Silence lay thick upon the intricate mosaics that adorned the hallowed floors of the Grand Cathedral. Whereas the breathing of mountain winds and cries of peak-dwelling birds perturbed the hearing of those outside, the ancient masonry of the sacrosanct structure ostracized even the slightest sense of sound. Tapers of golden flame cast an orange hue over the domed ceiling, hanging in coppery chandeliers of ingenious design. Even now, in the deepest hour of night, the alabaster columns that lined the path toward the elevated altar bathed in light, the radiance of shelter. From each such grandiose support, the statuette of a long-dead, celestial hero gazed down in sympathy at anyone who passed from the magnificent entranceway to the sacred belvedere. But tonight, the quietude that reigned in the Grand Cathedral was not out of the usual respect toward the Goddess of Life. Tonight, the statues of the long-dead would have averted their chiseled eyes from the winged warrior striding towards the altar, should they have possessed the ability to move.

Arael had long cast out the memories of his time in the Sanctuary of the Angels, and his mind had long torn through the thin teachings of their pompous scholars that he had once in his life tried to emulate. Even now, as he marched slowly, triumphantly almost, towards the altar, he could hear their booming voices proclaim the time when Arda would be rid of envy and contempt. A time wherein evil would have no place. His red eyes flared up with sudden intensity. Despite the fact that he pondered the folly of his old masters almost every day from the moment of his blood-smeared revelation, their haughty ignorance never ceased to amaze him. Even the next morning, celestial children would be sitting upon the rich marble pulpits serving as long benches opposite the altar. Their minds would be infused with the very same, false doctrine that his own mind had been saturated with, so many years ago.

But it would not be long. When he reached his goal, the Sanctuary would be the first to be cleansed, to be reborn in fire and brimstone, burnt to purity like a sea of coals combusting into a minute, precious diamond. The children would remain, and they would finally see the corruption that their teachers had been hiding with their fables of paradise come. And part of this utopia lay with the aureate chalice that abided in the centre of the altar. Arael's pale features were fixed sternly upon it as he stepped upon the veiny pulpit, his focus as sharp as the edges of the crimson claymore clasped between his wings. It was rather plain for a relic, lacking precious gems, mystifying engravings, or anything of the sort. Even its golden surface had turned dull due to years of use. But Arael knew that, paired with the correct reagents, the chalice would allow him to channel the power of chaos and bring it to life by abusing the tiny scrap of Lothlómendil's power that lay encased within the artifact.

The black armor surrounding Arael's upper body gleamed in the light of the chandeliers as he reached out towards the chalice with equally dark gauntlets, his pale features contorted into a prehensile smile.

Unknown to the first angel, another figure was present, shrouded in darkness, perched on the stony archway that seemed to hover above the doorway. The figures name was, Darkager and he was also an archangel. However he was nothing like Arael except in race. For Darkager, never left the path of sainthood, and still follows the teachings of his celestial family.

Being unnoticed had theirs advantages, Darkager had to admit, studying the angel without his knowledge. Besides the fact he had to figure out why Areal in the middle of the night when no one was usually here. It however became apparent, as the angelic creature reached for the golden chalice. He sought to control it. To bend it too his will. To us it as a device, enslaving and inflicting pain, while tormenting the unfortunate victims.

All he knew was that the golden chalice contained a little of the Goddess of life’s power, capable of healing and life. But if used improperly may also be altered to cause chaos, mayhem and even destruction.

Making a split second decision that will forever alter his destiny, Darkager jumped down, unable to control himself, as he confronted this individual. This individual that seemed, in Darkager eyes so intent control, to use the golden chalice, to his own chaotic desires.

Darkager wore his silver inscribed hood, for he kept his face hidden. A golden embroidered sword, and his shimmering flowing silver robes, seemed to glisten as he landed on the marble floor. The fact that he was no longer hidden by the shadows did not detour Darkager. While his body seemed to come alive, as if it was a phoenix flame first kindling, moments before a phoenix rebirth.

Maintaining the external white light that seemed to ebb from him, Darkager finally bellowed ''Halt'' so the angelic being, still reaching for the chalice could hear. Darkager voice was powerful, as powerful as water rushing on jagged rocks, while still maintaining the thin layer of strength pulsing in the words.

''You kind is not welcome here Chaos Paladin, leave or go back to the abyss you belong. But don't you dare even grasp the chalice, for it wasn't forged to be used by being such have what you became angel.'' Darkager finished not reaching for his sword, but having it ready to draw in a moment hesitation.

