Hope's Light (Part Six)

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Pursuits

 

Entire chapters spin past.

A terrible encompassing war visits destruction’s touch to every level of Creation - slaughter and fire, anguish and ruin, all spreads ahead. Victories and losses pile on, culminating in the great rift cleaved across the tapestry, and a Gate forever locking one side from the other.

But the travails end not there. A spark of conflict - brief but explosive, carrying dreadful potential of resumed division hoped forever silenced - strikes at the City and at the Throne itself. Firmament trembles and cracks from the duel of duels as transcendent forces fight above, only for the returned Light to fall as a trail of crimson stars across that eternal gap, followed thereafter by a darker twin whose own tears wish for naught but to cast off the painful burdens of that which was.

Yet time moves on, an arrow marching only forward.

Pages then settle upon a selected passage, and as the viewer I am again drawn in as silent witness. The scene is both viewed anew and remembered, strands entwined as a gift unto my existence also conveying the memory.

The focus narrows to a mountain clearing, upon a precipice where air grows too thin for even the hardiest of trees. There, before two wide slabs of stone set against the peak, arrive two angels - each with feathers of immaculate shining white, alighting to stand below a sky bright yet without sun.

“Gabriel, why have you bid me come?” asks the taller as he touches the blank stone set in place to lock passage below mountain and realm. A steady breeze disturbs his lengths of soft brown curls bound by a simple ribbon of blue, the chill air’s embrace swaying also the golden hem of a brilliant ivory robe perfectly matching the feathers enfolding back and shoulders.

The shorter figure, brushing strands of strawberry from her cheek, lets wind catch hold to stream the reddish hue off to the side. “Because, dear brother, we must talk.”

Sliding a palm across smooth surface, his thoughts cannot help but contemplate the remembered sorrows that lay behind the solid barrier. “And we needed to do so here?”

“Even our towers provide not the privacy required.”

Raphael turns, amusement filling features elegant and kind. “Have we such need of secrecy?”

Emerald irises reflect the strength of the mountain, for it too is of her essence. “This is what I must discover.”

“Ah.”

“The gift and burden of judgment may not be mine to bear, yet I too am able to discern patterns. Even of threads others wish for me to not take notice.”

“You are of the Light, perception is naturally your forte.”

“Then why do you and our beloved Defender endeavor to hide from me your worries? Though he does his best to not show, underneath that eternal martial calm Michael grows pensive and concerned. And your walks amongst the city, carrying laughter and joy wherever your feet may tread, have lessened in number. Instead, you and your healers spend increasing time within your tower - or besides the Throne of Elohim.”

Amusement fades, and a heaviness darkens the depths of the oceans found within his eyes. “Are you sure you wish an answer? For some burdens weigh greatly, dear sister.”

“That you both have not shared your concerns troubles me more. Speak, Raphael, and speak true. What sparks such trepidation? Do our ancient foes beyond the borders stir once more?”

The angel of healing shakes his head. “It is not an external threat that faces us.”

Startled, Gabriel’s many feathers flutter. “I have heard no rumors even hinting at any fresh disloyalty!”

“Yet the scars of the previous deepen.”

“What are you saying?!”

He sighs, and with the gentlest of touches takes her graceful hands into his. “Azrael’s fissure, the wounds within the heart of Elohim, do not improve. Nay, they fester and burn - growing worse with each turning of the age.”

“You said He would heal!”

“And I was wrong.”

Desire for anger clashes with tender mercy, for the pain and worry within her brother’s admission is experienced raw. Gathering herself, she squeezes his fingers tight. “What must I do to help?”

“Michael insists this be kept hidden, lest whispers of revolt flash anew. The most trusted healers of my House search for treatment, we need time for success to be found.”

“Elohim - already it has been noted that His voice falls silent over longer stretches, and the doors remain shut more often than not. We thought it due to increasing contemplation of the Source and the Greater Plan!”

“He indeed finds solace in the Above, for the severed connections are worst felt when focus falls to lower realms. Violent storms rage and ebb within His consciousness, we recognize the signs as they arise. Michael encloses His chamber at our signal.”

“If the fissure is the cause, then it must be repaired and the locked Gate opened!”

“Think, Gabriel - to open that passage is to resume the War. Elohim will never allow such, each additional loss of our number weakens him further. With Helel’s departure, we have not the Light by which to forge brethren anew. As for the chasm, only the First himself could ever contemplate the accomplishment of such a bridge.”

