The Fallen, Book One: Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Dublin, Ireland – present day

There was something in the night that made Marione’s hair stand on end. The last time she had felt this was so long ago she only remembered the scent of the night air and the five dead fallen by her feet. She tersely cracked her neck and watched Maha kick the animated dummy around her training floor.

“I’m getting bored here, Maha. If I were a Nepher I would’ve killed you already. Don’t play with your food.” Marione called out pulling out her trusty pack of cigarettes and lightening one up.

Maha glared at her from her position on the floor. Marione knew the young one hated when Marione corrected her so she took special care to correct her whenever possible.

“If you were a Nepher you would already be dead!” Maha dealt a powerful blow to the dummy and made it wobble.

Marione chuckled, letting out a cloud of smoke. “Perhaps but then again I’d be the best looking Nepher that ever died.”

Maha ignored her taunt and with her spear sliced the dummy’s head off. Marione nodded and pressed the button next to her chair. The dummy stood once more, collected his head and hit Maha on the head with his own. Maha jumped, startled and started the fight once more.

Marione, amused with herself as she often was, sat back to enjoy the show. It would’ve been a nice slow training session had not a powerful chill gone up her spine.

Dammit. She hated when someone tried to inter-connect. But then again no one would try inter-connect unless they were dying. She braced herself for the light feeling that would follow and closed her eyes to accept the message.

“Take care of my sons.”

Rafael’s distinct voice came to her and it was gone as soon as it came. Marione dropped to the floor, chest heaving, Goosebumps on her white arms and eyes clear mint green.

“No!” she screamed, leaping to the fight floor, taking the dummy Maha was playing with and with her sword cut it swiftly in half.

Maha turned to look at her, eyes wide and surprised. She had never Marione loose it that way.

“Marione?” Maha asked tentatively. Marione’s hair was wild and unruly her eyes were sparking near white. A look she only got when she had the most enormous pleasure or the most agonizing pain.

“The Ginorios are dead.” She stated, her eye color slowly returning to a deep green.

“Rafael and Shannon?” Maha asked, strapping her spear on her back.

“Yes. We will go to Atlanta. Tonight.”

“Tonight.”

“I sense the wind changing. There are multiple extractions happening.”

“How many?” Maha insisted.

“I don’t know!” Marione shouted, walking out of the play room. “I’m not all knowing, you know! I know what I know because I’ve lived as long as I have not because I’m more special or above any of you.”

Maha followed her, obediently. Marione walked into her room of the palatial palace she owned in Dublin.

“Do you want me to call Stevens?” Maha asked, tentatively.

Marione pulled out her black leather bag and stood in silence for a moment. “Yes. Call Steven. Tell him to meet us at the west end.”

Maha nodded, tossing her long braided hair behind her, her dark skin shinning with sweat. Marione turned to stare at her for a moment, watching her closely. The young Fallen was but forty years old – still too young to know anything of anything. Maha was strong, she reminded Marione a lot of her when she was still a young Fallen. But then again how many had reminded her of herself? Too many and she had to watch them all be extracted. Always missing her own funeral. And now Rafael and Shannon were gone. She always thought that as long as they remained in Atlanta they would be safe – with all of their runts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“Marione, you’re not well.”

“Call Stevens! And try not to get killed!” Marione shouted at the younger one, watching her run out of her room.

She knew she felt something off but this was much more than just feeling two extractions. She deftly took out her cell phone and dialed Pratap’s number. She waited until it took her into voicemail.

“Pratap… if you hear this call me the instant you get it. Rafael and Shannon have been extracted.” It took her a moment to say it but it came out. Rafael and Shannon were gone. After her, they were the two oldest left. “Fuck, Pratap pick up the bleeding phone!”

She hung up, angry fingers found Rufino’s number. Also led her to voicemail. “Rufino, carajo. Soy yo, Marione. Llamame cuando cojas el maldito telefono.”

She look up, startled, as Maha re-entered her room, hands wriggling before her.

