text: [Themes: love & dating]
  
  Even from the sky, you can see that there are bodies strewn everywhere, many more than the number of professors. It seems that the students, or at least a good number of them, joined in the defense of the College. You feel no pity. Quickly you survey the enemies, pleased that your forces have already slaughtered most of your mother's murders. Dr. Thewliss and five or so students are clustered in one corner, Dr. Hopkins and two are in another, and in the center of it all, Chancellor Fogg stands alone.
  
  Each battles several daemons, though you note with displeasure that their ranks have thinned, too. The minotaur Lignor and a few others face Thewliss' band while viper-headed Jarobaal and Yfrigge, still wearing the guise of a young girl, fight with Dr. Hopkins. The Chancellor has the most enemies- Anumun the raksha, four daemons you don't recognize, and Seria, her flaming eyes shining brighter than the stars above. Chanting in many languages mixes with howls and shouts of pains, while knives and bundles of herbs fly in all directions. The combatants' auras mix too, and it's hard to tell which battle needs your direct attention most.
  
  Since Hopkins is the closest, you glide down to finish him off. The stooped man wields a silver saber, its blade flashing as it twirls. Jarobaal has a spear, and the two are locked in an intricate dance. You would never have imagined Hopkins would be so quick on his feet, but it does him no good. Swooping, you shout an incantation, and though he tries to yell a spell of his own, his power is no match for yours. Your fire devours him completely. You land, setting the grass aflame, while he shrieks in agony. Jarobaal finishes him with a blow to the gut, and you feel his life force ebbing away.
  
  The two students are even less trouble. Yfrigge catches one by the leg and tears it off, then in short order does the same with his other limbs. He screams for death and she obliges, breaking his neck without a word. The other, you realize, is John Keating. He mutters something and sends a a rush of wind at you, but it barely rustles your wings. You remember the time you fled instead of fighting him. It seems tonight is your chance for vengeance here, too, and you dispatch him with a spell you found in an old Russian book. He sinks to his knees, his skin turning blue, and then one by one his fingers freeze and fall off, then his nose and ears. By the time the cold takes his life, his eyes are crusted over with frost.
  
  Jarobaal and Yfrigge gaze in wonder at your true form. "My lord," the girl says, and Jarobaal joins her in a bow. Their deferrence is intoxicating, but you have not forgotten about the battle. You see that Dr. Thewliss now fights with one two students at his side against the minotaur, whose enormous axe cannot quite catch the tiny man, though he is not nearly as quick as he was before. Chancellor Fogg has defeated one of your daemons, but Anumun, Seria, and three others still press him close, and you can tell the old fool is faltering.
  
  You order Jarobaal and Yfrigge to finish off Dr. Thewliss while you head for Fogg. His long beard is smoldering, though you can't tell if it's from a daemon's attack or the sheer power he's wielding. You do not fear the man, and you are eager to test yourself and to destroy him. Seria sees you coming, and her smile is ravishing, those dark lips so beautiful beneath the moon. You stride to her side and pull her close for a kiss. She rubs against you and purrs. "You have changed, my love! No one can stand against you now."
  
  Your hands roam over her body, Fogg quite forgotten. "But I am yours, always yours, and you are always mine."
  
  You hear a cry. Lignor has finally caught Thewliss, the old wretch split in half by his huge blade. The students break, fleeing in different directions, and the minotaur and his daemons give chase. You and Seria watch with pleasure as your allies run the first one down and break his skull, but your joy turns to anger when Fogg, his beard now nearly burned away, manages to vaporize Anumun the raksha. Now you must finish what you have started.
  
  You begin to chant, and for the first time you feel the Chancellor's aura directly. He is powerful, but you know you are stronger. He is merely human, and you are an angel. You cannot resist goading, even if it breaks off your spell. "Am I the first angel you've fought, or were you the one who killed my mother"
  
  "You are no angel!" the old man shouts, his breath labored. "You are a daemon and a master of daemons, and your kind will all be destroyed!"
  
  Typical daemonologist nonsense, and his words only inflame your anger. You can feel your power prevailing over his. It is almost over, just a few more words. You only need to keep up your focus, and the old fool will be dead and your mother's murder avenged.
  
