The storm rages

I sit comfortably, flipping through the files on security personnel whilst the young human resources intern waits patiently, perched nervously on the edge of his chair. His eyes constantly flicker around the room, taking in the furnishings, the plants and the babbling water ornament on the desk. The clean tiles on the floor, the light, cool breeze from the open window, and the various pieces of artwork placed throughout my office clearly come as a shock to him, contrasting powerfully with the overtly rich, dark appearance of the rest of the building. "They are the Greek gods, Daphne and Apollo," I inform him, referring to one particular statue his eyes return to many times, studying the frozen figures.

"Oh," he responds, shifting uncomfortably. "And that one?" he nods towards another piece.

"That is a replica of the Winged Victory of Samothrace. The original is in the Louvre, and is much larger."

"Oh," he replies again. "Where's her head?"

I smile wryly. "It has been lost," I say, glancing at myself in the reflective surface of the desk. "I shall take him, her, him, and him," I decide, placing the relevant files on the marble tabletop. "The rest are unsuitable." I place the remaining files in a separate pile. He picks up my chosen files and frowns slightly. "Is there a problem?"

He looks up, meeting my eyes for an instance before again shifting his gaze to the rest of the room. "It's just that you turned down many of the people with more experience or qualifications," he mumbles in explanation.

"I want a particular kind of person for these positions. Now, I shall also be requiring some people who have experience with laser defence systems, motion trackers, and radio scramblers," I say, standing to indicate that the meeting is over.

Ah, yes," he mutters, scrabbling for his things quickly and clumsily.

"Thank you, Jiro," I say, holding the door open for him, and he turns and stares at me for a moment, before regaining his composure. He flashes me a surprised smile as he hurries out.

"Not a problem!" he says. "I'll look up those other files right away," he calls over his shoulder, as he hurries past my secretary, who looks up curiously.

"Is that your last meeting for today, Miss Featherstone?" she asks.

"Yes, thank you, Haruko. You can go early," I smile at her.

She blinks at me in confusion. "I don't understand," she whispers, a look of fear sweeping over her features. "Did I do something wrong?"

I give a friendly laugh. "No, not at all. It's just that there is nothing left for you to do today."

"But…"

"Haruko, please. I'm just going to be looking over some details. Go home and relax," I try smiling at her again, but she still looks upset.

"Can't I get you some tea or something?" she asks, a hint of panic in her voice.

I give a weary sigh. "Very well, and then you will leave," I say, more sternly.

"Yes, Miss Featherstone."

I've barely reached my desk when she's knocking politely at the door and bringing me hot green tea, bowing and asking again if there is anything she can do for me. "You can go home. I want you well rested, as I think we shall be having a busy day tomorrow," I tell her, and she looks at me puzzled, but I refuse to say anymore on the subject, and wave my hand in the direction of the door, showing that she should leave.

I stand and walk over to the window as she shuts the door quietly behind her, stretching my arms over my head, weary from a day dealing with people who are frightened of everyone and everything. Once I'm sure she's gone, I make my own way out of the office, but rather than head down, I take the stairs up. I didn't need the building schematics I have access to, to tell me that would be where I would find my brother's host. I can feel the force of his presence from miles away, calling to me like freedom cries out to a caged animal. I can hear his breath moving through the passages of this place, and see his touch on those who have encountered him. He knows I am coming.

As I open the door to the roof, the wind immediately catches at my hair and clothing, tugging at them, forcing itself roughly against my skin, pulling the tears from my eyes. I take a deep inhalation, bringing the elements around me, creating a cocoon in which I can move with ease across the storm-ravaged plateau. The wind hears my voice and no longer troubles me. I stand at the corner of the rooftop, looking out across the city, an endless sea of neon, and the sky filled with the warm, orange glow of streetlights. Even without the storm clouds, the stars would still be hidden.

