Akting Out

Uriel, Azrael, and Sira led the small army silently down through Asgard’s crimson sky towards Odin’s castle. Azrael’s plan had been successful thus far; they had avoided detection and slain seven of the airborne Seraphim. The others weren’t aware of their dwindling numbers, but that time wouldn’t last long. The resistance was counting on those precious few moments to do whatever it was they were going to do.
Azrael allowed his fear to pass through him. They hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. When the Seraphim realized they were under attack, the resistance wouldn’t survive their retribution. But as long as Yang retained his powers, they still had a chance.
Azrael touched down first on the tips of his toes to avoid detection. Uriel followed, and then Sira and the others. Azrael led them single file down a regal, narrow corridor on the castle’s second floor. Upon spotting a Seraphim at the end of the hall, Uriel stepped ahead of Azrael. Grasping the youth and clasping his hand over his mouth, Uriel ended the boy’s life with a quick, violent jerk. He gently laid the glass corpse on the ground and motioned for the group to move forward.
A few steps later, Uriel quickly raised his fist to stop the group.
Voices, in the distance.
“Even if you take my powers, you’ll still have to take my sister’s to gain control.” That was Yang. Azrael strained to hear; who else was with him?
“We thought of that. You need not worry about anything.” An unfamiliar voice. Presumably, a Seraphim.  But how many?
“I worry about what will happen when you allow the damned to run free throughout the Universe, you stupid boy.”
Uriel smiled; that was Metatron.
“You wouldn’t be so intent on freeing them if you hadn’t lost someone close to you.” That was Raphael.
“If you see this through, we will all lose everyone.”
Azrael, Uriel, and Sira all looked to each other knowingly. The baritone voice could only belong to Odin. And if he was alive, he was their best chance.
Azrael was so tense, he was nearly hyperventilating. How clear things become at the end.
Uriel nodded his understanding; a small fireball erupted centimeters above his hand. I’m ready.
Sira, grinning slyly, pulled a small staff from the rear of her armor. With a quick flick of her wrist, the staff extended blades from both ends.
Knowing that his next action would reveal everything, Uriel looked back down the hallway. “Raphael, Odin, Yang, Metatron…” Uriel Reached. “All of you; hit the ground, now.”

***

The first attack came quickly; a downward slash from Cutler’s right, followed quickly by a vertical slash that would’ve taken Michael’s head off, had the young Angel not swayed the first blow and then bound back onto his hands to avoid the killing blow. Cutler’s new powers had given him a significant boost in speed; Michael had to struggle to keep up. He had barely registered the icy floor on the palms his hands when Cutler came again, crouching, his hip swiveling—his leg coming out? Michael bound upward, on his feet just in time to avoid the sweep.
There was no time to process; Cutler pressed the advantage, stabbing forward. Michael stepped back and to the side, and when Cutler tried to take his head off again with an inside slash, Michael crouched. Cutler stepped into him, expecting Michael to retreat, and surprised when Michael held his ground.  As Cutler tried to bring the sword back, slashing outwardly, Michael intercepted his wrist and fired his fist into Cutler’s elbow. It was like hitting stone. Michael grunted in pain, Cutler seemed more surprised than hurt by the blow, but he dropped the sword.
Still holding Cutler’s wrist, Michael pushed at his elbow, sending Cutler staggering away. Michael quickly bent down and picked up the fallen sword as Cutler turned to face him.
Michael squinted, shaking his head; he was suddenly dizzy and nauseous. Cutler smiled; “That’s the thanatonian energy.” He announced. “It’s what they use, Michael, to hold the soul is they carry it the Purgatorium.”
There was a pause, as Michael took in the meaning. Cutler’s smile grew chilling as he bare his teeth. “No one ever said that you had to be dead for the energy to take you.”
No. No fear, not now, not ever.
This is about more than me…
Michael twirled his sword once to show his intention, and then charged towards Cutler. Michael spun backwards, bringing his sword down towards Cutler’s head. Cutler parried the blow upwards, knocking Michael off-balance and countering with his own attack. Michael recovered in time to block Cutler’s attack, swinging back with his own attack. The back and forth continued for a moment, Michael staying just outside of Cutler’s energy while Cutler pressed the attack.

Still, the energy drained Michael, who quickly realized that he wasn’t the swordsman Cutler was. As he began to give ground, Cutler advanced, taunting Michael by using only his left hand. Dizzy, fighting to stay conscious, Michael lowered his guard for a moment—and Cutler drove his blade into Michael’s right shoulder. Michael screamed, dropping his sword. Cutler withdrew the blade, lifting it high above Michael to cleave him in half. Michael held his shoulder to control the bleeding. He wanted to lift his legs, step away from what was coming, but they wouldn’t respond–

At the last possible moment, Michael swayed to the left, and Cutler’s strike hit the ice with such force that the sword’s apex went nearly three inches into the ground. In that moment, Michael leapt into the air and crashed his right foot down squarely on the blade. The sword shattered, Cutler stumbled. Michael fought off the Thanatonian pull; clutching Cutler’s hair, Michael thrust his knee upward into Cutler’s face. Screaming with rage and defiance, Michael leapt into the air and spun fully inward, connecting the instep of his foot with Cutler’s jaw. The force was so great that only Cutler’s energy kept his face intact. He spun away, rubbing his jaw and spitting crimson upon the ice.

He smiled, looking to the waiting Michael. Saying nothing, he pulled off the top half of his robe and threw it to the ground. In turn, Michael removed his flannel and tossed it away behind him.

And the two came together one more time, commencing the final battle.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Uriel, Azrael, and Sira led the small army silently down through Asgard’s crimson sky towards Odin’s castle. Azrael’s plan had been successful thus far; they had avoided detection and slain seven of the airborne Seraphim. The others weren’t aware of their dwindling numbers, but that time wouldn’t last long. The resistance was counting on those precious few moments to do whatever it was they were going to do.
Azrael allowed his fear to pass through him. They hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. When the Seraphim realized they were under attack, the resistance wouldn’t survive their retribution. But as long as Yang retained his powers, they still had a chance.
Azrael touched down first on the tips of his toes to avoid detection. Uriel followed, and then Sira and the others. Azrael led them single file down a regal, narrow corridor on the castle’s second floor. Upon spotting a Seraphim at the end of the hall, Uriel stepped ahead of Azrael. Grasping the youth and clasping his hand over his mouth, Uriel ended the boy’s life with a quick, violent jerk. He gently laid the glass corpse on the ground and motioned for the group to move forward.
A few steps later, Uriel quickly raised his fist to stop the group.
Voices, in the distance.
“Even if you take my powers, you’ll still have to take my sister’s to gain control.” That was Yang. Azrael strained to hear; who else was with him?
“We thought of that. You need not worry about anything.” An unfamiliar voice. Presumably, a Seraphim.  But how many?
“I worry about what will happen when you allow the damned to run free throughout the Universe, you stupid boy.”
Uriel smiled; that was Metatron.
“You wouldn’t be so intent on freeing them if you hadn’t lost someone close to you.” That was Raphael.
“If you see this through, we will all lose everyone.”
Azrael, Uriel, and Sira all looked to each other knowingly. The baritone voice could only belong to Odin. And if he was alive, he was their best chance.
Azrael was so tense, he was nearly hyperventilating. How clear things become at the end.
Uriel nodded his understanding; a small fireball erupted centimeters above his hand. I’m ready.
Sira, grinning slyly, pulled a small staff from the rear of her armor. With a quick flick of her wrist, the staff extended blades from both ends.
Knowing that his next action would reveal everything, Uriel looked back down the hallway. “Raphael, Odin, Yang, Metatron…” Uriel Reached. “All of you; hit the ground, now.”

