Angel of Death: (Reaper Series Book 1), Page 32

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  A homeless man was digging through a garbage can in an alleyway when he felt the air move around him. Looking up from his search, he turned and saw a strange sight. He saw the world apparently tear open, a space in reality now opening up onto nothingness. As the man watched in surprise, a man in a suit, torn and bloody, tumbled out of the hole in the air, which then immediately vanished. The man hit the ground, hard, and rolled along the pavement until he came to a stop, face down by the gutter. The homeless man stared as the bleeding man slowly began to raise himself off the ground. Once he was standing on his feet, wobbling slightly as he tried to keep his balance, the man looked through a mask of blood and saw the homeless man watching him. Without a word, the man turned and began limping away down the street, away from the homeless man. Deciding he should be on his way, the homeless man shuffled off in the other direction as quickly as he could go.

  Darius staggered through the streets of New York. He could barely see where he was going, his blood now drying in his eyes. He stumbled and fell to his knees, his palms slamming into the pavement as he stopped his fall, the concrete grazing skin from his hands. He spat and saw a glob of blood mixed with saliva splatter on the ground. He pushed himself up to his feet and continued limping along, dragging his left leg behind him. People in his path would look, but steered clear of him, trying to avoid the man who was battered and bleeding, staggering as though drunk.

  Barely aware of his surroundings, Darius stumbled off the curb from Manhattan’s Upper West Side and into the street. Car horns blared and headlights blinded him as he stared into oncoming traffic. Tires screeched and the front-bumper of a taxi came to a halt only inches away from him. The driver stuck his head out the window to scream abuse at Darius, but Darius simply turned and staggered away. More drivers displayed their annoyance at the man in the street by sounding their horns and waving their middle fingers at him as they sped by, but Darius ignored them. He made his way across the street and into Central Park. He stumbled through the open gates and began to make his way down the path towards a softly glowing violet light not far in the distance. A short time later, he reached the vortex, which was still valiantly attempting to close around Azrael’s scythe. The wind and the noise had grown so loud it hurt Darius’ ears and the hurricane emanating from the vortex was so strong, it threatened to blow him backwards off his feet.

  Carefully stepping forward, Darius reached out with both hands, leaning into the hurricane before him, reaching out to the the staff of the scythe. He grabbed hold of it with both hands, the steel feeling hot in his hands, the friction and energy of the vortex having heated it to near burning temperatures. He began to pull, trying to wrench it free of the swirling light, using all his strength and weight to lean back and pull the blade free and allow the vortex to close. Darius squinted his eyes and gritted his teeth as he fought to remove the scythe. It seemed to be trying to resist him, feeling as though it weighed a thousand pounds, still vibrating chaotically in his hands, like it was attempting to shake Darius loose. Finally, the blade began to give and pull free, sliding half an inch out of the vortex.

  Before Darius could move it any farther, he felt a pair of powerful hands grab him from behind. They lifted him off the ground and away from the scythe, Darius losing his grip on the staff as he was lifted into the air. Then he was suddenly thrown away from the vortex, rolling through the air, before crashing back to the ground. He looked up, quickly taking hold of his blade and holding it defensively, and saw the horrifying face of Azrael standing by the vortex, glaring at him with eyes that burned furiously.

  “Her soul is mine, Darius!” Azrael roared.

  Then Azrael was upon him. Darius found himself lifted off the ground once more, but then immediately slammed back down into the earth with such force that he could feel bones in his back shatter. Then he was lifted again and smashed backwards against a tree, the back of his head cracking hard against the trunk. Darius was pinned against the tree trunk, his feet dangling helplessly as he was held up by Azrael’s unfathomably strong hands. As Azrael held Darius against the tree, he began to open his wings. He opened them slowly, allowing Darius to see them spread, to take in the full magnitude of their size and to see each and every one of the sharp, pointed, tips that were the exposed bones. Then Azrael began to arc them forward, over his head, aiming directly at Darius. Before Darius had time to do anything, Azrael snapped one of his wings forward like a striking cobra and impaled Darius on the sharp tip, the bone going right through Darius’ chest and coming out of his back, stabbing into the tree.