“And he is forever lost behind the Gate.”

Raphael hesitates, and pulling hands free of hers he examines once more the tall stones. “He may not be.”

“What?!”

“Azrael visited my tower. He spoke of a tremor across the boundaries.”

“Does not his feathers sense such whenever Archons probe within? Should he not have gone to Michael?”

“Such events never before carried with them the taste of the forging of Heaven’s firmament.”

“The forging…how?!”

“Judgment believes it possible that Helel and Beliel have crossed together from Chaos unto our portion of Creation.”

She stares in shock. “Azrael recently departed his sanctum, saying to me only that he wished to patrol the Edges.”

“He seeks confirmation, torn between hope’s potential and fathomless doubt.”

“Why did he not tell me?!”

“Because he cannot be certain. And wishes to travel alone, which you would not have allowed him do.”

“I can help! He needs my sight-”

“Nay, dear sister. Your presence would press continuous his most inner-held guilt, and give worry that he senses only reflections of his own desperate prayers. We must await his report.”

“You expect me to do nothing?!”

The angel of healing contemplates. “There is something you may do.”

“You need only give it voice.”

“Then approach the Regent of Lucifer’s Seat, and request an assignment of Seraphim of the House of Light to grant you aid.”

“Aid? To what end?”

“To sing, beloved Gabriel. To sing and to shine unto Elohim the music and glorious fires of the sacred Dream held so dearly within your heart. And by so doing may many storms be soothed within the Throne.”

“Tending to symptoms provides not a cure.”

“Yet may grant the needed span for such miracle to present itself.”

“If this may help, then shall the voices of the Seraphim be raised with a song of songs to lift not only His essence, but all who hear and witness.”

Facing the mountain’s peak, Raphael again touches the slabs barring entrance to its depths.

“And my House shall bend our utmost efforts to such solution’s discovery; we shall leave no stone unturned.” He pauses, and in a quieter voice adds, “Lest this tearful Monument need hold us all.”

The scene goes still, as if the book itself is reluctant to turn the page towards such an end.

 

 

“We’re losing, aren’t we.”

With the aerie having been repurposed as a command center, I stood behind a desk encircled by many more, all covered with magically-technical displays casting numerous hovering maps and countless colored dots busily crawling across them. Under its high-arched dome, the amphitheater’s middle was filled with the flickering images of war. The latest losses scrolled in unending columns besides their horrific pictures.

Despite forging the laurel wreath out of elegantly thin golden leafs, the headpiece they’d cajoled me into making as its own symbol of leadership sat heavy upon the brow.

Though I suppose that was to be expected.

Putting his hand behind a neck which cracked as the head tilted first to one side and then the other, Nathanael finally nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We are.”

“Yet we beat them back at every encounter.”

“Their raids only fuel their strategy. A tactical win or loss ain’t their concern.” He gestured at the screens, and mine shifted to show what I’d already seen many times before: a parchment much like many recovered from everywhere Beelzebub’s Flies had landed. Written in the tongue of soul-speak, the paper held the true horror of Beelzebub’s plan:

 

To all lost and forgotten souls:

Why struggle under the eternal yoke of demonic oppression? Behold the glory of Unity, behold the glory of Beelzebub! For we fight for your freedom against the parasites feeding upon your virtuous suffering! Only in the Unity shall your burdens be discarded, only in the Unity are we then made equal! Equal to the demons, equal even unto the Bene-Elohim themselves!

Cast off the lies of she who offers only false promises of a Light still upholding the locked Gates of Hell! She fights not against your oppressors, they instead form the ranks of her armies! Take a stand, sons of Adam! Take a stand, daughters of Eve! Rise and conquer your perpetual struggles!

Seize your destinies, oh souls! Put aside all troubles, put aside all pains - Join the Unity, and embrace that which must forever Be!

We shall continue the fight for you. We shall never cease nor tire. In the Unity are we One. In the Unity are we Free.

And in the Unity shall the Jailer’s Gates be shattered and our denied Paradise at last achieved!

We are Legion. We are Beelzebub!

 

Realm after realm had Beelzebub attacked, striking again each time at the forces under my command. Our enemy had a multitude of lesser Bene-Elohim under his sway, each with their own Name erased and Beelzebub’s written in its stead. These - plus virtually endless numbers of souls who also had joined the web of control - had been plenty to cause widespread havoc.

Typically a Fly who had once been a unique and shining angel would infiltrate a realm and quickly forge multiple portals through which a flood of Beelzebub-conquered warrior souls would then stream.

