They journeyed through the whispers, the growls, and the howling of thicket of trees of Saint Vincent town. It was after midnight and under the rainy and cloudless night.
Through hills and pathways, through grass, thorns, goats and beasts and down to a land below the land.
They ventured in with torches and blades, still young and ever ignorant and they ran out in terror, trembling as they did, and more and more they ran, they ran felt drawn, on and on and closer to death.
Paul jammed his palm into his lower belly to keep his on blood from slipping through his fingers and onto the dewy grass.
They staggered through the night hearing and feeling beings faster than they thought possible, beings stronger than they thought possible. It followed them, like a whooshing shadow like an unseen presence.
They had been injured and ripped open by it but hadn't had a glimpse of what they fought.
It conjured itself into their thoughts, it built a castle within their mind, it induced in their thoughts reasons to war with one another.
They placed brother against brother.
They had watched, they had plotted, waited, they had armed themselves only to be fallen without a fight.
Their swords remained sheathed against the vampires even as it clanged against each other.
They fought with such vehement, with every last drop of power and speed they had, deep in the darkness of Saint Vincent, wrapped in the arms of its charm and mystery. But within them, they fought themselves, they battled the control the beings had against their mind, with restraints, with valour, but with that, they couldn’t stop.
All they could do was to try to drive a blade into the beating heart of one another.
Within the nest, in the arms of the clenched together rock walls and the thorns of death. Within the nest they fought, walking on the blood of the dead and its lifeless, still and drained body.
They blade screamed in the fight, their anger and fear poured from their lips and they lacked restraint, the little part of them that knew to keep each other safe, that knew they had a mutual enemy that was the mind infiltrating monsters, that restraint only caused them to battle even more berserk.
Jerold did snap out of their control.
He fought fiercely and with every nerve in his disposal, he fought with every memory, every day of his past decade of their friendship, everything that assured him Paul was his friend, every little memento, that made him see Paul as his brother.
He fought in what in believed in, he fought for the brotherhood and he fought with every thought, every nerve, every cell and molecule, and every anger in him that wanted to pull his blade from Pauls lower belly and drive it into his heart, he fought against it, with hope, with that boiling sensation in his thought that reminded him of life, of brotherhood.
And he broke free.
And the blade fell, clanged on rain, water and sand.
The night's sky was seemingly grey, brightly dark and the smell of rainy waters filled the air, that and blood, and sand, and raging smoke that wafted from the burning tress and grass.
The fire born in their wrath and pugnaciousness.
“It was a mistake, a trap, I'm sorry” Paul pulled him down by his collar to groan into his ear as he clung to himself in pain.
“Don't worry about it, let's get the hell out of here”
“Say it, I know, I know you want to, you were right, we should have learnt more”
“It won’t matter if we're dead, when we're safe I'll gladly kick your ass... again”
He didn't turn back, they wouldn't, not after what they had not seen, what they had not seen that was behind them.
And he pulled bleeding, beat down and numb Paul to his shoulders as they ran through the blood and cold of the night, through the grass the thorns and the beast that had had a taste of their blood, through the wild to the peace of their mansion and the worry that their believed to be easy escape induced.
They did return.
For their own share of flesh, for revenge... they returned with knowledge and skill to annihilate the kind that could control the very fibre of mortals.
He remembered, as it was the day just passed, vivid and whole.
He remembered the night, it was young and grey, cheery and as their courage, strong.
As they ventured under the ash of the night and the soft but chilling wind, singing with the whispers of the nights birds and frogs.
They continued through the boulevard, tracing the path of their blood, following the shadows of the past, the shadows of their youth, ignorance and foolery
And as the night grew older so did it in taste, the whispers of birds and frogs silenced, the cold of the wind was then warm but its intensity shook the earth and trees, the air grew sour and they could hear voices, not of beasts of the night but voices in their own head, voices warning them begging them, forcing them, they understood the migraine, the message, but they couldn't understand a word as it was as distant chattering.
