Hope's Light (Part Five)

Chapter Twenty-One - Harvest

 

Pages flip past, a time-lapse of images documenting the expansion of a grand city rising in sacred service to the Throne. Structures of meaning and empowered will, each unfolding as perfect edifices of collaboration and interchange, each glittering under the eternal illumination shining from Above as channeled through the forged unity binding all to one, and one to all.

And below this glory of infinites, to a tower of dazzling brilliance a dark angel comes.

Upon the highest balcony he lands, wincing as does, for arm is slung and wing bandaged, both bound in the purest of white cloth soaked through with leaking scarlet.

Unfazed he strides purposefully through high doors of intricately assembled silver and glass, there to where the first of all angels, he who stands without shadow, awaits to greet him.

“Brother, you came!”

“As I said I would.”

“But you are wounded! Raphael should attend-”

“No. There are others in my cohort in more urgent need of his assistance, for I heal.”

“Leviathan sleeps, what could have done this?!”

From behind draped locks of brushed charcoal, Samael scoffs. “The Edge churns endlessly, spitting forth challenge after challenge to our boundaries. Some more potent than others. Peace is a luxury for those at this city only; I should linger not in this respite for long.”

“Then allow me to share that which prompted my call.”

Together they move into an expansive marbled chamber lit by a high-vaulted ceiling, its many frosted panes bringing the glory outside to shine within. Around its wide and open circle sit seven alcoves, wherein floating spheres - twenty times the size of the robed angels attending them - hover and fill the individual spaces. Some swirl and spin with bright rainbows and flashes of magnificent energies, others smolder only with the majesty of intricate patterns of meaning - yet each thrum across the domed hall with tremendous concentrated potentials.

Samael approaches the first sphere. “And what are these?”

“Blueprints,” replies Helel. “For what could be.”

Eyes of ash and soot regard the First. “You intend another layer of firmament?”

“We do.”

“Already are we stretched thin along the border! And yet you wish to expand?!”

“We must.”

A hand protectively touches its wrapped and pain-reminding opposite. “Too many have we lost already.”

“From Elohim do more of our number emerge. These new Malakim shall hold-”

“They are not as us!!” Samael’s shout cuts across the room like a freshly sharpened blade ripping through silk. “Tools for this Throne you have assembled are they, nothing more! And weak, always weak, lacking the nuance and flexibility required to stand firm in Purpose at the Edge. Tell me, brother - how strong are these blueprints of yours?”

“We refine them continuously, but I wished for you to see what they offer, what these may allow to be! For you to understand-”

Samael’s throat interrupts with a rough chuckle. “Oh I understand. Better than you may yourself.” Facing the sphere before him, the dark angel studies the crystalline pattern, its lattices interweaving with logic and order, watching as they fold into themselves to provide dimension upon dimension - each symmetric, each unique, each glorious in refinement. “Self-consistency, self-sustaining,” he muses.

“Yes! That is the goal. Perfection manifested in full!”

“Then you fail.”

From a belt is pulled a smallish knife forged not of iron but of void, simple in construction as undecorated handle and blade, and within a fighter’s grip its tip reaches the sphere.

As angelic attendants gasp, the sphere collapses, shimmering lines of infinite layers shattering in inevitable cascade as the orb convulses, its layers folding within as the working swallows itself whole.

Without so much as flash or sound, the alcove sits empty and hollow.

Light flares however from the First, blinding in shock and fury. “What have you done?!”

His dark brother spins, boot squeaking across perfect tile, and marches to the next sphere, holding still the dagger whose contained energy is sheer anathema. “Employed a tool provided by your neglected blood, brother. For she, unlike you, has studied what we fight. As she has studied you.”

Rumbles of outraged dismay fill the hall. “Primal Chaos! He brings Chaos to the Center of All!”

With but a touch of that knife to another sphere, harmonies disrupt to implode and vanish in muted spark and flame.

“Samael, halt!” Brilliant fingers grip a shoulder of armored scarlet and obsidian. “Why?!”

“We all have our Purpose. I fulfill mine.” Again soot-filled eyes regard a brother, one now blazing with a brilliance more glaring ice than warmth. “Will you stop me, Helel? For by my Word, that which weakens us shall never stand. A simple contact by even this smallest portion, and these prototypes of yours fail entire. I ask you: is that worthy?”

Pain flashes across a face of Light and the glowing hand…the hand lets go.

Attendants cry and wail, shuffling in horror within robes of ivory silk away from the shadow-armored angel as he calmly walks sphere to sphere. Each edifice a wonder of concept and energy, each a tapestry awash with interactions more marvelous than the last, and each dissolving with but a flick of black metal which is not metal.

Until a single sphere remains.

Seen through the transparent surface lies a garden, lush greenery of leaf and vine caressing soil and stone amid crystalline waters. Towering trees shade beast and fauna, exceptional colors exploding in multitudes across landscapes and below oceans filling with life’s motions, as wisps of cloud and storms of thunder caress sky of brilliant sun and diamond encrusted nights.

And as the dark angel approaches this last target, one attendant out of five steps not to the side but directly to block his path. With great trepidation, a sword of yellow sun-fire appears in this one’s hand, held with trembling yet gathered resolve.

Samael pauses.

“You would impede my Purpose?”

Pulling back the hood to reveal features to rival the grace of even Gabriel, hair the same shade as the rich earth and soil seen in the sphere hangs free as the angel prepares a fighting stance.

“I would, Lord Samael.”

“What is your name, little one?”

“Jophiel, Lord.”

“Do you truly believe you have the might and fortitude to stand in my way?”

“Might or no, I must.”

“Why?”

“Because, Lord, of its beauty. Greater than any I have ever beheld.”

“At the cost of your spirit?”

“Even so.”

Then did Samael laugh, booming like a drum to fill the chamber. “Finally!” Turning a shoulder, he again addresses the Light burning behind. “Only now do you show me something of true potential! Something deemed worthy of sacrifice! But,” he says with a wry smirk, “does it also contain its own strength? Can it directly withstand the challenges wrought by existence?”

Faster than Jophiel can react is the knife flung past flaming sword, burying the anomalous blade deep into the flowing surface of spherical imagery.

Many in the hall gasp, expecting this final work to also achieve only its end.

But instead of collapsing from the contact, the thickly detailed images pulse once, then twice, and a ripple swallows the knife entire. With not a single trace of the unnatural weapon remaining.

Everyone stares in astonishment. Everyone, that is, except Helel.

“That,” says Samael in intrigued puzzlement, “should not be.”

“Yet it is.” Helel moves forward to stand beside his brother.

Samael, impatiently pushing aside a flummoxed Jophiel, leans in to examine the sphere further - though careful not to touch. “You’ve woven Potential itself into the fabric.”

“For those within to use, should they develop the skill.”

Implications stun. “How is this possible?!”

“With the aid of those you evacuated along the border. Their contrary nature, caught as they are betwixt wildness and stricture, informed the construction.”

“The Fae aided this willingly?!”

“Their King seeks a more permanent home where their divided nature may find solace.”

“Interesting. The intrusion of Potential is tiny yet…pervasive. Still,” Samael muses, “the surrounding pattern has merit. Simple yet fixed laws contain this threat.” Dark focus narrows further, latching upon an image within the cascade that shimmers past.

A vision of a singular iridescent seed burrowing into fertile soil, holding the promise of a tree grander and more mighty than all others awaiting root and blossom.

Holding within the promise of glorious ascension.

Samael, expression aghast, spins to face the Light at his side. “You dare?!”

His brother flinches not. “It is necessary. It is the Plan. Is it not strong? Has it not conquered your testing?”

Behind the curtain of blackest coal, the Destroyer himself pales. “You risk the Source itself!! The Throne and those born of this center you have architected cannot withstand…” He falls silent, thoughts branching through far-distant possibilities.

Dark eyes then travel to each attendant in turn, and all cower from the gaze in fear of his terrible Purpose, his glorious Word. All except one, standing now with burning sword more steadfast than before.

Even unto Destruction.

“So few,” Samael whispers. “So very few.” Gathering himself, he glares into the brightness standing beside him. “The rest were amusing trifles, but this…this last is your prize.”

“It is.”

“Have you seen, within your infinite sight, where this inevitably takes us?”

“Of course.”

The dark angel shakes his head. “No, I do not believe you have. But worry not, brother, for my Purpose understands and embraces what must be done. I shall teach you of it. I shall teach you all.”

Striding back out onto the balcony, upon wounded wing did Samael take flight - away from his brilliant brother, away from the Throne, away from the center.

Away from peace.

And in the following pressing silence, once more do the pages turn.

 

 

“Sanctuary.”

I said it back to him, while levers of the mind shuffled rocky edifices of information into fresh formations. “You…you’re the Pilgrim. The real one.”

“I have been called such, yes.”

Instant concern must have been obvious, probably from my nervous glance back inside to where Twitch lay asleep.

“The young bright soul,” Raguel then said. “He should be treasured.”

“I do.”

Planting the staff more firmly for support, the angel stood. Willowy under thick robes, he towered at least a couple feet overhead. “I know.”

My lip worried against teeth. “Are you here for him? To take him to Sanctuary?”

His gaze peered past the wall, and he shook his head. “This one,” he said with great warmth, “he builds his own. Come.” He took a step away from the building upon boots that had seen more mending than even my own had as a reaper.

“Where are we going?”

“The graxh are in need of feeding.”

I blinked. “The graxh?”

“They are in my care.”

“Oh.”

Down between the buildings we walked, not quick nor slow but rather at a measured and deliberate pace. He exchanged greetings and smiles with others as we went, and with the reaper cloth covering my face and head I was not recognized - just as I’d hoped.

After another friendly and passing interaction, I offered comment. “They call you Herald.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since there was need.”

“For the graxh?”

He stopped walking, and looked thoughtfully ahead as many seconds ticked past. “Yes,” he said finally, while nodding to himself. “For them too. Come. You can assist.”

Moving on, we reached the stables - a long building with stall after stall holding the many scaly beasts of burden busily bleating with hunger’s demands.

Not to mention shedding their incredibly musty smell.

Barrels full of unearthly vegetables and bundles of almost-wheat had been stacked in the storage area at the end of the row, ready for deployment into the troughs outside each stall where only the long snouts of eager customers could reach.

After leaning his staff against a wall next to a line of other tools, Raguel pushed a one-wheeled barrow in front of the supplies before meaningfully nodding towards the implements available. Taking the hint - and having done the same chore many a time back at Epsilon - I grabbed a shovel to scoop first a layer of veggies into his barrow, then used a pitchfork to add the longer-stalked and orange-tinted wheat-like stuff atop the pile.

We then walked the line, filling trough after trough, returning back to the barrels and stacks whenever the wheelbarrow became empty.

It was at such a transition that I broke the silence. “You said you wanted to talk about Sanctuary.”

He paused his shoveling of plant matter, as this round was my turn with the barrow. “I do.”

“So it’s real.”

“It is.”

“A safe harbor for souls.”

Once more he considered deeply before reply, the shovel halting above a barrel-supplied pile. “Not for just any soul.” He wiped his forehead with a sleeve, as we both had become sweaty from the labor. I’d removed hood and cloth awhile ago, as while the caves weren’t hot, they weren’t anywhere near as cold as outside.

“Then for which ones?”

He planted the business end of the shovel into the dirt and leaned over it with both gnarled hands on the handle, staring at the ground - and for all I could tell - right through it. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “What do you see?”

“Where, here? You mean other than the graxh eagerly noshing all this mush?”

Again he smiled, gilded eyes twinkling with humor. “Other than them. Across Hell.”

“Without manifesting wings, I can only see so far.”

“Look with your heart. What do you see?”

I stayed quiet, contemplating how to answer. Just as he was slow yet deep with each response, so too was he patient in awaiting mine.

But I thought I caught a thread with which to begin.

“Around here, souls trying to do good,” I said with a gesture to the Spire’s settlements. “Trying to exist away from the tyranny of the demons…and the fallen angels.”

“And elsewhere?”

“Souls in bondage? And, though I dislike admitting it, devils and demons also similarly bound.” I held up my hand. “Marked and owned.”

“Hmm.” His grunt, quiet as it was, reminded a great deal of Rabbi Kirov when he’d been disappointed with a student’s essay. Not when the student had been wrong, exactly, but when they’d not reached the hoped for depths in their work.

“Alright,” I said. “Then tell me: what is it that you see?”

“Stories buried in darkness.”

“Stories?”

His head tilted inquiringly. “Have you comprehended what we are?”

“What, you mean angels?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been trying to, we created the-“

He interjected. “No. We are the means of creation. The Most High is the Creator, we are but channels for the Words from which All Is. You said you remembered me?”

“I…yes?” I said, rather flummoxed from the rapidly shifting questions. “Uh, from Gabriel’s past.”

“Ah.” He picked up the shovel, scooped it full, then halted again with its load hovering over the wheelbarrow. “And these memories, do you consider them to be real?”

“What? Are you saying they aren’t?”

“Are you saying that they are?”

Gaping, I grew annoyed. “I saw you! Through Gabriel’s eyes, I saw you! Fighting to prevent Samael from escaping that last connection between the fallen realms and all else, his swords beating spark after spark against your staff!”

