Page 50 of The Human Element (The Human Element Collection #1)
“And if I remember correctly, you used to talk to me all the time about how you didn’t see the purpose of this war.
Now he’s got you chained here like a goddamned dog.
His dog, Raph. That’s all you are now. I may have changed, and even with all my years of relentless shame, I am beginning to think I am starting to change for the better.
What about you? You’ve only changed for the worse.
A dainty, pompous, head-in-the-clouds, arsehole. ”
Raphael’s face turned into a scowl, and as he was about to return an insult, a hush fell over the air around them. Michael arrived.
Walking slowly across the arena floor, Daemon could barely make him out as it was shadowed heavily along that end of the space across from him. Raphael composed himself and stood in attention, continuing a conversation they were definitely not having.
“Like I said, Daemon. Michael has come with a proposal for you, the human girl, and if you so insist, Lucifer’s boy. He will explain it all himself, but the deal would be an asylum for you all as long as Fate and the Great War are no longer interrupted by your plotting. Is that understood?”
Daemon hardly heard what bullshit Raph was spitting out to save face.
The only thing in his view was Michael, his long, cascading bronze-toned hair in curls that lay neatly upon his shoulders.
He wore battle attire that consisted of a mixture of a gold and silver-breasted metallic suit of armor, similar to how they saw Metatron.
Michael’s never-ending stern facial expressions sat prominently as always, and Daemon wondered if there was a place to avoid his gaze as it pierced through him directly.
But it wasn’t the ostentatiousness of Michael’s entrance that had Daemon’s mouth agape: it was the group of demons trailing behind him.
They walked in silently, standing on either side of Michael, who had yet to speak.
Daemon immediately recognized one of them: Zanul.
The demon who pursued him before and who Daemon thought had successfully performed a Finishing Spell on.
No demon survived the Finishing Spell once in place—how he was possibly alive when the last Daemon saw was a pile of ashes, was nothing short of a miracle.
Miracle. Of course…Michael performed a miracle to bring Zanul back. But why? Fuck, this is bad.
Zanul smiled a jagged-toothed grin at Daemon and waved. The rest of the assortment of demons stood patiently behind the two. It was Raphael who, surprisingly, spoke first.
“Sir…What is going on here? You specifically told me to bring Daemon alone. Who are these demons and why are they here?”
Raphael’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“Indeed, Brother Raphael, I did request you bring Brother Daemon here alone. But that does not mean I am unable to bring others along for this meeting. You will see in a moment the necessity of their presence.”
Michael paused and looked directly at Daemon, and for the first time Daemon could recall, he smiled at him in a fake sort of “let’s be friends” way.
Daemon felt a deep unnerving within the core of him. This was wrong. Terribly wrong. Raphael tensed; he felt it too.
“Daemon, my old friend. You look well. Surprising since what I have heard, you have endured quite the perilous journey so far. It need not be this way though, you know it is futile.”
Daemon pulled his smug persona back into place steadfast before responding to the wolf in sheep’s clothing standing in the front of a pack of literal wolves .
“Mate! Gosh it’s been a long time. Raph told me you wanted to chit-chat about helping us out of this “perilous” journey.
Are demons here to somehow comfort me, or is it for us all to have a bit of sport here in the arena again like we used to all those millennia ago, and they are meant to be our hunting prey?
No? Then I second what Raph asked. What the fuck are they doing here, Brother Michael? ”
Michael’s former smile was gone immediately.
He snapped his fingers and two of the snarling demons, one of whom resembled a mash-up between a bat and a grim, old man, while the other looked to be similar to Zanul, who decided the 80s grunge fashion and thick black eyeliner were the best choice, ran to Raphael before he could react; totally blindsided, they yanked his arms behind his back and bound him with what looked like a black and red glowing handcuff.
The moment it touched Raphael, he screamed in agony and fell to his knees. His usual flawlessly coiffed golden hair flung out of place from the sheer force of being brought to his knees—Daemon was sure he heard a cracking of bones as he hit the ground.
A shudder ran through his entire body as his friend’s head was yanked up to look at them all. Raph’s eyes screamed, “Run.”
Immediately Daemon let his wings unfurl, repositioned his feet, and stood taller to face Michael.
This was no meeting of salvation; this was a trick.
And the pain that Daemon moments ago would’ve envied to make appear across Raphael’s face, now terrified him deeply.
Raph was only a puppet in this show, too.
Daemon needed to think of something quick.
He’d left Lorelei and a most likely dying Samuel back in Stonehenge, and now he was thousands of miles away, trapped here by a demon-consorting 2nd hand of God without his powers, which were temporarily blocked once entering the arena, and a conniving pack of demons who apparently were in on all of it.
Michael walked towards Daemon, stopping a few paces away.
For what felt like minutes, neither said a word.
Daemon was desperately trying to sort out the strengths and weaknesses of those in the room in his head; could he take them?
If he could get this demon down, the others would be easier.
It was Michael who posed the biggest threat.
It was highly unlikely Daemon could take him, no matter how much of a warrior he claimed himself to be.
This was Michael, leader of the ArchAngels.
He is the true Warrior Angel, having led battalions against Hell and has been around even longer than Daemon.
Plus, naturally, there is a significant power difference between an ArchAngel and a regular angel.
Although Daemon had always been applauded for his abilities, there's things even Raphael could do that Daemon would never be able to.
Well, if it meant going down fighting, Daemon would fight any angel, demon, or God for Lorelei.
Michael was no different. He would die too if it meant he could return to Lorelei safely.
She was it for him; damn the war . If Daemon couldn’t be with Lorelei or if he lost her, he would bring down the forces of the Universe in any way he needed to—he’d rebel against all for her, and it would be worth it.
