“Father is waiting,” Luci said, gesturing for me to get in.

Strangely, she wasn’t trying to be overly nice or friendly to me anymore. Hesitantly, I stepped into Sathariel’s study. Luci remained outside and slid the door shut.

The room was very big with interiors very much different from the other parts of the house. Everything looked modern and quite out of place.

Several paintings—ranging from sceneries to still-life to portraits to abstract—hung on the white plaster walls. Several ceiling-to-floor shelves lined the back of the room. Each glass-enclosed shelf was divided into two dozens of rectangular space, all of which contained an object that was clearly not from this island.

A typewriter. A walkie-talkie. An electronic cigarette. A sundial. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy with the words ‘Don’t Panic’ on the cover. A PSP. An abacus. A music box with a dancing ballerina. Name it and you would probably find it.

In general, it looked more like a museum full of random stuff instead of a drawing room. Wherever Sathariel got all these stuff, I was sure it wasn’t from Belial’s farm. All of these were things from my world—earth. As to how the fallen angels managed to get their hands on these things, I would sure love to find out.

Behind me, I heard the door slide open. When I looked to see who it was, I saw Vincent pulling down the hood of his shirt from his head.

He wore a dark gray sleeveless tunic that reached halfway down his thighs, paired with black pants. Strange characters were embroidered in glistening crimson thread along the tunic’s dark linings. Looking closely, I noticed that the characters were moving as in Nysmic, but very slowly. Instead of flat woven sandals with lots of strings like mine, he was wearing a pair of dark brown leather boots with several triangular buckles.

Now, that looked grand. Why didn’t I get any of that?

I dropped my gaze, my hands involuntarily pulling on my loose robe just so I could pretend to busy myself. I just realized now how it must have felt to be a Gregorian monk.

At the back end of the room was a spiral staircase that led to the second floor. Glass walls enclosed the upper tier, giving it an outdoor feel.

Before Vincent could open his mouth to speak, I ran up the stairs. It made me uneasy, just being in the same room with him. I never cared if I made a total idiot of myself around him before. But now, I was forced to think about my every move and I hated that.

A posh black leather sofa was at the back of the upper room, directly in front of a wide LCD TV, complete with speakers and disc players. Behind it was a tall granite fireplace that appeared as if it hadn’t been used even once. In a corner was a baby grand piano. A small worktable was placed near the east wall so that whoever sat there could see the whole of the orchidarium, the winding paths canopied by weeping cherry trees, the bridge over the lily pond.

Rough sketches lay on the worktable. Most of them were drawn with charcoal.

With care, I looked at the drawings and found a portrait of me and Vincent. In the picture, he was sitting on a chair similar to a throne while I was standing right beside him. There was a sketch of Byron Flynn too, and Vincent’s late mother—Roselle Sinclair—although I had no idea how Sathariel knew her. Others were just scribbles and landscapes.

“We should go back,” Vincent said, breaking the silence. “To Halo, I mean. Vlad needs me.”

I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. The slightly sweet smell in the air helped me relax a bit. Though it was hard, I tried to sort out my thoughts.

Reluctantly, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “If he needs you, then he wouldn’t have sent you here.”

“He’s my brother. I know he needs me.” He lowered his voice in an attempt to mask his resentment.

“Look.” I finally summoned the guts to face him. “This is Vlad we are talking about. He knows what he’s doing and I trust him. I’m sure he has something planned out.”

“Then why did he send us here? Tell me, Aramis. Tell me.”

It took me a few seconds to think of the answer. “I don’t know. I understand that it’s hard but—“

“No!” he shouted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s out there in Halo. If something bad happens to him… You can’t possibly understand how serious this is.”

Nodding, I forced all emotions from showing on my face and swallowed the swelling in my throat. “You’re right. Maybe I don’t understand much about immortals. Maybe I can’t understand exactly how you feel because I never had a brother. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about them too. Because I do, Vincent. More than you’ll ever know. I choose to be here now because they don’t torture you here every day like they did in Halo.”

I breathed deeply. My eyes hurt and I had to blink rapidly to clear it out.

He clenched his fists tightly. “Whatever Vlad told you, it’s not true.”

Halfheartedly, I shook my head. “I saw it with my own eyes—with yours. I saw it like I was there. Like I were you. I don’t know how or why. It doesn’t matter. You think I could just sit back and watch when I know you’re getting beaten to death?”

For once, his eyes showed vulnerability as he looked down to avoid meeting my gaze. “You didn’t need to see that. You shouldn’t have. I’m immortal. What can they possibly do to me that I haven’t already lived through before?”

