So I started playing Magic: The gathering again this summer. Been reading up on the lore occasionally, had some Ideas, felt like some practice. What you see happened over the course of an episode of Fargo, but alas, I felt like sharing.
As much as it pained Obed to acknowledge, the creature before him was a pathetic sight. The Captain of the Villages Nightswatch looked down into the basement under his house.
Where he kept the angel.
Majestic wings, that he'd seen soar over him dozens of times, held back by heavy leather straps, as tight as he'd dared to make them. Hands that he'd seen wield sword and spear second to none, now bound in a heavy pillory. She was kneeling, dressed in what the weeks had turned into rags. Her body still, safe for the faintest of breath'. Her head hanging down, her eyes firmly shut.
Obed had been there when she'd closed them, and she had stubbornly refused to open them since. Or to talk to anyone. In a way it was his fault, the state she was in. That knowledge cost him sleep every night but... what choice did he have?
She had called him down here, in the middle of the night. Weeks ago now. The first time he'd ever seen her without armor, the first time he had seen an Angel truly unsettled. She'd talked about voices and about how she might turn violent, how she couldn't control herself much longer. She'd drawn her sword, had handed it to him hilt-first.
Had knelt down, closed her eyes.
She'd asked him to strike her down.
But how could he? Obed had heard the stories by now. Of Angels going mad, burning villages and churches and such. But he also knew, that until he drew his last breath, he would never be able to look at this Angel, and see anything but the Heron that had delivered his daughter back to him, when the stitchers had taken his family. The reason that he was still more then a lonely, bitter soldier. The beacon of hope that had already fought to protect their village, back when his Grandfather had been captain of the watch.
And he was to strike that angel down? No. Impossible. If she was ill or afflicted, there had to be some kind of cure. He owed her to try. That and so much more.
So here they were. And yet he was about to ask even more of her.
Burn them! Purge them! They are unclean! They are guilty!
The voice was always there. Sometimes a roaring flame cutting through Asenas mind, sometimes just a small, feint hum. Nagging, chewing at the back of her head. But never quite gone. Always prowling, always ready to take over, just as soon as she let down her vigilance. The voice wanted her to hurt the humans. It showed her things. Every memory she had, of a human doing something ugly, something vile. Every wound she took in the line of duty.
Duty.
She clung to that word. She clung to it's meaning. Her existence depended on it. What little concept of self she had left, after weeks of the relentless onslaught on her mind.
The cold water helped. A rough-spun piece of cloth, with a somewhat misshapen symbol of the avacynian church embroided on it. A young girl had made it, as a gift. It was her small, gentle hands that tirelessly reached out for Asena. Wiped the sweat and tears off of her face with mercifully cold water. Back when it had been offered to here Asena had refused the gift, told the girl to keep it. Now she was infinitely grateful for even the smallest gesture that helped her remember.
Remember why.
Duty.
They are not worth it! They are ungrateful! Filth, nothing more...
The voice conjured up the memories of skaabs hooks digging deep into Asenas flesh, when she had shielded the human girl's body with her own. But the voice could not truly wipe away the look in the fathers eyes, when hope for a family lost became rekindled. The admiration in the eyes of girl. The feeling of soaring above a gathered crowd, their bravery kindled by proud white wings, and their faith in turn allowing her to push ever further.
This voice was a new kind of foe. Not one she could meet with blade in hand perhaps – but it was clear that it meant the people of this village harm. And it was Asenas duty to face any creature that did so, no matter it's nature.
She could not give in, could not abandon that duty. No matter how much it hurt.
And yet there was the fear. That her conviction might falter. That she might loose what little she still was. She had tried to prevent it, and she had accepted the solace of imprisonment when she'd been denied death on her own terms.
But she could feel that fear growing teeth, when she felt her bonds loosening.
"Asena. Proud angel, blessed defender."
A familiar voice. Dull, as all voices had become next to the one raging in her head.
"The village needs you. We need you."
Grateful Father. Loyal Comrade. She wasn't sure if she understood. Unwilling to open her eyes, afraid of what she would do, Asena felt the pillory falling off of her. Felt, as the familiar form of her swords hilt was pressed into her palm.
