Twilight of the Gods

He keeps thinking about kissing her.

Uriel was used to thinking about Daeva. From the moment she woke up to the second she slept, it was his job to look after her. Such is the nature of the relationship between Gods and their angels. Like all his brethren before him, their will was their God’s will.

But he was beginning to question that. Their kiss replays in his mind again. Her lips touch his in maddening repetition. She tells him to kiss her again and again. He knows he can say no in spite of the strength of their Blood Bond. The Binding Chains had weakened Daeva’s hold over him. Still, he had obeyed her, kissed her with the flutter of free will in his chest.

He couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was the programmed devotion all angels had for their Gods. Maybe it was the sincerity of Daeva’s confession. Maybe it was his own feelings unearthed by her commands. Whatever it was, he was losing sleep over it.

Whether his eyes were opened or closed, he only saw her. When he admired the roses in the garden, he saw her stern red gaze. When he turned his eyes to the hearth, he was reminded of her fiery spirit. Even when he sought reprieve from thoughts of her by gazing at the night sky, he was still reminded of his God, beautifully star-skinned and ink blooded.

It was her fault, in a way. She had trained him for this intentionally. When she resurrected him, she had complete power over all of his decisions. He had told her as much and she had remarked that it was an unwelcome burden of Godhood. She endured it for a week, spending every hour giving him commands and tasks, each grander than the last in hopes of occupying his time. But when that failed, she decided to try another tactic.

She placed an apple and an orange on the table before him and asked him to choose a fruit.

“I will choose whichever one you wish me to choose,” he had said.

“I want you to pick the one you want to eat,” she said patiently, having heard similar statements from him before.

“Well, which one do you want me to eat? I’ll pick that one,” he said.

“Whichever one you find the most delicious,” she said, her tone already growing weary.

In all honesty, Uriel didn’t have very strong feelings about apples or oranges. They were just fruits that nourished mortal bodies. He wanted to ask Daeva which one she found more delicious, but he sensed that saying so would only make her angry. So he chose the apple and watched as her red eyes lit up in delight.

“See? You can make choices for yourself,” she said. She threw her arms around him and for a moment, he thought his heart might stop.

He didn’t have the courage to tell her the truth, which was that choosing the apple was still her decision, not his. At that moment, when she had placed the apple and orange before him, she had made an unconscious decision of which fruit she preferred. As her angel, he had sensed the decision and followed her will without thinking.

Over the next few days, Daeva would repeat the apple and orange scenario, each time with different objects. A red scarf or a blue scarf? Mutton or venison? Most of the time, he chose what she chose. When he sensed that she was getting suspicious, he made sure to go for the opposite of what she preferred. He supposed that’s where it started. The tiny seeds of free will were planted in those instances where he wanted to please her. Nothing made him feel better than seeing her happy.

He had no one else left, after all.

His memories of his past life, much like Daeva’s, were hazy. He remembered burning on the battlefield, the fire catching in his wings before engulfing his whole body. But beyond that, there were only little snippets. Sometimes, he remembers serving Anhel, a giant who wore a crown of stars and wept every time his lover Odi left his bed cold. In those memories, he’s overwhelmed by the depth of Anhel’s devotion to Odi. The God’s emotions overtake him like a tidal wave and he drowns helplessly, drinking the elixir of love and despair. He understands why Anhel never leaves Odi and feels the centuries of emotional chains that tie them together. He grieves for his God, but the sorrow he feels for his fallen brethren is endless.

He knew them, once. He dreams of flying with them, gold wings spread under the great blue sky. When he’s fortunate, he remembers his heart being full and his head thrown back in laughter.

To think he had been robbed of that life because of a single man’s wish. Ezra’s face flashes in his mind, blue eyes burrowing into his skull. He sees the Elysian’s smug expression as he tells Daeva of his wish. He feels his fists connect with his face and the red blood that gushes forward. For some reason, that bothers him, the blood. It was the wrong color. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was certain that Ezra wasn’t supposed to bleed red.

Not that it mattered what color the bastard’s blood was. He sits in the room that the Elysians lent them, lounging on the floor cushions. Daeva had gone off to complete another one of the Board’s tasks, leaving him to his own devices.

“Will you be alright?” He had asked her this before she left.

“Haydn will be with me,” she said. “But in case anything happens, I will summon you. I can promise you that.”

“What would you like me to do in your absence?”

She paused for a moment. “Whatever you’d like.”

