Nezzar

Part One: One of Black and The Other of Silver

Ziba grinned hard enough to make her cheeks throb. To her left, Abaddon stood on his dark cloud, watching the chaos of battle from above.

Chaos. It fed Ziba; all that madness and violence and terror. If it were up to her, the battle would rage on and on everywhere, every day, all the earth burning and the—

Her grin slipped as a cold realisation set in. Such evil desires were what chained her to the rank of a mere spirit. Abaddon was correct, there was nothing she could do to change her nature. It was a virus flowing as one with the blue in her veins. Chaos of the most violent kind called to her and she loved it; it had never mattered how hard she fought its pull. She didn't need to shut her eyes to picture that blue dragon, how it had grown in her over the years, more powerful, less of a pet and more of a rampaging beast. Her eyes flew open. She would tame it, by the One above she would not give in and let it run wild and free. No.

Glancing at Abaddon's dark broody form, Ziba wondered what fed his power. The mystery around the Destroyer was thicker and darker than the cloud he loved to ride upon.

After hundreds of human years, she and Abaddon were paired up once again but this time it was to empower Nebuchadnezzar, the new world-destroyer chosen by I Am himself. They were to ensure the king's victory at every turn, make him a human version of Abaddon—a destroyer through and through. So far, none could stand against the Babylonian army. Their influence was growing fast and the terror they inspired taking root and sinking deep into the hearts of distant nations. Normally sleepy gods were awakening, raging as a mere mortal king took and took, leaving them with nothing but ash. Ziba foresaw battles, both physical and spiritual, that stretched on and on. Her entire being hummed with anticipatory excitement.

Strings stretching from the tip of her fingers and forearms went down, down, branching out as they fused with the earth and latched on to warriors in the Babylonian ranks. As she empowered the Babylonian army from above, the chaos they caused strengthened her in return. It was a delicious give-and-take process.

Abaddon, on the other hand, went about his duty with calm detachment, sending myriads of shadows into the battlefield. His eyes burned like blue fire and his concentration was absolute. No sense of enjoyment or any emotion for that matter. He was the Destroyer. The Destroyer never laughed or smiled. A grunt here and a glower there. Perfect company. Ziba chuffed and rolled her eyes, her mood souring by an inch.

Without warning, an angel appeared in a sudden burst of bright spiritual light below. Ziba winced and lifted her arm to shield her eyes. When she looked again, the light was gone leaving only the angel behind.

"Did you see that?" She asked as she zoomed her vision, focusing on the tall dark archangel as he wove through the battle with smooth agility. When she focused even closer, she saw he looked exactly like Abaddon save for the shock of snow-white dreadlocks and equally white facial hair. Silver bands circled each wrist and a third silver band rested on his strong forehead.

As if sensing her gaze, the angel looked in their direction, eyes locking with hers first—completely silver-grey coloured as against Abaddon's absolute black—before shifting to Abaddon.

The silver angel smiled and waved.

Abaddon huffed and looked away.

With a slight inclination of the head, the angel turned from them and resumed walking in the midst of the captives and soldiers.

"He looks just like you!" Ziba swung her gaze to Abaddon. "Is he your brother?"

"Angels do not have brothers." Abaddon sighed, sounding weary and bored. The blue fire extinguished from his eyes, leaving only black. "And you do not have to speak with such a high pitch. So old yet you act like a poorly trained child."