The world was a quiet and lonely place from the top of Mount Pythes. The summit wasn't a very tall one, but few mortals ever dared to climb it. They claimed it was haunted, possessed of something beyond their world, and perhaps their comprehension. They claimed that to inhabit it was to disturb that which dwelled within its demesne. So the cliffs were undisturbed by any except the few who had ever climbed it -- those few who were not mortal. So for them, it was a quiet and lonely place.

The superstition served well enough. Perhaps part of it was true, as Mount Pythes had only one type of regular climber. And those regular climbers stood upon it, just high enough to cast their eyes on the world below them. It looked like a large landscape, with tiny dots marking houses and lights and things, and the people were microscopic from their height. It was the height they preferred to stand at, just high enough to oversee everything, but close enough to scan, and perhaps admire. Then again, idle admiration didn't suit the two who stood together, watching. They had all of eternity to admire the cities and worlds the humans created below. And they spent that eternity watching it grow and develop, for they were the guardians of the world, and everyone that dwelled within it. They spent many days on Pythes, watching everything around them pass through the sands of time, shifting as the four winds blew its grains. It was their duty to do so.

Such is the nature of angels.

They were a pair; a man and a woman, staring down into the unaware civilization with intense eyes. The male, it seemed, was more intent on the mortal world than the female -- his subdued, almost smoky blue eyes reflecting more of an appreciation, more of a concern. He stood to the left of his counterpart, and perhaps an inch or so in front. His expression was blank, contemplative. The woman, on the other hand, seemed a little more discontent, or the slightest bit inconvenienced. Deep, vivid, vibrant baby-blue eyes glinted a bit with the setting sun: focused, but not on the world below her. Her left hand came to the top of a golden broadsword, sheathed in a guard of matching material, which was attached to a steel studded loop that went around the top of her waist from behind and dipped below it as it circled from the front. It was hard to call this accessory a belt due to its loose enough fit to slide off the waist, and the garment it would have held up. It was a single-piece navy blue dress, cut off at the top and around the sides of her chest. The back was full, and the top part fit snugly. In addition, the woman's garment was long-sleeved, slit at both sides by her upper thighs, and was designed with a hood. The loop dipped down over the piece of fabric to keep the front of the dress down, but the drawback was that her sword, long and thin with a particularly long hilt and a diamond-shaped piece attached to the top of it, was in constant need of readjusting. In a situation as she was in, merely looking down at human creations, it was an excuse for something to do.

"We waste our time here, Raphael."

The male looked to her for a moment, slightly sympathetically. "I can't see how looking down upon civilization is a waste." He looked back to the sights below. "We gaze upon humanity, and all her works. It is our duty to protect them, and watch them grow. To watch them here is a vantage, Zariel. We may watch them live, and breathe, and walk. This is something not to be scoffed at."

The woman, Zariel, stared harshly, coldly at him. "The affairs of mortal men do not concern me; only that they are left alive to lead their droll lives."

Raphael looked a little disappointed, and a bit cross. "Enough, Zariel."

In appearance, Raphael and Zariel, much like the other angels, shared a distinctly similar look and attire. But at the same time, they looked very much different. Like Zariel, Raphael's attire was navy blue, the exact same shade as the woman's. Raphael wore a navy breastplate with a cloth hood sewn in. Two curved, almost V-shaped gold lines ran across the upper half of the breastplate, parallel to each other. His abdomen was left exposed, and a loose cloth garment, almost like loose-fitting shorts with flared legs, ran to the middle of his thighs. Long, navy colored pieces of cloth covered his arms. The pieces were detatched and mostly covered from the elbows to the wrists. The tops, however, were stretched out in the back and pinned in place by gold, rounded cupped pauldrons, with a somewhat ridged shell effect (in contrast to Zariel's smooth, rounded steel pauldrons). The "sleeves" were pinned securely enough to keep them from moving, but did not constrict arm movement. Raphael wore golden boots, stopping just below the knee cap. A piece of gold strapped across the top of his knee, connecting with the boot. Combined with the gold strips that rose up his thighs (perhaps for design), his foot garments looked like a combination of boots and knee braces. This was very much different from Zariel's boots, which were steel and significantly less fanciful than Raphael's. With little engraving, design, or embellishment, they rose to her mid calf. If Raphael was considered to be the more elegantly appearing or attired of the two, then the image was defied in their swords. Raphael wielded a golden scimitar; the blade was about a foot or so thick, and chipped at the edges. Its hilt was just as long as Zariel's, but where the length of her sword was proportonate to the handle, Raphael's was not. The hilt of his scimitar was several inches longer than the blade, making his weapon appear unusually short.

The wind picked up, blowing Raphael's long, silver hair a bit. He did not mind it, though he ruffled the large, grayish-white wings at his back a bit. Zariel did the same. For her, the wind was a bit more bothersome; she had long blonde hair that fell beyond her hood, but two intricate, thin braids draped down her cheeks, and the gust blew one of the braids into her face.

"The weather turns unfavorable with the night, and there is little to see here," Zariel said, roughly and impatiently brushing the braids away. "Let us make for new environs."

Raphael frowned a bit, but had to concede to the point. "Very well. Where should we be off to?"

Zariel turned fully to face Raphael, her full, round lips pursing ever so slightly. "I wish to call upon Septim. I thirst for nectar."

Raphael sighed heavily. It was his last chance to breathe in the world below and everything around him before their departure. He turned to face Zariel, and nodded. "Let us make for the snowy plains, then."

Zariel did not speak. She began to flap the large, feathered wings at her back, trying to build air and pressure against them, and slowly she began to hover several inches from the ground. Raphael followed suit, the large wings beginning to flap. Zariel waited just long enough for his feet to leave the ground before she turned herself around, and with several great flaps of her wings, she began to fly northwest, soaring into the sky -- and Raphael flew closely behind.

Their destination was quite far from Mount Pythes. The snowy continent of Baridia was an ocean away, and required several hours of flight. By the time Raphael and Zariel had arrived, the sun had set from where they had stood on the cliffs of Pythes. But where they landed, the sun hadn't quite gone down yet. The frozen tundras were somewhat windy where Raphael and Zariel touched down, but the pair had to worry little about the wind. They had touched down at the center of the deserted continent -- deserted except for one life, whose castle stood in the middle of the continent, where the two angels now stood. The angels looked up at the towering, twenty-foot structure, built of stone that was a powdery blue, almost like the color of the only season Baridia knew. There was no moat or drawbridge, but a large wooden door with studs barred their way. No one walked the spires or ramparts of the castle; it almost appeared to be empty.

