the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 26-
The informant was not what he expected.
For one, he was not a young or inexperienced demon. He was old, in a way that had actually begun to show his age. This meant he was weak, which he had expected. And yet, this man should have been smarter than to open up to him. One eye was scarred over and sealed shut with a single jagged edge that was not clean, but thousands of years old. One arm was missing, and the other supported a crutch. Few wounds would have been left so untreated, but with the state of rags, the rasp of his cough, and the manner in which his one eye was nearly as dark as his first in command was, Azazel understood immediately why.
The informant was a veteran from the Great War, and like so many of his kind had been treated hastily as the bombs had gone off, and with minimal supplies left to treat the ill only the most powerful could be deemed necessary to be saved.
He still raised his one good hand in a salute.