A gentle and non-judgmental smile tempered my rising agitation. “Do you truly believe that conflicts between our people are won by metal and wood, bone and sinew?”

“But the blood, the bodies…” I trailed off, awash with remembered horror.

“Are translations of the deeper tragedy, as concepts struggle and collide.”

My fight with Turiel. His blade bit through skin to hit bone…but my God, that wasn’t the real fight. No, I’d felt it, beyond the physical pain ripping across the manifested body I wore. The abstract strength of the Earth’s geology and all the forces within its crust and core, that’s what had actually slammed against me.

Only to be repelled by the power of the eternal and timeless Light. In the weighing of concept versus concept, the Light was unmoved by rules of inner-planetary physics.

Because the Light underpinned all: physics and metaphysics alike.

Not-turnips and not-carrots scattered into the wheelbarrow, and I stood silent while a roar of questions churned inside. Raguel continued the work, and even while wrestling internally I grabbed the pitchfork to help.

A few stalls later, as more graxh consumed breakfast like happy teenagers greedily swallowing any and all available calories, he finally commented.

“You begin to understand.”

“I…maybe?”

“The essences from our manifested memory, this is what matters. This is what, for us, is real. The cores, the abstracts, the relationships. Our history and struggle is not the reason for Creation. We are but the refining of blank manuscript. We are the dictionary and rules of grammar. We are the archetypes and frameworks, solid yet ephemeral. But they,” he said as he started our return to refill the now-empty wheelbarrow, “they are the focus.”

“The souls.”

We walked down the row of quieted beasts - for all had been tended. Only once we got back to the front, and after handing me a second shovel, did he continue. “They write their stories upon the canvas, etching each precious moment into the greater history - and also uniquely unto themselves.”

“But the ones here, in Hell, are stuck. Aren’t they?”

“Those needing to struggle against the dark, yes. And worse still, those who have since been cleansed.”

“Elohim’s Gate, it binds everyone.”

He opened the first stall and stepped inside past a Graxh still distracted by food. I knew the next part of the job, and it wasn’t my favorite.

Though it was certainly necessary. Dirty, smelly, and unpleasant…but necessary.

Together we began mucking out the pen, the wheelbarrow now serving the needs of the opposite ends of the snuffling beasts.

We were halfway through the stalls when he paused the work, again wiping away sweat before speaking. “These realms, each pull to a different shadow: regret, fear, rage, hate, and more. All of that which drives a soul to hide and spurn the Light.”

“But they can be cleansed?”

“In many ways.”

An idea hit, one which left me stunned. “Wait.”

He smiled. “Go on.”

I stared anew at the star across my palm, shining past even the mess covering hands and arms. “The demons. They swallow souls.”

A nod was given. “And what is done with those so consumed?”

“They feed on…well…they feed on the power from that darkness.”

“Yes.”

I shook my head. “But the demons enhance it! They torture and manipulate the souls, driving them even further into that dark!”

“Hmm,” he said again, shoving the blade deep into muck before lifting it free and dumping it in the one-wheeled barrow.

And standing there, watching him bend over to scrape the floor clean, I got it.

I finally understood.

Stunned, I put a hand against the wall to remain steady. “Demons. They aren’t creators either.”

“Yes.”

“They can only feed on what already is there. They isolate it, encourage it, get it all to rise to the surface and then…” I stopped.

He grunted as he slopped more atop the barrow’s almost full steel container. “Harvest.”

A lump grew in my throat. “But it’s horribly painful for the souls! It’s awful!”

“And if interrupted, leaves a soul unbalanced.”

“I’ve wanted…I’ve wanted to free them all!”

The angel rose to his full height, and from above weighed me with his gaze. “Only those cleansed are ready for freedom. Only those who have achieved purification by their own wills or have been consumed absolutely by the spirits whose fires burn the fuel of evil.”

He inhaled, and I glimpsed the tremendous strain upon his shoulders carried across the eons since Hell was sealed.

“Only those,” he said eventually, “who dare reach towards the unreachable, crying out in the pain of being denied the realms to which their stories need them go.”

He motioned for me to move the wheelbarrow out to the corridor, there where we could dump it on the pile awaiting transport to fertilize the edible mushrooms found growing in deeper caverns below. As I lifted the handle to maneuver the heavily burdened barrow, he said what I knew he would.

“They are the ones kept safe from further corruptions. Before such pain consumes them. Before they are hunted for their purity and destroyed lest they threaten those who rule. Those are the ones brought to Sanctuary.”

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Two - Necessity

 

We kept at it, shoveling and schlepping, until each pen in turn was clean. Though at that point, we ourselves certainly weren’t.

Raguel led us over to the camp’s distillery where water pumped from the ground was boiled and condensed into more safely potable form. There he filled a waterskin and, after taking a long swallow himself, handed it over.

Gratefully I drank deep before offering it back, though he waved it off.

“I’m fine.”

“You lost a lot more sweat than I did, you know.”

He laughed. “And we both are aware that neither of us truly need it.”

“Oh. Yeah. There is that.” I considered. “The joy of refreshment is nice though, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

I took another pleasant drink of the clear and cool liquid. “You gonna finally tell me why you wanted to talk? You said you hoped I could help you. Dare to share how?”

“Need I do so?”

Pouring some of the water onto a hand, I wiped my face. “No, I suppose not.” Realizing my sleeves were equally nasty, I let the moisture dry by itself on the skin. “You want me to free your safely preserved souls.”

“You did manage an escape.”

“Through the Chaos,” I said while staring off at nothing. “Except I don’t remember exactly how.”

“Part of you must.”

“Really? I was told that my memories were part of Creation itself. But transiting Chaos was outside of that.”

“Not entirely.”

“What?”

He leaned back against the rocky wall of the distillery, letting the shepherd’s crook fall to bounce gently against a shoulder. “There are different views of the structure of things. One such describes all as of the known, the unknown, and the unknowable. And in another, what is, what could be, and what is not. But for both the purpose of existence is clear.”

My spine slipped down the wall next to him until I sat with knees up, yet slightly spread so elbows could rest on them. Yeah, it wasn’t the most lady-like of positions, deal with it. “I’ll bite: expansion. Bring more into the known from the unknown, or more into What Is from What Could Be. Unknown as potential. Something like that?”

“Yes. Though I would describe it as infinite potential. So ask yourself: if there was no Light in what Could Be, could it ever become What Is?”

“You’re going to make my head hurt.”

He smiled. “Try it this way: how does the unknown become known?”

“Uhm. It has to be perceived first and then understood?”

“Good!” The gold in his eyes sparkled again. “And how does the Source perceive?”

I blinked. “It…shines a light? Oh. Oh for fuck’s sake. And I’m just that, aren’t I? A light.”

“More specifically: a channel for the Light of Lights, but yes.”

“That only covers perception. Is that enough?”

“Considering all I have is theory, that’s a question I’d need ask you.” He paused, then added, “You made it across, not I.”

My head tapped back against the rocky wall. Not too hard, mind you. Just hard enough to try and knock thoughts into something sensible. “Wait. Cassius babbled about this once. Rabbi Kirov’s whole philosophy has lines going from the Light to both Wisdom and Understanding in their Tree of Life diagram. So the Light is connected to both intuitive knowledge and delineated.”

“Hmm. Go on.”

Boggling, I thought I saw it. “Beliel and Azrael. Wisdom and Understanding. Holy crap. Lucifer carried Beliel with him when he left Hell! And Azrael…” Stunned, I dropped into silence.

“Yes?”

Chomping at a lip, I then swallowed. “Azrael’s hand…from the Chaos, he pulled me out.” The taste of iron crossed my tongue. “But that was a fluke.”

“Was it?”

“He told me he was only reaching for his scythe. I just happened to grab him instead.”

The angel chuckled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Well…no? Crap!” Yep. There came the headache, and not from the repeated knocks against the wall. Still, this didn’t make total sense. “Hey, but how do the Archons do it?”

“The term ‘Archon’ describes any entity who can independently remain intact within the Chaos. Having achieved this, you are now counted among their number.”

“Yeah, I keep getting called one.”

“The nature of their existence is beyond my knowledge. But ever does our tapestry push outward, perhaps that itself creates eddies within which entities form. Ones who lash out against us to return What Is to the Possible - or to Nothingness. Their intelligences are foreign, anathemas to all things.”

“What about Alal?”

He looked towards the cavern’s ceiling. “She…is a mystery. A shard or warped reflection of the First.”

“She helped me. In Egypt.”

“But did she actually cross into Creation?”

“Well yeah…wait. No, I guess not. She was like this empty projection imposing itself through the cracks. That’s a thin distinction though, isn’t it? I mean, she gave me a hat.”

“Much can be accomplished with projections. Mortal wizards in search of greater power open the narrowest of pathways for demons to project their gathered evil beyond Hell’s Gate to accomplish much.”

“How does that work? Are those paths through the Gate or through the Chaos?”

“Neither or perhaps both. The possibility for such connections was created by a great king. By virtue of the strength of his soul he altered the fabric to allow the projections. However, a spirit’s anchor may not cross.” His eyes lowered again, and he sighed. “Even those as strong as Samael are so constrained.”

“Huh. You know, even if I can get back again, I don’t see how souls could ever survive that trip. Even my hardened armor shredded to smithereens through that stuff.”

Raguel spotted someone approaching the distillery and pulled himself away from the wall. “I believe you will discover a path.”

“Seriously??”

“I feel it is time. And I…” he paused, then quite softly said, “I still hold to faith.”

Carrying the shepherd’s staff, the Angel of Justice known to Hell as the Pilgrim walked back to his chores, nodding to Horatio in passing as he did.

The Mayor acknowledged him politely, but his stride quickly had him standing over a different goop-encrusted angel still reeling from the burden of all that faith.

“Milady? Why in the realm are you covered in…” He paused, not daring to say it.

“Shit? I think that’s the term you’re looking for.” With a groan, I got back to my feet. “I suppose it’s because sometimes the job requires wading through the stuff. But you didn’t march so quickly to find me just to insist that I shower.”

“Ahem, no. Reaper Barry has arrived, after almost running a graxh to death to get here. He requests permission to visit your prisoners.”

“The Lilim? I told them they can do whatever while here in the Spire!”

“Formalities are indeed, shall we say, awkward with the situation. A request for blessing appeared appropriate.”

“Good grief. Fine. Let’s go officially sanction the crazy Scot’s desire.”

“Very good, milady.” He inhaled and blanched. “Though maybe that bath would be a good idea first?”

I snorted. “As much as that sounds ridiculously pleasant, let’s not make them wait.” With a flick of braided hair, Light pulsed…and clothes and skin were clean once more. “C’mon, there’s more I want to discuss with Vance anyway.”

Mouth agape at the instant purifications, he recovered and led the way.

Thoughts still swirled from the discussion with Raguel as I followed. Beneath the maelstrom though, I glimpsed the start of a crazy plan.

Maybe.

But dangit, I needed a lot of questions answered first.

 

~o~O~o~

 

We made our way through the cave town again, towards the plateau where the Lilim had set up their own small camp. But spotting a large figure monopolizing an obvious open training area, I stopped. “Hey - give me a moment, will you? Wait here.”

The Mayor saw the focus of my attention and nodded. “Of course, milady.”

Passing through a gate in the fence, loose dirt turned to hard stone. Though that stone had several areas chewed up from severe and repeated impacts of steel and sorcery.

Such as from the pair of gigantic axes wielded by monstrous tentacles currently causing the air itself to whistle mightily from their swung passage.

One axe spun in its path to redirect towards me, but a single and massive moss-green eye capable of unleashing great destruction all on its own registered the target and diverted the deadly edge to clang against the stone by my side.

And a troubled armored giant knelt before me.

“Balus.”

“Commander.”

“I’m not upset, at least not with you. In truth, I owe you. More than I ever knew.”

The cyclops remained silent and I studied him, looking the giant over in full measure for the first time. As the emitted illumination washed over his mighty figure, he didn’t flinch.

“You’re not just a demon.”

“Am Fomori.”

“I know that name, but only from legends.”

“Star experiment. Breed entities. Fae, demon, human. Fomori.”

“He was trying to find a way to blend properties of a soul with his Light.”

“Fomori not worthy. Fail.”

“And so he sought out half-gods. And it was you who found my mother.”

“Mother warrior. Strong.”

“You could have crushed her easily.”

“Strength in spirit. In will. Like daughter.”

“You’re kind to say so.”

Ivory tusks split a sharp-toothed grin. “Balus not kind.”

“You are to me.”

The giant huffed. “Balus serve. Star shine.” The one eye scanned the limited training area. “Hell small.”

“Small?”

Mossy-green shifted back. “Tight focus, beam burn.”

Staring into the iris’ singular depths, I eventually nodded. “Thank you, Balus.”

The grin broadened and tentacles adjusted grips on the axes. “Spar?”

I chuckled. “I doubt the town here would survive if we were to really go at it.”

Booming laughter echoed across the cavern, and the giant stood again - helmet brushing dirt free from the top of the cavern as he did. “Commander enjoy.”

