Heaven and Hell

Father Stephens could sense the battles taking place shortly after the Flying Feral had taken to the sky. He could sense the power of the fighters, as well as two life energies being snuffed out. One vanished unexpectedly, the other disappeared more gradually, indicating that his death was much slower than the first. He mourned both losses silently to himself and muttered a quick prayer for their souls.

Beside the priest was the Arabian Knight, Sahib. He too could sense the battles going on, though it was doubtful his senses were keen enough to sense the life energies of his companions vanishing. Detecting individual life energies was a skill that few could master. It took Father Stephens decades of intense training, meditation, focus and discipline to master it. The extent of the ability varied depending on the person. In Father Stephens’s case, he could sense individual live energies from as far away as thirty kilometres.

Sahib kept an eye on the sky, watching the demon circling above him, his apprehension clearly shown on his face. At the priest’s suggestion they had not moved to reinforce their allies in their struggle. He was focussed on finding Diego. But with the commotion of the nearby battles, and an intense display of power by George, he was proving to be hard to detect. However, he did notice something strange when one of the lives vanished, Aziz, the priest figured. He could now sense a new presence after the Feral Demon was slain. Something else had killed Aziz. It didn’t seem demonic and it was as if it had appeared out of nowhere...

“Diego,” the priest murmured to himself. Sahib looked at him expectantly.

“You found him?” he asked. The priest didn’t answer, his mind was reeling as he began to put it together in his mind.

He must have learned to mask his energies. That’s why I didn’t sense him approaching George. Or maybe he was there the whole time! Father Stephens pondered to himself. He was hit with a sense of urgency. He turned to Sahib who was waiting impatiently for a reply.

“I have found him. Follow only if you can keep up,” he said. Sahib nodded.

“Don’t worry, old man, I’m sure I can keep up with you,” he smirked.

“If you say so boy,” Stephens replied, a hint of a smile on his face. He turned toward the new energy he sensed. Now that he could detect it, he remembered it well. It was the same as he remembered from the last time he saw Diego, and yet slightly off. The priest couldn’t quite put his finger on why it felt off. That thought alone disturbed him, but he kept his concerns to himself. He shook his head, focussing on the task at hand. He broke into a run at full speed, without so much as a warning, leaving behind a very shocked Sahib.

Father Stephens didn’t bother to slow down as he approached one of the two story buildings. Instead he ran right up the smooth surface of the wall and onto the rooftop. He then began to hop from roof to roof. He could sense Sahib running behind, doing the same, although a lot further back. He had to admit, he was impressed that he had even managed to keep him in sight. A lesser man wouldn’t even be able to see him. He figured Kaseem must be training his men well. Which was good, because he knew they would need it by the end of the day. He returned his focus to Diego and George, hoping to get there before it was too late.

****
George glared at the man who stood above him. His hands clenched tightly around his gun and knife. Beside him Ahmed was trembling. At first glance George thought that it might have been fear, until he saw the look in the other man’s eye. It was pure hatred. He could see that Ahmed wanted revenge for his fallen comrade. A sentiment George also felt, but not nearly as strong as the man beside him.

“And now to decide how best to kill you,” Diego sneered. He glowered below at his foes. “I think it is time for some old favourites of mine.” He grinned broadly as he reached into the folds of his tattered robe and pulled out a blade. He twirled it around in his hand. George noticed it had a shocking resemblance to his own, although the blade was black instead of silver.

George braced himself for an attack. Ahmed, on the other hand, George noticed, was gathering his chi into his scimitar. He let loose a roar of anger and slashed his sword at the air, releasing the power of his chi from the blade. The blast headed for Diego, but he was unfazed. He blocked the intense chi blast with his blade. The blast was held in the air for a moment and then it dissipated. No, not dissipate. It was absorbed! George noted.

Before George could let out a warning to Ahmed, he slashed three more times, creating three more blasts. Diego leapt from the building as the blasts crashed into it, demolishing it into a pile of rubble. He lashed out with his whip and managed to wrap it around Ahmed’s scimitar. The man landed gracefully a few feet away and effortlessly yanked the weapon out of Ahmed’s grasp. Now that his opponent was weaponless, he swiftly tossed his black blade at him. George reacted on impulse, and he shot the blade, knocking it off course, effectively saving Ahmed’s life. Or so he thought.

