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Chapter 2: The Scion

Originally Written By: Jazzpha

Dmitri could only sit and stare dumbly as his father systematically shattered his worldview with sledgehammer blows, turning everything the young angel thought he knew upside-down.

"As I know now, and should have seen long ago," his father told him, "the Tzarion Council that rules the Empyrean is full of corrupt and power-hungry angels. Perhaps it was the long-time friendships I had held with many of them that blinded me to the truth, but the pathetic state of affairs is now agonizingly clear to me."

Here Azrael paused for a moment and shifted his weight more comfortably into his chair. He and his progeny were sitting in a private section of the library that was almost always locked and contained rolls upon rolls and volumes upon volumes of sacred text. Ezekiel had unlocked the back room as a last courtesy to his two dear friends, however, and it was here that Azrael would pass his final legacy onto his son. Presently the elder angel had found a comfortable enough position and began to speak again and his tone became even more serious, if that was possible.

"However, there are some things I have not told you about myself that directly affect you, and for keeping secrets from you I humbly beg your forgiveness, my child."

Dmitri still hadn't found his voice yet and simply nodded, motioning for his father to continue. After taking a deep breath, Azrael began his story.

"There was an old prophecy told a long, long time ago, perhaps many thousands of years. The prophecy stated that, when the Angel of Death created life, the hierarchy of the Empyrean would be undone by his spawn in a glorious revolution. This mysterious creature came to be known only as 'The Scion', dubbed so by the angels who dedicated their lives to trying to make sense of the cryptic message.

"Every 50 years the Angel of Death was forced to retire their position and hand their sword over to the angel they had chosen as their apprentice. Ostensibly, this was to ensure that, should a freak act of misfortune befall the Angel of Death there would be someone to take up the mantle. In actuality, however, it was so that the Tzarion Council could keep constant tabs on the Angel of Death and make sure there was no way he or she could possibly sire offspring of any sort.

"But after nothing occurred for over a whole millennium, the Council forgot the fortune and dismissed it as nothing but the ramblings of a seer tripped out on too much peyote. The Angel of Death was still compelled to step down every 50 years, as the Council was loath to disturb that part of the ceremony, but no longer was the apprentice forced to waste his time commenting on frivolous goings-on and wasting everyone's time. It so happened that I was next in line to assume the mantle of the Angel of Death and, because it had been thought of by that point as being worthless, I had no knowledge of the prophecy."

"Wait," Dmitri spoke out, interrupting him, "you're the Angel of Death? Why didn't you ever tell me?!"

Azrael's face fell, and he looked ashamed and broken. Dmitri did not know why this simple question had so affected his father, but he immediately regretted the harshness of his tone. He was about to apologize when Azrael's reply cut him off.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to look at me like everyone else did." Dmitri was shocked and puzzled by this brooding statement, but struggled and kept his expression from changing.

"Everyone else always looked at me with a shadow of fear behind their eyes," his father continued, his voice low, soft and sad, a tone contrasting starkly with his imposing appearance, "except for you, and your mother. I guess that's why I fell in love with her so easily; she thought of me not as the fearsome Angel of Death, but who I was as a being underneath my title."

Dmitri reflected for a moment on his own relationship with Alicia. They seemed eerily similar, the stories of father and son. Dmitri had been isolated from his peers as his father had been, but Azrael's isolation had been psychological rather than physical. Still, Alicia had visited Dmitri and gotten to know him despite the fact he was a shut-in and reclusive, something Dmitri had never thanked her for enough. It seemed as though history had repeated itself, and Dmitri could only wonder at the odd coincidence. But Azrael continued on with his story, and his son was obliged to listen.

"I soon realized that my feelings for your mother were not unrequited, although we were hesitant to do anything more than chastely express our affection for one another when in public. Even in private quarters we only did so much, afraid to break the taboo that had loomed over the angels since the beginning of the Empyrean: the creation of angels was left unto Manitou the Great Spirit, and any violation of the sacred order of things would result in a most severe punishment."

Dmitri broke in again, voicing a question that had surged to the forefront of his mind. "Why was it like that, that only Manitou had the power to make angels?" Dmitri paused as the enormity of the situation finally crashed down on him and all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. "But if that's against the laws of creation itself," he said, slowly, "then what in all of the nine Hells does that make me?"

Azrael merely shrugged. He seemed exhausted, his shoulders drooped and his jet-black hair falling down slightly over his forehead.

"Even I'm not sure of that at this point," the Angel of Death said, his tone sounding as weary as he looked. "Maybe it makes you 'The Scion', or maybe not. Maybe there's some great big giant destiny waiting out there for you I might not even live to see, but who the hell knows. What I do know for a fact, though, is that your power has the potential to be immense, far beyond that of any normal angel."