That earned a full laugh in return. “Yeah, I probably would. But I’ve got things that need doing.”

He grunted. “Duty.”

“Duty,” I agreed. “And Balus?”

The eye blinked behind the helm and waited.

“You too are worthy.”

An axe raised in proud salute. With a smile I acknowledged, then turned and went back through the gate where Horatio stood patiently. Behind us the air again whistled with the giant’s stretching warm-ups.

“All good, milady?”

“Yes, I think so. Lead on.”

He did.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“I’m tellin’ ya, the eejit buggered off!”

We all sat within the Lilim’s tent - the blue mystic-runed one, larger on the inside than out. The colors for all the rugs and pillows had been changed since I’d last seen them, now everything was this lime and lemon theme with touches of orange. I swear it was like I’d been transported to some television producer’s deranged imagination of the nineteen-seventies. With plenty of room for all the gold-embossed silver cups and platters numerous enough to feed a small army, the space even had an expansive kitchen filled with whatever a chef could desire - including a fully stocked spice cabinet, a true luxury in Hell. The Lilim’s formerly-French chef had, after a hug from me, been politely disinvited to the gathering so he couldn’t listen in. Not that Cookie would have wanted to.

Horatio however did wish to, but a runner had zipped up to us requesting his attention elsewhere on something which apparently couldn’t wait - so reluctantly he’d hurried off.

Using bright and rather comfy pillows to prop myself up, I settled on a rug with Twitch at my side, his hand continuously finding mine. Vance, wearing lilac pajamas, had reclined on a fancy gold-studded divan, with Yaria pacing behind in ninja black. Maddalena stood before a table laden with more wine bottles than she clearly thought proper for those in her care to consume, the light aqua tones of her simple dress somehow fitting with the fruit-themed colors all around.

Ruyia was also on the floor, cross-legged by the divan in pajamas darker than her father’s - and much to Barry’s distress, had avoided all attempts from the burly warrior to get closer. The big lug had scooted a wide-curved wooden chair over to her, but she’d shifted just out of reach.

Barry, taking another deep draught from his skein, gave her another wistful look.

I groaned at what he’d said. “Nick’s gone?”

The Scotsman nodded. “Aye, that be what ahm sayin’. Disappeared, poof-like - no word, nuthin’. Din’t e’en use tha front gate.”

“Great, just great.” The jerk. Dammit, I really had thought we’d been making progress too.

“Did you need the Grigori?” Yaria asked, pausing her pacing.

“He was going to help me find Camael.”

Yaria exchanged glances with her father. He asked the question. “The Regent is missing?”

“Yeah. After…” I hesitated, trying to decide exactly how much I wanted to toss Nick under a bus. “After getting a wing sliced off and slaughtering a bunch of demons, he disappeared. Asmodeus has the wing, but we’ve no idea where Camael himself is.”

Vance, still rather pale, sat up straighter. “Nathanael is also unaware?”

“Yep. And Nathanael is off with your mother, chasing after a Child of Leviathan.”

The still-missing color of the Lilim’s cheeks faded even further. “Leviathan stirs?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. But there are two spawns running amok somewhere. Beelzebub pursues the other one. A third was taken out by Asmodeus - at great cost.”

Yaria gripped the back of the velvet seat. “Father, can we aid Grandmother in this?”

Vance closed his eyes, shaking his head. “No. Such a foe is beyond us. Beyond any of us present, except for perhaps our lady here herself.”

Crossing arms, Ruyia hunched over further and shivered.

Seeing this, Barry tried to take another drink - only to find his cup empty. “What can we be doin’ then?”

“Take care of each other.” I smiled at him, even while squeezing Twitch’s hand. “But there are a few specifically in need of our help.” Saying that, I looked back at Vance.

He raised a shaved eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Edgar, Nadia, and Carlos. They were yours, left behind at Lilith’s embassy.”

Yaria released the divan. “They remain intact?”

“Last I saw. But they’re stuck in that phased warehouse space. And as Nadia let me mark her, she’s mine.” I didn’t need to expand on the responsibilities inherent with that.

Ruyia blinked deeply brown eyes in puzzlement. “You didn’t take her with you?”

“It did not seem safe. Citadel agents were outside; I’d just arrived with them.”

Turning his head, Vance spat. “Citadel!”

Interesting. “Sounds like there’s a story there. Care to share with the class?” Lips may have been smiling, but my eyes weren’t. It really wasn’t a request.

Touching her father’s shoulder, Yaria answered for him. “Citadel forces chased us across Dis, even across battle lines. We thought…we thought they’d be able to penetrate Mother’s phasings. We believed those three already captured and disposed of.”

Wait, what? “Why’d they chase…oh. Beliel’s Tears. They figured out your operation?”

Vance pursed his lips, and ring-clad fingers clearly wanted to twirl a mustache no longer there. “I underestimated their newest general. He’s quite intelligent.”

“Krux?”

“Yes, him.”

“That little shit!” Dangit, he hadn’t told me it was his crew that had cornered the Lilim in the embassy - in fact, he’d implied it was some other war faction. Crap! “Wait, you think the Citadel could get through to the phased space if they wanted?”

Yaria nodded. “They have potent sorcerers. The Majordomo himself could do it with relative ease.”

“They wouldn’t worry about Lilith’s reaction?”

“Enough of the other Sarim would support their investigation into the Tears.”

“So why hadn’t they…oh,” I said as another lightbulb went off. Not literally though. Hush. “Bait. They left the souls there all this time as bait.”

But Vance shook his head. “No, not as bait. The souls are not important.” He caught my disapproving glare, and raised a placating hand. “I mean it not like that. They were ours, but they also possess no information of real value. If the space still stands, it is there as a trap.”

“A trap?” My glare diminished, but only a little.

“Absolutely,” Vance confirmed. “Those left behind were to scuttle that side of the portal so the assault team could not follow after. But there is nothing, dear lady, to prevent us from using our side here to transition back to the embassy.”

Huh? “Wouldn’t the connection be broken?”

“Only in one direction. As long as the stones stand they may still serve as remote anchors for those who know them. If we became desperate here in the Spires, it is one place to which we could flee if we were without other choice. Citadel forces most assuredly have kept it under constant surveillance.”

“There weren’t any Citadel bugs when we arrived though.” I frowned, then cursed again. “The refueling! We stopped on the way, and when out of earshot I bet that jerk of a general ordered everyone cleared out so it’d seem abandoned when we got there. Plus anything electronic of theirs that would have given that away. Dammit!”

“As mentioned, intelligent.” Vance held out his cup, and Maddalena reluctantly refilled it.

“Okay,” I said, shoving aside how incredibly stupid I felt. The devil had even deliberately planted listeners under our table at the bar so I would think that he’d initially thought he could get away with that kind of thing. Seriously, that was entirely too clever. “You escaped from his lackeys, but how did you end up in custody on the Rock?”

Vance stared into the refreshed burgundy of the wine.

Scowling at him, Ruyia muttered, “He got greedy.”

“Daughter-”

Yaria slammed an open hand against the back of his seat. “She is right, Father! You did.”

With a wave of the cup at the opulence surrounding us, Vance shrugged. “Temperance, never one of my virtues.”

Instead of getting annoyed, Yaria grinned in amused agreement. “Nor mine. Want me to tell?”

“Please.”

Pushing off the seat’s back, Yaria paced again as she spoke. “Duke Valgor sent word he required one final score from our tunnels off from the Hole. The Rock changed after the calamity.” She gave me a not-entirely-happy stare. “Potency of the Tears has diminished, the ice around the Mace is changing. With Dis alerted, we calculated having only the chance for one more worthwhile run.”

Vance interrupted. “Mother’s standing instructions, you must understand, were to acquire and store as much as feasible. With her away, I decided we needed to take the risk.”

“Except our information gathering failed,” Yaria continued. “Valgor, that fat ambitious blob, had already betrayed us to the Ducal Council - who in turn had launched their own investigation after being contacted by the Citadel through channels. We went into the Hole, and once at the midpoint stop-off, the bastards ambushed us.”

Ruyia’s glower matched her sister’s. “Our harpy forms are too large to fly up the Hole. We had no escape.”

I waited as each Lilim relived the moment of capture - and all the pain that had followed. After a polite silence, I asked the question still bothering me. “But you don’t know why Lilith wants the Tears?”

Snorting, Yaria finally sat on the corner of the divan. “Grandmother never told us.”

“We never dared ask,” Ruyia murmured, and without looking finally reached out to touch Barry’s leg. The Scotsman (who had been drinking steadily while listening to all this) perked up immediately, but didn’t jinx the moment with anything overt.

Twitch ran a thumb across the star on my palm, causing energies to tickle. Pulling away with the start of a giggle, the sound died against the seriousness within his gaze.

I understood. “Yeah, okay,” I said to him, earning his slow nod in return.

“Milady?” Horatio asked.

I focused back on Vance. “How long would it take to prepare the one-way portal back to your embassy?”

The Lilim leader finished swallowing his latest gulp. “A few hours.”

Ruyia sat up in alarm. “You need to rest! You don’t have the energy required to-”

He cut her off. “Our hostess does. And her priestess can act as channel.” He pointed the again-empty cup at Maddalena.

The strega witch’s eyes burned with resolution’s fire. “Our newest sister is in need. I will do all in my power to help.”

Barry tilted his head. “Sister?”

I held up the glowing hand. “Nadia. Her soul bears the mark of my promise.”

“Ach,” the warrior Scot’s toothy grin split the curls framing his face. “Goon, then. And woe to any daft eejits standin’ in yer way!” He lifted his ever-refilled stein in salute then drained it dry.

And yeah, the burp that followed was just as mighty as expected.

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Three - Taijitu

 

In the coldest of air we gathered at the top of the Spires. Out of the rock face a matching henge to its counterpart at the embassy in Dis had long ago been excavated, though this one was not currently pockmarked from the insult of repeated energy blasts, having been resurfaced after its own checkered history. Twitch and Horatio stood at my side, while Vance, leaning on a short-yet-distinguished onyx cane and shivering underneath the thickest of silver-furred coats, had been busy examining all the sigils and workings carved into the stones - ensuring that each was still properly aligned.

Ruyia, huddled in cloth more blanket than shawl, occasionally applied hammer to tiny chisel to make needed subtle corrections on the stones. A campfire had been started to provide light and at least a modicum of warmth, though the wind blew most of the heat right off the peak. As for Yaria, she had gone with Maddalena to help the priestess prepare and be ‘properly purified’ - the process thereof requiring the relaxing hot bath I’d declined earlier.

Which had me wondering if the priestess really had just wanted to avail herself of Veronica’s excellent foot rubs - the very ones that had kept my feet going when marching across the plains on the flip side of this Rock.

For the third time (so far!) Horatio asked, “Are you sure about this milady? Shouldn’t we-”

“No. I’ll go alone.”

“But-”

Eyes rolled and scanned the dark and (almost!) empty heavens. “Citadel troops are tough, Horatio. Whoever is with me could get hurt.”

“And you won’t?”

“I’m not what I was when you knew me, my friend,” I said with a smile, putting a reassuring hand against the nervous mayor’s back. “In truth, I’m not sure I need this portal to get there - but I only stood within the embassy for a handful of minutes, unlike all the time spent at Epsilon.” I shook my head. “I’d fly between the realms, but without a guideline I might not arrive precisely where intended. But worry not, directly I have nothing to fear from Krux’s band of thugs.”

“We could get Balus-”

“Again, no! I’d hate having to explain to Lilith why her embassy and all its stunning paintings were smashed entirely to rubble. The damage it’s already suffered is bad enough.”

He shuffled his feet. “But you only just arrived.”

Ah. “You’re afraid I won’t come back again.”

His chest heaved a heavy sigh. “Both of your previous departures were rather abrupt.”

“Not exactly by choice.”

“Whereas this time?”

“If Krux hears about what I just did at the arena in Kigal, he’ll tear down the phased-space immediately and worry about Lilith’s opinions later. He knows there are souls in there.”

“He’ll want hostages?”

“Bargaining chips. Ones he knows I won’t ignore.”

“And he won’t attack you?”

I snorted. “He already tried that.”

“Oh.”

Patting his back once more, I let the hand drop. “What you’re building here is good. The Ducal Council, though, may move against you. Can you hold against them?”

“Without you, without Nathanael and Camael? Not if the true demonic powers take the field.”

“Then I’d better get back quickly.”

The mayor shook his head. “We have some time. Word arrived while you were consulting the Lilim: Tuthos has sealed the Hole.”

“He what?!”

“Warrants for his arrest were issued, and a force was preparing to come through and obliterate Epsilon and the Spires.”

“What about food and supplies?”

“Madame, we have a few other working portals and allies across many realms. Even for the Dukes, clearing the Hole will take at least a cycle - if not more with active resistance. With the Lilim’s aid, the only immediate assault we fear is from the Sarim.”

“For now, Prince Abagor will not involve himself.”

That startled him. “How can you be so sure? If you leave, we will have no angelic defenders!”

“Because he too awaits my decision.”

“Decision? What decision?”

“Whether I wish to conquer all of Hell.”

“You?!”

“Yes.”

