*****
At that moment, on another plain of existence, a church sat quietly with no signs of movement inside. The morning mass had not started yet and light from the sunrise filtered gently through the stained-glass windows. Suddenly the doors to the church exploded inwards, sending splinters and debris flying across the length of the church, the heavy wooden doors spinning over the pews, breaking everything in their path, until they crashed into the alter at the head of the church, sending candles everywhere as they fell and came to a stop. As the dust settled, Azrael stepped in, his face taut with anger. He surveyed the destruction without interest, looking for his quarry. He felt the rage build up inside of him as he realized they had gone. The pain was almost overwhelming now. He gritted his teeth and groaned aloud as the fire spread up the inside of his neck and over the right side of his face. He felt the intense burn slowly spread from his collar and over his jaw, making a slow and painful progression up his cheek, stopping only when it had reached the corner of his eye. Once the pain had passed, Azrael raised his hand and touched where it had been. His fingers came into contact with nothing but charred flesh and bone. His entire cheek was gone, exposing his jaw and teeth. The skin all around the area felt like paper that had been singed in a fire. At his touch, more flesh crumbled away like ash.
Azrael walked farther into the church and stood where he had last seen them. Yes, they had been here. He could feel the energy of their presence. Now, where had they gone? Darius would have taken her somewhere, somewhere he thought would be safe. But where? The ingrate had said that Charon would not shelter them, which ruled out the River, thankfully.
Azrael closed his eyes and concentrated on the energy he could feel. Concentrated on what might have transpired here after Darius had managed to banish him. Azrael did not want to kill Darius, then. Only to take Peyton away and complete his task. Darius would have been useful in the days that would follow, but now... now he was a lost cause. Azrael now knew that Darius would never side with him. Not now.
There it is!
Azrael could feel the thoughts of his formally loyal Reaper. He knew where they had gone. Purgatory. That would only shelter them for so long, though. Once there, what would he do? Ah, yes... Eve. Darius would go to Eve. She would not be able to protect them, but she would be able to assist them. It was becoming difficult enough already without her involvement. Azrael needed to move quickly...
"Hey, you there!"
Azrael opened his eyes and sensed the presence of a man standing behind him. A mortal man.
A priest. Of course. How fitting.
"Are you okay there?" the priest asked Azrael. "What happened to the doors?"
Azrael slowly began to turn. As his face came into the priest's view, the look of concern and desire to help became one of horror.
"My God," the priest gasped. "Your face! Stay there, let me call 911. Just stay calm, child."
"I am not your child, filth," Azrael snarled. The priest froze on the spot and Azrael was moving towards him. "I will not bow to your kind anymore. You will bow to me!"
Azrael spread his wings, his horrible, decayed, wings, allowing the priest to see their full width.
“Oh my God,” the priest whispered, making the sign of a cross on his body as he took several steps backwards. “What are you?”
“Don’t you know, priest?” Azrael sneered. “You say you are devout, that you believe in Heaven and God and Angels, and yet you do not recognize what I am. That is the problem with your kind. Many of you do not even believe in the powers of Heaven, don’t believe that there could possibly be anything stronger, smarter or more powerful than yourselves. And those of you who do say that you believe in powers above are the first to doubt when you see something that is genuinely borne from Heaven.”
The priest looked confused, taking another step back, away from Azrael. “What? I don’t…”
Azrael rushed forward, moving so fast he seemed to simply appear only a foot from the priest’s face. The priest convulsed slightly when he looked into Azrael’s eyes. Blood began to run from the corner of the priest’s mouth, but he didn’t seem to notice. He felt his feet lift off the ground and he was suspended in the air before Azrael. Looking down, the priest saw the tip of Azrael’s wing had penetrated his chest. He could feel it through his body now, passing out through his back. He looked back to Azrael, silent horror written on his face. Azrael pulled him closer, dangling from the bones of his wing.
“What am I?” Azrael questioned quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I am Azrael. I am the solution. I am the Angel of Death.”