Raphael reached forward and banged on the sturdy wood several times, a deep, resonating bang issuing with each contact. There was a moment of silence before a voice seemed to shout to them, echoing through the air.

"What is your purpose in these frozen lands?"

"We seek he who guards the winter castle!" Raphael called out, looking up toward the top of the door as he answered the question.

"Swords of the Almighty Father, enter!" And with that, the large wooden doors began to part slowly for the two, and after giving enough way for the two to enter comfortably, they walked through and into the antechamber of the great castle.

The antechamber was huge, taking up what felt like a city's worth of space, in both area and height. The room was powder blue, with three thick, round pillars per row running down the relative center of the chamber; with two rows of pillars, there were six in all, with a long carpet running down the center of the formation -- and directly down the center of the room. The carpet itself was intricately designed, in shades of winter blue. The pillars were a material that looked like stone and marble, and where the walls and floor were bare, the stone interior looked like frozen brick. Different tapestries hung down the sides of the walls, depicting angels in biblical stories. A small set of stairs led to the throne room, and tall, blue candelabra illuminated the antechamber from either side of the great room.

"Welcome, my friends!" a voice called out from the other end of the room. It was the same voice that demanded their intentions earlier, but now had a face and body to go with it. The figure stepped down the stairs, draped in a long regal raiment of navy blue, with details of gold and white. Blue shoes made little sound as he approached them, appearing to be a high-ranking chancellor or perhaps one of the members of the royal family. His skin was a very light golden, much like the other two angels. Approaching the two, he smiled sublimely, yet delightfully at the two, and the smooth, somewhat airy high baritone voice greeted them again. "It is always wonderful to see you, Zariel and Raphael."

"And it is always a pleasure to see you, Septim," Raphael said, taking the man's hand and shaking it gently.

"Indeed," agreed Zariel, offering her hand as well.

Septim looked very much like an older Raphael, almost as if he could have been the man's father. He had a long, somewhat thin face, with defined cheekbones. His hair was silver, matching Raphael's color, but was longer and fell into a long French braid. His eyes were a dull blue, not too far from either Raphael's or Zariel's, and he was about as tall as Raphael, standing at about six feet and an inch, in comparison to Raphael, who was an inch shy of six feet. It was not just in the height difference, or in the fact that Raphael's hair was very similar to Septim's own (both had thick hair, especially in the front, but Septim's was longer and he wore it all back, whereas Raphael had parted the top and front of it just a bit, and wore the rest loosely), that made them appear to be father and son. Raphael's face was also long, with defined cheeks and a sloping, distinct jaw. But Septim's face was a bit longer still, almost making him appear to be an old sage or a stereotypical "wise king", whereas Raphael's appeared to be shorter, perhaps because of the somewhat short forehead, and the rounded-ness that ended at the back of his cheeks. Raphael also had rather distinct feminine features about his face, perhaps because they saw few wrinkles. But the lines shaping his general head were smooth, and there was a certain gentleness about his facial features. It was often said that Zariel was the warrior and accomplisher of the two, because of Raphael's features.

Of course, there was nothing unfeminine about Zariel. She was easily considered beautiful with her smooth, round face. Her lips were full, round, and sensuous, and often there was something on her eyes that almost appeared to be eyeshadow. But there were slight masculine features about her, coming out between the forehead, nose, bridge between her nose and upper lip, and her chin in conjunction to her cheek, that allowed her to wear a silent irritation well, and made intimidation through facial expressions easy. Raphael, too, could intimidate with a look, but it required more work for him than it did Zariel, who could seem to do it instantly. And she wore the look often, though to do so simply for the effect on others was beneath a woman of her character and disposition -- just as it wasn't befitting for someone like Raphael to twist his face enough to instill trepidation in others.

"So, my friends," Septim said, lifting his hands slightly in a gesture of giving. "What brings you to the land of the ice and snow?"

"We have come to request some nectar, so that we might be fulfilled on it a bit," Zariel said, her piercing blue eyes locking with Septim's.

"Ah, so you wish to sup on the liquid of divinity. Very well, I would be honored to drink with you a while, if you would have my company," responded Septim, beginning to step to another part of the room.

"But, of course," Raphael answered with a gracious smile.

Septim did not walk far. Going to one of the pillars, he laid a hand on it gently. The sound of shifting, grinding stone gently reverberated through the antechamber as a panel opened up, holding a deep chalice and glasses, held up by wooden holders fastened to the inside of the pillar. Taking three glasses, he scooped them inside the chalice, filling each glass with the golden cup's contents. He held two glasses in his right hand, and one his left, and as he stepped away, the panel closed. With the golden-amber liquid in each glass, he approached the two angels, handing the glass in his left hand to Zariel. He then took one of the glasses in his right hand carefully, passed it to his left, then passed it on to Raphael; the third glass he lifted slightly to the two, and all three sipped simultaneously.

"Thank you for entertaining us, Septim," Raphael said as he lowered the glass from his lips, and let the taste of the liquid linger.

Septim took the sip as well, brushing his fingers along his hair for a moment, before speaking. "I feel an ill wind tonight. It's as if the air carries some black intent. I feel uneasy."

Raphael frowned a bit at this, but Zariel looked up calmly. "I would not be so quick to fear. The stars have not warned us of any danger, and a wingless angel is just as capable to cut the flesh of beast as any other," she said.

There were two specific distinctions that every angel had. The first was a pair of wings, of the same hue and material. The other was a facial marking, each separate and distinct from any other angel's symbols. Raphael's was a circle that went around his right eye, and a thin black stripe that ran down the center of it, cutting across the center of his eye. It was positioned so that the cross-section of this line and his eyebrow formed the symbol of the cross, and his eye and the line met to create cross-hairs. Zariel had two thick navy stripes on either side of her face, starting at the jaw-line and going to the middle of her cheek. They were pointed, resembling isosceles triangles, but were markings commonly found amongst warriors.

