She meets her first Malakite on her first time on earth. She is not new to combat, not really. A Gamester's job is most useful on earth, but not required for that. Most Renegades never make it out of Hell, and there is a reason for that.

If they don't make it out, they weren't worthy of surviving. If they get caught after making it out, then more fool they.

It's not envy that makes her kill those who escape Hell (she says). It's just duty (she says). She believes it.

She believes many things that other people cannot believe.

The Malakite has backed her to the wall and she is struggling to breathe, clawing at the hand around her Vessel's throat. The Malakite is a tall redhaired woman. She serves Creation. That made Coranel laugh bitterly until her air was cut off.

I served Creation once, or a shell of me did.

She tried to avoid combat, the other ironic part. She was there to deal with demons; she bore the other angels no ill will. She was simply there for the Renegade Djinn who cowered back behind the Malakite. More breast than brain - but Coranel had her own Lustie vessel. It wasn't anything personal, she never bothered explaining. It was simply her job. Certainly, the world could do with one more angel, but the Djinn girl had to earn it. She was running away from Hell. She was weak. There were stronger ways to become an angel, surely. If she survived Coranel, then she was worthy. Or Coranel had to try harder. She clawed at the Malakite's hands, drawing blood and catching bits of flesh under her fingernails.

"I'm an angel," she wheezed. "I mean you no ill, Virtue."

"Hellspawned bitch."

"I am an angel - look, was even an angel before, as you count it-"

"Fallen!"

The Malakite wasn't listening, she wasn't listening, Coranel began to ache inside. Ache. At her throat in her wrists. In her stomach. It was searing. Searing? Searing, yes. Control slipping - it was slipping more easily lately but it wasn't her fault it wasn't weakness it was everyone else's fault it just showed that they deserved what happened when control slipped. Knives appearing in her hands; she drives one through the Malakite's forearm which gives her enough leeway to drop. Fall to the ground and roll.

"How dare you call me a demon," she snarled. How dare she? The Djinn girl was screaming something but it was just noise in Coranel's ears, just noise. How dare she. She had to pay. Had to break. It would be sweet. It would be beautiful. Fear me fear me fear me Coranel thinks and throws it at her. Fear-

And bounces so effortlessly the Malakite might be a Superior, doesn't seem like one, maybe just a Wordbound - unimportant. Unimportant fear it was coming for her it saw what she was and it was coming for her, it didn't matter that she was an angel, it didn't understand, it'd never understand. It'd never understand, its kind couldn't even bear hell, it was going to kill her because its mind was weak but its Vessel was strong and so she ran, so she ran and ran and ran, sobbing in terror, blindly afraid of angels that kill other angels just because they have to work in hell.

Ran until the terror wore out and she thought oh yes, licking knives, holding herself as the tremors faded, watching blood drip loosely, liquidly onto her skin. Oh yes, she'd enjoy breaking that one. How dare she not understand? How dare she not respect their joint angelhood?

The weak bitch.