Heaven and Hell had always been at war. Zephiel had never questioned it that like all battle angels he would also fight and eventually die against the demon hordes. That was the will of god.

Even as the hellfire of one of the infernal dragons the demon cavalry rode burned his wings to ash, he embraced that will. He had done his part, fought for eons and trained many a fine warrior to follow in his footsteps. Now...now he could rest.

~*~*~

The oblivion smelled awfully lot like blood and brimstone. Not as badly as in the lower levels of the Limbo where the battles often took place, but a lingering scent just strong enough to make his nose itch. Slowly Zephiel opened his eyes.

His vision was filled with white. After blinking a few times he realized it was the ceiling of a large tent, with more white cloth forming a curtain that separated this small compartment from the rest. He was partially sitting, partially lying in a soft bed, with several pillows propped up behind his head and lower back. It didn't hurt anymore, but he was acutely aware that his wings were gone. As, apparently, were his armor and clothes.

Someone pushed the curtain aside and entered. Zephiel automatically reached for a weapon he no longer had as he saw the man.

He had black hair flowing over his shoulders, short beard, deep red eyes and large horns adorning his head. Despite being broad of chest and shoulders, he didn't look like a warrior. Probably because he was wearing only a simple white robe.

"Good, you're awake," he spoke as he stopped by the bed and reached to touch the angel.

Zephiel reacted instantly. He could fight barehanded-

The demon blocked his jab and pushed him down to the bed faster than he could blink.

He fought back with all his might, which only served to make him aware of how bruised his body was, no doubt from falling after his wings had been burned. His assailant didn't budge at all. "Let go of me! I'd rather die than become a demon's plaything!"

A firm hand clamped over his mouth to silence him. "Please be quiet!" the demon whispered. "If anyone realizes you are not one of us, you really will be raped and tortured. I only wanted to check if all your wounds have healed."

Zephiel stopped trashing around and waited until the demon moved his hand away. "You're crazy!" he also whispered. "There's no way anyone would mistake me for a demon!"

The demon pulled a simple stool next to the bed and sat down. "There are basically two different types of demons in Hell: those that fell from Heaven and those that were born here. The former are not that different from angels in appearance. Not once they're out of their armor anyway."

"So you saved me because you mistook me for one of yours?"

He smiled, an unsettling smile that showed sharp fangs. "I saved you because I wanted to. I recognized you even without your wings. Zephiel, the whirlwind dancing in the battlefield."

Zephiel eyed him suspiciously. "Should I know you?"

"No. I have watched you fight – and patched up quite a few who have crossed blades with you -, but we have never met. My name is Malach."

"Malach," he rolled the name around on his tongue. "Now that we have met and I'm quite obviously at your mercy, what do you intend to do?"

Malach smiled again, more softly this time, and reached out to caress the angel's bare arm. "I would love to keep you with me forever, but I know that's impossible."

Of course it would be impossible! Although this one was much gentler than he had ever believed demons could be, there was no way he could stay in Hell. No, there was one way, but not one he would take. To betray his god and fall...

There was no reason at all to do that.

"Please stop." He pushed Malach's hand aside. He didn't like the goosebumps forming where his fingers touched.

The demon did like he asked, but as soon as he did, Zephiel already missed his touch. Battle angels knew only fighting from the moment they were born. The only times he had held another on his arms had been when they had been dying.

He should have just died in battle. He didn't want these traitorous feelings.

"There's a storm raging in the Limbo right now. Once it's over, I'll take you back to your commanders. They're always the first to scout the battlefield."

"What?" Zephiel couldn't believe his ears. "Hold on. They'd kill you."

Malach shook his head, a gesture completely at odds with his confident grin. "They won't. Without healers, there would be a lot more casualties."

"Start making sense!" the angel snapped, frustrated. "They want demons dead! A lot more casualties should be a good thing!"

"Listen and I'll let you in on a little secret." Malach leaned closer. "Grunts want the other side dead. Your boss and mine just want the conflict to go on forever. Because if the conflict ends, both Heaven and Hell will cease to exist."

Zephiel was too stunned by the whole idea to say anything. It was true that the fighting had always been going on, and he had never asked why. He had never needed to. It was...the god's will...

Malach caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Eyes as blue as the sea met fiery red ones.

"Once your wings grow back, I look forward to seeing you dance in the battle again."

"Wait." Zephiel grabbed his hand without thinking. "Please let me stay a little longer. I...need to think this all through."

Malach brought his hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. "Don't think too much. Just live."

Malach watching Zephiel sleep, drawn by Sharain (my twin sister).