two
I’ve never been more grateful to have Xavier in my life. He called at the perfect time to pull me out of the hole I was digging myself into. Apparently training was moved forward and I needed to haul my ass to work or I’d have to run laps for the entire session. Jeremy gave me a smile as if to say he understood, but there was nothing but heartbreak behind it.
He still holds my hand as we walk to work, moving his thumb back and forth on mine reassuringly. The silence between us grows and our usual banter is replaced with the occasional sideways glance.
I wish I could tell him that he brought up marriage at the absolute worst time – that my reaction wasn’t necessarily out of uncertainty about him, but about my own fate. My heart races at the thought of returning to the field, but not just in fear; in anticipation.
It’s an oddly warm day for the start of autumn. The sun tingles along my skin as we walk through the remnants of the old city. Despite the fact that we cross these streets every day, this part of the city never fails to startle me. It’s as beautiful as it is haunting. The condemned buildings that couldn’t be rescued after the war have become something of a work of art.
Layers of bright green moss grow over the bones of the broken buildings. Every sharp edge is softened by it. Creeper vines hold what’s left of the city together. Sand flows through the cracks of the doors, and as we walk past each structure, I peer through the windows to see it piled within them. Trees grow where fire hydrants used to be, curling up and over the edges of the old world.
It’s my favourite part of our morning walk, but its beauty is a painful reminder of what the world almost became. What is likely to be our future.
After three years of brutal war, we had room to breathe. The deal that was struck with the angels gave us a chance to rebuild and prepare. We spent our days not only repairing the cracks within humanity and creating a safe haven for ourselves, but better arming ourselves against the creatures of the other worlds.
When the major cities were revived, so were the means of transportation. Mechanics were in high demand, repairing cars that had been idle for years, wiring trains to operate without drivers. We needed a way to transport supplies between the cities, and we needed to do so without endangering our own.
Jeremy and I prefer to walk to work. He claims that it’s good cardio, and I agree without argument. My reasoning, however, is that I enjoy the daily reminder.
When we reach the AIA, Jeremy places a soft kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you at five.”
I offer him a small smile. “Don’t be late.”
It’s the same goodbye we’ve said every day for nearly years. Every day has been the same. He walks me to work, kisses me on the cheek, and tells me not to be late. Every evening I cook dinner, he cleans dishes, and I take note of those who didn’t make it home before curfew. Sleep, rinse, repeat.
Walking into the AIA office is always the same, too. People nod and smile, but it never reaches their eyes. Each one of us feels the same thing: discontent.
Most agents come from a military background, which means that we aren’t trained to sit at a desk and look through security footage all day.
If I’m completely honest with myself, I miss the action. It feels as if we’ve just rolled over and given up. Fighting has always given me a purpose in a life where I’ve never had one. Now that we’re being sent back into the field, I can’t tell if I feel more afraid or excited.
We start every morning with daemon combat training, despite none of us having seen a daemon in years. This is exactly what we’ve been preparing for, told that we need to keep our skills sharp in case the agreement with the angels goes south. Maybe that’s what has happened. Maybe the angels decided they don’t want to cooperate with us any longer.
For once, I’m the first one in the training room – a large poorly lit space with concrete walls coated in blood, sweat and tears. It's a plain room with no natural light or colour to be found. I sit down on the mat and begin to stretch, something I usually miss out on due to my “poor time management skills”.
Weapons are scattered around the room in a fashion that would appear random at first glance, but each one has a specific purpose and has been carefully placed where it will be best utilised during training exercises. The room was built with projectors fitted along the walls to recreate the conditions of the world outside the border of the city. A virtual reality where we can practise fighting daemons amongst the chaos.
Instructors observe and direct the training exercises from the dais at the front of the room. Each of them come from military background and were the first on the battlefield when the other worlds arrived. The soldiers who survived against the first wave of death and destruction came here to teach and prepare us for the worst-case scenario.
In the years since the war begun the AIA has worked tirelessly to perfect new weapons designed specifically for killing daemons. We train with them to kill the creatures in the most efficient way possible in any potential situation. Having fought them in the real world, I know how different it is when you know for sure that your life is on the line and a starved creature from hell is draining your body of warmth.
Each unit is made up of ten members, each with their own specialisation and ranking. Xavier is my unit’s lead and, as of recently, the director of the AIA. Much to my dismay, as the last director met a very bleak end.
We stopped training to fight angels when the military dissolved and became the AIA, at the same time the lockdowns commenced. We quickly realised that, as a race, there is no way for us to win a fight with an angel and live to tell the tale. We went into the war with guns blazing, and the bullets couldn’t even pierce the creatures’ skin. Then we moved onto C-4 – that’s when we realised we were well and truly not equipped to win this war. We watched as towering wings spread out in fury, angels stepping out of the smoke.
“Well, don’t you look deep in thought this morning?”
Xavier’s chirpy voice snaps me out of my trance. “The boy toy getting too much for you?”
His dark hair sits in tight curls on his head. Yesterday he told me that he’s going to grow it long so that he can have a ponytail, to which I responded that he just wants to look more like me. A cheeky smirk is planted firm on his face as he sits down next to me on the warm-up mat. I don’t remember the last time he didn’t have that look on his face. Sometimes I’d just love to punch the smile right off him. But Xavier’s smile has always had a hold on me: boyish, charming, and cheeky all at once. He could make anyone melt. His forest-green eyes, shielded by heavy lashes, have won the hearts of many.
Chuckling, I shove him in the side hard enough to make him sway and almost fall over. “Not yet, but we’re thinking about introducing a third – you know, to spice things up a bit. You interested?”
I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
Xavier scoffs in disbelief. “You couldn’t handle me, and I know that for a fact.”
He’s right. I know a small percentage of what he gets up to behind closed doors, and I don’t think either of us could keep up with that.
I’ve known Xavier longer than anyone else in my life. We met on our first day of training for the army. He made an inappropriate joke about our commanding officer that landed him a thousand push-ups. I knew in that moment that he and I were going to get on very well. Having grown up in foster homes since the age of , he's the closest thing I have to family.
I was with him when this all started. We were at his mother’s house having lunch. The ground split in right down the street. Daemons began to crawl from the depths of hell. Xavier and I went into soldier mode immediately, prepared to run straight into battle.
Then the angels landed and we thought we were saved. Countless depictions of angels show them as saviours and guardians, and that’s what we thought they were. Then one of them ripped out Xavier’s mother’s throat without flinching.
From that moment, we were at war.
“I can’t believe they’re sending us back into the field,”
I whisper as the image of the murderous angel fills my mind. It’s a moment I’ve replayed time and time again, reminding myself that despite their cooperation, they’re not our guardians. They’re nothing but murderers.
Xavier looks around to check if anyone is within earshot. “Remember, you’re not supposed to know. I had a meeting with the leaders yesterday.”
He pauses, a shadow casting over his face. “They don’t want to send us back out, but… the angels are no longer cooperating.”
I go still as it sinks in. I expected this. I knew the only reason they’d send us back out would be because the deal fell through. But hearing Xavier say it makes the reality all the more terrifying. Not because we have to fight again, not because we’re being put back in the field, but because this means that small sense of normalcy is gone forever.
We will never win this war.
This is the start of the end of our world.