Waking up into the dream was like snapping back out of a daydream. I was aware of where I was and what I was doing, but my mind was somewhere else, and here I was now, standing before a giant arch. There was something whispering in my head, disguised as my own thoughts and bringing out the truth inside me.

Lonely, it whispered. Lonely.

“Yes,” I said aloud, almost bashfully, “I am lonely here.”

Why are you lonely? It asked quietly, curiously. You have your family here with you always.

Before I answered, I flashed back to a memory I’d had long ago, when I was first defending the world and humanity from the Fallen. I was still young then, and much more impressionable. I’d been sitting atop a very large tree watching a city thrive. They were happy. Humans had not yet discovered anger or jealousy or sadness or fear. They were still very new to the world, and they were happy. This was my first true instance of happiness, watching the new creatures of the world live and learn and thrive and prosper. Not happiness, but rather a tranquil contentedness. I could have sat there all day, or all year, so long as the humans were
happy.

This was also the first time the Fallen had attacked, and I was the very first to arrive and lead the defense. It started with the corruption of one man, who instantly grew violent over a petty calculating error of trade. He attacked the man before him, who in turn attacked him back, and then unsure of what to do or how it happened, this senseless violence grew and spread among the crowds, until it was nothing but a riot. In the heat of all that rage and bloodshed, the Fallen had begun to crawl through the ground and on to the surface, and once they’d gotten to that point, they no longer had any use for the humans and began to slaughter them.

It made my stomach churn, but I didn’t have the option to sit and humor my nausea. I’d plunged down to the city, my Warcry ringing true through my voice and heard by the other angels above. In that mass of evil was where I received most of my battle scars and wounds, when I had not yet learned the way of the weapon to its fullest extent, but I needed to protect them. In that instance, it was me against all of them, and if I lost, then they would lose their lives. It was that thought that forced me to rise above who I was and what I was capable of to save everyone within my reach. I can still remember each of their individual faces in my head.

Fear was an ugly emotion that had no place on any of their faces, but there was one face that almost stopped me.

I was awed at this expression. It was a man far from me, but I could still see him clearly. He was holding a sickle before him, trying his best to fight off the Fallen, and though I could feel his fear radiating off of him, the look on his face was incredible. I’d never seen such conviction, because behind him was a woman. She was cowering behind him, clinging to him, even though he told her to run, but she wouldn’t leave his side.

“I will die before I leave you!” she cried, picking up a stick and trying her best to put her fear beside her. It was then that the Praemin arrived, and the woman had no need to lay her life down before the man, and the man no longer needed to risk his for her. We’d won that battle, but that image hadn’t left my mind, and I’d started to observe humanity closer, and I learned that humans experienced a different type of love than angels. How parents loved their children was how angels loved humanity. How a brother loved a sister, a friend loved a friend, was how angels loved one another. The love between a man and a woman was no different than some of the love I’d witnessed between two men and two women, but it wasn’t a love angels knew, or could know, and it had broken my heart when I realized this.

Love, it whispered to me in my head. You are lacking this love, yes?

“Yes,” I said softly, recalling the countless embraces I’d witnessed since then. I didn’t feel jealousy, but I felt a sort of sadness, a missed opportunity of sorts.

You crave this intimacy. Why?

“I do not know,” I answered truthfully, looking vacantly through the arch. There appeared to be nothing on the other side of the arch, but I knew it was a different world where all souls eventually go, once they chose to rest.

“It is something I have not experienced, and something I may not experience. I have a long life to live,” I murmured quietly.

All of eternity, if you wish, it responded back. I was silent, not knowing what to say, and it continued, Love is a heavy burden.

“I believe I am ready to carry such a burden,” I answered, thinking back to the guilt I felt every time I couldn’t save a human.

This burden is different than the burden you bear at war, my daughter. You must be willing to bear this burden and still treasure your sense of duty. If you do not, it will quickly consume you, and you will not be able to come back to this world. Are you ready for that?

I took a deep breath and thought for a moment, but a moment even felt too long, and I answered, “I am ready.”

