from the stuff of the dreaming. In the beginning? Their job had been to help order the universes made, to guide the creation, to implement what was wanted by the ALL.

But that had changed, over uncounted eons. The ONE had withdrawn, the worlds and universes had given birth to life, and a quarter of the Host had fallen and spread out, to win their way through the hearts of mortals. The best of the Host had taken his followers and fell, thrown from the ramparts of Heaven. The Host that remain, are mindless, for the most part. They fight. They win. And if a life is given to the cause, a grace removed? It has to be the will of the ALL. It couldn't actually be that the Fallen are winning. Please, the One, it couldn't actually be that the Fallen are right.

There are divisions in the Host. Not necessarily by lightness nor coloration, but type. A Death Angel is as different from the Seraphim as a composer is from the orchestra. Death Angels do not have the morality that eats at the majority of the Host. They don't care for right or wrong, only for what gets the job done. They are the assassins of the Host. They kill without qualm. It is how they are formed. It is what their job demands. Because they deal with the darker aspects of mortal life, their coloration is not the pure marble of the others. Some of the Fallen's own darkness is evident in their eyes, in their skin, upon their wings. Their wings are always black.

There is a war on. There is always a war on. And the Host are winning, but for how long?

Dahmia~leader of the Earth contingent. Shaped and formed to resemble the Aborigine peoples of the world~dark skinned, dark eyed, dark haired. The Death Angel could look like any one of thousands of tribes~ could fit any where. But the rules had changed. Now she/he/it could no longer take the battle to the Fallen. A mortal host must be taken. She/he/it must pour Angelic consciousness into a host body. A mortal body, from the lower planes.

Dahmia prefers the peoples that most resemble what she/he/it IS. So The host mortal is black, brown, tan. The hair is always dark~usually straight, sometimes curly. The host mortal is pious, willing, a soldier body for the ONE, a female. Countless females, over the ages. Dahmia begins to be female as well. And with the beginning of that knowledge, Dahmia realizes two things. Femaleness does not equal weak. And for the most part, Fallen are almost always, Male. Unity in halves.

Dahmia is a Death Angel, one who works and walks and protects the mortals on the plane of Earth. And there is a war on. There is always a war on...and she is far from home.

PRESENT DAY/Celestial Plane

The celestial sphere can be a bit overwhelming. Especially if one is not prepared to be yanked from a host body and pulled to stand before a pair of irate Arch Angels~ Gabriel, Michael. And there is NO way one can ever truly prepare themselves for that eventuality. Think on it. To go from blue skies and woods and dirt and highways to Heaven's ramparts that jut like brilliant diamonds against the back drop of the starry sphere. How can that be prepared for? The golden gleam, the unearthly music, the hosannas, the training of squadrons? It all makes for an almighty din that the ONE somehow manages to ignore. Obviously, it has to be ignored.

Somehow though, the Arch Angels make themselves understood. They are bright, much brighter than the troops that march in perfect formation, much brighter even than the Seraphim who do not battle, who only give glory to the ONE as is their duty. Before them, the Death Angel, Dahmia looks down right dowdy. She does not care. Looks will not win this war. This is not a war of attrition. This is the beginning of Armageddon. Her small contigent of loyal followers, both Earth born and Heaven shaped, do not care how they look. Who has time to worry about such a small thing?

"Have you found the female?"

The voice is so breathtakingly beautiful that it makes Dahmia's head ache. Michael. The new Lord of the left as the Lightbringer had once been, the one the Earth born call Satan, Lord of the Fallen. Of course, he would ask about that. Of course, he would yank her away from finding the one thing that was almost guaranteed to bring some sort of equality to the battle field. She had been closing in on it~the cross beam of the ark. Noah's ark. Yet, Heaven's mandate meant that any active field angel could be yanked willy nilly from the field, to answer a question.

"Well, have you?"

Dahmia glanced at Gabriel, Lord of the Message. His voice was a vast rolling boom, like the crash of the sea. She wanted to scream at the pair of them. But she couldn't. Heaven's mandate said they spoke for the ONE. Disrespecting them would be the same as spitting in the ONE's face...if you could see it.

"No, I have not found the female. I have mortals searching the computer data bases, but as yet, she has not been spotted."

'Conversation over.' That is all she has time to think before she returns, coughing and shaking, to the mortal host who has agreed to carry her through the world, the Lower plane, Earth. And once there, it all goes to hell in a big way.

PRESENT DAY/Earth

"We found her, but it appears we are too late. The thing she houses. The things she could have done? Gone. She has traded with a demon. I believe you may know of him, Dahmia. His name? Ruumel."

Dahmia groaned, low. 'Fuck.'

Dahmia

As her lips pressed against his, Ruumel felt the girls soul being pulled out of her, as if being sucked out of her mouth. It was indeed a very strong soul, he feel the power of it, enlivening his own soul. Unbreakable, a soul was, and powerful. He caressed it as he drew it forth, and savored the last taste of it as he drew it out of this mortal creature, before he sealed it inside of his soul gem. The strength he could pull from this would see him rise high...but it was worth even more than that in political capital. Drawn from its vessel, the mark of destiny upon it was even clearer than it been before.

The girl, Elena, was looking up at him, with a bit of arousal. It wasn't unusual. Demons, Fallen like him, did tend to be extremely sexual beings. It was tied into the nature of sin, and temptation-the desires of the body always burned hot, and his kind was very near to the heat. He smiled down at her. "Go, now, Elena, and run home. Your parents are there now, go ahead and give them a call. They'll have no memory of having been dead." There was a small flash of excitement in her eyes, but it was dulled, not as strong as it could have been. Bodies without souls, they never felt things the same way. He HAD warned her, though. That met his obligation.

She began walking away, digging out her cellular. "Mom? Oh, it's good to hear from you! No, no, everything's okay..." Her voice drifted off as she walked away, returning on her own path.

Ruumel needed to make a decision now. Was it time to return home and display the results of his triumph? If he was going to reveal himself, and all his planning, to the King, he would have to catch him at the right time. Or he could just get it out of his system and crush Beelzebub now...but he might yet have use for him. Or he could remain on the mortal plane and continue to search for the keys. He felt the itch rising, the cost of being on Earth without his mortal vessel. Soon it would become painful-he dared not tarry here too much longer.

It was just then that he heard a sudden WHOOSH, and there was slight flash of light, as he felt the arrival of another very powerful, and certainly very angry, entity....

She spent a moment, giving in to interior debate with her host mortal. No way she could catch him before he left this realm unless she resumed her own form, something that was practically forbidden to her kind. Didn't matter. This needed to be done. If Heaven's leaders wanted to yell, they could do it later. She didn't have time for any permission to be granted.

Dahmia withdrew. No other word would work. She withdrew, pulled her celestial essence from the morass of human flesh and stepped out. She burned. The sensations burned. She shook off the pain and allowed herself to focus on the darkness, focusing on the demon, Ruumel. A momentary side step and she was THERE.

"Naughty, naughty~you fucking asshole. Just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

He looked beautiful. Not plain, like her. Not almost human, like her. His form, his face? They showed his lineage, all too well. Only the horns and the burnt and fading remnants of his wings, torn from him when they took his grace, proved that he had Fallen. Dahmia gave an abrupt sigh, her fingers working to ease the itch that had taken over her flesh.

