Akting Out

“Raphael!”

Raphael and Khamiel had arrived at the marble platform outside the Assembly Hall when they heard the voice.  With disdain, Raphael turned to see Cutler jogging towards them. Khamiel observed as Raphael’s hand slowly moved to the sword at his hip.

Khamiel tensed, hoping that Raphael, whose youthful recklessness Khamiel wouldn’t soon forget, wouldn’t attack the Seraphim leader. Khamiel would intercede if necessary to save Raphael from a treason charge, but hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Even with only one arm, Raphael was still one of Heaven’s top swordsmen, and Khamiel was hardly at full strength.

Cutler appeared on the platform, forming a triangle between himself, Khamiel, and Raphael. “I’m going with you,” he said.

Raphael took a step towards him, invading his personal space. “No, you’re not, boy,” Raphael spat back. “You have your orders; you need to see to your ‘charges’.”

Khamiel winced in pain, his injuries not yet healed, as he slowly reached for his sword. Oh, please don’t try to gut him, Raphael…

Cutler merely smiled, as though the idea of facing the former second-in-command of the entire Holy Sefiroth didn’t faze him at all. The smile was gentle, as if greeting a lost child. “Sir, I know you don’t like me, and quite frankly, I don’t blame you. But I’m curious. Do you hate us because we remind you of your friend’s betrayal…or that we have the power—and the authority–to eliminate any Angel we deem a traitor?”

“Lucifer made his choice.” Raphael replied, “I don’t hold that against you. What I dislike is that you take action without due process. You’re inexperienced; most of you have never seen a battlefield, so you know nothing of the extenuating circumstances that prompt our decisions.”

Raphael raised his finger, pointing it centimeters from Cutler’s nose, “And your people act with absolute power. Don’t act like you’re not aware of it.”

For a moment, all was still.

Finally, Cutler exhaled, his shoulders sagging, and he lowered his head as though ashamed. Slowly, he began to nod. “I know,” he whispered, as if first admitting the truth to himself. The humility in the boy’s face surprised Raphael. Cutler raised his head and continued to speak. “I know…I know that some of my people have gone rogue. But you have to understand, Raphael; the order to arrest Uriel came from Yang himself. And whatever the circumstances, your old comrade has been killing the Seraphim. He needs to answer for that.”

“If you really believe what you’re saying, then you don’t need to be here,” Raphael replied. “Go find Uriel and bring him in yourself.”

“Uriel can take care of himself. Look, Raphael, like it or not, you need all the help you can get. I’m going with you. We can leave now, or we can continue to argue about it. What do you want to do?”

“Hmph!” Raphael scoffed. The boy would probably be dead in an hour anyway. “Take a long look at the night, Cutler,” Raphael said, smiling coldly. “Enjoy it. It’s probably the last one any of us will see.”

With that, Raphael turned and bound into the sky, heading for Valhalla. He wanted to take the lead; fly by himself to clear his head, but Khamiel soon arrived at his right. “Watch him,” Raphael whispered, fearful that Cutler, who flew a few yards behind them, might intercept a Reach. “Keep him ahead of us and if it looks like he’s going to turn on his, we’ll attack him together.”

Khamiel nodded, although he didn’t relish the idea of dealing with Hell and the leader of Heaven’s most powerful army at the same time. Fear and then acceptance flashed through him. This really was their last night. “I understand,” He said somberly. After a moment, he spoke again. “Raphael?”

Raphael turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“If we are to die this night…I can’t think of any better reason…or any better person to be with.” Khamiel extended his hand.

Raphael nodded in gratitude, accepting Khamiel’s gesture and shaking his wrist. “You as well.”
The rest of the flight was silent. Raphael and Khamiel led the way, landing several miles away at the rear of Valhalla, a gigantic black square oddly placed in the center of a white marble city.

Raphael landed and cautiously approached the onyx. He could already hear the sounds of eternal battle raging within; the sound of swords clashing with shields mixed with the screams of the dying to create a terrifying cacophony. There was the occasional boisterous laugh as one of the residents who had just ‘died’ was immediately reborn, feeling foolish at leaving themselves open. Such was the final fate of the warriors of Asgard. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

Raphael touched the onyx with the palm of his hand, and circular ripples emanated outwards from his hand. The ripples increased in number and speed until the entire wall seemed to be a mere mirage, a shifting black object in the darkness of night. Raphael stepped inside first, followed by Khamiel and Cutler.

The three immediately found themselves at the edge of a battlefield. Green grass soaked red with blood as thousands of warriors engaged in unceasing combat, paying the new arrivals no mind. Variations of Asgard’s flag—one red, one blue—indicated the alliances of that day. To Raphael’s immediate left, a carrier of the blue flag met a temporary end as a particularly large brute ran him through with a long spear, singlehandedly. The victim screamed, clutching the mortal wound, as he fell. As the conflagration continued all around them, the brute waited. The victim rose moments later, removing the spear. The two men laughed heartily and embraced. The flag changed colors, and the two men re-entered the fray side by side.

“Amazing,” Khamiel breathed.

They were at the top of a staircase made of dry ice that seemed to descend forever into the bowels of Valhalla. Warmer air rose from the steps as the temperature dropped considerably. “Let’s go.” Raphael said. He wondered if the others were dealing with the overwhelming sense of dread that came with heading towards certain death. He stayed in front, tightening his cloak closer to his body as his breath became visible and the cold chilled him to the bone. Khamiel, ill-dressed for the freezing temperatures of Nifleheim, rubbed his arms rapidly. Cutler didn’t seem to be affected.

