Akting Out

The sun had risen to its highest point and now looked down upon them like a glaring, disapproving observer. As they’d worked, Azrael had looked up to the sun and darkly hoped that it might shoot its corona across Beal City, eliminating all of them. Maybe they deserved it.

Anders had choreographed the past few hours with the skill of an experienced band conductor. The Seraphim will forgo their duties, Anders had explained. …If they sense a syon anywhere in Heaven. We don’t have much time. We have to hurry.

Knowing the future didn’t mean that Azrael understood it, but at this point, Anders’ plan appeared to be the best option. With the ground still smoldering from the recent conflict with the Eternally Damned, Anders had commanded the survivors to gather up the dead—three in total—and arrange them neatly beside Michael’s motionless body. After that job was finished, Anders had provided everyone with large sledgehammers and they had gone to work, destroying the remnants of the Eternally Damned.

Michael’s body…

On more than one occasion, Azrael had stolen a glance at Michael, hoping for any sign of life. A couple of times, Azrael swore that Michael had twitched; it was as though he might be sleeping. Either way, when Azrael had blinked, Michael was still again. The wound Azrael had inflicted had dried and looked horrendous, a black gash across Michael’s midsection. No way could he have survived that.

After the Eternally Damned had been turned to dust, the wind took care of the rest. Anders’ sense of urgency had increased, and he kept his eye on the sun.

Suddenly, Anders raced into the distance. When hereturned moments later, he had a brand-new Seraphim uniform with him. Azrael almost tore the boy’s head off when Anders violently began tearing the clothes from Michael’s body, and Azrael retched when he saw how deeply the scythe had cut into his ally’s stomach.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Azrael growled, his voice low and more intimidating than any yell.

Anders continued to work without so much as an upward glance. “I’m gonna need you to trust me on this, Azrael.”

Azrael was about to protest as Anders began to clothe Michael in the Seraphim garb, but a silhouette against the sun caused him to look up. In the distance, several miles away, were winged Angels that were descending on them fast. “They’re here,” Anders exhaled, a hint of fear in his voice as he finished dressing Michael. “The Seraphim have arrived.”

A cold, dark, familiar sensation pushed against Azrael’s back, and he slowly turned around. “They are not the only ones,” he whispered. Across the ground, jagged, formless shadows moved towards them, patterned like a triangle. Standard procedure, one leader, two for assistance, in case there was a struggle.

Slowly, black-robed figures rose up through the shadows. It was an eerie spectacle, even for someone who was used to it. They moved slowly, not hurrying at all; it’s not as though their quarry could go anywhere. Their heads were lowered to keep their faces concealed beneath their wide hoods. Their cloaks were too big for them, dragging along the ground as they moved towards them. They marched slowly, their bodies leaning forward, their feet dragging along the ground. They were unhurried, very intense, and horrifying.

These were the Thanatonians; the Death-keepers.

“Azrael?” The leader inquired, his booming voice echoing beneath his hood. “Is that you?” The figure sat up straight and removed his cloak, revealing himself to be Gabriel, the Thanatonian leader—and the one who had sent Azrael in his stead.

Azrael bowed respectfully. “Master,” he replied, his voice hoarse. When Azrael locked eyes with his former mentor, Gabriel said nothing, but the pity in the Thanatonian’s eyes was unmistakable.

Behind them, three Seraphim officers landed, the first one a tall, lanky female whose robe was adorned across the shoulders with various commendations. Her blond hair was slightly curled, and came to just above her ears. She had porcelain skin and majestic blue eyes; she was beautiful, and carried a commanding presence. Her face was cold and expressionless. She blinked upon seeing Gabriel. “Gabriel. It’s very nice to see you.” The words were forced; it was a struggle for her to remain neutral.

Gabriel replied with a smug grin, “Tilden! You as well. I see the Seraphim have treated you well.”

