Chapter 15

Angels I (Death)

A sound like cascading, shattering glass filled the air, a noise that seemed to rend the very fabric of reality, sending shivers down Mags’ spine. The sky split open, as if by a knife through linen, transforming into a starless, lifeless void. From this gaping wound in the night sky, a single, baleful red eye emerged, blinking once, twice, before disappearing back into the abyss.

From the fissure, a gigantic hand emerged, its skin sinewy and raw, like the exposed musculature of a skinned animal but inky black, with veins of white light crisscrossing its surface in an intricate, eldritch network. The hand was colossal, dwarfing the squatter buildings of Solstice. Another hand followed, pulling at the edges of the rift, widening it to reveal a face—a porcelain white visage, expressionless, mask-like, and infantile, haloed by a sun-shaped ring of white starlight. The rest of the Angel’s monstrous form erupted from the tear: a long, serpentine neck and ten human-like arms extending from a centipede body. The Angel loomed over the town, an abomination of divine proportions.

Before Mags could fully comprehend the horror before her, a second Angel emerged from the wound in the sky. Gigantic hooves, wrought from shadows, stepped forth, followed by three glowing yellow orbs. As the rest of the second Angel’s body manifested, its form became clear: a human face, feminine and statuesque, with two glowing yellow eyes and a third eye on its forehead. Plumage like large autumn leaves extended from its head and neck, giving the appearance of a monstrous, blooming flower. This grotesque head sat atop a bestial body of shadowy black skin, supported by six legs ending in hooves, with large wings extending from its equine back.

The tear in the sky closed, leaving behind a dark, empty void. Mags stood stunned, her mind reeling, unable to fully grasp the enormity of what she was witnessing. The appearance of a single Angel was a cataclysmic event practically unheard of; the presence of two filled her with an overwhelming dread and hopelessness. Her mind simply couldn’t comprehend what had unfolded before them. The aura from the Angels radiated in shockwaves, freezing everything in place like statues carved from pure fear.

The first Angel moved, extending its massive hand through a taller building, sending giant pieces of stone and tile exploding outward. Debris rained down, crushing several bystanders and smashing into other buildings with deafening booms. As though suddenly unfrozen, fear sent the crowds of townspeople into a frenzy. Mags wanted to move, to shout at them and tell them to remain calm and together, but she couldn’t. The fear-consumed people ran in every direction, easily picked off by advancing Maldrath. The hooved Angel galloped past the horizon, its passage creating gusts of icy wind that tore roofs off buildings. On the wind rode more of the winged Maldrath, swooping down to snatch victims and carry them off into the night.

The masked Angel, an abomination beyond comprehension, took two of its hands and tore open its own belly as though unseaming the stitches on a garment. From the gaping wound in its abdomen spilled a horde of writhing, frenzied Maldrath, flooding the streets in a dark, relentless tide. Mags nearly crumpled at the sight. She had barely been able to hold back the existing horde. What was she supposed to do now?

The people of Solstice had erupted into panic, their screams intermingling with the sounds of destruction. Mags stood frozen, the sheer scale of the nightmare overwhelming her senses. But her training took over, and she forced herself to move, every step driven by a desperate need to survive the incomprehensible horror that had descended upon her town.

She sliced through the nearest Maldrath with a fierce precision, Mithra’s dark blade drinking in the light around it as it moved in a whirlwind of steel. Her mind raced with a single, desperate thought: she had to reach the orphanage, had to protect the children. Save those you can. Protect those you can. The thoughts propelled her forward. She wouldn’t be able to save everyone. Her best opportunity was to focus on the single chokepoint at the orphanage, and hope she could holdout until the Coalition Forces arrives. She thought of the strangers at Pod Starim. She hadn’t seen them in the chaos in the town square. Had they not been sent by the empire after all? Tears burned her eyes as dark memories clawed at her mind, but she forced them back, focusing on the immediate threat. She dashed through the chaos, her movements swift and sure despite the horrors around her.

Gore and violence surrounded her. Shadows moved like living nightmares, overwhelming buildings and crowds of people. Maldrath covered surfaces of buildings like crawling ivy, desperately searching for ways inside. She saw familiar faces twisted in fear and pain, saw friends and neighbors fall beneath the relentless tide of Maldrath. Blood slicked the cobblestones, mingling with the soot and debris. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

As she neared the central square, Mags’ heart pounded in her chest. The hooved Angel, its immense form a dark blot against the ruined sky, turned its indifferent gaze toward the town. Mags pushed through the square, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She stumbled upon the bodies of Jakov and the others near the shattered scrying mirror, their eyes wide open in death, their bodies mangled and broken. Where are Sabo and Vitomir? she thought. Had they made it safely away from the danger? Did they successfully use the scrying mirror to signal for immediate imperial reinforcements?

The womanly face of the hooved Angel opened its mouth, and a stream of searing light erupted forth, a devastating beam that cut through buildings as if they were paper. Stone, dust, and debris exploded, filling the air with a choking, blinding cloud. Mags shielded her eyes, her heart sinking as she watched the old clock tower of the orphanage take a direct hit. It exploded in a burst of light, the ancient stonework disintegrating in an instant. The surging river of light dissipated on the horizon, and what was left of the orphanage’s clock tower collapsed in a shuddering wake.

