Justice, Vengeance, or Somewhere In-Between [Short Story]

[Nayt]

[[Wrote this awhile back. No reason for it; I just wanted to write something about a couple of Fallen after the End. I'm surprised I haven't posted this up here yet.]]

Justice, Vengeance, or Somewhere In-Between





The angel of Vengeance approached the far side of Heaven's Gate. Once a Fallen, he was allowed the right of go-between in forgiveness. He'd not but one wing; he could never take it back-- what was done was done, but he'd not also the need to show it with regularity. Unlike most angels, he'd no need for the vanity of wings nor the conventions of clothing, though in the heavenly promised land, amongst his fellow angels, he did wear the white robes of tradition. They were loose robes that fit him much the same as the clothing of the artistic statuesque, pristine ivory clothes that slipped in artistic modesty with each subtle movement. He'd no love nor hate for them. They draped idly across a six foot frame of average musculature, meshing with a preference for short hair and a trimmed goatee.

Heaven's Gate-- a means to leave this high borne place and gallivant upon the realm of mortality and humanity. Its high arches were an intimidating image, towering above beyond the low hanging clouds of their hazy Heaven. It bore an image open image of humanity, displaying in a show of incomprehensible melds of color the evolution of mankind, his conquests, his loves, hates, his individuality, sociology: a display of human history in one static image. The angelic and the godly were the only creatures who could bare its image. The passed beyond, the souls transcended into Paradise, could not look upon such an obscure beauty and retain a volatile sanity; time and time again, the stragglers that found their way into angelic territory were discovered at Heaven's Gate, eyes wide, mouth agape, drool hanging off their chins, bodies collapsed in immobile stupor.

The bare feet Vengeance came to an abrupt stop when the golden eyed former Fallen discovered the man before the Gate. He was not a wayward spirit lost to madness. His back was to the open portal, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his head dipped down in wait. Ven furrowed his brow. He recognized this man. It had been some time, but recognized this man-- a fellow Fallen himself, allowed the same go-between of the Depths, Paradise, and the mortal realm. The Angel of Unity, standing in the path of Vengeance-- Exitus.

Exitus was not an imposing man. He stood five inches shorter than Ven himself, and hadn't the musculature of the Angel of Vengeance. A short, gaunt man, Unity suffered from inherent blindness, allowing him the perfect assimilation of Justice--an attribute he'd only a hand in so far. A thick blindfold covered his eyes, a cloth that was, in part, mostly covered by bushy blue-is-black hair, an unkempt mess which fell somewhere just above his shoulders. In a hooded black jacket, zipped up to his collarbone, and black slacks, he stood as a dark reminder of his own name: Exitus, a name which in many human languages was given to the personification of death.

No, Exitus was not an imposing man by appearance, but to know him was to know the source of his name-- to know that he, himself, was a force to be reckoned with. Ven made no attempt to pass him.

"You caused quite the stir," announced the blind representative of Unity.

Dumbfounded, Vengeance stared blankly at his fellow liberated Fallen. "You're gonna have to forgive me, bud, but I got no idea what you're talking about."

With not but a second's pause, Unity replied sharply, "Your communion with the demoness, Mann."

"Oh? Hah!" to Ven, that was a laughable woe. He hadn't meant to laugh in the face of Unity, but the display of bandwagon loathing was a laughing matter. "Hah-- you know, with the war over and all, you'd think we would've put all this xenophobia business behind us."

Exitus was not amused-- not for Ven's amusement in Unity's words, but for the the misunderstanding between them. Unity and xenophobia could not coexist, after all. No, Exitus had concerns in a different department.

"You're overstepping your boundaries," he elaborated.

Ven's passive laughter quelled in seconds; his expression, once one of sad amusement, reclaimed a dire seriousness. "What do you mean? I gave a hopeless woman something to live for."

"Justice for the hopeless ones," Exitus nodded.

Ven averted his eyes from the blind man. "I fail to see a problem in that."

"You are Vengeance. Justice is not for you to bestow."

Dejectedly, Ven furrowed his brow. "I was Justice before the war. What difference does a few thousand years make?"