She broke eye contact, looking to the bodies and speaking rapidly, “You tend to receive better treatment when you follow the rules.”

She looked at Anders first, and then at Azrael. “Which one of these was the Syon?”

Azrael forced away panic; how this scene must look, three bodies of glass and then Michael, who had not yet glassed over, dressed in the white garb of a Seraphim Officer. Words failed him.

Tilden quickly snapped her fingers. “Come on, speak up,” She said curtly. “Which one of these was the Syon?”

“He was,” Anders replied, trying to keep his voice cool as he pointed to Michael. “Your officer.”

Gabriel scowled, looking at Michael’s body. Tilden stepped between two of the glass corpses and bent down, placing her hand on her knees as she examined Michael’s body. “I do not know this officer,” she said, scowling.

“The Seraphim’s numbers exceed one thousand, Tilden,” Gabriel quickly replied. “It’s quite possible that you didn’t get a chance to meet this man.”

Tilden stood up and looked at Gabriel coldly. “I am the second-in-command of the entire Seraphim Order, Gabriel. It is my duty to know each and every last one of our officers, and I say to you–” She pointed at Michael without looking away from Gabriel, “I do not know this man.”

“Why Tilden, are you saying that you have never made a mistake?” Gabriel was polite, but also condescending.

Tilden quickly opened her mouth and closed it just as quickly, as if attempting to keep something from escaping. Surrendering, she brought her hand back to her side. “Who took his life?” She asked, her tone a little less hostile.

Anders glanced at Azrael. “He did.”

Tilden quickly whipped towards Anders. “Do you answer for everyone, boy, or is everyone else simply too stupid to speak for themselves?”

“I did,” Azrael said simply. Tilden looked intensely at Azrael, who fought not to cringe under her scrutiny.

“I see.” She replied. “You’re not so powerful; how did you manage to surprise a syon?”

Azrael could feel Tilden’s dominating presence in his mind; she was searching for lies. Luckily, Azrael could only offer the truth: “He didn’t see me coming.”

Tilden’s presence lingered a moment longer, and then withdrew. “Why has he not reverted?” She demanded to everyone present.

“Tilden, come now,” Gabriel replied, growing impatient. “The boy was both a Seraphim and a Syon. It would take an inordinate amount of time for that much power to leave a body. Really, what are you hoping to find here? You keep me from my duties.”

Tilden smiled coldly. “Very well, Gabriel,” she said. “Reap him.”

Gabriel blanched, but he quickly recovered. He stepped toward Michael’s body, pulling up his sleeve. Azrael held his breath; once Michael’s soul was removed…

Gabriel’s hand easily passed through Michael’s body. As he gently withdrew, he held a formless, crimson, jagged length of energy that sparked from its edges. Azrael released a quick breath; he still wasn’t breathing. Gabriel looked at Tilden as he held up the energy, and it slowly passed into his arm.

“Anything else?” He demanded.

Tilden lingered a moment, looking back to her officers and nodding. They both turned and leapt, flying back toward the sun. “I will report to Yang that an unknown Seraphim officer was revealed to be a syon, and he was dealt with accordingly.”

She turned around, preparing to depart.

“I’ll give Raphael your best,” Gabriel fired at her. The words struck her like arrows, and she froze. Without turning around, she bounded into the sky, and within seconds, she was a fleeting shadow against the sun.

“Gabriel, hurry…” Azrael began, but Gabriel was already on one knee, at Michael’s left side. He again pulled up his sleeve and placed his hand in Michael’s body. The crimson energy reappeared first in Gabriel’s forearm, and then slowly snaked down, back into Michael’s body. The crimson energy enveloped Michael, and as Azrael, Gabriel, and Anders observed, the deep gash—as well as his shattered knee—slowly healed. When the task was complete, the light receded back into Michael.

Then, nothing.

Azrael looked at Gabriel, who shook his head. He had done all he could.

