To Love A Celestial

There was an early morning chill in the air and a frost that blanketed the village. While the sun still slept for a few more precious moments, shop owners were already wide awake getting ready for another day.

Lanterns flickered with the last bit of late night oil as the sun finally peaked over the frost covered roofs. Shop owners busied themselves trying to race the rising sun. The fresh smell of baked bread, however, had already lingered through the market square. They knew that the market would soon be full of potential customers.

Among the bustling crowd of light coats and vibrant autumn cloaks was a young woman who stood out with her bright red hair and fair skin. She pulled out a small piece of paper, scanning over items severely needed. The only problem was she had no clue where to even start with the shopping. She stepped into a small clearing after a few nasty stares were thrown her way, a wave of defeat was beginning to creep over her. However, that lull of disappointment soon turned into joy as the crowd parted slightly and the young woman’s attention was caught by freshly cut flowers.

“Excuse me how much for your Phlox?” The witch gave a small smile. A large bundle of soft purple Phlox were peeking out from beneath some sunflowers that were trying their damnedest to reach the sun.

The florist popped his head up and gave a big smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes. “Oh. I’m trying to get rid of those. No one has been wanting them this season.”

“I wouldn’t feel right just taking them from you.” The young woman protested. She began to search through her bag for a few coins, but the florist stopped her.

“No need. You’re the first to want them. Take as many as you please,” he answered. He reached over and took several and started to wrap them into a small bouquet.

She frowned midway while handing him the coins. “Are you sure? I could trade you something then.”

The florist handed her the bouquet. “Why don’t you tell me your name? I am curious about the one who has come looking for my Phlox.”

“Azrael.” She stated, smiling.

“Well, Azrael, it was a pleasure to meet you.” The florist held out his hand. She returned the handshake and he pulled her gently towards him leaning down to whisper in her ear. “It’s not every day you come across a witch.” He winked, letting her hand go and went back to tend to his other flowers.

Azrael walked away, smiling. She marked off the flowers, leaving three other items on her list. All of which could be found at the local apothecary. Now if Azrael could find said apothecary. Her search, however, was cut short when a rather harsh-looking woman stood in her way.

The woman deepened her frown and narrowed her eyes as she wrapped long bony fingers around Azrael’s upper arm. Azrael tried pulling away but the woman’s grip wouldn’t budge. “I couldn’t help but overhear you and the florist, and he seemed to think that you were a witch.” A wave of cold fear washed over Azrael “But that couldn’t be the case. You seem to be a smart girl and know that such magic is outlawed in kingdom”

Azrael swallowed hard, feeling her throat go dry. “You must have just misheard then.” She tried pulling her arm away but the lady grabbed tighter. “Listen, I’m quite busy and should get going.”

“I’m sure you are. I just thought I’d come over and have a nice chat.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be going now.” Azrael finally was allowed out of the sickening grasp. She rubbed the sore area on her arm which was already a bright irritated red. She was certain it would bruise.. “It was nice meeting you though.”

“It would be a shame if this information was to slip to say… a royal guardsmen.” The woman shrugged.

“Shit,” Azrael mumbled under her breath. It was always the greedy that somehow sniffed out her secret, and they always wanted something in return. Azrael cleared her throat and stood taller trying to hide her fear. “What will it take for you to stay silent on this matter?”

The woman wore a smug smile now as if she had won a small fortune. “Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter and discuss what you can do for me.” She began heading into the crowded street giving Azrael saw this as her chance to escape and took it.

She sprinted through the crowd and b-lined for an empty alleyway, praying the lady hadn’t been watching. Making sure no one was around, Azrael pulled out a dimensional medallion, and with a click, vanished. She reappeared in a small village. Though the medallion could transport its carrier to different dimensions, it also could transport to the holder’s last place visited. Azrael stumbled forward as she appeared outside of the village. She looked around her making sure no one was around to see and when the coast was clear, headed to her cottage.

Many in the village had sneaking suspicions about Azrael, but none ever spoke up. They mostly kept to themselves and never bothered Azrael. She sped through the village quickly keeping her head down, and made it to a small cottage that sat right on the forest edge.

Even before Azrael opened the door, she was greeted with the warm smell of citrus. She closed her eyes for a brief moment allowing her senses to be taken over. The aroma only grew the moment the door swung open to a cozy single room. Azrael brushed past hanging dried flower bouquets that lined the beams of the ceiling and small piles of books that couldn’t fit on the overflowing shelves. She pushed a set of books to the edge of the fireplace and pulled the cauldron from the fire. Her eyes were now stinging from the intensity.

“Less cinnamon next time,” Azrael softly told herself, peering into the cauldron. Her fingers brushed the side and she let out a yelp. The containments splattered across the old wooden floor as she waved her hand in the air. “Crap!”

