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It stings.
A flesh wound. On her left thigh, a slash from the spear of a goddess who's name she cannot remember. Long across the skin and deep in the muscle. Stark among the angular black lines of ink that reside there. Despite infinite years of training and battle experience, the Hand of Heven is not immune to injury. She never will be.
The goddess is deceased nonetheless. She lies motionlessly in the muck of blood and dirt, face permanently stretched in an expression of shock - glassy eyes wide and bloodshot, mouth agape. Angela rips dual Axes of Ichors from her chest, leaving two gaping lacerations that match the one on the Hand's thigh. Penance was delivered twice over. Wiping off the vermilion gunk stuck to each blade with her bruised forearm, Angela wonders if the defeated goddess ever thought an individual to overpower her.
The surrounding air is stagnant, silent. Minimal movement on the battlefield lets the dust and dirt fall, finally. Angela watches the particles as if they were flecks of gold, a reminder of her true home above. A brief respite from the unending war between the gods and realms of this foreign timeline. She is not weary of these conflicts, no, but her mind simply wanders elsewhere in leisure.
Angela gazes over the horizon. Bodies of soldiers and mages lay among the muddy grass. Some are angels under her command, faces she recognises. She bows her head in honour of their sacrifice to the survival of the Tenth Realm, and closes her eyes as Odin's Valkyries descend on their winged horses to usher their souls into Valhalla.
Moments pass. Her thigh weakens, the tendons straining. Attempting to remain standing upright consumes the minimal energy left in her legs, so much so that she falls to her knees before the Valkyries can finish their reaping. The muscle strains open with the stretch, Angela forcing a growl through clenched teeth to cope with the intense, throbbing pain. Blood drips down her knee like drool from a rabid dog's maw, slick and potent with metallic pungency. Her bruises may heal in mere minutes, but this may take over days. Certainly not the desired outcome.
She has to leave this horrid place. Not for Heven's sake - the angels under her command will fare well in this fight even without her leadership - but for the integrity of her promises. She simply must.
So, Angela rises. Most of her weight is forced on her right foot, the left unable to take much more effort. She spreads her golden wing in preparation to soar over death in search for a quiet place to rest, disappointed by the fact that the fulfilment of her promise must defer. That is, until a sharp, sarcastic voice cuts through her chagrin like tiny daggers.
"Don't tell me you're abandoning this fight, Angela."
The Hand of Heven turns her head to find an exceptional ally. A sense of calm washes over her in slow waves. "Ruler of Limbo! How glad I am to witness you standing before me."
Magik cocks her brow, sheathing her Soulsword in the dirt and leaning her elbow on its hilt. "How glad I'm standing? Your legs are barely holding you together. And that cut is… something."
Angela retracts her wing, limping over to place her arm on Magik's shoulder and lean her weight onto the smaller woman. Magik leans away with noticeably pinker cheeks, yet she does not protest.
"Give me grace, Limbo Queen," Angela implores. "Let me summon the strength to travel to Heven."
"So you are deserting? Hah."
Angela rips her arm away from Magik in defence. Her tone harsh, she argues, "I am not deserting! I am simply healing in security. Do not doubt my devotion to glorious war!"
"That was a joke. I'll take you up, then. Don't be stupid."
"There is no need for me to follow you. I will be in your debt, and that is not what I desire."
There is silence among them as Magik thinks to herself, her eyes squinted in concentration. Without hesitation, she takes Angela's arm and pulls them both through a stepping disk, fussing and shoving through Limbo for mere seconds before they emerge onto the floating geometric fortress known as Heven. Not many angels occupy the space, most below on the battlefield. Angela leans against a cold stone wall, sinking back down to a floor of similar quality with a firm exhale.
"Curse you, Limbo Queen," she decrees.
Magik rolls her eyes, dismissing her Soulsword. "Ugh. Just call me Magik. No need to be so formal."
"Your title must be respected."
"Don't flatter me. You let me call you Angela, so for now it's Magik. Simple."
Angela sighs. "I believe we are even in that state of affairs, then. Still, I am in your debt."
"Oh, come on. That was, like, the easiest thing I've ever done," Magik complains, leaning her side against the wall approximately a meter away from Angela.
"You do not understand. My kind are deal-makers. Everything comes with a price: Nothing for nothing."
"Oh? Don't tell me you owe me your life or something. Not that I would mind that or anything. I'm sure it would be fun."
