"Demon's run
When a good man goes to war.
Night will fall and drown in sun
When a good man goes to war.
Friendship dies and true love lies
When a good man goes to war
Night will fall and the dark will rise
When a good man goes to war.
Demons run but count the cost
The battle's won but the child is lost
When a good man goes to war."
-A Good Man Goes to War (Doctor Who)
-Ω-
The Metatron wasn't a big fan of stress, and considering the fact that he was the Scribe of God and a single error in his writing could have the entirety of the human race worship watermelons for the rest of their lives, his life wasn't easy. God had been silent for a while, however, and that's how the Metatron knew that shit was either going down or hitting the fan; He always became very distant when important moments in history took place, for He needed to take extra care that He didn't convey the outcome through the scriptures accidentally and cause humanity to try and change the course of history. God had His seraphim to sing beautiful hymns and praises for the rest of eternity to ease stress and tension, and the Metatron had his lyre to do the same.
It was no secret in Heaven that the Metatron was the basis for Ancient Greek and Roman god, Apollo, and the Metatron's lyre had managed to come along for the ride as well. He sighed and plucked a few more chords, the music elegant and otherworldly as the instrument made music that was impossible for humans to hear or even comprehend; they were too simple for that, and this lyre would either a) sound like a really loud and piercing whistle, like the ringing inside someone's head or b) cause their heads to explode. There was a reason why angels didn't descend to Earth very often, most being accidentally destructive when they underestimated power. Did you know that volcanoes react violently to a fire angel's presence? The angels didn't know that either until the terrible Pompeii fiasco, when a wayward fire angel, who had strictly gone against an Archangel's orders, went to visit the humans. The Metatron was pretty sure her name had been Rachel, and that she'd been formally…dismissed from the heavenly host later on. The Chicago Fire? Kate O'Leary's cow had actually been a blundering angel of nature who was investigating demonic activity, and accidentally knocked over the lamp that would start the most devastating fire in the city's history.
The Metatron creased his brow as he strummed the lyre absently, knowing that his mind shouldn't be straying to such dark places in the midst of a war. The old, Roman-style pavilion he was currently relaxing in was one of his favorite haunts, long since abandoned and therefore never disturbed. Thick ropes of ivy crawled and slithered along the crackled marble columns and long chutes of grass sprung from the cracks in the matching floor. The roof was rounded and crumbling, unstable to say the least, and there were a few tiny chips missing, which allowed small beams of sunlight to streak through and hit the floor. It had an earthy scent that was very soothing to the Metatron, and plenty of his books and instruments he'd brought on previous visits were stacked neatly on the side. It was away from the hustle and bustle of Machen's biggest city, and was technically a part of Archangel Michael's palace, though the Metatron didn't want to dwell on the Archangel and his disappearance.
That desire, however, would remain unfulfilled for the next few days, weeks, maybe, when the beating of wings could be heard. That wasn't possible. Nobody but the Metatron and maybe the guards and groundskeepers of Archangel Michael's palace knew of this place, and from the sound of the wings, they belonged to a messenger. There was, however, one person that the Metatron had told the location of the pavilion in case of emergencies, and he knew what this angel's arrival meant. A golden-eyed girl with curly hair and mocha skin touched down so quickly that the impact nearly shattered the marble underfoot, though she didn't seem fazed in the least.
"A message from Malakai!" she cried, panting from the exertion; the pavilion was a ways from the city, where the head Cherubim was stationed, and the Metatron's face darkened as he made a motion for the messenger, who he was pretty sure was Hazel, to go on. "I asked him what this meant, but he said you'd understand," a pause, "Giel." Hazel was only partway through the name when the Metatron launched into the sky and shot towards the city, his golden plumage reflecting the rays of sunlight like miniature suns. He heard the labored breaths of the messenger not far behind, and thought in the back of his mind how unfair it was to make her go all the way to the pavilion just to come back again; she must've been exhausted. Despite this, she kept a pretty decent pace, considering the abnormally small wings she had, at least small for a messenger. The gap between them grew farther and farther apart, however, because the Metatron's wings were larger and he was more rested than Hazel was, and he completely lost her somewhere at the halfway point. He'd have to make sure she arrived safely, but now the matters were too important to stop and wait for her to catch up.
