Chapter 61: Tristan’s Peace

After the blinding light in the underground cave, I find myself woken up by an intense, familiar heat. As I turn my gaze towards the sky, the same scene that I’m all too used to appears.

A clear sky without any signs of clouds. A blazing sun keeps on hammering down its scorching rays. Dry, arid air that only serves to increase the heat. Sand getting in my hands and feet.

I’m back to the deserts of Egypt, it seems.

“Took you long enough to show up,” a voice answers behind me. A voice I’m too familiar with, and a voice I loathe to this day.

“Gabriel,” I click my tongue in annoyance. However, as I turn around to see the angel, my eyes widen in surprise.

Gone is his usual dumb public look, nor he is the cunning, scheming bastard I’ve known. Gabriel, now still with that wound he received from the other archangel in their last fight, is lying on his death’s door, completely wasted and given up on everything.

“Why did you return all the way back to Egypt without treating your own wounds? Didn’t my rune give you the option to just go to the Palace?”

“I did go to the Palace…” the angel answers, his breath weak but not staggering, showing that he’s at least somewhat recovered. “But then I was teleported to Heaven’s Gate before I could do anything. And this is God’s way of handling my punishment.”

“God? Heaven’s Gate? Aren’t we in Egypt?”

“Oh, all this sand,” the angel lets out a bitter smile. “This is a room in Heaven’s Gate where it simulates the closest environment familiar to you. Since we’re both so used to Egypt, this is the result.”

“Would be nicer if it was the tavern.”

“And I’d like my skyscraper back,” the angel snickers.

“Well… why am I here then?”

“Look over there,” Gabriel points towards a small sand dune nearby.

As I turn to the location, a series of letters appears:

To the Archangels and the Demons’ chosen. The exit of this room will only open with a combined effort of your Gift and cross. You can either sort things out in a peaceful manner, or fight to the death and the winner takes both. Whatever you do, it’s your choice.

“What the hell is this?” I exclaim, squinting my eyes in doubt.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Another bitter laugh from Gabriel. “It’s God’s punishment. Either we sort things out by talking or we fight to the death… well, not for me, at least, considering I’m dying anyway.”

“So, what do you suggest? We work together to open a path?”

“No,” answers the angel. “Read the lines again. ‘Sort things out in a peaceful manner’ and not ‘work together’. God is saying that we need to give the other our current power.”

“What? But that makes no sense! Why would God need a Demon’s power? And wouldn’t receiving your Gift mean that I’d become an Archangel while you die?”

“That’s right. It’s a screwed option for us Archangels either way, so our only choice is to convince you guys to give us your crosses… But of course, none of you would do that, right?”

“What kind of God do you serve?”

“Heh, I serve no God, remember?” Gabriel chuckles. “The only reason why I became an Archangel in the first place was to avenge my friend… Well, look how that turned out.”

“Why not stand with the Demons, then? If you hated Michael that much.”

“That wasn’t an option either. It’s because of Arthur that things went the way they did, and when they faced the Archangels, they didn’t stand a chance. That’s why I joined forces with the latter afterwards.”

“So you just ran away.”

“And? I told you, right? I’m a survivalist.”

“Ironic considering you’re the dying one right now.”

“Heh… I didn’t remember you having that sharp of a tongue… Pelle.”

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“Huh, first time you even call my name. And to think I called you my enemy.”

“Hey, dying helps a person contemplate a lot of things, you know. But what about now? What are we, exactly?”

“Neither enemies nor friends would be my first assumption,” I answer. “I still hate you for the slimy, crafty being that you are, but I don’t wish for your death as much as I did when I first incited the war.”

“Neither enemies nor friends, huh…” a light smile of satisfaction forms on the dying angel’s face. “I wish I could have said that to everyone back then…”

The conversation then… stops. The angel isn’t dying, but we don’t have anything to say to each other anymore. It’s a weird relationship that we shared – from arch nemesis during the war, to being forced to tolerate each other because of his ridiculous deal, and now… I can feel myself understanding the guy just a little, even if I can never call him a ‘friend’.

“Hey, Pelle,” the angel suddenly calls.

“What is it? Got any last words you wanna give me?”

“Something like that… Take my Gift,” Gabriel raises his hand forward, conjuring up a shining red orb that glitters in the sun.

“… What did you say?”

“Take my Gift. I’m dying anyway, and there’s only one way for you to get out, right?”

“But what for? I get out anyway if you die, right?”

“No. You need both a Gift and a cross. Meaning that you have to force it out of me even if I die… and we know that isn’t happening.”

“Wait, so does that mean…”

“Yeah. If we had fought to the death, there would be nothing gained for you if you won. God would never put on a fair game, after all.”

“That bastard…”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Gabriel lets out a snicker. “She’s just a naïve girl forced into this position. I’m sure she meant well, but the actual execution was twisted by that guy.”

“Hold on. God is a girl? That guy? What are you talking about?”

“The new God is, but looks like my time is nearly up… Just take the Gift, Pelle, and get out.”

“… No,” I shake my head.

“… What?”

“I said no. I refuse to play this game with God.”

“But you’ll be trapped here…”

“There are five of us, and four of you, right? So one has to be facing God directly right now. I’ll place my trust in him instead, and believe that he’ll break us free.”

“… Surprising words from the revolution army’s leader.”

“It’s precisely because I’m a leader that I know how to place my trust in my people.”

“… Spoken like a true King. You’d do better than Arthur back then.” Gabriel gives one last smile before lowering his hands again and dispersing the orb, closing his eyes for one final, eternal sleep.

“Good luck, Pelle.”

“Farewell… Tristan.”

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