Aimee
Aimee eased out of the water like a shadow, step by step, creeping up behind the unsuspecting Gabriel Guard. Who had foolishly leaned against one of the rowing boats moored on the pebble beach, unprofessionally placing his bow inside the small vessel, stretching his arms above his head. The air was thick with smoke, and the crackle of the fires that tore up Saint Michael Chapel was a constant noise, smothering every other sound, including Aimee - not that she made a sound.
Saint Michaels's power surged through her veins, like the fires around her and she feared nothing but her own failure. She paused to blink the water from her eyes, pleased that her hair, now soaked, behaved itself and stayed slick down her back. Her sword vibrated and burned white in her hand, lusting for Daemon's blood, and she could feel the evil seeping from the guard.
The Fallen had truly infiltrated the Order and the foul thing in front of me is proof...
Just as the guard dropped his arms, it must have sensed her and went for the sword on its back, only to gurgle a cry as Aimee cut its throat and knocked him into the boat, quickly covering him with a grubby green tarpaulin.
She crouched low and waited, searching the immediate area with her eyes and heightened senses.
Clear...
Another wave of guilt struck her and images of her sister's pale face loomed up before her eyes, changing to the death stare of Leon.
She snapped them shut and shook her head the clear her mind. In frustration she lashed out at the boat, putting her fist straight through the hull.
It worked, the pain and anger burned away the regret deep in her belly.
Snapping back she picked out the splinters and wiped away the blood, her hand already healing, the earring burning in reply. She slipped off her soaked jacket and hid it under the tarpaulin with the Daemon. She breathed in deeply and readied herself for the next stage of her mission. Liana knew her better than most, yes she wanted revenge, and she will have it, but her duty to St Michael, the Order and her friends on the Island were paramount.
"Duty first, revenge second," she said sprinting to the next line of undergrowth, protected by an overhanging willow tree, its long slim branches swaying and dancing in the breeze, blowing across the lake from the nearby mountains. Aimee shivered from the bite, more from the dampness of her clothes than the cold. She peered at the afternoon sun and watched its rays bounce off the lake, like millions of sapphires all collected in one location.
Now is not the time to admire the scenery...
She focused back on her task and on the fire burning in her chest, the earring of Michael throbbed in time with her heart and her sword. She was one with her holy Aura, one with Heaven and the great Lord.
Are you finally listening to me, my Lord Michael?
Keeping to the shadows she sped as fast as she could from building to shrubs to trees, always following the intense corruption like a beacon, drawing her in, leading towards the Chapel at the back of the Island. Killing Daemons as she moved, her foes did not know what hit them until she returned them to hell.
She snapped Daemon Sentries' necks to silence them and then cut their throats to ensure their demise. If only she had not lost Ardour, the sword of Michael last year. Similar to Liana's Lucena, a cut from Ardour would disintegrate a Daemon where they stood, stopping the need to hide the bodies. The last sentry she threw into a burning building, unable to find anywhere suitable to hide the corpse.
As she sneaked up along the edge of the Library building, still untouched by flames, she peered out upon Saint Michael Square, a small cobbled clearing ten meters by ten meters, with a beautiful ornate fountain in the centre, a replica of the statue of her Lord Michael inside the Chapel. Water spraying out from the top of his head, the sword held aloft beautifully crafted and painted, its blade glinting in the sun like it was real, the gold pommel and hilt, crusted with a single white crystal that when hit by the sun's rays on winters solstice, sent a magical rainbow over the chapel door. The legend has it that when you enter the Chapel on that day, you can feel Michael's love and kiss on your cheek, though he had not acknowledged Aimee in a very long time, she refused to give up hope.
I still hold out for you my Lord, don't lose faith in me...
Aimee scowled at the colour of the water spurting out of the top of Saint Michael, the flow designed was to look like a halo. She always loved sitting on the side to listen to the trickle while she either read or meditated. But now, the view brought bile to her throat, and she shook with rage, as the halo was blood red, from one of her brethren, a Monk floating face down in the water.
She reached to see who it was but stopped as her sapphire flashed a warning that she was not alone. She slipped out the holy collar from her back pocket, letting her Aura flow into the device. It burned white and began to vibrate.
"Do you like my lovely little display Faithless? Do you not think the red brings out the beauty better and adds more impact on your false Saint's true nature?"
Aimee snapped her gaze past the fountain to a Saint Michael's Monk kneeling in prayer on the steps of the little chapel, their face hidden within the heavy hood.
She ducked suddenly behind the statue, as an arrow ricocheted off the cobbles where she had just been and dived to her right, flinging the holy collar up towards the smoke billowing out of the burning chapel roof. The device connected with a Daemon sentries neck, instantly paralyzing him and making him drop to the ground with a sickening crunch.
"I said she is mine you worthless scum, hold your fire!" screamed the monk, jumping to its feet and silencing the groaning Daemon in one swift swing with a small sword. The monk's Hell blade burned red for a moment before switching back to dull black.
Aimee's gaze searched the burning buildings all around for more guards, but found nothing, dropping her white-fired stare back to the small monk.
