1: Into the Garden

The only light remaining in the room emanated from the angel at its center, deep breaths echoing across the enormous chamber room and breathing life into the tales depicted on mosaics of stained glass. Pure had returned to the very same church every night for nearly three decades, dutiful in the conquest of faith he’d been deployed to fulfill. Undoubtedly one of the lord’s most loyal servants, he’d been bestowed a high honor with the great responsibility of blessing much of the Christian population of a small town in New Mexico. Few witnessed his work, namely the pastor and a rather unpleasant mayor, though most benefited from it in the form of protection spells and good fortune. It was a thankless job, even for a man so devoted to servitude.

“Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto.” Prayers usually flowed naturally from his lips, a river of calls to a higher power that never answered. Only the night whistled and whispered in his ears, carrying the sound asleep snores of those at peace with his work- often his only indication that his prayers were heard.

He was beginning to falter. Usually, he prayed his feelings away just as he cured the feelings of the living that surrounded him. On this particular night, he could not be so easily contained; frustration caused the tremors in his clasped hands, and uncertainty compelled him to rise from his knees. Yet, as always, he remained still. God himself was more compelling than any temptation, he swore to his mind and an audience of thoughts that wouldn’t rest.

“Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper,” his breath shook, simultaneously terrified and ashamed of himself. Even behind holy words the devil lingered bitterly on his tongue; what merit did the voice of a silent lord hold, after all? Every day it was harder to profess his faith, though the words continued to mindlessly flow. “…Et in saecula saeculorum.” With a huff, cathartic relief of its own kind, he exhaled his closure. “Amen.”

Just before he could rise the ground beneath him quaked, echoing the sweet song of Seraphims as they drew closer and parted the sea of mortal thought. A cold ran down his spine, almost convinced he was to atone for the sins his mind clandestinely committed. Yet he stilled, wings folded in submission as his head lowered to the church floor before the light descending from the steeple. The ripples of illumination from the higher ranking angel just out of his vision reflected even off of the deep red carpet beneath him, surely blinding to look at directly. He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the worst, hands unintentionally gripping the rug in balled fists.

“Mon Dieu sacré..” The angel muttered into the floor, feeling the weight of glowing eyes over his shrunken frame and curled wings. He radiated terror, seemingly so stressed that if he trembled enough his feathers would begin to fall off- at least, until the higher deity spoke.

“You have done well to protect the lord’s faith,” the kneeling angel glanced over at the two feet before him as they floated closer, shaken from panic by the two fingers tapping his shoulder blade. “However, I am here to inform you of your new assignment. Face me.” Once the order was followed the taller figure huffed, almost disappointed by the man receiving such a dire task. “It is a personal request from the father.. I do not suggest you take it lightly.”

“Mais non..” Pure shook his head, still craning his neck to meet the other’s unimpressed gaze. “I would never-”

“Good. You are to take care of a person of interest.. Your hands?” The kneeling angel obliged once again, bracing himself as a wave of white washed over his view before they’d been teleported- now, with his knees in the dirt, he blinked a few times to adjust to the dust in his eyes. “He is inside there,” the authoritative figure gestured to the building beside them, similarly catching the other’s attention. “Bona fide.”

The messenger was gone before Pure could bid his own prayers, leaving nothing but the path ahead and one rather unclear task: to take care of someone. Whoever they were, they weren’t far from Teufort- that much he could deduce from the familiar hum of dreams, only now far in the distance and fading by the second. It was both refreshing and bittersweet to leave everything he knew behind, but he accepted the challenge with open arms; or at least, he assumed a challenge. Being a specially requested guardian angel was no easy task.

Pure didn’t bother standing, instead propelling himself down the dirt path with his widespread wings, feathers sparkling like the twinkling stars above. The building appeared to be an old bar, barely standing and fitted with a crude name painted over a plank of rotting wood. Charming, he lied to himself as he reached for the doorknob that crumbled against his glove. This didn’t seem like a promotion, after all. Still he pressed forward, pushing with little strength into the door that seemed to crumble backwards and illuminating the unexpectedly dark building. Instead of being greeted by lively bar chatter- not his own preference, yet expected of such an hour- he was greeted by nothing. The room was still full, that he could tell, but not of life. Instead, bodies scattered across the bar in complete undead disarray. Some toppled over tables, a handful piled at his feet in a noticeable attempt to escape. If that wasn’t horrifying enough, he quickly noted that no amount of cheap alcohol could mask the foul stench of the dead that littered the pub floor. No, this couldn’t have been his assignment. Whoever it was seemed to already be long gone; at least at first glance, until an unusual force tugged him forward. A pressure against his chest he’d never felt before, dragging him over countless corpses- in that moment, he was acutely aware of how far off the ground he kept his feet- and to the back exit at the opposite end of the bar. He allowed it to lead, not that he’d fight his only lead in such a cryptic case. As he floated back into the moonlight his shoulders sank from unnoticed tension, shooting back up when he spotted the man smoking beside him.