As for Septim, he was known as a "wingless angel", because he was devoid of the heavenly appendages that Raphael and Zariel had, but had markings: two long, thick strikes that bent into small V's and ran across his eyes and center of his face. Whether or not Septim was an angel was difficult to say: Septim had been known by all the angels for almost an eternity, but he had been given governance of an empty castle in an uninhabited continent, where he was charged to guard it. He also supplied nectar and ambrosia, and consumed it himself. And as with the other angels, he also wielded a golden blade: a standard, though somewhat thick broadsword. Regardless if Septim was an angel, he was counted among them, and would open the doors to the castle for them at all times.

"But a wingless angel cannot take flight, should he need to cut the flesh of temperate beings," Septim said, giving Zariel a somewhat worried look. "I...I can't quite describe what I feel. It is almost as if something...simply feels misplaced. Though I would not discount calamity taking physical form soon."

"Worry not, Septim," Raphael said reassuringly. "If there are any threats looming in the depths, we will find it and undo it. You have my word."

Septim smiled. "My worries have lifted already. But come, let us not speak of this any further now. It was my fault to mention it to begin with, but let us simply enjoy the nectar and the company now."

And so they did. The three finished their glasses rather quickly, and Septim collected the glasses. As he began to take them away to have them cleaned, Zariel spoke out. "Mayhap you would have a flask we might fill with nectar?"

Septim looked up, looking at Zariel, and he did something uncharacteristic. He twisted his head and neck, cracking it slightly, before speaking. "Certainly, Zariel. I shall fetch flasks for you both." He disappeared around a corner, and passed through a small door on the left side of the room. After a moment, he returned with two skin hip flasks, handing one to Raphael and one to Zariel. "You will travel well with these, my friends."

"Thank you," Zariel said, sliding the flask away on her person.

"Not a problem, my dear," Septim responded before looking between the two. "I imagine you must be off now?"

Raphael nodded. "Indeed. We must away, but we shall visit again soon, Septim," Raphael said, slipping his flask securely away as well, before reaching his right hand out, shaking Septim's securely. Zariel simply gave a curt nod, and began for the door.

"I look forward to your next visit. Travel safely," Septim said.

"Be save yourself, Septim," Raphael responded with a light smile. And with that, he joined his partner, and they both stepped outside the winter castle. The large wooden doors closed soundly behind them, and with eyes cast skyward, the two took off again.

The world was huge, and civilization could be found in almost every corner of it. Yet Raphael and Zariel found themselves flying southeast again, toward Mount Pythes. Perhaps it was force of habit to return to Pythes for them, or perhaps there was little else for them to do initially. But almost moments after leaving Septim, a worried look etched across Raphael's face. He remained silent for a while, but the two did not get too far before he could no longer keep his thoughts to himself. "I wish to go to that city below Pythes."

Zariel shot him an incredulous look. "The twilight hours shall be upon them when we arrive. Dawn fast approaches that area. There is naught to behold of importance there, even when the mortals wake and work. There will be naught to behold at all there if you give in to your fancy."

"Perhaps," Raphael began, his tone reflecting his worry, "but I feel an ill omen in the wind myself. I would like to walk the streets to ensure no harm can come."

"You play at a madman's game, worrying of the slightest shadow. Humanity is too large and skilled at breeding and survival to come to any harm," Zariel said coldly.

"I entreat you, Zariel, for a favor..."

Zariel sighed. "Very well. Don't expect your blade to whet its thirst of villain's blood, though."

Their course was adjusted only slightly. Raphael and Zariel picked up a few night thermals, and doubled back as quickly as possible. By the time the two angels arrived to the city they had been overlooking earlier, the time was about four AM. They lowered down as they neared their destination, and when they were close enough to the ground, the two angels leveled themselves so that they could float down and touch down onto the earth and stone. Before landing, both angels threw their hoods over their heads, and landed just outside the city. Checking themselves and their weapons, the angels tucked their wings in and pressed them against their backs as best as possible. The camouflage, in theory, was not a good one; they did little to hide the feathery appendages, and they looked too unnatural even to be clothes. But the two had rarely walked among humans, and given the hour, there should have been no cause for concern with such a simple tactic.

Which is why it came as such a shock when the streets were filled with citizens. People walked around in full dress, as if it were the afternoon. Everywhere, people just seemed to go out and about their days, conducting business and running errands, or doing whatever needed to be done or wanted to be done.

Zariel quirked a thin, artistic eyebrow as she cast a steely gaze to her surroundings. "What manner of madness is this?"

Raphael's eyes were slightly wide, and he began to look about, alertly. "The nature of ill omens and disquieting winds is one not to be ignored, it seems. Though, to what end this game is played, I can but only guess blindly."

The two proceeded through the crowds warily. Looking about, they made no attempt to speak to anyone, but observed everyone keenly as they passed. Raphael could feel something twist inside of him as the two turned a corner and continued forward. Nobody seemed to notice the two angels, or at least didn't act like they cared. Zariel sneered a bit with the same realization, and let out a sharp exhale through her nose, almost mimicking a dejected sigh. They continued to walk, disbelieving of everything that was going on around them. "Do they see aught and all but us?" Raphael asked in concern, watching two men speaking at a corner.

"The hounds need not their pitiful master to smell the scent of brimstone!"The voice was powerful, and somewhat rough, shattering the angels' relative silence.

All at once, Raphael and Zariel recognized the man that spoke to them. Looking above, two figures began to lower to the world below them. Zariel was the first to sneer bitterly at the two, taking in first the speaker. He wore full plate mail, a black with a slight mix of red -- like fire instilled in opal -- with red linings and details. The plate mail included flaps, or tassels, that dropped down the sides of the thighs, as well as  guards for the front and back of his pelvic bone -- and was further accentuated with long, pointed pauldrons that, if the man's arm was held parallel, ran to almost his elbow. He wore greaves and boots of matching design, and at his side was a long, jagged and misshapen broadsword, a granite color with veins of red running randomly through it; between the shape, texture, material, and design, the blade looked like it was solidified lava. His hair was a thin black, pulled back in a ponytail, and his eyes were a dark gray.

"Azra'eil!" Raphael called up to the man in plate armor, who had taken the liberty to insult them. "What is the meaning of this? What machinations do you and Minalos conspire?!"

