CHAPTER 13
Cane was dead. Armaros could see the minion dragging the young man's limp body from beneath the wooden back porch. He was only moments from being upon them, but he was clearly too late. He wasn't surprised by what he saw, but the finality of Cane's death still struck him like a physical blow. Azazel had half of the contest won now. And Armaros had made it all so easy for him.
He prayed again. Still no answer. Would They help him keep Thane alive? He didn't know. The boy could already be dead to as far as he knew. He had no idea where the boy even was. This could all be over, and he not even be aware. That would be a final heartbreak Armaros could not take. He would not be able to go on having failed so miserably.
He pushed such thoughts out of his consciousness. He had mastered the ability of positive thinking long ago. Sometimes the melancholy still took him; these were the times he lay and dreamt. But for the most part he had remained hopeful as the millennia passed him by.
The ghoul saw him as he approached. Armaros could see that it was bathed in the dark blood of Cane. It let go of the boy's body and turned to face him. A dry, raspy, noise escaped from its throat as it bellowed a challenge at Armaros. He was not impressed.
Armaros had not battled evil in hundreds of years, but he had not forgotten. The first task Michael ever gave him was demon slaying, and countless hellions had met their end at his hands. He had used both his blade and the First Magic then. He had wielded both with deadly proficiency. He would not use either of them now. This wretch would not be much of a challenge. Armaros had thousands of years of practice on his side.
After everything that has happened, I am still an angel. This is what I do. It is what I have always done.
A comfort spread beneath his skin, and he knew that he was healed. His mind was focused, and his heart was not heavy. He felt strong. He felt good. He had a purpose again.
His next move was a blur. Armaros attacked the thing with such speed and accuracy that it was almost impossible to see with the naked eye and it was over in little more than an instant. The ghoul lay motionless at his feet. Its head, dark eyes now closed, lay ten feet or more away.
With one strike he had ended the thing-broke the binding that kept the dead flesh animated, and released its soul to some other haunt. He had used a simple hand chop, but he had thrown it with the force of a catapult. It was the first attack he had ever learned, albeit with a sword, and it had never failed him in battle.
He relaxed a little as he looked over the broken body of the ghoul lying about. It was just dry skin and bones. There was certainly nothing frightening or dangerous about it now. It had, however, done its job well.
Armaros had expected something much more elaborate out of Azazel. It seemed to him that such a cunning and devious mind would have come up with a plan of attack less straightforward than the one finally implemented. He had been wrong though. And the butchered body of Cane Connally lying there, just beyond the back porch, was the cost of being wrong when Azazel came to call.
The boy was a mess. The plan was genius. Armaros' mistake was thinking that his brother would try to avoid him. He realized now that he should not presume to know anything about Azazel. This newly emerged devil had been trapped beneath rocks for eight thousand years, and he was sure the agony of that experience had changed Azazel. It had made him stronger.
"The one is a direct consequence of the other," Armaros spoke aloud. He needed to hear himself think. It was paramount that he begin to understand how the modern day Azazel maneuvered.
He began speaking to himself shortly after the Flood. Then, and many times since, he found himself alone for great periods of time, without even a beast for company. He had grown used to the isolation, perhaps even longed for it sometimes, but other times he grew lonely. Just hearing a voice, even his own, eased the pain of those times. It became habit. And so he spoke aloud, and answered aloud, and held pleasant conversation with himself, and managed to stay perfectly sane. He could not say the same for Azazel.
His brother had turned into a monster even before he was cast into the darkness of Dudael. Shortly after they, Armaros and Azazel along with all the other Sons of God, descended into the world of man, the hidden flaws in his brother began to flourish. Soon all traces of divinity were gone from Azazel. He became enemy to all, and his works corrupted the whole earth. Eventually, his sins echoed to the heavens, and the Uncreated could not ignore what he had done. The last and only words he ever heard his Father speak still resonated in his head eight thousand years later.
" Raphael, bind Azazel hand and foot, cast him into the darkness, and opening the desert which is in Dudael, cast him in there. Throw upon him hurled and pointed stones, covering him with darkness. There shall he remain forever. Cover his face that he may not see the light. All the earth has been corrupted by the effects of the teaching of Azazel. To him therefore ascribe the whole crime."
Those words had terrified Armaros at the time. Now he wondered why the fiend was free. Azazel had certainly not found favor with the Elect. There would be no fixing such a monster. He could not be rehabilitated. But he was no longer restrained, and incredibly, had picked up right where he left off.
His actions were just as cold and calculated as they had ever been. Inexplicably, he had not descended into complete madness after spending eight thousand years in the dark, motionless, and in great pain. He was a monster yes, but his faculties seemed intact and as diabolical as ever. Knowing that Azazel possessed such mental fortitude worried Armaros. He was not sure that he could have emerged from such a nightmare unscathed.
His brother's newfound aggressiveness worried him a bit also. Azazel had always been wicked, but he usually preferred to work behind the scenes. Open conflict and personal involvement were not his usual method of operation. Things had obviously changed. Armaros concluded that Azazel had found a way to increase his power, and thus, his bravado as well.
Will you come for me brother? One day will you come alone to end me as it is written? Do you have that amount of courage? And do I have that amount of strength to stop you? We will see Azazel . . . we will see.
Armaros did not know where Thane was, but he didn't want the boy to see his brother like this- ravaged, filthy, and dead. Assuming he was still alive, Armaros needed to see him first. He had many, many things to explain to him. He hoped Thane would listen. Armaros was hopeful; he knew the kind of man the boy had become.
He had watched from afar as Thane grew up. The boy had been a pleasure to see mature. Actually, both Cane and Thane had given Armaros countless hours of enjoyment as children. He was always there, watching, protecting, and loving the two boys as they discovered the world. They never knew or saw him, but he was always there.
He had traveled to be with them within days of Mikhael's last visit. He arrived only weeks before the birth of Thane. It was a happy time for all. The Connally's, loving parents and two of the most decent people Armaros could remember, were about to bring home their second baby boy in less than a year's time. It would be up to Armaros to make sure that nothing ill befell them.
Cane was just learning to walk then. He was a handsome child with a tremendous mop of chestnut hair for one so young. Armaros remembered how the toddler, steadying himself by holding onto his father's knee, smiled when they first showed him his newborn baby brother. And Thane was quite the brother. He looked like he was six months old when he was born. He was a big baby with perfect skin and a good disposition who seemed more alert than he should be.
They were an idyllic family, and Armaros fell in love with them despite his best efforts to the contrary. He knew his heart would be broken again, like so many times before, but he never would have guessed the pain would come so quickly.
He jerked his faculties back to the present. He had no time for reminiscing. Cane lay dead at his feet, and for all he knew Thane could be in the same shape. It was time to work. He thought about the First Magic again. He could use it to locate Thane instantly and know if the boy was safe. Or if
he was in danger, Armaros could move himself to Thane in order to protect him. He probably should use it. Thane was all that he had left, and the young deputy was important for many reasons. Thane could take care of himself, but he didn't stand much of a chance against whatever Azazel threw at him. Armaros was torn. He knew he should go to Thane, but still he resisted.
Why is this so hard?