From Heaven To Earth (The Faith of the Fallen) (3 page)

He punched into the air, caught one in the chest and killed her
instantly. With the other hand, he unleashed a wave of fire and incinerated the
others in the group. He caught sight of the last one: Riell.

He knew her from the way she looked in the air as she swooped through the
air beneath camouflage: like wavering heat from a flame, enthralling and
deadly. He pulled his sword from his sheath and assumed a defensive stance. Her
sword went through his as if it were only air and shattered it.

He stepped sideways. Her sword pierced his shoulder instead of his heart.
He grit his teeth, head-butted her, grabbed her sword arm and heated it. She
hissed. Her camouflage wavered and he caught a glimpse of her green eyes and
pale face before she faded from view again. She kept hold of her sword.

He immolated himself completely. Flames spurted from his armor, rapidly
heating the metal. She screamed and flipped away. He pulled the red-hot sword
from his body. His wound instantly cauterized.

Into the air she flew and loosed a barrage of arrows. He deflected them
easily. She dropped her camouflage and stood a small distance away, obscured
only by fighting soldiers. 

Her tan robe and her long black hair flowed in the crisp mountain air.
Shrazz could see millions of colors in her glowing wings. She threw her longbow
to the ground.

He took his helmet off and ripped the melted breastplate from his flesh.
The cold air refreshed his black, sweaty skin. His wounds itched as they closed
up and healed.

She dashed for him and moved in and out of the clamor. He lost sight of
her.

Her punch came from underneath and sent him airborne.

She kept hold of his sword arm, and twisted it. His momentum slung him
around. He dropped her sword, bounced once on the ground and lay there
half-conscious, taken aback by her ferocity.

She knew it was him. She had to have known it was him.

Her sword touched his throat in seconds.

Nausea overtook Shrazz when Satan removed his vines.

“She is the one.”

“She will refuse... what did you do to me?”

“Convince her. Recruit Riell. My time grows short. Do we have an
agreement?”

“Yes.”

Shrazz stood to shake Satan’s hand. His battle wounds reopened, and he
stumbled to the ground. Satan’s robe wilted. Hundreds of petals fell around
Shrazz as he bled alone.

Riell stared into the toilet and waited: she had to throw up to get rid
of her migraine. She knew Shrazz would make fun of her susceptibility to motion
sickness. It was rare among half-angels like her, who used their wings to
travel by air frequently.

When she was younger she couldn’t fly for more than an hour without
having to stop and throw up.

Her stomach had grown stronger since, and while normal flight no longer
made her sick, the shuttle ride from Earth to The Falling Curtain’s low orbit
space station and the long distance teleportation from the space station to
their sub-space headquarters where Shrazz was hospitalized was intolerable.

After she threw up several times she checked herself in the mirror. She
looked like hell, but she didn’t want Shrazz eye-screwing her the whole time
either. She sighed: it was time to get her visit over with.

While she walked down the white and blue halls of the hospital to
Shrazz’s room, she wondered why she had endured such a trip for him.

Riell stood outside Shrazz’s hospital room and considered leaving.

Why had she come at all?

He had not contacted her for centuries, but still had her as his primary
emergency contact. She told herself she just wanted to see Shrazz in critical
condition for the first time for satisfaction and the chance to gloat.

But, when she saw his battered bandaged body she forgot about her
migraine, went back downstairs to the hospital’s food court and purchased 500
barbeque “hot as hell” wings from his favorite restaurant Burnin’ Wings.

Burnin’ Wings was the only place that served authentic demon meat, a
controversial move for a half-breed owned restaurant. Their popularity
eventually eclipsed criticisms, but Riell would never allow herself such a
taboo regardless of how delicious it was.

She loaded the food on a cart and sought out a copy of his tournament
tape to watch with him while he ate.

He would want to talk about the fight with her.

She made her way back to the room and stood outside the door. She could
not bring herself to enter.

Had he missed her at all? Had he changed, or was he still the womanizer
she had always known? She decided to at least set the massive wing buckets in
his room.

Riell opened the door quietly, unloaded the wings and was half-way out
the door when he stirred.

“Riell? You brought me wings?”

She turned around and saw him sitting up with a gleaming grin on his
smooth, hairless face.

“Hey Shrazz.”

Riell tried not to smile, but her thin lips curled up regardless. She
knew then she had missed him, and it frustrated her.

“So, can I get a hug?”

She crossed her arms.

“You look rough,” she said.

