Munkar

A pillar of light flashed from the quarter where Ramiel had descended in pursuit of Samyaza, and the angels who had stood aside from their leader's insistence stirred.

“Ramiel failed,” Pravuil declared, cold and impassive. She had warned against facing Samyaza alone; no doubt she felt her wisdom vindicated.

“You're certain?” Nakir asked.

“Jeqon let off no such display,” Pravuil said, “It's safe to assume that Samyaza would also die pitifully if die she did.”

Cassiel held her tongue. In her heart of hearts, she'd thought that Samyaza would win. Her cocoon-sister wouldn't – couldn't – die pitifully as Pravuil said. Cassiel understood Samyaza, or thought she had, and knew there had to be some purpose, some reason behind her defection. Once Cassiel knew what that was, she could offer the hand of redemption. Or, if Samyaza was somehow beyond salvation, she could see justice done herself, and then cut to the darkness behind such a terrible happening. But to say as much in the light of a slain angel would be too cruel.”

“Then,” Lailah declared, “we should return above and regroup.”

“No,” Munkar said, “we continue the hunt.”

Cassiel glared at Munkar. True, Cassiel herself had no intention of returning empty-handed and defeated to Heaven, but Munkar's meaning and manner were different from what Cassiel would intend. Of all those angels who had submitted to Ramiel's command, there were those who had done so for honor, like Nakir and Ramiel himself, or the brothers Shamnail and Turail who had come with the second wave. And there were those who came for their own personal responsibilities. Cassiel herself was that way, she came for Samyaza and Samyaza alone. Despite their facades of authoritative indifference, she also knew that Lailah and Pravuil had come for their proteges first and foremost and would not be satisfied unless they saw those matters through and took responsibility for the angels they had guided coming to nasty ends.

Munkar came for the hunt and the kill. That was his way, his nature, and he only sought sanction to pursue unique prey. He was an angel who reveled in the infliction of pain, and that was something only the absolute line of courtesy between their kind would allow Cassiel to accept. She would never respect it.

“On what authority?” Lailah demanded.

“Mine,” Munkar replied, “as Ramiel made me his second, so do I now lead the hunt for the heretic angels.”

“We are in the presence of Seraphs,” Marfeil said, “surely the mantle of authority should fall upon one of them.”

“Fie,” Munkar said, “The hierarchies of Heaven and hunt are set apart. Tell me, Pravuil, could you skin man or beast to bind your tome? Could you, Lailah, offer death and judgment where you once gave your charity?”

“I could,” Lailah said, “and I shall. As it was I who taught Azazel of the world I accept my responsibility to remove her from it.”

“But what of the others?” Munkar demanded, “or those who might get in the way? Do you contend you are more fit for command of this thing than I? Does your gentle hand itch to be coated in crimson and gold?”

Lailah bowed her head, silently accepting Munkar's premise.

“Then,” Munkar said, “who shall say that these mighty Seraphs ought to lead? Ramiel could not forsake his appointment, but knew that it was I who was most fit, most skilled, and most experienced in the arts that will destroy our enemies wherever they hide. Do any object to me now being the arbiter of our actions?”

“We should still return,” Marfeil said, “and go before God and be rectified in our duties and deeds as is needful. Ramiel is dead, surely such an outcome demands we rethink our path.”

“You wish to return?” Munkar said. “Then go.”

He drew his regalia blades in an instant and sliced through Marfeil at the waist, nearly severing his legs from his torso. Cassiel winced as Marfeil's form dissolved, recalled to God's throne and the pools of healing before Him. It would do no lasting harm, but it was still a cruel way to return him home. After all, while it was said that angels knew neither pain, nor fear, nor doubt, those were all overstatements.

“I have more... practical concerns.” Pravuil said.

“That,” Munkar said, “I will hear.”

“Do you think Apollyon will forgive sending Marfeil as your messenger in such a manner?” she asked.

“I dare say it may amuse the old man,” Munkar replied.

“I suppose,” Pravuil said, “so I'll cut to the more important topic. Do you actually have a strategy in mind to overcome Samyaza?”

Munkar laughed, a sort of bitter, mean chuckle more threatening than mirthful.

“I saw them fight before,” Munkar said, “Samyaza could not have won, not honestly. That was Ramiel's mistake, thinking that a heretic would hold to honesty.”

Cassiel frowned. When it came to the pure art of combat, that was one place where her own study had nearly matched Samyaza's. And, while Samyaza had been a Seraph, one of the holy chosen few, all evidence was that the angels who fell from grace lacked much of the strength they once had. As much as she hated it, she found herself believing Munkar. Even thought a battle was, by nature, the sort of thing that would have three outcomes if you fought it twice, Samyaza must have found some new strength if she was to slay Ramiel.

“And you aim to correct it how?”

“If we mean to catch such a wily prey,” Munkar said, “we cannot do it with one hand tied behind our backs. We will find them, and when we find them, we will kill them, because we will not follow whatever simple script they think we operate by.”

“You mean,” Pravuil said, “you intend to violate taboos as an element of surprise?”

“Only ones we may justify, of course,” Munkar said.

His nasty smile assured Cassiel that Munkar could justify quite a lot.