The rising sun penetrated the clouds on the horizon, painting the sky an ominous, dark red. The nogaru sped across the dying plain, their talons threshing the hardened ground as they raced at more than thirty miles per hour. Of the two creatures, the leftmost one pulled slightly ahead, simultaneously panting and grunting, as though trying to clear its throat. Azrael glanced over to the one-eyed, bird-like creature, taking note of his brother atop the creature. Anileif’s head was lowered, and he was smirking.
So it is true, Azrael thought, the nogaru really do match the intensity of their masters.
It had been exactly seven days since the incident. The brothers were racing from Olymparus to the medium-sized city known as Yethra, where the murderers lived, slept, and carried on as though they had done nothing. It was time to “make things right,” as their father had put it.
“Hey!” Anileif called, growling hungrily.
Azrael looked over to his brother. “Yes?”
Anileif grinned, revealing all of his teeth. “You ready?”
Azrael nodded, focusing on the path ahead. Nogaru were known to run wild if not kept in check…
“Hey!” Anileif barked, so forcefully that Azrael was startled, instantly looking at his brother. “You sure you’re ready for this? Don’t let me down, little brother.”
“I am ready,” Azrael replied, irritated.
Although they were twins, Anileif had been born fifteen minutes before Azrael, a fact the elder twin never let his brother forget. Truthfully, Azrael wasn’t sure what they were about to do was the right thing, but he had been present when…when it happened. If nothing else, he needed to see the murderers pay.
The towering ivory city was not yet awake as the two entered. They had three homes to visit; they were to take their revenge at the same time of day their mother had been slaughtered: dawn.
Azrael pulled ahead and slowed his nogaru, which growled; it did not want to slow down. The two brothers silently moved through the curving, narrow street until coming to a beautiful house on the rounded corner.
“Here,” Anileif whispered, looking up to the two-story home. He was the first to step down from the long-necked creature. He jerked the reins, startling the nogaru, which now stared directly into Anileif’s bloodshot eyes. “Stay.” Anileif ordered, pointing threateningly at the creature. The nogaru whimpered, lowering its head submissively. Azrael said nothing as he climbed down from his own creature.
The brothers were silent as they entered the home with Anileif leading the way. They quietly made their way through the front room, up the stairs, which turned to the right. Their quarry was in the only bedroom at the end of the hall. He was still sleeping when the two entered.
Azrael stayed by the door; he would keep the Angel trapped inside. Anileif would do the dirty work—this time. It had been made clear that Azrael was expected to take his revenge on at least one of the three killers.
Anileif savored every step, walking slowly to his victim’s bed and standing over the sleeping Angel. Azrael suddenly felt a chill and folded his arms.
The Angel groaned in his sleep, turning over and looking up at Anileif. As he realized there was a stranger in his home, adrenaline kicked in, and he bolted upright. Azrael repressed a pang of sympathy; the Angel was young, and he’d never get any older.
“What’re you doing in my house?” The Angel demanded.
“My eyes,” Anileif seethed, grinning evilly. “Do they look familiar to you?”
The Angel squinted, wondering if this was still a dream.
“My eyes were a gift from my mother,” Anileif continued. Azrael noted that his brother’s body had tensed. “She was murdered seven days ago, at her home, as she rose.”
Azrael watched recognition and horror descend upon the Angel’s face. He held up a hand to ward Anileif off. “Listen…”
“My eyes –” Azrael interjected, “—are from my mother. These…”
Anileif slowly, menacingly, unfolded his pale hands. At the end of each of his fingers were razor-sharp nails that were nearly two inches long. “ARE FROM MY FATHER!!”
As Anileif went into a terrible frenzy, the Angel screamed. First in panic and then in agony as blood sprayed the pristine walls, and then the Angel fell silent. It was over quickly.
Anileif was hyperventilating, nearly manic with excitement over what he had done. As he rose, Azrael saw the eviscerated body of the Angel glass over.
Azrael let his brother step past him, and the two exited the house in silence.
A similar episode was repeated three blocks up the road. Anileif lost none of his viciousness as he annihilated the second Angel. As the two left the house, Anileif fired a dark look at his brother; the last one is on you.
There were no words exchanged as the Undarus brothers rode their nogaru to the other side of Yethra. Their final target—Azrael’s responsibility—lived in the largest of the three houses. The home was a perfect circle, from the outside, it resembled a small coliseum. It was four stories high with elaborate terraces, it was clear the last Angel had done well for himself.
