Angel of Death: (Reaper Series, Book 1)

  FIRST IMPRESSIONS

  Darius and Peyton stepped out of the void into a large room. Light filtered in through windows from a rising sun, casting multicolored lights through the air as the natural sunlight was altered by colored glass. Looking closer, Peyton realized the colored glass depicted images of saints and Christ and God and numerous other Christian religious imagery.

  "A church?" she asked Darius. "We have to meet Death in a church?"

  Darius smiled at her. "Firstly, he is not Death. He is Azrael, father of Reapers, wisest of our order, an Angel doing the bidding of Heaven. Secondly, we didn't have to be in a church. Speaking to Azrael is not easy, he moves around too much to be found. We have to summon him. And that requires the use of a holy object."

  "You're kidding,” Peyton said.

  "No, I'm quite serious. Any holy object would do, but I'm afraid I tend to favor the religious views I was raised on before I became a Reaper."

  He was walking towards a bowl at the church entrance as he spoke. Peyton moved beside him, still trying to understand this new world she found herself so abruptly a part of.

  "Before you became a Reaper?" she repeated. “You mean you were human once?"

  Darius nodded as they reached the bowl and looked down at Peyton. "Yes. A long time ago."

  "How did you become a Reaper?" Peyton asked.

  Darius didn't answer. He looked hesitant, the sadness returning to his eyes, but then he turned his attention to the bowl and frowned at it. Peyton looked and saw that the bowl was empty.

  "No Holy Water," Darius said. "I'll have to use something else."

  He looked around the room and quickly found what he was looking for. He walked over to the wall and looked up at a crucifix that was nailed into the plaster. Without taking his eyes off the crucifix, Darius reached under his coat and pulled out a gleaming silver blade that was roughly eleven inches long, the blade curving into a half-moon shape. Peyton stared at it in wonder, keeping a safe distance, as she was unsure of what Darius was about to do with such a deadly looking weapon. As she watched, Darius pressed the blade against the palm of his hand and slashed. Peyton gasped as the movement surprised her and the blood began to flow, but Darius was unfazed. He calmly reached up and pressed his bleeding hand against the crucifix, murmuring something in a language that Peyton couldn't understand. When Darius appeared the have finished, she rushed over to him and took hold of his wrist, pulling his wounded hand in for a closer look.

  "We'll have to get this taken care of," she said. "It's so deep, you might need stitches, I hope you didn't sever a nerve or-"

  She abruptly stopped speaking as she inspected the wound, because the blood that was running over Darius’ palm began to draw back into the open flesh. It ran in reverse, running back into the wound like water running down a drain. Once the blood was gone, the skin seemed to knit itself back together. In the span of a few seconds, Darius’ wound seemed to have never existed. Peyton looked up at Darius, her mouth open in shock. Darius was only smiling, seemingly amused.

  "The blade can wound a Reaper," he told her, "but only temporarily. We heal much faster than mortals."

  Peyton suddenly felt a torrent of wind blow through the church and she felt, rather than saw, a dark shape pass by in an instant. She and Darius turned and looked to the front of the church, where a man in a dark cloak stood, his hands clasped together, out of sight beneath the folds of his oversized sleeves.

  "Twice in one week, Darius," the man smiled. "Did you miss me so much?" His eyes suddenly shifted from Darius onto Peyton and the friendly smile on his lips froze and became something more stern and dangerous. He looked back to Darius. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but quiet with controlled anger. "You revealed us to a mortal?"

  Darius bowed his head. "Azrael, please allow me to explain. This concerns the rogue and I had no choice."

  Peyton, who was watching in silence and some fear, glanced at Darius and saw that he was keeping his head bowed. Following suit, Peyton bowed her own head.

  There were a few rapid heartbeats of silence as Azrael considered them both, but then he stepped forward and said, "Please, not you too, Peyton. I can barely put up with the outdated respect of servitude that Darius here insists upon without him bringing you into it."

  Darius and Peyton lifted their heads to look up at the once again friendly smile of Azrael as he strolled towards them from the altar. Peyton brushed her hair from her eyes and said, "You know my name?"

  "I am the Master of Death and the Guardian of Life," Azrael replied solemnly. "With only a glance, I know everything about you, Peyton Paradisa. Except..." He paused and studied her, seemingly fascinated. "Except Darius is correct. Your fate is hidden from me."

  "Fate?" Peyton questioned.

  "Your destiny, my dear," Azrael explained. "The outcome of your life that should be revealed to any Reaper that happens to look upon you. You don't seem to have one."

  Peyton glanced at Darius, then back at Azrael. "I don't believe in fate."

