Page 8 of The Human Element (The Human Element Collection #1)

Daemon as a young angel, thought Earth was spectacular—and the power he wielded in the name of righteousness, was something that made him feel as though he was one of the trusted to carry out order in the name of God.

He used to believe that it was for the greater good of humanity and for the agenda Heaven had for the future of mankind and the Universe, to commit some of the atrocities he did throughout his time touring.

His duties were his life, the reason for his very existence, and he led them out with an iron fist-often sacrificing the few for the many.

Typically, he was sent out to survey and keep tabs on certain areas on Earth, acting as a sort of guard against the henchmen of Hell, or even to make sure an event went as instructed.

How one seemingly small event affected something larger later—it was his honor to make sure they saw the exact end needed for a future, greater purpose.

Upon spending time with humans, despite the bad eggs in humanity, most were genuinely good.

Just trying to get by with the day to day struggles of life.

It never occurred to him that Armageddon would ever come—to be honest—it felt more of a long-drawn-out taunting escapade between the two sides; one that most angels after centuries on Earth forgot about.

Sounds ridiculous, but why make a race of beings only to be destroyed later?

Especially when angels were tasked with keeping order, aiding humans’ endeavors and even protecting them to certain extents.

It was laughable really, and when or if war did come, everyone thought the humans would be protected in the end.

But how they were all wrong; how Daemon was wrong.

It was all a fantasy concocted in their heads the longer they were around the humans, the longer they got to know them and enjoy their company and intricacies.

This was when he started seeing that their demise during the great battle, which was finally announced to happen within the next 50 years right before he fell, was cruel.

Both Heaven and Hell were willing to completely decimate humanity to show off who was more powerful.

Daemon saw that it was a vie for power, and it made him begin losing faith in his own work.

In the very cause he was meant to uphold. The very reason he was made.

“Um, yeah. I am. As for my black wings, it’s what happens when you fall from grace.”

He gave a cavalier smile, holding his mug out as the waitress finally refilled their cups and left without even a word spoken.

He hoped the response would satisfy her for the time being.

Diving into that right now didn’t sound too appealing at the moment.

After a long sip of the hot beverage, he continued.

“And as for your last question, I am not your guardian angel. I am however an invested party. I am fond of humans. And I believe the war is pointless. I have come to offer what help I can. Things have been brewing quicker than expected...it seems that both sides are so ready to fight that there are rumors it could start even earlier. Which is why I came to you last night, and upon finding you, I found Erigos. This also means that Hell is playing their cards quietly and quickly, secretly sending out one of their best assassins to take you out of the equation, suggesting they want to begin the war as soon as possible. We have very little time.”

While moving the strand of silver hair that always tended to fall over his face, he caught Lorelei’s eyes.

The gleaming pools of greyish-blue, unwavering and steady, flickered with determination that made a sharp pain ignite in his chest momentarily.

Afraid that he had been staring for too long, he coughed and downed the rest of his coffee.

Daemon couldn’t help but look her way once more.

“You know, you’re taking this incredibly well. In all honesty, with how you freaked last night, I thought you might have a hard time with all this.”

The memory of her clutching to him as he flew into the night sky flickered across his mind. He forced himself to push it away.

“Well...my father used to tell me stories of the Bible and swore to me as a child that there was something more out there. He also shared a love of lots of different religions and ideologies, it wasn’t like him to be pinned down to one thing, so I never really did either.

I always sort of thought that there must be truth behind most of them, and although I never became a religious person, I always thought there was an explanation.

A greater understanding of the way the Universe works and the way humanity fits in that equation.

I always hoped I had a destiny that was bigger than me.

One I could grow, one I could live up to—that meant something.

Or, at least, I always hoped that’s how it was.

Which I guess is why believing that before now could be helping me deal with the fact some angel out of a fantasy action movie scooped me up in the night telling me I'm some kind of “Chosen One” who must save humanity from annihilation.”

The playful sarcasm of her last sentence took Daemon by surprise.

She laughed loudly and unapologetically, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

It radiated throughout the café, although the enchantment was still keeping them from being noticed too much.

Only a couple of heads turned in their direction and were quickly deterred by an oncoming arrival of food or a switch in the conversation.

