The forest air thickened.
For a moment, nothing moved — not leaf nor wind nor bird. Even the clouds above seemed to pause, as if creation itself held its breath.
Raphael stepped forward, one hand raised — not to strike, but to warn.
A light rose from his form. Faint at first, like the hush of dawn, then brighter — not harsh or burning, but heavy, like memory returning all at once. Not fire. Not wrath. But presence.
The kind of power that made trees bend ever so slightly, that stirred the stones beneath their feet.
It was not of this world.
The four paused — their corrupted souls recognizing, instinctively, that something ancient and undesired had been stirred. Their eyes widened. Their breath caught. Even the birds in the trees took flight.
Yet… they did not flee.
Which made Raphael frown.
What had this child done to stir such hate?
But there was no time to ask.
They came at him.
Ben charged first — fast, faster than one his size should have moved — slamming down with a cleaver aimed for Raphael's clavicle. Simultaneously, Avia leapt from a tree like a shadow with knives drawn, and Helen cracked her chain like a whip of lightning. The thin man whispered curses that made the air around Raphael ripple with distortion.
But Raphael moved.
He did not attack. He evaded — a step here, a tilt of the wing, a quiet bend of the knees — and their strikes passed through air that shimmered faintly with light.
Then, he turned.
One palm struck the thin man in the chest — not with violence, but with grace. The whispering man gasped, eyes wide with something like clarity before falling unconscious, crumpling silently to the moss.
Avia screamed and dove, slicing upward.
Raphael caught her wrist mid-flight, gently but unshakably.
"You don't understand what you serve," he said.
She snarled and twisted — but it was too late. She, too, was flung aside, not cruelly, but with weightless force, crashing into a fallen tree.
Chains lashed from Helen — but Raphael wrapped one around his forearm, pulled her close, and placed a glowing hand on her head.
"I do not hate you," he whispered.
Her eyes flickered with something… then faded.
Ben was last. And he was angry.
The man hurled himself into Raphael, roaring like a beast, blade after blade appearing from his coat — every strike aimed for a vital point. Neck, heart, eye.
Raphael blocked. Deflected. Bled.
The fallen angel grunted as a blade found his shoulder — he still bled. His body was not what it once was.
But even still… his eyes did not burn with vengeance.
They burned with decision.
Ben swung wide — and Raphael caught the cleaver mid-air with both hands.
He held it there. Firm.
Then he let go, stepped inside, and struck the man once in the chest with the flat of his hand — a burst of force that sent Ben skidding across the ground like a stone on water.
Silence fell.
The forest watched.
The boy, wide-eyed, still clung to the edge of the cave.
Raphael looked down at his wounded shoulder, breathed in, and began to think loud to himself like he always do.
"Why were these creatures so hateful and filled with violent?". To the fact that they were completely corrupt was so surprising to him. Attacking without him doing nothing to them,that's too much.
For the first time in years he encountered these creatures and the very first thing they did was to harbore all those hatred at first sight,at first sight. Yes I saw it clearly. The corruption in their eyes,despite even seeing my broken wings".
"Did my fellow Fallen do this?,the Morning Star is the cause of all this,am very certain".
He was so deep in thought that he forgot about the little boy
"Ehem", the little boy coughed
Snapping back to reality.
"Little one they won't hurt you now," he said, voice low, ancient, tired.
The boy nodded… and said nothing.
And Raphael finally asked:
"Who are you?"