The demon smiled, as it surveyed its handiwork thus far. The adolescent body that lay across the makeshift altar was clad only in its own blood, oozing from cuts too numerous to count (despite the fact that the demon knew there were six hundred sixty-five of them). For all of the blood that had flowed out across the pale skin of the body and onto the altar, the young man still breathed. It was the shallow, rapid breathing of a shock victim, one that was quite near death on this early October night.
The demon fingered the blade it held. Cold-forged steel was hard to come by, it reflected, running a claw across the edge. Especially forged to such exact specifications. One would think that the Adversary might be a little less stringent on the requirements, given that He'd been kicked out of the Silver City. But no, not that One. He was all rules and regulations, leaving the loose rituals to the lesser demons, like Sloth or Gluttony.
Briefly, the demon wished it could've had Lust as its Patron. Lust knew how to party, and this ritual would've been a whole lot more entertaining. But, as it was, the Adversary called for blood, to be drawn in a proper sequence, and so blood it was. And the demon knew it had to get this right. If it ever wanted to get promoted, that is.
It checked the Mickey Mouse wristwatch that it wore. Almost time. Exactly halfway across the year from that other date, that date when He rose, to sit at His Father's right hand. This year, the proper date fell on October 4, and the timing was critical. The ritual wouldn't go off right, if any mistakes were made. And if the ritual didn't go off right, the Adversary wouldn't be pleased.
It stepped up to the altar, its hooves making clicking noises on the concrete floor of the warehouse it had chosen. As much as the demon enjoyed spectacle, it knew that interruptions were not good for this sort of magic. Hence, it had chosen a properly remote place to do this job. And the job was almost done. One last stroke, through the heart, and the angel would be destroyed.
In retrospect, it thought that destroying an angel should've been more difficult. The figure that lay across the altar hadn't put up much of a fight when the demon had grabbed it off the street a few days ago. At first, the demon had thought that it had made a mistake, but, after closer investigation, it could smell the reek of Heaven on the boy's clothes. This was an angel, all right. There was no mistaking that stench.
The figure stirred, and the eyes opened, white spots amid a mask of red. The demon smiled. This was good; the angel needed to be aware of what was going on, in order for the ritual to have the full effect. The boy gathered his strength, and croaked out a pained, "Why?"
The demon smiled, showing his fangs. "You know why, angel," it said, in that smooth tone of voice that all demons had learned from the Tempter of Eden. "I need your heart for my Master. The fact that you are a Guardian of Children simply makes the job more pleasurable." The boy gave the demon a pleading, despairing look, causing it to laugh. "Spare me the melodrama. You know better than to expect mercy from me."
The demon checked its watch one last time. It was almost the hour. It closed its eyes and intoned in a deep, booming voice, "Master, this worm of a servant beseeches You. Hear my plea and answer!" It raised the knife to plunge it into the boy's heart.
And screamed as something lay four lines of pain across its calf. Whirling, the demon saw a black cat dash off into the shadows of the warehouse. Snarling, it stalked after the stray, hooves striking sparks from the floor as it moved. It did not have time for this! The ritual must be finished before the hour turned. It chased the cat a dozen feet or so, then turned and headed back to the altar.
Only to feel another quartet of claws rake across the other leg. Whirling, it lashed out with a cloven hoof, trying to strike at its attacker. The cat leaped sideways, and dashed away. The demon got a better look at the animal. It looked to be a large stray, larger than most, solid black in color. It was almost the size of a bobcat, the demon thought. It will make a good dinner after the ritual.
Again the demon turned, ignoring the pain in both of its calves, and headed back to the altar. The hour was but a few minutes from turning, and it had to kill the angel before that. The Adversary was most particular in His instructions. And did not like to be kept waiting. The demon stood before the altar, glancing behind it, in case the cat attacked again. "Master," it began again, raising the dagger, "this worm of a servant calls to You. Grant me audience and aAUUGGH!"
The cat had come from the demon's blind side, rushing in and leaping high. Both sets of claws had caught in the armpit, exposed by the upraised arms. It hung there, putting its weight on the front set, while its back paws raked at the demon's hip. Screaming in pain, the demon staggered back away from the boy. With one hand, it grabbed the cat, which was bigger than it had first appeared, almost the size of an ocelot, and threw it across the room. The cat hit the ground without a sound, and rolled to its feet, tail lashing. This time, it did not dash into the shadows, but paced back and forth, looking to rush in again and finish the job it had begun.