And overhead, stuck to a tree was a man, stabbed in by a hundred knives and by hundreds more tiny thorns and stakes.
They studied his stillness, his breathlessness, his stiffness. He seemed dead. They looked him thoroughly and then back to his face, every single nerve seemed dead, no life, no blood, just nothing but confusion.
And even in his nothingness they felt a soft sensation, one that heightened their humanity, their empathy, the felt a strong tide within them, one that caused them to know no fear, no hate, no reluctance.
It hands were awoken and it gripped hard Jerold’s neck and pulled him close, Paul was enslaved by the solemn stare in his eyes, it charmed him to indecision...
“Jerold!”
“My bad, I just remembered how we met our new enemy, Michael”. He took a deep breath as he pulled himself fully and back to reality.
“A man for the course” He mumbled, “no-o-o emotion what so ever” He added slowly and whispery and with an eye as if he reminisced.
“He imprinted the power of heaven in our weapons... he says it was the order of some higher power”
“Except now we're going after the-e-e Archangel, Mikael; emotionless, powerful, ruthless basically a god, and with what, weapons he made strong, he'd just take back his magic and then we're screwed” He paused, he paced the room, through and back, his thoughts with him, telling him, warning him, “I mean he never does hesitate, Mikael is ruthless beast rewritten to be a symbol of valour and purity, the abomination you both love is basically dead” He raged, raising his hands fast above his head in despair and back them back down.
Silent and seemingly hopeless Belphegor sat not far away, three empty glasses of whiskey by his side and one half empty stuck between his lips as he gulped and gargled.
“Might just kill us all” He replied enthusiastically and then came silence and deep stares, at each other, hoping there will be one wise amongst them it call it all off, the scheming, the preparation, and all things in between.
“So, how do we find him” Belphegor broke the silence, there was unrest in his tone, it sounded different, it vibrated, it was faster, scared like fast, and so was his body and his eye, he could not hold himself still, he wanted to do something, wanted to be doing something... anything.
“Hmm the demon speaks”, “Surely” He paused and turned to Jerold, fixing his gaze hard at him, “Surely Jerold, I'm killing this demon after this”, “Maybe both of...” He was interrupted as Belphegor gripped his collar and pulled him down hard on the glass table.
He grabbed his hair and ran his face to sweep the table. He was disgusted by his presence but sort him to be a kind of help to rescue Hannah, and he did as Jerold said, he digested his hate as he did the content in the bottle he held but it all came pouring out it just one threat.
Belphegor walked to him, where Paul shrugged himself to his feet. He ducked under his thrown fist and clapped his legs into his knees. Paul held the bottle in Belphegor's hand, slammed it on the ground and drove into his knees. He stood to his feet and rammed his leg hard on his face so he fell backward.
Belphegor stretched his hand at him as he rose slowly to his feet and with his outstretch arm came a strong and continuous blast in Paul's head, he felt the nerves in his brain and it was likened to an endless enlargement and shrieking.
It boom within him causing his thought to waver as be did.
It was like a kind if parapsychology, manipulating pain into Paul's being but the power he channelled, drawn from his essence caused him more pain than instilled in Paul.
He hated himself, his existence, he hated that he used his centuries gathered knowledge for storytelling and self entertainment, rather than raw and intense power. He was a wise demon, old and strong, right-hand to Achyls the prince.
He had manipulated nature and the supernatural, creating a loophole in himself that the fullness of his demonic nature, strength, age, might and immortality be in the flesh... that he may not posses a the weakness of a mortal.
He made himself fit to blend with the mortal, having both the benefit of humanity and inhumanity.
He hated himself because he chose to read, to study, to know strategies and secrets of men, beings and things that came before him, he hated himself for liking it enough to read and not enough to apply and now, he would always bend the knee face to face with his better, because he was weak, because he was a fool.
Paul persevered, through the pain, through the wave, through the unnatural, he dragged himself ti Belphegor, he gripped his neck causing blood and air to cease. He pulled a knife from the wraps of his trousers and drove it into his lower chest.
