The Ascent of the Angelic Ch. 05

"I would hope so," Mehira replied.

"Do you think we could go upward through the structure?"

"Would there not only be duplications of this... bare den?" she said, presenting the room.

"I highly doubt that."

Mehira looked down at her lap. "Unfortunate this place is twisted. I was quite at ease within the folds of this leather seat." She pulled herself free from the chair, slightly lifting it up as she did so. "Yes, we shall continue." She glanced back at the stage. "I only pray that you avert away your vision when faced with the temptations of the pole."

"Yes." Rhys stood up and hefted his pack. "Yes, I will." For her sake. Not his.

Mehira led the way, climbing back on stage with Rhys trailing behind her. As they passed the gallery of magazines, Mehira casually thwacked one of them with her spear. The thing was sent crashing to the ground, scattering glass and shredded pages.

"Pardon me," Mehira said.

With that little bit of nudity taken care of, she threw open the backstage door, leading into what was probably a dressing area based on the mirrors. In a strange curiosity, Rhys glanced at the mirrors as they passed them. No, Mehira looked exactly the same in her reflection. No differences there. They continued on until they reached a door that read in bright red letters 'EMERGENCY EXIT'.

Mehira nodded and said, "I believe we are cast into emergency now, forced to rest in this abode." A swift kick not only opened the door but tore it cleanly off its hinges. Goodness. The violent display revealed a gunmetal-grey staircase that seemed to extend up into forever. Being in a center, Rhys could only fear that it might actually do so. "Rhys, may I ask something of you?"

"I don't see why not."

"Do you find it in your heart that you are able to withstand flying?"

"Perhaps for a short time."

"Then it will be a short time." Mehira reached out and grabbed Rhys with two arms, pulling him tightly in a vise-like grip. In a flash they were ascending. Rhys' body lurched with the motion, not only making him feel ill but also giving the curious sensation of displacing all of his bones. The blur of stairs zoomed by. Somewhere in the back of the man's head he was happy he didn't have to climb all of those. The rest of his body screamed in protest. Then they came to a stop, sending all of his innards careening the other way. Mehira set Rhys daintily back down on the ground. He steadied himself on a railing while Mehira combed his hair back into place. "I believe that was brief enough."

"I think so." The man tried to calm himself with deep breaths. "Next time I can walk. I need the exercise."

"Nonsense. Your form is in its prime. Bounding and sweet."

"Thank you." But no thank you. "Where are we now?"

Mehira cautiously opened the door on this level. "A nicer haven," she said, presenting a tiled hallway.

Rhys quietly prayed that it wasn't another demented playhouse for the nude and nodded. Mehira took the first steps in, quickly looking around and motioning Rhys to approach.

"The air is dripping with pain. Be on your guard." Now it was starting to sound like a center.

Rhys shook off the last of his nausea and followed after her. It wasn't until he reached the hallway proper that he realized how much the place echoed. Every step was amplified to a clop, as if they were horses bumbling around. The random groans of the building echoed back in conversation. This whole place could have been alive. Rhys looked to the doors. Each one was numbered. He vaguely recalled something like that in one of the buildings back in his small town. How utterly quaint that seemed now. Rhys figured he must've been at least a mile up in the air.

Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling every few steps, quietly creaking with each sway. Awfully gaudy for a living abode, the man figured. They threatened to smash down with every step, though something told him that was the least of his worries. Yet whatever that might be didn't show itself or make a sound. Rhys took Mehira's hand and held it firmly. She gave a press back, filling him with reassurance. His other hand gripped the hilt of his sword, squeezing a bit more calm into the situation.

Mehira cut her light, leaving only the stormy grey pouring through the windows. Right about now would be a good time for a cherub to appear, Rhys said to himself. No cherub came. God helps those who help themselves after all. The two crept along the halls, coming ever closer to whatever awaited them. Rhys could faintly hear something under the barrage of rain. A voice, weak yet fervent. Thumping could be heard after every groveling.