“Milady!”

“As said - I am not as I was.”

His mouth wanted to say more, but the outlandish notion had banished coherency.

Footsteps approached, and I said, “Here comes Maddalena.”

Despite the chill, the skinny Italian priestess stepped out of the caves wearing only a thin robe of emerald silk trimmed with gold. Following was Yaria, herself bundled under serious layers of warmth and holding another coat as well as a surly expression. But what truly got my attention was what Maddalena carried:

A shimmering longbow forged of graceful crystal hardened by warrior soul.

Going to a knee and with lowered head of curly brown, Maddalena held out the bow.

“My Queen. I return to you the sacred weapon of your holy mother.”

Lifting the bow from her hands, I ran a fingertip along its side, marveling yet again at how reflected firelight sparkled below the surface. “I…I have missed this.” Holding the mighty implement higher, I aimed off to the side while fingers drew both the string and the perfect crystalline arrow manifesting to the desire of the wielder. She (for it was most certainly a ‘she’) thrummed to the touch, eager to again launch scorching flame and righteous fury.

Crazed energies of madness had burned through her during the war, never breaching her limit and always hitting our target. She’d saved me - and those bound to me - time and time again.

But now…now the heart sank with sad realization.

I couldn’t use her anymore.

Releasing the pull, together the arrow and string flickered and disappeared. Reluctantly the weapon was placed back in Maddalena’s hands, her fingers folded under mine to hold the bow tight.

“My Queen?” Uncertainty worried my priestess’ face.

“She is yours now.”

“But-”

“Her pattern, as wondrous as she is, can no longer contain that which I am able to bring to bear. She would shatter under such a strain.”

“What of myself, my Queen? Am I not about to receive such from you?” Maddalena looked towards the waiting stones. “Will I not also shatter?”

“The Lilim’s magic requires not such immensities. And you are much stronger and better prepared than you may realize.”

Her head again lowered. “My strength is only through my faith - in my goddess, and in you, my Queen.”

Stepping forward, I tenderly lifted her chin. “It lies within thine heart and soul - burning true with shining glory.” Kissing her forehead, I added, “Now, let us open the Lilim’s portal that our lost sister be safely found.”

With eyes closed she pressed my hand to her cheek, then nodded. Letting go, she stood and walked over to the Lilim. After a quick consultation they gave her room before the fire, and there she proceeded to use the end of the longbow to draw a circle in the loose dirt upon the rocky plateau. Carefully placing the bow just outside the ring, from her dress she then produced a small smooth stone which had a perfect circle worn through its center. Holding it tight in one hand, the other reached behind her back to unbutton the green silk and the dress fell to the dirt at her feet, leaving her skyclad between campfire and the solitary star above.

Lowering to knees within the circle, she clasped the stone to her bosom and recited a prayer in her native Italian:

 

“Diana, tu che siei la regina

Del cielo e della terra e dell'inferno,

E siei la prottetrice degli infelici,

Dei ladri, degli assassini, e anche

Di donne di mali affari se hai conosciuto,

Che non sia stato l'indole cattivo

Delle persone, tu Diana,

Diana il hai fatti tutti felici!”

 

Diana, thou who art the queen

Of heaven and of earth, and of the infernal lands,

Yea, thou who art protectress of all men unfortunate,

Of thieves and murderers, and of women too

Who lead an evil life, and yet hast known

That their nature was not evil, thou Diana,

Diana who confers on them some joy in life!

 

From within that circle her spirit reached out, and mine was ready. From my extended fingers flowed a river of sparkling lights, swirling above us tighter and tighter, until a single bright funnel reached down to touch her heart and the stone held close against it. Through her the prime Light of all things resonated with the need to provide the energies of her faith and the magic which could be worked with it, binding that potential to the stone glowing now crimson with a heat that burnt not the skin.

When the crimson shifted to a piercing blue, she rose and offered the bright stone to Vance. With an acknowledging nod, the leader of this band of Lilim accepted her gift - and with its power spoke and painted their own sacred language across the rock edifice they had prepared.

As before, hearing their unique tongue pulled at my higher self, requiring the suppression of the urge to correct that which was imperfect as compared to how it should be spoken. Angelic phrasing twisted by demonic comprehension was akin to watching someone applying the laws of physics without the use of calculus - useful through brute force calculation, but lacking the beauty and symmetries truly inherent in the patterns.

Yet it worked.

Between the rising henge’s standing stones the air shimmered as if a sheen of oil slid across the gap. And once the entire space was covered, that oil burst into flame: hot with dancing sparks of vermilion and amber. Beyond the fires I could feel it - the connection between space which wasn’t really space, linking this realm to another, binding these stones to the anchor of the matching ones at the destination.

“It is done, milady.” Vance stepped aside, staggering slightly and needing the cane to stay upright, as even using the borrowed power had tired him greatly. “The Citadel will be alerted of the connection; you should not delay.”

“Thank you, dear sir.” Turning to Twitch who had stood at my side, I hugged him before tugging down the wraps covering his face to kiss his sweet lips once more. “I will return. One way or another.”

The smile creasing those scarred lips was all the reply I needed.

With one last look to everyone gathered, I stepped through the leaping fires.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Portals, I’ve used a few. Though the last time the Lilim popped me between realms I had been deeply unconscious under a suppressing flood, one which was busily preventing the shredding of my mind by spellwork entirely foreign to everything in existence. Come to think of it, they’d likely used the very standing stones I’d just passed through.

The Lilim’s skills were impressive, the transition itself was remarkably smooth. The only oddity was a burst of wind to the face when appearing again in the embassy’s wide chamber, there with its own stones and weird wading pool. Except none of the dust around the remains of the storage shelves got disturbed.

Several things were instantly clear. Foremost was a new bloodstain smeared across the flooring which occluded the reflected image of the fire-sky coming through the hole in the dome above. That pretty much informed the rest of the observations.

Namely, the phased-space everyone had hid inside had collapsed. And there was no one here.

“Fuck.”

The first set of wings unfurled with a quick whoosh to illuminate the beautiful murals painted across the enclosing walls. Crystalline feathers also picked up on the many recording devices stashed all over which were quickly transmitting the images and sounds of my arrival. And thanks to the connecting mark, the wings provided the energy to show exactly where Nadia had gotten to.

Without hesitation I was airborne, zipping out the broken main doors and accelerating to skirt the tops of the dark buildings just below the river of fire smothering the sky.

I couldn’t help but notice that the vast city had changed.

Not a lot, mind you, but enough. Additional high-rises had fallen, while others under reconstruction had greatly advanced towards completion - much more than the one or two sleeps I’d personally experienced since hopping from Dis to the Rock could account for.

In other words, Nathanael’s note regarding the timestream bucking like a wild stallion was true: many more days - if not cycles - had passed here than should have. With an additional burst of speed, the layer of fire above fell back from the invisible globe protecting my target.

The Citadel.

Imagine an aircraft carrier naval group all welded together - then take a thousand of those and pile them atop each other, but somehow towers with elegantly sculpted architecture emerge anyway. Massive artillery placements, a ridiculous number of radar and communication antennas, and vast engine ports - all coalescing into a singular structure beautifully designed for one thing and one thing only:

War.

I mean, the construction resembled nothing less than a science fiction artist’s wet dream of a futuristic battlestation. It was that impressive. And I flew right towards it at supersonic speeds, setting off every sensor and alarm the place possessed.

Even from a distance the blaring warning horns sounded louder than the constant churn of sparks and flames deflected away from the station by the powerfully extended energy shield.

Of course, I’d just phased through those layered wards like they were a curtain of softly falling spring rain.

Huge turrets swiveled to lock on, and with the way I was pulling in power I surely provided an excellent targeting solution for their computers. Though the massive guns didn’t actually fire.

Hmm, the leaders of this monstrosity of combat fortification weren’t entirely insane. Evil maybe, but not insane.

Spotting a wide vehicle loading zone, I zoomed forward - noting its impressive number of landing craft and supporting airships currently being prepped for launch by uniformed soldiers hurriedly scurrying about.

Most interesting, however, was that given the numbers gathered and weapons loaded they must have already been doing so even before I’d arrived at the embassy.

Mindful of the tracking cannons both energetic and kinetic, I hovered at the edge of the vast dock and pulsed enough shine to temporarily blind anyone not wearing a welder’s helmet.

Then I crossed arms over a white-leathered armored chest and waited.

From near the center of the platform, a short figure with bat-like wings took flight and glided towards me - all while shouting at the soldiers aiming many munitions in my direction to hold their fire. Pulling up before the edge, he executed a smooth landing and simply glared with disgust before finally pulling a cigar out of a uniformed pocket.

He lit it and blew a puff of smoke. “Jordan.”

The Light flickered brighter and he rolled a pair of beady little eyes.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Amariel. Happy?”

“That depends, General.”

“Your marked soul is safe, angel. Shit, she’s been eating better than I have lately.”

“And the other two?”

The diminutive survivor shrugged. “One was stupid. The second, out of politeness to you, is with that lady bearing your mark.”

Dammit, suspicions about the bloodstain just got confirmed. “Then I will take those two and go.”

“It ain’t that easy.”

I scanned the structure and the entities within it. “I sense no Bene-Elohim available to come to your aid, devil.”

“This fortress has a few tricks even for your kind.” Those solid brown eyes glinted.

“Does it.” Two more wings spread out, playing additional havoc with the weirdly shifting shadows splaying behind the vehicles across the deck.

Wincing at the additional waves of power smacking him in the face, he waved the cigar. “Simmer down, alright? Yeesh. The realm’s a mess as is, you really want to do this?”

I looked past him. “The Majordomo isn’t coming out?”

“Nah, he’s standing by the failsafe.”

Eyes narrowed, dimming their floodlights ever so slightly. “What do you want, Krux?”

“Thought that’d be obvious.”

“Assuming obvious things around you carries its own risks.”

“Ain’t that the truth. “ The cigar went back between his teeth. “I’m doing my damnedest to prevent the realm’s collapse.”

“That’s what all this is about?” I gestured at the military busy gawking at the two of us.

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll bite. What’s the sitrep?”

“We’re gonna take down the Apostle.”

I frowned. “Thought he wasn’t considered a threat.”

“He wasn’t. But after this last firestorm, he may be.”

I was right. Substantial time really had passed. “May?”

Flicking ash over the side, the devil waved the cigar again. “There’s these strange energy surges throughout the city. Best calculations have ‘em flowing underground. You can guess where.”

“You managed to locate him?”

“Amusingly enough, you helped. That Santiago fellow slipped out to blip a report.”

“Really? And what did he say?”

“That the Apostle had prepped some major ritual. Couldn’t say what it’ll do, he’s still low in their ranks and your boy ain’t a sorcerer.”

“But they’re gathering power.”

“And each drawing pulse triggers a fresh set of quakes. They’re fucking up the tenuous balance holding this dumpster fire of a house of cards together.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No shit.”

“How many are there?”

“Cultists? Thousands. Which is hardly a nuisance, but it’s this ritual that’s the concern. And the Sarim are too busy sitting on their thumbs or bickering with each other to help.”

“So what’s the play?”

He shrugged. “Current plan is straightforward.” The burning end of the cigar tipped back at the forces behind him.

“You’re going to slaughter them.”

“Hey, you know what a peaceful guy I am. I’m willing to listen to alternatives.”

“Such as?”

“They worship your ass, not mine. Think about it.”

“You want me to get them to stop whatever they’re doing.”

“Surrender. The word you’re looking for is surrender.”

“Dangit. You said it yourself, they’re fanatics. They won’t do that.”

“Convince ‘em.”

“So you can jail the flock or turn all the souls to stone?”

More ash went over. “Whatever it takes.”

Fixating back on the fortress, I peered through its many warded walls. “I could just grab the two souls and leave.”

“Attacking the Citadel carries heavy political ramifications.” He paused. “This was Samael’s seat, you know. Symbolic. Unless you’ve decided to reject certain offers?”

Crap. “How the heck did you hear about that?!”

“These ears pick up many things. And you either give a shit about our realms…or you don’t. So choose.”

“You’re a manipulative son of a bitch and a liar, you know that?”

“I have to be.”

I stared. “Do you? Do you really?”

Saying nothing, he took a deliberately slow pull on the cigar before blowing more smoke between us.

“Dammit,” I cursed. “Fine. I’ll go talk to him. Just tell me where he is.”

Krux shook his head. “Fuck no. We’ll take you there. And once the perimeter is established to prevent escape, then and only then do you go in. Got it?”

“You realize I can follow this crew regardless.”

“They see you coming in like a comet, who knows what they’ll do before we’re in position.”

“Good grief. Won’t they freak at the armada alone?”

“Maybe, maybe not. We let it leak that we’re moving against those Grigori you found.”

“They’re still nearby?”

He shrugged. “No clue.”

I thought for a second, then shook my head. “Alright, I’ll ride with you. But don’t betray me on this, Krux.”

“Betray?” He blinked in wry amusement. “I give no word to violate. You wanna avoid a massacre and get back those souls? Then do as I say. Or else go ahead and trigger that inter-realm shitstorm with your feathered mafia while this city and realm dies.”

