Amid the clash of axes, maces, and clubs, two forces tore at the earth: those born of it, and those who came to claim it.
As iron meets bones, a voice rises above the ruin, and a loud, enchanting aria is sung on the battlefield. Suddenly, the wounds of the weakened soldiers on foot are healed as the song fades. The same warriors are back on their feet, defending all fronts of the land that belongs to the Ki-Arattu tribe, a distant Sumerian clan known for tilling the earth. But now the same soil that gives life turns into a pool of blood.
For centuries, the forces of the Nephilim had conquered the known world violently, leaving no stone unturned. The Ki-Arattuans are one of the last free tribes, and the Nephilim have set their eyes on them for a greater reason.
The Ki-Arratuan warriors know no exhaustion, and they yield no ground. Seeing that there’s power shielding their enemy, the Nephilim retreats – for now.
Before the last note of the song is heard, Ada’s shield-bearer rushes to her side, for she loses her balance as her knees shake with all the fighting and singing that she had to do to protect her tribe. The daughter of the chieftain of Ki-Arattu has been prepared to fight since she was a girl, and now that she has grown into a woman, she is the second-in-command, a birthright earned as one who bears the mark of the Creator.
“I… I will head to the river. Don’t worry about me. Take care of the others now,” Ada assures her shield bearer.
The boy nods in respect and takes his leave. Unbeknownst to Ki-Arattu, just a little below the grey clouds pushed up by the thick smoke from the battlefield, a mighty angelic being with big dark wings hovers over the trees looming above Ada, who is heading to the river. When his feet touch the muddy ground, the sky becomes even darker. Now his wings are gone, and his clothes look like those of an embattled soldier.
When Ada reaches the mouth of the river, she hears footsteps on the crackling dried leaves on the ground. Slowing down, she carefully listens to his limping cadence and draws her sword. She makes a quick turn to launch her defence and points her sword straight at the intruder.
“I am not here to fight!” begs the disguised dark angel who fakes a limp and some nasty wound on his knee.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” commands the woman warrior.
“I… I am Kanaphiel, from the tribe of Namaru. I was the only one left,” he holds her stare, trying to read her mind. “I heard you were singing, and I was hoping to get healed by it…. But I guess your voice only soothes the wounds of the blessed soldiers of the Ki-Arattuans.”
“How did you know about my voice? You must be a spy from the enemy,” Ada declares as she studies his every move, still pointing her sword towards him.
“Please, Ada… I am here for your help. I am not a spy.”
She quickly clasps his arms, disarms him of his dagger, and puts his arms behind him. A rip in the hem of his garment and a tight bind on his wrists. “I will be the judge of that. Now move.”
She has two options now: to go ask for help from her men to seize this intruder right away, or to dip into the river to get rejuvenated.
Ada knows she has to choose the latter. With trembling hands, she makes an effort to pin him to the ground just near the tree with roots that are as big as his thighs. She clasps his legs and binds them to the big roots, and checks the binding of his wrists. The wound on his knee seems so bad that he won’t be able to escape. She looks at his face intently again and stands up.
“If you move, you won’t be able to open your mouth to tell another lie,” Ada warns.
The river flows smoothly, unbothered by the war. Since the beginning of time, it has flowed abundantly to give life to the humans displaced from the Great Garden, when man first dishonoured the Creator. However, every century, He marks one of His creations that bears His mark to acquire limited power from this river.
The water reflects the dim clouds above it. Ada walks not too far from his left, taking a deep breath. Even though her voice is already breaking, she starts a melody. Then, she takes off her conical helmet, and her somewhat sticky black hair drapes on her shoulders. Now he can’t stop staring at her. She unclasps the leather strap on her shoulders, letting her metal pauldrons and scale armour drop to the ground. The rest of her clothing follows: the belt that holds her tunic, her outer tunic, and the gold bangles etched with her family’s sigil and the small knife nestled in a band attached to her thighs.
“Look more and you die!” she threatens.
The wounded soldier turns his head toward the river instead. Ada then walks farther and begins her ceremonial washing.
Kanaphiel tries to tap into his vision without looking, but surprisingly, the song seems to dampen his thoughts. He cannot see her in his mind. So he looks when her back is turned against him, forgetting she is made of clay; for her figure and her presence feel like heaven.
She takes off her thin inner linen tunic, damped with sweat. She closes her eyes and continues humming the soft melody. With shaky legs, she steps onto the river. The stubborn dirt and dry blood that had been stuck to her skin in the last few days are now washed away. She holds her arms up as her voluptuous tan legs and the curve that anchors her stance are slowly immersed in the water.