It was a subtle change in the consecrated ambience that stopped the Fallen Angel in his tracks. His ethics had been corroded by the tendrils of chaos creeping through his mind, but his combat instinct had not suffered the same fate. If anything, the reckless energy that coursed through his veins had increased the clarity of his perceptions, and Arael would have known the feeling of being watched with hostile intent even without the amplified itch in his muscles. It took but the remotest flash in the corner of his eyes, the remotest sound of humanoid motion to break his stoic alertness. His surroundings indeed obliged, for from far up in the hallowed hallway, a golden shadow detached itself from the shades of the majestic archways. The Fallen Angel reacted even before the authoritarian shout of arrest boomed through the vestibule.

Within an instant, he set his greed aside and leaped away from the altar, still standing on the marble pulpit but a safe distance away from the chalice. With rising fury at being interrupted, he gazed at the silver robe that swirled around the nightly interloper as it landed. Although the newly arrived angel was hooded and shorter than he, so that his eyes could not be clearly distinguished from between the layered shades of his garment, Arael was certain that they had locked eyes. He knew at once that the celestial in front of him was the antithesis of his own philosophy, and because of that the object of his immediate hatred. Although the gate-crasher had not drawn his weapon yet, the pale light of nobility emanating from his body told Arael that this encounter would end in violence. The comfortable buzz of berserk rage whirred in his eardrums, but he held it back, for the Cathedral's vigilante spoke, and Arael knew that the lies fuelling the statements of his other extreme would serve fine to make his anger grow, and make him stronger.

"And yet another sheep wishes to stop the shepherd from selling it to the buyers that would slay it," he mocked through gritted teeth. His voice rang with cold insanity, but the gruff tone showed an equal amount of conviction in his own beliefs as the celestial before him had in the claims of his scholar masters. "A little lamb that sees no further than its own meadow," he continued to spit about, "that pretends to know what and why the Gods of Aman shape such relics as the one has been taught to him to have been crafted solely for the purpose of paladine zeal." He chuckled darkly, and no longer fought to restrain the chaotic strands forcing their way through the fibers of his being. Jolts of red energy crackled around him as his aura matched the one of the angel in front of him in intensity. His hand reached over his shoulder in bloodthirsty expectation, clenching the crimson steel extended there and finally allowing it the violent freedom it seeked.

A shrill tone resounded throughout the cathedral as he shoved the barbed claymore out of its metal constraints and into his hands, a blasphemous tune that cut through stone and mortar in ricocheting echoes. Crimson lightning swirled around the blade profane, to match the Fallen Angel's destructive semblance, and as he brought the giant blade up to his head with apparent ease, he ushered his final challenge with a voice hoarse of bloodlust. "Come now, little lamb, and let this shepherd lead you to the slaughter."

“Death does not fear me yet it fears you chaos paladin. Realize this; because you too will one day take plunge that even the gods need to accept when the world they live in cease to exist.” Darkager retorted slowly striding forward, in the direction, closing the distance to the fallen angel in the slim hope of breaking his ever increasing insanity.

“You chose to cast off the celestial teaching you acquired. Look now, before its too late to what's become of you chaos paladin. You have become what your doctrine itself is against, evil. That same evil that you yourself hunt down, the same evil that encompasses demon, has taken form in you yourself. You don't even recognize your own brethren.” Darkager said, now halting midway between the black alter and the black marble entrance. “Come back to the light angel please, before it’s too late,” pleading seeming to layer his voice now.

“If however you do not take heed to my warning...” Darkager trailed off unable to finish the sentence, as he leaped into the air. Feeling the air rush through his ears, he grasped the hilt of his long sword, before withdrawing his silver sword from the confines while withdrawing it from the confines of his belt.

With a hiss his sword made as it sliced through the air, reverberating around the cathedral. Darkager charged, aiming his gleaming sword at the fallen angels side, not enough damage to kill him, but hopefully enough for him to realize that who he fought was his friend not his enemy.

Any man or in fact any mortal that would have saw this clash of angels would have been left in awe, for when Darkager charged forward, he shone a radiating white light that even Kieraline, the goddess of light, would have been jealous of. However his light was matched in essence by the Jolts of red energy crackling around Arael. For when they collided the radiating auras that surrounded them both tried unsuccessful to eclipse one another.

