Angelica had not a clue how long it had been since her collapse. After finally awakening, she could not bring herself to go away. The unconscious humans still surrounded her, though she hardly cared about them. In the end, she ended up still lying on the cold floor, sobbing and embracing the dead crimson jewel. Despite her unwillingness, her heart was still beating. She would end her life without any hesitation if she could, yet her immortal shell had become a prison. Although mortal's were weak, they at the very least had the power to end their own fate. Immortals were fundamentally incapable of that. If she were to truly die, she would have to find someone or something powerful enough to end her miserable existence.
But at that moment, none of that could reach her mind. She was dominated by sorrow, clutching her chest and the remnant of her god. The eerie silence continued to be only disturbed by her falling tears for a lot longer before a new sound finally appeared: Steady footsteps approaching from the entrance.
Angelica looked up to see an elderly man, his wrinkled and calloused skin accompanied by a simple white robe. The distinct sound she had heard earlier was made by his wooden sandals. Although still absent-minded, Angelica was very slightly pleased to finally see someone wearing familiar clothing. However, she just wasn't in the state of mind to do anything with that minute notion. Instead, she spread her wings in an unfriendly gesture, hoping to perhaps intimidate the man into leaving.
Despite that, the man did not leave. Instead, he knelt down and kowtowed, slamming his head against the cold dirty ground. That awoke something with Angelica: Another ancient memory of the days she basked in the glory and mercy of her lord. Every few decades a saint would tread through that gate, someone who had achieved great deeds and contributions towards her lord, and that person would use that same gesture to be granted an audience with the lord himself. The greatest honour a believer could achieve.
This man was no saint, he barely possessed any divinity at all, and he would barely be worthy of stepping into the city, much less allowed to appeal to a God. Yet that God was no longer there to answer such an appeal either way, Angelica reminded herself as something clutched her chest, and out of melancholy or perhaps unwillingness to disappoint the first follower she had seen after so many years, she felt compelled to humour the man's gesture.
"The lord can no longer heed our calls," Angelica firmly stated and immediately wanted to contradict herself. At this point she already ignored the never-ending stream of golden tears, "Since that is the case, I shall listen to your words," she finished and allowed a gentle wave of divinity to pass through the hall. It was gentle and soothing, hopefully putting the man at comfort.
"Thank you," the man answered, though his accent was abysmal and his accent perhaps even worse, yet it was pleasant to hear someone else than Galileo speak comprehensively, "None of your kind had appeared in so many years, what brings you to this forgotten sanctuary, great angel?"
"Grief and sorrow. Memories as ancient as the term brought me back here to seek hope. Yet all I found is devastation," Angelica let her lips run loose. Perhaps she was still considerably out of her mind. Maybe just needed someone willing to listen to her.
"Did you perhaps know the lord?" the man asked, clear devotion sparkling in his eyes. Despite his obvious powerlessness, he was surely pure of faith and heart.
"I would devote every fibre of my existence to the creator who brought me life before I was dragged off the right path into a hell beyond your reckoning," her hands involuntarily shook as she vaguely remembered what she had gone through.
"You are so beautiful, yet so pitiful," the man gave Angelica a deeply pained smile.
"I don't need your pity," Angelica replied, though he tone of voice was far from certain and her limbs trembled again.
"Whatever wounds you bear, they cannot be melded with just yourself," the man continued smiling, "Though I serve a lord who had died long before my birth, I still remain faithful. Yet I could not manage that on my own. Perhaps we have shrunk to a fraction, however, the church of creation still lives on."
"So there are others like you who remain faithful," Angelica felt a surge of warmth within her heart. Although he was dead, he was still remembered in the hearts of many. A comfort to cling to in her hour of need.
"Yes," the man smiled once again, "They call me father Father Anderson. Would you be willing to join us? To spread the glory of our once-great lord over this world again."
"I…," Angelica was unsure what to answer at first. It would mean leaving the past behind and focusing fully on the future. Did she even want something that would lessen her merciless feeling of loss, as that would perhaps tarnish the unflawed memories of her creator. On the other hand, she desired what she had been offered. Someone to share her sorrow and pain with. Though it would cost her pride, she desperately craved familiars. In the end what allowed her to reach a conclusion was another memory: Of her lord's caring and loving eyes. The gaze with which he cared for all his creation. These people were weak, horribly so. Even if he was gone she still had a duty to perform, or at least she clung to the idea that she did. She would shepherd the sheep in the darkness, just like she had before, "I will come with you. Even with my lord gone, it is my duty to guide any who seek solace in his name,” she finally said out loud, able to push away the grief with the new purpose. At least for now.
