Archangel’s Ascension

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  “Your life will feed me, servant. I must take it,” he said in his ear in a voice as cold as stone. Argbralius picked up Wrath the Godslayer.

  He lifted Wrath the Godslayer and buried it in the demon’s chest. The black blade consumed the soul of the demon and, in a matter of seconds, reduced him to ashes which scattered in the wind until they had disappeared. A swirl of energy was absorbed into the blade.

  The war ceased.

  Everyone turned toward the God of Chaos. The Grim Shepherds, the sáffurtans, and the rest of the demons sank to their knees. Argbralius gazed at the battlefield, the death around him, and his soul nourished itself from it all as he smiled with pleasure. It was delightful that his reincarnation should be celebrated with such a destructive war, that his servants should recognize him as the supreme lord.

  He was about to speak some commemorative words when an explosion of light fragmented the black cloud that covered the sky. The cloud writhed like a worm that had received a mortal wound and disintegrated. Sunlight made its way through, and dawn revealed itself to the world.

  A ball of fire shot through the sky, tearing away the shadows. The wake of light the powerful comet left behind infused some hope into the survivors of the Empire. It blinded Argbralius. He covered his newly found eyes, unable to bear that light, between orange and copper in color, that was flooding the morning with grace.

  The ball of fire headed toward the reincarnated god. It crashed against Argbralius. The explosion was brutal, sending fountains of fire and burning coal in an expansive wave that brought down walls and scorched bodies.

  It was the beginning of a battle of a different magnitude. An angel with divine white wings had come down from the heavens, dressed in white armor and armed with spear and shield, and was now descending on the newly reincarnated god.

  The God of Chaos had no idea how to react in the face of a creature he knew would exceed him in both strength and speed. He trusted that his sword Wrath the Godslayer would defend him against the attacks of the God of Light.

  Alac Arc Ángelo’s movements were lethal. The unceasing strokes of his spear took their toll on the comparably slow reflexes of the God of Chaos and managed to scratch his flesh. Argbralius suffered in agony as the weapon of Light tore through him.

  Without wasting any time, Alac buried his Light spear in the God of Chaos’s stomach and pushed him away with his shield. Argbralius’s body had not even fallen when the God of Light renewed his attacks.

  The God of Chaos had barely been reborn and was losing the battle, finding himself almost unable to breathe. His movements were clumsy and slow. In a sudden fit of rage, Argbralius lashed out. Luckily, the black sword brushed against the God of Light’s muscular leg and distracted him. He seized his chance and delivered a punch in the face that hurled the God of Light backward. He regained his balance thanks to his wings; his helmet was still in place, undamaged. He flew off and charged again, but in this brief interlude, the God of Chaos had gained speed and precision in his movements.

  The black sword and the radiant lance clashed. But the resistance of the newly reincarnated god was poor, and in seconds, the superiority of the God of Light was made evident when he thrust his spear through Argbralius’s face. The spear burnt the young man’s flesh amid his howls as he tried to defend himself by raising his sword. But the weapon vanished to reappear in the hands of the God of Light. Alac propelled himself forward and hurled the spear through the other’s heart.

  On the boy’s chest, the spear of energy began to shine, threatening to explode and finish off the God of Chaos, who was on his knees on the ground. Alac ran to him to deliver the final blow but never reached him. The corpse-beast slapped him and pushed him off course.

  At that moment, the spear of Light vanished, and Argbralius was able to breathe. His grey eyes were unfocused, and he was unable to believe he had been on the point of dying. He saw his black sword on the ground and ran to recover it, leaving a wake of shadows behind him. Argbralius fled with all his remaining strength. The God of Light was distracted, which allowed him to pass undetected.

  The God of Light cursed under his breath when he noticed that the God of Chaos had fled. The battle was not over. He had almost defeated the god and would have given chase were his loved ones not about to be crushed by the advancing forces of darkness.

  Once again, Alac had his spear in his hand. He gave a leap and flew toward the corpse-beast like a fiery comet. He ran it through with the spear, and with the tip still in its entrails, he generated a bomb of light that burst with a radiance never before seen. The corpses disintegrated, leaving the souls free to fly to the judgment of the Goddess of Night.

  The evil army was leaderless. Although their numbers and strength were still stronger than those of the defenders, they lacked a commander to organize them and lead them to victory. Alac now gave forth a brilliant light that issued from his soul, infusing the defenders with hope, restoring health to some, mana to others. The infusion of energy would not be enough to heal flesh wounds, but it would heal those of the soul and mind. Mages recovered their courage and began to cast once again. Morally broken soldiers and wild-born rose to the challenge and began to slay the leaderless attacking army. With another pulse of cleansing energy, the corpses were relieved from the corruption of dark forces, and the animated dead were left lifeless on the ground.

  A huge force of demons fled the scene. Far to the North like this, and far from their fortress in Némaldon, the demons would presumably flee to the mountains and the caverns nearby.

  Alac cried out to the heavens at his victory against the host of Némaldon, though in his heart he was regretting that he had not defeated the God of Chaos when he had had the chance. He was still too young, too inexperienced. He would need more knowledge, more training if he were to defeat the God of Chaos and eliminate him once again from the universe.

