Gods of Death

18 : Forgiveness

The sword plunged deeply into the ground, scraping past gravel and sharp stones. Victor let go of the hilt and Zadkiel pushed him onto the floor. He landed sitting, and looked up with a grunt.

"Why did you do that?" Victor demanded, pulling himself to his feet.

"Your suicide serves no-one."

"It serves me."

Zadkiel's face turned dark as he shook his head. "It's sad that you think that," he said. He pointed to the lake where Rydia was emerging. Hundreds of her soft petals falling from her hair to cover the water. It had stopped raining.

Zadkiel looked from her to Emma, the flying devil clapping her hands in obvious pleasure.

"Well done, Rydia!" Emma congratulated her friend. "Can he get out?"

Rydia shook her head, more petals flying from it to land on the lake. "Not for a very long while."

Emma turned to Victor, ignoring Zadkiel, "Marzena?" she asked.

"She's gone," Victor said, "he says with no chance of return."

Emma looked, questioning.

"The sword," Victor said by way of explanation. He took hold of the hilt and pulled from the ground. "Its magic is pretty comprehensive."

"Imp," Zadkiel said to her, "I would speak with you."

Emma looked at the Archangel, his wings hanging in tatters from his back. "You want to speak with me?" she asked.

Zadkiel nodded. "Alone," he added, beckoning her to follow him. Bemused Emma did as she was asked and the two of them followed the edge of the lake around until they were out of earshot. Victor watched them go.

"That's unusual," he said finally, once he was sure that all that was going on was a conversation.

"Nothing about any of this is usual," Rydia noted. Victor turned to her.

"What did you do to Simon?"

"He's imprisoned. He will eventually be able to work his way out, but it could take him centuries."

Victor looked at the water, the petals that had marked Rydia's exit from the water now moved gently in a spiral above the spot. "What about those?" he asked.

"They're the key," Rydia said. "If you want him free, you need only break the chain."

"So anyone can set him free by playing with the petals?"

"Yes... and no. The leaves cannot be brushed aside or easily removed. It would require knowledge and determination."

"I'll trust you."

"Thank you."

Victor looked once more at the sword he held. Moments ago he had been willing to finish it all, to stab himself with the blade and let its wicked magic destroy him utterly, body and soul. Now, the idea of suicide was fled from him and he saw another need; it's original purpose.

"I must kill Zadkiel," he muttered.

"No," Rydia said, "please no. There is no need for any more of the Archangels to die."

Victor looked over at the two figures chatting just outside of his hearing, the imp and the angel. He knew which one he'd choose to save, any time there was a choice between them, and right now there was a choice.

"I must," he said again, more firmly. He lifted the sword and strode forward.

"Victor!" Rydia pleaded.

Zadkiel turned when the crunch of Victor's boot on the gravel was close enough to be heard. He stopped speaking and held up a hand in greeting. Victor kept closing the distance towards them.

Emma smiled at him. "Victor, I have something to say to you," she opened.

Victor swung. The sword sliced through the air effortlessly and caught Zadkiel at the wrist. His hand, palm forward in welcome, dropped alone to the floor, decomposing rapidly as it fell. Zadkiel gasped and fell to his knees. Victor ran him through.

Rydia screamed, the sound crossing the cool air. Zadkiel, his wound already expanding in a growing circle of decay, gazed up at his destroyer.

"I forgive you," he said. "For all your sins, Victor, I forgive you." He gritted his teeth from the pain.

"For all your days of transgressing, I forgive you," he said.

"For every evil thought and self-serving action, I forgive you," he said.

"For you weaknesses, I forgive you," he said.

"For this," he indicated his chest with his decaying stump, "I forgive you."

And Zadkiel died.

Emma flew at Victor in a rage, her hands balled into fists. She punched him in the cheek and across the nose. "Wrong, Victor, wrong!" she shouted.

Victor bowed his head as the assault continued. Emma's punches were too weak to harm him, and she didn't strike with her tail. Victor kept his eyes closed as she released her anger on him, letting it out of her. She didn't stop after a few blows but kept going, occasionally shouting his name or the word 'wrong'. There were tears, ugly-sounding sobs that tainted the air. To Victor it seemed to go on for hours; he knew it was only seconds.

"Are you done?" he said eventually, when Emma's pounding had slowed to a near stop.

"Why?" she called at him, "We could have explored options!"

"There are no other options," Victor said. "Do you think I haven't tried to think of them? We're stuck, Emma, stuck in this horrific trap. Each one of the Archangels has tried to offer options, in their own way. Do you know what they were doing? They were begging for their lives. They all knew their options were meaningless. The Gods of Death have all the power now, not the Archangels, not the hosts of Heaven. Do you think we can return to Hell with the news that 'oh, actually, we let the last one go?'. This isn't something that can be resolved with a fake death certificate and a photo of a supposed dead body - they know when we succeed in our task and when we fail. They know where we go and what we are doing.

"Do you think that blackness when we tried to go somewhere else was coincidence? Do you think Three being able to find me was just luck? Do you think the t*****e you endured wasn't planned by them? Do you think there's an actual out? There's no out, Emma, there's just in."

Victor slid his sword into the scabbard and pointed to an open space on the ground.

"Portal, please, Emma. Three to go."

Tears in her eyes, Emma performed the ritual that would take them back to the Gods for their report. As Victor stepped through the shimmering light, she sighed. "I forgive you," she whispered, saying the words she had planned only minutes beforehand.

Victor wasn't there to hear them.