The Death of Sariel

[Sammael]

The Death of Sariel

An Excerpt from The Fall of Sammael

The war had started with whispers in backrooms, and was ending with screams in the streets. The Angels had begun their rebellion mere hours ago, but to most it felt like days. To think that their brothers would attempt to usurp their Father was beyond the comprehension of most of the Host.

Sammael had been one of the first that Lucifer had approached with his proposal, and in the moment, it had seemed like a great idea. He had been created to ensure that the Earth was the sole planet in the universe capable of sustaining life. This had for the most part kept him from his brothers, and he had felt slighted from the outset, when he realized his purpose was to kill things that had never really even noticed that they were alive to begin with.

There was no shock or look of despair on the face of his victims. Most of them didn’t even have faces. He had spent thousands of years cleaning up bacterial cultures on remote planets, and keeping them from mutating into sentience. It was a job, but when compared to that of Azrael, it was more like a slap in the face. So when Lucifer had approached him he had jumped at the chance to elevate himself above his station.

Sammael had been crisscrossing the city for nearly the whole battle, killing anyone that had crossed his path, searching for Azrael. What better way to take his job, than to kill him? Sure, once Lucifer was on the Throne of Glory, he could remove Azrael from the position and place Sammael into it, but if one really thought about it, what incentive did Lucifer have to keep his word? He was already leading a war against his Father and brothers that he was created to protect. His word was apparently worth as much as the air that gave it form. That is to say, not much.

A war cry from below dragged him from his contemplation and brought him back into the moment. He headed toward the sound, and found that a large crowd of Lucifer’s supporters had surrounded the angel Sariel, and a small group of his companions. They were doing their best, but Sariel and his cadre were among the angels that had been created to defend the Silver City, and as such were among the best combatants that had ever graced the plains of Heaven.

Sammael smiled as he circled the fight. He should help his brothers, but he had other pressing matters to attend to at the moment. He was banking away from the skirmish when he realized that this could be a perfect opportunity to test out the skills he had been perfecting in secret with Lucifer. He was an Angel of Death, trained in the art of war by one of the supreme warrior angels, created to guard the throne of God itself. How could he not help his brothers and test his mettle against others trained under the hand of Lucifer? Besides, perhaps one of them had seen Azrael and could be ‘convinced’ to talk.

He turned back toward the fight, banking around one of the massive silver towers that contributed to the cities name, and came in at full speed. He skimmed over the skirmish, and his sword flicked back and forth once. He landed at the same time as the two headless bodies of Sariels lieutenants, and turned to face the group. He strode forward, his feet leaving gold streaks as they smeared the blood covering the street, and allowed its original luster to shine through, albeit in a tainted mockery of its original glory.

His compatriots had thinned out the number of Sariels allies, but they themselves had suffered great losses doing so. Sammael watched as two more of his men fell to Sariel, and several others to his few remaining soldiers. The rebellion had really not gone as well as Sammael had thought it would. Partly because the Angels that had joined Lucifer’s cause had not necessarily been the cream of the crop. True there were the few like Sammael that had been given great power, but little to do with it, that had been tempted, but most of the troops had remained loyal.

He moved forward and pushed aside one of the rebels, as a sword sliced through the air where he had been standing moments earlier. Sammael smiled as the swordsman overextended, stumbled, and his sword slammed into the street. He quickly stomped on the blade, before the Angel on the other end could pull it back into a defensive position. His own sword removed the offenders hand, arm, and head in three quick strikes.

The motion of his blade was quickly arrested by the flat of another sword, and Sammael found himself looking across his weapon at the Angel that stood defending Sariels rear flank. He grinned, and brought his blood splattered armored free hand up under the Angels sword arm that was locked against his own. The angels head snapped back as the unforeseen punch connected with his slightly lowered chin, and slammed his teeth together with a crack like a gunshot. The Angel stumbled back, and spit blood.

Sammael nodded at him, and brought his sword around into a salute. With a small stutter step, he slid forward, and pulled his sword in close to his chest the hilt, held in both hands at shoulder height, the blade angled back over his right shoulder. His opponent eyed him warily from the defensive stance he had assumed. He knew that he was fighting an unconventional opponent that knew more than he should about sword play, and had suddenly become nervous. Sammael knew that his current stance was highly indefensible, and had to act quickly to bring his blade around in a whistling arc that bisected the neckline of his opponent. His sword encountered the expected resistance, as the angel saw the move coming from a mile away, and moved to counter it. What he hadn’t counted on was for Sammael to use his push against his blade to power his spin around while dropping to his knees, and bringing his sword horizontally through his midsection right above the pelvis.

