Until Darkness Ascends

CHAPTER FOUR

He felt his elbow land with brutal force on the other archangel's stomach. Crixus grunted as he parried backward, his sword flipping in his palm. He wiped the sweat from his brow and gave his Dominus a worn-out grin.

"Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Altair?"

"You could say that."

"You usually kick my ass but you're never this vicious."

Altair cocked his head to the side, lowering his sword. "One last round, Crixus, and then you can train elsewhere."

There were two things archangels were known for. The first was their unparalleled devotion to their truemates. But the second was their combat prowess and the mastery of their elemental gift. Archangels were the great warriors of the Gods and fought amongst them with similar success. No other creature could possibly rival their skills. Put them against the best combatant of any other army or species and that poor soul would meet Hades.

Vampyres were known for their thirst. Lycanthropes were known for their savageness. Voltulorians were known for their speed underwater.

And archangels? They were known for their skill on the battlefield.

The archangels trained below the Olympian palace on a field that was dying. The grass was browning and the bushes that lined the deck behind them were skeletons. The air around them was stagnant, no wind, no sun, no birds, no anything. It was grey. Everything was always...dead. The physical atmosphere wasn't comparable to that of the archangels who sparred with unparalleled quickness and enthusiasm. They were training as if war would befall them in the next week. The grey sky contrasted their red rage with startling juxtaposition.

The sky was black with clouds, covering what used to be the sun. Altair missed the sun. He was sure the others missed it too. Sun was elusive in Olympia and since none of them left the world of Gods often, it was a rarity that they saw it.

Crixus lunged forward, his sword piercing the air side of Altair, swiftly. The older, more experienced, archangel dodged the attack. Altair went on the defensive as Crixus surged forward again, utilizing the rare defensive attitude of his Dominus.

The bellow of their swords clashing against one another was drowned by the sounds of exertion from other sparring pairs. Altair's ears were ringing as he returned another lunge with an offensive attack.

The memories of yesterday filled his head. The sight of her suffocating filled him with unadulterated rage. He'd never felt so consumed by an emotion.

He had to find her.

Lunge.

He had to see her.

Defend.

He had to protect her.

Swipe.

He had to-

A wail. His thoughts cleared from his head and he finally realized the force of his brutality. Crixus fell to his back, clutching his side from the wound Altair had left. The Dominus dropped his weapon, kneeling beside his friend. Other troupes of trainees stopped their sparring, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't that archangels never hurt one another. It wasn't that blood was never shed. But none of them ever went for the kill and the injury Altair had left was one that would have killed any other man.

"Shit," Altair cursed. "I'm sorry, Crixus."

"You really woke on the wrong side of the bed, Dominus."

Altair gave a sympathetic, half-assed, smile even though Crixus grinned as his blood covered his hands. The archangels knew Crixus would heal, but it would take a longer than usual. The only way to kill an archangel was with cerium, a rare type of tree bark from a forest in the Middle Kingdom.