“Steven got a call from Jersey’s butler. He’s been killed. Jersey’s dead.”

The thunder inside Marione started quicker and faster.

“Pratap and Rufino didn’t pick up their calls.”

“You think they’re dead too? Are they trying to exterminate us in one night?” Maha’s voice faltered, her wide black eyes searching Marione’s just like they had so many years ago in Ethiopia when Marione first went to see her.

“Most likely. The last time they tried it was in 1556. Five Fallen died. Only I and Gunther lived. Gunther died a year later.”

“1556?”

“We were in China, visiting Jia and Heng. Humans know it was the worst earthquake that ever was. We fought for hours. By the end only I and Gunther lived.”

“Nothing major has happened. The news are silent.”

“Ah… you see they learned. The trick is not to get us all together and attack. We’re more powerful when we’re all together. The trick is to get us individually. It’s far more easy to kill a Fallen when they’re alone than when we are united. Took them a few centuries but they learned. They’re slow creatures.”

“Are they coming after us next?” Maha’s voice was strong but Marione could see courage faltering in her eyes.

“My guess is that they’re already here.”

Maha’s dark face seemed to pale and she pulled her spear out. Marione always had a way of saying things the way they were. She didn’t worry about Political Correctness, didn’t worry about offended feelings, about saving purity or anything that had to do with controlling ones words or actions. It was part of the reason Maha liked her. It was refreshing to meet someone who was so blunt but at times like these she wished Marione would sugar-coat things a bit more. If only to stop her from trembling.

“Don’t worry. They can’t enter. My land is hollow land.” Marione told her, not one ounce of pity in her voice. It was not a statement of comfort but as a matter-of-fact.

“Then we stay here.” Maha stated, standing a bit taller.

“Like cowards? I’m leaving and I’m leaving fast. Rafael asked one thing before he left. I intend to go to Atlanta and God help the Nepher who gets in my way. You can stay here if you like.”

“I’ll come with you. I told you in Ethiopia that I would fight next to you until the day of my extraction. I intend to follow it.”

Marione nodded, not touched at all – like Maha knew she’d react. After all, if they hadn’t been able to kill Marione in over seven hundred years they wouldn’t be able to kill her now – that was Maha’s comfort.

By the time they made it to the airport Maha couldn’t help but shiver in her seat. The shadows were all around them and the air was so full of death that it made it hard to breathe. Next to her Marione calmly drove without a care in the world. Almost as if she was tempting them to attack her. Maha almost felt sorry for the Nepher who dared attack them – the way Marione felt inside was enough to destroy them with a single glance.

Maha looked out the window and saw little red eyes staring at her from everywhere.

“We’re going to have to fight to get to the plane. They’re already here.”

“Stevens must be shitting his pants.” Marione chuckled.

“I’m shitting my pants!” Maha exclaimed, annoyed that Marione could be so flippant.

“You shouldn’t. We’re stronger than they are. We’re wiser and we’re faster.”

“But what is strength, knowledge and speed of two against the fury of thousands?”

“In any case, today is a good day to die,” Marione shrugged her shoulders and pulled the truck next to the plane.

Maha watched Marione strap an extra knife onto the inside of her tight and grab Excalibur. The sword shone like it wanted action, like it wanted blood on it. Maha pulled her own spear her father had made for her since she was a child and stepped out of the car.

Marione hefted her bag over her shoulder and walked carefully to the plane, as if her body was absorbing her environment.

“Stevens!” she shouted. They waited, Maha next to her looking every which way. Slowly the door to the private plane opened.

“Jesus, Marione! Are you mad? They’re all over!” Steven exclaimed, his tiny head coming into view. The man was as pale as God made him and as frightened as ever.

“They can’t touch you, Steven, so grow some balls.” Marione tossed him her bag and he caught it, still keeping to the plane.

“Marione,” Maha whimpered next to her as she watched the Nephers begin to materialize. There were so many of them. So many. Maha had never seen so many together. It was a sea of them. Shinny teeth, deep red eyes, hallow wings.

