Akting Out

Uriel’s body crashed against the gray brick wall, and he felt his ribs crack, piercing his lungs. The sharpened bone fragments tore through the thin tissue of his lungs, and he opened his mouth to scream, but could barely gasp. He bounced off of the wall and landed in a heap.

Waves of pain shot through Uriel’s body, beginning at the top of his head and shooting down through his entire body. His muscles rebelled, trembling as he tried to bring himself to his feet—a boot crashed into his exposed midsection, hitting hard enough to lift him from the ground, caving his ribs inward for just a moment before his damaged lungs pushed them back out. Breathing took effort; it felt like he was inhaling fire.

The young Seraphim reached down, grasping Uriel by the back of the collar and hoisting him into the air. Uriel could only groan in resistance, but what he really wanted to do was chuckle: after centuries of war, he was about to meet his end at the hands of two children. The irony in that was hilarious to him, but he lacked the strength to laugh.

“Give him to me,” the other, younger Seraphim said hungrily, standing a few feet away as if waiting to catch a ball. The older Seraphim, who was clearly in charge and responsible for most of his injuries, turned Uriel around, held him up by the collar, and surveyed Uriel’s battered body like an artist looking over his work. The Seraphim should’ve been proud; Uriel’s right eye was so badly beaten that it was swollen shut—maybe forever—blood ran freely from his nose and several open wounds on his head and face, and his jaw, apparently dislocated, jutted out to the left.

The older Seraphim chuckled, smirking coldly as he looked Uriel up and down. He pivoted and heaved Uriel through the air toward his comrade. As Uriel began his descent, the younger Seraphim took a step forward and brought his leg up as though kicking a ball, catching Uriel cleanly in the midsection. Even As Uriel gasped, his mouth filling with blood, and raised his arm to cradle his stomach, the younger Seraphim brought his elbow down hard at the top of Uriel’s spine. Uriel slammed into the ground hard enough to crack the centuries-old floor.

“Nice work,” the older Seraphim said genuinely. “There may be hope for you yet, Gale.”

Uriel, fighting to stay alive, heard the Seraphim through the pounding in his head. The younger Seraphim took a step toward him; Uriel heard the metal boot strike the ground a foot closer.

“You think he knows anything?” Gale asked.

“Who cares,” the older Seraphim quickly replied, also approaching, “this is fun.”

Uriel felt cold metal through his tattered clothes, pressing on his back. The older Seraphim was now directly above him, putting most of his weight on Uriel’s spine.

“You hear that, old man?” The Seraphim spoke directly into his ear. “You’re a killer and a traitor; I love punishing Angels like you.”Again, Uriel found himself violently ripped from the ground and facing the Seraphim, whose eyes were ablaze. “Especially when they kill my friends.”

Uriel’s face contorted into a smile. “And I love…” He forced, his voice raspy and gargling, “killing punk kids like you who think it’s okay to kill children and old men.”

Uriel’s neck muscles screamed against him as he forced himself to look the Seraphim directly in the eyes. “And bring the enemy into our home.”

Uriel then spit blood into the Seraphim’s face, laughing. “You take away all that Nexus crap, and you’re nothing but a group of pampered, spoiled brats crying about how you don’t get your way. If you’re gonna kill me, then kill me and get it the hell over with. I’m bored.”

As the Seraphim opened his eyes, Gale spoke nervously behind him. “River, he knows.”

The Seraphim smiled a dark grin that indicated Uriel’s fate was all but sealed. He nodded.

“You know, old man–” Uriel grunted as River forced a knee into his gut, forcing the older Angel to double over in shock and pain. “You’ve got courage in spades, I’ll give you that–” An elbow crushed Uriel from above, sending him back to the ground. River then stomped on Uriel’s back twice. “Gale!” River snapped his fingers, breathing quickly and pointing down at Uriel, “We know what he knows. Finish him off.”

****

Sira, knelt, slowly raised her head, swallowing emotion as she looked up at Odin. Asgard’s high father was leaning back in his throne, appearing relaxed, but his eyes revealed his anxiety. Odin held his head in his hands as he processed everything that had occurred over the past two days, and contemplating a war Heaven could not win if Sira was right; the Seraphim were traitors.

“Sira,” Odin began, his voice gravelly. “Have you spoken of this to anyone besides myself?”

Sira shook her head vigorously. “No, my lord.”

Exhaling mightily, Odin stood, the authority of his presence coming with him. Sira lowered her head further. “Don’t,” He commanded. “I will relay this to Yang, and we will decide how best to proceed.”

