A very slight Reaper angel slips in from the darkness outside. He’s maybe the scrawniest angel I’ve ever seen. Condescending laughter comes from the divine angels when they see him slink in with rounded shoulders, clearly terrified to be there. Byzantyne gives him a haughty look. “Transition the soul from his prison.”
Alfred’s translucent dragonfly wings buzz in agitation. He runs a hand through his wet, blond hair. Rainwater drips from his pale, pointed chin. He moves to Emil. Wielding his scythe with the flair of a Samurai, he cuts through Emil’s aura to split it wide open. Most souls, when they emerge from their bodies, are luminous, the brighter the light, the more vibrant the soul. There’s an absence of illumination from Emil as he claws his way from his corpse. He’s a black hole devouring radiance.
Humiliation and rage ravage Emil’s features. He turns these emotions on Alfred. “WHERE WERE YOU? I HAVE BEEN DEAD FOR HOURS!” This is a blatant exaggeration. It has been less than one hour. In the old days, it could take days of languishing in rotting flesh before being emancipated. It speaks to his Sheol status that an hour now seems an eternity to him. He must be very important to them—especially high on the evil food chain.
Alfred doesn’t cower from Emil. His vindictive glare and pinched mouth promise retaliation. The Reaper raises his scythe, spinning it around with deadly precision. “Alfred,” Byzantyne’s contempt for the Reaper is in his tone. “Do not threaten my protégé.” Alfred’s head tilts forward with involuntary submission, but his blue eyes still stare unblinking at Emil.
Emil shifts his blind animal fury to me. “You were mine! I had you this time! You would’ve fallen! It was inevitable!” I don’t find this a bit amusing, but I force a smile as I extend a luminous limb, turning my arm over in front of me to assess its shine.
“I don’t think that’s quite true. I seem to be lighting up the room.”
“You will dim when I play with you in Sheol,” Emil rages.
“If I ever fell from grace, I don’t believe Byzantyne would allow you near me. I’d replace you as his favorite.” I force another smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard to make me fall.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard to stop me. Byzantyne is much more powerful than Xavier.”
“Xavier will crush him one day and you’ll be left all alone to fend for yourself in Sheol.” My words elicit fear in Emil; it comes off of him as black smoke. My attention draws away from him as someone comes through the door below us.
Two figures emerge from the shadows: one is a Cherub and the other is a Seraph. The Cherub’s blond hair plasters to his head. Rainwater and a thick cake of mud soak his British uniform trousers. Robin-egg blue wings spread wide behind him. In his arms is the nearly lifeless body of my guardian angel. Xavier is a mess; cut up and broken, blood pours from a multitude of wounds. The blue-winged angel takes a few steps nearer and nearly collapses. Other Cherubim are upon them, lifting Xavier from him and laying my wounded angel on the ground where they work to save his life. I want to go to him, but I find that I’m unable to move. Fear has me rooted were I am. He cannot die. Not Xavier. Not like this!
“You were saying, Simone?” Emil chuckles. The coldness of his soul reaches out to me, trying to pull some of the heat of my being to him. “I don’t think Byzantyne is too worried about Xavier ever defeating him.”
Byzantyne isn’t paying any attention to either of us. He’s flying toward Reed in the center of the room. The evil Seraph stops right in front of the Power angel, wearing the most ferocious snarl that I’ve ever seen from him. “I will eviscerate you, Power! You have robbed me of the one thing that has meant anything to me!” Normally, he’s unemotional except for an occasional look of disdain. This uncharacteristic display of feeling has me reeling.
Reed tilts his head to the side, studying Byzantyne. “You didn’t get to finish your kill.” Reed gestures to where Xavier lies writhing in agony, his beautiful red wings nearly shredded from him. “You were called away—called here. You couldn’t linger over the Seraph like you wanted—and a quick death was out of the question for him, not after the length of time you’ve been stalking one another. You wanted a sweeter revenge for your prey. You thought you’d be able to come back for him—after you took care of whatever you were being summoned to do.”
Byzantyne’s face turns a startling shade of red. “This is your fault!” Spittle from his mouth flies in every direction as he shouts and points his finger at Reed. “You brought me here!”
Reed is calm. “You couldn’t ignore the summons. You had to come because I killed the malevolent soul you were charged with protecting when you weren’t looking. How does that make you feel…having your prey snatched away from you at the last possible moment?” Reed taunts.