"Ahead. To the left," Mehira whispered.

A door opened with the faintest squeal. Something slunk out. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated it.

The thing was slender. At first Rhys assumed it was a snake, but as he put the image together in his head, he realized that was only a neck. It slammed its head against the wall, spattering it in red. "Chosen," it groaned. It shuffled forward, revealing more of its distended body. Scythe-like bones pulled it forward while two limp legs dragged behind. The thing shook its head with a snap of what was probably cartilage, then began rubbing one of its arms against the blood. "Chosen." Slam. "Chosen." Slam. "Chosen." It stopped. Its face slid across the wall before coming to a halt.

Instantly Mehira threw her spear at the thing, illuminating the path as it did. The thing slid its head upward, barely dodging the weapon.

"Chosen two." It crooked its neck at the pair, allowing Rhys to get a proper look at it. There was indeed a snake somewhere in that viscera. A snake made up the head, poorly attached to a dog-like body. The snake's jaw had been replaced by what Rhys could only assume was a human's, seeping a reddish-black mess. "Chosen you. Why?"

Mehira was in the midst of procuring another weapon when the demon bolted at them. Rhys was forced against the wall by the protector, avoiding the creature by mere inches. Before he could collect himself, he was pushed to the ground. Mehira flashed in his periphery, with the creature close by. He scrambled back to his feet to find Mehira wrestling the thing to the floor. It screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Asking why with all the breath it could muster. Its sharpened points bashed and stabbed at Mehira but could find no purchase, sliding off her armored shell.

Until it caught against a plate. Prying it open.

Mehira yelled and slammed it against the wall. Rhys shook himself from his stupor and rushed forward with his weapon.

"Back!" she shouted.

For a brief moment he wanted to yell back a firm no. He stopped in place with a grunt. Again the thing screamed. Only asking why.

"No more!"

She pulled one of her many hands free and slammed against the thing's head, muffling its confused words. She had no way to kill it, Rhys told himself. He began his rush forward for but a moment until seeing Mehira bow her head. Mehira's halo glowed brightly, then came down upon the beast's neck. Screaming turned to gurgling. Then silence. The head came free, falling to the ground with a thud. The rest of its body followed a second later. She sighed and tore her spear from the wall.

"My deepest apologies," she said.

"Mehira!" Rhys said running over to her. "Are you alright? Did it hurt you?" He had already pried his pack off and was riffling through it. "I have some gau--"

"I am fine." The angel's lower arms folded back into place. "Seeing you unblemished is healing alone."

"But your armor-- I didn't think-- didn't believe it could come off."

"It can and will." She attempted to force it back into place to no avail. "That is a fact of this existence."

"But you're alright?"

"A bent shield is no fuss."

Rhys stared at the opening. "Nothing we can put on it?"

"Prayer and thoughts will heal it."

And with that, Rhys began praying. He knew on some level he was overreacting. At the same time seeing the indestructible become loose was shattering. He looked back to the sinned that lay on the ground. It was feebly wheezing, arms twitching. Mehira put an end to it with a spear through its side. A groan escaped its bloody neck, asking one last time. Why? The angel had no answer. Instead, she touched her weapon to the red marks it left behind, erasing them. She silently turned around and moved into the room it was in. Rhys followed after her, not wanting to leave her unaided.

Inside was what was probably at some point a regular home. Only that all the furniture had been strewn about. Turned over, torn to shreds, and shoved about. Sickly drops of dried blood infested quite a bit of it, with the majority settling on the walls. Despite all of his knowledge of devils and other demons, there were no pentagrams or repeating of the number six. Nor were there any other Satanic symbols he could think of. It was simply a mess of marks save for one specific image. Above a bed was a firm, clear mark. A cross, which was promptly sizzled away by Mehira.

"The low will no longer leave their defacements," she said. With the last of the smears gone, Mehira left the room.

Rhys glanced back at where the cross had been. Surely the two of them weren't impeding on worship?