Stuck in the Middle (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

[Xanaphia]

Zerachiel eyed the women curiously. A psychopomp, but not one who had served her. Most of them had died in the initial attack. Had this one fought and survived the battle? If so, she would be a powerful ally to have.

Even if she hadn’t. she still might be a useful ally. She had, after all, shown willingness to attack a fallen seraph, with a “Nephilim pet.”

“Who do you serve?” she asked, keeping her distance. Had other seraphs survived? Archangels, perhaps? Had they gathered together already, to plan out their counterstrike, to reclaim the throne?

“You’re not in a position to demand answers here,” Anne insisted, prodding Zath with her blade.

Irritation flared in Zerachiel mind, irritation she just managed to keep off her face. As a seraph, she was accustomed to obedience from psychopomps, even if they served a higher power. But the fact that this Anne could even think to be this disrespectful towards her was proof her disguise was working. And she wasn’t willing to discard it without knowing for sure where Anne stood in this conflict.

“Hell didn’t stop Lilith from taking the Celestial City, because Hell doesn’t care. All Hell cares about is whether she’ll turn her strength on them, and whether they need to prepare for an attack. That’s why we’re here. Now,” Zerachiel huffed, staring down the young woman, “who do you serve?”

 

[TheCorsair]

The Psychopomp offered Zerachiel a crooked grin, then turned some of her attention back to Zathael. "You've got a chatty pet there, don't you? But I don't hear any dissonance in what it said, so I'll believe that you're here to scout out Heaven. So.," she added as she took a step back, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. For the moment, at least." The statement was relaxed, but her sword was still held ready. "As to me? I'm directly in the service of the Grigori Azar'el, who serves the Seraph Zerachiel, who holds the keys of the office of Psychopomp from Prince Mikha'el."

Rubbing his throat and checking to see if he was bleeding, Zathael carefully rose. "The Seraph Zerachiel, hm? Well, you're in for a surprise." He chuckled as he glanced at his disguised companion. "But that was bold of you, attacking us."

Anne shrugged. "I've been told that I'm overly bold, from time to time."

"Yes, but a Mal'akh attacking a Nephil and a fallen Seraph?" Zathael chuckled again. "Many would have said that was impossible.."

The once-human Psychopomp chuckled in return. "Maybe. But my father always said there's only two rules that matter, and..."

"Really?" Zathael sounded intrigued. "What two rules are those?"

"What a can do, and what a woman can't do." Anne's eyes darted from the demon to the disguised angel and back. "Now, I heard the dissonance in the word when you called your pet a Nephil. What is it, really?" Another cocked grin. "If I'm to believe you, you'll need to be more honest than that."

"Ah, well. I'll just have to let my," he stifled a laugh and tried not to look at Zerachiel, "my pet answer that."

 

[Xanaphia]

Zerachiel scowled, her frown deepening as he called her pet once more, annoyed that the diminutive didn’t exactly ring false. Declarations she made while he was inside her –and declarations of his own that she hadn’t denied– lent truth to his words. She’d argue against the veracity of statements made in the heat of passion, but arguing with epistemology was futile.

With a sigh, she shifted her form, radiating brilliant light before solidifying in her preferred physical appearance. Once Anne stopped shielding her eyes from her luminous being, they went wide, recognition giving way to shock. She went to her knees, “Zerachiel, forgive me, I–“

“At ease. We have far bigger issues at the moment.” With a motion, she bid Anne to rise. “Did Azar’el survive the attack?”

“I’m not sure. I was away from the court when it happened, and have had to fight my way back ever since.”

“Same as us, then,” Zerachiel said with a nod, surveying their surroundings. “Hence the disguise.

“Right.” Anne nodded along, but her gaze flickered to Zathael, “And the demon?”

“I…” I trust him. Zerachiel cleared her throat. “I needed an ally, and our goals align. I haven’t run into many survivors, yet.” Before Anne could prod any deeper, Zerachiel turned the questions back on her. “You’ve done well to get this far by yourself. What have you seen?”

 

[TheCorsair]

With a hesitant glance at Zathael, Anne sheathed her sword. "I haven't seen much," she answered. "To be honest, my lady, this is the furthest I've ever followed the paths. My duties normally keep me in Asiyah, escorting the souls of the recently dead across Oceanus." She half-turned and looked at the gate. "After the higher orders of angels abandoned Fiddler's Green, we started getting reports of..." A shrug. "Well, of monsters. Giants. Nephilim. So, with the Archangels and Powers no longer present, the Mal'akh of Fiddler's Green deliberated and I was chosen to climb the Tree and find out what happened."

"So you're as much in the dark as we are," Zathael grumbled. "Great."

"You," Anne shot back, "are much more in the dark than I am."

"This is going to be some sort of lecture about how I'm fallen from grace and cut off from the light of Ain Soph, isn't it?" Zathael rolled his eyes. "Please. Spare me the..."

"No, that's not what I mean." Anne cocked her head, looking the fallen Seraph over. "You just don't seem particularly bright. That's all."

"You know," Zathael snickered, elbowing Zerachiel, "I think I like her. I really do. And I've got an idea." With that his human-like shape sloughed away in a flare of smokeless flame, and the serpentine form of his true shape stretched out six flaming wings that burned with the colors of the rainbow. He reared up, then dove head-first into the corpse of one of the Nephil. Smoke belched from the body and red flame erupted from the wounds and orifices. Then, nothing.

"Impressive," Anne said, deadpan. Then she sighed, and turned her attention back to Zerachiel. "Do you have any ideas, my lady?" Suddenly, the dead Nephil jerked. Anne jumped back, sword springing into her hand as it sat up. "What? Has the demon..?"

"Relax, girl," the Nephil rumbled with Zathael's voice. "I'm just wearing a costume. Think of it as a better version of our original plan."

 

[Xanaphia]

“It would probably be a little more convincing without the massive chest wound,” she pointed out. Three steps brought her close to Zath, close enough to put her hand on his chest and heal the wound she’d caused, not so long ago. The act lacked the sexual tension of last time he healed her. Mostly because it wasn’t his body, and he wasn’t feeling the warmth of her power flowing through his muscles.

At least partially, however, it was because of Anne, and the look of disgust etched on her face. Disgust that went far beyond his current appearance, Zerachiel presumed.

“There, that looks good.” Still a misshapen brute, but no longer bisected.

“That looks good?” Anne asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I mean, it’s more believable,” Zerachiel answered with a shrug. “Anyways, we should get going. We’re almost through now.”

Or so she had thought. Traveling Da’at wasn’t usually so burdensome. But, well, she wasn’t usually sneaking through, vigilantly looking for foes. Twice more they had to change their path at the sight of roaming patrols. Far more here than in the lower levels. That had to mean they were getting close, right?

As they traveled, even she began to have her doubts. Had it always taken so long to traverse the paths? Had she lost her way? Or had Lilith distorted the heavens, transformed them to suit herself. To protect herself from Arch angels and seraphim who only knew the old ways through?

Just when Zerachiel was sure they were completely lost, the final sefirot, revealed itself. They found almost by surprise. But, it seemed different to Zerachiel. Keter had always been home to her, familiar and safe. Mercy, compassion, the infinite love and light of All That Is. But she felt none of that. There was something harder. Anger, a righteous anger, at injustice, at cruelty, at callous disregard. A choking miasma that accompanied Or Ein Soph, holding Zerachiel back even as she knew they needed to head forward, if for no other reason than the fact that another patrol could arrive at any moment.

“This… this can’t be right…” Zerchiel shook her head, and stepped back from the sefirot. It took every ounce of her will not to bolt away at top speed. “This can’t be the crown.”