By virtue of their Unity, the skills of each soul reflected the knowledge of the whole - and demon after demon mercilessly would be slaughtered before them. And once that was done, the invaders would retreat to their portals and be gone.

All while leaving the many souls of those realms untouched. Those who tried to fight against the Flies, these the enemy disabled rather than kill if they could. And with each passing cycle, more and more souls were buying into the rapidly spreading propaganda.

We’d lost Mastema’s realm during the last firestorm across Dis (which had slowed our ability to react), when the souls of her domain rose up in force to cast off the demons and angels, declaring their vow to join Beelzebub - and by their choices therefore swallowed by the collective entire.

Millions - if not billions - of sparks captured and their individualities lost forever.

If I wasn’t so furious, it’d have made me sick.

Pounding a fist against the desk, the airborne displays blurred as the stout felwood cracked. “Dammit! We’re stuck in a reactive loop!”

The shoulder strap of the white and purple stola slipped as a result, and in disgust I pulled it back up. What I should have been wearing was armor, out there taking the fight to Beelzebub directly. But instead the angels played it like a game of chess, unwilling to strike at the foe behind the board. Oh they’d push, shove, and destroy each others’ manifestations within those realms if they could - but Lucifer’s oath bound them from outright killing the spirit behind. Which, to me, made little sense considering these were the same rebel angels who had slaughtered billions of their brethren without mercy in the original war against Heaven.

Either they’d learned a lesson, or across all this time they’d become too afraid to ever again risk their own ultimate hides.

Abagor, who had turned out to be a decent strategist, coughed. Unlike myself who’d been stuck lately wearing Roman-styled silks because somehow that had become expected, the Prince Custodian of the Rock still wore his preferred and immaculate modern-day business suit of grays, his wings therefore perfectly blending against those fabrics.

Having achieved my attention, he spoke. “Every attempt to surprise the enemy fails. Our foe has mastered Raziel’s Gift. With its knowledge has Beelzebub mastered disguising the Flies when desired, you are the only one who can see through them. And their penetrations across all realms has gained an overwhelming intelligence advantage - our secrets, be they sacred or mundane, are being read complete.”

“Even with my sweeps to ferret out those subsumed across our forces and logistics centers, I can’t catch them all,” I grumbled past an embittered snarl. “There’s just too many! And with so many demons willing to play both sides, it’s a mess. Meanwhile he gets to surprise us time and time again. What if I-”

Nathanael cut me off. “We’ve been through this! Even if you have the mojo to headbutt Beelzebub’s core directly, we don’t know where that is. With the Flies echoing his Name across Hell, the crucible itself is impossible to find.”

I snorted. “If we hit his home realm hard enough, he’d be forced to come out. And he’d quit this bullshit immediate retreat of his forces from anywhere I personally then appear.” Over and over, at any report of new incursions I’d accompanied a squad to either use a portal or fly at full speed between the realms, and as soon as my Light began reinforcing the defenders - all attacking Flies would bugger off.

And new swarms would instantly attack somewhere else far away.

The frustration was really starting to grate on the nerves.

“Even during the War with Heaven,” Abagor noted calmly as one of his officers handed him another dispatch, “Lucifer himself was wary of Beelzebub’s strength. And now their might has multiplied tenfold through the additional amplifications of their Name.”

The stola’s uncomfortable shoulder strap got readjusted again. “So why didn’t the jerk try to take you all on before this?! Was he that afraid of Samael?”

The two exchanged glances. “Beelzebub only acts when assured of victory,” said Abagor. “Samael’s genius to exploit any potential weakness kept the Flies in check, even after Lucifer’s departure.”

“But Samael told you guys to piss off awhile ago. And all Beelzebub did was send some minor forces to add confusion to the contest over Dis.”

“The abandonment of Dis,” noted Nathanael, “could have been a ruse by crafty Samael all along.”

Abagor nodded. “With the acquisition of that Book, Beelzebub has likely confirmed that Samael’s departure was not a trap after all but genuine. And thus struck immediately with the larger plan.”

Groaning, I fiddled with the laurels of the crown again to try and get the darned thing balanced atop the braids keeping my face clear. “We’re spread too thin playing defense! Sending your angels to circle each realm waiting for Flies to arrive accomplishes nothing long term. We need a game-changer! Because if we don’t turn this around, this is a slow grind to a loss, piece by bloody piece.”

