Page 53 of Metatron
As he walked, he snuffed those trembling sparks of life, releasing their suul, freeing them from pain. The angel of death walked upon them and offered mercy.
His actions had another purpose, though. He checked each one to see if it were Francesca. To his relief, she didn’t appear in a torture device, and once he reached the end of them, he wondered where to look next. The insistent pulse of the token indicated her presence in this room. His gaze roved from the floor upwards, stopping on a cage holding a huddled shape. As he neared, its tucked wings fluttered, and the shape unfolded, standing, shoulders back, the tuft of white wings peeking, but more shocking, the glow of a HALO making it an angel.
Wait, not just an angel. As his gaze took in the very delicate features, they dropped lower to see a distinctly female shape. Impossible. The female of his kind had no wings or a HALO for that matter. Yet there stood a winged female gripping the bars of her prison, staring at him a little too intently. Did she see through his disguise?
He couldn’t hold her fixed glance and turned to look across where another cage hung, also with a slumped shape inside, dark hair spilling over tucked knees. He found himself saying her name before he could stop himself. “Francesca.”
She must have heard him, for her head lifted and she stared outward, her glance passing over him. Long strides brought Metatron to a spot almost directly underneath, where he hissed, “It’s me, Tron. Don’t make a scene.”
She crept to the bars and grabbed them, staring downward with a frown. “Prove it.”
“You vomited on me the first time we met.”
Her eyes widened. “Tron? What the heck? You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you. Let’s get you out of here.” The question being, how? Yes, he could fly up, but he lacked a key and he’d left behind his divinii blade since it liked to glow around things demonic. But he did have strength.
He launched himself into the air, using his demon wings for the first time. They slapped out, and he almost crashed. Apparently, flight with leathery membranes differed from feathery. His second ascent went much smoother, and he managed to hover in front of her cage.
She shook her head. “That disguise is something else.”
“Zilla helped me,” he admitted as he studied the bars. He saw nothing special about them. “Stand back.”
Francesca scuttled to the rear as he gripped the metal and prayed. Give me the strength to bend these bars. His hands glowed as magic flowed into them. Without even straining, he tugged the bars apart. The moment the gap opened wide enough, Francesca flew to him, hugging him tight and murmuring, “I’ll kiss you when you’re wearing the right face again. Feels like cheating even touching you.”
He chuckled. “Understandable. Let’s get out of here.” He pulled in his wings as he drifted back to the floor, only to whirl in a ready stance as a motion caught his attention. Still an empty throne room, but for the angel in the other cage staring at him in surprise.
Francesca noted the direction of his gaze. “You have to release her too.”
“It will be next impossible to exit this place if we bring her.” Words he hated to say but the reality. It would be extremely difficult for them as it was. He couldn’t imagine having a human and an angel in tow. Even if both were chained like prisoners, it would draw unwanted attention.
“We can’t leave her here,” Francesca insisted, to which he sighed.
“Very well, but just know that, if we die, I tried.”
“Which is already more than I ever expected.”
Leaving Francesca to watch, Metatron flapped to the other cage. The angel within said nothing but did retreat, giving him the room he needed to work.
“I’d step away from that cage if I were you.” The voice, deep and raspy, startled Metatron, and the angel’s head dropped, seeing freedom snatched from her grasp.
Francesca snapped, “Sneaky devil! Have you been spying on us this entire time?”
“Astaroth did say you were tricky. And it seems he was right. Who is this coming to your rescue?”
A hovering Metatron almost whirled to announce himself, only he wasn’t himself.
Before he could reply, Satan also said, “Move away from the prisoner. You wouldn’t want to accidentally let her go.”
It only made him more determined. Wings flapping to keep him aloft, he gripped the bars and yelped as they jolted him. A current ran through it.
He glanced at her. “Could have told me it was electrified.”
No reply. Nothing but that flat stare.
While Francesca harangued about him keeping people in cages, he gave the bars a grab. This time, he expected the jolt and held on, gritting his teeth as he gave them a wrench, bending the bars, heaving to make it wide enough—
Zap. His body convulsed as he was hit with a more powerful jolt of electricity that temporarily paralyzed his limbs and sent him crashing to the floor.