else.”
Icarus nods and moves closer to the early rays of sun that have started streaming through his window, basking like a lizard at first dawn: his first day in the sun since he was turned and thus far the most marvelous side effect of his resurrection.
The Angel Curiel
Y ou watch the vampire settle into the sun, one of too many errors in the crossover. What kind of monsters will he breed now that he’s a daywalker? What have you done?
Without you as catalyst there’d be no survivors. Mother, The Ancient One gave you the touch that sparks miracles, the power to bring the dead back to life. Now look. Only four full-body survivors. How disappointing. But, you were under duress. Under normal circumstances you require time. The smog goddess Kaleanathi kept her monstrous plan under the radar. Nobody suspected a thing. Not even Prophesia, goddess of visions, had the slightest clue. How could you not have suspected?
Mother, The Ancient One set down rules before her big sleep. You broke all of them. You should have known better. You thought this would help.
And now look. Bringing a survivor back in fowl-human hybrid form, pure mishap. And then the screamer—she’s proving far more dangerous than anticipated with her power unchecked. You can’t figure what went wrong. You didn’t know that Kaleanathi depleted The Source. How could you? You underestimated her.
You walk in and out of each survivor’s room. The werewolf, still asleep. The vampire, who now no longer need fear the sun.
You try to comfort the woman who screams her losses in her sleep by giving her a vision of her daughter. It only makes matters worse. Nurses rush in, hands over their ears and increase her tranquilizer. Leave this for The Ethereals, you tell yourself. They’re the ones with the power, yours is just the finishing touch.
The bird girl has a fit when you walk in. She thinks you’re a ghost. You can’t blame her, with your dark clothes and translucent wings casting threatening shadows behind you. Her eyesight altered in the transformation, another disaster. You leave her be, she’s scared enough.
You try to convince The Ethereals to leave it alone. Don’t bring back the others. You beg them. This bickering between ancients must stop. Now is the time for heroes, after all. Now is the time for the old gods to shine, not drown in petty squabbles. Mother, The Ancient One expected better of us all.
But The Ethereals will have none of it. They’re going ahead. Do your job and keep out of theirs.
You always disagreed that the gods should meddle in the lives of humans; you were once human and suffered at their demanding hands more times than you care to remember. And after all these years—thousands of them—Mother finally decreed that the gods stop interfering in direct proportion to human belief. Humans developed their materialism and capitalism and no longer needed to look to the old gods. So the old ones lost interest in them in turn. Stopped breeding with them. Abandoned the creatures; Mother’s plan all along. The gods, watchers, and angels retreated into their Valhallan bubble, where there was still plenty to keep everyone busy.
You were finally happy. Let the celestials and the humes live their own existences, each free of the turmoil of the other, free from the tenuous bond that only brought pain to both sides.
Your heart seizes as you realize Mother, The Ancient One has awoken early. Kaleanathi has opened the multiverse’s Pandora’s Box. If you could feel cold, you’d be shivering.
The humans wrote about Mother in their Old Testament. She is wrath incarnate. She is vengeance personified. She is death.
There will only be hell to pay.
Mother will want the old ways back. She’ll dismantle the celestial democracy she installed before her rest and re-throne herself as Queen of All. She will destroy everyone who disrupted her slumber, all of us who have broken her trust. And the human world will be her collateral damage.
You
Icarus nods and moves closer to the early rays of sun that have started streaming through his window, basking like a lizard at first dawn: his first day in the sun since he was turned and thus far the most marvelous side effect of his resurrection.
The Angel Curiel
Y ou watch the vampire settle into the sun, one of too many errors in the crossover. What kind of monsters will he breed now that he’s a daywalker? What have you done?
Without you as catalyst there’d be no survivors. Mother, The Ancient One gave you the touch that sparks miracles, the power to bring the dead back to life. Now look. Only four full-body survivors. How disappointing. But, you were under duress. Under normal circumstances you require time. The smog goddess Kaleanathi kept her monstrous plan under the radar. Nobody suspected a thing. Not even Prophesia, goddess of visions, had the slightest clue. How could you not have suspected?
Mother, The Ancient One set down rules before her big sleep. You broke all of them. You should have known better. You thought this would help.
And now look. Bringing a survivor back in fowl-human hybrid form, pure mishap. And then the screamer—she’s proving far more dangerous than anticipated with her power unchecked. You can’t figure what went wrong. You didn’t know that Kaleanathi depleted The Source. How could you? You underestimated her.
You walk in and out of each survivor’s room. The werewolf, still asleep. The vampire, who now no longer need fear the sun.
You try to comfort the woman who screams her losses in her sleep by giving her a vision of her daughter. It only makes matters worse. Nurses rush in, hands over their ears and increase her tranquilizer. Leave this for The Ethereals, you tell yourself. They’re the ones with the power, yours is just the finishing touch.
The bird girl has a fit when you walk in. She thinks you’re a ghost. You can’t blame her, with your dark clothes and translucent wings casting threatening shadows behind you. Her eyesight altered in the transformation, another disaster. You leave her be, she’s scared enough.
You try to convince The Ethereals to leave it alone. Don’t bring back the others. You beg them. This bickering between ancients must stop. Now is the time for heroes, after all. Now is the time for the old gods to shine, not drown in petty squabbles. Mother, The Ancient One expected better of us all.
But The Ethereals will have none of it. They’re going ahead. Do your job and keep out of theirs.
You always disagreed that the gods should meddle in the lives of humans; you were once human and suffered at their demanding hands more times than you care to remember. And after all these years—thousands of them—Mother finally decreed that the gods stop interfering in direct proportion to human belief. Humans developed their materialism and capitalism and no longer needed to look to the old gods. So the old ones lost interest in them in turn. Stopped breeding with them. Abandoned the creatures; Mother’s plan all along. The gods, watchers, and angels retreated into their Valhallan bubble, where there was still plenty to keep everyone busy.
You were finally happy. Let the celestials and the humes live their own existences, each free of the turmoil of the other, free from the tenuous bond that only brought pain to both sides.
Your heart seizes as you realize Mother, The Ancient One has awoken early. Kaleanathi has opened the multiverse’s Pandora’s Box. If you could feel cold, you’d be shivering.
The humans wrote about Mother in their Old Testament. She is wrath incarnate. She is vengeance personified. She is death.
There will only be hell to pay.
Mother will want the old ways back. She’ll dismantle the celestial democracy she installed before her rest and re-throne herself as Queen of All. She will destroy everyone who disrupted her slumber, all of us who have broken her trust. And the human world will be her collateral damage.
You
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