“So what?” Azrael professed. “You’ve got a taste of Lucifer’s power flowing thru your veins.”

“Yup,” Blake replied, “just a smattering.”

“I already know it’s not in your anti-magic hex,” Azrael sneered. “And that’s the only one that matters in the long run.”

Azrael raised his flaming blade, preparing to charge. “Ya’know,” Blake said, his words slightly disarming his foe, “you should never have deactivated the magic on your sword before, when I asked you to.”

The archangel paused to consider. “Why’s that?” he finally asked.

“As you know, all magic works on frequencies; each person having their own unique signature.”

“So?” came the reply.

“You should never have let me know what yours was.” Azrael’s sword dampened, the flame extinguishing. “Yeah,” Blake continued, “that’s right. Uncle Lucifer’s blood went into a magic dampening tattoo.”

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Azrael muttered, confused and surprised.

“Life’s not fair, kiddo. So, mano a mano, sans magic. How ya think you’re gonna fare?”