  Darius choked and convulsed once as he felt the bone pierce through him. Then Azrael pulled the bone out and immediately struck again, the bone now going into Darius’ stomach. Blood began to flow from the wounds with alarming speed, coursing down the front of Darius’ body like a torrential rain. More blood flowed down Darius’ chin as he coughed up mouthfuls. Azrael pulled back his wing again, blood dripping from the bone-tip, taking careful aim. Aiming directly at Darius’ face.

  Darius, realizing that his curved blade was still in his hand, acted quickly, even though he felt himself drifting dangerously close to unconsciousness. As Azrael struck, Darius simultaneously moved his head to the right. He couldn’t move far, but it was enough. The bone struck the tree trunk with a loud thunk, cutting open Darius’ cheek as it shot by, but leaving him otherwise unscathed. Before Azrael had time to retract his wing and stab again, Darius slashed upward with his blade. He caught Azrael’s wing at the joint near the shoulder, slicing right through bone and rotten flesh. Azrael shrieked in pain as his right wing fell away from his body, collapsing to the ground in a heap of bone and decayed flesh. Azrael instinctively stepped backwards, staring down at the stump where his wing was in horror and fury, still roaring in pain. Darius slid down the tree trunk and landed on his feet. Then, focussing his strength, he pushed himself off the tree and flew through the air, straight at Azrael. Darius jumped and kicked Azrael hard in the chest with both feet, a kick powerful enough to send the decaying Angel falling backwards through the air. As Azrael fell, he saw that he was falling directly towards the swirling vortex of bright violent light.

  “No!” he cried. Azrael spread his remaining wing and flapped, trying to change his course, but only one wing wasn’t enough. He couldn’t correct his trajectory. Azrael collided with the swirling violet light and there was suddenly an enormous surge of energy crackling through the air. The force of the blast was so strong, it bent the trees that stood nearby, blowing leaves from branches and threatening to crack tree trunks in two. Darius stayed flat on the ground and covered his head with his arms as the energy wave rolled over him. There was a sound like a cannon firing and Azrael burst into flames and was thrown off into the night, a raging inferno hurtling through the air, before landing several yards away from Darius, where he lied still, a smoldering pile of robes and bones.

  Darius sighed deeply, relieved, slowly rising to his knees. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting himself fall into his relief. He wondered vaguely if he was dying. If he was dying, it didn’t seem to hurt as much as he expected it would. The pain in his beaten body was even beginning to fade. He considered just lying back down on the grass and letting it happen, to just let himself drift off into the nothingness that Azrael had promised awaited him. But then Darius thought of Peyton. How she was on the other side of the vortex, waiting. Likely to be wondering what was happening on this end, wondering if he was still alive.

  When he opened his eyes and looked, Darius saw the vortex was still intact, even after the impact with Azrael, spinning fast around the blade of the scythe. Darius slowly struggled back to his feet, holding the wound in his chest. His vision was fading fast and he didn’t know if he would be able to heal these wounds. They were inflicted by an Angel and while a Reaper’s ability to regenerate was strong, Angels were infinitely stronger.

  With what seemed like an enormous effort, Darius began to slowly move towa
rds the vortex, tripping over his own feet as he felt lightheaded and weak. Darius fell to his hands and knees as his legs gave way beneath him, staring down at the grass that was quickly turning red as he bled over it. He looked down at his hands and saw the blood there was dark and thick, pouring out of his body like a faucet that had been left on. Finding it difficult to breathe, Darius forced himself to look up at the violet light. The edges of his vision were almost completely dark, now. He knew he didn’t have much time. Forcing himself to stand, Darius wrapped his bloody hands around the staff of the scythe. With every last ounce of strength he had left, Darius pulled. He put all of his strength and weight into forcing the vortex open. He wanted to let Peyton and Eve know it was okay. Let Peyton know it was over. And, most of all, before he fell into eternal nothingness, he wanted to see Peyton’s face. He wanted to look into her greenish-blue eyes and see her smile. He wanted to let her know that she was safe.

