Author's Note: Okaaaaay, this baby will consist of short little chapters; then again, I haven't really decided. Anyway, I would appreciate any commentary, preferably detailed. I don't own the Bible, nor history. Thanks to previous reviewers! Enjoy!
'Would you have the hair spring set?'
The sparkling violet-blue eyes stared intently at the long, slim pistols, with lacquered walnut handles—exquisite embellishments—and gold mountings along their brass barrels. Alexander Hamilton finally shook his head. 'Not this time.'
As the seconds, Nathaniel Pendleton and William Van Ness, drew lots once more, Hamilton lifted his gaze towards his challenger, who stood concealed in the shadows of the cedar trees. The former treasury secretary allowed a small sigh to escape his lips, recalling his friend's protests to his resolution.
I intend to fire in the air, he had insisted the night before.
Alex, think of your family—think of your friends! Pendleton had pleaded, with tears veiling his eyes.
My friend, Hamilton had returned, his melodic voice soothing but firm, it is the effect of a religious scruple and does not admit of reasoning. It is useless to say more on the subject as my purpose is definitely fixed.
A fixed purpose, indeed—voiced not simply as a resolution, but as a proclamation of a definite purpose for existence; determined not by his own desires or free will, but by something indeterminable; a fate not of his making, but ordained ere he had abounded upon life's vivid stage, every scruple directed by something inscrutable. And yet, Alexander Hamilton found inimitable solace in the thought that whatever was to transpire between himself and Aaron Burr was destiny—nothing more or less than pure, immutable, and divine providence.
Narrowed, ruby-red eyes glowered at the former treasury secretary, his nostrils flared, his black talons sunk deep into Burr's graying head. The demon's hulking, muscular form flexed with fury, barely repressed rage spit through his clenched fangs, as his sibilant voice rasped into the vice president's ear. Asmodeus could hardly stand the sight of the angelic princes.
Gabriel glided to a stop upon the secluded cliff facing the Manhattan shoreline. His celestial companions had already arrived at the scene, their faces grim, their brilliant auras tamed to a somber glow.
'Salutations have already been exchanged, I presume?' the prince of messengers queried.
Rafael nodded, watching the seconds load and cock the pistols. 'They're about to begin.'
'You think you've won, have you?' the demon lord suddenly called from the shaded region of the vegetated ledge. 'You think I don't know of that mortal's pledge?'
'Be careful, demon,' Rafael returned, his sea-gray eyes glimmering. 'Our restraining orders have been lifted. You no longer have power over this one.'
Asmodeus stepped out of the shadows, permitting a slow, wheezing cackle to escape his bared fangs. 'Is that so, princeling?' The massive spirit turned to his host, teasingly stroking the vice president's bony cheek with his large talon. 'Mark my words, he will not suffer torment alone,' the demon growled darkly, 'but his entire household shall bear the agony of his pain. His posterity will live to see his name smeared by the pages of history, his reputation slandered by those who once called him their friend. I tell you, hundreds of generations from now will not know him. His spouse will have no peace, and she will be alone in her despair until the end of her days.'
As Asmodeus spoke those words, black slithering shades crept over the ledge, snarling and hissing; their detestable forms quivered with demonic glee, as the horde of ferocious demons surrounded the duelists like monstrous vultures circling their prey, their blades drawn, and their bulging yellow eyes gleaming lustily.
'You will have your temporary glory,' Kael said.
The demon's lord face suddenly contorted into a hideous, fiendish grin. 'And I shall relish every moment of it.'