Michael: Last Angel of Earth

“So how do you plan to get the key, hm?” asked the Shadow, who rested up against the stone.

“Wait until the creature sleeps. Then quietly remove the key,” said Barjon.

“You don’t even know where the key is on that thing?” replied the Shadow. Barjon pointed out from behind the rock that the key was tied around the Vargs neck like a collar. The Shadow shook his head.

“This is by far the stupidest plan you have ever come up with. Are you seriously going to wait for that bastard to fall asleep? That could take hours, and according to you, you don’t have hours.” Barjon grunted in irritation, but there was some truth to the Shadows’ words. Time was still against them, and he could not afford to waste it anymore. He switched the sleeping plan and resorted to Plan B, a full-on attack. As he reached for his sword, he heard another sound coming from the creatures, but this time it almost seemed like a whimper. Peeking his head out again, he noticed the young Varg was licking one of his paws. He could not say for sure, but something was causing the creature pain.

“Great, this will be easy!” yelled the Shadow gleefully.

“Wait, maybe we don’t have to kill it,” said Barjon. The Shadow stared at the fallen Angel dumbfoundedly.

“What are you going to do? Treat its wound?” inquired the Shadow. The former Angel nodded its head.

“I retract my previous statement. This is the stupidest plan you have come up with. Are you going to treat a Varg? It will kill you,” shouted the Shadow.

“Maybe, maybe not. If it saves me unnecessary fighting, so be it.” He removed his sword, placed it on the floor, and emerged slowly behind the rock. The Varg picked up on his scent in a matter of moments, and the hairs on its back reared up and formed a mini mohawk. The beast tried to lunge at him, but the pain in its paw was too great. The Varg continued to growl at the approaching foe, laying down on its stomach. Barjon continued towards the Varg, extending his hands outward to show the beast that he meant no harm ... should the need arise. A few feet in front of the wounded animal, Barjon knelt to inspect the injured paw. He stopped to avoid the gaping jaws of the Vargs’ powerful bite at a moment’s notice. Snarling, the Varg bared its teeth at the former Angel and stared at him with evil eyes. Irritated, Barjon pointed his finger at the young beast.

“Hey, do not try to kill me as I am trying to save you, mangy mutt,” growled Barjon. No longer baring its teeth, the Varg did allow Barjon to look at its paw but still let out a growl now and then. With his attention back on the paw, Barjon realized that the wound had become infected, and the rot had nearly eaten up most of the creature’s foot. The former Angel had no supplies to treat the injury, but perhaps he could find some natural remedies in the cave. Searching around, Barjon found nothing but stone and dirt cobbles. However, he heard the soft sound of water droplets when things seemed down. Turning to his right, he saw a small pool with moss around the sides of it. Rushing over to it, he recognized the moss. It was also found around the cornerstones of the Abby back in Ireland and had healing properties if his memory severed him right. Grabbing what he could, he smashed them together in his hands until he could make a paste. Running back to the Varg, he showed the beasts the moss and told them it would help kill the bacteria and keep his wound covered. The Varg nodded its head as if it understood everything he had said.

Taking a deep breath, Barjon pressed the moss onto the wound, and immediately the Varg yelped in pain and snapped at Barjon. However, the pain quickly subsided, thus saving Barjon’s skin again. Ripping a piece of his shirt off, he wrapped it around the beast’s paw, securing the moss on the wound. Finished, he backed away from the Varg, allowing it to smell the bandage.

“That should help the wound,” said Barjon.

“Thank ...You,” replied the Varg. Barjon jumped back.

“Y-you can speak?” exclaimed Barjon. The Varg nodded its head.

“Vargs ... speak all ... languages. Even ... human language,” the Varg said once more.

“I’m not a human, at least not truly. I was a former angel-”

“Varg ... knows. Partook ... in battle ... years ago,” said the Varg. Barjon was surprised.

“You were there?” The Varg nodded its head. “What is your name?”

“Naldak,” it said.

“What happened to you, Naldak?” The Varg spoke in broken words.

“Came ... here ... with the clan. Got ... trapped ... in ... earth roar. Paw ... damaged. Clan ... no help. Here ... five winters ... now.” Despite the broken dialogue, Barjon understood what the beast was saying. In hopes of gaining Naldak’s trust and snatching the key, Barjon told him that if he helped him get out of this cave, his friends might be able to help him with his wounded paw. Naldak cocked his head.

“You ... different. Same ... birdman ... but different.” Naldak was hesitant to take the stranger up on his offer, but the young Varg also knew that if someone could help him, what would he have to lose? Taking Barjon up on his offer, the Varg agreed to support the former Angel.

“Now, with that settled, how do we get out of here?” he asked.