***

The first attack came quickly; a downward slash from Cutler’s right, followed quickly by a vertical slash that would’ve taken Michael’s head off, had the young Angel not swayed the first blow and then bound back onto his hands to avoid the killing blow. Cutler’s new powers had given him a significant boost in speed; Michael had to struggle to keep up. He had barely registered the icy floor on the palms his hands when Cutler came again, crouching, his hip swiveling—his leg coming out? Michael bound upward, on his feet just in time to avoid the sweep.
There was no time to process; Cutler pressed the advantage, stabbing forward. Michael stepped back and to the side, and when Cutler tried to take his head off again with an inside slash, Michael crouched. Cutler stepped into him, expecting Michael to retreat, and surprised when Michael held his ground.  As Cutler tried to bring the sword back, slashing outwardly, Michael intercepted his wrist and fired his fist into Cutler’s elbow. It was like hitting stone. Michael grunted in pain, Cutler seemed more surprised than hurt by the blow, but he dropped the sword.
Still holding Cutler’s wrist, Michael pushed at his elbow, sending Cutler staggering away. Michael quickly bent down and picked up the fallen sword as Cutler turned to face him.
Michael squinted, shaking his head; he was suddenly dizzy and nauseous. Cutler smiled; “That’s the thanatonian energy.” He announced. “It’s what they use, Michael, to hold the soul is they carry it the Purgatorium.”
There was a pause, as Michael took in the meaning. Cutler’s smile grew chilling as he bare his teeth. “No one ever said that you had to be dead for the energy to take you.”
No. No fear, not now, not ever.
This is about more than me…
Michael twirled his sword once to show his intention, and then charged towards Cutler. Michael spun backwards, bringing his sword down towards Cutler’s head. Cutler parried the blow upwards, knocking Michael off-balance and countering with his own attack. Michael recovered in time to block Cutler’s attack, swinging back with his own attack. The back and forth continued for a moment, Michael staying just outside of Cutler’s energy while Cutler pressed the attack.

Still, the energy drained Michael, who quickly realized that he wasn’t the swordsman Cutler was. As he began to give ground, Cutler advanced, taunting Michael by using only his left hand. Dizzy, fighting to stay conscious, Michael lowered his guard for a moment—and Cutler drove his blade into Michael’s right shoulder. Michael screamed, dropping his sword. Cutler withdrew the blade, lifting it high above Michael to cleave him in half. Michael held his shoulder to control the bleeding. He wanted to lift his legs, step away from what was coming, but they wouldn’t respond–

At the last possible moment, Michael swayed to the left, and Cutler’s strike hit the ice with such force that the sword’s apex went nearly three inches into the ground. In that moment, Michael leapt into the air and crashed his right foot down squarely on the blade. The sword shattered, Cutler stumbled. Michael fought off the Thanatonian pull; clutching Cutler’s hair, Michael thrust his knee upward into Cutler’s face. Screaming with rage and defiance, Michael leapt into the air and spun fully inward, connecting the instep of his foot with Cutler’s jaw. The force was so great that only Cutler’s energy kept his face intact. He spun away, rubbing his jaw and spitting crimson upon the ice.

He smiled, looking to the waiting Michael. Saying nothing, he pulled off the top half of his robe and threw it to the ground. In turn, Michael removed his flannel and tossed it away behind him.

And the two came together one more time, commencing the final battle.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“Cutler…” Michael began, still in shock at finding the Seraphim leader alive, “What’re you doing here?”
“Michael.” Cutler’s shoulders sagged, the purple energy that now encompassed him faded a little; he was disappointed.
And then, just as suddenly, his mood picked up. He approached Michael quickly, placing his hands on his shoulders and shaking vigorously. “Well, since you’re here, you may as well wait with me.”
Cutler quickly turned around and walked away, receding into the darkness deep within Niflheim. Michael’s mind swirled as he tried to make sense of it all; seeing his friend alive, much more powerful, and apparently responsible for all that had occurred recently. His breath was visible as he exhaled, and only then did Michael realize the arctic atmosphere of Niflheim has seeped into his skin, chilling him to his very bones.

