Gabriel stood midst the six figures, a tall blonde man with a thick set jaw, an unreadable expression on his clownlike face. As always he was clothed in the pink and white garb of the Cherubim order. A long flowing gown tied at the front with a subtle golden sash. Even in this light Belial could see with some satisfaction the hair thin scar that he had dealt Gabriel during their last encounter.
Belial trod cautiously, and swiftly toward the troupe of Angels ahead of him. BAthed suddenly in moonlight there was a disturbed whispering murmur from the Cherubim ahead of him. As though offering a gift, he held the Angel aloft, feeling her blonde curls dancing on the back of his hand.
Gabriel clasped the side of his robe, evidently hiding a sword ready to strike at any moment. Another man caught his hand offered hima long look. This man was Jehova himself.
Jehova was a man of equal stature to Satan, thick slabs of muscle over his torso and arms. Also bathed in moonlight this heavy man furrowed his brow at the simple gesture. Many thoughts raced through his mind, was the demon Belial honest with his intentions, was this really an act of mercy or some ploy to cause a fatal fray. Fatal for Belial only.
As if to answer this silent query, Belial lay the Angel on the floor ten yards from the place where they stood.
Belial slowly knelt down and carefully placed the beautiful angel and stroked her face gently. For a moment her eyes flickered open and then shut again just as quickly.
The mossy path felt soft and cold beneath his knees, the whispering trees urged him to let this burden be, let her lay here until the Angels saw fit to recover her. Belial simply stood up and turned his back on the Angels and started to walk away.
Gabriel reached for his sword with the intention to strike, but once more Jehova put his hand on Gabriels arm and the thought succumbed with gods warning head shake.
Walking back to the portal Belial felt the tears coming before the spilled idly over his lids. Beneath the beautiful lush conifers everything hit him hard. The thought of his betrayal to the Demon Orders, the beauty of the young Angels face under the duress of Aamons onslaught. Visions flickered frenetically behind the liquid eyes set in his head.
Belial had never known such a rush of emotion before, guilt, love, hate, anger, disgust, apprehension and above all fear. Slowly he walked back to the wispy Portal.