  "You don't have to," Azrael replied simply.

  "I thought the point of life was to choose your own path?" Peyton pressed, feeling annoyed. She didn't like the idea of not being in control of her own life. "If everything about someone's life is mapped out in advance, then what's the point of free will?"

  "One book, many writers," Azrael said. "The story may change, but the outcome is always the same." He turned to Darius. "She's smart, Darius. I like her. But now you should probably explain why we are in the company of a mortal."

  Darius quickly explained everything that had happened. He told Azrael about Peyton's fate suddenly appearing, about Voss trying to kill her. Darius explained how he intervened and stopped Voss, then went on to explain why, how he thought the rogue had changed the design too much and that Peyton may not have been supposed to die. Darius told Azrael everything, from Charon's anger and disappointment to the brief, but furious, encounter he had had with the rogue.

  "The rogue is stronger, Azrael, much stronger than I am. He closed Charon's doorway with almost no effort. But Azrael, there is something wrong with him. His skin, it is rotting away. The bones in his hands are completely exposed, and I could feel the flesh going on his body when we fought. But it doesn't weaken him. He only seems stronger, more determined to get what he wants."

  Azrael was silent for Darius' entire explanation. He waited patiently for Darius to finish, not interrupting or giving any sign of disapproval, anger or surprise. Only when Darius fell silent did he speak.

  "This rogue," he began. "He is consuming souls."

  Darius nodded. "Charon said the same thing."

  Azrael smiled. "I do marvel at that creature, sometimes. But what Charon may not know is what happens to a Reaper who devours the souls of the living."

  "What's that?" Peyton asked.

  "They burn,” Azrael said plainly. "See, the human soul is a powerful, yet unstable, source of pure energy. If a Reaper were to consume even one, that soul would slowly 'burn' them from the inside. They would burn and melt and rot, all at once, very very slowly. And the Reaper's ability to regenerate would only prolong the process more, growing back the flesh only to have it burn away once again. It would be excruciating. The Reaper would never die, but live in terrible pain."

  "Then why do it?" Darius asked. "If he is suffering, why doesn't he just release the souls and stop?"

  "He must be planning something. He must have more in mind than only power and strength. Which makes him even more dangerous. His pain will make him desperate, more likely to strike first, like a cornered beast. We need to get Peyton somewhere safe."

  "But where?" Darius asked. "Charon has already ruled out the River. Where else is there?"

  "I know a place. Darius, I need you to try and find the rogue while I take Peyton to safety. Start at Peyton's home, you may be able to pick up his trail from there. Summon me the second you find him."

  "Yes, Azrael."

  "Shouldn't I stay with Darius?
" Peyton asked. "I mean, this rogue thing is stronger than he is, right? Shouldn't Darius take me to this safe place and you go after the rogue? Round up a posse or something?"

  "Peyton," Darius whispered. "Don't question Azrael's command."

  "Trust me, Peyton," Azrael said, smiling. "This is what needs to be done."

  But Peyton suddenly found Azrael's smile to be false, distrustful. She took a step back from him, shaking her head.

  "Peyton," Darius began, sounding shocked that she was disobeying Azrael's orders.

  "Show me your hands," Peyton suddenly said.

  Azrael looks puzzled. "Excuse me?"

  "Before I go anywhere with you, I want to see your hands." Peyton gestured at Azrael's long sleeves that shielded his hands from view.

  "Why would you want to see my hands?" Azrael asked, still smiling.

  "Peyton, please," Darius begged. "Azrael is an Angel. You can trust him."

  "It's a simple request," Peyton pressed. "Let's see them."

  Azrael didn't respond. He stared at Peyton with what looked like curiosity, his head slightly tilted. Peyton stared back, politely, but defiantly. Slowly, Azrael raised his arms and let the sleeves fall back from his hands and down to his elbows.

  "What?" Darius gasped.

  Azrael's hands were half rotted. All the skin that was now exposed was a sickening white, a horrible shade of yellow and black, but most of the flesh was gone, rotted away to nothing and revealing the smooth white bones beneath.

  "I have healed some since you last saw these hands," Azrael said conversationally. "But they will rot again. Soon, my flesh will stop healing and I'll be nothing but bone. Unless I have your soul."

  Before Darius could do anything, Azrael moved with lightning speed. He turned on the spot, spreading his enormous wings as he moved. Before his wings could even reach their full width, his right wing collided with Darius, sending him flying through the air. He flew up and went crashing right through the frosted glass window, shattering the face of God. Peyton stared at Azrael in horror, looking at his wings. She had always imagined an Angel's wings to be beautiful and magnificent, but Azrael's wings were grotesque. He stood there, grinning at her, flexing his wings to their full, enormous, wingspan, his fleshless fingers curling at his sides.