  Suddenly Seria shouts "My love!"
  
  > Turn
  Still chanting, you whirl away from the Chancellor and look at your love. Seria runs towards you, pointing out into the darkness, and when you glance that way you notice a figure, his arm cocked back and something in his hand. Seria flies past you, teeth bared, and arrives to tear out the man's throat a moment after the spear leaves his hand. It whistles through the air, silver tip gleaming beneath the moon, and you easily leap aside.
  
  Fogg, meanwhile, has regained a little breathing room in your battle. He pulls something from his pocket, a tiny bundle, and even through the confusion you can smell its sickening odor. He hurls it towards you, pitifully weak and inaccurate, but the old bastard makes it burst with a quick word, sending a shower of herbs in all directions. Some lands on your skin and seems to sink in, burning and rotting the flesh away wherever it touches. You want to itch, to tear the hateful stuff out, but you focus on the task at hand. You recognize the scent as rosemary and lavender, though you can't imagine why it would smell so foul or burn your skin.
  
  The Chancellor's little trick may have bought him some time, but you know that your victory is inevitable. When a handful of your daemons try to join in the fight you hold them back. This is your kill. Seria's smile, her lips still dripping with the spear-thrower's blood, makes you forget the pain.
  
  Fogg draws a great shuddering breath, his shoulders heaving. He looks twenty years older, and he was not, of course, a young man to begin with. Still, he refuses to give up the struggle, still muttering softly and making complex signs with his hands. While you're half-curious to learn about this way of casting spells, you've grown tired with the old man. You raise you voice, chanting the final words of his doom, and you feel his aura contract, shiver, and finally fade away. He is at your mercy.
  
  A few more words send him soaring a hundred feet into the air. He hangs among the stars for a moment, limbs dangling absurdly, and then you let him fall. The grass muffles his crash, but it could not stop his scream, the dying gasp of an ancient wretch. Yfrigge checks the corpse. "He is dead," she says triumphantly. Your daemons begin to howl and stomp their feet, but you pay them no mind. There is only one who matters, and you can feel her breath upon your neck and her hands upon your skin.
  
  > Time passes...
  The bed is lovely. You are quite comfortable underneath your blanket, and moonlight has just begun to stream through the window. Perhaps there are bats twittering somewhere far away, but you don't pay much attention to anything. Everything is soft and warm, and though you hardly need to sleep these days, you are happy to indulge your lover when she is in this mood.
  
  Then there is something against your lips. It is soft and warm too, and you smile. Your mouth is full of sweetness and the taste of great ripe blackberries. You picture them hanging on the bush, gleaming dark on a summer day. Now it is like wine, and now like honey.
  
  The thing against your lips pushes a little harder, and the flavor grows stronger. The taste of the wine alone is intoxicating, driving you mad, and then it changes to blood. You remember how they died, first the professors who murdered your mother, then the students who would have learned to be murderers too. There have been many since then, daemonologists across Britain and Europe, foolish sorcerers among the pagans, even the odd and unlucky traveller who wanders across your home. You like to picture the bloody deaths the most, and none more than Peter Aubrey's, the boy who was your friend, the boy who tried to keep you from your lover. His throat poured blood like a river, and the thought never fails to excite you. For it was his blood that awakened your mother's in your veins, his blood that made you what you were meant to be. It does not matter that men call you daemon and not angel- you are your mother's son, and you are powerful beyond measure. You bite down suddenly, hard, your teeth drawing blood from your lover, and she moans in ecstasy.
  
  Sprawled across your body is a woman with purple lips, so purple they seem almost black. Seria gazes back at you, her eyes full of hunger, her body heaving with desire. You cannot spend another moment reminiscing about the good times of the past, you cannot even think. You only look at her beautiful face and those lips. You watch her spread a pair of vast silverly wings around you, and you unfurl your own until you are locked together in a close embrace. "I am yours," you whisper.
  
  She rubs her hand across your chest. "You are mine, and I am yours."
  
  Then, blood on both your lips, she bends forward and gives another kiss.