[realmof_themuse 20B3]
"War is cruelty, and none can make it gentle." The Battle of the Strong by Gilbert Parker
Sleep was not something that came easy to her now. There were nights that her body would ache and demand rest, but every time she closed her eyes, she would jolt awake out of fear of reliving the battle field. It wasn’t that what she did bother her, but rather the screams of her comrades as they lay dying. Sariel knew nothing she could do would help them, and so she ignored them and continued to fight against Michael and his armies.
Tonight however, she managed to shut those screams out and curl up on her cot, a thick blue blanket wrapped around her. She made a small murmur in her sleep and shifted positions. It was cozy under that blanket. Safe. No one else to worry about, just her.
A hand rested on Sariel’s shoulder and shook her entire body, hard. In one smooth motion, she sat up, grabbed a knife from under her pillow and pointed it at the stranger’s throat, eyes narrowed.
“General, hold!” a voice squeaked. “I’m Galdel, one of the colonels under your command. I served with you three days ago, on the battlefield of layer four.”
Sariel groaned inwardly and lowered her knife. “My apologies, colonel. It was instinct.”
“Forgiven, sir,” Galdel stepped back to allow Sariel some room to move. She instead flopped back onto her bed, rearranging the blanket to cover up her breasts.
“Well? Why are you here, colonel?”
“I was sent by Lucifer,” he said, standing to attention. “There has been an urgent matter that requires your consultation. Immediately.”
That got her up and out of bed. Gladel averted his eyes from her body, feeling it inappropriate to see a commanding officer in such a state. She grunted and pulled on a skirt from the clothes line that she had running in her tent. “Anymore information on what happened?”
“I have no more information, general. He is waiting for you in M*A*S*H 401 block C.”
“Good, good. Are you required to be there as well, Galdel?” Sariel asked, slipping a shirt over her head.
“No, sir.”
She glared at him. “Then go, you’ve done your duty.”
The angel gave her a salute and then left. Sariel groaned inwardly as she sat down to lace up her sandals. As she laced them, she wondered briefly what had happened. It was rare for Lucifer to send for her at night, second in command or not. It was an ill sign, for certain. After she was certain the laces wouldn’t come loose, she grabbed her sword belt, strapped it around her waist, and headed out.
The M*A*S*H units were a quarter mile walk from Sariel’s tent. Normally, she would have walked there, but there was a level of urgency in the message Galdel had delivered. It wasn’t every day Lucifer was in the hospital units, nor was it every day he requested her presence there. She arched her back, allowing one of her pairs of wings to slip out. Sariel gave them a stretch, letting them expand to their thirty foot wingspan and giving them a shake. It had been a while since they were out. Then she began to run, and with a flap of her wings, she was airborne.
Lucifer’s camp sprawled beneath her. Command HQ in the center, rows and rows of tents for soldiers around it, supply areas sprinkled throughout. M*A*S*H 401 was the one M*A*S*H unit used for extremely heavy injuries, and had survived countless bombing attacks from Michael’s forces. Sariel herself had spent a month there early on in the war after being attacked by Michael and Uriel. It was not a fun month.
She began her descent and landed on the doorsteps of the building. After taking a deep breath and tucking her wings back into her body, she stepped in.
Once inside, there was nothing but rows and rows of hospital beds, all separated by delicate white or green curtains. The entire place was made of wood, in Sariel’s opinion, was the absolute worst place for one to die. She began to walk up the aisles, looking for Lucifer.
“Lux?” she asked quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping patients. “Lucifer, you here?”
“Over here,” came Lucifer’s voice from the next row over. It was steely and cold, a quality almost foreign to him.
Sariel found him standing over a bed, in the middle of a conversation with one of the nurses. She couldn’t remember the angel’s name, but recognized her as one of the nurses who had tended to her own wounds countless times. Sariel then looked down at contents of the bed. On it there lay an angel, wrapped heavily in bandages. It was impossible to tell the full extent of the damage, so Sariel grabbed the chart that hung on at the foot of his bed. There was no name given, only that he had his lower left leg missing, along with three fingers (two on the right, one on the left), and a slashed and bloodied face.
