They glided down to the earth. Four of them. The real deal, the wing span had to be at least 6 feet. There was a glow about them, they were perfection, every move purposeful, they didn’t make a sound, in fact it was as if they absorbed all the sound around them.
The grigori were all on there knees averting there eyes and looking to the ground. They all became silent as though the principal just walked into the room and they were a group of bad behaving children.
Their feet touched the ground and they looked over at me, I could just barely see them through my swollen shut eyes. They walked to my family who now had stopped crying and were simply gaping at these four angles that approached them.
“Tina” the largest one said. His voice sounded as though he gargled with gravel every morning. It was so deep that you didn’t just hear him, you felt the bass of his voice in your gut. “Tina” he said again. “It’s going to be okay.” We would come to know him as Gabriel
“Help him, please.” My wife grabbed his hand and begged for his assistance.
“We can’t, ” spoke one of the others, this one had long thick flowing black hair. It was like black fire, flowing about his head. “It’s not our fight.” He was Uriel, the flame of God.
“It’s man’s time, his fight.” The third stepped away from the group, his eyes set on the beast who had paused from pummeling me. His hair was pulled back and a huge thick mustache sat on his face. Dyllan calls it a MAN-stache because its just so manly and rugged. “we can’t interfere.” He was Michael.
“You have to help him, he’ll be killed! Please Help my dad!” Kortney cried out, spent emotionally she couldn’t take much more.
“We can’t fight…but we can help.” This one was smaller than the other three and had a more confident smirk on his face. He ran his hands through his hair and stroked the small goatee on his face. “Yeah, we can help…he just needs some motivation. He’s got a warrior spirit, its just asleep. He needs something to get him going.” This angel was Raphael
“Like a magic potion?” Austin ran over to the angel. “Give it to him, help my daddy.”
“No not a magic potion…” he replied. “Just something to get him in the mood. You, your Dyllan right?”"
“Yes.” Dyllan gulped.
“You have a Hymn angel inside of you. You can help him.”
“A Him Angel?”
“Not a HIM, a Hymn, a song, you have a musical angel inside of you. You can help your father. You just need something.” Then the angel eyed Dyllan up and down, again scratching his goatee. The two larger angels seemed impatient as if this was all for theatrics and not really neccesary. I learned later that they said it was, he of course holds true that it was needed. “This should do the trick.” He reached behind him and then pulled from thin air a guitar.
A beautiful white guitar, it gleemed and hummed with energy crying to be played. “Use this, motivate your Dad to fight.”
“Wow, this is gorgeous, what is this a Ibanez Red Alert?”
“No its an angelic. Play.”
Dyllan grabbed the guitar and felt the glow swallow him up as he put the strap around his neck. He pulled from his wallet his favorite pick that he always carried with him. He glided his fingers across the string and heard the perfect tune of the instrument. He looked at his family and then to the angels and then to his Dad.
“Play Dyllan. Play”
