Chapter One: Michael

“Mom,” Michael spoke warily, not taking his eyes from the jet-black creature five feet from him, “please…just stay there. Don’t do anything.”

He chanced a quick glance backwards to the wooden porch, where his mother stood in the open doorway. In the second he turned his head, the crouching demon hissed, and there was a violent scratching sound as the slake scurried towards him. Michael quickly whipped his head back to the demon, which froze in mid-step. In a predatory manner, it lowered its cobra-head, pulling the lenses away from the six eyes on its crown. It opened its mouth to an unnatural width, revealing hundreds of needle-like spiked teeth within. Even in the black, starless night, Michael could see the green gleaning as drooled venomous fluid to the ground before it.

Holding his home-made silver knife in his right hand defensively, Michael exhaled, pushing away his fear, lowering himself into a backstance. His arms were crossed protectively in front of him with his right arm out front, should the slake lunge.
There was a step behind him, and Michael’s eyes widened; he didn’t dare take his eyes from this creature, but he quickly shook his head. “Mom…” he said quietly, fiercely, “Don’t.”

His mom’s traditionally soft voice responded behind him, “Michael…that thing can kill you.”
“No, it won’t.” Michael quickly returned, surprised at his own resolve, “But if you do what you’re planning…they will kill you.”
His mother said nothing.
“Trust me, mom.”
She took a step back. “Okay, Michael.”

Michael braced himself, holding the knife close to his body and putting his other palm out in a threatening manner towards the slake. In response, the beast snaked its tri-forked, leathery tongue out of its mouth. Michael let his eyes lower to the slake’s four legs, bent at the joint as if preparing to lunge. As long as I keep its legs from retracting…I have a chance.

He had to admit that he enjoyed the rush, and he allowed himself a smirk; still in adolescence, he was about to take on one of Hell’s most feared demons on his own.

Michael feinted left, making a quick stomping motion with his left foot. The slake flinched, and Michael dashed right. Hissing, the slake moved in unison with him, scurrying and circling left. It kept its eyes upon Michael, remaining in its hunched position, its back to his mother, who stayed in a ready position at the porch. Michael accepted a bleak truth; it’s here for me...

This begged the questions; did Yin dispatch assassins to those who’d received invitations? Did she know what Yang was planning and if she did…what was she doing to brace for it?

The slake lowered itself closer to the ground, its front legs retracting back into its body, allowing the creature to nearly become fully snake again. Its tongue retreated back into its closing mouth, but the teeth remained visible. The answers would have to wait.

Michael’s danger senses shrieked. Too late, he realized what was coming.
The slake made a short, forward-jerking motion. Michael couldn’t see them, but he felt them even as he tried to dodge to the right; a group of needles tore through his shoulder and upper arm. It was as though he’d fallen onto a steel cactus, and with the needles so closely grouped together, blood came freely and he felt as though his entire arm might come off.

His shoulders and arm went numb. The venom was working quickly.
Scratching sounds ahead of him. He couldn’t see clearly, but the eager hissing meant the creature was coming for him.

An uneasy wind blew past him, originating from the house. Michael looked up, quickly shaking his head to dismiss grogginess as he clutched his shoulder. To his horror, his mother had her hand outstretched.

The slake was completely grounded, slithering towards him with insane speed, mouth agape. Teeth at the ready.

Two seconds.

Michael reversed his grip on the blade, tossing it and catching it by its apex. Grunting through the pain of his new injury, Michael hurled the knife towards his mother softball-style. The blade forced his mother to duck back into the house as it stuck firmly to the right of the entrance, landing with a resounding thunk and burying itself almost up to its hilt. The last thing he saw before looking back to the slake was the shock and hurt in his mother’s eyes as she re-emerged.

The slake raised its head from the ground and opened its monstrous jaw, going for Michael’s ankle. Michael leapt straight into the air, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the aching flash that shot through his being. The slake shot beneath him.
With all the force he could muster, he brought both feet down on the body of the slake, which bucked its head up in shock and unexpected agony.

Michael turned and brought his right foot down on the slake’s head once, shattering three of its six eyes. Needles snapped beneath his heels and a pulpous, green fluid was sent flying from what remained of its eyes. It struggled to get out from under Michael, hissing weakly. Michael brought his foot to his head, and then brought his heel down on the slake’s head once again, and the slake moved no more.

