A growing stench of sulfur and burning flesh dizzied him. He opened his wings to fly, but the very feathers turned to dust and fell, mixing with the sands below him.
"No!" he cried.
Surprised and stupefied by their disintegration, he lunged his body upward, desperately trying to break free of the sands. His feet were stuck. He heard the waves behind him rumble. As he looked back, four hands of water shot forth and grabbed his body. They pulled him back with evil energy, out of reach of the mouth, but into the depths of the waters. His instincts forced him to hold his breath. Trying to think, to just stay calm, he stroked his arms and kicked his legs in attempt to swim, but the waters were too heavy. They pulled him down to the middle of the ocean.
His chest began to sting, his heart throbbing in fear. No, not just fear—terror. He looked right and his heart nearly burst with pounding as he saw the slow, taunting undulating of a monster the size of a hundred angels. It had the body of an eel, the tail of a whale, and the head of a shark. Its four black eyes found his, and it turned toward him. Noam felt as if his entire body would explode. He kicked his legs and thrashed his arms, but his body would not move. The monster was feet away. Noam's eyes grew wide. Then the water around him dispersed as if he hadn't been in an ocean, but a mere water balloon.
On his hands and knees, dripping wet, he gasped for breath. His shaking fingers felt the dark, wet mud underneath him. Grasping its coolness, he placed a handful on his neck, then slowly looked down and saw the stream was not clear water, but thick, red liquid. It seemed as if the ground were bleeding. He stood, the ocean water dripping from his hair, the red mud sliding from his neck. His wide eyes followed the trail of blood leading up to a cornhusk standing just a bit taller than he. A field of the bleeding plants surrounded him. He licked his dry lips. A dim orange sun shone in the sky, giving off a low, electrical-sounding hum, the only sound in an otherwise-silent nightmare.
Looking behind, he jumped, finding that his heels were on the edge of a cliff, miles high. More sulfuric fumes rose from the stretching abyss, and he placed a hand over his panting mouth. Realization hit him like a sledgehammer. He couldn't fly. His wings had been violated, taken away. Those sacred appendages that were part of him, a reflection of his glory, were gone forever. He had never been in such utter despair. His fear would not subside no matter how hard he tried. He was like a human child stuck inside his worst fears with no hope of escape.
There was no choice but to trudge through the field. His mind a jumbled mess, he walked and walked and walked through the miles of stalks, holding his head, trying so hard to remember where he was and how he had gotten here. A husk to his right called out his name.
"Noam."
The hoarse whisper was like the echo of a dying machine.
Stopping in front of the plant, leery of what might be inside, he stared at it, his body completely tense. It called out his name once more. The voice. It sounded like his voice. Once more it called out his name. Curious to the point of madness, he tore into the plant, his hands drenched in blood as he ripped the leaves open. What he saw within the plant made his heart pound hotly in his ears. He jumped back in new dread. It was a precise copy of him, its arms closely pinned to its sides. Like a bloody infant just removed from the womb, the imitation opened its glowing yellow eyes.
"You are just a copy, Noam," it said in a voice that sounded like three. "There are thousands more like you, if you fail. You are replaceable. Insignificant. Hollow. You do not think for yourself, but let your God think for you."
The other plants around him opened up and dozens of other copies spoke in husky, whispered unison with the first. Noam wanted to scream in despair. No. It couldn't be true.
"Join us here, forever. We will not think ill of you, if you fail. We are you. You are we. You are a copy. Join us."
A yellow cobra slithered around Noam's feet. It rose up on its tail and stood at eye level with the angel.
"Follow the guide," the copies said, their voices lowered, more demonic, like the laughter of the flame dragons. "He will lead you to your new home."
On its tail, the cobra flicked out its tongue to taste the foul air and led Noam to an empty stalk at the end of the field. His heart heavy with despair and confusion that he might in fact be just a copy, he looked inside the empty stalk. He saw only darkness. No, wait. There was something else. Before he could back away, a great scaly green hand burst from the black and pulled him into the husk.
