Twilight of the Gods
Chapter 31: Gods vs. Angels

Uriel nuzzles his face into Daeva’s neck. “Wake up,” he said softly. He digs his fingers into the furs, gently nudging her shoulder.

Daeva makes an incomprehensible noise, moving away from him. “Let me sleep,” she whispered. She pulls the furs toward her, snuggling against a nearby cushion.

Uriel sighs in frustration, shaking her awake once more. “I need your blood for the angels, remember? I can’t revive them without it.”

“One more minute,” she mumbled, briefly turning to face him. Her red eyes sparkle with mischief before shutting close.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance. Getting her blood was hardly as easy as Ezra said it would be. Daeva was a person, not an endless fountain of ichor that he could pump whenever he pleased. Although his life would be trouble-free if that were actually the case …

Nonsense! He was lucky that she was his master. His memories of the old days under the pantheon were coming back, soaked in blood and constant violence. Daeva was a saint compared to those Gods.

He gathers the fur blankets in his hands, draping them over her body. Loose, gold feathers fall out, littering the ground like autumn leaves. Ordinarily, Uriel wouldn’t have cared about their presence. Shedding was natural for angels, a way to make room for stronger wings. But the feathers were gathering in clumps, making little gold piles on the floor.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, freezing at the sight of his reflection. It can’t be, he thought. Surely, I’m dreaming.

There, in the glass, right before his eyes, was a vision of his wings falling apart.

A feather floats to the ground, joining the pool of gold at his feet. He walks closer to the mirror, pressing his fingers to the reflection. He gingerly touches his wings, unaccustomed to seeing the bare muscle beneath. He flexes his normally feathery appendages, testing to see if he felt any pain.

Luckily, there was no sting or burn in his wings, but he felt the beginnings of an ache in his jaw. He parts his lips, half-expecting to see bloody gums. Instead, he was greeted with two sharp teeth sprouting at the sides of his mouth which was far stranger than anything he could’ve imagined.

The rest of his metamorphosis followed. His skin lost its bronze glow, fading to a rusty shade. His eyes briefly flickered blue as they slowly morphed from gold to something that resembled the shade of the sky. More feathers fell from his wings as they lost their soft curves and sharpened to a bat-like shape.

At the end of his transformation, he hardly recognized himself. Who was that creature in the mirror?

He had only seen something like that once since his arrival in Otherworld and once more in the long, distant past. He walks through the halls of the palace in a daze, trying to find the place where he saw the image. His feet take him to the stone facades of angels at the center of a large hall that leads into a gallery of angel statues. He remembers the anger he felt staring at them when he first returned, but he understood why Ezra kept the pieces around. It was all he had left of the angels after his terrible wish killed them off. But that was all going to change with the revival. Even sinners like him could repent if they tried hard enough.

The stone angels, etched and sculpted, shifted before his eyes. They gained horns and sharp wings, sprouting fangs as he did. Yes, he had seen them before. They had been in cages when he first served Anhel, but they remained dead for most of his servitude.

Demons, Infernal creatures that inhabited the most hostile areas of Underworld, had returned from extinction. And he just became one of them.

He finds himself in front of the mirror again, convinced that he was hallucinating. Maybe crazy visions were a side effect of Mnemosyne’s roots, but his sharp teeth and blue eyes remained along with his new, fleshy wings no matter how many times he blinked.

His head throbs, a sudden pain bringing him to his knees. Iron bars materialize before his eyes, trapping him in a prison. He was stuck in another memory as indicated by the blue light that played at the edges of his vision. It was a much older memory than the others. He could tell by the sulfurous smell of the air, a sharp contrast to the sweet nectar he was accustomed to in Otherworld. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Anhel crouches to his level, bending his massive form enough so that all Uriel could see was his lone eye, which seemed to swirl with infinite colors. The angel looked away, his head spinning from the mere act of perceiving the God.

“A fine specimen,” the giant said, his voice rumbling through the mountains. “He would make a good servant. Easy to tame, too, judging by the size of his horns.”

Uriel shrinks further into the cage, noticing that in the memory his skin was still that rusty, dull shade. He glances at his reflection from a nearby puddle, seeing his blue eyes, sharp teeth, and leathery wings. Had this been his true form all along?

“He looks like more trouble than he’s worth,” Odi sneered. The Original Traitor regarded him coolly, his eyes an infinite abyss of darkness.

