Azrael let the cloth slide from her face and dangled it from her fingertips. The Hallowed humphed before opening a cabinet and plucking out glass jars sloshing with colored inks, followed by metallic jars with a rim so thick, there was only one treasure such a jar could contain. Even from this distance, their warmth spread through the room. Divine Material, the remnants of creation, and the conduit for her access to royal magic.
Finally, he seemed to reach an end to the ritual. Her heart leapt as his blank eyes locked onto hers, sending spots blinking through her vision.
“Azrael. Do you agree to the terms of the Acceptance?” His voice boomed, deep and ancient.
Azrael stiffened. “What are the terms, exactly?”
As if she had asked about the weather, he continued on in an easy breath. “Once the Acceptance has begun, you must finish it to the end. Multiple sessions will take place, the number of which depends on your rate of healing. Every Princess goes at her own pace. Only a few have been unable or unwilling to finish the rite. The result was a slow death. Your body cannot survive with an incomplete Acceptance. To these terms, you must agree and understand.”
The weight of decision crushed her thoughts. Had she more time to consider, she might have run screaming from the room. How could he talk about her possible agonizing death so calmly? Instinctually, no matter the Hallowed’s indifference, she knew there was no other choice. She’d made a deal with a demon to get this far. She couldn’t just throw it away.
Azrael drew herself up and stilled the fresh tremble of fear running through her body. “I agree to the terms.”
The Hallowed gestured for Azrael to take her place upon the padded bed. “Disrobe and lay on the platform face down.”
A blush rose to Azrael’s cheeks. But she obeyed and began to peel off the layers of her robes. She had no doubt there wasn’t a shred of sexuality in the man. Whatever humanity he’d been born with had long ago been drilled out of him.
She folded her clothes and huddled them on the floor. With no other tasks to delay her, she climbed onto the bed. She expected it to creak, or feel unstable, but it was neither. The cold leather pressed against her breasts and stomach as she swallowed and rested her cheek down on the pillowless headrest.
The Hallowed bound her wrists and ankles to the makeshift bed. “The pain will be intense. I cannot have you moving during my work,” he explained. “The first etching will be with simple ink. When I move onto embedding Divine Material to your skin, I will use it as a guide.”
Jars popped open and a cold, wet cloth ran up her back. The smell of alcohol burned her nostrils.
The shock of the first needle prick jolted Azrael with its unexpected bite. She bit her lip and willed herself to be strong. He tapped the sticks together, slowly sinking the ink deep into her skin. He started low on her back and the burning sensation grew as he wiped and struck her skin. She gritted her teeth in annoyance that he would continually go over the same tender spot, but she didn’t speak a word of complaint. Sweat trickled down her brow as the smoldering fires slowly crept up the length of her back.
The minutes dragged on endlessly as he continued his work. Minutes turned into hours, endless hours. Her heart raced as she panted through the pain. Needles stabbed her ribs, across her shoulder blades, across her neck. When she lost count of the endless bites, she began to question how much more she could bear. But even as the fires curled around her ribs and nicked at her neck, she clutched her fists with determination. If this is what it would take to change how Windborn were treated, then she would do it.
Finally, the Hallowed ran a warm towel across Azrael’s burning back. She groaned at the pain. She forced herself to relax, but still her muscles ached with a tingling weakness.
“Is this session completed?” she asked wearily.
If Azrael didn’t know better, she would have guessed the Hallowed scoffed. “Hardly, Princess.”
The new title gave her a sense of pride in spite of the bad news.
“I have only completed the outline. Your first dose of Divine Material must start today if you are to be prepared as the future Queen.”
Azrael ignored the shrill protest that shouted in her skull. How could there be more?
“Please remain still. I shall apply the blindfold. In addition, I recommend that you keep your eyes closed as much as possible to assist the protection of your vision. Cloth deters the Light only so much.”
A sob caught in her throat. It wasn’t out of sorrow for herself, or regret at her decision. She simply was a normal girl who feared pain. She knew what was coming. She knew the stories, and it took every shred of her willpower not to beg him to release her right there.
