#because chael means angel

[crappyyuki]

Zenonia doodles!

My god this fandom is so dead like what the fuck. Can’t say I’m surprised though, most of the games got wiped out of existence from Playstore and Apple Store cuz Gamevil didn’t update it anymore. Still, this franchise was great!

Currently replaying Zenonia 4, finally beat Zenonia 3 after a decade, and I’d like to play Zenonia and do the evil route when I get the chance.

Aight so a little headcanon, Regret can sense negative emotion ever since he was a kid. He doesn’t make sense of them until the start of Zenonia where his father dies but you can imagine how shitty he feels when he was in Ayles. Bruh.

Also, the townsfolk of Ayles weren’t influenced by the energy of Ladon inside Regret because if that was the case then Chael would’ve been treated like a king cuz he’s an absolute angel. Or maybe this is just me spouting crap out of my ass.

Still.

Oh and the Dragon Clan are sick fucks.

I’m so sorry Regret :,)

No. No I’m fucking not.

Spoilers:

So yeah. Zenonia 3 ending? Lots of copium. Gods. It hurts so bad. So I cope by making a doodle of this wonderful father and son. Fuck Temir, Regret best dad. There were so many flashbacks, it was so cuteeeeeee.

I love them.

I wish they get a happy ending in Zenonia Chronobreak.

[pttucker]

[If you want a fight, then I'll give you one. However, what meaning is there for us to fight inside this place and end the 'Great War of Saints and Demons'? Who do you think will remember the 'Good and Evil' that fought inside this tiny little sphere and met its ignoble doom?] There was a hint of bizarre, creepy madness in Metatron's voice. Sensing that something very ominous was about to occur, Agares loudly shouted out. [Metatron! Just what the hell are you thinking?!] [My thoughts are as thus.] As soon as Metatron finished talking, Michael, standing right at the forefront of the Archangels, unsheathed his sword. Now that the strongest Archangel had pulled its sword out, Demon Kings didn't hold back and unleashed their Statuses while roaring out, as well. And in the following moment, Michael's sword pierced into someone else. […Mi, chael…?]

Ughhhh

I knew Metatron was gonna pull something shady eventually but I didn't think it was gonna be quite on this level. I was actually thinking it was Asmodeus fighting people since it's been mentioned that he's a Seeker of the End. Or even Secretive Plotter because he'd be strong enough to fight so many powerful beings but nope.

Just Metatron and brainwashed Michael.

Granted, that's not to say that Secretive Plotter couldn't be involved since he's been in contact with Metatron before.

Now I'm thinking back to just recently where it said that Dokja's Myth-grade story is germinating. Is he gonna be the one to come out on top as destroying Good and Evil? Or maybe he's gonna incorporate both of them? He's still got an angel side that hasn't gotten a modifier yet and he ate the Fruit of Good and Evil a while back, however that might affect things.

Hmmm

[kclenhartnovels]

Weak at the Knees

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[ @itstheenglishkid @flannelandsarcasm @quill-of-thoth @littlefearsdoodles @polapipo @knightedwriter @gingerly-writing If you’d like to be added to tagged updates, please let me know ]

[Content warning: There is some non-sexual nudity in this chapter. ]

“Is this what you call distracting him?”

Fletcher had been dreaming of much more pleasant things when Razi appeared, and that snide tone was certainly enough to startle him awake. He opened one eye with a groan of disapproval, looking up to the other demon. “What are you talking about?”

“You are supposed to be pulling Merrick from his work so that we have a chance to step in,” Razi reminded him sharply. “He is currently at work and—well, mostly paying attention. If he's going with her, you need to start going with him.”

“How am I supposed to convince him of that, when he thinks I'm hiding from all of you?”

The demon leaned over the back of the couch. “Figure it out, fledgling. The boss is looking for results on this.”

Fletcher sat up abruptly. “If all of this is so important, why am I on it instead of you? Why don't you just go kill Merrick and be done with it?” As soon as the words left his mouth, a cold hand wrapped around his heart. What if Razi took him up on that?

Well, what did he care? Merrick was an assignment.

Razi chuckled. “Every soldier gets a task. Everyone pulls their weight in Hell, if you want to keep your wings. And I didn't say that this was important. For your sake, don't fuck it up.”

“Yeah, and what do you care about my sake?”