“They can kill you, Vincent!” My voice shook uncontrollably.

As fast as I could, I spun on my heels and headed to the terrace so he couldn’t see my face. I wiped the tears from my eyes before they could fall down. Even my hands were trembling as I wrapped them around myself.

“Your father said it himself,” I choked out. “He’s very much willing to kill you if that’s what it takes to get Alessandra’s soul from me. He even told me your little family secret—that if you die, my soul wouldn’t vanish unlike all other familiars would expect. And then, after you’re… gone, he’ll be free to do what he wants with me.”

A bitter smile took over Vincent’s face. Out of the blue, he started laughing quietly to himself. He looked so miserable I couldn’t even bear to look at him.

“He said that?” he said through the humorless chuckles, his voice beginning to shake. “He really said that? My own father wants to kill me?”

I didn’t think he would care much. Vincent had always voiced out his hatred for his father. But the hurt was evident in his voice.

“Vincent, I…” I approached him, wringing my fingers, each step getting heavier. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

With a sniff, he forced a smirk. Yet, I could see that his eyes were red around the edges. “Nah… I kind of always knew.”

Sobs pushed their way out of my throat. Startled, I clasped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds. Tears welled out of my eyes and I couldn’t stop them from falling.

If there was one thing I swore I wouldn’t allow, it was for anyone to see me cry again. I thought I was strong. As it turned out, I wasn’t strong enough for this.

“What now?” he snapped. “I don’t need this, Aramis. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t…”

“Then, stop crying!” He sounded flustered.

As if not knowing what to do, his hands moved to hold me. But then he hesitated and dropped them to his sides, letting out a barely audible curse.

“I’m… trying.” I bit my lower lip.

“You’re wasting your tears for nothing!” he grumbled, running his fingers through his already disheveled dark hair.

I came back with “It’s not nothing!” while trying to wipe the tears away as fast as I could.

“Then why are you crying?”

Unable to say a word, I searched the floor for answers. Nothing really came out. “Because…” I started, still unsure what to say. “Y-you were about to cry.”

That seemed to take him by surprise. “I wasn’t…” he answered softly.

Submissively, I nodded to the floor.

Frankly speaking, I didn’t really know why I lost control of myself. In a way, Vincent and I were the same. Both our dads hated us and tried to kill us one time or another. Both our mothers had passed away. I was just somewhat luckier because my father is not the Grim Reaper.

All we had now in this literally Godforsaken island was each other. And I wanted to be there for him the best that I could. That was what Vladimir would have wanted. And because I wanted to be a good familiar.

Without so much as a warning, he reached for my hand and pulled me to him. One of his arms looped around my nape. His face was getting closer to mine until it was just an inch away. Then, he pulled me closer and bent over to bury his face in the crook of my neck.

My hands fell limp on my sides. I couldn’t move like I had just been tazed. It knocked the wind out of me and it took me a while to remember that I was holding my breath.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered reassuringly. “I won’t die. He won’t take you away from me. No one is. I swear I won’t let them.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Maybe I swallowed my tongue. Normally, I talk before I think. But now my short-circuiting brain couldn’t even form words. My head was blank and all I knew was the ramming inside my chest.

Before I could make an effort to nod my head, fine tremors shook the ground. I heard the grinding noise of concrete against metal. At the corner of my eye, I noticed that the rear wall of the fireplace was moving. What's more, a vertical crack appeared on it, widening as the wall itself slid aside.

It looked like some sort of secret passage leading to a descending stairwell. Flickering orange light radiated from the inside. Footfalls were coming from the passage. Someone seemed to be approaching.

Coming back to my senses, I gently pushed Vincent away. He looked a bit stunned himself after he easily let me go.

Just in timing, Mr. S emerged from the secret passage, putting off the fire of the torch he was carrying. He ducked as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the room. The wall behind him slid back into place with a clunk.

“My apologies. It seems I have lost track of time.” He smiled at us, patting down his white buttoned tunic. Instantly, his sharp gray eyes aimed at Vincent. “I see my old hunting cloak suits you well, Vincent. I knew it would fit you quite perfectly. We are about the same size when I was your age.”

With a tinge of irritation, Vincent pocketed his hands and stared out the terrace. I nudged him, throwing a look that said behave. If he was trying to get us killed by upsetting the king of hell, I wouldn’t allow it.

“Thank you, Mr. S,” I said not forgetting to put on a decorous smile on my face. “My master and I really appreciate your kindness.”

Sathariel sat on the armrest of the sofa and gestured us to do the same.