He pulled it out, looking him deep in the soul, telling him with his keen gaze that he would always be his better and he moved the blade in the path of his heart.
“I want you against Michael but I don't need you; we can either be civilised about this or we can go back to killing each other” He muttered after he had pulled him to away, he retrained him by placing his hand softly below his neck, “Let's not see how well you can do with your dead team of raiders” He smiled, patting dust off his shoulders as their eyes went to war.
“You should caution your demon, killing pathetic demons is a fraction of my name”.
“Noted and also remember that the very air you breath is truly and only a result of my mercy” Jerold replied fixing his gaze at Paul's, “Do not defile me”... “So how do we find this Angel”
“Mikael is an Archangel, and his graze on earth is nuclear, it needs containment” Paul shrugged his collar straight as his frowned gaze at Jerold and the demon soon flexed into relaxed mediocrity.
“A place of history, enormous power?”
“Angelic spark if you will”
“Unfortunately, the garden of Eden is lost to history so what are we looking for, an empty tomb?” Jerold exhaled.
“If you educated yourselves you'd realize the existence of a castle by the outskirts of Saint Vincent, the palace in which the war for power and dominion was fought... vampire, werewolf, demons, Angels, arch”
“So-o-o?”
“He'll be in the castle and the question isn't where is the Archangel the question is what are you mortal gonna do against an Archangel” Paul's knew no control as his anger flew from his lips loudly and with command.
“I just need the location, the rest is easy”.
“Surely it is not... Is that how you speak of me, easy?” A voice said as it walked out of the shadows of the room, clapping slowly, sparking within them anxiety and unsettlement. There was a bright white glow in his eye, one that caused them to shake to their being.
“Michael” Jerold groaned, pulling out daggers from the sheaths of his clothes, he scowled as he paced back and sideways slowly, reading his stance, his stare, his smile, his everything.
“What the hell are you doing here” Belphegor grimaced, he realised deep down, covered by love and fantasy that if a battle should break, his life will be reduced to nothingness by just a snap of his finger.
“That's what the humans call irony right?, I'm not sure, still learning”
“Where's Hannah?”
“Ohh she's dead, soon to be if you will, I'm just passing time you know checking on the mortals I equipped with the glory of heaven”
“The mortals plan to use the weapons against you”
“That's stupid” He said after he had removed a straw from close of his lips, his tongue and inner mouth clutched together from the bitterness of the lemon water and as he release, a sound like that of tearing of paper accompanied it, “Those things don't work on me, I'm an Archangel, you know strongest, firsts of the Angels, oldest of all, some would say God's favourite”.
“What is it you want Michael?” Jerold frowned, holding himself back, controlling the dagger tightened in his grip.
“I want to make sure you don't do something stupid, God might want you both alive but he's gone now” He said this, he gazed into their eyes and read the disbelieve in their thoughts, he shrugged it off and turned to leave, hoping they yield to his warning.
“Mikael, I will come for Hannah, even if it kills me”
“If you choose to war with me Belphegor, death will be the least of your worries... and for you J and P, hope you're as wise as the tales says” And he disappeared into nothingness.
His presence shook up within them fear they had ever known, greater than they thought possible.
That a being could be that mighty, that powerful, an Archangel, portrayed as a true force of good, guardians of humanity. Michael the most feared amongst humans, revered amongst his kind, but in hindsight, he was emotionless, ruthless and unstoppable.
How would they stop the unstoppable, how would they battle such power.
He remembered – as he drank from a newly opened bottle that night, back to the night when they pulled out thorns and daggers from the body of a man.
They were shocked as blood nor water poured from it's opening, not even a dark essence. They were in awe, in shock and their lack of action inspired by the mind manipulation (unknown to them) of the being they aided.
It soon bit at their stomach, on and on again, and whilst they tried all they could to behead it, they strife with every fibre of their body and soul but they found themselves nurturing it back to life.