Unsurprisingly, there was a large group of angels gathered in the central courtyard, all clustered to try and see what was at the center. Some were circling overhead, but they immediately parted when they saw the Metatron preparing to touch down. Malakai was easily noticeable by his incredible height and, of course, his six wings, man's body, lion's head, and calf legs. The Cherubim waved him over, concern written all over his feline face as he regarded the figure on the ground, who was being tended to by angels of healing. The Metatron had a flashback to when Perseus had arrived back in Heaven, for this was the same courtyard and the same city as the infamous black-winged messenger angel had landed, but at least this time he had a vague idea of what was in store.
As soon as he landed, his wings flared out, up and over his head as his irritation spiked. Giel was breathing heavily, and the Metatron realized that he'd flown here; actually flown. One look at the primaries on his left wing showed that he'd in no way healed completely yet, but it'd been just enough to let him fly, however strenuously, back to Heaven. The healing angels finished their analysis, declaring Giel healthy and uninjured except for a few scratches and bruises, and hurried off to the side as the Metatron stepped forwards, his eyes narrowing. The whole crowd went silent as fury pulsed off of the Metatron in waves, fury directed at Giel.
"Why have you ceased inhabiting Jason's body?" he demanded, his voice a low growl as he clenched his fists. Giel shrank into himself a little, pressing his wings down to the grown to show submission, and fiddled with the golden numeral II that hung from his neck.
"I apologize, s-sir. I-I'm incredibly s-sorry for abandoning my post, sir, but I th-thought you'd like to know the location of Lucifer's headquarters," the angel squeaked in reply, his eyes wide and frightened. The Metatron's wings immediately folded behind his back and the amassed angels broke out into whispers, everyone radiating nervousness and anxiety. The Scribe of God saw an angel of nature who he knew was Hazel's mate jerk to attention at Giel's words. The golden-winged angel extended a hand and helped Giel to his feet, apology spiking his scent, which the other angel graciously accepted.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked, his heart beginning to pond against his ribcage. They were about to learn of Lucifer's whereabouts, and it was the key to the heavenly host's winning of this unofficial war, this rising storm. They had the strength. They had the willpower. They just hadn't had the location, and now it was being given to them, though the Metatron was clearly expecting a catch, judging by the nervousness in Giel's eyes. One wouldn't be nervous to be delivering news that would let their kingdom overcome the Fallen King's.
"He's located in Los Angeles, California, in a back alley on Purgatory Road. Password: Poughkeepsie. They'd undoubtedly changed it by now, though, and we'll have to observe those who enter and what they do before we can officially get inside again. The location of the entrance may have changed as well," Giel paused for a breath, very much interested in the ground. "Rachel and her fallen angels are in Los Angeles as well, and they're keeping neutrality."
"Good. If they have any sense they'll be long gone by the time we get there," the Metatron muttered thoughtfully, mostly to himself. He gestured for the angel to continue, but the angel had paused, his eyes frightened and his wings fluttering, which made the Metatron all the more anxious.
"I think we underestimated them," Giel replied. Everyone fell silent, though whispers began to ripple through the crowd as the people in the inner circle relayed the news to those who were unable to hear the angel's declaration. The Metatron studied him, unsure of whether he was lying or not, but Giel was now curled in on himself, trembling and rubbing his throat, where, the Metatron soon realized, there was a hand-shaped bruise forming. Someone had lifted an angel up off the ground with one hand. That wasn't a big feat, considering that angels were relatively light compared to human standards, but Giel had been in a vessel. A one hundred eighty pound, all-muscle young man at that, who no one could pick up with a single hand. Fallen angels were that strong, maybe even some very buff demons had the ability to conquer the feat, but the haunted look in Giel's eyes said otherwise. Had it been anything else, the angel could've easily brushed it off, but he was shivering even though it was always the perfect temperature in Heaven, his eyes darting around even though there was no danger to be seen, and that's when he knew that Giel had encountered Lucifer.
"Tell me," the Metatron said, his voice much softer than it had been before. It was more asking than ordering, and it eased the angel's nervousness by the tiniest amount. He sat down next to Giel, who had his wings and arms wrapped around himself, and put a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder. He looked up then, determination sparking in his navy blue eyes.
"There were hundreds of fallen angels alone, thousands if you counted how many demons," he snarled, though his anger wasn't directed at the Metatron. "Their combined footsteps were like a roll of thunder as they approached, and I could almost smell the bloodlust, that's how thick it was in the air."
"Were there Watchers?" Malakai asked in a rough voice, his big, soft golden eyes shining with curiosity. His six wings were twitching restlessly, however his fiddling human hands made it look a bit more out of nervousness than anything else.
