The Love of an Angel

He's fighting again.

It's devils this time, tormenting a family fleeing to Stensia from the ruins of Kessig. They came out of the shadows of their fire, cackling and delighting in the screams of the children. Tired and hungry, there's no way they can fight back against them. At best they'd die quickly, at worst they'd be their playthings for a few hours until they became bored. Devils don't have the imagination of demons, but they can be cruel enough in their own ways.

And then he appeared, sword in hand just like so long ago. He guts one before kicking another into the flame, stabbing it as it howls. The little ones try to converge on him, but as quickly as air he moves among them, slicing them into bloody bits. They simply can't keep up with him, can't keep track of the whirlwind of death that moves among them. His sword flickers, taking off a monster's hand before he turns and impales another that tries to jump him from behind.

The family has long since run by this point, though not far. I see them at the edge of the clearing, a mother watching fearfully as she holds onto two children. Their father, wounded, kneels next to them, breathing hard as their savior battles with the dumb monsters.

He's doing well. Most of the devils have either died or fled by this point, his sword cutting through their flesh as easily as cloth. The only ones left are the bigger ones who like the prey to fight back a little, or the especially stupid ones who can't tell they're outclassed.

I watch him from above, putting his life on the line for strangers with no thought for his own safety. He hasn't changed. He's exactly the same as he was so many years ago.

He's exactly the same as when he was alive.

Traft roars, a strange noise that sounds like it's coming from the end of a long tunnel, and clashes with the largest of the devils, a red skinned beast with curved horns and black claws. I'm there in an instant, my sword going deep into the thing's side. It howls and swipes at me, but I take to the air before it can connect. And then, faster than even I can blink, Traft's blade takes it in the throat. His ghostly sword flickers a little at it parts flesh, but it hurts the thing all the same. It falls to the ground, motionless before the energy holding its form together disperses into the aether.

Their strongest defeated, the few remaining devils join their comrades and flee, chattering childish insults as they run. Traft ignores them; turning to the family he saved. He raises his sword in salute, looking just as regal and strong as he did in life. Then he walks away, fading as he does.

They can't see him, but I can. From my vantage point above I observe the geist of the man they named a saint as he moves across the land. He's looking for more victims, more people to help. They're not in short supply these days, with Avacyn missing. Our leader, the indomitable archangel, has been gone for months. And ever since then Innistrad has been rapidly slipping into madness. Traft has always been a sword against the darkness, but he's been appearing more and more frequently as the world breaks apart at the seams.

I worry for him. I've always worried for him ever since he took those steps to confront the demons alone that day, moving to save the girl captured simply to lure him out. I worried for him as I rushed to his aid, rushed to rescue him from his fate, to save him from his death at the hands of the demon Withengar. He overworked himself as a living man, and he acts no differently now as a geist. But he only has so much energy…

He stumbles a bit, almost appearing to trip over nothing. He flickers a little, fading from the world a bit before he solidifies his grasp on reality. I float closer, and he looks up at me. He doesn't ask for help. He just smiles at me and keeps moving, trying to find someone who needs to be saved.

I almost curse him for a fool, pushing himself like this. If he's not careful he'll lose form entirely, putting himself out of commission for weeks at best. A worst, he might lose the ability to retain his shape ever again. His power is not infinite. Even geists have boundaries they cannot cross without consequence.

But then again, I am also a fool. I should be with the rest of the angelic host, doing what I can to stem the tide of evil washing over Innistrad. Avacyn is gone, vanished without a trace. The world is falling apart and monsters long held at bay are reveling in their newfound freedom. I should be in Gavony, helping to protect Thraben, or in Nephalia killing ghouls and dispersing geists.

But I cannot leave him to fight alone. I did once, so long ago. I left him to do battle, and he died. And when he called for me, I came too late. The world lost a good man that day, and it became darker for it.

So I cannot leave him. The spirit of this man, this beautiful man with his shining, hero's heart, cannot ever be lost again. He must always have a companion, another sword to give him aid against the horrors that approach in the night. And I will give him that blade; give as much of myself as he gives for the people he forsook his rightfully earned reward for. The people he denied himself the Blessed Rest to protect.

Because his is a soul brighter than those of angels, the righteousness within him glimmering like a beacon to me. He will never stop, never put down his sword. If confronted with all the hosts of hell he would simply move forward and battle them head on. There would be no compromise, no hesitation, just a single-minded drive to stop the guilty from preying upon the innocent.

And I love him for it, for being who he is. So I cannot call him a fool, cannot curse him for pushing himself so hard. Because I love him, I love the spirit of this man, this champion, taken so cruelly from the world by the scheming guile of demons. I love him with everything I am, even if such a thing is almost unheard of among my kind.

So I will always be there, by his side. Even as the world falls down, I will be there for him. I will always be his angel.