“Aleister… yes I remember him; at least, I remember his joining us. Azrael herself had to intercede on his behalf: he had garnered quite a reputation by that point and we weren't sure whether he would have suited Metatron. Still, he was a final gift and a final request from Azrael until her 'Final Request', as she called it, so how could we refuse?

“Hmmm… how did he assimilate? Surprisingly well, in fact. My intial fears were clearly misplaced; Death is a law of sorts - certainly one unto itself - and changing one set of laws for another is never too strenuous and adjustment. He was strident at first, as if these new laws had filled him with new life and new purpose. And while he was a stellar enforcer against the early dissidents, he was often more focused on his own accomplishments than the completion of the law. In our opinion that is.”

There is a pause.

“He mellowed, though.”

— In interview with Synthronos

Aleister Jones, Angel of Metatron, sits alone in a pale-walled room in Earth. Around him are the worn comforts of a home that is cleared well lived in; a fire crackles, and a faint click, click sound fills the air. He ponders over what he's done, where he's been, and how he got where he is now. Azrael had been good to him for a time, gave him a cause to champion and a way to fufill those goals. The fervent devotion had come to little, as even she had wavered and become weak, in the end.

Click, click

Then it had been law; one devotion substituted for another. It was simple really - slipping off one set of clothes and putting on another. But then he felt himself clamped down at every turn, and not able to take credit for his own action. He wasn't trying to be God King anymore, but surely it's not too bad to want to be something more than The Law, right? The clicking stops for a moment as Aleister lets out a sigh.

So now he's here; he is tired. He'll find something new to drive him, he's sure of that, but that can wait just a little bit longer.

The clicking starts again, and Aleister's brain falls quiet as it focuses on the repetitive sounds and motions. It is only when the door to the room clicks open that he looks up again, as an elderly man walks into the room. The angel lowers the knitting needles.

“Axel, your jumper is almost finished.”