The Enemy of Heaven

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Dante

Dante felt sick. Little Philip had just said the words he feared most coming from the mouths of his brothers and sister. For a moment, he expected the little brat to stick out his tongue and start laughing. It would be a cruel joke, but a joke and nothing else. Dante searched the boy’s red eyes, hoping to find traces of a lie, but there were none.

“What did you say?” Dante asked.

Philip raised his chest proudly. “I said I’m joining Jaro’s gang, and I’m not coming back to the flat.”

Dante grabbed the boy by the collar and shoved him against the closest wall. A startled gasp behind him was a quick reminder that little Peter and Dianna were witnessing this. They were too young to watch their found family fall apart, but life was unfair.

“You barely turned thirteen,” Dante spat. “All this time, I’ve been protecting you from those pieces of s**t and now you want to join them?!”

“This is my choice,” Philip said, his voice trembling.

“You think Jaro never tried to lure me with some black-market contraband? Or with protection from other gangs? But I know the value of never being indebted to anyone! Freedom is priceless!”

“Not everyone wants to be like you!” Philip shouted.

“Do you know what will happen once you join? Jaro will make you into his little errand boy. He’ll give you missions to prove your loyalty, and when you’re ready, he’ll send you to kill someone he hates. Is that what you want to do with your life?”

“Better kill than be killed.”

Dante’s blood froze. Philip was already talking like one of them. Dante had taken care of this little boy after he lost his parents. They weren’t related by blood, but he raised him as he would raise a little brother. Losing him like this was a caretaker’s biggest failure.

“Besides, you can’t protect anyone, Dante.”

And this was the last nail in the coffin. It was hard to be angry at someone when they spoke the truth. Dante shoved the little brat to the ground.

“Get out of my sight,” he said. “Don’t show your face to me again.”

He took a seat onto a broken trash container and stared at the ground. Little Peter and Dianna approached him quietly. They looked destroyed. Dante’s whole life revolved around caring for these orphans. He used to be an orphan himself and he knew what it meant to be alone in the world.

Meanwhile, the gangs tempted the homeless children they deemed useful. Peter and Dianna were only nine-years-old, they were too young to be a target. But Dante couldn’t help but wonder, when would it be their turn? When would some gang leader entice them with a few luxury goods and swallow them in the dark underbelly of the ghetto?

Little Dianna hugged Dante from the side and stiffened a few sobs, while little Peter yelled. “You heard him! Go away!”

“Dante, I have some food in my storage,” Philip said. “Take it. I don’t need it anymore.”

With that, he ran away.

“f**k you!” Peter yelled after him. “I hope the guardians get you!”

Dante rubbed his temple. It was just the three of them now. Their group was never this small.

Winter was coming, so he had to restock the food supplies, get paid for the last job he did, and maybe tighten the security in their room. Desperate people became dangerous in the cold months. As much as he hated accepting anything from the little traitor, Peter and Dianna needed all the food they could get, no matter where it came from.

At nightfall, the three of them approached Philip’s secret storage. The ghetto used to be an ancient city, so it had many spots that could serve as hiding places. Dante knew a lot, but not all of them, and the same went for the rest of the locals—there was always a hidden crevice that could surprise you.

Dante and the children entered an enclosed alley covered in ivy. He moved the hanging vines out of the way and uncovered a smooth surface with a large crack. He slipped two fingers into the crack, pulled the outer lid, and a bloody head with dead blue eyes hung from the rim.

Dante and the kids yelped in terror and stepped back. A whole human corpse was stuck inside the storage space. The crevice was deep enough to contain it, but shoving it all in must have taken some serious effort. The dead man wore a gold uniform. His neck was broken, and the head hung limply like that of a rag doll.

Someone shuffled behind them near the corner—another guardian, a live one. Philip was next to him. Dante locked eyes with the thirteen-year-old and saw the stone-cold resolve of a thug. Yes, the little brat was going to survive for a long time.

“f*****g traitor!” Dianna yelled.

The officer blew a whistle, calling for backup. Philip ran away without looking back, and as far as Dante was concerned, he was dead to him.

