The story of the FALLEN

9. Weapons and priests don’t mix

Maybe taking a field trip with Simon was not a good idea? Zack is leaning on the only free spot of the wall inside their storage unit, watching the priest fall apart. He doesn’t need to read the guy’s mind to know what’s going on in his head. Simon is in denial, in turmoil, in panic, and in pain. Pain is a weird feeling since nobody touched Simon since they came here. Simon himself sure as hell didn’t touch anything. His hands are firmly around his own body. He is afraid to move from the spot, as if the items all around would somehow come to life and attack him.

He never before saw someone so afraid of weapons. Weapons nobody is holding. They are just hanging around on wall hooks or racks all over the storage. Harmless really. Swords of all eras, from all around the world. Guns from early muskets to modern military weapons. One lonely cannon and a whole lot of curiosities they have picked up during their time on Earth. Most of them are Asian in origin. You just have to hand it to the Chinese and Mongols. The imagination behind creating some of these weapons is just astonishing.

“Simon!” Zack says. Shouting is bad, but touching him right now might be worse. “Nothing here will hurt you. The weapons are inanimate objects. There is really no reason to be scared by them.”

“I can’t. I can’t! I can’t!” Simon repeats. He is shaking in fear.

“Come on, Simon. Nothing will bite you.” Tammy tells the guy. “You don’t have to touch anything, but I do want you to look.”

“Really, Simon?” Layla sighs loudly. “It’s just a collection of things. It might as well be books. Harmless on their own, you know?”

“I bite.” Nakir comments. The smirk on his face is out of place right now. The situation is not funny at all and he’s only making it worse. “But that has nothing to do with our collection.”

“You’re sitting on a cannon, flicking a lighter open and closed. The l-last thing I worry about is y-you b-biting me.” Simon stutters before he asks: “Is that thing loaded?”

“You opened your eyes. Congratulations.” Nakir chuckles. “The cannon is not loaded. It was freaking hard to steal this thing. You think I had time to think about ammunition?”

“You stole a cannon? You’re an angel? Stealing is a sin.” Simon looks over at Nakir with horror in his eyes. Damn, they are going to corrupt the priest in no time at all.

“Like I care.” Nakir shrugs. He flicks his lighter closed and makes it disappear into one of the many pockets of his black leather coat. “Do you want to know the story behind this cannon? I think an historian like yourself would be interested to know more?”

“A story on how you stole a cannon?” Simon gapes. “Is this supposed to be a confession? I’m not really authorised for that.”

“Oh, Simon! We don’t do confessions. We have no need for that. We are immortal.” Tammy drawls. She turns to Nakir: “I would like to hear that story. I didn’t know we had a cannon.”

“Immortal? Where do you go if you die? Do angels die?” Simon looks at Tamiel in wonder. He is so easy to distract.

“We die. We cease to exist. We return to the nothingness we were created from.” Zack shrugs. “I have no idea, actually. No angel has ever come back to tell us what happens.”

“The first part is probably right. We have no souls, so we can’t be reborn.” Tammy scoffs. “Who would want that anyway?”

“You don’t go to heaven?” Simon inquires.

“Why would we be allowed to go home after we die?” Nakir scoffs. “If we can’t be there now, we certainly aren’t going there in death.”

“This is too morbid even for me.” Layla interrupts. “Nakir, tell the story of this cannon.”

“I can make it short. It’s not so much about stealing it, but where it comes from. That is the interesting part.” Nakir tells them. He pats the cannon with his hand. “This baby was once proudly sitting on the roof of the Bastille. We were in Paris at the time, July 14th 1789, to be precise. The day when Bastille fell, I was on the roof of Notre Dame watching it go down in rubble. I just had this crazy idea that a souvenir would be nice. I dragged Zack over there and rescued a cannon out from that pile of stone and ash. In the confusion and smoke, nobody noticed us get away with it.”

“As far as crazy ideas go, that was one of the best.” Zack chuckles. “We had fun that day. The demons were hiding, because of the human war raging in the streets, so it was a nice distraction.”

“Does every weapon in here hold a story?” Simon asks slowly. He seems to be melting from his fear with the prospect of learning more historical facts. “And you remember all of them?”

“More or less.” Zack nods. “A lot of these share a story. It’s our way of putting memories away.”

“Maybe you should do that, Zack?” Layla recommends. “Maybe your dreams will go away with the memories?”

“Why did you have to bring that up?” Zack growls. They didn’t agree to let Simon know about his bad dreams. Maybe he’s too preoccupied that he’ll miss the remark?

“Oh, you set yourself up. Tell a story, let it go to a memory and leave it here.” Tammy nudges him.

“All right, smarty pants.” Zack glares at Tammy. He picks one of the Shamshir sabres from the wall hooks. The ornate hilt sets itself nicely in his hand. “These are from Jerusalem. We collected a fair number of weapons from the streets after Saladin’s army won the siege in 1187. Shamshirs were quite new at the time. I thought them quite fascinating. The Arabs had adopted the blade from the Persians, because of its light structure and handling. This is a feather in comparison to a Saif.”

