Hala - Present Day
The Realm of the Dark Angels was unlike anything Carol had ever seen. It was dark and quiet save for the rumble of thunder and flash of white lightning. Carol could make out vague silhouettes of towering structures around her, hidden by the thick, swirling lavender fogs. The ground was gravelly, littered with rubble and metal wreckage. There was a strong smell of sulphur and decay in the air.
Carol unsheathed her sword from its holster on her back, creeping forward quietly. Besides dark angels, she didn't know what other monsters may be lurking in this world - and just because she couldn't see them, didn't mean they weren't there, watching her.
With her free hand, she dangled a piece of thread with a green crystal tied at the bottom. Now that she was in the same realm as Yon-Rogg, she could fall back on more traditional methods of locating him. A simple scrying crystal should do the trick. The crystal began to spin with a low whistle before pointing North-East. Carol squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and followed the crystal's directions.
The further into Hala she went, the more on edge she became, a terrible dread settling in her heart.
The shadowy structures around her were towers and buildings, massive monuments like nothing on Earth. Yet there were no signs of life anywhere. When she got close enough to them for the fog to part, she found the buildings partially destroyed and left to ruin. She was in a ghost city. A fallen city. She had lived too long and seen too much not to recognised this city for what it was.
It was the end result of a war zone.
Something had happened here - a battle, a war, an attack - that had left what must have been beautiful and powerful city decimated.
There was so little known about Dark Angels they were practically a myth among myths. What enemies could have done this to them? And were they a threat to the heavens and Earthly plains?
Unnoticed by Carol, the crystal dropped lifelessly on the thread.
She was not alone.
Ireland - 1775
Death was unavoidable. Not even the angels could evade it, for they were the guardians of the in-between of life and death. It was their duty to protect humans who had died, helping their spirits find the light and watching over the loved ones that had been left behind. It was a dangerous time for humans, both dead and living. In such vulnerable states, they were easy prey for demons and their temptations. An angels presence was usually enough to ward away those with foul intents, but sadly, not always. And with such strong emotions that Death provoked, it was all too easy for grief to consume them and desire to lure them into the waiting arms of hells offspring.
Most did not want to die.
Most did not want a loved one taken away to the unknown.
And if someone promised they could bring them back... how could anyone resist? No matter the price.
It was for this reason that Carol found herself in a quiet graveyard by the sea, soft wings pressed up against the bark of an old oak with weaning amber leaves. Her soft gaze never left the frail old women kneeling by her late husband's grave - a simple wooden cross dug into the ground with red rosary beads weaved around it. The women wept quietly, her withered frame shaking. Carol wished she could tell her that she was not alone, that her husband stood beside her, unseen and untouchable, a floating spectre of glimmering blue.
"Will she be okay?" the woman's husband asked, his voice gravelly and strained. Tears glistened in his eyes yet did not fall.
"She will," Carol assured him. "It'll take time, Marcus."
"I wish I could let her know I'm alright."
Carol pushed herself away from the tree. Tentatively, she placed her hand on the women's shoulder were her husband had touched. The women gasped, her hand rising to her shoulder. She could not see Carol, but her touch could be felt like a phantoms caress. The old women smiled, her eyes closing as though to savour the feeling. She thought it was her husband, letting her know that he was still with her, watching over her.
"Watch over her for me, will you?"
Carol nodded. "I will."
A biting wind made the old women shiver. Carol shuddered too, not from the wind, but something it carried with it. Hints of an aura, dark and powerful and close. Carol instantly flared out her wings, standing protectively in front of the couple. Startled, Marcus looked around for what had set the angel on edge. He could not sence the presence of evil as she could.
"What is it? What's wrong, Angel?"
Carol scanned the treelines and gravestones, body tensed for an attack. There were other ghosts floating between the graves - lost souls who clung to mortal soils, unfinished business their suffocating tether - but they paid her no mind, bar a few curious glances. These spirits held no ill intent towards her or the couple. Besides them, she couldn't detect any other entities. After a few moments, she breathed a little easier, her shoulders and wings relaxing. Whatever darkness she had sensed was gone.
"It's nothing," Carol whispered. She gave him an assuring smile.
"Has it something to do with that light?"
A patch of golden light had broken through the clouds and was shining down on the man's grave, warming his wife in its radiance.
"No," Carol said softly. "That means it's time for you to move on. You have people up there waiting for you. Your parents. Your brother. Your old friend Jacob."
The man gazed at the light in awe, walking towards it as though in a trance, unable to resist its comforting glow. He spared a final glance to his wife then walked towards into the light, vanishing from sight. The clouds closed, shading the graveyard in greyness.
