Akting Out

The depths of the battlefield was a bloody, chaotic dance. Azrael  was at the center, swarmed by Balaam’s brood, fighting for his life.
He had to focus, consciously blocking out the deafening beat of the brood’s rapidly-beating wings. The rest was just deathly choreography; the slightest mistake meant the end of him.
The end would come soon anyway; I can’t hold them all off forever.

He silently chastised himself as he turned, spinning, hacking, cleaving, killing, surviving. He was still alive, and while he was alive, he had a chance. It felt like all of Hell was focused on him, and as he took four more insect demons down, despair began to set in. They would never stop until he was dead. And his twin brother, Anileif, was one of them.

Something stabbed him straight through the heart, or that’s what it felt like; nothing had actually touched him, but his chest was burning from within, and he was incapacitated, falling to a knee, clutching his racing heart. It was like being back in Beal City with the Eternal Damned closing in…

And, just like before, something appeared out of nowhere, and saved his life.
It was a brilliant burst of light, like being hurtled into the sun, and it exploded in their midst. The air was suddenly flooded with high-pitched hissing and screaming as the brood was torn asunder. Azrael closed his eyes, turning away, hoping the pain would recede in his chest. It didn’t.
Something snatched him to his feet by his arm. Although he heard the thought in his head, it wasn’t directed at him. “They’re retreating.”
“I know.” Azrael recognized that second voice; Metatron, the ancient, powerful leader of the Holy Sefiroth, Heaven’s army. “Seems sudden.”
“It is.” Azrael’s savior Reached, “It’s as though they were called off.”
Azrael looked up as the burning in his chest faded. The pain was replaced by a horrible sense of dread, as though something terrible had just happened. The surviving brood had coalesced into a spiral as they rose screeching into the sky. “Are you okay?” Raphael St. Zeneca spoke, still holding Azrael. The boy nodded. “The west wing.” Azrael managed, “We need to get to the west wing….”
Raphael scowled, releasing Raphael to replace his sword at his waist. “Why?” Azrael whirled, clutching Raphael to look him square in the eye. “Now.” Azrael hissed. He couldn’t explain why they needed to get there, he just knew they did. The pain in his heart told him as much.  An unsure Raphael chose to put his faith in Azrael, and nodded. “Hold on.” He replied. Azrael obeyed, and Raphael bolted into the sky, heading west.

***

Moments later, Azrael, followed by Raphael, pushed open the double-doors to the lower level of the west wing in Yevon’s castle. His mouth fell open in horror.
Yang, ruler of Heaven, was present with Odin, the ruler of Asgard, and Yang’s last remaining advisor. Uriel, the large Angel he and Michael had fought with back in Beal City, was present. He was beside a beautiful, fierce-looking woman with long black hair, adorned in equally beautiful, regal –looking armor. A Valkryie, Azrael presumed.
Crystalline glass fragments were scattered across the floor. These were the remnants of more than three hundred men, women, and children. An entire race had been annihilated. Only one body was intact, and the sight of it brought tears to Azrael’s eyes.
Odin and Yang took notice of their arrival as Azrael approached the body and crouched beside it. The boy had died smiling.
There was a gaping hole where his heart had been. His name was Anders. He was fourteen years old.
Azrael touched the boy’s cheek and immediately pulled his hand away; the glass was freezing. “Who did this.” Azrael seethed.
“Who are you?” Odin demanded, his baritone voice rumbling.
“I am this boy’s friend.” Azrael immediately replied, “And I want to know who did this to him.”
Raphael nodded, approaching Azrael. “This is Azrael, Odin. He’s one of the four.”
Odin’s look softened. Azrael quickly glanced to Uriel, once an enemy, soon to be his comrade, and nodded. Uriel returned it neutrally. “The Seraphim.” He answered darkly.

Yang folded his arms, turning away. “I didn’t want to believe it…” He said, his voice full of regret. “I only wanted to keep what happened with Lucifer from happening again.”
Yang suddenly whirled, pointing an accusing finger at the Valkryie. “You. How can you be so certain of this?”
“I was in his mind, and I was there when we freed those humans.” She responded evenly, “It was your officers we fought off.”
“It was your officers that brought Rahab here.” Uriel growled. “Your officers that allowed three hundred children to die.”
Uriel glowered at Yang, his eyes saying what his mouth could not. Everyone in the room knew what he wanted to say.
Yang squinted his eyes closed, lowering his head. “Why…” Yang whispered, “why would they do this?”
“Only the Nostradamians knew how their ploy ended. Only they had the definite chance of stopping them.” Uriel retorted. “So they killed them all.”

Yang took a step back, and walked away. Uriel lowered his head.
Odin placed a hand on Yang’s shoulder and leaned in. “I know you created with Seraphim with the best of intentions, old friend, and I won’t say ‘I told you so’.” Odin smirked, “But we must tend to business now.”
Yang hesitated, and then nodded. “Odin, please, dispatch a third of your Valkryie here to reinforce the Sefiroth.”
Yang turned to Uriel, Raphael, and Azrael; three of the four. “As soon as Michael joins us, we’ll proceed to Asgard to release the Nexus stone.”
Before Odin could say anything, Yang looked to him, “Yevon is compromised. Asgard is the next safe place.”
Odin nodded.
“What,” Uriel spoke quickly, “about the Seraphim?”
Yang turned back to Uriel, and then looked to Odin.
“Send your Valkryies.” Yang ordered, “and arrest them all.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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