"That is an overestimate…"
Angela cuts herself off as a drop of her scarlet essence drips down the side of her knee onto the hallowed grounds below her. Her eyes widen, frozen white as her limbs stiffen exponentially more rigid. Egregious punishments the prior Queen of Heven would act upon her if she were no casualty wander through her mind. How dare she thrust this transgression upon the realm she respects above all! Among her thoughts, Angela almost does not notice Magik squatting next to her, gaze trained carefully on her still unhealed wound.
"Didn't you say you possess a healing factor?" she wonders, resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. A sense of curiosity overshadows her preceding wit and sarcasm, much more genuine than her usual attitude. It relaxes Angela, if only a little, and reminds her of the girl's youth in comparison to herself. Magik is quick-thinking, intelligent and a skilled ruler, yes, but Angela finds there is a gentle heart underneath her thick skin. She finds herself missing it when alone.
Angela answers, "You are correct. These minor contusions you see here will heal in no time," gesturing to her robust biceps, swollen and littered with purple-green bruises that visibly fade in real time. When flexing slightly to test the pain, she catches Magik staring at the motion with the same intensity directed at her battleground foes. How peculiar.
"How long will the gash take to close up?" questions Magik.
"I hypothesise at least one day," breathes Angela, murmured and reluctant. "I shall have to leave when I am at least able to stand on my lonesome."
The brief light in Magik's eyes is once more masked with disdain. She turns away from Angela, and Angela wishes on the might of Heven itself that she would just keep looking at her.
"You really are deserting," Magik scoffs. The words must taste foul in her mouth. "Why did you lie?"
"I did not lie," Angela grunts, "I am simply postponing my participation in battle. I shall place another general in charge of Heven's angels while I am not present."
"But what reason is there for you to leave? What in Limbo's name is so important?"
"That…" Angela turns her head in defiance. "That is none of your concern."
Magik squints her eyes in focus, her mouth frowned. She moves her face closer to Angela's, searching. Angela backs away, steadfast in her position. She cannot utter another word of her predicament around this woman if she would break her back to offer her what she requires.
With a sigh, Magik shuffles herself back against the wall. She crosses her arms, muttering curses under her breath.
Angela turns to her ally once more, stating, "If you desire to say something, then say it."
"Curse you, Hand of Heven," she spits.
"I know I am useful in battle, but my promise -"
"It's not that!"
Angela blinks in confusion. "Then what is your issue?"
Magik stares at her feet, then to Angela's wound, then her feet again. "Nothing," she blurts out.
"Why does that not convince me?" Angela inquires, tone of voice softening into something warmer.
All of Magik's limbs seem to freeze in place, rigid as the build of her Soulsword. Seconds pass without a peep from either party, the atmosphere surrounding them stagnant with words unsaid. Angela wonders if Magik would miss her. Maybe she hopes so. The thought crosses her mind and is immediately suppressed, squished and mutilated like applying force to old, bruised fruit.
Magik breaks their prolonged silence, pointing to Angela's brutalised thigh and says, "You need help with that."
"That was no question, was it?" asks Angela.
"Nope."
Magik reaches towards Angela before her hand is swatted away by her ally's bigger, war-torn one. "I do not accept your aid."
"Angela, I don't give a rat's ass if you owe me or whatever. I'm making sure you don't die on me," Magik reprimanded, reaching for Angela once more before her wrist is seized in her vice grip. In a clumsy game of tug-of-war, Angela struggles to keep her ally at bay - she is much stronger than meets the eye. To her dismay, Magik slaps her free hand atop Angela's wound, white-hot pain seeping through her entire right leg with the exploding power of a supernova. The angel growls through her agony, teeth bared in an ancient beast's snarl.
"By Heven's Hierophants!"
"What? Listening yet?" Magik snarls before her eyes land on Angela's pained face, and something in her mind seems to click. Her irritation subsides, mumbling, "Just… let me help you…"
Angela almost relents. Almost, before she finds her vision going blurry, dark around the edges. Magik's softening features and pleading eyes begin to warp. A cold shiver overtakes her body, numbing her legs.
"Angela?"
"I am alright… just exhausted. Need a little rest…"
"Don't say that!" Magik waves her bloody hand in Angela's eyes, frantic for some kind of positive response. "Don't you fall asleep on me now! Stay awake! Damn it, I should've done something about this sooner…!"
