Uriel, Azrael, and Sira led the small army silently down through Asgard’s crimson sky towards Odin’s castle. Azrael’s plan had been successful thus far; they had avoided detection and slain seven of the airborne Seraphim. The others weren’t aware of their dwindling numbers, but that time wouldn’t last long. The resistance was counting on those precious few moments to do whatever it was they were going to do.
Azrael allowed his fear to pass through him. They hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. When the Seraphim realized they were under attack, the resistance wouldn’t survive their retribution. But as long as Yang retained his powers, they still had a chance.
Azrael touched down first on the tips of his toes to avoid detection. Uriel followed, and then Sira and the others. Azrael led them single file down a regal, narrow corridor on the castle’s second floor. Upon spotting a Seraphim at the end of the hall, Uriel stepped ahead of Azrael. Grasping the youth and clasping his hand over his mouth, Uriel ended the boy’s life with a quick, violent jerk. He gently laid the glass corpse on the ground and motioned for the group to move forward.
A few steps later, Uriel quickly raised his fist to stop the group.
Voices, in the distance.
“Even if you take my powers, you’ll still have to take my sister’s to gain control.” That was Yang. Azrael strained to hear; who else was with him?
“We thought of that. You need not worry about anything.” An unfamiliar voice. Presumably, a Seraphim. But how many?
“I worry about what will happen when you allow the damned to run free throughout the Universe, you stupid boy.”
Uriel smiled; that was Metatron.
“You wouldn’t be so intent on freeing them if you hadn’t lost someone close to you.” That was Raphael.
“If you see this through, we will all lose everyone.”
Azrael, Uriel, and Sira all looked to each other knowingly. The baritone voice could only belong to Odin. And if he was alive, he was their best chance.
Azrael was so tense, he was nearly hyperventilating. How clear things become at the end.
Uriel nodded his understanding; a small fireball erupted centimeters above his hand. I’m ready.
Sira, grinning slyly, pulled a small staff from the rear of her armor. With a quick flick of her wrist, the staff extended blades from both ends.
Knowing that his next action would reveal everything, Uriel looked back down the hallway. “Raphael, Odin, Yang, Metatron…” Uriel Reached. “All of you; hit the ground, now.”
The first attack came quickly; a downward slash from Cutler’s right, followed quickly by a vertical slash that would’ve taken Michael’s head off, had the young Angel not swayed the first blow and then bound back onto his hands to avoid the killing blow. Cutler’s new powers had given him a significant boost in speed; Michael had to struggle to keep up. He had barely registered the icy floor on the palms his hands when Cutler came again, crouching, his hip swiveling—his leg coming out? Michael bound upward, on his feet just in time to avoid the sweep.
There was no time to process; Cutler pressed the advantage, stabbing forward. Michael stepped back and to the side, and when Cutler tried to take his head off again with an inside slash, Michael crouched. Cutler stepped into him, expecting Michael to retreat, and surprised when Michael held his ground. As Cutler tried to bring the sword back, slashing outwardly, Michael intercepted his wrist and fired his fist into Cutler’s elbow. It was like hitting stone. Michael grunted in pain, Cutler seemed more surprised than hurt by the blow, but he dropped the sword.
Still holding Cutler’s wrist, Michael pushed at his elbow, sending Cutler staggering away. Michael quickly bent down and picked up the fallen sword as Cutler turned to face him.
Michael squinted, shaking his head; he was suddenly dizzy and nauseous. Cutler smiled; “That’s the thanatonian energy.” He announced. “It’s what they use, Michael, to hold the soul is they carry it the Purgatorium.”
There was a pause, as Michael took in the meaning. Cutler’s smile grew chilling as he bare his teeth. “No one ever said that you had to be dead for the energy to take you.”
No. No fear, not now, not ever.
This is about more than me…
Michael twirled his sword once to show his intention, and then charged towards Cutler. Michael spun backwards, bringing his sword down towards Cutler’s head. Cutler parried the blow upwards, knocking Michael off-balance and countering with his own attack. Michael recovered in time to block Cutler’s attack, swinging back with his own attack. The back and forth continued for a moment, Michael staying just outside of Cutler’s energy while Cutler pressed the attack.
Still, the energy drained Michael, who quickly realized that he wasn’t the swordsman Cutler was. As he began to give ground, Cutler advanced, taunting Michael by using only his left hand. Dizzy, fighting to stay conscious, Michael lowered his guard for a moment—and Cutler drove his blade into Michael’s right shoulder. Michael screamed, dropping his sword. Cutler withdrew the blade, lifting it high above Michael to cleave him in half. Michael held his shoulder to control the bleeding. He wanted to lift his legs, step away from what was coming, but they wouldn’t respond–
At the last possible moment, Michael swayed to the left, and Cutler’s strike hit the ice with such force that the sword’s apex went nearly three inches into the ground. In that moment, Michael leapt into the air and crashed his right foot down squarely on the blade. The sword shattered, Cutler stumbled. Michael fought off the Thanatonian pull; clutching Cutler’s hair, Michael thrust his knee upward into Cutler’s face. Screaming with rage and defiance, Michael leapt into the air and spun fully inward, connecting the instep of his foot with Cutler’s jaw. The force was so great that only Cutler’s energy kept his face intact. He spun away, rubbing his jaw and spitting crimson upon the ice.
He smiled, looking to the waiting Michael. Saying nothing, he pulled off the top half of his robe and threw it to the ground. In turn, Michael removed his flannel and tossed it away behind him.
And the two came together one more time, commencing the final battle.
(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC
Post Footer automatically generated by Add Post Footer Plugin for wordpress.