"What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: 'This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more' ... Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: 'You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine."
– Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science
The city was asleep, the night silent except for the sound of footsteps against cobblestone. Someone was in a rush, the tapping a quick succession. The runner didn't seem to mind the occasional puddle on their way, if the splash of water was anything to go by. When a second pair of feet joined in, it became clear the first one was trying to outrun them. The chaser was lighter on their feet, agile and fast, but while the other wasn't half as quick, they sounded heavier and the strides were much longer.
Mercy's eyes scanned the source of the noise with curiosity from her perch atop a small building across the street. The bakery with walls painted in pastel colors didn't look like it belonged there, surrounded by old looking houses and in the shadow of the abandoned, burned down tower.
Her instincts were kicking in, the blood in her veins already running faster. Something important was going on here, and nothing important ever happened since the Last Stand had taken place.
The park was a beacon of light that was almost blinding and made the mouth of the alley where the footsteps echoed look darker. The runners remained hidden by the annoying interference even after they took a turn towards the dim lit street at the corner. There was the subtlest hint of movement and a soft rustle of feathers, followed by the sound of a buzzing lamp going off, and then another, and another… one by one, every single lamp along the Lantern Lane.
It was dark again and Mercy was gone with the light.
…
The sound of the gunshot reached her before the smell of blood and gunpowder. The sensations felt horrid, fire and blistering heat clawing at her skin in the most vivid memory she'd had in a while, the yells and pained moans echoing inside her skull, the sight of scarred bodies littering the scorched soil passing through her mind eye.
Mercy suppressed a shudder.
There, crouching in an odd stance under a streetlamp, much like a puppet whose strings had been cut loose, was a young woman. Crimson stained her white shirt, pained dark eyes losing focus as she struggled to her feet.
There was a brief second of contemplation and a sigh. Walking with calmness she didn't feel, the distance between them narrowed, Mercy stood tall and proud in front of the slouched form. Once more, the woman fell to her knees and gasped, Mercy's attention flickering to the one hand applying pressure to the bullet wound on her chest. Blood kept pouring out and soaking the suit pants and the concrete beneath expensive looking black dress shoes.
It wouldn't be too long before she was gone.
The seconds it took for the decision to be made, it was her duty to end her pain after all, were enough for the other woman to rasp out a sound and flinch away. She was staring straight into her eyes with barely contained panic, and Mercy's eyes widened at the recognition she saw there. The woman tried to speak again, but nothing but a strangled noise came out of her mouth.
Mercy was frozen, staring back into this woman's soul. She was being seen for the first time in… centuries, maybe.
…
Fareeha had never been sure what would wait for her after death.
It had been something she had thought about many times, even more often after losing her mother, but she had never found and explanation that sounded acceptable. There was no doubt there was something, but what that was remained a mystery. Of all things expected, a fucking angel complete with beautiful white wings at her back, was not first on the list. It hit her then, that she was dying.
But Fareeha wasn't ready to die.
The angel reached for her, her hand was… shaking? It was reaching for her cheek and Fareeha turned her head away from it. She was stubbornly grasping at the shreds of her connection to the living. Never going down without a fight.
That kind of mindset was what had put her in this conundrum in the first time, Fareeha pondered. Now she was going to die because she was too much of a knight in shining armor to ignore that stupid, drunk misogynist that had showed up at her best friend's wedding and threatened one of the guests. A woman a couple years younger than herself, her face was still easy to recall despite the dizziness taking over from blood loss.
Maybe, if she hadn't intervened, the bullet would have pierced that other woman's chest… and she would be drinking and dancing the night off.
Maybe, however, it had been for the best to stay true to herself. Even if it meant she wouldn't tell the tale.
Maybe this wasn't the time to question her life choices, when an angel was kneeling down in front of her, looking at Fareeha like she was the one who had grown huge wings.
Maybe it was time to question why that fucking hole in her chest had stopped hurting all of the sudden, instead.
…
"Are you taking me to God?"
Mercy stared at the woman in her arms for a moment before she burst into laughter and Fareeha noticed just then that something big was off.
She couldn't hear her laughing, but she could feel it. It was a feeling akin a tingling on her skin, and somewhere deeper, and in her chest, and inside her skull.
"What the fuck—"
It was some sort of vibration in the air that was automatically associated to memories from long ago. The bell chiming when someone walked into the small clinic her mother had run when Fareeha was six. Back when they they lived in the house with the broken window and the blue walls. Whenever it rained, they would have to put buckets and pottery everywhere because the rain would leak in and drip down from several darkened spots on the ceiling.
