Post by Azrael on Jul 31, 2009 23:52:00 GMT -5
Azrael's shoes didn't make a sound as they padded lightly into the damp earth, his stride slow and cautious. In his right hand, he held a tight grip on his scythe, keeping it at the ready; at any moment, the attack might come. It was ironic, that the demon though it could hunt him, the angel of death, in a graveyard. This place was Azrael's land, his sacred realm. Here he was surrounded by his own work, by the product's of God's own mission to him. All the graves here held a trace of his power, his touch; this was his holy ground, and its magic filled him with a sense of strength and power.
Suddenly he sensed a disturbance to his right, and without hesitation, swung the blade, its edge whistling through the humid, night air. He felt the edge of it connect slightly, but by the time he shifted around, whatever had been beside him was gone. A flash of crimson glinted off the tip of his scythe tauntingly; while this slippery demon had managed to evade him, momentarily that is, Azrael had managed to spill first blood. It wasn't much, but he knew the demon must be in agony right now. Heavenly weapons were sanctified and holy, which made it although he were swiping at the demon with a molten hot poker. His scythe, not counting its sharpness, would cut through demon flesh like a hot knife through butter.
Gritting his teeth, Azrael couldn't help but smile. He almost missed the thrill off the hunt, the adrenaline rush of battle. It was an exhilarating feeling, one that he had missed all these years in hiding. Well, technically he still was in hiding, but since his brother Lucifer had managed to break free of hell, keeping off the radar was becoming increasingly difficult.
The scythe gleamed in the dim moonlight as he twirled it between his fingers, its grip featherlight to his touch. "Come out, come out, wherever you are...." The mockery was more than obvious in his tone; he was egging the demon on, daring it to make a move.
It didn't take long before the demon made a mistake; he tried to catch Azrael by surprise. With barely an effort, he dodged the demon's lunge, and swung his free hand upward, telekinetically throwing the demon into the side of one of the mausoleums, pinning it to the stone wall.
Though it was wearing the body of a young women, its disguise failed to fool Azrael; its eyes were dark abysses, both the iris and sclera as black as oil. Even though he clearly had the upper hand, the demon glared at him insolently, smirking.
"What do you want with me?" The snide excitement from his voice earlier had faded, and was instead replaced with a cold seriousness. To emphasize the question, Azrael pressed his outstretched hand forward, applying more telekinetic pressure and crushing the demon against the wall.
The demon grunted in pain momentarily, its smirk faltering, but it soon recovered, donning a somewhat less-pleased grin. "Do you really think I'm just going to blurt it out?" the demon teased him. "My Lord entrusted us with a mission. I will not going to disappoint him!"
Despite his best efforts, Azrael couldn't choke back the low growl that slipped out between his lips. He knew, sooner or later, that Lucifer was going to come after him. No doubt his heavenly brother still held some enmity at his betrayal; after all, it had been Azrael who had finally seen Lucifer for what his really was, and chose to rejoin God. In that one strategic move, he had turned the tide of the war, which eventually led to Lucifer's fall. So yeah, he figured there were a lot of bad feelings there.
But still, sending a lowlife demon after him? Azrael knew that wasn't his brother's style. No doubt Lucifer would sent Abaddon after him, if he hadn't done so already. Abaddon after all was one of Lucifer's highest, if not most high, generals. He'd probably sent word out to all the demons about Azrael, even if he didn't have high expectations to them actually stopping him. It would be enough that they bothered him, and kept him on edge.
Without even blinking, Azrael swung the scythe, its sharp edge slicing through the skin on the demon's stomach as though it were nothing more than air. The demon's screams tore through the air mercilessly, as its body's entrails slithered out of the savage wound. The edges smoked slightly, filling the air with the smell of burnt flesh.
And Azrael didn't stop there. He held the scythe aloft again, brandishing the tip of the blade against the demon's taut throat. The skin that touched the blade's tip sizzled softly, a small cloud of steam rising from it. "I'm not the angel you want to fuck with," he spat at it, pressing the blade harder until a small stream of blood began to flow. "Now spill, before I decided to start having some fun with you. I may be the angel of death, but I can assure you, I know plenty of things to do that won't kill you." His wings emerged from the dark gloom, their black feathers shadowing them both in a deeper darkness.
The demon's face blanched, the color draining from its features. Slowly the fear sank in, and Azrael knew it would relent. Then, just as he suspected, it began to speak. "W-we were told to find you...and try to kill you. And t-then if we couldn't find you, we were to g-go after that half-breed psychic witch, and her s-son too!"