Her head still lowered respectfully, Sira nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Daughter,” Odin said, the darkness in his voice replaced by paternal love, “I am not telling you to be silent to chastise you.”

Odin seemed to appear in front of Sira almost instantly. Ever so gently, he placed his finger under her chin, raising her head so he could look her in the eye. His smile was reassuring. “One Seraphim is easily a match for one Valkryie. If they feel threatened and they revolt, we may not be able to mount a counter attack in enough time. This situation requires delicacy. You have done well for ferreting this out, my child.”

Sira couldn’t help but smile as she always did when Odin handed out one of his rare compliments.

Odin stepped past her left side, preparing to exit Asgard’s throne room. “My lord,” Sira said quickly. “What about Uriel?”

She heard Odin exhale, but he remained silent. “I delivered him to his enemies,” she said, again trying not to cry. “I can’t just leave him to die.”

For a moment, Odin was silent. “No…no, you can’t, can you?” He finally said. “I cannot order you to fight your own people to rescue him…but I have taught you to do what you feel is right, have I not?”

“You have, my lord.”

“Then do what you feel is right. But Sira…”

Odin turned his head to see his Valkryie over his shoulder. “Do it quietly.”

Sira nodded. “As you wish, my lord.”

Sira closed her eyes, vanishing in flash of blue light. Odin exited Asgard’s great hall, his head racing with ideas as to how to battle both Yin’s army and their own people at the same time. The only conclusion he could arrive at was that the Seraphim were now the top priority, and they must be stopped at all costs.

****

“How can he survive this?!”

Uriel’s body, smoking from extensive electrocution, fell to the ground. His body shuddered, smoke rose, his muscles shook. They had been attempting to execute him for the past five minutes, but were unable to raise enough power to do so.

“Come on, kids!” Uriel taunted. “Is this really the best you can do?”

Gale was clearly the less experienced of the two, appearing to capitulate by putting his hands on his knees, almost hyperventilating. “You know, River…” Gale managed, “Uriel may have met Cutler…managed to get ready for us…”

“That would mean that Cutler knew what we were doing, you moron.” River retorted angrily, “And we’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that he doesn’t.” River looked at Uriel, who was breathing rapidly, his entire body quivering. “Nah, Cutler doesn’t know. He’s just a tough old bastard. That reminds me.”

Without warning, River suddenly lashed out, striking Gale cleanly with an energy-based right hook. Gale screamed in surprise and agony as River’s fist seemed to explode in his eye, and as the light quickly receded, Gale was clutching his face, blood oozing between his fingers. “WHY IN HELL DID YOU DO THAT?!?!” Gale bellowed. River shrugged nonchalantly; “Uriel tried to escape; that’s what we’ll tell anyone who asks. There was a fight. You were hurt.”

Gale continued to scream, but managed to get his words in edgewise. “Why do I have to be the one who got hurt?!”

“Because I’m the one who thought of it.” River replied, growing tired of the exchange. Uriel managed a laugh. River turned, looking at him. “What’s funny, old man?”

“Good story…” Uriel forced, words scraping against his throat like rusty blades, “But I would’ve gone for the genital area.”

Gale became horrified as Uriel raised his head. River began to nod, snickering. “Yeah, you know, that’s not a bad idea.”

“River, no, please…” Gale was holding up his hand as if to ward River off, backing away. River laughed loud enough to hear it echoing throughout the chamber. “Relax, Gale. Maybe next time.”

He shook out his arms and shoulders, refreshing himself. “But back to the original point, Cutler doesn’t know anything we don’t want him to, so–”

The keep door exploded inward suddenly, the debris overwhelming Gale, who was directly in its path. Sira erupted into the room, demolishing the young Seraphim with a quick right hook that knocked him out cold.

River recovered before Sira could continue her attack, and looked her over with admiration. “Wow, an actual Valkryie.” He cocked his head, making a clucking noise, “The legends don’t do you justice. The armor looks great on you.”

Sira laughed once. “It’s not the armor you need to focus on, boy.” She cocked her head towards the door. “Leave now, and I’ll deal with you last.”

“Last?!” River raised his hands aggressively. “Haven’t you heard, honey? You’re old news.”

“And you don’t know how to pay attention.”

“What?”

In one swift movement, Uriel reached out, clutching River’s ankle and yanking hard. The Seraphim wasn’t given enough time to scream as he smashed face-first into the ground. Sira quickly pounced on him, driving a punch into the back of his neck, and River was still. When she looked over to Uriel, she blanched, seeing the extent of his injuries.

“Good of you to come…” Uriel’s voice trailed off, his hand released River’s ankle and went limp. His body ceased all movement.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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