In the Beginning

Author's note: Jack and Alex are dead. They were SO depressing anyway. I thought a new series was in order. Originally, this wasn't intended as such. However, while penning the initial tale (yes, I DO still write them out by hand), a friend of mine added some lines. While his lines are nowhere to be found in my story, they did inspire me in the direction I would take this. Big thank you to Ryan B; when inspiration comes, you take it, and I appreciate that your writings helped me with this. 

Enjoy.

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With cold fingers, the moonlight spread out upon the sparse landscape. Standing on the edge of a cliff, he prayed, hoping to be heard. He stared into the rocky abyss, the offered himself, his life. His only request, purpose.

His was lost when he fell. Now, with no gates to guard, he felt empty. Angry.

During the war it had all been confusion. He hadn’t realized until too late for which side he had swung his flaming sword. But ignorance was no excuse, and he had been cast out. Chaff, separated from the wheat.

There had been no forgiveness, no understanding. Only anger. Only retribution.

And in the absence of the Name, it was hell. Even on Earth.

“You could strike me down, here and now, Lord,” he prayed aloud. “Collapse these rocks and send me to oblivion, were it your will.

“But you must be keeping me here for something. My wings may be gone, but my heart is still true. I made a mistake.

“Please,” he begged, kneeling his tall frame upon the sharp, broken stones. “Tell me what I must do.”

As always, there was only silence.

He stood there for a time; how long he could not say. The wind ruffled his hair and he closed his eyes, imagining that it blew softly upon the great wings he once had. The memory of them brought about phantoms pains, or so he thought, for something felt different this time. He was puzzled.

Then, carried on the wind, he heard a voice. It was soft at first, but became clear as his ears grew attuned. It sounded young, but there was pain, sorrow in the voice.

“...and twice now I should have been dead, so you must be keeping me around for something. I can’t accept that I’m here to be the whipping boy of fate. I won’t accept it.”

AZUZEL.

The name, spoken in a whisper sent pain coursing through the angel’s body, and where his wings had been there was now a burning. Something was very different.

YOU MUST PROTECT HIM, AZUZEL.

“Lord,” he said. “I don’t under...”

And then Azuzel heard footsteps running over broken stone, a gasp, and the sound of something plummeting from the edge of the cliff. He was confused, but only for a moment.

FLY.

Without hesitation, Azuzel launched himself from where he had been perched. He moved so quickly, and it had been so long, that his eyes began to water. The sharp, seering pain ebbed through his shoulders; his wings were being restored.

And there they were. Glowing in the moonlight. Strong, beautiful. Just like he remembered.

With a great thrust of his black wings, Azuzel propelled himself toward the form of what appeared to be a young boy. The Name had commanded him, and his will would be done.

He passed under the falling child, opened his wings and stopped himself just below him. He caught the boy, and matching his rate of descent, brought him down gently toward the ground.

When they touched down, he released the boy, who promptly threw up. Azuzel stood there silently, watching with a grin on his face.

Ah, the melodrama of youth, thought the angel. The boy could not have been much older than thirteen years. But if it was simple, youthful angst, then why had the Name commanded him?

When the boy had recovered he looked upon the angel. “Who are you,” he asked.

“I am Azuzel. I am here to protect you.”

The boy hocked, spat. He looked again at Azuzel and there was no fear in his eyes. “Protect me from what?”

Azuzel thought for a moment. He looked up to where the boy had been. “From yourself, perhaps.”

The boy’s gaze followed the angel’s and he snorted. “I didn’t jump, if that’s what you’re thinking. Something ran into me.”

The angel fixed his stare on the boy. “And yet you did not cry out?”

The boy smiled. “I didn’t think it would do much good.”

The sound that came from Azuzel briefly startled the boy, for when angels laugh, all of nature laughs. And Azuzel was laughing heartily. But his laughter stopped abruptly, for the Name was speaking to him.

YOU HAVE YOUR PURPOSE, AZUZEL. PROTECT HIM.

“Lord,” asked the angel. “Who am I protecting him from? Who pushed him?”

I LEAVE THAT TO YOU TO DISCOVER. BUT KEEP HIM, AND YOURSELF, SAFE. BE EVER VIGILANT, MY CHILD.

“Yes, Father.” Tears came to his eyes and he hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His thoughts were interrupted. “Dude. Who the hell are you talking to?”

Azuzel looked at the boy.

“I said someone pushed me,” he continued. “They might still be up there.”

Azuzel squared himself up with the boy. He was small, compared to the angel’s seven-foot frame, but not scrawny. He looked like someone who could handle himself well, and there was something about his eyes. They seemed bright with a knowledge, or wisdom, that seemed well beyond the boy’s years.

“Whatever was there,” said Azuzel, looking up. “It’s gone now. Tell me your name.”

“Joseph,” replied the boy. “And I’m not worried. But someone or something just shoved me off a cliff.”

“I know.”

“Well, I kind of want to shove them back.”

The look in the boy’s eyes caused Azuzel to take a step back. He seemed familiar, like someone he had met long ago. Could it be?

“Turn the other cheek, child,” said the angel. “Now, where is your family, Joseph?”

The boy’s impatience was clear. “I live with my mother, so what? You’re wasting time. How do you even know their gone?”

The angel ignored his question. “And what is your mother’s name?”

Joseph looked furious. “Marianne, why? What’s your point,” he yelled.

“And your father?”

The question seemed to deflate the boys growing rage. He turned away, eyes cast downward. “I don’t know. I never met him,” he said. “The only time my mother speaks of him is when she’s telling me how wonderful he is, or how proud he’d be of me.”

“I see,” said Azuzel, the cogs of his mind finally clicking into place.

“But how can he be proud of me? He can he be so wonderful,” Joseph blurted. “If he’s never even met me?”

The boy’s words echoed off the cliff walls. Then silence. Not a murmur from the wind, nor the chirping of insects could be heard. It seemed that all the earth was still.

The boy didn’t seem to notice, but Azuzel finally broke the silence with a whisper. “Your father has met you. Of that I am certain.”

Joseph looked at him, confusion, frustration, and sadness clear in his eyes.

“Enough of this for now,” said Azuzel. “I have been ordered to protect you.”

With those words he stood up straight and stretched his wings. He made both of his hands into fists, the held them together. Slowly, he drew them apart. In the space between his hands flames formed. Not wild, random fires. It was a solid mass. And when his hands were as far apart as possible he opened his left hand and raised the right.

There, burning brightly, was a sword of pure fire. Joseph shielded his eyes, but only for a moment. Then he stared on in wonder.

Azuzel knelt before the boy, placing the sword point into the earth. “I pledge my sword, and my life, to keeping you safe.”

Joseph’s face was a mixture of confusion, shock, and giddiness. Then he smiled. “I think you and I will get along just fine,” he said. Then added, “And I have got to get me one of those.”

Azuzel looked up at the boy and grinned. He rose and opened his right hand. The sword flickered and disappeared.

“Cool,” said Joseph.

“We should go now,” said Azuzel. “I must take you home.”

“Sure,” said Joseph. “You can meet my mother. I’m sure she’s gonna love you.”

“Indeed.”

And with that, Azuzel scooped the boy up into his arms. He unfurled his wings, and with one quick beat, launched himself and the boy in the cool, starlit sky.

He didn’t know what would come next. But he had a purpose, once again, and for the time being that was enough.