The alley was enclosed, there was nowhere to run. Only one way out—Dante kneeled and the kids wrapped their arms and legs around him. He climbed the wall with the two kids attached to him, resembling two backpacks. They’ve become heavier since the last time they did this exercise.

Dante entered through the window on the first floor. Someone was occupying this room. It was full of mattresses and belongings, though there was no one in sight. The kids stepped on their feet and broke into a run toward the exit on the other side.

Once they reached the window, Dante jumped first and landed safely on the street. Dianna instantly jumped into his arms. Peter followed quickly after. This shortcut gave them a small lead. Dante led the kids to a giant landfill of rubble.

Twenty years ago, it used to be a tall building, until it crumbled because of its unstable design. Today, it provided a good hiding spot, since most people didn’t dare enter.

“Run through the entire thing,” Dante said, and pushed the kids through the curtain of ivy. “In a few hours, return home the long way round.”

“What about you?” Dianna asked.

“Run!”

Dante fixed the plants, so they covered the entrance completely and dashed through the street. Horse prattle followed him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the entire squad tailing him. Good, they ignored the children.

Dante kept running, and soon he felt the horse’s breath on his neck. The guardian pulled out his sword and swung it in the air, aiming at immediate decapitation, but Dante moved out of the way in time. He swiftly entered a narrow crevice to the side. The officers continued forward and pulled the reins to a halt.

The buildings weren’t properly aligned with each other, so the further Dante went in the crevice, the narrower it became, and eventually, he was at a dead end. Fortunately, these guardians were quite bulky, so they couldn’t reach him.

“Better stay in there forever, Dante,” one of them said. His frame was nothing but a shadow from this angle. “Nothing good awaits you outside.”

Dante glanced at the narrow strip of the starry sky above his head. He braced himself on the wall and pulled himself up. The walls were smooth and there wasn’t anything to grab on, but it was enough that they were so close. He propped himself easily and advanced upward.

“He’s climbing the building!”

By the time the guardians noticed, Dante stepped onto the roof and ran for the other side. Without slowing down, he hurled his body over the edge. Briefly, he swung on one arm, holding onto the rusty parapet, until his free hand and feet found support against the wall. Then he let go and landed on the terrace on the last floor. He did the same there, swiftly taking one story at a time.

He had done this so many times in the past without accident, but tonight the concrete of the third terrace chipped off abruptly under his feet. He reached to grab at anything but found only empty air. Dante flew downward, gaze locked upon the night sky.

He wasn’t afraid. Heights never made him afraid. Dante closed his eyes and heavy tension weighed upon his head, inducing a wicked headache. The stars witnessed the halt of his descent before reaching the ground.

The stars, and someone else.

Dante landed on his feet and glared at the cloaked stranger who dared to exist the one time he was forced to use his secret ability. Because today just wasn’t shitty enough.

“There he is!”

Dante broke into a run again. He took several detours, hoping to lose the guardians among the tightly packed buildings and hid in the pitch-black entrance of a hideout he used for emergencies. He stood there, did not move, did not breathe, even though his lungs were close to collapsing.

Once the sound of horse hooves was gone, and Dante caught his breath, he carefully peeked behind the corner. The silence of the night was back, and he hoped to see an empty street, but once he leaned forward, a guardian swung his sword, almost slicing Dante’s face off. He avoided the blade, but moving away landed him in the deadly headlock of another guardian.

Dante hung on the bulky arm and kicked the one in the front right in the face. With a swift movement, he slipped from the other guardian’s grip and threw him over his shoulder, letting him collapse to the ground like a potato sack.

“It wasn’t me,” Dante said. “I didn’t do it.”

No one was listening. A third guardian roared from behind and ran at him with a sword aiming straight at his heart. Dante moved out of the way, grabbed his wrist, and swung his body around, disarming and tripping him to the ground.

“I didn’t kill that guy, I swear!”

A fourth guardian came. This one wasn’t as hasty as the previous three, and instead of attacking as a wild man, he stopped and assessed the situation. But all he saw was an armed demon thug and several of his comrades beaten to the ground. This was not helping Dante’s claim of innocence.

