Protect and Follow

By MusketeerAdventure

Summary: With the darkness unleashed, Michael, Noma and Pete along with Vega descend into chaos. The Chosen One scores a much needed victory which leaves an opening for Gabriel to attack.

Chapter Twenty-three: Darkness Overcome

Walking slowly toward the amphora with worshipful awe, Noma allowed the comforting black smoke released from its mouth, to wrap itself around her legs; knees; hips – her body, and then breathed in the essence of its whispered promises. Tendrils of blackness worked its way down her throat, filled her chest and expanded into her belly.

She felt the sinister pull of it and let the faux joy of sweet assurances fill her heart with hope.

The warm swirl of deception assured love, acceptance, and belonging. Her heart swelled as she answered, "yes" to silent, wordless – but ensured vows imparted for her ears only; and kneeled reverently before the ancient, clay jar.

She lowered her firearm to the ground and with trembling hands picked up the heavenly weapon of God and held it close to her breasts. She would keep it, protect it, give it her everything and accept the gift of flight as her reward.

She would do this thing without hesitation. No one, nothing would take it from her. For if she did this – God would surely embrace her, welcome her back into the fold of heaven and beckon her home when it was time to rest.

Suddenly, there at her back, her beautiful wings unfurled and caressed the polluted air of terror around her. Noma stood with the amphora wrapped in her arms and expanded her wings to their full width. She admired their strength, beauty and knew she was whole again – her true self. They were magnificent.

Looking to the sky, she longed to go – was ready to leave this earth, leave Alex, Michael, and Pete behind. Their mission was no longer hers. All she wished at this moment was to extend her power, rise up and find the current that would lead her away from this place.

But the darkness hissed in her ear to, "wait", and up ahead she could make out the Tower – the tallest building in Vega – rising up from this cesspool of dirt, mayhem and madness. That was where she was to go – the Tower – a fitting place to leap toward freedom and Father.

Michael released his boy and laid him as gently as possible to the hard, unforgiving earth. Debris and the black smoke swirled about them with relentless force.

Garbage tunneled by like a tornado and he spread his wings to form a cocoon around the lifeless form of his chosen one – whose lips were rapidly turning blue, whose face was now an ashen hue; his aura gone.

He pushed the curls from Alex's forehead, placed a kiss there and pet his head with tenderness. His heart was broken and he could feel it harden like granite in an instant. The blood in his veins ran cold with grief.

This was too much to comprehend. Noma had murdered his boy – his purpose, and had stolen his life. She had inexplicably disappeared and left Alex here to bleed out before his eyes.

Looking about for some sign of her, he saw only darkness, misery and Vega encased in chaos. The sky was unnaturally black with the wind considerable. It whipped his hair about his face sending a stinging sensation like hail on his cheeks.

His grief rose up from his throat like a raging torment to match the black hole of debauchery surrounding him. Somewhere – beyond the darkness – he could sense Gabriel; actually hear him saying, "I told you so."

He pressed his lips to Alex's cheek and vowed to find Noma and kill her. He would show no mercy.

Peering up to the heavens – his heart stone; tears no longer able to flow – he set his jaw ready for revenge. She had betrayed him, as deep down he knew she would. She had killed the chosen one and with that act had doomed mankind.

When he stood to his feet, there hovering in the darkness was the Tower. His former abode – from what seemed a life time ago. That was where she would go. He somehow knew he would find her there and took flight.

The pain at the base of his skull screamed for him to wake up. When he pulled himself up from unconsciousness – his limbs felt heavy, his mouth was dry and his head pounded with such ferocity, it made him groan.

He felt a weight push down on his shoulders and squint his eyes open to only immediately press them together again to block out the harsh lights that stabbed briefly into his eyes. Pete groaned, and then whimpered as he reached for the relentless hammer battering at the back of his head.

A warm resistance pushed his hand aside and he pried his eyes open to see Alex kneeling over him – speaking words he couldn't understand with insistence. He peered into Alex's face and stared hard at his lips – attempting to read them – to understand where he was, what was happening and why his head felt abused and his mind muddled.

Alex gripped his shoulders and shook them, causing pain to spike through his eyeballs, so he slammed them closed and prayed for everything to stop moving, for Alex to remove the sharp object that must be embedded somewhere in his skull.

When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting up, gasping for air as vomit spewed from his mouth – Alex holding him up and away, effectively keeping him from tumbling into this own mess.

When he was done, his ribs were sore, tears and spittle streamed down his face. He swiped the mucus away with his shirt sleeve attempting to gain some semblance of control. Holding him by the shoulders, Alex leaned in and took stock.

"Are you with me Pete?" he asked – his voice apprehensive. "Do you know me?"

Pete gathered himself with a deep breath, surveyed the hotel room and gazed over at the still form of Claire Riesen; the shattered mirror above the bar; and then back at the worried face of Alex. He remembered now. He remembered Menathis reaching for him, jeering through the glass – ready to possess him. His worst nightmares come true. He wondered how he was still alive.

"Yes, it's me, I'm here", he answered and grabbed hold of the arms holding him up. "I'm okay Alex." He pressed his forehead to his friend's shoulder, and let the blue aura of the chosen one envelop him.

Alex released his friend with relief, leaned back on his heels and rubbed his face – weary and afraid. Pete had almost killed himself. He had held the gun, placed precisely at his temple, and screamed hysterically to not be possessed. It had taken all the strength he could muster to leave Claire's side and tackle him before the bullet blew his brains out.

The stray was now embedded in the floor, a powder burn, the only testament to what could have been. To subdue him, and keep him from a second attempt – he had wrestled the gun free from his grip – took the tire iron from about Pete's waistband and hit him at the back of the head with it.