Yes, I should have known it was him...
"Biggs, you are the traitor...I should have ended you the last time we met," she cursed, edging slowly around the fountain, careful not to get splashed by any blood.
The monk, Biggs, laughed a high-pitched cackle, the sound like the witches in children's fairy tales. It made the hairs on her neck stand on end.
"You know nothing Faithless...nothing," he replied, flicking off his hood to reveal what she already knew, a pair of blood-red feline eyes.
"How are you hiding your corruption from us? Why couldn't I sense you and all your minions until now?" she asked, continuing to ease closer to the little worm. Who laughed at her again, though the eyes did not change, remaining fixed upon her.
"You think I would tell the likes of you? Don't be a fool Faithless, all you need to know is that the end of you and the Order is nigh and soon we will have regained control of the accuser, the destroyer. And then blood will flow throughout the world as his wrath pulls mankind apart. Submit to Baal or die you holy slut!"
Aimee frowned at his words, trying to decipher anything useful from his little confession. She knew who the accuser was, a key Archangel that Fell and became a pinnacle leader of Lucifer's legions in the war against Heaven. Only the capture of the Accuser's sister stopped him from crushing Michael and the Heavenly Host. But how and why...
Like a thunderbolt, it came to her, and she trembled at the realization, the fear almost paralyzing her. She snapped her gaze back at Biggs. She knew what she had to do, and was forced to pause as the little Daemon clicked his fingers, for two of his guards to drag out a badly injured Father Liam, his face covered in blood and his white cassock ripped at the front exposing deep bleeding cuts. The guards threw him to the floor and Aimee tensed, eager to go to his aid, but controlled her instincts to save her friend.
"What will you do Faithless?" asked Biggs as he snatched Father Liam's head and placed his blade under his throat.
"Let him live and surrender yourself to the future. Or...DIE trying!"
Aimee edged forwards, weighing up her chances of getting to the High Priest before the blade severed his throat and at the same time, somehow avoiding the arrows of the two guards behind Biggs. Both notched and pointed at her.
"Go on Faithless, just try it, and let's see how good you are?" teased Biggs pulling Father Liam's head up higher, exposing his throat, a small trickle of blood trailing down to his chest.
As Aimee watched, Father Liam raised a shaky hand in front of him, causing Biggs to laugh.
"There is no use Father, you cannot win this fight," he said.
But Aimee didn't think the High Priest was trying to get free, he was pointing at something and Aimee followed his finger to the fountain, frowning in confusion.
Biggs cackled. "He won't save you now; all is lost for you and your damn Order. It is over!"
Father Liam began mumbling a word, a single word, over and over.
"What is that? You want your mummy," taunted Biggs, slapping the Priest's face.
Aimee shook in anger and crouched ready to pounce. But this was just what Biggs wanted.
"I can't hear you! Speak up!" said Biggs grinning from ear to ear.
"Ardour!" Father Liam cried then collapsed in exhaustion in the little Daemon's arms.
"Huh, what are you -," said Biggs looking up, confused at what Aimee was doing
But she understood instantly and leapt for the statue's sword, her hand grasping the handle, the bust of Saint Michael crumbled away as the ground shook and rumbled.
The Holy power soared through her body, the weapon flared white, blinding all who would look and the energy, burning through her, the power intoxicating as it was terrifying. Standing up to her knees, in the blood of her friends, Aimee scowled at Biggs and his two Guards. She would have laughed at the little Daemon's expression, had she not wanted to rip his throat out. He dropped Father Liam and stepped back, grabbing the two Guards, and pushing them forward.
"Kill her, kill her!"
Aimee didn't wait and was on them in a flash, Ardour, the flame of God a blur as she struck, dancing past arrow after arrow, her fierce gaze focused on Biggs. In two quick movements, the two guards disintegrated into dust as the Holy blade burned their souls back to oblivion leaving a terrified Biggs kneeling at her feet, trembling as a black liquid flowed out from under his cassock, staining the chapel steps.
"Pissing yourself again are we?" she cackled, her hand trembling as Ardour screamed in her mind for the Daemon blood.
"P-please, have mercy on a-"
"You don't deserve MERCY!"
She cut off his plea with a single swing, decapitating the traitor, his head disintegrated into ash before it hit the ground, small flakes left to blow away in the wind.
She dropped down to the unconscious form of Father Liam and checked his pulse. It was there, but very weak. He appeared to have stopped bleeding, and at a quick inspection would likely live.
A part of her wanted to stay with him and also search for more survivors, but her duty came crashing down upon her shoulders like a mountain, she still had her mission to complete, and after the arrogance of Biggs, revealing what the Prince of darkness was planning, she had to find this accuser quickly, to stop them creating Hell on Earth.
She trembled at the thought of another world-shattering war and steeled her insides, as the earth would not survive it a second time.
With a heavy heart and that everlasting binding guilt in her stomach, Aimee kissed Father Liam's cheek and said a quick prayer for him and fled into the trees, straight in the direction of the Manor House of Gabriel.
I pray Lord Michael...that I am not too late...