Twilight of the Gods
Chapter 25: Blood of Life

“How do you plan to bring our people back?” Uriel had returned to Ezra’s room, intrigued by his proposition.

Ezra looked at him thoughtfully. The fragrance of chamomile drifted over, flooding Uriel’s sense with the tea’s flowery scent. “We’ll start in the oceans. The bodies of our people should be the least damaged, submerged in water. If fortune smiles upon us, they may even still be alive.”

“And the rest of them?”

“We’ll replace them just like we found you.”

“Do you think there are any angels in the snow?” Uriel was referring to the mountains in Ylivia.

“Maybe,” Ezra said. “I hadn’t thought about that. But it’s best to start at the sea first. It’s how I found them.”

“Who?” Uriel sat up straighter in his seat.

“The other angels. They make up the other half of the Council. I thought you might recognize or sense them.”

Uriel shook his head. None of the Elysians stood out to him. But it made his head spin knowing that there were more than just him and Ezra in Otherworld.

“Interesting,” Ezra said. “Your resurrection came with unexpected side effects.” He pulls out a pen and paper, scribbling as he mutters “loss of memory” and “loss of senses” to himself.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, getting the distinct feeling that Ezra saw him as nothing more than a lab rat. “Is this really necessary? Taking notes?”

“It’s extremely necessary. Resurrected angels often have trouble adjusting to their second lives. Better to know the symptoms to treat the illness.”

So Ezra did have a plan. But Uriel knew that whatever details he would reveal to him wouldn’t be part of the full picture. After all, Ezra thought he was stupid. Maybe he’d underestimated him enough to leave crucial clues. But the Elysian wasn’t known for being careless.

He was known for being arrogant.

Somehow, the other Elysians tolerated it. Maybe it was because of his knowledge. Uriel suspected that he was responsible for making most of the members powerful. The room was surrounded with books about magic.

Ezra pushes over a cup of chamomile tea. “Drink,” he said. “The mortals claim that it’s soothing. Some say it helps them sleep.”

Uriel holds the cup up to his nose. It smelled more like a perfume than an actual drink. He eyes the contents suspiciously. A blue root floated to the surface, standing out among the white petals. He looks at Ezra, distrust shining clearly in his eyes.

“It’s Mnemosyne’s root,” he said. “I’ve fed it to all the other resurrected angels on the Council. It’s meant to help with memory loss, although the others don’t have a case as severe as yours. I promise it’s safe.”

To prove his point, Ezra takes a sip from Uriel’s cup.

Still, Uriel doesn’t touch the drink. “What is it supposed to help me remember?”

“Ideally, everything. That includes everything from your previous life, including your service to Anhel, and anything before that. But that takes five cups over the span of a week,” he explained.

“There was no life before serving the Gods,” Uriel protested.

A strange look came to Ezra’s eyes. “There were for some. Not all of us have that kind of blessing. You’d know if you drink the tea.”

Uriel laughed, a strangled noise coming from his throat. “That’s impossible. We were made by the Gods to serve.”

“That’s a lie,” Ezra said. “A fairytale fabricated by those immortal lunatics.”

The same could be said for what he was saying. Uriel was tempted to tell him that, to call him out on his deceit, but he knew what Ezra would say. He’d just tell Uriel to drink the tea to replace out. So he downs the whole cup in front of him, swallowing the root and petals.

“Make me four more cups,” Uriel demanded. He wanted all of his memories back.

“Later. You can’t handle them all at once. I want to show you something first.”

Before Uriel could protest, Ezra stood up and gestured for him to follow, leaving the room. He trails behind him, following him through the long dark halls. They make it to a secluded part of the palace, one that was dark and suspiciously devoid of furniture.

Ezra stops by the door of what appeared to be a supply closet. He opens it, pushing away stray cobwebs. An old lamp flickers to life, revealing an empty room.

Uriel stares at his surroundings, unimpressed. This was what Ezra wanted to show him?

Ezra pulls a cord from the ceiling, revealing a ladder from a secret compartment. He climbs up the wooden rungs, ignoring the cloud of dust that rains down. Uriel follows him up, his hands quickly becoming coated with filth. He hauls himself into the attic only to replace that the space was also empty, save for a winding staircase.