"You were bloody Justice. You were failed Justice," replied Exitus as matter-of-factly as his cold, monotonous voice could manage, "You are Vengeance and nothing more."

The reluctant angel of Vengeance rolled his shoulders. "Can't hurt to try again."

As a reminder of responsibility, Exitus lifted his right hand, his index finger up as if punctuating his point: "No one will have your bloody mantle."

Justice and Vengeance, two attributes few angels would ever want to claim-- two attributes which claimed more blood than the mantle of war. Justice and revenge claimed the lives thousands every day, even in a torn world. The knowledge of such effects threatened to bring mankind to its knees on more than one occasion. It nearly brought about the genuine end of the world. So many angels now dabbled in Justice, but few were willing to fully accept what it entailed. Not even the blind Exitus was willing to accept it in full. Ven thought about this for a long time.

"Then I'll carry both burdens," he said at last.

"You've not my approval," replied the cold Unity.

When the hand of Unity, before shut lightly with only his index finger out, opened in full, Ven opened a full leap back. He cleared half a dozen feet in one reverse bound, landing swiftly with his arms up, hands before his face. Exitus, on the other hand, simply remained where he was, blocking off Heaven's gate, barring the exit of Vengeance. His appearance, though mild and passive, was one Ven recognized as ready to draw blood. Exitus was a brilliant executioner. Were his concerns not in the unity of mankind, he'd have fit the motif of bloody justice to a T. Ven saw Exitus like this before. He knew the man's willingness to shed blood for the transcendence of extremes.

Ven, with his hands in loose fists, stood on his guard-- bent at his knees, shoulders leaned forward ever so subtly, and his hands up before his face. For several long moments, there was not an action between them. But stood in a veritable stalemate.

"In another world, in another time . . ." Ven began, prepared to deliver his own elegy before the inevitable befell him.

Exitus, however, continued promptly in Ven's stead: ". . . we'd have fought for assimilation."

Stricken by surprise, Ven lowered his guard. His hands slowly fell, stopping short when over his chest, just in case. "So . . . you don't mind, then?"

Sternly, Exitus shook his head. "I mind."

"Heh," Ven flashed a nervous grin, "But you don't plan on killing me over it?"

Exitus shook his head. "I've no need. You'll collapse under the weight of it. Your ambition will kill you in my stead."

"Ahhh . . ." Ven scratched the back of his neck in a show of nervousness, "No faith at all, huh?"

Exitus, with his hands shoved into his pockets, took a strong step forward. Ven took an equally strong step back and raised his hands again. He covered his face, first and foremost. He reminded himself of Unity's strengths; he was a blind man, but that meant nothing. Unity was the deadliest of the Fallen. He could have Vengeance's head without a blade or Ven's recognition of that fate-- a seamless cut, an impromptu severing of a man's skull by the base of the neck, leaving no splatter of blood or cry of terror in its wake. Exitus needed not but his hands to enact such a Justice.

To Ven's surprise, however, Unity merely stepped to the left, and with a look of disinterest, trudged forward, passing Ven and leaving the gate open to his uses.

But not without his parting words of doubt: "You cannot wield both Justice and Vengeance. One man cannot walk two paths."

Ven stared at the gate. From it, he could see the world: a cruel world, a world where justice and vengeance reigned supreme. Kill the man out of revenge, call it justice, or let him rot in a cell for his natural days? Cut the girl's hands off for petty theft, abuse the minority man for walking the lines of the majority, kill the bear for feeding on the poorly placed family, step on the poor boy's face in the name of regality, kick the child to the side because your house his full, and slap the genocidist on the wrist for crimes against humanity justified in the name of God.

This world could end a thousand more times over. Perhaps now it was not quite so bad as before, but where there was humanity, there were evils in the names of justice and revenge. Collapse the world, fill it with darkness, and illuminate it anew in your own preferred bath of soothing light-- and Abel will still die at Cain's hand. The world of man will forever be flawed, for man is an existence of extremes. He knows no median.

"That's fine," said the angel, a smile upon his lips, "Justice or Vengeance-- I'd rather be somewhere in-between."