We slipped out the door without anyone noticing, and Blake took extra care to ensure the door closed silently.
It was entirely peaceful for the first thirty seconds, walking down the hall towards the pit. Muffled conversations were still audible from the meeting room, and we took slow, calculated steps. Then there was a crash.
"Must be the doors," Blake said, standing next to me as we waited to see what was going to happen. It might have made more sense to run, but we were both curious about this commotion.
"I think I hear shouting." The hall had a strong curve, preventing us from seeing the door. There was another loud bang, and then the yelling got a little more defined. One voice in particular stood out. "Let's hurry. I hear Rhamiel."
"Oh dear." Blake joined me in a reserved power walk, still a little antsy about flat out running.
Then, barreling far faster than I would have imagined, Rhamiel flung himself around the corner- very literally at that, drifting in the dust before gathering himself up to full speed again. He ran right by, and we flattened against the wall in anticipation of whatever would come next.
"Hi guys!" He shouted with glee, "I'm running to freedom!"
"...Okay," Blake said, starting to power walk again. I grabbed his sleeve.
"Someone's coming." We pressed back against the wall.
Like a collection of horses, and with a small gust of wind, a hellhound ran past. I immediately recognized it as Kell- he carried the same two sets of horns and teal scales.
Some of his age was showing in the off streaks of grey that showed amongst his short, shadowy fur, but he was obviously still build to kill. Rows of pointy teeth shone a strange teal-white with every bound- his namesake in angelic. Aerdens- air tooth. Dumb as shit nickname, but at least it had a legitimate source.
There was a sort of smog about him in the few seconds it took to pass- being a hellhound was not quite the same as turning into a giant hell beast, after all. It was a mess of magic, not entirely real or solid, but having just as much capacity to kill.
His scruffy fur was broken by the occasional old scar or stray metallic scale. Folded on his back, not fully visible, were two long and leathery wings.
"Where did that come from?" Blake asked.
"That was Kell."
"I didn't realize you also had werewolves down here."
"He's clearly a hellhound. Shut up."
"Are you sensitive about this?"
"Werewolves are lame."
"I like them." We started walking again. "Where do his clothes go anyway? I hate it when that isn't explained when it comes to werewolves, like come on- either they're running around naked or we're dealing with a universe afraid to have a little bit of fun."
"Welcome to the latter," I said, "Considering what you just saw, I'm surprised you're not shaking and asking me to hold you."
"Aw, I can't help but feel a little giddy when I ponder the realities of whatever the hell happens to Kell's clothes when he's scampering about on all fours."
"If you came face to face with him right now, you wouldn't be talking like this."
"No, I'd probably be fearing for my poor, damned soul. I'm just pointing out it's a bit silly."
A few people were waiting by the pit, silhouetted by the ceiling lights. "Did that guy go through the rift?" I shouted up to them.
"No, Kell chased him right up," someone answered, "Tried to get in the elevator and Kell blocked him again. Last I saw, he was running towards the other elevator."
That was good- he would be trapped in Hell. Wait, was I rooting against Rhamiel now? I guess so, he had betrayed me and what not. Something in me didn't want to feel offended by that though, and was mildly rooting for the poor bastard.
I kept expecting to find Kell dragging Rhamiel's corpse back down to the meeting room as we walked through Wrath, but evidently he had made it to the elevator bay. Kell might not have had the stamina to give chase the whole time through, or else his hound form could have been too large and fast to safety navigate these twisting halls.
We went up to Pride, and the answer to a couple of my questions was presented the moment the doors slid open.
Rhamiel and Kell were in the center of the little atrium that separated the city from the tunnels. A crowd had amassed, and several police were attempting to clear them away, while others looked ready to join in.
It was Percy and Jamie all over again, except it should have been easier- Kell was a military hound with four decades of experience, while Rhamiel was a malnourished test subject who was rusty with his weapon of choice. But he seemed to be holding up well, dodging Kell's claws and laughing all the while.
I looked to Blake. "I sort of feel like I should do something? This is my fault after all."
"For the last time Mannie, it really isn't."
"Okay, so even if it isn't my fault I still feel obliged to do something. Like citizen's duty or whatever."
"What are you so worried about?"
"...Both of them. Mostly Kell."
"He's a giant mutant dog thing. He'll be fine."
At that moment, Rhamiel took a lucky jab with his spear and pierced Kell through the mouth, right through his muzzle, the top sticking out a small bit under his eye. Kell snapped his jaw shut and broke the spear in half, and it reformed in Rhamiel's hands a few seconds later. The wound, bleeding a little, had left a sharp grey marking on his skin.
A few of the police officers had decided to try their hands at helping out, shooting at Rhamiel. Surely one or two bullets had hit him, but he seemed unfazed by it, as angels often were.