The second man, Minalos, touched down shortly after Azra'eil did, and both men folded large, black reptilian wings to their backs. Minalos was five and five-sixths feet, with Azra'eil an inch taller -- the same height as Raphael (with Zariel only three inches shorter than Minalos, and four inches shorter than Azra'eil and Raphael). He had short black hair that spiked, and matching eyes as his hellish counterpart. He wore a steel chestplate that covered everything from his collarbone to his waist. Two thick metal straps, with red and black bars, connected to the top front and back of the chestplate, and unlike Azra'eil, his arms and shoulders were left exposed. He wore steel plate greaves, uncolored, and leather boots. In his sheath was a jet black broadsword, about the length of Raphael's scimitar. His somewhat chiseled, round face twisted into a malicious sneer as he looked to Raphael. "A master who sleeps while his dogs remained untethered leaves his mutts to starve and bray to none but the filthy dirt they nap in!"

Zariel stepped forward, calmly placing a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Speak plainly, should you still love your tongue."

Azra'eil gave a dark smirk as he looked to Zariel. "You cannot divine our purpose here? Of course not. You cannot even divine this night." The knight-demon brushed a loose bang back into place before speaking again. "Has it become so cold, never hearing your precious Father's voice, that you forget that men can hear at all? Do you forget to ask why the Father, and his Son, cast away into the depths to slumber so foolishly? And all the while our infernal Lord remains awake, abandoning naught of his kin?"

Raphael glared at Azra'eil, his blue-gray eyes glinting slightly. "It is not of your ilk to appear so brazenly before humans. What is your purpose, cur?"

"Ha!" Azra'eil laughed, turning his attention to Raphael. "God sleeps fast in His eternal demesne, abandoning His voice and ears to all of His children. He abandons you, never hearing your prayers or pleas, and leaves you blind to aught and all. But Satan does not slumber, and he continues to plot and operate, spreading his will how he sees it. Our Lord hears all voices, and his voice he lends to his vassals. That is why we've come. He bade us here tonight, fools. Satan's eyes have seen, and his ears have heard -- and now you shall see. Behold."

Azra'eil held his hand out, indicating a large open street. In the center of it, a ring of youths in black cloaks and hoods lifted jagged daggers into the air. The one in the center spoke.

"We sacrifice our flesh to the Lord Satan, Lord of Evil and Suffering! May He deliver our souls to his lake of fire, and drink from them for his infernal power!"

Raphael stepped forward, about to run toward the circle of acolytes, but he was too late. The youths slammed the daggers into their hearts in unison, and dark red blood pooled into an abominable circle. The members of the ring fell forward, all at once, and were expired. The angels could barely believe what they had seen happen. For so many young adults to kill themselves was a tragedy, made even worse due to what they had died for. But for them to do so outdoors, in public, was nothing short of surreal.

And all at once, the people became aware, and reacted. Eyes fell on the depraved suicide, and screams shattered the night air. And these screams were soon followed by men, women, and children running in every direction. And this time, they noticed both angels, as well as the demons. They began to shove them out of the way as they made for their homes, hoping to escape the scene as quickly as possible. As for the demons, Minalos calmly walked past the panicked masses, and removed a small jar. Leaning down, he scooped up the intermingled blood of the Satanic acolytes, and corked it. "Our master will drink well tonight."

"You grow craven as you do bold, demons!" Raphael shouted, drawing his scimitar. Just as quickly did Zariel's longsword come out, and they faced the two demons.

Azra'eil gave a dark smile. "A battle, then! Come, let us dance the dance of blades!" And with that, his and Minalos's swords came out.

Zariel's wings opened, and she soared for Minalos. "Slicing you in twain will be naught but pleasure!" She swung her arm up and over, bringing her sword down with momentum, but Minalos's blade came up to catch it.

"Your cloth colors better with our fire, woman! Pity your blade is lacking compared to ours!" Minalos threw Zariel's blade up with an upward jerk, and came around for her shoulder, but the female angel was too fast to be caught by the attack.

Meanwhile, Azra'eil charged Raphael, blade held firmly with both hands. "Come! Show me what that dull cleaver can do!" He swung cross-wise, causing Raphael to guard awkwardly. Believing that he had created an opening, Azra'eil quickly retracted his blade and thrust it forward, in a stabbing motion. But Raphael quickly recovered his position and deflected the stab, countering with a short chop. However, Azra'eil used the momentum of the movement of his arm and sword caused by Raphael's deflection, and swung around to catch the scimitar. Continuing to swing his arm, the demon threw his arm forward, looking to take Raphael's head. But the angel ducked, and used the pass to throw a stab as a feint, then swing his arm around and up, and drop the scimitar on Azra'eil's skull. Unfortunately for him, the demon calmly side-stepped, and went for Raphael's exposed side, unsuccessfully.

Zariel swung her blade ferociously at Minalos, gaining ground as the shorter demon defended himself. The reach advantage allowed Zariel to remain on the offense as she sought to take Minalos's prize -- and his life. With a large step forward, the angel thrust her blade forward, hoping to stab the dark brown jar Minalos has placed in a small sack tied to his greaves. The smaller knight-demon swung his blade out and parried the attack, stepping in and stabbing, hoping to put his sword through her stomach. But Zariel saw the attack, and spun out of the way of it. They turned to face each other, and clashed blades again. But this time Minalos shoved forward with his body and blade forcefully, nearly shoving the female over.

"Dull as usual. I bore of these cull."

Azra'eil smirked. "Agreed. No challenge at all, really. Let us away, and leave these to wallow in their ignorance and defeat." He shoved Raphael away, and spread his wings. Minalos had already taken off when Azra'eil began his departure.

Raphael recovered his footing, but as he realized what was happening, his wings flared a bit. "Hold, Minalos! This battle is not yet done!" he called, and suddenly charged forward with Zariel joining him. Together, their wings flapped slightly, as they hoped to close the gap between them. But Azra’eil was suddenly before them, catching both of their blades with his, and barred them.

"This game has ended, servant-hounds. The night is ours," Azra’eil proclaimed, and with a hiss, he shoved them back and soared off.

"Wait!" Raphael called out after them, but it was too late.

The demons were gone. Even if Raphael and Zariel wanted to pursue them, Azra’eil would stop them, and Minalos -- the true target of the night -- would escape.

Raphael frowned, finding the taste of defeat too bitter for his tongue. After a long sigh, he looked back to the ring of bodies that lay on the streets. They were the only human bodies left outdoors. Everyone had retreated to their homes, and there were no signs of life from even bedroom windows. Everything was as it should be at that hour, and should have been all along.

Raphael sighed forlornly. "I cannot even begin to divine the oddity of this night," he said, looking around the homes and buildings, before looking back at the deceased, "but such a sight I would have never wished to behold, as long as I lived."

