Legends tell of a celestial sword,
That is able to turn any mortal into a god.
The powers of the weapon are sought by many,
Yet only one can hone its abilities at a time.
Those who’ve sought this sword’s promised powers
Have shed the blood of their brothers and sisters
Just to be able to taste immortal power.
How far would you go to gain this power?
~Prologue
May 24, 2020
Alec yawned deeply in front of a hypnotic computer screen. He forced his gaze away from the clock at the bottom right of the desktop. Even though five minutes remained, he just wanted to get out. Even his black-rimmed glasses sagged lazily along his nose. There was nothing more he could do with the remaining five minutes. Checking the code a fifth time for a missing bracket or backslash would be waste of time. Instead, he closed the side game of solitaire, removed his glasses and leaned back into a stretch.
Finding a mercenary for hire wasn’t that difficult, especially one looking to kill an Angel. Hoping to find someone willing to track down and kill the White Angel of Darkness, a near invincible warrior, and no one returns your phone calls.
Just as he began another game of solitaire, two knocks on the door startled his thoughts. He knew well that these knocks didn’t belong to his boss bidding him a good evening, nor were they his friends wanting to go out for drinks.
“Come in,” he said. At the sound of the door handle unlocking, a paralyzing thought stiffened his skin.
Everything seemed to stop for barely a second as the man in a white trench coat entered. The coat had a striking resemblance to those once worn by vigilantes years ago. At first Alec thought he was one of those few courageous soldiers who fought against Lamortim, but this man was not an Angel: he had green eyes. Thus he shrugged the notion and gestured at the seat. The man remained standing.
“I presume you’re my mercenary?” Alec asked, still feeling quite uncomfortable.
No sign of excitement of thrill reflected from his eyes. Deep within his pupils reflected the emptiness only murderers proudly bore. Whatever went missing from his eyes answered Alec’s question, yet it would still be nice to hear the voice of his contact. Actually, he was contacted about this offer. So who was the one calling the moves?
“I thank you for replying to my offer.” Alec turned his eyes back to the computer screen. Though it was natural to feel weird with first encounters, this stranger made him uncomfortable. He’s just a mercenary for hire. Killing was his job. “I was surprised that you contacted me.”
“I make it my business to contact others who share a common goal as your own,” he replied. His voice came out hoarse, if not completely mechanical. He spoke unnaturally. But his face didn’t acknowledge any embarrassment to his possibly rehearsed reply, and Alec didn’t have the tenacity to find out.
“So you have been hired before?”
“Never hired. I simply meet those who place a bounty on that man’s head.” Again, it sounded rehearsed, but less mechanical.
“That’s a bit strange to look for job offers and refuse the job.”
“I only pursue assignments worth tackling. So far your offer is a wasted effort to make conversation,” he says, stepping away from the chair. Definitely not rehearsed.
“Please! I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse!” Alec abruptly knocked over a half cup of coffee on the table. Frantically, he tossed tissues over the mess which quickly fell apart.
That hint of liquid hazelnut soaking through mahogany table stopped the mercenary. Alec’s clumsiness matched his desperation. No man of his caliber could even challenge the White Angel of Darkness, let alone handle the power he possessed. Thus the question still remained: why go after someone who wielded a power even you can’t control?
“I don’t know about not refusing,” the mercenary replied, finally taking a seat, “but lay down your offer.”
Alec nodded, tossing the damp tissues in the waste bin. Something didn’t feel right, and he wasn’t exactly sure what made his mind feel empty. Maybe talking to this mechanical man, if there ever were such a thing, confused him. He shrugged away the thought and leaned forward with elbows on the table.
“You bring me the Xeliri and I will make you rich.”
Surprisingly, the mercenary maintained his blank composure as if the Xeliri meant nothing. He just sat there perfectly balanced; not even his eyes moved. Finally, he licked his lips and leaned forward, mirroring Alec. Just as be began parting lips, his watch beeped.
