IN> "The Waters will Rise!" setting: Janus

[-=|horsefly|=-]

The man was taller than two meters, but he moved with all the grace of
a snow leopard, zig-zagging his way across the light sand of the
beach. The Baltic Sea stretched to his right, and the sun was rising
behind him. His powerful legs carried him faster than any mortal could
hope to follow, with more grace than they would ever know on this
plane of existence, short of catching him in flight. For all that, he
did not smile. The early hour and the chill winds upon the waves kept
the sunbathers away for a little while longer, though he knew from
experience they'd be coming down to pitch their tents, throw out their
blankets, and slather on sunscreen in an hour or two. Humans were
funny creatures. Even at that thought, he did not smile. The waves
lapped at low tide, and there was plenty of wet sand, easier sand, to
jog through. Instead he took the harder way, avoiding the light kisses
on his bare feet of tides that had come and gone, punishing himself in
a way no one else ever would. He should have been there...

His sister had caught up to him two days ago in Siberia, and they ran
along the shores together for a time, conferring. The Council had met
already, she said, and their brother was returned to them, though his
power was not as it once had been. Too, he was altered from what he'd
been. He'd known reincarnation had changed mortals before, but Oannes
was the first and only angel either of them had ever even heard of
coming back from the dead. Remnants were close, but he wasn't even of
his old Choir. Why hadn't he been at the Council meeting, she had
asked, her gaze as penetrating and intense as ever. He should have
been there, to show his support, if nothing else.

When word had reached him two weeks prior, he'd emptied the Groves of
all his Servitors save four--one to watch the Hearts in their nests,
one to open the gateways to and from any given Tether, one to take
messages sent from the Council, and one to ferry any messages of his
own to them--teaching all that did not know how to swim and enjoining
them to join the League. For himself, he ran across creation like a
man possessed, never tiring, never eating, never sweating. Short of
Invocation by his Servitors, he ran from one shore to another, located
any given Mephit, and personally saw them transported to Heaven.

He was also patrolling in search of the Idiot Prince and the Cowardly
One. The one who had caused him all this grief in the first place.
Michael's Fireslayers were quite the talk down here. He'd already
confiscated three of those little things since his chat with Gabriel,
and was saving them for the one who Michael had intended them for in
the first place. Oh, War could throw, he didn't doubt it, but with his
own Word behind the toss, the Coward would have a brace of these
knives buried in him so deeply... his steely eyes flickered at the
thought, the closest he'd come to a satisfied expression in hours.
Death's March had left dozens of beaches, wells, rivers, and lakes
despoiled, their Mephits, if any, destroyed, along with all other life
in the area. Human newscasters spoke of the odd rash of terrorist
bombings and well-poisonings in the last fortnight.

At every charnal scene, he'd slowed to inspect the dead, check for
survivors--never any survivors, damn them all to Hell!--and then
pressed on, faster than before. His brother was alive, but unlike the
last time, Janus would make sure he was there when he was needed.
Oannes had changed, but the Wind had never cared about the shape of
The Waters. His brother was alive, and even if it killed him, he would
make certain the Waters Rose and stayed Risen. He ran on.

-- 
-=|horsefly|=-

"It was a different time: a time of blood and guns and killings.... It
was a time when killers needed saints, for so much of God's
good work was being done."
        --SAINT OF KILLERS #4, Garth Ennis