Then I will take away your loneliness, my daughter, it whispered back in my mind. Go and rest your heart, child. Your solitude will no longer be yours alone to bear.

I smiled and said, “Thank you, Omnis,” and I went back to my pavilion. Each of the thousands of angels that existed had their own living quarters, which were all open pavilions. We didn’t have a need for privacy, so we had no walls that separated us from one another. My pavilion was nestled toward the top of a hill, right in between Abaddon and Artiya’s. Each of the pavilions were exactly the same on the outside. The only thing that distinguished them were the gauzy curtains that fluttered gently in the winds, and what was inside. What was unique about the pavilions was that though they were the same on the outside, once within, you were in the mental manifestation of the angel’s mind.

Inside my pavilion, I was transported to a quiet tranquil night-like space. The sky was vast and endless and three moons hung in the night sky in a slow perpetual dance. They were respectively a pale pink, a pale blue, and white, and there were millions of stars in the sky. On the surface of my world, there were towering mountains that curved on the horizon of the world to give the appearance of a dome-like landscape, and within the mountains was a seemingly endless forest, filled almost equally with various creeks and rivers. My bed sat atop a small waterfall, of which spilled into smaller and smaller pools, which ended in a large pond at the bottom. The water here glowed with a quiet blue light and illuminated the world surrounding my bad.

I fluttered down to my bed and laid down on my stomach, allowing my wings to stretch themselves out wide. I normally kept them tucked away. We were only allowed to spread them when we were in battle or needed to travel long distances. I wondered how the other angels managed to deal with their wings all cramped like that for so long. As a soldier of the heavenly army, I had many opportunities to spread them in battle, but even that wasn’t enough for me. I tried not to think too much on my own thoughts, but sometimes I got the nagging feeling that some part of me longed to be free. Who wouldn’t? I understood my purpose as a Destroyer Angel of the Final Trinity, and I served my purpose in earnest, but sometimes I caught myself wondering if there was more to life than what I was told. Humans had that luxury, and even I would see them squander it from time to time. They had the opportunity to create their own purpose, their own life, but without direction, they were often at a loss.

I nuzzled my face further into my pillow and let myself drift into a calm, dreamless sleep. Angels didn’t really dream. We didn’t have a need for them, but for some odd reason, as I slept this time around, an image came to me.

He was a tall, magnificent creature, chiseled from bronze, it seemed. Behind him flared two glorious wings, each tinged with black and scarlet feathers; a Destroyer Angel. An almond colored face with sharp jutting cheekbones, midnight-colored hair, and, most surprising of all, hazel eyes—the eyes of man. Beneath each of his eyes sat two cerulean blue triangles, and a name fluttered to my mind and out of my mouth as I slept.

“Azrael.” This was the first time I’d seen Azrael. He was in my dream before he was in my arms, and he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When I had awoken the next day, all of the angels has been called together to introduce the newest member of our family, and there he was. A figment of my imagination now stood before us all in a dazzling glory, and I was awestruck by him. He was perfect, and something inside me ignited with a passion I’d never felt before.

Cassiel stood beside him in the middle of the Shell, explaining, “Brothers, sisters, this is our newest brother, Azrael. Though his arrival was not expected nor quite predicted, he is still as much of us as we are of each other. He is a Destroyer, so I will leave his education to the Final Trinity,” she said, gesturing to where Artiya, Abaddon, and I sat grouped together. I swallowed silently and nodded, unable to take my eyes away from him. He had an unwavering, bashful smile, and he kept his eyes on the ground.

Cassiel spoke again, “Azrael, these are your brothers and sister, Abaddon, Artiya, and Azazel,” and she gestured to us respectively. “They are the Final Trinity,” she added, and he looked up at us slowly, studying. The eyes that met mine glinted copper, one of the various shades of man hidden in his eyes, and as we exchanged a wordless, communicative glance, I felt a jolt run through me, and I couldn’t stop myself from jumping to my feet and saying, “I will overlook his training in arms!”

Cassiel was unmoved by my sudden interjection, and she said, “As expected from the Maiden of Arms.”

