Dead Moon Chapel | ✔️

twenty-nine

ABEL DID NOT BELIEVE HIMSELF worthy of a miracle. And yet, God proved his mercy in the form of sleep as it graced his weary bones. Sleep did not come to him with any amount of ease, however. It waited until his exhaustion was too heavy to bear, until the weight of his eyelids was heavier than the weight of his thoughts, and there was finally enough suffering for Abel to give in. It was only the second time he managed to sleep in the whole duration of his imprisonment.

Not long after slumber befell him, Abel realized that he'd been right all along. He was undeserving of a miracle, and no matter how much he thought he wanted to sleep, it presented itself as a punishment instead. Distant weeping and agonized screams tormented his mind. Though he couldn't see who it was, he knew his voice. It was more feral than he was used to, animalistic even, but it was unmistakable.

It was Jericho.

Somewhere in the void of his mind, Jericho's screams found passage, and Abel was subjected to the torture of listening to him. As much as he wanted it to stop, though, he did not try to leave. He was the cause of Jericho's pain, the least he could do was endure it alongside him. Abel wished more than anything that he could take his place. If he was to sacrifice himself, why couldn't it have been for him? For Jericho? For the man who showed him how to be alive?

Let me take your place. Please.

For a moment, silence blanketed his mind. Abel softened with his relief, but his relief was short-lived. His peace of mind was quickly stolen away from him moments after.

Abel?

Jericho's voice was thick with his torment, as though Abel's mere presence was more important than his wailing.

Abel's heart stuttered in his chest. This was no nightmare.

Jericho?

Angel. How do I hear you?

I don't-I don't know. Where are you?

A pause. Then, a whimper. It's dark.

Abel spoke again, firmly. Where are you?

You can't come here.

Tremors shot through Abel's words. Jericho, where are you? Where did they take you?

Fight, angel. His tone was no longer fearful and weak. It was urgent now, desperate, as though something was coming for him. Whatever you do, fight. Get out of there. Don't let them touch you, promise me.

Jericho, where did they take you? Abel's frustration delivered itself in the form of fat golden droplets rolling down his cheeks, landing in the endless abyss below his feet. Please, Jericho, let me help you.

You can't, Abel. I won't allow it.

Jericho-

Promise me!

Abel didn't want to make such a promise. He did not want to leave Jericho alone there, he wanted to find him, he wanted to run away with him, he wanted to leave this all behind. And yet, as Jericho cried out again, the sound pierced like a blade through Abel's chest. When he looked down, golden blood streamed down his front, joining in his fat tears. Gold soon drenched him, flooding through the abyss as Jericho's screaming flooded Abel's mind.

He would fight. Not for God, not for the city, not for himself. He would fight for the one thing he knew that he believed in, without a shadow of a doubt.

I promise! he cried out. I promise you, Jericho, God Himself cannot stop me. No legions of angels and no devils in Hell would dare it. As long as my spirit lives, Jericho, for you I will fight!

Abel fell to his knees. The gold was crimson now, pooling around him and drenching every part of him that was white. White wings, white hair, white armor. All of it was red, rising like the tide. Abel tipped his head back, taking one final gulp of air before the red submerged him completely.

He opened his eyes.