Chapter Five

A strangely soothing feeling washed over Aeron as his eyes fluttered open. "Ugh… my head," he thought as he attempted to scrape some of the dust off his forehead. However, his hands were bound.

"You'll have to try better than that if you want to escape, little one," he heard a deep, wise voice say from his left. Turning, he discovered a large Giant staring at him through thick, blessed bars. His white hair and ample scars told him that he was a veteran, and he knew just what company this man belonged to.

"How're your comrades?" Aeron asked as a sharp pain rushed through his skull. "Damn. What is this?" 

"Looks like the toxin's starting to wear off," the man grumbled as he swung a large smithing hammer against a red-hot billet.

"Toxin?" 

"What you got sprayed with in the earlier battle? You can't tell me you don't remember."

"Hmph… I faintly recall something like that happening." Truth be told, he was slightly embarrassed. It'd been a long time since he'd lost a fight. 

"That was tunneller poison extract, nasty stuff. I heard it drastically increases victims' sense of pain. Though, I'm not sure how well it works on creatures like you." 

"That would explain how they got the upper hand." Aeron clicked his tongue in frustration, that was a rookie mistake. "I'm amazed that I've never heard of that stuff. There aren't many poisons that work on Cherubs."

"It's apparently pretty rare. What you got sprayed with was all our regiment has—it's one of our kind's military secrets."

"Oh, is it?" The fact that he was telling him all of this made him anxious. "Is it normal for you to divulge critical information like that to prisoners?" 

"You won't be around long enough to use it," the Giant said sadly with a slight cough. 

"He seems like a good man," he pondered as he tugged at his chains. With nothing else to do his eyes wandered to his neighbor's work. Every slight impact shaped the raw ore into something beautiful. Honestly, it was quite a show. "What're you making?"

"An axe."

"The Buried Council's having their blacksmith guard prisoners? Short on staff, are we?"

"No," the Giant responded as the molten flecks took on a disturbing, almost blood-like, color. "This axe is for you."

"Ah," Aeron muttered. "So that's how it is." With nothing but time on his hands, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. The shoddily-made cell that he currently called home was perched inside a large purple tent. A space in the entrance revealed that his prison had been set up hastily on the shore. He could still make out the deep scars in the terrain from the earlier battle. Perched on a small mound near the water's edge was his sword, surrounded by a crowd of soldiers and piles of unknown ash.

"Don't touch that, you dolt!" he overheard a familiar voice yelp. 

"Poor Griswold's got his hands full." That blade was a gift from Satan herself, it wouldn't be so easily pilfered.

"A horrid weapon, that. Why do you even use it?"

"What a stupid question," Aeron scowled, "It's just part of my job."

"It's your job to massacre people?" the Giant continued, his tone quiet and calm.

"Great. Now he's giving me a lecture." He frowned. "Since when did people like you care about the morality of fallen Angels?" They were technically Demons, after all.

"Is it wrong for me to wonder why you've killed my comrades and kinsmen?" the Giant said as he began carving strange runes into the ingot's rough edge. When Aeron didn't respond, he sighed and took a step back from his work. "We've got a few minutes while the metal reheats," he muttered as he leaned against the bars, "My name's Caius. I'm one of the Council's master blacksmiths. It's my job to ensure that particularly durable fools like you can be taken care of."

"I'm assuming that's what those runes are for?" 

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, Templar," Caius said as he brushed a cold layer of slag off the forge. "If we lopped your head off here and now, you'd just end up back in Hell. That's the problem with you immortals, you're too hardy. So, we use these."

"Let me guess, another one of your race's secret techniques?" Aeron rolled his eyes.

"My kind's been around since before you Angels were born. It's only natural that we know a thing or two about how your bodies tick." As he spoke, Caius began to carve even more runes into the weapon's hilt, causing the magical symbols to glow like fire. "Killing Angels is a useless endeavor. However, sealing them is a different story."

"Sealing?" He didn't like the sound of that.

"It's a relatively simple concept to understand. We use these runes to trap the souls of the deceased inside the inscribed weapons."

"A silver bullet, then." Caius nodded, it seemed he was right on the mark.