It wasn't long after that the man's wife left the graveyard, Carol following her to make sure she got home safely. As she left, she didn't notice the grey feather fluttering from above, landing on the husband's tombstone.
Carol was already in a fantastic mood when she entered the forest, having just come from a divine lecture on spending too much time with one human.You favour that human far too much. Take heed when making promises you can't keep. How many warnings must we give of getting to close to humans, Carol? There are rules for a reason and you must-
Carol snarled, shoving branches out of her way.
Now here she was, up to her knees in sludgy mud with leaves, twigs and filth clinging to her clothes. She was feeling absolutely spectacular! She could not think of a better way to spend her evening than hunting down a glorified fleabag. She was glad she had decided to wear a less flowy gown, dawning trousers, a short chemise with a decorative bodice fastened over it - all white, naturally, least she get a scolding for that too.
"Here Goose! Come on girl! I have some tasty fish for you to eat if you come out!" Carol called.
The damn cat - Gwendolyn's only companion and a gift from her late husband Marcus- had been missing for the past week. Her distress had been so strong it had called out to Carol from across the heavens, demanding to be heard. The woman's usually bright and cheerful aura - the colours of golden sunlight at the crack of dawn - had dulled to the grief-stricken grey of a raincloud. It had left Carol with little choice but to find the blasted creature. She had promised to look out for Gwendolyn after all. And if that meant sacrificing her dignity and scavaging every forest in Ireland, so be it. Her elders would have a fit if they knew an angel had lowered herself to hunting down lost pets.
"Goose! Come on! Here kitty kitty!" Under her breath, Carol muttered. "You are so getting a bath and your nails clipped and everything else that cats hate when I get my hands on you!"
Goosebumps crept over Carol's arms. She halted, watching as her breath left her in a cold puff and a cold wind stirred the trees. She could feel another presence, cold and ominous and dark, gliding wards her.
Death was nearby.
She saw it then, the agent of Death, hopping along the tree branches, creeping among the shrubbery. A Grim Reaper. And it was heading to a ginger feline grooming itself at the base of a gnarly trunk.
"Goose!" Carol shouted, darting forward. She threw herself in front of the cat, arms and wings spread wide.
The grim reaper halted, hissing at her lowly, its body pressed low to the ground ready to strike.
You're looking a little grim, was on the tip of Carol's tongue, but she doubted the Reaper would appreciate her sense of humour. Reapers were a tough crowd to crack a joke around, especially Reaper Kitties.
The skeletal cat wore robes of black smoke, it's tail ending in a glistening silver scythe. Its hood was pulled over its skull, two skeletal ears poking out through two holes. The most unnerving feature was the eye sockets, black vortexes of sparkling darkness. They weren't known to be the nicest or easiest of creatures to deal with and had little patience for those would interfere with their task.
"You're not here for Goose, are you?" Carol asked, biting her lip nervously.
The cat's tail swished behind it and it nodded its head.
Damn, Carol thought, blowing a strand of hair from her face. Just what I need.
"You can't have her, not yet. There's an elderly woman that needs her!"
The reaper cat growled.
"One more year."
A hiss was the only reply.
"Oh, please," Carol drawled. "Like you haven't done stuff like his before."
Another hiss, this time accompanied by a swipe of a claw.
Carol frowned, quickly calculating how long she would be grounded to the heavens for punting a reaper kitty off a cliff. Carol loved cats, but reaper cats were the exception. She doubted there was a being alive or dead that did like them.
"Mrs McFlerkin just lost her husband. Goose is her only companion. You can't take her away!" Carol reasoned.
The reaper cat yawned, unmoved by her plea.
"Look at her!" Changing tactic, Carol pointed to the ginger cat grooming itself. "That cat has at least another year."
As if to prove a point that was most certainly not in Carol's favour, the cat began coughing violently. Carol glared at Goose.
Unhelpful fleabag.
"You are not helping," Carol hissed.
The Reaper Kitty meowed irritably.
"What do you mean she used up all her nine lives? She's only what, five?"
The Reaper Kitty shrugged it's shoulder and meowed.
"She's not a very smart cat, huh?" Carol ran a hand down her face. She couldn't let the reaper kitty take Goose's soul. She had promised Marcus tha she would take care of his wife and his wife needed this wretched cat! "How about a trade? Another year for a bag of catnip?"
The Raper Kitty hissed, offended.
"Two bags?"
With an annoyed flick of its tail, the skeletal cat crept towards Goose.
"What will it cost?" Carol shouted desperately.
The Reaper Kitty looked over its shoulder at her. It meowed a little too quickly, as though it had known she would ask and had already thought of an answer.
"You want a feather?" Carol shook her head, her wings retracting inwards. "Are you serious? That's like me asking for one of your bones!"
