Full Circle

Warm sunlight soaked through Johnny Blaze's black leather jacket and he sighed in his sleep, shifting his head to a more comfortable position. Slowly his thoughts came back to him, filling the emptiness of his mind. He opened his blue-green eyes and blinked against the light. Then he remembered: Rome. Hell. Mephisto. Blackheart. Heaven. Where was he?

Blaze sat up, surprised to find that no more pains or aches surged through his body, and even more surprised to find himself in the middle of the empty St Peter's Piazza, on a bright and beautiful Mediterranean morning. The air was cool and fresh, as if it had just rained. The barely visible arc of a rainbow rose up from the buildings, the biggest and brightest one Johnny had ever seen. The city was silent, no car horns or music or human voices; it was as if the world were holding its breath, waiting for time to catch up to it again. Pigeons cooed at the nearby fountain, splashing in the clear water. Up above was a blue sky filled with white cotton clouds, the beginning of a perfect, normal day.

Am I dead?

Johnny looked down and discovered Blackheart in his mortal form, neither dead nor bleeding, dressed in his dark clothes and long black coat, sleeping soundly with his arm around the little red-headed girl, who was lying against his chest and breathing quietly. With mounting alarm, Johnny examined himself: same leather pants, shirt, jacket, all clean and undamaged.

What in the hell had happened?

Blackheart suddenly moved, drawing in a long breath through his nose and blinking open his eyes. "Mm. John . . . ?" He sat up, carefully dislodging Malinda from her position. "What happened? Where are . . . Is this the-"

Johnny reached out and pulled the young man into a tight hug. "You're alive," he uttered thankfully, and drew back to take Blackheart's face in his hands and stare at it with amazement. "I thought you'd died. I thought we all did."

"Maybe we did," Blackheart whispered, a hint of fear showing in his expression. "Maybe this is-"

"Hey!" came a cheerful voice, and Johnny and Blackheart looked up to see Sabbris jogging toward them, her blond hair flying behind her as she waved excitedly, looking alive and unharmed. "It's all over!" she cried, slowing as she approached. "We won! Michael and the Host sent the demons back where they belong. The Apocalypse is over!"

"Over? But how?" Johnny asked incredulously. "It sounded like the world was being torn apart."

"It was, actually," said Sabbris. "But it was put back together when Mephistopheles conceded his defeat. You don't remember, do you? Hm. I wonder if the angels put you to sleep, too . . . That's what they did with the rest of humanity. Soon everyone will wake up again and remember nothing about this morning, thank God."

Blaze shook his head, for once grateful that he had missed the action.

"So what happens now?" Blackheart asked, putting his arm around Malinda as she groggily rubbed her eyes. "Do we just . . ." He struggled to say the words, unable to believe them. "Go back to our lives?"

Sabbris' eyes settled upon the little girl beside him and the smile faded from her face. "Not yet," she said quietly. "There are still some pieces of Hell lingering in the mortal realm . . . And they must be sent back."

Johnny did a double-take between the angel and the girl. "Wait, what do you mean? What's the kid got to . . ." He trailed off, his eyes widening. He stared at the girl clinging to her brother's coat, looking afraid and confused. "Holy shit. She's the Antichrist?"

"Yes," said Sabbris concernedly, "and they're going to want to send her back."

"No," Blackheart said adamantly, pulling Malinda close. "She's staying here. She saved our lives."

"Heaven saved your lives," said a firm male voice, and four heads turned to behold the Archangel Michael, standing in all his radiant glory with the three other archangels at his side. They all glared disapprovingly at Malinda, who cowered in her bother's arms, sheltering herself from these frightening beings of light. "The Antichrist must be destroyed."

Blackheart rose to his feet with a flash, grabbing the Sword of Valor that lay beside him and brandishing the blade at Heaven's most powerful angel. It was a suicidal move. "She's my sister," he muttered warningly, standing in front of her. "She was just like me, a victim of her father's powers."

"Then perhaps we should send you back to Hell with her," Michael threatened, glowering darkly.