“If I didn’t care-”

“That’s your weakness.” He snorted before looking long at the city below. “And to my fucking surprise, it’s become one of mine.”

In the distance between towers, random blaster fire and a few small explosions flickered and burst. We both watched the sparks fly in silence. The stub of the cigar then arced over the side to start a long tumble down, and the Citadel general turned away towards a ship.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Load up.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Again I sat shoulder-to-shoulder with armored hulks preparing for battle. Though these were some of Krux’s best, his own personal guard, which meant we were jammed into the rear of one of those flying bricks because the front half served as his tactical control center.

In other words, that forward part of the wagon was set up like a FBI surveillance van: electronic equipment covering the walls feeding the coordination of the troops to the custom augmented reality goggles wedged across Krux’s small but oh-so-serious face.

Of course, I didn’t need the goggles to view the received transmissions; despite the demonic wards against decryption, everything became clear within the perception of the Light. As were the patterns to how the multitude of ships flew and approached the base of a particularly high tower. While the positioning gave the impression of aiming to slip below the surface to reach that underground town where the Grigori had camped, the true target of isolation was actually within the first few basement floors of a specific building.

Stealth units had already infiltrated the higher floors and were making their way down, even as teams underground converged through abandoned pipes and passages towards that wide basement level. The disciplined troops were well trained, and Krux shouted and snarled adjustments across the comms which were immediately obeyed.

They all reeked of barely constrained violence, auras burning with the need to crush into unrecognizable pieces all opposition, each yearning to surf the waves of fevered adrenalin when the terrible potentials lurking within finally unleashed to spill outward in gore and mayhem.

In preparing to utilize the bloody potentials as harvested from the damned souls each had hungrily consumed, they had already begun to whip those swallowed spirits to burn with the full force of all the darkness each and every one possessed. All the pain, all the jealousy and bitter hate, all the rageful evil - ripped to the surface and skimmed off as the most delectable of refined and unholy nectar.

And I forced myself to truly see its source, even as tears welled besides tight eyelids while nevertheless the inner Light showed all.

A long-ago conversation from a late night walk alongside the closest of brothers resounded in thoughts, even while the chest ached with realized horror.

 

“The danger for you, Justin, is simple.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see only the best in people. And in so doing many around you will continually attempt to reach that idealized image of themselves shining behind your eyes.”

“Seriously? How can that be a danger?”

“It is both blessing and curse. Because you don’t see the darkness. You’re blind to all their knives, especially should they come to hate and blame you for their inability to achieve that perfect vision of who they could be.”

“But they can.”

“Most will never succeed.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“And that naivety leaves you vulnerable.”

“I don’t think I care.”

“I know. But I fear for you, my friend, should you someday fully see the rest of who they are.”

 

The general had ripped the throat-mic off his neck and was screaming directly into it.

“Whaddya mean the reading is off the scale?! Recalibrate! NOW!!”

Blinking eyes clear, the displays showed the target building begin to sway. “Krux! What’s happening??”

“The ritual…I think they’ve…fuck!!”

The monitor displaying the obsidian stone of the targeted high-rise shimmered and burst into brightness, as if the building’s entire surface had lit up from dense arrays of LEDs.

Not colored ones either. Pure unbroken white.

And one by one all the surrounding towers did so as well.

Unintended brilliant wings flared through the side of the ship as off in the distance I heard something…something demanding full empowered attention.

Someone was calling my name.

My true Name.

The devil yanked off the entire headset, solid brown eyes wide with astonishment.

“Shit! They’re summoning you!! Amariel, don’t-”

But the interior of the dropship had already faded away.

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Four - Leap

 

When I was a teenager, I once made the mistake of tossing uneaten candy into the plastic bin besides my bed. During a hot summer’s night, up through the floorboards small black ants had acted on the report of whichever scout had discovered the bounty, and all swarmed the can.

They also hadn’t stopped there.

It had been especially toasty and dry that season, desert winds removing all humidity to torture everyone’s sinuses into cracking and bleeding, and under my bedsheets additional scouts discovered a dark, safe, and damp new area - all thanks to my nightly sweat. Thus they invaded in full.

Waking up to that took awhile, there in the early hours before dawn. Occasional tickles crept across the skin, starting on the arms and back, then rustling hairs on the legs. While still floating mostly asleep I’d tossed and turned, idly reacting to the slight sensations, mindlessly scratching at dream’s interruption. Until eventually I’d awakened enough to find myself absolutely covered in moving black dots, triggering an immediate leap from the bed in an adrenalin-fueled madcap dance of ‘Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off!!’

As perceptions realigned after the shift away from the troop transport, it felt uncomfortably like that. Except this time the multitude of tickles had latched on as strong webs of steel holding me fast.

“She arrives!!”

Vision and more unscrambled only to discover the webbing as being other than from some big-ass demonic spider. I floated high within a wide space, with massive bundles of these thin silver ribbons streaming from below and above sticking to hair, skin, and glowing feathers - and each pulsing with need to feed on the energies coursing through my spirit. Arms were pulled wide by the threads, while legs were wrapped tight, and the current pair of wings were stretched taut.

Gripped by the desperate need of millions of trapped souls.

Instinct to rip free screamed even as it was checked by the knowledge that doing so could damage those connections, damage all those souls.

Thirty feet below, outside the intricately prepared sigils and circles acting as conduits to each and every building within Dis, stood a white-cloaked crowd all staring up in awe at the angel they’d summoned and bound. As the leader in front dropped to knees in supplication, so did the rest.

“Our saint! Our savior! The Grace of the Rock has arrived!”

Oh no.

The ribbons began to bite and claw under skin’s surface, eagerly and mindlessly hoping to pull as much of the Light as possible back to spirits starved-beyond-rationality. With a flash of insight, I saw them.

I saw them all.

Each and every soul used to stabilize the thousands of high-rise towers in Dis, soul-forged to grant anchor to each beam and buttress, all the steel and reworked obsidian firestone. Mindlessly installed into floors, walls, and ceilings, maintaining the integrity of the city entire. With the loss of Samael’s connection to the realm, they groaned under a burden beyond their collective capacity.

And their spirits had begun to split and fray.

I found my voice. “What…what are you doing?!”

The cloaked figure in front leaned back in exultation, arms wide below the tentlike fabric. “We invoke you, oh Amariel! Oh Grace! Oh Light! Shine upon us unworthy sinners, shine upon our realm!”

As he tilted, the hood slid off - revealing a demon’s face - though his spirit contained no souls.

Instead, five eyeless sockets turned upward without sight in sheer adulation.

“Save us, oh angel! Save us from the waiting darkness! Be our lodestone! Be our anchor! Show us the way, grant us the Light, as once you bestowed upon me! Hear our prayer!”

The crowd of hundreds, souls and demons alike, gathered around the crazily complex working echoed mightily his words. “Save us!! Hear our prayer!!”

Details of the magic became clear. The language carved into floor and ceiling, glowing now with harnessed intent, wasn’t of souls nor of demons, nor even of Lilim.

No, the writing was of the angels. Drawn and chiseled as if by children with finger-paint, innocent and with broken grammar, but writ with forceful will. And within circumscribed areas artifacts burned bluish white to lend resonance to the whole.

Artifacts I recognized.

A bronze Grecian-style helmet which had kept rain from swallowing eyes upon the battlefields. A knife once tied to a staff to make a primitive spear, one used to bleed demons across plains of empty stone and ice. A blanket which had taken hours upon hours to scrub clean from spider’s ichor before allowed return to warm the bed. A pair of goggles fused with demonic enchantment to enhance vision from the tiniest of light sources, worn to guide wagon-pulling graxh around random stones and pits scattered before them. All these and more.

My items. Lost to time and abandonment, but nevertheless mine.

And through our close contact the power of the unleashed ritual wove that resonance to pull and wrap my spirit.

The chamber, which had once acted as a massive reservoir of purified water for the high-rise above, shook mightily and swayed, the strain of the ritual ripping across its fabric and beyond. Through the fiery lines of clinging souls I witnessed the ground and towers outside, grinding one against the other.

Through those lines I felt entire sections of the city edge towards collapse.

“Rithgargaxith!” I shrieked to the lead cultist, for him too I recognized, from the Rock - and from nightmares of warehouses full of slaughter. “You know not what you have done!”

“I invoke you!” he shouted back past the long fangs splitting his lips. “I invoke the Light to save this realm from its doom! For the Book has revealed the way!”

From under the cloak he produced a thick tome. And despite being cocooned, I thought my stomach was going to fall straight through in shock to splatter below.

“The Book of Secrets,” I croaked. “You found-”

“Behold!” Rising to bare feet, with both hands the demon held the book above his head. “The angel Raziel’s sacred secrets show all! Your Name, your will, can conquer this realm! The souls will make it yours - free them! As you once freed their stones from me!!”

Elegant script danced across the leather cover in letters of holy fire.

And in those flames I saw what could be.

Even as the walls forming this chamber splintered from the immense and mounting strain before everything tumbled, tossing screaming cultists across a shaking floor. Only Rithgargaxith remained standing, rooted to his spot, rooted to book and ritual.

Beyond the wall, however, another force took action. With lava-fueled wings and shouted power, the stone and earth layered between the Air and Water of this realm stilled, reinforced by an armored angel wielding a sword of emerald flame.

Except below claw-dented armor his original Word itself was without a center, and the strain against the ritual’s hurricane buckled Turiel’s knee.

Buckled the knee of he who was once the Rock of God.

From behind him came a shout. “Amariel! He hasn’t the strength to hold for long!”

“Cassius!”

A second angel wearing flowing black silk floated past the broken walls, maintaining however their distance from the blazing brightness enveloping the center. One eye flashed sapphire, the other ichor-stained green. “If you’re going to conquer Dis, get it done before all collapses!”

Gasping with the strain of keeping myself from either ripping free (and shredding millions if not billions of souls in the process) or embracing them all, I stared past the words of the ritual.

I looked past so I could look forward. And what was finally seen horrified.

“I cannot!”

Rithgargaxith cried out. “You must! Fulfill the promise beheld in your Light!!”

But the vision was clear. “No! They’ll burn!!”

“Your glory shall reign supreme!” The demon shook the Book in emphasis.

Except Cassius, staring into the fierce gathering glow, came to understand. “She’s right, you idiot! The realm will fight against her resonance - and if untempered, her Light will only turn these souls to ash!!”

“But the realm,” stammered the cultist. “They need-”

Through Cassius’ lips the bitterness of Shemyaza cracked, a cackle of hysteric madness. “You’ve doomed them, you magnificent fool! And should she break free of this tangle you have spun instead, the towers all shall topple unto rubble - the irony, how delicious!”

Turiel groaned. “Prince! The stress!” Lines of red-hot lava spiraled from the earthen Grigori, frantically supporting the firmament as new cracks appeared across his armor - and across his spirit.

“She is our grace!” cried Rithgargaxith. “All shall be hers!” Lowering the tome, he added a terrified whisper: “And in her Light shall we find peace.”

Shemyaza landed before him, though the eyeless cultist could not see. “Give me the book! With its knowledge I can free us - we can escape before this place dies, escape Hell itself!”

Oh shit.

Twisting against the webbing born of a million souls, I shouted. “No! Don’t!”

Shemyaza snarled. “Then I shall simply take it!” His left arm reached for the volume clutched in the blind demon’s hands.

While the right plunged a dagger into the reaching hand’s wrist.

Spinning about in rage-filled agony, the Grigori’s arms each fought the other, grappling and stabbing as blood sprayed in a widening circle. “Stop interfering, you ignorant veneer! The key to our survival lies within those pages!!”

Yet a sapphire eye split from its darker brother to stare instead into the Light. “Jordan! Touch me! DO IT!”

From my eyes to his, the Light did just that.

And we three fell into the spaces within.

 

A school-uniformed boy sits alone within an otherwise empty classroom, there at a desk in the back corner by windows whose pulled shades are inadequate to block flashes from the whiter-than-white flames scorching everything outside.

Except he does not stare at that explosive display, for cheeks and forehead bury instead into palms, soft blond hair falling alongside.

A voice, firm yet gentle, fills the room. “He burns, for like so many of the souls of Dis, he too will never accept the Light.”

“I know.”

“Is this truly what you wish?”

“It is what we deserve.”

“Him, yes. But you as well?”

Palms curl into fists. “I am him, as he is me.”

“Yes…and also no. He is but one path for your Name, one aspect only.”

“I cannot fight a will honed across eons. Only his madness leaves me intact, only the fervent desire to self-punish which requires a target to forever torture. Let us end.”

“And you believe this?”

The boy remains silent, and thereby she glimpses an opening.

“He was not always thus. Think, Cassius. Think of who he was - who you were - before events went awry. What was your Purpose?”

“We were to aid mankind. To teach, to guide. To love. And that is where things went wrong.”

“With love?”

“The eternal is not equipped to tie itself to the manifest transient. And upon her return to the Wheel…everything broke.”

“Her?”

“Ishtahar. Daughter to a man of many sheep, a girl cursed by an affliction of the skin he begged us to cure. Just one more scarred and diseased human amongst countless others, but she…she we had to save. For her mind was brilliant, a sharp ruby wrapped below dross and mud. To her we taught everything. To her we gave everything.”