The feathers of angels were precious. No angel parted with them willingly. They were their pride and joy and contained great amounts of power that in the wrong hands could cause trouble. They were a power source, a piece of divinity that had to be protected. They were priceless. They were precious. They were hers - and there were so few things she had that were her own in this world.
And I'm about to give one up for a stupid cat that's gonna get itself killed... why does a Reaper cat want with an angel's feather anyway?
"Fine. One," Carol gritted out. "That cat better live to be a hundred!"
The Reaper Kitty purred and rubbed itself against her legs. Carol rolled her eyes, plucking a feather from her wings with a slight wince. She looked at it longingly before biting her lip and passing it to the cat with great reluctance. The Reaper Kitty jumped up to her leg and took it in its mouth. Carol watched the cat vanish in a puff of smoke.
Goose meowed, stretching its paws out and dozing off.
"You," Carol drawled, picking up Goose and holding him close to her face. "Are one lucky kitty."
"That's cheating."
She should have known he would find her eventually. He always did. And I was doing so well, Carol mused miserably. She had avoided him for decades, leaving upon the slightest hint of his presence. A flutter of blue in the distance, a flash of golden eyes in the crowd, the chilling aura of a dark angels approach (one that she knew too well) that left you momentarily breathless and skin tingling with unease. She had stayed in heaven more often than not, keeping her time on Earth to a minimum. Every time she had left the pearly gates she had been jittery, just waiting for the moment he would make himself known.
So many precautions, so much anxiety, and what a load of good it had done her.
"Preemptive strike is not cheating, it's called being smart," Carol replied tartly.
"And avoiding your friend for two decades, what do you call that?" Yon-Rogg spoke casually but she could hear the heat in his voice, the silent fury and hurt. "Where I'm from, we call that abandonment. Betrayal. Cowardice. All things I never would associate with you."
Carol closed her eyes, each accusation a stab to her heart. She wasn't proud of what she had done, but what choice did she have?
"You didn't come." There was a crunch of leaves as Yon-Rogg took a step closer.
"No I didn't," Carol replied softly, still refusing to look at him.
"Are you going to tell me why?"
"You know why."
Carol clutched Goose close to her chest and headed to the edge of the forest, towards Mrs McFlerkin's house.
"Are you really just going to walk away from me?"
Carol ignored him.
"And ignore me?"
She walked on.
"You stood me up. Avoided me. And now you won't explain yourself?"
Keep walking, ignore him, Carol thought determinedly. Goose meowed in annoyance as she squeezed him too tightly.
Yon-Rogg changed tactic.
"Hardly befitting behaviour of an angel of your age or do angels maturity deteriorate once they've reached their thousand-year?"
"Six hundred and twenty-seven," Carol muttered on reflex. She narrowed her eyes, cursing under her breath at having responded.
"Well, that explains the surly demeanour doesn't it."
Carol ground her heels into the ground and whirled around to face him. Her heart ached, finally seeing him after one-hundred and twenty-three years. Golden eyes, dark blue wings, and sandy-brown hair that curled around his ears. He was dressed much like the first time she had met him, with a long dark coat, poets shirt and breeches. Still as irksomely handsome too, Carol couldn't help but notice with a grouch. He looked pristine and perfect as always.
It was then with a flush of red cheeks that Carol remembered her own state of disarray. Messy twig filled hair. Muddied and torn clothes. Clumps of leaves sticking to her skin. And a ginger feline in serious need of a bath and brush nestled in her arms.
Why did this always happen? What kind of sick joke did the fates think they were playing at? Of all the people to catch her in her most embarrassing moments, why was it always him?
Carol wanted nothing more than to shrivel up and die.
"I shouldn't have to explain this to you," Carol said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I'm an angel. You're a demon. We cannot be friends... or anything else. It's forbidden."
"Since when have you cared for the rules-"
"I don't want to lose my wings!" Carol shouted. The abruptness startled Yon-Rogg and some nearby birds who took off from the trees. Goose's ears bent downwards, his eyes widening. "I need them. I need them and my powers so I can help people. Without them..."
Carol trailed off as she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. If she was found befriending or heaven forbid consorting with a demon, her elders would not think twice about snipping her wings. Without her wings she would be cast from the heavens, her home. She would lose her powers, her greatest means of protecting and helping the humans; her reason for existing and greatest desire. Being anything amicable with Yon-Rogg threatened everything. She would lose all that she had. It was too much. Too much.
"They're a part of me," Carol murdered. "I don't want to lose that. Without my wings and my powers, I'm nothing."
Yon-Rogg's face softened. Tentatively, he approached her, reading out and