Posts Tagged ‘amitiel’

h1

Slipping

November 17, 2010

The storm had been going strong for hours. Amitiel would know. He’d been out in it most of the night. The coat made it less unpleasant, but the bandages on his hands were still soaked and chaffing against the burns. He registered the discomfort, but just as an annoying background sensation. Now the kick from his .38 as he put a slug in the man at the door, that stung. The gun hissed softly in the rain as he lowered the weapon and walked up to the man, kicking aside the other man’s semi-automatic and crouching down in front of him.
The man he shot was big. Scary looking. The kind of guy you put at your door to keep people from even wanting to ask questions. Of course, clutching at his stomach as blood mixed with rain probably ruined the effect.
Amitiel caught his chin, “Focus now. Next few moments will make all the difference in the world to you.” Amitiel pulled the man’s sunglasses off with his other hand and tossed them into the gutter to wash away. Idiot might actually have seen him coming if he hadn’t been trying so hard to look cool. “How many are inside?”
“You’re a dead man…” said the guard, reaching for a knife at his hip.
“I’ve heard that more often then you might think. If you pull that knife, I’m going to have to make this unpleasant. Just answer the question,” said Amitiel.
“Fuck you,” said the man, pulling the knife and making a weak swipe at Amitiel with it.
Amitiel caught the man’s hand easily and slammed it back into the building hard enough to crack bone and send the blade flying. Amitiel considered the man another long moment, watching his gaze become slowly less focused. Finally he sighed and shoved the man to one side. “You might want to tell them to send more then one ambulance when you call. Maybe you won’t be the only one to get lucky tonight.”
Amitiel took a moment to pick up the other man’s gun and tucked it into his coat. No sense getting shot in the back now. Plenty of bullets in front of him. He checked the door the man had been guarding and sure enough, the bruiser was supposed to be enough. It whispered open and Amitiel had a few steps to think maybe this would turn out not so bad.
Then he heard the girl scream. The kind of scream that even if your body survives, pieces of you don’t.
Amitiel came around the corner with his gun in hand. He put two rounds in the head of the man standing over the girl before all hell broke loose. He tracked right, firing at two more men as he threw himself into the guard left of the door, catching the guard’s arm as he pulled his weapon and sending him flying.
By this point, the men were shouting orders and curses as they opened fire an Amitiel. Normally, he would have tried to make at least a few of them miss. Normally, he wouldn’t let trash like this see the ash colored wings. He didn’t even notice the burning this time. It haunted him even worse when he took on his aspect, but this time his attention was on the men.
Amitiel took eight rounds as he systematically began shooting down the other men, drawing the automatic in his off-hand to finish the job as the .38 ran dry. The last bullet went in the man he had knocked down on his way in. His coat was tattered and bloodied. Some of it his own. He dropped the spare weapon as he crossed to the girl.
Somehow, he’d managed not to screw it up worse. She wasn’t shot. Of course, that was about the only thing going for her at that point. Amitiel cursed to himself as he crouched next to the blooded girl, untying her as quick as his shaking hands could manage.
She lifted her head slightly to try and look at him through swollen eyes, “What are you?”
Amitiel shuddered softly at the question, letting his aspect fade. Pain flooded in and he embraced it, accepted it as penance. “I’m sorry. I should have been here sooner,” he said. He tossed aside the last of the rope. “I’ll help you to the hall and get an ambulance called.”
The girl leaned heavily on him. “Thank you.”
Amitiel was quiet as he brought her into the hall, then carefully helped her sit down against the wall. She looked up at him as best she could. “Who are you?”
“Just a guy looking for answers,” said Amitiel as he stepped to the door and pushed it open. Sirens coming through the rain. The place was sound-proofed up pretty well. Figured. He glanced at the guard, laying still in the rain now, cell phone still in hand. “You should tell the cops everything.”
“So someone else can finish what these guys started?” said the girl.
“You never know. Sometimes the truth can save you,” Amitiel said, smirking faintly to himself. He drug the guard over to prop the door open. “Paramedics will be here soon. They should find you easily enough.” Amitiel stepped into the rain.
“Wait,” said the girl.
“Sorry, already running late tonight. Terrible habit to get into. Take care of yourself,” said Amitiel as he vanished into the rain.