He pushed at the hand, kicking, twisting. The massive hand would not give way. It sucked him into the earth through the roots of the plant. Nauseating vertigo took him and he closed his eyes, feeling the sharp, rocky ground cut into his skin. Then his body seared with pain as it slammed against a hot cobblestone street.
He placed a hand dirtied with mud and blood on his aching head and rose from the burning rocks, wondering how the blow didn't kill him. It was now nighttime in the strange world he traveled. There were quiet, abandoned houses around him, some looking primitive, others more advanced. Roads branched off the one he stood upon, and he turned his head to the side, observing this strange collage of the various neighborhoods he had seen on the universe's many worlds throughout his life. On each street stood a single gas lamp that lit his way. A crescent moon hung in the starless sky like a thin white grin.
His mind was a spinning cyclone of confusion and anguish. He placed his scraped, bleeding hands in the pockets of his torn jacket, walking slowly, concentrating hard on where he was. He closed his eyes, the pounding in his head finally slowing to a dull drum, when he remembered. His eyes shot open. Gidyon. They were in Hell. He had wandered far from the door, and to the door he must return. With a clear mind and fiery determination to locate Gidyon and leave the gates of Hell forever, he picked up his stride. But something halted him.
"Noam?" a strong voice said from behind.
Noam felt elation rise in his chest. No. It couldn't be.
"Is it really you?" the cheerful voice continued.
Noam's eyes moistened with joy. He turned around and faced a tall angel with long copper hair, wearing a green trench coat. The angel smiled handsomely and attacked him with a heartfelt hug. Noam wanted to fall to his knees and rejoice, for the angel in his arms was his soul-mate brother—who had died hundreds of years ago.
"Malachi? But, how can this be?" Noam pulled away and asked, near weeping.
"I'm not dead!" said Malachi. "Don't you see? I didn't die."
"But," Noam said, his voice wavering from emotion, "I saw you die on the battlefield. We all saw you die." His eyes filled with tears as he remembered that day. "You saved us by sacrificing yourself. Didn't you?"
"It was all a terrible mistake," he said. "You only thought I died."
Overjoyed, but at the same time betrayed that his brother would keep such a thing secret for so long, Noam asked, "But where have you been all this time?"
"On missions, mostly. Michael had a huge list for me. It was like the list he made for you and me centuries ago—Remember?"
"How could I forget?" He smiled. "I thought we'd never finish that one."
"We did, finally. But by that time, we were so dead set in war mode, we didn't want to take a break!"
"I can't believe this!" Noam laughed. "You're honestly not dead! Wait until the rest of the Thanatakra hear! Their comrade has returned!"
The red-haired angel grinned, a glorious sparkle in his eyes. Noam smiled as he listened to his brother speak, his heart hurting with delight at the miracle. Not even Hell's horrors could waver his spirits now. He was reunited at last! Malachi, his brother with whom he had been created and felt such a great emptiness without, was once again alive!
And then the dark angels of Hell appeared from the shadows.
Mangled and twisted, the six demons crowded around Malachi's back. Noam saw them and narrowed his eyes in hate. Lucifer's servants had taken his brother away once, but they would not do it again. The demons cackled. They, who were once beautiful, wer
e now lizard-like, their skin scaly, their hands claws, their hair burnt off. Malachi did not seem to hear their laughter.
Confused, Noam thought to yell, but his mouth wouldn't move. It was frozen in a smile. His brother continued his cheery talking, oblivious to them. This could not be happening! Trapped, screaming inside his own head, Noam shouted in warning from within, cursing the terrible spell that had been put on him.
The tallest demon, half-man, half-dragon with bat-like wings protruding from his back, flashed a smile that dripped with acid and raised his black sword.
"I knew we would be reunited again, Noam," said Malachi. "I have truly missed you, my brother. Think of all we must catch up on, and think of the time we will have fighting the angels of darkness together, winning all for the glory of the Almighty!"
