So you know how I said this was going to be only a four-part series?
Yeah, I lied. There's going to be one more chapter, then it's over. But I'm sure most of you will hate me at the end of this chapter of the Angel arch. This chapter was inspired by Grenade by Bruno Mars, surprisingly. I don't think it fits in very well, but it's what I listened to while I was writing this.
Enjoy! Leave a review and a prompt, if you have one!
-Cold
-Crow-
Mitch found himself once again trudging along, shivering in the cold.
He knew that Fallen was out here, somewhere. And he would find the monster. Mitch would make him pay.
There was the sound of soft beating in the air. Mitch looked up, eyes narrowing, as a black shape swiftly glided over his head. He scowled, reaching for the sword that, once again, wasn't there.
Mitch glanced around, backing into a circle of light that was shining from an old lamp post. The golden light didn't bring much comfort, but it was better than nothing
The figure chuckled, hovering just out of reach of the halo of light. "Oh, what have we here? A friend of Bodil's? How courageous of you, coming out here to try and teach me a lesson."
The voice was smooth, dripping with rich venom. Mitch scowled up at the figure. "How did you know what I came here for?" he spat out with disgust. How could this Fallen sound so smug after what he did to Bodil?
The Fallen laughed again. "Silly human, don't you know that I can read your mind?"
Mitch paused, trying to think this through. If what the Fallen said was true, then…
"Go on, keep thinking. I'm right here to listen to it," the Fallen hissed, landing on the ground, light as a feather. Mitch could make out the two brightly glowing eyes, both a brilliant sky blue.
Mitch frowned and forced his mind to think about something else. He cleared his throat. "Well, if you can read my mind, what am I thinking off right now?"
The Fallen studied his fingers, smirk slowly sliding up his face. "The Survival Games. You're predictable, you know that?" He turned his back to the champion, flipping one hand into the air. "But that's to be expected. All humans are."
Mitch took the chance and jumped forward, arms reaching out to tackle the Fallen. In a flurry of black feathers, the ex-angel leaped into the air. A hand lightly tapped his head, and Mitch felt his limbs lock up.
For a moment, he just stood here, frozen mid-tackle. Then, his left hand twitched. His eyes darted towards it, because he was sure he hadn't made it twitch. Another few seconds passed, and then his whole arm slowly moved down to his side. The right arm was soon to follow. Mitch felt his bones creak as an alien force made him stand up straight.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
The Fallen chuckled above him. Suddenly Mitch's head was yanked, forcing him to look up. He saw the Fallen move his arm, and as if a string was attached, Mitch's arm moved with him. Horror slowly filtered into his brain and he tried to struggle against the outside force, but he couldn't move a muscle.
"Look at this! I'm like a puppeteer, you know? And look at my little puppet."
Somehow, Mitch found his voice amidst the numbness in his body. "You're… sick."
And the Fallen cackled again, jerked his arms back. Mitch was abruptly whirled around, and he found himself walking back the way her came. The Fallen hovered above him. "Let's go show your friends what Fallen angels can do, shall we?"
Mitch's eyes narrowed and his gaze flicked up to attempt to look at the Fallen. The only thing he had control of was his eyes. "What do you... mean?" he said, struggling with every word.
"Don't you know? Well, when an angel Falls, they start to lose their powers. This only happens for a very short amount of time, and then it comes back full force. Sometimes, it comes back even stronger. Take mine, for example. I was never able to fully control someone. Usually it was just half their body. But now, well… You can see what I can do. There's a reason why Bodil fears me."
Mitch saw the top of Jerome's redwood tree poke up over a building. He tried to open his mouth to spek again, but found that it had been clamped closed. "And now, I can even speak through someone else's mouth. Like this."
Suddenly, Mitch found his mouth open. Words tumbled out, and he wasn't saying them. It was his voice, his accent, his dialect, everything. But it wasn't him. "As you can see," the Fallen said through Mitch's mouth, "My powers are far greater than what they had been."