"A horrible fate. I can't imagine being stuck like that for millennia. Though I guess that's just the hand you folks have been dealt."

"If you find it so unappealing, why not pass the job to someone else?" Even if the practice was a state secret, there had to be somebody else capable of replicating it. In response to his question, though, Caius only laughed.

"Only the cruel and confused think like that, boy."

"Boy?" Aeron scowled. "Please, I've been prattling around since before you were born." 

"Oh?" Caius scoffed, "Big talk for a chained pigeon. Personally, I don't think immortals can talk about age. You may have existed for an uncountable number of years, but you've never lived. That fact is likely why you're here now."

"This silverback's sharp." Aeron bit his lip. 

"Silence, eh? That's fine," his jailer continued as he turned and leaned against the bars. "Hell, I'd do the same in your position."

"What do you even want from all of this?"

"As I said before, I just want to know what makes you tick. Aeron Weber—the Bureau's Templar known throughout the afterlife—you had everything one could want, and you threw it all away, why?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was bored?" He smirked. However, much to his shock, Caius didn't seem surprised in the slightest.

"Should've expected as much," he sighed. "Figures that you're just like all the rest of them."

"Excuse me?"

"Please, Angel, don't pretend that you're the only dolt with power." For some reason that insult hit him harder than anything that happened in the previous battle. Before he could snap back, though, he noticed Caius staring sadly at his comrades, who were still occupied with his sword outside. "War turns men into monsters. As one who used to be the templar, I thought you'd learned that lesson."

"Cease this useless chatter," Aeron hissed, "You can only jostle the hornet's nest so much." His anger aside, Caius seemed utterly indifferent to his threats. Maybe the man's age had something to do with it. Or, perhaps, he was missing one too many screws. After a while, though, Aeron gave in. "Over the years, I've watched countless soldiers fall into debauchery. As you said, conflict naturally drives mortals to sin." 

"As time goes on, if one constantly takes what is most precious from another, they'll eventually fall to ruin. I've seen many of my friends go down that path, and it always ends in tragedy. However, the only reason they stumbled onto that loathsome road was that they didn't have the foresight to avoid it. Unlike you, Mr. Weber."

"Are you angry that I fell? Is that it?" The Giant chuckled.

"No, I'm just shocked that you, an immortal, are following the exact same steps as those you once judged. It's uncanny, really."

"Hmph, I just found Heaven boring," Aeron retorted. Although, for some strange reason, those words felt off.

"Right," Caius said as he got back to work, "I'm sure that's what you told yourself in the beginning. Righteous fools with nobody to keep them in their place always end up doing something stupid. And, in my experience, they always end up regretting it. Hell, I bet you're having second thoughts at this very moment." A true man's heart couldn't be filled with cruelty alone.

"I…" 

"Oh? You've gone quiet, Mr. Weber." For a moment, he paused his work and crouched next to the bars. "Boredom for men like us is only an excuse; the true reason we change is for a much simpler reason."

"Hmph," Aeron scoffed, "Are you trying to get me to repent?"

"Hah!" Caius chortled. "Nah, this is just part of the job. I'm your executioner, after all. It's my responsibility to make sure you're aware of your crimes."

"So, you're trying to make me feel guilty? Is that it?"

"If you want to be crass, yes."

"They say honesty's a virtue," he thought as Caius suddenly shoved one of his burly arms through the bars and grabbed his collar. 

"You're not a man who ended up here because he was bored. You're here because you're missing something. Something that not even God can give you." 

"Does that mean you know what that is? Cause I'd love to know," he growled as he stared right into the Giant's eyes. 

"That's simple, boy," Caius continued as he let him go and pointed at his chest, "What you're missing is this." 

"What a farce," Aeron sighed. However, even though he dismissed his jailer's words as the ravings of an idealistic loon, he couldn't bring himself to refute them. 

"Well, it doesn't matter if you believe me or not. We'll be saying our goodbyes soon." It appeared that Caius was almost finished. Every so often a fresh spark—glistening like a rainbow—sprung up from the cast. It was magic at work, plain and simple.

