I stared at the pages of the book, my eyes glued to the words as they danced in front of me. The headache still lingered in the back of my skull, but I couldn't tear myself away from the text. The more I read, the more I understood, but the more it twisted my thoughts into a mess of confusion and dread.
I turned the page again, scanning the inked words that had been worn down with age, the meaning becoming clearer.
"The Holy Lance. A weapon of such power, it is said to pierce through the very fabric of divinity itself. Its origins trace back to the moment of Christ's crucifixion, where it was used to end the suffering. But its true power lay not in the blood spilled-but in the destruction of the celestial will. It is not just a weapon of flesh, but one of souls, capable of undoing what was once written by God."
I leaned back in my chair, trying to let it sink in, but it felt like it was suffocating me. The Lance, the weapon I had now, was meant to destroy more than just angels. It could undo what God had decreed. That power was beyond me. It was beyond anything I could control.
I turned another page, desperately hoping for some kind of reassurance.
"The Holy Lance is cursed. It is a weapon meant to alter the course of fate. It is a line between salvation and destruction, wielded only by those who are marked by the heavens themselves. But its cost is far greater than any man can endure. The blood of those who wield it stains the very soul, and to strike with it is to choose a path that may never be reversed."
I dropped the book. My hands were shaking.
I had to stop. This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was something bigger, darker. I was in the midst of something ancient, something far beyond my comprehension. And I didn't know if I could keep going down this path without losing myself.
The weight of it all hit me. I couldn't think straight. I closed my eyes and let myself fall into the bed, hoping sleep would bring some kind of clarity. Maybe it would take me away from this madness for a while. Maybe it would give me answers.
---
I woke up, but something felt wrong. The air was too still, too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your skin, makes every inch of you itch. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake the feeling that something was watching me.
I didn't even have time to sit up when the dream hit me.
The forest. I was in it again, the same one, the same path. I knew where I was going-deep into the woods, the holy lance in my hand. It was cold in the dream, the air thick with something that wasn't quite right.
I heard the footsteps before I saw him. Uriel. The angel. His presence filled the clearing, radiating light and power like the sun itself. His wings spread wide, casting a shadow over the ground beneath him.
"You shouldn't have come, John," he said, his voice calm but carrying a warning.
"I have to," I whispered back. I didn't know why I said it, but it felt like the only answer I had.
I raised the lance, and Uriel's eyes narrowed. His expression hardened, his whole being brimming with quiet fury. "You don't know what you're doing," he warned, but it didn't matter.
I thrust the lance toward him, the tip gleaming in the night. It struck, and he screamed-not from pain, but from a deeper, darker despair. His wings fluttered, burning with a light that was too bright to look at. And for a moment, I thought I had won. I thought I had killed him.
But then something twisted. The world around me warped. Uriel's form shattered like glass, breaking apart and reforming into something darker, something that didn't belong.
Raziel.
He was standing there now, his broken wings shredded, his face full of anger and sorrow. "You fool," he said, his voice rasping through the dream. "You've just sealed your fate."
I felt the weight of the lance in my hands, but it had changed. It wasn't shining anymore. It was dull, lifeless. And for the first time, I realized what I had done. I had killed the wrong angel.
"Raziel..." I whispered, my throat tight with regret. "What... What did I do?"
"You killed the wrong one," he repeated, his eyes filled with something darker than hate. "And now, everything is going to fall apart."
---
I woke up with a jolt, gasping for air. My chest was tight, my heart hammering against my ribs. The remnants of the dream clung to me like smoke, filling my mind with images I couldn't shake. I looked around the room, trying to calm my breathing, but it didn't help.
Then I saw it.
The ceiling.
At first, I thought I was still in the dream. I blinked. But no. This was real.
Raziel's face-twisted, broken, his eyes wide and full of agony-was staring down at me from the ceiling. His mouth moved, but no sound came from it. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. The face lingered, staring with those unblinking eyes.
My pulse thudded in my ears. "What the hell..." I breathed, backing away from the bed, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
It didn't go away. The face didn't disappear. It just... watched.
I stumbled to my feet, my hands trembling. "Raziel..." I whispered again, a sinking feeling in my stomach. "What do you want from me?"
But the face didn't respond. It just stared, as if waiting.
And I realized, there was no escaping this. No running from the truth that was already here.