Anleif smiled as he let Azrael step ahead of him when they entered the house. Azrael looked around, taking in the massive front room with the adjacent library and regal-looking dining room.
Above them, something stirred. Azrael and Anileif simultaneously raised their heads to the ceiling. Azrael looked at Anileif, who nodded. The brothers moved left like shadows, passing through the dining room and climbing the polished wooden staircase.
The staircase opened at the right to a hallway and two rooms, side-by-side. Silently, the brothers moved, each peering in a doorway. Azrael saw a young girl, no more than thirteen, sleeping peacefully in a pink canopy bed, covered by a matching silk sheet.
A flash of terror shot through him. Children?
He quickly left the bedroom; he saw Anilief walking toward him and shook his head. “It’s not them,” Azrael whispered. Anileif nodded, barely containing his energy. “I know. Let’s keep going.”
Anileif silently bound up the stairs, taking two at a time. Azrael ran to keep up.
The stairway exited into an open, circular area with three open doors ahead of them. There was a regal pattern etched into the wooden floor; the owner of this home was affiliated with the Council, or he had been before it had fallen apart. Azrael found it difficult to repress the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach. There was something very wrong with all of this.
Anileif’s predatory instincts played true to form, and he beelined for the door directly ahead of them. Azrael followed closely.
Inside the bedroom were a husband and wife, lovingly embracing as they slept soundly. The man was on his side, his arm draped over his brunette wife, who smiled as she leaned her head into his face, holding his arm. Azrael was so lost in the scene that he was startled when Anileif slapped him on the back.
“They’re all yours.” It was a command more than anything else.
Azrael recognized the male; it was the Angel who had commanded the other two to kill his mother, and then sat by while the deed was done. This was the same Angel who had slapped Azrael to the floor when he had tried to intervene. He remembered the stinging on the right side of his face.
Azrael tried to summon the rage that had overcome him seven days ago. He had every reason to want this Angel dead, and yet, standing here, in his home, with his family…this was not who his mother raised him to be.
“Azrael,” Anileif began warningly,“Father is counting on you to do this.”
“I–” Azrael stammered, unable to close his mouth. “I…”
Anileif turned to face him, speaking as a teacher addressing a student. “I know. It’s difficult, your first time. Don’t think about it.”
Anileif put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and pointed to the hapless couple. “Think about what he did to mother. Think about how you felt when he threw you to the ground.”
He whispered the next part into Azrael’s ear. “Think about what those two bastards made our mother do before they sliced her head off.”
Indeed, Azrael felt anger boil up inside of him. His fists unclenched, it felt as though his fingers were stretching as his nails extended. Suddenly, he could hear the slow, rhythmic heartbeat of his prey, and the Angel’s gentle breathing like a passing wind. He knew when to strike, how to strike, how to hurt, and how to kill. And he deserved it.
“Yes…” Anileif said soothingly. “…that’s it.” He stepped away from Azrael, who began to approach the bed.
Azrael.
The voice was ethereal and omnipresent, and it stopped Azrael cold. He hadn’t heard the voice in a week, and he never expected to hear it again. He knew of mortals speaking of the dead lingering amongst them, but Angelic death meant annihilation. It couldn’t be…and yet he heard it, plain as day. He whispered her name, fearful of what Anileif would think: “Mother…?”
“Who are you?”
That voice was real. It forced Azrael back to the present. The Angel was now sitting up, his wife beside him. Her eyes darted between Azrael and Anileif, and she held the blanket to herself protectively.
Azrael was surprised at how angry he found himself to be. “Why…” He fumed, breathing heavily. “She had done nothing to you.”
The Angel shook his head. “Son, I’m not sure what you mean.” Azrael detected no change in his pulse. The Angel was being truthful, which was confusing. Still, the rage was upon him. “I am not your son. I had a mother until you and your friends saw fit to take her from us…”
Azrael could feel control slipping away, as though he was leaving his body and watching the entire scene from the ceiling. Something he couldn’t articulate was holding him back. But he now understood Anileif and his father. He understood why his father had favored Anileif all these years.
“Alistaire…” The wife was speaking. “What does he mean?”
“You murdered my mother,” Azrael growled in a voice not quite his own. “You dragged her from her bed, you raped her, and then you beheaded her.”
STOP! His mother’s voice again, crying from within the depths of Azrael’s mind. Azrael’s whole body shook. He felt his muscles tighten and his teeth clench.
“Enough talking!” Anileif boomed. “If he doesn’t remember, he goes to his grave ignorant. But he goes nonetheless.”