It wasn't just from being on the skin of the world. It was also from being so near his presence. The filthy fucking pig. Had she but known that he could fall when she allowed herself to be drawn to him, back when there was no male or female...simply unity, she would have never allowed herself to care. It made the job she did now, this standing here, looking at him, almost more than she could take.

"You have taken something that was not yours to take, demon. I want it returned to her."

Even so, he still did not turn, did not turn. Almost as if he were daring her to touch him. She knew the rules. She would not. It would be considered an act of war and open this battle field for visitation~for far longer than usual length of time it took to cut a deal. But ONE above KNEW, she wanted to slap him silly.

"Turn and face me, Ruumel!"

It was clearly going to be one of his former brethren. When he realized they were behind him, in a flash, he steeled himself, determined not to let himself be goaded or guiled. Not that many from Above had the ability to really goad or beguile him. He stood there stoically, ignoring the itch, reveling in a victory so massive he'd brought a vengeful angel down upon him. He could enjoy this for at least a moment. His lips curled upward in a smug grin.

"Naughty, naughty~you fucking asshole. Just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

His grin only broadened. Ah, it would be...her. He recognized her voice immediately, all too well in her celestial form. They had been very close once. More than just working together-they had socialized together. "Ah, Dahmia. Always a pleasure to recall the good old days when I was trapped in my station, unable to think for myself. I hope you're doing my job better than I used to." He chuckled, keeping his eyes away from her, not turning to look at her, even though was curious to see if she still appeared as he remembered.

"You have taken something that was not yours to take, demon. I want it returned to her."

"Ohh, I'm sorry. Did I find something that you wanted? You always WERE a step behind me. I'm glad to see that much hasn't changed. I really hope the bosses aren't breathing down your back over this one-Michael can be REALLY unpleasant when he's upset." Ruumel's voice was just dripping with irony now, as he savored this moment. It was one thing to outwit your old allies turned enemies in a general sense, and it was quite another thing to have them right in front of, defeated utterly, and indignant. Today had already been an excellent day for him. He was content to leave it at that, even, but he smelled another opportunity.

"Turn and face me, Ruumel!"

The suppressed anger at have been out-shone was shining through in her voice now. There could be no doubt that she was appropriately desperate. Thinking quickly, he'd come up with an excellent idea for how to potentially capitalize on his victory today even further. Ruumel stepped once and then pivoted quickly, to look at her. His eyes burned with a red light, and he could see that she was clutching at the edge of control, already prepared to smite him on the spot.

Her eyes were shining with the light of Grace, still burning hot within her. Ruumel studied her for a moment. She looked the same as ever, but the centuries since had not seen her had still shaped her somehow. She was more....feminine. She had become more like her host bodies in some unidentifiable way. Her black wings fluttered. He stepped closer to her, careful not to touch her, acting as if he were carefully considering something that he had already decided.

"I always did believe in that adage, 'Finder's Keepers,' you know. But if you truly want this soul back," he patted against the soul gem he was clutching, "I might be persuaded to make a second deal with you. Call it a...wager." He strode lightly along the ground, not really touching it in this form, only appearing to walk like mortals, as he circled slowly around her. He ducked beneath an arching wing as he slipped behind her, before pulling around in front of her. "For old time's sake. You know I have a soft spot for you."

He stopped and then looked into her eyes, standing his ground immediately in front of her. "A game. Or a struggle, as you might see it. The loser's soul is bound to the winner's. If you win, you get my soul, as well as dear Elena here," he patted the soul gem once again. "If you lose, you lose completely, becoming like me, and I get to drag you down to the Lower Plane for good."

Ruumel narrowed his eyes slightly. He had been holding this form quite a long time, and the itch was slowly becoming painful. He had to struggle to keep that out of his face, even though he knew she would shortly be experiencing the same thing. As different as he had become, he was still very much like his former siblings. "What say you? Shall I explain the rules?"

Ah, he was such an ass. So self assured, so vindictive, so freaking smart. Even when they had known each other, in the time before time, he had always been the first to try, the first to see, the first to do. Falling hadn't changed that about him, at all. He was still just as intelligent, still just as fierce, only now he was filled with guile. With contempt. Hatred.

He wasn't the Ruumel she knew. Not anymore.

His words only underscored that fact. To tempt a Death Angel into a bet? Even at the cost of the loss of his own immortal soul? He thought he could win. He thought she was as weak as when he had known her. He assumed a softness that was no longer there. It had evaporated when he Fell. It had left when she had to carry the punishment for his defection.

There was no softness now. He took it.

She tilted her head, watching as he stalked circles around her. His form was still so pleasing to look upon only...more so. Was it the inherent maleness of him that caused that reaction? Dahmia didn't know. Didn't want to know. He was of the Fallen. A mortal enemy. A thing that could never be trusted. He could only be battled, brought to his knees, disposed of.

Yet, his eyes. Still so beautiful when the red was gone.

"A game. Or a struggle, as you might see it. The loser's soul is bound to the winner's. If you win, you get my soul, as well as dear Elena here," Dahmia caught her breath as his hand went to the gem he wore and patted it with a sort of benevolent mockery. "If you lose, you lose completely, becoming like me, and I get to drag you down to the Lower Plane for good."

What in the Name of the ONE did he think this was? A fucking game? Dahmia watched him, her eyes going completely black. He was making her angry. And he knew it, counted on it. She would not give him the satisfaction. Not yet. She kept her mouth shut...her head still cocked, her black eyes focused tightly on his face. His final word on the subject brought a snarl to her lips, released on the cool evening air.

"What say you? Shall I explain the rules?"

"Since when did any Fallen abide by any rules they didn't already bend to suit themselves? I will not bargain for a soul. Not with you."

She turned away...and was summoned to the Celestial Sphere.

The Ramparts/Heaven

Michael gazed at her, his eyes blazing as bright as the sun. Dahmia had to duck her head, the brightness hurt. The silence stretched out, as he studied her. She couldn't read his thoughts. Not the Lord of the Left...it would be impossible but she knew, by the quailing in her heart, that he was going to force the issue.

"You will accept. We NEED that soul. If yours is the forfeit, so be it."

"Yes, Sir."

There was nothing left to say. She felt the pull of her mortal host body...and fell...in to...it.

The Realm of Earth

'This could go very badly for me...but I have been ordered...and so it shall be..'

Dahmia knew that Ruumel would have had to leave the mortal realm once she had been called away. He had been in his natural aspect. The skin of the world did not agree with such. What that meant was...she would have to get some one to conjure him back. Or she would have to track him to his mortal host and offer to step out and deal.

She absolutely hated that idea.

But orders were orders and she had to follow hers. And, if she were brutally honest with herself? The thought of making him pay for the hurt he caused? Made her unequivocally happy. If she won. If he lost. If things went the way they should. If he hadn't rigged the game. IF. The largest two letter word in the known universes.

He had to pay.

Putting another mortal in his path? If it couldn't be avoided, it would have to be done. Orders were orders...and he had to pay.

Ruumel felt her eyes on him, weighing, as he walked. He knew that, in spite of herself, she was enjoying seeming him again, even as she hated him. He could practically sense such a thing-some instinct personal to him, or a trait acquired since he had fallen, he was not. But he had rolled the dice, and laid his offer out for her, and now it was time to see if she would chew on the bait. His face twitched slightly as she spoke.

