Nightside bit feats (Agents of Light and Darkness)

John states that an angel could most likely survive a backpack nuke exploding at point-blank range:

“You have my full attention. Angels … and an Unholy Grail. Kinky. Bit out of our usual territory. Would silver work against angels?”

“Not even if you loaded it into a bazooka. You could probably strap an angel to a backpack nuke and set it off, and he wouldn’t even blink. Angels are major hard-core.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

Mr. Bones states that nothing in the material world can stand up to the angels:

“There are angels in the Nightside,” said Mr. Bones, grimacing as though he’d tasted something bitter. “Ranks and degrees far greater than us. They are death and destruction; the will of the Highest and the Lowest made manifest in the mortal world. Nothing material can hope to stand against them.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

Information on the Speaking Gun:

Suzie pouted, but didn’t object. “Any idea how it’s supposed to work?”

“Only roughly. According to the Voynich Manuscript, the Speaking Gun re-creates God’s Word. You know, in the Beginning was the Word? The great Sound at the start of Creation, that lives on in the real, secret, names of everything. The Speaking Gun recognizes the secret name of whatever you point it at, and then Says it backwards, uncreating it. Theoretically, this Gun could destroy anything. Or everything.”

“ Cool …” said Suzie.

“The Gun is also supposed to exert a very heavy price on whoever uses it,” I said sternly. “No-one today knows what. But given the fact that no-one’s dared use the awful thing in centuries, I think we should be extremely cautious.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

The Bedlam Boys and their powers:

Suzie and I eased ourselves through the open door and watched the Bedlam Boys practicing their particularly unpleasant version of the protection racket. Though consumer terrorism would probably be a better description. Once upon a time, the Boys really had been a successful boy band, but it had been a long time since any of their saccharine cover versions had even come close to troubling the charts. On the scrap heap while barely into their twenties, the Boys had drifted into the Nightside in search of a new direction, and the Collector had supplied them with a useful psychic gift in return for their talent, which he apparently keeps in a jar. A very small jar. These days, the Bedlam Boys mostly worked as muscle for hire or frighteners. And when business is slow they pick up pin money by freelancing. Either you agreed to pay them regular insurance payments, or they guaranteed bad things would happen to your business. To be exact, they turned up on your doorstep and demonstrated their awful ability on whoever happened to be present. The Boys could psionically inflict all kinds of different phobias and manias on anyone in their immediate proximity. They were currently hitting the Hot N Spicy’s staff and customers with every kind of fear and anxiety they could think of, grinning widely all the while. -Agents of Light and Darkness

The sheer potency of said powers:

The place was full of screaming and crying people, staggering helplessly between overturned tables, blind to everything but the horrors that had been thrust into their minds. Staff and customers alike clutched at their heads, lashed about them with trembling arms, and pleaded pitifully for help. Some lay on the floor, crying hopelessly, thrashing like epileptics. And in the middle of all this horror and chaos, the Bedlam Boys, standing tall, looking proudly about them, and sniggering and giggling and elbowing each other in the ribs as they thrust people into Hell. -Agents of Light and Darkness

...

The franchise had become Panic Attack Central. People howled and screeched and sobbed bitterly as they were suddenly and irrationally afraid of spiders, of falling, of the walls closing in, of open spaces of enclosed places. If they could only have gathered their thoughts for a moment, they would have known these fears weren’t real, but the hysteria that filled their heads left no room for rational thought. There was only the fear, and the horror, and no escape anywhere. Some of the franchise’s staff and customers were made terrified of really obscure things. The Boys liked to show off. And so there was the fear of genitals shrinking and disappearing, the fear of people suddenly speaking in French accents, the fear of people showing you their holiday photos, and the fear of not being able to find your jacket.

Some of that was almost funny, until I saw one customer digging long bloody furrows in his bare arms with his fingernails, as he tried to scrape away all the bugs he felt were crawling all over him. Another man tore out his eyes with clawed fingers, and threw them on the floor and stamped on them, rather than see what he was being made to see. On the floor, people writhed and cried out in the grip of strokes and heart attacks and convulsions. The Bedlam Boys looked upon their work, and laughed and laughed. -Agents of Light and Darkness

An angel arrives, and its mere presence completely shuts off the Bedlam Boys' powers. He then proceeds to transmute all four of the Boys into salt.