  His wings were blackened and looked as though they were bleeding, but the blood that ran over the dying feathers was black and oily. Azrael's wings had deteriorated greatly as well, it seemed, because there were very few feathers left. Peyton was suddenly reminded of a picture she had once seen of the skeleton of a bat.

  As she watched in horror, Azrael closed his eyes and slowly rolled his head from the left to the right, as though he was trying to crack the bones in his neck. Peyton saw a trail of flesh burning away underneath his jawline and down his throat, an almost inaudible groan of pain escaping his lips as black smoke rose from the flesh as it burned away. When the burning stopped, he locked eyes with Peyton once more.

  "Yours is the soul I need, Peyton," he whispered, his voice suddenly changed to the one she had heard before, in her living room as Azrael had tried to rip her soul from her chest. A low, dangerous rasp, undoubtedly due to something in his throat having burned away or rotted. “I have taken many souls like yours, but yours is the only one I truly need. I will be free of this curse and this agony."

  "Wait!" Peyton cried. "If you just let all the souls inside you go, you won't suffer anymore. You won't be cursed!"

  "There is more than one curse I must break."

  "Azrael!" Darius shouted from behind the monstrous deformed Angel. Azrael turned to see Darius standing at the opposite end of the church, holding something in his hand above the flame of a lit candelabra. It was the crucifix. Peyton could see Darius’ blood still stained on the wood.

  "NO!" Azrael shouted. He whirled back to Peyton and lunged towards her, flapping his great wings once as he leaped, propelling himself forward with enormous speed. The sound of his wings rushing over the air sounded like the crack of whip.

  Before Azrael could reach Peyton, Darius had thrust the crucifix into the open flames, where it ignited instantly. A heartbeat later, Azrael appeared to explode into a dark black cloud, his skeletal fingers only inches from her throat. The cloud swirled wildly around the air for a few seconds, the sound of furious screaming coming from deep within it, then it sped out the broken window and vanished, leaving Darius and Peyton in silence.

  "Oh my God," Peyton choked. She rested a hand on the back of a pew to steady herself. She suddenly realized Darius was standing beside her.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Peyton nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine, but... what happened to him?"

  "I returned him to wherever he was before I summoned him. But we need to leave, quickly. He knows where we are now and he will come back."

  Peyton nodded again. Darius reached down and took her hand. Before Peyton knew it, they were back in the dark tunnel of the void, hurtling through complete darkness, the only indication of movement being the pin prick of light far off in the distance, steadily growing larger. As they passed through the light, Peyton found her feet on firm ground once again. She immediately turned to Darius, looking concerned.

  "Darius, I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't... I wasn't sure. I only..."

  Darius held up his hand to stop her from continuing. He looked her firmly in the eyes and said, "It wasn't your fault. Azrael has betrayed us all. I only... I don't know why. Or even how! He's an Angel! This goes against everything the Angels stand for!"

  Darius' face was pinched with anger and betrayal. He walked a few paces to Peyton's left, only to turn around and walk back. He seemed unsure of what to do next.

  "He was your friend, wasn't he?" Peyton asked quietly.

  Darius nodded. "In a way. He made me what I am. We were close. As close as he could be with the Reapers, anyway. He personally showed me how to be a Reaper." He sighed deeply. "I don't know what to do, now. Azrael was my last hope."

  Peyton grabbed Darius' shoulders and made him look at her. Surprised, Darius did nothing to pull away, only stared at her with wide eyes as she held him in place and spoke firmly to him.

  "Stop that," said simply. There was no rage in her voice. Only a serious determination. "You stop that right now. You do know what to do. You managed to fend him off twice now. He is stronger and more powerful, but twice you've stopped him from killing me. You can do this, Darius. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. You're more capable than you think. You can beat him, Darius. You’ve got this! Why else would you have brought us... um, where are we?"

  Peyton let go of the still shocked Darius and considered their surroundings for the first time. The location failed to fill her with confidence. They were standing at the top of a tall cliff, only feet from the edge. The landscape around them was made up of dirt and stone. There were no trees to speak of, only black rocks pocking the ground like hideous warts. The wind was weak, as though it, too, was dying, and felt like ice on Peyton's exposed arms and face.

  High above, the sky was blotted out by thick gray clouds that seemed to be threatening a downpour. Occasional flashes of light from deep within suggested a constant lightning storm in the atmosphere. Thunder rolled with each flash of lightning, making Peyton feel anxious, as though she was under attack, or the threat of one loomed over her.

