First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

27. Soul Mates

        COLD WIND VIOLENTLY WHIPPED their hair as the crusaders tumbled through a whirlwind of light and strange magic, like being sucked through a wormhole of pure energy. Voices spoke and whispered from a sea-green haze; some recognizable and others unknown.

    "Keep them safe," said a male voice with a slight English accent, groggy and elderly from the tone. "The fate of the world depends on it."

    "May they find a window for every closed door." a recognizable Scottish accent could be heard surging through the walls of light.

    "May you light their way in this their darkest hour." Melanie's voice quivered, obviously in tears as she prayed.

    It was then that Urielle realized that the strange phenomena that was the Abyss was somehow channeling the prayers of their family above, a divine characteristic unexpected in such a dreadful place.

    The voices didn't let up as she placed her hand upon Michael's stomach, allowing her Supernal energy to surge through his deadly wound. She kept her worried glare locked on his sky-blue eyes, silently praying it wasn't too late. His eyelids were half-open, trapped somewhere between life and death.

    'It is not your time, my love.' she whispered in his ear ever-so sweetly. 'This world in not through with you just yet.' With an abrupt thrust, the encrypted bullet was pulled from his flesh, but Michael did not react—not so much as a slight whimper. The bullet was released, and the tiny inscriptions were alive with surging ember as though it could somehow feel the power of the Abyss, floating about in zero gravity.

    'Is he gone?' asked Anubis, noting his lack of response.

    'No.' she replied. 'His heart still beats, but he's lost a lot of blood.' Her hand upon his head, she held him close in mid-air, pushing her Supernal light into his wounds. The skin on his head tightened and sealed, the swelling on his face subsiding, bruises and cuts healing instantly. Michael would be scarred for the rest of his life; a small price to pay for the cause, she was sure would be his response, had he been fully conscious.

    Urielle closed her eyes as the trio fell further through the unknown, healing herself as best as possible. The deep claw and teeth marks on her skin sealed shut, the red hue of each laceration changing pigment. Bruises yellowed and swelling subsided. Within seconds she appeared noticeably healthier, but it was clear in her exhausted eyes that the healing process had drained her well.

    "Michael, if you can hear me, you must listen," Ophanim's voice echoed through the Abyss with a warning tone, which caught Urielle's attention. "The Magi transcripts foretell of the destruction of the—" the message cut in and out, as though the Abyss was losing reception. "You will unleash Hell on earth if you—"

    'Ophanim?!' she cried out. 'I can't hear you.'

    ". . . prophecy will be fulfilled. You must not play into his hand—"

    With a muffled thump they abruptly face-planted onto a soft and slippery surface as the light of the Abyss vanished from sight, and the echoing voices were gone, cutting Ophanim's dire warning short. The cushiony pink ground was welcoming compared to the rocky terrain from which they had leapt moments ago.

    Urielle wasted no time searching through her utility belt, scrambling for anything that could help rejuvenate him as Anubis kept on guard for anything that might approach. It seemed they were alone, at least for the time being. Michael laid semi-conscious on the strange, pink floor as she tilted his head forward, pouring small mouthfuls of water into his mouth to wash down the pills. He swallowed with a groan, choking between nosed breaths, his vision returning but only just.