A vivid, overwhelming presence suddenly filled the restaurant, slapping up against the walls and suppressing everything else. The Bedlam Boys’ power snapped off in an instant, blown out like four tiny candles in a hurricane. They just stood there and blinked stupidly at the angel. At first, it looked like a grey man in a grey suit, so average-looking in every way as to seem almost generic. You couldn’t quite look at him, only glimpse him out of the corner of your eyes. And then he grew more and more real, more and more solid, more there , until you couldn’t look at anything else. The angel lifted his grey head and looked at the Boys, and suddenly erupted into a pillar of fire in human form. His light was blinding, dazzling, too bright to look at directly. Vast glowing wings spread out behind him, sparking and spitting. There was a stench of ozone and burning feathers. The Bedlam Boys stared into the heart of that terrible light, mesmerized.

And turned to salt.

One moment they were living and breathing people, and the next there were four salt statues, paler than death, still wearing their stupid spangled jumpsuits. And all four fixed white faces were screaming horribly, silently, forever. The franchise’s staff and customers, freed from their imposed fears, now had something real to be afraid of. They screamed and howled and ran for the open door. I hauled Suzie back out of the way as they stampeded past us, fighting and clawing each other in their need to get away. I felt very much like joining them. The sheer presence of the angel was viscerally disturbing, like every authority figure you ever knew was out to get you, all rolled into one.

I’ve never got on well with authority figures.

The angel gestured with a brightly glowing hand, and one of the salt statues toppled over and shattered. -Agents of Light and Darkness

Nasty Jack Starlight implies/states that he managed to counteract the Bedlam Boys' fear manipulation with his own empathic powers.

“You should,” I said. “You’ve had enough practice. So, what did you tell the Bedlam Boys, when they came calling?”

He laughed softly. It was a dark, unpleasant sound. “I didn’t tell them a damned thing. I kicked their over-padded asses and sent them home crying to their master. Teach the Collector to set his dogs on me. Their fears were no match for my emotions. I am a master of my craft, and don’t you forget it. -Agents of Light and Darkness

An angel casually incinerates Jack Starlight and his ragdoll with a thought.

He stalked over to his rag doll partner, snapped his fingers sharply, and she collapsed limply over his waiting shoulder, as though there was nothing inside her but straw and stuffing. And perhaps there wasn’t. Certainly she seemed no weight at all to Starlight as he headed determinedly for the wings. I didn’t see any point in trying to stop him. He didn’t have anything I needed, and an unwilling partner would only slow us down. But then Nasty Jack Starlight stopped abruptly, turned round and looked back, moving slowly, almost reluctantly. And that was when we all realized there was someone else onstage with us. We looked slowly at the back of the stage, even the rag doll raising her satin face. There, standing behind us, still and silent like a living shadow, was a grey man in a grey suit.

He waited till we were all looking, then he blazed like the sun, a light so bright it was painful to merely human eyes. Suzie and I stumbled back, shielding our faces with upraised arms. Starlight turned and ran for the edge of the stage. The rag doll hanging down over his shoulder was the only one to stare adoringly at the angel, with her dark-painted eyes. The audience was in a panic, shrieking and crying out in alarm, while the word angel moved swiftly among them like a curse. Ghosts disappeared, snapping out of existence like popping soap bubbles. Vampires became bats and flapped away. Those still burdened with material bodies fought their way out into the aisles and sprinted for the lobby doors.

The angel became a pillar of fire in human form, spreading wide his glowing wings, brilliant and terrible and incandescent with glory. There was a stench of burning flesh and melting metals. The rag doll hanging limply over Starlight’s shoulder burst into flames. They leapt up impossibly fast, consuming the doll from head to toe. And still she stared adoringly through the flames at the angel. Starlight cried out in pain and rage, and threw her from him. She flopped about on the stage, burning fiercely. She tried to crawl towards Starlight, but the flames were too hot, too eager, and she was only rags and stuffing. She burned up, and she was gone, and in moments there was nothing left of her but a scorch mark on the stage, and dark smoke drifting slowly though the air. It smelled of violets.