It had taken him longer than he expected to come to the conclusion, but he realized that there was one thing he’d like to do: kill Ezra. He thought it made sense given how much Daeva hated him. She couldn’t kill him given Nyx’s rules, but Uriel wasn’t a player in the Board’s game. He could theoretically slaughter all of the Elysians and make them pay for what they did to Daeva.

The question was, how would he do it?

He could always pummel Ezra to death. Somehow, as effective as that method was, it didn’t seem right. If Ezra’s death were to compensate for the mass slaughter of his people, it would need to be far more gruesome than that. Uriel decided that it would be fitting if he burned to death. He could picture it perfectly: Ezra, bounded by his hands and feet, helpless to the flames around him.

The angel leaves the room, invigorated by the vision. He makes his way to a tower tucked into a corner of the palace, ignoring the false depictions of angels that decorated the walls. It made him angry that the Elysians kept any images of them, but he wanted to save that fury for Ezra. He takes one last look at the carvings and frowns. For a moment, the wings on the angels waver, sharpening into the bat-like pattern of demon wings. Then, the mirage is gone and the stone angels stare back innocently at him.

Uriel shivers, continuing his walk to Ezra’s room. Otherworld had been his home once, but things have changed since the Elysians arrived. The star people had descended upon them like locusts, claiming to be refugees from an unknown land. They had seemed so human-like, so vulnerable. At least that’s what he remembered. If he had known they were going to pollute his home, he would’ve killed him while he was still flesh and blood.

He adjusts his metal arm, preparing to use maximum force. His clockwork heart ticks steadily inside his chest, beating the same rhythm it always had since his resurrection. He shouldn’t have had a body, not after how much his brethren suffered. They had all burned to ashes, but here he was, still moving and breathing. For once, he was glad to be the last one standing.

Avenging them would be the greatest honor bestowed upon his second life.

He enters the room, kicking the door open. Ezra’s devotees stared at him, jaws hanging open. Ezra himself was at a table, fussing over the pieces of his Board.

“Who dares to disturb me?” He looks up and makes eye contact with Uriel. For a second, fear flashes through his eyes, much to the angel’s delight.

“Ah the angel,” Ezra said, regaining composure. “Does your God have business with me?”

“No,” Uriel said, “but I do.”

“Because of my wish,” Ezra said. A look of understanding had come to his face. He waves his devotees away.

“Are you certain, Charitable One? We know what he did to you,” one of them says.

“I’m certain,” Ezra said. “I will be safe.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a tight smile.

The angel frowned. Was he truly confident that he would leave unscathed? The devotees exit the room, casting wary glances at Uriel.

“I’m here to kill you,” he said. “It would be easier for you if you would just comply.” He takes a step forward, cracking his metal knuckles.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” Ezra said, getting out of his seat. Rather than stepping away from Uriel, he comes closer.

The Elysian was shorter than Uriel expected, standing at a good two inches below himself. Yet he stood straight, almost daring the angel to hurt him.

So he did. He grabs Ezra by the front of his shirt and hurls him across the room. The Elysian collides with his bookcase before hitting the ground, disoriented. Uriel advances on him, ready to knock him unconscious with a single blow.

“Stop!” Ezra stands up, dusting himself off. He holds up his arms in surrender. “Please, just hear me out. I have something to say to you. Once I’m finished, if you still want to hurt me, I will let you do so.”

The angel freezes in his tracks, intrigued. “Speak.” He doubts that Ezra’s words will stop his course of action, but he figured that everyone, regardless of who they were, deserved to have their last words.

“I’m sorry,” Ezra said. “I never meant to kill the angels. My wish was something different, but it manifested in the death of your brethren.”

“You’re lying,” Uriel said. “You told Daeva that you wished for the death of the angels.”

“I did,” Ezra admitted. “But it was the last thing I wanted.” He lowers his arms, pushing his hair out of his face.

“You’re a liar till the end,” Uriel said, shaking his head. “You killed my people. Take responsibility for it. It’s the least you can do.”

“I did, didn’t I? I killed them all.” A tear rolls down Ezra’s cheek, splattering on the floor.

“Don’t cry,” he spat. “You don’t deserve to.” Uriel backs away, uncomfortable with the level of emotion on Ezra’s face. He looked truly sad, but the angel had to remind himself that the Elysian was a charlatan. He had tricked Daeva into coming to Otherworld all those years ago and forced her to endure suffering that no God or Elysian should go through.

“Do you want to know what my wish was, angel? Do you know what truly brought about the end of your people? I think you deserve to know,” he said, an uncontrollable laugh rising to his throat.

“Silence,” Uriel said. “You brought their end. It was you and nobody else.”