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“Then we shall welcome you among us with a warm embrace,” the man stood back up from his kneeling position and outstretched his hand. Angelica understood the gesture and stood up, surprised to realise that tears were no longer raining down her face. With slow and gentle steps she walked towards Anderson, one of her hands still clutching the crimson gemstone to her chest, “I was once known as Angelica,” she firmly shook the man’s hand, careful to not accidentally tear it off. Angelica was finally able to smile. She found something to cling to, at least for now. However, their jolly mood did not last for long when a soft murmur sounded from the distance.
“They are here too soon,” Anderson immediately frowned.
“Who are they?” Angelica asked, seeing Anderson’s worried expression. She felt for any danger outside, yet there was not even a trace of any significant power besides the ambient mana and divinity that was still imbued throughout the ruined holy city.
“They call themselves the Foundation, and for simplicity’s sake, they could be considered our greatest enemies,” he sighed as he turned around, “We should hurry, depending on their numbers we might not be able to deal with all of them,” he finished as he rushed to leave, and Angelica followed close behind. The murmur got more intense as they reached the exit, and when they finally left the cathedral they immediately noticed countless black dots rapidly approaching from the skies.
“What are those?” Angelica asked as she saw the would be greatest enemy. She could still not feel even a trace of power emanating from them.
“These are called helicopters,” Anderson said as he frowned, “We will not be able to outrun them, we can only fight,” he eventually concluded, “There is far too many for me to handle, I will need your help.”
“They don’t seem that dangerous,” Angelica voiced out.
“I have seen some of your kind underestimate them before,” Anderson said, carefully observing the swarm heading their direction, “Although they do not possess any magic or divinity, they utilise the powers of nature in a different way. They use things called rocket, large projectiles which explode with immense power upon contact, and machine guns, weapons which shoot hundreds of small but fast bullets each minute.”
“You said there are some of my kind left alive,” Angelica was not particularly bothered by the man’s warnings. She was not an average representative of an angel after all, and if the man was confident to take on at least one, Angelica was certain that she could obliterate millions. She was far more interested in the idea that there might be angels like her still left alive. She had so many question she wished to ask them.
“Yes, there are currently two still alive among us few remaining believers,” Anderson said as the helicopters grew closer. His eyes began to shine with gold and dozen shining cross swords appeared behind his back, levitating and awaiting his command, “Best of luck to the both so that we can overcome this crisis,” his gaze became completely focused on the sight in front of them, this was clearly far from his first battle.
“Gilded blades,” Angelica quickly recognised his power, in the past she had met those who reached the peak of that particular gift. Those people were dubbed blade saints in the holy land, “It’s alright, you can step down, I will not let those who dare invade the sanctum of our lord leave,” she then closed her eyes and recalled a certain memory. Memory of a man who had died a long time ago, even before her imprisonment. A grandmaster blade saint, a man loyal to his last breath. Back then Angelica granted him the honour of witnessing his last rites, and in return he returned to her what he had once been granted.
A giant cross sword appeared above Angelica. Although the blade was lone, it encompassed space far larger than Anderson’s blades, and radiated divinity unmatched by anything weaker than a real God. That was Angelica's power. Most were born with a singular power, a single talent they would grow their entire lives, even angels were not an exception. Yet Angelica was the firstborn of the God of Creation. She was unique. Any dying man who was faithful and willing could give his power, knowledge and skill to Angelica who would then perfect it through her pure divinity. Although she could still not compare with the mad God who mastered all powers known and unknown, she possessed many tricks up her sleeve.
“Begone,” she waved her hand, and the giant sword moved. Although its speed defied logic, there was no sonic boom as it was born of pure power. It silently danced through the skies and returned to its previous position, the only noise remaining the humming of the helicopters. That was replaced the next instant by countless explosions which painted the skies orange and black. The entire flock was obliterated in an instant, all of the helicopters falling as broken debris down to the ruined city.
“Amazing,” Anderson’s voice trembled in amazement and daze. He was clearly gobsmacked over what he just saw.
“As I have said. It is my duty to guide those who seek solace in the name of my lord, and to punish those who would defy it,” she turned to Anderson, happy to see that he was now staring at her, that passionate faith in his eyes burning even brighter than before, “Let’s leave. I have questions for my kin.”