Johnny crawled up as Sabbris went white with terror. "Woah, woah, woah, everybody just calm down," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of truce. "Nobody's going anywhere-"

"Who do you think you are, human?" the archangel snapped, eying Blaze from head to toe. "Maybe Zarathos would like to share the fate of the rest of his friends-"

"Wait, Michael," said Raphael, stepping forward and placing a hand on his comrade's shoulder. "I believe Damael wants us to heal the Child." He stared directly at Blackheart. "Just as we healed him. Isn't that right, Damael?"

Blackheart lowered his sword, though he kept his hand firmly on Malinda's shoulder. "Can it be done?" he asked skeptically.

"We won't know until we try," replied Raphael, and he stepped forward a few paces before kneeling down and holding out his arm. "Come, child. It's all right. Don't fear."

Malinda peeked out from behind her brother's coat, her eyes large with fear. The angel smiled warmly at her. "That's it. Come forward and take my hand."

"Raphael," muttered Uriel warningly, "this is the Antichrist. To rid her of evil would mean her destruction."

"No," said Blackheart, watching as Malinda crept forward and put her small hand in Raphael's. "She's half human. It can be done." He sheathed the sword and stared defiantly at Michael, unable to keep his eyes from narrowing with distrust. "If the Prince of Hell can be saved, so can the Antichrist."

Michael returned the stare with a scowl. Johnny and Sabbris stood together nervously, feeling the tension in the air.

"Close your eyes, child," bade Raphael, and Malinda hesitantly did as she was told. Johnny moved closer to see what was happening, but Sabbris, who had already witnessed the horror of purification, deliberately looked away and nervously bit her lip.

"You're going to feel a bit breathless," explained Raphael, slowly letting his fingers melt into the girl's chest. "But don't panic, my dear. Squeeze my hand. That's it."

Malinda let out a whimper as she felt the angel's hand grasp her small heart. Blackheart reached out and put his hand on Johnny's arm. They shared a worried glance, then jumped with surprise as Malinda let out a scream and began thrashing.

Blackheart fell to his knees and grasped her shoulders, steadying her, even before Raphael called out for his assistance. Sabbris shut her eyes tightly while Blaze stared in disbelief as the Archangel of Healing slowly withdrew a thick black mass from Malinda's body. There was a burst, a bright flash, and the incarnated evil spattered onto the ground.

Blackheart caught his sister as she fell, unconscious, and lifted her into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Gabriel drew her sword and darted forward, stabbing the wriggling mass in its center. It hissed and squealed, dying on the holy blade, and then it slowly began to dissolve.

Raphael heaved a sigh of relief and stood up, flexing his hand. "I think it's done," he said, "though I cannot be certain."

"I'll let you know if it didn't work. I'll be taking care of her from now on," Blackheart said, then passed the angel a grateful look. "Thank you, Raphael."

The angel bowed his head slightly in acceptance and was just turning when a dark shadow appeared by the fountain, startling both the angels and the mortals.

Mephisto leaned heavily on his cane, his mortal body beaten and dripping black blood, his gray hair in disarray. He raised a shaking, accusing finger toward his two children. Anger seared his cold blue eyes as he snarled, "Give her to me."

Blackheart's mouth fell open in shock and Johnny stepped forward defensively, ready to fight. Sabbris huddled behind them, her eyes wide with awe.

Michael's feathers flared in aggravation as he clenched his powerful fists. "You filthy snake," he muttered through his teeth, drawing his sword. "How dare you show your ugly face here again!"

"I'm not talking to you," growled Mephisto, his eyes darkening. "I'm talking to my son."

"I'm not your son anymore," Blackheart snapped, passing Malinda into Johnny's arms and pulling the Sword of Valor from its sheath. "And I'm not letting you take my sister."

"You worm," the once-mighty demon spat, staggering forward on his wounded legs. "She isn't even your blood, yet you defend her as if you loved her — ha!"

"I do," he answered solidly. "You see, Mephisto, that's the thing about love. It doesn't need a reason to exist — all it needs is a heart to live in." His eyes shimmered for a brief second. "Johnny taught me that."

