Fallen from the arch

Chapter 7- Azrael's Nature

Night had settled down and the ground had just begun to frost. They were all relaxing in a tent with the horsemen, eating food and laughing.

"They're not entirely terrible, these humans." Azrael thought to himself. "They seem to be quite honorable, and very intelligent. No wonder Lucifer liked them."

"What of you, warrior? What do you think?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The leader of their little band studied Azrael and asked him again "Our country, you like it?"

"Yes, of course! It's beautiful." he picked up a dried berry and ate it, looking over the band of warriors. They were all strong, and very skilled. Azrael began to wonder what could have driven them to the need of such skills, if they were so peaceful otherwise.

Just as he had gotten lost in thought, and arrow pierced through the tent and stabbed itself into the ground beside him. The warriors rushed out of the tent and began to return fire in every direction. "Ambush. Stay here and protect each other." With his point made clear, he left the tent and picked up a bow with a single arrow. Half the band has already been taken down, and the unknown assailant was still riding around taking precise shots at this targets.

Azrael looked around, the darkness was absent to his gaze, and he counted upward of thirty men lying in wait, while a single man on horse caused the distraction. He roared into the night a spell that caused a bright false sun to hover over the tent, revealing hundreds of men hiding in the darkness all around him. It wasn't an ambush, it was the start of a war.

He smiled, and his mouth watered. He had been waiting to taste battle with these creations. He drew the bow and planted an arrow directly into the riders throat, a spray of blood coloring his horse's mane a glossy crimson. His smile grew wider, and deeper, and his eyes started to shine a brilliant gold.

"Are you all too cowardly?!!" He spread his wings wide, their steel color reflecting the rays of the false sun "Show me the might you have!!"

A warrior rose from his hiding spot and brandished a curved blade. "As my companions here are too spineless to remember their honor, I shall show you mine!" and he rushed the angel. Azrael admired his courage, but laughed at his skill, as he cleaved his body in twain, sending a spray of blood soaking the ground. The warriors began to rush him in mass, swords and spears raised for the kill. None effective against him. Death came to all of them, swiftly at first, but growing savage and brutal as he fought on. He tore limbs from their bodies and beat down his enemies with them. He fought hard, but the battle was short. By dawn, the beautiful field of flowers and long grasses was wet. It's young white flowers, freshly painted a deep crimson. One warrior remained standing, a youth. Still too young to have lain with a woman, but just old enough to be a warrior. Azrael's eyes pierced into him, but he stood firm, and brave.

"You're either too stupid to run, or far too brave." Azrael chuckled. "Which is it?"

"I have no family to miss me, no wife to return to. I will die here with my brothers, or I will return home with your severed head. I refuse any other way!" he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

"You're no more skilled than these here corpses!" he kicked a body that lay at his feet, "What makes you think you can even dent my armor?"

"Try me, sir."

"With pleasure."

The angel met with the man, blade to blade. They fought for hours, at a stalemate. No cuts gained, no limbs lost. The sun hit it's zenith and the angel stepped back, astonished at this child's skill and endurance, but the boy, was far more tired than he was. Azrael rushed in, and halted. A gasp escaping from his lips. His eyes traced the length of his opponent's sword, all the way to his abdomen.

"You've done well. Very well."

"I know, sir." He sunk the blade to it's hilt within the angel's chest, the squelch of blood and viscera made the boy turn ill.

"It was an honor to fight you, sir."

"An honor, you may take to your grave, friend." Azrael thrust a dagger into the boy's throat, and twist. The crunching of the bone nearly turned his own stomach. "Fall." he whispered to the boy, as his blood coated his hand, "Fall."

As the body of his opponent hit the ground, so did he. All faded to black, as he heard Phanuel screaming his name, and saw her rushing toward him