“You think it’d be so easy for me to bring you the Xeliri?” he asked, casually turning off the alarm. Unable to reset the timer, he mentally added another two minutes to the clock. “What a selfish desire to have me get you the sword. The White Angel has been in possession of the Xeliri since Lamortim’s era. How am I supposed to even claim the sword when the wielder possesses a god’s power? Even if I get you the Xeliri, I’ll have to die.”
“That’s a problem,” Alec replied, considering everything this man just said. At the start of the meeting, everything did seem rehearsed but now things changed. The mercenary’s eloquent speech became confusing.
“I’m sure that’s what you think,” he said indifferently. Only a minute left.
“Look, you can keep the Xeliri–”
“You’re business proposition is pointless,” he growled, thrusting his right hand at Alec. He instinctively fell back as if to avoid a punch, but he only saw the mercenary’s empty palm. It wouldn’t make a difference now. This man didn’t deserve to die, and yet his absurdity made it enough of a reason to kill him. “You are not worthy to wield such a sword.”
“Wielding the weapon is not the point!” Alec yelled out of fear, but he didn’t know where this tangled courage originated from. The more he focused on the mercenary’s eyes the darker they became, as if his pupils turned to ink. “The White Angel of Darkness is a fugitive.”
“Time’s up,” he muttered coldly and his pupils became heavily dilated. Though he couldn’t comprehend the importance of time, Alec he reflexively reached under the table for the security button. Just as he touched the plastic casing that would trigger the silent alarm, his mind came to a halt and he couldn’t press it.
“What did you do?” Alec yelled, wanting nothing more than to jump over the desk and attack, but his anger immediately subsided. Standing in front of him was not the same man, nor was he even a mercenary.
Obsidian replaced those emerald eyes and hair of black velvet fell against his ears. A sheen of white hair crawled out from his brow and the mercenary no longer had the characteristics of a Guardian.
“I don’t believe it,” Alec breathed, relaxing his arm.
“These little gadgets are unreliable,” he said, tossing the cloaking device on the table. By now his true features became fully visible and Alec quivered with excitement as a sheathed sword with its iconic angel wings expanded at the cross guard above his shoulder. “I believe you recognize these wings?”
“You hold the Xeliri,” Alec gasped, “You are the–”
But he never finished his sentence. Everything stopped, even the imbedded codes operating the computer. He choked, but nothing gripped his throat. Reaching for his throat, he first realized nothing was there. Secondly, he noticed the functionality of his hands and he reached for the security button under the desk. Everything froze again.
“I’m a bit offended you didn’t know that I am the White Angel,” he said, keeping a steady gaze. Smirking, he tightened his telekinetic grip around the confused Guardian. “I guess you were right though; I could easily bring you the Xeliri.” He brought the sword out, handing it to him by the handle. “Don’t fight it,” he continued, noticing Alec’s skin twitch to overcome the telekinesis. The White Angel casually reached for the tablet. “Apparently you’re no longer telekinetic. Perhaps if you were a Sage, this wouldn’t be a difficult struggle.”
“You’re a Deviant!” Alec yelled.
“Deviant is such a dirty name,” the White Angel replied, reflecting on the origins of the term, “but yes, I am quite possibly the only Deviant here.”
“When the police arrive–”
“You have some doubt in the rumors about me, don’t you?” he asked, taking the stylus from the tablet. “Your police wouldn’t be able to stop me, you know that.” With that, he brought the stylus to the tablet and began to write. Alec shifted his gaze from the White Angel to the computer monitor:
“WA? Alec said. He brought his arms to the desk, not yet realizing his ability to move and talk again. After repeating the letters, he fell back into his chair. After pushing the security button thrice, he realized he was alone in the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Present Time, June 14th, 2020
Alec never spoke a word of his encounter with the White Angel. It would be just ludicrous to say he survived an encounter with him. No one lived after meeting him. So for these past three weeks, he avoided the internet and focused on laborious coding. Whenever he did need to use the internet, it would only be for e-mail. A message box blurred into focus on the bottom corner of his desktop.