Starlight didn’t spare the burning doll a glance once he’d thrown her aside. He ran for the edge of the stage, and had almost made it when his clothes burst into flames. The sailor’s cap went up first, burning fiercely with a pale blue flame, setting his hair on fire. Then the Harlequin’s costume caught alight, flames leaping everywhere at once. He beat at the flames with his bare hands, but soon they were burning too. In a matter of seconds, his whole body was burning hotter than a furnace. He screamed once, and a long jet of yellow flame shot out of his mouth from his burning lungs. He fell forward onto the stage, and lay there kicking and jerking, while the flames leapt even higher. They quickly consumed Nasty Jack Starlight, until there was nothing left but a few charred and blackened bones, and sizzling melted fat dripping slowly off the edge of the stage. -Agents of Light and Darkness

By some sort of...something, Razor Eddie is considered one of the most dangerous people in the Nightside.

We’d only just got out into the street when my mobile rang again. This time it was Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor. Or so he claims, and since he tends to kill people who disagree, not many people contest the point any more. Certainly he’s one of the strangest and most dangerous people in the Nightside, and that takes some doing. I suppose we’re friends. It’s hard to tell sometimes, in the Nightside. This time he had information for me. -Agents of Light and Darkness

Eddie implies that he can take on an angel if it bothers him. Consider the weight of this statement for a moment.

He chuckled dryly. “Old habits die hard. You know Big Sergei’s Warehouse, on Kaynek Avenue?”

“I know it. Be with you in twenty minutes. You do know that there are angels in the Nightside, from Above and Below, kicking the crap out of anyone they even suspect has any connection with the Unholy Grail?”

“I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me,” said Razor Eddie. He hung up. -Agents of Light and Darkness

Angels have no trouble blowing apart buildings.

Suzie and I hurried through largely deserted streets, while fires burned all across the Nightside, like warning balefires set against the dark. The air was thick with smoke and drifting ashes, and the smell of bodies burning. Buildings exploded, blown apart by angelic light, like party favors in Hell. There were so many angels flying overhead now that they blocked out most of the light from the moon and the stars. Most of the street-lights were smashed. The Nightside was at its lowest ebb, illuminated mostly by the leaping flames of its own destruction. Suzie and I stuck to the shadows and sprinted through the shifting pool of light. The streets seemed eerily still and quiet without the usual massed traffic rushing endlessly past, but everyone who could leave the Nightside was long gone by now, and no-one outside was stupid enough to come in.

Angels had come to the Nightside, from Above and Below, and the night had never seemed so dark. -Agents of Light and Darkness

The "major players" of the Nightside are powerful enough to deal with a great number of these angels themselves.

Down in Time Tower Square, some of the area’s major players had come out into the streets, out into the open, to make a last stand against the invading forces. Suzie and I watched from the shadows of a recessed doorway and hoped not to be noticed. The Lord of Thorns stood proudly with his staff of power, cut from the Tree of Life itself. Lightning crackled around him, and he laughed like a crow on a battlefield as angels wheeled away rather than meet his baleful gaze. Count Video leaned casually against a lamp-post, wrapped in static and shifting plasma lights, his pale skin studded with silicon nodes and sorcerous circuitry. He sniggered nastily as his long-fingered hands weaved binary magic, rewriting reality with applied description theory and insane mathematics, and the angels couldn’t get anywhere near him. King of Skin slouched into the Square, his eyes bright with glory, undoing probabilities with his terrible glamour. And Bloody Blades, reeking of sweat and musk and awful appetites, snorted and stamped his great hooves impatiently as he waited for one of the others to bring something down in reach of his great spurred hands.

And all through Time Tower Square there was a terrible sound of angels crying out in pain and rage, as magic moved in the night, denying them their rightful prey. -Agents of Light and Darkness

Another statement hyping up Razor Eddie as a complete badass.

The front of Big Sergei’s Warehouse was a long blank wall, with no name or sign anywhere. Big Sergei didn’t believe in advertising. Either you knew his reputation, or you weren’t big-league enough to do business with him. I kept my eyes open as we headed for the front door, ready to duck and weave and run as necessary. The warehouse was supposed to be protected by all kinds of state-of-the-art defenses, everything from tailored curses to anti-aircraft guns. No-one stole from Big Sergei and lived to boast of it. Didn’t stop people trying, though. This was the Nightside, after all. The front door was said to be six inches of solid steel, protected by the very finest electronic locks, and all the windows had bulletproof glass and steel shutters. Big Sergei believed in feeling secure.

Not that any of that would stop Razor Eddie, of course. -Agents of Light and Darkness

And this time, we're shown quite clearly that John wasn't bluffing.

“If Big Sergei’s got any sense, he’ll have sealed this place up tighter than a duck’s ass and gone into hiding,” said Suzie. “In which case, how are we going to get in?”