  Darius looked out across the terrain, a blank expression on his face.

  "This," he said, "is Purgatory."

  Peyton looked slowly around, taking it all in. "Purgatory? This place is real? Why would you bring us here?"

  "It was the first place I thought of," Darius replied, a little defensively. "And I didn't exactly have a lot of time to think."

  Peyton peered into the distance. "Hey. Who are they?"

  Darius faced the direction Peyton was looking and saw, far off into the distance, a small cluster of people climbing over the edge of the cliff and onto level ground. Some turned around to help the others up, while ot
hers simply collapsed with exhaustion and some left without looking back, wandering away from the cliff, searching for somewhere to go.

  "Souls," Darius said simply. "The deceased who were not ready to ascend to Heaven."

  "So, what, they have to just wander around this place forever?" Peyton asked, disturbed by the thought.

  Darius shook his head. "Not forever. And first, they need to climb the mountain."

  "Mountain?" Peyton repeated, looking around. She couldn't see a mountain anywhere, but Darius pointed toward the cliff.

  "That mountain."

  Peyton carefully stepped closer to the edge and looked down. What she saw was astounding and horrifying. For miles below, much farther than she could even see, the side of the mountain they had apparently been standing on stretched forever. There was a road carved into the side, which appeared to spiral around and around, so steep it defied all logic, leading up to the cliff where the souls had climbed over. Peyton could see people on the road. Walking, crawling, not moving at all. Some were trying to help others, but as Peyton watched, she saw one man running as fast as he could several spirals below. As the man caught up to a group of people in front of him, he barreled through them and knocked one off the road and into the empty air beyond. That person screamed as they fell, flailing their arms and feet as they plummeted past the point where Peyton could see or hear them. She turned back to Darius, looking pale and feeling sick.

  "Don't worry. It is a trial. A test. No real harm can come to them. Once they reach the Wasteland," Darius explained, "they need only head toward the horizon, keeping the cliff to their backs. They all do. If you look, you can see the only thing around here that might suggest safety."

  Darius pointed in the direction that many of the new arrivals were now walking. Peyton looked and didn't see anything at first, but as she stared, she noticed a light. A bright glow that was warm and inviting, even from this great distance. She turned back to Darius.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "That is the Beacon. Eve placed it there centuries ago, to guide these lost souls to the next step of their journey."

  "Who's Eve?"

  Darius smiled secretively. "You'll soon see. That's who we're going to see now. I have an idea to stop Azrael and save your soul. But we need to see Eve first."

  "Okay, then wave up another portal and let's go," Peyton said, eager to leave the Wasteland. The uninviting dead-looking land, and the horrifying trial that was happening to countless souls below, did nothing to ease her already anxious mind, but Darius shook his head.

  "My powers don't work here. I'm afraid we have to walk."

  "You're kidding,” Peyton said, feeling disheartened. Then she said, "Darius, I'm barefoot! How am I supposed to walk that far on these rocks without any shoes?"

  Darius looked down and saw that Peyton's small feet were completely exposed, her weight shifting from left to right as she struggled to find ground to stand on that did not result in small, sharp rocks stabbing into the soles of her feet. Darius immediately sat down and pulled off his own shoes.

  "Lift your foot," he told her. Peyton did as she was asked, but looked dubious.

  "I don't think we have the same size shoe, Darius."

  "It will do," Darius replied as he tied the laces as tightly as he could around Peyton's foot. "Just walk slowly. If you need to rest, let me know. You are the only living person to ever come to this place, so I'm not sure how it will affect you. For the souls that come here, they tend to feel a certain degree of despair."

  "Well, I definitely feel that," Peyton replied, looking around.

  "If you feel strange or unusual in any way, no matter how minimal you think it might be, tell me immediately," Darius insisted.

  He finished tying his shoes onto Peyton's feet and leaned back, remaining on his knees, to study them. He and Peyton surveyed the shoes that were four sizes too big, both looking doubtful. There was far too much room in the shoes. They would undoubtedly fall off with every step, slowing them down. Darius quickly slid off his coat and grabbed a sleeve in both hands. With a loud rip, he tore the sleeve from the body of the coat. Then he did the same to the other sleeve. Tossing the ruined coat aside, Darius rolled up the torn sleeves and carefully placed one inside each shoe with Peyton's feet.

  "That should help," Darius said, rising to his feet. "They won't be comfortable, but they won't slip so much."

  "But what about your feet?" Peyton asked. Darius only smiled. Peyton realized what he was thinking and smiled back. "Right. The healing thing. So no problem?"

  "None at all. Now, let's go. Quickly. Before Azrael can work out where we are."