Chapter Eleven: Allegiance

Chapter One: Michael

Day One: Mid-Day

Standing one foot apart, facing each other and awash in their own energies, their fists struck the ground in unison. Azrael was grateful that his fading Thanatonian powers had not left him completely.

There was a rumble accompanied by slight shaking beneath the ground as the desert floor opened, and sand disappeared into the void.

Then the water came. It erupted with such force that Azrael and his former opponent were knocked backwards as the energized geyser tore a hole in the ground that was nearly four feet wide. Azrael watched, almost in awe, as the water flew high in the air and angled left before descending upon the burning church.

Azrael got to his feet, followed closely by the young man who had attacked him. As he watched the water attack the church, something strange happened. Moments before the fire touched down on the burning roof of the church, the fire appeared to scatter; it opened in a circular pattern from the water’s ground zero, revealing badly charred, blackened wood beneath. When the water struck the roof, there was a piercing, otherworldly growl. Something had been hurt.

Azrael realized what they were dealing with. He fought hopelessness as he realized the water would not be enough. But it bought time, and maybe that was all they needed.

Azrael stole a quick glance as the young man beside him suddenly raced for the church. Apparently, they were thinking alike.

The two were drizzled by the water that battled the fire, holding it in a stalemate. The fire flared purple methane to fuel itself: it was fighting back. In some places on the church, the water could hold it off, and in others, the water was evaporated. Steam began to rise from the base of the smoldering building. Not much time.

As Azrael and his partner arrived at the rear wall, it was completely enflamed. Azrael observed for a moment as the young man beside him raised his right leg and immediately fired two side-style kicks into the wall fearlessly. He was able to fire two more before lowering his leg to the ground, but he had been able to kick a small hole in the wall, clear through to the interior.

Azrael was momentarily intrigued; the ability to use ones legs while fighting originated with the Ambrose clan. The clan had fallen out of favor in the Kingdom after…after an incident no one spoke of. He had heard that the clan had been wiped out after being exiled, and their fighting style had died with them. Either this boy was trained before the Ambrose’s were killed, or he was a survivor.

The answers would have to wait. The purple flame began to roll over itself, trying to seal the hole the boy had just made.

Azrael unwittingly pushed the young man aside, removing the top half of his robe. Azrael tore it in half down the middle and quickly made circular motions with his hands, wrapping the halves into protective gear around his fists. When they were solid, Azrael began to pound away at the wood near where the young man had made the hole. Beside him, the young man began shooting his foot into the opposing side of the hole. Seconds later, the geyser still raining down on them and holding the fire at bay, they fired in unison, each putting all of their strength into a single reverse punch that opened the hole to a gaping four feet.

Azrael stepped over the jagged wood, crouching beneath the top half of the hole to enter the church. The children, bound and gagged to the two support beams in the center, began to squirm in their bindings, wriggling as best they could to face Azrael. Some of them had been crying for hours, and their gags had loosened from the panicked tears and sweat that soaked their innocent faces.

Azrael noted that the water was beginning to beat back the fire. Purple flames, accompanied by the repugnant smell of sulfur and methane, began to appear within the walls, as if eager for the children within. The flames bellowed, and its screams bounced against the walls of the church interior, creating a haunting echo.

Behind him, as the young man climbed through the hole, the wood splintered under his footing, and the young man lost his balance. Azrael quickly took hold of him as he fell forward, jerking him inside just as the rear wall came crashing down with a thunderous roar. Azrael and his partner both gasped as they watched the wood collapse. “Thanks.” The young man offered.

Azrael didn’t reply. He quickly got to his feet, turning to the first support beam. The children screamed through their gags, eyes wide in raw horror as they begged Azrael to set them free. The young man moved behind him to the support beam closest to the front door, crouching, and going to work. Azrael could hear the young man speaking softly, trying to reassure the kids that everything would be alright.

With the ties loosened, the children sprung to their feet, instinctively racing for the open-ended rear of the church. At the top of his peripheral vision, Azrael caught purple fire snaking into the underside of the roof. Slowly, it began to rain down solid, foul-smelling material. One of the children shrieked in sudden agony as superheated molten rock landed on her bare foot. Azrael grabbed her, pulling her backwards as the fire completed itself, forming a continuous wall that completely blocked their exit. To compound matters, with natural air cut off, Azrael was almost immediately dizzy as the combined stench of sulfur and methane flooded the room.

“ANDERS!! Give me a hand!!”

The voice originated behind Azrael, who held a hand to his mouth in an attempt to filter the horrid odor. The children were coughing violently as some fell to their knees, fingers digging into their chest as they fought for air.

Azrael turned to the sealed front door of the church, where he could hear the residents clamoring at the door, frantically trying to get to their children. The young man held a limp figure in his arms, and was alternating legs as he kicked at the wall beside the door. Holding the boy was hindering his movement, and the frustration was evident in his voice. Outside, Azrael could hear someone pounding relentlessly on the wall.