The pool of blood around Angela's thigh now extends past her knee. She wonders if she should have just let Magik help, counter all this fuss. Fainting is a rare occurrence for a strong-willed soldier such as herself. She clumsily pulls the ribbon off her right arm and attempts to wrap them around her laceration, but her arms grow heavy and the long spool slips through her fingers like sand. Magik applies pressure, speaks in muffled tongues as Angela's hearing fades.
" Rest…" Angela huffs though dry lips, and then she is out.
Pressure. Movement. Presence. Rejuvenation.
Angela awakens, blinking away the blinding effect of the Hevenly light above her. Not dizzy or disorientated, just exasperated. Groaning, her eyes flit over her surroundings - still the Heven she knows it to be - then to her left.
Magik is closer to her than usual. Her head is rested on Angela's shoulder, legs curled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her knees. Is she giving herself a hug? She looks like a spiky ball. The thought amuses Angela.
Magik's eyes are empty, spaced-out, pointed at the long hall stretched out before them. Perhaps she sleeps with her eyes open? Is she in another place entirely? Angela almost wishes not to bother her, yet an irk in her intuition tells her something is amiss.
She places a gentle hand on Magik's shoulder, slightly shaking her in a bid to bring her back to reality. Magik jumps out of her skin, reflexively jerking away with her stained-red palms flush to the stone floor.
"Shit!" she breathes.
"Do not curse in these hallowed halls."
"Next time you need to get my attention, just yell at me," Magik grunts, scooting a good five inches away from Angela. "When did you wake up?"
"Only a moment ago. And, apologies. I did not mean offence."
"Just… whatever. How's the leg?"
Angela looks down to see her injured thigh bandaged in her ribbons, small patches of blood staining the Hevenly fabric. The wrapping is just tight enough for her to comfortably slide two fingers under it. Despite betraying her wishes, Magik has done well. Angela rubs her temples with her thumb and forefinger, resigned.
"I had to do something," Magik mumbles, cross-legged with her hands shoved in her lap, "There was no way I was going to let you bleed out... even though I kind of did in the first place. You didn't want me to heal you, so I just stopped the bleeding so your body can do the rest. It looks like your leg - hey!"
Ignoring Magik, Angela presses her back hard against the wall and attempts to push herself up with her feet. Each shimmy upwards against the stone is blunt needles scraping up her bare lower back, pressing into each blotchy bruise, following direct orders to torment her further. Magik takes her by the unarmoured shoulder, pushing her back down on her rear.
"Sit down! Your body needs to recover! Aren't your quarters somewhere around here? I'll -"
Angela glares up at Magik, bone white irises piercing her slate blue ones. Magik shuts her mouth. Silence persists.
Magik has helped enough. Too much, even, that if Angela goes ahead with her plan, she would be in immeasurable debt to her. Saving her life and that of her kin is not a minuscule due to be repaid. Her life should belong to Magik. Angela swats the compelling thought away.
As Angela's eyes harden, Magik's do so in turn. Yet, she lets go, stepping away and looking elsewhere with her arms crossed to her chest. Angela sighs with relief, struggling to stand on her lonesome with the burning aid of the stone wall. Most of her weight is held up by her uninjured leg, applying pressure on the other causing sharp, needle-like discomfort. Exploring the rest of her limits, she flexes the muscles of her arms, back, abdomen and legs, finding the bruising is limited and the pain less obvious.
Angela glimpses Magik giving her a sly up and down look again. Her eyes flit away and her cheeks are noticeably redder. Angela finds the odd behaviour curious, yet her interest only grows.
"Looks like the ribbon's holding well," Magik observes, "I guess it's easier for your blood to clot now. That doesn't mean that you shouldn't take it easy."
"I will be okay. You don't have to look after me anymore. I will take care of myself."
"You think I'll trust you to walk anywhere yourself?"
"I have a wing. I can fly."
"And where will you fly to?"
Angela unfurls her metallic wing, golden and shining in the warm light of the Sun. "Somewhere you have never been."
"Which is?"
"Not your concern."
Magik approaches her, pointing her finger into her chest with measurable force. Her limbs go rigid with impatience, glowering as she fumes, "Stop keeping secrets! Why are you hiding? Just spit it out!"
Her exclamation bounces off Heven's walls, echoes through each hall. Her irritation is palpable, its waves crashing against the shores of Angela's heart. Magik does not deserve a false narrative. The possibility of her knowing the truth rattles Angela's strong bones.
