Blake stared as Ithuriel and Verchiel fought, their weapons clashing and sending thunderous noises rocketing through the starry night sky. Ithuriel twirled his spear, and sent a wave of energy at Verchiel. Verchiel flapped his powerful wings and the energy dissipated. He smiled cruelly, and then looked at his sword. Suddenly, it transformed into a scimitar radiating heavenly fire. “Ithuriel, you have not Fallen, and yet you choose to fight alongside those who have?”
Ithuriel stretched his wings and Blake realized that they were much longer than he’d thought they were. The white feathery wings combined with his unblemished skin and blond hair created the effect of a mannequin warrior with wings. He raised his spear, and energy began to crackle around him from his hostility. He pointed the spear at Verchiel, and then spoke solemnly in a voice that was gentle and melodic. “I choose to follow what my heart tells me to do. You cannot, because a void of swirling darkness in your body would be the closest thing you have for a heart. I choose to fight on the side of the victims, Verchiel.” He twirled his spear, deflected Verchiel’s sword and flew under him, rising and bringing the sword up to between Verchiel’s wings. “There is a spot in everyone’s back where if pierced, will sever the spine and strike the heart. I can also break your wings right now, Verchiel.”
Verchiel flapped his magnificent wings and a powerful gale pushed Ithuriel away from him. Then, he turned and pointed his flaming scimitar at Ithuriel. “And I can slit your throat right now,” replied Verchiel with a sneer. Suddenly, Ithuriel back flipped in the air, and rocketed down. When he was close to the ground, he slowed, and then shot up so fast that he was a blur. He struck Verchiel’s chest with a wide slash, and Verchiel cried in pain. It was a melancholy screech—like nails raking steel. Blake felt his eardrums rupture, and thought that they were about to bleed. Verchiel backed away, and spoke angrily. “You.... Raphael! Take care of this fool.”
Another angel flew in, his hair brown and curly. He held a light sword in both his hands, and he soared towards Ithuriel, swords extended. Ithuriel hovered there, waiting. When Raphael was meters away, he still hovered, waiting. Finally, when Raphael was inches away, Ithuriel seemed to summon power. His body lit up with power, and an aura of silver surrounded him. He thrust the spear forward, and Raphael backed away, and looked down. Then, he plummeted, and Ithuriel followed. Raphael landed on the ground and turned to look at his enemy. Ithuriel landed gracefully and folded his wings against his back. He looked at Raphael with his golden stare, and Raphael seemed to falter. “You fight alongside Verchiel?”
“I need not speak to you—”
“Silence! Raphael, why must you betray all of your Fallen brothers? And the Nephilim?” asked Ithuriel. He brandished his spear, and his aura seemed to flare brighter. “I could kill you right now,” he said.
“But you will not. I could always call Camael, and he would be rid of you,” said Raphael with a cold smile.
“Camael is a hesitant leader, is he not? He and Verchiel lead you, but he is not an unswervingly loyal as you wish him to be. He will, in time, leave the Powers. I promise you that.” Ithuriel moved in a flash, and his lance was suddenly at Raphael’s throat. “If you don’t leave the Powers, then you will be killed. Do you acknowledge this? I could kill you in one single movement if I had to, and Verchiel would do nothing. Camael would heal you, but not because you are a Power, like he is. He would do it because you are his brother, and it would bring him joy to see you healthy and okay. This is the kind of mind-set that I would expect from an angel.”
“You know nothing of our world. The Powers are the enforcers of God! We are more powerful than the Principalities, the Archangels and the Angels! We must rid the world of all filthy half-breeds that roam the Earth and pollute it with their every breath! How disparaging and cynical have our brothers begun to think like? Children with mortal women? Disgusting,” said Raphael. “I would never fight alongside them, nor would I help the sinning angels that had been thrown from Heaven. They do not deserve even to be seen by God!”
“You dare insult a man who holds your life between his fingers? If I so much as twitch a muscle, you will die. As I said, Camael is not unwavering. He shall perhaps change sides due to his outlook on the Fallen. While the Powers like Verchiel are merciless and voracious, ready to tear apart any fallen angel or anyone who he considers an insult to the Almighty, those who are like Camael will follow what they feel is right, and as your leader, you will have to listen to him,” explained Ithuriel.
“Why do you think He sent the flood, Ithuriel? Why? I know the reason behind it. He wished to cleanse the Earth of the half-bred created from the union of fallen spirit and flesh, and even punish mankind with it. The Nephilim were to be killed by the flood, and yet, some survived. The Fallen taught humankind sciences that were forbidden: reading the stars, creating means of healing, and even magic—magick is our domain. Now they have wizards living among them! They deprived us of the things we were to watch and hold dominion over and shared it with humanity! They do not deserve more than one chance. The Powers—including me—will follow through with this conception!” said Raphael. Ithuriel closed his eyes and the air around him began to overcharge with argumentative energy. The air became warped and distorted as he breathed in deeply.
When he opened his eyes, he transfixed Raphael with a stare so calm that it could probably drive an angry man mad. He slowed his breathing and his speech. “I should kill you right now, Raphael, but I respect Him far too much to do so. Instead, I will warn you about this: do not meddle in things that you cannot comprehend, for you will only get hurt.”
“You sanctimonious little—” Raphael started, but stopped suddenly. He took advantage of his own distraction and leapt a good twenty feet back, flapping his wings menacingly. He created a powerful gale, and Ithuriel simply sliced through it with his spear. He continued to walk, and Raphael crossed his swords and closed his eyes. Suddenly, they became enveloped in fire—weapons of pure, heavenly fire. He looked up, and slammed them together. There was a loud crack, and it became a long sword that was twice as long. It burned even brighter, and as it did, Raphael smiled forebodingly. “You will die, Ithuriel. Someday, you will day. And that day will be today!”
Raphael leapt into the air, holding his flaming weapon above his head, and allowed his wings to carry him toward Ithuriel…