The Angel appeared—was—completely baffled. “Boys…I’m sorry, but I really have no idea what you mean.”
Azrael couldn’t figure it out; the Angel wasn’t lying. Either he really didn’t remember, or…
“Seven days ago.” Azrael said quickly, fighting to hold onto his sanity, “Where were you?”
The Angel, dumbfounded, said nothing.
“I said where were you?!”
“Out!” The Angel replied, scared. “I work with the Yevon Law Enforcement Brigade, okay? Okay?” The point was, you’d be killing an officer, a crime punishable by death. Azrael couldn’t have cared less. He needed to hear this.
“We had rescued some children from…Olymparus…”
The usual horror came over the Angel’s face. “Yang forgive me, we were inebriated that night,” he whispered.
Azrael growled. No more excuses. He knows why now.
No, Azrael.
His mother in his head again. He found that he couldn’t move.
“Kill him, Azrael,” Anileif ordered.
“No…” The wife pleaded, “No, please…”
It’s okay, Azrael.
Azrael shut his eyes tightly. The room began to spin, taking his stomach with it.
“Kill them, Azrael!” Anileif, again.
No, Azrael. No more killing, please.
Azrael felt his entire body quake. Tears came freely. He felt as though he was being shredded.
“DAMN YOU, AZRAEL!!”
His brother leapt away from him, and there was screaming. The man was screaming in agony and mortal fear as Azrael heard flesh torn from bone. He opened his eyes and saw Azrael atop the Angel, blood flying in every direction as Anileif took his revenge. The wife had pressed herself into the furthest corner away from the bed, screaming in terror as her husband was torn asunder. Anileif, stop…the words remained trapped in Azrael’s head. He was unable to move. Speak. Think. He was completely frozen in time.
“You leave my daddy alone!”
Something struck Azrael in the back of the legs, bringing him to the ground. The rest was pure instinct. He turned immediately, screaming a noise that emanated from the depths of his soul. He swung his hands violently, tearing away through flesh, scraping the bone beneath. He couldn’t see through the haze, all he knew was that blood splashed against his face. Soon, whatever was alive lay in pieces on the floor.
Something else threatening approached, and Azrael sprung from his position, out of the room, into the hallway. It was another figure, and Azrael was upon it before it could be upon him. Azrael landed on its shoulders, taking it to the ground, bringing his claws across its face savagely, tearing away until not even the skull was intact, and bone fragments were stuck beneath his fingernails.
Something equally savage and angry leapt upon Azrael’s shoulders, but its ferocity was no match was for Azrael. He easily took hold of the thing at his back and slung it to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Screaming savagely and triumphantly, Azrael plunged his hand down in to the center of the thing and ripped something free. Its screaming stopped.
Something touched his shoulder. Azrael immediately knocked it away, preparing to charge. “Azrael! It’s okay! It’s okay!”
The voice spoke the language of demons, and it reached him.
Anileif stood before him, looking at Azrael proudly, as though greeting a welcome stranger. “Azrael, that was amazing!”
Azrael slowly turned, his jaw dropping. Blood was everywhere. Behind him, glass body poised in terror, was the Angel’s wife—a chunk missing from her chest. Not far from her was a boy, about fourteen, missing most of his head, also glass.
In the room, Azrael recognized the horrified face of the beautiful young girl who had been sleeping not an hour earlier. Now she slept forever.
He could no longer hear his mother’s voice.
Azrael raised his hands and saw that they were covered in blood and glass. “Azrael, that was fantastic!” Anileif applauded. But as Anileif approached, Azrael stepped into him, striking him cleanly across the jaw with a right cross. Not knowing what else to do, or where to go, Azrael clenched his eyes as he raced through the bedroom, and flung himself out of the open window. He landed on the roof on the house across, and kept running.
That was five years ago.
Azrael opened his eyes. He was flying headlong into battle, his wings outstretched as he coasted through the sky above Yevon.
Balaam’s Rodentia was buzzing audibly as it drew closer, now less than a mile off. Azrael was now one of almost five hundred Angels meant to hold off the monstrous army.
The day he had massacred that family was the day Azrael had sworn to never again take a life. He had since mastered his demonic half; this was the first time since that day that he had summoned it. There was no rage as his talons extended, only a sense of purpose, and contentment in the knowledge that he was doing the right thing.
As the Rodentia drew closer, and Azrael prepared to meet them, he silently wished to hear his mother one more time, and that she might forgive him for going back on his word…
(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC
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