“Right, right,” I said, sitting back down, feeling my face heat slightly. What was this sensation? Why was my face warming? Azrael gazed at me a moment longer, an interesting and intoxicating expression crossing his face, and I looked away, feeling this heat burning up my neck and down to my shoulders and chest. My stomach was filled with a strange sensation that simultaneously made me want to vomit and scream, but it felt . . . good? After Cassiel had dismissed the congregation, Azrael walked toward the three of us, and Abaddon stood and grabbed him up in a massive hug.

“Brother!” he exclaimed happily. “I am so honored to meet you!”

“Hello, Brother,” Azrael said slowly, feeling the new words on his tongue. “I am . . . so honored to meet you.”

“Do you know anything about yourself?” Artiya asked warmly in a soft, gentle voice. He looked at Artiya for a moment, trying to understand their words, before he answered, “I am. . . the Last Destroyer Angel. I was made . . . for Azazel.”

My eyes went wide, but Artiya just laughed softly, and Abaddon chortled and said, “So you are to be her Twin, I see!” He turned to me and clapped me hard on the shoulder and said, “But of course! You, too, have the eyes of man. Congratulations, sister. Twins are of the highest honor. Omnis must have had something special hidden within you all this time!”

“I am special just like you are,” I whined, taking my eyes from Azrael for just a second to send a gentle glare at Abaddon.

“Even more special, dear sister,” he said with an apologetic smile. He turned to Azrael and said, “Come, brother, I will show you where we lay ourselves to rest.” With that, he unfurled his wings and beat them once, which brought him high into the sky. Azrael looked up at him, slightly confused, and Abaddon laughed hard and said, “Ah, yes, it has been a long time since I have needed to teach an angel about how to be an angel!” He swooped back down and landed beside Azrael. He poked the folded wings on his back and said, “You have full control over these. Try to move them, like you would your arms.”

Azrael glanced back behind him at his wings, and I instantly thought about how adorable he was. Slowly, he flicked his wings and spread them out wide, and Abaddon smiled wide and said, “There we go! Now try to move them.”

Hesitantly, still getting used to the weight of these newfound extremities, he beat them down gently, which lifted him slightly off the ground. He looked up, at first surprised, and then excited. He beat them hard once, and he shot up high into the air, and Abaddon smiled proudly and joined him. They flew off towards our pavilions, and I watched after them with an odd feeling in my heart.

“How do you feel?” Artiya asked gently, and I turned to them and said, “I do not know.”

I looked toward Azrael and Abaddon’s direction again, at their silhouettes against the golden sky, and I asked, “Artiya, what does it mean to be a Twin?”

They smiled at me and they said, “I do not know, Azazel. We have all heard of Twins existing, but they exist differently to humans than they do angels, sister. To humans, they are often replicas of one person. They are born that way, or they may just be born at the same time. To us, it is different. You know that each of us is individually unique, and none of us are born. Maybe you should beseech Omnis for those answers.”

I made a slight face, but nodded, and we started walking toward our pavilions. I liked to fly, but sometimes I enjoyed my time walking, especially with Artiya. They were such a deeply faceted person that it was worth it to walk and hear what they may be thinking or what knowledge they might be holding.

I took a deep breath, as if I were gasping for air, and my eyes opened for a fraction of a second to see Agatha in front of me, still clutching my face. Her eyes were rolled back and she seemed to be seizing up, but before I could do anything, I was plunging back down into the memories.

It was nighttime now, and my wings were blazing. The Fallen were again trying to lead a rapid and violent assault against the Promise Land. They snuck in during the dead of night and ravaged the outskirts of a village, murdering dozens of humans. I was streaking across the sky, unbridled fury coursing through at the injustice. Ignatius II was a heavy reassurance in my hands, lighting my way through the dark night. Azrael had Ignatius I, and I hoped he was faring well. As much as I worried about him, about my Twin, I had to protect the humans and the world of which they lived. Ignatius II was a long and massive war hammer that blazed with the divine fire that paralleled the fire in my soul.