“How much further is it?” The angel was beginning to think that there was no end in sight.

“It’s at the top of the staircase. We’ll be there in no time.” Ezra grabbed the handrails, slowly making his way up the steps.

He spreads his gold wings, illuminating the attic. For a moment, Ezra stares at them, a wistful expression coming to his face. Then it disappears, replaced by steely resentment as he trudged up the stairs.

Uriel looked down at his hands, the same ones that tore off the wings of Ezra and several angels before him. A part of him was starting to believe that he didn’t deserve to be alive, much less fly. But another part of him reminded him that Ezra could be lying. The Elysian didn’t get to where he was without manipulation.

He flies to the top of the staircase in a single motion, launching himself into the air the way a swimmer would dive into the water. The movement was so graceful that he could feel Ezra stare at him, no doubt with the same look in his eyes as before. Ezra’s steps fall at a faster cadence, just a pace slower than a run up the stairs. He didn’t like that Uriel had reached the top before him.

The Elysian stepped in front of him, pulling out a blue key to unlock the door. Inside, Uriel found himself staring at a large laboratory, his eyes traveling up to the ceiling painted with constellations. Mysterious vials of fluid glimmered on steel tables, some bubbling and others fizzling. But what truly caught his attention was the body on the table in the center of the room.

At first glance, he couldn’t tell if the person was alive or dead. They were perfectly still on the table, but their skin didn’t have the pallor of death. Dangling at the sides of the table were their wings, with stray gold feathers strewn on the floor.

“I found her perfectly intact yesterday,” Ezra said, suddenly appearing next to him. “I had my devotees fish her out of the ocean. No angel and I mean none of them, are this whole. It’s like the fire never touched her.”

Uriel moves closer to the table, pulled in by her presence. His fingers graze her head, picking up strands of hair. A distant memory pulses in his mind. He had shared another reality with her, but the details refuse to come into focus.

“Who is she?” He looked over at Ezra who was observing his interactions with the body.

“I don’t know. I was hoping to bring the other fallen angels over to identify her.”

He was lying. Uriel wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he could feel it in his gut. Ezra knew exactly who the angel was. For some reason, he felt the need to hide her identity from him. Maybe he didn’t think Uriel was that stupid after all.

“Is she sleeping?” She doesn’t register Uriel or Ezra speaking above her, her eyelids fastened shut. There was no telltale rise and fall of her chest, indicating that she wasn’t breathing.

“Something like that,” Ezra said vaguely. “She’s hibernating. When angels are put under extreme conditions, certain vital functions shut down. I don’t even think her heart is beating.”

Uriel grabs her wrist, checking her pulse. All he felt was her cold skin, still beneath his fingers. “Can you wake her up?”

“I’ve been running some tests,” Ezra said. “But nothing seems to be working. I’ve brewed countless potions and read more necromancy textbooks than I can count. However, there is one solution I haven’t tried: God’s blood.”

Instantly, Uriel salivated at the mention of ichor. He could taste it in his mouth, feel it run down his throat. What he would give just to have a sip –

“Are you alright? You seem to be heating up,” Ezra said, placing his hand on Uriel’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” he stammered. “I’m alright.”

The Elysian regarded him with skepticism. “If you insist. As I was saying, it seems that God’s blood is the key to bringing back the angels. It aided in your resurrection and the restoration of some of the other fallen angels. If I could get my hands on more blood, I could certainly bring the angel out of hibernation.”

“And you’re hoping that I could help with that,” Uriel said, catching on.

“Precisely. Since you’re close to Daeva, you would be the best person to ask for her blood. We would need it in large quantities. I could give you the equipment for safe extraction so it wouldn’t hurt her. You would only need to request it once.”

Ezra’s eyes shone with excitement, seeming even bluer than normal. His enthusiasm frightened Uriel, even though the angel had to admit what he suggested was a good plan. But his blood cravings made him hesitate to agree.

“What if we tried using Haydn’s blood? It could be equally as effective,” he suggested.