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“No!” Mags screamed, her voice raw with despair. She stumbled, tripping over the uneven ground, and fell to her knees, Mithra slipping from her grasp. Sobs wracked her body as she stared at the smoking ruin where the orphanage once stood.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, paralyzed by the enormity of her loss. Despite the mayhem unfolding around her, she just wanted to curl up and lose herself in the madness and sorrow. But the cries of the living, the screams of those still fighting for survival, cut through her grief. She had to collect herself. She had to keep going.

Mags forced herself to her feet, her hands trembling as she picked up Mithra. Her vision blurred by tears, she pushed forward, running towards the destroyed orphanage. The smoke and dust choked her, but she pressed on, driven by a desperate hope that she might find survivors among the rubble.

The streets were a hellscape of twisted metal and burning wood. She sidestepped craters and leapt over fallen beams, her heart in her throat. As she neared the orphanage, the ruins loomed before her, a jagged silhouette against the infernal glow of the fires.

Mags clambered over the rubble, her breath ragged. She called out, her voice breaking, “Marco! Dunja! Is anyone there?” The silence that answered her was deafening, but she refused to give in to despair. She sheathed Mithra and dug through the debris, her hands bleeding, her strength fueled by sheer willpower.

At last, she heard a faint sound, a whimper from beneath a collapsed beam. Mags redoubled her efforts, pulling away chunks of stone and shattered wood until she uncovered a small, huddled form. It was Dunja, her face streaked with dirt and tears, but alive. Oh, thank the gods!

Mags gathered the girl into her arms, holding her close. “It’s okay, Dunja,” she whispered, her voice fierce despite the tears streaming down her face. “I’ve got you. We’re going to make it through this.”

With Dunja clinging to her, Mags continued her desperate search for other survivors, her resolve steeled by the knowledge that she had to protect these children, no matter the cost. The Angels had brought ruin to Solstice, but Mags would fight with every ounce of strength she had to save what was left of her world.

Mags searched frantically through the ruins of the old clock tower, her breath coming in desperate, ragged gasps. Each piece of debris she moved felt heavier than the last, the weight of her fear and sorrow pressing down on her. She called out names, her voice raw and strained, but no one answered. The silence was suffocating, a grim testament to the devastation around her.

Suddenly, she froze, an overwhelming sense of dread washing over her. A colossal shadow loomed above, casting the ruins into deeper darkness. She looked up, and her heart nearly stopped. The expressionless, infantile face of the Angel stared down at her, its aura like a plunge into icy water. She was paralyzed, her body betraying her in the face of such otherworldly horror.

The Angel’s hand descended, a massive, sinewy appendage that seemed to blot out the sky. Mags flinched, a vivid flash of memory assaulting her mind—a black hand descending from the heavens, a large red eye in its palm. She tried to move, to protect Dunja, but she was too slow. The hand swiped at them, and everything went black.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the ground, the sky spinning above her. Her ears rang, the world around her a muffled cacophony of destruction. She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Lifting her chin to her chest, her eyes spotted where she and Dunja had been standing a moment ago. She saw a streak of blood across the cobblestones, stretching like a river of gore until finally ending at her waist. Her legs—about halfway down her thighs and everything beneath—were gone. There was so much blood. Her head swam, consciousness threatening to escape the tenuous grasp she had on it.

Tears blurred her vision as she looked up again. Dunja dangled between the Angel’s enormous fingers, the girl’s body limp and lifeless. Mags couldn’t tell if she was alive. A seam opened in the Angel’s body, a grotesque mass of shadowy hands breaking free from its surface, like bubbles on the surface of a boiling pot of water. The Angel dropped Dunja into the seam, and the girl disappeared, swallowed by the grasping sea of shadowy hands. Mags tried to scream but only coughed up blood, her voice a weak, pitiful rasp.

At that moment, staring up at the Angel—a being of divine judgment on a canvas of night sky—everything came into focus. The Angels had no malice, no ill intent towards the people of Solstice. The destruction that they had wrought was of pure indifference. We’re just insects, she thought. Solstice was an insignificant ant hill, and the Angels were the large garuda, kicking the hill not because the ants posed some kind of threat, but simply because it could—there was no logic to explain it. Mags broke out into a cold sweat, a dizziness swimming behind her eyes.

The Angel then reached down and picked her up by her shirt, so delicate a touch despite its gigantic size. It lifted her into the air until she was face-to-face with its blank, mask-like visage. The infantile face came in and out of focus as Mags desperately clung to consciousness. Why didn’t she simply let go already? She fought a good fight, after all.

Then, she felt a thrumming heartbeat. Strong and overwhelming the rapid, dying flutter of her own pulse. She realized it was the egg. Still in the pocket on her belt.

A voice echoed in her mind, both familiar and alien, as though it was speaking in her own voice. It asked, What do you want? The cold seeped deeper into her bones, her heartbeat slowing to a barely perceptible pulse. The edges of Mags’ vision were darkening as she watched another pocket open on the Angel’s surface, the skin parting to form another pool of shadow-wrought hands, clawing hungrily at the air. The voice asked again, more insistent, What do you want?

Mags’ thoughts swirled in a haze of pain and fear. I want to live, she thought desperately. I want to live!

An overwhelming urge washed over her, a shuddering wave of warmth. As the Angel began to lower her towards the mass of shadows extending from its body, she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. With the last of her strength, she took the egg and brought it to her lips and swallowed it, her mind repeating a single, desperate plea: I want to live.

Darkness enveloped her, but in the depths of that black void, a spark of defiance burned. A prayer to be answered: I WANT TO LIVE!