Michael followed Cutler down into Niflheim’s depths, careful of his footing along the icy floor. “What…what are we waiting for?”
Cutler has stopped in front of a pulsating wall of ice; Michael knew it to be an illusion. Cutler turned back to Michael and smiled. “Well, if you really want to know, your father is coming.”
Michael’s jaw fell open and he took in a blast of cold air involuntarily. “What?” Was all he could manage.
Cutler nodded as though proud. “Your father is brilliant, you know that? I read about him in school, but it’s so much different to see him and talk to him. It must’ve been something else to actually grow up under him.”
Michael said nothing. He was incapable of speaking.
“Why is dad coming…?”
Cutler snickered. “You know, he tried to tell me…” Cutler gestured, making circular motions with his hand, “that if I cut him in on the Thanatonian power, he could make things easier. If I gave him, and his demons, some of this power, they could strike Yin down, saving us the trouble.”
Michael’s stomach bottomed out. The power of death in the hands of demons…
“Cutler, please tell me you didn’t…”
Cutler laughed. “Of course not. Your father may be a genius, but he’s also a schemer. I don’t trust him.”
Cutler turned back towards Michael. “No, Michael. My people and I will deal with Yin when the time comes, that’s our responsibility now. We are doing as Amen wished, and reuniting this universe.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yin, your fathers, so many others…they were exiled not because they did anything wrong, Michael. They were exiled because they disagreed with the majority. No one should be punished for that. We are welcoming all of our people home, Michael.”
“You’re doing what?!” Even as Michael stepped forward, Cutler turned and moved towards him to look him in the eye. “Michael, no one deserves that!!” Cutler bellowed, his voice echoing against the chamber as he pointed towards the living wall. “To burn forever and ever?! What could anyone do that would be so heinous to warrant such a fate?!”
“Cutler, those aren’t our people anymore!” Michael pointed behind him at the wall. “They’re called the damned for a reason! Some of them have done unforgivable things! You want to let them back in here?! You’ll cannibalize us!”
“No, no, Michael…” Cutler’s voice was almost a low hiss. “If they  refuse redemption, then we, the Seraphim, shall execute them, as mandated by our charter.”
Michael, speechless, shook his head. “It’s why we were given this power, Michael.” Cutler announced, backing away. “We were to protect Heaven, indeed, the universe, from any further betrayals. We are to safeguard Amen’s creation against any threat. I promise; the hounds will be very closely monitored as they run free.”
A cold reality came over Michael. “What happened to you in the Purgatorium?” He asked slowly.
“Ah.” Cutler chuckled, “That was unexpected. I knew how powerful thanatonian energy could be, but absorbing all of it all at once…it took all my concentration to will my way here, to wait for your father. If I had been unable to keep my mind in order, I would’ve been lost to the void.”
I’m not so sure you didn’t. “Did you really want me to find my mother?”
Cutler nodded sincerely. “Yes. But I wanted to see you in action, as well. It’s not often one gets to see the four-way fighting style. But you weren’t able to find your mother, were you?”
“You know where I was…” Michael growled, “…and you know what I saw.”
“EXACTLY!!” Cutler exclaimed, “Michael, I can prevent that! Right here, right now, as the Seraphim assume control, we can put an end to all war, all conflict, all troubles! No one ever need fight again!”
“You put an end to free will.” Michael countered immediately. “You allow demons to run loose in Heaven and you will kill us all.”
For a moment, there was an uncomfortable pause as both sides realized that the other wouldn’t be swayed.
Cutler’s energy flared. Michael didn’t move.
“Cutler.” Michael demanded, “Where’s my mother?”
“Stay out of this, Michael.” Cutler growled. “I like you. I don’t want to hurt you. But if you get in my way, I’ll kill the both of you.”
“If I don’t stop you, we’re dead already.”
Cutler, at once, seemed to growl, bare his teeth, and accept the inevitable. “Have it your way, boy.”
Michael barely had time to brace himself. Cutler drew two black ivory swords from his back and charged towards Michael, roaring savagely.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Asgard was all but deserted; a beautiful, massive, claustrophobic series of ivory structures, the city wasn’t really built for those who couldn’t fly. Azrael, the last of his Thanatonian powers fading, could only maintain flight for very brief moments. Extensive flight wouldn’t have been feasible anyway; at least seventy Seraphim officers were patrolling the skies above the city—looking for stragglers, Azrael guessed. Pinned down in a residential area, peering up out of a vacant home, a cold reality set in; the Valkryies had lost the battle. And if the Seraphim could overpower the Valkryies, then nothing could stop them.

Suddenly clutched the inside of his arm and jerked him back suddenly. A hand clasped over his mouth, simultaneously slamming him against the wall. Azrael found himself staring into the face of Uriel, the Regent of Fire he had battled alongside Michael in Beal City. Uriel held up his index finger to his mouth, motioning for Azrael’s silence. As Azrael stopped resisting, Uriel lowered his hand.

Azrael’s Thanatonian powers were fading, but he could still see through Uriel; the old Angel’s soul light was flickering and fading. Azrael had to concentrate in order to look at Uriel’s physical form, wincing as he did so; Uriel’s face was a bloody, bruised mess, his body was scarred, charred, and pockmarked by injury, and his left side shook. Although Azrael tried to keep silent, his eyes gave him away as he looked up to Uriel, who shook his head. “If I’m going to die,” he said flatly, “I’m taking some of them with me.”

A dark-haired Valkryie approached Uriel from the left, touching a damp compress to his head. Uriel flinched under the cold rag, and then gently reached up to the woman’s hand and lowered it. He nodded as if to say that he was okay. The Valkryie turned her attention to Azrael. “Are you alright?” She asked. Azrael nodded. “What is this place?” He inquired.

Uriel chuckled sardonically. “This is the last hope.” He replied, looking around. Everyone was injured; everyone was being treated with medicine and magic. “The other Valkryies and Sefiroth; they’re either dead or fighting on their own, in which case, they’ll be dead soon enough.”
“What if–” The words Reached into Azrael’s mind, as well as every other Angel and Valkryie in the room.  Uriel whipped suddenly towards the Angel. “Dammit, shut up!!”
Something rustled outside.
The Valkryie looked to Azrael. “Too late. Hide!”
Unsure of what else to do, Azrael sprinted quickly across the room, sliding along the hardwood floor beneath a mattress supported by wood. Even as he scrambled, everyone else in the room quickly raced to find their own hiding places. Azrael noted one Valkyrie hiding in plain sight, hovering silently above the door jamb.
Soon, he saw what they were hiding from.
A young Seraphim cautiously entered the house. He walked slowly, swiveling his head from left to right. He was inexperienced, not looking too closely at anything. Azrael observed with horror as the Valkryie above the door jamb, blood in her eyes, slowly drew a lance from a compartment in her back. Azrael couldn’t even Reach to her; the Seraphim were tuning in. He suppressed his thought, fighting to keep his breathing under control. You kill him and a thousand of them rush this place…stay your hand…stay your hand…
Satisfied that the room was empty, the Seraphim quickly turned and stepped out of the house. The sound of blowing dust was heard as he rocketed back into the sky.
Slowly, the Sefiroth and Valkryie came out of hiding. As Azrael crawled out from under the bed, Uriel was storming towards him, pointing to someone behind him and to the left. “You do that again, and I swear, I’ll kill you.” Uriel growled. The young Sefiroth, humiliated, lowered his head and nodded quickly.
Azrael looked at Uriel, pointing, “I have an idea.” He said confidently. “The Seraphim can hear your Reaching, can’t they?”
“You just saw that, right?” Uriel snapped. The Valkryie put her hand up, warding Uriel off. Uriel glowered at Azrael, and then stormed away. “Yes, they can. What do you have in mind?”
“They can hear you.” Azrael continued, “They can’t hear me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, first of all, I am not entirely an Angel. When my father wanted to discipline my brother and I as children, he Reached to us so my mother could not hear him. Also, I’m thanatonian; no one outside of our legion can hear our thoughts.”
Uriel, across the room, joined the others in turning sharply towards Azrael. “Our jobs we would much more difficult,” Azrael concluded, “if everyone knew we were coming.”
“What are you suggesting?” Uriel demanded.
“I give you all the last of my powers.” Azrael quickly summarized. “We sneak into Odin’s lair and we deal with the Seraphim there.”
Uriel laughed involuntarily. His Valkryie companion whirled to face him. “It’s better than storming in there haphazardly.” She said in a chastising voice. Uriel shook his head as he smiled at her. “I remember, Sira, when there was a time when you enjoyed haphazard.
“We had a lot less to lose then.”
“The advantage,” Azrael said, “is that they will not know we are coming.”
“What about the Seraphim patrolling the skies?” One of the Sefiroth inquired.
“We will break into groups; deal with them silently, one at a time. We will have to shatter the bodies in the sky, so they do not make noise when they land.”
“Spoken like a true Thanatonian.” Uriel smirked. “So how do we receive these powers of yours?”
“Join hands.” Azrael said quickly. Everyone complied. Uriel joined hands with Sira, who reached for Azrael. “This will feel a bit…strange.”
A wave of ice passed through Azrael’s body as it left him, and he observed as the Valkryies and Sefiroth—Heaven’s last hope—shuddered and received the last of his powers.
Sira and Uriel looked to Azrael expectantly, Uriel looking as though he was enjoying what had just happened. “Shall we take to the skies, and tend to business?”
One at a time, the ragtag army stepped outside of the abandoned home and shot into the sky. Azrael was the last of them, silently hoping that Michael was up to the task at hand.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Azrael had barely had time to process the last five minutes before an angry rocket plummeted into him and began pummeling. Only when the rocket scream did he recognize the voice as Michael’s, and the impulsive youth was screaming something about it all ending now.

