Nathaniel

Blake knew he shouldn’t understand the kind of language that was being spoken, but somehow he did. It sounded like it was ancient and primordial even, older than mankind itself. “Hello?” he responded in the same tongue.  When he said it, it felt natural, almost easier than English. “Who are you? What…

            There was more movement in the shadows, and then there was a loud downhearted noise that sounded like the scraping of nails on metal, only slightly toned down. It still sounded beautiful, as if in song still—a beautiful lament. It was like the creature was in pain. You understand… me?

            Yes, I do,” replied Blake. “Who are you?

            I am… Nathaniel, the voice said. I was taken here… and tortured…

            I am Blake,” said Blake, feeling sad that he didn’t have a story. “And I’m turning sixteen next week.

            That will be when… your Nephilim instincts will overpower your mortal ones, Nathaniel said. Please… help me…

            What… I don’t know…” Blake stuttered for words as he spoke the strange language. There was more movement in the shadows, and then someone came into view.

            He had pale, smooth skin that was laced with silvery scars. His eyes were ringed with shady circles. His dark hair fell over his face as he moved, and Blake saw a flicker of white on his back. The man was somehow still amazing to look at, even with his scars and blood. Nathaniel pressed his arms to the ground and lifted himself into a sitting position. Something fluttered behind his back again. This time, they came from his back. Six white, feathery wings extended from between his bare shoulder blades and stretched out. They weren’t long, and they looked like they had been ripped in some places. The downy wings fluttered a bit as they curled around Nathaniel’s body. Golden liquid dripped from cuts in his body, trailing a long line of gold through the bars. That was the source! He lifted his head, and Blake saw his eyes. Against his pale, gaunt complexion, they looked like a shining moon in a dark, starless night. His eyes were golden. They were shining gold, speckled rims around black pupils.

            Nathaniel lifted his palm, and a faint light began to emanate from it. The glow wavered and grew brighter. Please, the angel said. If you help me… I will… give you the gift of fire…

            Blake stumbled back in surprise. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes, and then began to shake his head violently. “This isn’t real! None of this is real!” he yelled.

            Then explain how you… speak our tongue, Nephilim, said Nathaniel. The tongue… of the sacred Sons of God…

            This doesn’t make sense! Blake thought. Angels? Here? How could this happen?

            Nathaniel stretched his hand out farther, and the light grew brighter, creating a wicker of a flame in his hand. It danced in his palm, and grew bigger. The yellowish flame beckoned to Blake. Please… save me.

            H—how?” asked Blake nervously.

            The bars, replied the Seraph. They have runes… undo them…

            Blake stepped forward hesitantly, and then took out his signum. He flicked the wand between his fingers apprehensively and pressed it to one of the bars. He closed his eyes, and saw a rune burning against his eyelids. He knew it was an angel rune. He felt his hand begin to move, copying the symbol that smoldered behind his eyelids like the flame in Nathaniel’s hand. His hand flowed across the bars as the runes changed in his head, like one of the shyfters he’d encountered in the City of Magic. He became comfortable, and the rune sharpened in his mind, almost as if there had been a microscope, and it had suddenly been adjusted and another slide had been added. His hand raced across the bar, and he drew the inky runes across them with ease. Finally, the runes disappeared from his mind, and the burning of his runes and Contemplor ceased.

            He opened his eyes, and saw what he’d done to the bars. They were shimmering, as if they were only a mirage. All of a sudden, the bars shook, and one cracked in half. Soon enough, all of the bars were spiderwebbing, cracking and falling away. They all clattered to the ground, and Blake waited for Nathaniel to move. He never did. He stood there, like a carved statue, holding the flame out in his palm. Blake reluctantly stepped through the broken bars, and stood a distance away from Nathaniel. The angel struggled as he got to his feet, and tried to extend his broken wings. Pain shot through his body, and he stumbled backwards. Thank you… for saving me. I shall give you… the gift…

Blake took a few more steps forward, and Nathaniel shot out his hand. The flame grew and split up, and then coalesced into a wall of flames. The flames became golden and sparkled brightly as it raced towards Blake. Blake’s eyes slammed shut, and he couldn’t even scream or yell. He felt muted. Thousands of questions raced through his head as they always had, unanswered inquisitions that left his mind and memory like an unfinished puzzle. He finally felt the impact of the heat, and it numbed his body. He felt sharp pains rip through his body, and then felt like he was floating. A feeling of euphoria washed over him, and the newfound angel power surged through his body like electricity zipping through a cord. Fire coursed rapidly through his veins, and he felt blissful and powerful. His body was light as a feather, and he felt powerful. The flames disappeared, and he felt his body drop to the ground. He hadn’t even realized he’d been hovering.

Nathaniel looked at him through his dark curtain of hair, and his broken wings flickered side to side. Thank you, Nephilim, he said. And… good luck…

Nathaniel was suddenly enveloped in a blinding golden light. Shafts of light energy shot out from his body, and he radiated a field of energy so harsh that Blake fell backwards and tumbled to the ground. The light stabbed at his eyes, and then it was gone, taking the angel Nathaniel with it.

Blake was still in shock. He’d met an angel.

Angels existed.

The End

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