Chapter 33

Azrael lounged back in his office, feet propped on a chaotic desk buried under a mountain of clutter. A comic book covered his face as he lazily tapped his fingers against the armrests. "When's that little shit getting here?" he muttered under his breath. His voice was slow, almost bored, as if the universe itself were dragging its feet. "Did I not emphasize that this was urgent?"

As if on cue, the door creaked open, shoving aside clutter with a soft scraping sound. Azrael pulled the comic off his face just in time to see Han stepping carefully over a mess of books, empty food wrappers, and random junk scattered across the floor.

"Clean for once, you old albino prick," Han grumbled, his tone drenched in sarcasm as he made his way to the desk.

Azrael didn't even bother sitting up straight. He extended his hand lazily, palm open. "If you want it clean, clean it yourself, freak," he shot back, not even looking at Han as he snatched the newspaper out of his hand.

"Is that an order, or are you just talking shit?" Han asked, his annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

Azrael, now sitting up just enough to start flipping through the newspaper, waved his hand dismissively. "It's an order, so get to it."

With a groan that practically vibrated with irritation, Han begrudgingly began cleaning the mess that seemed more like the aftermath of a natural disaster than an office. He kicked aside piles of comic books and waded through old files and take-out containers. One by one, he stacked the books into a haphazard pile and threw away balled-up papers while Azrael leafed through the paper, utterly unconcerned with the chaos around him.

"Why'd it take you so long?" Azrael asked absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving the paper for a second.

Han, crouched by the corner, stuffing a stack of old magazines into the trash, shot a look at the back of Azrael's head. "Why did it take so long? Motherfucker, who uses newspapers nowadays? I had to actually search around to find the damn thing!" Han growled, tossing another pile of junk into the bin with extra force.

"Uh huh." Azrael's response was a monotone murmur, his fingers flipping another page with lazy indifference.

"And I ran into Li on the way here, so we got caught up talking for a bit," Han continued, shifting a box full of what looked like ancient relics off a chair. "Seriously, everyone else has phones. Why can't we just upgrade like normal people?"

Azrael hummed in response, nodding slightly without really hearing him. His eyes flickered over the pages of the newspaper, each page he turned just a mechanical action, searching for something in particular. "What did you talk about?" he asked, barely paying attention.

Han rolled his eyes, throwing a plastic bag filled with unidentifiable objects into the trash. "Oh, you know. How he's got a cushy afterlife, working for an angel people actually respect, while I'm stuck here with your prehistoric ass," he said, straightening up and shoving some old files into a drawer.

"Mmm hmm." Azrael, still locked in on the paper, nodded again as though on autopilot.

"Seriously, we're in Heaven. Everyone else has smartphones! Why do I have to run all over the place like it's the Stone Age?" Han continued, the frustration in his voice rising as he swept more junk off the desk and into a trash bin.

"Uh huh." Azrael's fingers stopped mid-page flip. Suddenly, a spark of excitement appeared in his voice. "Ah! Found it!" he exclaimed, his voice rising for the first time since Han had walked in.

He stared down at the article with a grin of satisfaction, finally having uncovered whatever it was that had him so distracted this whole time. Meanwhile, Han stood there, surrounded by half-cleaned piles of junk, wiping his hands on his suit and shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

Han glanced over at Azrael, sidling up beside him to peer at the newspaper. "Did the kid actually pull it off?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Rogue, Nameless, and Halo-less Angel Stops Demon Invasion Single-Handedly!"

The article detailed how, on the planet Aetheria—where Christianity didn't exist—a known demon invasion had been halted by the actions of a lone angel. The invasion, which could have decimated the world, was thwarted without any support from Heaven or its forces. The piece even quoted those familiar with the angel: "That's my friend right there!" boasted a nameless angel with no halo, apparently nicknamed Kevin. "Yeah, I'm that guy's supervisor," claimed another angel, Zoom, asserting he had been the one to nurture the heroic angel in the office.

"Holy shit, the kid actually did it," Han muttered in awe.

Azrael chuckled, his grin wide and mischievous. "Ha! And of course, his so-called supervisor's takin' the credit. Figures."

Han shook his head, smirking. "Zoom's gotta be a new-age angel to come out with crap like that."

Azrael nodded knowingly. "Undoubtedly. If it were an old-age angel, they'd be hoarding all the glory. That kid wouldn't even get a mention."

They shared a brief laugh, but then Han grew more serious, his expression reflective. "On a serious note, though, I didn't expect him to actually stop the invasion. That's some crazy shit."

Azrael tossed the newspaper onto his cluttered desk with a casual shrug, as if it were no big deal. Reaching under the desk, he pulled out a bottle of his signature brew—an unholy blend of alcohol that could've doubled as a biohazard. "This calls for a celebration! Come on!" he shouted with excitement, already heading over to the coffee table to pour drinks.

Han hesitated for a second, then shrugged. "Ah, sure. I can take off the mask for a bit," he said, walking over as Azrael poured the thick amber liquid into two oversized glasses, the drink swirling like molten gold.

"This is definitely going to stir some shit up around here," Azrael said, raising his glass and laughing heartily.

"Oh, it absolutely fuckin' is," Han agreed with a grin, grabbing his glass and moving in for a clink.

They raised their glasses to clink in celebration when a sudden, loud banging echoed from the door. Both men froze mid-motion, their glasses inches from each other.

Azrael paused, his expression shifting from joy to irritation. "Did Li follow you here or something?" he asked, glancing at Han with suspicion.

Han shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe?" he muttered, setting his glass down and heading toward the door. "I'll get it. If it's him, he can join in the fun."

Han opened the door a crack, already halfway through a snarky greeting. "Alright, did you follow me, you cheeky fu—"

But the words died in his throat the moment he saw who was standing there. His body stiffened, his casual demeanor vanishing instantly. Without saying a word, he backed away from the door.

Azrael, still holding his glass, craned his neck, eyebrows raised. "Who is it?"

A voice, deep and calm, reverberated from the doorway. "You know who it is, brother."

Azrael's face dropped in annoyance. He sighed, setting his glass down on the table. "Of course," he muttered.

Stepping into the office was a man whose presence commanded the room without effort. Immaculately dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and white shirt, his features were flawless, conventionally handsome like all male angels. His straight black hair framed a face that was both serene and intensely focused. Piercing blue eyes scanned the room before locking onto Azrael, who was already bracing himself for whatever was about to follow.

Azrael shoved his hands into his pockets, feigning casual indifference as he gave a reluctant nod as he acknowledged God as he acknowledged, "Michael."