Paradise End

11 - Past

            Carpets. Rubies. Bazaar. Carpets, rubies, red, bazaar. Bazaar, gold sunshine flickering over dusty tapestry tents. Carpets of tent after tent after tent rolling through the marketplace. Carpets of vendors, rubies red as the scarlet blood marking the difference between life and death. Shouts of men and women trying to sell tapestries, trying to sell time, trying to sell hope, trying to sell life. All of it spread wide below on the hill behind Raz, and in front...

His jaw dropped.

In sun splattered shadow, arches built into the side of stone and tuff crawled up to the blue heavens above. Behind the arches looking down on the commoners and sprawling bazaar below, Raz could see people, souls, mingling in a hallway, the sun beating through cracks. Concrete colors situated in travertine architecture circled around to create an impossible gargantuan arena, the sound of gathering people cloaking Raz even paler before. The loud conversations building up around him paired with flocking crowds racing towards the hall prompted his foot to begin tapping nervously.

An elbow nudged his ribs. "Quite the spectacle huh? They say the ones who made it made it ten times larger than the Colosseum on Earth! Although I do hear gladiator fights have gone out of style nowadays..."

"So, it would seem; nowadays the world of the living is hopelessly invested in an over glorified sport about tossing around a slab of processed cow meat." Nashira chimed. "For three weeks, once a year, the tournament comes, creating quite a stir among the ranks and souls. Despite the changes in the world of the living, the rings here have only increased in popularity with every new century. Zadriel, I hate to ask, but are you sure about this?"

Zadriel smiled, "Positive. Besides, look at Raz! I'm sure he'd love to see some fights! Right?"

He's gone insane. Razael's face flattened, turning carefully over to his friend, at a precise angle, just to convey exactly how he felt about the crowds. How could you betray me...?

"Sure," He said, albeit void of enthusiasm.

"Hey," Zadriel urged. "You feel okay, right?"

He hesitated, knowing in that moment Zadriel would absolutely withdraw Razael's name from the mix should he not feel prepared enough, should he still feel the effects of the chains wrapped around his arms. At any moment he felt ill, he knew the golden angel's character well enough, perhaps by intuition, to know he wouldn't hesitate to withdraw. The wind brushed his naked wrists. He turned to Zadriel, nodding.

"C'mon, we better get inside." Zadriel glanced over his shoulder at Raz, leading the way by bustling foot traffic.

The group wove through nonstop babbling attendees of the tournament, large gatherings closing in on Raz with each second. Weaving through each individual line and person, some angels some simply human souls, shouts accompanied his hearing above the entrance. Sights of so many heads, too many arms and legs and words and voices, crossed in front and behind him. Weight dropped in his gut, stirring. Each new breath grew heavy. As someone bumped into his side, appearing in his peripheral too late, he felt the glare crawl all along the bandages covering his back. A glare of hate. A glare of distrust.

Raz raised his hand, inhaling sharply, fingernails tightening to a point.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his wrist. He looked down, tracing the grip back to Nashira's stern gaze standing directly below him. She shook her head quietly, a sly grin lifted. "Seems you've got a bit of fight in you after all. But here, unfortunately, is not the place for that."

He tried to open his mouth to tell her that wasn't why he'd readied his sharpened claw-like hand, but her voice interrupted; "Don't worry. Let's just get you out of this space, it'll be easier to breathe when we get inside." She pulled him forward gently, following after Zadriel in a little train between strangers.

Watching behind his back closely, they managed to exit the crowd, making their way across a wide-open space around, presumably towards the back of the dome. Step by step, the sight of a tunnel and a growing diversified straight line came into view, pouring out from the back of the giant arena. Guards stood all along the entrance of the tunnel, checking each individual and ticket presented by the individual stepping forward. They waved most if not all before Raz saw the guard nearest to them as they approached suddenly stop. An older individual, looking to be around the ages of 39 and 42, presented his entrance badge. The guard brought the badge to his eyes, the momentum of the line pausing. He looked up, a terse moment ensuing before he waved the older man forward.

Zadriel led them to the back. "Nashira," Razael whispered, standing close by. A large gruff swordsman stepped behind him. "Neither of you have told me what this place is yet, how it's supposed to help me."

"Relax; once we get inside, we'll tell you the rest."

"Okay." The line moved forward. "You care to at least give me a small inkling about what this building is?"

Forward. Nashira glanced back at him, brown gaze, emanating divine energy, "Think big... then think bigger."

Zadriel stepped forward, meeting paths with the brawny deep-voiced guard placed on the left entrance. Wearing a crimson-colored vest and a sword on his hilt, he held out his hand, "Entrance please."

He pulled out a badge from his front pocket in his cloaked uniform, a stray flare bouncing off a laminated surface. Analyzing, the guard murmured a number then waved him forward. Before Raz knew it, Nashira presented her own badge, a shimmery surface glowing with her features. "I'll be using my plus one merit."

The guard turned to the demon cherub behind Nashira, a smirk just barely plucking his lips. "Is your friend verified?"

"No, he'll just be watching the first few rounds."

"Pity; with wings like those, I'm sure there's more than one who'd like to take his hide on."

"Well, they'll have to wait in line, as all do in life."

"Is he breakable?" 

Nashira cocked her head, "I fail to see why that's relevant but wouldn't you like to know."

The guard stared Razael up and down, holding up his hand. "One more thing, before you enter, make sure he doesn't participate in any of the rounds if what you say is true; the Marauders won't be at fault for any repercussions by his being here." The Guard moved away, offering the grand tunnel entrance with his hand. Light opened at the end of the tunnel, a distant murmur and hum pierced its shadow. "Your number is five-hundred and eighteen-A. Welcome to the Gates of Paradise," He said, "Right this way,"

Footsteps rung in Raz's ears as they began down the tunnel. As they edged closer to the bowels of unknown spectre, Raz felt stares hovering over the pinions covering his shoulders. But still, beneath the deafening thunder echoing inside, an emissary of darkness pushed forward, curiosity pulling his name.