Sammael felt the resistance as his blade burned and sliced through the thin chain mail and viscera of the Angel that had clearly misunderstood the rules of the fight. He tugged his sword free, and felt the blood gush over his forearms. He blinked the eyes on his arms, and sighed as he thought of how long he was going to have to spend cleaning the blood out of the creases in his armor to make sure its movement didn’t get fouled by corrosion. The angel dropped to his knees, still vainly attempting to wield his sword to protect the flank of his superior.

Sariel heard the swordsman’s last gurgling breath as he fell face first into the puddle of his own black blood. Sammael thought this was quite humorous, and in spite of his aversion to disarray, and uncleanliness, he couldn’t help but let loose a short barking laugh. The splatter of the once white, but now corrupted black blood up the front of his boots was quite flattering to the patterns that were scored over the surface. He once again sighed, as he had to blink more blood from the eyes studding his legs. He was growing tired of the constant need to remove other creature’s bodily fluids from his multitude of eyes.

Sariel had turned, after dispatching the last of the angels that would soon be referred to as The Fallen. Sammael realized that with the death of Sariels last opponent, and his killing of the last of Sariels guards, that the fight had come down to the two of them. He smiled as he stepped over his fallen adversary, and blade at the ready, addressed Sariel.

“Well done brother. I knew the Host had several warriors of your caliber, but I had not expected to fight any personally. I can’t say that the prospect doesn’t excite me just a bit. I was really just in this to end the rule of that insufferable prig Azrael over the realm of Death. But now…now that I have had a taste of combat, and conquest, I think I can see why Lucifer would attempt it. It really is a glorious feeling isn’t it?”

Sariel watched him guardedly, his own sword gripped tightly. “I was created for this day, and the one that will follow, when it is attempted again, but I cannot say that I take pleasure in the slaying of my misguided brethren. Their lives were their own, and not mine to rule over however, and if they choose to defy father and strive to take the Throne of Glory, then I have no choice but to stop them in the attempt. If you are set in this path then I must, sadly, put you down as well. Prepare yourself,” he said, always polite, even when fully in the grip of his purpose.

Sammael nodded to him, and saluted. The fight had begun. Sariel immediately took to the air in a short hop that took him over Sammael, flipping as he did so, so as to keep his upper body, and sword within the striking arc of Sammael's sword. Sammael flapped his wings once hard, and shot forward to where Sariel had been standing, and then drew his own wings in close, to avoid the inconvenience of having them clipped. He flapped them once experimentally before turning to once more face his opponent.

Sariel had landed in a clear area outside the large ring of dead bodies, and was clearly waiting for Sammael to approach him there, instead of facing a clearly capable opponent on such a cluttered and bloody field. Sammael was impressed with Sariels honorable intent, and lleaped to join him in the clear section of the street.

With a thought, he brought forth his scythe, and allowed his sword to fade into memory. Sammael had always thought that one of the biggest advantages of their weapons was the fact that you didn’t need anywhere to store them when they weren’t in use. Sariel modified his footing and grip on his sword as the scythe appeared, causing Sammael to curse under his breath. He knew what he was doing. This was going to take forever.

With a flap of his wings, he darted forward, dragging his scythe behind him. Sariel tucked his wings, and rolled forward ducking the scythe as Sammael whipped it around in an attempt to dismember him. His sword stabbed upward, and only a quick horizontal roll on Sammael’s part kept him from losing his insides in a most uncomfortable fashion. As it was, the tip of the sword still managed to gouge a deep trench along the left leg of Sammael’s armor.

The screech of metal on metal had barely subsided, before Sammael had pivoted, using his wings as a brake. He whipped the scythe around in his left hand, and spun it into a circle of flame and metal, to discourage Sariel from pressing the attack. He landed and rushed Sariel once again, fire stretched and blazed away from the deadly blade, as the scythe came down into the golden street where Sariel had just been. Sammael saw him on his left, and dropped the scythe handle, calling his sword to hand.

He pulled it up, and managed to get it into position just as Sariels blade touched his neck. He felt the bite of the steel and smelled the sharp odor of his burning flesh, before he used the hilt of his sword to drive the blade out of his inner defensive ring. He lashed out with a kick, to keep Sariel at bay, before flapping his wings to drive himself away from his wickedly fast opponent. He had the time to think that maybe he had overestimated his chances, before Sariel was once more upon him.

His blade was a blur of fire and sparks flared as the two warriors drove each other forward and back across the boulevard in the center of the Silver City. The fight had been proceeding rather badly in Sammael’s opinion, and he was beginning to get disheartened, when he noticed the flaw in Sariels technique. He smiled to himself, and prepared to end the fight.