Meanwhile, Kell was at least nine feet tall and the bulkier target, and he gave a low growl whenever a stray bullet hit his hide. Hellhounds were hardy, easy to heal, but every hit still count.
Kell slammed Rhamiel with one of his paws, and the angel went flying backwards, crashing onto the tiled ground dramatically. He started to get back up immediately, but several police officers surrounded him, meaning to restrain him.
He killed them all in a series of quick movements, not bothering to pull his spear from body and move to the next. He simply reformed it in his hands the moment it pierced skin, and went for another hit.
He was clearly back on his game. He rolled under Kell, aiming for a move I'd normally heard of angels preforming with a sword- evisceration. His weapon of choice was not much for slicing, and he quickly gave up on one long cut and went for a single stab towards the heart.
The tip broke through the stubborn flesh, and Kell howled with pain, rolling over and tossing Rhamiel away.
He stumbled on the ground for a second. Rhamiel wasn't actually bullet-proof, it turned out. One shot to his chest very much landed, instantly causing him to fall over and cry out with pain. As Kell moved in to finish him, he barely managed to dodge, falling over and clutching his well-bloodied shirt. Most of it was from earlier, though, as he was bleeding very little despite his pain.
The media had arrived past the police and the civilians. This was going to make a good story later- the great Kelly Campbell, angelkiller again, teal toothed menace. Putting an end to the mysterious angel who had somehow made his way into the heart of Hell like this.
Rhamiel was moving like a broken machine; still capable of what he needed to do, but having to make a few sacrifices in terms of comfort. His eyes were weary with well wrought determination; he knew he wasn't going to win, but he refused an attempt to flee. As Michael had always taught.
Unexpectedly, however, it was not a killing blow that Kell aimed for when Rhamiel tripped over himself and fell weakly to the ground. Rather, with a lash of his tail, he cleared the police away and fell back to his human form. Rhamiel seemed to have fallen unconscious.
Kell looked more than exhausted in his human state, and he held his head in his hands, panting heavily. The wounds on his body had not transferred entirely to his human form, but the damage was certainly still felt. From on top of his head, a single stream of blood trickled down his face, while the muzzle wound seemed to have become a blotchy grey burn half his mouth.
"There's his clothes...," Blake said. His outfit was bloody and ruined from his stomach injury, but he seemed to have at least thought ahead and removed his tie and jacket.
A couple cops had run out to check with him, and they talked briefly with him before helping him up. I took a few dumb steps forward, eyeing Rhamiel in his defeated state.
"Mannie," Blake said.
"I'll just- see you later. Hang by with Pepper, okay?"
"Mannie, no. Why would you even help him? That's what you're planning, right? They'll kill you."
"They can't."
"What?"
"Just- This might not even work." I shrugged comically, knowing it full well would. I was too tenacious to fail.
Rhamiel was the worst, but he deserved death, not this. Freedom was fine too, but not that again- torture, isolation, suffering. Life or death, black or white- no goddamn grey areas.
A stretcher being wheeled to the scene, and considering Kell was standing fine on his own, there really was only one thing that was about to go down right now.
Rhamiel was being lifted onto the stretcher, and I shoved my way through the crowd, kicking people aside and ducking under stray limbs. I hit the paramedics who were pushing the stretcher in the backs of their knees and grabbed on. The crowd was taken aback at first, but for a lot less time than I had hoped.
Kell in particular stood out, not moving but just standing there amid the chaos, watching.
I wrestled with the stretcher for a bit, helped only by the ruthlessness I used. I shook, kicked, and bit my way through the deafening crowd, using the stretcher as a weapon and knocking anyone in my path aside.
I had intended to head to Pride, hopefully able to lose my pursuers at some point and take shelter until Rhamiel could walk, but it was impossible with the crowd. Instead I was forced to barrel straight through the atrium into lower Hell. The moment the stretcher hit the incline, we were off. I ran behind at first to help catch speed, and then jumped on.
I only then realized how sweaty I was. I'd never really done something this outrageous before, or this close to a war crime. Was this a war crime? Oh God, I think it was.
The wheels of the stretcher weren't meant for the uneven tiles of Pride and Lust, and it bounced as it moved, like a sled on a too steep hill. I was terrified it was about to flip at any moment, but it remained upright. Confused people moved aside as the stretcher careened its way through the halls, only helped occasionally by me jumping down and helping it turn curves.
My end destination was still eluding me, but at least I knew I was getting there fast.
Rhamiel was stirring, eyes fluttering slightly as he began to wake. "What is happening? This is not the afterlife I had been hoping for."
"We're escaping," I said, "I grabbed you and ran."
"How will we escape if we're just heading deeper underground?"
"Elevators?" I said, asking him like he was able to answer.
We skirted our way just past the entrance to the offices at Lust when a wheel went wrong and the whole stretcher went flying. We both fell painfully to the ground, and the stretcher landed upside down.