“Lucifer,” Sariel said quietly. “What the fuck? You call me here in the middle of the night, a night when I actually managed to sleep, to show me another battle field refugee?!”
Lucifer waved off the nurse that he had been talking to, and then glared at Sariel. “No. He didn’t come from the battlefield.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Two guards found him outside our enclosure, presumably dropped off by some of Michael’s goons.”
“Then how did he-“
“Torture,” Lucifer said flatly.
She gaped a little, and shook her head. “You’re kidding me-“
“S’not all,” he continued. “They cut off his wings. All six of them.”
Sariel shook her head miserably. It had always been said that the worst thing to happen to an angel, worse beyond death or exile or damnation, was the loss of their wings. It fundamentally made them unangelic - little more than a human with super powers. Sometimes it happened in battle, but when that happened, it was considered to be an acceptable way to lose them. But this? Deliberately removing them? It was a cruel offense and one that was considered unforgivable.
“Son of a bitch.” It was all she could say. “Son of a bitch.”
“I know,” Lucifer said. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like. Shit, they don’t even know if the poor guy’s gonna live.”
“What was his rank?” Sariel asked. She desperately wanted to move away from the bed. “Name? Class?”
“Seraph, we think he was a major general. As you read, we have no name for him.” He let out a sign and began to rub the bridge of his nose. “ The doctors don’t think he’s gonna survive the night. What’re we gonna do? We can’t sink to this level.”
Sariel chewed on her lip. “We can. And we should.”
“What?!”
“He’s sunk lower than low,” Sariel continued. “He committed the first offense, and I would not be surprised if there are others who have undergone or are undergoing a similar process. It would be foolish not to send a message of awareness. He thinks he’s threatening us and making us shit our pants? Let’s prove him wrong. Find a high ranking officer. Torture him. Remove his wings. Disembowel him. Remove his head. Then send the body and wings back to his camp.”
“Sariel,” Lucifer took a beat to absorb everything she had suggested. “Think about what you just said.”
She nodded. “I did. He strikes at us, we strike back harder. Faster. With more force. That’s how we’ve done it so far, and it hasn’t failed us yet.”
“It’s brought us to a stalemate!” he snapped. “There’s no fucking winner in this war because we keep trying to one up each other.”
“Then what would you have us do, not respond to this?” Sariel hissed. “And keep your voice down, we’re in a hospital, for God’s sake. You woke me up in the middle of the night to see this. Did you expect me to react differently? Acts like this make me want to go rip Michael into shreads!”
“I am not responding to this on the same level as him,” Lucifer said flatly. “I may be bombing the shit out of M*A*S*H units, destroying entire camps, and so forth, but I will not sink to the level of wing removal.”
Sariel sighed. “I dunno what to say then. But we need to show him that such actions have dire consequences, and we need to do that quickly.”
“If we could engage him in proper combat-“ Lucifer mused.
“Plausible, but how would that make things different from any other fight?”
“If we draw everyone we can onto the battle field, we could perhaps send a legion or two to decimate their encampments, steal their rations and medical supplies and, if we must, do one wing removal-“
“Find a seraph,” Sariel ventured. “Cut off two wings. The middle two. It shows mercy, and illustrates the fact that what he did was unforgivable.”
“Acceptable.”
“You still need me or-“
Lucifer shook his head. “Go. We’ll conference with everyone else tomorrow morning.”
“Sir.”
She walked out of the M*A*S*H unit, considerably more worried than before. Michael acting in such a manner was something that fundamentally disturbed her, and she had no idea why. Sariel decided to walk back to her tent, to clear her head so that she could get back to sleep. She flopped back down onto her cot and stared at the ceiling.
“Son a bitch,” she muttered to herself. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sariel realized that the bitch in question was God, and that It had been so painfully absent during this war. Absent my ass, she thought to herself. It’s just waiting and is too scared to get involved.