Ezra shook his head. “We know that Daeva’s blood works. It’s best to stick to that. Haydn’s blood could have some unexpected side effects. Besides, he’s more unpredictable than Daeva and difficult to get a hold of.”

“Give me some time,” Uriel said reluctantly. “I want her to warm up to the idea of it.”

“I don’t think you’ll need it,” Ezra said, smirking. “She’ll agree to anything you want.”

I sincerely doubt that, he thought. You forget who is the master and who is the servant. If anyone has control, it’s her.

“I want time,” he said adamantly.

“And you’ll get it. But you are free to change your mind after you see this.”

Ezra walks over to the side of the room, which was hidden by a set of curtains. He beckons Uriel to help pull them back, revealing three large clear containers.

Floating in each of the containers was an angel, individually injured in different ways. The one on the far left was missing a wing on the left side of his body. The remaining wing was wrapped around the angel’s body protectively. Burn scars travel up the angel’s legs, twisting the flesh. The sight sent shivers down Uriel’s spine.

The other two angels didn’t fare much better. The one in the middle had the feathers of their wings burned off, leaving only the bones. Half of their face was covered in burn scars and they were also missing a leg. The one on the far right didn’t have wings, only two long slits down their back. Their body was scarred so brutally that Uriel couldn’t distinguish individual body parts.

“Are they alive?” He couldn’t keep the tremors out of his voice.

“Barely,” Ezra said. “But I can only keep them in there for so long. Do you understand why we need the ichor? Without it, I would’ve rescued them for nothing.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the bodies. They stared vacantly into the liquid, floating aimlessly. He had been like them once, trapped in the sarcophagus and suspended in time by Ezra’s wish. It reminded him of all the other angels who couldn’t make it, the ones who would only be remembered as ashes in the wind.

He needed to get Daeva’s blood. It wasn’t a matter of choice. If he could restore his fellow brethren, then he would do anything in his power to do so. And he knew Daeva would agree, just like Ezra said. But he wasn’t going to give the Elysian the satisfaction of being right.

Instead, he walks away from the angels floating in the containers, disgusted with having to see their mangled bodies on display. He moves to the center of the room where there was a mirror. However, the reflective surface of the glass didn’t show his image. All he saw was the swirling fog shift colors ever so often. He moves to touch the mirror, but Ezra grabs his arm.

“Don’t,” he said. “This is a portal. If you touch it, you’ll disappear without a way back.”

“Where is it a portal to?”

“The lost angels,” he replied. “It shows us where their bodies are. But we need to plan carefully before we send anyone through it. We’ll damage their bodies even more if we aren’t thoughtful.”

Uriel suspected that Ezra learned of that fact from experience. He backs away from the mirror, making a mental note to return to it later.

“I’ll get you the blood,” he said. “No matter what it takes.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ezra replied. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he kept silent, making his way out of the room.

“Spit it out,” Uriel said, following him. “I know there’s something else you want to tell me.”

“I just wanted to show you the bodies,” Ezra said. “There’s nothing more I want to communicate to you.”

“Are you sure?”

Ezra stops in his tracks. “You won’t be happy with me saying it, but since you’ve insisted, I will tell you. Are you really happy being in love with someone that you are fundamentally less than? You won’t be anything more than a servant to her. You are forever beneath her.”

Uriel holds back a smile. “She doesn’t see it that way. I can assure you that you’re the only one that thinks that way.”

Ezra shook his head. “Poor fellow. You are deeply under her spell. One day you’ll know the truth about the Gods and their angels. Let me make you another cup of tea.”

“I thought you said I couldn’t drink too much at once.” The angel stares at him, gold eyes filled with confusion.

“Astute observation,” Ezra remarked sarcastically. “But the effects of the tea aren’t settling in. None of your memories have returned.”

“I’ll wait,” Uriel said. There was more in that tea than Mnemosyne’s root. Ezra may not have poisoned him, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he had slipped some mind-altering substances into the cup. It would be particularly useful to the Elysian if those substances were to make Uriel’s mind more malleable to his orders.

“Your choice,” Ezra said. “Return to me tomorrow and I will have your next cup ready.”

My choice, Uriel thought. Never did two words bring so much complication into his life.