Twilight of the Gods ✔️

Chapter 28: A Celestial Resurrection

"She gave me the blood," Uriel said, placing the pouches on the table.

"I never said she wouldn't," Ezra replied. They had returned to the attic lab, hovering over the sleeping angel as they spoke.

Uriel doesn't respond, taking a sip of the memory tea to avoid conversation. The past was coming back to him in pieces, often hitting him when he least expected it. Just the other day, he was trapped in a memory of serving Anhel. It was a gruesome scene where he served as a punisher, violently executing his fellow angels. He could feel his hands still slick with blood when he returned to reality.

But there were other memories that were much sweeter. He had been in love, much to his surprise. Somehow, in the drudgery of his servitude, he had found comfort in the arms of another.

He didn't think that there was love in him beyond the devotion he felt to his God. Yet in those memories that were far too short, it was undeniable. There was a strong sense of affection for his brethren, an emotion that betrayed him during the killings. He hesitated multiple times when drawing his blade, especially when Anhel began forcing him to kill those closest to him. But such things were necessary to prove he deserved to be the Favorite. He needed to shed blood to prove that he was worthy of being bonded to it.

He paid a heavy price to be close to his God. As he gazed upon the angel beneath him, he wondered if the bond was worth the gory burden he carried. He had to kill so many brethren, angels just like him. It was as if he had slain himself countless times, whittling away at flesh and bone until his individuality vanished. He was his God's will, nothing more and nothing less.

But even as he told himself that, he knew it wasn't true anymore. There were three bags of blood on the table, one less than Ezra wanted. He licked his lips, tasting the remains of the fourth bag at the corners of his mouth. The ichor was still heavenly on his tongue, but his bond to Daeva was growing fainter by the day. He could no longer read her intentions with the same intensity as before.

The expanding distance between them hollowed him out. The more she pulled away, the more he ached for her. There were moments when this was exquisitely unbearable. Why didn't she touch him? Why didn't she love him, use him? He was almost tempted to beg her to hit him so that he would feel some semblance of her warmth.

"Pay attention," Ezra said, snapping him out of his thoughts. He prepared for the blood transfusion, hooking the blood bag to the sleeping angel's arm through a series of tubes. "If things go wrong, I need you to be ready to assist me."

Uriel nodded, pretending that he heard everything Ezra said. The angel was going to be fine as far as he was concerned. He recalled the day of his own resurrection when his body and mind were restored. The day of his rebirth had been the best of his second life. He had a God and a purpose. It was a joyous occasion.

As he gazed upon the creature's sleeping face, it started to become more familiar to him. Her coppery lashes and fine freckles initially reminded him of Daeva, but the angel's pallor was too pale to meaningfully resemble his God. Gold flecks highlighted her cheek, glittering faintly in the lab's dim lighting. As Ezra pumped Daeva's dark ichor into her body, the angel's name finally came to Uriel.

Calypso, whispered the darkest depths of his mind. You knew her. You loved her. She was your true equal.

She glowed beneath them, the life returning to her flesh. Slowly, she began to stir from her slumber, fingers twitching like a newborn. Much to his horror, a familiar feeling fluttered in his chest.

He stepped away, unable to look at the angel anymore. More memories were returning to his mind, overwhelming his consciousness in a mental blizzard. Calypso, whispered that nagging voice again. Calypso, Calypso, Calypso.