Marione remained impassive, grabbing Maha’s bag and tossing it to Stevens who desperately wanted to be anywhere but there.

The ones that spoke for the Nephers came forward. It was three of them, which told Marione that they were 300 of them. With every hundred came a Wasp; one who would speak for them. She’d never had this many wasps address her. Tonight was surely different.

“The young one” the first Wasp said.

“…has the right head,” the second continued.

“… to be afraid, Marione the Great.” The third finished.

Marione smirked. She loved when they did the chorus.

“Tonight is a night to,” the first began again.

“remember amongst us Nephilim,” the second chimed in.

“The creator has abandoned you.” The third smiled.

Next to her Marione saw Maha get into fighting position, her wings were out and ready to attack.

“As he has you, Wasp.” Marione slowly took off her long overcoat and gently placed it over the stairs of the plane.

“We accept our fate,” the first began again.

“… when will you,” the second put in.

“… accept yours.” The third flashed his pointy tiny teeth.

Marione smiled at them, that charming smile that had gotten her countless things in her long life.

“Let’s establish some rules before we do this, ok. Rule #1 – don’t mess with the hair. You fuck with the hair and you’re a dead’pher. Rule #2 – never take your eyes off the sword,” she pointed to Excalibur shinning on her hand. “If you do, I guarantee it’ll kill you. Homicidal little fucker, but hey – matches my personality. Then,” she walked closer to them. “the most important rule of all – rule #3. The Holy Number. The Mother of all bleeding rules.” Her smile grew wider. “You ready for it? After I kill you make sure you pass this on to your boss.”

Standing before the three Wasp she began scraping her throat, pulling snot from the very back of her. The Nephers watched her with fascination, Maha and Steve grimaced. When she was satisfied Marione reeled her head back and spit one large ball of mucus on the Wasp but before the snot could get to them she lifted Excalibur and swung it neatly, perfectly and precisely decapitating all three of them. The snot ball fell on the Nephers standing behind them.

“Fuck, I missed!” Marione smiled at them as the bodies of the other three lay on her feet still twitched and glowing with the extraction process.

Maha had seen her do enough stunts like this to know that the rumble had just started. She fell right on step with Marione and the fight commenced, they began slicing Nephers in waves. Steven re-entered the plane and began to pray.

Marione was a master, her body was a dance in motion, knowing full well her opponents moves before they thought of them. She had fought too many of them for too long for her not to know this. The anger and fury she felt was gone, all that was left was the thrill of the kill. Her body began to sizzle with joy as she continued killing them, her wings spread and shivered in ecstasy as more and more Nephers died. She was so consumed with her own pleasure that she didn’t see Maha behind trying to keep up with her shadow.

By the time Marione turned around to save her from a particularly large nasty Nepher … Maha was run thru.

Marione shouted, jumped in the air, hundreds of Nephers under her and then dove in, picking up Maha’s dead body. She pulled the youngling closer, her wings circling them in a protective manner and placed her on top of a rock, away from them. Maha was dead, her body began shinning in a soft green glow. Marione shouted once more, turning away from Maha and looking into the crowd of Nephers that were slowly approaching her. Their scaly gray bodies shivered with anticipation, their tiny teeth clinked in the night.

Marione’s chest was heaving. Once more she was the last one left. That night in the back of Marione’s mind flashed something that had never flashed before. It was exhaustion. She was tired, she realized. She was so very tired. Tired of fighting (not the fucking, of course), tired of watching generation after generation of Fallen dying. All died but her.

She was completely ready to loose herself in the sea of Nephers – she knew her death would not be short like it was for Maha or for Rafael and Shannon. They would relish her death. She was a trophy to be had, she knew. The one that killed her would be their hero for time to come.

In other times she would’ve cared, she would’ve not even dreamt of giving them the satisfaction. Tonight was different.

