Even the sun shall sink.

Darkness dodged in and out, biting at the glowing form that radiated light: from his pale armor, to his dappled wings, to the skin that luminesced just enough that you could only get a general shape out of, like when you look at a light-bulb out of the corner of your eye.  His sword shone too, but in a much clearer, calmer light, letting the details of the blade's runed edges shine a dull silver into the darkness that was all around.

Sareliel paced forward, the darkness moving like a crowd ringing him, always giving him room to walk ahead while closing in behind him.  Once more he felt around at the straps that held his armor on, checking each one with his free left hand, blindly, as his eyes scoured the empty void of information.  Hell was a dark place for an angel to walk.  It was also silent.

In the first week there had been chaos when the first legion invaded, bright lights dropping into the abyss.  Many an angel had fallen, overcome by the claws and the horns and the black flames that flickered on the tepid pools of blood that scattered the plain and guiding only demonic eyes with light unseen.  Many more demons had lain dead, floating in their own gore and handiwork.  They didn't stay dead as would things of a more mortal nature, a nature that plagued neither angels nor demons.  The angels were immortal, perfect beings.  When they fell they had but wait until light fell once more upon them, before the process of rejuvenation could start.  The demons recuperated differently, letting their parts slither off different ways to find new companions to form up with and creating more grotesque figures than before.

Now they waited at the edges of the light, at the edges of Sareliel's light as he paced a perimeter around the camp that had been set up where the abyss had been pierced, glancing towards the interior or the camp every so often.  In the center was a rock, black as the great cavern that had no limit, but to the touch of light blacker than the grey and red stone that covered the floor.  It held upon it a portal, reminiscent of a dish of white fish-meat, still writhing back and forth every once in a while yet never quite escaping its basin.  Then he looked past the portal to the darkness on the other side, through the camp that was scattered as if with stars that littered just a small portion of the night while the rest stayed cloudy.  Turning his back on the darkness wasn't wise, but it was a comfort to see his brothers and sisters standing silent watch.  Perhaps the Archangel in charge would mount a search party to bring him back if he were overtaken there. It was not death he had to fear down here, only disgust and torment.  Even then, fear didn't touch him through the radiant white light that pulsated like spears from his body.

No demon wanted to fling themselves at the angel's camp now, not when the most vengeful had had their fill, not when the more patient ones had not yet figured out their purpose.  It was not talked about among the ranks, first because they did not talk amongst themselves unless necessary, feeling it a vulgar thing to let any of the stale air enter their mouths, and second because none but the archangel truly knew.  They were but followers, loyal and true and just followers who upheld the purpose they were given in serving.

And then there was movement.  A subtle black against black that flitted past his peripheral vision taunting him.  He turned towards it, pacing forward to let the light shine on his prey.  Not fast enough to catch the full form, just the feathery tip of a wing, much different in shape from the leathery demon affectation, but just as colored as the dark pit itself.  Sareliel had naught to lose but his quarry and so he followed.  The soldiers of the first legion were given free enough reign, told only to create a camp.  It was instinctual to form ranks and set a patrol, but it was not a mandated order, just habit.  Some other luxuriant figure would move in to take his place as they noticed him dart off.  He was of course chasing a demon of some sort, perhaps one with a captured angel that needed to be rekindled into life.  Understanding was assured, almost as much as victory in his chase was.

As if the plate armor was nothing his wings picked him up lifting the burden and allowing his steps to float across the bleak, black ground in pursuit, gaining centimeter by centimeter upon the winged figure.  The wings, black through and through led down to a broad back, smooth where the average demon had spikes or scars.  Black skin and black straight hair down to a faded white sash that held as greying of a robe from the waist down.  Snaking out from beneath it came a long and thin tail ending in a circular screw-pattern of barbs.  Once the lights were but a glimmer in the background the figured halted in his flight, almost as graceful as the angel in he deceleration, a skidding sound of claw against stone heard from his feet matched by the metal boots lightly clanking to a stop with the aid of a hard flap of white wings.

"He is not to be found here, angel.  Tell them that."

"You speak in riddles, minion of Satan, why relay your devious words to others?"

"Because we can not follow one who is not here.  I am minion to none, now."

"He has been locked here for eternity and more, he must be here."

"And yet he is not.  You will say I lie.  You are not burdened with the fear your great leader is, of that I am sure.  I would taste it if it were so."  A black tongue flicked to the side at the punctuation of the demon's statement.

"You think right that I would not trust your word.  I should cut you down where you stand, immediately."

A hollow, cracked laugh escaped from the unseen face of his conversationalist.  "Oh, but you will get a chance in time, if you want to.  No, what you really come here looking for is something to do in your spare time.  This place unsettles you and if there were any clue or thing to do to distract you from its emptiness you would have taken that before talking to me." Slowly the demon turned, half facing Sareliel, but gazing off into the distant darkness with pure black eyes, squinting a bit in the light.  "I say to you again he is not here.  If he were to come back to his bondage, we would know him, if he were to have left somehow, we would have felt it.  One of these is true, but both can not be since we can not feel his presence anymore."  The demon's face hardened into a scowl.  "This has driven some of us to joy and pleasure.  They are sure that if he found a way out, so may we.  They think this is the dawn of a new era, or at least the premonition of one."  Turning once more the demon stared straight into Sareliel's eyes.  The wide, black pools in the demon's face vibrating ever so slightly.  "A few of us are very afraid of what is to come.  What has come.  What turmoil will once again drive mad the order of the world."  A shiver passed through the ebony skin.  "The war was over, we thought, but now we see that it may have only begun, and this scares us, for if this is not our punishment, what more is there in store for us?"

Sareliel took a step back, seeing the black eyes moisten and two parallel glistening streaks fall down the surface of the demon's face.  He turned and flew back towards the glow of the camp, towards duties.  Behind him he barely made out a whisper.  "He is not here. . ."