“All Demons are trouble,” Anhel said. “This is why we make them angels so that they can stop terrorizing those poor mortals.”

“The poor mortals have magic. They can handle themselves. I don’t see why we need to go through with this experiment. Brainwashing and domesticating all of them has been a pain. We should’ve left this to our Chosen Ones. Why else do we bless the mortals with our gifts?”

“You know why.” Anhel picks up Uriel’s cage, holding it over a vat of ichor. The ordinarily enticing liquid seemed like poison in this memory, oozing with unpleasant fumes.

“My Chosen One was strong enough,” Odi said, suddenly hurt. “It was only an accident that killed him. He could have handled all of this.”

“He went mad and killed Sybil’s mortal,” Anhel said wearily. It sounded like they had this conversation several times already. “Not before also trying to hunt down my Chosen One and all of the other mortals the Pantheon had picked carefully. The Demons are a problem that the mortals can’t solve.”

With that, Anhel dropped him into the vat, leaving him to boil in Gods’ blood.

The memory dissipates, leaving Uriel alone in the room with Daeva’s slumbering form. His reflection in the mirror stubbornly remains the same. Even the smell of sulfur from the memory sticks in his nostrils.

You’re Infernal, his thoughts whispered. A dirty, impure creature from Underworld. You are unworthy of your master and the second life she has given you.

My master loves me, he shot back. She’s made me pure before and she can do it again.

He bends down to the pile of furs, carefully moving them away so that he wouldn’t disturb Daeva’s sleep. He knelt to the exposed skin of her neck, his jaw aching to bite the soft flesh. Unable to resist, he does so, feeling the venom from his mouth numb her nerves as he sucks the blood from her veins. Slowly, he felt himself become pure again, her hot, delicious blood cleansing him.

He eagerly returns to the mirror, relieved to see his golden form restored. So what if he was truly Infernal at his core? As long as he had her blood, he could pretend to be celestial for as long as he wanted. He could still be pure and good.

Emboldened by his discovery, he sneaks into Ezra’s attic lab. Something about the ichor activated every impulse inside of him. It injected new life into his body, filling him with the desire to commit mischief. With her blood, he was invincible.

So why did he have the sudden urge to see Calypso?

Every particle of his body was screaming to be near her instead of Daeva. He felt drawn to her by an almost magnetic pull as he flew up the stairs.

He opens the door, immediately running into her. Their eyes widen in mutual surprise, taking in the sight of each other.

“What are you doing here? Ezra has gone back to his living quarters if you’re looking for him.” She leans against the doorframe, the dim glow of the lamp catching the gold flecks on her skin.

“I came to see you,” he blurted. “Are you trying to sneak out of the laboratory?”

She blinks slowly, registering his words. “You came to see me,” she said, ignoring his question. Her gold eyes take him in, holding a mixture of wonder and suspicion.

His face reddens and he looks away, unable to maintain eye contact. For some reason, he couldn’t handle the emotional intensity he saw on her face.

“Ezra told me that I could fly at night,” she said at last. “I have permission to leave the lab. He knows that I can be discreet.”

Uriel nodded, remembering her complaints from the last time. Then he frowned slightly, also recalling the lie Ezra told to keep Calypso confined.

“May I join you? I remember that I enjoyed flying with you in the old days,” he said. Back when we were in love, his inner voice intruded.

“You’re free to roam the skies by yourself. You can earn the privilege of joining me if you can keep up.” With that, she spread her wings, launching herself into the air in a single fluid motion.

He stood there for half a second, flabbergasted by her response, before chasing after her.

Years of slumber did little to slow Calypso down. Her wings still conquered the skies quickly, stretched in the same formation as when she served her old masters. She effortlessly weaved her way through clouds, climbing altitudes high enough to graze the stars. Uriel found himself lagging behind, already out of breath from trying to follow her.

How were we ever equals? In all of his memories of her, they had flown side by side when doing the bidding of the Gods. He never had trouble matching her speed then. What changed?

I’ve grown soft, he thought. Daeva’s attempts to treat him kindly had changed him from the once-sharp weapon of the Pantheon into a mere pet for her pleasure. He learned to think for himself and enjoyed the small wonders that life had to offer. He had even learned to love his master beyond the required devotion that bonded the celestial to the immortal.