They entered the icy land a few minutes after beginning their descent down the staircase. Above them, large icicles hung, and at the end of each one was the body of one of Asgard’s many slain. It was here they had been laid to rest.

They passed through silently, as though making a sound would awaken them or worse, cause them to fall and shatter. There were hundreds of them, some of whom Raphael remembered. In the center of Nifleheim, Odin’s family hung in large, icy coffins. Odin’s slain wife, Freya, hung between Loki and Thor in the largest and most decorated tomb. Odin had wanted her tomb to sparkle ‘as she had in life’ and as such her final handlers had created the ice with purple, red, and light blue fluids. When the light hit, it cast a rainbow of her favorite colors.

Thor and Loki, rivals in life, had been entombed in full battle gear.  Beneath Odin’s family cemetery, in a regal throne composed of ice, sat the guardian of Nifleheim. She was naked and pale as the dead with long, braided black hair that came down to her waist. Her wide eyes had no pupils; it was impossible to tell what she was looking at. She leaned to the right, slouching with her head on the top of her hand. She may have been sleeping; one could never tell.

“Raphael,” she said, her voice raspy from lack of use. “What is it two and a half Angels wish with me?” She laughed a chilling, damning laugh that reverberated throughout Valhalla and caused the airborne tombs to shudder. She raised her head and focused her attention squarely on Raphael, who stepped forward, unafraid. He had dealt with her before.

“Hel,” Raphael greeted her flatly. “We wish to enter the ninth world.”

Hel leaned back in the throne, reassuming her position, her smile showing blackened teeth. “To rescue your comrade, no doubt,” she replied, speaking slowly and savoring each word. “You’re aware that you will never return?”

“That is our business.”

“And I am not to be held responsible?” Hel asked skeptically.

Raphael chuckled at the question; Hel had not changed. She and Yin had been close before the war started, but when Yin was exiled, Hel had been quick to save herself. Hel had distanced herself publicly from Yin, but because she was so distrusted, she wasn’t welcome in any of Heaven’s realms. Odin had allowed her to become the guardian of the Underworld, a role that ensured she would never be seen again.

Raphael shook his head. “No, Hel,” he replied sardonically. “As always, you are innocent.”

Hel nodded her head and gestured toward the wall behind her throne, to the left. “Very well, Raphael. You may pass.”

The ice behind her began to shimmer and sway back and forth; it was an illusion. Taking one last breath, Raphael stepped past Hel, followed by Cutler and Khamiel. As Raphael drew closer to the illusion, he could hear an ominous humming sound that came from within, rising and falling with the swaying of the ice.

“Raphael,” Hel interjected, startling the party. She pulled gently at his cloak, revealing his dead arm, “Let me heal you.”

Raphael looked down at Hel, who smiled up to him seductively. “You always enjoyed my healing.”

Raphael yanked the cloak free of Hel’s grasp, and she receded into her chair, the smile remaining. “Times change.”

With that, he stepped into the illusion, followed by Khamiel and Cutler.

The temperature spiked, and they were in near blackness. Khamiel took a step and nearly lost his footing. Raphael whirled, grabbing him by his arm to keep him from falling. “Walk where I walk.” He said softly. “And don’t believe anything you see.”

Breathing rapidly, Khamiel nodded.

Raphael took a cautious step forward and reached his hand out. To their right was a wall of rock, although it gave slightly, soft to the touch. To the left was open space, and who knew how long the fall was.  Probably fatal, Raphael thought, inching his way along the walkway, which curved to the right. The walkway itself couldn’t have been more than a foot wide, making for a treacherous journey. Raphael had to silently urge himself not to look down, or think about what awaited him if he took a misstep.

In the distance to the left, red lightning illuminated the sky, briefly painting the image of what could’ve been a city. The lightning brought a tortured scream with it that rose and fell with the light. Thunder that was not thunder churned throughout the land, accompanied by many more pained, anguished screams. The lake must be beyond there, Raphael figured. They were on the outskirts.

“So now what?” Cutler inquired softly, watching his footing. “We can’t search all of Hell without being discovered.”

“We Reach,” Raphael answered. “It’s the only way we’ll key to Metatron.” If he’s still alive.

Two more blasts of crimson lightning flooded the sky to the left. They were given another glimpse of a black city, miles away. The few apexes that jutted into the sky appeared sharp enough to kill. More groans came with the thunderous rumbling that passed through the land. These weren’t groans of pain; they seemed more like unintelligent demons or something. Residents of Hell.

“If we Reach, they’ll key to us!” Khamiel protested.

As they made their way along the narrow walkway, another crimson lightning bolt illuminated their path…followed by several more. When the thunder came, its intensity was so great that the three had to lean back against the wall to keep from falling.

Angry, hungry howls came from all directions, growing in number and reaching a fever pitch as they sky continued to be peppered by red sheet lightning.

“They already have,” Raphael responded gravely.

The ground shifted suddenly, causing everyone to fight for balance. Raphael looked back at Khamiel, and was met with a horrifying sight. Cutler was gone.

“Where did he go?!” Raphael barked. Khamiel turned, looking back to where Cutler had been standing a few moments ago. They both looked down; no sign of him. The boy had vanished. Khamiel turned back to Raphael, trying not to show his hopelessness. “We knew what we were getting into–.

The ground shifted again, more violently than the first time. Raphael and Khamiel were thrown from their perch and flew into the air. Raphael attempted to summon his wings, but nothing happened. Powers are blocked already; they definitely know we’re here.

