Angel of Death

The room is vast and filled with grandeur. Tall pillars of white granite with sparkling veins of crystal and gold hold the ceiling over rows of angels. The angels stand in rapt attention, clothes in robes of white and gold. In the center is a golden throne. The throne is the most beautiful part of the room. The throne is tall and wide, glistening and reflecting its surrounding like a golden mirror.

A small head with shaggy brown hair peaks some the doors at the end of the large hall. The little angel strains against the heavy weight of the seemingly else gold doors. Like the pillars, the doors' heights reach into the clouds. He stares in silent awe. The little angel has seen the throne room before, but he's never seen it like this.

No one moves. Every angel watches the world beneath. Moises has confronted the Pharaoh of Egypt for the tenth time, the final time. One by one, each angel turns toward the throne. The little angel glances at the others before looking at the golden throne's back. The man in the throne shifts and gazes at one of the many statues lining the walls. Rows of angels shift with him and stare at the statue.

The statue is a tall angel with massive wings that are bent around his back like a shield. His handsome face is down turned, partially hidden by a large hood. Stone hands are clasped in front of him. A long, sheathed sword lay belted to his left hip; it's crimson pommel stone gleams captivatingly.

The man in the throne spoke in a deep, reverberating voice filled with authority, "My servant, it is time for you to awaken."

Bright hazel eyes widen in frightened awe as the little angel watched the statue as it begins to change. White stone turns to tanned skin, onyx black hair, and flowing white robes. Color spreads to his chest and the angel sucks in a harsh breath. He doesn't move, as still as the stone he once was. The only sound is him taking deep breaths, filling his lungs with air after spending so long as a statue. The color spreads even farther. His belt turns to dark leather, his sword to bright silver. The little angel's heart pounds as the other angel moves. Colossal white and silver wings snap open violently and he draws his sword. A crimson cape sways behind him as he marches to the front of the throne.

Gracefully, the angel twists his sword, slamming the point into the ground as he kneels before the throne. His powerful wings spread out on either side of him and he rests his hands on the hilt of the sword, silent and passive. The little angel strains to see around the throne

For several moments, everyone remains frozen. No one takes their eyes off the man in the throne. A collective gasp and murmur rushes through the crowd as the angel speaks. "My king, how may I be of service to you?" His voice is quiet and raspy with disuse but it draws the little angel a step farther into the room. If any of the older angels notice him, they don't say.

"Go to Egypt. Take the life of every firstborn of those who did not spread the blood of a lamb on their door posts. Pass over those who did." For the first time, the angel raises his head. The little angel gasps and his wings wrap around his small frame. But his curiosity overrides his fear of the tall swordsman and he leans forward, eager to see the angel's face.

The angel gazes up at the man in the throne silently before he nods, "As you wish, my king". The angel rises fluidly and sheaths his sword. His powerful wings flex before curling around his body slightly. The only sound in the room is his heavy footfalls as he walks around the golden throne. The sharp eyes of the rows of angels never leave him.

The little angel watches him too. The taller angel reaches the doors that the little angel stands between. He dwarfs the little angel, standing over him solemnly. The little angel wants to move but he can't. His heart thunders in his chest and his palms grow clammy, but his tan bare feet just won't move. The other angel stares down at him with dark gray eyes. The little angel swallows nervously. He knows the swordsman could just push him aside but the taller angel does not. He simply watches and rests his hand against the massive for, moving it with ease.

" S-sorry!" The little angel stutters and turns to bolt. A low rumbling sounds comes from the other angel and he stops abruptly. "He's laughing at me!" The little angel thinks. Startled and embarrassed, he looks up. The angel's stoic expression is broken by a small smile- really just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth- and his eyes seem somehow softer.

"Return to your friends, little angel" he says, still smiling. The little angel stares at him uncomprehendingly and the angel laughs his quiet little laugh. Understanding lights up the little angel's face and he darts off down the long hall. The little angel skids to a fast stop, "Wait!" He turns to see the other angel strolling down the hall in the opposite direction, "What do I tell them?"

The angel laughs, this time a deep and booming laugh, "Tell them, the Angel of Death once again walks in the halls of the King."