After-Life

Chapter 38. Casualties of War

The trio stepped out on to a crumbling, flat rooftop and surveyed the immediate scene around them. The first thing that hit Mabel about the realm Thet had created, was the scent of decay. The smell was acrid and upon breathing it in, Mabel started to choke. Her eyes started to burn.
"Where is that smell coming from?" Mabel wheezed.
"It is rather potent, isn't it," Thet considered. "You wanted me to set the scene Mab, so, I conjured a warzone, with all the delightful scents that come with it."
"Delightful?" Kristoph choked, "I never thought I'd find myself saying this, but I prefer the scents of the rat-infested Hamelin to this."
The trio looked about them with wrinkled noses, trying to ascertain where their friends had based themselves. It was silent as the grave however, and Mabel couldn't help but shake off an ominous feeling that they were too late. Only Samael's reassurance of her friend's demises being 'moons from now' kept her from worrying too much about the Dark Omens members.

"You don't suppose we're too late?" Kristoph asked, as though reading Mabel's mind.
"No," Thet answered. "Can you both feel that? It's acceptance. This world was designed to host a fight, it's accepted and welcomed that conflict."
Mabel and Kristoph nodded, the air was thick with an oppressive anticipation. How much time had passed since their visit to heaven? They'd only secured an hour's worth of life essence, which had since worn away. How long did it normally take for soldiers to rally the troops, get into position, and meet their foe, head on?
As they surveyed the crumbling ruins of the buildings around them, Mabel shivered as she saw the haunted forms of a few lost souls who had made the journey from Limbo, flit across the potholed streets and disappear.
"Thet, you've created a literal ghost town;" Mabel's voice quivered as the unnatural feeling of being surrounded by the unknown supernatural world, played at her subconscious.
"I agree," Thet clenched his jaw, and looked quickly over his shoulder as some rubble crumbled away from a tall building behind them and clattered noisily to the ground. "I think I might have outdone myself with this place."

Cautiously, the three friends made their way down the flimsy fire escape that was barely clinging to the front of the building they'd stepped out on. As soon as Mabel's foot touched the ground, the shriek of a horse's call rang out, loudly. The sound reverberated through the streets and alleyways. It echoed around them to such an extent that it was impossible to determine where it had originated.
"Would it be worth splitting up?" Kristoph considered, chewing at his lip.
"Have you ever watched a horror movie, Kris?" Mabel hissed, "never split up! We'd be much easier pickings for the likes of..."
Another piercing shriek filled the air, and Thet's head snapped sharply to face an alleyway to his left.
"Down here!" He murmured, as he hurried down the unevenly paved gulley. Kristoph and Mabel desperately ran after him.
Laboured panting and grunting grew louder with every step they took. Mabel looked between Kristoph and Thet, wondering, and almost hoping that it stemmed from them! No. Thet couldn't breathe and Kristoph, despite having abused his lungs from years of smoking, was surprisingly fit and agile. Mabel swallowed a lump in her throat, anticipating her worst nightmare as they rounded a corner and there, with a cruel barbed lance penetrating its haunches, lay a jet-black steed.
"Jésús," Mabel felt tears begin to fall down her cheek, as she hurried toward the struggling creature. "It's okay, we're here. You're alright!" Softly she cradled the steed's head in her lap. The horse tried to shift its front legs around and lift itself up from the ground, but the foul weapon had lamed him by skewering him cruelly to the ground. The pain her friend was in looked unbearable and beads of sweat mixed with bright red blood mingled together around his strong haunches.

"Thet?" Mabel choked back a loud sob, "can't you do something?"
Thet looked sadly down at the horse, who's bloodshot eyes looked up at his with an acceptance of fate that only such noble creatures can exude.
"I'm sorry Mab," he sighed, "this is beyond my skill."
"No," Mabel shook her head, "I refuse to believe that."
Jésús buried his long muzzle into Mabel's hands. Blood had congealed around his mouth and with a thought that felt like a blade, piercing her own heart, Mabel recalled Samael's words "I taste metal for Mr. Guerrero."
Thet knelt beside Mabel and wrapped a comforting arm around her, "Mab, there's very little any of us can do for him right now. We need to move on. War would have fallen with him, so we need to find him quickly."
"I'm not leaving Jésús!" Mabel gasped, incredulously. "We can't just abandon him here like this, can we Kris?"
Kristoph grimaced as he looked closer at the lance which had pierced through their friend.
"Who wields a spear like this?" He asked, as he surveyed the cruel blade. The long wooden shaft was jagged, twisted and splintered with age. The wood was burnt black and seemed to smoke acridly.
Thet looked up and narrowed his eyes "Longinus," he said through gritted teeth; "I should have known he'd have rallied with the son."
"That's poetic," Mabel wiped her eyes. "The Roman who pierced the side of the Son-Spot, pierces our friend Jésús. No one really knew what happened to him."
Thet nodded, "I heard lions would maul at him in a cave. I think that would be enough for anyone to develop feelings of resentment. Not to mention he's a Roman, and they were always a weird bunch. Full of spite and mistrust. So eager to incorporate a conquered people's religion, just in case theirs wasn't quite right."
"Can you not remove it?" Mabel asked the two men, "at the very least we can offer him some relief!"