Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -

Azrael was terribly angry with him. Dizzy and confused, Michael wondered what had happened to Hell? Where was he now? Why, oh why, did he have to get in that Daemon's face? He felt nauseous. Wherever he was, Michael could barely make out his own hands in front of him. A large shadow moved in the mist, pacing, circling him, all the while remaining hidden. Its presence was as cold as the anger in Azrael's disembodied voice, "How could you do that? You crossed a very powerful Daemon in his own realm."

"I'm sorry." Michael said.

"Between Charon and Dumah, you aren't making any friends."

"I'm sorry."

"A simple sorry isn't going to cut it! Why did you wander off like that?" Her voice asked as the shadow continued to circle him.

"I didn't wander off! You were busy talking with Sataniel. I started feeling all heavy and I could barely move. Let alone speak! I'm sorry I got in Dumah's way, but I couldn't stand watching that girl suffer."

"Suffer? Suffer!" Death's scream shook the very ground. The bass in her voice took a divine tumble down the octaves. "What do you think happens in Hell, Michael? Boat cruises and free golf? Souls have chosen to be here. They chose to suffer. You had no right to intervene. Dumah had every right to punish you. If you hadn't been under my protection, I'd have no choice but to let him have his way with you."

"You'd let him torture me?"

A blast of heat and light knocked Michael to the ground. The light's intensity evaporated the heavy mists that had obscured the shadow. As Michael looked up he saw her, standing twelve foot tall, her torso draped in a shimmering silver mail coat. Wearing a breastplate of the finest gold, her armour shone bright. It reflected her aura of a rippling, silvered onyx. An outline of fire burned black, its shadows clinging to her most monstrous projection. Great black wings unfurled behind and above her. As their black feathers spread out Michael saw within their plumage the glittering of many eyes behind the feathers. A scabbarded sword hung from the silver cords of her cincture. Holding a scythe in her right hand, a great black book was chained to her left.

The blue fire of her eyes frightened Michael. Tears welled up in his eyes. Even though fear coursed through every part of him, she was still so beautiful. He could not bear her being angry with him.

Azrael, in her truest guise, saw Michael's fear. The fires of her eyes burned out. She softened them and folded her wings behind her. She knelt, placing her scythe and book on the ground. With the book's chain hanging from her wrist, her wings wrapped protectively about Michael. She cradled him like a child in her giant arms.

"Michael," She said, "You must let go of what you believe to be decent or wrong. Those beliefs you hold onto belong to the living. You aren't alive, you are the dead. A spirit, a soul, you can be free if you let go of the chains you carry."

Michael, wiping the tears from his eyes, said, "I just couldn't let him do that to her, it was..."

"Wrong?" She asked, "Of course it was wrong, but it's what she asked for. Do you know what she did in her last life?"

"No, of course not."

"Exactly, so how can you judge what was happening? Besides the fact you were in Hell, and that a Daemon's whole purpose is to incite evil, cause suffering, pain and turmoil, what did you know?"