Page 24

The archangel taught me three offensive techniques before we started walking again. By no means was I successful at any of them, but I replay them in my mind as we walk in silence, committing his critiques to memory.

When completing a feint and strike, I struck too slowly after changing direction, giving my opponent too much time to recover and block. I tried aggressive advancement, moving back a step to force my opponent to take one towards me and quickly closing the distance between us. This only resulted in the archangel having my back pressed against a tree trunk within seconds, the sword on the ground. Apparently I have a tell: I bounce on my right leg before I move.

Then he showed me the eight angles of attack, explaining that in unison, they create an eight-sided star. He showed me how to picture it by drawing lines in the dirt, then asked me to try to consecutively cut each line in the air. I nearly lost my balance after the first two, the weight of the sword still foreign in my hand.

To my surprise, the archangel didn’t laugh even once throughout our short training session. He merely watched patiently, providing instruction where needed.

Watching the sun, I figure we’ve been headed north for around five hours now, and I find myself picking at the skin around my fingernails as we draw closer to where this facility should be hidden. We stop whenever we hear leaves rustle, weapons drawn and listening for danger. Though we don’t come across any, we don’t fool ourselves into believing that we’re alone out here despite the sunlight.

“What do you know about this facility?” I ask.

“Nothing, really.”

The archangel doesn’t turn to look at me as I follow him further into the trees. He often walks ahead and I trail behind, but occasionally he’ll slow and wait for me to catch up.

“That’s vague.”

“You expect me to share so much with you and your human heart.”

The iciness in his voice makes me wince. His playfulness hasn’t returned since our lesson this morning, since I won the challenge he presented me with.

I snort, finding humour in his constant change of demeanour. “You’re a human too. At least, right now you are.”

He shoots an offended look back at me, stopping in his tracks. “Just because my wings are hidden doesn’t mean they’re not still there, Slayer.”

I overtake him, ignoring the look in his eyes and the warning in his tone. “I haven’t forgotten what you are, archangel.”

The title comes out with more disgust than I intended.

“Ah, yes, you believe I’m a monster.”

He follows closely behind me, his skin occasionally brushing mine when we’re forced to squeeze through tight trees.

Yes, I believe his kind are inhumane, immoral psychopaths who are responsible for bringing death and destruction upon our realm. I believe he is responsible for leading that destruction.

“Not the kind that hides in the shadows under your bed, but rather a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A deadly blade delivered in a pretty package.”

The smirk that tugs on the archangel’s lips as he stops in front of me tells me he noticed my blunder.

Oh, for worlds’ sake.

“You think I’m pretty?”

His eyes widen with amusement, the playful boy returning for a moment.

My eyes roll so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fall out. “Of course that’s what you took from that.”

I avoid his gaze, instead focusing on my steps and keeping my irritation below the surface. “You look good for your age, I’m sure. Speaking of, how old are you?”

Though the amusement doesn’t fade, he allows my change of topic. “Five hundred and fifty-two.”

If I had been drinking water, I’d have spat it all over myself. I figured he’d have exceeded a human lifetime by a while, but I hadn’t actually thought about how old he must be. Here is this beautiful man who looks not a day over thirty, someone who would be adored by millions if it weren’t for the circumstances. Worlds, if he were human, his face would litter the walls of teenagers everywhere. But here is a man who isn’t a man at all, but a five-hundred-year-old immortal being.

I bark out a laugh. “You’ll have to give me your skincare routine. I’ll admit, you do look pretty good for your age, old man.”

The archangel shoots a look of triumph over his shoulder before turning back to the trees and slipping his mask of cool indifference back on.

My cheeks flush red and I duck my head as I try to change the subject. “So, do you have parents? Are angels conceived the same way as humans, or are you hatched from an egg or something?”

I see his chest rise and fall as he lets out a soft, humourless laugh. “We are not birds.”

I smirk to myself. “Rather defensive there.”

The archangel scoffs, but ignores my initial question, staying silent.

“Okay then, tell me – how does one become an archangel?”

The questions flow through my mind quicker than my brain can filter them. Quicker than I can decide whether or not it’s a good idea to pry.

Despite their psychotic tendencies, their world fascinates me. It’s an unknown. It’s another life, another way. They’re born with such power, but I don’t know what their purpose is. If they’re not guardians, as depicted throughout mythology, then what? They may be killers, but it doesn’t stop my growing curiosity. It doesn’t quench my thirst for knowledge. It could be what gets me killed.

