Army of Sin - Season 3 - Africa and Her Secrets

Episode X - The Sun Sets On Our Friendship

Location: South Africa, 1966...

The salt of his sweat blurred his vision as he tore through the shrubs. Leaves whipped at his face, yet the adrenaline flooding his veins left him unaffected - such was the power of the fear that now propelled him. He could not hear them over the beat of his own heart roaring in his ears but he knew they were on his heels. The civil war had been waging all year with both sides suffering huge losses yet the ranks were always replenished and the very next day the bloodshed continued. Now as the young soldier beat feet through the dense forest with the fighters of the opposition in his wake, his own conscience screamed at him, chastising him for his decision to join a war for a land he had no claim over. His rifle had but one round of ammunition left and not even one well placed round was enough to stop a warrior. They seemed to be propelled by a sense of inner pride that made them into frenzied lions. Even if he took down one between the eyes; they were known for how they dealt with prisoners of war...

He passed a great tree to his right, a landmark that signified the river was close. He was running out of time. Throwing himself to the ground as a bullet shattered an old tree branch ahead of him, he scrambled towards a dense patch of low bush before cocking his weapon. Using the back of his palm, he cleared the drops of sweat before walking his body slowly backward and deeper into the brush. The thorns pulled at the khaki of his uniform but again, this pain was easily accepted if it meant escaping the torture and humiliation that awaited. Shoving a sleeved forearm into his mouth in an effort to muffle his gasps of breath, the fresh-faced soldier closed his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath in an effort to regain composure. The earth felt as if it gave way from beneath him, his body feeling weightless and free. Reopening his eyes, he blinked and reopened them again, almost certain that his eyes were still closed.

Who are you? A faint voice came floating through his mind.

He reached for the weapon he hoped was still strapped to him.

 What good would that weapon be? The voice asked again. Let us speak, Mortal.

Above the space where he now stood suspended, he could hear footsteps and muffled conversations of the warriors as they searched for him. Panic threatened to set in as he wondered just where he was.

 I heard you shuffling above my resting place like some rodent. Since you seem afraid to talk, allow me to introduce myself; you may call me Henrí Donoma...

"We have arrived sire," the heavy bass of Alesky's voice announced, piercing the veil of the distant memory. "One of your kind is here." Henrí opened his eyes slowly as they inched down the length of the driveway. Sighing at who it was, the fallen angel lightly squeezed the thick rope of his aide's shoulder muscle before opening the door of the rolling sedan himself. "Sire?" Alesky asked in confusion.

"Go to your mother. I will be fine here. We shall rendezvous at Los Angeles in two weeks."

"Understood!" was the Russian's classic, cryptic response.

The last thing the mortal who had been given a second chance at life saw, was Henrí, boasting two pairs of beautiful wine-red wings walking to stand next to another of his kind whose wings were grey deepening to black at the tip.

It was said that the angel of the Silence of Death had never smiled in all his centuries of existence. The closest he got to joy would be in his dry commentary or a slight, barely discernable twinkle to the perfect halves of his black and white eyes. You would have had to have been around him for a very long time and for a being as old as Henrí, he had grown quite fond of the enigma that was Dumah's personality.