“It was a rough fight. You don’t look great yourself. Baggy sweats?
Usually you’re proud of your curves. And you’re lookin’ thin. You know your
cheekbones stick out when you’re underweight. Your tan looks nice though. Never
thought you’d be able to get one of those.” Shrazz smiled.

“You’re still as suave as Bond, Shrazz.”

Shrazz laughed, and even though Riell was irritated from his remarks, she
chuckled.

“I uh, got a copy of the tournament. We can watch it while you eat if you
want. The officials I spoke to said if it leaves the building they’ll put a
price on my head. What kind of tournament was this?”

“Yeah. Let’s,” Shrazz said through a mouthful of meat and bone. “I’ll
tell you more about it all in a second. Hungry.”

“How can you eat those whole... disgusting,” she said as she put the DVD
inside the television hanging from the ceiling. “How long are you supposed to
be in here?”

“A few days.”

Shrazz’s agility made Riell gasp: he was a black blur; the camera could
barely follow him.

“Impressed?” Shrazz grinned. “By my count I killed at least twenty in the
first minute. Most of them didn’t even see me coming.”

Riell sat down next to him on the bed.

“Okay, Shrazz. Yes. I’m impressed. You’ve improved drastically.”

“I’m sure you have too,” he said and smiled at her.

Riell’s heart fluttered when she saw his large lips turn up into a smile
and had to look away. When he smiled like that he looked like he genuinely
cared, and his dimples made him almost look innocent.

Riell tried to ignore her reaction and took a deep breath.

“These half-breeds you’re fighting... a lot of them are high ranking
officials from numerous organizations. What was this tournament for, Shrazz?”

“It was a chance at a mission,” Shrazz garbled through a mouthful of meat
and bone.

He swallowed it all faster than Riell expected and burped loudly.

Riell’s electric green eyes widened before disgust rolled them back into
her head.

A knock sounded from the door.

“Come in,” Shrazz said.

A nurse came in with an envelope.

“This letter came for you. There is no return address.”

“I’ll take it. Thanks.”

The nurse left, and Shrazz tore into the envelope.

“What is it?” Riell asked.

“I’ll read it,” Shrazz said. “You have been selected for the mission
based on your tournament performance. Congratulations. This mission is of the
utmost classified nature. Please insure your privacy before reading further.”

“Who is it from?”

“The Duo, I’m guessing,” Shrazz lied. “Who else would it be from?”

“Okay. Why are you staring at me? Read it!” Riell said.

“Alright, alright. Your first order is to recruit Riell Frallt. We want
her to work beside you.” Shrazz realized Satan had injured him in order to ease
Riell’s recruitment.

Riell stood and took a step away from him.

“Well what do you say, Riell? They want us together again.”

“I’m declining. I know a ruse when I see one.”

“This was merely a coincidence. Don’t you want to hear the rest?”

“Fine. Whatever.” She sat back down.

“The mission will include the live apprehension of an angel. Time of the
target’s arrival is not known. You will be informed of details as they become available.”

Shrazz looked up at her after he finished reading.

“An angel? What kind of payment will we get for this?”

Shrazz looked down and pretended to read.

“Riell will receive an advance payment of 10 million curtain credits,”
Shrazz said. “And a payment of 50 million credits once the mission is
complete.”

“What?! Let me see.” She reached for it.

Shrazz set the letter aflame, and she gaped at him.

“Sorry, it was an accident. I guess I got excited.”

Riell frowned.

“It’s fine... you really were not aware they wanted you and I to work
together?”

“No,” he laughed, “of course not.”

She stared at him, and he smiled at her. Reading him was impossible. More
than anything she wanted to say yes to see if she could trust him and spend a
little more time with him. At that thought, she knew it was time to go. She had
already invested more emotions in him than she had meant to.

Riell sighed and wished she had just left the wings with a nurse. That
would have been less complicated.

“I’ll consider it,” she said.

“Better than a no. Are you leaving?”

She walked for the door.

“Yeah. Goin’ home.”

Riell put her hand on the handle.

“Where is home these days?”

“I have more houses than I can remember. I’m staying in an apartment in
upper limbo for the privacy right now. You?”

“An abandoned building in Nuevas Cruces.”

“You’ve acquired taste in my absence.”

They laughed together, their duet of mirth reminded both of them of a
companionship they had thought lost forever.

“Thank you.”

They were silent.

She turned the handle and waved.

“Well, enjoy the wings. You’ve grown into an impressive warrior. Took you
long enough.”

He laughed.

“Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for stopping by. Let me know about the mission?”

“I will.”

Riell left the room.

Shrazz marveled at Satan’s genius.

