Chapter 1

Hi, I'm Crazy.

Azrael, the angel of Death stood over me. A shining sword, wreathed in flames his hand glinted menacingly with the blood of the woman on the floor. All around me, I heard sounds of moaning and sighs of sadness. The grey ground I was on was lumpy and looked like dead skin.

"You die next," Azrael said in a low voice and I felt his malice wash over me.

I shouted out as I opened my eyes, the warm glow of the setting sun casting soft shadows through my room. I looked up from the table where I had dozed off and looked down at my Biology notebook. A little pool of blood had formed on it and I sighed, another something ruined by yet another of my nosebleeds.

As I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, I stopped and looked at the person staring back. At five feet ten inches, messy brown hair and a build that was completely uninteresting, I was incredibly average. The only thing about me that seemed to stand out (physically at least) were my eyes. Most days, they were a startling shade of grey – borderline white it seemed, but some days they tinged blue or green, but some days when the nosebleeds began, or when glass shattered around me, or when I felt them, those days my eyes turned a startling grey-gold.

Hi, my name is Benjamin Johnson, I'm 17, and I'm a freak.

I turned off my bathroom light and flopped down onto my bed, thinking about what I'd just dreamt. Azrael, the Judeo-Christian angel of Death. The one that would bring an end to humanity. The destroyer of worlds. Not this roulette again… I sighed and put a hand over my eyes, shielding them from whatever light was streaming through the windows.

"You're dreaming these dreams for a reason, you know," a voice said and I clenched my fist. Oh joy, more fun, I thought to myself and removed the hand from my face. "Hello Cass," I said, looking at the man sitting at my table, looking at me with his annoyingly smug face, "Come to impart some secret of the universe on my poor mortal soul?" Cassiel smiled and shook his head, but remained silent, which of course ticked me off more. "I'm waiting," I said impatiently and he shook his head at me. "You've always been an impatient youngling, did you know? And I've told you to call me Charles" he said to me and I rolled my eyes at him. Charles, Cassiel's chosen human name, ridiculous. The angels really thought that they could fool anyone by assimilating themselves into the world, but they had always stood out to me. The way they walked, the way they talked, even the way they sat screamed otherworldly. Cassiel stood up and walked to the door and before he closed it behind him, he looked at me and said, "I just wanted to know that you're alright, Ben."

Cassiel. He had found me five years ago and had taken care of me. Did I mention that I ran away from a mental asylum? I didn't? Well, I did. St. Peter's Home of the Mentally Unstable. What a load of lies that place was. Faming themselves with their, "new-age treatments" which was a glorified term for medieval methods with shiny new instruments.

I was put in there by my family when I was six years old because I told them that I saw angels one day. Oh right, that was the other thing about me: I see angels in their human form. Of COURSE you would put your six year old son in a mental clinic with the other yahoo's when all he had been doing was telling the truth, right? Always the logical decision. Anyway, I ran away when I was fifteen and Cassiel had found me wandering the alleys of the city. He had offered me food and shelter in his home and I had agreed. I ended up staying longer than I expected, drawn to the mystery which was Cassiel.

Since that day, he's been a pain in my behind. Always with the smug look, the riddles and with those stupid AC/DC t-shirts. I don't know why, but every angel that I've met so far had been into rock or motorcycles. Johnnie Walkers and tattoos. Led Zeppelin and leather boots. Whatever happened to wearing nightdresses and sandals? But Cassiel chooses to wear a wide array of button-down shirts with jeans. The only quirk about his fashion sense is the trench coat that he wears every time he goes out of the house, even to get the odd letter or two.

When Cassiel had found me, he had told me that I had a great destiny, a power that was hidden within me blah de blah de blah… I was just happy to be out of that prison. Apparently I was a psychic; an Empath to be precise. No moving things around the room like Jean Grey or mind-reading prowess like Professor X. Nooo, I get stuck with empathy, basically capable of feeling and manipulating the emotions of those around me. in addition to this totally wonderful ability, I can see the angels and demons that inhabit the world and I know their names when they reveal themselves to me (these celestial beings can be a secretive bunch of people). I can do other little tricks, but nothing special. Now before you call me John Constantine, let me clear up that brain fart forming in your head. I do not kill demons, I do not smoke like a chimney, I do not have a feud with Lucifer and no, I'm not Keanu Reeves.

"Dinner in ten minutes," came Cassiel's voice from the stairs and I turned on my side. It was endearing to know that Cassiel had actually taken the trouble to learn how to cook. Angels don't need to eat (or sleep, or bathe, or… you've got the picture) so he really must have cared about me to learn the culinary arts. I got out of bed and looked at my ruined notebook. Later, I thought to myself.

We lived in a house on the outskirts of the city, far away from anyone… or anything for that matter. So that meant no nosy neighbors or screaming children. No carolers during Christmas or idiotic Joehovah's Witnesses coming around asking me if I've got a minute for Jesus. We preferred the solitude, Cassiel quite literally since he IS the angel of Solitude.

Mealtime was like any other time, a quiet affair, the clinking of tableware and glasses mostly making up for our silence. But tonight the silence was broken by Cassiel's even voice. "Who did you see this time?" he asked and I looked up from my meatloaf. "I'm sorry?" I asked and he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Who did you see in your dream, Benjamin?" he asked and as I toyed with my mashed potato, I told him the name of the angel of Death. He remained silent for a minute, a contemplative silence and then said, "And what was happening in the dream?"

I told him what had happened: the flaming sword, the woman's body, then the stab and at the mention of that, Cassiel's eyes widened a fraction and he put his knife and fork down. Even if angels didn't need to consume food, they still took pleasure in it sometimes. He looked a little worried and I ventured tentatively. "Is there something wrong?" I asked and he smiled at me. "Not at the moment," he said and rose from the table. "There is something I must do now," he said and took his plate and glass to the kitchen and I heard the sound of the water running.

I looked back at my meatloaf and was about to eat it when I realized that there was a maggot in it. I started and dropped the fork onto the plate. As the fork clanged onto the plate, the whole room suddenly burst into flame and the house was ripped in half. The heat from the flames was almost unbearable and I tried to shield my face from the fire to no avail. Black smog and ashes clogged my throat and I choked on the smell of burning flesh.

There was fire everywhere, burning the room I was in and breaking the world apart outside. I saw trees and animals aflame, tar roads melting like butter and in the sky above me, war being waged between angels.