“We’ll just have to improvise,” I said, trying hard to sound confident.

“Ah yes,” said Suzie. “Improvise. Suddenly and violently and without remorse. I feel better already.”

“Unfortunately,” I said, slowing thoughtfully as we approached the front door, “it would appear someone else has beaten us to that.”

Up close, it was clear the warehouse had taken a battering. Several of the windows had been smashed, which couldn’t have been easy with bulletproof glass, and their steel shutters were buckled, hanging crookedly, or completely missing. There was a hole in the wall up by the first floor, as though it had been hit by a cannon-ball. Or a very angry fist. And the celebrated front door, six inches of solid steel protected by all kinds of heavy-duty defenses, had been ripped right out of its frame and was currently lying in the street some distance away, in a severely crumpled condition. I gave it plenty of room as I cautiously approached the opening where the door had been. Suzie stuck close to me, shotgun at the ready. I peered in, satisfied myself that there was no movement or sounds of life, then stepped warily forward into the reception lobby. Suzie crowded past me, sweeping her gun back and forth, eager for a target. The possibility of imminent violence had cheered her up considerably.

The lobby was a mess. Every stick of furniture had been wrecked or overturned, and in some cases reduced to little more than kindling. The expensive carpeting had been torn and rucked up, as though whole armies had trampled across it. There were signs of bullet and bomb damage on some of the walls, and a tall potted plant in the corner had been pretty much shredded. The sheer extent of the destruction might almost have been funny, if it hadn’t been for the blood. There was spilled blood everywhere, gallons of it. The torn carpeting was soaked from wall to wall, most of still so wet it squelched under our feet. There was more blood splashed across the walls, in thick red swatches and spatters, and the occasional handprint. It dripped from the shattered furniture, and from a wide wet stain on the ceiling. I didn’t even want to think about what could have caused blood to jet almost a dozen feet into the air. I stepped around the dripping ceiling and advanced slowly across the lobby. I glanced at Suzie.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’d been here.”

She sniffed unhappily. “No, this is Razor Eddie’s work. I’m a professional, he’s … enthusiastic. You know what worries me the most about this? Lots of blood … but no bodies. What the hell has he done with the bodies? And what’s with all this religious stuff on the walls?” -Agents of Light and Darkness

...

We made our way up the stairs, following bloody arrows on the walls. Suzie took the lead with gun at the ready, checking every shadowed corner before she committed herself. There were no nasty surprises, only more damage and even more blood. A hell of a lot of people had to have died here, and recently, given how wet the blood still was. But there was never any sign of a body. The smeared scarlet arrows eventually led us to a small office at the back of the third floor. The door had been kicked in and was hanging drunkenly from one hinge. Suzie and I ducked past it, into the office. The cheap but practical furniture was still intact, but there was a long splash of blood across one wall. Not far away, there was a wall safe, with its heavy steel door torn away and left discarded on the floor. And sitting behind the office desk, slowly working his way through a pile of papers he’d taken from the safe, was Razor Eddie. He didn’t look up as we came in.

“Hello, John. Suzie. Come on in. Make yourselves at home. Be with you in a minute.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

Belle performs a speed feat, managing to surprise even Razor Eddie, who was confirmed in the first book to also possess vastly superhuman speed.

Walker looked at me almost sadly. “You didn’t really think I’d come here alone, did you?”

A gaudily colored blur swept past him and into the office, blasting through the open doorway almost too fast to be seen. Something buffeted me in passing, almost knocking me off my feet, and rushed on to slam into Razor Eddie. The sheer force of the impact lifted him off his feet, smashed him clean through the closed window behind him, and sent him tumbling helplessly through the smoky air to the ground three stories below. Suzie was only just turning round, and trying to bring her gun to bear, when the blur turned and swept back, and a single horribly clawed hand slapped the shotgun out of Suzie’s hand, then whipped back to tear out her guts. The black leather jacket blew apart in an explosion of tatters, and Suzie cried out once, in shock and pain, as her stomach opened up like a great mouth, and her intestines fell out in a rush of blood. She collapsed to her knees, grabbing with shaky hands at the thick purple ropes spilling out of her. More blood gushed out, soaking her lap and legs, and pooling on the floor around her.

