Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

Episode XIII - Karma's Kiss Pt. 2

Location: Plymouth, England…

 

The recoil of the gun had the shooter at his back temporarily losing control of the weapon. As the weapon bucked upwards Alesky closed the distance, twisting viciously on the gun. The newcomer looked like an older, better-dressed version of James with gel-slicked hair and a nose that had been broken and rehealed in two different spots. His face blanched as his wrist snapped;the sound of a dry twig echoing in the room yet he still aimed a valiant kick at Alesky’s groin. Alesky caught the impact on the inside of his thigh, kicking the gun that fell from now limp hands out of sight. Rearing back his head, he butted the other man, breaking his nose as blood spurted, temporarily blinding him. Stumbling back, he tensed as he heard a shout from behind him. A human weight landed on his back, its blade slicing into his compact upper muscles. He laughed...

 

Reaching behind with both hands but finding no grip on this new assailant, Alesky threw himself into the air and backward, hearing the lungs of the one beneath him deflate in a satisfying rush. Rolling over, he punched twice into the body before wiping a hand over his face to clear his eyes. Vision restored, he pushed the man’s chin up before driving the heel of his palm into the now exposed larynx.

“What are you?” James blubbered, his previous confidence whittled as he locked eyes with impending death. This juggernaut wore his cousin’s blood on his face with a now-dead Dean’s knife buried in his shoulder yet moving as though he felt nothing.

“Vozdayaniye – Retribution,” Alesky whispered in his mother tongue as he withdrew the knife that jutted out just above his shoulder blade before wiping it on his pants leg, advancing to where James sat transfixed. James’ bowels moved without invitation.

                          ➖➖➖

Alesky awoke with a jolt, fist still clenched as if really holding a blade. The jerk of his body drew a startled sound from the exhausted woman sprawled over him before settling back into her sleeping rhythm. Alesky’s hand swept soothingly along the small of her back. Easing his body from beneath her weight, he allowed himself one last stroke of smooth skin before pushing from the bed and unto his feet. Removing the used condom he had dozed off still wearing, he neatly stuffed it back into its torn packet. Sliding into his clothes, he scanned the room for anything holding the slightest hint of his presence. Satisfied that there was nothing, Alesky opened the door, quietly sliding his body through the space before closing it behind him.

Safely back in his room, Alesky quickly showered before assembling his belongings into the travel backpack he carried. Taking a swig from one of the water bottles at his bedside, he strode over to the door that led to Mr. Donoma’s room.

“Come!” called his mentor’s voice before his knuckles connected with the door.

Henrí sat on one of the plush couches decorating the suite, hair damp from a recent shower, already wrapped in another executive suit. His dark green blazer and matching pants held a slightly silver sheen, plain white shirt beneath the blazer. On his feet, a pair of light brown shoes, the colour mirroring that of his almost bronzed complexion.

“I trust all went well?” Henrí asked rhetorically.

“Sire, I-” the hefty Russian began.

“There is no need to explain,” the older man replied, light catching the deep green of the gemstone on the raised hand used to dispel Alesky’s gratitude. “I have something for you,” he continued, hands now lovingly stroking a wooden box that materialized on his lap. Henrí lifted the lid toward him before turning it to face the young man standing before him.

Lying dormant and innocent in the confines of the box, encased in a black leather sheath was a dagger the length of Alesky’s forearm.

“For your troubles,” Henrí murmured softly, expression unreadable.

Alesky said nothing, his eyes fixed on the handle; the grip made of polished gemstones the colour of a setting sun. He was drawn to the handle, distant echoes and whispers filling his mind, inviting him to wield this new offering. He stroked a finger along the length much gentler than he did the woman in the neighboring room. Curling his fingers around the grip, he withdrew the blade, freeing it from its leather prison. Both sides of the blade were serrated, the length of which was straight for the most part before gently curving near the tip. As he continued to stare at the flat of the blade, Alesky felt his vision begin to warp until it felt as though he were staring down a narrow tunnel of pure light. Closing his eyes reflexively, he opened them as the sound of clamoring weapons reached his ears to find himself transported to a field of angels in the midst of battle.

                            ➖➖➖

It was no battle but a training ceremony.

Two angels danced lightly on the balls of their feet, weapons held at the ready. The larger male of the pair wielded two swords of pure, white light while his opponent had both hands wrapped around a great broadsword, the length of the blade almost as tall as the angel wielding it. They wore no armor, wings spread as they maintained their balance, feet sometimes leaving the ground – such was the strength of a single wing beat.

“Come Brother, let us see what you have learned,” goaded the larger male, his dove grey wings bearing streaks of royal purple.

“Focus Shem!” A feminine voice called from among those gathered loosely in a circle.

“Here I come!” shouted the leaner of the two angels, broadsword held out in front of him.

Alesky felt his mind snap at the sound of that voice; the same voice that had changed his life two years ago. As the vision began to fade, he took a mental snapshot of the angel wielding the broadsword. The image of golden-brown skin, warm brown eyes and curling strands of hair pulled back, the ends brushing against the skin between his shoulder blades. As for his wings, the two pairs of them were pitch-black save for the two large circles, burnt orange in the middle. As the vision faded, the last he saw of the being that he called his Sire was him lunging, blade-first at the other angel, smiles on the faces of both fighters.

Still reeling from the image, Alesky dropped to his knee before the beloved presence before him, “Who are you?” he asked in an awed whisper. “Who were you?”

“Who I am is a far cry from that vision. Who I was is of very little importance,” Henrí replied, rising from his seat. “That dagger however,” he continued, “Is a remnant of my broadsword; a shard.”

“I thank you, Sire,” Alesky said with bowed head.

“Come now, my boy,” Henrí patted the kneeling man’s shoulder, “Let us depart!”

As his aide fell into silent step behind him, Henrí couldn’t help but remember how similar the taller man’s size was to Michael the Archangel’s.

                  END OF EPISODE