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Those who were not enlightened enough to embrace my vision deserved to die, no matter what those sins did to my body. The others, those who believed, they would be the ones to reap the rewards of my sacrifice. Together, we would usher in a new age of enlightenment, and I would finally get out of this disgusting world and return to Heaven to claim what was rightfully mine.
“Do they know we are coming?” I asked the angel standing next to me.
Barakiel was his name. A tall, muscular, imposing figure with dark, raven’s wings and a square jaw you could sharpen a blade on. “They do,” he said, contempt lacing his low, gruff voice.
“Have they prepared a defense?”
“Our seekers have spotted several angels manning the parapets… archers, swordsmen—armored and shielded.”
“Good. The more the merrier.”
“Do you intend to kill them all?”
I took a deep breath in through the nose, then exhaled. “If they give me no other choice. Perhaps there are some enlightened souls in that wretched castle, but then again, perhaps not.” I turned my head to look at Barakiel. “Would it burden your heart if they all fell to our weapons?”
“They are kin, but it would be wise for them to follow us.”
“And we will give them the opportunity,” I paused. “But first, we must show them the strength of our resolve, and that… that will require blood.”
Barakiel nodded. “I am ready.”
“The word is given. Begin the attack.”
Without requiring further instructions, Barakiel unfurled his dark wings and took flight, the vacuum created by his sudden departure tugging at my hair and pulling it in the direction the angel went. He moved quickly through the air, like he was meantfor it. Several of my angels formed up behind him, creating a wedge in the air that looked from the ground like an arrowhead.
I would not be leading this attack.
My task was to wait, to watch, and to prepare for the difficult decisions I would soon have to make. It pained me that we would not capture him today. Abaddon.The Tyrant, as he was colloquially known. My sources told me he was not hiding in his fortress today, but that he had gone to Helena in search of her.
In search of Sarakiel.
Instead of waiting for my arrival so he could face me in open combat, he had chosen to leave his bastion’s defense up to his rag-tag group of degenerates. In truth, I grew tired of dealing with the Ebon Legion. Today would be their last day. I would break their backs, burn this pitiful bastion down to the ground, and give those currently defending their stronghold a simple choice.
The clouds began to gently part above us, and as they did, the sun’s rays caught on the armor of the angels soaring overhead. Barakiel took this light and made it burn even brighter, directing it toward the dark bastion built into the side of the mountain ahead of me, blinding and disorienting his foes before diving in for the attack.
It was a common tactic among angels, but an effective one.
When the first blades began to clash, I took my cue. With the rest of my angels at my back, I followed my lieutenant’s flight path, soaring toward the Ebon Legion’s bastion. From up here, it was easy to see the battle taking place below. The ring of metal against metal was music to my ears, the first few groans and grunts adding rhythm to what was beginning to sound like a symphony.
The symphony of battle.
The angels in my wave of attack dove past me, engaging with the Ebon Legion below in a well-mannered, disciplined way.Their strikes were hard, and fast, and true. It was a dance. A ballet of swords, and shields, and the blood of angels. It was, in many ways, beautiful.
By the time my feet touched the dark, stone floor of the bastion’s courtyard, the battle was in full swing. Drawing my glowing, golden sword from its sheath, I marched toward the first angel clad in black that I could find and drew the blade right into the angel’s back. The angel screamed from the pain, a shriek that was quickly snuffed as I twisted the blade, breaking his spine with a single motion.
The angel crumpled. Someone screamed. All around me there were flashes of light, some coming from the moment of contact between swords, others coming from the angels themselves; those who knew how to channel their Light and use it in combat.
Warriors.
Guardians.
One in particular caught my eye… because he had just felled one of my men, and he was marching toward me.He has an air about him, this angel. Tall, muscular, and strong—like Barakiel. His armor was black, adorned with golden filigree and decorations. The intensity of his stare was not lost on me. This angel, marching toward me with his drawn sword, aimed to end me.
“Medrion!” he roared.
An angel stepped in his path, one of my own, sword readied—ready to protect me with his life. The advancing angel began to run, then leapt into the air, using his wings to vault him up and over my Guardian. There was a quick slice, barely visible, and my Guardian screamed. Before the aggressor touched the ground again, the tips of my Guardian’s wings had been cut, and fell to the floor with a pair of wet thuds.
Without looking, the assailant thrust his sword rearward, and into the shoulder blade of the Guardian whose wings he had just clipped.
