The Angelic Conflict (Extended Published Version)

Untitled Part 11

THE ANGEL and Nabelēh are like two Shaolin dancers around the girl. The former twists its sword and slams it towards the latter's shins. But Nabelēh jumps and in turn throws a shuriken of Malice. The angel slugs it away with its machaira of Truth.

"You guys really don't play fair, do you?" the angel says.

"Don't you wish you could?" Nabelēh retorts, its black tongue, snake-like and slithering in and out of its mouth. It shrills in laughter, which resembled much the sound of a hyena.

Nabelēh is the demon behind the girl's fever. Demons can meddle with human's immediate health sometimes when supplicated by the proper curse from the human world. This time the magic was by a witch who saw the girl walking down past a Catholic cathedral the other month. She thought the girl pretty and chanted against her beauty. Since that moment Nabelēh has been itching to pour a little bit of misfortune on the girl, but the Corporal called the witchcraft demon off; only now has the demon decided to jinx the girl.

Nabelēh throws a couple more shurikens. One made of Jealousy, the other of Envy, and this time the girl's aura successfully dwindles with the angel's reflexes: both blades swipe seamlessly against the angel's ankles. It tries to ignore the slashes, but falls over and loses grip of its sword.

Nabelēh punts away the sword and is on the angel in no time, its knees pinning back the angel's arms to the ground. Hundreds of skulls hang from its neck— spirit skulls of human babies sacrificed to it. "You worthless little punk. Give up on this girl!" the demon hisses. "She belongs to the fallen!" Nabelēh licks the angels' cheek.

The angel retches from the reek of what in the human world smells like vinegar mixed with rotten flesh. It coughs. And coughs once more, its vision softening.

Do you think she is one of the elect? the angel asked.

Angels are very bright creatures; they can predict the future by basing off of history. But they are not omniscient. Admiral 'Il'azar answered, Perhaps she is.

The angel wants to believe so, too, despite the girl's aura remaining the same crimson. One never really knows. Brighter and stronger reds have been seen on other people— thousands of years ago, on a Hebrew religionist who murdered the martyr Stefen; in the mid-20th century, on a British atheist praying for the very first time, alone in his room in Magdalen College, Oxford; a decade later, on a sixteen-year-old Indian-Canadian lying on the hospital bed after surviving poison in his blood from a suicide attempt— all of them eventually found light in their lives. Perhaps so will the girl.

The angel musters all of its strength and manages to bring up its knees to its stomach. It kicks Nabelēh with both of its feet, hard enough the demon rolls over to the side. The angel reaches for its sword and pins the point to the ground. Using the weapon the angel stands up, determined of its goal to fight and win.