As he and Khamiel fell, Raphael began to feel like there were hot needles being dragged along his skin. Gritting his teeth and forcing himself to concentrate, he turned back to the wall and drew his sword. Khamiel did the same. With everything they had, they drove their blades into the wall, and their descent slowed.

Viscous fluid opened from the two gashes and poured down on the angels as something bellowed in agony. The roar was deafening, overtaking the other noises of the realm. Raphael saw Khamiel’s mouth open, but couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear anything now.

Raphael felt something wet come from his ears. He began to get dizzy, and his vision blurred. He pulled his sword free and fell to the ground fifty feet below.
The shock of the landing sent a jolt of pain through his entire body, even though he landed on his dead arm. Khamiel landed a few feet away, gritting his teeth in pain.
Raphael’s face was suddenly burning hot; the ground was superheated. Raphael quickly got to his feet, touching a hand to his ear and looking…blood. I’m deaf. Maybe permanently… He knew the soles of his shoes wouldn’t last long against the ground. Flying was no longer an option. Cutler was gone…

Khamiel, who had gotten to his feet, pointed towards the city. Raphael looked, and his mouth fell open. Small black creatures—imps, millions of them—rose from within the city, growing into an upside-down tornado, coming together and swirling in frenzied excitement. As they reached the peak of a sky that still flashed crimson, they dove toward Raphael and Khamiel.

Raphael joined his comrade in taking an aggressive stance with his sword. Imps drew their strength in numbers, but they were of the lowest intelligence…that was where Raphael and Khamiel would find their advantage.

Their eyes were wide and orange, their hands, jutting from the waist and bearing two talons, were outstretched in eager anticipation. You’re going to earn your snack, Raphael thought, grinning, knowing very well this was his last stand, and Metatron…forgive us for failing.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Day One: Midday

Raphael had followed Odin to the Banquet Hall following their conversation in front of Thor’s memorial. Every Asgardian had gathered and a few distinguished members of the Holy Sefiroth, including First Lieutenant Khamiel, had been invited. Metatron, the Preeminence of the Holy Sefiroth, was notably absent.

The regal Banquet Hall was long, composed of polished white marble with black splashes throughout its design. Among the largest buildings in the land, three domes comprised its roof. Its center dome stood higher than the others on each side, and the Asgardian flag blew proudly in a calm breeze.

The twin marble doors had been left open in light of the day’s event. A few Angels and Asgardians were conversing outside. By the time Raphael arrived, Odin was mingling with the populace, and as always, he was smiling. Raphael had been all but ignored as he had arrived; it was something he’d grown used to. Even before the senseless deaths of over three thousand children, the effectiveness of the Holy Sefiroth had been called into question for allowing this war to go on for so long. Since the slaughter, questions had become accusations.

After four hundred years, everyone was ready for some type of resolution. Raphael understood that.
The king-chefs of the Asgardian Banquet Hall had put their best efforts into the day’s meal, and Raphael was immediately greeted by the aroma of freshly baked bagels, pancakes, and newly cooked, sizzling pork. The king-chefs were hard at work on the left side of the room, and Raphael smiled as he observed them. With the precision skilled masters, they quickly diced ingredients and prepared dishes made to order. Everyone in Asgard was some type of fighting genius, and only Odin could handle a knife like the king-chefs.

Conversations were going on throughout the hall, creating a low cacophony of voices throughout the room. Raphael moved through the room as a protective agent, surveying everything, ensuring that he knew where the exits were, and sizing people up to determine who might panic or try to be a hero in case of a crisis. Raphael had been a soldier for a very long time; such instincts were second nature to him.

At the head of the room, seated at a rectangular table draped with the decorative cloth, was Yang. He leaned forward, hands folded beneath his chin. He appeared to have something on his mind.
The table Yang was sitting at had room for four others, and Raphael did a quick mental check to account for the others traditionally seated for an occasion such as this; Yang, Odin, Metatron, Dominion…who is missing?

As if he’d heard Raphael’s thoughts, Yang raised his eyes to meet Raphael’s. Without changing positions, Yang merely gestured, nodding his head towards the chair at his immediate right—the one reserved for Odin.

Raphael scowled, not understanding. When Yang’s gaze didn’t falter, an uncertain Raphael moved towards the table. Yang lowered his eyes as Raphael reached the opposing side. Raphael stole a quick glance towards the crowd, and no one seemed to mind, much less notice, what he was doing. He almost felt as though he was getting away with something as he came around the table and took a seat at Yang’s right hand.

Odin had entered shortly thereafter. He quickly saw the seating arrangement and made eye contact with Raphael, who silently apologized.
Across the room, Odin appeared to laugh. Yang showed no reaction. Raphael felt like the punch line in a joke.
Raphael also noticed, for the first time, that he could hear the otherworldly sounds of an epic battle going on behind him. Fierce screams emanated as metal clashed against itself, followed by the sound of something hurting or dying—yet again. It would be healed or reborn momentarily.
As a youth, Raphael found it odd that Odin had chosen to seat a house of celebration behind a house of the dead. As he became more seasoned, Raphael understood without ever getting an explanation. Never forget, not even more a moment, that we are at war.

If Raphael had one concern about his one-time mentor, it was wondering what Odin would do when the war came to an end.

Odin quickly emceed the ceremonies after coming to the podium behind the table. Three hundred women had participated in the most recent training seminar, and a record four of them were being graduated as Valkryies.  The women arrived at the ceremony dressed in black Valkryie armor, save for the helm. The graduation saw each woman take a knee and lower her head before Odin, who would complete her armor by placing the helm upon her head. They knelt as women, but they would rise as Valkryies.