He buzzed the nurse and had her bring him a tablet pc so he could ensure
he would have cash for Riell’s advance if she accepted the offer. He smiled, he
had more than enough.

He ate his fill of wings and fell asleep watching his DVD.

As she spun to “Ghosts N Stuff” by DeadMau5, Eliza’s glowing poi balls
surrounded her body with halo-like rings of ever-changing color. She watched
herself in the large mirror hung on the brick wall of her loft.

“Now as the music changes you can extend your arms to make the balls
rotate slower. Or bring them in to make them spin faster,” she said to her
friend Cari, who sat on her bed.

“I’ve tried practicing at home,” Cari said. “I can’t even get the basic
motions down.”

“You’ll get it. Just work on making your left hand follow your right. It
helps if you watch yourself in a mirror.”

Eliza’s body seized. She screamed and fell to the ground, unable to
control her violent seizure.

“Oh my God!” Cari yelled. “I’m calling 911 just hold on, Eliza.”

“No!” Eliza yelled. “Paintbrush. Paper.”

“What?”

“Bring a paintbrush and paper!” Eliza yelled.

Cari did as she told her.

Eliza grabbed the brush and painted. Her seizure lessened.

“Uh you don’t have any paint,” Cari said.

“It makes it stop ok!” Eliza said. “Help me to my desk please. Hurry
before they start again. Pull that easel closer.”

She grabbed two brushes in each hand holding one between her thumbs and
index fingers and the other between her middle and ring fingers. She painted
fervently using colors in glass jars at her desk: a display as stunning as her
poi dance. As she recreated her vision on canvas her body relaxed. She wiped
drool from her chin and focused on her work.

Cari stood over her shoulder.

“Does this happen... often? Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I have. They say nothing is wrong with me. Brain scans detect nothing
abnormal. My counselor says I have repressed memories that surface and cause
this reaction.”

“I don’t know how you paint like that. You’re like super ambidextrous or
something.”

“I had to learn to paint quickly. To make the seizures stop.”

“Well it’s the fiercest thing I’ve ever seen. Next to your dancing.”

“Thanks.” She cleaned her brushes, chose different colors and continued
to paint.

“Ok. If this is from your memory, who are these people?” Cari asked.
“That man is in these other paintings you’ve done. He’s real hot. Earned those
muscles in the gym I’m sure: no pain no gain. Mmhm.”

Eliza shook her head.

In Eliza’s painting a woman with purple skin held a naked man’s body down
with one hand, her long black finger nails dug into his tan athletic chest.
Discomfort or pleasure tightened his face, which, Eliza could not tell. The
woman’s huge green eyes smiled on him and her red lips pulled back in a grin.
She painted black bat-like wings on the woman and Cari took in a breath.

“So you used to be a swinger who liked to role-play?” Cari asked.

Eliza laughed. “No. I have no idea who these people are,” she lied. “They
could be from a dream.” She tried not to cry.

She had seen the demoness in her paintings before, in Gerald’s past. Even
though the man in bed looked nothing like Gerald she knew it was, and this was
his future: to lay with the purple skinned demon as he had once before.

How could he give in to such a harlot again?

She wanted to scream as loud as she could and predict when she would see
him again. She would prepare abrasive insults for the occasion, bludgeon his
pride until it broke and toss him back on the streets where he belonged.

At the same time she wanted to trust him, she wanted to love him, and
that fact brought tears to her eyes.

“Well your dreams are naughty,” Cari said. “They make me jealous.”

Eliza’s muscles relaxed when she finished the image, but her anger did
not and her sadness did not. She hurled the painting in her fireplace, lit it
and watched it burn.

“Why did you do that? It’s amazing! I knew you could paint obviously, but
I didn’t know you could paint like that.”

“Thanks,” Eliza said.

“Are you ok?”

“Just in pain. Don’t worry about it.”

“So you have a lot of sexified angel on demon dreams?” Cari asked.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re in most of your paintings... you’ve framed some of this angel.”

She pointed at one of Gerald standing on a building with his shirt off
and wings fully extended.

“I guess you can say he’s one of my fantasies,” Eliza said, trying to
make light of the subject.

“Yummy,” Cari said. “Well I’ll work on my poi motions at home. I need to
get a bite. Want to come along?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Alright, see ya.”

Eliza heard the elevator ding outside and then ding again as the doors
closed. She was alone finally.

She cried out, swiped at her paints and left a mess of color and broken
glass on the floor. She tore Gerald’s portraits off her walls one by one until
her walls were bare. She took a chef’s knife and dug it into canvas after
canvas, tearing Gerald’s apart until the knife fell from her trembling hands.