Advertisements
h1

Third Host: Amitiel

September 30, 2008

Amitiel sat in the cold water. He wasn’t quite sure what angle the ship had finally come to rest at, but nothing had broken the runes. He had slowly circled around, following the faint glow to search for gaps, but everyime he drew too close to a wall or possible door, the flow would flare and throw him back. Time was difficult to track in the darkness, but he had the feeling hours had past. Enough that it might be morning by now with no further signs of life since the ship settled.

Maybe that was it. Maybe they just wanted him out of the way. He carefully rubbed his hands together. At least there wasn’t any chance of fire down here. That was either a point against their intel or a point in favor of this just being meant to hold him. Keep him busy until something was finished.

Amitiel was trying to work out what that could be. He certainly didn’t feel like he had done anything in the mortal world that would have elicited this kind of response. So it was going to be something supernatural and nasty and possibly filled with lies. He tapped the bit of machinery in front of him. NOt enough details.

Suddenly, he was startled free from his circling thoughts, noticing that the room was starting to glow steadily brighter. A pressure built up against his ears along with a faint whining noise. Amitiel cursed and threw himself to the machine, struggling to cram himself into a small gab in the machinery that would give him the most protection from every direction.

The world glowed a piercing violet-red and pain shot through his side as he was smashed tighter into his hideing place. The world swirled and rumbled, loud noises echoing through the water. Amitiel braced himself and waited for quiet to return.

h1

Third Host: Amitiel

May 11, 2008

Amitiel shoved open the heavy door with a grunt of pain. The engine room was a crowded dirty mess, though most of the machinery was silent. The only thing churning away was a heavy duty gas generator shoved in a corner and jury-rigged into the ships electrical system. Amitiel shook his head. The engines were hollowed out shells, anything worth salvaging already pulled off of the boat. He worked through it, shoving aside pieces of metal looking for anything useful. So far unless he hoped to beat a hole in the side of the ship with another chunk of metal, it looked bad.

Which was when the lights flickered and dimmed. Amitiel looked to the generator, but it was still going strong. Shadows flickered across the lights behind him and Amitiel spun, leveling the rifle. Nothing. He turned in a slow circle, keeping the weapon ready. Bits of shadow continued to creep toward him. The angel cursed under his breath and dropped the rifle, drawing his revolver and emptying the bullets still in it. He into an inner pocket, pulling out a speed loader and shoving it into the gun.

“Come on out, puppets,” said Amitiel, snapping the chamber back into place. “You’re in here to force my hand, so come and get me.”

A vaguely human shaped shadow lunged at him from on top of one of the engines. Amitiel’s shot tore through it’s center of mass, sending it crashing to the ground writhing, a horrible keening noise echoing out of the figure before it melted back into the surrounding shadows. The rest swarmed. Amitiel managed to get off two more shots and drop two more shadow creatures before they hit him. The first slammed into his chest and sent him backwards over a larger bit of metal scrap. Amitiel twisted as he fell, throwing the shadow aside before landing with a curse.

He managed to put a bullet through another as it leapt toward him, but three others followed suit and started ripping into his flesh. Amitiel screamed, lashing out with the but of his pistol, but more of the creatures swarmed in on top of him faster then he could drive them away.

Blood blinded him and pain lanced through Amitiel’s body. The trap was too well thought out. The only thing left was to spring it and hope he could spring it hard enough to break straight through. Light ripped through the shadow creatures and their dying screams filled the ship as Amitiel rose up through the disintegrating shadow, wings the color of soot and looking tattered. He flapped down hard and threw himself upwards and before making contact with the ceiling of the room, explosions ripped through the ship. The force smashed him aside and into the shell of one of the engine as water flooded into the room. Amitiel could see the sigils flaring to life around the room as water flooded over him. He closed his eyes and settled back as the ship lurched toward the bottom of the bay.

Until something changed, he was going to be stuck, so he focused on thinking. Someone big wanted him out of the way, but either not enough to try and kill him or they didn’t have the means to kill him. The effort and skill in the trap certainly argued against the not being able to kill him, but angels weren’t really well known for dieing, so he left it on the table. Still, it seemed more likely that they needed him for something later, which meant that he just had to be patient and wait for his chance.

h1

Third Host: Excerpt, Amitiel

April 30, 2008

Amitiel finished searching the deck of the ship without further incident and without finding anything of interest to him. He could make sure none of the merchandise found homes on his way out. Maybe tip off someone on the force and really make their year. The door leading into the depths of the ship was unlocked and the whole place seemed strangely quiet for looking ready to sail. Amitiel frowned and paused to check his revolver and the rifle, making sure both were ready for action.