"I do not know what affliction has befallen you, but... your sisters are coming. They are burning every village in their way. I hate to call upon you in your... now. But if you are not with us, then we are lost."
She opened her eyes. For a moment, she focused on the Human. Weathered of worries and battles alike he stood there, in a corner. Out of the way from the basement. His daughter held behind him by an arm. He was tense.
They fear you! All you did for them, all you suffered and yet they do not trust you. They will betray you. They will...
The voice drowned out, as the girl weaseled past her father. His face might have lost it's composure, but Asena did not notice. In this moment, her entire world got reduced to the child that came towards her. This shy, quiet, defenseless human, with not a sign of fear, armed with nothing but a timid smile. The small hand that reached out, to give her a small, wet piece of cloth. The symbol on the cloth, and it's meaning.
Duty.
Asena accepted the gift this time. And she could feel, as her numb fingers tightened around the cloth and the hilt.
The angel did not know if she had managed to muster a smile, before stumbling up the ramp.
Chaos had come upon the village. Some of the houses were already ablaze. Humans, screaming, running for their lives. And angels, flocking overhead. Dancing through the air, toying with their prey, reveling in the carnage. Only occasionally diving down on the scared and helpless below.
Asena could feel, how the faith had left this place, driven by angelic spears and divine fire. She could feel the eyes, prying from closed blinds and hiding places, the fear of the herd she'd been tasked to shepherd.
They fear you! They hate you! They don't deserve your pity. They are Sinners and they need to be purged! Burn the sinners! Kill them all!
The utter lack of faith weakened the Angel, disturbed her even. She'd never felt so weak, so alone. And there was power lurking behind the voice. Just an arms length away. She just needed to give in, and she would soar again. It would be so easy, to turn on those ungrateful, disgusting...
Asena saw, as one of her sisters began to dive. Straight for the house Asena had just emerged from. She could feel the small eyes that watched her from the entrance way, the tiniest shred of faith that was still left
Her wings spread, to their impressive twelve-foot wingspan. Just a single, mighty push, akin to great lungs relieving themselves, catapulted Asena backwards and upwards, into the path of the other angels descent.
The attacker, fueled by blind rage, had aimed for helpless pray. Asena could almost feel her sisters surprise, as her swords crescent path bit into the side of the diving angels face and coated itself red.
She was flying again.
And somewhere under her, a mess of tumbling feathers and meat crashed into a wall, the angelic life extinguished long before the body reached the soil.
One dead, a dozen more in the air. And the humans underneath. Scurrying around like...
Filth! Vermin! Destroy them! Purge the unclean! Purge the sinners!
Once blessed weapons clashed, as the first of Asenas former sisters attempted to exploit the brief moment of painful distraction. Their blades interlocked, their wings moving in symmetry to keep both of them afloat, Asena came face to face with her foe. Looked into eyes, emptied by rage and hatred, a mouth foaming with mindless screeching. Or perhaps her tortured sisters voice just didn't reach her. And yet, the other angel was far too strong. Asena beheld, with the clarity of veteran of a thousand battles, how ever so slowly, she was being pushed back. The interlocked blades moving ever closer towards Asenas flesh.
Purge the sinners!
Yes.
Yes I will.
Asena let go. Allowed the rage to wash over her, and through her. She was surrounded by sinners. By creatures that filled her with disgust. Creatures that needed to be exterminated. And she would be the one to purge them.
Asenas left reached forward, through the cross of entangled weapons. As easily as ever, her fingers lit up in holy fire, just before they reached her straying sisters face. Just before they dug into the fallen angels' eyes.
They stood atop of the hill, overseeing the valley that had once harbored their village. Obed and half a dozen others, armed and atop their horses. The night's watch rear guard. Some of them where whispering to each other. Most of them looked down onto their burning homes. The village was beyond saving, too many houses had caught fire, even before the battle had truly started. But that was little more then wood and stone. Nothing that could not be replaced. They had lost almost no one, as far as he could tell. The villagers had gathered the most dear of their belongings, and they were on the path ahead. On their way to safety.
And still the battle in the sky raged on.
Obed could not avert his eyes.