As the ceremony drew to a close, Raphael had silently excused himself, heading for the front door and the library a few miles away. Yang had appeared at his right. “Raphael,” he began, keeping his voice low so the departing crowd would not overhear, “The cabinet is meeting.” He looked directly into Raphael’s eyes. “Join us.”

With that, Yang walked away. Raphael stared after him, mouth agape. Just like that, he had been appointed to a council that oversaw the affairs of Heaven, Earth, and all worlds in between.

Raphael remembered, before he retired, that he was the Third Lieutenant in the Holy Sefiroth. Now, flying with Odin and Yang towards the Assembly room off of Odin’s land, he felt like a child among giants.

Raphael landed behind Odin and Yang at the raised marble platform that led to the Assembly room. The structure was comprised of archways on its left side that allowed those passing through a scenic view of Elysium. Formerly a resting place for ranking deities who did not wish to go to Valhalla wound up here, an airborne grassy knoll off the eastern coast of Asgard. Since the massacre at Eden, the young survivors had been taken in by Kronos and Zeus, who now held sway over the land. Odin often teased Zeus, his younger, brother about his natural paternalism, which contrasted to his savage battle reputation.

The Assembly room was made of the same material as Valhalla, and as such, it was fairly dark inside. There was one small window on each wall of the room, allowing for minimal beams of sunlight to pass into the room at a downward angle. The room appeared poured, molded, and then allowed to cool into its final shape. Three onyx torch holders lined each wall above each window. A square table rose out of the floor, although there were no chairs. This was not a room in which one sat. This was a room where fate was decided.

Three other invited members were present, standing on opposite ends of the table, lost in their own thoughts. Yang entered first, flanked by Odin, to his right, and Raphael, on the left. Raphael immediately recognized Khamiel, who still bore injuries from that fateful battle at Eden. Archas, who represented the Earth-born Pangaean nation, was also present, although he seemed troubled. The other Angel was unfamiliar; young, confident, untested, and dressed in a derivative of the Seraphim garb. He bore a smaller version of the Holy Sefiroth flag on both shoulders, something which marked him as–

Raphael took a deep breath, immediately apprehensive. This is the Seraphim Leader.

As the three turned to bow, Yang immediately waved them off, proceeding to his place at the head of the table. “We don’t need to bother with that,” he spoke quickly. “We have business at hand.”

As Odin passed Khamiel, the two acknowledged each other with a smile and nod. The Seraphim Leader—the boy—only received a nod. Raphael took the spot opposite Yang at the end of the table. With his good hand, he touched the table for the first time. Cold, like the rest of the room…

“Archas,” Yang began, addressing the green-garbed, middle-aged Angel, “What of Earth?”
Archas leaned against the table, bracing himself on his hands as though a weight lifted from his shoulders. Raphael wondered what could’ve been so urgent. “My Lord,” Archas spoke gravely, “The civilized people of the Pangaean nation are being persecuted by the savages of the land, and they cry out for help. I would like to give it to them.”

“If it’s a human conflict,” Yang replied, “Then the humans need to resolve it. We cannot interfere directly.”

“I’m not suggesting we do, my Lord. But their civilization is being decimated simply for worshipping us. We gave our word to shepherd them. I’m simply requesting that we keep our word.”

Raphael was moved by Archas’ devotion to his charges. Archas knew the names of every last sentient being on the planet, including those who had perished. He took each life as his personal responsibility.

“We don’t interfere.” Yang reiterated firmly. “Doing so would violate the treaty both myself and Yin agreed too. I will not go back on my word.”

“You’ll be going back on your word, no matter which path you take,” Odin said, “If a promise must be broken here, we should break the promise that may save lives.”

“What would you have us do?” Yang inquired in a challenging manner. “Provide the civilized transients with our weapons? They’d accelerate their own self-annihilation. Would you send the Valkryie order to fight their battle? What would keep them from calling for the Valkryies every time they encountered a crisis? What would they do when the Valkryies did not appear?”

“Don’t employ sarcasm with me.” Odin said darkly. “I’m not suggesting we eliminate a campfire with a monsoon. But you lived and died a ‘transient’ life, Yang.” Odin replied, his tone dark. “You know what they face. They’re being hunted to extinction because you taught them to worship us. Pray, and it shall be delivered unto you, isn’t that how it works?”

Yang said nothing. Odin leaned in towards Yang, his eyes blazing. “They’re praying, Yang. It’s time we answered.”

Yang held Odin’s stare for a moment, and then turned back to Archas. “What are the Pangaeans praying for?”

“An end to their war, swift healing to their injuries, their missing returned…a common prayer seems to be a wish that they reach the Northern lands. They’ll be provided shelter by those who have learned to use the frozen tundra to their advantage. The natives have constructed a fortress from the ice and manufactured large weapons, meant to hold off large-scale attacks. The savages won’t come within one hundred feet. ”

Archas paused, as his proposal appeared to be given consideration. “It’s a long journey,” he continued, “And there is a mountain range to be traversed. Their children may not survive the journey.”

“We give them aid at the mountains.” Raphael spoke, having heard all he needed to hear to formulate a strategy. “How so?” Yang inquired, “We cannot destroy an entire mountain range.”

“No,” Raphael immediately replied, “But we can shake the fabric of the earth enough to open a small path through the mountains that will open at the North. We can lead the believers to this passage.”

“How?” Yang persisted. Raphael noticed Odin smiling approvingly at him and continued.