Claws curled into his collar, dragging him closer to Razi's vicious smirk. “We're just like corporate here, kid. Your success is my success. And shit rolls downhill, so don't dredge any more up from the bottom, huh? Otherwise you might drown in it.”

Fletcher reached into his jacket, thumbing the grip of his gun, but Razi was already gone. He cursed, flopping back down on the couch. What was he going to do, anyway? Shoot his superior and hope that everything worked out in the end? Run away again, and see if he could find some other family to protect him from the first one?

Even in death, was that to be his fate?

And would the angels be that family? He pulled out the gun again, sliding his fingers across the decorated grip. Could he run away? The next time Razi showed up, he could just stick the muzzle in his face and blow him away, take Merrick's hand and run north. Start over. Again.

Maybe this really was purgatory, after all.

“Seems like you've had a day as weird as mine,” Merrick greeted, perched on the arm of the couch and looking down at his frown.

Fletcher startled. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Obviously,” he chuckled. He leaned over, kissing his forehead. “Something you want to talk about?”

“I don't know if my thoughts are together enough to talk.” Not when he was staring directly into the smiling blue of Merrick's eyes, the angel hovering over top of him. Maybe he could do both—distract Merrick enough to get Razi off of his back, and while the demon was likewise distracted, work his way into Heaven's good graces. He could play both sides. He could come out on top. He could win. For once.

“How about enough to listen?” Merrick asked. He nudged the demon over, then plopped down on the couch beside him, wanting nothing more than to be near him. Fletcher automatically lifted his arm so that Merrick could slide in, and soon enough the angel was nestled with his head against his chest, one arm looped casually across his hips. “So, you know how human souls look, right?”

Fletcher nodded, only half listening. He slid his fingers through the dark tangle of Merrick's hair, and watched the curve of one freckled wing as it arched over him.

“Have you ever seen a human soul with a shadow on it? Or have you ever known a mortal to look you in the eye? He knew I was there. It was like he was talking right to me.”

“I haven't really had the chance to hang around on earth much, but I definitely haven't had anyone notice me that wasn't angel or demon. Are you sure he wasn't one of those in disguise?”

He shook his head some, ending up nuzzling against his collarbone. Fletcher felt his heart trip a beat. Merrick's hand tightened around his hip. “No, he definitely wasn't. He was someone interested in Abby's work, though. Which quite frankly, I don't understand. And no one will tell me anything about it.” He frowned. “They treat me like a fucking child sometimes. I'm pretty sure my boss thinks I'm stupid.”

“Your boss sounds like a dick.”

“You have no idea.” He tilted his head to look up at Fletcher again, his smile looking almost drunk. “I'll ask Chael about it. He seems to know the answers to everything.”

“Did you tell anyone about me, yet?”

“Not yet. I don't know how to...approach the subject,” he admitted. His wing flexed, the feathers warm and soft against Fletcher's arm. “It's not like you find angels bringing demons home a lot. There is kind of an ongoing war against that sort of thing. But—” that frown worked between his eyes again “—I've fought in enough wars before to know that things are never black and white. There are those that believe in the ideology, good or bad, and there are those that are just soldiers, because of the draft, because they felt pressured, because they had no other way to feed their families.”

“What am I, then?” Fletcher whispered, raking his fingers along Merrick's scalp, as if he could soothe away both the angel's frown and his own doubt.

Merrick turned over onto his back, sprawling his wings to either side and resting his head in Fletcher's lap to look up at him properly. He slid the back of his knuckles down the demon's cheek. “You tell me.”

Fletcher smiled despite himself, that nagging doubt pushed aside for the feeling of Merrick's skin against his. “I am restless,” he evaded. “I think these four walls are starting to close in on me a bit.”

“Well, I don't know how safe it is to go out, but...” His voice trailed off a moment. “I guess you're not one that's really worried about the risks, huh?”

“Are you?”

Merrick's smile sent a flush through his body. “Probably not as much as I should be.” He sat up at last, taking both of Fletcher's hands. “How about a date?”

“I don't know that I've ever actually gone on a date. I mean, I had plenty of flings, but—”

“To be honest, I don't know that I've gone on a date before, either,” he laughed. “I lived through two wars, and died in battle. Didn't leave a lot of time for courting.”

