Laathriel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about an angel and his struggle to save a young victim.

Submitted: August 11, 2014

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Submitted: August 11, 2014

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Lathriel watched the room with a pleased expression. The doctors, after hours of fighting, had finally managed to get his vitals normal again.
The 36-year old man was the victim of oxygen deprivation, a freak accident that resulted from attempting to climb a nearby mountain-without oxygen. He'd done it on smaller mountains before, but the sheer altitude of the Himalayans proved too much to handle. The life flight team had barely made it in time.
Lathriel turned his head as an alarm suddenly rang. One the doctors had accidentally given too much adrenaline. The man's heart rate was rapidly climbing. At this rate, it would eventually collapse. 
At that moment, an unwelcome figure walked into the room-a figure dressed in all black, 6'4 with a robe over his head. 
Death.
Lathriel clutched the sword tucked under his wings. 
Death laughed. "Do not bother, angel. This one"- he smiled at the man on the table-"is MINE."
Lathriel attempted to pull his sword, but before he had it out, the faster death slammed him back into the wall. Lathriel charged, his two-handed sword meeting Death's halberd.
Meanwhile, the doctors, oblivious to the fight, struggled to get the excess adrenaline under control-for some strange reason, their machines would not work correctly. 
Death laughed. "You see? They cannot save him, and neither can you."
Lathriel gave no expression. He knew the mind games this demon played. That one hesitation, that one slip-up, and Death had another victim.
He'd already done it countless times before.
Besides, Death may have been faster, but Lathriel was stronger-and, not to mention, smarter. 
Death swung his halberd, and Lathriel let himself be caught. He slammed into the roof, hitting the floor had, folding into his wings. 
Death laughed. "You see? Child's play!"
He stalked over to his unsuspecting target, his every step making the vitals go lower. He stood in front of the hospital bed, removed his right hand from the sleeve, reached towards the man- and received a sword to the back.
Lathriel stared menacingly as he slid the sword into the back of Death's heart. "Go home." 
Death hissed as his body disintegrated, his soul forced back to Hell. He reached out one last, desperate time, and was gone. 
After Death was taken care of, the machines began to work again, the adrenaline leaving the victim's body and returning back through the tube. 
Now, with the doctors working uninterrupted and the man looking healthier by the minute, there was only one thing left to do.
Lathriel walked to the bed and touched the man's head with the tip of his wing-an angelic blessing. "May The Lord watch over you."
His work done, Lathriel turned and walked out the room, his presence unfelt by the hospital employees. He did not waste his time watching over the man-the night was young, and Hell would not hold Death for long.


© Copyright 2018 Johnathon Gilliam. All rights reserved.