After the knives was pulled out and it exhaled in relieve and turned its gaze at them, at their weakness and incompetence, they could only gasp in ignorance, they didn't know whether to fear it, they just hoped they broke free from the bondage that was within them.
They watched it light up, the bright white light caused them to squint in pain and as they behold, they could see a spectacular melody, feathery, white, brighter and fairer than snow, perfect and white, shoot from his back.
“I am Archangel Mikael... and you aided heaven and now heaven shall aid you”.
They ventured, back to the wild, the hills, back to the thicket of trees, thorns and beast, shivering in fear and the stabbing cold of the night, heeding to the every waver and night's cackle, armed to the teeth and ever thankful to Michael.
He had poured the grace and might of heaven to all their weapons, he had made them equals with even the mightiest of beings, the vampires.
And on to the nest they hunt.
And soaked in blood of the undead they returned.
“You didn't do anything! And now she's dead, she's dead Jerold, she's dead Jerold!” She voiced loudly, straining her neck, “She's dead” She whispered as she sobbed on her knees.
She barely knew her, but she felt a bond with her, a bond so strong, one that caused her death to weaken every cell within her, one that caused her to weep, to feel her death as if it were her that died.
They had saved her from the vile and cruelty of ancient vampires, they washed her clean, clothed her, fed her, sheltered her... they protected her.
Hannah grew fond of her, her innocence, her sense of hope, she saw in Monique the helpless girl she once was, a girl at the mercy of her betters, unable to live, unable to love. She saw in Monique a chance to experience everything she couldn't have in her youth.
She nurtured her, as a mother figure, assisted her, she gave her life she – Hannah, could only imagine, a life of wealth and protection, a life of freedom and bliss, a home were there's hope, were there's peace and in turn she gave Hannah the one thing she always wanted, home... love.
“I didn't mean for her to die, I didn't...”
“You're a hunter! Jerold, death and misery is what you live for; I wanted her safe, I wanted her free, I... I” She gnashed on and on feeling a continuous bang in her head, in her thoughts, punishing her, exacerbating every pain in every inch of her body. She knew she couldn’t change what had happened but wished it hadn't or at least she wished the pain would pass.
But it didn't.
“You said you only wanted to help me, be my ally, but you were a hunter all along, probably planning my demise, a wolf in sheep clothing, even as I grew to see you as an friend, you plotted against me, after all am I not an abomination”
“Hannah” He called as rushed to her, he stood just a breath away, he could smell the sweet and soft scent of her wet hair, the gel, he saw the waters in her eyes as she tried to keep it in but it inevitably trickled down her cheek.
He was softened, his heart warmed and hurt, he wished could stop her tears, he wished it could make her blissful, he wished he could give her Monique, give her love, home and every single paradise she built in her thoughts.
Even as he wished she could see him as what he always said himself to be, he hated her for her blindness, that she proclaimed him guilty for a loss he had no hand in. He hated her for turning what was meant to be a blissful return from the hands of the Archangel to an aura of pain and tears.
He cherished her and in her tears he did curse himself.
He wallowed in himself, he gnashed, and even as he tried to speak, he found himself whispering murmurs, he found himself lacking the very words that was once in his thoughts.
“I don't know what to say but I'm sorry”, “What we had was built on truth, I saw hope in you not abomination and I know it's hard now to forgive but give me a chance, I'll earn back your trust, we'll create a home together, just, just...ahh” He sighed as he looked into her eyes.
“No!” She snapped from before him, she cried and she shrugged through and back, on and on she repeated, “no, no no no, no, no!”, Feeling a pit in her stomach, an emptiness within her, one that cursed her skin to itch, that caused her body to rule itself, moving as it pleased, without her control, without restraint.
She felt also a purge within her at the sight of him, she saw in him a wreaking ball... “Leave me be” she whispered now seating on her knees staring into the ground
“Hannah, I...” He fell on his knees and caressed his hands on her cheek, wiping her tears as he did.