Zariel paused, wearing a neutral, appraising look before speaking. "There is nothing more we can do here. It would be best if we quit this place as well."

Raphael lowered his head and closed his eyes, then nodded. "Yes. I have no desire to tarry any longer. Come. Let us away ourselves."

Zariel cast a cold glare on the dead men and boys, opening her wings. "Fools who serve the Prince of Darkness deserve their lot. No one will mourn you, and only eternal torment awaits you."

Raphael said nothing. He began to flap his wings, and he and Zariel took to the skies once more. With haste, they left the scene and made for new skies, waiting for the day to turn.



Several days passed since the suicides. Raphael and Zariel had resumed their observation of humanity from afar, watching from places that human eyes did not travel to. The pair were surprised to know that, despite having fought in public and coming in contact with several people, everyone had returned to their lives with little incident, and not a single word of angels or demons were uttered. It was a relief on some levels, but more than strange that nobody seemed to identify them as being something not human. But there was no time for rest in their duties, and Raphael and Zariel simply let it go. There were larger disasters that could occur from other circumstances than what their seeming invisibility could bring, and therefore the phenomenon was not worth the bother. The issue was pushed out of mind, and Raphael and Zariel flew north. The two were simply roaming that morning, and little was said and done yet. Their pace was slow, and their thoughts spanning many subject matters.

Zariel looked to her right, observing Raphael for a while. "What are your thoughts on Azra’eil’s intentions?"

Raphael looked slightly surprised to hear her speak, not to mention the actual words that came out of her mouth. "It is beyond my understanding yet to give you an answer."

"Hmph." Zariel did not seem too upset with the answer; she, too, had yet to find any sign of change, or indication of an unholy scheme.

Raphael said nothing to her response, and simply looked downward. "Where are we?" he asked quietly.

"We are beneath Heaven, where our Master has created all of existence and left it to its machinations, so he might go to hibernate eternally."

The muscular male gave a disdained look to Zariel and her cynical tone. "Guard your tongue."

"Confess, Raphael," Zariel pressed on. "God has created ignorant life, and filled with the world with His cattle. He calls them His favorite, and we are dogs."

"Enough, Zariel," Raphael had cut in -- but was unable to stop the woman.

"And yet the few who fain choose to worship Him do so in vain. He chooses to ignore the crying, mewling masses in His decision to quit His vigilance, and leaves us to defend His beloved drones. I will never see what our Master sees in them," Zariel continued, face lacking passionate expression.

Raphael had considered how to scold the blonde, when suddenly her gist had generated a new thought.

"Let us see Michael."

Zariel gave an annoyed glare to the silver-haired man, perhaps feeling insulted that he had ignored her, but she said nothing. She knew that she had inspired that thought, and the two were overdue in visiting the Archangel anyway. "I concur," she said. "It has been near a fortnight since we’ve called upon him."

The Archangel Michael was considered the de facto, unofficial leader or knight captain of the angels. He made his home in a small hut of sorts on the summit of Mount Zokujin, the planet’s tallest mountain. He was the "oldest" angel, and had served as God’s right hand in the early days of creation; his status had given him one of the most important positions, and he had powers and abilities that no other angel possessed. Michael was often called the "Eyes of God", for he had the ability to plot the stars, predict events from them, and often had visions and saw prophecies of great happenings -- many of said prophecies including the angels, and requiring their intervention. There was an unwritten, unspoken protocol that the angels in the mortal plane should report to Michael from time to time. While there was no punishment for not doing so, nor would Michael pursue any who would not see him, by proxy of the Archangel the angels were a close-knit family, and falling out of Michael’s favor and keeping him uninformed of their events was unfavorable. For the two angels, Raphael and Zariel, visiting Michael was a good way to fulfill their unofficial duties, and try to get a better understanding of Azra’eil and Minalos’s intentions at the same time. Whether or not human blood was only collected to give Satan sustenance that night, the two could learn of anything that required their attention -- more than likely, they could learn anyway.

Mount Zokujin was located near the topmost part of the main eastern continent. Raphael and Zariel were over the ocean, north of the mountain, and so they turned about and flew southward.

They had traveled a good several miles when a fireball had nearly singed Raphael’s left wing. Looking down and over his shoulder, he saw two winged men approaching fast. One man had his solidified magma sword drawn, and the other kept his arm outstretched and his palm open, ready to loose another fireball.

Zariel gave the two a condescending look. "So weak that you must strike from a blind spot, and so inept that you forget where your quarry is? It must be none other than Minalos" she said, voice dripping with venom.

"Silence yourself, O Holy she-dog!" Minalos retorded, looking vexed.

"You were fortunate to survive our last encounter," Azra’eil began, a looming terror waiting to pounce from his face and voice. "But we are come to make good on your deaths!"

Zariel gave a confident yet mocking smirk. "You have come for death; rest assured, you have found it with all haste." And with that, she and Raphael drew their swords.

Holy and evil swords clashed. Azra’eil and Minalos had both gone for Zariel, but she held both demons back with a skilled ease. Raphael threw his hand out, and a strong gust of wind separated Azra’eil from the fray. The wind blast had confounded the demon’s wings, causing him to lose altitude. As he recovered his appendages, Raphael went after him, leaving Zariel with Minalos.

Zariel swung her sword hard, knocking Minalos back a bit. But before she could capitalize, Minalos looked forward, and suddenly spit in her face. The blonde-haired angel closed her eyes on contact, and with teeth bearing, she quickly wiped the saliva off. This was the distraction Minalos needed, however. He winked at her mockingly, and brought his hand to his mouth, licking his index finger and middle finger. He then pulled his hand back a bit, and did a backhanded sweep, both fingers extended, and a stream of solid fire flew from his extremities. The flames projected as a combination of a flame whip and a flame wall, but Zariel had recovered fast enough to see the attack, and flew over both the fire and the demon that had used it. Blinded by the blaze, Minalos had lost sight of Zariel, and so he hadn’t expected her to dive-bomb for him. But he was still able to dodge her assault. In counter, Minalos had attempted to re-draw his sword quickly and catch Zariel with it on her pass. But the execution of his attack was a few fractions of a second too late. He managed to very lightly graze her just below the collarbone, but the injury was so minor that it was of no concern; it only caused Zariel to take note of it, and on her pass up, she struck with greater aggression. Minalos managed to block her attack, but Zariel had struck so forcefully that Minalos’s sword arm was thrown back, and he was left open to a series of slashes. While he had managed to duck and weave through most of the attacks and avoid serious injury, Zariel’s long golden sword had tagged him on several occasions, inflicting some flesh wounds.