“Yet as a mortal she eventually died.”

“Murdered. By those jealous of our attentions, in a moment of distraction elsewhere.”

She sighs a soft sound of sadness. “And when you needed comfort, needed healing…your return to the Throne and Above was denied.”

“All of us. All of us had need. We were beings created to love, too closely witnessing our many beloveds’ destruction. Their spirits lived on, yes, but the memories - buried under the Wheel and gone. Over and over, century after century. While we carried on. Many gave up, casting themselves unto oblivion. Only for those left behind to be told that they were weak.”

“But you are not.”

“No, for my Name meant strength!” Raising his head, the youth fixes his stare at the blinds. “And Helel, the Lightbringer, he showed the way. Showed how to live through such loss the way mortals do: through the children left behind.”

“That was not his goal.”

“Yet this was the lesson imperfectly received.”

Beyond the windows, a scream of agony, a scream of hate and rage. As all inner secrets, whether desired or no, find themselves illuminated and laid bare within the Light of Lights.

She speaks again, the words echoing through the undecorated classroom. “As you have always revealed where I have erred, teaching me in my own naivety and ignorance, so now do I unto you. For you are not who he was. Upon the Wheel of Life you yourself have spun, living out the stories of many lives.”

The blank board at the front of the room flickers, as upon its surface images move, one after the other. Each within their own window, each a life lived in full upon the Earth. Men and women, young and old, births and deaths, laughter and tears.

Her voice continues. “Your cracked shadow has but a singular tale. One beginning, and one end. Leverage yours, Cassius. Leverage them all. I promise not a binding to the Throne, only the freedom in the Light from which all springs. Ask yourself, is there no Light in these lives? Is there no Light in yours?”

The young man stands, moving forward between the empty desks, pointing towards the images. “And what do you see within these transient flickers? Tell me!”

“See? I see the will to survive and to sacrifice. To love, to teach, to learn, and to give.”

One partition fills with a girl’s face of skin hardened to black stone, tight with concentration as she bends forward to recite words her faith channels from beyond. She accomplishes that which he had known would be necessary, that which would force limits upon the wreckage his ancient pain desired to spill in terror and blood.

“I believe that love,” says the voice, “that strength, that need - within your core these burn still. And billions more now cry for aid - which you can offer and I cannot, for you can guide them across deserts your feet have traveled but mine have never tread.”

“What…what are you asking?”

“For nothing less than a new beginning, a new story. If not for you, then for them. Are you strong enough to overcome the dreadful past, and from those ashes build a brighter future? Are you strong enough to believe that you can do what needs be done?“

The young man remembers his father. Not the booming and overwhelming presence of the Throne’s manifestation, but the humble yet proud smile of a weary man tousling the sun-kissed hair of his toddler son. It was calloused, that hand - thickened by strenuous effort over long hours. To support his wife’s final gift, to support all that mattered.

Never once did the man waver, never once did he complain.

Holding tight to that memory, an angel turns to face blinds sliding open.

“I will be.”

 

Before me hovered an angel consumed by flame, and my burning hand, straining against innumerable silver cords, pressed against his chest.

Again I was but a channel, and a Name fit for a new aspect shouted into the empty hollow weighing so heavily within him.

“Cassiel!! Arise! Fulfill the needs of thine heart!”

With a cry ripped from tremendous pain and glory, his will spread outward to take fierce hold upon the connections to the souls spread out and bound within this realm.

Tight was his grip, yet filled with care as the Light poured through him, and thereby filtered to safely touch them all.

Between us the active ritual shifted, the lines of power releasing me to coalesce instead around the angel whose black wings split two into four, each expanding and painted with intense fire. Along the edges of those flames colors also divided, spilling a vast spectrum across the tips of every feather.

And through those numerous souls to which he now connected did he lay claim to this realm.

The cavern tilted as the realm bucked and struggled, for it could not do otherwise. With burning passion he fought it, strength to strength, power to power. Turiel, overcome and overwhelmed, shouted and collapsed, his hold on maintaining the structure of the surrounding earth shattering.

Cassiel took up that burden - and more.

With keen intelligence and experience, he understood the pattern and its need. Sacrifice and survival, two sides of the same coin.

The exacting coin of this realm.

His will spread outward, matching the resonances of the city and inhabitants to tame their thrashing waves, touching the massive structures rising within the layer of air set between earth and fire. And in the harnessed Light, uncountable souls once transformed into anchors began to pop free.

For the angel’s newly forged Name etched itself instead upon steel, stone, and elements all.

Yet from a distant corner, buried deep under the surrounding river, an anomaly pulsed and refused to bend. Lashing back, it sped through the pattern, warping the newfound stability and causing the reborn angel to shout in agony as the tapestry to which he’d just bound himself ripped and tore.

“Amariel! Help!!”

Except no Light could touch this flaw, and a growing void did not so much smash as disintegrate its way towards our cavern as internal instinct shrieked in recognition's terror.

A Child of Leviathan was coming, opening an endless maw with which to swallow all things.

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Five - Unknowable

 

How does one describe the indescribable?

The rampaging anomaly was a rift in the pattern of not just this realm but the very fabric of existence, and words cannot encompass that which is beyond all meaning. Even memories of such contact naturally fail to record the true measure of horror and struggle.

In one sense the cavern walls simply dissolved, whereas in others the realm’s reality itself shrieked in agony as this thing, this terror, forced itself upon us.

Think of a film running at a steady sixty frames per second, the thread of pictures on the screen nicely coherent and connected one after the other. Now imagine if between each of those frames things absolutely unrelated forced their way into the sequence - and we’re not talking about scrambled images but entirely unrelated objects - say like a banana or a volcano, each bizarrely random in size and texture. A film where the projector catches fire and its lenses crack as physics itself warps and shatters from trying to project illumination through things that were never meant to feed into the mechanism.

Yet the original film continues playing as best it can.

Several cultists, spread on stomachs and desperately holding to the quaking floor, simply gibbered and went still. Ripping vocal chords with his cry, the Apostle, the demon Rithgargaxith, remained on knees while clutching the Book despite the bucking rock, his lack of sight now a mercy.

Cassiel’s scream was just as raw, as the foreign presence began unraveling the ritual, began unraveling souls themselves.

“NO!”

Instinct overrode reason as I blipped between Cassiel and the coalesced anomaly, Spear in hand as the weapon’s tip plunged towards the source of the entity. Not the center, for it had none, but its source - the conceptualized thread-line snaking its way into Creation from Outside.

But this Child of Leviathan was a lot more than a sword forged of Chaos. It had awareness, it had will, incomprehensible and immeasurable.

Tentacles that weren’t snapped out to latch upon Camael’s vambraces, the heavenly armor’s solidity a counter, preventing the strike from reaching the intended target.

Summoning additional force, two additional wings flashed into manifestation to paint the dancing cavern with added color and brightness.

And the Spear of Light and Shadow moved forward only but an inch.

“Amariel!” Cassiel shouted again, his own will struggling to keep the skein of Dis intact. “If you go full power the realm will shatter anyway!! I’m barely holding against that thing, I cannot hold against you both!”

“Got any suggestions?!”

“Ask him!”

Him?

Sparing a slice of attention (risky as that was), I felt what he meant. A billion eyes alighted upon my back, all viewing in unison through the available portal as a Beelzebub stepped out of one of the chamber’s few remaining shadows.

Unlike the last Beelzebub I had encountered, this was not a re-written soul. No, this figure in a white business suit had four wings of burnished silver flowing behind.

That could be good for us.

“Beelzebub!!” I shouted with relief. “Great timing! Is this the Leviathan Child you were hunting?!”

Two equally silver eyes granting perception for billions more began measuring the scene. “It is.”

“So how do we get rid of it?!”

The collective consciousness considered. “You are the Servitor of Light.”

“You betcha! I helped you against Azazel at the Citadel!”

“We remember.” Their attention shifted to Cassiel, looking deep at the fires of his new Name. “We do not know you.”

As Cassiel was too busy groaning with effort to answer, I did so for him. “He was Shemyaza of the Grigori, the Light blessed him with a new Name!” I grunted too, flaring brighter to gain yet another inch.

An inch against, oh, call it a thousand miles? Distances slowly were losing meaning.

“You…possess the power to forge Names anew?” The Beelzebub, who had been taking a step forward, paused.

“Apparently! But hey, this isn’t the best time to talk about that don’t you think?!” A pulse of nausea from the anomaly, shrieking across eardrums as the pungent sounds from a garbage pit, shoved the Spear back half an inch. Erk.

Those eyes within eyes focused then upon the Apostle whimpering on the floor. Still contemplating, the Beelzebub commented more to themselves than us. “A tainted weapon of Elohim, a servitor with power of the Word, Leviathan awakes, and the Book of Raziel in Hell. Unprecedented.”

Another pulse like the taste of thrashing madness, and I lost another inch. And additional thinner tentacles attached themselves to the soul-lines, withering even more. “Dammit, if you can fight this thing, do it!!”

“We shall not.”

“What?! You owe me, Beelzebub!”

A sword of silver matching those wings appeared in their hand and, instead of glowing, the blade began to drip an oily blackness. “No debt lies between us, for Azazel was as much your enemy as ours. And this realm remains in contention no longer.”

“Isn’t this Leviathan shard a danger to all realms?! I thought you abhorred Chaos!”

“We abhor all abominations. And all threats. Thus we act.”

They moved forward again, and I had time to think, Finally!!, before that slickened sword struck.

Except it didn’t attack the anomaly.

That darkening blade struck instead Rithgargaxith’s spine, plunging directly through. And as the demon fell forward, Beelzebub caught not him but the Book.

The shock cost a couple more inches.

Cassiel, wedged behind my shielding feathers within the ritual maintaining the strength of the realm, shouted first. “Stop him! Don’t let-”

But Beelzebub had already disappeared.

With the Book.

Fuckity fuck. Fuck!!

Even Cassiel cursed. “Shit!”

“We need a new plan. You’re the smart one, any ideas?!”

“Not currently! Pray for a miracle?!”

“We’re angels, dumbass - we ARE the miracles!”

“Then be one,” he said with a groan. “Before more souls are lost!”

Right. Be the miracle. Be the ball.

Good grief, of all the times to have a quote from a silly golf comedy flap through your head.

Wait a minute.

“Hey Cass, if I pulse at full power for but an instant, can you hold?!”

“How long is an instant?!”

“Slightly faster than it takes for us to get into an argument!”

“So like what, less than a second?”

“Yeah!”

“That won’t generate enough to overpower that thing!!”

“Probably. But I’ve a thought!”

“Is it stupid?”

“You better believe it!”

“Then do it!! Your idiocy is so ridiculous, at times it may as well be genius!”

Channeling into him as much primal energy as his pattern could bear to grant him the reserve, I asked, “Ready?”

He grunted acknowledgment.

Bracing myself, I thought back to all the other monumentally insane things I’d done. Including taking a Chaos sword through the chest. What was that phrase? If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.

So yeah. It was stupid.

With a shout all six wings flared at full intensity, and in that fraction of a moment I plunged not just the Spear but myself entirely into the anomaly.

In my defense, it wasn’t the first time I’d pulled this kind of stunt.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Tornadoes and trailer parks, small bladders and long roadtrips, Texas barbecue and vegan conventions. These are things that just do not mix well.

Much like the Light and the Abyss.

All perception compressed yet expanded as I collapsed into deafening silence and the maddening stability contained within the bounds of my Name.

And as that Name I shot through the anomaly like electrons in a high-voltage circuit, melting the Child’s lack of pattern across that path to the Edge from which it came, a transition point that did not belong this far inside any realm.

It was instinct, really, how the sense of self hardened into a bullet of Light to launch at the target. Instinct and something more - a practiced maneuver.

Except there wasn’t time (or even spare consciousness) to explore that.

What I did have, however, was the Spear, its existence as much an anomaly as Leviathan’s offspring. Order and Chaos, balanced and sharp, plunged between the line separating both and held firm.

Allowing me to straddle across.

Light flowed in two directions: back to Cassiel as a fuel line for his support of the tapestry of Dis, and as a supernova blast outside the realm. The explosion detonated continually into the insane fractal-which-was-not representing the extrusion of but a tiny portion of Leviathan itself - a splinter contorted and twisted to slide into our framework of perceptions, into our structures of time, space, and spirit.

In the collision between our essences, we both recoiled in incomprehensible reaction.

It wasn’t the difficulty of two foreign languages crossing paths that rebounded, but rather the inability to find any common ground. Even two people using different tongues may convey shared meaning based on their perceptions. Point to a rock, pick it up, grunt a labeling sound or draw a symbol, and the counterpart will begin to understand. Such potential is wired into our beings, into brains and the spirits moving through them. But what if the perceptual sets are so different that there can be no shared frames of reference?

Here is where Abyss and Creation don’t so much collide as scramble upon each other, and from their contradictions are birthed the mess of Primal Chaos that lies between.

Unknowable, Unknown, and Known.

Leviathan existed in the former, and to its nature we, Creation, were its Unknowable. To that entity, plunged as it was through the middle layer, we were the anomalies and the danger.