Michael grunted, allowing himself to feel the pain in his shoulder as the battle came to a close. Only three or four needles remained inside of him, and with the slake dead, the poison died with it. Michael winced as he removed the needles from his shoulder and tossed them to the barren ground of his front yard.

Exhaling, regulating his breathing to control the receding pain, Michael stepped onto the porch and for a moment, looked square into the eyes of his mother. Although she was beautiful, fair skinned, flowing red hair with emerald eyes, the recent years had been difficult, and hair looked a little more ragged, her skin almost unhealthily pale.
“Michael…?” She asked, her voice failing and on the brink of tears.

Michael quickly shook his head, unable to mask his sympathy for his mother. He embraced her, holding her close. Careful not to aggravate her son’s wound; she only held his right side. “Mom, if you use that power…they will execute you. You know that.”
“I wasn’t about to watch my only son die.” She retorted firmly. Michael pulled away to look his mother in the eye, remembering not too long ago when she looked down upon him. “I didn’t die, mom.” He smiled, “You and dad trained me well.”

Tears came freely, but Araqiel refused to sob. She was proud of her son, and she smiled. “Is this why you’re getting into the thick of things, Michael?” She asked, her voice shaking, “To get closer to your father?”

Michael looked away, into the black distance of the night for a moment, and then looked back to his mother. “No…” He said slowly. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself, “I am going…because demons should not be here. We should not have to protect ourselves in our own home.”

Araqiel shook her head, reaching up, touching the young man’s face. “Son, I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but Yang’s plan…it will not bring an end to demons in Heaven.”

Michael frowned as he listened to his mother. “What do you mean? If he’s right, and this Nexus Stone can do what the letter says it can…”

Araqiel nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, it can, Michael, can’t you see? That is the problem. If you make to Valhalla and you are chosen to become an archangel…the power of the nexus stone won’t just be limited to you, or anyone else. All of us—angels and demons alike—will be imbued. How do you think Yin will react when she realizes her brother what her brother has unleashed? She’ll send everything she has, and conquest won’t be her goal—annihilation will.”

Michael exhaled. She’s right. “Then we…” He started, trying to make himself believe it, “…will have to stop her before she can.”
“And what about your father?”
Michael said nothing, caught by surprise.
“If you must,” Araqiel continued, “Will you stop him too?”

Michael lowered his head. They both knew why he was leaving.

“Mom,” He said silently, “I have to go.”

Araqiel held her son for a moment longer. Reaching down to the tie that held her silk robe to her body, she untied it, allowing her robe to fall open. She reached up to Michael’s injured shoulder, pulling down the checkered red/black flannel pattern jacket she made for him, and tied the silk around the injury. Michael felt his pain fade away, feeling in his arm returned. “As long as this stays whole,” She explained, “You should recover from non-life-threatening injuries fairly quickly.”

Smiling to his mother, Michael pulled the flannel back over his shoulder. He reached inside the doorway behind her and picked up his lightweight burlap sack, holding a few changes of clothes; he would hunt for food on the way.

From here, the suburbs on the outskirts of the capital city of Yevon, it was about a week’s journey to the Athearean Falls. He would then have to scale one thousand feet of mountain to reach Asgard, where Yang and Odin would be waiting.

He had to make the journey in three days.

“I’ll return it,” Michael promised, “when I come back.”

Araqiel smiled. They both knew that Michael’s return was far from guaranteed.
Michael bent down, kissing his mother on the cheek. He reached up behind her, pulling his knife free, sliding it into the leather sheath on the outside of his right ankle. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Michael descended the porch to the ground and headed to through the yard, taking note of the dead slake off to the right.

“Michael,” Araqiel called after him, “If you see your father, please remember…he loves you.”

Michael paused, closing his eyes. He stopped for a moment to consider the ramifications of encountering his father, if he was even still alive. He tried to convince himself that he had accepted Yang’s invitation to bring peace back to Heaven, rather than settle a family dispute.

Michael hoped he wouldn’t see his father. He hoped the rumors were true, and the angel was indeed a memory.

He opened his eyes, exiting the front yard to the road.

He did not look back.

Next Chapter: Uriel