"How can you be so sure?" Dmitri was skeptical that he could somehow be destined for great things; that was what every mother told their kid when they were going through an identity crisis. How was he supposed to believe he might actually be special? After all, being 'special' didn't usually get you locked in a library for 18 years.

"Because I know that Manitou, in all his infinite wisdom, put restrictions on how powerful each angel can become when he creates them. Some he makes weaker than others because they must perform menial tasks, and assigning a master warrior to dig ditches is certainly going to spark some resentment.

"You, however," at this Azrael looked his son right in the eyes and extending his index finger slowly to point right at his heart, "were born free of those constraints, free of any limitation. If you put your mind to it, you might be able to surpass even me in power. But who knows? I guess only time will tell."

"So does this mean that the Tzarion Council will send people after me, as well?"

"I'm afraid that might wind up being the case, my son. But do not fear," he added, seeing the look of consternation on his son's face. After all, the kid was only 19 and knew next-to-nothing about combat. "I can transfer my knowledge of self-defense and the art of war to you in an instant with what's left of my powers. You can use my wisdom to defend yourself and, in time, learn how to use the powers that reside within you."

Dmitri nodded solemnly, filled with respect, pride, sadness and, unexpectedly, love for his father. He barely knew him, and yet the sight of the broken angel before him made Dmitri's gut wrench with pity. Suddenly a bell shook out a mournful peal outside the safe walls of the library, signaling that the time had come for Azrael to receive his banishment out into the void. Rising slowly from his chair, the Angel of Death looked very old, quite at odds with the powerful presence he had possessed earlier.

Thinking this might be the last time he would ever see his father and anxious to make up for all the time they hadn't been able to share Dmitri got up and gave his father a bear hug, trying to blink back tears at the same time. Azrael was surprised, but returned the gesture nonetheless, a melancholy smile on his face. After a moment or two father and son broke apart, trying to find some way to fill the dreadful silence until a shout from the outside did it for them.

"Azrael," it trumpeted, full of pomp and authority, "the time of your banishment has come."

Dmitri almost expected it to go on a long-winded speech detailing his father's supposed 'crimes', but that must have been delayed for the actual banishment. The young angel looked expectantly at his father, wondering what his reaction would be. At first the Angel of Death's face was impassive, but then to Dmitri's shock a sly grin appeared on his father's face, an impish fire blazing in his eyes.

"Hey, kid, I got an idea. How does this sound to you?"

Azrael whispered something into his son's ear, and by the time he was done Dmitri was grinning for ear-to-ear as well.

"That might just be crazy enough to work, father. What'd you say we try it out?"

The two angels laughed shortly before pausing and nodding seriously to one another, all the mirth cast off of their faces.

"So how exactly are we going to pull this off?"

"Watch and learn, my son."

Azrael took off his armor, which was midnight black traditionally shaped samurai armor, and detached both his katana and wakizashi from his hip, handing the entire set to his son, who accepted the armload with gratitude and care. Slowly but surely Dmitri put on his father's armor, stuck the katana and wakizashi through the sash at his hip, and took a deep breath, waiting for something climactic to happen.

Sure enough, the armor began to shrink slightly and fit his smaller frame snugly and the swords glowed for a moment with a golden aura before fading away into nothingness as if it had never shown up. After a brief pause Dmitri began to feel tingly, starting from the tips of his finger and toes and lancing right to his brain within five seconds. In flashes so fast it seemed like 100 a second all the knowledge and experience his father had absorbed in his time as the Angel of Death was transferred directly to Dmitri, who took a deep breath to calm himself down after it felt like his brain had been given 1,000 volts.

When Dmitri opened up his eyes, though, the young angel noticed his father was still somehow wearing armor and the two swords. But so was he.

"Okay, now I'm confused. What exactly are you planning, dad?"

Azrael smirked and tapped his armor. The sound was strange; it seemed rusty… cheap, almost. Then it hit him. The armor and swords were fakes. Azrael was going to make it look like he still had them when in reality, by the time he was banished the real raiment and sacred weapons would be far out of reach, and Dmitri would have escaped to the Earth below, buying him some time to find some cover and stay out of sight.

"So, am I to assume this is to make up for all the birthday cards you never sent me?"

Azrael and Dmitri shared one last rueful chuckle before going their separate ways; Azrael to his end, Dmitri to a new beginning.

Good luck, my son, Azrael sent telepathically. I hope you won't need it.

Same to you, father. Farewell, wherever it is your path takes you.


