“I feel like a good fly about. I haven’t properly stretched my wings in a while, most of the demon hunting has taken place on the ground,” Azazel stood too, stretching out his bronzed wings behind him, a physical agreement to Damien’s statement.

“A fly about sounds like a grand idea, my princely friend. Maybe we will fly right into one of those answers you were searching for!” Damien grinned sheepishly and shrugged, stretching his wings wide, before launching into the air over the cathedral and twirling upwards. Azazel followed, lazily flapping his wings, rather than performing the show offy tricks Damien liked to do. Even though Damien had no one to show off to apart from Azazel, but he enjoyed doing the moves and twirls in midair. Azazel wondered if it was practise, or Damien hoped there would be someone watching, subconsciously trying to impress the invisible watchers in the sky. They swept down to the old fortifications hugging the sea front and out over the calm seas. Salt sprayed up into the air, coating their wings and clothes in tiny gems of sea water, and as the coast behind them receded, the noises of the city quietened. They were soaring over the quiet part of the solent, too far from either side to be disturbed by the noises of humans, apart from the occasional ferry or boat that passed beneath them. Taking a sharp turn to the left, the tips of their wings dipping into the water, they sailed across the middle of the solent, following the curve of the nearby island, till the water opened up into the channel. They spent a while sweeping across the open sea, chasing fish that had risen to the surface to feed, flying alongside the massive shadows of whale sharks that cruised along, minding their own business. The wind was fierce, so no talking was had, but as the last light of the sun faded behind the watery horizon, Azazel turned onto his back and signalled to Damien. ‘Home?’. With a nod, they turned back towards the mainland, and they place they currently called home. By the time they landed back at the roof of the cathedral, all light of the day was gone and the stars were shining in all their celestial glory. Damien always enjoyed a fly above the sea. It made him feel calm, the smell of the salt water, the gentle noise of the waves, the roaring of the wind in his ears. Azazel could see the tension in his friend's shoulders relax as they landed, and knew Damien would be okay for another day.

“Good flight boys?” Azazel watched as the tension immediately returned to Damien and they both swung around in the direction of the voice. Lurking in the shadows of the tower behind them stood another angel. Not a Fallen, like Azazel, or even an Anchored, angels that hadn’t Fallen, but had been put on Earth as punishment, but a full blown ‘Upstairser’, as Azazel called them. This one was female looking, small in stature, with long golden hair and a cheeky glint in her eye. Her bare arms were covered in tiny intricate markings, that glowed softly in the night air. Her face was familiar to Azazel but he was certain he had never met her before. Her armour had no recognisable sigils that he recognised, so he was unsure of what Archangel she followed, or what powers she might possess. Azazel instinctively stood in front of Damien, suddenly fearful that his secret had been discovered.