"If I tell you, you'd help me and I'd be deeper in your debt. Much, much deeper."
A pregnant pause. Angela waits for a response, staring down at her feet. She never meant to drive a wall between their relationship. She would rather burn this universe to the ground if it meant to not acquire the burden of a debt so infinite in its magnitude it is unable to be balanced.
Magik makes her thinking face, eyes squinted in concentration. After only ten seconds, she places her hand on Angela's shoulder once more. This time, her gaze is laced with reassurance. "Angela. Just tell me. I'll reclaim whatever debt when you are ready to return it. For now, you clearly need my help. Allies help each other."
Angela leans down to Magik's level, gets closer to her face. She looks deep into her eyes, searching for an ounce of malice. All she finds is her warm breath puffing over her cheeks and pure trust in her firm gaze.
Is Magik is leaning in closer or is Angela dreaming? Magik tilts her head, pupils flitting down, then up. Down up. Down up down up. Angela's heart runs wild, beats in time with the echoed tapping of Magik's boot's sole on the stone floor. She takes notice of the soft freckles on her right cheek as if they were stars, the dip of her upper lip as if it were a reliable archer's bow, each faint line and angle and curve of her face. Her alluring face.
Angela relents.
"Do not tell a single soul."
"Anything."
"Swear on it. I do not know who to trust but you."
Magik grins. "I swear on my soul I will not tell another."
Angela nods, rising back to her original height. "Come," she beckons with her hand, retracting her wing and leaning back against the wall behind her. Magik does so in suit, settling beside her. Their shoulders brush each other and it is almost reassurance.
"I require a gateway," Angela lilts, "One with my homeland as the destination."
Magik blinks like a frog. "Oh," she chuckles, "That isn't too hard. Why'd you beat around the bush so much?"
"Because this gateway will give me the opportunity to fulfill my promise to the infant goddess Laussa. My promise to find her and destroy Hela for taking her from me."
"Laussa… I haven't heard of her before."
"She is my baby sister."
There is a painful understanding in Magik's expression, a rot so rooted deep it plagues her from the inside out. Angela immediately recognises it. Guilt.
"The Tenth Realm, yes?"
Angela releases a breath she did not know she was holding. "Are you -"
"If I had a mere inkling as to where my brother Piotr is, I'd be gone so fast you wouldn't catch me leave."
Painful understanding. The level of honesty in Magik's tone reaffirms her trust.
"… the Tenth Realm it is," she says.
Without question, Magik raises her hand, summoning a glowing stepping disk in front of Angela. Just like the one she used to travel to Heven, it radiates immeasurable, debilitating heat. A bead of sweat drips down Angela's forehead just from staring at it. She can smell the rotten stink of unwashed armpit, too - the assortment of demons crowded in masses must be the source. At least their Queen smells human.
Angela steps forward. With Magik's eyes trained on her, she turns back.
"How could I ever repay you for this?" Angela breathes, too filled with gratitude to enunciate strongly. "This action could change the course of Laussa's life… it could save her life. What earthly repayment could settle a debt so… so…!"
"Just don't die," Magik says.
Angela is taken aback. Such simplicity is beyond her. "Is that all?"
"Yeah. And bring Laussa back safely, hm? In one piece, preferably. Also… just promise me I'll see you again some day. If you die I'll kill you."
Angela realises that this debt is not as complex as she thought it to be. How brainless of her. She chuckles. "That is absurd! I would already be dead!"
"Then I'll bring you back and kill you again myself," retorts Magik. "Now, go. Before I tell you you're reckless for going out with a wounded thigh."
"Says the one who is also reckless."
"Touche."
Once more, Angela spreads her wing. A sense of empowerment permeates her limbs, inspiring her to move further, faster, stronger. Her hand is absorbed by the stepping disk, and before she enters she turns back to Magik, who now retains her usual stoic mask.
"Magik?"
"Hm?"
"You are a splendid ally, a formidable force on the battlefield… and a friend of the Hand of Heven. I know now how to repay this debt, but if you require anything - anything at all - then send for me. I will aid you as you have me."
A faint smile reaches across Magik's face, the mask melting if only for a little while. "Thanks, Angela. You're… a friend to me, too."
The pair exchange silent gazes and grins before Angela enters the stepping disc. She almost believes hearing Magik say she will miss her before her voice faded out. Angels rubs her temples with her thumb and forefinger.
She must be imagining things.