Hell: Captivity

Baal appeared and His smile disappeared as He was looking at Tyrael.
"Rashiel, you idiot, it isn't Rshkiel!" He exclaimed angrily.
"I know. It's Tyrael," replied Rashiel quite crossly.
Baal seemed thunderstruck then, slowly, His smile reappeared.
"Tyrael?" He repeated. "This is good, very good. Nice work here, Rashiel. It's even better than Rshkiel."
"I thought so also," said Rashiel calmly eying Delilah.
"Delilah, dear heart, I'm so glad to see you again. Would you care to put your weapons on the altar?"
The mentioned altar was by the post they were chaining Tyrael to.
"Why should I?" she replied insolently.
"Because I would hate to have to harm you in the process of taking your weapons."
"Liar. You didn't care for blood poisoning when you set up your trap for my hand."
"It was a trap as you said it yourself. It's not supposed to be nice. If you refuse, I'll have to hurt your friend Tyrael to make you yield."
Glaring at Him, Delilah slowly put Tyrael's sword and her demon blade on the altar, next to her own sword that had been taken from Tyrael.
"I like reasonable people," smiled Baal.
"I hate when you're happy," muttered Delilah.
"That's not nice to say," He scolded her.
"Who said I was nice?" she replied.
She looked for Yawni and Cinnabar, hoping to find some comfort by them and, next to Yawni, she saw Jorram, smiling at her. She glanced at Rashiel, who didn't even seem embarrassed to have been caught lying. She was relieved to find out Jorram was still alive but then, who had been the Demon whose soul stone she had crushed? She looked again at Yawni and Jorram; maybe the time she had spent with Gamaliel had made her more apt to feel things, for it seemed to her that there was something between the rovelsh and the Demon.
Baal's voice startled her and she castigated herself. She couldn't lose herself in daydreams when Tyrael and she were in a bad situation. Baal was talking and talking, to Rashiel, to her and even to Tyrael; she wasn't listening. She was thinking of her vision in Illustra's temple and it seemed to be exactly the same scene. Fear began to invade her body and mind. She looked around in despair and met Tyrael's eyes. There was fear also in them but the blue of his eyes was mostly clouded with worry and it was worry for her. He probably remembered the vision she had told him. She sank even further in despair, even though she was thinking she had to be strong.
She moved by Cinnabar's side and tangled her fingers in his mane. Bal looked at her thoughtfully.
"Delilah, I know how much you love Cinnabar, but the place of a hellish stallion is hardly in my living room, no matter how much Spartan it looks. I have some carpets I hold dear and hoofs are not something I care to see on them. I suggest you let one of my Demons take care of him."
"As if I could trust you!" she sneered.
"My love, you are really behaving like a harpy recently. I hope it is only temporary and due to the bad influence of this wretched Angel."
"I was wondering how long you would wait before insulting him. If I had trusted you, don't you think that putting a Demon's soul stone in my hand would have seriously shaken my trust?" she said, showing her hand still bleeding, nobody having thought of taking care of it.
"It was totally unnecessary to break the stone or to take it out of your hand. Pelimarkodon would never have harmed you, you know this."
"Pel! Why on earth did he do that?"
Pelimarkodon had been the protective Demon of Jaïna, who herself had been Ellÿs's knight, when the future demon champion was only a squire. Pelimarkodon had been a very powerful Demon, respected by all.
Baal shrugged.
"I have no idea. He volunteered, that was enough for me. You should really let me heal your hand, love," He added, reaching for her hand.
She violently snatched it away.
"I'd rather bleed to death!" she hissed.
"You had it healed before. Angelic healing," He frowned.
"Ooh, astute! Slow, but astute."
Baal had an angry move but He contained Himself.
"Anyway, it's very humiliating for a powerful Demon to die because a girl smashed his soul stone. Try to be more careful next time."
"He's dead, what does he care now?" she shrugged. "And, for once, it's a permanent death."
"It's not nice for Pelimarkodon. He liked you."
"That's not my fault."
Tyrael could see she was trying her best to hide her fear from Baal and he wondered if she had chosen the right behaviour for achieving her aim. Baal looked at her and sighed.
"It is late, Delilah. You should rest and tomorrow the ideas inspired by this wicked creature will have faded away."
"Baal, I'm impressed. You actually waited at least five seconds without insulting him!"
"This time, you won't be able to disappear in the night, Delilah," murmured Baal.
