Cheat Mountain. Rural West Virginia. September 29, 2008
“The demons are gathering on the summit.”
Castiel automatically glances up the slope of the mountain. There is nothing to see - the summit is shrouded in mist and rain and blue-grey shadow. But there is no doubt that the demons are there. He can feel them, like a faint, bone-deep itch. And given the slightly impatient shifting of some of his brothers and sisters, he is not the only one.
“The Seal within this mountain is complex. As is the ritual to break it.” Ecanus, Castiel’s immediate superior, looks over the dozen angels at his command. By human standards, he is an unimposing leader, his vessel a scrawny boy of no more than seventeen.
Castiel knows that it is foolish to think that an angel’s vessel is a reflection of character or ability. Such prejudices are all too human. And yet he finds himself silently hoping that Ecanus’s young and inexperienced exterior is not an indicator of how he will conduct this battle.
Of course, there is the nagging fact that Ecanus is not as experienced a leader as other angels in his position. If all were right, this field command would belong to Anna.
Castiel quickly shakes off that thought. The chain of command had chosen Ecanus as Anna’s replacement, and that alone is enough of an endorsement.
Ecanus does not seem to have noticed that the mind of at least one of his soldiers is straying.
“Once interrupted, the ritual cannot be retried,” he continues. “They will have lost their chance at this Seal. Therefore, it is imperative that we allow them to begin before we move in. We will take them by surprise from all sides.”
There is no need to specify that prisoners will not be taken.
“Once the task is completed, return immediately to the Garrison,” Ecanus adds, looking grim. “We may well be needed elsewhere this night.”
There is no need to explain what every angel on this worn-down mountain already knows. Lilith, it seems, is growing impatient and has cast aside any semblance of subtlety. Ten Seals have come under blatant threat in the last few hours, all over the globe. At least one has already been broken. For creatures so adept at being underhanded, the demons are all but daring Heaven to interfere. The Garrison has found itself scrambling to deploy a defensive net, hastily dispatching angels to each site.
And the Garrison does not care for being put on the defensive.
The angels wait in silence for the signal to strike while rain drips down through the leaves and the overcast evening gives way to night. It is only when full darkness has fallen that there is a flash of reddish light on the summit, and a dull boom rolls down to the valley below. The ritual is underway.
And, as one, the angels vanish from beneath the trees, and the mountain virtually errupts.
Castiel automatically glances up the slope of the mountain. There is nothing to see - the summit is shrouded in mist and rain and blue-grey shadow. But there is no doubt that the demons are there. He can feel them, like a faint, bone-deep itch. And given the slightly impatient shifting of some of his brothers and sisters, he is not the only one.
“The Seal within this mountain is complex. As is the ritual to break it.” Ecanus, Castiel’s immediate superior, looks over the dozen angels at his command. By human standards, he is an unimposing leader, his vessel a scrawny boy of no more than seventeen.
Castiel knows that it is foolish to think that an angel’s vessel is a reflection of character or ability. Such prejudices are all too human. And yet he finds himself silently hoping that Ecanus’s young and inexperienced exterior is not an indicator of how he will conduct this battle.
Of course, there is the nagging fact that Ecanus is not as experienced a leader as other angels in his position. If all were right, this field command would belong to Anna.
Castiel quickly shakes off that thought. The chain of command had chosen Ecanus as Anna’s replacement, and that alone is enough of an endorsement.
Ecanus does not seem to have noticed that the mind of at least one of his soldiers is straying.
“Once interrupted, the ritual cannot be retried,” he continues. “They will have lost their chance at this Seal. Therefore, it is imperative that we allow them to begin before we move in. We will take them by surprise from all sides.”
There is no need to specify that prisoners will not be taken.
“Once the task is completed, return immediately to the Garrison,” Ecanus adds, looking grim. “We may well be needed elsewhere this night.”
There is no need to explain what every angel on this worn-down mountain already knows. Lilith, it seems, is growing impatient and has cast aside any semblance of subtlety. Ten Seals have come under blatant threat in the last few hours, all over the globe. At least one has already been broken. For creatures so adept at being underhanded, the demons are all but daring Heaven to interfere. The Garrison has found itself scrambling to deploy a defensive net, hastily dispatching angels to each site.
And the Garrison does not care for being put on the defensive.
The angels wait in silence for the signal to strike while rain drips down through the leaves and the overcast evening gives way to night. It is only when full darkness has fallen that there is a flash of reddish light on the summit, and a dull boom rolls down to the valley below. The ritual is underway.
And, as one, the angels vanish from beneath the trees, and the mountain virtually errupts.