"Yes...let us be done with this, then," Oraxael nodded.  Closing his eyes, he brought to mind the incantations that would open a gateway to the eighth level of Hell, his home dimension.  His hands moved fluidly, tracing arcane gestures in the air.  Power spilled forward from him, and in that power he had woven a spell that would erase the memory of him or his angelic companion from the minds of those mortals who had seen them here at this cafe.  It was very likely he would never see this place again.<em>Pity</em>, he thought,<em>they have such lovely scones</em>.<br/><br/>Moments later, a portal to the abyss appeared.  Oraxael turned towards Azriel, and looked at him questioningly.<br/><br/>"Are you sure you want to do this?  It is very likely we will both be erased from existence, this day.  Think on it, Azriel...think on it hard.  Think on what you leave behind."