Word count: 1645
Sleep was not something that came easy to her now. There were nights that her body would ache and demand rest, but every time she closed her eyes, she would jolt awake out of fear of reliving the battle field. It wasn’t that what she did bother her, but rather the screams of her comrades as they lay dying. Sariel knew nothing she could do would help them, and so she ignored them and continued to fight against Michael and his armies.
Tonight however, she managed to shut those screams out and curl up on her cot, a thick blue blanket wrapped around her. She made a small murmur in her sleep and shifted positions. It was cozy under that blanket. Safe. No one else to worry about, just her.
A hand rested on Sariel’s shoulder and shook her entire body, hard. In one smooth motion, she sat up, grabbed a knife from under her pillow and pointed it at the stranger’s throat, eyes narrowed.
“General, hold!” a voice squeaked. “I’m Galdel, one of the colonels under your command. I served with you three days ago, on the battlefield of layer four.”
Sariel groaned inwardly and lowered her knife. “My apologies, colonel. It was instinct.”
“Forgiven, sir,” Galdel stepped back to allow Sariel some room to move. She instead flopped back onto her bed, rearranging the blanket to cover up her breasts.
“Well? Why are you here, colonel?”
“I was sent by Lucifer,” he said, standing to attention. “There has been an urgent matter that requires your consultation. Immediately.”
That got her up and out of bed. Gladel averted his eyes from her body, feeling it inappropriate to see a commanding officer in such a state. She grunted and pulled on a skirt from the clothes line that she had running in her tent. “Anymore information on what happened?”
“I have no more information, general. He is waiting for you in M*A*S*H 401 block C.”
“Good, good. Are you required to be there as well, Galdel?” Sariel asked, slipping a shirt over her head.
“No, sir.”
She glared at him. “Then go, you’ve done your duty.”
The angel gave her a salute and then left. Sariel groaned inwardly as she sat down to lace up her sandals. As she laced them, she wondered briefly what had happened. It was rare for Lucifer to send for her at night, second in command or not. It was an ill sign, for certain. After she was certain the laces wouldn’t come loose, she grabbed her sword belt, strapped it around her waist, and headed out.
The M*A*S*H units were a quarter mile walk from Sariel’s tent. Normally, she would have walked there, but there was a level of urgency in the message Galdel had delivered. It wasn’t every day Lucifer was in the hospital units, nor was it every day he requested her presence there. She arched her back, allowing one of her pairs of wings to slip out. Sariel gave them a stretch, letting them expand to their thirty foot wingspan and giving them a shake. It had been a while since they were out. Then she began to run, and with a flap of her wings, she was airborne.
Lucifer’s camp sprawled beneath her. Command HQ in the center, rows and rows of tents for soldiers around it, supply areas sprinkled throughout. M*A*S*H 401 was the one M*A*S*H unit used for extremely heavy injuries, and had survived countless bombing attacks from Michael’s forces. Sariel herself had spent a month there early on in the war after being attacked by Michael and Uriel. It was not a fun month.
She began her descent and landed on the doorsteps of the building. After taking a deep breath and tucking her wings back into her body, she stepped in.
Once inside, there was nothing but rows and rows of hospital beds, all separated by delicate white or green curtains. The entire place was made of wood, in Sariel’s opinion, was the absolute worst place for one to die. She began to walk up the aisles, looking for Lucifer.
“Lux?” she asked quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping patients. “Lucifer, you here?”
“Over here,” came Lucifer’s voice from the next row over. It was steely and cold, a quality almost foreign to him.
Sariel found him standing over a bed, in the middle of a conversation with one of the nurses. She couldn’t remember the angel’s name, but recognized her as one of the nurses who had tended to her own wounds countless times. Sariel then looked down at contents of the bed. On it there lay an angel, wrapped heavily in bandages. It was impossible to tell the full extent of the damage, so Sariel grabbed the chart that hung on at the foot of his bed. There was no name given, only that he had his lower left leg missing, along with three fingers (two on the right, one on the left), and a slashed and bloodied face.