Pete had gone down like a felled tree. That had been about thirty minutes ago. Below them in the streets of Vega – the black smoke continued its reign of terror. The screams of insanity floated up to the pent house with the wind, and gushed through the cracks and fissures of his earlier outburst.

He wondered briefly at his immunity to such madness – but looked to Claire and Pete and knew his darkness was this very reality. He had lost his first love, his unborn child and now almost his rock.

He stood to his feet, retrieved a glass of water from the bar, and returned to Pete's side, helping him drink the soothing liquid. After some moments, he asked with some urgency, "Can you stand? We need to leave here and find the others."

Pete held onto his aching head, felt the lump at the back and nodded carefully. Alex reached for his hand and pulled him to his feet. He swayed a bit, regained his balance and reached for the tire iron Alex held out to him, along with his gun.

Pete armed himself, and gazed with gratitude into Alex's eyes. The chosen one had saved him….. again. "Thank you", he sighed as they sorrowfully raced past Claire for the elevator.

Noma stood atop the roof of the Stratosphere, gripped the amphora and caressed it gently. The wind pushed at her with force, her wings unfurled and she was just ready to step out from the ledge and go home.

Before she could take that leap, Michael floated in her wake, his own wings holding him up above her – the image of him dangerous and oppressive.

She stepped back from the edge – to turn, run, and hide; the terror in her overriding the darkness. Tripping over her own feet – the amphora flew from her protective grasp as she reached down to catch herself. Her hands and knees scraped against concrete, and she could feel the wetness of blood seeping through her pants legs.

When she looked back, Michael had landed on the roof – towering over her, his face stone, his eyes devoid of life. She had only ever seen him this way, this focused in battle, and her heart skipped a beat.

"You have killed him", he jeered down at her - his tone even and deadly.

Scrambling to get away, to survive this moment – Noma bowed before the Archangel in supplication; her hands open wide to show she concealed no weapon – hoping for mercy. He reached down, grabbed her by the neck, lifted her effortlessly from her hovelled position of surrender and without preamble began to strangle the life from her.

Her mind was reeling. She had gone from the joy of having her gift returned to losing her life an instant. She pulled at Michael's hands attempting to get a hold, to have him release her – but it was no good. He was too strong for her, and was beyond reason. Her strength was waning and soon she would be dead, and did not know for what.

Deprivation of air caused spots to float before her eyes. Her vision tunneled to peer through a small, hazy opening that encompassed the face of death. Over the noise of wind and the blood rushing through her ears – Noma could faintly hear someone screaming. Then suddenly she was on the ground, her lungs gulping in life giving air – her body shaking with shock.

"Michael, what are you doing?" Alex screamed – the scene before him incomprehensible.

Michael let loose Noma's neck, and turned to the frantic voice of his dead boy. What was Alex doing here? How was he alive with Pete standing close behind – fear etched on his face, his weapon aimed for his heart?

"What am I doing? She has betrayed you! Murdered you before my eyes and left you cold in the dirt!"

Michael frowned in consternation and stepped to Noma, who cowered away – crawling backward in haste toward Alex – gasping for air.

Alex, with slow and deliberate movements, laid down his weapon, signaled for Pete to do the same, and reached out for his mentor. "Please, don't do this. We must close the amphora before it's too late and I lose you too."

Michael pleaded with the dead. "Move away from her Alex; don't you see she has killed you?" Inching closer, Michael was determined to pull Alex to safety and continue to finish what he had started.

"No – look!" Alex begged, rushing toward his friend; and grabbed him by the arms. "See, feel that?" he urged, digging his fingers into Michael's flesh. "I'm alive. She hasn't killed me. This is the darkness messing with your mind!"

Michael felt the firmness of Alex's hold on him and paused. What trick was this? What game was Noma playing? He grabbed Alex with both hands about the face and brought him in close to study his earnest eyes, the flush of his cheeks and feel the throb of life beneath his jaw line.

He searched deeper into those eyes and Alex held tight to his hands and pressed them firm. "Do you see now Michael?" he pleaded. "It's really me."

Michael stepped back and away. The blue aura of Alex surrounded him with peace. He shook his head and sensed the cobwebs of uncertainty begin to fade…but was this real?

Pete fell to a knee beside Noma, and despite Menathis whispering in his ear asked, "Are you alright?" Noma nodded, but knew her neck sported the bruising mark of the archangel and that from this moment on, things would never be the same again.

The amphora called to her promises of flight, a way home, and as she scrambled away from Pete to crawl toward where it lay, Alex moved swiftly past her; reached down; picked the clay jar up from the concrete and closed the lid.

The quiet was instantly deafening. The smoke receded and the beginning of a sunrise peeked over the horizon. The buffering wind suddenly died down to a gentle breeze.

Michael, Alex, Noma and Pete moved to the edge of the rooftop and looked down on Vega. People who just moments before were writhing in maddening torture, now milled about in various confused states. Some wandered aimlessly, some sat down where they stood and wept, while others looked up toward the roof top of the Tower and pointed up to where they stood – yelling out for the archangel to help them.

Michael spread his wings and looked to his chosen one with awe. His mind was now clear and the memory of his near murderous act was fading as reality took hold. "You have closed the amphora", he stated. "You will truly lead us from this darkness into the light. No human has ever been gifted with the power to douse out a weapon of God. Your heart is pure."

Alex stared back at his friend, glad to see him back to reason – unsure of what his words should mean. "Gabriel will come now that the amphora is closed."

Pete – no longer hearing the lure of Menathis – stepped to his side. "The eight balls will storm the city."

They all stared down at the dazed populace on the streets. "We need to gather together those who are able to join us, arm them and ready for battle", Noma continued, her throat swollen and raw with pain.

Alex nodded. "Then let's go down and gather an army."

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think!