Diego twisted his left hand in a gesture and the black blade circled around and plunged itself deep in Ahmed’s torso. His face was contorted with pain and surprise as he dropped to his knees. Before George could react, Diego lashed out with his whip, striking Ahmed several times, laughing madly. Finally and mercifully, Ahmed keeled over to his side. His clothes had been torn, his face, arms, legs and body were covered with long gashes. All in the span of a few seconds.

George could help but feel pity for the man. Sure he didn’t particularly like him, but he thought he deserved a better fate than that. He began to shake in anger. How could this man, someone who was once a member of the Order do this to people? What point do these deaths serve? George wondered silently, his anger growing.

“And now my one eyed friend,” Diego said, barely able to contain his glee. “It’s your turn!” He gestured again with his left hand and the dark blade pulled itself out of Ahmed and made it’s way straight towards George, snapping him back to attention. He began to fire rapidly, but the blade swerved and whirled out of the bullet’s trajectory.

George managed to catch the blade with his own at the last second. The force of the impact made his hand go numb. The dark blade began to strike at George rapidly. He managed to block and avoid most of the blows, however his arm was grazed twice. Thankfully, the wounds were only superficial, although with each strike he blocked, his arm began to feel more and more like jelly. George felt like each blow strike with the force of an impacting car.

George knew he had to come up with something and fast. If he didn’t, he was as good as dead. He knew he couldn’t handle many more blows from the floating blade, nor was he swift and agile enough to keep dodging. Fatigue was beginning to sink in. Without warning, the blade stuck again, this time it twisted and managed to wrench his blade out of his hand. The dark blade lunged at George, who evaded it. The blade lunged again, then began to slash and thrust, forcing George into an awkward dance.

After avoiding a slash that grazed his cheek, George landed awkwardly on the ground. The blade came up ready for a killing blow when it suddenly fell to the ground as if someone had cut invisible strings. He glanced over at Diego, who had ceased laughing and was staring at a nearby rooftop, teeth bared. He looked like a savage animal. George could clearly see the madness in his eyes.

Up on the rooftop stood Father Stephens. George could see the priest’s face. His face contained no hint of emotion. It was strangely serene, almost peaceful. But underneath it, there was a grim determination. He knew Stephens was prepared to kill if necessary. There appeared to be an aura of white light around him. He radiated power, and George found him intimidating. His breathing became more difficult. He felt like he was slowly being crushed by the power the priest was exuding.

“Your fight is with me, Diego,” Stephens declared.

“Yes, Darren! It has been far too long!” Diego shouted. “Let’s settle this, once and for all!”

****
Father Stephens gazed down at Diego, his old rival. His friend. Confidant. And now, enemy. He had stopped his attack on George with a subtle chi blast aimed at the dark blade, causing it to drop lifeless onto the sand below. That had gotten the combatant’s attention. He gathered his chi, preparing it for the battle. As he did so, a flash of memories came to him. Memories of the man Diego had once been. He remembered the kindness and respect for life he had. His steadfast loyalty to his friends and the Order. How he yearned to prove himself to the other members of the Warrior’s Caste, to protect the innocent.

Visions of long hours spent competing against each other in their youth flashed before him. Sparring together over countless hours. Fighting along side one another against packs of Feral Demons, fending of the mid class and even fighting a few Greater Demons. But it was the vision of their last meeting that stayed with him the most. Something he would never forget.

They were alone fighting against a B class Greater Demon. His hoard of beasts had been slain. His Minions laid dead at the Demon’s feet, but so too did the bodies of many of the Warrior’s Caste. All that were left were Darren, Diego and the demon, Ragar.

Ragar was dressed in a full suit, complete with a tie. It was stained with the blood of his enemies. His dark hair was slicked back, a look of contempt upon his face. He wiped the blood off from his cheek and licked it.

“You priests think you’re so tough, don’t you?” his voice altering as he spoke. “Well now, you will witness the true power of Ragar the Mighty!” The demon’s clothes began to tear as he grew larger. His muscles bulged, his skin turned from an olive colour to a blood red. His eyes turned yellow and enormous horns sprouted from his head. Ragar let out a deafening roar.

“We can take him if we work together, Darren!” Diego said. He was clutching his dark blade tightly in his hand. Darren could see his fear, but also his determination. There was a fire in Diego’s eyes. He wanted to avenge their friends, as did he.

