A Falling Angel – Azazael
Azazael’s wings softly sliced through the air, the desert below like golden waves upon and endless sea. He flapped his wings every now and then to stay adrift, but other than that the journey was as peaceful as one could imagine. His hair was swept back by the wind, allowing him to view the full glory of the desert, and it’s complete emptiness. I wonder if the others watch me as we watched the humans.
Azazael often pondered upon questions like these when soaring through the desert air, as often there wasn’t much else to think about, just waiting for the next dot on the horizon, the next sign of a town, or caravan. Anything really.
He twisted his head around, like a bird of prey searching for its next meal, and to the left of him, he managed to spot something, and immediately he twisted his body so that he was heading directly for it. It looked like it could be a travelling town, a group of around a hundred people who made their way buying and selling goods wherever they could get the most profit.
As Azazael neared the group, however, he spotted an even smaller dot, and noted that both groups were moving rather quickly for just travelling merchants. A small bundle of light came from the smaller group and went to the other one. Mere seconds later, there was an explosion, the larger party was mostly destroyed, and he could see survivors running in all different directions, flaming animals shrieked as their skin was scorched. They weren’t travelling, they were fleeing, they were being hunted.
His hand reached for his sword and he unsheathed it slowly, he hadn’t quite mastered doing it in flight, and he daren’t drop it. Sword poised and ready to strike, Azazael’s wings narrowed and he started to plummet towards the smaller group. Azazael had to enact justice, for His God was not the kind to interfere in actions. His God was the kind to punish such actions, but he was under the control of His God no more.
Azazael had about ten seconds until he reached the group, and it was now that they began to notice him. Some of the aggressors fled in terror, whereas others stood their ground and fired magic towards him, each one but inches away from the falling fallen angel. Some were as hot as the sun, whereas others engulfed the space around them in darkness, it was weird, Azazael had never seen magic like this bef-
And then they were gone. Replaced, to Azazael’s dismay, by moss-covered stone, which his face promptly collided with. His sword fell out of his grip and his wings quickly disappeared from sight. He pulled up from the newly appeared floor and checked for major injuries. Luckily, he had managed to arrest his fall enough to prevent anything too bad, he didn’t even have blood trailing down his nose.”Well that’s… Strange.”
That was the best response to the situation Azazael could muster, seeing as he was more than likely slightly concussed. He shook his head and pressed his hands against his eyes, trying to out the black spots that swirled in his vision. Looking back up he finally managed to assess his current situation.
He was somewhere, this was certain. There were walls and plants and statues and everything. But where? There was nowhere at all like this on Jato, that he knew of. He swept down to pick up his sword, he didn’t want to be caught out in a foreign environment with nothing to defend himself.
The pathway before him was narrow, not entire supported, and very old. This entire place seemed absolutely ancient to him, and he had watched civilizations form and fall in front of his very eyes. Bringing out his wings and spreading them, Azazael soared up into the air, and gazed down upon a network of intricate paths and archways, all leading to a focal point. In the middle of it all was someone sat upon a chair, adorned in elaborate robes and apparently uninterested or ignorant to the group of peculiar people that had begun to form around him.
Was he part of the mages attacking the caravan? It was unlikely, but Azazael would rather not take a chance, so he slowly flew down, right in front of what would be his archway, and kept his sword drawn at all times. His feet gently stroked the ground before his wings folded away and disappeared."Welcome to the Gateway, a place between places..”
The man’s speech began, and continued on about creatures and fragments and worlds, but before Azazael had a chance to process the entire thing, voices picked up, more and more people asking different questions, introducing themselves and generally being loud and annoying. Azazael’s patience was wearing thin, but he was intrigued as to where the robed man would take them next. He also couldn’t help but wander what had become of the caravan that he’d tried to save. By now they were most likely dead, but it was out of Azazael’s power to do anything to save them. This man had killed them all, even if he had no knowledge of it, they were dead due to him.