The demon snarled at the cat. Ichor ran down its side, and pain made it limp. The angel must be controlling this beast, it thought. Using it to strike when he is too injured to defend himself. The demon turned and addressed the boy on the altar. "Your pet will be of no help, angel," it hissed. "I can take your life with one stroke, and my Master will devour your essence without a second thought. You have lost."
The cat hissed in response. Then it yowled as the demon raised the knife. Out of the corner of its eye, the demon could see that the cat had grown to the size of a leopard, and was getting larger. "Mmmmrrrrroooowwwlll," it howled at the demon, and then, as it began to approach the size of a young lion, it added, "Mrridiot."
The demon whirled. "What?"
"I said," the cat responded, its mouth working to speak English, "that you arrrre an idiot. Yourrr angel is a human kitten, imp. I am the Guarrrdian of Childrren that you'rre wanting."
The demon snarled. It was a matter of a minute or two before the hour turned. The demon could only hope to kill the angel, and take its heart without the preliminary cuts. The Adversary might punish him, but He would be pleased at the death of an angel, no matter what regulations were ignored. With a battle scream that promised destruction, the demon charged the cat-angel, knife whirling.
The cat-angel sprung towards the demon with a roar, mirroring the charge. As it closed the gap of ten or so yards, the demon saw the muscles under its hide bunch in ways not normal for a feline. It was changing shape, the demon realized. With another scream of fury, the demon renewed its charge, lengthening its stride in an attempt to reach the cat-angel before it finished its metamorphosis.
It almost did. Four feet before the two collided, the cat-angel came up off the ground onto its hind legs. The demon saw the feline muzzle shortening as they closed, but paid most of its attention to the throat that was now well within reach. It swung the dagger about, aiming for the windpipe, jugular, and carotid, but the deadly weapon's path was arrested as a paw, now a hand, wrapped around the demon's wrist with crushing force. Before the demon could register the pain of its wrist bones being crushed, the other hand slashed across its face, and the cat-angel's claws destroyed its eyes. As the demon struggled to free itself, inhaling to scream, a pair of crushing jaws locked on its throat and clamped down. The demon blindly flailed at the cat-angel with its free hand, battering him about his feline head, but to no avail.
With a single maneuver borne of long practice, the cat-angel shoved his free hand up into the demon's stomach, past the diaphragm, and seized the heart. Feeling his opponent freeze in a rictus of pain, he released the throat and wrist, and, stepping back, tore the heart free of the demon's body.
The effect was almost instantaneous. The now heartless corpse erupted like a magnesium flare, burning hot and bright. The angel quickly tossed the heart away and, moments after it left his hand, it too burst into white-hot fire. In a matter of minutes, the demon's physical remains were nothing but ash.
The angel stepped over the pile of ashes and walked towards the altar, his form still shifting. By the time he had reached the boy, he appeared completely human, although still covered in ichor. Leaning over the bloody young man, he asked, "Nate? Can you hear me?"
The boy's eyes cracked open again. "Cooper?" he replied painfully. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving your ass," replied the angel, undoing the restraints that held the boy to the altar. "As usual."
"What about that thing?"
"Don't worry. I took care of it." Cooper gathered the boy up into his arms.
Nate let out a weak cry of pain as he was picked up. "You killed it?" he asked when he recovered enough to speak.
"Close enough. I destroyed its physical vessel. It won't be coming back for a while."
"Why did it want me?" Nate was fading fast, the shock finally starting to shut his body down. His voice was weak, and he was very pale, under the dried blood.
Cooper reached into himself and fed the boy a tiny portion of his angelic essence. "Stay with me, Nate," he said, trying to keep him from going comatose. He walked slowly out of the warehouse, towards the car he had waiting. It was at least ten minutes to the nearest hospital, but with his essence sustaining Nate, the boy should survive. "He thought you were me," he answered, finally.
The boy's brow furrowed, in both pain and confusion. "I don't understand."
Cooper looked embarrassed. He carried Nate to the car and laid him in the passenger's seat. As the guardian angel sat down in the driver's seat, he saw that the boy was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. He finally said, "Well, I have been living at your house for this past year, as your cat."
The boy nodded.
"And I have been sleeping in your closet, on your clothes."
Another nod.
"Well," finished Cooper as he started the car, "I guess I've been shedding...."
Do not copy or quote the above material without the expressed consent of the owner of this page.