“Leave me be!” She yelled pushing him from her as she fast to her feet, “You! You” She pointed in rage and hate and irritation, “I hate you” She shrugged, “I hate you, I loathe you Jerold” She cried as she pointed
She couldn't speak as she wanted to, her voice broke, her hands was shaking, she couldn't feel her heart even as it race on and on and on.
She gave in to the pain, to every feeling, guilt, remorse, grief and with it she let out a loud cry, one that caused more pain in her than it did outwardly even as the foundation of his mansion shook to the brick.
She felt every cell and every bone in her body weaken, everything she thought to be sane vanished, everything in her couldn't fathom the pain she felt for the loss of a girl she barely knew.
She couldn't understand and she couldn't stop the raging waves of boiling pain that caused by being hurt, to feel weakness, pain and betrayal.
She believed in all rational and irrational thoughts maybe, maybe she felt dead in the death of Monique.
Jerold froze
Even as Belphegor walked in.
He couldn't understand but he could imagine.
Having an unfathomable attraction to something, to someone, that when they're snatched from grasp it feels as the end of the world.
Everything believed to be sane, everything believed to be true, everything that was good to be felt, lost.
And nought was left except the hole where she, Monique, was supposed to be.
As she felt so did he.
He remembered her, before the invasion of the Angels, before her capture, when they knew momentary bliss, when they believed That the worst had passed. He could still feel her lips, he could still perceive savours of her nudity, it was fresh, it was exquisite, beautiful and now... tainted.
They journeyed through the night.
Back to the place where it all began.
Again and again and all over again.
Within the walls and scraps of that ancient castle.
Withstanding fire, water, light and utter destruction that befell it through out time.
On and on and over again.
Damned to hostility and wrath of beings lurking in the depths of the shadows.
And now, bound round to its broken pillar, chained with metals superior to men, captured by might, drained by grace and a slave to the host of heaven.
She sat, she dreamt, she waited, for that fast and inevitable death.
She found herself reminiscing, she pulled her consciousness into her thoughts, as a chance of bliss before the inevitable.
She was torn, her hair lingered all around, it shadowed her face that was wet and dirty with mud, her skin darkened with mud, with water and thickened by her own blood, her hair fell, glued to all sides of her shoulders and her lips as a dead pink glow.
She could only reminisce on the good times, she could only reminisce on her times with Jerold, the days with a touch of glee, peace and love that imparted in her hope, a reason to carry on a life of exile and misery.
There was his smile, there was his words, his bravery, and there was a mystery to him, one she could only now understand... why he would risk his life for her, a woman he barely knew.
She recalled the taunting words of her abductor, words that caused her heart to shatter, words that birth in her hate, words that opened her eyes to the possibility.
She remembered as his words crushed every foundation of love, trust and friendship built by the words and promises of Jerold.
“My friends will come for me” She mumbled in the dryness of her lips, of her throat as she pulled slowly and vainly at the chains wrapped round her waist.
“And by friends you mean Jerold?”.
“He will come for me, and he will burn everything in his path”.
“Really, there must be something to give you such assurance?”.
“He loves me” She whispered weakly her eyes half closed and her lips moved exhaustion and emptiness as she spoke.
It was as if the chains that held tight her body and strength also held in its grasp and merciless her being. She was drained, she felt everything unnatural, every strength, speed, every power she felt within herself being sucked out by the chains.
It brought her down to true mortality. For the first time in half a millennia she felt total nothingness within her, like a darkness, in her being and in her natural body, she was thirsty, she felt vain hunger, she felt the cold piercing into the weakness of her now mortal skin.
It caused her to remain still, to seat in hopeless and the bone-chilling cold, biting her teeth, forcing in and outs breaths, trying as much as she could to move her thoughts from the pain to hope.
“You believe it so but what if I told you the truth, what If I said to you, your friend, your lover is a hunter, renowned amongst his kind”.
“What”.
“What if I told you the truth, that the man you think you know is far from it, that you are not his first time with your kind... strengthened by Paul, both of them have killed three Nephilim, three of your kind”... “Where it gets more interesting, there are barely any of your kind in this day and age”.