At the mention of the psychic witch, Azrael's face went almost as white as the demon's. For a moment, nostalgia crept in, and he thought back to that time hundreds of years ago, back to one of his first human forms and...Elizabeth. She had been a powerful psychic, whose mixing with magic and witchcraft had led her down a dangerous path with a demon and her coven. But Elizabeth had died. She'd died.
"What the hell are you talking about!" He yelled, pressing the scythe down even deeper, causing the blood to splatter all over his face. But he didn't flinch, not one bit. "Who else are you after!"
The demon screamed in agony, but finally bit back the pain, and stared at Azrael with a burning sense of hatred. "I don't know!" she shrieked. "He just said that she was yours! That she was your blood!"
If it was even possible, Azrael's complexion grew even whiter, his eyes filled with fear as he backed away from the demon. It couldn't be possible, it just couldn't. Elizabeth had died. She'd never had....he would known....
But there came the clincher. When Azrael had hid her away in the monastary, and then fled to deal with some Heavenly issues at the time, he'd been gone for a long time. He'd been gone nine months. By the time he'd returned for her, haven shaken off the angels that had been after him, he'd found that she'd died. She'd died almost nine months after he'd left her there. Could it be possible? Could a child, a...nephlihim...have been born?
In the few moments of his silence, the demon seemed to recover, grinning at him madly. It was still trapped, help aloft against the wall by his power, but it was empowered by the truth it had revealed. "Even if we can't kill you, we're going to get the bitch," she taunted snidely. "We're going to find her, and we're going to slit her throat. Well, not before we make her watch as we kill her son and her husband."
That did it.
He turned his gaze up toward the demon, his features contorted into a mangled look of power and rage. He was the archangel Azrael, the lord and master Death. And apparently, he had two descendants out there who were in danger because of the blood they shared...his blood.
Azrael didn't even speak. His face didn't betray even an inkling of emotion or thought. But in the blink of an eye, he swung his scythe up savagely, eviscerating the demon. The black smoke leaking out of the body along with the blood, merely evaporating into the air passively. The demon was more than merely dead, banished to hell; he had torn his spirit to shreds, sending to into oblivion.
As he turned, his wings faded away, and his scythe disappeared into the darkness. He was going to find them, his blood, and he was going to protect them. Not because he loved them, and not because it was right. He wad going to do it for one reason only.
For Elizabeth.
Suddenly he sensed a disturbance to his right, and without hesitation, swung the blade, its edge whistling through the humid, night air. He felt the edge of it connect slightly, but by the time he shifted around, whatever had been beside him was gone. A flash of crimson glinted off the tip of his scythe tauntingly; while this slippery demon had managed to evade him, momentarily that is, Azrael had managed to spill first blood. It wasn't much, but he knew the demon must be in agony right now. Heavenly weapons were sanctified and holy, which made it although he were swiping at the demon with a molten hot poker. His scythe, not counting its sharpness, would cut through demon flesh like a hot knife through butter.
Gritting his teeth, Azrael couldn't help but smile. He almost missed the thrill off the hunt, the adrenaline rush of battle. It was an exhilarating feeling, one that he had missed all these years in hiding. Well, technically he still was in hiding, but since his brother Lucifer had managed to break free of hell, keeping off the radar was becoming increasingly difficult.
The scythe gleamed in the dim moonlight as he twirled it between his fingers, its grip featherlight to his touch. "Come out, come out, wherever you are...." The mockery was more than obvious in his tone; he was egging the demon on, daring it to make a move.
It didn't take long before the demon made a mistake; he tried to catch Azrael by surprise. With barely an effort, he dodged the demon's lunge, and swung his free hand upward, telekinetically throwing the demon into the side of one of the mausoleums, pinning it to the stone wall.
Though it was wearing the body of a young women, its disguise failed to fool Azrael; its eyes were dark abysses, both the iris and sclera as black as oil. Even though he clearly had the upper hand, the demon glared at him insolently, smirking.
"What do you want with me?" The snide excitement from his voice earlier had faded, and was instead replaced with a cold seriousness. To emphasize the question, Azrael pressed his outstretched hand forward, applying more telekinetic pressure and crushing the demon against the wall.