All movements seemed to slow to an unbearable pace. Malachi's smile seemed to brighten up the entire street, the only thing of joy in such an awful place. No, this couldn't be! Noam's eyes went wide and he mustered all the power in him to break the hex of silence.
His voice at last came through, giving a loud, echoing shout of warning to his brother, but it was too late. The demon pierced the angel's body with his weapon, the blade tearing into his back and out through his chest. Noam felt his heart break into a thousand pieces as he witnessed for the second time his brother's death.
"You," Malachi said in surprise as the blood soaked through his shirt, "you tricked me."
Trying to move his legs but failing, Noam felt a new stab of pain and quickly cried, "No! I tried to warn you, brother!"
"You—you tricked me, brother. How could you?"
He fell to his knees and the killer pulled his sword free. Noam watched as his brother fell to the ground, mortally wounded because of him. The guilt inside, the rage, the fear, the hate, the growing insanity that Hell had brought forth was too great to control. He clenched his fists and lunged at the demons. Reptilian claws grabbed his arms from behind, and a scaly tail wrapped around his head, covering his nose and mouth. The murderer demon smiled at him, and Noam struggled against the fierce grip of his capturers.
"You didn't really think that he was alive, did you?" said the demon.
At his feet, Malachi began to change form. His hair turned into dark liquid and ran down his body, transforming him into a snake-like monster. He looked up at Noam and flicked his slick black tongue. Another demon. Another lie.
"Your brother is dead," the big demon said, getting closer.
The others grabbed hold of Noam's legs until he was covered in a slithering mass of Hell's beings, their touch burning his skin. Holding the sword to his throat, the big demon brought his foul face inches away from Noam's.
"He will never return to you," he said. "There are no Lands for the deceased souls. No Lands from which they can return. You have been abandoned. You have joined us for eternity."
Noam shook his head in panic as hope slowly lost the stormy battle against the growing despair in his heart.
"Oh, yes," said the demon, his hot breath choking the angel. "As soon as Gidyon went through that door, your fate was sealed. We killed him. And now you are ours."
Noam tried to remember what had happened. There were so many images and so many horrors; he couldn't even remember how long he had been there. Days? Weeks? Surely Gidyon could not be dead! He called out Gidyon's name, but the scaly tail wrapped like a muzzle over his mouth, muffling his voice.
"It's useless to fight, Noam." The demon pressed the tip of his sword into the soft, fleshy part of the Thanatakran's neck, drawing a trickle of blood that one of the demons quickly licked up. "Stop this struggle. You are out of God's sight now. You are doomed for all eternity." His voice softened. "You must stop resisting and join us."
Out of God's sight. Dead! How? All he had thought to be true was a lie. A copy. He was just a copy. Doomed For All Eternity.
A bloody tear fell from his eye, and he gave himself over to Hell's power. He felt it turn his limbs limp. The terror, the angst, the pain, the fear, the ruination of his sanity. He fell to his knees. The demons cackled. Join them he must, for there was no reason to fight now. He was out of God's sight. His body sank into trembles. His throat clenched from hopelessness and the claws of the demons. Gidyon had abandoned him. All was lost. If only he could have saved Malachi. Bleeding tears streamed down his face and over the scales of the demons suffocating him. Out of God's sight.
A distant voice cried out, "Noam?"
The sound of a great stone door scraping the ground made Noam look up.
His eyes found Gidyon's.
"Noam!" the healer shouted.
The demons vanished.
"Noam! What have they done to you?"
Noam gasped and his body shot upright on the twin bed in Harry's old room. Precious silence settled him back to reality, far away from the nightmares of Hell. It had only been a dream this time.
He caught his breath and concentrated hard to slow his panting breath. His forehead was moist from sweat. He focused on a beanbag chair in the corner of the room, but his wild imagination made it out to be a crouching demon ready to torture his soul once more. He closed his eyes, his heart jumping in fright. After silently assuring himself that it was nothing, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. There. Just a beanbag.