The sounds were no longer there, none of them, but something else was. It felt like she could hear more. It was too hard to understand, so complicated to put into words even if she was only trying to explain it to herself, and she was so fucking tired.
There was soft understanding in the angel's eyes as her laughter died and a warm but sad smile curled her lips.
"No. That's not my job," the angel finally replied. Her accent was thick and hypnotic, a hundred thousand thoughts and memories plaguing Fareeha's mind as the words were spoken.
It should have been confusing, exhausting even, but the images in her mind flowed in ordered patterns. It was continuous but never suffocating. Like walking down an art gallery without trying to take in too much detail all at once, something she could enjoy and bask in without feeling overwhelmed.
Fareeha narrowed her eyes at the angel, glancing briefly at the wings that slapped against a stubborn current of air trying to change their course. The angel spoke again, her voice steady, "God is dead."
"…Nietzsche?"
There it was again, that laughter. That melodic tune tingled across her skin and raised the small hairs at the nape of her neck.
"No," The angel shook her head, amused, "she really is dead."
…
It was exhilarating to be able to talk to someone again. Mercy could only hope her healing was enough; she could only hope this woman would agree to carry on with her Fate. It must have been her lucky day… year… millennia? Whatever, the woman was a sight for sore eyes.
"I would love to give you a tour and talk about it… But you have a choice to make, Fareeha."
Fareeha, still dazzled apparently, blinked her eyes a couple times in confusion. Whether it was because of Mercy was using her name or because of the last statement, it was hard to tell.
"Will you join us and fulfill your Fate?"
…
Fareeha had no idea where they were or why the pain – all of it – had been replaced with a dull, throbbing ache. The hole in her chest had turned into a scar in… less than half an hour? All she knew was there were far more colors than she could recall have seen, ever.
Weird, huh?
Back on her own two feet, fingers experimentally curling and uncurling, Fareeha felt like the incident before had been nothing but a nightmare. Had it not been for the strange shades and colors and the way the sounds played with her brain, of course. There was also the fact that a winged woman, haloed in white light, was still right in front of her.
The angel let her go through the quick inspection without questioning or explaining and merely leaned back on—Where the hell had that come from? It looked a lot like a throne of sorts… The angel was leaning back on it, lounging lazily without averting her eyes from Fareeha as she carefully tried flexing her left arm.
No pain at all, but the skin felt tight on her chest above the wound. Still, it was better than having the flesh of her pectoral shredded to pieces. Now that she felt more confident about her physical condition, her curiosity was back with a vengeance. The angel could have been made of marble for all she knew, she hadn't moved an inch since the self-inspection had started, and Fareeha was growing a bit impatient, and a bit flustered too.
"So," She cleared her throat, letting her discomfort be known. The angel's smile widened slightly but her attention was still on her and not a word escaped her lips. "You were saying?," Fareeha's eyebrows knit together, one corner of her mouth downwards in a lopsided frown. She waved her hand in front of her own flushed face. "… About that choice?"
"My, my… youth nowadays... So impatient," One perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose and the angel's smile slowly turned into a smirk. "I was enjoying the gun show."
It was probably the teasing tone. Whatever it was… Way to throw her back to her early teen years. Fareeha had made a fool of herself in front of her crush and kept stammering lame excuses for being caught staring during chemistry. A weird frothy reflux was coming out of her flask. Purple. It was supposed to be yellow. And now it was on her lab coat. Well wasn't that fucking fantastic?
"Fucking God, aren't angels supposed to be nice?!"
Her jaw locked and Fareeha averted her eyes, her dark complexion wasn't hiding the blush anymore.
...
"You'll see. Only Fated Angels can See other angels. I've been around for a while," Fareeha's curiosity spiked, how long was a while in angels' terms? "And you are the first one I've ever met." She remained quiet nevertheless, the explanation went on.
According to the angel - and angels wouldn't lie, right? -, there was this Fate thing. It was a huge deal for angels and hers was to become one of them. Pretty cool, right? Of course, she could say no.
So, on the bright side, she could become one of the soldiers against eschaton. On the not so bright side, she was still dying. The only thing keeping her alive was her connection to this angel.
Then again, angels were kind of immortal... she could continue to exist if she joined them. It was either dying or selling her soul and fighting the end of the world, easy choice!
Fareeha was so damn screwed.…
…
N.A.: Cover Image source: /fFLftW