  With the trace of a smile, the God of Light flew to the Imperial Palace where a young man who reminded him of himself when he was a small farmer in San San-Tera was helping a man clad in armor of white-gold to get back to his feet.

  The people came to gather around the God of Light, among them Lulita and a very worried Luchy, who had followed everything from one of the palace towers. The god shed his armor, and to everyone’s surprise, he was revealed as a teenager dressed in rags that were too small for him and a woolen vest.

  Luchy ran to his arms and gave him a long kiss on the lips without caring about the people around her. When they separated, the whole village applauded and cheered for the young couple. Lulita was quick to join them in their embrace and share their happiness. No one was surprised at the sight of an archangel, supposedly mystical creatures of far-off times. The truth of the matter was that people were drunk with violence, tired and near death, and nothing soothed them more than seeing this strange vision of an archangel kissing a village girl. Neither the demigod nor the people around them knew that the energy which emanated from him was also enchanting them.

  Manchego was blushing. His eyes were filled with happiness he could barely believe, but at the same time, he did not forget that the war was not over, because the God of Chaos had slipped his grasp. But at least he had come in time to avert the catastrophe and, without being aware of it, to play his part in the establishment of a new political regime.

  Mérdmerén, limping, was helped by Turi and Greyson to the side of the young man with wings.

  “Thank you,” Mérdmerén said weakly. He was struck by the strange appearance of this winged being. Such rags! But it gave forth such beautiful energy.

  “Are you the new king?” asked Manchego.

  “Well, um…”

  “The new king! The new leader!” the thieves cried, fulfilling their role in the creation of a new regime. “He’s saved us from the demons of the South!”

  Word spread like wildfire.

  “The new king!” the people echoed. “May he guide us!”

  Barking could be heard among the crowd. An ol
d grey dog was racing as fast as he could between their legs. Manchego knelt with tears in his eyes and his arms outstretched. When it reached him, the dog threw him onto his back. It began to lick his face tirelessly.

  Breathing hard from a deep scratch on his chest, Balthazar came to join the reunion. He had left the other Wild People who were rounding up the wyverns and helping to look after the wounded.

  Alac stood up. Luchy was stroking his folded wings.

  “Alac Arc Ángelo,” the Wild Man said, but stopped the moment a being of light began to fly around him.

  “The God of Light is among us! Blessed be the gods!” said one.

  “The God of Light,” said another.

  A buzz of talk broke out, and people began to kneel before their God.

  “This is Teitú,” the boy explained as he looked around him at the kneeling people. “I’ll tell you about it later—you know what? Ramancia arranged everything so that I’d find out about where I came from, and what my destiny was. She said she and you were working together.”

  Balthazar smiled. “We always knew who you were. Ever since that time you came into my shop, I recognized something special in you. I never told you, but Lulita isn’t your—”

  “I know that already. I know everything about my family and my birth. I don’t hold anything against you; you did it for my good.”

  “And now look at you!” said the Wild Man in admiration. “You’re a magnificent being now. And you’ve come back to save us.”

  “But the nightmare isn’t over yet,” Manchego muttered. “Mórgomiel has fled.” He was aware of a heavy sense of responsibility and felt guilty because he had failed to capture his greatest rival.

  “Who?” Lulita asked.

  Grandmother and grandson embraced. The boy kissed her cheeks.

  “Mórgomiel. Argbralius. I don’t know how to explain it, but the two of them were one. Mórgomiel has been reincarnated in that boy’s body.”

  “Wait, who’s this Mórgomiel?” Luchy asked.

  “Ah yes, of course. You don’t know about his existence or the Times of Chaos. It’d be better to talk about it some other time, there are too many details. For the moment, just know that Mórgomiel is the God of Chaos.”

  “He’s not one of our Gods,” said Luchy in surprise.

  “There are many gods the Empire doesn’t know about, Luchy,” said the young man, making it sound unimportant. “Mórgomiel is by far the worst. More about this later.”

  “I’ll find out more about him,” Balthazar said. “Mother will enlighten me with her wisdom.”

  “My son!” someone cried.

  A mother came out of the palace and ran to embrace a soldier who had been killed by a spear through his chest. The happiness of the reunion, under the brilliant sun and the emanating energy of the god, vanished as reality sunk in.

  The woman’s lament was like a slap in the face for the survivors. The city was in ruins; it was a graveyard. There were so many corpses scattered through the ravaged and plundered city that it was a hecatomb. Every building in the city of Háztatlon, every inhabitant, had suffered profound damage.

  Manchego looked up at the sky. A black owl, the black owl which had been present at each of his steps, was flying over the site of the tragedy. Is that Ramancia? he thought. He remembered that in the note he had read in the witch’s house, she had mentioned that she was the owl, watching over him. Perhaps she was not dead after all. But he had seen her die! Perhaps the owl was a remnant of her soul.

  Balthazar smiled at the sight of the owl. “Ramancia’s familiar. A creature she bonded deeply with. The owl was her way of keeping an eye out for you. Ramancia is dead, Manchego. I guess the owl is still keeping watch over you.”

