Broken by Ryan Attard

Author:Ryan Attard [Attard, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ryan Attard
Published: 2019-02-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“Bringing him here was a mistake. We should…”

“…no time. I had to act fast…”

“This is not… we were taught…”

“Time… change… Heaven’s forces against us…”

“Quiet. The mortal stirs.”

The voices in my head settled into blissful quiet. I cracked my eyelids open, allowing a sliver of light to meet my eyes and immediately regretted it.

Sensation came back like a flood. A thousand sounds, mostly coming from the figures in front of me. The taste of copper and salt in my mouth, making me gag. My skin felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper. Aches and pains started in a slow dull throb that then escalated into a crescendo of suck.

Sight was the worst. Light felt like tiny little spears digging into my brain. Shapes were hazy at first, then slowly they became more solid, clearer.

Someone was kneeling beside me. Comfortable warmth washed over me. I recognized him after a few tries. Jehudiel, an archangel I had once worked with.

And by that I mean we fought the Sin of Lust, destroyed a cruise liner (long story), then I punched him in the face, and we became fast friends.

There was something comforting about his face, and then I realized what it was.

A lack of divinity.

His long golden mane of hair held its luster, enough to put every shampoo advert to shame, while his skin and eyes glowed softly, like a corona around a sun.

But there was no majestic power, no otherworldly feeling to his presence.

The heat coming from his hands ceased.

“You should not have done that,” said someone behind him. “Our powers are limited as it is.”

“Hush, Raquiel,” Jehudiel said. “We are healers and envoys of peace, before all else. Never forget that.”

Even half-concussed, I heard the disapproving tut coming from the other angel.

Jehudiel ignored him.

“Easy, Erik Ashendale,” he said. “Do not struggle. Let yourself come to gently.”

I blinked several more times. The fog in my head lifted somewhat, enough to make clear my situation.

Five angels surrounded me in some fashion. Jehudiel was kneeling next to me, while the other four stood in the background.

My hands were bound in front of me with some kind of rough hemp rope. I felt a slight tingle from it—along with the coarseness of the material—which told me it was enchanted somehow.

Swell.

The place looked like an old warehouse, used but infrequently, with moss starting to crawl all over the walls. Despite all that, the place managed to give off a bright and warm feeling. The angels’ influence, no doubt.

Either that, or the concussion was making me see things.

A tall angelic warrior stood behind Jehudiel, with flowing red hair and wings of snow white, carrying a lance and wearing pale gold armor.

“You,” I said. “I know you.”

The woman cocked her head at me.

“It seems the mortal remembers,” said one of the others. He had short cropped hair, military-style, and carried with him a tall shield. His weapon, a morning star, was tucked in his belt.

Another angel stepped up, tall and tough-looking, puffing out his chest. He thrust a strange weapon at me.

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