On a move from Him, Jorram showed her room to Delilah who glanced a last time at Tyrael. All the Demons left the place, leaving the Archangel alone.

Despite himself, he dozed off and awoke brutally when a hand brushed against his shoulder. Even in the darkness, the dark eyes looking at him were familiar.
"Delilah!" he breathed. "You're crazy! Go away, quickly, while you can!"
"Hold still!"
He felt her touch the chains holding him to his post and then she sighed.
"Tyrael, I'm sorry," she said with a voice stricken with grief. "I can't free you. He enchanted the chains and I can't undo the spells."
"You can't?" repeated Tyrael, surprised.
She shook the head.
"I'm not strong enough. If it had been a normal case, I would have called my protective Demon, but I can't... I'm so sorry, Tyrael! Because of me, He will torture you or worse..."
She slid to the ground, falling on her knees and bent down almost until her head touched the ground. Astonished, Tyrael understood she was crying!
"Delilah, oh Delilah, arise! Do not weep on me! Nobody ever cried for an Angel..."
But she shook the head, holding herself as if her pain was too much to bear, and her shoulders were shaking with sobs she was desperately trying to hold back.
"Oh!" moaned suddenly Tyrael. "You're here, so near, and I can't even hold you when you're crying on me! Cursed chains!"
She pressed her forehead against the back of his hand and he clumsily turned it so his fingers could caress her face.
"Don't cry, Delilah, please don't cry... Go away while you're still free! Everything will be fine. I don't care what He does to me as long as you are safe."
She looked up suddenly, her eyes still filled with tears.
"Go away?" she repeated with horror. "I would abandon you here? Never! He won't harm you, this I swear!"
"Delilah, please, no! Don't do anything foolish for my sake, I beg of you! The world needs you!"
But he already knew she wasn't listening. She stood up, wiping her last tears away.
"You'll be safe," she promised.
She leaned toward him and brushed her lips against his cheek.
"Let this be my reward," she murmured.
The pain in her eyes was as deep as the bottomless pit where the Grigori were sulking and Tyrael couldn't find a word to say. He blinked and she was gone.

In the morning, she was there before any of the Demons, sitting on the ground, her back against the altar, Cinnabar and Yawni by her side. Baal entered and smiled immediately.
"What a pleasant surprise to find you still here!" He exclaimed. "I'm glad you accepted my hospitality."
"I didn't accept it. I submitted to it," she said coldly.
She stood up and walked away from the altar. Before anybody could add a word, a new voice cackled:
"Welcome back, long-lost sister."
Delilah turned on her heels, started by the appellation that sounded so much like Vortigern's for her, and saw a very old man, who gave the impression he would collapse if someone just breathed near him.
"Baal! What did you do to him?"
"I simply kept him alive," shrugged the demon prince.
"For how long?" Delilah murmured.
"But now she's here. You know all you need to know. Let me die, I'm tired..."
"Hmm... No, I think I'll keep you around a bit longer. You may prove still useful."
"Baal, who is he?"
"Isn't it obvious, long-lost sister?" said the old man bitterly. "I'm the last priest of Zubaran, spirited away by this Demon a long time ago!"
"What... what did... does He want from you?"
"He wanted to know whom the fallen Angel Rshkiel was going to bond with. So I helped Him to find back your trace..."
"Ah! I knew the real target was Rshkiel!"
"But there was... is more than that in you, long-lost sister... and He fell in love with you."
"If I'm His sister, long-lost or not, then He cannot marry me!"
Baal hissed to her face:
"Believe me, even if I have to replace every drop of demon blood in your veins with another Demon's blood, you will be my queen!"
"Then begin right now to bleed me dry," she replied calmly. "Because as long as I have one single drop of demon blood in my veins, I'm not marrying anybody!"
"Tell her, priest, tell her what you saw!" commanded Baal, infuriated.
The old man sighed and looked at Delilah.
"I saw..." he began before looking closer at her. "Ah!" he said then very expressively. "I see sorrow and death around you, long-lost sister... Your hand is covered with blood..."
Delilah half-frowned. He should have said 'hands', except if he was referring to her hurt hand. The priest was effectively looking at her hand, but he shook the head at the same time.
"Tell her about the wedding!" insisted Baal.
"I see no marriage," said the priest.
"You told me you did!"
"This I did. But she changed her fate."
"She cannot! Nobody can!"
