Garder mon Ame

Chapter Twenty: There is no Fairness in War

"I have been astonished that men could die martyrs
for their religion--
I have shuddered at it,
I shudder no more.
I could be martyred for my religion.
Love is my religion
and I could die for that.
I could die for you.
My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet."

~John Keats

It was when reports of Turned wreaking havoc in one particular place that they moved. Cyra shook, and Julian just patted him on the arm.

"Death seems to like your hometown, buddy," Julian said. Cyra just stared in return. He was frightened, but not for himself. For his friends both living and dead. He also pitied the Reapers that would meet their end at Emery's hands. Was that what people called bravery, when you do not fight for yourself? Courage is when you care about others first, even your enemies. Cyra never considered himself gallant; he certainly was not fearless. But perhaps he could grit his teeth and do his best. Was the hero foolish, or the most spirited of them all?

"That's it," Julian said when a strange light glowed in Cyra's eyes. "Chin-up."

Emery did not comment on the place that the Reapers decided to take the war, but he rather said it firmly and shifted impatiently as the smoke enveloped the small group of Guardians. Absolute thirst for death shone in his eyes. Yes, Emery was now a wildfire whose very essence would swallow up and destroy those around him. Cyra did not believe such hatred belonged in Heaven, but the Warrior led them to their demise regardless. He hardly seemed to even recognize his fellow angels; his mission was personal.

To quell the flame, to quench the hope, the floodgates had been opened and Cyra found himself soaked in a matter of seconds. Cyra started as a bright, white light flashed in a zigzag across the sky, and thunder clapped as though God was cheering them on. If that was the case, then Cyra did not mind the rain.

The war was agonizingly slow to begin. Just one Reaper emerged at first through the deluge of the heavens, and Emery jumped at the poor soul and drove his halo into his scalp with vindictiveness. Two more appeared, and Emery slayed them as well while crying in hysterical bloodlust. Another one. A different angel stepped forward, but Emery pushed him out of the way to get to the Reaper himself. It really was just watching Emery crumble, his fortuitous wall he had so carefully built be ripped apart brick by brick. If anything wrote songs about the war, then there would be nothing more morose, more languid than his tune.

But then the caesura. The Reapers materialized leisurely, sure, but then the stillness created tension. Even the rain seemed to halt. Emery paced back and forth like a tiger at the zoo, his restlessness adding to the pressure rather than ease it.

"I don't understand," Cyra whispered, almost inaudibly, but Julian held a finger to his lips. The child appeared terrified.

The intuition of youth alerted that Guardian to the worst. From the dark rain, figures appeared like apparitions, silent with weapons drawn. Cyra noted some of them had maces. Whips. Daggers. And guns. How would his halo protect him from a bullet?

A young man stepped forward with auburn hair and stormy eyes. His voice covered the air thick like honey. The dread Cyra felt could not be explained by any reason than the man just radiated evil. He now knew the Devil's face, and he was horrified.

Emery had quit his canter. He stared at the young man and spat hatred. "Grim."

"Emery," Grim said back. Grim held up a single finger to stay his advancing angels. "It's been a while."