Instead, she calmed her fluttering heart and reminded herself of her brief encounter with Gabriel, a real angel. Miracles did exist, he was proof of it. And if she became Queen, she would be able to have freedom to make miracles happen. She could make a difference not only in her own life, and those of future hybrids, but Meretta’s too.
The thought strengthened her just enough not to bite the hand of the Hallowed as he wrapped the thick blindfold around her head.
There was a hiss of released pressure as one of the metal jars was opened. A sense of warmth filled the room, and the red tint of closed eyes against the sun seared her vision. Her jaw clenched to prepare herself for more torture as a finger traced the sore outline on her lower back.
Without warning, he shoved a block of wood in her mouth and secured it by thin straps behind her head. Panic rose in her throat. She murmured nervously and bit down onto it. Her tongue ran across soft grooves in the bit.
The first graze of Divine Material to Azrael’s skin enflamed her body with such agony that she’d never have agreed to the Acceptance had she’d known its touch.
She tested the strength of the bonds holding her wrists and ankles as she reeled forward, a scream erupting from her throat. If the Hallowed said anything, she didn’t hear it. She struggled with everything she had to set herself free, but the bonds holding her down were securely fastened.
A second flame radiated down her back and pierced straight to her center. It wasn’t just her physical body that erupted in agony, the raw Material sank its vicious teeth deep into her and grazed her very soul. Firsthand, she experienced its true nature scorching a hole deep in her chest. The Material was nothing of legend. It wasn’t the remnants of goodness and all that was holy. No. It was a flame that seared away any evil. The Hallowed was a silversmith, and Azrael was raw ore simply to be purified.
She tried to protest through the wooden mouthpiece, but her muffled demands for freedom were cut short by a third spear of agony that surged through her body. Her screams offered no absolution from the purification.
Azrael incoherently sobbed for mercy, her body growing weak as she continued to fight against the restraints. She lurched in every direction to find some sense of relief. No matter which way she twisted, she could not find a posture that diluted the red-hot scars. She lost count of the flames that scorched across her skin. They strung together into a raging inferno that left no room for any thought but desperate prayers for release.
Azrael was enlightened how little she truly knew pain. What its effects are on time and space. It obscured reality and tested the limits of sanity.
Slowly, Azrael felt herself being lifted away. She had to find a place where the pain could be subsided. A soul couldn’t handle this test of endurance, this scourge of purification. If she were to survive, she had to remove herself from it all.
Azrael’s breath was taken from her and a heartbeat that was not her own thundered through the room. Her eyes shot open and she witnessed a new world that was the result of her insanity. She stood in an ethereal chamber surrounded by Light. Before her was a wall which went on as far as the eye could see. Had she gone mad? Or was she dead?
The endless wall held life and spoke to her without words. The grey skies churned in turmoil. The ground was solid and lifeless and the radiating heat
warmed her skin. It felt far too real to be a hallucination.
Somehow, the pain was elsewhere. Azrael could feel it in its diminished capacity. She could feel her body, but it was someplace far away. She decided that if she hadn’t died, this was someplace very close to it.
Instead of blind agony, her attention was drawn to the wall of Light. It enticed her with an undeniable emotion of want. Azrael couldn’t resist.
As her fingers grazed the surface a fracture appeared, so small and seemingly so insignificant. Azrael’s fingers curled as she hesitated.
Her uncertainty transformed to delight as a trickle of liquid Light seeped through the wall. It was so very tiny as it escaped its prison, but it was hers. That was all she had to know, that this somehow belonged to her now. Azrael inhaled and closed her eyes as the liquid gold seeped into her body and claimed a new home. Perhaps she belonged to it, and not the other way around. But it didn’t matter. She’d found what she’d been looking for. Her freedom had only just begun.
CHAPTER FIVE
Protector
Sharp jabs of pain shot through Gabriel’s side as he coughed up poisoned, dark blood and spat it on the ground. He shuddered and stilled, waiting for his body to heal while he watched the tiny bloodstream glint in the silver moonlight on the grass. He hoped that was the last of the vile infection.