Keeping up an enchantment such as this for long periods of time always made Daemon feel strained—like a piece of him was detached or missing while casting it.

This wasn’t uncommon; most all magic had its small effects.

For instance, actually commanding someone to do something can cause severe headaches and sometimes even nausea for him.

Celestial speak, or the Enochian language, is the original language of the angels.

When humanity was created however, many angels who lived among humans, began lessening their usage of it and speaking human languages instead.

After so many centuries, only the most elder angels use it commonly.

But most others never used it anymore. Daemon continued to speak it, unable to fully let go of that connection he once had to the place of his people.

The only time it was used these days was when using a very potent form of magic that required the ancient language’s power.

And one of the most powerful spells in which to serve a final killing blow to a demon was “ Fvue Finiethal Spem.

" The Finishing Spell. The one he just performed last night.

Which explained why he was over-straining a bit from using his magic today.

Typically it was spoken with a chant-like quality to enhance its influence.

Within moments, it incinerates the demons, and it was the only method in ridding them that angels had.

That was an angel’s death wish, overexertion of energy.

If you’re not careful enough, you suck yourself dry, quite literally.

It is one of the only ways an angel dies—if not killed in battle—for no being is ever fully immortal.

Daemon reminded himself of this as he lowered his energy output to their little shield, it was a quiet café.

Perhaps they were safe for the time being.

Lorelei looked at him, seeing if he was planning on saying anything, but when he didn’t, she continued.

“So, what’s next? You said I am supposed to figure it out for myself what it is I have to know, but I have no clue how to go about doing that.”

Daemon finished the last couple of bites of his omelet that he had all together forgotten about since it was brought out, and sat back feeling a little lighter, the food replenishing him.

He felt a surge of power and the enchantment’s load became easier on him once again.

Looking up to see that Lorelei had also finished her meal, he scooted his seat back and stood, stretching before answering her.

“I have a friend of mine who I think can help us. He owes me for a bit of trouble I got him out of years back, so I think it’s time he pays me back with a little information.”

Lorelei merely nodded, “Where are we off to then?”

“Back to London, that’s where he is set up these days. I’ll go pay the check and then we can head back to your hotel to grab your things before setting off to the airport.

With a raise of her eyebrow, she gave a smirk. “Do angels pay tabs?”

Daemon purposely rolled his eyes.

“ Cheeky . I can’t go around breaking all of society's rules, especially when the waitress will call the police and draw attention to us, including the attention of possible demons nearby about a strangely, overly handsome man..” he paused, raising his eyebrow at her for effect, “leaving a Scottish cafe right after they sent an agent here to dispatch you. Yes, I will pay the tab and we will be quietly on our way like good little tourists. Fair enough?”

“You’re not going to fly us back yourself?" She said teasingly.

He paused momentarily while grabbing a toothpick from the dispenser on the table.

“You’re heavy enough as is. And with your luggage, it’d take us far longer than we can allow to get back to London from here.”

Sticking the toothpick in his mouth, he sauntered off towards the front counter to pay.

He let his enchantment wear off entirely as he walked, watching the once muted tones of the other people in the café resume their normal volume level.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Lorelei walked into the ladies restroom.

Figuring he didn’t need to wait outside the bathroom door for her, he walked outside.

The sun was warming the day, even though there was still a cool breeze that made the leaves on the trees in the courtyard across the street rustle.

Pulling out the pack of cigarettes from his jeans, he looked around to ensure no prying eyes would see him once again snap his fingers and secretively light it.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he rolled his eyes, taking a longer drag than usual, and turned to his right where a man dressed in an all white suit, his short golden hair in wistful waves upon his sleek, slender face whipping in the wind.

He stepped out of the shadow of the awning above the restaurant.

Daemon took the cigarette from his lips slowly, sizing the man up warily.

A familiar humming sensation—the one that told him that it was an old friend in particular.

A feeling that used to bring comfort, now only brought pain.

For it was an indication that Daemon was once again in the presence of the angel who betrayed him.

Holding the cigarette between his fingers, Daemon crossed his arms and finally looked up to meet the figure’s gaze, shoulders tensing, ready for whatever might come next; his words laced with unease as he spoke.

“Hello, Raphael. Long time, no see.”