Phantom Pain (trilogy)

Love

Chapter 30: Love

The first thing I saw was Lila. Her dark skin was coated with sweat and blood, her black hair hanging down in front of her face—her head titled forwards. She had been crucified in a disgusting mockery to history and family. To dehumanize her further, she'd been stripped naked, worsening the way her arms were nailed out on either side. They'd left the cross though: a tiny golden replica of the massive one off of which she hung.

The second thing I saw was worse. Only one other being stood in that large, empty room, his golden wings still shielded him from the blast. I could feel his presence now, strong, like the sickly sweet stink of rotting fruit.

Raphael.

Behind me, the legion was frozen. There was no protocol for this, no course of action to follow. For a moment I began to worry that they would still follow him. That was until that worry, along with all others, was pushed out of the way by rage.

“You!” I broke the deafening silence, moving across the room towards him.

He'd turned to face me, sword still hanging loosely at his side. Realization was upon me, and slivers of memory were suspended in the air. I was inhaling them.

“You did this.” My mouth was faster than my mind.

He'd been speaking to the other archs, discussing strategy. Then he'd disappeared. I'd wondered where he'd gone. Uriel. Barachiel. The demons had known we were coming. All along—this war—they'd been one step ahead.

“No, brother,” I whispered.

He had still not spoken. We stood face to face, in front of the gruesome body of the kind woman who had sewn my wounds closed: the wounds only an archangel could have inflicted. My realization had finally caught up.

There was anger. There was rage. Then there was this. Betrayal was like vomit, gathering at the back of my throat. The absence, always so obvious, was all I could feel. In my hand, the sword should have been cool, soothing the fire that had enveloped me, but it burned just as hot.

I could feel my wings again, and they hurt. That was were the excess power was going. Light arched out behind me, ripping the shirt to shreds. The sword was pointed at Raphael's throat, but I could not remember moving it.

“What you have taken from me...” My hand shook a little, but I hurried to steady it. “I can never get it back, can I?”

He stared me down, eyes dark pools, glazed with liquid—tears maybe. His golden wings extended behind him. The form my power had taken broke down, crumbling and exploding outwards. And maybe it hurt, just a little.

An archangel had turned against heaven, murdered his brothers.

And it repeated.

This betrayal felt worse than Lucifer's.

Raphael stared at the sword in my hand, a little bit of fear finally scratching the surface. Behind me the angels watched. They had spilled into the room, but stayed plastered to the walls. I could feel their fear, but it was distant, far removed from my self.