She closed her eyes and re-opened them, lifting Excalibur and pressing him against her forehead. The image of Shannon came to mind. The last time that Marione had seen her. She had been pregnant for the very first time. It seemed like yesterday. She looked golden and beautiful, full of life – no Fallen had ever gotten pregnant before. None. What was so special about these sons of Genorio? The only one they had left in the world was her and she had never even seen them. They were men now, fully grown and they had just lost their parents. If she died, tomorrow night new Fallen would be chosen but none would know about the brothers. She was the only one. The one who would guide them if only for a few hours she would guide them.

Fuck this, she thought, I will not die in a night when all others have died.

“That’s the spirit,” a quiet, powerful voice came from behind her. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know that the Nephers were fleeing like God had just beamed in.

Slowly she opened her eyes, watching the Nephers run for their lives, all looking at her new companion with terror. Some shouted for mercy, others simply ran as fast as they could or flew as fast as their tattered wings could carry them.

“And you wonder why you have no friends,” Marione chuckled, turning around to look at him.

Michael was not what one would consider a handsome man but he was handsome none the less. His human visage was breathtaking. Marione attributed to the aura that fell around him.

“You had me scared there for a second,” Michael walked around Maha’s dead body and knelt by it.

“You know no fear.” Marione reminded him, watching Maha’s body finish the extraction.

“That is true.” Michael meant less words than he said them – which decreased his overall talk by 100%.

“Are they all dead?”

“You know the answer.” He told her, placing his hand over Maha’s forehead and bending his head down.

“Why? Why does he permit this?” Marione knew this answer as well but to speak it made it a fear within her.

Michael glanced at her, telling her she also knew that answer. She knew it because she had asked it before.

“I’m going to Atlanta. Someone has to make sure the kids are alright after their parents were killed.”

Michael stood and looked over her. “Why do you care?”

Marione strapped Excalibur behind then her kneeled over Maha. “No one ever had children before. The boys are special aren’t they?” She took Maha’s wallet from the back of her leather trousers and stuffed it in her side sachet then reached for Maha’s discarded beautiful lance and took it.

“They are,” Michael agreed, watching her stand and begin walking to her plane. Michael followed her.

“Prophets?”

“Fallen.”

Marione stopped mid-stride and faced him, face closer to him than she’d ever dared, Maha’s lance at hand.

“Fallen?”

“Fallen.”

“Fallen. You piece of shit!”

Michael sighed, used to her character. “You’ve often wondered if it was all about you. Well it isn’t. It’s about them.”

“Is the time coming?”

“Gabrielle nor I knows that.” Michael told her, walking next to the plane and looking over her.

“Are we the last?” Marione asked, almost fearfully.

“Perhaps.”

“That’s the same thing you always tell me – you also told me the same thing back in China all those years ago.”

Michael showed no emotion, face blank just looking at her.

“What am I supposed to do with them? Breast feed them.”

“I’m sure they’d love that but they’re grown men.”

“They’re boys, they’re children.” Marione grabbed her long coat from the stairs and put the lance down. “They’re all children.”

Stevens popped his head back out. “Are we safe?”

Marione put her coat back on and glared at him. “Start the bloody engine.” He handed him the lance. “Put it inside.”

“Yes, boss.” Stevens grabbed the lance and disappeared from view and Marione turned to Michael.

“I won’t stay for long. Just to tell them who and what were their parents. I wont train, I wont baby-sit –“

“You won’t get emotionally involved,” Michael finished for her.

“I never do,” Marione glared back at him. “You make sure Gerontius is there.”

Michael looked up at the night sky, a short smile forming on his lips. “You sense that?”

Marione didn’t answer him.

“The time is changing. The extractions are over. No more nightmares and soon – very soon six more will be chosen to perfect the seven.”

“Do me a favor. When you stop speaking in riddles then come and see me. If you have something to say that makes sense and stops my doubts then look me up. And next time I’m about to fight a heroic history-making battle don’t drop in and save my ass. If it’s my ass’ turn to go then it’s my ass’ turn to go.”