"Since when did any Fallen abide by any rules they didn't already bend to suit themselves? I will not bargain for a soul. Not with you."

He opened his mouth to retort, to promise to set terms she might favorable, but she had vanished almost as soon as she finished speaking. He started to feel angry, upset at having been thwarted by her unexpected refusal, yet he managed to calm himself, and remind himself that he had still won a great victory. Winning an additional challenge with the possibility of humiliating Dahmia was more personal than he had cared to admit. She clearly was beyond such petty feelings, and had retreated back to her own realm. As he must go to his. He was about to scream from the burning at being here like this.

The Lower Plane

He reverted back into his lodgings within his home plane. The sound of musical screams were a great pleasure, and he exhaled very carefully, banishing the pain that his last incursion had cause him. He could always refresh himself, but staying too long on the Mortal Plane in his own form carried dangers. Holding the soul gem, smiling possessively, he quickly turned, strolling back across his rug to the sound of delightful screams. What to do first? He had the power now, this last, great soul being the final addition, to squash Beelzebub, if it pleased him. As it did. Or, if he preferred, he could risk disturbing Satan. Always a dangerous prospect if not done properly. Perhaps Mammon...?

Ruumel carefully placed the soul gem along his mantle, where he kept all of the greatest souls he had swindled, and he reveled for a moment in their power. The strength was calling to him, intoxicating him, and the druggy sensation was coursing through his mind, telling him it was time to cast down that great fool. He let himself succumb to the temptation, and with a great roar, he blinked into a position just outside Beelzebub's castle, drunk with power, wielding it, prepared to march in announce his comeuppance.

But in that moment, one of the only three things that might stop him did happen. He felt a slight tug, calling at him, trying to summon him. At first, deliriously, he thought it was his Master, but his mind quickly settled enough for him to recognize a summons spell. He laughed, wondering if his luck was changing, as he prepared to ascend to Earth once again.

Two days later/Earth

"I swear to you that your soul will not be forfeit. I only need you to complete the summoning. It is not meet for you to bargain.'

The young man stood before Dahmia, in her host mortal's shape. His eyes flickered and filled with terror. Fear would have been easier to handle, but terror was unthinking. There was nothing she could do to help him, there was no way she could force the issue. He had to want to complete the calling, for her.

Dahmia turned away. The shape she now wore was one she had worn before~a young black female~light skinned, golden brown eyes, a short crop of dark curls. She didn't think that this form was particularly pleasing to the young man, but it was what she chose~time after time. A female who resembled herself. Finally, when the silence had become almost unbearable, she turned to face him, once more and forced herself to speak with a coldness she did not really feel.

"This is not open for debate. You are doing the will of the ONE. Finish the fucking circle."

The young man swallowed and turned to do as he was bid. Dahmia got on with hating herself.

xXx

This entire fiasco had taken two days to manage. Finding a deserted crossroad, in the middle of nowhere. Getting a mortal who was arrogant enough to want to try the summoning spell and yet pure enough, that a bargain would not go over well from the demon? That had taken time. Even those mortals who chose to fight on Heaven's side were frightened of what demons could do, to them, if thwarted.

Finally, though, it had been accomplished. They had found a mortal. They had found a crossroad. They had gotten the proper sorts of sacrifices. Dahmia had inscribed Ruumel's name in angelic script, tweaking it endlessly until it resembled the Fallen's true name. And, eventually, the human male had closed the circle.

xXx

The time is NOW

"Ruumel. Ruumel. Come. I beg. I beseech."

The world throbs, jolts sideways. There is a thrumming, beneath the surface and Dahmia can feel her host body shaking, uncontrollably, as a gale rises. The wind isn't physical, only psychic, but it cuts through the skin like a knife, just the same. There is screaming from somewhere. Deep and rolling, as if someone is being killed slowly, flayed alive. The air in the circle's center wavers, becomes hot. Hotter than one can easily believe.

"Step away."

The mortal stepped back...as did Dahmia's host. This left the Death Angel shaking, streaming, in the cool night air. She was left, unprotected, in her physical aspect and that started the annoying itch that would soon become actual pain. It didn't matter though because he was coming. He was coming...and Dahmia was scared. Turning her head slightly, she stared at the two mortals.

"Run. I am breaking the devil's trap."

He stepped through and she...she broke the seal with one swift movement of her boot clad foot.

"Let us talk."

Ruumel blinked back into his own apartments for a moment. He stretched out languorously, smirking at the little bother in the back of his brain that represented a mortal summons, taking a moment to gauge the state of his decor. He could do much better, here, here though. He chuckled as he took his time-most mortals did not realize that a summons was not a command, but a request. Demons could choose to answer or not. But because making deals with mortals allowed them to harvest souls (and thus gaining power) they were often eager to answer. Ruumel had a very strong idea about who was calling at this moment, and he was more than content to make her wait.

Finally, with a quick cry, he drew himself up, and reverted into the mortal plane.

Earth

With a flash, Ruumel was back on earth, and he felt the breeze wash across him before he turned, at the sound of a voice. His eyes very slowly dragged over to him, and he coyly grinned.

"Let us talk."

Ahh, quite the understatement. She wasn't here to talk, she was here to make a deal. He gave a quick nod, pretending as though he was leveling with her need for brevity. He ignored the slight itch on his skin, looking earnestly at her.

"Time to deal then, is it? All right, I take it the terms were favorable to you. Winning our contest means that you will bind me to you, and can drag me back to the Upper Planes to face judgment. As a precaution, I've already bound the soul you so desire to my own...so you will get that back in the deal, to do with as you wish.

"If I win, of course, you are mine." Rummel smirked, examining her thoughtfully. He licked his lips, and took a step closer, close enough that he practically feel her grace shining through onto his skin. Falling had opened his eyes to many things. As an angel, he'd been a sexless entity, which no concept of that, or arousal, or desire. Since, though, he was extremely sexual, very aware of it, and he practically projected it. He had not known at the time the two had been connected...but something about Dahmia was very sexy. This deal practically seemed sensual to him. "And I will take you to MY home, and do with you as I please."

He studied her face, then nodding quickly as he moved forward. "The contest I propose is a straightforward battle of wills. One simple caveat-we will be confined to mortal vessels until the end of this struggle, on this plane. I will hunt you, you will hunt me, and the first of us to yield will lose. A moment of surrender from either of us, and the contest is over." Ruumel laughed sadistically as he studied her. Dahmia...surrender would never come easy for her. This would actually prove a challenge for him, even though she wouldn't able to flee to Heaven when things grew difficult.

He interrupted her before she could sneak a word in, adding "You see, it's somewhat like Hide and Seek, as human children play. We each need to find the other, while knowing we are being hunted, and to trap each other. You should actually be good at this game, yes? I think this is a fair deal. Do you have any other conditions you wish to stipulate?"

He gave her a cordial smile as he finally stepped away from her, breaking the tension from being so close. She knew as well as he did that an agreement made like this, in their celestial forms, would be sealed onto them, and unbreakable. The offer made, he spread his arms slightly in offering.

