Three months. Three months and not a day more, for making Cherosh a proper guardian Hel would send Matthew to protect the necromancer. Azrael was aware they all had heaps of patience with Cherosh, but the nephilim had a way of even getting the death angel this angry Azrael just had enough. Instead of focussing and fighting back, the nephilim let everything happen, to curl up in self-pity again.

Shoving his blades back into the sheaths, Azrael glared down at Cherosh. "I'm done with you." Only rarely, maybe every other century, the black winged angel got this angry. But if he got to that point, his rage was felt everywhere, in Heaven and Hell alike. It was no secret that whenever this happened, he would rant about his situation. Not in public, though, but only in presence of Lucifer.

The ruler of Hell had passed a calm day up to now, and had occupied himself with some documents, as the waves of pure anger emitting from Azrael hit him. "Sweet blood, rant time again?" Only Lucifer possibly could stay this calm when Azrael was in the mood to rip heads and other limbs off, and practically came stomping into his office. Well, he was used to it. So he merely set down the documents and leaned back on the couch. Chuckling to himself, he had to think of what Azrael called his style of ruling. 'Decadency'... ah well, there was worse than that.

The door flew open, almost being ripped out of its angles, and Lucifer looked up at a quite angry Azrael. "I'm so done with this whiner, I swear!" Straightforward and without wasting time as ever. Lucifer signed the death angel to calm down and stop screaming around. He neither wanted his ears to be yelled off nor to lose any limbs. And Azrael looked like he wouldn't have stopped from that.

"Is it about the nephilim?" It was no secret that Azrael was having troubles with Cherosh. Nephilims basically were troublesome, but this certain male was exceptional. If he managed to anger Azrael, then there had to be something really provoking about Cherosh. The death angel usually was this angry every other century, but if he was, then this anger was to be felt like a choking grip, reaching into the farthest corners of Heaven.

"Yes indeed. This pathetic excuse of a nephilim won't stop sulking and dwelling in his self pity." Azrael was gritting his teeth, fists clenched to the point his knuckles became white, feathers bristling, the usually icy blue eyes having become dark as the deep sea. Smirking a bit, Lucifer offered Azrael a seat, but as to be expected, the death angel refused and just leaned against the wall.

"Have you told him why he's here? What he is and will become still?" Azrael nodded, cursing under his breath. "I told him about Matthew's troubles, about his family, and about the fact he will become a nephilim, an artificial halfblooded angel. But still, he won't man up and start fighting for it. Our Mistress has given me three months, Lucifer. Of these, only two weeks remain. If there's not a miracle kicking him out of his apathy and endless self pity, he will be fed to Fenris."

Nodding with a somewhat amused expression, Lucifer rose, folding his deep purple wings narrowly on his back and pulling Azrael over to the couch the ruler of Hell just seconds before had lounged on. The death angel didn't struggle, he was too tense to consider it. For normal, he would have brought anyone down on the ground, quite possibly right after cutting the unfortunate person's legs off. But in Lucifer's case, the other angel was perfectly safe.

"Well, consider the following. He had to take in the shocks of losing his siblings, fusing his own soul with his twin's, becoming a halfbreed and having had contact with a powerful necromancer while having those nasty fangs." All casually, Lucifer's hands had sneaked beneath Azrael's light armor and clothes, kneading the rock hard shoulder muscles. "It's pretty logical his mind fell into a mess to avoid him falling for insanity completely."

The death angel hissed something sounding quite like 'I don't care', but already began relaxing a bit. Lucifer had magical fingers; they pin-pointed the most tense spots and worked on them without mercy. "To me, it's not surprising he forgot he is a Seiphar. One of the main family, on top of that. The genuine article."

Azrael's eyes shut a bit, the dark colour clearing a bit. "Ah yes. I had hoped Raphael, his brother, could talk sense into him. Apparently not." Lucifer chuckled again, his thumbs pressing against Azrael's nape. "Well, I guess his twin is not... persuasive enough." the fallen angel sighed, taking good care of some especially tensed up spots. It would be much easier to get Azrael to think like him when the warrior became wax beneath his hands.

"Then what should I do, Luc? What will get this headcase to man up already?" The thumbs slided down,trailing Azrael's shoulder blades. "I would suggest you show him what happens if he fails. You know the Seiphars, they all are stubborn and at times impossible. If you give him such a reason to fight not for his own life, but for Matthew's, then you should be able to get this nephilim working."

Blue eyes glanced back at the ruler of Hell, almost having returned to the usual icy colour. "A pretty good idea, actually. Though I would have liked to see him be eaten by Fenris." Lucifer laughed, shaking his head. "That would be your first failure ever since you started training black angels and nephilims. Something you would never allow yourself to happen, or am I mistaken?"