Michael eyed him as if he could read Daemon’s mind.
“Your girl…Lorelei…She will die Daemon. Just as before, it is the way of things. She is the reason and the answer: with her demise, we can begin our great pursuit of justice and harmony. We can start anew on Earth, we can make it better than it ever was or could be. Humanity has grown too fickle, too callous, and too willing to deny any concept of God. In the end, this is too dangerous. Humans only ever got this far with our help to begin with. There is nothing more meaningful or miraculous they could achieve now. Their hunger for the destruction of one another and their insatiable desire for material objects over companionship, are and never have been the ways of God. You know this. They are too primitive. We gave them a chance—but it is time for a new, better species to prosper. A mixture of angel and humans shall be the new normal, and they will thrive. It has been seen. It is the only way.”
Daemon raised his eyebrow at Michael and ran a nonchalant hand through his hair, knowing this would annoy him.
“You’re sounding incredibly familiar to someone we know….Come to think of it, didn’t Lucifer suggest the same thing you are saying now?”
Talking time was over. Daemon sprung into action, flipping backwards over Michael to catch him and the remainder of the demons off guard, pulsing his power to slow time fractionally.
A move he knew the other angels, including Michael, didn’t have.
It was his specialty, and by damned he’d make them all pay for this betrayal.
Daemon landed on his feet, and went to grab Michael from behind when Daemon gasped in pain, a dagger hit between his ribs, an arm wrapped tightly around his throat with another.
They broke through his magic. They caught him before he could even make a move on Michael.
These demons were unnaturally fast. Demons could be bloody quick, but this…
this wasn’t right. With Daemon’s ability to slow time, there hadn’t been a demon in his existence faster than him.
Unless they are getting help with angel powers.
Michael didn’t move, like he knew what Daemon would do and needn’t bother himself getting out of the way.
The demon at his back walked Daemon in front of Michael, forcing him to the ground, and when Daemon attempted to wrench free of his grip, the dagger at his ribs was dug further in.
Coughing viciously, likely his lung had been punctured from the blade, blood splattered across Michael’s feet, who continued to stand over him.
“Insolent fool. It is nothing the same as that prideful oaf. This is God’s will. And it shall be done.”
Daemon wiped a hand over his blood-soaked mouth and spit out a glob of it.
“If the goal is to kill Lorelei because she has the capability to stop this war, why haven’t you done it already? What’s the point in prolonging the inevitable then?”
Michael sighed and paced around Daemon like a panther, taking its time to go in for the final kill.
“These things happen when they are meant to happen. She has remained alive because God has deemed it worthy at this point. Soon, when the order is given, and our plan is set into action to begin preparations for war, she will be eliminated. All is part of the Divine plan. And we do not question. But….I believe it to be soon. With you out of the way, she will no longer pose a threat. Take comfort, Brother. She may be left alone in the end. If she doesn't have you, she won’t have much to stop us with.”
Daemon lifted his head; it was pounding, and his vision was coming in and out, the taste of metal coating his mouth, and it was hard to rationalize Michael’s words.
“Me? You can’t be saying that I am the key to what would make her be able to stop you?”
Since first encountering Lorelei, there was always something that didn’t feel quite right.
Something deep, like a string lassoed around his heart and latching onto hers, always pulling him towards her.
There was no way to know when he saved her as a child all those years ago, that years down the road, he would have the call to go to her again.
A call ancient and abstract, it was this same pulling sensation that once meant only to protect, and then transformed into more: love and a reconnection of self.
He felt tied to her in a way he couldn’t explain.
He never imagined having feelings for her.
But when he first locked eyes with her, a key that had been lost long ago to his own torment-riddled self-image, clicked into place, and beneath it all was a knowing that he could and should be loved; and the person to love him, the person meant for him more than any other in this Universe, was her. Equally, he was her missing half.
Could this be why? Is there more to this bond than I thought?
As Daemon attempted to wrap his mind around the notion that Lorelei and him may have been inextricably intertwined longer than he thought, Michael snapped his fingers and ordered Zanul and the demon holding him, to tug his arms out to the sides, attaching the same black handcuffs around his wrists and attached them to chains in the floor.
Daemon cried out again when the demon finally relinquished the blade from his side.
Struggling against the cuffs, Daemon jerked at them as hard as he could, but the harder he pulled, the deeper the flesh of his wrists melted away as the cuffs burned him.
Another larger cuff was placed around his neck and attached to the pillar he'd been leaning against earlier. As long as he didn’t move, the cuff wouldn’t burn him.
The smell of burnt skin filled his nostrils as he finally looked up at Michael with more hatred than he thought possible.
Raphael was passed out and lying on the floor—apparently they didn’t need him conscious anymore.
Michael locked eyes with him, kneeling in front of him.
He wiped a blood covered strand of Daemon’s hair out of his face, shining with his own blood and a mixture of sweat after the struggle against the chains.
It would have been an almost fatherly gesture, if Michael was anything nurturing.
No. He was nothing of the sort. This was to diminish Daemon further, remind him of his place. Or, the fact he had no place.
“Poor, Brother. If you only knew how needed your existence was to get us closer to the end. Why didn’t you just stay to yourself?”
Michael sighed like a disappointed father and shrugged.
“No matter. You won’t be a problem any longer. It’s time to prepare you for your final flight.”
Before Daemon could make a snide remark, Michael pulled out his sword from its halter and brought the butt of it down on Daemon’s head, the last image of Lorelei’s longing, blue eyes—the color of the purest crystal sky, the color of hope, happiness, and love, blazed before his eyes as he faded into the darkness.