Michael suddenly smiled to himself, though his shift of expression was noticed by none.

The Devil, despite himself, was stunned by his son's words. "What?" he asked, glaring at the human as if he were a cockroach. "Johnny Blaze . . . You gave yourself to Johnny Blaze? As if you were a filthy harlot?"

Blackheart didn't honor Mephisto with a reply. The battered demon began to laugh madly.

"Of course! I should have known you would follow in your mother's footsteps. She was a whore, too."

"Shut up," Blackheart snarled.

Mephisto continued to leer, chuckling to himself. "Ah, Lilith. It seems your foolishness passed also to our son, what a pity! She thought she could save you from me, but I'll tell you now, Atrocor, I'm here to stay, and I will haunt you for the rest of your days. You can't run from me, and you can't protect her, either. She is my daughter, my flesh, and she belongs to me."

Blackheart swung the Sword with a deep swoop of air and stepped toward Mephisto, challenging his estranged father once and for all. The demon recoiled with surprise, and raised his cane in time to have it split into two pieces by the sacred blade. He toppled to the ground in shock, finally looking upon his son with fear and respect.

"Atrocor, wait!" he pleaded, raising his hand beseechingly. "I am your father! Listen to me, I-"

"No," Blackheart muttered lowly. "I've wasted enough of my life listening to your lies."

Mephisto's eyes went wide, freezing at the precise moment the sword stabbed through his chest. He reached out, clutched the blade in his hands, and hissed lowly, a long drawn-out sound like steam escaping from a pressure chamber. He went utterly still for a moment, then smirked as he raised his head and stared at his son.

"So this is how you repay me for giving you life," he whispered, first his fingers turning into a black mist, then his hands. "You're a demon, Atrocor. You can run all you like . . . but you'll always . . . be . . ."

Blackheart clenched his teeth and drove the sword deeper. The Devil let out an unearthly howl, disappearing into a cloud of darkness. A fierce wind descended upon the basilica, scattering the black mist into the air until no trace of it remained.

The wind grew calm again. Silence returned, and so did the pigeons to the fountain, splashing and drinking as if nothing had ever happened.

Blackheart sank to his knees, letting the sword clatter from his grip. He put his face in his hands and wept openly, not out of regret, but relief.

The nightmare was over. Mephisto was dead. The father he had hated so much, who had destroyed nearly all whom he loved . . .

As Johnny and Sabbris rushed to his side, Gabriel turned to look at her partner. "What now, Michael?" she asked. "We cannot leave them as they are."

"We can and we will," said the archangel evenly. "Damael and his sister are the Guardians now. They need our help no longer."

The four angels gazed upon the figures huddled in St Peter's Basilica, embracing each other through tears and smiles, and slowly vanished from sight.

† † †

The hot June day in Rome drew to a quiet close. The tourists retreated to pubs and hotels to while away the rest of the evening, and the street vendors, pickpockets and alleyway artists returned to their homes. The doors of shops turned over signs that read 'chiuso', and strays wandered the mazes between buildings, sniffing out their next meal. The moon rose over the silhouettes of chapel towers, trees and buildings, shining upon the Earth that had almost not survived the day. And the mortals that lived on its surface went about their lives, never knowing how close they had come to the End.

On a small bed within the monastery of Catacombe di Priscilla, Malinda slept deeply, untouched by dreams of Armageddon. Sabbris lay curled up at the foot of the bed, dozing intermittently. Both of them were tired, and rest was welcome after the hellish events of the day.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Johnny's easygoing voice said, "Hey, ladies, feel up for some — oh." He lowered his voice when he saw that they were sleeping. "Never mind." He retreated quietly on tiptoe, and returned to the old nun with the tray of sandwiches he was carrying.

"Sleeping," he said, closing his eyes and laying his head on his hand. "Siesta?"

"Aah. Dormire," the old woman smiled and nodded. She wrapped the food and put it away in the old refrigerator in the corner for later.

"Thank you," Johnny said. "Uh, grazie."