Ada’s heart races as the stones on which her feet stand radiate pulses of energy that no naked eye can see. Her breath steadies as she allows the water to flow onto her skin, taking away her thoughts of the grimness of one of the heaviest fights that she has been through. Despite the chaos, she is thankful that she and her tribe are still standing.
The fallen angel begins to desire this human with the Creator’s mark. He is supposed to conquer her flesh and not touch her soul. That is his boundary. His kind is allowed to lure and manipulate these favoured creatures, but they cannot touch their souls.
Kanaphniel reasons that this boundary is good enough to fulfil his mission. He just needs to tempt her so he can fill her womb with his seed. This woman of strength will be an excellent vessel for the next conqueror of the Nephilim. But oh, how he drifts from his intent to the swaying of her hips and the slight draping of her luscious breasts that can be seen on her sides.
This bathing ritual appears to be healing her wounds and giving her strength back as she lifts her arms up, like summoning the power of the water and the air, humming. When she dips her entire body into the river many times, he cannot help but watch how her breasts beautifully and invitingly rise and fall. And Kanaphiel’s borrowed heartbeat quickens.
Ada emerges from the water, looking refreshed and even more radiant. Her long black hair, deep brown Sumerian eyes, curly lashes, pointed nose, and perfect lips are not tainted by blood and ash anymore. To Kaphniel, she looks ethereal.
His gaze is fixed where the hidden warmth between her legs is exposed, her whole body dripping. She catches that gaze. Used to being seen bathing by her servants, Ada exudes confidence about her body, but no one has dared to look at her with eyes that melt her deep inside. She gathers herself from the thought so she can deal with him strategically. They are at war. And this man might either be a spy or the help that they are waiting for. So she cannot just kill him there.
Now Kanaphiel is unsure which one is truly more powerful, this river of life or the woman who just bathed in it. He saw how the river traced the length of her, the hollow of her throat and those breasts that command attention. Did he just envy that river?
He does not like being bothered like this. Something inside him stirs, and he knows he has to stop it, or suffer a dire consequence that will alter his fate even more.
ooooo000ooooo
Weeks have passed, and Kanaphiel has been kept in a prison cave that looks funny to him. His fake wounds have healed, and so he seems to be more useful in the sight of this tribe that holds him captive.
These weaklings don’t know that, in a snap of my fingers, I can blow this whole cell down, he proudly tells himself.
Sometimes, when his guards want to rest, he is forced to do labour that they are supposed to do, like making clay tablets from straw and mud. Kanaphiel relishes the moment, for he can see Ada more from his vantage point. Every stare that he throws her way makes her evidently uncomfortable. Her throat moves when she swallows hard while looking at him. Soon, he believes, she will easily fall into his arms.
“You are summoned by the leader with the Creator’s mark.”
Two big guards escort Kanaphiel to Ada’s tent.
“Leave us and wait at the door,” she commands.
With hesitation, the guards check the prisoner’s wrist bind and take their leave.
Ada begins her interrogation while looking intently at her prisoner’s physique. He is undeniably handsome. His almond eyes and wavy brown hair that cascades down his shoulders look astonishing. His skin and his lips are surprisingly pinkish – not of this world. His build seems strong, and his height is almost close to a Nephilim’s.
“Certainly, you’re not from here… Why you’ve disguised yourself as a wounded soldier, I must find out.”
Kanaphiel is so pleased as he sees the more feminine side of her stance when she draws near. The talk lasts until dusk. Ada is about to call for a servant to light the tent, but in front of her, he unclasps the rope that binds his wrists without an effort. He then holds out his hand and lights the wooden torches placed in the middle of the big tent. Now he has just revealed that, indeed, he is not human.
Suddenly, Ada hears a familiar song in her mind.
The lights in the tent show her chest heaving in anticipation. She had only heard that music when her mother was still alive. So she needs to understand why she’s hearing the same music in her head now – in front of a possible enemy.
He is not oblivious to her hesitation.
“You’re tired of leading, of fighting. Wouldn’t it be good to rest a little while waiting for pleasure to come?” he utters seductively.
His eyes pierce her being. He can’t see through the prism in her heart, just like how he cannot read her mind entirely, but he can sense her weakness. So he remains staring at the saddest eyes that he has seen since he came to earth.
“Was it you who took my mother away?” She quickly draws her sword and points it at his chest.
He does not stir. He holds her gaze, not blinking, until her grip on the sword slightly softens. And in a few breaths, he holds her unsteady hand and leads her to put the sword down. Ada cannot comprehend why she cannot find the strength to fight the shivers from his touch.
“I don’t know what happened to your mother. But I assume you hear a song in your mind… The music comes from your soul. You will only hear it when you feel deeply about the one in front of you. You lost your mother, who was dear to you. But your soul remembers what depth is.”