Azrael straddled Michael and placed one hand on top of the other, locking his fingers. Azrael then began to make quick, circular rubbing motions around Michael’s heart. After a minute of this, Michael showed no signs of life.

Azrael increased his rotations, glaring up at Anders. “Is this what you saw–”

Michael bolted upright suddenly, air flooding his lungs as he took in a long, deep breath. Shocked, Azrael immediately jumped off of Michael, who arched his back sharply. After what seemed like an eternity, Michael collapsed back to the ground, blinking, deep breaths coming much more slowly.

“I saw…I saw…” Michael exhaled. He seemed to be in shock. He shook his head, covering his eyes. “I saw…”

“Michael…” Azrael said hesitantly, leaning down to examine the boy. “Are you alright?”

Michael removed his hand, and Azrael saw the confusion turn to anger in Michael’s face. Before Azrael could do anything, Michael fired his right leg straight up, catching Azrael in the side of the head. As Azrael was sent staggering, Michael braced himself on his hands and bound to his feet. Enraged, he turned, fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into the palms of his hands. Azrael had no time to recover before Michael began to attack again.

Suddenly, something snatched Michael by the back of the neck and hoisted him from the ground easily. Shocked and angry, Michael struggled violently. He managed to turn around enough to see that it was Gabriel hoisting him. “The boy didn’t have a choice,” Gabriel explained, smiling gently, “If he hadn’t done what he had, you would have been–”

“LET. ME. GO!” On the last word, Michael curled his knees to his chest and shot his legs backwards. Gabriel was struck cleanly in the jaw. The force of the kick caused Gabriel to release the younger angel.

In the city, something shattered.

The two Thanatonians who had accompanied Gabriel moved to engage Michael, only to be stopped by Gabriel. “Let them settle up,” he ordered.

Azrael was prepared, but reluctant. He raised his hands as Michael came for him. “Michael…”

Michael raced towards Azrael, firing a reverse punch and following through with a spinning wheelkick. Azrael crouched and pivoted, avoiding both blows and ending up on Michael’s left side. Michael anticipated the move and stepped towards Azrael, stabbing his elbow directly into Azrael’s midsection. Azrael buckled, and Michael reached up, grabbing Azrael’s head and flipping him over his shoulder. As Azrael landed, Michael kneeled over him, raising his fist for a killing blow.

“I’m sorry,” Azrael managed, each breath threatening to cave his chest in. “I’m sorry. They would’ve killed you. I’m sorry.”

Michael was surprised that Azrael’s tone was genuine. As he was processing the words, something tore clean through his right shoulder. He grunted as he was knocked off of Azrael, onto his back. Azrael quickly looked, and saw an extremely tall Angel pointing two weapons towards them. Azrael quickly scrambled out of the way as a small group of arrows peppered the ground where his head had been a moment ago.

“What’re you doing?!” Raphael demanded, snatching the gunnery away from Uriel. “I gave you no orders to attack!”

“I. don’t. answer to you, old man.” Uriel growled, looking down on Raphael.

Behind him, Sira reached up, placing a hand on Uriel’s shoulder. “This may not be the time…” She tried to soothe him, but he quickly knocked her hand away, turning on her and pointing.

“You know what they did to me, what they did to the kids at Eden. Anytime we see one of these bastards, that is the time.”

“I don’t know them,” Cutler said, studying the two Angels in the distance. The one on the right seemed irate, and the other one, the one who was too pale to be an Angel, seemed irritated. “They aren’t mine.”

“You say that like you have any idea what happens in your own organization.” Uriel retorted. “You’ll understand if I don’t believe you.”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Metatron finally chimed in. “If he’s so gung-ho about eradicating the Seraphim, let him go. “

Raphael turned to Metatron. “We don’t have time for this!” He barked. “You don’t know what’s happening! We need to get to Asgard before Lucifer does!”

It was a moot point. When Raphael next turned, Uriel was gone. He was running towards the two Angels—who were returning the charge.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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