Time Out~Earth

He looked like a sin just waiting to occur. It was all Dahmia could do, to think. His overt sexuality made it almost impossible for her to listen to his words; she focused and forced herself to hear him. After all, whatever he proposed, she had to find a way to counter and contain. That required concentration. she just felt as if that particular ability was beyond her.

So she listened as he set the rules.

"Time to deal then, is it? All right, I take it the terms were favorable to you. Winning our contest means that you will bind me to you, and can drag me back to the Upper Planes to face judgment. As a precaution, I've already bound the soul you so desire to my own...so you will get that back in the deal, to do with as you wish."

The Death Angel nodded, once. It was a good precaution on his part. If it had been at all possible to steal the soul from him, she would have made it a point to lose, just to make sure Heaven had what they required. His binding the soul made that nigh on impossible. She had known he was intelligent, a good thinker. Logical. His precaution proved it.

He continued.

"If I win, of course, you are mine. And I will take you to MY home, and do with you as I please."

The way he said "MY", underscored his thought process. He would take her and mold her into his perfect little prostitute~disposing of her only when she was completely debased and unable to do think of anything else but him. That was his way, more now than ever. Dahmia shuddered but forced herself to NOT respond. She knew he wanted to see the repugnance. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Even though he made it a point to get near enough to touch her, had he but chosen to do so.

More words.

"The contest I propose is a straightforward battle of wills. One simple caveat-we will be confined to mortal vessels until the end of this struggle, on this plane. I will hunt you, you will hunt me, and the first of us to yield will lose. A moment of surrender from either of us, and the contest is over. You see, it's somewhat like Hide and Seek, as human children play. We each need to find the other, while knowing we are being hunted, and to trap each other. You should actually be good at this game, yes? I think this is a fair deal. Do you have any other conditions you wish to stipulate?"

He stepped away from her, spreading his arms in some sort of mocking plea. Dahmia wanted to stab him through the throat. Rip his pretty eyes from his head. By trapping them within host bodies, she would not have the full use of her powers, nor would he. Neither of them would be able to return to the plains~Lower nor Higher~ so no recouping expended energy in a timely manner. No weapons suited to the other's imminent demise.

It was fair.

She thought about all of the implication, allowing the silence to grow between them. Did she honestly believe she could win? No. Not really. Demons didn't have the strictures her kind did. He didn't HAVE to play fair. She had to at least attempt to do so. He could throw human after human at her; she could not do the same. Even so. It was still a fair piece of bargaining.

Finally, when the itching ramped up to a light burning, she spoke.

"You seemed to have covered all the bases, Ruumel." She put as much derision in to his name as she could possibly manage, even allowing a faint sneer to come and go on her face. "Obviously, it behooves me to accept. I do have one small stipulation. A two week grace period, while we both search out suitable hosts for this game. Other than that? I have nothing. Do you agree?"

Dahmia waited, her eyes boring into his.

Ruumel had made his offer, and he waited. Dahmia just remained silent, staring back at him, clearly processing what he had offered. If she had been in her mortal form, he was pretty sure sure he could have seen the gears grinding. She wasn't too eager to accept, but she seemed to have little choice. She still suspected a trap (a reasonable suspicion, though this was no trick...just forcing her into playing a game on his terms). The silence dragged on, reminding him that they both had a limited amount of time they could hold these forms, before she finally spoke.

"You seemed to have covered all the bases, Ruumel."

He laughed at that. "Would have expected anything less from me? I always had a quick grasp for all the angles."

"Obviously, it behooves me to accept. I do have one small stipulation. A two week grace period, while we both search out suitable hosts for this game. Other than that? I have nothing. Do you agree?"

He shrugged, noncommittally. He was, frankly, surprised she didn't attempt to provide any other terms, to keep the game balanced. Once he agreed, he wouldn't be physical capable of breaking them. It just meant he'd need to come up with creative new ways of cheating, which wasn't going to be a problem. She was leaving him quite a bit a leeway to orchestrate his game. Perhaps she had a plan in place already. She wasn't the fastest thinker, but she may have come up with something she could do over the next weeks to help the results tilt in her favor. But then, so could he.

"Then a deal is sealed." Ruumel smiled at her. "The first accord between angel and demon in a millenia. It almost seems worthy of celebration." With an insolent grin, feeling the burning pressing onto his skin now, he growled softly, drawing some power into his first, as he reached out and pressed his hand onto her shoulder. A very slight mark appeared, in red, on his chest as the agreement was bound into him, as a similar mark appeared to mar her form as well.

"Our agreement is made." Ruumel's eyes grew dark, and then he quickly stepped, almost sideways, reverting instantly to his mortal body, very, far away. With a gasp, he inhaled, feeling the earth air filling his lungs for the first time in months. He had preparations to make. He would not spend his two weeks idly.

Time seems to speed up when things are surging toward a final outcome.

Dahmia had waited, a day. Two. Gathering her thoughts. Attempting to plan for her inevitable failure. Not that she honestly believed she would fail. Ruumel was smarter, more devious, far more ruthless~all of this was true. But she...she had taken punishment meant for him, for untold eons. She could deal with humiliation, pain, being ripped apart and remolded. She knew she could withstand his ideas of torment, because Heaven's Archons were much more powerful than HIM...and she had made it through THEM. So failure, unless he could get back into her secret heart, wasn't a fear. Not a worry. No matter what he dreamed of, it would never be enough.

The days spent waiting were also useful in finding the right sort of female for her needs~one strong in the spirit. A virgin. A warrior. She found her warrior virgin in the wilds of South America. A huntress, a medicine woman, who had fought and killed any who attempted to take her from her place. That girl~dark of skin, of eye and hair~would be perfect. An Amazon. All that remained was the offer.

Dahmia completed that by the end of the first week, ensconcing herself within the mortal frame. They made a formidable team. The human~almost six feet tall, a solid musculature, long limbed and light on her feet. And trapped inside? The heart/soul/will of a Death Angel. With the fighting skills of one trained and trained to do just one thing~kill.

Not fight. Kill.

The second week was spent in travel. Collecting the few pieces of weaponry specific to the trapping and disposal of Demon kind. She chose pieces that would not harm the mortal host. Demons did not have to have permission to take a mortal. It became a possession, the demon's heart and mind overriding the mortal's willpower. Killing the mortal host would do no good, would help NOTHING. Only tormenting the demon inside of the meat frame would work.

She had tools for that...and she would do what was needful.

Two weeks later

She looked at her watch. It was just after 9 on a Saturday evening and she was surrounded on all sides by the surging crowds hustling to and fro, here in the nation's capitol. She had a room in a small motel and her senses were alert for any signs of trouble. She wasn't sure just who would be hunting whom, first...but she was prepared. She just hoped her preparations were enough.

Ruumel had had a plan the moment he proposed this game, which he knew would give him something of an edge in this struggle. While he knew that she would spend her grace period searching for an appropriate host, and searching for the right tools to use against him, he already knew where to find a few such things, and the right host hadn't mattered to him as much. He found himself possessing a tall hair Texas man, simply because he was an appropriate vessel, and close enough to where he needed to be. He had a few items that he had tucked away...most of which he'd had to import from Eastern Europe, and then finally buried, sealed away for a day such as this.