"She can: she is free. It is something you Demons and Angels don't have for it has been given only to humans. And she is human."
"She is mine!" claimed Baal fiercely.
"That's something totally different," shrugged the priest.
Delilah wasn't listening anymore. She was free! Was she really? And then she was thinking about this 'your hand is covered with blood'. Suddenly she remembered an old saying among the demon knights 'May your hand not become covered with blood'. Demon knights used to go around with no weapon; nobody was crazy enough to attack a demon knight, except Demons themselves, and one didn't fight Demons with weapons anyway. So the only case they could have to kill someone was when they were the someone! The saying had become synonymous of 'May you not have to kill yourself', implying naturally it would be for escaping a Demon's wrath.
Delilah shivered. Now she knew what would happen to her. And she was free? Then she remembered: the other alternative was marrying Baal, which didn't appeal too much to her. Then Baal said something that brought her back to reality.
"If she changed her fate once, she can change it again, can't she?"
"Yes. Yes, she can."
"Then maybe I should ask her father for her hand," said Baal very gently.
Delilah started and then laughed softly.
"I know what my father will answer you: to go to Hell!"
But Baal was already casting the spell, a strange smile on His lips.

Delilah blinked and found herself facing Lilith and a man she recognised at once though she had never met him: she had had his portrait under her eyes during her whole life. The first thought she had was that they looked happy, smiling at her. Then pain struck and she winced. Ten years after, the loss of her mother was still vivid.
"Tubal," said the familiar voice of Lilith, "this is Delilah, our daughter."
The man's smile broadened.
"She's all I expected her to be and even more," he said proudly.
Delilah didn't say a word, didn't make a move. All her might was concentrated for quelling the torture she was suffering. Her pride refused to let Baal see how much He could hurt her. She noticed she looked like her father, dark hair and dark eyes, and she wondered if they were the marks of demon blood.
Lilith frowned and inquired, concern in her voice:
"Dee, honey, are you feeling well?"
She held out the hand toward her and, despite herself, Delilah reached for her. Their fingertips were almost touching when Tyrael's voice rang in her head:
"Don't accept anything from Him, not even His illusions!"
Her arm fell back by her side. Lilith looked hurt and Delilah felt her heart twist.
"Why did you call us?" asked Lilith unhappily.
Delilah found her voice only with difficulty.
"I didn't. Baal did."
Tubal grunted and Delilah said softly:
"Know the name of who invokes you..."
Baal, smiling, came by Delilah's side and bowed politely.
"Lilith and Tubal, I called you to ask you for the hand of your daughter Delilah."
Lilith's visage turned deadly pale while Tubal's reddened at the affront.
"You're not worthy of my daughter!" he growled.
"The other choice is death," said Baal very gently.
"I'd rather see my Delilah dead than your wife! Go back to your Hell and leave her alone!"
Delilah smiled sadly and Baal growled in anger. He had a move of the hand and the illusion - or whatever it was - faded away.
Delilah moaned and, unable to control herself anymore, fled out of the room, running to the room where she had slept. She fell on her knees, hiding her head in her hands. She felt her heart was on the edge of breaking but she couldn't cry: she had given all her tears to Tyrael the previous evening. Seeing her parents after so long, hearing the pride in her father's voice when she had hated him for her whole life for having given her her cursed demon blood, all this was too much to bear.
Arms came around her, holding her gently, cradling her protectively, while a voice hummed a soothing wordless lullaby. She knew who it was but she was too broken to react and push Him away.
"I love you, Delilah," He murmured. "I'll care for you, I promise, and I'll do all I can to make you happy."
"After having broken me?" she asked tonelessly.
"Try to understand! I was angry and jealous! I'm your protective Demon but Jorram has to answer your calls because I can't. An Angel walked with you the path I should have done. You never accepted anything from me, not even help, and each time I want you to have something, I have to trick you! It's not my fault if I'm a Demon, Delilah; it's not my fault if everything I have to offer you is of a demon nature! Except my love... I promise you that my love is the same as a man would have for you."
"Would you stop being a Demon for me?" she murmured.
"Like what?"
"Leaving Rshkiel alone, not trying to trap Angels anymore, stopping to lie to me and to trick me, renouncing to your idea of ruling over all realms."
She could feel Him wince and He protested softly:
"That's a lot to ask, Delilah! You're asking me to refuse my very nature!"
