When he got into the kitchen, he saw Whist and Jayson there, and Whist was yawning. When he caught sight of Blake, he ran towards him. “What happened down there, Blake?”
Blake explained everything, even the angel, and the notes, but left out his odd suspicions about himself being a Nephilim, about his language comprehension, and all of his unanswered inquiries. He knew that neither Whist nor Jayson would be able to answer them. “You actually saw… an angel?” asked Whist.
“Which… one?” said Jayson.
“It was Nathaniel. He said that he was being tortured, but not by who,” replied Blake.
“Nathaniel?! You mean, the ‘Gift of God’? The Angel of Fire?” asked Whist. Blake nodded. “And he spoke in English? I thought that Sons of God would speak a different language.
“Well… actually, you’re right. He did speak a completely different language, but I understood,” said Blake. There was a long pause, and Blake guessed that they didn’t believe him. “See, I told you that I could speak the language. Nathaniel spoke the same one,” Blake explained in the angel’s dialect.
“How…” Jayson stuttered. “Wait. If you could speak that, that must mean that you’re…”
“When I saved him, he gave me the gift of fire,” Blake cut him off.
“Really?” asked Whist. “Show me.” Blake snapped his fingers, and a flame burst into existence on his fingertips, hovering above his thumb. He waved his hand over it, and it became gold and blue. He blew, and it twirled off his finger into the air in a wisp, curling and creating the shape of a flying angel.
“I wasn’t finished,” said Jayson, running his hand through his spiky hair. “Though that is amazing, I think that you’re a Nephilim. The offspring of an angel, and a mortal woman.”
“I know, and that’s what Whist thought. It’s also what Nathaniel said,” replied Blake. “He kept calling me that.”
“So that must mean that you are—” started Jayson.
“NO!” exclaimed Blake. “A few days ago, I had to accept that I’m a wizard and a warrior! That was hard enough. I lost the last bit of my family, and now you’re telling me that I’m the hybrid offspring of angels and mortal women! I honestly can’t take this anymore! This world is getting far too convoluted! What I used to know was all phony: like an undersized world compared to the real one! Nothing makes sense anymore. Warriors, wizards, demons, angels and even fallen angels! How the hell do you expect me to just take all this and pretend like it all makes perfect sagacity?”
“No,” Blake interrupted Whist. “Enough of all this crap. Angels and all this heavenly stuff that’s revolving around me is way too much of a colossal burden to hold resting on my shoulders! I frankly can’t take this anymore: it’s too much to handle. You can go find yourself someone else to do all this with. I’m done with it.” Blake turned and began to walk away, but then he heard Whist say something.
“So what? You’re just going to forget about everything? Suppress your angelic nature? You could physically explode from that, Blake. You’re going to disregard your genuine Nephilim nature, ignore your magic as it escalates out of control and forget about Nathaniel? You would just turn your back on all of this? Well newsflash: this is the real world.”
“Well then I guess I’d rather reside in the false world that I beyond qualm comprehend due to its simplicity. I’ll live in the fake world I grew up in: it’s the only one I know.” On that note, Blake spun around, and headed up to his room.
When Blake got into his room, he jumped onto his bed, and slammed his pillow against his face, letting out a muted scream of frustration. Then, he looked up at the ceiling, and ghostly images of angels flying across the ceiling clouded his vision. He shook his head, and then closed his eyes, remembering what Whist had said.
So what? You’re just going to forget about everything? Suppress your angelic nature? You could physically explode from that, Blake. He thought about it over and over as his mind raced. Forget about it. His mind slipped away as he allowed himself to sleep. He cleared his mind about everything, and thought of one thing and one thing only: the fact that he would be leaving for New Haven tomorrow. A place where he could flee from Magi and the Fallen and angels and all of it. His mind began to clear as he reached his destination: rest. Even though he wasn’t tired, it might be the only way to get away.
He was wrong.