Wings Tarnished

Ok, I'll be honest. This one just came out of nowhere. šŸ˜ I was looking at random pixabay pictures the other day and saw the cover art for this piece. I was like Woah, that's a free image? I gotta write a story around that!

And there you have it. Simple as that. Hope you guys enjoy this totally different thing. šŸ˜Œ

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"Headed to the battlefield, Azrael?" Barachiel asked of his once stout companion. "The Fates have bestowed favorable omens upon your conquest. I would still tread lightly, fate can be a fickle thing." Barachiel's visage turned black. "As you well know."

"And as do you, old friend." Azrael forced a smile. "I gather you won't be joining your brethren? Still following that false pretense?" If Azrael called Barachiel a coward outright, the whole of Heaven would shudder - so he decided to do everything but. "I Pray to have your vigilance."

"You haven't Prayed in a millennium." Barachiel spat. "And you know my duties are of the highest order, and still you provoke me..." He turned, stalking from the illustrious golden hall. "How I once called you brother is beyond me."

Azrael fluttered his majestic wings in annoyance. What he wouldn't do to fight side-by-side with Barachiel once more. But some things could not be mended, regardless of who wielded the hammer. He asked the Fates if they could, but they gave him no answer. He was still unworthy. Probably why he was assigned with such a creature.

He found Gadreel leaning against a marble statue of God. Heretical as always. Wonder why the Fates have cast me with this creature... Gadreel was to assist him in this conquest - the purpose was yet to be determined. Gadreel saluted with his silver mace, then fell into step beside Azrael.

"We are to take off from the Shrine of Tranquillity," Azrael said to his companion as they started flying over gilded clouds. "You've brought the Holy Oath, I presume?"

"I have." Gadreel seemed hesitant. "Azrael, I would ask of you to share the Fate's prophesy."

Azrael judged Gadreel - found him innocent in his plea. Even the foulest deserve to know their fate. "You have that right." They halted, floating in the sky. "For you will share in my Fate."

Gadreel floated expectantly as Azrael unrolled the Fated Parchment. And as he spoke, so did the mountains. So did the trees, and birds, and seas. So did the world. Gadreel could only listen, could only absorb, as Azrael's booming voice filled his consciousness:

Children of Yore, a conquest awaits! You are to extinguish a blight upon our lands. Go forth and vanquish this evil - this betrayal. Take heed! Not to lose one's self in this conquest! It is imperative that your judgment be true.

The world collapsed in on itself as Azrael rolled up the Fated Parchment. The free skies returned as both angels found themselves outside the magnificent Shrine of Tranquillity.

Gadreel nodded. "Thank you. Seems the Fates have done away with their riddles. This conquest appears straightforward."

Azrael concurred, but he was unsure. Fate can be a fickle thing. As they landed on the shrine's plateau, they touched weapons and said the sacred words - I would write them here, but I fear they might scorch your frail psyche. Erase you from existence.

After, the two angels coalesced into a single being made of everything that is and isn't. As their shine expanded, nature itself waned in their glorious conquest. This light shot like the arrowhead from God down to Earth. As they approached their target, they split, each deciding on a horde to strike beforehand. To the mortal eye, they appeared as lightning. To the demons, they appeared as death. Righteous and unwavering.

Azrael landed, creating a small crater in the desolate landscape. He crackled like thunder with sword drawn. The beasts surrounded him on all sides. He saw them, monstrous and vile - with horns, tusks, and fangs. They were thousands. In the caves and on the rocky hills. They had him surrounded - and they ran.

Azrael took no pleasure in dispatching the creatures. It was foul work that had to be done. Stained and bloodied. The longer it lasted the deeper the stain on his soul. Trust your judgment, the fates said.

Soon the conquest was finished. Too soon. He saw Gadreel, bloodless. His mace, arms, and armor: clean. His expression is solemn. "It is done Azrael. Let us merge and be done with this farce."

"Farce..." The Fates' prophesy rang in his ears, each and every word. Azrael started to put things together. In order for them to return to Heaven they would have to merge, losing sight of one's self; the heretical exclaim that a Fated Battle would be considered a farce... the uneasy feeling he'd had during the whole affair...

"Farce indeed."

Azrael changed the maced angel. They met, sending a shockwave that could be felt on the other side of Eath. Gadreel didn't even try to speak. He knows his sin! Azrael fainted right they struck left with the force of an avalanche. Gadreel blocked deftly only for his shield to shatter. He is still young! Acrael pressed his advantage. Destroy the rot from the root! Before it festers...

Azrael finished it with an overhead blow. Gadreel saw it coming and merely closed his eyes. He soon evaporated like smoke on a summer's day. It was done.

Moments passed, and Azrael was back in Heaven. Elated, he ascended the steps to the Hall of Justice. At their peak was the ever-diligent Barachiel. They saluted, as per custom.

"You will not believe. But I Prayed this day would never come." Barachiel said in his booming voice for all the Heavenly Kingdom to hear.

Azrael, bemused by his friend's fondness for the dramatic, played along. "Meeting you here has always been a challenge. Even for me. Even now." He answered in the same voice. Putting their conversation on record for eternity.

Barachiel bowed his head. "You accept your penance, then?"

"There is no penance to accept, brother."

"None but the Fate's..." Barachiel whispered a singular prayer only for the two of them.

"What -"

The shackles appeared on his wrists. Binding his glow, his majesty. His color faded as his garments lost their luster. And his wings - tarnished - became heavy on his back. Azrael's mind was dazzled but he understood what was happening. He had been here before.

The Fate's Prophesy was undone and Azrael was its harbinger.

"I told you to tread lightly, Azrael." Barachiel trembled as he spoke. "Your judgment proves you false, again. How many millennia will it be this time, I wonder?"

"The Fates are cruel..." Azrael managed a rasp.

Barachiel nodded once. "They are. On this, we concur."

He won the conquest but lost his soul. And in his arrogance, Azrael could only think of how an immortal's life was nothing but anguish.

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This one is pretty rough around the edges. My writing conditions were not the best while writing this. But no excuses! šŸ˜ I hope the piece was a little fun at least.

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Peace and take care. šŸ˜™

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