Of course, Lucifer wasn't mistaken. He knew Azrael too well to not have any clue about the pride the death angel showed whenever his disciples were involved. "You are suggesting to scare him the worst way possible." Nodding, the fallen angel slipped his thumbs just a tad down, to reach a spot being one of Azrael's few weak points. "You see, if not even his brother can convince him to forget his worries about himself, we have to use the most persuasive mean at our disposal. And that would be Matthew."

Azrael murred a rather inarticulate answer, his so uptight composure softly crumbling beneath Lucifer's persistently working hands. "Makes me wonder why Raphael is here, to begin with. He hasn't done anything wrong, has he? Besides, I doubt the saying 'Only the Seiphars are born in sin.' is true." Lucifer sighed at that, pressing against the other's nape again, then trailing along the spine. "He chose to follow his brother. He didn't want to go to Heaven, because then, he would have been stuck there."

The death angel huffed at that, his brow for a short time creasing before his expression went blank again. "Ah. So Cherosh goes on whimpering, even though his brother has more or less sacrificed himself to be with him. What a glorious way to show his brother how much he means to him." Lucifer pressed his thumbs a bit more strongly into Azrael's shoulders, to get the death angel's thoughts away from that again. Murring, Azrael relaxed, and for a moment, there was silence.

"Thanks, Luc. I really needed someone to put my mind off this incorrigible thing." Azrael rubbed his temple a bit, looking only the slightest bit stressed out. Chuckling, Lucifer kept on kneading the other angel's skin a bit. "If he still won't obey, then you can get that black demon again our honoured Mistress unleashed on him when having hurt Matthew like this. He has to understand this certain necromancer should be his very reason to live."

Nodding to himself, Azrael didn't move yet. It was such a rare occasion his body relaxed, his muscles went limp beneath diligently working fingertips. Lucifer had a feeling for it, and that made him become all docile and soft. Being a warrior by soul, Azrael usually neglected his needs for some rest, which always came in handy for calming him down this way.

Bowing down a bit, Lucifer pressed a soft kiss against Azrael's neck. It was a light tease, nothing with any sexual intentions. The icy blue eyes locked with purple ones, and for just a moment, the ruler of Hell had the feeling he would get his head chopped off any second. But there merely was the hint of a smirk on Azrael's lips as the death angel rose. "Well then. Thanks for bearing my rant, Luc. I won't bother you for another century."

Azrael left the ruler's home quickly, as he didn't want to draw too much attention on himself. Which was a bit hard, as he was known to barely ever leave his training halls. But well, there were exceptions. He remembered that he really should visit Serena again. Brushing that thought aside for later on, he stepped into the hall, as expected finding Cherosh on the ground still. The nephilim really was incorrigible...

"Stand up, Cherosh. I got to show you something, and believe me, it will get some reason into you." The nephilim, most surprisingly, instantly reacted, which could be blamed on the black demon showing in a far corner of the hall. Inwardly chuckling, Azrael motioned Cherosh to come closer. Just as the nephilim was in reach, Azrael's hand shot forward and touched the nephilim's forehead, seeming to phase into the other male's body and reach deeper.

"Listen to me, Cherosh. I'll show you what happens if you still refuse to become a true nephilim." Azrael got a grip on Cherosh's mind, not having any problems with breaking down the barrier around it. None of his disciples could keep a secret from him, under any circumstances. "Watch closely, Cherosh. This will become true if you still dwell in your self pity."

He saw Matthew. The necromancer was running, chased by hunters. They easily could be identified as the Catholic Hunters, the worst to exist. "Matt!" His scream came much too late. A long blade slashed into the necromancer, and with a mute cry, the struck male fell to the ground. Blood rapidly spread around Matthew, making the nephilim understand the smaller raven-head had no chance. His powers were used up. And all because he hadn't come to protect him.

Helplessly, Cherosh had to watch how the Hunters dragged the limp body with them, frozen into his position. He could hear Hel's voice in his mind, how much she was enraged about his failure. The tearing pain was nothing compared to the wound having been ripped into his heart. Just because he hadn't stopped sulking, Matthew was dead...

Cherosh staggered back, still shell-shocked and only slowly realizing it had been a vision. "Is... is that the truth?" Azrael nodded slowly, his cold eyes never leaving the light grey ones of Cherosh. Inwardly, he groaned slightly about Lucifer having been right... again. Well, better like this than to bear with the first failure in his long career as teacher for all death angels Hell could offer.

Finally, he saw it. Determination flared up in Cherosh's eyes, and the nephilim wiped off some blood. "Good. I..." He seemed to think about something, then kneeled in front of Azrael, bowing his head. "I hope you accept my apology, Master. My behaviour has been impolite and impossible. Would you still teach me how to fight?"

Smirking to himself, Azrael nodded. That was the spirit. That was how he wanted his disciples to be. "Rise, Cherosh Seiphar. You will have to work seven times as hard as I inteded for you, as you wasted all that time. Will you be able to keep up with that?" Cherosh nodded, summoning his blade without Azrael having to ask for it. "If it prepares me for my task, then I'll take it."