“Buffalo herds still run wild throughout Pangaea,” Raphael concluded. “Move the buffalo along the route they need to take. They’ll be given food for the long journey and the clothes will shelter them from the cold.”

This was Raphael’s first submission as a member of the cabinet, and he was pleased to see that it was being approved. Yang nodded, a smile forming across his face. “So be it.” He looked at Archas. “Go. Make it so.”

Archas nodded, bowing gratefully. “Thank you, my Lord.” As he prepared to exit, he quickly glanced to Raphael. “And thank you, sir.”
Raphael smiled slightly, bowing his head. He looked back up to catch Odin, who was proudly looking at him. “Ever the battle commander, eh?”
“I am as you made me, Odin.” Raphael acknowledged.
“If I may, my Lord,” The Seraphim Leader addressed Yang with a confidence that sickened Raphael. Had this boy ever even read about a battle?
“Yes, yes, Cutler, I know. Is this the usual business concerning Uriel?” Yang replied, irritated. At the mention of Uriel’s name, Raphael snapped to attention. “Forgive me, my lord,” Cutler continued, the confidence gone from his tone. “But the…Angel has begun killing my soldiers. If you lift your immunity, I can marshal a garrison after him and bring this savage to justice.”

Raphael frowned. Uriel is killing Seraphim? Good for him. Why?
Yang shook his head. “Cutler, I understand your frustration, and I understand you are trying to do the job your order was created for…but I can’t do that. I oversaw Uriel as a mortal, long before he became a commanding officer in the Seraphim. He has always maintained a code of honor. If he’s killing your soldiers, there’s a reason. I will not lift the immunity. I want Uriel brought here, alive, to answer directly to me for what he’s done.”

For the briefest of moments, Cutler seemed enraged. It passed quickly. Cutler nodded, his voice tense as he spoke. “As you wish, my Lord. But as long as my hands are tied in the pursuit of this fugitive, he continues to be a threat against the Kingdom.”

“Sounds like he’s more of a threat against you.” Raphael interjected. He then turned to Yang. “Why is Uriel wanted?”
Yang shook his head. “I can’t go into that right now.” Yang re-addressed Cutler. “But my order stands. Your men are not to go out of their way to arrest Uriel. If you see him in the commission of a crime, do what you must, otherwise, leave him be.”

“Yes, Lord. But my people must be free to defend themselves.”
Yang shrugged. “It’s their lives. I advise you to commit your efforts elsewhere.”
Cutler nodded, shooting Raphael a dark look. Raphael nearly reached for the sword at his hip.
“Khamiel,” Yang said, addressing the patient, wounded Angel, “Where is Metatron?”

“With due respect, Lord Yang,” Khamiel replied, his voice deep and thick with the accent of one native of the scorched hunting lands to the East. “Metatron has asked that I deliver this information to you before I speak on that.”
This was perplexing, but Yang nodded, gesturing with his hand. “Speak.” He invited. This was the first check-in from the Holy Sefiroth since the Slaughter of the Innocents; nothing could be taken for granted. If Metatron couldn’t be here, there was a good reason for it.

Before Raphael’s eyes, the top of the table began to shimmer as though light was attempting to break through. The light flattened on the surface of the table and came together to form a transparent map of all Heaven. Raphael, awestruck, reached down to touch the map, and his hand passed through the light harmlessly. As he surveyed the landscape, he saw that the map was almost current. The destruction of Heaven’s biggest cities, and the attack on the Capitol earlier that day were represented. An unwelcome flash of familiarity passed through Raphael as he remembered the dying Valkryie.

“Sir,” Khamiel said to Yang as Odin stepped in to look over the map. “We should move the Holy Sefiroth out of the main cities. Yin’s focus no longer appears to be on Yethra or Yevah…” Khamiel touched the map as he spoke the names of the two cities, and the blue flag of the Holy Sefiroth appeared in each location to signify their presence there. Each of Khamiel’s touches appeared to be drops of water, rippling throughout the map.

“The attacks have been reduced?” Yang inquired. “No,” Khamiel quickly replied, “They’ve stopped altogether. We haven’t seen so much as an imp in nearly a year.”
All present were stymied by this new information. “It makes sense,” Khamiel spoke easily, as though addressing groups of people came naturally to him. He gestured with his free arm. “The combined population of Yethra and Yevah once exceeded seven million. There are now less than two hundred Angels between both cities. Yethra and Yevah are ghost towns. Everyone else has been driven inward, towards the safety of the capitol city.”

“That safety has been compromised.” Raphael interjected. He pointed towards the Capitol, but didn’t touch the map. “The Capitol building was attacked earlier today.”

“We know.” Khamiel returned. “Had we been here, we may have been able to drive them off.”
“What if…” Raphael spoke the words as they came to him, “…what if this was Yin’s entire plan in the first place? The Holy Sefiroth is spread thin all across the Kingdom, our major cities lie in ruin, everyone is gathered in one place…why kill an ant when you can crush the hill?”

Odin and Yang reeled. “We need to recall the Sefiroth. Immediately.” Yang seethed. “I’ll send a Valkryie unit in the meantime.” Odin assured Yang, his voice grave.
“What about the Seraphim?” Raphael asked, challenging Cutler, who immediately looked at him, “It’ll take the Holy Sefiroth at least a day to return here, double that for the fastest Valkryie, but the Seraphim can appear anywhere they wish simply by envisioning that location.”

Cutler nodded, looking to Yang. “I agree.” The answer surprised both Odin and Raphael. “We could hold off almost anything Yin could send our way.”
Yang shook his head, placing on arm on Cutler’s shoulders. “I appreciate your willingness, but your charge must take precedence.”