  Groaning now from the strain, Darius leaned into the scythe and felt it start to give. He felt the vortex begin to open, forced by the powerful blade. Digging his feet into the ground, ripping up the earth from the effort, Darius forced the vortex to open, slowly, inch by inch, to the size of a small window, through which he could see the luscious green of the Garden. He could see the golden glow of the Beacon. And he could see Peyton. She looked out through the portal back at him, he saw the fear on her face give way to relief, then shock as she saw the damage that was done to him. All of the blood and stab wounds and bruises were a horrific sight. Darius saw Eve’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of him, then she waved a hand at the vortex and it opened entirely. Dropping the scythe through the portal and to the ground on the other side, Darius faced the open vortex. He set his eyes on Peyton and, despite the pain and his fading vision as the darkness enveloped him, he managed to smile. He had stopped Azrael. He had saved her.

  “Darius!” Peyton screamed, running forward, but Eve suddenly reached out and grabbed her, pulling her back. “Look out!”

  Darius, his thoughts murky and slow, wasn’t sure what she meant. He turned his head and saw a dark, smoky, shape flying at him, teeth exposed and fiery green eyes burning. Azrael crashed into Darius and tackled him through the vortex. Eve had been closing it, but it was too late. Azrael slammed Darius into the ground, now in the Garden, where the Reaper slowly exhaled, closed his eyes and didn’t move. Azrael looked from Darius’ unresponsive face and up at Peyton’s. He glared at her, the green fire in his eyes burning brightly while his bones and robes continued to smolder from the extinguished flames. Peyton wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Darius. Her eyes were wide and her jaw had dropped open. She suddenly fell to her knees and stared at Darius’ body, her face so full of pain and disbelief that even Azrael was surprised and could only stare back at her.

  “Peyton, run!” Eve cried out. She stepped forward, but nearly fell over, as her wounds were still too painful for her to walk properly.

  “You killed him,” Peyton whispered.

  Azrael slowly rose to his feet, his robes all but burned away, his bones blackened and his remaining flesh charred. Now his ribs and arms were exposed and the sight was gruesome. Bones stuck out of charred, rotten flesh, some parts of his torso now so decayed and burned that there was nothing left to shield his bones. His abdomen was completely gone, exposing the spine that seemed to defy physics to keep him standing. He lifted his hood back over his head, but the tattered and burned remnants did little to hide his features. He looked at Peyton in silence. She ran her hands through her hair, still staring down at Darius.

  “You killed him,” she said again.

  “Yes,” was all Azrael said. The word was completely void of regret, but there was a hint of confusion, of hesitancy.

  Peyton felt like she was going to be sick. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, where to look. She started breathing fast, hyperventilating, clutching at her hair as she stared down at Darius’ motionless body. He was splayed out on his back, blood pooling on his chest and stomach, leaking down to the ground beneath. Through the layer of blood on his face, Peyton could see his eyes were still closed.

  “Why?” Peyton asked Azrael, finally looking at him. Her eyes were dry, but they were full of an emotional pain she had never known. It was the pain of knowing that a friend had died for the single purpose of protecting her. And that it had now been for nothing. Azrael stood before her and there was nothing to stop him. “Why?” Peyton whispered again. Her voice was not sad or quivering, she did not sound like she was about to cry. Her tone was one of demanding. She needed to know why. Why Azrael had done this. Why Azrael had targeted her. Why Azrael felt he needed to destroy the world in order to be happy.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Azrael growled. “You’re only human.”

  “I deserve to know why,” Peyton snapped. She stood up and looked Azrael in his burning green eyes, her own eyes burning with a fury that felt like it could burst out of her at any moment. Eve watched in silence, unable to do anything, knowing that Peyton wouldn’t want her to interfere.