“I can take this brute by myself,” Darren proclaimed. Ragar let out a guttural sound. Darren realized that the demon was laughing.

“Foolish little human. You think you can stand up to the Mighty Ragar by yourself? HA! You couldn’t win even if there were a hundred of you!”

“We’ll see about that!” Darren charged forward, twin blades at his side. Diego shouted a protest, but Darren didn’t hear him. He was filled with anger, hatred. He wanted to beat Ragar within an inch of his life. Then he wanted to kill him after making him experience the fear and torment he made his countless victims feel. Then and only then, after the demon cried out for mercy, begged for death, would Darren grant it to him.

Darren leapt into the air and slammed into Ragar. The demon staggered, but quickly recovered. A giant arm swung at Darren, who ducked. He pressed his attack, but failed to notice the demon’s large foot coming at him. It struck him hard in the chest and sent him flying to the ground. The demon came up for a finishing blow. Darren braced himself for the oncoming blow. His eyes had clenched shut. When no attack came he opened one eye and saw, standing above him was Diego, blocking the demon’s fist with his dark blade.

“We can still do this together, Darren,” he said. “Come on, we can do it!” Darren nodded and got to his feet just as Diego began to press his own attack. Something caught Darren’s eye however. It was an oddly shaped bottle and it seemed to beckon him. It looked as if it were glowing. He walked over to it, completly mesmerized by it. When he picked it up, there was a flash of light, and everything went dark.

When Darren came to he could hear the screams of his friend. He turned to the direction and to his horror he saw Ragar was tormenting him. There was another figure as well, a man in rags hovered near Ragar’s shoulder.

“Come now Ragar, we must leave now!” the man shouted. The demon snarled at the man, but he wasn’t phased. “You’ve already beaten this priest, the other I have incapacitated. Let’s leave now before the Reverends arrive.” Ragar only grunted in response.

“Come on, neither of us are powerful enough to confront a Reverend in our current states. We must retreat!” the man implored. Ragar snorted.

“Maybe you can’t, but I can!”

“Don’t be an imbecile Ragar. Fighting these priests have taken too much out of you. We must leave and recover our strength. There will be more humans to kill to satiate or bloodlust.” Ragar seemed to consider the man’s words carefully, then nodded his oversized head. He struck Diego once more, picked up his limp body and tossed him aside. The demon and the floating man left, disappearing into the night. Darren ran towards his friend. He was still conscious.

“H-help me Darren,” he said weakly. Darren shook his head.

“I must stop the demons, the Reverends will be here soon, they’ll look after you. The mission comes first!” and with that, Darren pursued the demon. After hours of searching, he came up with nothing. It was like they had somehow vanished . He couldn’t even find his tracks anymore. When Darren returned to the battlefield, he saw that Diego was gone. A lone Reverend stood among the carnage.

“You must be the only survivor,” he said solemnly. He was dressed in similar black robes as Darren, though they bore the insignia of the Reverends. It was a white variation of the ancient Celtic Trinity symbol with a gold cross in the centre. The Trinity symbol always seemed to remind Darren of three leaves overlapping each other.

“There was one other! Diego Garcia! He was in no condition to go anywhere. He must still be alive somewhere!” Darren cried out.

“No one here is alive. He must be buried around here somewhere,” the Reverend said, indicating to the piles of bodies that littered the ground.

“No he was over there,” Darren indicated to where he had last seen Diego. Tears began to form in his eyes as he realized he had abandoned his friend. The Reverend held out a hand as he got an incoming call from his ear piece.

“What is it?” he asked. There was a pause. “I read you, over and out.” The Reverend switched his ear piece off.

“Your friend has been found in a hospital. We will bring him back on a separate flight. He is still recovering.” Darren nodded his head and went with the Reverend to the nearby plane, relieved that he was okay.

A few days later, Darren was reunited with Diego. But his friend had not been happy to see him and had consequently hit him. The two had argued about Darren leaving him alone in the battlefield to die. The argument quickly turned into a fight. Darren had won.

“You betrayed me, Darren! You abandoned me and left me to die!” were the final words Diego ever spoke to him... Darren had been arrogant in his abilities and was obsessed with killing Ragar. In that obsession he lost the best friend he ever had. And he had regretted his choices from that day ever since.

“Your fight is with me Diego” Father declared.

“Yes Darren! It has been far too long!” Diego shouted. Lets settle this, once and for all!”