PANIC.

The arena was flooded with it. Debris fell from the ceiling as the world trembled with fury. A chorus of screams was music to Abel's ears, for he knew in his heart what caused such violent disturbance. He could feel that familiar tug of his heart, and a new kind of power coursed through every inch of him.

A large crack split the ground apart. From the crack, black smoky tendrils reached up from an infinite abyss, free at last. With them, a dark mass followed, growing ever larger until it nearly reached the ceiling. While the room descended into chaos, Abel wept with his joy and beamed with a blinding light.

To summon a demon from Hell was the greatest sin. To summon a demon on hallowed ground was enough to warrant a new level of Hell reserved just for Abel.

As the shadows took form before him, he knew he would not have it any other way.

Jericho did not become the ruggedly handsome man he knew, all muscle and hair and marked crimson skin. He was far more infernal, barely any trace of a human figure to be seen.

Black, twisted wings stuck out of his back like iron bars crudely bent and woven through each other. A dozen jagged, gold-draped antlers sprouted from his head, asymmetrical and sticking out every which way. His body was twisted and bulky, hunched over as though he was meant to walk on four legs as opposed to two. His hands were long and crooked, with long, curled claws. When he growled, his mouth was lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth.

An infernal beast took Jericho's place before Abel. And yet, Abel would recognize him anywhere. Those starry eyes, those black marks traced into his red skin, the mess of long, dark curls which spilled over his shoulders and bounced with every movement. Even his tongue was much the same, if not a bit larger to accommodate for his size.

The world was falling down around them, but when Jericho's endless eyes landed on Abel, they were the only two beings in existence, in every universe. They revolved around each other like stars, faster and faster until they became one.

Nothing mattered but the two of them. That was all Abel wanted.

He was broken from his reverie when Jericho howled in pain. A golden spear pierced the demon's side. Abel ripped his shackles off of his wrist, ignoring the way it left him bleeding and torn. His body was as inhuman as Jericho's at this point. Pain was the last thing on his mind.

Abel rose to his feet and took a step toward Jericho. He was real. He was here. Jericho's eyes drank Abel in, and he reached an arm out to touch him. As he did, a flash of light cut between the two of them. A white cord twisted around Jericho's wrist, pulling his arm back. Another cord joined the effort, and that's when Abel's instincts kicked in.

While more cords wrapped around a thrashing Jericho, Abel leaped to his rescue. He didn't get far, though, before something tugged him back by the hair, forcing Abel to his knees. Jericho cried out and broke free from one cord, only for two to wrap around his arm.

It was rare for all of the Chapel's fighters to be in one place at one time. And it was rarer for them to be carrying an army's worth of sacred weapons meant to kill angels. Jericho stood no chance against them.

Abel brought him here. It was his job to protect him.

Ignoring the painful tugging against his hair, Abel forced himself free of Malachi's grip. The arena brightened with his holy light as he stood, making his way for Jericho. He summoned two blades of light and made to throw them.

Jericho whimpered, and it was then that Abel noticed a figure standing on his back, holding him by the antler and shoving a massive white blade against his neck.

This figure was not a priest, nor was he a bishop. He was dressed head to toe in gold-lined robes, and beneath his hood, a long, red veil obscured his face. It stretched down to the floor, a shocking strip of red down a sea of white.

No one knew what lurked beneath those masks. They were not like the High Priests who covered their faces only during ceremonies, they hid every part of them at all times. The only time anyone ever saw them was at times like these, when the Dead Moon rose above the Chapel, marking a day of bloodshed.

Saint George was all that stood between Jericho and death.

"I would reconsider those blades," Malachi said. "You may be stronger than the rest of us combined. But you'd do best not to try your luck against an original Saint."

Abel's heart was a block of ice in his chest. He dared not look away from Jericho, whose eyes were wide and wet.

"Let him go." Abel's voice shook, with fury or with fear, he could not say for sure.

"I would be happy to." Malachi stepped closer to him. "On one condition."

"Liar."

"I give you my word, Abel. In God's name, I will set this demon free if you do as I say."

"Angel, don't-"

"'Freedom' does not mean sending him back to Hell," Abel gritted. "It means you will release those cords and you will let him walk away from this building unscathed. It means no one in this city will ever touch him again, and he will be free to live as he pleases."

"Angel," Jericho whimpered.

Abel ignored his pleas in favor of looking Malachi dead in the eye. "It means no loopholes, no lies, no deception. It means that he will be freer than any citizen in this godforsaken city, do you understand?"

Malachi raised his right hand in the air. "In Jesus's name, Abel, I promise you that I will set him free by your standards if you obey me."