Azrael kept his wits about him; Anileif was gone, having warped to Yang knows where. Somehow, Anileif had gained the ability to warp away no matter what he was in proximity with, which was why Azrael hadn’t been able to hold onto him. It was also a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that his brother had become so much more powerful than him.

Amidst Michael’s fists, Azrael turned and did his best to block, even as the heat of the atmosphere began to press against his back. Michael was in a rage; his blows coming wildly. The heat was intensifying; it would take all of Azrael’s concentration to weather the Phasing. He didn’t know why Michael was attacking him (again) but for now, the boy would have to take his chances. Azrael fired his legs out in front of him, kicking Michael away. Azrael then turned and hurtled himself towards Asgard, where the real conflict was waiting.

***

They had all fought valiantly, but the battle had come to a halt inside of Odin’s private chambers. Odin could’ve kept fighting and secured a victory on his own, but as the Seraphim had killed more than half of the Valkryie, Odin would risk no more of his soldiers.
As the other Seraphim officers flooded the chamber, they spread out, holding hands to allow a deep, purple energy to pass through them. This was the Thanatonian power they had stolen.
Two Seraphim; one man, one woman, stepped forward. Metatron, Raphael, and Odin stood before Yang in a final, futile attempt to protect him. “Bring him forward.” The man seethed, raising his head to look down on them.
Yang slowly pushed his way forward, moving to stand in front of them. The man then raised his finger, pointing it towards Heaven’s ruler. “You will relinquish all power to our leader.” He stated simply, “Or your people will die.”
For a moment, all was still. The man smirked, shaking his head nonchalantly. “You have no other choice.”
He can’t do that. Metatron’s Reach was a whisper, in hopes that the Seraphim  couldn’t hear. Something will present itself. Odin, always the soldier, replied quickly. His eyes darted across the Seraphim, looking for a weakness. We have one last hand to play. Raphael Reached confidently. Odin scowled. Uriel, Raphael completed, is still out there.

***

It felt like he had been dipped in fire. His entire body literally steamed from passing through the atmosphere. Michael’s muscles felt as though they would snap as he rolled from his back to get to all fours. As he did, he saw Azrael, prone and helpless, on his back a few feet away. Fueled by Anadi’s warning, Earth’s fate, and Anders’ violent murder, Michael pushed himself to his feet. He stormed over to Azrael and clutched him by his shirt, hoisting him to his feet. “You had a choice, Azrael.” Michael whispered angrily. He turned Azrael and sent a hooking punch into his face. Azrael staggered back, but did not fall. “Michael…wait…” Azrael managed.
“Wait for what?!” Michael slid up to Azrael, throwing a front kick towards Azrael’s head. Azrael pushed it away, and Michael immediately sprung, throwing a roundhouse kick into the side of the former Thanatonian’s exposed jaw. This time, Azrael spun once before going down. “No, I’m not waiting anymore. You’re gonna pay for what you did to Anders–”

A deep, chilling, utterly feral voice exploded from Azrael as he quickly got to his feet. His eyes glowed red, his teeth suddenly pointed, his hands extended and his fingers were as blades. Michael was stunned by the sudden change but recovered quickly. As Azrael attacked, Michael swayed to avoid the blow and caught Azrael with a quick front kick to the stomach. Azrael was completely unfazed and continued his wild attack, slashing downward with his other hand. Again, Michael swayed, bringing his leg up and outward, then slamming his heel into Azrael’s shoulder. Azrael shrieked with the blow but clutched Michael’s leg and heaved him into the air. Michael rolled with the throw and brought his burnt leg up, catching Azrael cleanly in the jaw with a Flash Kick. But As Michael began to descend, he saw how immune to pain Azrael had become.

Azrael quickly reached up, clutching Michael’s neck and slamming him to the ground. He raised his other hand threateningly, his gaze burning as Michael weakly tried to free himself from Azrael’s iron grasp. “MICHAEL.” Azrael’s voice rumbled, “You will listen to what I have to say.”
Michael could barely breathe, let alone speak, and Azrael could clearly kill him at will. He nodded. “I did not kill Anders. I would have done anything to save that boy’s life.”
Azrael released Michael, who slowly got to his feet, rubbing his neck. “Then who the hell did? Why did you kill me back in Beal City?”
“Because if I hadn’t, the Seraphim certainly would’ve. Your powers are forbidden, remember?”
Michael remembered using his syonic abilities in Beal City against Balaam and was suddenly humbled. Indeed, use of his abilities carried an immediate death sentence. He had warned his mother against similar actions only three days ago.
“You listen to me, Michael.” Azrael growled, his persona returning to normal. “If you do not learn to think before you act, you will die before you can do any real good. Who would then rescue your mother?”
Horror flashed through Michael. “Why does my mother need rescuing?”
Azrael silently cursed himself as he realized he had given away too much. “Anders…he told me of things to come while we were in Beal City.” He reached into his inside pocket. “I know what you saw on Earth, Michael. I know what you have to do.”
He handed Michael a folded sheet of worn cloth; upon opening it, Michael found a multi-colored map, a large red dot indicating the last destination. The path to Niflheim.