Both of us didn’t move a muscle. Vincent seemed to be paying no attention to Sathariel on purpose. I, on the other hand was too tense to sit with the guy. All I could do to save face was to keep my rueful smile on.

“I see,” he blithely waved a hand. “You are not to blame. My infamous reputation in the human world does not exactly render me likable. Same as Azrael.”

I had this feeling that I was kind of being knowingly left out of the conversation. So I stopped trying to speak for my master.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Death’s true name. Immediately, he took my hand and pulled me behind him. His grip slowly tightened around my wrist.

“Sounds like you know a lot about him,” Vincent said boldly.

“Of course,” Sathariel answered in a casual tone. “We were as good as brothers back in the days. Although not by blood, but by camaraderie.”

The room was as silent as a graveyard. Clearly, we were the only ones who didn’t see the notice. The deal was we had escaped from Death, not knowing that we would end up in his almost-brother’s turf. I would bet Vlad didn’t see that coming either.

How convenient.

Vincent straightened, his expression stiff. “I’m guessing that’s why you took us in?”

“Do not fret,” he assured us with that pleasant smile. “Azrael and I… we had taken different paths. I have not seen him for several hundred years.”

Sathariel stood up and walked across the room. He stopped to look up at the small painting of red roses on the wall as though the answer to Vincent’s question was written there. If the first floor was full of paintings, the second floor only had this one. It didn’t look special at all. Just a bouquet of roses over a white envelope having a golden seal on which an ‘R’ was embossed.

“Say, Vincent,” he called, eyes still fixed on the painting. “Do you know why Azrael was banished from the Immortal Realm?”

My master rolled his eyes, his jaws tensing. “He screwed up or something. Who cares?”

“I am not surprised,” Sathariel said mostly to himself. “Azrael would rather not disclose matters that could tarnish his honor.”

“What honor are we talking about again?” Vincent muttered.

Sathariel went to his worktable and drew out a three-foot scroll. The old and wrinkly parchment touched the floor when he unrolled it. From the table’s drawer, he pulled out a stick of charcoal. Eagerly, he started to sketch, dividing the parchment into three.

It didn’t take a minute before I could already tell what he was drawing. It depicted creation. Heaven, earth and hell. And as he did, the immortal people—I could tell because they wore the same clothing as the people here—in his picture moved as if they had a mind of their own. The sun shone, the grass swayed with the wind and the oceans swelled. Everything was very much life-like.

“In the Realm of Immortals—our home realm—Azrael was thought to be blessed by Eldest,” he started as he added details to his picture. “He was Eldest’s favorite; Eldest being the human counterpart of the person you call God. Not only once did Azrael boast that he was present while Eldest created earth—that he had a say on the color of the sea, the shape of the mountains, the nature of humans.”

Sathariel’s hand moved deftly, his face so intent and calm at the same time, his soul could’ve gone to another world without us knowing. This time, the usual smile on his face was gone. It reminded me of Vincent’s face whenever he was drawing. Maybe it was an artist-thing I could never understand in a million years.

Once he was done, two humans—a man and a woman—centered the whole picture, occupying the middle third of the parchment.

Releasing a deep breath, Sathariel straightened and paused to inspect his work. “Eldest was so pleased with the creation. Especially, with the humans. Each of them seemed so unique, so unpredictable that it entertained Eldest for a while. As a result, Azrael was tasked to create more humans. That was how much Eldest trusted in him.”

He drew another man on the paper. Then another. When he stopped, the paper was almost full except for the lowest third.

“It was a task that needs precision and most of all, patience,” he continued, momentarily gazing up at the sky. He used a hand to shield his face from the glaring sun. “But Azrael was as extremely precise and brilliant as he was impatient. He began to deem the task Eldest bestowed upon him as of little significance. In turn, he committed the greatest mistake of all eternity.”

“And what’s that?” Vincent sneered lopsidedly. “Being born?”

“Close,” Sathariel chuckled, looking genuinely amused this time. “But not quite.”

Between the first man and woman in the picture, he started drawing a child.

“Procreation,” I unthinkingly spoke my mind.

For the first time since we came into his drawing room, Sathariel looked at me, finally acknowledging my presence. “Yes. The ability to produce offspring.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, my brows trying to meet each other. “How can having children be a mistake?”

Wordlessly, he motioned toward the picture, stepping aside to let us take a closer look. Between the adults, children started to appear one by one. Like their parents, they grew up and had children of their own. The cycle went on and on until there was no more space in the parchment.

I got it. Population control.