"De nada, Signor Blaze."

The man, with nothing left to do and feeling rather out of sorts, wandered through the stone corridors back to his own room. It was empty, occupied only by cold blue shadows. Blaze leaned against the door frame and wondered where Blackheart had gone. He hadn't seen him all evening.

Without another thought, Johnny left to go find him.

† † †

Blackheart had fallen into a despondent mood since he, Johnny, Malinda and Sabbris had returned to the monastery that morning. The nun and the monks were surprised to see them and the little girl they brought with them, but they asked no questions. They offered their guests rooms and the mismatched quartet of angels, mortals and demons had immediately fallen asleep, exhausted from dealing with so much chaos, death and destruction. It was almost unimaginable that they could finally rest without fear.

Though Blackheart was beyond tired, he kept waking up from unsettling dreams: images of his mother's blood on his hands, dying butterflies, green fields of flowers engulfed in flames, black feathers and beating hearts being consumed by shapeless beasts, merciless angels, pitiless devils, and screams that went on and on until he awoke with their echoes in his ears.

Blackheart had temporarily isolated himself, avoiding even Johnny's company as he sleeplessly paced the monastery halls. Blaze guessed that he was still mourning his mother and decided that it would be wise to leave him alone for a little while, let him make his peace. Johnny had a lot he wanted to tell Blackheart, but it could wait. They all needed some time to sort things out for themselves.

Of all of them, Blackheart was the most changed by the war; he'd lost both of his parents, lost his royal status in Hell, but had redeemed himself with Heaven, earning him a place among the earth-bound angels as the Guardian of the Sword of Valor. The Host still regarded him with wary, watchful eyes — he was very much a wolf among dogs, and if the ebony color of his wings wasn't proof of that difference, then nothing was.

Blackheart didn't seem to care if Heaven favored him or not. His concerns had turned toward the future, his little sister, and how they were going to blend in with ordinary mortals, if it could be done. And in the back of his mind lurked the pain of Lilith's passing, the fear of the next ruler of Hell coming after him, and the worry of beginning a new life on Earth. He needed to be alone, just for a little while, which is why he slipped out of the monastery and into the twilight streets, walking without direction or purpose, wandering aimlessly. He felt as if that was what he had been doing all his life: drifting through time with no one to guide him or care for him. But Johnny would. Johnny would make things better somehow. He always did.

He walked on, dipping in and out of the shadows like a wraith, his thoughts chasing him through the streets of Rome. He turned at the corner, approaching the broad wall that surrounded the Vatican. He paused, looking up, and realized that he had one last thing to do before he left the Holy City. He crossed the street, making his way toward the entrance.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't even realize he was being followed.

† † †

The Sistine Chapel was silent, the crowd of bustling tourists that poured through the Vatican museum long vanished. Blackheart stood solemnly in the middle of the floor, staring up at Michelangelo's most famous accomplishment, The Creation of Adam. Every delicate crack and crinkle, every sinew and fold of cloth, every line and shadow that made up the masterful work of art, was powerful and moving, more soul-gripping that even the most fervent sermon.

It was almost ironic that such a holy and beautiful thing had come from a mortal's gifted hand.

Blackheart turned, keeping his neck craned, admiring the huge fresco from another angle.

"Don't do that for too long," came an echoing voice. "You're gonna get a stiff neck."

Blackheart lowered his head to see Johnny saunter up to him, hands in his pockets, smiling thinly in the darkness of the chapel.

"It'd almost be worth it," Blackheart answered, raising his eyes to the ceiling once more. "It's so beautiful."

"I know," said Johnny, but he wasn't looking at the ceiling.

The tone of the man's voice caused Blackheart to turn his eyes toward him, and his heart reminded him of its presence when he saw the tender look in Johnny's eyes.

Their hands brushed against one another, then slowly slid into a comfortable grasp. Blackheart returned Johnny's wane smile with a sad one of his own. "Johnny . . ." he started, but was left struggling to find words. He hung his head. "I don't think I can ever repay the debt I owe you."