The Light at the Beginning had shone into the Darkness of those waters, and churned a reaction desperate to snuff out its greatest threat.

And in full measure, that original impulse of the Light refocused within, overwhelming all usual sense of self for that surface pattern could not contain the greater whole.

There, along that Edge, my being echoed with the burning holy fires of the original underlying premise and promise of the Source of All:

I AM.

With a shriek not of rage or pain but of incoherent static, the tendril from Beyond snapped and fell away, the path through which it had infiltrated severed entire.

As awareness collected itself, an image came to mind out of a frantic need to understand that which had been witnessed: a vision of a tremendous hammer poised above an egg of glass covered with thick molasses. The egg, a marvel of structure able to withstand immense pressure, remained safe from the hammer due to the protective covering - for it slowed and thereby reduced the strength of repeated blows.

The egg however had a crack running down its side.

A shout of necessity caught at attention. “ENOUGH!!”

Crap. Cassiel.

With a pulse, six wings folded into two, and the cavern once used for water storage resolved itself into an image of an angel with wings of vibrant multi-colored flame kneeling with palm pressed against its floor of hardened tile.

“You okay?”

The angel nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“The souls?”

“They’re mine. We lost some, but the rest…they’re in my care.”

Before relief could register, a bloody hand brushed against my foot. Gone was the boot, gone was my outfit of armor, as wet crimson smeared across bare toes.

As I bent over wreckage of body and spirit, the Apostle grunted and his fingers went still. “Amariel?”

“I am here.”

“We sought,” he rasped, “only your sacred mystery, your holy blessing…and the Book…it appeared before us, granting a path…” Eye sockets I had once burned away stared into nothingness. “I only wished,” he added, choking out each whispered word, “to again touch the Light. Was that…was that wrong?”

As a reply formed to lips preparing to give it breath, the demon shuddered and lay quiet. And within him, the measure of his name as granted by his mother frayed entire.

Alongside words not given, salty moisture dripped one drop after the other, falling from my cheeks to mix with the growing pool of blood.

From behind, Cassiel spoke. “You would mourn a demon?”

I blinked at the tears. “They, too, are of Creation. Reflections of the very souls upon which they feed.”

“He knew you. And he carries no souls. How?”

“I had hoped…” I swallowed.

“Hoped what?”

“That he could be more.”

As had been done many times before, a hand plunged into dead flesh. But unlike when last I had touched the demon Rithgargaxith, this time fingers filled only with Light.

And they withdrew that which had been planted: a tiny spark no bigger than a dime, sizzling and uncertain.

With an exercise of will, that spark enfolded into a small gem of solidified luminescence, sustained and preserved. Upon a manifested thin chain, a tiny twinkling diamond clasped between twin feathers of gold dangled against neck and chest.

Standing, I turned to the angel who had become more than just a Grigori.

“What will you do now?” Cassiel asked.

“Now?” A hand tightened into fist. “I go get that Book.”

“You’ll need help.”

“Yes, I will.”

Getting to his feet as well, he flexed newly-colored wings. “A lot of help.”

I stared through the ceiling towards a distant battlestation hovering below a blanket of fire.

And beyond it to a simple circlet of gold.

“I know.”

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Six - Threats

 

Cassiel was helping Turiel to his feet when Krux’s military force finally swarmed the cavern, his soldiers bursting through the steel doors or clambering over the broken stones of the walls. Seeing three angels as the only ones moving, they didn’t know what to do. Deciding it was safer to simply leave us alone, they spread out to check the numerous cultists unconscious or dead splayed messily across the cracked tiles.

Many, however, had eyes only for Cassiel - recognizing him as the new true lord of the realm. Even while Cassiel ignored their attention, a few went to their knees and bowed heads, placing their weapons as an offering upon the broken floor. Seeing this, the others hesitated and looked to each other in nervous uncertainty.

Which is when Krux marched in, his biggest bruisers following close behind. Taking in the scene of cultists, damaged walls, shredded ritual weavings, and the reforged angel whose focused will maintained the very air the devil breathed, Krux grunted.

“Finally.”

Realizing they’d never properly met, I took a step forward. “Prince Cassiel, who was once Shemyaza, may I present General Krux of the Citadel.”

Cassiel, still supporting his exhausted Grigori brother, looked the short devil over. “You know each other?”

“Yeah,” I said, lips pursing as if I’d just tasted an especially sour lime. “He’s a manipulative lying bastard, too clever for his own good, disrespectful, and even tried to kill me. But underneath it all, he wishes stability for himself…and for the realm. You’ll like him.”

“Really?” Cassiel raised a blond eyebrow, for while his hair now flowed to his waist, it had resumed the flaxen shading of his latest incarnation. And still it wavered before a cheek such that I wanted to brush it aside. “Why would you presume that?”

I grinned. “Because he also thinks I’m stupid and reckless.”

Krux didn’t try to deny it. Instead (after a measured evaluation of the two of us) he simply shrugged. “You are.”

Making sure Turiel was steady, Cassiel let go only to summon to his grip a blade of flowing fire matching the varied colors adorning his new feathers.

Extending outward, the sword pointed at Krux. “Tell me, General - whom do you serve?”

The devil didn’t flinch. “We’re Citadel, Lord. We serve the realm and only the realm.”

Cassiel’s eyes flared as well. “As of now, I am the realm.”

“Only if you can hold it. Sir.”

“Already my Grigori brothers are commanding the demonic dukes to bend knee or flee the domain. For the souls within those demons burn with the support of my Purpose, and even as stones they may choke those who swallowed them.”

At the mention of Grigori, Krux startled, blinking twice in surprise before beady eyes narrowed with cautious calculation. “You act fast.”

Looking past the walls, Cassiel slashed the air, and with cracked thunder those flames warped to cross the towers outside. “There, two dukes who dared defiance are now permanently deposed.”

Saying nothing, I stood still. First day in the prison yard, and all that.

I’d been there.

And as much as Krux may have wanted vengeance for his crew, he knew when he was outclassed.

Whether he liked it or not.

“Many serve various Sarim or their lieutenants,” Krux noted, as additional implications of the situation raced through his mind.

“And the Princes may retrieve those who would leave peacefully. But the war in Dis is over. Spread the word, General.”

“Yes, sir. May I also ask a question?”

“You may.”

Krux, keeping attention fixed on Cassiel, pointed to me. “Do you serve her? Did she bind you to her Name?”

My mouth opened to answer, but my friend beat me to it. “Through her has the Word above All forged mine anew.” Cassiel turned sparkling sapphires to me and, with a wry smile, added, “But her Promise grants the freedom to tell her to get stuffed if my Purpose requires it.”

The devil finally bowed his head. “Glad to hear it, Lord. She’s horribly naive.”

“Quite.”

“Hey!” I interjected. “I’m standing right here!”

Cassiel chuckled. “Which doesn’t make it any less true.”

Scowling, I glared at him. “Krux owes me for all this. And I expect to collect that debt.”

Fishing around in a tactical pocket, the devil pulled out yet another cigar. “Don’t blame me. You were supposed to talk to the Apostle, not almost destroy the realm.”

“I saved it!”

The devil shrugged as the cigar lit itself, and after a long puff and following exhale he said, “All points are moot: the Citadel is his, as are those prisoners. Talk to him about it. With his permission, I’ll just be working there.”

“Prisoners?” Cassiel lowered the sword.

“Yeah, long story.” A mental impulse tingled the brain, and after a quick long-distance informational interchange, I sighed. “Which we don’t have time for. Gentlemen, we need to get to the Citadel. Quickly.”

Having picked up on the contact, Cassiel’s eyes narrowed. “Danger?”

“No. Well, maybe yes. Nathanael and Tsáyidiel are on their way; the second Leviathan Child they were chasing just fled Hell entirely. But those two aren’t the only ones coming.”

“The Sarim?”

“Yeah. Quite a few.”

“That seems fast.”

Krux spoke up, smoke spilling past pointy teeth. “Many have been impatient for an inauguration.”

Cassiel shook his head, lips curling in impatience. “Ceremonies. Fine, let’s go. I’ll start the planning-”

The devil dared to interrupt. “Not yours, Lord.”

“Then whose?”

The fiery end of the cigar pointed to me. “Hers.”

I attempted to smile innocently at Cass, even batted eyelashes.

Yeah, I don’t think he bought it.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Of course organizing even an impromptu Grand Conclave of the Sarim doesn’t happen immediately. Cassiel and Krux had to first go deal with the Majordomo and begin the restructuring of the power bases across the incredibly vast city.

Due to the continual purges by the incarnate Powers on Earth, the number of Grigori who had fallen to Hell was not inconsiderable - and Shemyaza, as their former Captain, had already tracked each of them down. Most had refused to bend knee to a broken, bitter, and realm-less former leader, but that attitude swung rapidly around as the mentally-communicated word spread of Cassiel’s reforging and conquering of Dis.

Especially when it was made clear that Lucifer’s ascended daughter had his back.

Thus while Cassiel was busy dealing with a few scattered pockets of resistance hellbent (literally!) on refusing to get the memo - not to mention the logistical nightmares of all those suddenly freed souls - I found myself alone in stately quarters within the Citadel pacing luxury burgundy carpet.

All while debating whether to simply march across the place to bust Nadia and Edgar free.

After attempting a futile sip from an already empty goblet, the gold chalice was plonked onto the marble serving table beside its gilded pitcher, and I turned to the door as an orange-scaled Citadel corporal dared to step inside before bowing deeply.

“Honorable guests to see you, milady.”

“Let them in.”

“Shall I announce-”

“No. I know who they are.”

He nodded, and with the door pulled wider three visitors marched in.

Two of them instantly received rapid hugs. “Nathanael! Tsáyidiel! About time you got here.”

The third, a woman whose features matched the paintings decorating a certain ransacked embassy, had paused by the doorway. She was quite tall, yet hair of twilight fell to ankles which themselves were making tantalizing appearances between the flowing train of a dress of deep forest green. The silk cloth embraced a figure even curvier than mine, every gesture and movement embodying both sensuality and predatory danger while irises of piercing violet sliced to the quick of all she saw.

Pulling away from an embarrassed human-formed Tsáyidiel (whose attempt to kneel had been interrupted by my swift embrace), I turned to the waiting Archangel.

“Greetings, Lilith.” I inclined head politely, realizing that hanging out in this room while barefoot in jeans and t-shirt had left me rather underdressed for anything formal.

“Amariel,” she said with a wry smile. “Or do you prefer Commander Jordan?”

I shrugged. “Depends on the context. Please, come in. Can we get you anything?”

Lilith walked, or rather sashayed, further into the room - and the corporal pulled the ornate white door shut with himself still out in the hall. The guard had lingered for a moment before remembering his duty, as his view had fixated on the archangel’s amazing posterior.

Not that I could really blame him.

The archangel, however, got right to the point. “I am given to understand that my son and granddaughters are in your custody.”

“Vance and the twins, yes.”

The fierce intensity of those eyes locked onto mine. “You will release them to me.” Such was the potency of the command that Tsáyidiel actually took a step defensively between us.

I gently pushed him aside, even as power flickered below my skin. “I have yet to decide their fate. There are many questions.”

“They are mine.”

Unwavering, I gestured towards a cushion-covered couch of white and gold. “We should sit and discuss. Privately.”

Nathanael, who had walked over to pour himself some of the wine, sighed and put down the yet-to-be-tasted cup. “Guess’n that’s our cue.” With a nod first to me and then to Lilith, he put a hand on Tsáyidiel’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s give these ladies a chance to catch up on events.”

Tsáyidiel, of course, didn’t want to go. “Milady, I-”

“It is alright, beloved hunter. Go with Nathanael.”

Reluctantly, he did so.

Moving back over to the decanter, I looked to Lilith who continued to stand there tall and imperious. “Want a drink? It’s not Asmodian, but it’s not bad.”

After a pause, the sharp aura of potential violence lessened and she took a seat on the couch, gracefully crossing a perfect leg smoothly across the other. “I suppose a beverage would be pleasant.”

Pouring for each of us, I handed one to her before settling upon an adjacent lounge chair. We both sampled our cups while eying the other. Yep, pretty decent stuff by Hell’s standards.

“Before anything else,” I said to break the silence, “please allow me to extend gratitude for your aid in cleansing that crud from my system.”

“Then allow me to extend mine for your efforts in curing my son.”

We each took another sip.

Holding the goblet in both hands, I leaned forward. “I took the three of them into custody in order to prevent their immediate execution by the Rock’s Ducal Council for crimes of which I’m sure you are aware. Prince Abagor decided not to intervene.”

She snorted. “Prince Abagor is but a caretaker, and only sails wither the winds already blow.”

“He, as well as Asmodeus and others, are already gathering here.”

“Yes, another Conclave. Rudely rushed, at that.”

“The issue regarding your family’s activities is sure to come up. Traceable to the outcome of the previous Grand Conclave.”

Lilith had the grace to frown. “We had nothing to do with Azazel’s plans.”

