Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. This is slightly unedited, give me time and I'll replace if needed. Stole a quote from Buffy and Spike…and let's see, I think I'm done. Oh yeah- shameless plug: Any Star Wars fans out there, please check out my new story, "In Memoriam."
Chapter Twelve: Angels' Lament
Snape had never felt such inner turmoil in all his life and that was saying something. His whole body ached as if he had been in battle with Eoin Malone while he mind raced as if trapped in one of Silas' mental games. Tears stung his eyes and the defenses that once demanded his silence were themselves silenced. His natural order of things: to asset a situation, then his counterattack had shut down. Instead the only thing that was running through his head was incoherent grief as he struggled to understand what had happened today.
An entire government slain in the place they were suppose to be most safe. An entire government, within a span of only a few hours, with one man- quite literally nobody when placed against those who were lost- to tell the tale.
It left his mind reeling with pain fear, for even as Prince at the high of his power, Snape would have never dared something like this. The truth behind his coronation was he hadn't orchestrated the Day of the Dead massacre, and during the Dark Times there had been no need for large campaigns to provoke fear. Since Voldemort's return, nothing outside of Silent Night could remotely compare to this and even that battle had been retarded by his own actions to prevent the killing from getting to out of hand.
This assault on the Ministry of Magic had been meant to strike terror and create an appearance of invincibility for Voldemort's new Black Prince. And heaven help them all, but it worked. Since the news of the attack had reached him, Snape had being coming to grips with a powerful little truth that was rapidly impeding his senses and destroying his confidence.
He could not fight Mordred and win.
But, he would fight.
Folding his arms around his stomach, Severus pressed himself against the stone and stared into the endless landscape of Arsan Duolai.
Whereas Hecate Compound was built for war, this place was created for peace. Its ample vegetation and crawling plants had long since begun to eat away at the masonry and opened up the buildings to the gardens around it. Here nature took hold of the buildings and peeled back the walls to bring the people who inhabited Arsan closer to the timeless paradise around them. Heaven touched the horizon here, and created a home for the Angels.
For this was the Kaga's homeland.
Meant as a secret haven for the beleaguered and war torn, this utopia was founded by one of Snape's ancestors at the end of a brutal, bloodthirsty war that had left the Aurors without a home. According to the legend, after recouping here for half a year, the Aurors began to make their new home in America- called Hecate. To the Kaga, the Aurors entrusted Arsan Duolai where they, under the direction of a sole human Governor, could live away from outsiders, providing a sort of mystical stronghold that the Aurors could use in desperate times as a sanctuary.
Snape could feel the peace that surrounded him but could not partake of it. Didn't this paradise know he needed her peace now? If this place was supposed to be heaven, why wasn't it sending him an angel to help in his quest?
As this new wave of sorrow overtook him, he became aware of a voice. So soft, it was virtually drowned by the roar of nearby ocean but just as steady. Low, rhythmic and unbroken the voice, female, broke through the warmth of the night and straight pass Severus' fears to pierce his heart. In the darkness of the night, through the shadows and surrealism that the citadel's decaying buildings and curtains of foliage appeared the woman, dwarfed by her surroundings but at the same time possessive of them. She walked towards him in a fixed gait that dominated her surroundings, causing them to wait at bay while at the same time twisting them unto her until for a split second; Severus thought there was an actual angel responding to him. The long coat she wore despite the African heat whipped around her frame, creating wings that only served to collaborate this initial belief.
The woman's voice was becoming clearer as she drew closer but never wavering in its rhythm as his would have.
"Saint Michael, Archangel, defend us in battle." She was saying, and upon invoking the name of Snape's archrival, awakening his readiness to fight. "Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all the other evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen."
Snape rose to his feet, planting them where he stood and balling his fist by his side. "Would you seek to face me before the judgment, my Prince?" She asked, noting his battle stance.
"I am for you, Michael." He said, quietly.
She moved first. She threw a jab at him, which he sidestepped and countered with his own. She slapped his hand away, pushing him back, pulling her wand and leveling it to his neck. He smiled at her, slamming his hand into her gut. She winced, falling back and kicking at his legs. He stumbled back, hitting his back against the wall. "Let's dance."
"Is that what you think were doing?" She demanded, her stance ready for a fight.
"That's all we've done." He hissed, swinging hard.
She ducked, coming up with an uppercut. He tasted blood, and returned the favor.
There was no motive behind this battle; only tradition fueled these ancient enemies. They each fought for their own reasons- hers was an attempt to control her pain and despair, his was to only protection himself and face this, his one true adversary.