  “Death,” Azrael finally said, “is no way to live. Even for an Angel.”

  “But why like this?” Peyton demanded. “Why? Couldn’t you have asked for someone else to take over? That you were tired of it? Why did you have to steal people’s souls? Why did you have to kill so many people? Why did you have to… why did you have to kill Darius?”

  “It’s complicated,” Azrael said simply. “But rest assured, I did only what I had to do.”

  Peyton scowled at him. She clung to her anger. She clung to it like she was adrift in an endless sea and her rage was her life preserver. The only thing that could prevent her from sinking, sinking down into an abyss of despair.

  Darius… she thought. You should have let me do this earlier.

  Peyton stood up straight and looked at Azrael’s eyes. “Fine. Do it, then. Take my soul. I won’t fight you.”

  “Peyton, no,” Eve whispered.

  “Silence,” Azrael snapped at Eve. He returned his attention to Peyton, but didn’t come any closer. He regarded her with a silent curiosity, whatever he was thinking being impossible to tell, as his featureless skull gave away no emotions.

  “What are you waiting for?” Peyton asked angrily. “Get it over with. You win, okay? Just do it!”

  “What did Fate tell you?” Azrael suddenly asked.

  “What?”

  Azrael took a step towards Peyton, stepping over Darius’ prone body, now being intimidatingly close. “What did Fate tell you?” he repeated.

  “Does it matter?” Peyton said. “You win.”

  “I want to know,” Azrael insisted. “Before I take your soul, I want to know what Fate told you.”

  Peyton bristled with fury. Why was he toying with her? “She told me to make a choice. Run or submit. That’s it.”

  Azrael was silent. He stared at her, thinking. “Why would you submit?” he asked. “Unless…” His voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought. Peyton, confused as to why her soul was still in her body, only watched him, unsure how much longer she could hold herself together with Darius’ body lying so close.

  “Submission of your soul will not be the same as me taking it by force,” Azrael realized. “I will be vulnerable. I could be destroyed, in time. The purity of self-sacrifice. That’s why you would submit to me.”

  “Damn right, it is,” Peyton snapped. “So what’s it going to be? Are you going to take your chances with my soul? Or give it up?”

  Azrael felt his rage begin to boil over. This is what Fate had meant when she said he had a choice. Continue his vendetta and risk eventual destruction, or let go of Peyton’s soul and his quest for power. He had been searching for Peyton Paradisa’s soul for so long, hunted her across the afterlife. Could the very thing he had longed for be the very thing that could be his undoing? But he was so close! Did Fate plan this? Was she on his side, or did she set him up for failure? He should have destroyed h
er when he had the chance. She had said he had a choice to make. Was this that choice? Could he really walk away? No. No, of course not. Not after so long, so many years, so many souls. He would have Peyton’s soul. Nothing could stop him. He was so much stronger than before. So much more powerful. And nothing this pathetic mortal woman could do would ever be enough to stop him!

  He took another step closer to Peyton, the green fire in his eyes burning brighter once more. “Don’t be fooled into thinking that what Fate says is prophecy,” Azrael growled. “She is a fortune teller, full of parlor tricks and lies. She doesn’t know what the future holds. Fate only knows the odds. She’s a gambler, a card-counter in a casino, nothing more. Regardless of how I take your soul, Peyton Paradisa, I will have the power it holds. And once I have it, I will be more powerful than you could even comprehend. I will even be strong enough to destroy Eve.” Azrael paused and Peyton could see his gaze travel from her to Eve. He considered her for a moment and Peyton had the strange feeling that if Azrael had the lips to smile with, he would have. He looked back to Peyton, taking yet another step closer, towering over her as he said with malice, “And once you give me your soul, she will be the first to die.”