Michael gave her a full smile this time. “You were always charming.” And then he disappeared.

Marione studied the spot he left vacant for a moment and she cursed, running up the steps to the plane. From outside you could hear her shouting at Stevens to make a beeline to Atlanta.

The Fallen, Book One: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Dublin, Ireland – 22 years ago

When Peter Dalry stumbled out of the bar into the open night air he already knew he was being followed. If he were asked a few hours later what exactly followed him into the night and into the wolf’s mouth he would be unable to tell. Peter was milking a broken heart and that would put any man out of his wits. Still dressed in his wedding tuxedo, hair on end and one shoe missing he let the follower follow him.

He felt shadows all over him; tasting, licking, molesting him in ways he thought nothing ever would. In his drunken haze he pushed the slurred thoughts out of his head. Shadows didn’t taste, didn’t lick and didn’t molest people. They were shadows after all and what were shadows but what the human imagination makes of them?

Shadows are not real and they were not with him. He made the shadows, he made them into what he liked – he could make a dog with his hand against the building wall. He was the shadow.

And so, as he walked at 4:20 in the morning that fine Saturday which was to be the finest Saturday of his life and yet turned to be the worst he did not see that shadows indeed followed him. Those same shadows tasted, licked and molested his despair and rejoiced at the sight of the fallen human. For what could be sweeter than a human with loss of all hope?

By the time he finally spotted the parking lot fear had a firm grip on his heart and it thundered harshly against his chest. His heart said to stay and let himself die. Without Brianna, the love of his life, he didn’t want to live but his brain said otherwise. His brain, which controlled all function made his feet run, and run he did as fast as he could. Darkness swallowed the world around him and he felt himself loosing grip on reality.

Hissing sounds started to whisper against his ears and the night turned a blueish-black, the end was near. Ahead, amongst luxury vehicles sat his pale blue import. Waiting for him. Salvation was behind those aluminum doors. He raced to it, for inside, he thought, the darkness could not get him. His hand trembled, his feet stomped the pavement, he was almost there, his drunken state vanished, his life on the line. He was almost there and just as the tip of his fingers brushed ever so slightly the window pane the world was taken out from under his feet.

He stumbled into the ground, head hitting the pavement in a loud thump and physical pain came to accompany his emotional destruction. Quickly, he flipped himself on his back to look upon his assailant.

His eyed went wide as he saw a thick, black smoke shaped like a rodent’s mouth opened to devour him. Peter Dalry was about to die. Many things flashed his inner eye as he watched the smoky teeth lick themselves in anticipation. One last gasp, one last breath, one last wish.

“Help me, God.” He whispered.

Twenty-two years later, when Peter described his vision to his congregation which sat at the edge of their seat, listening intently to how God had changed Peter’s life he told them what he saw. What God showed him. By then, no one dared to call the story apocryphal.

From the death of that night an angel dressed in dark green robes leaped in front of him. She had flaming red hair that went down to her waist, it was loose and wild just like her. She leaped before the shadow, long Medieval sword at hand and thrust into it’s mouth .

Her eyes were powerful emeralds that illuminated as she finished her kill. They turned a crystallized mint green, the same as her sword. On her back were long, broken black wings spanning three meters to the right and three meters to the left. They shivered in delight as the shadowy rodent screamed. She had wings which expressed their jovial delight as s mile spread on her blithe face. She was enjoying the kill.

Her moves were swift, effortless, majestic as she battled the shadow. She was quicker, wiser and more agile than the beast. She was a bird woman – an angel sent to save him. He watched through half-closed lids as she destroyed the monster. The shadow gave one last shriek as the Angel-woman dexterously slayed it. It was done. She had been victorious.

The shadow’s carcass evaporated into the night. The moon, which had hid its glow from the monstrosity that her night could bring slowly showed her face, casting a faint light on the Angel-woman. The same, turned to look at Peter Dalry who hung on to consciousness with the faint strength of at least watching his rescuer for a few more moments.

She knelt before him looking over his state.