Lightning rips the sky apart, and to the west, I can sense a great strength rising, as the monstrous clouds billow from the horizon, flooding and darkening the sky, crackling with energy. The sun has only recently plunged out of sight, but already, the darkness consumes everything, and thunder rumbles through the night like an angry giant. I look out to the west, searching for what it is that I can sense.

It is a myth that those who sell their soul to the devil are evil. Angels, even the fallen ones, detest impurity. It is the very brightest, most divine souls that dazzle us. Their light reaches out to us, and we are drawn to their flashing, sparkling rarity, as a flower's face is drawn to the sun. It is this wonder that my brother wishes to possess. He does not understand that a soul is most beautiful when it is free.

Turning, I meet his steady gaze, and am taken aback by the severity of his appearance. The figure stands across the roof from me, his dark eyes hooded beneath thick, fearsome brows, and his coarse black hair sweeps back in a dramatic widow's peak, leaving his striking face exposed. His sculpted features are strong and hard, as though carved in stone, and the expensive tailoring he wears cannot disguise his muscular physique. We watch each other, both of us isolated from the storm, as though existing in a different world. I step towards him and he does the same, until we are barely a metre apart, his eyes never leaving mine. His gaze is black and powerful, and I can feel the energy within him. Even without my brother's spirit flowing through his veins, he possesses a great strength, balanced by the great sorrow he carries in his heart. My brother's promises have done nothing to heal this.

"You know who I am," I say.

"You are the Angel," Kazuya replies. He speaks in a voice like daybreak, the tones shattering the din of the storm as the sun's rays shatter the darkness at dawn, throbbing through my body. As I reveal my angel form, I can feel his need to reach out to me. He looks upon me with the eyes of one who has found nothing but pain in his own reality and longs for the peace of another world.

"And you know why I am here," I tell him, breathing in his warm, rich mulled wine scent, unmarred by the squall around us. I look into his eyes, the sadness pooled there bringing me comfort, knowing one that suffers as I have suffered since my other half betrayed me so completely. I can see him moving beneath the surface, winding himself throughout this man, clinging to his life, his soul, forsaking my own heart.

"You will fail," he sighs, his voice a strange mix of bitterness and mocking.

"So will you," I reply, my stare becoming fierce, driving my message into the accursed demon that would pray on a person's suffering, angry both at his selfishness and his disloyalty. Lightning burns the sky and a crack of thunder rolls through the heavens, drowning out the howl of the wind. Raising my eyes, I look to the west again, and when I look back I see that his eyes have also turned in that direction. "You can sense it too…" I murmur, and he returns his gaze to me.

"Go," he commands, and without thought I obey, taking flight in the terrible wind, flying into the heart of the storm.

The wind rips at my feathers, its fists slamming at me, trying to bat me off course, but these wings have had since the beginning of time to strengthen, and no earthly wind shall move me from my path. Rain floods down from the skies, whipped into frenzy by the fierce gusts that rage forth form the dark mass of clouds billowing on the horizon. The air is heavy with electricity. I feel it crackle around me, numbing the senses. All the time, the feeling of this wicked presence intensifies. I can hear the voices of angels above me, crying out at the ferocity of the storm, pained by what they can sense. Their song is one of torture and malady, a diseased mind, a nefarious soul. I call back to them, share their song, and fly on, nearing my goal.

As the city falls away, it is the wilderness that suffers the brunt of the tempest. The trees and plant life are battered ferociously, and the earth is softened and warped by the pounding of the rain. As I alight on an open mesa, the wind's howling reaches its crescendo and the clouds are at their thickest, rippling in the sky over my head. A fearsome spear of lightning forks across the sky, as I stare over the precipice. The rain plunges into the darkness, slicking the rocky cliff walls, and pounding on the monstrous fist that grips at the rock, pulling its owner up from the abyss, and I move out of sight, watching with some interest and horror the man that emerges from the blackness. He stands tall against the storm, his body firm and strong, the tattered Gi he wears showing the powerful muscles from which he is chiselled. His face is harsh, the features strong like his son's, but weathered by time, and untempered by the softness of emotions. His eyes are cold as stone.