He dropped the sword, but the guardian attacked regardless. No point in trying to reason with them and refusing to fight would only get him killed. Fighting would only make his case more unforgivable, so all that was left was for Dante to run again.

He kneeled to the ground, pulled out a small blade from his strapped ankle, and sliced the guardian behind the knee with surgical precision. Blood sprayed on the ground and the man lost his balance, holding his wound and groaning in pain. This should neutralize him for a bit and slow down the others while they took care of him.

“I truly didn’t do it,” Dante said.

As he turned around, another three officers tackled him to the ground. They squashed him underneath their collective weight, pinning his arms and legs and shoving his face into the gravel. Dante f****d up. He couldn’t move. His palm opened, leaving his blade lying on the ground and surrendering himself to their mercy.

Another pair of feet arrived—Samuel Mitrigard. Of course, the officer who hated him the most had to be here. He wasn’t even tired.

“Pick him up,” he ordered.

Dante let the guardians pull him up to his feet. Two of them were holding him from both sides. Several others had their weapons ready. Meanwhile, Samuel Mitrigard picked up Dante’s stranded blade and examined it curiously. It could barely be called a weapon, since it had mostly cut food and ropes. Sometimes it was used to threaten people, but it rarely tasted blood.

Dante wondered whether he shouldn’t try explaining himself again. A small optimistic voice inside him insisted that maybe, this time, he would be heard. The guardians knew how often people from the ghetto framed each other for various reasons. His story was nothing new. Perhaps, just once, he should put his faith in authority.

Without saying a word, Samuel Mitrigard sunk the knife deep into Dante’s side. Piercing pain ignited his senses and weakness spread through his body. He gritted his teeth and glared at the bastard, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing his anguish. Samuel pulled the blade out without even twisting it to finish the job. He was playing.

“Drop him,” he ordered, ever so casually.

The arms pulled away and Dante fell face-first into the dirt. So, this was the end. Dante could never imagine his death, even though he had many close brushes. There were many things he hadn’t done in his life, but at least he took solace in knowing that Peter and Dianna were safe.

Samuel Mitrigard grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Dante’s head. The edge of an impeccably clean sword lowered to his exposed throat.

“Halt!”

The guardian angels froze and gawked as a hooded figure appeared. Dante could swear he saw this hooded figure, but his vision was blurring quickly. The man walked closer and removed his hood, exposing a blond head and blue angel eyes.

“Don’t kill this demon! I order you to release him in the name of Raphael Azelys, Third Prince of Heaven!”

What did he say? Dante couldn’t trust his ears, or any of his other senses at this moment. A royal heir could not simply be in the ghetto. It made no sense. Though the guardians were suddenly standing on their toes. Everyone but Samuel Mitrigard still held his prey by the hair, his sword still ready to slice.

“Your Highness, I don’t know why you’re here alone, but this is not the place for royalty.”

“Please, guardian Samuel, tell me exactly where my place is.”

Dante felt the body behind him tense. The soles of ridiculously expensive boots stepped close enough for him to smell the leather.

“Remove your weapon,” demanded the prince.

His voice was so calm, as though an owner was asking his dog to drop its favorite toy. The guardians were looking at each other, clueless what to do. Samuel Mitrigard pressed the blade against Dante’s throat, enough to break the skin, but no further. He simply did not want to let go, not even when his sovereign demanded it.

“Your Highness, this is a convicted murderer. He killed a guardian on duty…”

“Any demon’s crimes are erased should they become an honorary angel,” the prince interrupted. “I’m here to make him into one.”

“What?”

“Give him to me, guardian Samuel.”

The guardian tugged on Dante’s hair—one last act of defiance before he reluctantly let him go. Dante’s face planted back into the dirt, but the prince caught him in time.

His vision was blurry, but he could see him. His Royal Highness Raphael Azelys was kneeling before him, supporting his chin in his palm, enough so they could establish eye contact.

“From now on, you’re mine,” he said, and the world sank into darkness.