Michael: Last Angel of Earth

“I think that is everything,” said Fiona. She threw the last duffle bags in the truck filled with various foods, medicine, and other equipment. After the talk in the church, Barjon and Henebul came to an understanding and brokered an agreement. With the deal made, the rest of the company was let out of their cells and given back their gear. In addition to many supplies, they were guaranteed safe passage out of the elvish land. Unbeknownst to most people, the wood elves occupied a significant amount of territory, nearly controlling southern Germany. Henebul promised Barjon and his friends that no harm would come to them in Germany during their journey.

“We need to head out soon. If we want to make it to Italy, we should leave,” said Fiona. She grabbed her rifle and went to the driver’s side. Colum took shogun. Horus, Margret, and Vanhildr jumped in the back with the supplies while Ruzla opted out and instead decided to take to the skies and struck out her wings. She grew tired of being grounded. Everyone was ready. They were waiting for just one last person.

“Where is Barjon?” asked Horus.

“Back in the city still. He is saying his final goodbyes to Hagwin, or rather, Henebul, I should say,” replied Margret.

“I wonder what could be taking him so long. How hard is it to say goodbye?” questioned Vanhildr. Margret knew the answer in her head and smiled.

Back in the city, Barjon was having his last conversation with the king of the wood elves. He and Henebul shared a glass of jaeger at one of the local bars. Typically angels are forbidden from drinking any form of alcohol. However, Barjon and Henebul were Nephilim and thus excused from the rule. Clinking their glasses together, they both gulped their drinks. Barjon was impressed by the flavor.

“Not bad, Henebul. It’s not Guinness, but it’s just as good.” Henebul raised his eye.

“I did not know you drank Guinness, Michael?” The former angel chuckled and set aside his drink. He then turned to face Henebul.

“Thank you again, Henebul. I ... we greatly appreciate it,” said Barjon with sincerity. The half-elf placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We are brothers, Michael. Whatever we were in the past, let this be the beginning of a new step for the both of us,” said the elf king. Barjon smiled and took another sip of his drink. After finishing the shot, the conversation turned serious.

“You realize what you are doing, right?” asked Henebul.

“Going to Rome to find a forgotten relic that has been in hiding for over millennia to keep a promise to a friend? Yeah,” replied Barjon. Henebul chuckled at the former angel’s naivety. Barjon gave him a puzzled look.

“What is so funny?” he questioned.

“You don’t see it, do you? You’re not simply honoring a dying man’s wish. You are starting a revolution. Think about that. If you find Azrael’s armor and sword, you will have the power to topple Lucifer,” stated Henebul.

“There are very few angels left to challenge the might of Lucifer and his army. His allies are some of the most powerful beings and deities from the old faiths. Even if I could recruit others from the old faith, we still would not have enough men to challenge him,” exclaimed Barjon.

“Not entirely true,” replied Henebul.

“What are you talking about?” inquired Barjon. Henebul then reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled cloth. As he unraveled it on the table, Barjon realized that it was a flag of some sort. The flag was made up of two diagonally divided parts blue, green, and red. Its emblem consisted of a phoenix surrounded by small diamonds. An embalmed statue of this stature was only used in war by the elite or often hidden armies. The emblem stood for diversity, adversity, and luck. At the boom of the flag were inscriptions written in three languages. Barjon could read the first part but not the other two. He could not decipher.

“What is this?” asked Barjon.

“Do you know the Story of the Order of the White Wings?”

“You mean the Hidden army myth,” replied Barjon.

“They are not a myth. They are real, and this flag is theirs,” stated Henebul. The Order of the white wings, or the hidden army that Barjon referred to, was a fabled army composed solely of angels from three different orders. According to the myth, one angel was selected to lead this mighty Order as a last resort should the world fall into chaos. But that was only just a myth, or so Barjon thought.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Barjon. Henebul explained that he discovered evidence to believe that Azrael was chosen to become the commander of the secret army many millenniums ago. Ancient angelic historians believe that his tomb not only hides his armor and sword but the secret of the hidden army. This news perplexed Barjon. He was still skeptical, but the evidence presented by Henebul did sound plausible. He then turned his attention back to the ancient writing on the flag.

“The inscription. What does it say?” Henebul recited the oath in three languages:

“Qui nobis tribuat vires? Deo sit virtus?” (Who grants us strength? God is strength.)

“אור מתוך החושך, מה אנו מביאים? אנו מביאים.” (Out of the darkness, what do we bring? We bring light.)

“على خطى أسلافنا. في يد الله في نعمة الله. بالروح والحقيقة. بالسيف ، متحدون ، متحدون نبقى. متحدون نتغلب.” (Following in the footsteps of our ancestors. In God’s hand, in God’s grace. In spirit and truth. By the sword, united we stand, united we stay. United, we conquer.) Barjon did not know what to say. It was a powerful mantra and old.

“This is the creed of the Order of the White Wings. My father told me that whoever found the secret army would wield power unlike before,” stated Henebul.

“Why show me this?”

“Because, Michael, you will need all the help down this path, and I believe you are destined for something greater. Something bigger than yourself or your promise.” Henebul handed Barjon the flag with this newfound information and told him to show it to the pope when he arrived in Rome. Taking the flag, he folded it and tucked it away. As he was about to leave the bar, Henebul imparted one last piece of advice for his angel brother.

“Word of caution, Michael. In your quest to honor your promise to your friend, pray you don’t destroy the world in the process,” said Henebul while taking a sip of his drink. Barjon placed a hand over his chest and nodded his head.

“You have my word, brother.”