Paradise End

16 - Past

            The roar of the stadium pressed in on all sides as Zadriel was guided down the corridor, the guard in front of him stopping at a gate-drawn doorframe. A sign to the side reading proudly- Floor A, Ring Five Hundred through Five Hundred Sixteen. "Wait here," The masked moderator grumbled, turning to march back down the hallway.

Zadriel tugged on the hem of his cloth, his armor gone in favor of standard lighter padding to move around in. It's just a fair fight, no big deal. I'm sure once he sees it's nothing to worry about, he might open up to the idea a bit more, he thought. However hard he contemplated the possibilities however, white fire hung low in his eyes, a trace of himself from a past, dark dim life. A time foreign compared to where his boots stood now.

Memories of a fog rolling down to hover outside the markers of a cave, inside the cave growling with the sound of primordial beasts. When he drew his sword for the first time.

Zadriel opened his eyes. Just like then, he supposed. The sound of Raz's voice echoed through his memory; had the cherub really seen enough? Of course, Zadriel couldn't blame him if Raz wanted to earn a title in the ranks some other way. It was entirely up to him. After all, Zadriel couldn't say he was quite fond of the colosseum himself either; if he was honest, he wished the barbaric practice had never transferred over from the world of the humans. He wished with all his being that their world would be able to survive on its own without the use of continual fighting, without the struggle and turmoil pitted against each other. Not to mention Nashira held a similar perspective on the issue. Yet here they were. Either way, Zadriel himself couldn't reject the intrinsic use ingrained into the practices of Purgatory. Who knows how many lost souls the walls had seen delivered through the means of winning a fight?

Zadriel shook his head. Of course, he didn't like fighting. But if helping this stranger, this cherub, one of them, find his way in the world meant taking his place and standing firm in the sand, then he'd do it. After all, he'd already planted his feet firmly, drawing the line back in the dungeon. The first sight he'd seen of another angel held back in binds. A smile passed over him, grateful for the Commander's decision.

The sound of chains clinking against each other, the metal gate drawing upwards brought his attention to the center.

He felt the hilt of his blade. He didn't need to fight, he thought. He could always turn back now. As Raz had said; the midnight-haired cherub seen enough. We don't have to go through this if he doesn't want to do it.

Fire and crackling golden electricity fell in soft silent purrs through the surface of his fingertips. He may not have been human. He may not have been a proper seraph, or even a respected mal'akh among his peers. But as the chants of the stadium leaned into his vision, the sunlight droving over the edges of the parapets, boldness leapt forward in his toes. He glanced down at his blade, releasing the hilt. 

His mind thought back to the woman, the test, the family. I wonder... if having newfound human morality has nothing to do with it. Sparks shimmered all across his back. The guard next to him grumbled, stomping the javelin in his hands on the ground, "Please move forward participant,"

Zadriel hesitated, knowing what needed to be done. If not for his own preferences, then for Razael's sake, and Nashira's.

Emerging from the shadow, the angel with invisible wings moved forward, stepping into the light of the ring, reaching over the edges of the colosseums rim. Bystanders all around reaped the benefits of the bloodshed in the stands, picking off their winners one by one in slew of fair fights, but the applause broke out only as the empty ring in the middle was approached by Zadriel. As he reached closer to the edges of the fighting rings circle, little sparks surging underneath Zadriel's divine energy, he faltered in his steps, sparing a glance at the stands.

Where were they? He thought back to the Moderator's words, remembering clearly how she'd stated the seats were reserved for the front. The borders of the ring fast approaching, the feigned sunlight of the Kingdom burning brightly into his line of sight, Zadriel turned his attention to the ring front and center.

Raz's words on replay, the sound of his first test, the trial he suffered to become the rank he was now. The roar of the colosseum outside merged with the growls harbored in low continuous cycles from the Cave etched in his memory before he got his rank. Growls, low and foreboding. If he was really about to do what he was thinking he was about to do, would it have been pointless for him to have entered his name into the rings? Would all of this have meant nothing?
No. He thought, lifting his eyes to the opposite side of the ring, waiting for a buzzer to release the fighters into the circle. A small figure, half his size, covered in a cloak, stepped up to the edges of the line, facing him on the opposite side. The cherub scrunched his nose briefly, watching the figure but shaking his head, focused. It wouldn't matter anyway, knowing what he was about to do.

In the pursuit of happiness, many humans tried many different things. But angels were not human. Yet in the pursuit of fulfillment, sometimes one had to decide for themselves what it meant to do what was right vs what they had been taught. An angel had to decide for themselves what was their truth and what was the lies perpetuated outside themselves.

"Hmph," He murmured, a soft laugh bubbling up. As he remembered the soft rattling of chains from that night, following the news a soldier had found a strange cherub outside the gates, Zadriel looked tiredly over his cloaked opponent. That's when he saw, the flips and turns from soft gusts of wind blowing through chocolate brown locks. He looked up, catching the faces of Razael, and Nashira in the front stands behind his counterpart.

Chants and sneers of the crowd fading to grainy silence, his focus locked on the two. "Participants may enter their ring." An overhead invisible female voice announced.

He looked away. Stepping inside, hand on the hilt of his blade, his form ignited in cloaked magic, Zadriel did what he wondered if any angel before him had thought to do—stretching out his hand holding the blade, it hovered midair to the left of him, holding the crowd in a brief almost barely tangible moment of disarray. All suspended in shock as a gilded angel of death opened his palm and released the weapon of his choice to the sand.

"Woah! This is quite unusual, folks! It appears Participant in ring Five-hundred and sixteen has surrendered the fight immediately!"

The crowd received the information with whispers, gasps, and exclamations. Waves of boos shortly followed, confirming to him his decision had in fact, been recognized. He watched his opponent for any movement, their cloak still covering their face. As the small almost child-like form lifted their hand to their hood, it was Zadriel's turn to be suspended in shock, freezing as she removed the veil...

His face widened in horror as before him stood a tiny girl, her hair in a brown pony tail, freckles, and eyes glaring directly at him. "W-What—" He stammered, "You--"

"I reject your surrender, angel of death."