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In Blood and Spirit

A tale of rising above what you are told is right in order to fight for what truly is.

By Lizzy RosePublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 10 min read
3
Made Personally on Canva

Her name meant Heavenly, but Celia had lost the right to that title long ago. How desperately her parents had wanted a perfect warrior for a child, loyal to the Covenant and bound to their sword for eternity.

They'd gotten their way, more or less.

When it came time for the Children of the Heavens to gather in the Sanctuary for their Sword Ceremony, each would be walked down the table of weapons that glistened as the sun on an icy pond, energy rippling like water just beneath the steely surface, as if each had a being of their own. When the child reached the sword that resonated with their own spirit, into their hand, and the two would be welcomed into the ranks of the Holy, the army of Light.

By Robert Linder on Unsplash

The looks of the faces in the room as Celia wrapped her fingers around the handle of a sword black as midnight, affixed with blood-red rubies and swirling strands of silver, would haunt her for eternity. The room had fallen silent, and Celia had thrown the sword to the floor in horror, but she could not turn back her fate.

The Sword of the Demon Rapha had found its hand.

The Sanctuary had quickly turned to chaos as the Empyrean Guard stormed the stage. Celia felt the sword fly into her hand once again, setting off a surging wave of black light and knocking back everyone before her. She bound offstage in a panic, jumping over friends, family, and guard members until she reached the door and raced through the corridors of the Council Hall. The sword seemed to do all of the work, sending bursts of energy and taking down any obstacle in their path. Thankfully, the streets had been empty, making reaching the gate less difficult.

She felt her wings thrown out behind her as she stepped off the edge of the Kingdom, but when she looked back, they had become tipped with black, as if dipped in ink.

By Muzammil Soorma on Unsplash

The Guards stopped their pursuit. There was no saving a Fallen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All of those weeks she spent walking the Earth alone, Celia often spent wondering how her parents had fared after the escape. If people had shamed them for their traitorous child, or comforted them for the loss. Regardless, all she knew for sure was their disappointment. From thousands of miles above the ground she could feel it, as if their gazes lingered on her in regret from the clouds.

6 Months of walking the Chicago streets, thankfully still shadowed from the human gaze, left her realizing just how monotone life in Heaven had been. Being an Angel meant she had no requirement for food, but still enjoyed the taste of 'hot dogs', and found pink lemonade quite refreshing. Life grew to be quite tedious with nothing to do, no ability to waste her days sleeping as Angels didn't have to. It had begun to occur to her in the time she had just how much of her life had been spent being molded into a warrior.

By Muzammil Soorma on Unsplash

She would walk to the park often, finding it to be a quite peaceful place to continue her training. Despite the initial repulsion to it, Celia had grown quite fond of her sword, feeding into the power it gave her. It felt as if a long-lost piece of her had finally been returned, made her whole again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The murders didn't start until early September, just after the leaves began to change.

Celia had gotten wind of bodies being dropped all over the city after the discovery of the second in Lincoln Park. Each had a strange symbol burned into their chests, and no blood left in their body. The mortals threw around rumors of a deranged serial killer or cult activity.

Celia knew better. She had been trained her entire life to recognize demon signs, and to track creatures from Hell. Now, three days after the finding of the 4th victim, she had found the creature in a warehouse in the Fulton River District. Her sword thrummed in hand, itching for blood, as she stalked through the shadows towards a side entrance.

"Well, what a mousy little thing you are."

A suave, collected voice called out from behind. Celia turned on one foot, sword lashing out and slicing through the air. Her eyes scanned the area and found it empty. The air seemed to grow colder, and she suppressed a shiver. Demons can sense fear.

"Now, my dear," the voice whispered in her ear, and Celia could no longer hide her nerves. She jumped forward and turned, stilling her hand just under the throat of not some twisted, scaly creature, but a man, "what is a mere child of Heaven doing in such a dangerous area all alone, and playing with weapons no less? That's awfully dangerous."

"You assume I am merely a child. This weapon is mine, and you shall die by it, demon."

The man laughed, eyeing her thoughtfully. Though, she realized, it was not her his eyes were attracted to, but the weapon in her hand.

"That sword belongs to no being of the skies, especially not a child. It belongs to me. I've been looking for you, mi angelo. And this..."

He held out a hand, and the sword pulled itself from Celia's hand and launched forward. The man caught it in one graceful arch, and ran a finger down the side of the blade with a comfortable grin. "That's right, old friend. It is good to have you back."

Celia froze in place, hand remaining outstretched in shock. "Surely, my dear, you did not get this sword with ease. You are aware of the history of the sword, and it did not come to you without a price, correct?"

Celia was left with no option other than to answer, left without a sword and unsure of what else the man could do. She felt her wings form from behind and glared, challenging the curious glimmer in his eyes. "Not entirely fallen, are we? Well, you are something rare indeed. You have yet to align yourself, but the sword has chosen you nonetheless. The Sword of the great Rapha.