Yang turned  Raphael. “We should be able to hold off for one day.”
“So long as Yin doesn’t send all of Hell our way, we should.” Raphael grumbled.
Yang ignored him, turning back to Khamiel. “Now, about Metatron?”
Khamiel took a deep breath as he braced himself for what was coming. “He’s missing, my lord.”
“WHAT?!” The response was involuntary from Raphael, but everyone present had the same reaction. “He has not been seen since the Slaughter of the Innocents.” Khamiel finished. “We believe he may have been captured.”

Raphael began to pace. Metatron was one of Heaven’s most powerful, and knowledgeable Angels. He had led the Holy Sefiroth for almost two centuries. He had been wounded more than a dozen times in battle and hadn’t missed an encounter since the day he enlisted. He could even withstand exposure to Hell for limited periods of time. He’d done so in the past. He was as tough as they came.

There was no way Metatron would ever crack under pressure, but Yin had horrible ways of keeping someone alive—and everyone had their breaking point. Still, Metatron had such a powerful life force that everyone in Heaven would feel it when he died. Raphael was certain; Metatron was still alive.

“How certain are you that he’s been captured?” Raphael asked.

“The information I passed along was given to me in a Reach, although he seemed under duress,” Khamiel responded.

Raphael exhaled. “Then I’m going to go get him.”
Yang exhaled, nodding. “I figured that you would say that. Bring him back to us, Raphael, but remember, you have a duty to fulfill here in two days.”

Raphael nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” Raphael had no faith in the Nexus Stone plan, nor did he have any illusions about what he was about to do. He had never been to Hell, and Metatron was the only one who had made the journey and come back.

Getting Heaven’s greatest commanding officer away from the enemy took priority over any half-baked plan Yang might have come up with to end this conflict. Raphael shot a last look at Odin, who nodded respectfully at him. Before Raphael could depart, Khamiel called for him. “Raphael,” He said simply, “I am going with you.”

Raphael opened his mouth, and Khamiel opened his hand to hold him off. “I don’t want to hear about my injuries. If I wasn’t a capable soldier, I wouldn’t have been promoted to your rank after you retired. Metatron is my commanding officer as well. I owe him this.”

After a moment, Raphael nodded. “Alright.”
Side by side, Raphael and Khamiel exited the Assembly Hall. From there, they would descend into the bowels of Asgard – into Nifleheim, where the bodies of Odin’s family lay in icy repose. They would pass into Tartarus, Hell’s first circle, and then into the fiery mainland itself. Raphael planned to rescue Metatron no matter what it took.
He did not expect to return home.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Day One: Dawn

After completing his prayers, Raphael rose before the statue. The statue was a gray marble replication of Thor, and the artist had done an exceptional job of capturing his likeness. Thor was in his prime, in battle regalia with his helmet held close to his body. In his right hand, he bore Moljnor He held the famous hammer by its elongated staff, and the sharply-clawed eye rested on the ground before him. His dreads hung to his shoulders.

There was a bronze plaque prominently displayed in front of the statue, which read:

In Monumentum
Thor Valkryie

Approaching footsteps echoed throughout the residential corridor. Raphael glanced and saw Odin, who was casually dressed in thin, light-tan wool pants and an open silk shirt, coming towards him. In his right hand, Odin carried a rapier sheathed in polished black wood.

Raphael involuntarily drew in a short breath. He always felt like an unwelcome child when Odin found him paying respects to his children. Odin never seemed to mind, but no one was better at masking their emotions than he was.

As Odin came within striking distance, he extended the rapier. Still smiling, he said, “Welcome back, little brother.”

Raphael looked down at the sword he had surrendered upon retirement with hesitation. Odin sensed the apprehension. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Raphael?” Odin asked. Accepting the sword meant Raphael would, once again, hold the highest rank in the Holy Sefiroth, Heaven’s greatest army.

With his good hand, Raphael reached out and clasped the blade by its sheath. It was cool to the touch, and Raphael felt empowered when he held it. Odin seemed proud that Raphael had taken it. Raphael lowered his hand to his side, and looking back to Odin, he nodded his head. “Thank you, my lord.”

“No, thank you,” Odin quickly returned. “If you hadn’t accepted, Michael would have been the next choice.”

The comment was beyond absurd. Raphael chuckled. Odin grinned, pleased that he could still get the veteran to laugh.  “Tell me” Odin began, turning to the statue of his son, “what do you think Thor would say if he knew what Yang was planning?”

Raphael joined him in observing the statue. “Same thing we all are, I imagine,” Raphael replied, “that this is madness.”

Odin raised his eyebrows, looking back to Odin as if he expected the answer. “Madness, you say…” He mused, more to himself than to Raphael. “Yes,” Raphael pressed, “not just breaking the nexus stone, these…children…with all this power…”

Odin quickly turned to Raphael. Although he was still smiling, his eyes were black, creating an eerie visage. “Do you speak of the Valkryie, Raphael?”

“No,” Raphael replied, mindful of his tone, “The Seraphim.”

Odin seemed to relax. Raphael hoped that Odin knew that no one—least of all, him—would speak out against the Valkryie. “The Seraphim…” Odin spoke, again, as if to himself, “Infants who have never seen blood suddenly awarded power beyond the greatest of the Sefiroth….” Odin turned back to Raphael. “How are they so different from the Valkryie, Raphael?”

Raphael inhaled. The question was a challenge. “The Valkryie,” Raphael countered, “are made to earn their power. The seraphim merely swear an oath.”