Tension tightened around Arael's celestial frame as the robed vigilante tread closer to him. He clenched his hands more firmly around the haft of his humongous blade, not out of fear or intimidation, but simply to enhance his concentration, allowing it to pierce the current of unavailing lies spewed from the zealous paladin's concealed lips. In spite of the Fallen Angel's determination not be distracted, he could not help but chuckle as his blinded kin invited him to return to the comforting veil of aspersion that ruled in the minds of so many in the Sanctuary. "Evil?" he responded between gritted teeth, and unearthly flames blazed into existence behind the red of his irises. "Evil is a point of view, flaunted about as propaganda by those willing to gain power over others, to create a society with a single, dull, apathetic mindset."

His intellectual ire would have allowed him to preach the faults of his celestial kin for much longer, but he wasn't given the time, for in a flash of white light, the hooded custodian stormed at him, argent longsword glinting dangerously in the flickering light of the chandelier above. The mere thought of combat drenched his mind in a crimson haze, awakening within his very essence a burning desire to destroy, to cleanse. His adversary's foolish convictions had provided him with enough knowledge to inspire a rage as great as when he had faced the most subversive of theocrats, the most zeal-blinded of white knights. He immediately recognized the smooth sweep to his side as a non-lethal attack - a new affront added to the pile of propellants that drove him into a chaotic frenzy. With barely contained fury, he turned his great blade into a top-down vertical position, broadening his stance to accommodate the straight-up block of his opponent's longsword.

Aureate and crimson steel collided in a sea of blue sparks, and just as much as their auras were unable to overthrow each other, their weapons lay locked in a silent but trembling struggle for domination. Although his foe had ostensibly received his share of weapon and strength training, Arael knew that the blows of his greatsword would be far more difficult to parry than the prehensile swipes of his opponent's longsword. He took advantage of the brief repose in combat to gauge his opponent's power, slightly surprised that the robed celestial managed to continue the deathly stalemate for so long. But it would not drag on any longer. As soon as the Fallen Angel had made a crude assessment of his adversary's physical strength, he gave a great push with his weapon while swinging around his axis in the same movement, allowing the hard bones in his outstretched wing to attack his opponent from the side, meanwhile making sure that the angelic limb would not be severed by his adversary's blade.

However, this maneuver was nothing more than a feint heralding his true assault, for as soon as his wing had reached a position between his target's eyes and his claymore, he spun back with deathly grace, bringing the double-edged weapon up in a ferocious upward slash aimed to sever the silver-caped interloper from groin to head - an attack that was most definitely aimed to slay.

Colliding in a sea of blue sparks, Darkager saw, no rather felt the hatred ebb out of his foe, while the deadly embrace took hold of them both. Both seeking to overpower each other. Fighting, for they both had hope of winning the battle. And as the dueling pair collided it became apparent that, one sought to kill, the other sought to disarm. One fought for dominance, the other fighting for peace. It was an age old battle, a battle fought throughout time, in homes, towns, and most of all battlefields, where both sides of the battlefield, becomes littered with the remains of the forces, corrupted by both sides of the spectrum. It was a battle of good verse evil. However most sadly about this battle, both fought in the name of good, both fought in the name of justice and courage.

Using the point of impact to his advantage Darkager pushed back, almost rivaling the foe strength. ''You say Evil is a point of view, flaunted about as propaganda by those willing to gain power over others. In reality its dictators that use propagandas, and threats to gain power over the weak. They raise themselves with lies and deceit. They step over the weak if they couldn't just rampage over them, and you call paladins, evil.'' Darkager roared, pushing back Areal while he felt, what little strength he could muster ebb away from his body, as his sword started the slow descent towards his body.

Scared for his destruction, Darkager started forming light on his hands, preparing to blast his target with a sun beam. But before Darkager could summon the blast, he saw two wings coming at him from either direction, as the fallen angel prepared to strike him. Strike him down the middle, aiming to kill him.

Using his wings in a desperate attempt to dodge the wings and blade, Darkager forced his wings backwards, away from him, the opposite direction of the norm, causing himself to be lift and be thrown backwards, mere seconds before the blade arched down, descending to where he was standing, not seconds before. A brief calm is all it took for Darkager blasted a half form sunbeam from his hands, aiming at Arael broad chest. The blast leaving his hands, Darkager knew it was hardly enough power, to do sustaining damage, but hopefully enough energy for him to think twice. Think twice before trying crude trick like what he just did again.

