"You're one of the last Archangels I expected to take part of the
challenge." Michael's baritone voice was wrapped in icy cold. The old man in
front of him smiled gently and wordlessly nodded. "And what is your
challenge, Yves?"
Laurence knew, for he had been told by the eldest of celestials moments
before. "A staring contest," he informed the eldest of Seraphs.
Michael's bellow of incredulity, the echo of The Sword's words, shook the
groves. "A staring contest? THAT is your challenge?" Once again, the short
old man simply nodded, but Michael thought he saw a twinkle in Destiny's
eyes.
"A staring contest risks no injury, Yves. I'm afraid I must-" Laurence
began, but was cut off by Yves.
"Ah, but is not such a contest one of the hallmarks of man-to-man combat?
The stare down? And can it not cause psychological injury?"
Michael sighed, Yves was right and he announced it to be True. "What will be
the prize?" Yves came close to him and whispered in his ear, so that none of
the gathering - and Michael's challenges had assembled a number of
spectators - could overhear. Michael saw that Yves spoke the Truth and
nodded solemnly.
The two eldest of all angels - if He Who Named God could truly be considered
an angel - sat across from each other, their eyes boring into the other's.
And though War was ancient, he was consumed by the depths of time, from The
Beginning to The End. He nearly turned his head then, within the first
moment of the contest, but steeled himself and let Yves see the countless
battles in his eyes.
As the two had their gazes locked part of Michael's brain drifted away. Yves
always invokes questions but never gives answers, he thought harshly, and
his wavering between religions stirs Heaven into skirmishes between itself.
Why? Why if he has everything that may be written does he not share it with
those who need it - for the glory of God?
The Seraph saw into Destiny's eyes. In the depths of time he saw a calmness,
an almost ineffability. He saw tenderness, sorrow and love. But most of all
he saw faith. Faith so strong that he almost turned away again, for the
faith was so True that even Michael's faith seemed a candle to the sun.
Michael began to shake. Even through all he had seen, all he had done, he
did not have this vision that Yves had.
Michael began to doubt himself and his mistrust began to waver. Perhaps it
was Yves's faith and love that kept him silent. It could be that Yves did
not show the plans of Hell because Yves himself never looked, trusting fully
in God. Michael's doubt consumed him and he almost surrendered.
Then it happened. Destiny blinked. The former General of the Host was
victorious again, though through no power of my own, he thought. His
mistrust sprang back into place and he nearly spat at Yves's feet. At those
black orthopedic shoes.
"You were Destined to win, Michael. It was ever so." Yves smiled his gentle
smile, stood, and turned to go. And Michael saw that to be True.
"Wait Yves, what of War's prize?" Laurence called to the departing
Archangel. Michael held out his hand to still the young General of the Host.
"He has already given it to me." War said, speaking of Destiny in warm tones
for the first time in a long, long time.
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EDG <edg@sjgames.com>
In Nomine Collection Curator