“But they all work towards the same goal; the end of this madness.” Odin spoke the last word forcefully, and while the smile was gone, the black eyes remained as he fully turned to Raphael. “Yin—our sister—set her forces upon our children while they slept, Raphael.”

Odin pushed his index finger into Raphael’s chest. “That is madness.”

Odin lowered his hand and let it rest on his hip. “Should the Seraphim turn, then they will be dealt with, as problems are. But for the time being, we use every asset at our disposal to bring an end to this war—so no more children are lost.” He spoke the final words desperately, with the anguish of one who had lost all of his children to war. “So put aside your feelings for the Seraphim, Michael, Uriel—put aside any old animosities and do your job, alumno.”

Humbled, Raphael remembered the days as Odin’s student and smiled slightly. “You haven’t called me that…for a long time.”

Odin returned the smile, his eyes softening and returning to their natural brown. “You haven’t been in need of schooling for a long time.”

He gestured to the open end of the hallway, which opened high above Asgard. “Shall we?”

Raphael, still holding the sword, stepped to the edge of the precipice and looked down.  They were hundreds of feet above the majestic city, and even with all that was raging in the world below, the city was still a beautiful place.

Asgard was an extensive metropolis of rounded ivory and marble constructions which were joined together. The buildings, which spanned as far as the eye could see, were mostly off-white with splashes of black, completed by gold trim. Many of these structures, especially those meant for worship or training, were capped off by glorious spires that reached high above the city to where Raphael and Odin currently stood. It would’ve been easy for Raphael to leap from the mouth of the hallway to the nearest one, some twenty feet away. He had done it often as a child.

The only solid black structure was inconspicuously located where the city began, off to the northwest from Raphael’s vantage.  It was a large, black rectangle surrounded by domed buildings, with a large, beautiful courtyard. The courtyard was the only available walking space in Asgard, designed with multi-colored lava rocks neatly aligned beside a long white cloth, bordered by red trim: the colors of Asgard. Elongated, rectangular flags bearing the insignia of twins in battle lined the walkway, which opened into a scenic courtyard that was currently occupied by hundreds of women engaging in mock battle. New Valkryies were being trained.

The black structure was where the archangels would be trained, if they arrived on time. It was also the final test of the Valkryie, to see if they could emerge on the other side with their lives. The black structure contained the greatest warriors ever to die in service to Heaven. This structure was Valhalla.

Asgard was almost claustrophobic in its conglomeration; the city had no roads. Instead, there were only openings at the front and rear of each building to allow entrance.

Odin moved to stand before Raphael. “Yang and the others are behind Valhalla,” He said, the smile still present. “We should meet them there.”

With that, Odin extended his hands out to the side and drifted backwards, falling into the sky, plummeting towards the city without a care in the world.

As Raphael leaned forward, he realized he wasn’t breathing. Odin, in mid-fall, raised his head and smiled at Raphael. He turned towards Valhalla and suddenly, leaving a sonic boom in his wake, rocketed off towards Valhalla. His hands were at his side, and he flew as though he controlled the wind itself.

Raphael shook his head. He never got used to that. How Odin had managed to hold onto his nonchalance all this time was a mystery…and a blessing.

Raphael gently leapt from the opening, giving himself to the sky. The wind whistled past him for a moment as he dropped, the city growing larger as it drew nearer. Raphael tucked his knees to his chest and rolled, completing a full flip before extending his body towards Valhalla, and then willing himself towards the Great Hall. The next second, he was a projectile hurtling through the sky.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“Sir?” The young angel said, tugging on Raphael’s good arm, “You—” He coughed, trying to expel dust from his lungs, “You need to come with me.”

Raphael knocked the angel’s arm away and turned back to the impaled young Valkyrie at his feet. “Not now.” He replied tightly.

The Valkryie was strong; she grit her teeth, growling through waves of agony. Part of the ruined throne room had jutted up and thrust clear through her left side. Quickly assessing the injury, as he had so many times before on the battlefield, Raphael looked back to her. Although he kept his face free of emotion, she struggled and forced eye contact. “Tell me.” She demanded, her voice quivering, “How…how…bad is it?”

Major nerve damage, her kidney is probably shot…even if we get this out her combat days are over.
She read the assessment in his eyes. She reached up, grabbing his cloak with her left hand, while her right still struggled with the object that impaled her. “Help…” She managed, “Help…the others!”

There was a tremendous booming sound from outside. The throne room shook; everyone within screamed and struggled to maintain their balance. Raphael instinctively threw himself onto the Valkryie. It quickly subsided.

Raphael chanced a look upwards, towards what remained of the doors and was grateful to see no more demonic forces advancing. He guessed that another one of Yevon’s many towering structures had come down.

Many more angels flooded the throne room, some carrying others, most of them injured, all of them looking for safety in the wake of what had just occurred. The Seraphim attended to them as best they could. It was the first useful thing Raphael had ever seen them do.

Raphael had injuries of his own to attend to, but they were minor; they could wait. Wiping the blood from a fresh cut on his face, the veteran angel sat up, looking down to the Valkryie.

Oh no…
Her eyes were now hollow, her body transparent and like glass. Death was the last commonality shared between angels and demons. Their bodies reverted to their native form before being infused with a soul.

She had released Raphael’s cloak before passing.
Raphael stood and backed away as a shimmering, sky-blue energy from within the crystal corpse floated upwards through the body, slowly dissipating as it rose into the sky.

”Sir, please.” From behind Raphael, the young angel spoke gingerly, reaching for Raphael’s good shoulder. “I…I must ask you–”

Again wiping blood and sweat from his face, Raphael whipped so suddenly that the cherub was frightened. “I will see Yang alone.” he seethed, “I need no escort.”