“Did you even—”

“I didn't die a virgin, if that's what you're asking,” Merrick grinned. “I said I haven't been on a date, not that I was a fucking prude.” He stood, and pulled Fletcher to his feet. “Come on, I have an idea for a date that I think you'll like. You grew up in the city when you were alive, right?”

“Born and raised. And died, I guess.”

Merrick squeezed his hands. The cool walls of the bunker were replaced by bright sunshine, a long stretch of white sand, and a glittering ocean. Fletcher felt his breath catch, his head on a swivel. As much as he had spent a week exploring before he went to attack Merrick, the world still held so many surprises for him. And made all the better by the fingers laced with his, eagerly squeezing.

“Where are we?”

“Hawaii. Last time I was on this beach, I didn't really get to enjoy it. I thought maybe we both could now. Do you know how to swim?”

“No. How do you swim with wings as big as yours anyway?”

“I don't know, I haven't tried it yet,” Merrick laughed. He let go of him at last, sitting on the sand to start to take off his boots. “I thought we'd give it a try.”

“I guess we can't drown, right?”

Merrick shrugged. “I have no idea. Are you afraid?”

Fletcher watched him kick off his boots, then pull off his shirt, the cloth somehow not getting tangled in his wings. His answer was lost, just watching the curve of the angel's bare shoulders, the way his hands moved to undo the buckle of his belt, the muscles in his stomach that trailed down to form a little V between his hips as if in silent invitation.

“Fletcher?”

“Shit,” he whispered, feeling a heat in his face. He ducked his head quickly, sitting to take off his clothes as well. “Sorry—no. I'm not afraid.”

“You're blushing,” Merrick laughed. He tossed his belt at him playfully.

“I told you I don't know how to swim. I'm just thinking about how much I'm going to end up embarrassing myself.” When he looked up again, Merrick was standing with his back to him, his jeans in a pile on top of the rest of his clothes. Framed by the sunlight, Fletcher couldn't decide what he wanted to look at most—the way the wind rustled his hair, the spread of his wings, the way they connected to the muscles of his back, the lean stretch of his legs, or the curve of his bare ass.

Son of a bitch.

“We won't go that deep,” Merrick promised, flashing him a smile over his shoulder before he headed for the water.

Fletcher fumbled to take off the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could. He kicked off the last leg of his pants, tripping over them.

Merrick stood in waist-deep water, laughing at him. “You need help?”

“I get to choose the next date,” the demon protested, finally shaking off the last of his clothes and heading for the water's edge. “I don't know how I feel about this.”

Merrick watched him approach the water with a grin that didn't seem angelic. “I feel pretty good about it.”

God, that smile and those words, it was all enough to Fletcher to feel heat creep from ear to ear, and he automatically dropped his hands over his groin. It took a moment for him to remember that he had nothing embarrassing to hide, even as he went into the water up to his knees.

The perks of being dead.

The feel of the sand beneath his bare feet, the warm water, the sunlight, and Merrick's hand on his, guiding him deeper—it was like falling into a dream, or waking from one. A wave broke over Merrick's back, and he spread his dripping wings with a laugh.

“These things are fucking heavy when they're wet,” he protested.

“You were the one that wanted to go swimming.” Fletcher curved one of his own wings around them both as another wave nudged against them, the water splashing backwards from the leathery surface. “I don't have that problem with mine.”

“Then you had better come closer and keep me dry.” Merrick caught him by the hips, tugging him in. The sand shifted beneath his feet, and Fletcher all-but fell into the angel's arms, feeling laughter bubbling light and easy in his chest.

“I am so choosing the next date.” He wrapped his arms around Merrick's neck, his fingers toying with the angel's wet feathers. “I feel like I can't stand out here.”

“Weak at the knees?” he teased, his hands hooked securely around Fletcher's waist, steady despite the shifting water.

Fletcher looked into his eyes, and could have sworn he was looking out to sea, blue and glimmering and playful and strong, and he couldn't help but wonder how Razi ever saw this angel as an easy target. “Maybe,” he allowed. “I've lived on concrete and brimstone all my life. Steady.”

“Water is steady,” Merrick countered, his fingers spreading out along Fletcher's lower back, mapping his skin. “Once you realize she is a living thing. She's as steady as the rest of us.”

“Water is not a person,” Fletcher laughed. “You do sound like an old sailor. You sure you shouldn't be growing a beard and wearing one of those stupid hats?”