My Warcry ringing out loud and true, I plummeted to the ground, slamming Ignatius II onto the head of a Fallen. It exploded into a pile of ash and embers before my eyes, and I bounced around from one Fallen to the next, destroying them and leaving behind ash and embers. I could hear their cries and wails all around me, and that of the humans, and I eventually lost myself in the chaos of everything as I jumped from one to the next and the next and the next. I raised Ignatius II high above my head, ready to slam it down onto the head of another before I heard Artiya’s voice ring out.

“Sister, still your hand!” he cried from the sky. I froze instantly and glanced back up at them. “It is man! He is possessed!” and I looked back down at the creature before me, who then lunged and tackled me around the waist. I looked deeply into the man’s eyes, which were completely bloodshot, leaking dark tears.

“Help me,” he wept as he withdrew a breadknife from his waist and held it over his head. I snapped my head to the side as he brought his hand down hard with an inhuman force. The knife cut through the ground beside me, and I tucked my legs close to my belly and kicked the man up and over my body. I straightened before him as he slowly rose to his feet, the dark tears still leaking from his eyes as he gazed at me in sad agony. I slammed the head of the war hammer into the ground, and I stabbed my hand deep into my chest, my bone shattering apart I ripped my chest open. I contained a horrendous cry of pain and reached in deep into my heart, my soul, to withdraw a golden, glowing dagger.

“I will free you,” I whispered quietly as I readied myself for his inevitable lunge.

“Please!” he cried. At the same time, his mouth released a monstrous roar, a sound that could bring a man to his knees. I took a deep breath and held the dagger tight, held it close, as my body seemed to move through space without my own movement. The dagger went straight through the man’s body, but I didn’t stop moving until I pinned the Fallen against the wall of a building. Dark, poisonous blood sprayed across my face, the hilt of the dagger protruding from the chest of demon before me. It stared down at me with an unfathomable hatred, and it struggled to raise a hand to strike me, but suddenly collapsed to its knees as the last of its blood drained from its neck.

I released my breath, feeling all of my energy go with it, and I sank to a knee as its body fizzled out of existence, and the Fallen around me started to gather and surround me. I looked up, feeling heavy and exhausted. I had left Ignatius II behind me, and though I reached a hand out to summon it, I found that it had become too heavy for me to even lift. I could hear the Fallen chortling and jeering around me.

“Little angel has grown weak, hm?”

“After only one human?”

“What good are you if you can only save one?”

“Can you even be called a Destroyer Angel?”

“What a disgrace!” they cried. One after another, and another, and another, and I leaned heavily on Ignatius, trying to capture my breath as the glowing blade dimmed and eventually dissolved into nothingness. In the dying light of the blade, my Truth, the shadows of their faces grew larger, longer, making them look more gruesome than before. It wasn’t that I was afraid; I was angry. I tried to stand, leaning my weight on Ignatius, but my legs buckled beneath me, and all I could do was glare at them as they slowly closed in.

“We’ll take care of you, little angel. There’s no need for that look on your face,” one sneered, reaching out a grotesque, disfigured hand to me. I swatted it away with as much strength as I could muster, and the Fallen snapped, cracking that hand across my face. My teeth bit into my cheek, and I could taste my own blood. It was terribly sweet, and I spat it on their feet, still staring indignantly. I refused to look away as they attempted to wrench Ignatius from me, which only burned them, searing away their skin instantly. One smacked it out of my hand, and I fell to the ground, feeling the weight of my body coming down on me, but I refused to look away as rage coursed through my body.

They converged on me all at once, pulling at my wings, my hair, my robes, baring my body to the world, and though shame washed my skin red, I was furious, feeling a terrible greed take over my mind. How dare they? How dare they lay their disgusting, unholy hands on me? How dare they strip me this way? How dare they? How dare they?

“Would you look at that, she really is a work of art, hm?” one cried in a slimy voice. As it moved to lay a hand on my breast, a certain cry suddenly rang out through the night. It was one I’d never heard before, but one that I instantly knew, and my head shot skyward as Azrael came crashing down behind me, destroying the Fallen holding me down, and catching me in his arms.