"You know," he continued, inching closer, "This sword once chose another celestial being, or at least one just like it." He held out a hand, and from amidst a cloud of black smoke came another, almost a replica, except white gems replaced the red. "Rapha's sister, Marat, held this sword when they rebelled against Heaven."

"You are misinformed," Celia replied smoothly, taken aback at how a demon could not know the story. Everyone, Heaven or Hell, knew of Rapha's rise from the depths of Hell and rampage against the Earth and skies. "Rapha was a demon. He never belonged to Heaven."

"Do you honestly believe that the great Empyrean Guard would admit to having such a powerful being fallen from their ranks? That they allowed his corruption and let him escape them to wreak havoc upon the Earth? They have settled the blame on demons for millennia and they have taught you the same. Rapha was no demon, he fell from grace and went mad with thoughts of revenge against the Heavens. He and his poor sister..."

"Who is this sister you speak of? Rapha ruled alone."

"Wrong again, angelo. His dear Marat. The Blood King and the Spirit Queen." Rapha held an immense desire for bloodshed, but Marat was the more peaceful of the two. After she fell, she met a mortal man and the two fell in love, but he was killed. She decided to use her power to rule over spirits. They divided Hell and quickly established themselves as rulers of two separate, but peaceful Kingdoms."

"So, Rapha's sword chose me, and you have Marat's. Why us? What did it sense in me? I am nothing like that demon!"

"No, child. But you are exactly as Marat was long ago. Peaceful, but destined for a higher purpose. Her strength came from the grief of her loss. Tell me, you've lost someone as well, haven't you?"

A face formed in her mind, one that existed only in memories and family portraits. Times of laughter, games of tag in the field behind the house, and staying up past bedtime to dream about life as a servant of Heaven.

"My brother, Aaron. There was a breach and attack at his Ceremony, and he was destroyed by demons."

The boy scoffed. "Of course, if he was going to fake my death in any way, it would be serving that pesky excuse for a military force. I wonder if they still look for me, and what their reasoning for my sudden return to life would have been!"

Aaron closed the gap between them and reached out, gently snatching her hand from her side and setting a kiss on the top. "It is a pleasure to meet again, sister. You've certainly grown," he mused, holding out the white-studded sword. "Your weapon."

"So you...you fell as well."

"My sword Ceremony. I dreaded that day for so long, but you were so jealous that I got to do it first, going on and on about how lucky I was that I didn't have to wait. You were not old enough to be permitted into the Sanctuary, and so Mother stayed with you at home. When the sword of Rapha chose me, the Guard attacked, but I escaped."

"Hold on, the sword of Rapha chose me."

"False again, sister. The swords were crafted each with a piece of Rapha and Marat's blood and spirit. Rapha merely recognized his sister's spirit, but his sword is mine. It was stolen a few years ago by a guard who found and attacked me, not long before I discovered Marat's sword, locked away in an ancient tomb. I will show you, hold out your hand," he instructed, backing away a few paces.

She did as was told, and he did the same, holding out Marat's sword. As soon as her palm stretched out, the sword rose and flung to her, dull gems glowing and energy pulsing through her arm. "That is how a sword is supposed to react when it chooses its hand. It is supposed to give you power, strength. Rapha's did not react properly because it was never yours, it simply sensed a familiar spirit."

He reached out once again, gliding a finger down her cheek gently. "Marat's spirit. It rests in your chest, sister, as Rapha's does mine. When you pledge your allegiance to her and the sword, you'll have power beyond imagination. We can ride through the gates of Heaven and take our revenge. On Mother and Father for abandoning me, for lying to you, on the entire system, who abandons those with the most minute flaws!"

Celia examined the sword in her hand, watching energy swirl beneath the pristine, white surface. Her brother reached his hand out to hers with that warm smile that she had held onto for so long, refusing to let the memory of it fade. "Ride with me, sister. We do not belong to the Heavens. We are no longer loyal to them! If you serve Hell, then Hell takes care of you, respects you. They will not abandon you, nor will I. We can be together again, happy again, for all of eternity!"

Celia took her brother's hand, and he squeezed it comfortingly, moving to pull her into a hug.

She bent his arm, twisting the two of them until his back was pressed tightly to her chest, and settled the blade against his throat.

"I serve myself, and I serve this world. Not Heaven, never Hell. I serve Earth."

She pulled the sword back, and plunged it as deep into his chest as it would go, and froze, mouth open in a silent agonizing scream as it dug into her own chest through his back. When she pulled the sword out, blood blossomed against his shirt, dripped down his throat, and he instantly fell still in the dirt.

By Jake Weirick on Unsplash

Celia fell to her back beside him, looking up at the stars as blood pooled beneath them. "Forgive me."

Short Story
3

About the Creator

Lizzy Rose

Hello! I'm Lizzy, a poet and fiction/fantasy writer. I've been creating fiction since I was a child, making up and acting out stories. I started writing my stories when I was 9, and poetry when I was 11!

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