The Descent of the Gods

Blood

Herab froze. Moloch had told him to show the world that the angels were no greater than mortals and not to be feared, even if they truly were from another world beyond the sky.

But he couldn't believe what he was seeing. From the base of the mountain, a band of angels were somehow projecting enough unseen force to keep Sariel from falling into the fire. If not gods, who could they be?

He realized that it didn't matter to him who they were, who had sent them, or what powers they may have. They were the ones who had prevented him from finally partaking in his vengeance on Cain - the vengeance that Moloch promised him if he could only see this to the end.

Hate forced his body forward. 

"The sacrifice must be consumed! It is the god's demand!" His warriors followed.

"Azrael! We can't hold it any longer!" An angel shouted at Azrael. 

Azrael saw the anguish on Sariel's face. The heat from the flames below him were enough to begin searing his flesh - the flesh he had taken upon himself in order to follow Azrael in his quest to reclaim Nod for the faithful. How had it come to this?

Azrael knew. He had deceived himself that by taking matters into his own hands, he could control the outcome - that by entering this world, mankind would submit to his word. Little had he thought how his enemies would respond. By entering this world, they were bound by its rules, and it was a fallen world, the world of Moloch's master. 

Was blood the only way forward? If the blood of man fell to the ground by their hands, Azrael knew that their hope to return home would be slim. But he had sworn an oath to his brothers - no matter the consequences, they would do this together. 

Azrael couldn't resist any longer. It was all or nothing. Together in victory or defeat.

"For Sariel!" He screamed. 

"For Sariel!" The others took up the call, and surged up the mountainside.

"Forward to battle! We take the mountain now!" An angel shouted to the Cainite army.

The angels bounded  up the slope as if released from a cannon. They had been held back long enough. Azrael remained at the mountain's base, holding the beam from falling with the last remaining sliver of strength within him.

The Herabites had prepared for their assault. Massive rocks and tree trunks were suddenly launched from the cliff faces and rained down around them. The angels avoid them agilely, leaping out of the way from ledge to ledge like possessed panthers, ever ascending in spite of the deluge of missiles. 

But the advancing Cainite army was not so nimble, and the rolling rocks and spinning trunks burst through their ranks with devastating effect. Swaths were wiped out completely. Their new armor and weapons were no match for such missiles. 

But the angels didn't even look back at the mortals left in their wake, perishing by the hundreds. Their eyes were on Sariel alone.

And Herab saw them coming for him. 

With his sword, he slashed at the ropes that bound Sariel to the beam, but he wasn't able to get in a solid blow - the heat was too great. In terrible pain, Herab stumbled backward. But one rope was cut halfway through, and under the withering heat, snapped. The angel's body jerked closer to the flames. 

The Watchers saw.  They raced upward in a frenzy. They had almost reached the cliff where Sariel was.

Herab threw himself back towards Sariel. The flames licked his face, but he did not retreat from them this time. He frantically hacked at the ropes binding Sariel. 

Herab's clothes caught fire, but he did not stop. Just as the first angel crested the cliff and dodged the volley of arrows directed at him by the waiting warriors, Herab severed the last rope.

Azrael screamed as Sariel fell into the inferno, his bindings preventing him from any resistance.

The beam fell to one side and Azrael collapsed to his knees. In a fog, he watched as a Watcher seized a sword, ran it through Herab and flung the man from the cliff. His body bounced down the rocky slope like a rag doll and stopped at Azrael's feet, his eyes blank, and his blood gushing into the soil. 

An angel had just taken a human life. 

Azrael rose. Maybe Sariel still could be saved.

The Watchers tried to draw Sariel out of the flames, but the heat was too great. 

Suddenly, Sariel's flaming form rose from the pyre. 

"Help me!" He cried.

The Watchers were frozen with horror. Sariel was beyond saving. He was dying. He wasn't asking to be saved, but for an end to his pain - pain he never would have felt if he hadn't followed...

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! PLE..."

A sword flew through the air, piercing his chest. Sariel fell backward into the fire, silenced. 

The angels whirled to see who had thrown it. Azrael stood there, trembling. He sank to the ground and wailed without shame. 

As for his brethren, they reacted differently. As one, they stormed the caves, seizing any weapons they could find to use against the Herabites. 

Screaming began in the darkness of the caves. Azrael stared into the blackness. His brothers were wreaking vengeance on the Herabites for their loss. And he didn't want them to stop.

The remaining Cainites were withdrawing from the mountain in terror. The battle was over, but the carnage was just beginning.

Azrael fled, weeping for his brother. Weeping for all his brothers. He had no sorrow for himself.