“You will not see the moon find its zenith,” Azrael spoke, his voice dripping with a savage fury. He held Ignatius I before him, a gleaming broadsword that, despite its perfection to his body, seemed out of place in hand, but he was dazzling. He was dazzlingly beautiful, and I found myself lost in the sight of him as I gazed adoringly up into his gorgeous face, and that enamoring expression. I’d never seen such passionate wrath.

“Who is this?” the Fallen whispered among themselves as they all stood frozen in Azrael’s presence. “Who is he?”

“Who is this?”

“I’ve never seen him.”

“Where did he come from?”

“There were only three Destroyers!”

“But look, he has the mark of the Destroyer!”

“My Beloved, are you well?” Azrael asked in a low tone, one that despite just a second before was vocalized ferocity, was now as soft as a feather for me, only me.

Beloved, I thought to myself. I’d never heard that word, but it sounded wonderful, and it felt good to my ears, better to my heart. “I am weak, Azrael,” I answered truthfully. “I cannot stand. I cannot wield Ignatius II.”

“I will protect you, Beloved,” he said back without hesitation, tightening his grip on the sword. The Fallen all flinched at the gesture, and they readied themselves. “I will protect you.”

“Azrael!” I cried, my voice sounding hoarse to my ears as I felt myself slamming back into my body.

“Not yet!” someone else yelled, and it was as if someone was forcing me back underwater as I plunged deep into the pool again.

“Azazel!” Azrael cried out. That was the very first thing I heard, the first thing I was aware of in this memory. The very next thing was a searing agony that tore straight through my belly. I gasped hard, which only made the pain that much worse, and I let out a long and terrible shriek as my wings disobeyed me and stopped moving.

“Azazel!” Azrael yelled again. I couldn’t see him; I couldn’t really see anything. All I knew was that I was falling down and I was falling fast, and there were four arrows sticking straight through my stomach and out of my back. I was panting indiscriminately as my hands pulled at the arrows, but they burned me as I tried to touch them. I tried to look over my shoulder as I plummeted, but I found that everything was blurry and running away from my sight as I fell deep, deep, deeper into this void of pain, which quickly cascaded and spiraled into darkness. I don’t know how long I was out for, but what brought me back was a mind-numbing pain in my abdomen that brought me back to roaring, agonized consciousness.

“Hold her! Hold her still!” a woman called out desperately. I was senseless as I bucked wildly against the arms holding me down, and then more arms came to hold me down as the pain continued. It seemed to continue for hours as this person, this woman tore further into my belly. I couldn’t even form words to tell her to stop. All I could do was scream and scream and scream until the pain finally, slowly started to fade.

By the time the pain was halfway bearable, my sight had returned, and I saw that I was in some large tent. I was laying atop bloody sheets that wreaked of fermented fruit. My eyes dragged around slowly to take in my audience and my surroundings. There were twelve men all around me, and a woman was sitting closest to at my side. Her skin was dark and her eyes were blue like the ocean, and I asked, “What has happened?”

“My Lady, you were struck down by the arrows of the Fallen,” she said solemnly, casting her eyes downward to avoid meeting mine.

“I am not your Lady,” I said, taking shallow breaths. “I am your protector. You need not treat me as if I am above you.”

“But you are an angel, a heavenly messenger, are you not?” she asked, her eyes still low.

“I am a Destroyer, child. You need not treat me any different you would any other destroyer of things,” I responded, closing my eyes. “Where I am?”

“You are within the apothecary’s den. It was the closest place we could bring you. Your wounds were quite extensive, and we did not know if you would survive.”

“I was falling down somewhere. Did I fall into a chasm?” The woman shuffled quietly and said, “Yes, where our tribe resides is a chasm in the crust of the Promise Land.”

I opened my eyes and looked around at the men. They all had similar dark skin and light eyes, and I asked, “Your tribe resides in this chasm? How can that be? All of man should live upon the surface, not in this darkness.”

She was quiet a second and answered, “The darkness is the place we are safest, my angel.”

“How do you mean? How can that be?” I asked, attempting to sit up, but the wounds on my stomach were still open, and I fell back down with an agonized groan.