“I don't believe you”.
“I don't expect you to, given that he is a master manipulator, you only see what he wants you to see”, “But deep down you know the truth, you don't want to believe it but it's there... you're in love with a monster”.
His words paved a strong path into her soul, causing her to shatter the very foundation of trust she had with Jerold, revisiting every day, every minute, every word and joke, every reassurance, every promise... Monique.
Her shattered soul crush in on itself, she recalled the death of the little girl sworn into their protection. She could only let the tears travel down her cheeks as she had no strength, no voice to cry.
“Mi-cha-el!” There was a loud cry below the hall and three sets of steps could be heard crushing leaves and sticks as they matched into the ruins of the castle.
She could only raise her head the little she can as she whispered, “Jer-r-old”.
They rummaged through the corners of the dirt house, through its breakings, its scotch marks, its bones and the cries of treacherous underneath.
“Brethren, if you have come for her I can assure to I will be belligerent” Michael announced as they walked into his presence, his hands outstretched.
“Good, so I can boast that I killed the Archangel” Belphegor replied pouring his gaze at him even as they were at the ends of the hall.
“Give us the abomination and we'll be gone as darkness in the dawn” Paul said as he tried to avoid the pugnacious stares of both sides.
“You see that chain, you see the carvings on it, it's Enochian, spelled to render its captive mortal, and only an Arch of heaven can pull it free” He smiled walking through the hall to them, “So even by a miracle I die, it's sealed shut forever... win win, win for me”.
“Enough words Michael, come on, try your best to stay alive” Jerold grinned as he jumped in the air, fist first against his warm smile.
The first minute.
They had a taste of his calm, they fought without inhibition, they shouted, they frowned, they fought with every last strength they could summon.
Knowing deep down that they stood no chance against his wrath, and even then as he fought them without grace, he turned their offenses against them.
He battled through their formation like a Greek warrior, forcing them into doubt, sparking in them an strong emotion, stronger even than fear... terror.
Time passed on and on but as rain and thunderbolt broke through the heavens and as he pulled their being to the air with nought but his mind they felt a burning in their insides, a burning that knew no end, that made to life pain that could only be exacerbated, pain that made them an alien in their own flesh.
As they remained suspended in the air, their bodies clinched to itself, they felt life renounce its obligations in their head, and then replaced by redness, by numbness.
In the crushing pain that engulfed their every molecule, they felt no time, no nature, no end... nothing. They just had a pit within them, likened to a beating heart but with each beat was enlargement and it was beating on and it was beating fast.
They could already taste the end, bloody, wet, and torn apart.
They struggled, they fought, they let out a cry that shook more pain within them.
They saw the end as a shadow within them, urging them to accept, to let go... to die.
Paul closed his eyes, to block out the words of Jerold and the demon, to block out the pain, to block out the emptiness and timelessness, to let himself know final peace... Cherry.
“To you Paul I will grant a quick release” Michael said with the wind, the rain and the thunder as his voice.
He raised him up by moving his hand higher in the air and then shut it to a tightened fist.
Paul felt himself lift from his whole body, he felt a wave of darkness swallowing everything in its paths, his memory, past and present, his thoughts, his personality, his soul.
He never knew the feeling of death, he never knew how to battle death, his subconscious had no past for this new feeling, he had no foundation, no memory of it, it just casted his past in his dying eyes, bliss, love, hurt and pain. Jerold, Bianca, Kathryn and Cherry.
Past and present and then there was a white light, seemingly powdery burst from within him then swallowed a raging fiery darkness.
And then he fell.
And then there was nothing.
Michael turned his stare from the lifeless body of Paul and fixated it with a smirk on Jerold's.
He said with his gaze and the pride in his smile that he was to be and for always exalted above demons, Angels hunters.
“I have once again proven my name” His voice echoed with heavenly whispers.
He stood before the long wooden coffin, the name Paul Barry Krepke stamped in its head and beside him was a demon, one that did loathe the deceased but knew the honour in death, death against a mighty foe.