“Follow,” said Naldak. Getting up on all fours, the Varg limped toward the far end of the cave. Following close behind, Barjon and the Varg ventured through one of the cave’s secret tunnels. After a while, their visibility went dark, but Barjon could sense the Vargs’ presence and continued going in the same direction. In addition, Barjon could still smell the potency of the moss, thus telling him to follow the moss’s fragrance. In what had seemed like half an hour, the pair began to see the faint glimpse of light at the far reaches of the cave. Soon, they arrived at the mouth of the cave, located at the very outline of the walled city of the Vatican. Barjon was relieved to smell the fresh air, taking a deep breath. He turned to Naldak, who seemed glad to be outside in the sun. However, Barjon could tell that the Varg was still in pain as he saw the Varg wince.

“We need to get back inside the city. Do you think you can walk any further?” asked Barjon.

“I’ll... manage,” replied Naldak. While Barjon and Naldak make the trip back to the city gates, inside the walled city, Barjon’s friends are eagerly awaiting his return. They all converged back inside the Holy Sepulchre.

“How long has it been since he’s been down there?” inquired Margret.

“A few hours, give or take?” stated Horus.

“I hope nothing bad happened to him,” exclaimed Ruzla.

“I agree. The old roman catacombs are ancient. Despite their roman craftsman, I fear the time has made them wary,” stated Judonius. While everyone questioned the former Angel’s fate, one Swiss guard came rushing into the room.

“Ba-Barjon is back ... and he brought a friend,” huffed the guard. Following the guard, everyone made their way to the main hall, where quite a surprise greeted them.

“Barjon!?” yelled Margret. Margret and others saw Barjon holding the key to Azrael’s tomb in his hand, along with a giant Wolf-like creature standing behind him. Vanhildr instantly recognized the beats and unsheathed her sword.

“VARGR!” she yelled, charging at the wounded beast. As Naldak branched, Barjon intervened and blocked Vanhildrs strike by quickly unsheathing his blade. With swords clashing, Vanhildr stared at Barjon with anger and confusion.

“Barjon!?” she shouted.

“Cool yourself, Valkyrie,” exclaimed Barjon.

“Do you know what that thing is!?” retorted Vanhildr.

“A Vargr, I know,” Barjon replied.

“That is no mere Vargr. That beast is one of many sons of Fenrir and grandson of Loki!” Barjon looked over his shoulder to Naldak.

“Is she telling the truth?” he asked. Naldak nodded his head. Barjon turned his attention back to Vanhildr.

“Regardless of his parentage, I would advise you to put your sword away,” he said calmly.

“Or else what?” she asked.

“Or I show you ferocity, none which you have ever seen,” threatened Barjon. Vanhildr laughed.

“You don’t scare me,” she retorted.

“Do you want to play this game with me right now?” inquired Barjon. Vanhildr’s eyes locked with Barjon’s, and at first, they remained the same. But then they changed to a different color, slightly darker than before. It terrified the Valkyrie.

“Please, let us all calm down,” said the Pope. Hearing his voice, Barjon calmed down and broke away from Vanhildr. He told everyone that Naldak needed medical attention for his paw, putting his sword aside. Constanza, accompanied by Swiss guards and other nuns, told Barjon they would heal his friend as best as possible. Before escorting the Vargr to the med ward, Naldak turned his attention back onto Barjon.

“You ... different. Different ... from others,” said Naldak. Barjon almost swore he saw a smile creep up on the Vargs face. After settling that matter, Barjon showed them all the key to Azrael’s tomb. It was a plane key but had etchings of Angelic origins.

“Now that we have the key, it’s now or never,” said Horus. Barjon said it was time to go back underground, looking at everyone around him. Following the same route, they arrived again in front of the stone door. Placing the key in the keyhole, Barjon stepped away as the tomb doors slowly opened. With a soft thud, the doors were open wide, allowing the whole party to enter. Once inside, they saw an array of marble statues depicting past battles and other important moments in Angelic history. Then, a podium with armor already fashioned together at the center of the room. Barjon cautiously stepped forward in awe.

“Could this be it,” he said to himself. As he inspected the armor, he noticed something was slightly off. The armor seemed human, almost too human. For instance, the chest piece was made of steel lamellar armor with mail over the shoulder. The bracers were a mix of the plate and lamellar, offering a double layer of protection. The pants were made of wool, and the boots were a mixture of tanned leather, lamellar, and furs. As everyone waited for his reaction, Margret was the first to notice Barjon reaching for his sword. Then in one fell swop, he shattered the armor before their eyes. Their eyes were stunned.

“What the hell did you do!?” shouted Colum. The former Angel was silent for a moment, then spoke somberly, expressing both anger and sadness.

“It’s a fake.”