“It’s a rarity to be able to see what the world of spirits does hide.” She said. She had a thick voice, like it had spoken for hundreds of years and still strayed in the earth.

“What are you?” Peter whispered, his vision fading him as the seconds ticked.

“Another shadow, not so bad and yet not so good.”

“What is your name?”

“I’m known by many names. But you may know me as Marione.”

“Are you an angel?”

“What angels are and what demons be is not for me to answer. I’ll give you a word of advice and you’ll be the happier for it. Never depend on love so much that will drive you to this. We don’t deserve love and we are very lucky if we receive it. Truly receive it. So when fate spares your life and has something like me interfere then you have a purpose. A true purpose. You’re meant to live and I’d not forget it if I were you.”

“Thank you, Marione – Angel of God,” Peter’s last words as he fell into the unconscious and his mind made the moment grander than it truly was.

Marione however watched him for a moment, lighting a cigarette as he slowly closed his eyes.

“Angel, yes… of God… no. Not this lifetime.”

Atlanta, present day

His mother had named him Rafael because while in her womb a gypsy woman had come to her and told her that one day her son would be exalted; placed above others. His mother, being a deeply religious woman who lit candles by the feet of her wooden saints told herself that night that her son would be an angel. He would go out into the world and be admired, deem good and above all save others from their own perils.

She had no idea how close to reality he would get. Now, one hundred and sixty-one years later, Rafael Loyola, son of Don Fernando Antonio Loyola Acevedo was indeed an angel. In 1877 at age 29, when he had realized what type of creature he was he thought looking like 29 for the rest of the time seemed like a good deal. He didn’t even have to drink blood like all of the ghoul stories he heard in the dark corners of the streets of Santa Cruz. He didn’t feel like a monster yet the shadowy name followed him for the rest of his days… including today.

“Fight and fuck, Rafael. Fight & fuck.”

Marione had told him those words once a long time ago so very long ago that he hardly remembered what she looked like naked, under the moon. It was 1885, three years before he met his own Angel of Light. He had only touched Marione’s skin once but it felt like he was burned forever. Any man who touched her would burn forever. After she told him those words he never wanted to touch her again.

He wanted more than fighting and fucking. He wanted love, he wanted family but he also wanted life. He was a young, thorn man, but a man none the less.

Life was much more simple in Atlanta. He stared at the picture of his four sons. The life where a wild Rafael lay on the hay with a red-haired beauty on his arms was far away. Her words were distant and belonged to another life. He was a family man now.

His thoughts were startled as his own Angel of Light came down the stairs.

Shannon walked into his study and smiled at him, her golden long hair touching her elbows. She was dressed in her favorite hunting gear. All in white. Always all in white. She made no apologies for that.

“You look sexy,” Rafael told her, standing and going to her.

Shannon smiled at her husband, true to herself. She was gentle but deadly. “You always say that when I wear this,” her thick Atlanta accent was still as prominent as the day he met her in 1888.

“Do I?” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in. Her long hair caressing his fingers at her waist and he tenderly pulled it.

“You do,” she agreed, kissing him.

“We have to go – we’ll be late.”

Shannon chuckled at the irony of it, pulling out of his arms and walking to the corner of the study. Rafael’s study was as dark of him, silent mahogany starred at her from every corner. The place was full of books and ancient texts. To others that met the family they would explain that Rafael was a multi-linguist who enjoyed rare and unusual finds. To Shannon it meant that Rafael was almost as knowledgeable as Marione.

“Hey! I thought you were heading out.”

Shannon froze, dropping her hand from the statue of Venus that starred passively at her with a mocking grin.

“Ephraim, darling – I thought you were gone.” Shannon turned around and saw the look of relief flash before Rafael’s eyes.

Ephraim was as tall of his oldest brother and the most handsome of her four sons. His lanky body still screamed that he was only 21 but she could tell that of all of her boys he would personify Rafael the most. Even more than Nathan. Standing there side by side both men looking at her she gave them a bright smile.