  He looked back over at Eve, who was standing nearby, leaning against a tree with one hand to stay on her feet, her other hand tightly holding the stab wound in her stomach. She didn’t look surprised or shocked or scared. She only looked sad. She looked at Azrael with pity, as though he was a sick and dying animal that needed to be put out of its misery, because it had no hope of being saved. Peyton, however, looked mortified. How could she give Azrael her soul if it meant killing Eve?

  “I’ll only give you my soul if you promise not to hurt Eve,” Peyton demanded.

  Azrael laughed, still walking closer. Peyton took a step backwards, not wanting him to come within reach of her. Not yet. “I am not negotiating,” Azrael said darkly. “I am taking your soul, by force or by your will, it does not make a difference to me.”

  Azrael began to reach out, smoke still rising lazily from his skeletal fingers. Peyton stepped back again, trying to stay out of reach, but not run away. She didn’t know what to do. She needed to give up her soul to give the Angels a chance to stop Azrael, but in doing so, she would condemn Eve. But she didn’t have time to consider. All she could do was hope that Eve would be able to run, to escape, make sure that Azrael couldn’t get to her.

  “Eve?” Peyton said. “Remember your promise?”

  “Yes, Peyton,” Eve replied, looking distraught.

  “Get out of here,” Peyton told her. “Get as far away as you can. Don’t make it easy for Azrael.”

  Azrael laughed quietly, glancing sideways at Eve, who stood helplessly by. Eve shook her head. “I’ll stay with you, Peyton.”

  “No, please, he’ll kill you. Just go. Save as many people as you can, tell the other Angels what’s happening. Go.”

  Eve looked like she was going to be sick. Tears began to run down her cheeks, sparkling in the light from the Beacon not far away. The souls of the deceased that were drawn to it passed by on the other side of the trees, the trance rendering them completely oblivious to the conflict that raged nearby. Eve nodded at Peyton. Then, in a flash of violet light, she was gone.

  “She will still die,” Azrael said. “They will all die.”

  Peyton stopped stepping away from Azrael, standing her ground. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to look into the eyes of the monster that was about to kill her, but she forced herself to look up into his burning green eyes. He looked back at her, his skinless face set in a permanent grin. He stepped closer. Closer. Closer. Peyton remained still, allowing him to come within reach. She raised her chin, trying to look unafraid, even though her heart was racing and she could taste bile in the back of her throat. She thought of her mother, the only family she had left. She thought of her friends at the hospital. She thought of all the people she had loved and cared for throughout her life, from her best friend in elementary school to the boy who bullied her in high school. Her first boyfriend at age sixteen. The prom. Receiving her college admission letters. Tearful conversations with her mother about money. Nursing school. All the people she had met, all the people who had come in and out of her life over the years. Every single one of them meant something to her, even the people who she had wished at the time she hadn’t known. She thought of the plans she had had for her future. Of establishing her career as a nurse. Of maybe even going to med school later and becoming a doctor. Of one day settling down and marrying a good man, having children, grandchildren, all of this, all of her life and her plans, her hopes and dreams, flashed through her mind. She stood still and waited, refusing to close her eyes, determined to make Azrael look into her eyes as he ripped her soul from her body.

  Azrael paused momentarily, savoring the moment of his victory. Then he plunged his hand into her chest. Peyton gasped and grabbed Azrael’s wrist out of instinct, but didn’t try to remove his hand. She felt that sensation of something moving around inside her. Something that should not be touched. She couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard she tried. She looked down and saw Azrael beginning to slowly retract his hand, his fingers curled around his prize. In his hand, Azrael now held a glowing blue orb that was made up of something not quite gas and not quite water. In the center of the orb, a bright golden light shone even brighter. Tendrils branched out from the orb, reaching back into Peyton’s chest, unwilling to be torn from its home, but Azrael was pulling it free with ease. Peyton’s soul was grasped firmly in his fingers, his burning green eyes staring down at it hungrily, while Peyton watched in terror as the life began to drain out of her.