"All of the original third that fell from Heaven," Giel replied, his voice growing stronger and stronger as he gained more confidence. "Leviathan or Medusa, Kronos, Abaddon, the whole nine yards. Porphyrion and Luke Castellan were there too."
"Luke Castellan? Lilith's angel experiment?" the Metatron asked, awed, and Giel nodded seriously, rising to his unsteady feet.
"He was at the back, not doing anything. Just smirking. I don't think he cares about who suffers, only that someone suffers, even if it's his own team. He feeds on it like it's ambrosia," Giel explained, shivering. "He looked like Frankenstein. Not only had Perseus taken his wings back, but he'd apparently cut the boy to pieces as well. Someone had stitched him back together, and my money's on Kronos."
"Sounds like something he'd do," Malakai growled. He'd fought in the War in Heaven, on the front lines with the Archangels, and had faced off against Kronos to keep him at bay while Michael fought Lucifer and Raphael fought Leviathan. Uriel and Gabriel had been off stabbing and hacking at anything that attacked, but Malakai had been in charge of fighting off the hordes that would swarm the two other vulnerable Archangels. The way his furry brow creased and his powerful jaw set suggested that he was thinking of those terrible memories.
"Then…then there was," a pause and a violent shudder passed through Giel, from feather to foot, "Lucifer. He was glowing. That kind of glow you get when you're…" he swallowed, "mated. To an actual angel. Lucifer has an angel mate, and Perseus' scent is all over him. It didn't smell right, though. It had all the sweet smells of mate, yes, but there was something underneath, like reluctance. Perseus didn't want to be Lucifer's mate, and now that that's the case, the Fallen King will be able to draw from Perseus' power through their shared bond. He's more powerful than ever before. Lucifer as of now has my vessel in captivity as well, and I apologize for the inconvenience." The Metatron let out a ragged, slow breath, his brow furrowing as a mix of emotions and possible solutions whirled inside his head. He was going to reprimand Giel later for leaving his post, disobeying orders, and endangering a human life, but at the moment there were bigger problems at hand. Malakai was giving him a look that he knew all too well, and the Scribe of God nodded in reply, turning to the crowd.
"To all of those willing and able to fight, spread the word. At dusk we march to Los Angeles." The assembled angels roared in reply, raising their fists.
"Ave Deus!"
-Ω-
There'd been complete and total radio silence for the past few days, or was it weeks? Piper was frantic at first but had soon accepted her husband's sudden disappearance, assuming a forlorn look in her eyes and a blank expression. She moved, walked, and talked like Piper, but this wasn't Piper at heart. To herself, Reyna wonders whether this is what she would've acted like if Azrael hadn't gone missing and Jason had actually died. Unable to kill herself, would she have just curled up somewhere alone and don this same dead gaze and indifferent face? She didn't want to think about dead husbands, though, because that only made her thoughts wander to Alex, who'd taken a piece of her heart with him to Heaven. Perhaps, when this was all over, she could revoke her reincarnation like Dakota and Gwen did. Everyone was sullen as they sat within the meeting room, the encased shimmering white wings no more, replaced with an assortment of weapons that they could seize at any time if they were attacked.
They were all seated around the large table that used to be used to discuss new ways to separate the wings from angels, and now three of those wingless angels sat alongside them as allies. Oh how the times had changed. For a moment, Reyna wished that they were back to the old times. Sure, she'd been impoverished and the deed she was doing to gain money was wretched to say the least, but things were so much simpler. Back then, demons were only body parts to lure angels in, not powerful enemies that could destroy them. Lucifer was just an idea, someone locked away in Hell, and Luke was his old, snarky, loyal self. The Archangels were all where they should be and the fallen angels stayed fallen. The room in front for her flashed to the time before, before Jason and his mercy came to change things, perhaps for the better, considering she would've never met Alex had she kept angel hunting.
She, Leo, Annabeth, Dakota, Gwen, and Luke. It was them against the world. Them against Heaven, Hell, and Earth all at once, and for a few years it felt like they were winning. The huge angel wings were glowing as brightly as ever as they schemed over new traps, Leo having just created pressure plates that would trigger traps and make it much easier than remote-triggered ones. She smiled fondly, but pretty soon things were back to normal. Three fallen angels sat with them, one a worried spouse and one very much damaged for a while after losing their lover, who had been a Watcher until he'd crumbled to dust. Calypso seemed to have it good, but that was a stretch, considering she, too, had to see her husband age and age and become frailer and frailer. They were dysfunctional to say the least, but they were family too, and Reyna would fight Lilith over and over again if it meant that she could've met them.