"You nearly done in here, Mr. Caius?" Griswold asked as he strolled into the tent. "Ah, Mr. Weber, I see that you're finally awake." Even though he should've been celebrating his victory, the man looked exhausted. "The men are still struggling to get that blade. Caius, you should probably tend to the wounded."

"Is it really that bad?" Griswold's expression told him all he needed to know.

"Frankly, we haven't been able to get close." Aeron laughed. This man was throwing his soldiers to the wolves! "Chuckle away, you abomination," Griswold cursed, "We all know how powerful that artifact is. Letting it stay here would be the height of idiocy."

"So, you're saying it's worth the cost?"

"Yes."

"Well, in that case, I have to commend your resolve." Aeron smirked. 

"Go ahead and head out," he said as the soldier unceremoniously lifted his finished weapon to the sky. "Oh, good, it's finished. We'll be able to wrap up the execution ahead of schedule." Even though he seemed excited to be done with this mess, Griswold's tone carried a strange sense of melancholy. "Mr. Weber, I don't know what sent you down this path, and, frankly, I don't have the time to care. You've done horrid things—of that I'm certain—and hopefully, with this, you'll be able to atone."

"Atone?" Aeron rolled his eyes. "I think you and I both know that it isn't that simple, Griswold." The man scoffed.

"Please, Mr. Weber, at least shuffle off this faux mortal coil with some dignity. You've done more than enough to deserve it." With a sigh, Griswold scratched his scalp and pulled up a chair. "Welp, since this will be my last chance, I guess I might as well ask."

"My objective?" he chimed in.

"Obviously. What else is there?" the Giant nodded. "Let's just talk, you and me, leaving the conventions at the door." Otherwise, they'd just keep going in circles. "So, Satan, why would she send you here?"

"Now why in the Almighty's name would I ever answer that?" he chortled.

"You don't have to. Although, I think that you'd find the idea entertaining. You're not long for this world, so why not throw a log on the fire?" There were some men out there who could peer right through someone; Griswold must've been one of those people.

"A diplomat's blood, eh?" Aeron thought. For some reason, this little exchange reminded him of Zia. "Okay, in that case, I'll play along. I was planning on bringing it up, anyway." When Griswold saw that he was willing to talk, the man leaned in, careful to make sure that Caius wouldn't overhear them. "Tell me, Griswold, have you ever wondered how you could force your way into Heaven?

"Not particularly," he said. "Though if you're desperate you can always just hop in a box and wait." 

"Please," Aeron rolled his eyes, "We both know it's not that simple. Your race were the ones who originally built Heaven, after all." The Giants' hatred of Cherubs was common knowledge. It wasn't entirely ridiculous to think that they might've installed an alternate entrance somewhere.

"Satan sent you fools on a wild goose chase." Griswold shook his head. "That said, it's hard to believe that schemer sent her newest recruit on a fool's errand." That woman was many things, but an idiot she was not. "Caius, go ahead and send Mr. Weber to his maker. I'm done here." 

"Understood." It looked like his time had run out. After quenching the still-smoldering blade in a jar of some unknown liquid, he turned and opened the cell door. 

"Guess we might as well get this over with," he said. 

"Agreed. I'll remember you, Templar." With that, they shuffled out into the half-destroyed beach. Piles of burnt corpses littered the ground and the putrid scent of death hung in the air. Not one of the soldiers even batted an eye as Caius dragged Aeron to the edge of the water.

"The sword really did a number on them." 

"Okay, we're here," he said as he tied his chains to a rock. "I don't think I need to tell you this, but there's no point in fighting back. Your powers have been sealed."

"Yes, yes, I know." He might as well go out in a manner befitting his station. Without a word, Aeron sauntered over and knelt against the stone.

"You ready?" Caius asked as he leaned back to swing his bizarre creation, which was now twinkling like stars in the night sky. "God's speed, Aeron Weber." 

"Here we go." Right as Caius let loose, a giant explosion rocked the area. "Took you long enough," he muttered under his breath.

"You good, boss?" Pereph said, her tone low and emotionless.

"Oh no," he thought as the hairs on the back of his neck shot straight up. He could practically feel the anger wafting off her being. "This is going to hurt."