Azra’eil had regained himself in time to see Raphael’s scimitar coming. The demon pulled away and flew around to the angel’s side, avoiding all harm. As Raphael spun to face him, Azra’eil threw his right hand out, and a stream of fire began to issue from it. However, at the same time as this attack, Raphael threw out his free hand, and the fire was met by wind, strong enough to keep the fire from advancing. But Azra’eil’s magic was too strong to allow the wind to push the fire all the way back to its dark user. So the two hovered in place, concentrating as their magic dueled in-between them. Both men summoned all the will and power they could muster to defeat the other, but neither the flame nor the wind gave ground.

"You shant...survive this!" Azra’eil yelled through clenched teeth, his flames creeping forward just a bit.

"You can’t kill me...you haven’t the skill!" The words came out slowly from Raphael, but when they were finished, Raphael pulled his arm back slightly, then threw it forward again sharply. All at once the wind came so powerfully that it swallowed Azra’eil’s flame and threw the demon back forcefully.

"Ragh!" Azra’eil let out the angry yell as he righted himself, but would find himself in for a surprise when Raphael came for him, sword in the air. Before the scimitar could drop, however, Azra’eil brought his sword up, barring Raphael’s from moving, and the demon pivoted so he could smash his elbow hard into the angel’s face. Raphael flew back, free hand covering his face for a moment. From the corner of his vision, he could see Minalos trying to break away from Zariel, who kept him against the proverbial ropes. He inhaled sharply and looked up just in time to see Azra’eil coming after him. Raphael’s attack wasn’t as precise as he wanted to be with it, having reacted under unfavorable conditions, but what he had done was something he hoped to accomplish, though in a form he hadn’t expected.

Seeing Azra’eil’s approach, Raphael had hoped to catch him by surprise by stabbing the demon in the chest, but his aim was a little outside. As for Azra’eil, he saw the attack and began to change direction, but his left wing had flared out -- and due to the miscalculation, Raphael’s scimitar caught the inside of his wing.

Azra’eil let out a pained yell, and began to fall for the ocean. The yell distracted both Zariel and Minalos, who had paused their conflict to see what had happened. When they saw Azra’eil fall, Minalos had suddenly darted away from Zariel and down for his partner.

Zariel had primed to pursue her foe, when Raphael held a hand out. "Hold," he commanded, watching Minalos grab his partner and begin to support him before speaking again. "Let them go, Zariel. They are lost. This day is ours."

And, indeed, Minalos did not even look back. With Azra’eil in his care, he began to retreat as hastily as he could.

Zariel dejectedly sheathed her longsword before speaking. "The day is not what eludes me so. It is their lives I cannot tolerate letting slip through my fingers."

Raphael slowly sheathed his scimitar and continued to watch the demons’ flight. "We only need the day," he said calmly. "Let the wounded birds fly. Michael’s stay is far more pressing."

Zariel could not argue. Anything she said would have been no use, and his point was valid enough for her to accept it peacefully. She simply nodded and looked at Raphael silently.

He finally looked up, and met her eyes. "Are you hurt?"

Zariel waved a hand over her wound calmly. "I am well. This is nothing more than a nuisance. Pay it no mind, and let us resume our flight."

Raphael simply nodded, and after a moment’s silence, the two finally continued south. The journey had gone without further incident, and despite their injuries, the angels moved with haste. It did not take them long to see a titanic mountain peak break the clouds, and an out-of-place white building sitting atop a flat section of it. The angels adjusted their flying angles and flapped their wings harder, closing in on a suitable patch of snowy rock to land on.

With a light crunch, the pair touched down gently onto Mount Zokujin. Retracting their wings a bit, they began to approach the small home.

Several steps near, a voice called out to them from the inside of the domed abode. "Stand, and identify yourselves!"

Raphael called out toward the tent. "We are your faithful wings: Raphael and Zariel! We entreat you some time and your company!"

A figure suddenly emerged from the shack, with his arms out a bit and his hands opened. He wore a white robe that covered his entire body, and a navy blue toga-like garment over it, and his feet were covered with gold boots. He stood at an even six feet, and though his flesh was covered with rather loose clothing, it was still rather obvious to tell that the man was very muscular -- he was built a bit heartier than even Raphael. Sheathed at his back was a long golden bastard sword, designed with a simplistic elegance. The sword itself could be best described as the exact design and embodiment of Excalibur, King Arthur’s blade, with the differences of material (all gold) and perhaps length. The sword fit snugly in-between his two snow-white wings -- wings with a span larger than both Raphael’s and Zariel’s face. The angel’s face was round and fleshed, and thick, flowing blonde hair cascaded down from atop his crown, like a glistening wheat field. This angel had dark blue eyes -- almost the color of Zariel’s clothing -- which glistened lightly in the sun.

"It has been long since I’ve beheld my brethren, and it does my heart well to see you two," Michael said with a slightly booming voice. Almost immediately, his eyes noticed the cut on Zariel’s upper chest. "You have seen battle, I see."

"Like as not," Raphael said somewhat grimly.

"Servants of Satan have been the fool to cross our path," Zariel said, adjusting her sword. "Azra’eil and Minalos, who flee back to their whoreson Master."

"I am glad to hear that much, but permit me to tend to you," Michael said, making eye contact again with Zariel.

"I require no such attention. This wound is less than a flea on a mongrel’s back."

"I must insist. Come, I shant be denied this favor," Michael said evenly, holding his hand out toward his home. Acquiescing, Raphael and Zariel began to walk for the small white house behind the Archangel Michael.

Every angel had a unique marking on their face, and Michael was no exception. But his particular facial symbol was the most unique, and the most significant. It was a large sign of the cross, navy blue like his attire and eyes, and painted across his face. The top of the cross began at the center of his forehead, and ended just below his mouth. The horizontal bar ran across both of his eyes, and stopped just beyond each eye. The Father guided his thoughts. His words and actions would always be for the Son. And his eyes were blessed by the Holy Spirit. This was the way Michael lived, and the creed he vowed to eternally follow, and he wore it for all the other angels to see.