“My brother…he knows I cannot beat him, much less the true enemy. But this enemy is not on my road, Michael; he’s on yours.”
Michael scowled, looking to Azrael. “What’re you talking about?”
“In order to do what is necessary, I have to become something I do not like. In that stage, I can be taken advantage of. You can maintain control, if you choose.”
Azrael paused. “And make no mistake, Michael. This will all be decided by what you choose in the next few moments.”
Michael felt the gravity of the situation settling in as he placed the map into his pocket. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but his mother was in trouble, Azrael was not the enemy, and something was waiting for him in Hel.
A way to end all of this…

“Close your eyes and concentrate.” Azrael instructed, “Imagine yourself at the location on the map, and you will be there.”
Michael nodded. “Thanks.” He paused, looking at Azrael, “…I’m sorry.”
Azrael smiled. “Accepted. Now go.”

Michael smiled, closing his eyes. Moments later, golden aura enveloped him, and he disappeared from view. Azrael exhaled; if Anders was right, Uriel should’ve been a few miles to the East. If Azrael could avoid Seraphim detection, he should be able to meet up with him…so their part of the plan could be carried out. Michael was on his own now.

The aura deposited Michael in the deepest, darkest recesses of Hel. The freezing temperature hit Michael immediately, and he pulled his flannel closer to him. As he oriented himself, he realized that he was standing directly beneath Freya’s transparent tomb. Torches lit the icy mortuary, which was otherwise black. And empty.
“Michael?”
Michael whipped around at hearing his name, and terror gripped his stomach like a fist as his true enemy stepped into view. After everything, all the pretense, it had come down to this. And now, standing before Heaven’s most powerful Angel, Michael felt doubt creep into his mind. I’m not sure I can beat him…

Before him, dressed in an original, regal garb that was Seraphim, Thanatonian, and Asgardian, was Cutler, leader of the Seraphim army. He was shimmering in deep purple energy of death itself, and his uniform matched. “I was expecting Azrael.” Cutler said, genuinely surprised. “What’re you doing here?”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Michael was stirred from momentary unconsciousness by the cacophony of screams and twisted metal. As he raised his head, he became aware that he was sliding…sliding backwards. He then became aware of a pervasive, desperate choir of OOOO’s that was drawing nearer. He twisted, looking behind him as he picked up speed.

Lava had come to life; pouring over itself with long, lanky arms that pushed and clawed at each other, the newly damned were slowly making their way out of Hell, thanks to the tilt of the ruined Purgatorium. They clawed their way into the onyx hallway—reaching for Michael, who was suddenly wide-awake.

He scrambled, trying to right himself, but it was like climbing on ice; it was impossible to find a foothold. Only by wedging himself by his arm and leg was he able to suspend himself between the walls, and he carefully began to ascend. Move, move, move…

Michael screamed; it felt like he had just stepped into a volcano. He looked down into the black, eyeless holes in one of the newly damned; it screamed in pain and desperation, either trying to pull him in, or use him to get out.

Michael fought to block out the burning pain at his ankle. He kicked downward with his free leg, pushing his arms to the breaking point as he fought to keep from sliding. The newly damned’s head exploded in a pulpy mess, its grip loosening. As the Purgatorium slipped further backwards, accelerating in its descent, Michael screamed, kicking downward again. The creature howled in anger as it released his leg, falling backwards and taking its compatriots with it. Michael tried to block out the echoing cry as they fell back into hell, the stench of sulfur emanating upwards as they returned to the lake of fire.
His leg was severely burned; not something he could worry about right now. His arms trembled as he placed his began to scale the walls of the hallway, finally emerging at the broken opening which gave way to infinite space below.

Grunting, grateful to give his arms a rest, Michael peered over the edge. His eyes widened, his jaw fell open.

Beneath him, between the doomed Purgatorium and the Heaven below, hundreds of explosions went off like fireflies in the night. The Seraphim—now with the power of the Thanatonians—were engaging the Valkryies, and the Valkryies were vastly outnumbered. A host of Seraphim could be seen like a flock of birds, rocketing downwards towards…Asgard, based on their trajectory…
Amidst the explosions were screams; the Valkryies were being slaughtered, and the Seraphim were following their comrades towards Odin’s city.
The Purgatorium shuddered suddenly as if hit by an asteroid. The Purgatorium was falling at nearly the speed of sound.
Michael’s glanced around the battle and found Azrael. The former thanatonian was conversing—casually, it seemed—with someone who could’ve been his doppelganger. Why isn’t he engaging the Seraphim…
Before Michael could guess at the answer, Azrael’s twin handed him something, and the two embraced. The twin then warped away in hellish red energy.
Rage roiled up within Michael. You son of a bitch, I knew it.
He remembered Anadi’s warning about a traitor and saw in his mind what Earth was to become. He could stop it all here, right now.
He couldn’t stand up to the Seraphim, but he could sure as hell take Azrael.
Michael flung himself over the edge of the Purgatorium, straightening his body, putting his arms at his sides and rocketing down towards Azrael. Ignoring the vacuum of space frapping against him, it took seconds for Michael to reach Azrael, slamming into his midsection at nearly seven hundred miles per hour. He pressed the advantage and began to pummel the bewildered half-demon. “THIS ENDS NOW, YOU HEAR ME?!” Michael roared over the din of battle, “THIS ENDS RIGHT NOW!!”

***

Uriel had been waiting for this opportunity for weeks. They set maniacs upon the land, the murdered children. They could’ve attained the power of Amen himself, and it wouldn’t have stopped him. Thanatonian power? No problem; just don’t let them touch you.
In one of Asgard’s corridors, Uriel was leading a small Sefiroth unit against the Thanatonian-powered Seraphim—and he was enjoying every moment of it. Technically, he had been ordered to stay behind with Metatron, Odin, and Raphael to guard Yang, but no way he was going to miss this. Not after everything they put him through. In the back of his mind, as he caught an airborne Seraphim by his neck and hurled him to the ground before impaling him with his elongated spear, he worried about Sira. She can take care of herself, and if she can’t her problems are over. Don’t think about it now.
Despite the overwhelming disadvantage, Uriel and the Sefiroth were driving the Seraphim back. Rumor was spreading that their leader had been killed, and what he ascertained from Reaching, he hadn’t been in on it to begin with. Self-centered little bastards, Uriel thought, hoping the Seraphim, hell, anyone could hear him. Every last one of them would pay for what they had done.