There weren't many things that could damage angels on the planes. At least, not so many as could damage demons. He knew a blood spell or two he could use against Dahmia, but only if he could catch her weaknesses down. That what why it was important to keep his arsenal-such as it was-together. He thought about scrying to find her as soon as he had collected his gear, but he was compelled not to. He had agreed to the two week truce, and he was compelled to follow it, limiting him from even securing an underling track her down before it ended. He knew that she had a host vessel or two that were among her favorites. He also suspected that she knew that, which was why she'd asked for the grace period to find a new one. The real trick was hurting her.

She wouldn't need to eat or sleep in any form, like himself. She could feel the pain of the mortal form, but it would be dimmed for her, and what would kill the human would barely hurt her. Still, she had vulnerabilities that she didn't have in her natural state. The simple fact that she could feel what the host felt was a big one. Plus, even though she could override the biological needs of the host, she was still susceptible to urges. He knew how to fan those awake-the need for sleep, food, even sex.

Still, Ruumel knew his greatest advantage. He had taken time to plan before jumping into this agreement. He had had a plan since the moment he'd offered to play a game. He knew Dahmia-she was by no means a fool, but she would be playing the game. He was playing against her, and he knew her. She wasn't foolish to walk into a trap, but she still come after him. She was straightforward that way. She would expect traps, so he would set them.

Which was what he did. Two weeks was a lot of time to travel and create distractions. Omens of course followed him where he went. Kansas, Colorado, Idaho, California, Mexico, Mississippi, and Kentucky. A day or two in each place to set up traps-some of the especially convoluted, some more easily foiled. Traps involving holy oil, involving blood spells to trap, sacred icons to temporarily paralyze her. He doubted she would be caught by any of them, and she would be prepared to face him directly if he showed up. But he wasn't willing to force a direct confrontation...not yet. She would have advantages in such a game. Just time to observe her actions, and see if he could detect her new host, wherever it was.

Kentucky

It had been the last trap he had set, and therefore, perhaps a bit clumsier than the rest. It was a large town he had visited there, and he'd made his piece in an old foreclosure in a run-down section of town. The windows were boarded up, the roof collapsing, the door barred up. Of course, the most external, the most innocuous-and really, the most important-layer of defense was the same as everywhere else. He had placed a small charm inside, and if anyone were to enter unshielded, he would detect that someone had entered. Then it should just be a matter of backtracking to the source, and asking if anyone had seen any strangers around, anything unusual, and hope she wouldn't think of something subtle.

The heart of the trap was much more obvious-there was a large hex circle in the center of the room, in infrared, to trap the particularly unwary. He doubted he'd find her, but she would expect traps, and he needed to give her traps. And traps within traps. Which was why there was one more spell, a more powerful one, carved into the walls with virgin's blood (oh, and what a delicious virgin she had been...crying and screaming for him). The house would immediately collapse if she cast any white magic inside, and that should both alert him, and leave her with a pair of broken legs, making her easier to find.

After setting his bait, Ruumel waited. And waited. Patience was always the greatest virtue of a careful planner, such as himself, but this game had no predetermined length or deadline. He had hoped that Dahmia would simply accept the bait that had been laid before her, but what if she had not, and was determined to set her own traps? It was very unlike her, but she might decided to out-clever him. If she would do that, he'd have to make her pay the price for her idleness. He could always send out some cultist to find her, or even start actively murdering people just to get her attention.

Not that it was time for that, not yet. Only about three days had passed in the start of the contest, and it always paid to be patient. It was a trait he possessed in spades more than many of his brethren. Perhaps Dahmia was underestimating him, attempting to draw him out, make him lose his caution in his eagerness to find her-she would know that she was stronger than he, here, in this plane. At least, in most meaningful ways. He wasn't eager to force a confrontation until He had the advantage.

So he waited, patiently, preparing up his defenses just in case she arrived on his doorstep. He had hex bags all over his little suburban residence, to prevent her from using any spells to find him. He had the entire town warded, to alert him if she entered the city limits. Plus a few particularly nasty blood runes just in case she tried to kick in his front door. Having done that, he admired the prize of his collection, the weapon he knew would harm her. It was the sword of a Crusader-it had been blessed by a Pope, wielded by a devout man...and it had spilled the blood of innocents. Worth the time it had taken to find it. Just to increase the effect, he had also doused it in holy oil.

Then he had run out of things to do. He had already seduced a local virgin, fucked h er brains out and taken her innocence. That was enough to succor him for a while. But the more he waited, the more he felt she might be defeating some of his traps while evading detection. Soon, very soon, he would need to go and look for her.

Kentucky

Deep in the heart of Marshall County, in the medium sized town of Benton, Kentucky; Dahmia found her very first trap. It was an old run down house; falling apart at the seams. The sheer evil percolating through the ether was enough to make her skin crawl.

She could smell the death of an innocent. SO she KNEW that he had placed something damned near impossible for her to trigger without causing damage to the host body. She needed in there anyway. To disarm it. To stop the trap from harming another innocent. To stop the house from falling on a child.

She moved a few blocks west of the old house and pulled out the wand. A mutter of words in old Latin and her body thinned. Not in reality. In reality, she became one of the faceless transients that wouldn't be allowed to remain in town for long. In reality, she became easily forgotten, just another face. However, on the spiritual level, she was unseen. The trap could not hold her as long as she touched nothing, as long as she triggered nothing. At least, not while she was inside.

The return to the house was accomplished quickly. She by passed his ward of warning. What couldn't be sensed could not be told. By word of mouth or ward. The amulet, which lay tucked next to her skin, glowed a pure white, but because it was not an active magic, it drew no attention either. Even the spell had been accomplished outside of the trap. Thus it helped his cause, not at all.

She could see the runic working, the hex trap. So to dismantle it would require a judicious use of magical energy, but not her own. And not inside. She stepped back, in to the mind of the mortal, letting the human huntress assess the situation. The woman, her host, saw a way. Attach the initial tendril of thought to the balance...and then leave before raising the energy needed to break the circle, defeat the trap.

Mind cast about, brightening the corner of one blood red rune. Just enough. No actual magic, only thought. Then the human/angel stepped outside, stretching the connection as far as they could. A block away, Dahmai resumed her inner stance, moving to the forefront of the host mortal's thoughts and slinging her angelic grace through the connecting spell thread.

The house glowed white and collapsed, inward. She sent a prayer upward and made ready to leave. One trap down. Next stop? She glanced at her map. Each place where omens had increased, had been marked in red felt tip pen. So next stop? Mississippi. She jumped in to her old Mustang and left the town behind.

Traveling on

Mississippi. Calhoun County. Derma. Small town. Trap not apparently obvious. The people were nice. Very Southern. Not dumb, country smart. Watchful. Helpful when it suited. Wasn't until Dahmia had all but given up on finding anything, even though she knew it was here, that the trap had attempted to sink it's claws into her.

A blood sink, in the shape of a precious little boy. Blonde haired. Blue eyed. So very sweet. Demonically dominated. The host mortal had pulled back, leaving Dahmia no choice but to finish the job. small silver coin given to chubby baby hands to hold. Small silver coin blessed by the same witch who had given the wand. Pure, bright, unfiltered goodness...to hold the need to feed at bay.

Little boy would die. In his sleep. No taint left to mar his soul. To harm his chance at ascension. Dahmia turned away, her heart troubled, eyes streaming tears. She would have Ruumel's head for this. For the first time, the mortal host spoke up, an inner conversation. 'He will die.'