“We like arriving to the Wilson’s parties fashionably late, no darling?”

Rafael cleared his throat and looked at his son. “Indeed. Have you studied much for that test?”

“Yeah. But we’re still getting a group together. Strength in numbers, you know.”

“I know,” Rafael briefly glanced at his wife. They had been together for so long that Shannon often could tell what he was thinking and always, always got his indirect short answers.

“Well you head out. Your father and I will be late tonight, don’t wait up.”

“I wont,” Ephraim conceded, giving his mother a goodbye kiss.

“And call Seth sometime tonight. We haven’t heard of him since he started dating that actress.”

Ephraim nodded, obediently and walked out.

Rafael turned to his wife. “I have the strangest feeling laying heavy on my heart.”

“Do you think one has died?”

Rafael said nothing as he closed the doors to his study, a dark shadow went over his face. “Could be.”

Shannon sighed, walking once more to the statue of Venus and picking her up. The action made the entire back wall of the large and luxurious study pull back and reveal a hidden doorway.

“If it’s true – they will be jovial tonight.” Rafael told her, opening the hidden door for her to enter. Always the gentleman.

By the time Rafael and Shannon Loyola reached the Atlanta downtown area both of their wings were spread out and reaching a combined length of 12 meters. If the people on the street were able to see them at all they would stop on their tracks, pull out their camera phones and begin sending it to the local news or TMZ.

The US government would label them as ‘classified’ and a sure Scully team would be on scene in less than an hour. But humanity could not see them for what they were. They could not see them at all. Those who would be able to get a glimpse at the world they lived in at night would often describe their sightings as visions from the all mighty.

The shadows squeaked in their places, watching the Fallen Angels walk silently, deadly, menacingly down the street. The night had the air of death in it – when nights were like this humans had an unfounded feeling that led them back inside. It was that feeling when stepping out into the night feels as if the air was harder to breath as if the moon and its earth were speaking an intimate conversation that humans are not allowed to hear. That is the night that was.

Shannon looked over at her husband of nearly 100 years and smiled. How many nights had they walked like this side by side armed and ready for battle? How many? Many would often call it dull (except Marione) or repetitive? But the truth was that when you found what you were born for – what your soul was born to do you would never find it dull or repetitive. The sadness of humanity is that in their short years they would never truly know their soul. For the soul is an endless story that writes and re-writes itself – like an artist looking for its muse painting over and over an already dried canvas.

No. Shannon was not bored; in fact she was still feeling very much alive. The fact was that the longer she lived the less she feared death but the more she feared loosing life. If it was her time to go would Rafael be able to bear it? Would her sons grow to love good women and marry and start families of their own? Rafael and she had waited so long for children, she feared her womb had been cursed and she would never be able to have them but then came Nathan and not shortly after that the other 3 followed. Why they came at the time they came she did not know. Marione often said that we are nothing to ask why it happens to us but to take it with a smile in case anyone is trying to hurt you- their plan would be futile.

So she did not ask but loved her family with all of her strength and that same strength she used it at night to protect humanity. Humanity that had never truly given her anything exceptional to speak of but would surely give her sons a wonderful life. So she protected it, in case the screaming girl she saved was to be the love of Oliver’s life or the mother to the woman that would change Seth’s philandering ways. Yes, she thought. Humanity was worth saving if not for the reassurance that one day her sons would know all their parents did for them.

“Shannon,” Rafael’s gentle and deep voice called to her. Her sharp eyes turned the direction he looked and she smiled. They were here. They were about. They were close.

Nephers could never truly hide their face. Their fractious nature was a shadow of the choice they had each made so long ago.

“Happy hunting, darling,” she told Rafael and they clinked their swords together, an act they had done since the first time they hunted together.

Allison Wyatt never walked the streets of Atlanta by herself. She also never walked them alone at 2am. The place was not as it used to be but she was fresh out of cash and fresh out of ideas. The night was different than those she had known before. A deep unnamed instinct told her to find her apartment and quickly. She kept feeling something was behind her but every time she looked behind there was nothing. She stayed close to lights, watching cars pass her and fighting the consuming desperate feeling to run, run like hell.

