Post by Serendipity on Dec 26, 2015 1:28:23 GMT -8
“Raphael…”
He had sensed the archangel coming, and knew he stood behind him now, angel blade in hand. This struggle for power between his brothers and sisters had only grown more fierce, the factions desperate to take control of heaven in God’s absence. They turned on each other, slaughtered each other, and imprisoned those, like Hamon, who out ranked even the archangels. Hamon was ashamed and saddened to call them his family, but still it was what they were and he did not kill his family. If only the other factions like the archangel Raphael’s would follow his lead and not murder their own brothers and sisters. Hamon only wanted peace between them and heaven to return to it’s former glory; and it had been glorious. Now it was tainted in blood and violence, and the stench of death was everywhere.
“Brother.” Raphael said as Hamon slowly turned to face the other angel, his gaze dropping for a moment to the blade his brother held in his hand before they lifted back to look directly at his brother; he was filled with disappointment and sorrow, knowing the time had come. “I will not kneel before you, brother. You are not my God.” Hamon spoke softly and lifted his arms in surrender, he could not spill his own brothers blood. “You know you cannot kill me easily, but I do not wish to fight with you, Raphael.” Hamon continued as Raphael gripped the angel blade a little more firmly in his hand.
“That, my dear brother is why you are in this predicament. You do not fight. You want peace where there is none. What happened to you?” The Archangel responded with disappointment of his own and Hamon knew what he was referring to. You see, Hamon was a Prince of Heaven, one of the first angels his father created and one of the fiercest warriors on a battlefield; he had slain his fair share of demons and angels when it had been necessary too, and on God’s orders in times of war. “I am the same brother you fought beside all those years ago, Rapheal. I lead you into battle, and brought you out victorious. But this...fighting between us now is not what our father would have wanted.” Hamon explained indignantly, shaking his head.
“Our father?” Raphael questioned with temper. “Our father LEFT US Hamon. Abandoned us!” He cried angrily and pointed his blade up towards Hamon’s chest, though there was still some distance between them. “As you have abandon us by not fighting by my side to make a new heaven.” The angel blade shook slightly as Raphael tried to reel in some of his vexation, and there was a terrible look in his eyes. Hamon nodded ruefully, he did not wish to fight his brother and he had no doubt now that Raphael wouldn’t back down on his vendetta. He was here to imprison the angel prince since he didn’t have the means to kill him, not yet anyway. “I told you I will not fight with you, brother. I will come willingly.” Hamon announced, lifting his arms towards the other angel with his wrists together ready to be bound and taken to Heaven’s Dungeon.
|| ...an unknown amount of time later... ||
Hamon had gone willingly to Heaven’s Dungeon with his brother Raphael, he was guilty only of not accepting his brothers desire to rule heaven, and had been locked away for the sake of being made an example to the other angels. It was unjust and cruel of his brother, Heaven’s Dungeon equal to Hell but worse for Angels. He was tortured every day with angel blades and every day Raphael would visit and ask if he had changed his mind and kneel before him, and every day the angel prince refused until Raphael stopped visiting. Hamon could only assume that Raphael had been thwarted, and now he was forgotten and left to rot in prison. But angels didn’t rot, they didn’t need to eat or drink, or use a bathroom so Hamon simply existed - a forgotten angel.
A prince of heaven could be resilient, unphased, time didn’t matter to them but a four walled cell had a way of changing that. His despair grew as the years past and mingled into a never ending time loop. He wasn’t certain how long he had been imprisoned or how long it had been since he had last had a visitor so when a voice called his name through the bars that held him he thought at first he was imagining it. The voice spoke again, and then one more time before Hamon lifted his gaze to the door. There stood an angel he recognised but had not seen or heard of since God abandoned heaven. Metatron, he stood, face peering into the dungeon cell and there was a cheery smile on his lips.
Curious, Hamon stood up untangling his legs from beneath him and moved closer to Metatron; he also hadn’t had a visitor possibly decades. ”Metatron...You’ve come out of hiding.” Hamon stated, although whether Metatron’s appearance was a good thing or not had still to be determined.
“I have. I never expected to see you in here, Hamon. But it only adds to the story whilst making it easier for me to do what needs to be done.”
|| A day later... ||
Heaven’s Dungeon quaked. That is all he could remember before the floor opened up underneath him and he was falling, and it was impossible to stop. The journey to earth, because that's where he assumed he was going, was rough. It was one thing to travel down willingly and quite another to be ripped from heaven (even Heaven’s Dungeon) and dragged down. There was also no control to where he would land, it was going to be what humans called potluck in this instance.
His vessel had been chosen many years ago, it was strong and had become his own; unlike some of his fellow brethren he didn’t need to scour the location of his landing to find one. If he could have cushioned his landing, he would have, but whether it was from the fall or what Metatron had done to him the day before he couldn’t find the strength to. Not only had Metatron stolen his grace, he had tampered with his memory searching for something inside his head and the after effects had caused some memory loss. The angel prince knew who he was and that he was an angel, but he had forgotten why he had been imprisoned and he only knew that Raphael had been behind it. He also didn’t remember Metatron’s visit, but he was aware his grace had been stolen just not from who or why.
The ground came at him a million miles per hour, or at least it felt that quick, dirty and damp, and Hamon only had time to establish that it was dark out before he crashed. His body curled into a ball before he slammed into the concrete. The impact, as it was unnatural, caused something similar to a mini explosion. A bright white light flared around him upon impact, blinding whoever was in the vicinity; the earth shook, bins and pallets piled with junk rattled and spilled over, the concrete cracked underneath him.
Perhaps if he still had his grace he wouldn’t have felt the bones in his vessel break, he would have been protected from such discomfort and unconcerned about it. Hamon sucked in a sharp breath as the pain shot through him, he had uncurled himself but the movements had made him aware of the wounds he had sustained in the fall. He grunted and groaned, trying to get his head around this strange new feeling, rolling over onto his back. His hazel orbs lifted skyward, back up to the home he might have been imprisoned in but still loved.
He was aware of the second presence in the alley, but paid her no attention as he got his bearings. It took far more energy from him then it should have to heal the broken bones in his body, and even then he couldn’t heal himself completely as he’d once been able to.