Merrick shook out his wings, sending water droplets flying all around them, glimmering like crystals in the sun. “I am an old sailor, and a romantic,” he teased. “But I'm also not wrong. You need to spend more time in the world, Fletcher. When you're free of those demons chasing you, we'll see everything together. Nothing is steady, and everything is, and there is more life in the world than just in human bodies. I've been to places where the air itself seems to have a personality. I want to take you to those places.”

“I will follow you anywhere.” The words left Fletcher's lips before he was aware of them, and he pulled Merrick's face closer to his, catching his mouth in a kiss so heated he was afraid sparks would ignite between them. When he pulled back for breath, he found himself laughing again, a wave cresting higher and splashing over both of their shoulders. “Can we get out of the fucking water?”

Merrick wiped sand from his cheek, his wings sagging under the wet weight. “Only because you asked so politely,” he teased.

Fletcher took him by the wrist, sloshing back towards the shore and doing his best not to fall on his face along the way. Merrick, for once, was off-balance, trying to shake the water from his wings as soon as they were back on the shore.

“Maybe I should have brought us a towel,” he laughed.

“You think?”

“I feel like a stiff breeze could knock me off my feet like this.” Merrick spread his wings with a grimace, watching the water drip off of his feathers.

“Maybe not only a stiff breeze.” Fletcher took him by the shoulders and gave him a little shove, toppling him back onto the sand. He followed him down, laughing when Merrick tried to flip him over. He took hold of the angel's wrists, pinning them lightly to the sand and stealing a kiss. “Your feathers are full of water and sand. What were you gonna do if you got me off of you?”

“Probably flail like a landed fish,” Merrick laughed, looking up at his face adoringly. “What are you gonna do, now that you've got me pinned down here, demon?”

Fletcher's smile showed a hint of fangs. “I have a few ideas.” He leaned down to kiss him again,  folding his damp wings against his back to protect his skin from the sun, allowing Merrick a view of the clear blue sky over his shoulder at last.

And something else.

“Tyr, no!”

Merrick wrapped his arms around Fletcher and pulled the demon to one side, a throwing axe burying into the sand where Fletcher's hand had been a moment prior. Fletcher swore, wishing his clothes and weapon were nearer at hand, but when he raised his arm to defend himself, his gun had materialized in his palm.

One day he would get used to this demonic magic.

He leveled the gun at the head of the other angel who stood in the sand, but when he fired, the bullet ricocheted off of the round shield Tyr held.

“Fletcher, for God's sake put your gun down!” Merrick scrambled to his knees, dragged backwards by his wet wings, but he tugged the demon behind him before he could do any more damage. “Tyr, wait, please—”

Tyr lowered his shield a touch, a second axe already in his free hand, but he kept it near to his hip. “Merrick, I thought this demon was attacking you. Are you alright?”

Fletcher gripped the gun harder, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. His instincts screamed for him to run, but Merrick's hand was on his arm, and the angel had placed himself squarely in between him and the newcomer. Tyr. He had heard that name before. Wasn't he a part of the same Garrison that had the Reaper?

“He's not attacking me. Not—not any longer.” Merrick spread his hand pleadingly, and Fletcher could see his wings shaking, though he couldn't tell if it was from strain or emotion as they rained down sand and water on him.

“Not any longer?” Tyr repeated. The axe disappeared, shortly followed by the shield. “He shot at me.”

“You startled us.”

“Why are you both naked?”

A blush spread across Merrick's nose, and he stuttered for an answer.

Tyr shook his head. “I think you need to go talk to Chael. I'll stay down here with the demon.”

“Tyr—”

“I promise, I won't hurt him. And I'll make sure Eztli doesn't find him, either. At least not until after you've spoken with Chael.”

“I could go back to the bunker,” Fletcher volunteered quietly, pressing himself against Merrick's back and clutching his gun like a life raft. “I am not staying here with that angel. He'll kill me.”

“He won't,” Merrick whispered. “Tyr, promise me you won't.”

“I already said that I won't hurt him. Killing would be an escalation of that, wouldn't it?” Tyr smiled, and showed his empty hands. “By Odin, you have my word. We'll be waiting right here for you.”

“By Odin,” Fletcher repeated scathingly. “What the hell kind of angel are you leaving me with?”