The strike down the middle angered Darkager. Not the same anger that a mortal gets when someone damages him, or embarrasses him. It was a righteous anger, for his anger was towards his friend. This Friend that once laughed and cried with him, now sought to kill him, the only reason being because he was a paladin, a fighter for the holy element. This anger did not cloud his judgment, like other angers do. It did the opposite effect, and let him see, clearer than a hawk in the middle of a blazing mourning sun. And as this anger almost lovingly filled him to the core, Darkager flapped high in the air, not even waiting for the sun-beam to reach its target, and released a downward stroke, aiming for the chaos paladin head with the flat part of the blade, intent on knocking the fallen angel unconscious.

Arael's ashen wings refolded themselves behind his back just in time for the Fallen Angel to see that his adversary had managed to avoid being severed in two by his claymore. It did not matter - he had made his point: the vigilante would be making a dire mistake if he did not put his all into this battle. Indeed, the unexpected projectile that hit him square in the chest, sun-like brightness shattering diffusely upon the rare armor of adamantine he wore, suggested that his foe had finally acknowledged that contained violence would not pave the way to victory tonight. The blast lifted him off his feet and hurled him into a pillar several yards behind, though he managed to avoid an overly powerful impact by spreading his majestic wings to slow his hazardous volation. Despite the sore spot on his chest, however, Arael was quite glad to have been pushed away from his opponent, for the silver flash of the longsword had missed his unprotected head by inches while he'd been cast backwards.

"And how does the dictator inspire his followers, his force of oppression?" he spoke, his voice grating as he profited from the distance that the robed warrior's sunbeam had created between them. "He tells them that those who resist his rule are evil, and which ignorant fool would say he's wrong? After all, each of his opponents is willing to make sacrifices, to fight fire with fire, merely in the name of what they deem is right, what's 'good'. It's a clash of viewpoints, not a battle of right against wrong, and in it, the weak either strive to grow strong... or are eradicated. It's the least intricate form of the chaos that rules our lives!" These last words he uttered with an intonation reminiscent of a worshipper's reverent prayers, for he believed firmly in his own philosophy: the best point of view was no point of view - only destruction. But while his venomous words sought to keep his adversary diverted, one of his hands surreptitiously grazed the insides of the niche in the pillar he'd been thrown against, closing invisibly around the golden incense that lay gathered there.

"But as you are evidently not willing to rid yourself of that blindfold, and not willing to prove my point by slaying me, I'd say I'm quite done here..." he started out as he walked at his adversary, the incense scraping inaudibly against the confines of his closed gauntlet. Only a split seconds after he had uttered the words, he broke into a wild charge, the crimson claymore held one-handedly in a threatening position to his side. But, mere moments before he would have crashed into his winged adversary, he punched the sky between them with his other hand, releasing the dark-golden incense into the air in a cloud of unharmful but blinding dust. Not wasting another seconds with the fight, he leaped to the side and glided toward the altar with wings outstretched, his fingers clamping themselves firmly around the aureate chalice standing defenselessly upon it. Even for a sacrosanct cup, it was rather heavy, but Arael managed to hold it in one hand while he turned around to see how his opponent had handled his diversion.

"You see?" he added chafingly, extending the cup towards his foe, concealing his worry about the chalice growing heavier by the minute. "It's not about who you think is good or evil. It's about who reaches their goal in the end, by whatever means possible. Now, unless you're actually going to strike to kill - because that is the only way you're going to prevent me from doing what I want - I'll just be leaving with my precious chalice now."

[[in the midst of editing this post]]

The billowing cloud of smoke engulfed them both, or so he thought. For after he extended and beat his massive angelic wings with the intent of driving the cloud of incest around him away from his vision, stood Areal holding the chalice and shouting. "It's not about who you think is good or evil. It's about who reaches their goal in the end, by whatever means possible. Now, unless you're actually going to strike to kill - because that is the only way you're going to prevent me from doing what I want - I'll just be leaving with my precious chalice now."

''You fail to realize Areal.'' Darkager called out finally using the chaos guardians real name. ''That what you do is exactly what you yourself mock." He spoke, his voice filled with sorrow of what he knew he will have to do, from the moment Areal grasped the golden chalice. "You can't spend your whole life wreaking havoc and destruction for the name of good. That is in essence what dictators do, killing for the name of good. That is what defines good from bad not your ignorance in saying because they say they are doing good makes them good. Every woman or man, mortal or immortal needs to deal with the harsh reality that actions speak louder than words.'' Darkager said enveloping his face with light so the chaos paladins could recognize him before withdrawing the light making his face once again dark.

