Fallen Angel

Chapter 2.2

Joan struggled against the shadows. Whenever she struck one down, two more came in its place. It was like fighting the fabled hydra. Some souls tried to help her—the ones who had died fighting and who were not afraid to forfeit their afterlife as well. But they only had their fists to fight with and were no match for the disembodied demons.

"Stop fighting them! Just make sure they don't take anyone!" Joan shouted.

The most awful dread suddenly filled her. She tried to see how Gabriël was doing but could only catch a glimpse of him. There had to be a way to get to him. He wasn't the best fighter in the Vale's army and would certainly need help if the damn things ganged up on him. But if she came to his aid now, the souls would be left unprotected. She couldn't risk it.

Hold on, she prayed. Please, just hold on.

Where was Michael? Where were the warriors? Surely, they must have realised something was wrong by now, especially if they received Peter's message. Unless... Joan glanced at the little fisherman's hut between strikes, but couldn't see him anywhere. She hoped he had stayed inside, as she had told him to do.
One soul shouted a warning at her, pulling her back to fight. She was trapped by two shadows threatening to collide against. There was one good thing about them, though - they didn't have legs. Joan dropped to the ground and quickly rolled underneath them. She swung her sword in her tumble, and both shadows shrieked as they evaporated after the blade cut through them. Rising to her feet, she felt a sudden sting of pain. Had she been wounded? No, she was fine. Then what could have -?

"Joan, move!"

Peter's voice warned Joan just in time. She jumped out of the way as a great golden net came over the shadows. Their ear-piercing shrieks made Joan's skin crawl. She looked up to find Catherine standing with Peter, his trident in her hand. Another figure in the background ran away from his hut into the Vale – Margaret.

"What the hell were you two doing here?" yelled Joan at Catherine.

"Helping Gabriël keep an eye on your rebellious ass," she replied dryly. "You're welcome, by the way."

She started puncturing one shadow after another with the trident. They tried to wriggle from underneath the net, but Peter had a firm hold of it. There was no way these creatures would get away. The mesh was woven from silk and the purest and most dangerous substance found in the universe — Heaven's Fire.
Heaven's Fire was always dormant. It awoke when it came in contact with anything that had been affected by the darkness. And when it did, anyone who touched it felt themselves dying all over again, in agonising pain and in a constant loop. Only a privileged few could control it without being affected by it.

"Help is on the way," Peter told Joan. "Michael is mobilising the others. You help Gabriël while we dispose of these foul things."

Confident Peter and Catherine could handle the shadows, Joan left them to search for Gabriël. She found him near the border. He was on the ground, trying to get back up. A horrified gasp escaped Joan when she saw he was wounded. Her gaze shifted. Gabriël's opponent looked down on him, a cold smirk on his face, ready to strike again.

Wait... That face. Oh no, not...

She had heard the stories, and she had been present on the day of his final judgment. Never could she forget what he had done. And what he had said. In a single moment, her wings were out, and she leapt towards them.

***

There were times that Gabriël felt slightly jealous of Michael being the Lord Protector and him being 'only' the Messenger. Now was not one of those times. It was painfully clear why they'd been bestowed their respective roles. He was no warrior. Michael accommodated him the best he could by training him himself and inviting him over for battle simulations, claiming Gabriël's keen mind was valuable in formulating and understanding strategies. The belief that a true fight would differ from practice had always kept Gabriël from worrying too much about his prowess. How wrong he was.
He was nowhere near prepared for single combat with a warrior such as the Borgia Bastard. Though Gabriël fought bravely and with every fibre in his being, he was no match for him. Borgia played with him, making sure he would focus only on the great sword he wielded with one hand. And when the Archangel stood close enough, both hands on the hilt to repel his strike, the demon moved swiftly to stab him in the side with a small pugio dagger that had been hidden behind his back. Gabriël never even saw it coming.
The pain took the Archangel by surprise as the blade pierced straight through his armour and body. His sword clattered to the ground. He fell to his knees, warm blood dripping from the wound on his side, and looked down. Borgia had not even bothered to take the pugio out. It was lodged into Gabriël's body, down to the hilt. He couldn't risk taking it out, but neither could he continue fighting like this. He tried to get up, but it was no use; the pain was too great.