Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN -

Far beyond the most rural and withdrawn shreds of humanity, in lonely lands where the beasts of the forest seldom wandered, lay the blackened cornerstones of a cruciform cathedral. Swallowed up by a dense wood with leaves the colour of dead blood, the forests were the fortifications of Adimus's refuge on the world.

Passing through nightmare itself and the foggy dreams beyond, Azrael had found the Fallen Angel's ruin. "That's all it is," She murmured to the black stone. "A ruin."

The crumbling and already felled walls lay haphazardly. Most of the vaulting from the heavy stone roof had collapsed inwards. Where the walls were collapsed, flying buttresses and rotting oaken beams stuck out at odd angles above the ruin. What remained of the vaulting reminded Azrael of the exposed ribs of a great dinosaur carcass, waiting for the last scavengers to clean what might remain. What a world that had been, she thought.

The cloisters, overgrown with ivy, were filled with heaps of dead black leaves from countless falls past. Below the cracked moulding of the façade and shattered coat of arms was the entrance portal. The cathedral's doors hung off their hinges, swinging when the wind caught them right. Slipping between their sway, Azrael stepped into the ruin's narthex.

Running down either side of the walls, ambulatories lead to the northern and southern transepts of the building. Looking down the rows of pillars on either side of the nave, the Lady Death surveyed the state of the cathedral. Few of the great stain glass windows were intact. The vaulting had collapsed throughout the nave, stopping just beyond the crossing at the building's heart. Past the transept arms and the choir stalls, most of the sanctuary remained covered. There, the vaulting was beautiful, intricate. Azrael knew this skeleton must have been an exquisite work of art in its day.

Circumventing the nave, Azrael walked along the southern ambulatory, past rows of rotten, shattered pews. Crushed under the stones of the collapsed roof, Azrael's eyes poured over every inch of the ruin's centre. Moving cautiously out of the ambulatory, she moved into the crossing and looked towards the high altar beyond. Standing by the pulpit and stalls of the choir, Azrael watched the passing wind whirl leaves across the cracked and weedy stone slabs of the floor. It was a ghostly image of beauty left in disrepair.

The raven-haired beauty slipped cat-like out of the crossing and down the aisle between the stalls. As her careful eyes scrutinized every detail, high up on the walls, calculating predatory eyes watched her.

Azazel, Haroth and Maroth were perched atop the cathedral's northern transept. Lurking beside the crumbling remains of a mammoth greystone gargoyle, they followed her every movement. Half of the stone guardian's face had been sheared away, whether by time, damage or wind the fallen Watchers didn't know or care. Their prey was the reason they came here. Now it was only a question of when to spring their trap.

Azazel had to watch until this Michael soul tried to surprise them. He fumed about having to wait any longer for the soul to giftwrap and present himself. "Meaningless-little-insignificant-tardy-nothing-in-my-path-gutbag." He growled to his twin henchlings.

"Quite." Haroth hissed.

"Indeed." Maroth echoed his twin.

Azazel brooded. He knew it and chose to concentrate on Azrael instead. They would take Michael with ease before tackling the task at hand. The lady was the big issue and the key was taking her without a fight. At the moment, Azazel hated Shade for being so clever. The former Watcher preferred being the one with answers and ingenious schemes. Azazel smiled, it really was too easy.