“One that I trust,” Merrick promised, touching his face with pleading in his eyes. Pleading, worry, but not fear. “I'll be back soon. Don't shoot him.”

When Merrick disappeared, leaving only him and Tyr on the beach, Fletcher wasn't so sure he could make good on that bargain.

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[kclenhartnovels]

The Warm Light of Heaven

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[ @itstheenglishkid @flannelandsarcasm @quill-of-thoth @littlefearsdoodles @polapipo @knightedwriter @gingerly-writing @theguildedtypewriter​ If you’d like to be added to tagged updates, please let me know ]

For once, the warm light of Heaven was not inviting to Merrick, but instead filled him with a sense of dread that lingered like a wolf in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't even sure why he was so worried—Chael had proved again and again to be a reasonable soul, and he trusted Tyr not to eviscerate Fletcher while he was gone. But that nagging doubt remained chewing on his gut, gnawing away like a snarling hound of Hell with eyes like judgment and teeth like righteous fury.

What if Chael didn't understand?

“You okay, Merrick?” Eztli greeted. She stepped out of one of the training circles, covered in dust and holding a wooden staff lightly in one hand. “You look pale.”

“I'm looking for Chael. Have you seen him?”

“Which is it this time?” she asked with a smile, “Teremun or demons bothering you?”

“I just have something to ask him.”

Her wings fluttered, then folded slowly, unconvinced. “He told me he was going recruiting. Which could either mean he's talking to Teremun about new guardian projects, or he's talking to some other angels to see if they want to get trained. I'm sure he'll be back soon if you want to wait here for him.” She offered him the staff. “You could train with me for awhile?”

He shook his head. “I'll just wait and patch up whoever you bruise later.”

“A medic in three lives, Merrick?” she teased, balancing the staff across the back of her hand. “You know, if you ever grow weary of shepherding souls to heaven, we could use you in the Garrison to keep us patched up. Chael keeps talking about adding a medic to the crew, but I don't think he's found one brave enough to go charging into battle with us.”

“And you think I'm brave enough?” he asked with a smile. “I'm not brave enough to step in the ring with you.”

“There are many different kinds of bravery. They may think me brave to go charging into battle to spill blood, but I don't think it's any less courageous to run into battle to stem it. You stand just as much of a chance of getting killed or injured—more so. A blade defends much better than a medical kit. I don't know that I could do it. Then again,” her smile was that of a jaguar, and a mother, “I have never lived my life without a blade in hand. I'm not sure I would know how to do it.”

Merrick perched on the rail of the training ring, leaning on his hands and watching her with a frown. “You never talk much about your past life.”

She shrugged. “It's not usually a topic of conversation. Most of the other angels are uncomfortable talking to the Garrison about where we came from.” She grinned viciously. “Apparently we have something of a reputation. I've heard plenty of whispers that we don't deserve to be in Heaven, but odd how those whispers die when we walk past. And they are eager enough to send us into battle to protect them.”

“How can they think you don't deserve to get into Heaven? It's not like there are any free passes. I mean, that's why there are guardians, right? To help push people in the right direction—but it's still up to them to make the right choices. The morally corrupt, they won't make it up here. Not on the first try.”

Eztli sat cross-legged in the dirt, resting the staff across her knees and looking up to him. “I wish things were that simple, Merrick. But Heaven is just as political as Earth. Anyone could make an argument that I did not deserve to get up here in my first life, for the lives I took, for living with a man who was not only not my husband, but someone else's husband. I asked Chael about it at one point, and he told me—”

“Entrance into Heaven is not about the deeds that others would judge to be morally corrupt,” Chael finished with a smile, sitting on the fence beside Merrick. “Would you say that piracy is morally adverse?”

“Stealing from others? Yeah,” Merrick answered with a frown.

“What if you were stealing back what was taken from you? What if what you were stealing was human cargo, which you were then freeing? It's still theft, but is it morally wrong then?” He nudged Merrick with his wing, his smile easy. “You see where there is a lot of gray area in the interpretations of Heaven. Eztli is a good person. She is aggressive, proud, intimidating, and fierce, but she is a good person. The decisions she made in life—and the afterlife—are often at the detriment of her own well-being in order to protect those weaker than herself. Sometimes even people she does not particularly like. And not just because I ask it of her, but because she believes it is right.”