  “We have to help all these people,” the boy said. He let go of Lulita and Luchy, and they all got down to work.

  The fires remained active for days, giving out spirals of smoke. But the shadows had fled, and the God of Light was among them to protect them.

  Chapter XXXVI - Reconciliation

  The God of Light was gliding together with his faithful Naevas Aedán warrior. The cool air caressed his senses and was a balm for his tormented soul. He would never forgive himself for not having put an end to Argbralius when he had had the chance. And at the same time, something was telling him that wishing death on another was not right, even if the other was the God of Chaos.

  The light of dawn fell on the smiling face of the young demigod. Now he understood why as a little shepherd, he had enjoyed sunrise so much. He tried to regain that innocent joy, but now nothing was the same: a war of galactic proportions had been unleashed.

  Seven weeks had gone by since the last battle. Recovering the bodies and burying them properly had not been an easy task. Luckily, the cities of Merromer, Vásufeld, and Bónufor had sent their armies who piled up mountains of corpses of both demons and humans unclaimed by anyone and set them on fire. The smell lingered in the air for days.

  Orcs and demons were hunted by scouting parties, and many were eliminated. Fear spread through the continent as small bands of duj or voj could be seen plundering villages or raiding encampments. Large parties of demons were seen at night, making haste to reach the South as quickly as possible. Ágamgor was down, so crossing back to Némaldon would be easy.

  It was time for recovery, both spiritual and material. They needed to rejuvenate the whole Empire and restore the luster to the most important nation on this side of the Early Sea. On the other side was Flamonia, a mysterious land they could now reach more easily.

  Everything was ready for the coronation of the new king, and the dukes of the cities that had not been attacked were traveling to Háztatlon to honor the new leader: Lion Fist. Little was heard of the Aheron family, those who would have had a claim to the throne. It was said that they had died during the war, but a band of thieves might have had something to do with their sudden disappearance.

  At the palace, new strategies for the destruction of Némaldon were being debated. Invading Árath was suggested, but they lacked both manpower and sufficiently powerful weapons to take on such a task.

  Mérdmerén seems to be a good person, Teitú said. In the depths of his eyes, you can see all the things he must have gone through.

  You’re right. Perhaps that’s why he’s the right person to lead the new nation. He’s ready to fight for good, and who knows how much is involved in following the right course.

  Will you grant him your blessing?

  I’d rather not get involved in earthly matters. It’s not my mission to influence the politics of the Empire. You bless one side, but not the other? It could mean people hating me just because I gave one my favor and not the other.

  The God of Light began to descend toward the city. The work of reconstruction was underway with the goodwill of the citizens, who were determined to leave the horrors of war behind. As he landed near the palace, Alac Arc Ángelo covered himself with a cotton cloak that hid his wings, although the feathers could be seen beneath the material and it looked as though he had a hump at the top. But nobody was going to pay any attention to things like that. So the demigod took on the form of a young man who might have been any other, the form of Manchego. He had finally had the sense to change his clothes. He wore clean woolen pants and a clean woolen shirt with his grandfather’s llama vest over it. He looked a little odd in his current clothes, but they hid him well among the crowd. To most, he seemed a deformed young man with a large hunchback, which was the bulge of his wings under the cloak.

  As he walked along the ruined streets, he watched the soldiers moving great boulders, stones, wood, and other materials. The sun was shining above, in a clear sky. Winter had come, but in these parts of the Empire, this meant sudden blizzards and days of rain with the occasional clear blue sky. The temperature had dipped just a little so that most citizens found it necessary to wrap up well.

  As he passed a group of children, one of them pulled at his feathers. He turned and saw a little gi
rl of around seven with large blue eyes, fair braids, and a beautiful cotton frock.

  The girl pointed at behind the demigod’s boots. “He’s got white feathers!”

  Manchego blushed. He had no idea what to say.

  “Look!” the girl said again. This time she tried to touch the feathers hanging below his cloak.

  The young man moved fast. “Don’t tell anybody, but I’m an angel.”

  The little girl laughed happily. At once, her mother came up to them.

  “I’ve had a birthday! I’m five now!” said the little girl.

  “Happy birthday!” said Manchego. “Actually, I’m seventeen today myself.”

  The little girl’s mother ran toward her daughter. “Don’t you run away from me like that! Sorry if my little girl was bothering you. What do we say, Amelia?” She was eyeing Manchego uncertainly.

  The child twisted her fingers, her head bent. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re very nice. My name’s Manchego. I’m a shepherd.”

  “Mother, he just told me he’s an angel. Look, he’s got feathers!”

  “Oh, Amelia, the things you make up!” her mother protested. “Come on, say goodbye to Manchego.”

  “Goodbye, Manchego,” the little girl said with a mischievous smile.

  The God of Light returned the smile. He remembered Luchy when they were both children, and how daring she had been too.

  He went on, smiling nervously at the thought that he was going to meet the love of his life. He had not seen her the previous day, and already he missed her. Every time they looked at each other, he felt a pleasant tingling in his stomach.