Chapter 51 #6
As children of the gods, they were named archangels.
When they battled, they entered a frenzied, savage state capable of threatening even a divinity: the Fury.
At first, only Calistra was strong enough to fight them and force them back to reason before they destroyed everything within reach.
Fearing the disastrous consequences this could bring, Seijhe spent years devising a way for his children to regain focus on their own when taken by the Fury.
He completed his studies only when the youngest reached adolescence.
He developed a breathing technique that, if applied correctly, could elevate the warrior spirit, grant his children rationality, and ensure control of their powers, even in Fury.
It didn't take long for the archangels to master the breathing technique, and each began to protect and mediate the affairs of the god who had trained them.
Yet they remained apart, for the rivalry between them kept them wary of each other, as if they might finish what they'd started in childhood at any moment.
To avoid living alone, they adopted Calistra's wyverns and began teaching them the art of war, showing them how to control their hunger so they could live outside the dungeons of the divine.
When the voracious began spreading throughout the universe, the archangels were sent to contain them and finally had the chance to vent the Fury that had accumulated over the years.
They were tasked with exterminating the creatures, for arcane power and wyverns were the only things capable of killing the children of Death.
Just as hurricanes are born for destruction, the archangels were born for battle. They were lethal, magnificent, and insanely powerful. For the first time, the siblings joined forces against a common enemy.
When attacking, Oriel was a tornado in motion—cold and violent.
Angel, however, could only be compared to a golden bolt of lightning.
The two complemented each other without need for words, fighting as one.
If Oriel was the boat, Angel was the rudder.
If he was the sword, she was the strength.
If he embodied action, she became vision.
Together, they led the dance of battle, and worlds crumbled beneath the Fury.
Thousands of voracious and carniceals were exterminated by their hands.
In combat against the voracious, many wyverns died, but their deaths served to strengthen and evolve the survivors. Their incomplete souls became whole enough to govern themselves. They structured and organized their forces, choosing the largest and strongest among them as their leader.
Over time, the archangels came to coexist in harmony, with war as the only bond between them.
They continued protecting the gods and destroying every enemy who dared stand against the celestial beings.
Loyalty and glory above all. Then, when their powers finally reached their peak, they were crowned as divinities, and the gods proclaimed them guardians.
The two swore to rise whenever the worlds stood on the brink of chaos.
They were hounds of the divine.
Children of the Apocalypse.
Δ
I finished reading and sat there on the sofa, my heart pounding.
Children of the Apocalypse. My mind spun as I tried to process the information.
Were they children of the apocalypse because they were children of the Goddess of War?
Or were they called that simply because they were archangels who destroyed planets?
There was an image just below, depicting...
I recognized that face—I had dreamed of it.
The angel I saw was Oriel, and the body I was in, the one who shot the arrow, must have been Angel.
I sat motionless for a few seconds, spinning a thousand theories about what it all could mean. Then Zion stood up beside me, pulling me from my swirling thoughts, and headed toward the stairs.
“Wait,” I called out, standing up and reaching toward him. But when he turned to me, his eyes shining like the surface of the ocean, I didn't know what to say. The words vanished. I lowered my hand but held his gaze.
“What do you want, Kyller?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.
“I don't know.” It was true—I didn't know where we stood, didn't know what to do now. I just stood there, staring at the man who shook me to my core.
“We never know, but I think an 'I'm sorry, Zion. I shouldn't have bitten you or thrown knives at you' would be a good start.”
“An 'I'm sorry, Kyller. I should have told you about Kaori' would help too.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them, because the light in his eyes faded until almost nothing remained.
“I must have apologized a thousand times yesterday,” Zion said, shaking his head. Then he fell quiet, letting the words sink in. “I'm right here, Kyller. I'm standing here, waiting for you to take one step toward me.”
He stared at me with a disconcerting intensity, making my pulse throb in response.
He waited, but I couldn't move from where I stood.
Seconds passed, each one dragging like agony with every tick of the clock, and I still clung to my hurt—but when I examined it, it didn't make sense anymore. Still, I didn't move.
Then Zion turned and climbed the stairs without another word.
With each step, I felt the fracture widen, yet I couldn't get the apology out.
The words stuck in my throat, and my wounded pride wouldn't let them go.
When he slammed the door upstairs, I knew I had lost the moment—perhaps I had lost more than that—but the words...
They wouldn't come out.