Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

Episode XIX - A Series of Fortunate Events

Location: Marseille…

Dumah landed at the doorstep of the main house in silence. Folding his wings about his body just under his chin in a rare display of angelic flexibility, he walked through the wooden door as if it never existed. There would be no alarms raised, no trumpet to herald his arrival; for he was silence and death in one.

Raising his forearm, he stared at the name and address that had scrawled across it mere hours ago: “Kenneth Brock of  666, Herzgate”. Leaving no footprints in his wake, he flowed down the corridor, the smell of food directing his path until he came to a large doorway leading left. Through this doorway, wisps of dark blue leaked out into the hall where he stood, laboured breathing reaching his ears. Dumah blinked slowly, reopening his eyes to uncork the tiny flask that materialized in his hand. “Ven!” he whispered, eyes glowing in the soft darkness of the hallway – the white and black halves of his eyes separated by a thin vertical line of red.

As commanded, the dark blue wisps shot into the small flask until no trace of them remained in the air. Replacing the small cork, the angel walked into the room, sidestepping several carelessly strewn food boxes. A man lay on the ground, his movements lethargic even as he attempted to shove a handful of marshmallows into his mouth. Reaching down, Dumah gripped the food addict by the back of his collar, hauling him unceremoniously into the air. The other man’s face was a mask of anguish as he thrashed in an attempt to free himself, his entire being focused on the almost empty pack of marshmallows.

Knocking over glasses and plates alike, Dumah spread his wings to their full reach before using the flat of his palm to slap the mortal in his hands across the face. “Are you Kenneth Brock?”

Lucidity filtered into Kenneth’s face, fear flooding it as he stared into a pair of eyes too unique to be natural. From left to right, those eyes were pitch black dotted by white vertical half-moons separated by a thin line of brightest red. Behind the other man’s shoulders, were a pair of wings spread wide. His face was smooth with a gently curved chin; yet the ease with which he held Kenneth suspended was enough to inspire fear.

The sound of the slap reverberated throughout the kitchen, the force of it producing a tiny cracking sound in Kenneth’s neck. Breathing past the taste of blood in his mouth, Kenneth fought to hear over the ringing of his next ear.

“Are you Kenneth Brock?” the angel asked.

“Yes.”

“Good, I am the angel Dumah - also known as the Angel of the Silence of Death.”

“What?”

“Death. Death has come for you, mortal.”

“But why? I have so much still to do! Oh God. I am going to be sick!”

“You bear the touch of Gluttony and judging by this scene,” Dumah replied, indicating with his free hand, “You are near death.”

Dumah felt no sympathy for the mortal in his hand, the side of his face bearing a red handprint over the pale flesh. Dropping the man, Dumah folded his wings back beneath his chin before turning to make his way back into the wide corridor fitted with various waiting chairs and gold-framed pictures. Behind him, the sound of smacking lips and torn wrappers wafted into the space in which Dumah stood. Reaching to his waist, he drew ashes from a small pouch. Eyes glowing once more, he blew on the ashes, speaking the Latin word for Shadow as he exhaled.

From the falling ashes, black smoke began to link each molecule together, growing in size until a slender column stood before him.

“Angel,” a feminine rasp greeted.