She could only agree. The little boy had spoken. One word.

"Texas."

It was more than enough. She left that sad town...and headed west. After all she could hit Kansas and Colorado before extending her search into Texas. Ruumel was there. She could feel him. But the other traps needed to be broken. Fixed. Healed. Wanting him dead had to come second to those needs.

For now.

Kansas

The city of Manhattan, Kansas-he'd done some particularly nasty things, there. His trap had been laid in a crummy old apartment building. There were a few vacant apartments that just couldn't be filled because it was a shit hole. Unfortunately for others, they had to live in the shit hole. Even more unfortunate when Ruumel had visited and began a ritual to summon the restless dead. Now, it was not only a shit hole, it was a haunted shit hole, and ghosts were angry at having their spirits summoned. He had buried his hex charm in the floor, nailed up the board. Same elsewhere, he warded the entire area, hoping Dahmia would break it when she arrived.

He had also made sure to summon a fellow demon to possess a teenage boy. He was enjoying his time up on the surface, but would mainly be serving as a look-out. If Dahmia were in Kansas, she'd be close to him.

He had thought to set one last trap for her, there, but the artifact he needed...that he was keeping for himself. He couldn't afford to leave it anywhere, instead keeping it on himself at all times. If it came to a confrontation, he would likely need it. It might be the tool that ultimately broke her.

Several more days had passed, and Ruumel had nothing. No leads at all, nothing to tell him she had broken any of the wards he had set watching. It was time to act. He needed...he needed a sacrifice. He wouldn't risk taking anyone from this little town-he might need others, and he couldn't afford to have several people here gone missing at different times, drawing attention. He was hitting the road. Straight down Interstate-45. To Houston.

It was easy, in bigger cities, to find people that wouldn't be missed. This guy, he was a drug dealer connected to the Mexican cartels. The kind of person who might end up with his throat slit regardless of Ruumel's presence in the city. So it was just as well when he died alone in an alley, bleeding into the street. It was quiet. And as the blood pooled, it grew deeper, and Ruumel spoke to his contacts. None of the fucking idiots said they had seen anything unusual, resisting his commands to just "Check the FUCKING traps!" California, still intact. Kansas, still there. Mexico, still fine. Kentucky....gone. She'd been there.

Another quick check told him that she'd been to Mississippi as well. She was making her toward him. A few days...he grinned wickedly, leaving the body of this society castoff laying dead in the street, making his way back to his safe house. Centerville, Texas. And time to dangle the bait.

Manhattan, Kansas~two days prior

She had fucked up. It hadn't been enough to really count, after all; her host body was still in one piece, she was still moving forward. BUT the angel had fucked up. And, amazingly enough, it wasn't the humongous trap in the shape of a haunted apartment building that had almost ended the hunt.

It had been Ruumel's fucking demonic watchdog. She hadn't expected that. Laying the dead to rest? Dispersing the negative aura, removing the hex? Pretty standard shit. Especially when she had the wand and the amulet to hide her presence, to stop her from being spotted. Not only that? The mortal host knew spirits, knew human magic to cool and calm, to ease and release. No Angel magic even required. All Dahmia had done was step back and allowed the mortal to do what she had trained herself for. The hex had been broken. No muss, no fuss. It had been almost too easy.

So she had dropped the shielding, for just one moment. She had removed the amulet and placed her wand back in it's pouch. That one second was all it took. A teenage boy~bright of eye and dark of hair~ had come upon her from behind. Hands~ far too hot~ had reached for her, captured her, held her. The voice had spoken. Malicious, deep, guttural.

"Ruumel will be pleased."

Training took over, but not until he had wounded her. Demonic strength gripping purely human flesh, even with an Angel's will housed within? A shoulder snapped, cracked, like a twig. Dahmia whirled, her grace blazing brightly from eyes, mouth, hands. She expelled the demonic possessor from his mortal host. It hadn't mattered. The damage had been done. Ruumel would know that she had been spotted. He would know which body she wore.

"FUCK!! FUCK!!"

Central City, CO~Yesterday

The trap that had been here, had been dispersed. Dahmia could feel the waning dark energies. Something, or someone, else must have gotten to it before she had. Mortals on a demon's trail? She didn't know. Didn't care. What she knew was she could no longer put off the journey to Texas. The other places would have to wait. So after a night spent in prayer and meditation, Dahmia and her host set out.

The trip would be best if it went quickly, so a map had been grabbed, a course plotted.
The lack of Demon sign in and around Centerville, Texas? Seemed to speak as plainly as a shout. Ruumel was there. A thrum of righteous anger. Low boiling in the pit of her belly. She would go and beard the Demon in his Den. The One willing? She would send him back to the lower Abyss.

Sixteen more hours. Maybe eighteen...and the game would truly...begin.

Ruumel was brooding, in the interior sanctum of the residence he had taken here upon the plane. It was taking too long. He was certain she must have tracked him to where he was at this point. His agents were not reporting anything, damned fools the lot of them, and useless. He made a silent vow to make sure that when he's done with this mess, he was collecting all of their worthless souls and sending them straight below, where they might actually be of use to him. He knew the source of his impatience-it had less to do with their game, than with the fact that he been interrupted in the process of humbling Beelzebub, and he was being forced to put his vengeance for previous slights on hold, with no certain deadline.

He had agreed to be bound to this plane, to walk on Earth, until he could return, but he felt the itch to go home. All his ability to plot, to put schemes in motion, it was useless if he wasn't there to carry anything out. It was as if he had been shoring up a levee, and he felt that it might be washed away while he was called elsewhere to deal with a challenge.

As he stepped out into his sparsely decorated living area, where the ceiling had been painted in the blood of the previous residents (a grim sight, portending even more grim magic), he practically growled. Was everything unraveling? Would he be forced to create a confrontation with Dahmia? He dreaded what might happen to him if she won. Hell was horrifying yes, but...annihilation? He knew which he preferred. It was then he heard a high pitched keening sound-a psychic screen. It was from his little toadie in Kansas, the watchdog he had set. With a flash, he was seeing through his eyes.

There was a woman. Tall, dark of hair, chocolate skin, a muscular frame. Ruumel realized almost instantly that this was Dahmia-this would be exactly the form she would choose. He was just barely able to sense her through the link, just enough to confirm his feelings. So she was in Kansas, he thought, as his lackey crept up on her, undetected. His hot hands then grabbed at her shoulders, practically burning the mortal skin.

"Ruumel will be pleased," he said. Of course, his lackey was an idiot, so those were the last words he ever spoke. Dahmia was much too powerful a being for one as lowly as this creature to truly capture her. Ruumel heard the snap of a broken bone, then the screaming sound as Dahmia's grace shown through, and as she turned...he saw her face, just before his lackey was banished with barely a thought.

Her face...Ruumel memorized it. He knew her now. He could practically sense her physical form. He knew she was coming, and would be there soon. She would not be able to hide, to sneak in after him. He grinned, knowing the inevitable confrontation was soon, and began making preparations.

**************************************************************************

Ruumel could not sense her. Not really. But he did have an intrinsic knowledge that she was on her way, that she would arrive within a few minutes. She was traveling by automobile, naturally enough. It amused him that, due to their agreement, neither of them were able to wink from place to place, instead forced to travel as mortals did, at more measured paces. It was such a big part of the challenge, the time element.