The world beyond the tent recedes. Tears well in her eyes, and somehow his answer sounds like the piece of the puzzle she has been looking for. She is now vulnerable, and he should be rejoicing deep inside. He can kiss her right then and there, but he is no fool to suffer the consequences. Or is he?
He steps closer as she foolishly allows him to put the sword on the ground. Her knees weaken as he starts to undo the strings of her clothes. Her body does not protest, as her inner core throbs frantically when more of her garments pool around her feet. Time falters.
When Ada steps out of her light linen tunic, Kanaphiel grabs her waist and pulls her closer. Her river-earth scent drives his urge to plant gentle kisses on the back of her ear, on her neck and on her shoulders.
The dark angel’s scent captivates the woman in her, and his beard quickens her pulse. She then holds his hand and puts it on her soft breasts. Her moans flow uncontrollably as his mouth conquers her nipples.
“A woman like you must be worshipped, Ada,” he gently whispers, wiping her tears with his careful thumb.
He continues kissing her breasts, flicking his tongue as it traverses her almond skin. When his mouth leaves her nipples, he replaces it with his fingers, rolling them and pressing them as he kisses her abdomen and her inner thighs. Then he parts her soft velvet folds with his fingers, now so much wetter. His tongue ravishes her hardening pearl like it is the last one on earth.
The aria sounds louder in her head, like she is losing her mind. The song has engulfed her being, breaking through her like something long buried, long denied.
Is this truly happening? Ada asks her enchanted self. She feels powerless, like when she lost her mother. She never knew that she missed feeling held for a long time. Until tonight.
The warrior completely abandons herself to the hands of the cosmic stranger. The music in her head entices her to move to its rhythm. So she gyrates her hips as he grips her thighs even more. Kanaphiel tries to focus on his purpose, but the warmth from her body sends lightning bolts coursing through his veins.
His mouth devours her pearl, and his hands subdue her supple breasts. This does not feel like winning, but being one. He savours her taste that he has longed to know since he watched her bathing.
Ada pulls his thick brown hair, and she palms his jaw as she bucks her hips faster. She whimpers louder, and so he quickly stands up. He wears a smile as his face glistens.
Listening to her ragged breathing, Kanaphiel lifts his tunic so he can, for the first time, feel what it is like to be inside a woman’s graces. The lightning bolts flare up more strongly as she pulls his tunic off his body. Plunging his shaft into her watery crystal cave, his heartbeat races at full speed. They move in pulsating intensity – and their oneness causes the winds to bluster and the sky to grow completely dark. Everyone in the camp is rattled in surprise.
Ada feels that a bubbling fountain is about to burst inside her, so she embraces him and traces his neck. “So…This is what depth is?” she gaspingly asks.
“Yes… Let me give it to you,” he responds as he thrusts into her more passionately, even if he is not allowed to express passion. He meant to conquer, to breed, but not to fall in love. Crossing this line is threading the path to descent. He never knew what craving warmth like this in a million years. Until tonight.
Their eyes are fixed on each other, not wanting to leave, yearning to reach the peak of glory. Ada suddenly feels that there are bony structures bulging from Kanaphiel’s upper back. From his back, from his very being, his dark wings burst forth, vast and terrible, unfurling and beating mightily.
Stronger winds howl around the camp, and in that tent, they tear a flame and a hanging cloth. Ada is speechless. While their hips are locked, Kanaphiel tightens his embrace around her waist and the small of her back, and the force of it lifts them both from the ground.
“Is this… what heaven feels like?” she says, almost crying in his ear in awe and surrender.
He cannot answer, because heaven never felt like this.
The sadness in her deep brown eyes, the uncontrollable friction between their bodies, and her tears of pain and joy are too much for Kanaphiel. He has felt these things that he never knew before this moment. As he thrusts into her faster and faster, he presses his lips to the door of her soul – her lips where the mark of the Creator is kept.
The fountain bursts inside Ada like a flood, and she drowns his shaft in it. As their kiss intensifies, Kanaphiel’s wings begin to burn. Fire climbs from the tip to the base. The flame engulfs his feathers, one by one. The tent catches fire. He screams louder and louder as the pain of his descent unfolds.
Despite this, he kisses her deeply again as they both endure extreme heat. In a tight embrace, they fall back to the ground. Ashes and fire are scattered on the soil.
The song in Ada’s head slowly fades, but her eyes never leave her angel’s face, now looking so pale. She hears the frantic footsteps of her soldiers scooting back to her ruined tent. Tears roll more profusely. With him now, she will have to make a difficult choice.