Max had drawn the thick curtains over the windows so that the angel could sleep in peace. The man had also offered both angels some fresh clothes to sleep in. The soft, cotton shorts he gave Noam were twisted tightly around his legs from the thrashing he had done during the nightmare. The white T-shirt he wore, now drenched in perspiration, had great slashes up the back. The jerking movements of his wings had torn wide the slits Max had so kindly cut for the feathered appendages to slide through. He adjusted the tight shorts and felt around in the darkness for the covers to wrap around his quivering body. Sighing, he chased away the memory of the demons that haunted his sleep.
Only a dream.
***
Gidyon
Gidyon ran his hand along the smooth white-streaked, black marble that topped the mahogany dresser in the hall just outside Max's study. Furniture of the same wood and mineral decorated the dining rooms, living rooms, and main halls of the manor.
The door to Max's study was ajar, and young laughter streamed out through the crack. Gidyon peeked in, curious, but not wanting to disturb the man. Max wore a fresh set of dress clothes and sat cross-legged on the beige carpet. His back was propped against a dark leather couch. In private, he was a man of carefree comfort rather than proper manners. Gidyon liked that.
A smile graced the man's face as he watched the moving pictures on the television screen that sat atop a low-standing mahogany table. In the movie were two boys in a playroom, one about ten years old, the other six. The ten-year-old wore a makeshift cape and plastic mask and frantically tried to get the attention of the cameraman.
"Mr. Edenton!" he cried. "Watch this!"
The picture went blurry and swerved to focus in on the boy who stood on a folding chair. Below the chair were dozens of matchbox cars, Lego houses, and action figures of all brands and characters.
"Now, Adam, don't hurt yourself," said the cameraman. It was a younger Max.
Adam, looking much the same in his youth as now (minus the tattoos and blond hair dye), took the spotlight with ease. His short locks were a very light brown, but his eyes were twinkling blue. The yellow sheet he wore for a cape tangled in his movements, and he tried to kick the material out from under his feet. He situated the cheap black mask over his eyes. Then, in the most dramatic voice he could muster, he shouted to the toys below:
"Hear me, city! There is a villain in your MIDST! I, the Stealth Fist, will RID you of this menace! But first, I must show you my DANCE!"
Suddenly, a younger boy stepped in view of the camera. He shyly peeked his messy head of brown hair into view and held out his hand in protest. The camera zoomed in on his big, concerned eyes.
"That," he whispered to the c
amera, revealing a gap where his left, front tooth had fallen out, "that's not part of it."
Adam proceeded to twirl like a ballerina on the chair. He seemed to find the dance amusing, his mouth twitching in an attempt not to smile.
Max whisper-laughed behind the camera. "Just go with it, Harry!"
Giggling at himself to the point of falling off the chair, Adam waved at the camera to get its attention once more. He was done making fun of girls. Now it was time to be manly. The camera was on him again, and Harry crouched out of view of the lens.
"NOW," said young Adam, "fair people of the TOWN, I sense an EVIL presence!"
He held a hand over his heart, and with the other he tried to fix his tangled cape. The camera shook.
Max Edenton watched the home video from his floor, laughing along with his former self; however, Gidyon's quiet chuckle from the doorway caused him to break away from his memories. He looked up and the healer's eyes met with his.
"I'm sorry," the angel said, pulling the door shut. "Just wanted to see what you were doing."
"No, don't leave!" said Max. "Come in! You'll miss the best part!"
Gidyon gladly took the offer. Entering the room, he shifted his wings so they wouldn't hit the doorframe. He put his hands in the pockets of the velvet robe Max had given him and sat cross-legged next to the man. Silently, he wrapped his wings around his waist.
"I'm sorry the screen is so low to the ground," Max said. "I don't think that table was meant to hold a TV. I need to buy a taller stand." Young Adam loudly cleared his throat in the movie, and Max grinned. "Oh! Watch this part. You'll laugh."
They turned their attention back to the video.
His cape fixed into place, Adam held a fist out in front of him. Unable to keep his eyes off the camera for too long, he smiled a big, toothy grin and shook his backside for comic relief. After doing that little dance, he stood tall, getting back into character.
Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1 Page 13