Truthfully, he was never able to beat Calypso at her games. He remembered giving several honest efforts to do so, chasing her with all his strength. It was only when he stopped trying that he saw a way to outwit his fellow angel.

The strategy was deceptively simple. Calypso flew by muscle memory, unconsciously creating aerial patterns. To keep up with her, he simply needed to get to where she would end up instead of copying her every move. Depending on the complexity of her movements, the feat could be easy or ridiculously difficult. But the longer he observed her, the more confident he became in his ability to predict her flight patterns.

He launched himself into position, waiting for her to come to him. She charges at him at full speed, not registering his presence until she crashes into his arms.

They tumble through the sky, spinning madly as they each try to regain their balance. From afar, if an unknowing mortal were to catch sight of them, they would’ve looked like two gold birds dancing in the night. But as they plummeted toward the ground, they resembled two gold streaks on a dark canvas, haphazardly painted by an artist going mad.

He takes the impact of their fall, shifting his body in the nick of time as they crash into the grass. His wings ached with a pain he could feel all the way to his bones, but he knew it was an injury that would heal easily. For the moment, he lies there, waiting for the pain to fade.

Calypso shifts in his arms, rolling her head slightly to the side. “Uriel,” she whispered. “That was incredibly stupid of you. Someone definitely saw us.”

“Sorry.”

She laughs, throwing her copper hair back. “Don’t be. It was fun, just like the old days. I’ve missed this.”

I’ve missed you, said that annoying voice in his head. But those words didn’t make any sense to Uriel. Before he drank the memory tea and saw Ezra’s laboratory, he didn’t even know that she existed. He may have had free will, but he was starting to wonder if his thoughts were his own.

“Did you ever believe that two people could be meant for each other?”

He blinks rapidly, taken aback by Calypso’s question. “Sometimes. The mortals have their soulmates. The Gods will weave the fates of two people close enough that they will cross paths over multiple lifetimes. But the Pantheon is no more. Can people still be meant for each other?”

“I think so,” she said. “Because we were meant for each other. Not in the way those mortals are, of course. Angels, or the demons that we were before we became celestial, can’t have soulmates. But as a part of our domestication, we were assigned partners so that the Gods could control us easily. We were given Kindreds, other angels to be bonded with so that we could complete missions more effectively. If we misbehaved, the Gods could threaten the lives of our Kindred.”

She turned toward him, her gold eyes shining brighter than normal. “You were my Kindred.”

“I don’t remember that,” he said, unsure of how else to react to her words.

“But you felt it.” She grabs his hand. “Even if your mind forgot me, your body remembered. That’s why you came to see me tonight.”

She’s right. You felt drawn to her after drinking Daeva’s blood for a reason. She is yours and you are hers. Your Kindred is free for the taking, said that annoying voice in his head.

Then why did it feel so wrong to touch her?

Kiss her, the voice insisted. See if that also feels wrong.

He didn’t need to touch his lips to hers to know it would feel like he would be betraying Daeva. But he hadn’t been completely honest with his master these days either.

Just one kiss, the voice crooned. You can still be devoted to your God while loving another.

Before he could think, Calypso leaned in, closing the distance between them. Uriel swore he saw fireworks explode as her mouth touched his.

His first thought was that he was wrong. Kissing her was hardly sinful. Never did something feel so right since his resurrection.

They lie on the grass for a while, warmly preoccupied with each other. Eventually, they began to tire, having just enough energy to bask in each other’s warm glow.

“We need to go back,” he said, knowing that he wanted to do anything but that.

“Can you show me the palace? I want to see if it looks the way I remember it did. No one’s awake at this hour,” she pleaded.

He obliged her request and they sneak in, mimicking their reconnaissance missions from a distant past. Calypso wanders the halls ahead of him, gaping at the decorations.

“They’ve removed all statues of the Pantheon,” she whispered. “None of the Holy Ten remained. I know you and Ezra told me that the Elysians had taken over, but I didn’t believe it until now. Seeing it is so different.”

As they walked deeper into the palace, Calypso made similar comments, gaping at the new statues erected and the carvings of the angels. They slowly made their way to the living quarters where she paused at the entrance.

“They used to make us sleep here,” she said. “I know you don’t remember, but so many of our brethren carried out their entire lives in these walls. It’s ironic that the Elysians would place you guys here.”

