Sanctuary of Tears

1 - Azrael

    Grey flecks spiraled down from the dreary, black sky settling in the green grass and catching in the airy pink flowers of a lone cherry blossom tree that stood proudly in the center of an open glade. A soft wind stirred the falling ash, sending it throughout the surrounding forest brimming with wild creatures moving through the bracken and tall grass. A figure appeared in the center with a flurry of ash. 

  The tall man held a black-bladed scythe that he spun between his thumb and forefinger; he scanned the glade with piercing gray eyes. Seeing the startling blue water of a large lake, a small waterfall trickling into the dark depths, he nodded. Turning his gaze elsewhere he inspected the dim forest, there was more to the mysterious forest than meets the eye. Squaring his shoulders, his eyes filled with determination. 

   They would meet here. They wouldn’t know, nor would they know each other. There would be many, some would never return home. They would be from the future, from the past, and from now. From the worlds still unknown and from places yet discovered. They would be strong and they would fight. Fight for everything they knew and for everything they didn’t know.

   Another man by the name of Azrael stood, black wings unfolded and spread. The moonlight glinted off of the carefully cared for feathers. His muscular pale body stood relaxed, and at the same time tensed, the air around the glade was cold. His scythe reflected the light, a razors edge that brought death where he went. Though his eyes were a light blue, they seemed to cut through the woods and air around him. He was an Archangel. The Archangel of Death.

   The man cloaked himself in light, hiding from all’s prying eyes. Searching for a particular presence, he closed his eyes. Finding the Archangel of Death within the leafy confines, the hidden man summoned a small flame. The bright flame danced in front of the archangel, floating in the air, it sparked and glowed brightening the surroundings.

    Azrael growled darkly, the light reflecting back in his eyes. He lifted a hand slowly, almost as if to touch the flame. He pulled back for a moment, folding his wings onto his back and summoning a flame the same size as the one in front of him. Though the fire was dark and devoid of color.

   The hidden man chuckled, entertained by this small challenge. Yes, he had made good decisions. The orange flame grew in size, a violent fire threatening or a warm peace. Shrinking to its original size, the flame danced away spattering embers onto the ash layered forest floor.

    Azrael growled, rolling his eyes as the flames died in his hands, following the bright orange flame. He had never been one to run, and an intrusion upon his glade was the last thing he would tolerate.

   Smiling, the man directed the burning flame closer to the center of the glade. Where a heavy silence had descended upon the open area. It swirled and jumped, exuberant and eager, to lead Azrael to the designation. Soon, the flame was snuffed and the desolate glade lay before the archangel's eyes. The shadowed figure of the man apparel as he unveiled himself.

   Azrael readied his scythe, the weapon had been named Dameclese. It was as much as of an envoy of death as he himself was. He stood, his body coiling like a spring, ready to unleash itself at a moments notice.

"You have entered the Sanctuary of Tears... Leave, now."

   The tall man raised an eyebrow, he shook his head slightly.

"The name shall come true of itself in it's time. And there will be others walking upon this fallen ash and green grass."

   Azrael twirled the scythe lazily in his hand.

"And for every one that comes, they will leave, or join the bones buried beneath the grass. I warn you now. I don't know what you are, but you know who I am obviously. Therefore, I will make this clear," He stepped closer, setting the scythe on his back and raising a hand, the ash around him coming to life and jumping into the air as black flames spread from beneath his feet.

"I am Azrael Nightingale, Archangel of Death. This is my sanctuary, and those who tread here are forever changed."

   A sly smile spread on the man's face, his grey eyes filled with amusement.

"And I, Archangel, am The Guardian. This is my universe and those who challenge me breath their lasts breaths." The black-bladed scythe The Guardian held in his hand hummed with energy, the air around the man himself grew heavy, and a wind with the warning of violence spun around him. He tilted his head and leaned on his scythe,

"Do you challenge me Archangel?"

   Azrael drew his scythe quickly, his wings spreading behind him. The moonlight glinted menacingly off the blade of his scythe.

"I am the Envoy of Death, and I will not hide from you Guardian."

   The Guardian smiled, he released his scythe that faded into nothing, straightening his posture he assessed Azrael.

"I am not asking you to bow, run, or hide from me. I am asking you to stand straight, strong, and proudly." The wind slowed to a gentle breeze as he spoke again,

"You will not hurt those who come nor will you injure me. For you are needed, and you must work together. Otherwise the unfathomable will fall and it will be on your shoulders." He raised his eyes to Azrael's,

"Will you accept the challenge of the future, past and present?"

  Azrael paused, his eyes brightening to blue again, he looked at The Guardian, setting the scythe on his back.

"You are not my master, but you are wise. I will wait... Watch... And learn as I have in ages past. I don't trust you, but I don't trust any of these beings you are planting in my glade. If they are a threat in any way, I will annihilate them. You have been warned."

   "Do not worry Archangel, only a few of them will attempt to kill you on sight." The man laughed lightly. 

   "I thank you for your agreement, but no matter you will not stop the things coming. They approach quickly and they will not slow for matters such as these. I prefer you let them live, as they are not truly evil." The Guardian said with a sigh.

    Azrael nodded in a quiet understanding.

"Are they human?" He asked, as the supernatural weren't out of the ordinary to him. And they certainly would be ordinary to The Guardian.

   "Some may be, some may not. It depends on which forms they posses at the time. There will be angels, demons, humans, manipulators, benders, shape shifters, and more you have never seen before." The Guardian explained carefully.

   Azrael growled darkly, nodding quietly.

"Then I will watch them come, and watch them fall. Welcome to my home, and try not to break anything."

   "You will see that not everyone is as they seem. Some will die and some will live, some may even find more..." The Guardian told him,

"There will be no promises on breaking, for there will be many battles fought upon this ground and much blood spilled. I do hope you lead them when they go through the darkness, for you are the one who knows."

   Azrael turned to face the man.

"I will lead them. If that is my job assigned, but I want to know what it is I know."

   The Guardian sighed,

"I cannot stay and explain to all what has brought them here or even why. They will go on unknowingly so, fighting battles of their own will."

   Azrael paused, thinking to himself before nodding yet again.

"I understand. I will wait for them, and try to be a helping hand."

   The man nodded,

"I thank you for that Archangel. May you find more than you expected." He turned away, the ash swirling as a soft breeze circled him.

   Azrael paused, looking up at the moon, his eyes flickering purple again, the ash picking up and bursting into black flame as it lifts into the air, giving the illusion that the glade itself was on fire.