There was not much Abel could be certain of. But there was one thing he never had to doubt in his life: Malachi was devoted to God, body and soul. And if he dared to swear on the name of the Lord, he would not go back on his word. No matter what he was.

Jericho thrashed against his restraints, ignoring the divine weapon threatening to pierce through his throat. "Angel, stop it, I'm not worth it."

Abel finally gave him the courtesy of eye contact. "You are worth everything, Jericho. You deserve to be free."

"It isn't freedom if it isn't with you, angel, please."

"You have lived for centuries, Jericho. And you have centuries yet to live. I will be a flicker in your memory to warm your heart on a cold day. You will be okay without me." Abel spoke with a gentleness too intimate for a crowd like this. He didn't care.

A sob pushed itself out of the demon's lungs, and it hurt Abel to hear. Still, it wasn't enough to change his mind. "You promised me you'd fight. You promised."

"And I did fight. I fought to the end. Now you can be free."

Abel stepped back toward the altar. The arena shook with Jericho's desperate screams. "Angel, please!"

"Say my name, Jericho."

Jericho pulled the cords hard enough to cut himself. "No. No, I will not say your name. I will not let you go."

"Jericho, say my name."

"No!"

Abel knelt on the altar. "Say my name."

Jericho's cries ripped Abel apart. He wished so badly to stay, to take away this pain. He wished they could both have what they wanted, and he grieved the life they dreamed of. But it was never a life they could have. Not in this world. Not in this time.

"This pain will be temporary," Abel said to him through his screams. "It will come to pass. I was not destined for freedom, Jericho, but now you can find it for me. You can live on for me. You can be free for me."

Jericho's infernal form lessened in its intensity. He looked more like a man now, like the one Abel knew. He looked so human as he cried for him. It made it hurt worse. But Abel was willing to hurt if it meant that Jericho would not have to. He would take an eternity in Hell if it meant Jericho had any chance at finding peace.

"I don't want to, Abel. I just want you. You said it yourself, we can be in Hell together. I'll find a way."

"I wish you could."

The demon's cries were no longer screams. They were now silent sobs and agonized whimpers. Each one shattered Abel's heart beyond repair.

"Angel..."

"Say my name before I go. Please. So that I can die with that thought."

The High Priestess unsheathed the blade but did not raise it yet.

Jericho sniffled. "I can't, I c-I can't..."

"Please, Jericho. Please."

A broken shout.

"The Dead Moon has risen," Malachi said, cutting through the moment. "We are running out of time. If the demon refuses to speak his name, release him and kill the angel and get this over with."

A single tear slipped down Abel's cheek as he looked up at Jericho. It glistened gold against the light of his own glow.

The room stilled into a frigid silence. A High Priest raised his right hand up and spoke the prayer.

"O God, by the power so generously granted by Thee, I lay my hand upon this holy body and ask for Thy blessing."

Jericho thrashed uselessly. Abel gave him a warm, teary smile.

"With great affliction, I offer this child up before Thee, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and ask of Thee to spare this sacred city for the years to come."

"It will be okay, Jericho. I promise."

"We pray for forgiveness for the actions of our ancestors, and we ask Thee to have mercy on our souls. This is our prayer."

The cool touch of the blade kissed Abel's throat. He could feel its sharpness against his skin. For a moment, he was a child again, and the thought of death made his heart drop to his stomach.

And then he thought of Jericho, of his smile, of his joy. Suddenly, death was not such a scary thought. Because death meant that, with time, Jericho could find that smile again. The smile that he would not find in Hell.

He would die a thousand times for that smile.

"Amen."

There was no pain at first. And then it crashed into him all at once. A hot, searing shock of pain that made Abel want to scream. But when he tried, all that left his mouth were droplets of blood. His throat was open, and a hand was tipping his head back while his blood gushed out of the cut. It covered the front of his fresh robes and spilled over into the canals carved into the stone floor. His blood outlined the shadows of the rose window, but Abel paid it no mind.

Jericho was all he saw. Through the ringing of his ears, he could hear his cries. He was screaming Abel's name, over and over again, as though he knew no other word.

Abel watched him with a smile as his vision blurred. The cords unwound their way from his limbs, freeing him. Saint George vanished from view, the weapon which once threatened Jericho now nowhere to be seen.

He was free. Jericho was free.

That was all Abel wanted.

As the last of his blood drained from his body and his bright light flickered out, Abel found the strength for one last thing.

As Jericho became a mass of red and black in his blurring vision, Abel's mouth traced over three simple words, truer than any words he'd ever said.

I love you.