Michael led the two angels inside to his sparsely-decorated home. There was a carpet in the middle, and a small altar of sorts near the back. There were a few bookshelves with books and charts, as well as a few potions and medicines and things, and a small table and chair for which he could write. Having no need of food to cook, and having little need to sleep (and sleeping little as a result), no bed was required. Michael stepped to the bookshelf with the many bottles and herbs, and plucked a small vial with some silver liquid in it. Dipping a finger into the liquid, he spread the silver stuff across the wound, and the potion slowly sunk into and over the wound, covering it. Zariel watched him apply it, neither moving nor flinching, nor did her face change expression in the slightest. When both parties were satisfied, Michael returned the glass container from whence he had found it, and stepped back, looking to them both.

Raphael was the first to speak. "You say we have been scarce in appearance, Michael?"

Michael nodded slowly. "Indeed, like as not. It is a chilling portend, with the celestial whisperings forever uttering in my ear."

"What mean you, this?" Raphael asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Michael stepped behind the altar, and calmly sat before it. "I was to gaze upon the stars a moon not too distant from this one. From their course, I saw a great cataclysm in their path."

"A great cataclysm?" Zariel asked, resting her left hand on the top of the diamond on her sword.

"I meditated long upon what I saw, and considered the meaning. Finally, I closed my eyes here, and prayed. And a prophecy came to me from Heaven," Michael said, gently stretching his arms out to get them free from the sleeves a bit.

"Do you recall it?" Raphael asked, stepping forward. "What is it we must know of this?"

Michael closed his eyes gently, completing the sign of the cross on his face. "I shall tell it to you now. I believe this is something that must be addressed."

The Archangel took a deep breath and went silent. Nobody spoke or moved, and the two visitors barely breathed. There was a moment of stillness before Michael spoke again.

"The stars are soon in alignment again, and they break the seal of a great Evil that will walk this world once more. He was once God’s terrible foe, in days of ancients, before man graced this land. He sought the upheaval of Heaven, but was cursed down into the depths, never meant to rise again. But the treacherous spheres move against God’s will, and the bonds that hold him will shatter. And when they do, he will rise again and wreck havoc upon all life, and he will become as God. No golden sword or divine prayer can hope to strike him down. His wrath is terrible, and his hunger is insatiable. His awakening will bring an unending nightmare, and will fold into death."

"The stars show the signs of his return, and the omens shall appear before us. In the darkness of a great swamp, a silver diamond shimmers, carrying the soul and reflection of the moon. The curse will turn the lunar sphere as blood, and the diamond, too, shall become as one with it. In the tundras, a mighty beast shall awaken from the madness, and his mind will only know wanton destruction and bloodlust. And in the caves of the insane one, a scorpion will appear, and tread upon the waters of chaos toward the Darkness. His stinger will pierce deep into the infernal flesh, and his blood will flow red and warm again."

"The stars govern these actions, and together they are bound. To break the nightmare, you must avert the alignment of the heavens. Slay the beast of the ices, and with his blood, drink the diamond of it. When the moon turns silver again, cast the stone into the depths, into his lair, and by covenant of stone and blood, the seal will remain. But beware. The scorpion must not reach his destination, or all will be lost. His venom is stronger than blood, and should his poisons flow deep within hell’s flesh, there will be nothing to stop him."

"You must not fail in your task. If God’s enemy walks this plane once again, he cannot be defeated. You must change the plot of the stars, or all is lost."

Michael opened his eyes again and took a deep breath, looking to Raphael and Zariel, who looked back at him intensely. "That is the prophecy I heard. Long have I waited for another to tell, but none have come. My prayers are answered with you two."

Raphael frowned a bit as the words sunk into his brain. Zariel pondered silently herself, letting the words sink in before she spoke. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Mayhap you have discovered some true names behind the enigmas?"

Michael grimaced slightly and shook his head. "There is naught. Far away does our Master sleep soundfully, his eyes forever closed. There are no eyes that can see beyond my words, and His voice cannot speak to me any further on the matter, I’m afraid."

Raphael rubbed his chin gently. "Azra’eil and Minalos...perhaps their game was not so innocent. I can think of no enemy other than Lucifer himself to which such disaster might occur."

Zariel scoffed a bit. "But we are left just short of blind in our quest. Should God to stir at any sort of quake would be a gift now, both to us and to his pets," she said, letting out a sharp exhale through her nose.

Michael stood up, looking at Zariel. "I cannot say the purpose for His eternal slumber, when the dark beasts claim -- true as not -- to hear their creator’s call. I can say, however, that the lives of those in His image are dear to me, as they are to Him. They -- the humans -- are creatures created free. They do not find themselves held fast by any chains or binds, and yet so many times have they shown purity of mind and spirit. Every time a soul is taken by the devil, another seems to rise to give his spirit to Heaven, and give his flesh to protect the flesh of ten others. They walk, they speak, they think, they love...all freely. And it is because of the paths they tread that makes their lot beautiful."

"You speak of displays of love as something divine, powerful," Zariel began, silently looking down to her chest to watch the wound healing, before looking up, "and yet what stock do they truly hold? The passions between a man and a woman are base, and given senseless value. One man stands to give his life for another and gains nothing, for the flesh is but a vessel for the soul. Death will still come to all humans. Yet they fain revere such imbecilic displays and sacrifices, and speak of things like 'love'."

Michael clasped his fingers together, stepping forward. "You know not love? Never the spark has touched your heart?"

Zariel looked like her patience was being tested, even just a little. "I haven’t the time for such a silly spark. Nor do I see the sense in it. My love for man shall not be found, as such is unfitting an angel. I wouldn’t fancy the interest in any other man, and any who would fancy it in me play the fool’s game, indeed, my form deceiving their sense. But I am above being deceived in such a light."

"What of love for human?"

"My task is to defend their lives, and my belief is to deliver them from evil. But the eagle cares not for the affairs of the ant or butterfly, or any other simple creature. What they do is none of my interest or concern, so long as they continue to do it," Zariel replied coldly, looking directly at Michael.

Michael sighed, unclasping his fingers. "It is a shame, Zariel, that you cannot unlock your heart to them, or any," he said, approaching the two angels. "There is a great wonder in them to behold, if only your mind was not set so sturdily as your blade."

"It is because my mind is set so that my ability to slay evil is so great,"Zariel said evenly.