''You see Areal. Your views and false doctrines blind you. Making you except lies for truth, and evil for good. Causing you to protect evil while attackings your true friends and allies. I cannot let you leave here with the chalice but I will not kill you. Your own minds blinds you for what I'm about to do never even entered your mind. For you think I care about the chalice more than your life. That mistake and only that mistake costed you victory here.'' Darkager finished streaching out a hand while mumbleing a few words, striking the golden chalice with a sunbeam.

With a sudden burst of power the chalice exploded. A sonic boom issued from the Chalice, shattering the windows in the grand cathedral while blasting Darkager off his feat onto the floor glass shards littering his body while riping cloak and skin together.

[[ OOC: Very nice, wasn't expecting that. ^_^ ]]

How does he know my name?

In comparison with that perplexing inner query, all the points made in their entire, violent discussion heretofore achromatized into pettiness. The Chaos Paladin was caught off guard for the slightest of moments, and unbeknownst to him, the chalice slipped further and further out of his adamantine grasp, as though a force greater than gravity was tugging the relic back to its rightful place upon the angelic tabernacle. The robed vigilante's words were taken by the Fallen Angel's comprehension only several seconds after they'd been uttered, and that delay sufficed to keep him in his stead, the next surprise already lying in wait. Shadow retracted itself from his opponent's face for less than a heartbeat, but it was enough. The features behind the hood crawled up from the deepest pits of his mind, awaking memories he'd thought he'd banished long ago. It was improbable, impossible almost when considered from what little he could gather of his past, but at the same time, he knew his eyes had not deceived him.

"Gabriel?" was all he could whisper in deep bewilderment, and the strings of chaos dancing around his hulking frame died down. It could not be; how could the man he thought he was facing have been deformed into what Arael most disparaged about Arda - its zealots. Yet the more the silver-clad protector spoke, the more convinced the Fallen Angel became that this was indeed the celestial that had supported him in younger years, befriended him even, as far as that had been possible considering Arael's controversial position in the Sanctuary's policing force. Although he was totally unprepared for what happened next, Arael would later acknowledge that this action, the very decision that the zealous guardian then made, would be the ultimate confirmation that at least a part of the old Gabriel still remained within that husk of indoctrinated beliefs and do-gooder zeal. For no devout Angel that truly believed single-mindedly in the teachings of its scholars would have even dared to think of the solution that his old companion now presented to him, coursing towards the black-armored celestial in a beam of intense, gold-and-white incandescence.

The explosion hit him like a tidal wave - terrifying, paralyzing, without any means of escape. Engulfed by white light and a deafening baritone, as though a god were weeping, the Fallen Angel was smashed into a pillar in the centre of the vestibule, where he left a small crater in the marble before sliding down limply towards the foot of the support. Colored windows sprang from their confines, incense blew forth in dust tornados from every niche present in the magnificent structure, turning the once-great cathedral into a ruinous abode of suffocating dust and blindly flying shrapnel. When his sight and hearing returned to him, the dust had already settled down. Softly glowing in the aftermath of ruin were several aureate shards upon the glass-covered mosaics, all that remained of the Chalice of Lothlómendil, one of the Sanctuary's greatest relics. And, although he slowly realized that his plan had been foiled, Arael did not feel entirely defeated as he rose to his feet, biting through the pain of a thousand gashes on his wings, face, and every other non-armored part of his body.

"I guess you do understand, Gabriel, even if you say you do not" he snickered, in spite of his anguish. "But know that I do not kill in the name of good or evil - I do not even do it for the money, or the pleasure. I do it because it needs to be done. This world is rotten, its inhabitants corrupted." He coughed, wiping a stream of blood out of his left eye. "All the examples you parry my words with are simple conflicts. Conflicts of interest, of morals and ethics, or of faith. But you fail to realize that in a world that is truly pure, no such arguments would even exist. There would be no need to discuss right and wrong, because those abstract words would no longer have meaning." He turned his head towards the beautifully crafted entranceway of the cathedral, and heard many voices, most indignant, others angry, still others shouting with outright fury.

"And I trust you're about to find out for yourself how blinded your kin is," he added softly, not sure if the heap of silver bundles on the floor could hear him, or whether his old comrade was even conscious. "They will accept no reason for destroying the chalice, even if you say that Raku himself stood upon the cathedral's doorstep. They will sentence you for treason against the Goddess of Life. You can flee from here, or you can try to convince them, but you, like me, will find out..."

The voices became louder. With a terrible current of pain running through his entire body, he heaved himself into the air, gliding through one of the open windows, into the morning mountain sky.

"... that points of view are indeed the root of 'right' and 'wrong' in this world. You did what was needed, and because of the commandments set out by your masters, that will be your downfall."