~Heaven and Hell~
There has always been a divide, between the sides. The mortal world the battle-worn field, of holy wars and falling divine, plundered of its creeping life. Angels and Demons, clash together in eternal strife, while those lesser beings cower in fear.
But no more. They refuse it. And so they rise, mortal warriors, rebelling against the dark and light, taking their place amongst the ancients who once roamed this world. They became the Οι κυνηγοί, the Cacciatori, the شکارچیان, the Hunters. Fierce warriors unafraid of the raging battles, unafraid when even their own kind shunned them. Unafraid when their side dwindled and dwindled.
And so they existed, protecting their people throughout time.
But there was another sect, though younger, and more secretive and select, but they were not just merely sons and daughters of men, but angelic hybrids, the blood of mortals mixed with that of an angel, the Angel Raziel, the keeper of secrets and the ruler of mysteries. He gave his blood to the human Jonathan, and created the beings known as Shadowhunters, valiant keepers of the peace between species, and self-proclaimed the purest of all mortal kin.
And so, these two, so alike in goals and morals, lived in oblivion of one another, fighting a hopeless war, when, as so long ago, a wise man once said, "and the two should be united into one. Since they are no longer two but one, braced upon one another in complete and utter silence."
Castiel. The call, but a whisper in God's great garden, fell upon the fallen angel's ears like a sweet caress, beckoning the holy being and his scruffy vessel through the filth and brine that were the alleys of New York City, his hurried steps splish-splashing the oil laced puddles and staining the hem of his coat. But he took no notice, focused instead upon the ever faint cry, rushing, trying, to reach it.
The alley came to an abrupt stop, a half-dead tomcat letting known its annoyance. But, as many have said, all is not what it seems. Though his vessels eyes could not pick out the heavenly form of the heralds, they were not unknown to the angel residing within him.
Phanuel, the face of god and the ruler of the Ophanim, fourth Archangel after only Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, and his every faithful life-mate, Tzaphqiel, angel of darkness and primal guile's. They stood, side by side, in all their glory, in the trash of a Italian Bistro, sandaled feet scuffling as they silently touched their long fingers to their lips, third eye closed and barely noticeable in the flickering light.
"What do you want?" Never one for theatrics, Castiel stepped back as they did forward, prepared, as always, for something such as this.
Tzaphqiel let loose an airy laugh, touching a hand to her chest in amusement, onyx eyes taking his form in with an almost giddy air, dark hair falling around her in a sleek wave. "We mean you no harm, little one, we are merely here at the request of an ally, so you would do well to listen to our words. Jegudiel, Barachiel, Camael, Samael, show yourselves to the little one, your pressure is frightening the poor thing. "
The air shimmered, parted, shattered, revealing four of the ruling class of angels. All, all of them were Archangels, for so many to be on earth was forbidden by God himself, their very presence enough to destroy everything in this paltry city.
"It is an honour," he forced out, shuffling farther and farther back, gripping the heavenly blade beneath the sleeve of his coat. They could tear him apart, erase his every thought and action from this dimension, and yet they just stood their, with varying degrees of smug grins and wispy smirks.
"Well aint't he just a little tike, where'd they get you? The toy store?" Snorting, the one known as Samael spat a glob at the cat, the spittle lighting a deadly spark, nearly roasting the poor creature as it scurried away, hair standing on end.
The glass of the surrounding buildings groaned in response to the tiny movement, threatening to shatter over them. Shaking his head in apparent exasperation, the tanned angel reached into the satchel resting at his side, scarred hand pulling a book from within its depths, fiery eyes lighting with something akin to contempt. He passed the gilded text to the silent one, Camael, the seeker of God, who touched a frail hand to the cover, stitched lips stretching into a grin, the flames the usually covered his form flickering briefly. Being away from heavenly domain, as legend says, drained him until he was all but mortal, when he could usually best the destroyer Samael in war games.
This, this is from Raziel, Guiding One, and he wishes you to have it. It will aid you in the fight against our fallen brother, and bring the deserving peace to this world.
The whisper fell sweet in the mind of Castiel, his hand unconsciously twitching to take the book from the sickly warrior, coming to reality just as he reached to take it.
"Why would Raziel help someone such as I? I sided with the human race!"
The angel's eyes softened, mouth once more moving into a a curling smile. Raziel knows more than you would know of your plight, and so do we. We, who have reached such heights as to be banned from this world, we, we who also sympathize with man. Take the book, Guiding One, it will answer all. Take it, and reveal its secrets to the sons of Cain. It will aid you.
He reached forward, touching a finger to Castiel's forehead, just touching as he tucked with the other the book into the vessel's arms, stepping back as both he and his companions began to fade, their wings stretching back.
"But..."
All will be answered, Guiding One, just believe, and it will believe in you...
There we are, the re-written Chapter One of Secret of the Archangels. What do you think? Good? Bad?