‘Man’ was only technically true. He looked more like a beast, even without devilish horns or the curse of a full moon. His clothes were a canvas painted with blood, which was easy to trace back to the bodies behind them. The demented creature didn’t even flinch at the sight of an angel, a real angel, which was possibly even more horrifying than the ability to exact his wrath on an entire building of people. Furthermore his eyes glowed a haunting red like a demon, though the angel sensed no aura but the tugging at his chest that drew him closer.

“What the hell is this?” The beast croaked, fearlessly looking over the higher being with brave disdain.

“I..” Shaking himself back into focus he approached to no resistance from the most likely cold blooded killer, circling to face him and taking both of his bloodied hands in his own; it was only then that the tugging in his chest was relieved. “I am your guardian angel, sworn to protect you under the lord’s oath..” Finally lowering his feet back to the ground, he kneeled to bow and kiss the monster’s hand; only then did he pull away, riddled by visible disgust.

“‘S this some kinda joke?” The beast reached for the machete on his hip, only to hesitate as if he knew it wouldn’t do much to the angel. Still, he created cautious distance that made the angel’s shoulders ache. “..A guy like me don’ need no protectin’. ‘Specially not wit’ a prissy costume like ‘at.”

“I’m afraid that is not a matter for us to discuss, but the word of the holy spirit..” His words trailed off, eyes following the monster as he began to walk away. Just as he took a step in pursuit the machete flung back reflexively, still useless but close to prodding into his neck.

“You stay away from me.” The beast kept an eye on him, only continuing when he was certain the angel would comply; Pure simply crossed his arms, watching in unyielding silence as the beast created more distance, fighting the pain that spread downward until he could barely stand for the sake of insistence.

The beast would soon learn on his own, with one step too far, that resistance was futile; they both felt it instantaneously, the crushing weight of bounds neither could grasp at sucking the air from their lungs and leaving them both helpless; the angel, immortal and less affected as he was, propelled himself forward on sheer adrenaline to free them from the vow’s grip. Rushing to close the distance between them with desperate gasps he grasped at the beast’s shoulder and spun him back around as soon as he was within reach, both insufferable pain and fire in his lungs disappearing in a pleasant instant.

The beast could only cough and gasp, unintentionally gripping the angel’s shoulder the same as he caught his breath. When the world eventually stopped spinning he recoiled again, though not far. “Bloody ‘ell?!”

This time, even the angel was unsure. He’d known immediately that a direct order from the lord himself meant serious business, but the tales of angels being spiritually attached to their humans were few and far between. “Je suis terriblement désolé, we appear to be tethered..”

“Well.. fuckin’ undo it!” The beast barked back as if he were prepared to lunge forward, making the angel feel smaller than usual in that moment. “I ain’t have a say in this?!”

“As I said before,” the angel retorted, somehow confident and completely uncertain at the same time. “It is not up to us, I fear.” When the other seemed not only unsatisfied but even more frustrated, he made his best attempt to mend the situation. “If I must say.. I do not intend to interfere with your-” Well, mass murder didn’t exactly seem like work. “..hobby. I am only here to do as I have been ordered, and protect you.” He reached for one of the beast’s hands again, if only to mitigate the soreness in his core.

He finally caved. “..S’pose there ain’t no use in runnin’. Yer really gonna stay outta my way, angel?” With an eager nod Pure squeezed his hand, which seemed to throw the beast off guard. “Fine then.. The folks ‘round here call me Brutal.”

“I see..” The angel acted interested, though he was of course morbidly disturbed; he couldn’t convey as much now. “Then you may call me Pure.”

“Heh. Pure..” Brutal finally met his eyes, probably longer than anyone should’ve locked gazes with an angel. Still, he seemed unperturbed. “Those pre’ey eyes of yours’re gonna see a lot, love..”

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