"You owe me nothing," he replied, reaching up to brush his thumb against Blackheart's warm cheek. "I did what I did out of love, not obligation."

The angel grinned, recalling his life almost a week ago, days that were so distant that they scarcely seemed to be a part of his own past. "But it didn't start out with love," he said.

"Nothing meaningful ever does."

Blackheart met Johnny's eyes, then glanced away with uncertainty. "Are you going to leave me?"

Blaze's heart clenched. He stared at his comrade, his friend, his lover, and let his hand fall away. "Why did you ask me that?"

"Because I want to know."

Johnny said nothing for a moment, thinking carefully about his next words. "I don't belong in your life, Blackheart. Or your sister's. You've got your own lives to live now, and having me around will only complicate things."

"Are you saying that because you mean it," Blackheart asked, "or because you're afraid?"

"Both." He stepped closer, his arms brushing against the angel's black coat. "I'm doing this because I love you."

Anger creased Blackheart's brow. "If you loved me you'd stay with me," he murmured. "Don't abandon me when I need you most, Johnny."

Blaze slid his arm around Blackheart's neck and embraced him. "Kiddo, I will never abandon you. I'm gonna help you all that I can."

"And then when you're through you're going to leave," Blackheart muttered against Johnny's shoulder, his voice muffled and full of contempt. "You're going to get on that stupid fucking bike and leave me, just like you left your girlfriend and your father and everything else in your life."

"That's not true," Johnny objected, but Blackheart's words had already stung him with the undeniable truth. He swallowed dryly, holding the angel against his chest. "I'll come back. I promise."

Blackheart gently pushed Blaze away and took a step back. His distress was apparent. "That's not good enough."

"That's all I can offer; you can't go through life clinging to others, kiddo. You need to learn to stand on your own, and that'll never happen if I'm around."

Blackheart shut his mouth and let the frustration fill his eyes with tears. Johnny stared at him, his face plain and honest, yet apologetic.

"I gave you my heart," the angel muttered bitterly. "I gave you my body and my soul, and all you can give me is a paper-thin promise."

"Blackheart, please don't be like this-"

"Why not? I've got every right!" He was shouting now, tears running down his distraught face. "I killed my father! My mother died in my arms! And now the only person I've ever loved is leaving me because it's for my own good! Why? How could you do this to me, you bastard!"

He jerked away as Johnny reached for him, but the man's arms caught him on his next attempt to escape. He resisted the embrace, refused to give Blaze the satisfaction of seeing his tears, but it was useless fighting against somebody whose strength was not stolen by sorrow. Blackheart gave in, pressed his face into Johnny's shoulder and cursed him uselessly. His sobs became quiet whimpers, and Johnny rocked him gently back and forth, petting Blackheart's soft, dark hair soothingly.

"It's gonna be okay, kiddo," he whispered. "Trust me. Have faith in me."

Blackheart choked at the recollection of those words, and felt in the depths of his aching heart that Johnny was right, something that hurt more than any sword's cut or dragon's bite. He would have to trust, even if every bone in his body said not to. He had to have faith, even if his mind told him it was pointless. Because if he didn't have those, then they'd both had nothing to begin with.

"Close your eyes," Johnny said, drawing back and placing his palms over Blackheart's face, hiding his blue eyes from view. "Trust." He moved close, letting his breath linger against the angel's smooth lips, savoring each painful, beautiful second that passed. "Faith." Then skin melted into skin, warm and thick and sweet, and separated after one timeless moment with a quiet gasp.

"Do you feel that?" Johnny murmured.

"Y . . . yes."

"Then it must be real. Right?"

The hands fell away, and when Blackheart opened his red-rimmed eyes, Johnny Blaze was still there. At last he seemed to understand, see things for the circle that they had become. He closed his eyes once more, becoming blind, seeing nothing but feeling everything.

Johnny smiled and shut his eyes, leaning forward to meet Blackheart's lips again.

In the shadows of the Sistine Chapel, two silhouettes melted together under God's stern face and Adam's wondrous, awakened eyes.