Dmitri flashed out of existence in a bolt of white lightning and reappeared among the clouds, dive-bombing like a comet. His wings had turned a dark red as another offshoot of the transformation that had occurred when he had assumed the mantle of the Scion as his own, (for an outcast angel could not become the Angel of Death, so Dmitri was forced to go for the next best thing) and now those wings spread out behind Dmitri to their full span to slow his descent enough so that he didn't damage the concrete as he landed gracefully, ignoring the shocked stares of a few people as he folded his wings into his back. Scanning the horizon, the exiled angel knew where he was as soon as he saw a gigantic 'T' on the horizon. So it was Jump City, then. 'Well,' he said to himself, 'I couldn't have picked a better place if I'd tried.'


Azrael walked to the edge of the cliff and spread his wings proudly, determined to go out with some dignity. Still, he couldn't help but grunt in pain as his feathery appendages were brutally and roughly hacked off with a long-sword before the former Angel of Death was unceremoniously shoved off of the precipice and into the abyss.

As he hurtled into the black, inky void, his last thoughts were simply 'Clara, my love… I'm coming home.' A sad smile adorned his face once more, and then he was gone.


Raven jolted out of bed in the dead of night, sweating bullets and sufficiently freaked out. Dreams and nightmares that vivid had been a rarity since Trigon's demise, but this was more realistic than even her fever-induced demon-nightmares had been of her prophecy and the doom of the world. A proud warrior angel had just been forced ignominiously to his death. Raven felt sick just thinking about it; he had been honorable, served his people well, it seemed, had certainly held no small measure of affection for his son, and had been forced to walk the plank. She felt movement next to her and the demoness was drawn back to the present; it seemed as though Ichijyo was having a similar nightmare from the way he was trembling. It was slight, but it was trembling nonetheless.

Soon enough his eyes shot open, too, clear blue orbs that blazed like the purest sapphires but were at this particular moment tinged with dread. He looked over and saw that Raven was in a comparable state of distress and calmed down immediately; if this wasn't a coincidence it was explainable and understandable, and if that was the case there was nothing to be afraid of. If it was a problem, they could solve it, no question.

"Raven?"

"Hmm?" She seemed distant, no doubt going through a similar cycle of thoughts to the one Ichijyo just had.

"Did you just have a nightmare?"

"No shit, Sherlock." She smirked, punching him playfully on the arm and alleviating some of the tension in the room. "What tipped you off? The sweat, the negative emotions and the haggard appearance, or was it just a lucky guess?"

"No need to give me a hard time, my little blackbird," the Snake Knight said, calmly, but with a smirk of his own. "I was just making sure." The Snake Knight sat up as well and looked out the window. It was a full moon, and the myriad of stars outside would have looked stunningly beautiful if it wasn't for this nagging feeling of dread clouding his mind.

"What do you suppose the significance of that dream was? It seemed more like a vision to me."

"I'm not quite sure, but it was quite ominous," Raven said, unable to keep a bit of apprehension out of her voice. The alarm started blaring not a moment after she had finished. The two demons sprang up out of bed, changed quickly into their battle gear (armor for Ichijyo, the usual cloak and leotard for Raven) before heading out the door and rushing down the hallway.

"Well," Raven added hurriedly as they sprinted to where the rest of the team was hastily getting ready to head out, "it looks like we'll find out soon enough, for better or worse."


Dmitri was startled by a sudden roar that rend the peaceful night air in two. A big, brown, sludgy, gooey creature was ripping up the landscape haphazardly while lumbering towards the nuclear waste processing plant. The Scion looked up at the new menace and drew his father's katana… no, now it was his katana… with a fluid motion that seemed like it had come from years upon years of experience. Letting instinct guide him for the moment Dmitri felt around in his mind for his own latent power and soon located it, prowling around like a caged animal begging to be unleashed. Smirking, Dmitri bashed down the mental door to the cage and immediately felt exhilarated as power flooded through his entire being like a river, branching out and coursing all through him again and again, like the flow of blood to and from the heart. Tapping into it lightly caused a ball of flaming golden energy to appear crackling in his palm, ready to kick some ass and take some names.

"Hey, you!" Plasmus turned around, annoyed. Good, he had its attention. "Yeah, you, the big ugly steaming pile of shit! Your face is so ugly; I don't even think your mother could love it!"

Plasmus roared in anger and Dmitri saw his chance, hurling the ball of energy right into the creature's gaping maw. The creature exploded violently, much to Dmitri's satisfaction, and he almost let his guard down until he felt that there was still life-force emanating from the various sludgy giblets that littered the ground. Sure enough, the bits of Plasmus reformed quite quickly into the original monster and Dmitri could see no traces of his previous assault.

It looked like this was going to be more fun then the fallen angel had first thought. With a battle-cry loud enough to shake the Empyrean itself the Scion flew up at his foe like a bullet, katana raised high and ready to strike.