It only took a few steps before I was kneeling beside her and holding her in my arms, but it seemed t take forever. I held her shoulders tightly, trying to stop her shaking. Her face was bone white, and already wet with sweat. She rolled her eyes at me and tried to say something, but her mouth was loose and ugly and wouldn’t work properly. There was no fear in her eyes, only something that might have been a terrible resignation. One bloody hand groped around for her shotgun, but it was on the other side of the room. Her other hand was still trying to stuff severed bits of intestines back into her stomach. The stench of blood and guts was almost overwhelming. Suzie was breathing clumsily now, great heaving gasps, as though every breath was an effort.

She was dying, and both of us knew it.

And then the blur came to a sudden halt before me, solidifying into a familiar shape, one I hadn’t seen in years. I should have known; it had to be her. She struck an elegant pose before me and smiled a happy contented smile. She always did like to show off. In one white-gloved hand she held the Speaking Gun’s case, taken from Suzie even as she ripped out her guts. She waggled the case a few times before me, as a trophy, then slipped it casually under one arm.

“A little extra, I think, on top of my exorbitant fee. You don’t object, do you, Walker darling?”

Walker started to say something, then stopped himself.

“Hello, Belle,” I said, in a voice I didn’t recognize. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, years and years, darling. But you know me. Always happy to bump into old friends.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

Belle possesses numerous trophies imbued with magic which she wears constantly. They amp her stats in numerous ways.

Belle. Short for La Belle Dame Sans Merci . Tall and elegant, beautiful and sophisticated, supernaturally slender. She had poise and style and vicious charm, and an aristocratic disdain for small-minded things like ethics or morality, good or evil. She was what she was, and delighted in it. Her face had a marvelous bone structure, a broad forehead, purple eyes and a heavy, sulky mouth. Belle was a freelancer—intrigue, murder, theft, and conspiracy, or anything else you might desire, as long as you could pay for it. She’d done it all in her time, and always on her own terms. She drifted from one European capital to another, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken bodies behind her, and never once looked back. Mostly she stayed out of the Nightside. Said the place was beneath her. I think she just felt happier away from any real competition.

To give her her due, she’d always been ready to take on anyone, anywhere, and she’d never been known to lose. Mainly because Belle had armored herself in trophies taken from her many victims. On her back she wore a werewolf’s pelt, thick and grey and shaggy. She skinned the hide off him herself, and now she wore the pale grey fur all the way down her back, with the emptied head pulled forward over her head like a hood. The skull’s long canines dented her forehead, above her purple eyes. It wasn’t just garment; her magics kept the pelt alive and plugged into her own system. It was her skin now, her fur, and as a result she had a werewolf’s ability to regenerate. Her burnished golden breastplate was made from a dragon’s hide, and it formed utterly impenetrable amour. Her shimmering white elbow-length gloves were in fact a vampire’s lily white skin, flayed from the undead victim by Belle’s own fair hand. On one of her hands, heavy claws pushed through the white glove; claws taken from a ghoul and fused onto her own fingers. The thigh-high leather boots were new. I didn’t know who she’d got them from. Belle’s magics made her various armours a part of her, made her, for all practical purposes, unkillable.

Belle was very much a self-made woman. -Agents of Light and Darkness

A werewolf's blood can heal wounds grievous enough to kill a normal person.

I pushed her guts back into the tear in her stomach, then held the werewolf pelt over the gaping wound. I crushed the pelt with both hands, wringing the last of its blood out of the pelt so that it dripped into the open wound. Werewolf blood, with all its regenerative properties. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, then the edges of Suzie’s wound slowly crept together, and vanished, as though it had never been there at all. -Agents of Light and Darkness

Eddie survived the three story fall he took when Belle knocked him out of the window.

I got to my feet and looked at her resolutely turned back, and for once in my life I didn’t have a damned clue what to say. There was the sound of hurrying fee outside in the corridor, and Suzie and I both turned quickly to face the door. I think right then both of us would have been happy to see Walker with reinforcements. We could have used something to hit. But it was only Razor Eddie, appearing abruptly in the open doorway with his pearl-handled straight razor in his hand. He saw Belle’s body, and relaxed a little.

“Where the hell were you?” said Suzie, lowering her shotgun.

“It will take more than a three-storey drop to kill me,” said Eddie, in his pale ghostly voice. “But there’s a limit to how fast even I can take three flights of stairs. Still, you seemed to have coped quite well in my absence. Where’s Walker?”

“He made himself scarce when the trouble started,” I said. “No doubt he’ll soon return, with backup.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

The Speaking Gun in all its glory.