"That's what you're asking from me also, Baal. My whole life, I have despised the demon blood in my veins; as soon as I was old enough to understand what it was, I swore to myself I would never marry, that I would never condemn my children to what I had suffered myself. You're asking me to accept my demon blood, to make it so fully mine that it would overcome my human heritage. You're asking me to become what they call a renegade Guardian and, doing so, I won't be able to clear my mother's name! It's a lot also to ask, Baal."
"Our children will be Demons, Delilah, and they won't be rejected. One drop of demon blood in your veins is enough for us to accept you as one of us. We are the most tolerant people. Angels don't accept half-breed, humans despise them, but we welcome them. Did any of my Demons ever reproach you anything about your human blood?"
She shook the head. None ever had. They were in awe in front of her, because she was a Guardian and because she was Baal's chosen one. Those who knew her better were always glad to see her, like Jorram and Pelimarkodon - or even Rashiel.
"Angels fear the humans' soul and feel threatened by it. We don't. That's why they refuse half-breed. We welcome the idea of the soul, so we don't forbid humans to come to our realm. Why do you think they forbid the entry to theirs?"
"I don't know," said Delilah, shaking the head again.
"Maybe..." He breathed in her ear, "maybe it is because they don't want humans to see what they did of Heaven."
"What do you mean?"
"They're supposed to be good. Yet, they trapped your mother; I certainly didn't. They let you all alone to face me, though they know the threat is real. Who healed your hand? A fallen Angel."
Despite herself, Delilah began to believe Baal. She realised His embrace around her felt strong and sure, yet tender and caring. He caressed her hair gently.
"Let me show you how loved you could be, you should be!"
Delilah closed the eyes. She felt so tired! Something in her stirred, shouting 'Yes! Yes!' over and over and she was tempted to listen to it, to leave behind all her worries, to stop caring for those who hated and despised her.
"You know my bad sides. Let me show you my good sides..." He whispered.

She pressed her hands against her mouth as to choke back the word she wanted and dreaded to say. Blood filled her mouth and she blinked. Her hand was bleeding again and her mind cleared suddenly. She was hurt because He had trapped twice the fetter on Raphael's neck. A voice rang in her head:
"Whatever it may cost you, child, do no accept anything from the demon prince, not even food, not even His attention."
She shifted in His arms and He regretfully let her go. She remembered another voice saying:
"Nobody ever cried for an Angel..."
He looked up at her, still kneeling.
"Delilah?" He asked hopefully.
She wondered if He truly loved her or if He had just used His honeyed voice to trick her - once again! Then she remembered she had forbidden herself to have such thoughts. Somehow, everything settled back and her demon side was left protesting loudly; she didn't listen to its complains.
She looked at Baal, looked at Him like she had never done before. He was so handsome that it was almost breathtaking but, after a moment of reflection, she discovered she didn't care for it. His eyes were beckoning and troubling, yet there was a glow in them that she couldn't fathom. She noticed, near His waist, a bad burn that looked like a pentacle. Guiltily she put her hand on her belt. It had burnt Him when He had taken her in His arms, yet He had never complained. Could He suppress the pain or had He just decided not to acknowledge it? Rashiel had winced as she was several steps away from him!
She mentally shook the head. This was no point. Maybe it proved that Baal was ready to do anything for her, but it didn't explain everything, especially when there was a war at stake. Longingly, she thought that if the threat hadn't been here, maybe she would have believed Baal and His protestations of His love for her.
"My father refused," she said with a hoarse voice. "What did you do to him for him to hate you so much?"
"All his line has always hated me, even since Damon. Half-brothers' hate, I guess."
"Why did you think it would go otherwise with me?"
"Because we share a bond and because you are the first girl of the line. You could have been more reasonable."
"I guess I could, indeed. But I don't think I will."
"Don't try my patience, Delilah," He warned her with a weary voice.
She looked at Him blankly and then walked back to the main cavern. Tyrael gazed at her, begging her to tell him she hadn't accepted anything from Him. She blinked in answer and he relaxed in his chains.
"Delilah, this is the last chance I give you: come with us and I'll let your Angel friend go free. Refuse and both of you shall die; once you are dead, nothing will prevent me of making you my queen, sweet and obedient. You have until tomorrow to think."
Delilah opened the mouth as to protest but closed it without saying a word. Baal turned to Yawni and Jorram.
"Jorram, please make sure Yawni stays with Delilah and that he doesn't let her escape."
At first, she was speechless, then she stammered:
"You... you used Yawni against me?"