“Lucifer,” Sariel said quietly. “What the fuck? You call me here in the middle of the night, a night when I actually managed to sleep, to show me another battle field refugee?!”
Lucifer waved off the nurse that he had been talking to, and then glared at Sariel. “No. He didn’t come from the battlefield.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Two guards found him outside our enclosure, presumably dropped off by some of Michael’s goons.”
“Then how did he-“
“Torture,” Lucifer said flatly.
She gaped a little, and shook her head. “You’re kidding me-“
“S’not all,” he continued. “They cut off his wings. All six of them.”
Sariel shook her head miserably. It had always been said that the worst thing to happen to an angel, worse beyond death or exile or damnation, was the loss of their wings. It fundamentally made them unangelic - little more than a human with super powers. Sometimes it happened in battle, but when that happened, it was considered to be an acceptable way to lose them. But this? Deliberately removing them? It was a cruel offense and one that was considered unforgivable.
“Son of a bitch.” It was all she could say. “Son of a bitch.”
“I know,” Lucifer said. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like. Shit, they don’t even know if the poor guy’s gonna live.”
“What was his rank?” Sariel asked. She desperately wanted to move away from the bed. “Name? Class?”
“Seraph, we think he was a major general. As you read, we have no name for him.” He let out a sign and began to rub the bridge of his nose. “ The doctors don’t think he’s gonna survive the night. What’re we gonna do? We can’t sink to this level.”
Sariel chewed on her lip. “We can. And we should.”
“What?!”
“He’s sunk lower than low,” Sariel continued. “He committed the first offense, and I would not be surprised if there are others who have undergone or are undergoing a similar process. It would be foolish not to send a message of awareness. He thinks he’s threatening us and making us shit our pants? Let’s prove him wrong. Find a high ranking officer. Torture him. Remove his wings. Disembowel him. Remove his head. Then send the body and wings back to his camp.”
“Sariel,” Lucifer took a beat to absorb everything she had suggested. “Think about what you just said.”
She nodded. “I did. He strikes at us, we strike back harder. Faster. With more force. That’s how we’ve done it so far, and it hasn’t failed us yet.”
“It’s brought us to a stalemate!” he snapped. “There’s no fucking winner in this war because we keep trying to one up each other.”
“Then what would you have us do, not respond to this?” Sariel hissed. “And keep your voice down, we’re in a hospital, for God’s sake. You woke me up in the middle of the night to see this. Did you expect me to react differently? Acts like this make me want to go rip Michael into shreads!”
“I am not responding to this on the same level as him,” Lucifer said flatly. “I may be bombing the shit out of M*A*S*H units, destroying entire camps, and so forth, but I will not sink to the level of wing removal.”
Sariel sighed. “I dunno what to say then. But we need to show him that such actions have dire consequences, and we need to do that quickly.”
“If we could engage him in proper combat-“ Lucifer mused.
“Plausible, but how would that make things different from any other fight?”
“If we draw everyone we can onto the battle field, we could perhaps send a legion or two to decimate their encampments, steal their rations and medical supplies and, if we must, do one wing removal-“
“Find a seraph,” Sariel ventured. “Cut off two wings. The middle two. It shows mercy, and illustrates the fact that what he did was unforgivable.”
“Acceptable.”
“You still need me or-“
Lucifer shook his head. “Go. We’ll conference with everyone else tomorrow morning.”
“Sir.”
She walked out of the M*A*S*H unit, considerably more worried than before. Michael acting in such a manner was something that fundamentally disturbed her, and she had no idea why. Sariel decided to walk back to her tent, to clear her head so that she could get back to sleep. She flopped back down onto her cot and stared at the ceiling.
“Son a bitch,” she muttered to herself. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sariel realized that the bitch in question was God, and that It had been so painfully absent during this war. Absent my ass, she thought to herself. It’s just waiting and is too scared to get involved.
Word count: 1645