He looked up. His waxing powers were affecting the weather-a large black cloud covered the town, dark, blotting out the sun. It was tornado weather, here. But there was no wind. An eerie pall had been cast over the town, quieting down even the birds who might be flying overhead, nearly impossible to see. Ruumel's plan was in motion. He had set himself up in a second house, one much less lightly warded than his own residence, with one single exception. Here, he had hostages. A family of four, each trapped in a different room, tied up in demonically enchanted cords. Dahmia might be ruthless enough to smite the entire house, but it would prove insufficient, and guarantee the death of innocents. She would likely realize that. Ruumel intended to see her fall...one way or another.

So he waited, accompanied by nothing save the hushed ticking of a grandfather clock in the background.

On the Road, Again.

Dahmia would have been pissed, had she not been so utterly weary. Michael. Fucking menace. He had taken over the car's almost nonexistent radio to issue orders at her. For no reason. She couldn't do what he wanted. Take the demon by surprise and kill him. Leave the host mortal and wink to him. It was against the bet's parameters. Michael KNEW that.

She could still hear him and his fucking snide ass comments. The radio had flipped through stations~ a word here, another there. "Don't confuse the Ruumel you remember with what is. He will not keep his bargain. Why should you?"

Fucker.

Didn't matter what Ruumel did. She was of the HOST. She could not break the bargain, not unless he broke it, first. And he wouldn't. He wanted Dahmia under his command too badly to tempt fate, not when his victory was practically assured. Of that, she was most certain.

Five hours left.

Centerville, Texas

The day was gray. Very gray. And silent. Too silent. The population, less than a thousand, were all else where. Inside? At work? The Angel didn't know. She couldn't find out, either. Not right now. Instead, she allowed her thoughts to bloom outward. She felt a tug...in two different directions.

North of her position? A heavily warded place. Ruumel's? To the south of that heavy shielding? A lighter, less warded place. She thought for a moment. If one area had a lighter shield? He would be found there, probably with nasty surprises all ready to be used. She didn't have a choice, though.

She turned right at the next corner and followed the road until it branched, bearing right, again. The wards began to itch at her mind...and other heart beats began to echo through her skull. He had hostages. She knew what the leaders of the Host would say. If the humans were saved, sanctified, they would be assured a place in the Celestial realm. Their lives were forfeit. But that was their opinion, not hers. She would only take that option if she had no choice.

Finally, she pulled up in front of a little home, a three bedroom. The dark glyphs and wards pulsed, a screaming red on the skin of the world. It made her eyes itch. Reaching into the back seat, she grabbed the wand and her sword. He was in there...and he had innocents. She needed him outside. She knew THAT wasn't going to happen. He was entrenched.

"Fuck. Fuck."

No choice. She had to go in. The amulet she wore grew brighter and brighter. If she had been mortal...it would have burnt her skin. She shrugged the thought off, stepped from the car, used the wand to cast opaque, and headed for the door. Her voice called out merrily as she reached the porch.

"Hello! Avon calling!"

Slim fingers reached out and turned the handle. She opened the door and stepped through the wards, inside.

Ruumel knew now it would only be a few more minutes. She was still blocked from his sense, but his lackey had formed a tenuous shadow of a link, only enough to speak to him on an instinctive level. It was enough. Rising from his seat, he went to stand in the foyer, centering himself. He needed to be absolutely ready, just in case she followed the method of a certain Crusade, choosing to kill everyone and allowing God to sort out his own. Thinking of the crusades made him think of his sword. He had had the blade re-forged, and shortened slightly, re-tempered. It was much lighter now than it had been when it was originally wielded. Ruumel was grateful to its original owner, for had he used it with proper discretion, it would be useless to him now. His hand idly checked the sleeve in his pocket for his most precious commodity. He still made sure to keep it on him.

Then, finally, Ruumel sensed her. She was approaching the house. Once she had gotten close enough, he could practically smell her grace. And he knew that she wasn't just smiting the whole house. How naive of her...he smiled.

"Hello! Avon calling!"

He had to laugh out loud at that. She had always had an attitude, even when she'd been much more naive than she was now. He knew that since his Fall, she had become embittered, even cynical. Wearing his smug, satisfied grin, he gestured with his hand, flicking the door open as he stood three feet away. He glanced at her, seeing the body he had recognized earlier, and she met his eyes. He knew she sensed the trap at the threshold, something to clip at her a little bit, perhaps keeping her from casting anything, if she failed to defuse it. She was armed-a wand of some sort-probably white magic, to go with her own angle sword. He gripped his Crusader sword two handed, studying her.

"So glad that you could finally make it, you stubborn bitch." He gave her a nearly amiable smile, stepping slightly to his left. The body he had possessed was right-handed, and he found it easier to just go with that. Ruumel waited for the hairs-breadth opening he was going to get....then Dahmia paused to dispell his trap, and he lunged at her, swinging his Crusader sword down toward her head with both hands.

She parried, naturally enough, deflecting it, as she side stepped into the front room. He attempted another strike, a quick stabbing motion, that she evaded. His advantage of initiative was gone just like that, and he darted backwards to avoid to a counter-stroke aimed at his midsection. She was stronger, yes, but he had his own advantages. He anticipated her next move, as she blasted him with a wave of telekinesis, attempting to bowl him over. Instead, he went with it, hopping backwards and rolling, coming up on his feet as his bare fist shot through the center of a wooden door, ripping it off its hinges. He threw that directly at her, hard as he could. Even as it was still in the air, his hand roughly grabbed the sobbing 14 year old girl inside, his fingers breaking the skin, causing her to bleed, and then she was hurled violent toward the angel as well.

Walking through the door was like stepping into an acid bath. The sheer vileness of his wards. The utter, implacable evil of them. She couldn't fight in this. She could barely focus. Her eyes locked onto the male figure standing a few short feet away, the distance seeming almost impossible to traverse because of his tiresome wards. His words, when he spoke them, were low and filled with contempt.

"So glad that you could finally make it, you stubborn bitch."

Dahmia had a choice. Break the warding or attempt to battle through it. He knew which one she would choose. With a slight movement of her left hand, she released enough grace to shatter them. He waited for half a heart beat and attacked, swinging his sword quickly at her head. After that? The fight was on.

Dahmia hadn't had a plan. Now she knew the stupidity of her choice. With four innocent lives at stake? She should have been better prepared. She didn't allow herself to think. Instead she dodged~first left, then right~and parried or blocked as need dictated. Her body knew this dance and went to it gleefully.

The tide of the battle was changing, swinging toward her. She gathered herself and hit him with a mid level blast of telekinesis. He spun away, flipping lightly in mid air and ended up beside the first closed door. A door that did not remain closed for long. He ripped it from it's resting place and hurled it at her, followed by a little girl a few moments later.

Dahmia's sword went to work, blasting pure white light at the flying object, turning it into nothing but dust. The girl she caught. The sword, her sword, blazed with light and disintegrated the spelled ropes that bound the child. A small coin was passed to the girl, enveloping her in a shield. A Celestial Shielding. Moments later, the teenager went flying, through a wall, outside.

"I will not kill them. I have no need to. You will need to do better, you puking sore on the skin of this world.