"Naturally," He said, half-irritated. "Don't be a child, Delilah. Yawni was supposed to watch over you and keep you as much as possible away from your nice Angel."
Delilah looked at Yawni with the hurt of betrayal in her eyes; she didn't look at Jorram: he was a Demon and his first loyalty was to Baal and not to her. Then, slowly, Yawni winked, his tongue hanging on the side of his mouth, looking definitely impish. This look said, as clear as words would have, that Baal could still say what He wanted. As Delilah was still looking with incredulity at him, he shook impatiently his rear leg - the one Tyrael had healed. She didn't think it a coincidence. She turned her back to Baal.
"You're making me sick," she said with a neutral voice.
Baal shrugged and left the cavern. Everybody followed Him, except the old priest of Zubaran, Jorram, Yawni, Cinnabar, Delilah and, naturally, Tyrael.
"Cin, stay here and keep an eye on Yawni," commanded Delilah, ignoring the rovelsh on purpose, who jumped in indignation.
She left for her room and the priest of Zubaran followed her at his slow pace.

Once in her room, she began to care for her hand, thinking at last of bandaging it - again! She summarily washed it with some water. The priest arrived as she was trying to put the bandage around it properly.
"Let me help you, child."
His old hands were kind and he frowned reprovingly when he saw the state of the wound.
"You should disinfect this, sister. Demon blood doesn't cure everything. You could have a blood poisoning."
"Again?" she sadly laughed. "And I thought that demon blood was a poison in itself, not a cure."
"Demon blood can cure blindness if applied on the eyes, can cure dumbness if applied on the lips and can cure deafness if applied on the ears. But one has to be careful, for the contrary happens if the person doesn't have these... ah... problems."
"Then why am I not dumb now?"
"Because it's part of you, sister."
She sighed.
"I wish I could get rid of it," she said.
"Maybe with a vampire blade," the priest suggested thoughtfully.
"A vampire blade?" she repeated.
"A demon vampire blade, if correctly enchanted, may help you, but it's far more probable it will drink your blood without making any difference."
"It's still worth trying," she said with more hope than she had felt lately.
"But it is so dangerous, sister! The vampire blade cannot be stopped."
Delilah smiled.
"There are lots of spells using a vampire blade that I had forgotten about until now. Thank you, father."
"There... your hand is properly bandaged now. Be careful with it, it's not in a good state."
"I know. Thank you again."
He looked down once, nervously.
"Child, I have a request... Demon blood can indeed cur sick, or even dying, people. But if misused, it can have the contrary effect..."
Delilah nodded to show she was understanding. Hastily he continued:
"Would you let me have a few drops of your blood?"
At first, she remained stunned, looking in the clear, blue eyes of the priest, and then she slowly extended her opened hand toward him. It took him time to understand but then he placed a little phial in her hand. She reached for her pentacles belt with her hurt hand and brushed one finger against a side that seemed suspiciously too sharp. Instantly her fingertip was covered with blood. She held it above the phial and calmly watched the dark drops fall heavily in it.
"Enough! This is enough, child!" exclaimed the priest, who seemed to dislike the scene intensively.
She looked up at him without moving otherwise before handing him brutally the phial.
"I don't want to know how you'll use it," she said darkly.
She wiped off her bloody finger on her leggings.
"Go now. But whatever you do, don't put the blame on me, I would appreciate the courtesy."
The priest obeyed, almost afraid of asking her if she knew what he intended to do. He was sure she did but the reason of her gesture was mysterious. He decided not to try his luck and retreated in rooms Baal had given him so long ago. Left alone, Delilah could think.

The afternoon was not half-gone that Baal burst in her rooms, obviously furious.
"What did you do?" He yelled.
She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Him.
"What am I supposed to have done?" she asked mildly.
"As if you didn't know! The priest!"
"Baal," she sighed with patience, "I hate your guessing games. What with the priest now?"
"He's dead, that's what's with him!" yelled Baal even louder.
"Oh! Am I to understand you're accusing me of having killed him? Now, tell me how I did since I didn't leave this room. I'd love to be able to be in two different places at the same time though. And please do refrain from yelling, I am not deaf."
"You have no respect for death anymore. This man was innocent, you had no reason to kill him!"
"Baal, though I shouldn't have to justify myself, I can swear to you that I never raised a hand - nor two as a matter of fact, in case you're up to bad word plays - against him. I'm glad to notice though that you know what's innocence and even wanted to protect it."