“Rest, my angel, please. The arrows were coated in a poison that we were not able to cure completely. We do not know how to heal you from this,” she said in a forlorn voice.

I took a deep breath and said, “You have removed the weapons from my body. That is all you need to do. I will be well again soon enough. Now please, why has your tribe retreated to the darkness to live? Man was not meant to live in the darkness, you know.”

She looked uncomfortable as she said, “One day, our land was taken by the Fallen. No other tribe would take us in or help us, as the angels had not come down to save us. They call us the Cursed Wanderers on the surface and shun us. When we tried to resettle, other tribes would take our land, claiming it is not fit for the Cursed ones. With nowhere else to go, we were forced to the chasms.”

Pursing my lips, I looked back up, feeling my heart break quietly, and I asked, “How many of you are there?”

“How many in our tribe? Or how many tribes?”

A terrible emotion crept across my heart. Something disgusting and heavy and vulnerable and at the same time angry and scornful. “How many tribes?” I choked out, caught off guard by the sudden emergence of this emotion.

“We have numbered to eleven. There is word a twelfth has been forsaken.” The feeling intensified, and I almost felt nauseous. There were eleven tribes of men who had been ousted by his fellow man, and a twelfth may have appeared. And why? Because we had failed them. We had not been able to protect them. We hadn’t been able to save them. How had we failed? How had we failed so horribly? I screwed my eyes tightly shut, but hot tears still leaked out.

“I am sorry,” I said in a hard, tight whisper. “We have failed you, and I am deeply sorry.”

“Do not waste your tears on us, dear angel. It is we who have failed you. We were not worthy,” a man suddenly spoke up.

“No!” I yelled out. “No, you have done nothing wrong. We have failed you, and now you have been forced to this darkness.” Off in the distance outside of the tent, a fierce growl could be heard, and not a second later, someone’s terrified cry. My eyes sprung open and I frantically asked, “What was that?”

The woman shuffled uncomfortably again and said, “In this darkness, there are creatures we cannot see. If we are not careful, they carry us into that darkness. We have lost many to the creatures in the night.”

I closed my eyes and forced myself to ignore the pain as I listened intently for the sound of the scream, which quickly faded into the distance. It was a boy. He had seen seven harvests. The creature that carried him off was one of the few myths that survived. A manticore pup. Without saying a single word, I turned into a crouching position and beat my wings once, shooting out of the tent cleanly and straight to the boy. In a second, I already had him cradled in one arm, and the manticore pup in the other. I beat back the urge to cave into the pain in my stomach. Caught off guard, the pup was at first surprised and silent before thrashing in my hand. It let out a loud yowl, but I did not let it go. In the darkness, I emitted a faint glow, and I could see the boy looking up at me with a messy, terrified face.

“You are safe now, child,” I said softly.

“No, more are coming!” he cried.

“I know,” I answered as I dropped the pup. It scampered off into the darkness. A moment later, low menacing growls sounded around me in the shape of a circle. Their paws on the ground gently reached my ears, and I counted five. I looked on steadily, unyielding, and the manticore spoke to me in their feral language. I could feel my wounds moving as I spoke, but I kept myself strong.

“That infant man is ours.”

“The boy belongs to man.”

“We feast on man.”

“You will not be feasting on this one.”

“Where do you find the gall, winged she-man.”

“My name is Azazel, Protector of Man, Second of the Final Trinity, Maiden of Arms, Bearer of the Divine Fire. The Promise Land, and all the creatures of myth, are at my will.”

“You have no dominion over the manticore,” it spoke, stepping forward into my glow. It held the face of a woman, but somehow it seemed mashed with that of a tiger, and its eyes were an intense orange. It held the mane and body of a lion, but it had the back end of a dragon. Several more stepped into the aura of my glow, and they all had similar bodies of lions and dragons and faces of man.

“You are arrogant,” I said back, my will reaching deep into their minds and forcing them to bend. In an instant, they all bowed before me, their faces almost buried in the ground beneath them. I could feel them fighting against my will, but it was nothing more than a slight bother, and I said, “You will hunt them no more. You will protect these tribes of men.”

“If we don’t?” the main one asked challengingly.

