Phantom Pain (trilogy)

The Archangel

Chapter 15: The Archangel

Glowing, beautiful light. The sword was warm in my hand. It was so soothing here, so nice. It made me forget that Ambriel was dead, that with each bit of myself I got back, the more I felt the absence of my wings.

The archangel landed in front of me. His wings were still an impossible white, his eyes still an impossible blue. I was very very tired all of a sudden, too tired to show the respect I felt emanating from every pore. I slumped to the ground, letting the sword lie across my legs.

“Brother, are you alright?” Micheal crouched down in front of me.

I shook my head. Embarrassment flushed my features. He'd entrusted his sword to me, as a great warrior, now what was I doing? When I finally found the courage to look up at his face he was smiling softly. His hand touched my cheek, and he shared some of his light with me. It was better than whatever pinprick I had inside me, it was exhilarating, and it sent every hair on my body standing straight up.

He did not take the sword from me, I noted. With one hand still on my face, he helped me to my feet.

“I do not blame you for feeling this way,” he said. “Any angel would despair in seeing the world shrouded in so much darkness. The trick is to keep fighting.”

We stood face to face, a fair distance apart. His wings were so massive, they reached completely around us, the tips barely touching behind me. They made me feel like there was no other room here, and that the walls were made of soft white feathers. I was special. He trusted me more than Dariel, or one of his six closest brothers.

“Tell me what has happened since the last time we spoke,” he said. “Sometimes it can help to talk about it.”

“I am with another angel,” I said. “I found him in the flood water.”

Micheal nodded. “I know. I can feel him. You placed the sword beside him when he had no life.”

“He lost some of our brothers to the demons.”

Micheal listened intently as I explained the situation, and all my worries and doubts. When I had finished, I waited eagerly for him to speak.

“You have done the right thing.” he said. “Your leadership is exemplary, even with so much of you missing. I understand why Raphael chose you to be his second in command, and why my sword was so drawn to you.”

I couldn't meet his eyes. I shouldn't smile, or fidget. I couldn't show how much his words meant to me.

“The truth is,” I said. “I do not know how to find them. Even if I do find where Dariel and the others were attacked, what can I do?” Suddenly something occurred to me, and I thought about not mentioning it, but I was not that selfish. “When Dariel flies back to report to Raphael, do you wish for me to give him the sword? You must feel better with it in the hands of an archangel.”

A single crease appeared in Micheal's perfect forehead. His wings folded back behind him, destroying our little room. I suddenly felt much too exposed, and a little cold. He didn't say anything for a few moments, and I tried not to stare. His was a radiance different than Dariel's, different than the memories I had of Raphael.

“Tell me. Are the legions in contact with each other? Or have the demons isolated them?”

I didn't know how that had anything to do with the sword, but I was glad to offer any information I could. “They were still in contact when Dariel left.”

Why, I wanted to ask. But my lips did not move. I felt like a soldier standing at attention in front of the king.

“I would feel safest,” The wrinkle smoothed. “If the sword were to remain with you. Raphael has his own sword, and I do not know much of Dariel.”

Relief flooded through me, but also an ingrained sense of duty.

“Of course, brother. Though I am not sure I trust myself not to lose it to the demons.”

The archangel's hand closed over the one of mine that held the sword. Together, we lifted it. My hand tingled like an electric current ran through it. And then I realized one did. My flesh sat between the sword and its owner. Tingling spread throughout my body.

“I do not think you understand the power this weapon possesses,” he said. “If you open yourself to it, let me guide you, then there is no demon who can even hope of winning against you.”

I nodded. “Of course” I could barely focus on anything but the waves of feeling that the sword seemed to release at regular intervals.

Micheal let go of my hand, and the sword fell lamely back to my side. It was still calm and soothing, being in his presence, but after what I'd just been feeling, everything seemed a little too mortal. Human's held no appeal for me. Speaking to Gavyn, or God forbid Desdemona, seemed miniscule and unimportant.

“Good luck brother.”

The angel pressed his lips to my forehead, and although they only touched my skin for half a second, I was stunned by an overwhelming surge of light and power. Then he spread his wings, and flew. But it did not seem as if his body was going up, only that I was moving away from him. Falling down.

Down.