The taste is strange to me. It's hard to get used to modern food and drink. I first took full human form before the Flood, when the world was pure and perfect.

Now everything tastes like chemicals.

I look over the cup of coffee before setting it down with a grimace. It's nine-thirty in the morning. The sun is gentle, barely warm against the skin. The breeze is cool, not too cold. The sky is blue, wispy clouds pass lazily overhead.

Even Death is allowed a break.

If I had an urgent task, I would know it. But today, all I feel is the world around me. People can see me now, I'm not hiding like I am when I'm after a soul.

I take a deep breath. Cool air rushes through my nostrils. It feels like pollutants, but I ignore it. Humans adapt quickly to their environment. Most can't sense the subtle changes in nature. But the thousands-of-years-old Angel of Death can.

Lucky me.

My eyes wander over the people milling about. Talking on cell phones, texting, listening to music on iPods and other MP3 devices. All careless and oblivious to the war around them. Well, not really war per say. I see television shows and movies where a war between Heaven and Hell means that humans with powers, angels, and demons fight openly and constantly.

All I can do is shake my head and give it to the demons, they really have twisted mankind's view of the truth. Because the real war hasn't begun yet, and I'm not looking forward to Armageddon. Well, half not looking forward to it.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost don't see the man who sits down at the painted black wire table with me in front of the Starbucks. I cast him a glance and almost dismiss him. He looks normal. Brown hair, green eyes, gray t-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers.

But he's not human. In fact I doubt anyone around us can seen him.

“Do you have a reason to be here, or are you simply looking for a target?” I ask.

The demon shakes his head, “Just looking over the fruits of our labors.”

“Pretty spoiled fruit if you ask me.” I say, sipping from my cup.

He shrugs, “Isn't that the point?”

“Prove that God's creations can be warped beyond recognition? Close, but you're not there yet.”

“And we never will get there. But we try.”

“Why fight a lost battle?” I ask. “It's hopeless. You all know the Bible, so why keep fighting?”

“Defiance.” he says. Most of them do. They know they're going to lose. They just fight out of spite. They fear and hate God, they hate Satan, and they take it out on the most vulnerable options left. That, of course, is only half the story. A piece of the puzzle. I've delved into it too many times. It always leaves me with the equivalent of a headache since I can't actually get one.

“And satisfaction.” I say grimly. “You like seeing humans suffer. You enjoy turning them into suicidal, psychopathic, sociopath serial killers.”

He nods, “Personally, I like a good suicide. I tell them that they're worthless, make them think no one cares about them. In some cases I can get them to drive people off. I tear them down, leave nothing left. Sure, serial killers are nice, but what's sweeter than making someone think that the only release is to kill themselves? Only in truth they're committing a sin they'll never be able to repent for. And then the destruction it inflicts on their family and friends! That is if they have any left.”

“It's sad.” I murmur. “The greatest of all angels became the Prince of Darkness, and one-third of the angels followed him.” I turn to face the demon. “Why?”

“The promise of power blinds many. It is one of our greatest tools to ruin the world. It blinded us as well. And we pay the price. But we live with it, happy that we can at least do something while waiting for the end.”

“You lead such a pitiful existence.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “And you don't?” he laughs. “You take trapped souls. That's what you'll do for eternity. We can influence world leaders. Hitler was our greatest success to date in that category! And most of the people you take will spend eternity in darkness!” he leans closer to me. “How does that make you feel?”

I stare him in the eye, and for a moment say nothing. When I finally have an answer, I say, “It makes me feel like the vacuum cleaner of this world. But now I really know just how good you are at your job.”

“Thousands of years of backseat serial killing can do that to you.” he says. He stands up and looks around, “Breaks over.” his eyes linger on a single man. I turn and watch him. The man is dressed in a suit and talking on a cell phone. “Daddy's not going home today.” the demon mutters. He walks across the outside patio of the Starbucks. I take the final sip of my coffee and throw it into a nearby trashcan without getting up. Some idiot applauds the throw, I ignore him.

The demon walks through tables, people, and cars as he crosses the street to the man. He begins to speak, but I can only fathom as to what he is saying.

The man hangs up the phone and stares at it before slowly putting it into his pocket. The demon is now speaking with a vehement fury. I lean forward in my chair, entranced and horrified as I feel myself suddenly drawn to the man.

“Father, please have mercy on his soul.” I breath. The man drops his briefcase and waits as an exceptionally fast car approaches. The light is green, it does not slow. The man doesn't even think about it. As soon as it's close enough he jumps.

The car slams into him, crushing him. He dies on impact. I shake my head and stand and make my way to where the car has now stopped. The driver is a man. He is standing outside the car, hand over his mouth, eyes wide. His wife is still in the car, she's crying.

I'm invisible to them now. My shape melts slowly to that of the soul collector dressed in ebony. I stop by the body and look up when I hear a pronounced voice.

“So easy. He was talking to his wife and children. He calls them everyday during lunch. I've whittled away at him for months now. Taking it slowly, watching him fall apart. No one else saw it, I managed to have him mask it so cleverly.” the demon kneels down beside the body and tilts his head to the side. “Two-and-a-half months for one moment.” his eyes turn up to me, they're burning with a wicked glee. “But it is always so worth it.” he stands and with a final look at the body he turns and starts to walk away, “Now it's time for you to go to work, vacuum.”

I watch him leave and look down at the man. I draw his soul to me and watch as it appears, “Dalton McPherson,” I say, the name appearing in my head, he jumps and turns around, eyes wide, “your time on this Earth has ended. Your soul has forsaken its fragile shell. You will now come with me to your final judgment.” the words flow from my mouth, having become second nature a long time ago.

I turn and start walking, feeling him being pulled along behind me. They can't run, not like in the movies. I feel the fabric of reality fraying around the two of us as we transcend time, and I lead him through the black haze to take his first, and possibly final, steps into eternity.