He raised his left hand, and in it was the Speaking Gun, poisoning the air with its presence. The angel began to glow, a light so bright it seemed to come from another place entirely. Suzie and I ran for the open door. We clattered down the stairs at full speed, a terrible pressure building on the air behind us. It felt like a storm was coming. It felt like thunder in the blood, and lightning in the soul. We hit the lobby together and kept running. And from far away and close at hand, we heard the awful sound of a single backwards spoken Word. Something screamed, so loudly I thought my head would burst. Suzie and I ran out into the street and kept going, and the whole damned warehouse exploded behind us. The shock wave almost blew us off our feet, but somehow we kept going, and didn’t stop running until we were at the end of the street.

We finally stumbled to a halt and looked back, breathing harshly. The walls of Big Sergei’s Warehouse collapsed slowly inwards, and disappeared in a great outrushing of black smoke. In a moment, there was nothing left of the building except a great pile of rubble.

“Think Eddie got out in time?” said Suzie.

“I think so,” I said. “Razor Eddie’s always been very hard to kill.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

The Nightside was designed to depower angels, both of the Heavenly and the Fallen variety.

“Did you really get to see the Holy Grail?” said Suzie, who would interrupt anybody. “What was it like?”

Merlin’s smile softened, just for a moment. “It was … wonderful. A thing of beauty, and of joy. Almost enough to be worth losing the world for. Almost beautiful enough… to shame me for the shallowness of my vision. Man cannot live by Reason alone.”

“And now the Unholy Grail’s come here,” I said. “I’ve been told it would be a really bad thing if either set of angels gets their hands on it. Judgement Day was mentioned, and not in a good way.”

“The somber chalice…” Merlin raised one rotting hand to the gaping hole in his chest. “I suppose it was inevitable the ugly thing should turn up here. The Nightside was created to be the one place where neither Heaven nor Hell could intervene directly. A place apart, free from the tyrannies of fate and destiny. In the Nightside, even the Highest and the Lowest can only work through agents. Which is why the angels are so much weaker here.”

Suzie and I exchanged a glance. If these were angels in a weaker form… “Excuse me, Sir Merlin,” I said, with all the politeness at my command, “Did you just say the Nightside was created for a specific purpose? Who created it, and why?”

Merlin looked at me with his flame-filled eyes, and smiled unpleasantly. “Ask your mother.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

Merlin can teleport people across time and space at will.

“Taylor,” Suzie said urgently. “Tell me there was more to your plan than just this…”

“Not even half of it,” I murmured. “Hang in there. Sir Merlin, with your leave I think I can sort out this whole mess in a way that will please… well, nobody really, but it’ll be a solution we can all live with. Live being a relative term, of course. I don’t know where the Unholy Grail is, but I’m pretty sure I know someone who does. You see everywhere, Sir Merlin, so could you please grab the Collector and bring him here?”

Merlin gestured languidly with a heavily tattooed hand, and suddenly the Collector was standing right there in the pentacle with us. He looked around, startled, and his eyes all but popped out of their sockets with outrage. He started to say something, then saw Merlin sitting on his throne and shut his mouth quickly before it could get him into even more trouble. The Collector was a podgy, middle-aged man with a thick neck and a florid face, wearing a white jumpsuit and cape, as popularized by Elvis in his later days. It didn’t suit him at all.

“Wow,” said Suzie, sticking the barrel of her shotgun in the Collector’s ear. “Now that’s what I call service.”

“Oh shit,” said the Collector.

“Language!” said Suzie. “There are angels present.”

“Hello, Collector,” I said calmly. “How’s the leg?”

“Taylor! I might have known you were behind this!” The Collector started to say something else, but Suzie shoved her gun a little further into his ear, and he stopped himself again. He glowered at me. “I had to grow a new leg, thanks to your interference all those years ago. Put me right off time-traveling. Never was cost-effective. And besides, I kept bumping into myself, and I kept giggling at me, which was unnerving, to say the least. Now will someone please tell me why I have been transported here against my will!” -Agents of Light and Darkness

John states that angels can take people apart at the molecular level.

He slapped the gun aside and glared right back at her. “Don’t you threaten me, Shooter. I’m protected in ways you can’t even imagine.”