“Are you referring to when I saved Teremun?”

Chael smiled. “What prompted this conversation?” he asked, evading her question.

Merrick shook his head. “I was just waiting for you to get back. I wanted to talk to you.”

“I got caught conversing to a very eager young angel who has been listening to too many Garrison stories, I think. I might give you a new sparring partner to see how she does, Eztli,” he added, to which she grinned. “But I'm free now. What did you want to talk about?”

Merrick's wings fluttered nervously. “In private?”

“Of course.” Chael didn't miss a beat, though his gaze lingered on the guardian a touch longer than necessary, as if trying to read his intentions. Merrick felt like a butterfly stuck to a pin. “Eztli, if Dina comes around, put her through her paces, huh? If she lasts a few sparring sessions with you, then I'll see about grooming her to become a permanent part of the Garrison.” He put a hand on Merrick's shoulder to guide the younger angel along with him. “I remember when I had to fight tooth and claw to get any warriors to join me. Now all of a sudden I have volunteers.”

“Why didn't people want to join you before?”

Chael shrugged his white wings. “No one wanted to be associated with the Island of Misfit Toys.”

“The what?”

He laughed. “When I joined the Garrison, we were nothing but cannon fodder for Heaven's armies. A place where the angels who did not really belong went to prove their worth. A lot of us died. Eventually, my commander died in battle, and I stepped up to replace him. I've been able to change things over the years, and we've gone from the expendable ones to Heaven's elite fighting force.” He paused. “Not everyone is happy with that change, but—” He smiled, and said nothing more on the matter, despite Merrick's quizzical expression. He turned towards one of the many walled gardens of Heaven, stepping over a trickle of silver water. “What did you want to talk about?”

Merrick sat down beneath the twisting branches of a tree, its leaves pale yellow and each one tipped in violet blossoms, so that if he looked up through the canopy it seemed to be burning a deep fire. Warmth emanated from the trunk. He pressed his wings against it. “Redemption.”

“You finally made it into Heaven, Merrick,” Chael teased. “You're set.”

Chael's smile was the lighthouse in the storm, and finally the knot in his stomach eased. He sagged back against the tree. “Has there ever been a demon that's made it to Heaven?”

“Yes.” He rested his hands on his knees, watching Merrick closely. “Though not easily, and not without good reason.” He opened his mouth to say more, then seemed to decide against it. “Is this about the demon that Eztli chased away from you?”

He felt such heat rise in his cheeks, and he wished he could blame it on the comforting warmth of the tree at his back. “His name is Fletcher.”

Merrick didn't know what to expect from Chael, even if he had thought about this encounter over and over again. Maybe the Viking would explode in anger, demand to know where this demon was hiding so he could put him down for good. Maybe he would be empathetic, and immediately grant Fletcher the wings Merrick knew he deserved. Maybe he would outline a detailed plan that would involve the whole Garrison, if not the whole of Heaven, to break Fletcher free from the chains of Hell. Maybe he would scoff and call Merrick a child. A thousand different scenarios ran through his head, but instead of any of those, Chael just watched him with a little frown between his eyes, and waited for him to go on.

“He's—” Merrick groped for the words, using his hands for emphasis, as if they could do the pleading for him. “He's a good person, Chael. He's kind, and gentle, and confused. I don't think he deserves to be in Hell. Maybe he's not good enough for Heaven yet, but he isn't evil, or conniving, or—he at least deserves the second chance that I got. I believe in him. I care about him. I lo—” He snapped his mouth shut, and felt his face flush a deeper red.

“Merrick,” Chael sighed, and rubbed at his face a moment. “You know I spend a lot of time in the Library, reading about who the angels in Heaven used to be when they were mortals. I do this to better understand them, especially those in my Garrison, or those otherwise in my radar.”

“Are you saying I'm in your radar?” he asked meekly.

“You are a good medic, Merrick, but maybe not the best guardian.” He held up his hand to stop any protests. “The reason it took you two lifetimes to get to Heaven is not because of your heart. You are selfless, you are brave, and you earnestly want to do what is best for everyone. But you want to help and love everyone so badly, you blind yourself to who they might really be.”