He had seen their guardian angel in battle a dozen times. Facing bandits and werewolves and the stichers' abominations. Even a vampire once. But an angel facing another angel, that was something else entirely. A duel to behold for ages. A lone guardian standing against a dozen of her sisters was madness, or desperation. A sacrifice, to buy the villagers time to escape.
And yet time and time again, when feathered wings and flaming swords tangled, when Obed held his breath and his heart skipped a beat, afraid to see his guardian fall – Asena emerged victorious. Time and time again, she shrugged off blade and spell thrown at her, and left her sisters behind to fall from the skies in trails of blood, feathers and flame.
No matter how often she got singed or struck, in these wonderful moments Obed wondered, how he could have ever doubted her. Felt heavy guilt, that he had ever allowed his faith to waver. He needed no church, no cathar, no Avacyn. All the miracles that he need to believe were right in front of his eyes. And every fiber of his being urged him to rush to her aid. To steer his horse into the inferno, to fight by her side. A senseless gesture of course. There was nothing he could do but watch. Watch and believe.
And then she fell.
Her foe, perhaps shining the brightest among the attacking angels, and yet the last survivor of a flight of twelve, unleashed a storm of fire and energy, bright enough to singe into Obeds eyes. It tossed Asena back like a child's doll. For a few blinks of his eyes Obed thought, no, hoped, prayed that she might recover. For a few flaps her wings seemed to carry Asena, as the dark fire spread across her feathers.
Then she fell. And her foe dove after her. Sword raised, coated in flames.
And Obed felt a part of himself die, as her broken body crashed into the forest below. If not for the hands of his men holding him back, he would have surely rushed downhill. But there was nothing he could do.
Then again, this was before he rejoined the caravan of fleeing villagers, and noticed that his daughter had gone missing.
The pain was almost too much to bear. And yet Asena was content. She had done what she could. And now my duty ends.
She'd been struck by weapons many times before this day. But she did not remember that it had ever burned so hot, felt so... vibrant.
She lay, between the roots of a mighty oak. Above her a small window of sky, where her fall had torn a breach through the branches. The clouds had cleared up. And the sunlight was beautiful. Had the forest always been this peaceful? This serene?
She had not been able to feel her legs for quite some time, since a spear had torn at her back. By now the flames had consumed her wings almost entirely. She could not have moved, even if she had cared to. And it didn't matter.
She was free.
The voice was gone. Burnt up.
Tears of happiness were running down her cheeks.
But it was more then that. The voice had clawed at her mind, had thought to dissolve it. But even before, as long as Asena could remember her existence, she'd always followed her duty. She had never minded that much but... it was over now.
In this moment, beaten, burnt, broken and bleeding, Asena was no one. No one but herself. And she was happy. Happy that she had not failed. Happy that the others would live. Happy that the pain would be over soon, and that before, she got to experience the world this way.
The shadow of the other angel fell on Asena, flickering in the light of the flaming blade.
"The magic that was unleashed at you should have unmade the very essence of a mere heron. That you are still alive is... impressive."
Asena could not claim to understand. And in this moment she could not muster any hatred for the foe standing over her. She looked up, into empty eyes, robbed of their purpose by the voice, or perhaps long before that. How could she feel anything but pity? Or perhaps gratitude. Had it not been this angel, that had burned the voice out of her?
The standing angel raised her sword high, both hands on the weapon. Asena did not close her eyes, she merely waited.
Tchk.
The crossbow-bolt was such a tiny thing. And yet it was enough to humble the brutish figure of the enraged angel. Asena saw the visage of hatred fade from the other angels face. And for a brief moment there was something else. She hoped it was the same freedom that she felt too. Then the dead body collapsed outside of her field of view.
The girl discarded the crossbow, as she broke from her hiding-spot in the underbrush, to rush to the fallen Herons side. She fell on her scraped knees, next to the body. Tears running down her face, wondering how in Avacyns name the angel could be smiling. Didn't she know she was hurt? Perhaps even worse? There was so much blood around...
It was then, that Asena finally opened her clenched fist. Revealed the only object she had ever possessed that was worth treasuring.
It was then, that the fading Angel reached out, with a small piece of singed cloth, and wiped away the tears of the child.