"You didn't?" repeated Baal incredulously, but who knew better than accuse her of lying. "But then..."
"That is your problem, not mine. I'm waiting for your apologies, now."
Baal looked offended and left the room muttering under His breath. Delilah softly chuckled and internally mourned for the old priest, even though she had been waiting for Baal's outburst with the bad news.
"I hope you found the peace and rest you were looking for, old father," she murmured.
She opened her demon book again, patiently waiting for evening. Her stomach growled, reminding her of all her skipped meals, and she wondered if she could eat food provided by Baal now that she was His prisoner. Probably not. She sighed, looking around for Cinnabar and frowned when not finding him. She suddenly remembered having asked him to keep an eye on Yawni and she pursed her lips when thinking at the betrayal of her rovelsh. Tyrael was right: rovelshes didn't know the word 'gratitude'. She frowned again, wondering where she had left her saddlebags. She found them in a dark corner of her room and knew immediately she had never put them here. She always put them somewhere she was sure she could find them immediately. She opened them and growled when she discovered that all her food was gone.
She sighed and cast a spell to know who had stolen from her. As her saddlebags glowed a faint green, she growled again.
"Jorram!" she exclaimed, exasperated.
The nice young Demon had turned into someone not so nice. She grumbled again and sat back with her book, telling firmly her protesting stomach that Tyrael hadn't eaten either.
After a while, she stood up and went to Baal's library, trying to find books on vampire blades and - maybe - the description of some well-known blades. Baal's library was full of magic books, with magic locks on them, and, as usual, Delilah spent more time unlocking them than reading. She finally found what she was looking for: Baal's favourite book, whose title kept changing so that it would be hard to find, about all the magic weapons. The book was so skilfully enchanted that it kept itself updated and even tried to indicate the last known location of the weapon. Delilah sighed, put the heavy book on the table and slowly began to browse it.

Midnight came and she was still burning her eyes on the fine print of the book. Then she suddenly raised the head and listened attentively. She couldn't hear a sound. She softly closed the book and put it back on the bookshelf. She slipped out of the library and went straight to the main room. Tyrael was still here, naturally, his chains holding him back to the post, Cinnabar next to him. He was awake still, as if he was taking advantage of his last night.
"Delilah!" he exclaimed immediately sotto voce, pulling on his chains as if trying to reach for her. "It's your last chance, go away now! Please, please, go away... I won't stand to see you die again."
"You won't either," she said tonelessly. "He will kill you first, trying to break me. And I certainly won't be able to see that either."
Her hand came on his chains, light as a bird.
"You said you couldn't do anything..." he murmured.
"I said I couldn't free you," she rectified. "Believe me, I didn't spend the day mourning over our fates."
She pronounced spells on his chains, wincing at each trap she released, and the bandage carefully wrapped around her hand by the priest of Zubaran soon turned dark from burns and blood. Her other hand wasn't in a better state, yet she continued bravely her task, her voice getting thick with pain. When she finally stopped, her arms were burned from her fingertips to the middle of her forearms and the sleeves of her tunic had vanished in ashes
"Now, listen to me, Tyrael. If His attention doesn't focus on you anymore, the chains will release you. As soon as they do, please run away, as fast as you can. The rest will be up to me."
She tried to smile bravely.
"Rshkiel is safe. You don't have to die," Tyrael whispered. "Yet you will force Him to kill you..."
She looked at him strangely then murmured:
"And when I think that his immortal wings
 Will one day hover o'er the sepulchre
 Of the poor child of clay which so adored him,
 As he adores the Highest, death becomes
 Less terrible."
Tyrael drew a deep breath and added softly:
"But yet I pity him:
 His grief will be of ages, or at least
 Mine would be such for him, were I the seraph,
 And he the perishable." ¹
She smiled again, sadly.
"And now what?" he said.
"And now, we say farewell to each other, but not for long, for in the morning, we shall both be free."
"No!" Tyrael protested.
"It must be so," she insisted gently. "My parents are waiting for me."
"But why?" he almost shouted.
"Why was I born?" she replied and he knew what was the answer form their previous quotations.
"To die! in youth to die!
 And happier in that doom,
 Than to behold to universal tomb, which I
 Am thus condemn'd to weep above in vain.
 Why, when all perish, why must I remain?" ²
"Others need you," she reminded him. "You survived Lilith's death after all."