***

Damn Uriel and his bloodlust. Raphael cursed, pinned down behind a crumbling statue. With Odin in front firing chi bursts from the palm of his hands, Raphael and Metatron were behind Yang, forming a shell of sorts. They were trapped in a short hallway between the atrium and Odin’s private chamber. While Metatron and Raphael engaged the Seraphim in hand-to-hand combat, Odin repelled the Seraphim blocking his chamber with energy. The Seraphim were using ivory-based, projectile weapons that fired arrows at what seemed like light speed.  Others were using larger guns that fired spears large enough to tear an Angel in two. The Valkryies were occupied elsewhere; this was up to them.
When one spear took off the head of the Thor’s memorial statue, Odin jumped, quickly crouching behind what remained of cover. He braced himself, taking slow, deliberate breaths. When he next opened his eyes, they glowed green. Metatron saw it first, grabbing Odin’s arm. “No, Odin.”
“This is my home, Metatron. I will not allow it to be defiled.”
“Odin,” Yang said, his voice almost pleading. “They’re just children.”
“And old enough to know right from wrong, and accept the consequences of their actions.”
Raphael was busy holding off two Seraphim, who only needed to touch him to win. Still he smirked; this battle was about to be over.
As Odin rose, two spears were fired at him. The emerald energy encompassed his entire body as he headed determinedly towards the Seraphim. In one motion, Odin swayed backwards to let the first spear pass by, and clutched the second one out of the air. As a third spear was fired, Odin spun, screamed a feral roar, and hurled the spear back towards the Seraphim. His spear, pulsing with his aura, shredded the third oncoming projectile and continued onward, impaling the Seraphim with such force that it turned to glass almost instantly, flying back towards the door. Odin seemed to glide, racing along the floor. He caught the spear—with the dead Seraphim on it—before it could finish its flight path and turned, spinning, crashing the dead body over another Seraphim officer. Killed under the weight of the corpse, both bodies shattered. Odin continued to spin, roaring, impaling the final Seraphim officer behind him. He ran the officer clean through, and then staked the glass body into the ground.
Raphael finished off an officer of his own, and then looked back to Odin, who was entering his chamber. “This way.” He growled. “We should be safe in here.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Azrael had taken them up through blue sky and black stratosphere, breaching Orion’s belt to cross over into Purgatory, the realm between realms. Had Michael not been violently dragged through Heaven and Earth, he might have been overwhelmed. Instead, as they landed outside of the gargantuan onyx cylinder, Michael was merely winded.

Although Azrael was unaffected by the haunting choir emanating from within the Purgatorium, Michael found it haunting; herein lay the souls of the damned, the to-be-damned, and the undecided from the mortal planes. Michael, like everyone else, had studied the Thanatonians in school, but found the entire concept disconcerting. When his time came, if left up to him, he’d meet his fate straightaway instead of languishing away in the Purgatorium. Death is the one situation in which we rarely have a choice. Azrael’s words came back to him as the two entered the Purgatorium.

The interior of the Purgatorium was cosmic, as though all of space was contained therein. Michael found himself unable to look away from the spectacle of passing stars and the occasional comet. He was so engrossed in the scene that he was surprised when Azrael finally spoke. “Master Gabriel.”

Michael quickly brought his attention to Azrael, who had lowered his head before a larger, black-robed Angel. The Angel smiled broadly and raised Azrael’s head to make eye contact. “My son, you need never bow to me again.”
With that, the two embraced tightly. Michael simply waited.

Gabriel eventually stepped away from Azrael and extended his hand towards Michael. “Michael St. Ambrose.” He spoke proudly, “I am Gabriel St. Tagas. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Michael was taken aback. He wasn’t used to that type of greeting. Gabriel read Michael’s reaction and nodded understandingly. “It doesn’t matter where you come from, only what you do. You’ve done very well by your sainthood, Michael.”
It had been a long time since Michael knew what someone being proud of him felt like. He smiled. Gabriel pointed behind him. “Cutler is in the last cell on the left, at the rear. Oh, don’t touch the cells.”

The corridor was dark, claustrophobic, and silent. There were five cells on each side of the wall, and each cell held a senior Seraphim officer. They were imprisoned by ethereal, purple energy that pulsated violently as Michael came close, as though warding him off. It’s like they’re alive…

Michael suddenly remembered that not all souls went to Heaven or Hell. The worst transgressors were given the worst fates.
The Seraphim officers all glared at Michael as he passed, but Cutler was leaning against the left wall, arms folded, head closed. Michael hesitated before speaking.”Cutler…?”
Cutler looked up, and came off the wall towards Michael. “Don’t touch the walls!” He warned. Michael only then noticed how violently the barrier was churning. It had also begun pulsing outwards, as though trying to draw Michael in. He took a step back.”Thanks…”
Cutler chuckled. “No problem. Hey, did you find your mom?”
Michael slowly shook his head. “No, I didn’t…”
“Where were you?”
Michael considered telling him, and then decided against it. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…Cutler, what happened?”
Again, Cutler laughed. “What does it look like? I failed, Michael. I failed my duties and I need to answer for that.”
“It’s not your fault; you were trying to help me find mom.”
“Haha…” Cutler shook his head, as if reliving the events in his mind,”Michael…it’s way beyond that. The Seraphim…we killed people, we enslaved mortals, we…wow, we actually tried to take the universe away from Yang…”
Cutler pointed to himself with his thumb. “My watch, my responsibility. You know…you know what’s funny? This whole time, we never found one corrupt Angel. You know that?”
Cutler held up one solitary finger. “Not one.”
He exhaled, resigned. “I guess Yang finally dropped the ball…”
“Where are they gonna exile you to?” Michael asked.
“Olymparus.” Cutler’s response was tightly delivered. They both knew what it meant.
Even as Michael began to speak, he knew the futility of his words. “This isn’t right. I may be able to get you out of here–”
“No. Michael, no.” Cutler came forward just enough to keep the living energy at bay, but near enough to look into Michael’s eyes. “Michael, that’s the first mistake your father made, okay? If you want to do something, do as you’re told and get to the Amenus Realm. Bring an end to all of this, okay?”
Michael was speechless. He wanted to scream, punch through the wall, anything–
The room vibrated and shook suddenly, as though something crashed into it’s left side. Both Michael and Cutler glanced around; they may have imagined it. “Did you feel that…?” Michael began.

The second impact was beyond illusion; the force of the impact thundered throughout the Purgatorium, knocking it off its axis and sending it listing dangerously to the left. Michael was thrown to the ground, knocked dizzy as his head bounced off the hard, black onyx.
He shook off disorientation quickly; Cutler was screaming.

As Michael got to his knees, he saw why.
The force of the second impact had knocked Cutler into the ethereal energy that kept him trapped. His eyes were widen in terror as he tried to wrestle his arm free from the energy that was beginning to overtake him, simultaneously drawing him in. As Michael scrambled to his feet, Cutler could only warn him away with widened, bloodshot eyes. As his resistance melted away, his body contorted and warped as it was drawn into the energy’s vacuum, and disappeared.

