𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴

1 | Death too must be earned

Azrael had watched the World change, shape itself as the pit of all sins and sanctities. She had witnessed the rise and fall of just kings and ruthless tyrants; cruelty masqueraded for acts of faith and justice. She had wondered why Humans have always felt the need for the constant oppression of women and the enslavement of entire nations.

Men were a complex breed that fascinated and disturbed her at the same time. They loved and craved war; their veins sang for bloodshed and carnage. Something that Azrael revived with uneasiness as spilling the blood of kin enthralled the Mortals.

She had beheld wars, rebellions, coups d'état, murderers between friends and relatives, never interfering, never revealing herself, but evermore watchful.

Her brother called her Azrael, the Ever Watchful, mocking her for her fascination with the feeble creatures and their tragedies. He often reminded her of their inferior nature and their faults, of their vindictive essence and, most importantly, of their mortal lives.

How could she forget? How could she ignore how fragile and fleeting the life of men was? Their lives were like the flutter of wings or the fall of leaves during changing seasons. So inevitable, but the testimony of a beautiful notion, lived, loved, adored and now languidly lamented.

Of that, she had had a tragic and personal experience.

As Azrael leisurely walked on the sidewalk of a street whose name she blissfully ignored, crossing sporadic passers-by, she found herself committing one of the Seven Deadly Sins so dear to Him.

Envy.

She viscerally envied the weak creatures she could kill with one look if only she desired. They had been granted a gift far more precious than any gold on Earth. They possessed something that had been barred to her and her brother.

A Mortal Life.

An act of Him that set the race of Men apart from them both.

While her kin had known the most bliss and contentment and had conceived more beauty than any others of the Children of God, it was declared by that gift that Men would be the prime instruments of God. He had set them free; he had willed that the spirits of men were not content within reality and found no rest therein. They were not bound to the Circles of the World, as her kin. The spirits of Men truly left the physical World when their time did come.

Thus, their fates were separate from that of Azrael's kindred, who did not die until the Universe ceased to exist unless slain by violence. And even then, it was not actual death that awaited them.

He had demanded the recognition of the absolute superiority of men over all other races already existing and over those that will see the light, stirring the wrath of her brother, who never saw and never will acknowledge in the mortality of men their perfection. Even though Azrael had viewed it as the liberation from the ordinance of Fate and the confines of eternal existence, she had marched to war with her brother.

But that was a long-lost tale of arcane times that was best if left untold.

And so, she found herself pausing at an intersection, looking around at the few cars in the streets on that strangely quiet morning in Washington DC.

I will never see the appeal of these strange contraptions.

She mused as she inspected a black SUV and a police car stop at the traffic light on her left. She tilted her head, listening to indistinct noises in the distance; they were fast approaching. Something was off.

She peered at the opaque sky above.

It had been such a dull morning so far.

Her rosy lips curved in a cunning smirk. A bit of chaotic excitement would be welcome.