“I will render you and your offspring infertile. Your pride will end here,” I said without hesitation. They hesitated a moment, and another spoke, “We are one of the last remaining creatures of myth that still roam the Promise Land. Our kind has given way to the will of man.

“Would you so quickly destroy our lines and allow us to die out for the sake of these children?”

“I am Protector of Man,” I answered evenly, “If it is to be, the creatures of myth will give in to the end of their time, then so be it. As a servant of Omnis, my life is given to man, and I will do everything I must to keep them safe, even if I must end your line right here, right now.”

Within them, I could feel the unending dread of knowing they, too, would perish. The creatures of myth were more acquainted with death than man, but to know that they would one day be the end of it all, of all their history and life and story, was too much to bear in that moment. The leader, understanding my unwavering loyalty to man, grudgingly said, “We will protect man if it means our kind will see three more generations.”

“This is not a negotiation,” I responded, steel in my voice.

“How can you do this to us?” another cried.

“The same way I breathe. It is of no issue to me so long as man flourishes. If it means your kind dies out with you now, I will do it. Choosing to protect them will not garner you any special treatment from me.”

“We hold the advantage here. You will never know if we feast upon man or if we protect him. Your place is not here in the darkness, and soon, you will return to the light,” the leader spoke again. Clenching my jaw, I answered, “Protect these tribes of men in my steed, and I will allow your kind to live for five generations.” There was a grudging truth in the manticore’s words. There wasn’t any actual way for me to know if the tribes in the chasm were being protected or slaughtered unless someone was posted here to protect them.

“Yes, my Lady,” it responded, sounding mildly snide.

“I am not your Lady.” I said back, releasing them easily. They quickly retreated from my glow, the steps fading away in the distance. Without saying a word, I turned and began to walk back to the tribe, which was faintly illuminated by small torches. It was much larger than I expected, and my heart broke again, thinking about our failings. Angels were not gifted with the same unhinged freedom as humans or the Fallen. Our one purpose in life was to protect humanity, and to know we had failed at that . . .

“Are you an angel”? the boy asked suddenly. I glanced down at him and held him a little closer.

“I am,” I responded.

“Have you come to save us?”

“Yes,” I answered, feeling the word sound like a lie on my tongue. I frowned to myself, and I asked him, “Where are your mother and father?”

“They were taken by the monsters when I was young.”

“You still are young.”

“Younger, then.”

“Have you anyone to look after you? What were you doing out?”

“The tribe watches me, but I was hungry, and I was trying to find my way to the butcher for some dried meat.”

“And then you ran into manticore pup.”

“Manticore?”

“Yes, those are the monsters that tried to take you away. Have they always taken your tribesmen?”

“Not always. There are many monsters hiding in this darkness.” I pursed my lips and looked on towards the village.

“Yes, there are many monsters in the dark. The worst of them all are the ones that find you misbehaving,” I said, a smile cracking across my lips as I looked down at the little boy. His face went pale, and he said, “They see me misbehaving?”

“Oh, yes, there are plenty that see you misbehaving.”

“Are they like the man, the manticore?”

“No, not at all. They’re much worse.”

“Worse?” he squeaked.

“Oh, yes, these ones live in your tents and under your beds and they’re always watching.”

“Save me!” he cried, burying his head into my chest. I chuckled and said, “But of course there’s a way to stop them.”

“How? How?” he yelled.

“As long as you behave and do what’s good, then they will leave you alone. They only pay attention to the bad little boys and girls, and when they see you misbehaving, they come and nip at your feet!” I laughed, tickling his feet. He screamed in horror, which dissolved into giggles as he squirmed in my arms.

“So if I’m a good boy, they won’t hurt me?” he asked, calming down.

“Yes, child. They only care about the sinners.”

“But, are we not all sinners down here?” he asked curiously, looking up at me. My face softened and I said, “No, child. None of you have shied away from the Lord. We have just failed you.”

“So we are all good? We are not sinners?”