That was all. Her voice was low and filled with utter loathing. That he would use children to make her fall. That he would goad her so. She no longer cared about the mortal host who housed him. she no longer cared about winning the bet. All she cared about was his death, at her hands.

Two quick stomping steps forward and the sword was up, darting for his neck. In her right hand, coming from the other direction? Another small, spelled coin. This one filled with Celestial grace. If he took the cut? She would press it to his open wound. If he backed away? She would throw it and release the grace on the air. The first option would hasten his leaving of his mortal host. The second option would blind him, for a good minute, more than long enough for her to release a second captive.

Two less captives for him to use.

Interesting, he processed. She had managed to avoid killing the girl, had in fact managed enough time to save her. She was still collected, in control. He would need to change that fact, blind her senses, let her anger at him simmer until it was ready to boil over. The problem with trying to manipulate her like this, in combat, was that she stood a not-small chance of actually banishing him, and then winning his own soul. Dangerous, indeed, but when it came to seeing his plans through, he was always able to find the cool serenity that he had once possessed. It was only in idleness that his passions really expressed themselves.

"Took your time to.." Ruumel started to speechify, but he was cut off by Dahmia charging directly at him again, as he attempted to bring up his weapon into a guard position. He realized that he wasn't going to make it, but he had already prepared himself to retreat if she pressed the attack once. He clamped his mouth shut and fell backward, ducking into the house's kitchen area, just as he saw a small coin fly through the portal toward him. It flashed suddenly, gracing the air, and his eyes had been looking directly at it. "FUCK!" he shouted, as the damned thing blinded him.

He could his host's heard beating within his chest. He could hear the sound of his second hostage crying, "Mommy! I want my mommy!" The little whelp was tied up in here, with a kitchen knife pressed right against his chest. He knew how that Dahmia would take her time to free him before giving chase after him. He flailed blindly, striking his weapon toward the portal the coin had just come through, on the off chance of striking home if she was darting after him, and warding her off otherwise. He didn't feel his blade connect, so he flew backwards, carefully remember the layout of the house. The stairs leading to the top floor were behind him on the left, and to the right...and doorway leading to the office. He ducked in there, making sure to get out of sight.

His instinct was to feel around for the window, but that was too slow, so overriding the mortal host's sense of self-preservation, he lowered his shoulder and plowed through the exterior wall, falling onto the ground outside. He rolled up onto his feet, his vision finally starting to return. He did not immediately see Dahmia chasing him, and he needed to act fast to make sure she did not improvise another little trick. He would let Azazel fuck him up the ass before he would ever let HER outwit him.

He drew in a deep breath, and then smiled very grimly, glancing at the wall. It was time to activate that second, minor trap he'd installed. Relatively minor. His hand pressed against an undamaged portion of the exterior wall, and a run began to slow against his palm. He laughed wickedly, and then spoke softly, "C'est la vie!" with no small amount of irony. He leapt back just in time avoid the house's resulting implosion, no doubt stunning Dahmia for a moment, and most likely killing the two parents who had been tied together upstairs. Fuck it, though, they'd probably been praying anyway. Fast-track to heaven. He laughed wickedly as he slowly backed away, willing for Dahmia to come chase him again.

He moved so damnably FAST. One moment, he was before her. The next, he was through the door that lead into the kitchen and cursing, loudly. Dahmia smiled. A quick bitter grin and moved to follow him. Stopping short when she saw the glistening edge of his sword darting through the hole.

Bastard. She could hear a little boy, yelling. Whimpering really, for his parents and knew that Ruumel had him in the kitchen somewhere, maybe the pantry. Once the sword had retreated? She made herself dim and slipped past him, her hand clamping over the boy's mouth to still him as her sword made short work of the ropes. The spelled coin was pressed into the youngster's hand, just in time to protect him from the knife aimed at his chest.

All of this had happened in a fraction of an instant. Ruumel moved quickly, even with being blinded. He spent no time hesitating, no time second guessing either her decisions nor his own. He just...moved. Sideways, backward, turning and running shoulder first through a wall, into the air outside.

"Go, through the back door. Run."

The child did as she bid him, moving with eerie slipperiness. Turning for the back stairs, Dahmia began to climb. She knew the parents had to be here as well. There had been four separate heart beats. And Ruumel was just evil enough to want the kids to hear their parents die, or vice versa.

Suddenly, a thrill of alarm speared through her, hastening her steps upward. There was a CRUMP in the silence, a full house lurching. And a concussion of air slammed her forward. her into the air, through a door that didn't stay there long. The house...vaporized. Not literally. Not all at once. But there was NO way she could save the parents. She had to save herself.

Shield coin. She clutched it tight and activated it by breathing. It kept her from being forced from the mortal shell as she hurtled through the air, landing with a loud crash, outside. The house...finished falling down, exploding inward. Dahmia sprang up and hurtled over the ground, her voice a low growl.

"You filthy thing!!"

He was waiting for her. Standing tall. Glowing darkly. Daring her to attack, simply by existing. Dahmia slowed. Her mind growing clear. He wanted her to stop thinking, to attack and attack and attack until he could get her off balance. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Where you going, Ruumel? One would think you would be tired of me chasing you by now."

Dahmia smiled and waited, her sword held loosely in her right hand, the tip pointed toward the ground. He would come to her, or he would run...but she was not going to wear this body out by chasing him...

Rummel caught a glimmer of movement away from the house, even as the rest of it was collapsing inward onto itself, shattering. Little fragments of wood splinters flew in the air past him, but only tiny pieces of the house escaped as any thing, of any size, collapsed and was mostly incinerated by the blast. What remained was a most indistinguishable pile of rubble, the human remains interred too flattened and scattered to easily make anything of. But the glimmer of motion he saw was Dahmia, quickly escaping the house as it started to collapse, landing in the back yard. She charged at him for a second...before she pulled up short. She paused and studied him as he had pulled up his weapon, and was calming down. Fuck.

"Where you going, Ruumel? One would think you would be tired of me chasing you by now."

Well, it had been a good idea, attempting to raise her ire. That damned angelic serenity-it had been so long since had had it himself, he had forgotten how easily it was to access. He thought for sure he would have pushed Dahmia to rage, by now. Instead, she stood calmly, daring HIM to attack HER, directly imitating his own play. Well, so much for his plan A. If he wasn't going to push her into making foolish decisions now, he felt confident he never would. He stood facing her calmly, studying her.

"Tired? You're hardly the first woman who has ever chased me. I'm quite used to it by now." He grinned at her arrogantly, standing about 12 feet away, lowering his weapon so that the tip pressed into the ground, and he leaned on it slightly. "I never did think to see you abort an attack halfway, though. Perhaps you're running out of tricks?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

The taunting was doing him no good, of course. He was simply attempting to convince her was still trying to provoke her, rather than working on his secondary plan. Which was, very simply, a big fucking gamble. His hand subtly dipped into his hidden sleeve pocket, pulling out a very small and innocuous object that he concealed in his palm. His insurance plan, his last ditch effort. Well not quite, his last trick but damn close. As he clutched it in his palm, he grabbed his weapon again, lifting it up two-handed.

"Interesting story behind this weapon-did you know I had to retrieve it from Jerusalem itself?" With that small preamble, he lifted it up, charging, and preparing to defend himself against any last tricks she might employ.