Selene had walked for hours, blood dried on her hoodie, soot smeared on her cheek. The Vienna streets looked blurry now—part exhaustion, part tears. She had no plan. Just one thing in her head:
Find Ramiel. That was the goal of her studying Mythology, to unravel the secret of the angels that where not discussed.
The bus station was empty, save for a vending machine humming to itself and a lanky guy in a mustard-colored hoodie struggling to get a sandwich out of the dispenser.
"Oh come on," he groaned, rattling the machine. "You're robbing me. I'm being mugged by a fridge."
He spotted her.
"Whoa. You look like the sequel to a horror movie. Need help? Or did you already eat the last person who offered?"
Selene blinked.
"I—I'm looking for someone."
"Cool, same. I'm looking for whoever runs this machine. Gonna challenge them to single combat."
He squinted at her again. She was in no mood for a testosterone-fueled teen with odd humour.
"Okay, seriously though—are you okay? You look like someone set your school on fire."
"...They did."
The joke melted off his face. "Wait, for real?"
Selene nodded. "My university... it was attacked. By demons and Werewolves"
There was a beat of silence. Then:
"Oh good," he said, snapping his fingers. "Finally. Something that makes sense. Thought I was the only one seeing weird crap lately."
She looked at him. "You've seen them too?"
"Seen them? One tried to take my liver last week. Long story. I hit it with a bicycle."
"...You what?"
He beamed. "Bicycle. Right in the ribs. Turns out hellspawn aren't big on Schwinns."
She gave him a tired smile despite herself.
"I'm Selene."
"Tobias Finch. Tob for short. Twenty-five. Professionally unemployed. Slayer of sandwich machines and mild demons."
She glanced at the broken vending machine.
"That your first victory?"
"Second. My first was making it through puberty without becoming a YouTuber." He said grinning.
She laughed for the first time in days.
"You're weird."
"And you're bleeding."
He reached into his ridiculous sling bag and produced a sad roll of gauze.
"Look. I don't know where you're going, but if demons are after you, maybe don't go alone. And lucky for you—" he bowed theatrically, "—I have nothing better to do than follow strangers into questionable danger."
Selene hesitated, then nodded.
"Alright. You can come. But no more sandwich jokes."
"No promises," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "But for you? I'll keep it under ten per hour."
Together, they walked into the evening.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It wasn't large—no bigger than a lion—but something about its shape defied normal sense. Too many joints. Too little shadow. Its obsidian hide shimmered with an oily film, like it had crawled out of a cosmic infection.
Its yellow eyes fixed on him.
Ramiel blink-stepped forward, landing just beyond a crushed monk's body. His fists ignited faintly—crackling with pale, lightning-threaded energy.
"Hell is becoming bolder, they sent the crackin" he said flatly.
This was Lucifer's favourite pet when he was the angel Samael. When he rebelled he carried th creature with him.
The Crackin hissed, voice bubbling like it spoke underwater.
"Jinnnnn... equal of Heaven..."
Ramiel moved. A flash of motion—a sidestep, a pivot—and his arm sliced a bolt of lightning through the air. It cracked across the creature's flank, lighting the courtyard in strobe.
The Crackin shrieked. Then pounced.
Ramiel tried to blink-step again, but it was faster than expected. Claws raked across his side—burning hot—and sent him crashing through a column.
He hit the ground hard, dust rising around him.
Pain bloomed.
This... thing wasn't just muscle. It was cursed. Every wound it gave throbbed like a venom of damnation was threading into his soul.
Ramiel staggered to his feet. Lightning laced his palms again.
He muttered an ancient Djinn phrase—one that pulled the heat from the air—and launched forward with a sharp thrust of his hand. A bolt flared, then another—searing, snapping, slicing.
The creature reeled. As it lashed back,
Then spat black fire.
He rolled. The marble behind him turned molten.
Still not enough.
The Crackin rammed then him. This time, he couldn't blink. It smashed him back, slammed him against the temple's main gate, cracking the stone behind his spine.
His head swam. Blood dripped from his lip.
It snarled and charged, ready to finish it.
That's when the voice rang out:
"Hey! Ugly!"
Alec.
The boy had darted in from the temple's side. In his hand was the jagged little dagger—black steel, Council-forged. Ramiel had forgotten how deadly that thing was.
Alec ran in low, fast.
The Crackin spun to intercept—too late.
Alec slid under it and stabbed up, hard and deep, right into its underbelly.
The demon let out a howl—high and alien, its eyes bursting with light.
Ramiel, with what strength he had left, flared his hands and sent one final bolt into the creature's open maw.
There was a flash—then nothing.
Smoke curled in the air. The beast dropped like a stone, crumpled and vanished into thin air.
Alec stood shaking, the dagger still in his hand.
"Did I—did I kill it?"
Ramiel, leaning against the ruined wall, wiped blood from his mouth.
"Not bad, kid."
Alec looked down at the demon, then up at Ramiel.
"You looked like you needed the help."
Ramiel chuckled once, dry.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side."