“Eldest attempted to take back Azrael’s gift to humanity. But it would mean genocide—the human race shall have to be eliminated and then recreated from nothing. Eldest became furious that the precious humans he so loved would have to be destroyed...” he explained, trailing into a contemplative silence. “Until Azrael offered a solution.”

With a grave expression, he started drawing a man in a hooded cloak, holding a scythe—the Grim Reaper. And then, the Reaper moved to harvest the souls of humans.

“Death was created,” Sathariel muttered gravely. “Before earth, the concept of death had never existed. In order to maintain the balance in the world of the Living, life itself must end. A life for a life. Old for the new. And who better to perform the duty than the culprit himself?”

Vincent threw the man a fierce glare. “And Azrael was cast out of Fairy Land. He got busy all around the world, making out with girls and cheating on them. And he made lots of babies who will do all the hard work for him when they grow up… The end.”

“It didn’t end there, I’m afraid.” Sathariel left the charcoal on the table, a faraway look on his eyes as he turned away from us. “No matter how much my people opposed Eldest’ punishment, we kept our silence. Years became decades. Humans had shown no change in their ways. Still, they murdered their brothers, took their neighbors’ belongings, envied others’ good fortune. They exploited the earth and its creatures and felt no remorse for destroying its sanctity.”

In the drawing, the immortals descended to the middle third of the parchment, mingling among humans.

“We wished Eldest would recognize this—that humans were not worth Azrael’s sacrifice.” His once cheerful voice broke. With sadness or anger, I couldn’t decide. “So we used our all abilities to test them. We showed them the best and the worst. Made them choose between the difficult and the easy way, the right and the wrong.

“Unlike Eldest had thought, they were very predictable. They had shown their true colors so easily it was child’s play.”

A figure without a face stood out from the group of immortals. His picture was glowing and I knew right away that it was Eldest. In a fit of rage, he swiped a good portion of immortals from the upper tier and dumped them down the bottom.

It was just like what Luci and Grigori had told me. A third of the stars thrown out of heaven. They were fallen angels.

Sathariel faced us again, his expression dark. “And the consequences of those acts were severe. We were tasked to test humans, proved their worth until the day that we are pardoned,” he explained with a weary sigh. “And the man who started all of this is none other than Pilgrim Reaper. We believed that he did not deserve his punishment. We fought for his cause, yet he abandoned us and sided with the mortals himself.”

I heard someone snigger and it was my master. “You mean you let him dupe you. And let me guess. Now you want to use us so you can get back at him.”

“It is most certainly not the case, child,” Sathariel answered, his tone nostalgic. “If that was my intention, I should have simply allowed Naberius to dispatch of you in the forest. I should not have sent any help.”

“Then why?” Vincent demanded. “Don’t tell me you’re doing this out of good will. Because I’m not buying it.”

The man walked to the terrace and held onto the ledge as he gazed at the orchidarium. “That matter is only for me to know. What you need to know now is that you have a place here. If you wish to stay, I can offer you safety from Azrael. He cannot come here. Neither does anyone without my permission.”

“But we just came here,” my master stated smugly. “And without your permission.”

Sathariel didn’t answer right away. He took his time admiring the clear afternoon sky before taking a deep breath and facing us. Nonchalantly, he stepped closer with a sad sort of smile—the kind that made you wonder what his life had been before you met him. The more I looked at him, the more human he appeared. And not the bad kind.

He gave my master a pat on the shoulder before going back to his worktable. He closed his eyes for a second. The moment he opened them again, they were blazing red like embers from within the earth’s core. With a single glance, the whole three feet of his newly done masterpiece was set on fire, burning down to ashes. And as it did, the faces of the people in the drawing contorted. Their mouths opened to let out soundless wails as if they could actually feel the pain of burning.

“Of course, you had my permission. You are always welcome here, Vincent.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So yeah. Been two weeks. Been kind of distracted with this new story inside my head. Ugh. Which just complicates everything since I'd really really like to finish HTDAN. Soon... people are gonna kick my ass for making them wait. The decision's final. Gonna make this into an ebook and I hope you keep on supporting Reapers. The first book is gonna be released by September and the second book, two months after. Please visit the Reapers Facebook page (link can be found in my profile page) for more announcements. BTW. To those who'd been wondering about Belial's comment: Since when did you two get married? Actually, that's been a joke among my friends. Because when they were still just a couple, they were still so sweet (sickeningly, to be honest) and by the time they get married, it's raining cats and dogs everyday. So I hope that clears out everything.

Immitated but never duplicated,

~shim