Azrael grumbled to herself as she flipped over a giant rug that sat in the center of the room, the floor to reveal a hidden door. With a loud creek, Azrael opened the door and it thudded to the floor. She climbed down the ladder and turned to face her small witch’s workshop.

It looked like a tornado had wreaked havoc through the workshop. Plants toppled from their pots blanketing the floor in dirt. Unlabeled powders tossed onto shelves that were ready to give at a moment’s notice. Potion bottles lying open with gods know what was bubbling in the small glass bottles. Azrael however, ignored the disaster once again and placed the new bouquet of flowers on a stool before leaving to tend to the mess she had made.

In the late night air, echoed screams of the fallen and damned. Harsh metallic slashes broke the silence between screams, as archangels held the frontlines against demon hordes. It had been almost a year of fighting with very little headway for the celestial armies. Now what were hundreds of thousands were dwindling fast leaving only handfuls or troops across the material plane.

In one such camp, archangels were scattered around waiting for the inevitable signal of another attack. Weary spirits lay thick over the soldiers as they sharpened their swords or tended to the injured. Among the tired and restless was a small group of four archangels seated around a makeshift table, shielded from the outside gaze.

A stoic masked angel sat at the head of the table. His gaze lazily looked over the many letters scattered in front of him. He rubbed his calloused hand over his chin and sighed. “There’s been talk of another attack.”

“We can’t take much more of this without fresh fighters, Deimos. They’re wearing us down.” Another spoke up. “If we keep this up then the infernal armies are going to advance leaving us with a mess to clean up.”

Deimos glanced over with heavy eyes. The same argument had been said before, and just like then nothing would change now. “We’ve been over this before...”

“I know but we’re struggling over here.”

“Adam, there are no other troops.” Deimos answered, rubbing his temples. “We’re all too spread thin.”

“But...”

Anger flashed in Deimos’ eyes. He shot up from his seat and slammed his fist shaking the table. Fear reverberated through everyone in the tent. “WHAT IS SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND? WE’RE ALONE!” Adam sank in his seat as his wings began to shield him from the monstrous anger. Deimos sighed and hung his head. “We have been left to rot by the gods.”

Heavy silence filled the tent soon followed by dread and realization. Stories had been passed down of the gods turning on the angels, but they weren’t always fully believed. Until now.

The silence was short lived when an explosion rocked the camp following a blinding white light. A warning blow of the battle horn was sounded sending everyone to their battle stations.

“Get your weapons ready!”

The group set off for the crash site. Deimos praying to an empty sky that they weren’t done for tonight. Dead infernal littered the ground and confusion soon ran through the group. Deimos pushed through the confused soldiers, picking up the head of a mutilated demon.

“That one in particular was a pain in the ass,” a deep voice spoke from the shadows. A smoldering halo broke through the darkness revealing a haunting glare of red. The glow of the halo casted a frightening shadow along the stranger’s face. The brilliant white light entangled with the red glow of his eyes. He stepped forward and only then did they finally catch a glimpse of the monster. Dripping blood coated the armor and his face. The lighten of lanterns caught the shine of blood revealing a set of large black wings which had similar liking to the archangels. However, this was no such creature.

Deimos tightened his grip on his own sword. “Who are you?” His attention fell to each sword the shadow held.

The stranger cleaned his swords quickly before placing them back in their sheaths. “I was sent to help.” He held his hands up in surrender.

“That’s not what I asked.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He kept his ears peeled for any infernal trying to sneak up on them, but he kept his eyes trained on the group in front of him.

Deimos felt a hand grasp his shoulder. He turned to see his second in command, Kadence, coming to investigate. “What’s the meaning of…” He paused seeing what stood in front of him and turned his chin up in disgust. “You, death angel, are not welcome. Leave and take whatever omens you’ve brought with you.”

Death angel? Deimos stared across the bloodied grass. It couldn’t be. Could it? Such abominations were destroyed long ago during the purity wars.

“I have orders saying otherwise,” the death angel smirked. “Thought I would be getting a feast of thanks.”

Deimos came to his senses, stepping forward. “You’ve thought wrong. Now as you’ve been told once, leave.”

The death angel laughed low and dangerously. “You can die for all I care.” He placed a bloodied hand on Deimos’ cheek and leaned in. “The last camp begged for my help after casting me aside too.”

The sounds of yelling caught the attention of the group. Deimos took the opportunity to pull away from such cursed hands only to be met with the call to arms.

Kadence unsheathed his sword with a glance to Deimos. “A bad omen.”

Raden glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. He unsheathed his swords and flew towards the hoard. He made contact with the first demon as he cleanly sliced through its neck and the body fell to the ground below. He was now surrounded by a very pissed-off demon horde.