The demon grunted in pain momentarily, its smirk faltering, but it soon recovered, donning a somewhat less-pleased grin. "Do you really think I'm just going to blurt it out?" the demon teased him. "My Lord entrusted us with a mission. I will not going to disappoint him!"
Despite his best efforts, Azrael couldn't choke back the low growl that slipped out between his lips. He knew, sooner or later, that Lucifer was going to come after him. No doubt his heavenly brother still held some enmity at his betrayal; after all, it had been Azrael who had finally seen Lucifer for what his really was, and chose to rejoin God. In that one strategic move, he had turned the tide of the war, which eventually led to Lucifer's fall. So yeah, he figured there were a lot of bad feelings there.
But still, sending a lowlife demon after him? Azrael knew that wasn't his brother's style. No doubt Lucifer would sent Abaddon after him, if he hadn't done so already. Abaddon after all was one of Lucifer's highest, if not most high, generals. He'd probably sent word out to all the demons about Azrael, even if he didn't have high expectations to them actually stopping him. It would be enough that they bothered him, and kept him on edge.
Without even blinking, Azrael swung the scythe, its sharp edge slicing through the skin on the demon's stomach as though it were nothing more than air. The demon's screams tore through the air mercilessly, as its body's entrails slithered out of the savage wound. The edges smoked slightly, filling the air with the smell of burnt flesh.
And Azrael didn't stop there. He held the scythe aloft again, brandishing the tip of the blade against the demon's taut throat. The skin that touched the blade's tip sizzled softly, a small cloud of steam rising from it. "I'm not the angel you want to fuck with," he spat at it, pressing the blade harder until a small stream of blood began to flow. "Now spill, before I decided to start having some fun with you. I may be the angel of death, but I can assure you, I know plenty of things to do that won't kill you." His wings emerged from the dark gloom, their black feathers shadowing them both in a deeper darkness.
The demon's face blanched, the color draining from its features. Slowly the fear sank in, and Azrael knew it would relent. Then, just as he suspected, it began to speak. "W-we were told to find you...and try to kill you. And t-then if we couldn't find you, we were to g-go after that half-breed psychic witch, and her s-son too!"
At the mention of the psychic witch, Azrael's face went almost as white as the demon's. For a moment, nostalgia crept in, and he thought back to that time hundreds of years ago, back to one of his first human forms and...Elizabeth. She had been a powerful psychic, whose mixing with magic and witchcraft had led her down a dangerous path with a demon and her coven. But Elizabeth had died. She'd died.
"What the hell are you talking about!" He yelled, pressing the scythe down even deeper, causing the blood to splatter all over his face. But he didn't flinch, not one bit. "Who else are you after!"
The demon screamed in agony, but finally bit back the pain, and stared at Azrael with a burning sense of hatred. "I don't know!" she shrieked. "He just said that she was yours! That she was your blood!"
If it was even possible, Azrael's complexion grew even whiter, his eyes filled with fear as he backed away from the demon. It couldn't be possible, it just couldn't. Elizabeth had died. She'd never had....he would known....
But there came the clincher. When Azrael had hid her away in the monastary, and then fled to deal with some Heavenly issues at the time, he'd been gone for a long time. He'd been gone nine months. By the time he'd returned for her, haven shaken off the angels that had been after him, he'd found that she'd died. She'd died almost nine months after he'd left her there. Could it be possible? Could a child, a...nephlihim...have been born?
In the few moments of his silence, the demon seemed to recover, grinning at him madly. It was still trapped, help aloft against the wall by his power, but it was empowered by the truth it had revealed. "Even if we can't kill you, we're going to get the bitch," she taunted snidely. "We're going to find her, and we're going to slit her throat. Well, not before we make her watch as we kill her son and her husband."
That did it.
He turned his gaze up toward the demon, his features contorted into a mangled look of power and rage. He was the archangel Azrael, the lord and master Death. And apparently, he had two descendants out there who were in danger because of the blood they shared...his blood.
Azrael didn't even speak. His face didn't betray even an inkling of emotion or thought. But in the blink of an eye, he swung his scythe up savagely, eviscerating the demon. The black smoke leaking out of the body along with the blood, merely evaporating into the air passively. The demon was more than merely dead, banished to hell; he had torn his spirit to shreds, sending to into oblivion.
As he turned, his wings faded away, and his scythe disappeared into the darkness. He was going to find them, his blood, and he was going to protect them. Not because he loved them, and not because it was right. He wad going to do it for one reason only.
For Elizabeth.