A gaping hole in the throne room’s ceiling allowed the reddened, cloudy sky to be seen. Around him, angels cried, tending their wounded, praying for them to hold on. At last count, from the last skirmish alone, there were twenty-three dead—twenty-four now—nearly three hundred injured and an unknown number missing.

Raphael clenched his left fist, the only one he could. If Yin was no longer taking prisoners, there was no reason they should, either.
He heard a man crying, calling the name of someone, just before he approached the rear of the throne room. He didn’t look back; it would do no good.

Yang’s throne had been knocked down during the calamity; Yin’s had been destroyed long ago. Raphael stepped between them, holding his hand to the painted marble wall that depicted Yin and Yang in happier times.

He stepped forward, passing through the illusion as though stepping through water. Once on the other side, Raphael found himself in the sky, stepping on air as though it were solid, with the throne room miles below him. This was Yang’s inner sanctum. Only a few angels were aware of it.

There were only two others present as Raphael entered, both of them looking a little worse for wear. Odin, the lord of Asgard and second only to Yang, leaned against an invisible wall off to the left. He was shirtless and bleeding from his right arm, though he seemed not to notice. As Raphael entered, Odin looked up and approached him.

Raphael had a head on Odin, who stood at an unassuming five foot six, lean, bald, and exceptionally dark-skinned. Odin was also Heaven’s most powerful fighter, the only who ever beaten Yang himself in competition. Holding dominion in Asgard meant he was in charge of the world’s most powerful force, the Valkryies.

Like many others, Odin had lost all of his children to this war, some at his own hand. He understood the stakes better than most.
Raphael had been one of Odin’s first students, long before the Valkryie Order had been established. They met now as brother combatants.

”My brother,” Odin greeted in his usual, deep baritone as he embraced Raphael. “I won’t bother to ask how you have been.”

Raphael returned the embrace with his good arm, and as he pulled away, he managed the best smile he could towards Odin. Beyond Odin was Yang, lord of all Heaven.

Yang was five foot eight but stocky; well-built, with fiery red hair that went up on both sides. Tattoos that signified major events in the war ran up and down his body, his emerald green eyes betrayed his eternal youth.

Yang was standing with his back to them, his arms crossed as the clouds passed beneath their feet. Raphael stepped past Odin and moved towards Yang. “Please tell me,” Raphael said, almost desperately, “that you are not still considering the nexus stone.”

Yang didn’t turn when he spoke. “Raphael,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness, “what would you have me do?”

”Something else. Anything else.” Raphael replied quickly, scant feet from Yang. Raphael shook his head, his voice rumbling and low. “This will not end well.”

Yang nodded. “No,” he lowered his head, slowly turning, “but at least it will end.”

”With what, genocide?” Raphael countered, his voice rising. “With the addition of the nexus stone, she’ll have nothing to keep her from—”

Raphael trailed off. Yang raised his eyebrows. “From what, Raphael?” He asked, “From killing children? Invading the capitol?”

Raphael said nothing. Yang moved to stand directly in front of him.
”Yin is pushing for genocide now, Raphael. Please, if you can think of any other option, I welcome it.”

”I do not approve of this either, brother,” Odin spoke from behind Raphael, “But we can no longer deny the advantage Lucifer has given the enemy.”

Raphael grew tense. “Do you lay that at my feet, Odin?”
”No,” Odin replied, “But it is what it is, Raphael.”

For a moment, the three of them were silent. “I miss him too,” Yang finally said, nodding, saying aloud what they all felt, “he was my friend, and he was a great fighter…but he made his choice. And his choice is killing us.”

Raphael looked up. “Who have you chosen,” he asked quietly, “To receive the brunt of the nexus stone?”
”Gabriel,” Yang replied, “Uriel, who’ll be cleared if he agrees to this, and Michael….Arakiel’s son.”

Raphael’s eyes widened at the mention of Michael. “NO.” He said emphatically. “Even if he could be trusted, he hasn’t the experience for this. And Uriel—”

Yang nodded. “I’m aware of your history with Uriel; the two of you will have to get beyond it. As for Michael, what he doesn’t have in experience, he more than makes up for with skill.”

For a moment, Raphael said nothing. He eventually shook his head. “I don’t trust him.”

“He will earn your trust, Raphael.” Yang stated flatly. Apparently, Michael’s involvement wasn’t a request. “And you will earn is, as his leader.”

Raphael looked up to Yang, surprised. “Excuse me?”
”I called you here because I want you to lead the Archangels, Raphael.”

Raphael was stunned to silence. He had served as a battle commander before, but there were so many others more qualified, including Gabriel.

A myriad of colors rose to the sky, dissipating slowly. Beneath them, the crying intensified.
As one, the three of them observed as many souls disappeared to their final destinations; only to be revived when Amen, Yin and Yang’s father, awoke.
”My command.” Raphael finally said, “I run the unit as I see fit.”
Yang looked back to him.
Raphael continued, “I do it under those terms, or not at all.”

Yang nodded. He looked to Odin.
”Take him to Asgard.” He said softly. “Wait for the others to arrive there.”
Odin nodded, stepping beside Raphael. “Odin?” Yang quickly asked, and the lord of Asgard looked to him.
”Put the Valkryies on high alert. This isn’t over.”
”I know.” Odin replied. “They are ready.”

In a bolt of red lightning, Odin and Raphael disappeared. Yang was left alone in the sky with the remnants of the dead drifting around him.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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