“Only if you choose to be, child,” I said, ruffling his hair. I blinked once, but when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t holding the boy anymore. Instead, I was among my family, in the sky, and I stood at the center of the shell, pleading with them as I called out, “We can no longer protect them. You must understand that man has grown far too numerous for us to be able to protect them all.”

“Preposterous!” Hadra shouted.

“Blasphemy!” Sarie cried.

“Impossible!” Bartraniel yelled out. I looked around desperately toward Selin, Sol, Aio, and Abaddon. The triplets looked past me, refusing to meet my gaze, and Abaddon just stared at me with a blank, dull expression. I’d known him long enough to understand that though his expression appeared dull, he was in fact seething, and I shrunk into myself slightly. Azrael was beside me, a reassuring hand on my shoulder, and he said, “Brothers, sisters, you must understand that Azazel speaks the truth. I have gone and seen the tribes of men, and they grow more and more each day.”

“They have been cast aside by their fellow men under the belief that they are cursed. They assume that because we cannot be there to protect those tribes that they must be cursed, and that is not the truth!” I cried, desperately trying to get through to them.
“How could you know that?” Jophael asked.

“How do you not already know that we have not been there to protect them because it was not said by Omnis that we must protect them?” Daniel asked.

“Because we are protectors of man. We are not merely protectors of Omnis’s chosen ones. If that were the case, do you not believe they would be this numerous as they are now?” I asked back. Everyone was quiet for a moment, their intense chattering silencing for a second before Zadky spoke, “What would you have us do, sister?”

“I–” I stopped myself, the words halting in my throat as I remembered what Omnis had told me when they created man, but Omnis must have known that eventually, this day would come: the day angels would fail humanity, the day we would fail humanity.

“They must learn to protect themselves,” Azrael spoke strongly beside me. My head snapped up to look at him, but he was looking steadily at the crowd, his hand firm on my shoulder and then sliding down to my hand. “We must teach them how to defend themselves.”

The crowd was silent then, a shocked stillness among them, and then all at once, everyone erupted into a mixture of screams and laughter and roars and shouts and protests, and I just closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

When I opened them, I was in the sky again. This was the final battle. It had to be. This was the first and last battle where humanity would turn against the heavens. The Fallen had poisoned their thought, told them lies and lies and lies until they finally believed that the heavens were against them, convinced them that all they were was experimental fodder, things to be studied. On the ground, there were scores of men and angels and Fallen, clashing relentlessly. Off in the distance, I could hear the roar of the triplets as they tore through the waters, destroying the almost countless fleets of the Fallen. Abaddon was above me with hundreds of archers, sending wave after wave of arrows from above, each meeting their undeniable mark.

Azrael was on the ground, shooting through the crowds of Fallen, taking out each of the sixteen generals, and standing at the top of the castle, I saw the man king, Nimrod. Beside him was Astaroth, the commanding general of the entire militia of Fallen. Feeling a bout of passionate fury, I tucked in my wings, my eyes zeroing in on Astaroth. He was all I could see. I could see every detail of his body, right down to the golden irises of his black eyes, and he was staring back at me, a determined look on his face. Nimrod hadn’t noticed me, but Astaroth had seen me just as I’d seen him, and slowly, he turned his body to face my direction.

Without saying a word, his face slid into a slow smile, and he held a hand out beside him. The sound came before the lance itself. It was as if the world collectively held its breath in that one space before spontaneously tearing open to produce this unholy weapon. The sound of it was so loud and intense that Nimrod was thrown back, and a visible wave echoed out. It hit me with a force so strong that it would have stopped me almost immediately, but I was infuriated. I was at a point of my rage that I could no longer contain, and I was barreling down so fast that there wasn’t anything, not even the summoning of his weapon, that could stop me. Materialized in his hand, the lance was a work of art that even rivaled my mastery. It was decorated neatly and, grudgingly, elegant, and I knew that this weapon was on par with even my Gladio, but regardless of how strong it was, how strong he was, I was ending this. This battle, this war would end here and now. No matter what I had to do, I would end this war, and with that conviction I propelled myself faster through the air, the wind whistling through my hair and in my ears, and still, all I could see was Astaroth. I drew back my arm, Gladio feeling weightless in my grip, and—