A/N: In order to tell the full story, I have to show a bit of the other worlds. Please tell me if you think it’s too confusing! First up, the demons…

eight.

choke

((demons))

It was absolutely not polite to gape at the Demon Lord and Lady.

No, in Demon culture this was absolutely unacceptable, as it was and is in many cultures where sophisticates must deign to communicate with the lower classes. After all, the decisions of the all-powerful, the all-seeing, the supposedly all-knowing royalty were not to be questioned or even frowned upon.

It was not polite to rise from the proper posture of submission, kneeling with bowed head, without permission. It was not polite to, furthermore, dash at the throne with all seeming intent of throttling some sense into both of them, especially with shouted threats along those same violent lines.

And it was absolutely, irrevocably, egregiously intolerable to in fact place one’s hands around nobility’s tender neck and attempt to snap it.

Yes, this was inexcusable, even for a Demon Noble.

Even for Chantiel Etall d’Lor, more fondly known as…well, no one really knew him fondly then, the seven-thousand-and-some years old bad-tempered blonde-haired demon assigned to train the Savior.

“What do you mean, you sent Maziel to spy on the Archangel?!” He roared in bloodthirsty fury. “Are you trying to kill him?Do you want to die by my hand? Are you just out of your pitifully shriveled minds?!”

That was all he managed to say before he was tranquilized and dragged away by Court Guards, but he did get his point across very effectively, the Lady Ava thought.

“Very effectively,” the Lord Iris agreed, massaging his throat. “As impolite as he is, we shall have to see about hiring him as an ambassador.”

A demon could rise through the ranks of his world, he could daily stalk the inner workings of the court, he could dress himself in the clothes of demons and he could think himself in the know of demons, he could have the purest blood bluing his veins, and still there would never come a day when he could enter the High Court without being awed.

The Court itself is beautiful enough. Every window is made from crystal so that countless pale rainbows flock throughout the room, filtered through the leaves of perfectly trimmed trees. A white path inlaid with crystal symbols of chaos and protection leads to the honored royalty, and despite the beauty of the room, the glory would not change if they were overlooking a shack and shanty. Lord Iris sits on the left throne, the Lady Ava on the right. Their long, silky, ivory hair flows down their shoulders to drape over their forearms, their blood-red eyes are often shuttered closed beneath snowy eyelashes. Silvery garments fold down their slim forms to where pale ankles emerge and bare feet are pointed gracefully. They seem to be perfectly symmetrical to one another, and although they do not touch, they radiate an aura of connectedness, of a love so deep that the air and trees and crystals and stones themselves acknowledge it and would move aside, were they separated. Lord Iris had long ago learned he needed no words to speak to Ava, and she to him, and so they had begun speaking less and less and listening less and less and moving less and less until every word, every gesture fell into the Court like a glittering drop in the most fallow desert. They moved like music.

And they had taken Maziel the Savior away.

Chantiel woke up in the darkness. He growled angrily at the pain that spoked briefly through his forehead and eyes then managed to lurch upright. He spent a few impatient seconds allowing his eyes to adjust so he could see where he was, and he did not like what he saw: dark, grimy stone walls covered in bloody writing, a low cobwebby ceiling, and rows of iron bars set in a door frame. He pushed on it and it swung open- apparently whoever had thrown him in here had decided (wisely) he’d break out sooner or later anyway and it just wasn’t worth the effort to actually lock him up. They were right, Chantiel thought, pleased with his reputation.

He shook his head slightly and tried to recall where Lady Ava had said Maziel was sent. It was that angel world, wasn’t it? Sanct.

Sanct.

He grinned a very toothy grin, shut his scarlet eyes briefly, and stepped forward into the darkness that lay between worlds.

Watch out, angels. Here I come.