"And I can do this," the Fallen hissed gleefully, raising one of his hands. Suddenly, Mitch's hands shot to his own throat. His oxygen supply was abruptly cut off, and the grip of his own fingers started tightening around the soft flesh of his throat. After a moment, they snapped away and settled back next to his sides.
Mitch felt the urge to take great, deep breaths, but it didn't happen. His chest and body ached for gulps of air, but the puppeteer wouldn't allow it.
"This is fun, right?"
Mitch felt himself nod, even though his mind screamed against the movement. And he kept walking, the Fallen angel hovering over him.
[…]
Jerome was just about to walk down the stairs to show the party guests out when there was a crash from above.
The bacca paused and glanced up, along with everybody else in the room. There was the sound of wood splintering and that was all Jerome needed before he was frantically running up two levels to the noises. What he saw nearly made his heart stop.
Sky ran up next to him, skidding to a halt. There were more footsteps running up the stairs, and soon everybody was there, crowded in the doorway to the weapons storage room.
And there was Mitch, holding a dagger to his throat.
"M-Mitch, biggums, what are you doing? Why-why are you… Put that down, okay?"
But Mitch shook his head, taking a step backwards. "Don't make me," he whispered, pressing the iron blade closer to his flesh. "I'll do it."
Sky cast a worried glance at Jerome, then looked back at Mitch. "Dude, it's okay. We're not gonna hurt you or anything. But please, can you put the knife down?"
Mitch paused and took a few long strides forward, elbow rising slightly. "I'll do it! Don't make me! I will!"
Bodil stood at the back of the crowd, orange eyes narrowed. His hand was clamped over his ribs, which were wrapped in a bandage. After a moment, he spoke. "That is not Mitch." His voice was low, dripping with venom.
A cackle resounded around the room, and Mitch suddenly fell to the floor. Jerome rushed forward, yanking the knife out of the Survival Game's champion's hands. A Fallen suddenly dove into the room from an open window. There was a collective gasp from the three angels already there.
The Fallen laughed again, blue eyes glittering like diamonds.
Bodil breathed a name. A name that he had trusted, a name that he had once called a friend's name.
"Ghost…"
Ghost wore simple attire. Nothing too bright, just a dark shirt and black jeans. But what really caught the angels' attention were the burn scars licking up and around his body, turning slivers of skin red and pink.
"Don't say my name," Ghost hissed, blue eyes narrowing. He was surprised how Bodil was able to tell it was him. "Don't you dare say my name."
"I-it was you."
Ghost laughed again, jerking a hand upwards, Jason, Ty, and Sky went rigid, and then they marched out of the way, standing off to the side. Ghost relinquished his control over them, dropping his arm.
"You're insane," Simon muttered. Suddenly he froze, too. Ghost frowned slightly, eye twitching, before Simon mechanically knelt down on the ground, bowing low. Baki was soon to follow, leaving Bodil to stand alone. After a moment of a silent staring contest, Bodil jerked into a bow, controlled by the ex-angel.
"You failed me, Bodil. And you even swore that you wouldn't. I knew I shouldn't have trusted you." Ghost sighed, tapping his foot. "I took months working on that poison, and it was wasted on some stupid, useless minor. You're so stupid, Bodil."
Bodil's eyes narrowed and he struggled to lift his head to stare at Ghost. "I should have never taken up the offer in the first place. I wouldn't have if I had known it was you."
Ghost smirked down at him, smug. "But you didn't. And now, you still owe me… I'm thinking the life of your Overworld friends?"
As he said it, everyone that wasn't an angel suddenly stood, hands reaching towards their throats.
"Or, you can set out for what you originally intended to do."
If they had been able to move, everyone would have instantly looked at Bodil. But seeing that they were all frozen, they didn't have much of a choice.
Bodil stared at the floor, eyes wide. Kill Notch or kill his friends? The real question was if he could go through with either. If he attempted to murder the god again, he'd definitely be caught and executed. But if he didn't, everyone in that room would die. Finally, after a few tense moments of silence, he sighed and closed his eyes.
"… Alright, but let them go first."