“Chael—”

“Let me finish,” he soothed. “If it had been my decision, I would have given you one more life to lead, one not in a time of war. You need to learn what it's like to be in love and have a relationship, so you stop handing your heart out to every pitiable case with pretty eyes. Let me finish,” he added again when Merrick's mouth opened. “You have a bad habit of falling for the enemy. And I know that this is because you see the good in people, past who they are fighting for. But you're exposing yourself to more danger than I think you realize. Maybe this Fletcher is really worth redemption. It's very likely that he doesn't belong in Hell, but that doesn't necessarily mean he belongs in Heaven.”

“I know what love is, Chael,” Merrick snapped at last.

“You know what it's like to be enamored,” he corrected. “You have no idea how to be in a relationship, to compromise, to love through whatever happens. That's an important thing to learn. I don't doubt that you're capable of it, but I'd hate to think that this demon is just taking advantage of your good nature because you don't know any better.”

“And you're such a good judge of it?” Merrick was sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest, or fire was going to shoot from his ears, or the beast in his stomach would finally tear its way free. He made to rise, but Chael put a hand on his arm, easing him back down.

“I am not trying to make you angry,” he coaxed. “I just want you to think about this a bit more. I will help you, and I will help you keep your secret until we're both sure of Fletcher's intentions.”

Merrick sank back down, his wings trembling. He felt sick, but the fire had died and the beast settled to a low growl. His mind wouldn't stop churning, from the light of Heaven to the demon he had left on the beach, to love and affection, to everything he knew about Chael and the rest of the Garrison, clinging to the knowledge like a weapon. There had to be a way to convince Chael that he was right. “Tyr is your son, right?” he asked after a long silence.

“Yes. Why?”

“Where is your wife? Why isn't she here with you?”

The way Chael's face twisted, Merrick immediately regretted the question, but the older angel answered it anyway. “Souls are complicated, Merrick,” he whispered. “And you don't know everything yet about Heaven and Hell, and which souls are left to reincarnate again on Earth. Now is not the time to discuss it.”

“But I need to understand it, if I'm going to help Fletcher.”

Chael shook his head. “Let's first see if this demon is who you think he is. And if he really wants to be saved.”

“Of course he wants to be saved!”

Chael stood at last, folding his wings. “Just promise me you won't rush into anything, Merrick. And keep me informed as to what's going on, okay? I'm going to go talk to the rest of the Garrison to make sure they don't swoop down and stab him while you're talking with him—or whatever else it is you're doing.”

Merrick snapped his mouth shut quickly, and hugged his knees to his chest. “Tyr is with him right now,” he muttered.

“I'll check in. Stay here and think about it for a little while, huh? Whenever you're ready to go back to Earth, go back down. We'll keep an eye on him until then.”

He nodded numbly, watching Chael leave with that twisting feeling in his stomach remaining. What if Chael was right, and he really was just an assignment?

He couldn't believe that, not after seeing Fletcher like this. Really seeing him, uncertain and afraid. And with all the seals he had placed in the bunker, how could he be checking in with demons anyway? Fletcher wanted to be saved. He wanted to get to Heaven, to get away from the life he was living now.

And Merrick wanted him to be here. Maybe Chael was right about never learning about love and a relationship, but wasn't Fletcher this chance to have it at last? Who else up here would give that to him? He hugged his knees tighter against his chest, swallowing the doubt.

Why wouldn't Chael tell him everything about souls, though? What hadn't Teremun taught him when he first started getting his assignments?

“Are you alright, Guardian?”

The voice was enough to give Merrick chills, and he jerked so abruptly he smacked his wings against the trunk of the tree, showering himself with violet petals. The voice was that of Heaven itself, powerful and permeating, a heavy blanket that could comfort or suffocate, and Merrick found himself choking on his own breath as he looked upon Michael for the first time.

Well, it wasn't really the first time he had seen the archangel. He had heard Michael speak when addressing a crowd of angels, and seen him at a distance, on a pillar and an all-consuming presence. But this close, within arms' reach, Merrick was at a loss for words.

Michael's wings were so large they brushed the ground when he walked, supported by broad shoulders and magic that seemed to pulse just under his skin, almost glowing through the curve of each muscle. His dark hair framed his face like the shadows from moonlight, and in his eyes was the stars, the sun, the light of Heaven. The light that was right now focused on him in soft concern.

“I'm alright,” Merrick croaked at last, pressing his back against the tree.

Michael crouched in front of him, resting his hand on the angel's knee. “Clearly you aren't. What has upset you?”