“It looks light, but I have no idea what a Saif is, or what it looks like.” Simon looks at Zack. The guy’s eyes follow every movement of the sabre.

“This is a Saif.” Zack points the sabre’s tip to a heavy, double edged, longsword on the wall. “A traditional Arabic sword used in the time of the early crusades.”

“Looks like something European knights would use.” Simon comments.

“Close, but not the same.” Nakir smirks. He walks over to Simon with a knight's longsword. “This one belonged to a Templar Knight at one point in history.”

“Try it out for size, Simon.” Tammy suggests to the priest. “We need to know what fits you, what you can become good at using.”

“No!” Simon steps back from her. “I am not using weapons. I will not kill. Demon or human, all life is precious. You can’t make me. I won’t be a sinner.”

“It’s not about what we make you, it’s what you are. You have to learn to fight, to defend yourself. If you are with us, you’re in danger. The demons will find you.” Nakir scoffs.

“Or something worse. We have no idea what we’re up against. It might be a witch, or a warlock. It might be a coven. We just don’t know.” Layla shakes her head.

“We are investing our time into your training. To keep you alive.” Tammy tells Simon.

“We’re not going to force you, but you might consider learning how to fight with one weapon.” Zack adds to everything: “For your own good.”

“No. I can’t. I refuse to hold a weapon.” Simon shakes his head. “Self defence is fine for me.”

“Fine.” Zack nods. “But the offer stands and our storage is here if you change your mind. You could pick anything in here. They are all sharpened and ready to use.”

“No one else is using them, they just sit here.” Nakir smirks. “They are just relics from days gone by.”

“How can you talk so proudly about weapons?” Simon asks. He spins around and points to the whole room. “Are all these mementos of the c*****e and destruction you left behind? Aren’t you supposed to be protectors? All I see are memories of wars.”

“Let me clear something up for you, Simon.” Nakir catches the priest’s shirt in his fists. “We never used any of these weapons. We never fought against anyone who did. There is just one simple mission for us: we hunt demons. We protect mankind from demons. An occasional witch, but they have been in hiding lately. We do not meddle in human wars! Ever!”

“Fangs…” Simon whispers. His face goes white as paper, a bit off putting with the priest's already pale complexion.

“Nakir let Simon go, please.” Zack asks really slowly and quietly.

“No.” Nakir growls. His fangs are clearly visible and right in Simon’s face. “He needs to see who he’s dealing with. I’ve had it with babying him, he can take it like a man. We’re not saints! We’re warriors! Just because we’re angels, it doesn’t mean we’re good. We’re neither good nor evil. We just are.”

“Niki! He can’t take it. You’ll kill him.” Zack warns. Is Nakir completely off the rails? Is blood lust all there is for him? All three of them together can’t stop him if he goes for Simon’s throat. They just don’t have the time for it. They are too close together. But if Nakir does what Zack thinks he might, they have another problem. There is not enough space in here with all the weapons around them.

“Oh, give Simon some credit!” Nakir growls. “He might be a pacifist, but by heart he is a researcher. He is just dying to know what I really look like.”

“Fangs…” Simon repeats. It looks to Zack like Simon’s brain got stuck on that one small detail about Nakir. Not that Nakir is subtly glowing and is about to explode, not that.

“Girls! Hit the floor!” Zack yells and dives down for the safety of the nearest rack. If all those swords fall on him, it’s going to be a lot more pleasant than getting hit by Nakir’s wings.

“Oh.” A silent one syllable word comes from Simon. The buzzing of the lights and the shadows let Zack know what happened. Nakir showed Simon his angelic self. No more cover, no more magic to subtly change his appearance. He stands there in all of his Angel of death glory. Armour, wings and sword.

His wings are black with white tips that span over 5 metres. He is not above using them as a weapon if needed. The white tips are sharp as knives and just as deadly. His black armour is Titanium and practically indestructible. Fitted to him like a second skin. His personal sword is pure fantasy. Light as a feather, shaped like a mix of a cleaver and sword. It has a few sharp tips and a deadly hook on the back side. The hilt is adorned with circular blades, sharp enough to shave with. Blades that come off if needed. His black hair glistens in the light. The pearly white fangs stand out even more because of Nakir’s dark complexion. And his black eyes are just pools of darkness you can drown in.

“Angel of death.” Nakir’s icy voice echoes around them. “Remember that, Simon. I can end you by snapping my fingers. I don’t need weapons. I am a weapon.”

“Understood.” Simon swallows. The guy’s voice was shaking so hard, Zach more guessed what he said than heard it.

“Good.” Nakir growls. He folds his wings back in and sighs. “Now select one f*****g blade so we can get out of here. I need air.”