The other cells exploded outward in one thunderous, defeaning blast. Michael was knocked backwards as the ground beneath him began to split open, revealing open space below. As he unsteadily got to his feet, he saw the captured Seraphim officers—glowing with purple, Thanatonian energy—quickly flee their cells and leap from the split Purgatorium, down into the stratosphere.

And then, horribly, the Purgatorium broke completely in half, and began it’s slow, fatal plummet towards Heaven below.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Slowly, cautiously, and keeping his hands in the air, Michael rose to his feet. His consciousness continued to assemble itself as he tried to take in the scene, as well as the past few hours. Earth, home to humanity, had been devastated by a war his father had both started and finished. This was to occur thousands of years from now, and it would start with the betrayal of someone he trusted. Michael had to fight to keep his temper in check; no one could ever be trusted, someone was always working towards a hidden agenda. This time, someone’s ulterior motives would lead to his father’s conquest of the mortal world. The hell it will.

But first, he had to deal with the pressing situation; the Master Guard, most powerful of the Holy Sefiroth, now stood before him. Their identities were forever cloaked in black cloth dark enough to render them invisible by night. Their heads were concealed by matching cowls and visors barely open enough to allow them to see. They leveled their golden spears towards his chest. They worked as one unit, they never made mistakes, and most importantly, they left no one alive.
“Michael St. Ambrose.” One of them spoke in a deep, echoing voice. Michael quickly looked to the one directly ahead of him. “Yes?”
“Were you followed?” That voice came from behind him. Michael kept his hands airborne and slowly began to turn his head. “What?”
“Were. You. Followed.” From the right.
“No.”
“You’re certain?” Behind him, to the left. It was maddening, being barraged at all sides. It was how they worked in all matters. Michael nodded; better to go with it, rather than be construed a threat. “Yes, I’m certain.”

As one, the Master Guard stood at attention, pointing their spears upright and at the ready. “You must come with us.” The threat in their tone had been replaced with urgency. Again, Michael nodded, lowering his hands. “Okay. Where are we going?”
Before Michael could acknowledge the movement, the guard at his right strode up to him and grabbed him by his arm. They began to walk away hurriedly, and Michael had to struggle to keep up. “We must take you to Valhalla, so you may be dispatched to the Amenus Realm forthwith.”
Michael had nearly forgotten about the Archangel directive. So much had happened over the last three days–
His mind snapped back to the present. “Mom…” He mumbled. “Has my mother come back?”
“We’ve no knowledge on the whereabouts of your mother.” Pause. “We were hoping you would tell us.”
The tone was clear; you’re going to tell us.
Michael repressed the fear; there was no time for it. “What about Cutler?” He continued as he was dragged along. “Where’s Cutler?”
“He, and the rest of the wretched Seraphim, are incarcerated pending exile to Olymparus.”
Oh, no…
Olymparus had long been a home to both Angels and Demons; those who no longer wanted any part of the conflict and tried to build a life for themselves. Unfortunately, they were consistently attacked by malicious Angels and bored demons, and since Heaven wouldn’t formally acknowledge their existence, they were on their own. Exile to Olymparus was almost certainly a death sentence. What had Cutler done to warrant that?

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Anadi had led Michael on a mad dash through the heated, uncomfortable desert. Oddly, she had stopped every so often, picking up a particular patch of sand with both hands and then tossing it at him. She had always snatched Michael and continued onward before he could ask questions. Bewildered, he was just now along for the ride…

Another oddity was that the night had never completely faded. Michael had lost track of time, but it should’ve been day by now. Instead, fading moonlight and stars peppered a sky that was trying to lighten, but somehow gotten stuck at dawn. It was as though Earth was stuck in darkness. Michael didn’t like the feeling. Something is very wrong here…

At one point, Anadi had stopped him cold, telling him not to move, not to breathe , not to show any signs of life whatsoever. Confused, his mind flooded with questions, Michael did as he was told. He then saw a mechanical construct; a small, circular device about as wide as a dinner plate with two wing-like protrusions at its side. It hovered steadily, slowly through the air until stopping roughly four feet ahead of them, several feet higher. Holding Anadi’s hand, Michael could almost feel her heart threatening to free itself from her chest. Involuntarily, she squeezed his hand.

The thing hovered for a moment longer, emanating some type of humming noise Michael couldn’t interpret, and then went on about its way. “We have to hurry.” Anadi whispered. They had ran the rest of the way.

She had led Michael to a large hole in the ground shielded by magic, an illusion that made the opening indiscernible from the rest of the desert. Anadi waved her hand, spoke something unintelligible, and the opening was revealed.

She led him down into an underground shelter that was at least five feet below the Earth’s surface. The walls were lined with patchwork metal, some of which looked as though it had seen battle. Anadi first led Michael through a hallway, lined with men and women, all of whom had certainly seen battle. They looked at Michael distrustfully as Anadi led him on, nodding her head at some of the people she passed by. Michael noted some of the objects the men and women were holding; long, black, and menacing.

These men and women were not of peace. Earth was at war. With what?!

Anadi eventually led Michael into a dark, circular antechamber where a host of people were conversing. When Anadi entered, a man and a woman—her parents, Michael presumed—turned before quickly rushing to embrace her. The others quickly departed.

As Michael watched, the older woman cupped Anadi’s face in her hands, looking lovingly into her eyes. “Are you okay?” She asked, pleadingly. Anadi nodded, holding her mother’s arms. “Yeah, mom…I’m okay. Ran into a few bugs. Everything’s fine.”

“Did you see anything?” Her father inquired. Anadi looked to her father, shaking her head. “An AH-1 was snooping around about a mile back.” Before her father could follow up, Anadi continued; “It didn’t follow us.”

“Hmph.” Her father grunted. For the first time, he looked—no, glowered—to Michael. “Probably after his ass.”
Michael frowned. Anadi’s father, an imposing man, for a human, took two steps towards Michael. “So what’s the news now, reaper?” He demanded, “What’s the broken promise of the day?”

“Dad…” Anadi said firmly, looking apologetically to Michael, “he doesn’t know. He’s not from this time.”
Michael was almost dizzy from the influx of so much information. “Okay, I’m sorry…” He said quickly, shaking his head and raising his hands, “But I have no idea what’s happening here. I just want to find my mother, and go home.”

Anadi stepped past her father. “What’s your name, Angel?”
“Michael. I told you–”
“No, no, no…your sainted name.”
Michael was taken aback. It was amazing how much this girl knew. Humans weren’t as unfamiliar was Angels as the legends would lead one to believe. “St. Ambrose.” He answered, somewhat proudly.