His worry deepened as he start checking cabins, only to find them empty. A slight echoing bang and a subtle shift in the movement of the boat broke the silence about three cabins down and drew Amitiels attention upward. The containers were being lifted off of the boat. He hurried back through the halls as fast as he could with the injuries. The boat shifted again as the second container started lifting off.

He knew it was too late, but he tried the door anyway. It didn’t budge. He shoved hard at the thick metal door, but it wasn’t going anywhere. Whatever they had done to seal it from the outside was going to keep him their. And nothing he was carrying was likely to do much damage to the steel.

His mind started tracking through possibilities. Who ever had set this up was serious. They had enough resources and men to feel like they could sacrifice people higher up the food chain to his investigation. The fact that they were sealing him in the boat likely meant that it wouldn’t survive the night either. The only real question was how much did they know about the man they had captured. As much as he had done his best as an investigator, he really didn’t think he had pissed off anyone enough to warrant this kind of treatment. Which probably meant they knew who and what he really was. Which also probably meant they were confident that whatever they had planned was going to get him out of the way.

He stopped in a cabin and went to the port window, gaging the size. It wasn’t going to be big enough. Odds were also not good that anyone willing to set up something this elaborate were going to miss any obvious routes out. The fact that nothing was sinking or exploding yet made him think it was bad. They wanted him to enter his full angelic form. Which probably meant they had something that could do real damage and they probably had made sure that more supernatural methods of escape were sealed.

Amitiel slumped onto a bed, giving himself a few moments to think. He really hoped he was dealing with someone patient. That would buy him a little time before they started trying to force his hand. He worked through options, quickly eliminating the more obvious choices. It wasn’t long before he was on his feat and pressing further into the ship, guessing which direction would get him to the engine room.

h1

Third Host: Excerpt, Amitiel

April 9, 2008

Amitiel made sure that the men in the office heard him coming. The shots ringing out and men screaming were a dead give away that something had gone wrong. He timed it perfectly, kicking the door hard into the face of the man on the other side. He followed up with two shots into another of the lackey thugs, then kicked a chair into the leader. A shot to the last standing thugs leg sent him tumbling to the ground. He absently shoved the door shut and locked it.

“Now, I had a few questions,” Amitiel said, delivering a sharp stomp to the hand of a lackey reaching for a gun, getting a squeal of pain as a reward. He continued across the room and pulled the leader to his feat, snagging the gun from his belt and tossing it behind a set of filing cabinets.

The leader snarled and tried to take a swing at Amitiel. Amitiel snagged the other mans hand and stopped it midair, then countered with a heavy blow to the mans stomach. He gave the man several moments to recover before straightening him back up.

“Records on the kids you’ve been trafficking through here. You’re going to pull them out and set them on the table for me,” said Amitiel.

“What the hell are you talking about? Man, you’re in so much trouble,” said the lead thug.

Amitiel sighed and stepped in, catching the mans wrist and shoving his hand down onto the table. The man struggled to get free first, then started trying to grab at Amitiel’s face, trying to get a grip to pull him off. Amitiel just stood his ground, calmly drawing out the the revolver, spinning it in his hand and bringing the butt down hard onto the mans fingers. The man snarled in pain and jerked, but Amitiel kept him in place, bringing the gun down hard a second time before finally letting the man  pull his hand in to cradle it, staggering to the ground. Amitiel followed up with a sharp kick to the man’s face, sending him smashing back to the ground, blood oozing from his noise.

Dropping to one knee, Amitiel reached down and tightened the man’s tie and drug him upright. “Do you keep the records here?”

The man coughed and weekly pointed to the desk, “Bottom drawer… false back.”

Amitiel drove a fist into the creep’s face, bouncing his skull off the floor and leaving him still. He stood up and brushed himself off crossing over to the desk and opening the drawer, forcing it past the initial stopping point to get at the thick folder of papers in back. Amitiel pulled it free and tucked it under his arm, glancing to the door. Not the best way out. He glance around the room again, then crossed to the filing cabinet, shoving it over on top of the the unconscious leader in white. He grinned at the small door hidden there and pushed it open, slipping out the emergency escape route and back into the night.