“Just some more spam,” he muttered, closing the window box. He cracked the knuckles in his fingers with a stretch before returning to the keyboard. Three knocks on the door reminded him of lunch. Minimizing the computer programs, he grabbed his wallet. “Come in.”
A man under a hooded sweatshirt quickly stepped into the office. With hands balled up in his sweatshirt pockets, he resembles some street urchin who somehow got through security. As Alec walked around his desk, he stumbled back upon seeing the man.
“What do you want?” Alec asked, slowly moving to the security button under the desk.
“Please, I don’t mean you any harm,” the hooded man replied, his voice too frightened to belong to anyone threatening. He slowly revealed his empty hands, but he kept his distance. “I tracked the White Angel here to Nairain. I sent you an e-mail about half an hour ago regarding his presence.”
Alec presses his lips together. Sometimes unexpected messages appearing on the computer shouldn’t be ignored. Still, it’s hard to tell who this man was, but from his reclusive nature, Alec wondered if he’s an Angel.
“Excuse me for my informalities,” the hooded man said, reaching up and lowering his hood. Curls of brown whirled around his head in some indistinct pattern, but the simple eye color already differentiated him as an Angel. “I’m Jon Rauli.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jon,” Alec replies, remaining by the table. “I apologize for not shaking your hand. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with an Angel. I am, trust me. Just that, the last man to step into this office turned out to be the White Angel of Darkness in disguise.”
“Rest assured, Mr. Alec, I am not the White Angel in disguise.”
Alec pressed tongue in cheek and pulled his hand away from the security button. He waited a moment, anticipating a cloaking device to malfunction and Jon’s true visage to emerge. But only an Angel and Guardian remained facing each other.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Rauli,” Alec said as he sat in his own chair. He noted the slight curve of Jon’s back from being too exhausted to maintain a posture. “I gave up on the White Angel of Darkness when he came here.”
“Interesting to see his insignia framed on your wall,” Jon said, noticing the intertwined WA in the wooden frame. “You’re not a fanatic of his, are you?”
“He actually wrote and left it here for me,” he replied. “I didn’t even know he was still telekinetic. I imagine the Xeliri returned those abilities.”
Jon locked his jaw. It doesn’t seem possible, but apparently Alec knew very little of the White Angel. Like the rest of the world, he only knew the White Angel from how the media portrayed him: some mystical being.
“He’s always been telekinetic,” Jon replied, “the Xeliri has only strengthened his abilities.”
“That’s not possible. Lamortim sterilized everyone’s telekinesis in Resoft Evahn,” he says. As he looked at the insignia, he thought back to the invisible grip choking him and keeping his finger from calling security. Everyone knew that only the Xeliri could return such abilities. That’s why they sought the weapon. He thought back to the trench coat he wore, how it resembled the ones once used by those vigilantes. “The White Angel of Darkness. Is he not the same White Angel of IRIS?”
“Then you know I cannot stop him. Perhaps a Sage would be a better choice to stop him.”
“Befriend him. Perhaps he’ll trust you since you both are Angels.”
Jon formed a small grin as he recalled a time before the White Angel of Darkness; a time when darkness was ruled not by the White Angel but a more sinister tyrant.
“After what Lamortim did to us, it’s no surprise that we are all after the sword that can possibly return that sensation. Feeling the whole world in your veins, not just your fingertips. Perfecting your balance on the water, on air.”
“Nostalgia is painful, isn’t it?”
Jon’s eyes lowered as he lingered in the moment. His hands folded delicately so the fine lines of his palm darkened. Finally the past has met the present.
“He wasn’t always the White Angel of Darkness, you know,” Jon finally said.
“You know him personally, don’t you?” Alec asked, though he already knew the answer.
With a subtle motion of Jon’s fingers, Alec’s tablet squeaked across the mahogany desk. Alec’s face turns pale. In just three weeks, the only two people who entered his office were telekinetic. Though the first meeting continued terrifying him, this current encounter relieved the stress.
“Would you like to know more of the White Angel?” Jon asked.
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