But Ezra doesn’t listen. “I wished for their freedom. That’s all I ever asked. I told Nyx to grant the angels free will, to free them from their Gods. She did as I asked and they caught on fire. They couldn’t handle it. They were impervious to blades and bullets, but they couldn’t make their own decisions. I did kill the angels, but the angels were already dead soulless beasts.”

Uriel strikes him across the face. “Take that back! You have no right to call my brothers soulless beasts.”

A bruise blossoms on Ezra’s cheek. He laughs through the pain, keeping his eyes on Uriel. “It’s true. They weren’t sentient. At least, not like you.”

Uriel freezes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you? Did your God tell you to attack me? Are you here under Daeva’s command? You may accuse me of being a liar, but you’re the only person acting like one,” Ezra said.

“If I have free will, then I should be dead,” Uriel replied. “That is if you’ve told the truth about your wish.” He takes care not to mention his resurrection and how he came to life in the presence of Daeva’s blood.

“You were dead,” Ezra said. “But for some reason, you’ve come back to life. And for the record, I didn’t lie about my wish. You, out of everyone else, deserve to know the truth.”

“How do you know that? And why do you say this?” The angel hadn’t expected any kindness from the Elysian.

Ezra gives him a long, hard look. “You don’t recognize me.”

Uriel’s brows furrow. He meets Ezra’s stare and studies the contours of his face. “Am I supposed to?”

“I admit, it was too much to hope for. But I saw that you were serving Anhel again and I thought you would remember everything,” he confessed. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“What am I supposed to know?” Ezra’s words were making his head spin.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Everything you don’t know will come back to you naturally. But I do have one thing to show you.”

The Elysian begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing a well-muscled torso. He peels the fabric off his skin and casts the clothing aside. Then, he turns around. The sight is terrible enough to make Uriel’s clockwork heart skip a beat.

“No,” the angel said. “It can’t be.” He blinked several times, hoping that what he saw was an illusion.

Two silvery scars ran down the length of Ezra’s back. His shredded skin looked painful, occasionally oozing red blood. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but in place of those scars, there were supposed to be two wings, just as large and golden as his. He draws closer to Ezra, running his metal fingers over the tissue. Ezra winces, pulling away.

“Don’t touch them,” the Elysian said. He bends down to retrieve his shirt, slipping his arms through the sleeves.

“You’re just like me,” Uriel said incredulously. “You are an angel.” To think that he had been seconds away from killing him.

“Was,” Ezra said, correcting him. “I was an angel. My days of serving the Gods are long over.”

It made little difference to Uriel. “I thought I was alone. I thought I was the last one left.” He grabs Ezra’s hands, checking to see if he was real. Ezra pulls away, annoyed with Uriel’s enthusiasm.

“You are the last one left,” he said. “None of the others are alive.”

“But you’re alive,” Uriel said. “How are you alive?”

“Because I’m not an angel,” Ezra said sternly. “How many times do I have to say it? Not. An. Angel.”

But Uriel was undeterred. “Just because you don’t have your wings, doesn’t mean you aren’t one. Our wingless brethren were still brethren.”

“Brethren,” Ezra sneered. “How ironic.” When Uriel doesn’t respond, Ezra looks at his face again.

“You seriously don’t remember,” the Elysian said. “Even after I showed you the scars.”

“No,” Uriel replied, frustration seeping into his voice. “I don’t remember anything. Tell me again what I’m supposed to know.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ezra said. “How can you not remember that?”

“Maybe it would help if you would tell me what you want me to remember,” the angel suggested.

Ezra shakes his head. “If I tell you, it might mess up your memories. It’s supposed to happen naturally. We need to approach it carefully. You are the culmination of my greatest wish; an angel with free will.”

“But I’m not free from my God,” he said. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to part with her at all.

“You love her.” Ezra said it as a statement, not a question.

“Is it that obvious?” Uriel suddenly felt bashful.

“Your feelings are clear as day,” the Elysian said. “But still, you came here of your own volition. You’re freer than your brethren will ever be.”

“My brethren are ashes in the ground. Except you. You’re here, just as free as I am, if not more so,” the angel said.

“I’m still not an angel,” Ezra said, “regardless of what you call me. But I am free.” His blue eyes sparkle with amusement.

“How did you get those scars?” He couldn’t imagine living without his wings.

Ezra gives him a measured look. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

“I swear it on my God.”

He places his hands on the angel’s shoulders. “You’re the one who ripped the wings off my back and cast me out of Otherworld. You made those scars.”