The echo of angels’ laughter bounced around his head, a ghost of the memory coming to light. He could see the phantom forms of his people appear before him, the faintest outlines of angels’ wings hovering in his vision. He stood there, helpless to the painful yearning in his chest for people he could barely remember.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

As they crossed the threshold, he could see that Daeva was awake, sitting up straight before the hearth. There was an unreadable expression on her face as if she was contemplating the mysteries of the universe. But her expression changes immediately once he calls her name, surprise lighting up her eyes as she takes in Calypso’s form.

“Meet one of the angels that have been resurrected,” he said, gently pushing his Kindred forward.

Immediately, she kneels to the ground before Daeva, bowing three consecutive times. Rising to her feet, she addressed his master by her proper Godly title.

“Anhel, primordial God of Chaos and Master of the Eastern Twin Sun. I am blessed to see you again,” she said.

“Calypso, fruit of my blood,” Anhel said, acknowledging her greeting. “You live once more.” His deep voice echoes through the room, covering the angels in a blanket of submission. Even Uriel wasn’t immune to its influence, feeling the sudden urge to kneel in the same fashion that Calypso did.

“I would gladly dedicate this life to you as I did my last one,” she said. “I’m sure that the others would agree once they’re granted the gift of your blood.”

“I will give you as much blood as you need,” he said, his voice full of mirth. “But who are the others?”

“The Deadly Three, the three blades you’ve sharpened to perfection, God of Chaos. They will be at your disposal once they receive your blood again.”

Anhel nodded thoughtfully, taking in the information. “How much of my blood do you need?”

“Five bags,” Uriel interjected. He pulls out the tubes instantly, clutching the clear empty bags in his other hand.

The God looked at him coolly, annoyed that he had spoken without permission. He snatches the tools from Uriel’s hands wordlessly, filling the bags of blood methodically. Uriel stood by sheepishly, embarrassed by Anhel’s dismissal. When he finishes, he hands the bags to Calypso, who gratefully accepts.

“Thank you, master,” she said, bowing. Once again, she was the perfect picture of absolute obedience. For some reason, that irked Uriel. Did she not have the same free will he did?

But then he spots a mischievous twinkle in her eye and it dawned on him that her sycophancy was an act. He envied the sophistication of her deception, knowing that even if he had years to cultivate his act, it would never be good as hers.

“Do you require more assistance? I can give more than blood,” Anhel offered.

“No need,” Calypso said. “Ezra will handle the rest, just as he revived me.”

The God’s gaze hardened. An icy chill descends upon the room. Daeva resurfaces into her body, eyes turning red as she regains control.

“Is that so?” Her higher-pitched voice pierces the silence of the room. She looks at Uriel, not bothering to conceal the pain she felt.

“Yes,” Calypso said, slightly taken aback by the change in personas. “He wants to avenge the angels, restore things to the old order.”

“I see.” She paused for a moment, mulling over her thoughts. “You are dismissed. Please thank Ezra for his efforts,” she said, her voice teeming with sarcasm. Calypso bows again, leaving the room and Uriel to fend for himself.

“I can explain,” the angel said, moving closer to her.

“Don’t you dare take a step toward me,” she barked. “I supported you when you said you wanted to revive angels with my blood. But you never mentioned working with Ezra. Was that on purpose? I thought you hated him as much as I did.”

“He’s not a good person, but he’s also not evil incarnate.”

She laughs in disbelief. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s trying to redeem himself by resurrecting my brethren. Maybe he’s changed.”

She shook her head. “You can’t be serious.” Her eyes scan his face, widening as they do so. “You really believe that? You think Ezra would do things for the greater good.”

He doesn’t respond, suddenly afraid to anger his master. But it was too late. Daeva stormed out of the room, no longer able to bear the sight of him.

Up in Ezra’s attic, the Elysian was pumping blood into the three angels floating in the containers. His face sagged with exhaustion, and his normally clear blue eyes dulled with fatigue. He was expending more magic than usual to maintain the illusion that Otherworld was a functional home for the Elysians. With Iris virtually dead, concealing the truth was becoming more difficult.

Some days, he even smelled the sulfur and ashes of the fire pits. It made him nostalgic for the old days, back when he was young and wild. But so many things were different now that he had taken over the universe. He had power, real tangible influence over thousands of mortals and magic users alike.

As the eyes of Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megaera opened and they stirred from their eons’ long slumber, he knew that the next phase of his plan was coming to fruition.

One can never have too much power, right?

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