Chapter Seven: Between Worlds

Chapter One: Michael

Previous Chapter: Uriel’s Reckoning

Day One: Dawn

Azrael flew through the endless, starry space high above Purgatory. He flew towards one light in particular, this one a radiant blue amid a sea of yellow dots.

Azrael had to force himself to move onwards, fighting his instinct to turn tail and head back to Purgatory—where it was safe.

Tensing his arms at his sides and bracing himself for the inevitable as he rocketed forward, Azrael closed his eyes. He did not want to see what was coming. Feeling it would be enough.

A chilling breeze emanated from the light. It was unpleasant; Azrael felt as though arctic wind was blowing over his body. Even through closed eyes, the light became invasive, as though the blue would burn the corneas from his eyes, robbing him of his sight.

As he entered the light, its energy attached to him, sharply crackling as though lightning was overtaking him.

Azrael grimaced as his entire body was suddenly electrified. He felt like the lightning had attached itself to his body and was racing up and down his arms, legs, and torso. It was like passing through a bed of needles.

Although he was still flying, Azrael’s body was buffeted by the energy; he was tossed around relentlessly. He quickly lost his sense of direction and would’ve been overcome by nausea—if he could have opened his mouth.

Gradually, the electricity receded, leaving his arms first, then his torso, exiting through his legs.

Intense, searing blue light gave way to a more gentle orange, and the sound of wind passing by flooded his ears. Azrael suddenly realized that he had no control over his body.

He was falling.

He recalled one another time where he felt so overwhelmingly uncomfortable; the first time he has passed between worlds.

With a deafening thud that echoed through the immediate area, Azrael slammed face-first into the desert sands. He felt his body slide a little; he had landed on a dune.

He raised his head. Still unable to open his eyes, he coughed twice, expelling sand before attempting to breathe.

Azrael rolled onto his back, arms outstretched, and every muscle in his body seemed to tense all at once. He opened his mouth but found he was unable to speak. His body was still acclimating itself to its new surroundings. He wondered if this was what infancy was like, moments after birth.

”Take it easy, Azrael.” A familiar voice came from above him, “It will take a moment for your body to adjust.”

Azrael forced his eyes open, but was greeted only by the orange blur of the morning sky. He blinked quickly, and he could make out clouds passing to the east. Hurry.

He looked at his right fist, wiggling his fingers quickly, trying to restore feeling. As he felt the sand leave his hand, Azrael swiftly formed a fist. Moments later, he had full control over his left hand, and hurriedly rolled to his stomach, where he could raise his head and see who had spoken to him. It was a figure Azrael had hoped he would not see again, especially not so soon.

The man looked exactly the same as the day Azrael had last seen him, save for his hair. It was still black, but he had allowed it to grow slightly and it covered the black of his neck. It was still short at the top, and what was there stuck straight up. The man was dressed in a white, two-piece suit that masked a well-maintained physique. His pale skin tone and narrow brown eyes matched Azrael’s.

The man smiled. “Relax, Azrael,” The man said gently, “I’m not here to fight you.”

The statement did nothing to relax Azrael. “Then why are you here?”

The man raised his eyebrows, taking a few steps towards Azrael’s right, hands clasped behind his back. “We’re brothers, Azrael. I haven’t seen you since you, ahem…” He seemed to search for the proper word, “…relocated yourself to purgatory.”

Azrael struggled briefly as he got to his feet. He immediately stumbled back and planted his right foot behind him to maintain his balance. He would not take his eyes off of his brother, who smiled as though he was genuinely happy to see him. “Our father has been worried about you, Azrael.”

“Has he?” Azrael scoffed.

His brother nodded. “Things have changed since you’ve been gone, Azrael. Dad wants you to come home.”

Azrael dreaded the answer, but asked anyway; “Are you here to take me, Anileif…?”

Anileif shook his head. “Not if you’re unwilling, Azrael.”

For a moment, the two remained silent. The wind blew as Azrael looked up to the brother who was older than him by less than ten minutes. When Anileif spoke next, his voice was grave. “This…trip you’re making to Asgard. Even if you succeed, do you think it will make a difference?”

Azrael said nothing.

”They’ll never accept you, Azrael.” Anileif continued, “You could singlehandedly end this conflict and you’ll still be nothing more than another crossling.”

Anileif spoke the words with the same hatred that had become a way of childhood life for Azrael.

”They’re so disgusted by what we are,” Anileif growled, having endured the same humiliation himself, “that they would not even name us.”

Azrael raised his eyes to meet his brother’s.

”At least, in our father’s realm,” Anileif finished, his tone lightening, “we are somewhat accepted. Do you remember what our mother’s own people did to her?”

Azrael shuddered. Of course he remembered; he had been present. Azrael knew he would never be able to make himself forget his mother’s screams.

“It’s foolish to fight for people who would not have you.” Anileif’s tone was sincere. “Come home.”

Azrael felt torn. Anileif, always in sync with his brother, nodded. “All is forgiven, Azrael. Come home.”

Azrael finally shook his head. “I can’t, Anileif.”

A dark look descended into Anileif’s face. “Why?” He demanded.

“Because…the one you fight for seeks annihilation. What will she do when there is nothing left to kill?”

“You dare to speak as though Yang’s intentions are altruistic? What do you think he’s fighting for?”

“Peace.”

Looking down on his brother, Anileif shook his head. “You always were naive.”

“You were always so shortsighted, Anileif.”

“Well then,” Anileif said, finality in his tone, “one day we will see who is right. But for now…I cannot allow you to proceed to Asgard.”

Azrael tensed. He wasn’t ready to face his brother yet. Anileif quickly raised a hand to ward off his brother. “Relax, Azrael. I’m not fighting you today.”

Azrael scowled. Then what…

In the moment he relaxed, and his senses expanded, he felt it. Off to the east, the cold, repressive feeling of…

A swirling column of fire bellowed off to the east, firing straight into the sky.

Azrael, caught off-balance, quickly turned. Analeif smiled.

“Yes.” Anileif grinned savagely. “You begin to understand, don’t you?”

“What have you done?!” Azrael demanded.

“They can still be saved, Azrael.” Anileif hissed. “That’s the nature of fire; it does its work slowly.” Anileif bared his teeth as he grinned. “Of course, you could always ignore them, and continue on to Asgard…”

Azrael stole a quick glance to the east before looking back to his brother.

“Damn you.” Azrael spat, breaking a cardinal rule.

“We are both already damned, Azrael. Why are you so unwilling to see that?” Anileif quickly returned. “I’ll see you again someday.” Anileif turned to leave. He looked over his shoulder, back to Azrael.

“Someday soon.”

With that, Anileif calmly walked away and disappeared over the dune.

Soon…

The final word stayed with Azrael as he turned to the east. He stumbled, nearly losing his balance and falling forward before righting himself. He lowered his body until it hovered almost two feet above the ground, his toes nearly touching. In the traditional position of a Glide, Azrael shot off into the distance, unsure if he would be able to save Gabriel and the legion an unnecessary journey…

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