Anadi’s mother gasped, cupping her hands in front of her lips. “Oh, by Yang…”
Anadi’s father pointed to Michael, glaring at Anadi. “Get him out of here, Anadi, now.”
“DAD!!” Anadi shouted, “It’s not his fault! He’s looking for his mom, not–”
“No.” Her mother whispered fiercely, “Don’t…don’t say his name.”
Anadi looked back to Michael. “Where are you from?”
“You already know that.”
Anadi nodded. She began speaking quickly. “Okay. When, then?”
Michael had no idea how to answer. “I don’t even know when this is.”
“Your father rules Earth now, Michael.” Anadi revealed. “This is the year 2034. We’ve been fighting your father and his minions for nearly ten years now. Your descendants lead us, but…I don’t think we’ll make it much further.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “My…my what? My father did this…?”
A tingling sensation began to course through Michael’s body. He looked down to his hands to see they were glowing. It looked as though he was slowly coming apart, as particles of light rose from his body. “Michael, listen to me.” Anadi said urgently, her voice taking on an echoing, ethereal quality. “If your father hasn’t come to power yet in Hell, then stop him! Do what you have to do, do you hear me?”

Michael shook his head, which only accelerated the process of coming apart. “Shit…” Anadi cussed, “You’re going to be set up, Michael!” She bellowed, her voice drowned by the light overtaking him. “Watch—traitor!!”

The light overtook Michael, and he couldn’t breathe. He was suddenly moving at the speed of light, in a million pieces, conscious of everything and nothing at once—and all at once, it was over.

When he rose, he was covered in sweat and hyperventilating.
He looked up and took in cool air. He was outside the castle of Yevon. He was home.
And as he rose, he suddenly found himself surrounded by Holy Sefiroth officers, each leveling a spear at him. Perplexed, he slowly put his hands in the air, even as Anadi’s last words resonated in his mind…

Traitor. Watch…traitor.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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It felt as though a knife had taken the place of his heart and was now trying to stab its way out of his chest. Weary, disoriented, Michael made his way through the endless desert, driven only by the overwhelming desire to get home. He didn’t know where the urge was coming from, but it had overcome his need his find his mother. Clutching his chest and fighting for air, Michael struggled over the top of a sand dune, raising his flannel to shield his face from a sandstorm. Something…something terrible had happened back home.

He wheezed, his lungs burning as they took in sand. The deserts of Earth were not like the deserts of Heaven; the air was hot and coarse, the ground was slippery and unforgiving. As Michael fought to maintain footing on his descent from the hill, he wondered how this land had ever been created as a paradise, and what the humans had done to anger Amen so much.

He was forced to stamp down hard as he reached the bottom of the hill, sending a jolt of pain up his knee. His leg still hadn’t healed from Balaam’s ambush. In fact, he was still sore all over from the past two days. Azrael had all but killed him; he still wanted an explanation for that.

The desert went on forever in all directions. Michael had to fight to keep depression from setting in; he wasn’t even sure how he arrived on Earth in the first place. He wasn’t sure what the Seraphim were planning, or why they had forced humans into slavery. He wasn’t sure how he’d get home.

In the distance, a woman screamed fiercely. It was followed by triumphant laughter.
As the wind continued to push a tan veil of sand across the desert from east to west, Michael couldn’t see what was happening. But if there was the slightest chance someone was in trouble…
Shielding himself with his flannel as best he could, Michael lowered his head and entered the sandstorm. He had taken six steps when there was the unmistakable thud of something heavy hitting the ground. It was followed by the angry, hissing of something Michael knew all too well. It sent chills down his spine, freezing him in mid-step.

It was the hissing of one of Balaam’s brood, or worse, the insect king himself. While Michael relished the idea of finishing their business, he knew he wasn’t up for another round. He could barely stand. A human won’t stand a chance against one of those things. I have to try to help…

More triumphant laughter was followed by a dazzling fireworks display, comprised of sky blue and maroon flashes. The hissing became a screech. She was winning.

Michael finally emerged through the sandstorm into a magical arena; he was at the center of the funneling sandstorm, where not so much as a grain deviated from the tornado.  What appeared to be a large, hideous, black bug was struggling on its back, trying to get to its feet. It seemed pinned to the ground by sky-blue energy…energy coming from the left hand of the girl Michael had heard.

Michael’s jaw fell open; the girl was beautiful.

Skin darker than the sand and appearing softer to the touch, straight, dark brown hair flowed freely, and her eyes were blazingly emerald. She was dressed in what appeared to be a silk robe with a royal pattern emblazoned on the exaggerated sleeves. Her right hand was braced on her knee, she seemed tired, but with a smile that could warm the world, she laughed. Michael was mesmerized; not only had she conquered a bona fide demon, but she had the time of her life doing it.

“I…” She breathed, exasperated, “I don’t think I can play with you anymore, beast!”

She quickly raised her right hand, sun-orange energy spewing forth as she yelled words with such force that the arena echoed. Michael didn’t recognize the language.

The same orange energy exploded out of the creature’s exposed gut, and with one final screech, it was silent.

Michael looked at the girl as she pumped her fist in victorious celebration. She looked to Michael as though she had been aware of his presence all along. “What?” She smiled, placing her hands on her hips. “Did you think I needed help?”

Michael had to will his body to move, and even then, all he could do was shake his head. “I…I heard you scream…”

The girl laughed, approaching. “You are an arrogant little man, aren’t you?! Girls can only scream when you have your way with them or when they need help? Please.”

Again, Michael could only shake his head, unable to take his eyes from her. “I—I just thought you needed help. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

The girl’s smile faded as she realized Michael’s sincerity. “Aw. That’s sweet. You really thought I needed help? Against those things?”

She nodded her head contemptuously at the dead bug behind Michael. “That’s the third one in two years. They get easy after awhile.”

She looked Michael up and down, scowling. “By Yang…you’re a mess. Who are you? How’d you wind up so far out in the Eastern lands?”

“My name’s…John.” Michael lied, recalling the alias he had begun using after his father’s desertion.

The girl slowly smiled, knowingly. “No…no. Your name is Michael St. Ambrose. You’re an angel. Not one of those hokey, save-our-souls-type of angels, but a genuine Angel, straight from the motherland, aren’t you?”

Again, Michael had to keep his jaw from hitting the desert floor. “How did you–?”

The girl nodded, closing her eyes. “Soul-seeing. It’s one of our gifts. You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

She extended her hand. “My name’s Anadi, Michael. Come with me; we’ll find a way to get you home.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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