Leo and Annabeth were still there, though, and Reyna smiled at Leo's serious ADHD and the way that the grey-eyed blonde had reclaimed her seat at the head of the table, once more the Golden Sword's leader. She'd been a great commander, and Reyna wondered why she hadn't joined the military; she was smart enough to rise into the ranks until she was a decorated veteran. Reyna had served her time in the army, but had seen only a little action. She was glad for this, though; had she been on the front lines, she feared that on the battlefield she'd only see Lilith and her demons, feared that she'd see her friends in the faces of her foes. She didn't regret her servitude, though, because that's how she'd met Alex. She'd given him her number after talking animatedly for a while, and one date turned into two, and two into five, and five into ten, and so on until Reyna married that soldier, who just so happened to be the cutest dork she'd ever met. She found that her eyes were watering at his memory and looked down, though nobody was really paying attention to her.
Annabeth was in the middle of speaking, her words sounding hopeful and defeated at the same time, like a person who knew it was a lost cause while still trying to cling to the notion. "So, if Perseus and Jason have both been captured, perhaps we could…"
Then it happened. A plume of smoke appeared in the center of the table and everyone snapped to attention. Even Leo, who was busy fiddling with a new project, jolted and watched in awe as the image of Frank and Hazel shimmered to life within it. Calypso, Nico, and Piper looked unsurprised but still impressed, and Reyna supposed that it was because they hadn't seen this celestial invention in many years.
"Iris messages are so much more advanced now," the fallen death angel whispered to Leo's wife, and Reyna finally had a name for the cool and rather useful form of communication. It was like FaceTime…if FaceTime could connect two angels, three fallen angels, and four humans across celestial planes whilst having the devices hover in midair. Frank and Hazel looked excited, their wings fluttering behind them restlessly as they fidgeted, and Annabeth rose from her seat, glad to divert the conversation from possible rescue mission tactics.
"Hazel? Frank?" she asked, her eyes shining with hope and joy at seeing them. The mere presence of the angels lightened the mood, and Reyna found herself perking up; Hazel and Frank Iris messaging meant they had news, or a lead at least, and anything that could get them their Sparky (A nickname that Jason had received when he'd accidentally electrocuted himself in Piper's presence) and Feather Brain back where they belong.
"Heaven's armies are marching Los Angeles at dusk," Frank announced to them rather…frankly, Reyna inwardly punched herself for the pun, and her, along with everyone else's, mouth dropped open. The angels were tilting their heads adorably at the astonished reaction; their people skills were a little rusty and they tended to be a bit too blunt about things, so it was no surprise that they were a bit bewildered at the humans' shock.
"Why?!" Will managed to splutter, his hand immediately seizing Nico's, and the angel nuzzled the human's neck affectionately. It would be a bit get-a-room-ish if it were any other couple, but it was a thing of Nico's. He was affectionate in every way possible, courting and wooing Will in a cute way, like how a little bird would bring pretty rocks to a potential mate, and Hazel, Frank, Calypso, and Piper were all staring knowingly at the two, small smiles on their faces.
"Lucifer's headquarters are there. Go quickly. Both Jason and Percy are waiting for you," a collective gasp, but Hazel soldiered through it, her words coming out in a rush as her eyes darted around. In the background Reyna could hear the distant but clear sound of marching, a perfectly in-sync one-two one-two of an army, only hundreds of thousands of times larger than any kind of army on Earth, each step like a roll of thunder echoing. "We'd stay longer, but we have to get ready for war. Whatever you do, don't go in without angel backup, Lucifer if very powerful and he's-" An angel barged inside, her wings like fire and her eyes burning gold.
"Are you coming?" she demanded. She was clad in full Roman battle armor, only this armor was decorated with Enochian symbols and words, and her sword glinted wickedly in the light, three feet of impossibly sharp celestial metal. Frank and Hazel nodded in unison, and the Golden Swords got a glimpse of them snapping their armor and weapons into being before they cut through the Iris message, leaving them stunned. No sooner did they recover did they leap to their feet, rushing to their rooms to grab armor and weapons of their own.
They might just win this war.
-Ω-
(A/N) It's winding down! I'd give this sucker three or four more chapters to go, maybe five, plus two or three timestamps that I really wanted to do to ease the pain of this series' completion.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Percy Jackson or Heroes of Olympus series