The archangel grows stiff beside me now, the only indication that he heard me as his face moulds into the perfect picture of control. “Fate,”

he says simply, offering nothing more.

“Fate?”

I snort at the absurdity of it.

“Yes, fate.”

He shoots me a glare. “It is determined before we are born, but it doesn’t happen until we’re ready.”

“So you were destined to become this.”

I wave my hand up and down, gesturing at his figure, and he nods silently in response. “How many archangels are there?”

Silence. For so long that I assume the conversation is over.

“One.”

I halt. “You’re the only one?”

“Yes.”

The archangel pauses, looking up to the sky. The tree coverage has grown thicker the further north we travel; we can hardly see through the leaves. “I am the only one left. That is why the war began. We are weak.”

I take that information in. “What happened to the others?”

He shakes his head softly, staring at the ground with an intensity that mirrors my own. “We are… rare. Archangels channel more power than all angels combined. There have only been a handful in existence…”

He pauses, as if waiting for me to tell him to stop, but I let him continue.

“The first ever archangel was as old as time itself, created to keep the power in balance, to maintain the light. Her name was Lilith. Then the angels Raphael and Athena became the second and third, together as lovers. Destined for each other as much as their titles.”

He looks over at me, then quickly away. “Then Angelique, the youngest to ever be given the title. I became an archangel over four hundred years ago, stealing the title from her.”

“And what about Cain, how did he fall?” I ask.

“Cain fell because he was tempted by the darkness. He was always bitter about not being named an archangel, and so he murdered Raphael and Athena.”

My stomach drops, threatening to boil bile up to my throat. My heart races as it sinks in. “He’s a sociopath,”

I whisper.

The archangel’s features soften. “Once you begin feeding on darkness, it pulls you in like a drug. The corruption that comes with it consumes you. Cain always wanted to be more powerful. He always thought the fates would change their minds. When they told him that he would never become an archangel, he decided to take the power for himself. So he fell.”

I shake away the feeling of slow panic creeping into my veins. “What happened to Lilith?”

The archangel stops walking and I nearly trip over his feet. I’m forced to grab onto his shoulder to stop myself from falling. Warmth tingles my fingertips at the touch. I quickly regain my footing and let go, letting the cold seep back in.

“Lilith was alone in her reign for a long time. She was tasked with watching over the human race and continuing the angelic bloodline. Lilith was also the first of us to discover the darkness. Angels’ power comes from pure light, but all power must remain in balance. She grew hungry, began to siphon light from elements other than her own power source, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. She would feed off the light from other angels, and she murdered many of our people. When she went to make a move on the Divine, she fell. As she fell, her light turned to darkness, her power so strong that it created a whole new realm.”

To even think that there is an angel out there who was so hungry for power that she caused herself to fall, banished to her own realm. A realm of darkness and death.

The Darklands. Better known by humankind as hell.

“Lilith is the devil…”

“She prefers to be called the Mother of Darkness, but I agree with the human term much more.”

He speaks with such disgust that I wonder how much of a disgrace to his kind it must be to turn to the darkness.

“Is she —”

A twig snaps and leaves crunch, and we both whirl towards the sound. The archangel steps in front of me and my hand inches to the blade tucked away in my belt.

The silence stretches around us, but from the way the archangel’s body tenses, I know there’s something coming. He doesn’t reach for his sword, and the golden glow to his skin dulls so that if I didn’t know to look for it, I would never know it was there. It’s as if he’s trying to appear as human as possible.

He lowers his head to whisper in my ear, “Stay close.”

It only takes a few seconds for a crowd of soldiers to spread out around us.

They wear black clothing and stick to the shadows of the trees. Though they may be strangers, I recognise the dark uniforms they wear. Those humans near the city were hunting the archangel, and now he stands before their comrades.

I twirl so that my back is against his, my hands raised in the air in a surrender. Their weapons wouldn’t kill the archangel, but I’m sure they could kill me. My biggest concern is what the archangel might do if he’s shot at. Who he might kill.

They are human, after all.

The circle of guards parts through the middle, letting a figure walk through to the front. A man stands in front of us, unarmed and dressed in a spotless forest-green tunic.

His bright smile lights up his clean-shaven face. “Well, well, now who do we have here?”