She stayed calm. She’d grown up on these streets, she’d known their pavement as a child and the fact that the streets were slick wet and the humidity trickling down her throat should’ve been a comfort. It should’ve been.

Her apartment was so close she could see the tall building behind some of the stores ahead. Tomorrow morning she would laugh it off with her sister on the phone. Girls like her were not afraid. Did not scare easily – most especially of shadows.

Her mind was settling a bit more when next to her something rather unexplained happened. Five very full and heavy silver trash cans picked themselves up from one corner of the street and splattered all over. As if something or someone had been thrown harshly against them. Allison gasped, screamed and ran all the way to her apartment.

In the morning, when she turned on the local news the unexplained phenomenon was suddenly less scary. There had been a minor earthquake in the Gulf and that affected a few states. Just a minor one. She called her sister and told her she felt the earthquake when it happened.

The dispersed cans were not a phenomenon and neither was the earthquake. What shadows do in the world above humans is as natural as the sun shinning. Holy battles have been fought and never been seen by human eyes but because of it places have burned, buildings destroyed, places drowned. No one told the humans not to built things in the way of Angels. No one. Yet they did. As humans advanced they saw that these natural things could be explained. A shifting in the earth’s plates as opposed to the Archangel Michael tossing General Khan into the Pacific Ocean. Things as such.

What Allison Wyatt didn’t know is that something rather sad had happened that night as she passed by the trash cans.

After over a hundred years of watching Rafael Ginorio kill Nephers right before Nephers’ eyes they had decided to call in the reserves and trap Rafael there. They didn’t count on Shannon being there, of course.

The battle lasted three hours. Three long hours. When Shannon was shot down Rafael watched his Angel fall from the sky. She looked majestic, dressed in white and her wings floating in the wind. Like a feather slowly dancing. Rafael screamed, tearing the head off the Nepher in his arms and flying as fast as he could with his injury to her. He caught her mid air, holding her close to him.

“No! Shannon!” He flew her to safety or as safe as he could and hid behind the old Distillery.

She was barely breathing, her clothing now in deep crimson red. Alabaster cheeks giving their last harmonious exalt.

“You must not die, my love. You must not. The boys need you.” She told him.

Rafael had never truly cried. Never. But it seemed that after so long holding back any tears of regret, sorrow, joy and solitude they came bursting forward. He sobbed over her body, staining himself with the ink of her life.

“Please, Shannon!”

Shannon had the clearest green eyes he had ever seen. They were mirrored in Oliver’s eyes. Oliver was so much like his mother. Both quiet, both composed and both so very smart.

Shannon’s eyes closed her hand dropping from his cheekbone. Rafael sat holding her and starring at her closed eyes. He could pretend she was asleep. He could pretend they were in their large warm bed and he was watching her sleep like he had done for some many years.

If Rafael had listened to his wife’s plea he would’ve gone home, wife at hand and mourned her. But Rafael thought that after one hundred years to learn to sleep without Shannon by his side would be asking him to stop breathing.

He knew what he had to do and after all if Rafael had indeed listened to his wife we would not have a story.

He took some blood from Shannon’s chest and some from his own gapping wound then mixed them in the palm of his hand and then drew a horizontal line over his brow.

His soul concentrated on finding her in the mists of time and space until in the distance of the foggy realm he found her. She was smoking a cigarette and watching another Fallen train.

“Take care of my sons.”

Rafael pulled back out of the realm and came back to the harsh reality. Shannon still in his arms there was blood every where including a near fatal wound on his side.

Well, he thought, might’ve as well go down fighting. He carefully placed Shannon on the floor watching her body begin the extraction process he had seen so often when a Fallen dies. Her body began to glow. He would not watch. He turned around, grabbed his axe and flew out into the night.

Tonight he ended this.