“No matter how many times you get sliced up, it never gets easier, eh?” Uriel, the leader of the angelic legion, asked with a sly grin.
Gabriel growled and breathed in for a retort. But instead of words, he lurched and coughed up more of the poison onto the ground.
Gabriel fell to one knee and gritted his teeth. He groaned and looked past Uriel’s cynic grin to the Manor. It towered in the darkness, its outline barely visible in the retreating dusk. Even though Gabriel couldn’t see the Divine Light, he knew somewhere in the Inner Sanctum Azrael was undergoing her first trial. Even though the gods had long ago stopped listening, he said a silent prayer for her survival.
A second jolt of sharp pain reminded him that he should perhaps pray for himself and he hissed in a breath.
“What’s wrong, brother?” Uriel asked and used his pinky to pick at his teeth.
Gabriel gripped his ribcage. “I think there’s a Dark shard still inside.” Gabriel staggered to his feet and with a grunt, undid the warrior strap belted around his chest. The weapon pack filled with gold-glowing daggers fell to the ground. He tried to take in a deep breath, but only managed small, short gasps.
“This is only Azrael’s first session,” Uriel said. “We’ve never had a raid this large for the first one. Do they think the demons have a better chance to invade with a hybrid weakening the Manor’s walls?”
Gabriel huffed. “She’s not weakening the walls. And Azrael’s not the first hybrid to undergo the trial.”
“She’d be the first to survive.”
Gabriel frowned and turned away from Uriel and the Manor. That was only partly true. Alexandria had survived the Acceptance trial, just not what came next.
Among the piles of disintegrating black corpses lay two of his angelic brethren. Their sprawled and bloodied white wings contrasted sharply against the black, webbed bodies fanned out like enormous bats. He hoped that Azrael survived not just for her sake, but so such precious life had not been lost in vain.
The demons rarely were able to take an angel’s life. It took powerful constructions of Light to kill his brothers. But now, here lay two well-seasoned warriors, dead. Where were the demons getting the Divine Material to craft such weapons?
His shoulders sagged as he watched the three remaining angel warriors pick through the bodies, stabbing golden spears down into dark flesh at any hint of movement. The tallest angel cried out in victory when his spear was met with a gurgle of protest.
A distant demonic shriek made the angels jerk their heads to the horizon. The warriors looked to their leader and Uriel nodded in unspoken approval. The angels thrust their wings and launched into the sky, sending a plume of dust in their wake. Within a heartbeat they were halfway across the grassy plain towards the very thing that had just killed their brothers.
Gabriel couldn’t let more die, not on his watch. He sucked in a breath and clenched his jaw as he thrust his forefinger and thumb into his wound. Uriel didn’t offer any assistance as guttural sounds rolled in Gabriel’s throat.
Gabriel hadn’t felt physical pain in at least two centuries, and digging out the Dark fragment nearly made him lose consciousness. But he persisted until he found the sharp edge, latched onto it, and tore it out.
Uriel didn’t hide his grimace as Gabriel tossed the smoking shard to the ground and it bubbled in the tiny creek of his blood. “At least it wasn’t a Light shard,” Uriel offered.
Gabriel knew that a Dark shard would hurt, but it couldn’t kill him. It only infected, decayed, and oozed evil into the bloodstream. But a Light shard was the wrath of the Divine. It never failed to end the life of its target.
“No,” Gabriel sneered. “You let two of your angels die by a Light shard while I was overrun with opponents.”
In spite of the accusation, Uriel clapped Gabriel on the back with mock camaraderie. “You’re just sour you had to fight ten of them. Relax. You didn’t have to fight them alone. I brought five of my elite warriors.” He crossed his muscular arms and sighed. “Well, I guess I should say I brought three elite warriors, and two novices.”
“Do you not care that your own brothers are dead?” Gabriel snapped. The pain receded and Gabriel stretched his wings to their full length. Unlike Uriel, he didn’t wear the taloned weapons strapped to the arches of his wings and had full mobility.
