Michael: Last Angel of Earth
The Sword Song

Back at the village, Ambros and the others returned with the much-needed supplies and began distributing them to the locals. The people thanked the Abbott for this kind gesture and wished him many years of good health. Ambros smiled and told them they were his flock and that a shepherd must tend to his community. While everyone was talking to the villagers, Barjon was elsewhere. He snuck back into his room when they entered the village. He meditated on what had happened not too long ago and remembered the words spoken to him by Beth in his room. He could still hear her voice, taunting him from the grave. Just then, a familiar voice was heard in the room.

“It’s time to end this don’t you think?” said the voice. Barjon opened his eyes and saw a shadow figure kneeling before him. Barjon knew who this was.

“Beth is gone, and with it, the truth of who we are. There is no need to run anymore.”

“You naive fool. Sooner or later, more will figure it out, and more dangerous enemies will hunt us down. To make matters worse, you are mortal and cannot access the sword, so tell me, Barjon, how long can you keep this up!”

“It always seems bad at first, but then I find a way. All you need is faith and trust.” Suddenly the shadow grew angry and lashed out at him.

“Faith!? Trust!? You sound like that damn abbot! Look around us. We have no home! There’s nothing to fight for! There’s no more honor! Come to think of it, the only honorable thing to do is...”

“Shut up!” yelled Barjon. The shadow grew immensely and towered over him as he said that.

“NO! I WON’T SPEND ETERNITY IN THIS FORSAKEN TIME!!"

“What do you want from me?” asked Barjon

“I want it to end. Aren’t you tired? Wouldn’t it be great to be free of all of this? All this worry? It could be over if you would commit the final act of honor,” said the shadow.

“BE GONE!” exclaimed Barjon. Swiping his hand, he destroyed the shadow’s astral form and was once again left alone in his room, not better than before. Getting off the floor, he lay on his bed for a moment before leaving his room. As he exited, he bumped into Ambros, making his way to his private chamber.

“Apologies, Abbott, I did not see you there,” said Barjon.

“I heard you talking to yourself again. I think it’s time we had a private chat,” said Ambros.

“A Confession?” asked Barjon. The abbot told him it was more or less a confession. Going into the pews, Barjon was nervous about what to say. When he was an angel, he would watch and listen to all the admissions made by mortals. Now that he was himself a mortal, he was speechless. Barjon saw Ambros’ image behind the mesh as the side corridor opened between them. Making the sign of the cross, Barjon began.

“Forgive me, Abbott, for I have sinned ... a lot,” said Barjon.

“When was your last confession?” asked Ambros.

“A very, very long time ago,” said Barjon.

“What is your confession?” No words came out of Barjon’s mouth. He had many things he wanted to say, but words escaped him. He felt his heart race in his chest, and his breathing became erratic. Grabbing his left arm, he struggled to get himself under control before speaking.

“Abbott, I ... did a terrible thing. Actually, bad is an understatement. What I did was ... unforgivable. At the time, I thought I was doing right to prevent further harm. Instead, I brought harm to my home, and it cost me, my friends, and my family. Some days, I think of horrible things and ... have almost acted on them. Abbott, I am scared.” Ambros said nothing and proceeded with what Barjon had told him. Though he did not specifically say what he did, Ambros understood what might have happened.”

“Normally, I would give you a prayer to read several times and offer some comforting words from the bible. But then again, I’m not a real abbot, and this is no ordinary confession.” He paused for a moment. “You are not the only one who has had thoughts like those. When I was still a soldier in the Irish army, I felt lost when the world’s end happened. I believed that nothing would change, and on that day, I wanted to end my life. I put my rifle in my mouth and almost pulled the trigger.”

“What stopped you?” asked Barjon

“At that moment, I realized that I could not do it. I could not pull the trigger. And in doing so, I discovered my purpose again. I was a soldier, and soldiers served and protected the people. From that moment on, I made it my mission to do just that. So I offer these words to you, my friend. The decisions we make and the actions that follow reflect who we are. We cannot hide from ourselves. Does that make sense?” This made sense to the former angel, and Barjon felt comfort from the Abbott’s words. Just as they finished the service, they heard a commotion outside the church, which sounded like screams.

“What is that?” asked Ambros

“Seems to be coming from outside,” replied Barjon. Ambros left the church, exiting the pews, while Barjon returned to his room to retrieve the sword. Opening the trunk, he grabbed hellfire and went outside the church. Once outside, he found the whole village aflame and most people in chains or dead. Surrounding the church were men belonging to the Ember Council, necro mages, berserkers, and Draconian Ravagers. Placing his hand on the sword, he walked toward the invaders. As he got closer, he noticed one of the ravagers had captured Margret and had a dagger to her neck. The sight caused him to tense up. Before reacting, he also saw Abbot Ambros, Colum, and Fiona held as prisoners by the berserkers. He was now alone and saw enemies slowly begin to close around him.

Suddenly, one of the Ravagers held a hand, ordering the others to stop. As they did so, he approached Barjon and circled him as if studying him. Barjon had an uneasy feeling coursing through him. As the Ravager finished his inspection, he then spoke to him.

“So, you’re him. Honestly, I don’t see it. Here I thought I would be meeting a warrior from the Watchers. Instead, I find a broken man clutching onto a forgotten relic. Do you even know how to use that?”

“My faith is my weapon,” replied Barjon. The Ravager laughed.

“And tell me, how is your faith, watcher?” Barjon did not respond. He looked all around him. He looked at the village burning, the people dead on the floor, those captured, and his friends. He then locked eyes with Margret, who silently told him not to do it. However, just as Ambros said, we cannot hide from ourselves. Then, grabbing the handle, he unsheathed hellfire, and a sharp PING echoed throughout the village. The loud noise left an intense irritation on everyone. He pointed the sword directly at the Ravager in a fighting stance.

"Why don’t you step closer, and I’ll show you,” replied Barjon.

“KILL HIM!” barked the Ravager. Suddenly necro mages, berserkers, ravagers, and many more attacked the former angel. Grabbing the sword tightly, he fought back against his enemies. Though he was rusty and had not wielded a sword in many years, the movements came naturally to him. However, unlike his previous life, he was mortal and could not afford to be careless, especially when fighting against the army of darkness. Ambros, Colum, and Fiona were speechless at what they witnessed as he fought, but Margret knew all too well. After all, she was just a child when she saw the angels fight.

Barjon hacked and slashed against any who came toward him back in the melee. But the former angel also received his face share of injury, as one berserker slashed him across the back, cutting his shirt and exposing his back with the wing tattoos. However, he blocked out the pain and continued fighting. The floor was soon sprayed red with blood and dusty bones as he soon found himself dealing with one last enemy, the lone Ravager. The Ravager, panting hard, glared at the former watcher.

“So, you are not weak as I originally thought. And you’re no mere watcher. You are something more. By your tattoos, you were an archangel, but which one?” The Ravager pondered for a moment until he reached his answer.

“Yes, now I remember. Your name is Mich-” The Ravager stopped his sentence as he felt a sword pierce his heart. Looking down, he saw that the blade had pierced through his dragon scales like butter and thought his spine. The Ravager tried to speak but managed to get out a low gurgle. As the Ravager stood there dying, Barjon thought his troubles were over. He could not be more wrong. For through the ravagers eyes, someone else watched. Back on the English coast, Zarakoth watched the entire scene unfold. Now having proof, he summoned one of his mages to prepare the Palantir. He had someone to meet.

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