Azrael removed his hand, but as he went to speak, he inhaled needles of sulfur and was sent into a coughing fit. He gestured to the children as best he could, motioning for them to go to the front of the church, away from the hellfire wall. Its flames had begun to snake inward, creating molten tracks as it moved with a will of its own along the inside of the church roof. What happened to the water?!

With a final cry, the young man was able to blast a hole clear through to the outside, where hands immediately reached in, almost in a frenzy trying to reach their children. The young man, worn from inhaling so much sulfur, fell to his knees and clutched his stomach, doubled-over. Each attempt to draw in fresh air became a savage coughing fit.

Azrael’s lungs felt like overinflated balloons inside his chest. He raced across the church to its front, and cleared a path between all of the children trying to escape the fire and return to the safety of their parents. “Get back—“He forced, his voice muffled by his inability to breathe, “GET BACK FROM THE WALL!” It was as much to the children as it was to their parents, and the children were quicker to comply. The hellfire was now more than a third of the way into the church. Azrael noted that the young man behind him had stopped coughing. Stopped moving.

His fists mirrored each other as he readied a double-punch and then fired it into the wall. In a single shot, nearly a third of the wall exploded outward, and the children ran freely into the fresh air.
There was a tremendous angry bellow behind him, followed by the rapid crunching of many bones breaking. Azrael chanced a look back and saw that the fire was literally eating the church, immolating its walls and reducing them to charred splinters. It was happening at the rear and was rapidly drawing nearer, coming for them.

Azrael quickly bent down and scooped up the young man, draping one arm over his shoulder. With no air and no time left, Azrael took two steps towards freedom and threw himself forward. The church exploded outward immediately afterwards in a final bid to claim them. Azrael and the young man rolled freely along the sand. As children were tightly embraced by grateful families, Azrael drew in fresh air and got to his feet. Beside him, the young man slowly regained consciousness. He rolled onto his stomach and looked at the church.

The water was indeed gone. The fire, engulfing the entire church, rumbled menacingly. It began to tornado, swirling into a vortex as the rumble began a raging shriek. The tornado rose into the sky as though it might reach Purgatory, and then dove down back onto itself. It completely obliterated the church, sending sharpened wood fragments throughout the city. Azrael, and everyone else there, dove for cover.
When they rose, the fire and the church were gone. Only a black spot and the receding smell of sulfur, like newly rotted eggs, remained. Azrael understood the hellfire’s rage. For all of its efforts, it had not claimed a single life.

Thirty minutes later, the entire town was gathered in its city hall. It had been converted to a hospital, and those that knew how were tending to the wounded. Azrael had only suffered mild sulfur inhalation. He refused medical attention; he’d dealt with worse.
He was uncomfortable making his way through the mammoth building. All around him, joyful mothers and fathers clutched their grateful children as though they would never again let go. They cried, they gave thanks, and when they saw Azrael pass by, they looked at him with their eyes brimming with tears of gratitude that couldn’t be articulated.

When he had first entered the town hall, he was nearly bowled over by a child than ran into him full-tilt, wrapping her arms around his legs and embracing him tightly. “Thank you, sir.” She had whispered, meaning every word. Azrael hadn’t known how to react. He didn’t touch the little girl; he didn’t know what to say. She didn’t seem to notice, only looking up to him with bright brown eyes and smiling. Azrael noted she was young; she didn’t have all of her adult teeth yet. Luckily, her mother called her, and she turned and skipped away. Azrael watched her go, unable to process these new emotions. Now, he just wanted to get out of there.

Azrael’s mind went back to his childhood in Olymparus, growing up in badlands between Heaven and Hell. The product of a fallen angel and the woman who tried to redeem him, he had been raised with more toughness than love. It wasn’t something he had a problem with; crossling children weren’t welcomed by either side and his father’s harshness had made him strong. His mother’s gentle hand had taught him right from wrong, but his father ensured that neither he nor his twin brother would ever be victims.

So faced with a joyous situation such as this, Azrael wasn’t quite sure how to behave. It wasn’t for him; he had done his duty, and it was time for him to be on his way.

Before he reached the front entrance, Azrael caught a spectacle off to his right. The young man was surrounded by the town’s girls, but his attention was focused on a boy who was being treated for what appeared to be whip injuries. The young man looked up, locking eye contact with Azrael, who immediately turned away. Damn.
Azrael increased his pace and exited through the front door. He took a quick glance back to ensure that he wasn’t being followed, and then began to lower himself into a glide–

“HEY!!”

Azrael grit his teeth, cursing under his breath as he righted himself. Ready for a confrontation, Azrael slowly turned, half-facing the young man as he jogged from the entrance to city hall, approaching Azrael.

“Thank you,” The young man said gratefully, nodding, “For saving my life back there.”

Azrael was relieved, but showed no body language. “You’re welcome.” He replied. “I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“That fighting style you use,” The young man persisted, “You’re from Olymparus, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” Azrael inquired neutrally.