But Michael smiled. "Your strength would be tenfold, if only you knew love. Desire to protect someone or something outside of duty calls reserves unheard of."

Raphael nodded a bit, speaking. "It is what keeps my blade unyielding."

"Enough," Zariel said quietly. "My reserves are bountiful and my blade is swift and unforgiving as is without the need of heart to guide it. It is that muscle now which keeps us here, when we are best to stop the stars now." She turned and gave a steady hawk-like gaze to Raphael.

The silver-haired man could feel himself balking under her gaze. "I-Indeed. But what of your cut? It must yet finish mending."

"Never you mind about it," Zariel said in response. "It will mend faster than you mind. And it is no deep scar moreover."

The Archangel brushed a lock of hair back, and looked to the two. "Godspeed, then. Should others come, I will recite the prophecy again. But you must not fail. I cannot promise how many others, if any more, will come to your aid at this rate."

"We shant fail you," Raphael said with a bow. "By your leave."

Zariel bowed slightly, and after Michael whispered a "farewell", the angels left his home, and lifted off from the summit. Their flight was short, however, and the two were soon landing again. They touched down in a grove, in the center of a forest near Mount Zokujin. There were no souls to disturb them there, and Raphael had the freedom to speak his thoughts freely. "A great disaster looms before us, and our means to stop it are still but half revealed. We seek a stone in a great swamp, the blood of an awakened beast in icy lands, and we must intercept a scorpion from an insane place."

Zariel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I know naught of moon diamonds or crystals, much less any poisoned marsh to find it in. And of wintered beasts, no tale comes to mind. The insanity den eludes me as well. Our 'great words' are vague and accommodate little. I know naught where this great quest starts."

Raphael let out a deep sigh, stroking his chin in thought. "Or the time. The prophecy has aged, like as not, but how much it has aged cannot be said. Even if we knew, the first tellings can come sooner or later. Preventing the disaster is a harder task than it might seem."

Zariel opened her eyes slowly. "I have only one strong suspicion. We would do well to trek to the winter castle."

Raphael’s hand remained on his chin as he spoke. "Hmm...yes, indeed. I would suspect strongly that any wintry beast would share the land with Septim. He must be warned of the threat, and with luck, he may know more than you or I."

"Agreed," Zariel said decisively. "No time must be wasted. Come."

The two began to flap their wings again, and took off with a great burst of speed. The winter castle would be quite the trip away, but the angels flew as fast as they could. With the latitude differential, dawn was rising over the snowy lands when Raphael and Zariel landed. Of course, hour mattered little; angels were, for the most part, not in need of sleep. The chances were great that Septim would be wide awake by the time the two arrived. The two landed down before the large powdered castle, and looked up to the doors.

"We seek he who guards the winter castle!" Raphael called out, before Septim’s ethereal voice called for them.

"Swords of the Almighty Father, enter!" And the doors swung open for them. Raphael and Zariel stepped inside, and as they entered the antechamber, Septim had already appeared to greet them.

"My friends! Your intrusion is most sudden, and your faces are long and discolored!" Septim called out, spreading his arms a bit as if to summon them into his embrace. "What troubles you so?"

"The Archangel has seen a vision, and tells of apocalypse. We are come to steel you against abyssal death," Raphael said, approaching Septim a step ahead of Zariel.

"What? What mean you by this? What did you hear?"

Raphael recounted the prophecy for Septim, and when he finished, Septim nodded. "I see...'a beast of the ices' you say. I know of no such beast, or any life at all, that inhabits these places. But I will remain cautious all the same."

"That would be well," Raphael said, unsmiling. "It was the only part of the prophecy we could decipher, even slightly."

Septim looked down, pacing slowly. "Aye," he said thoughtfully. "This certainly is quite the mystery..."

Zariel watched him brushing some hair aside. "A diamond, a beast, and a scorpion. Yet we know naught when any of these things will appear, much less where to start."

Septim nodded. "No answers are laid bare. It is possible that the events will occur in some sequence. That the words Michael spoke are the events as they are to occur. The first thing to occur may well be the blood moon. Though how the other two will follow, I cannot say -- and even this I cannot say with much confidence."

Raphael rotated his right shoulder, saying, "Then the first focus must be the diamond. But which swamp’s depths might hold our prize?"

Septim stopped his pacing, and simply gazed down. After a while, he began to speak again. "Of large swamps there are few, but still too many to place your gem."

Zariel nodded, but her expression was not particularly kind. "An obvious dilemma."

"To be sure," Septim said in response. "But if I might be so bold as to make a suggestion...there are a number of swamps, and a small select hold chambers within the living rock. Of them, an inkling takes me. Perhaps you may want to try Larzarien’s Swamp."

Larzarien’s Swamp lay in the southwest of the world, large and treacherous. There were few features to its landscape other than a nearby cave -- to which Septim had eluded to in his suggesting. But the swamp was given its name for the creature that dwelled there. Larzarien was an abomination: an arachnid monster, fifteen feet in height alone, covered with fur both brown and green. He possessed a savage maw, and could spit venoms and adhesive silks from it. Larzarien possessed a carnivorous appetite, and because of it, very few visited his swamp, lest they sought to become the tarantula’s feast. There were no other living things in the world like Larzarien, making him a lone terror. So perhaps it was because of this phenomenon, and its location, that Septim drew the conclusion to start their search there.

"Treacherous flora and fauna reside in that poisoned land," Raphael said, looking to Septim, "but your suggestion is duly noted, and will be heeded."

"It should provide some grounds for a start," Zariel agreed, adjusting her sword’s position on the steel loop. "Now what of the scorpion?"

Septim’s pause was short before he spoke. "There are few places that I can think of that would constitute as a lair for insanity save one: Cthulhu’s Den."

Raphael and Zariel grimaced deeply "As the words poured from your mouth, I feared you would say his den," Raphael said.

Cthulhu was an ancient beast, almost as ancient as God himself. When the planet was created, Cthulhu came down from places unknown, and spread insanity and malevolence through the people. In a vicious battle, God had cursed Cthulhu to an eternal slumber, finding no other way to defeat the wretched deity-beast. Many tales told of Cthulhu’s eventual awakening and reckoning upon all of life, but the monster himself was set into slumber in a subterranean cave that led under the ocean, never to waken again. It was still an unpleasant thought for either angel to darken Cthulhu’s doorstep, after the chaos he had reaped in his last wake.