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Part Three / Chapter Seventy-Seven
Metatron roughly threw Venus onto the gravel underneath her.
"It's depressing to see you without your grace." The being walked in circles around the girl still struggling to catch her breath. "If you had it, you could have made that fire go out like this." She snapped her fingers.
"Fuck you." Venus spat disgustingly.
Metatron chuckled taking the foot of their boot to kick Venus across her face. The taste in her mouth had become metallic and blood drenched the shirt Fleur lent her.
"You should learn how to speak to your superiors with a little more respect." Metatron kneeled to look Venus eye to eye. "You're more powerful than you think. You're just looking for it in the wrong places."
She pushed herself away until her back hit a pole that closed off the cliff to any students on the grounds. The Rosario girl was too scared to even think of Castiel or Corrine, there was no doubt that Metatron was skimming her mind for answers.
"I have a real question for you now." Their hands closed across the blood-stained blade of the archangel blade. "Where is God's grace?"
"I told you already, you know for yourself that I don't know where the grace is."
However, Metatron's attention was on Venus anymore. They stood up and turned around to look at Azrael. He sent a charismatic smile.
"You don't look very happy to see me, Metty?" He pulled his lips into a mock frown holding his arms up to give Metatron a hug.
"Do not touch me." The archangel spoke to their equal. "You think I'm dense, don't you?"
Azrael chortled. "I don't know what you mean, Metty."
"You wiped her memory of the grace!" Metatron's voice boomed. "Now, I have to bleed it out of her!"
The feeling of the archangel blade made itself known to Metatron again. "I could just bleed it out of you, then."
Even though the only weapon in the world that could kill him was pressed against his neck, Azrael didn't break a sweat; smirking confidently at the archangel.
"You could, but not right now."
The gravel behind Metatron crackled. Venus added the finishing touches to her archangel sigil. Crimson, red blood from her chin doubled as the paint she used on the surface of the rocky ground. The archangel disappeared once she pressed her hand against the sigol burning out of sight in front of the Uncle and Niece.
"We don't have much time. With your grace and hers combined, sigils aren't of much use anymore." Azrael picked her up from the ground and dusted off gravel that entrained itself into her skin.