“Unfortunately, he probably is,” I said. “So ease off a little, Suzie. Collector, in case it’s slipped your attention, we are currently surrounded by whole armies of angels, all of whom would be quite willing to take you apart, right down to the molecular level, while still keeping you alive and aware and screaming horribly if that’s what it takes to get you to hand over the Unholy Grail. Only Merlin’s power is holding them back, for the moment. You really think your protections are good enough to hold off a whole bunch of really angry angels?” -Agents of Light and Darkness

The Unholy Grail corrupts the minds of those who wield it, yet Merlin outright laughs at the thought of it doing so to him.

The Collector actually stamped his foot, he was so angry, and he waved his pudgy fists in the air. “I knew I couldn’t trust Razor Eddie… but he had me over a barrel, the bastard. It doesn’t matter. Let the angels try and take my prize away from me. They’ll discover I can summon up worse things than angels!”

“You’re not fooling anyone, little man,” said Merlin, and his cold, rasping voice dismissed the Collector’s confidence in a moment. “Give up the somber chalice, while you still can. It’s already corrupting your mind.”

“It’s mine!” said the Collector. “You can’t have it! You just want it for yourself!”

Merlin laughed briefly, and everyone winced at the awful sound. “Hardly, little man. I once held the true cup of the Christ in my hands. The Sangreal itself. Nothing less will ever tempt me again.” -Agents of Light and Darkness

John flat-out states that Merlin, even while weakened, is far more dangerous than the angels are.

Suzie looked at me, and I sighed. “Okay, very quick précis of a very long and complicated story. Merlin lost his heart to a young witch called Nimue, back when the world was a lot younger. She then lost it in a card game. Without his heart, Merlin’s power is only a fraction of what it once was. The heart’s been through almost as many hands as the Unholy Grail, down the centuries, and is currently… missing in action.”

“Couldn’t you find it for him, with your gift?” said Suzie.

“Perhaps. That’s why Merlin’s helping us now. Right, Sir Merlin?”

He smiled and nodded, the flames leaping in his eye sockets. What I didn’t tell Suzie was that I had absolutely no intention of ever trying to find Merlin’s heart. Nobody in their right mind wanted Merlin to regain his full powers. Even dead, he’d be more trouble than the angels… -Agents of Light and Darkness

Merlin teleports John, Suzie and the Collector to the Moon. (No, I'm not bullshitting.)

“You can’t keep the Unholy Grail,” I said bluntly to the Collector. “You don’t have anything strong enough to hold off angels, and you can bet they’d be ready and willing to destroy your entire collection, fighting each other over possession of the Unholy Grail.”

The Collector pouted sullenly. “They would too, wouldn’t they? Bloody winged philistines. All right, you can have it! Ugly damned thing anyway. Merlin? Back to the Moon. Please.”

“With a little company, to keep you honest,” said Merlin.

I looked at Suzie resignedly. “Hang on to your aura,” I said. Suddenly Suzie and I and the Collector were somewhere else. - Agents of Light and Darkness

...

Suzie batted at the smoke with her hand, swearing harshly in between racking coughs, while I checked to make sure I still had two of everything I should have. You can’t be too careful with other people’s teleport spells. Hidden extractor fans soon sucked most of the black smoke away, and we were able to take a clear look at our surroundings. We’d arrived in an almost blindingly technicolor reception area, with bright hanging silks for walls, dyed in every color of the rainbow, and twice as gaudy, while thick checkerboard padding covered the floor and the ceiling. My feet sank deeply into the cushioned floor, and walking across it I rose and fell so suddenly that I almost felt seasick. The air smelled strongly of something very like pine. Suzie glared about her suspiciously, the shotgun in her hands, but there were no obvious threats. -Agents of Light and Darkness

As far as Merlin is concerned, classic transmutation being a part of his arcane library should be obvious.

“I wish Merlin would get over his need for flashy special effects,” she growled. “That smoke always plays hell with my sinuses.”

“Boys and their toys,” I said. “We have to allow Merlin his little eccentricities. Because if we don’t, he’ll probably turn us into frogs. Collector, what are you doing?” -Agents of Light and Darkness

And he can apparently listen to people from that far off, as well.

The Collector pulled an airline carry-on bag out of the packing pieces and stuffed the Unholy Grail into it. He almost seemed relieved. I took the bag and slung the strap over my shoulder.

“Merlin!” I said, raising my voice. “I know you’re listening. We’ve got it. Bring us home.”

Merlin’s magic gathered about us, preparing to teleport Suzie and me back to Strangefellows, and the waiting angels. -Agents of Light and Darkness