Raden readied his swords again. Two attacked from behind but Raden folded his wings in and dropped a few below as they flew past. With one beat of his wings, Raden flew upward toward the two demons. He managed to pierce one through the back but the other was too fast and latched onto his back. This caused him to drop a sword and yell out in pain as the demon’s claws dug into his shoulder blade.

At this point, the other angels had raced in to help with the hoard as Raden’s focus was now on the demon who sunk its claws deeper. He sheathed a sword and reached back with his good arm placing his hand on the demon’s face. A brilliant light hit the demon causing it to screech out and let go of Raden. He turned to face the demon and saw a burnt handprint on its face. The demon snarled and went in for another attack. Raden held his hand out as the same brilliant light shot across the sky hitting the demon in the chest. It let out a blood curdling screech and burnt to ash in mere seconds.

The hoard was small. Only about five were killed off in a matter of minutes. The camp however, was buzzing with anxiety. Worry of another attack and the arrival of a rather unwanted guest.

The death angel found an empty spot next to a smoldering fire as the others disappeared deeper into the camp. He let out a sigh feeling the ache of war taking its toll on his body. He reached back feeling the stinging touch of the fresh wound.

Just another scar added to the collection.

“You might want to get that checked out. It looks pretty nasty.” One of the angels gestured to the wound on his shoulder.

The death angel glanced up from his seat. “Noted,” he answered sarcastically. The young angel nodded but kept silent after that. Raden glanced back at him. He seemed a bit younger than the others. “What’s your name?”

The angel looked back toward him. “Zadkiel, sir.”

“No need to call me sir,” he chuckled. “I’m not your superior.”

“Oh… and your name?”

“Raden”

Zadkiel shuffled his stance as if wanting to continue. Raden preoccupied himself with his weapons that were coated in blood. ” They’re saying you were sent here to take over...”

Raden stopped cleaning and peered up again. “I wasn’t sent here as a replacement for your leading General. I was ordered here because you all can’t do your damn job.”

“What?” Zadkiel asked.

Raden stood grimacing with each movement of his shoulder. He shoved both sword hilts into Zadkiel’s chest. “Find me who’s in charge and get these cleaned before the next attack.” Then without another word left to find somewhere to bandage his shoulder.

A few hours had passed and Raden was back among the jungle of tents with a freshly bandaged shoulder. The young angel from before was nodding off on a log next to the tent Raden had emerged from. Raden kicked his legs causing Zadkiel to jump awake.

“You get my swords cleaned?”

Zadkiel stood quickly trying to shake off the embarrassment of being caught sleeping on the job. “Ye… yes, but I’ve been told to take you to Deimos.”

“Who is that?”

“Our leading General.”

Zadkiel led Raden through twisting paths of sleeping soldiers and smoldering fires. Those who were still on guard after the surprise attack cast nasty glares as Raden passed by. He didn’t care. He was used to such treatment. Zadkiel seemed to grow more and more anxious as his pace picked up until a large tent came into view and he stopped.

He turned to glance at Raden. “He’s waiting for you there.”

Raden nodded and entered into the empty tent. He looked around in confusion until he heard a voice behind him.

“I owe you an apology.”

Raden turned quickly seeing a shadowed outline flickering in the lantern light. His gut was telling him to get out as fast as he could.

Deimos stepped away from the entrance, closing the space between them. A cold stare magnified with the dancing shadows across his face. He truly was one of Arjan’s creations. “A feast for such a creature as yourself is the least we could’ve done.” Deimos stepped forward and Raden stepped back. He was searching for anything to use as a weapon. “I mean, a savior in our midst is a rarity.”

“Whatever you’re planning, know I’m as strong as twenty of you,” Raden threatened.

Deimos smirked. “Yet you weren’t created with an ounce of intelligence. Get him.”

Before Raden could make sense of what was happening, he was tackled to the ground. He yelped in pain as his shoulder hit and his arms and legs were pinned. He struggled to know avail as the injury took much of his energy. A boot pressed into his chest and he had no option but to look up.

“When you see your master again, tell him to go fuck himself.”

A bag was tossed over Raden’s head and his arms tied together. He was shoved to stand and a rough hand grasped each arm. The cool night air hit his arms as he was pulled outside. The voices died around him and his ears strained for any signs of life. That was until a loud order from Deimos erupted and he was airborne. The wings of the two angels that help him scrape across exposed skin causing him to grit his teeth with each swipe.

The bag was ripped off and anger met Raden face to face. “This is embarrassing for my brethren.” Deimos pierced his sword through Raden’s side.

Raden couldn’t find the words to say. He could barely breathe, then he found himself falling. Deimos pulled his sword back and let go of Raden. Raden lightly touched his side and faintly saw bright red blood staining his hand but then the world went black.