“The rapid hand movements.” The young man answered quickly, knowing what he was talking about. “It’s a derivative of a style based on animal movements. I read some of the fallen angels started it.”
Azrael said nothing. The young man hesitated. “Are you…are you one of the fallen angel?”

Azrael was silent. The young man exhaled. “Look,” He said gently, “I’m sorry that I attacked you. I was in the wrong. You saved those children in there. Your heart is obviously in the right place—“

“Then what does it matter if I’m a fallen angel or not? My allegiance is to the Kingdom. Shouldn’t that be all that matters?” Azrael retorted. The fact that he had taken offense was evident in his voice. The young man said nothing. Azrael turned to face him fully. “Your fighting style.” Azrael said accusingly, “The ability to fight with one’s legs originated with the Ambrose clan. I had heard that they were all killed. So are you a student…or a survivor?”

The young man blinked twice, looking away. He nodded, understanding what Azrael was saying. “Some questions are better left unanswered, aren’t they?” Azrael finished. He extended his hand as a friendly gesture. “My name is Azrael. What’s yours?”

The young man accepted the gesture, shaking his wrist. “John.” He answered. Azrael had to stifle a chuckle; the man was clearly lying, but one’s business was their own. ‘John’ must’ve read Azrael’s eyes, because he followed up with, “The head of the Ambrose clan; he trained me alongside his son as a favor.”

Of course he did.

“Well, John.” Azrael said, taking his hand back, “It’s been a pleasure, but if you’ll excuse me, I have business to see to.”
Azrael turned around. “What kind of business?” John inquired.
“My business.”
“The kind of business that takes you to Asgard, right?”
Azrael was stunned. How does he…?

As Azrael turned to face John again, John had pulled a familiar-looking parchment bearing Yang’s seal from the inside of his flannel. “My allegiance,” John spoke genuinely, “is also to the Kingdom.”

“Then you know why I have to go.” Azrael said quietly. “Asgard is at least a thousand miles from here. We have two days to get there.”
“I don’t care if you’re an Olympic-level glider.” John quickly returned. “You’ll never cover that kind of distance in two days. There has to be another way. You ever think we’re here for a reason?”

“What reason would that be?” Azrael asked flippantly. He was in no mood for signs, coincidences, or a lesson in either.

“How’d you know about that fire?” John asked. Azrael said nothing.
“Okay, fine, pull the stoic act.” John said quickly. “But the point is; you knew people were in trouble and you came to help. Maybe that’s why Yang chose you.”

Yang didn’t choose me…this was what Azrael wanted to say. “You’re right, I did. But now that I’ve done that, I have my duties to attend to.”

“Azrael,” John pushed, “Can’t you see there’s something happening here? These people are being oppressed in their own homes by demons. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“John, we are at war!” Azrael spat, his tone at its loudest. “The innocent are oppressed and killed on a daily basis. For now, this is the way of things. If we are accepted at Asgard, then maybe we can make a difference. But we have to think of the greater good. Do we save one village at the expense of losing a war?”

“When we’re made aware of the village’s suffering, then YES, WE DO!!!” John roared back. “If we’re in a position to save one life, then we should do it!”

It was times like this when Azrael forced himself to remember that not everyone was from the Legion, and not everyone had provided escort for hundreds of recently deceased. “You have your convictions,” Azrael said, composing himself. “And I have mine. I hope to see you again in two days.”

“Have it your way.” John growled. He pointed at Azrael. “But you’re leaving people to die, Azrael. Live with that.”

As John angrily turned back to city hall, there was an immense booming noise in the distance, as though someone had dropped ten tons outside of town, behind what remained of the church. The ground shook with such violence that both Azrael and John lost their balance and fell.

The residents came rushed out of city hall, fearful that the building would collapse on top of them.

For a moment, all was eerily silent. Azrael and John, looking into the distance, got to their feet.

A colossal booming noise. The ground shook. Silence.
Then another.
Then another.

Something howled a deep, piercing cry that could be heard for miles. It lasted for five seconds, and then silence.

“Everyone.” John said quietly, fiercely, “Get inside.”

The residents quickly shuffled back into city hall as the booms resumed. The ground shook with a little more force and the booms became louder. Fear shot through Azrael.

Whatever it is, it’s a behemoth, and it’s on its way here.

A dark revelation crept into Azrael’s mind as he realized what must be done.

These people will be slaughtered because we chose to interfere.

His mother had instilled in him the necessity to take responsibility for one’s own actions. They had started this fight, and now they had to finish it.

“John,” Azrael said silently. “For now…I am with you. We need to keep that monster away from this city.”

John shot Azrael a look of surprise. There was another boom as the creature took a slow, plodding step. “Whatever it takes,” Azrael said sincerely.

John nodded, extending his hand. “Whatever it takes,” he echoed.
Azrael took hold of John’s wrist, and shook firmly. No matter their fate, they would see this through to the end.

Without another word, they released each other’s hands. They turned back towards where the church had stood only hours earlier. Slowly, they began to walk towards whatever was coming, and whatever battle awaited them.

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