The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 151: Rising Up

Chapter 151: Rising Up

Crowley lied.

In the future there would be much spirited debate as to whether this was true, with Crowley protesting that by the angel's own rules of verbal engagement, he had not technically fibbed, and Aziraphale quipping that by Crowley's rule of omittion, he had.

                Either way, some information failed to reach those listening to it, as the group tumbled thru the hills and hollers to a predetermined safe zone. However, Aziraphale was quite clear on the matter, knowing the demon: Despair was bypassing Crowley for him.

                Crowley watched and waited, while the others made their getaway. Soon enough, the screeching, baleful creature that had once been two entities rolled out as a landslide of clouds, huge red eyes rolling insanely in their folds like incandescent boulders. She ignored Crowley completely, gushing past him as he felt some sort of grit scrubbing over his body.

                He snarled, raising his new vision to see her escape into the sky, and focused on the residue of her smell and texture. There was something very mineral about it. He peered closer, letting his restored night vision reveal what lay inside the brooding thunderhead. Within those vapors hung the shattered remains of many mirrors, and they were breaking apart into smaller pieces, becoming tiny shrapnel ready to rain down on the fleeing host below if Despair caught any glimpse of them at all.

                The demon coiled, and sprang into the air, his wings flashing out to cast sparkling rainbows into the night, and onward and upward he flew, catching the tail end of her winds.

They must have stumbled through the forests for thirty minutes. Finally, they reached a stone outcrop covered over by a thicket of young sweet gum sprouts. Underneath they huddled, their eyes rising out into the branch-riddled skies, and up and down the hills. Gasping and heaving, they slid down on their butts while Gary, Olivia, and Shadwell (still puffing but following suit) knelt or laid propped up on elbows, at the edge of their hiding place and leaning carefully into the night.

                It was hard to see anything so deep in the woods. Even the sky hid behind all those treetops. Perhaps it would be enough to shroud them as well. But, as the air shifted, a strange taste came on the winds, and the angel swallowed, and closed his eyes, knowing the truth.

                And against his wishes, his body turned on him, and he shifted through time.

Despair raged. She broke apart her mirrors as she wished to shatter the bones of Crowley and the angel. As she tracked them all down she tasted Crowley in her winds, but ignored him to pursue his little winged pet. The creature had mortified her with his escape. Animal fury rampaged in her seething mind to destroy him, with the added note to come back around and deal with the demon twofold.

                She had no thought for Crowley otherwise, or any idea he was strong enough and quick enough, at last, to confront her.

                She was wrong.

The scent of the angel wafted along below her, and she searched along the latticework of tree branches, planning to boil down into them as a shredding mist with her shards. But she couldn't pinpoint them. Every so often she caught his glow, and the lights of the halogens, but too close and they seared her vision, too bright and reflecting off the mirrors to blind her more. And then they disappeared altogether, and she was left thundering across the land back and forth for quarters of a mile, trying to pinpoint where, and infuriatingly, finding nothing!

                So incensed was she, she barely noticed what felt like a flock of ravens dance into her edges to make their way inward. Had she stopped to think about it, she would remember the old adage that ravens don't often flock together unless they're up to mischief.

                In the end, it wasn't any sort of fowl speeding its way inside her. It was Crowley, raging himself, roaring, and when Despair did at last dawn on what was happening, he reached her monolith eyes, and opened his mouth wide, and spewed forth a wave of venom and fire that caught on her vapors and ignited.

"What the hell!" Newt yelled, as something exploded above their heads. All but the angel covered their bodies then dared to look up. Through the tree limbs, against the light of a half moon, they saw a ball of fire roll out, then vanish into dark acrid smoke expanding quickly into the horizons.

                "Crowley," Anathema breathed. Olivia nodded vaguely, and held her pistol at the ready.

                After the smoke rolled away from its center, some of them began to point skyward and shout. Something was falling. Something shiny and flickering. And plunging after it, a winged figure in black....

Aziraphale wasn't gone for long. He pushed his way back. But fighting to get away had been excruciating, and he was weakening with strain. He blinked awake, and Tracy was the first to notice. Instantly she was at hid side.

                "Here, take care. You weren't gone long."

                "What happened?" he asked in a daze, feeling his wards sending signals, his skin vibrating with the rolling pressure of demonic power.

                "Crowley set the tyrant ablaze in the air!" Shadwell shouted above newly rising winds. Aziraphale tried to stand, and fell back. Tracy held his shoulder firmly, until Anathema came by and motioned for her to help Newt with the packs. She knelt by him, and took out his handkerchief, and patted his face.

                "You're covered in blood!"

                "I'm fine!"

                But the witch wasn't satisfied.

                All the others had grabbed their coats when they headed back outside. Crowley and Aziraphale were the only ones who forgot to be cold, and the angel was not garbed in his silly expedition coat. And now that they were all hiding, and the halogens were being put away, and the LEDs and mirrors fell back into place within their clothes, more could be seen of the angel as he truly was. He even glowed less. But now the witch could see. His beard was back, his hair growing out, and his familiar jacket was torn to shreds.

                Not to mention he was stained crimson all over.

                "Obviously you're not!" She laid a hand on him, and he smacked her away, suddenly stern.

                "Leave me be!"

"Aziraphale, your clothes are torn to shred! Stop squirming!" Anathema barked, but the angel continued to struggle as she pulled off his jacket.

                "No, wait!"

                The jacket fell into her hands, and she paused. Her eyes were glued to the angel's back.

                Bright slashes dug into his skin. His shoulders were raised, as were his arms. He heaved. Then he looked over his shoulder, and saw the shock in her face. She looked at him, her face full of questions.

                The winds finally died down, and all heads turned to the angel.

                "She didn't do this to you," the witch gasped.

                Aziraphale sagged, panting, his arms dropping to his lap. He shook his head in response.

                The marks...were old. Not fresh. Open scars.

                At last, Aziraphale managed to find his words. "I've been through the gauntlet tonight, and when that happens sometimes they just—" he rose his hand and fanned his fingers,"—pop up."

                "Who did this to you?"

                "Oh, Miss Device, it was so long ago—"

                "Who?"

                "Heaven," he blurted curtly, glaring at her. Silence fell in between them, and they regarded each other hard. And then he turned away, and added," Sometimes...a stern note is not all Heaven gives you."