Before Uriel could respond, Gabriel thrust himself into the sky. Uriel wouldn’t be able to follow with all his ornate battle-gear weighing him down.
Gabriel gained altitude, heading toward the sounds of snarls and clashing metal. The angels had found the last of the raid. Gabriel wasn’t going to lose another brother, not tonight.
Once within eyesight of the demonic raiding party, Gabriel clasped both wings tightly to his back. He was sent into a spiraling dive like a falcon and held his breath, gripping his last Divine dagger. He dared to whisper one last prayer, that one dagger would be enough.
Gabriel assessed the battle within a millisecond. Two angels had a small horde of demons cornered between them and were picking them off with skilled thrusts of their lances. But the third was dangerously overwhelmed, a mass of demons falling over themselves to overtake him.
Gabriel lifted the arch of one wing and was sent into a wide arc straight into the mass of demons. The angel warrior cried in surprise as the blur of Gabriel’s attack sent the demons scattering like grains of sand.
When they doubled back, stunned but blindly enraged to attack, Gabriel curled his shoulders downward, sending the arch of his wings pummeling straight into demons’ heads. The satisfying cracks told him two skulls had been instantly smashed.
Skidding to a halt, Gabriel lashed out the dagger. The blade left a molten, gold streak across black flesh. Demons cried out and grasped onto their sides, unable to stop the spread of Light infection that would slowly expel their rotten souls.
However, one demon stood out from the rest. Lips wrapped around fangs enough to make a sneer as he watched the demons die in agony. He shifted to Gabriel, towering three times the angel’s height. Unlike other demons with leathery skin, this one had grown a sheet of greenish scales. It wasn’t the demon’s unusual appearance that struck apprehension through Gabriel. It was the gold glowing scythe which he stabbed into the ground.
“Who are you, blue-eyed angel who kills so many?” the demon slurred using the old Windborn tongue.
Gabriel stiffened, not expecting a demon who would rather talk than fight, especially with such a weapon at hand. Was he here not to invade, but to gather intel? Gabriel squinted, looking for the telltale golden spiral tattoo of an archdemon’s pet, but only saw the jagged edge of scales. Even though Gabriel
was relieved, he knew an archdemon was behind all this. Only an archdemon could create a monstrosity like this. The sheer size of the giant demon’s webbed wings screamed mutation.
Gabriel clicked his tongue at the remaining angels to support him. The others had killed their remaining foes and backed away, shaking their heads as they denied his request.
Gabriel’s lip twitched. Had Uriel filled them with lies? Even if he was an outcast among outcasts, why would they leave him alone against an augmented demon?
Stepping onto a squirming comrade, the demon offered a toothy grin as he slowly pushed his weight onto the withering body. “Who...are you?”
“I’m your death,” Gabriel spat.
A low laugh rumbled in the demon’s throat. “We shall see.”
The demon blurred and Gabriel launched to get out of the way of the terrifying blade coming straight as his throat. Gabriel was one of the most ancient and agile creatures to exist, but even he was forced to admit he’d met his match as the wind pushed by the blade grazed his cheek. The demon’s form altered, shimmering like milky oil before adjusting his swing for Gabriel’s movement. How could have an archdemon created such a beast?
Gabriel didn’t have time to ponder such blasphemy. The demon had put himself at an awkward angle to come at him a second time, likely hoping to finish him off. Knowing he’d be at Gabriel’s mercy if he failed, the demon put every ounce of power into the swing.
With his feet firmly planted on the ground and his knees slightly bent, Gabriel drew the strength up his calves and thighs to spin himself in a dizzying turn. Most angels didn’t take the time to train their legs, but Gabriel wasn’t like most angels.
The blade grazed past a second time. The demon had anticipated a quick win, for it only took a scratch to implant the fatal overdose of Light. But he had put all his hopes on that final swing…and missed.
Gabriel kept his momentum and thrust his wings to get himself inside the demon’s swing. In such close proximity, the wind vibrated with low drones and the air tasted metallic, a telltale sign of the dark magic powering this creature.
Fallen to Grace (Celestial Downfall Book 1) Page 4
