Zephyr
My meeting to find accommodations in Black Cove goes well. I can move in at any time and, luckily, the room is furnished.
A quick tour of the place is in order to ensure I’ll be comfortable, but I’ve already paid the deposit to secure a room and the first month’s rent. All I ultimately need is a safe home base in the area, and I’m not picky. I’m sure it will be fine.
Spending prolonged amounts of time in the human realm is tedious, but Heaven is even more monotonous. At least the human realm has things like sports and television to pass the time.
Angel culture in Heaven is much like demon culture in Hell. It’s ruled by a monarchy that makes the rules and passes them down.
We’re assigned a job when it’s our time to enter the workforce, and we’re expected to meet all the requirements of that position. If the angel is especially career-minded, they’ll advance without the need for strict oversight or discipline. Hence, how I’ve become one of the most prolific harvesters in Heaven.
My job is very similar to what demons call reapers, but we have different methods and callings. Where reapers intercede at death, harvesters learn the importance of culling a rotten soul long before it can cause harm. We’re taught the signs to look out for, and much of our job is reliant upon studying the signals and gauging the intent of those we come across.
Each angel starts out with a gilded dagger that can hold one tainted soul to be deposited in the labyrinth. As the harvester proves their ability and levels up, they can earn weapons with a much higher soul storing capacity.
It’s all by the books, but I suppose there is a bit of a free will aspect to my position. Where I might judge an individual one way, another archangel might choose to watch and wait to see if the target might take another path. There are risks and benefits that come with both acting and surveilling.
Free will is abundant in the human realm, and I find that equally fascinating and frustrating. In my experience, humans and other Earth-based supernaturals do not make the best choices, but they are given the chance to improve themselves with every new day.
Sadly, that’s rarely the case.
From what I’ve seen, once a being heads down a particularly gruesome path, they rarely tear themselves free to rectify their sins.
When the call is made that a soul is corrupted past the point of no return, it’s culled and deposited into the labyrinth.
I’ve heard murmurings that the labyrinth is connected to the pits of Hell, and that’s why no one who goes in ever comes out.
I’ve spent many hours wondering about how all of that works, but ultimately, it’s none of my business.
The light buzzing under my skin pushes me to put a quick end to the meeting with the vampire, Novak, and I spend severalminutes wandering the club, trying to determine what my magic is telling me.
This place is stuffed to the brim with sin and debauchery, but most isn’t to the level it would need to be to tease out my magic. Something especially heinous is about to happen or is currently happening.
Now I get the joy of seeking it out so I can exact retribution.
Shimmering isn’t the name I would pick if I were given the opportunity to select what angels call teleporting. Demons do something similar, and they coined the word siphoning. It’s the same exact principle, but with all that distaste between angels and demons, the archangels of old didn’t want to be caught using the same term.
My eyes land on the body at my feet as I appear in an alleyway. The bass bumping through Chaos is unmistakable, assuring me that I didn’t travel far to answer this call.
The echo of the panther shifter’s soul lingers near his body. It’s always strange to see an immortal creature reanimate after a non-permanent death. If he were human, the shade I’m currently staring at would turn into a ghost, but his echo doesn’t even notice me.
My power pulls me farther down the corridor. Something big is happening, and I’m meant to intercede on the side of whoever is being wronged. The confusing part is there are no sounds that indicate a struggle or even the begging cries of whoever needs to be rescued.
Coming around the corner, I study the three large male monsters.
My head tilts as my eyes light with my power. The assailants are so big that I can’t even make out their victim, but they’ve got someone cornered against the brick wall at the back of the club.
It doesn’t take long to determine none of them are moving.
Dammit.
That means one of them has time magic. It’s an ancient skill that has been mostly lost over the ages. One of them must be ancient—a djinn, perhaps.
I step out of the ether and call my blade, which appears in my left hand. As soon as I’m free from the shadow realm that I use to travel, the men seem to pop into my timeline.
I don’t hesitate.
My wings erupt through my jacket, and I use the momentum to propel myself across the alley. The spell on my clothing has saved me much human money over the years, but it’s always an uncomfortable experience.