The two had been going from air to ground and back again, and Sammael waited for Sariel to leap into the air once more, before taking wing to follow him. He quickly closed the distance and put himself directly in Sariels inner defensive circle, not even bothering with his sword anymore. He raised his arms, and blocked the angel’s strikes at his head, feeling the impacts in his bones. If he didn’t die in the next minute, he would be instantly amazed and remarkably sore tomorrow.
He drove himself forward at breakneck speed, flapping his wings to bring himself closer to Sariel, before taking advantage of his new knowledge. Sariel gasped as Sammael grappled with him, and pulled his sword around to stab into Sammael’s now unguarded midsection.

Sammael however had other plans, and continued to flap his conjoined wings, and crush the breath out of Sariel. He felt the arm coming forward, and released his grip long enough to deflect the incoming sword, and strike Sariel on the wrist with his gauntleted forearm, causing him to drop the flaming blade.

Sammael reached up behind Sariel with the hand he had just used to disarm him, and called his own sword back into his grip. “I’m sorry brother, but you just can’t function once someone gets inside,” He said as he brought the blade down, severing one of Sariels wings. Sariel screamed, and they plummeted to the street below. Sammael detached himself from Sariel and watched from above as he slammed into the ground in the center of the bloody battlefield where they had begun their confrontation. He landed, and pulled his scythe from the gold paving, before reducing it to memories, and storing it away in the back of his mind.

He turned back to Sariel and watched in bemused silence as the guard attempted to regain his feet, in spite of the broken bones, and pain that clearly wracked his body. With another stroke of his blade, Sariels remaining wing fell to the bloodstained street. Sammael had to give it to him; he managed to keep his scream mostly contained. He wasn’t sure that he himself had it in him to suffer that much pain. He had had to long to think about things in his lonely posting, and pain was one of the things he had decided that he disliked more than almost any other.

He turned on his heel and waved his hands expansively at the bodies of the fallen warriors littering the street. “This could have been avoided brother. He claims to be all knowing, and made of compassion, but do you see it in this war? Point out to me where his knowledge and love have helped keep this war from occurring. I would think that at this point that you would see that it may be a farce, and that you have been fleeced, but I can see from your expression that you still don’t understand,” He said as he turned back to the still struggling Sariel.

He saw the life force flickering dimly in the core of Sariel, and a thought occurred to him. “I think I will try something new with you,” he declared. He moved forward, and kicked aside Sariels questing hands. He reached for his power, and felt the life force briefly flicker brighter, as her reached deep into Sariels chest with a phantasmal hand to retrieve it. He grinned, and looked into Sariels blue eyes as they widened in shock and rage. “That’s right brother, I’m going to take you with me. I think that we still have a lot to talk about, and I can’t do that if I let you die here, can I?” He asked, as he tugged on Sariels soul.

Sariel screamed, as the soul deep in the core of his being was wrenched free. Sammael started to pull it out, intending to store it away as he had his weapon, but as it neared the edges of Sariels body, it began to fight him. It flared into incandescence, and Sammael squinted, muttering a curse, as his hand reflexively drew back from the spirits heat. He could see the soul, loosed from its attachment to Sariel, but somehow refusing to leave his body.

Hearing the approach of several angels of the host, Sammael decided to leave his dying enemy, and continue his search for Azrael. They still had ‘business’ to attend to. He leapt into the air, and with a final look at Sariel, sped off around the gargantuan tower, out of view of the approaching angels.

Sariel, lying on the cold gold street surrounded by dead friends and slain brothers, cried out in anguish and rage, as he felt his body begin its final fall into darkness. He felt something burning at the edges of his awareness, and his blood seemed to have turned to acid, burning his still seeping wounds. His head dropped to the street, the pain bringing him back to lucidity for one brief moment. He cried out "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” as his eyes clouded over, and death took him.

The spirit however had other designs. Having been severed from a creature that was never supposed to have its soul removed, had left it in a state of blankness, but it had in no way quenched its desire to give life to a being. It sprang out of the dead body that it vaguely remembered, and hovered for a second.

Everything in the area was dead. It keened a pitiful cry, and began to search frantically for something to animate. It settled on the blood of the fallen warriors, as it was plentiful, and soon it constructed a body using the information in the combined blood of the fallen. The creature was not perfect, but it was close enough to it for the spirits purposes. The Host arrived, and the Angel they would come to call Zhufor raised its eyes from the streets of gold, the wild spirit animating the body it had constructed for itself out of scraps. It was going to enjoy this new life.