When he drove his knee into her gut, any other person would have screamed but she was too well trained. She took what punches she failed to block with grace and strength, knowing in the back of her mind he would do the same. They worked together, knowing each one's movements and weaknesses but neither using the knowledge. Instead, this was they merely existed in this state of battle as they namesakes had- forever embattled, with neither side ever achieving victory. This was a dance Severus was too familiar with, and too weary with to let continue any longer. He shuttered, feeling a well of emotion rise up in his throat.
"However," He said suddenly. "The thing about dancing is…" He pushed his weight into her left side, striking her crippled hand. She instantly fell to her knees in pain. She twisted to recover but never had the chance too. Snape had his wand trained on her. "You never get to stop."
Becka looked up, meeting his eyes, and waiting. Her short crop of golden hair was spiked slightly, framing her narrow face like a halo as her sharp gray eyes bore into his. She was regarding him with a sleek, impassionate look- without hate, without love, without any emotion whatsoever. It was almost that she didn't belong to this world, but was something more, again something…
…almost angelic.
Severus felt the strength leave his legs for they buckled. He stepped back, watching her and hating the revelation as it came to him. This creature could not be his Angel, not Eoin's faithful sister, not Malachi's dutiful Companion. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. Death was better then this.
In his eyes, she must have seen the truth. "So, what happens now?" She waited for a beat before favoring him with a cold, calculating smile. "This is the prefect time to turn and walk away."
"What?"
"Just walk away…that's what you do best, isn't it?"
"Erised…"
"Don't call me that." She said, raising to her feet "That name means nothing now."
"I don't believe it. No, this isn't right. It can't be. You're not a traitor."
"Neither were you, Akel Dama's pride."
"No! You were suppose to be the unbreakable, the one who could protect them no matter what!" Snape stumbled back. "You were suppose to be an Angel."
"Still clinging to your stories and dreams, I see." She said, idly. "Let me tell you something Snape, there's no such thing as Angels. There are no heroes, no good guys. There's no such thing as good or evil, right or wrong. We're just soldiers fighting for our side because we have too. It doesn't matter that we might die for the cause because the cause isn't worthwhile- there's no honor in it! Honor is dead! Stop searching for hope. Stop dreaming for a better life. Curse god, and die." She said fiercely. She turned away from him, walking towards the ocean. "We already dead."
Severus watched her, hearing her words but not understanding. Although it was Erised's voice, it couldn't be her. This defeat, this callousness was not her nature. It couldn't be. To admit this would tear down Heaven, and he would not. He would not- could not- believe that this war had made an Angel into a demon.
It never occurred to him that his was the same fate.
For a long time, he stared at her figure, searching for remains of the part of Erised that was his, the part that had given the strength he had once felt, the strength he would need now. He reached deep inside of him and pulled it out, remembering the memory of his former squad and his fallen brothers. He called upon the memory of his name and legacy as if those memories held more power then this demon before him- and that through this gathering and edification he could somehow reclaim what despair had stolen.
"You speak of dead dreams and lost hope. But it's not true- as long as there is life, there is hope, Angel." He felt a surge of reassurance as she physically flinched from the title. "See I would rather die then believe that. I have hope. Do you remember that? I once knew a woman who knew of hope, she spoke of it and maybe she even dared to believe it…"
"And she suffered for her foolishness! Everything she held dear was lost."
"But that was no excuse to stop living. That was no excuse to give up and stop fighting! To hide behind a face of apathy and send others to their death!"
"Don't you dare talk to me about how many people have died? You were the Dark Prince! Don't you dare try and lecture to me on the blood on my hands. You've killed more people then I ever could."
The words that came next were in his voice, but Severus didn't recognize them, even as he spoke them, and thereby made them real. The voice was his but also foreign- as if it was some younger, or wiser part of himself that had been so long denied, and now would not be silent. The words were spoken, and therefore made real and tangible- for in them were his redemption finally realized.
"You're right. I have. I lost everything, and instead of feeling that pain, I hid from it. I used my skills as a cover, used my anger as an excuse. When that turned on me, I used my intelligence to hide again. I've spent my whole life hiding behind one guise or another, refusing to see what I am. It was never my fault, I said, never my choice- but that's just another mask, and I won't be masked anymore. I won't walk away anymore. I won't turn away and be silent anymore. If I fail, at least I'll die in uniform."
He watched as Becka, as Erised, turned and move back towards the citadel. As she walked away from him, he called to her. She turned and regarded him with those eyes of hers that had once been so alive, now only seemed hallowed and dead. He looked deep into them and wished for the words that could make everything better. He longed to touch her again, as he had, longed to inspire her as her memory had done for him. A long forgotten promised rose to his lips. "Beyond hope."
She just turned and walked away.