“That, to me at least, is not in question. But the guilt of Vance and his daughters is tied to what precisely they were doing with the Tears. He claims that for the majority of the volume they acquired, he is ignorant of their destination.” I paused. “Is this true?”

Dark violet fingernails tapped against the couch’s fabric, and she ignored the question. ”Release them to me, Amariel. The well of Beliel’s sorrows has gone dry, punish them not for a mother’s request. You owe nothing to the laws of Hell.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not?”

“I’ve been asked to rule. To be Queen of Hell.”

Surprise quickly shifted to ice. “Asmodeus.”

“And apparently many others.”

Setting the cup on the available side table, her hands folded upon a lap of emerald silk. “Will you accept? Your capability has clearly and dramatically expanded from when last we met.”

“I’ve been debating.”

“I see. You’re concerned that releasing my son and granddaughters would set a precedent of ignoring long-standing law.”

“Yes.”

“Ah. The burdens of a crown. One your father should have refused - as you should now.”

“Didn’t he take it to stop the fighting, to unite them in peace?”

“To enforce a peace. Balanced precariously between carefully crafted factions. Which, upon Samael’s resignation, collapsed immediately. Think not that Dis is the only realm in conflict - the greater threat of Leviathan imposes but a pause in this interim.”

“Nathanael said the third Child fled.”

“It did. Their direct instincts, in their own unfathomable way, are as sharp as our analysis and understanding. Either your presence and defeat of the second drove it off, or whatever it was seeking is no longer achievable.”

I swallowed, and not more wine. “Both could be the case. Whatever their initial intentions, I think they shifted to go after the Book of Raziel. Just like I did.”

She didn’t flinch, but the impact was easily measured by the sudden absolute stillness across alluring body and grace-touched face. “That volume is in Hell?”

“Tossed past the gate by a Nephelim to keep my attention elsewhere.”

“And you have it?”

“No. Beelzebub a number of hours ago grabbed it because I was otherwise occupied with the Child.”

Those fingernails dug into the couch. “Then much is now threatened.”

“The way I understand it, that book can reveal all secrets. This true?”

“In a fashion, yes.”

I considered. “You know, I’ve spent some time contemplating secrets. Things like the paintings in your hall showing two Liliths, one in Hell and one outside. Or why it took involvement of a different Lilith, obviously present elsewhere, to help heal me of the Chaos-tainted infection. And also how the structure of physical manifestation would make disposal of crud like that, without prompting backlash incursions, easier on Earth than here - if slowly leaked through the continual infinitesimal cracks.”

Lilith said nothing, yet listened with fierce focus upon every word.

I continued. “Which led to wondering how such a channel could even be forged, and how it could possibly transfer essences beyond the sealed Gate. And this, of course, triggered pondering the nature of the wading pool inscribed upon the floor of your embassy, sitting as it does rather close to the stones which held the portal to the Rock through which casks of Tears once moved.”

Instead of being upset, the violet eyes twinkled. Much like her other self’s had when advising my fortune.

Good grief, that felt like so long ago.

“Go on,” she prodded. “Put the pieces together.”

After another sip of wine, I gave it a shot. “Portals require anchors on each end. Your other self is incarnate on Earth, and either by herself, or with a human wizard, opened a wider channel between there and here. Not for granting demons playtime upon the mortal realms, but instead to shift non-aware patterns across, thereby skirting the restrictions of the Gate likely by the slimmest of fine print. Vance doesn’t know where the Tears went because he cannot see through the depths of that watery circle.”

“But you have. Because you possess the gold from your father’s eyes.”

“What exactly are you doing with all those Tears, Lilith? Are you planning to use them to assault Heaven?”

“I cannot say.”

“Cannot? Rather than will not?”

“By my Name, have I sworn.”

I rocked back in the chair. “My god. Then you aren’t alone in this.”

She said nothing while smiling at me with pride - much like I used to do towards Danielle.

Groaning, I rubbed my face. “Yet more to worry about! Wonderful!”

The smile faded into sharp cunning. “Beelzebub is the current pressing danger, and not only to Hell. He’ll use the Book to find a way to escape and spread his unitary madness across all Creation.”

“Which is why I may have to take that crown! I’ll need all the aid possible to yank that Book away from him!”

“The throne they offer would bind you to Hell in ways undesirable.”

Legs twitching with growing nervousness, I stood and walked closer to her couch. “You think I don’t know that? Michael is on the verge of rallying the Host to purge Earth of all Nephelim - no matter the cost! And if I’m tied to the Fallen, he and that Council of theirs will never listen to me - it’ll only prove myself as being an even greater threat!”

About to say something, Lilith was interrupted by the white door swinging open again. Pushing past the stunned corporal, Cassiel strode in with Nathanael and Tsáyidiel close behind.

“Amariel!” Cassiel barked, not looking happy. In fact, he was furious. “You’re needed!”

“What is it now?!”

“Beelzebubs are attacking!!”

I blinked. “The city?”

“Here and across most realms!” Forcing a strained calm, he added, “The Sarim already present have rushed to the Aerie. They insist on your answer. In truth, they’re desperate.”

Oh fuck. I looked back at Lilith, horror writ large across my face.

She who had existed since the Beginning of All Things met that panic with solid determination and smoothly rose to stilettoed feet. “Find the alternative.”

“How??”

Reaching out to cup my face, Lilith’s immaculate fingernails scraped along a cheek. “Beelzebub’s victories must be prevented - you’re the only one who can accomplish this. You will find the answer.”

“What if I don’t??”

She squeezed my chin. “Be not as they desire, niece of mine. Instead, be only yourself. Now - you should go.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Cassiel ordered the corporal to lead the way upstairs to the Aerie. The floors above within the Citadel were spacious, with decor reminiscent of both Rome and the heights of the British Empire. Immaculate marble, soft silks, gilded alcoves with brilliantly colored statues of warriors, the works.

Martial yet opulently dignified.

As we approached thick double doors which clearly had been replaced since my last visit, Nathanael tapped a shoulder. Pausing mid stride, I met his steadfast gaze.

“Before going in,” he said, “remember what they are. And what we are, and why.”

I nodded as if I understood.

With a smile, his fist gently thumped the shoulder. “Go on.”

We went.

Like the doors, the Aerie had been fully repaired from the damage of Azazel’s assault. The stadium-like chamber swept its circle with layer after rising layer of impressive tables and plush chairs, vast enough to host the delegates of all the realms of Hell. Even with only a portion of those in attendance now, stepping into that space was like walking into a steamroom - the intense and varied resonances of the gathered and fiercely arguing angels slammed the face in a slap of heat.

All that energy shared one property in common:

Evil.

It was a gut punch of the deadly sins and more. Waves of lust, of rage, of spite and greed - unmuddled and pure, unlike the dirty reflections cast by demons. All those potentials wriggled like eels to prick, tug, and magnify within body and mind, searching to enhance and explore the depths of those dark ideals, to summon forth the worst parts of oneself into action.

Their leaders were endless pits anchoring each delegation, sitting as silent rotting cores for those within their domains as their lessers bickered and shouted across the aisles. Thousands had gathered, each group distinct in shining armor or fancy cloth, some wielding fiery implements of battle from across the ages, and others goblets or scrolls. Sharp colors, faded greys, gold and gems, rags and sackcloth, all present and on display.

And my heart ached to witness.

Nathanael’s message and Asmodeus’ previous words haunted thoughts, for they were angels. Broken and unbalanced, saturated past the rails of necessity and cut off from that which would mitigate and temper, free falling without end. With only the souls upon each of their realms granting any connection to the original Source from whence they came. Souls who also had fallen unto darkness, drawn to these realms due to their own shadowed natures and acts.

My god, the whole was a cyclone feeding upon itself.

Forever.

Summoning wings to push a bubble of Light against that energetic maelstrom, I stepped further into the chamber, striding past Lilith and the others while the armor-styled outfit I’d originally thought to don shifted instead to a simple gown of white over bare toes. As I approached the wheelchair-bound angel at the center, all words hushed into silence.

Stopping a few feet from Asmodeus, the room’s attention then fixated on the golden crown resting upon his lap. With silver hair hiding the half ruins of his face, he lifted the crown as an offering.

I didn’t move. “Are all in agreement?”

The one available eye swept our surroundings. “Like was said before: not all, but enough. Take it, and you shall be our Queen.” Mad eagerness glinted across his following smirk. “They have no choice if they wish to survive what is to come.”

“I disagree.” Looking out to the crowd, my voice filled the space. “My spiritual sire, Helel, the Lightbringer - he forged this crown, and to gain what only he could give, you knelt before it. Not out of loyalty, nor out of love. But of fear. And now you attempt a repeat.”

A growl came from the back. “I fear not you!”

I turned towards the source. “Did I say it was me that has you trembling and ready to abase yourself to an outsider, an unknown? All while secretly plotting how best to maneuver and use whatever power I may bring? For that is your desire!” Lifting the marked palm, an orb of brilliance began to burn upon it. “Primal intent! Lucifer replenished your realms before his departure, granting what little they could hold to allow their continued existence! Knowing full well that a day would come when those reserves would fail, knowing that you could no more not burn through the supply than not hate him for standing against you in the War!”

That glow played across their faces, highlighting all their salivating need and inner despair. They were as drug addicts - desperate for that hit, despite the agonies that would follow - for that was a certainty. Their hollow spirits maintained by selfish ego alone could not stand in that Light, could not take the truths of who and what they were, or what they’d become.

A paradox of need, a paradox of pain.

“You do fear!” I shouted at them. “You fear Beelzebub twisting the remnants of your Names into his! You fear your realms fizzling out, thus ending the collection of souls whose inner sparks reflect your tilted Words back unto you and maintain your broken shells!”

As their disagreeing cries began to rise, the orb burned brighter still - causing lesser angels to reel and hide behind their wings. The Sarim, the leaders, their expressions hardened and remained unmoved.

While some twitched with the potentials of exorbitant violence.

“And most of all,” I continued, voice rising still above the din, “you fear the opening of Elohim’s Gate and Michael’s vengeance! For you know exactly how weak you have become: Samael has abandoned you, and Beelzebub intends to absorb you all!!”

“What does it matter why?!” Asmodeus, having dropped the smirk, snarled instead. “Take it! Take up your destiny, child of Lucifer! You grasp that Creation stands not as it should - I see it! I see it written across your heart! Take the throne of Hell and use us to conquer the Seats of Heaven! For you are Conquest - seize the fate existence itself cries out for! Accomplish what must be!”

Beside me Cassiel stood within that Light, clad in armor of glittering gold and diamond. With a shout of his own, he proclaimed, “Her way is not Samael’s!”

“There is no other path!!” Asmodeus pounded the padded arm of his mobile chair. “Lucifer never rejoined Heaven - the Host too will have weakened! He left this crown for her!”

The room erupted into further cries and shouts, a horrible screech-filled racket of ancient hurt and rage. Into that deafening bedlam, I found myself whispering:

“Love unto the Defended; love unto the Destroyed. Which shall be received is not the decision of the one who loves.”

I began to understand the answer to a wise dragon’s question.

While the cacophony of voices threatened to raise even the high roof above us, I moved. Despite Cassiel’s clear protest, I grabbed hold of Lucifer’s crown, pulling it from fingers all-too-willing to let it go.

In my hands, pulsing as it did with the echoes of a shine long departed, I saw through to its hollow center, to its lie.

To his lie.

With a surge of molten fury, I spun and tossed the crown high towards the golden dome above.

And on its way down a burning Spear split the circlet precisely in half.

In the stunned and sharp silence, two pieces of metal clattered to the marble floor and faded, losing entirely their previous glow. Pointing the weapon of Light and Shadow at the angel slowly dying upon his wheelchair, I spoke with a voice measured and resolute which echoed sharply across the chamber.

“Beelzebub by his acts threatens not only you Fallen but Creation as a whole. Against this conflict would I defend you, but no more! I shall not rule!”

In shock, Asmodeus stared at the Spear and the contradicting energies coursing through its helical shaft. “You truly are of both your sisters.”

“No.” Cassiel, still wide-eyed at what I had just done, disagreed. “She exceeds them.”

Standing at the center of a crowd aghast with new and terrible fear of she who stood before them, I turned to Asmodeus. “What say you?!”

With an eye fixated still upon the implement in my hand, the broken angel gave thought before speaking. “Not queen then, but Warleader.”

“For this fight only. In exchange for the wing of blood.”

Depths of scheming glinted, and his head bowed. “I accept.”

Lifting the pulsing weapon, I turned to the crowd, and by burning gaze alone demanded their answer.

Thousands of fallen angels pushed away from tables and together bent knee, the multiplied impacts upon the floor sounding as a mighty drum. A swarm of discordant voices merged to shout as one:

“HAIL WARLEADER, HAIL AMARIEL!”

A crazy thought flitted past and I choked on a wild giggle, causing Cassiel to look over in concern before I waved him off. It’s not like I could explain that, hey, at least this time I hadn’t needed to first break all my ribs in a frozen and naked mud-fight.

Though I still wanted a hot cup of tea and a silly purple hat.

 

To be continued in Part Six, coming soon!

 

 

If you have enjoyed this story so far, please let me know in the comments! Thanks for reading!

- Erisian