Tyrael didn't answer.

Morning - and Baal - found them still talking, Delilah fighting each instant the throbbing pain in her arms and the sickness she felt.
"Do you never learn?" asked Baal when seeing her arms.
"I do. This time, I knew what to expect."
He forced her to step back, so she would be far from Tyrael and the altar with the weapons. She sighed and obeyed. Jorram and Yawni entered, standing between Baal and the altar, Yawni not daring to come closer to Tyrael, for Cinnabar was snorting none-too-invitingly.
With a deft move, Baal drew His demon blade and put it on Tyrael's throat. The Archangel winced but his eyes never left Delilah.
"So here we are, Delilah," said Baal. "This is your last chance to save him. You have one word to say, one tiny word, and I swear to you that I will let him go free and unharmed."
"What word?" Delilah asked wearily.
"Yes."
"Yes to what?"
"Staying with the Demons. Accepting your heritage at last."
Delilah took a deep breath. She was at the point of no return. She looked down at her tortured hands and knew she couldn't fight. She slowly knelt, as if praying, but her mind was empty. She looked longingly at the alter, where were the two tools of her freedom, and sighed.
"Well, Delilah?" asked Baal, pressing a bit His blade against Tyrael's throat.
A drop of blood ran down, making a red stain on his tunic. Delilah shifted uncomfortably, yet Tyrael was not uttering the smallest complain. She was silent, though her mind was shouting:
"The blades! I need the blades!"
Then all happened very quickly: Yawni jumped on the altar, seized Tyrael's angelic sword between his teeth, didn't even yelp as his muzzle got badly burnt and somehow twisted his neck so he could throw the sword to Delilah. She caught it, her eyes wide opened in disbelief, while her fingers complained of the pain. Yawni did the same with her demon blade and looked at her from the altar. Nobody had moved, too stupefied to react.
Pain was all she knew. The pain of her fingers curled up around the weapons, the pain of holding Tyrael's sword, the pain of her tortured arms. But she had her fate in her hands and suddenly, fear twisted her stomach. She was closer to death than she had ever felt and though she had claimed it was all she wanted, now she was afraid. She didn't want to kill herself; she would accept to die in a battle, to die fighting, but not to die by her own hand.
She looked up at Tyrael, who was now the only person she cared for. She had fed her courage and determination with abstract concepts for the last ten years and now she needed something more solid, more real. Yet, though she would gladly have died for him, death would only take them apart from each other. Despair swept over her and she remained motionless, torn between two feelings.
At last, Baal moved toward her and, in a rush, a thought came to her: she was free. She had promised herself that the demon blood would die with her and there was the law in Heaven... Even if she survived, her love for Tyrael was hopeless. Nothing held her back. She was truly free. As realisation struck, she had a wild shout of triumph and swiftly drove Tyrael's sword in her chest.
Baal shouted in protestation and pain but she didn't hear Him. The pain was unbearable and she didn't know if she had cried her suffering or not. Her hands now badly shaking, she forced herself to stab again her body curled up around the angelic sword. Then she collapsed, lying sideways on the ground, crying what seemed like to her like tears of fire.
As the two blades were stealing her life, Baal ran to her and suddenly, Tyrael found himself free, yet he didn't move. Baal fell on His knees by her side, begging:
"Don't die! Don't die! Say you love me, acknowledge it out aloud and I can save you!"
"Thank you, Yawni..." she said, trying to see the rovelsh as she felt her life escape away from her.
"Say you love me!"
"I... love..."
Death claimed her before she could finish but her glassy eyes were not looking at Baal. He took her in His arms, moaning:
"Don't die, please don't die... I love you..."
Tyrael came by His side.
"Go away!" yelled Baal. "Didn't you hear it? She didn't accept anything from me, so I can't save her now! Go away!"
"But I can save her... maybe."
Baal looked up at him, a wild hope invading His eyes.
"You can? You really can?"
"If we don't lose time and if I can reach Heaven soon, yes, I can."
He bent down, retrieved his angelic sword without Baal protesting, then picked up Delilah's demon sword and slid it back in her boot.
"Give her to me and show me the portal."
Baal obeyed like a child and Tyrael stepped into the portal holding Delilah's lifeless body in his arms, followed by Cinnabar, Yawni and, surprisingly, Jorram.

1. Heaven and Earth, by Lord Byron, Scene I.
2. Heaven and Earth, by Lord Byron, Scene III.