The touch was electric, and he felt the knot in his stomach unbind at last. He took in a deep breath, looking down at the archangel's fingers, then finally back up to his face. He uncurled a touch, and wondered when the words left his mouth. “I'm tired of being treated like a child.”

Michael chuckled, and sat down across from him, hardly seeming as if he were touching the ground. “You are but a child still compared to many here. Is there something you want to talk about?” His hand found Merrick's, and the angel felt like stars slid into his veins.

Merrick shook his head quickly. “I should get back to my work. I've left Abby alone for too long.” And Fletcher, for that matter. He couldn't let Michael of all people find out that he was flirting with a demon. What would the archangel think? What would he do?

Michael's smile sent his feathers tingling. “You're a good guardian, Merrick. Your job is the most important of Heaven. Don't let anyone make you feel inferior. You are the shepherd of souls, and it is souls that make Heaven strong. Remember that.”

He nodded quickly, and stood so abruptly he nearly hit his head on a low branch. It wasn't until he retreated back to the beach, collected Fletcher, and curled up with him in the bunker that Merrick wondered when Michael had learned his name.

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[kclenhartnovels]

10 Writing Questions Tag

Tagged by @stackofnotebooks

1. How many writing projects are you working on at the moment?

If I actually counted all of the currently shelved WIPs, I would probably cry, so let's see what I'm actively working on:

Letter of Marque is in beta reading and second round edits. Starting to draft queries and a synopsis.

Handbook for Heartless Killers is being queried.

I may be revamping Theory of Souls, because I had the idea to put Raen with a werewolf and it's actually kind of interesting? We'll see. I'm still brainstorming that one. Brainstorming an actual plot for Glitches aside from 'chronomage tries to stop fucking jumping through time before he has a stroke.' Thinking about doing some research for a sequel to Letter of Marque because my wife wants it and it was actually fun. Still knocking around the idea of lesbian samurais, because why not? Debating on getting back into Lion of Persia, but it's just not calling to me right now.

TL;DR: A lot.

2. What is your proudest accomplishment as a writer so far and why?

On an actual writing level, probably starting freelance work and getting paid to write, finally, even if it's non-fiction and SEO work. On a personal level, connecting with other writers and helping them navigate what is new territory for a lot of them.

3. What is the central message or theme of your current writing project?

Which current one? Since Letter of Marque is probably my most current active one, I'll answer for that. It's at its core about finding the right person that helps you find yourself.

4. What genre do you find it easiest to write in?

I'll let you know when I figure that out. Depends on the day.

5. Are there any fonts that you forbid yourself from writing in?

I pretty much only write in Times New Roman. Everything else looks wrong.

6. If you were to meet one of your OCs in real life, who would it be and why?

Lord, which one would be the least likely to kill me? Probably Kamin, because not only is just a genuinely good person, but he's funny and has a lot of great stories. And I want to hear him sing.

Ethan is a close second, purely for stories, but I wouldn't know which were real and which weren't.

7. What is the story or meaning behind one of your OC’s names?

Hmm, most of them don't really have stories behind them other than 'I liked how it sounded' or 'I looked through baby names until one jumped out.' Eztli was originally made as an angel in Chael's garrison for an RP with my wife, so I needed a good Aztec warrior name. She definitely grew into it.

8. Has a particular piece of media (book, TV show, film, etc.) ever majorly inspired a writing project?

Wolf at the Gates/Dragon on the Mountain were written while listening to Avenge Sevenfold's Hail to the King on repeat, but the originally story behind it (which I wrote in high school!) was heavily inspired after seeing a Medieval Times show. The story changed significantly since then.

9. Is there a place where you absolutely cannot write?

Some days everywhere. Really, I can write pretty much anywhere, unless I'm surrounded by people that I know and like, and would rather be spending time with.

10. What clichés or bad habits do you fall into in your writing?

I tend to get myself into em-dash and semicolon hell sometimes, and tend to have sentences that are too long. I spend a lot of editing chopping up sentences, or eliminating them entirely. I'm usually pretty dialogue-heavy in my writing, and tend to have my characters do too many gestures to break it up. How often does he really need to sigh, or lean, or cross his arms? But that's why there are many drafts.

I will tag with the same questions @scripturient-manipulator, @seeingteacupsindragons and @brynwrites