There was Hannah, there was Belphegor and him, Jerold.
They laid him to rest underneath the earth as one spoke of his goodness.
“Paul was the little family I had, my brother, he stood by me, he loved me, he taught me true loyalty and yes he did steal from me love, he will remain my brother... forever to be remembered, forever to be loved” He whispered as he looked into the day, he thought of Cherry, she knew not of his death and he didn't know how he would bring himself to tell.
“Paul Barry Krepke, hunter, brother and lover... rest now old friend” He added as he opened the coffin and placed a jar of ash with him and he turned and walked away.
As he walked away he knew not why he dropped that ash, he didn't know what it was but he was sure it was a token, a token of vengeance.
And locked in the shadows of his own thoughts was the hole he felt after the battle, the feeling of something in place of the nothingness he felt.
He didn't remember the power and took authority over him at Paul's death, it broke him free from the spell of the Archangel that hung his body in the air.
And as he fell he dashed against him, no thoughts, no hesitation, nothing but raw intense and engulfing hate, and need to kill.
He could remember the feeling in Paul's death, that made he fluctuate, that made him cling to himself. He forced back the tear that felt originated from the emptiness in his stomach because he knew that one tear means a thousand more.
For a brother he would never see again.
He couldn't remember charging against Michael but through layers of walls he was knocked back.
Belphegor fell, he grabbed a tree branch, he whispered in an unknown tongue and then a red flame burst itself into the stick.
He vanished, leaves, dead and not scratching on itself as it wavered by the wind that was in his fast nothingness.
He reappeared before Michael and torched his white glory.
Immediately Belphegor felt a fast hotness from the sole of his feet and took him in wholly into its fiery damnation.
His black and burnt flesh fell. His eyes remained open but he saw nothing, he heard nothing, he smelt nothing but he felt every single pain.
The burning, the chilling cold that stabbed itself on his existing pain, there was the pain of his organ slowly and slowly dying.
He was locked in a kingdom of his own making as he was left to question his decision going against the Archangel in loneliness and pain.
Jerold sprang from his feet, he looked to Michael and he felt a vibration within him, one that was connected to a power he never knew existed within him.
He felt himself more and more drawn away and into himself and a new mind, a new soul, a new being took charge.
Michael gasped slowly backwards in shock and fear that trickled down his throat at the sight of a bright white light that beamed from his eyes.
Jerold raced with unimaginable speed, one that casted shadows of himself in his passed footsteps as if he was everywhere all in that single second.
As he rushed past now numbed and seemingly lifeless Hannah, he pulled the chains with him and it snapped her free.
He roared in vengefulness and hate as he threw the chain to wrap Michael round.
He held the end side pulled Michael to him, he jumped and jammed his knee on his face.
He whirled back to his feet, he choked him hard on his throat and swept the grass and leaves and sand with his face.
Only now was his perfection stained with blood, only now was his whiteness stained, and only now was his authority over heaven ceased.
There was terror within him, he had shrugged off the glow in his eyes as he believed it to reflection but now, as he, the Archangel Michael was over powered by a mortal, he stared into Jerold’s grin in wonder and saw within the mortal flesh and to his greatest surprise a semblance that forced out a whisper, “Chamael”.
Jerold gazed into his eyes as he forced Michael on his knees, there was just hate and merciless in his eyes, and in Michael’s, fear, shock, plea and regret, “Michael, you will die a slow and painful death, one that will make you wish you locked me and not Lucifer in hell,, but while I have my fun, remember” He paused as a bright white light glowed in his eyes again and with it Michael's feathery and impeccably white and bright wings of beauty shoot from his back
Jerold smiled and pulled him to his feet by one hand tightly on his neck and the other moved to his back.
He looked him in the eyes and smiled as he snapped out his right wing, “The Archangel Michael has fallen”.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson (Prequel; Divinity Crisis Triology)
FantasíaA hunter encounters a new creature that changes his definition of good and evil