Rhamiel moaned, obviously not at all well enough to do any walking. I helped him up, letting him lean on my shoulder. I couldn't carry his weight myself, but we managed a bit of a stumbling pace. We had a good head start.
Above our heads, a loudspeaker turned on, "Attention. All those in the lower levels, floors one to two specifically, be on alert for suspicious persons. A noted criminal is escorting an escaped and wounded angel. Destination unknown. Do not attempt combat; angel is likely still armed and can kill you. Send for the authorities and engage in lockdown mode. Repeat. All those in the lower levels..." It continued a few more times.
The few people in the hall immediately stared us down, as if the gurney wasn't a bit enough giveaway. Everyone dove for their phones or made a run for the offices, and at the end of the hall a metal gate was beginning to rise.
Rhamiel coughed up blood on my shoulder, and I walked over to one of the maintenance shafts. There wasn't anywhere else to go. Might as well give the waiting game a shot, right?
I couldn't support Rhamiel in the narrow shaft, and ended up mostly dragging his weight like he was a wet t-shirt. We kept going for a while in the quiet and hot vents, the only sound being Rhamiel's heavy breaths. He was too tall to walk here, and too weak to crouch. Most of the time, he had to crawl.
The further we went, the less I knew what I was doing. And considering I had started out with zero understanding of my own plan, this was a bad thing. I was in a tiny metal hallway next to a bigger hallway underground in a city called Hell, dragging along a half dead angel and sweating like a dog.
We had flicked on the dull lights when we had entered the shaft, but there were starting to phase out, some dead and others simply nonexistent. When we came a strange sort of half room, shorter than the rest of the hall but a lot wider, Rhamiel stopped.
"I am done. I am too tired to keep moving like this. And the end result is the same either way."
I grabbed ahold of him and looked into his tired dark eyes. "We're continuing. I know where we're going." I didn't, and I could tell he knew that.
I urged Rhamiel to follow as I made my way deeper into the darkness, but he stopped again before we had left the little clearing. The walls in this small clearing had been long gnawed away by something, exposing a rock wall. Rhamiel lay splayed out on the floor, and I sat near him, wondering what to do.
"You've got to end this." He wheezed. "I'm going to live."
"What?"
"I am not in that bad of a condition. I am going to live. And I do not want to."
"You want to die?"
"That is indeed what I had just stated. It is not quite 'want' as it is 'need'. I do not desire death. I have told you there are still things I have to take care of, places to revisit and people to re-meet. But it seems this is it for me. I must die. I do not have the strength to end it, so you must instead."
"I can't."
"Please, this is not about you, it is about me. If the people who are seeking us arrive, they have orders to keep me alive. I'm too precious to die. I want nothing to do with them, so end it all, please."
"Why?"
"I thought it was obvious?" Rhamiel coughed. "Do not be as weak as you are. I will be the one holding the blade- you must guide it through my heart."
"I can't," I said, shaking my head back and forth despite his inability to see that.
"Mannie! We only have so much time!" He barked, and I started to feel very vulnerable and scared. I could not kill. There was no way I was going to kill, I had promised myself I-
"Coward!" Rhamiel said harshly, pain seeping deep into his voice. "Weakling! Pathetic! Meaningless! Useless!"
"Fine!" I shouted, grabbing ahold of his sword hand and moving in front of his body so I had a clear aim of his chest. I twisted his hand and brought the tip of the blade right to his chest.
We went silently, breathing in sync. I looked into his eyes, the color lost in this dim dark light.
I watched his awful eyes and his awful face for ages. I hated him, I decided, and I was glad I had made up my mind about that before this crucial moment.
I sat, ready and waiting, like something new would happen that would prevent this awful thing from happening to this awful man. But nothing did.
I brought the blade down after I had searched for some sort of answer and some sort of reason to finally kill him and, finding nothing, went ahead with it anyways.
His blade disintegrated as he died, and I pulled the ring off his fingers. After a few weak twitches and shivers from his dying body, I began to see him less as a him. More of a body.
Then the wings came out. His were pale orange, an ugly shade, surely the type no angel could be happy with having. But also, you know, the color of the sunrise in the winter, or something warm, like the fringes of a fire.
His feathers were soft, and I tried not to touch them.
We hadn't been followed. I sat there for a long while in the dark, running my fingers over his feathers. He would've died anyway, probably, and we hadn't been followed.
I breathed for a while, not anticipating the future, and slung his dead arms over my shoulders, hunched over with his weight.
Something about him felt hollow. Like an emptied backpack. His orange wings, which seemed to radiate light, were dragged on the ground behind me. The color of his Grace remained pure, even when coated in dust, dirt, and dead matter.
Dead like him. The debris was like speckles on his pale orange wings, and I kept walking forward.