Neither angel (nor any of the surrounding Citadel officers) argued the point.

Waving at all the displays, I made a sour face. “Billions eventually are going to be lured to destruction, no matter how many public service announcements I make! I mean, let’s be real here, I’m actively fighting to save demons of all things! How in the heck can I really counter the jerk’s propaganda?? Start a publishing business and go on a book signing tour?!”

Nathanael chuckled, but shook his head. “While your surging following amongst the souls greatly helps counter the enemy’s words, we need you here, ma’am. Dis is central to fast mobility between realms, this towered zoo has the most active portals and connections. What with the Fly’s fear of you, your stayin’ in the realm keeps the city from being hit.”

“That fear,” said Abagor as his mind chewed on the data, “is potential evidence she indeed has the might to face the Fly’s core and win. And she is not bound by our collective oath.”

The former blacksmith shrugged. “Or it’s some kinda clever long-term setup hopin’ to lure her out.”

“Or that. Perhaps both.”

A Citadel demon hurried into the Aerie, pausing to salute one of Abagor’s angels standing at the periphery of the desks. A slip of paper was handed over, and the demon beat a hasty retreat. The angel read the note, then fixed her attention on the back of Abagor’s head.

Yeah, I caught the burst of telepathic communication between them - when paying attention that always looks like a stream of tiny sparks. Breaking the encryption to read it, however, would have caused skin to flare and been obvious.

Likely also rude.

“Something up?” I instead asked Abagor.

The fallen Prince’s eyes hardened. “An odd message sent up from one of the Citadel’s generals. Ostensibly for you.”

“Really? So what’s the message?”

“It says, and I quote, ‘The drunk is at the bar. Wants to talk.’” Irises of slate fixed on mine. “Anything the Warleader wishes to share?”

Before I could reply, Nathanael spoke up. “Nope. That one is gonna remain private.” To me he added, “You should go.”

“Yeah. Okay. Mind the fort while I’m out, gents.” Without explaining further, and before Abagor could object, I hastily strolled through the nearest exit and into the maze-like corridors of the Citadel leading eventually to open sky.

The number of salutes I had to return along the way was ridiculous.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Unlike last time, upon seeing me the blue demon guarding the entrance to Greepa’s bar emitted a startled noise and hastily got out of the way, flattening himself against the wall like he was trying to become part of the graffiti.

Which was, in its own way, rather satisfying.

Hmm, maybe I’d been associating with too many Fallen commanders of late. Either that or I was just in a ‘mood’ as I’d overheard them mutter more often of late.

Oh well.

Inside the bar was the same as before: dimly lit and grungy. It also was conspicuously missing its bartender, however a former bouncer sat alone over at an alcoved table.

I walked over to him.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Jordan. Nice toga.”

“Huh? Dangit, forgot I was still wearing it.” The stola shifted to jeans, purple t-shirt with v-neck showing off the sparkly necklace, and the ever-present vambraces of kick-assitude. “Your coat seems to be doing better.”

He looked down at the earth-toned trench, and shrugged. It indeed had been recently cleaned - as had he. Wearing the form of his former incarnate self, light brown hair again was buzzed short with cheeks and chin freshly shaved. On the table sat two medium-sized glasses and a matching pitcher - full not of booze but purified water.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered, gesturing at the seat opposite.

“Sure,” I said, sliding onto the repeatedly patched leather. “Where’s Greepa?”

“Taking a walk.”

“Voluntarily?”

“What? Oh. Heh, yeah. Said he’s got enough stress in his life, and doesn’t want any chance of getting further embroiled with our angelic shenanigans.”

“Probably smart.”

“I certainly didn’t debate such eminent wisdom.” Picking up the pitcher, he filled the pair of glasses, then lifted one and waited for me to do the same.

I did. The water was even chilled. “Tame beverage choice.”

“Thought you’d appreciate the symbolism.” He took a sip.

“Funny. You disappeared from Epsilon.”

“Had things to do.”

“We had a deal.”

“Yeah, we do. And you got distracted from it, not me.”

Clear liquid slipped down the pipe, its chill hitting the bottom of an admittedly empty stomach. “What are you saying?”

“That I kept at it. It took awhile, but I got it.”

“Got what?”

“I know who grabbed Camael from the pit.”

The glass hit the table with a loud clunk. “Who?!”

He grinned. “You really want to know?”

“Dammit, give.”

Surprisingly he did, though he lost the smile in saying it. “Samael.”

Whereupon I gaped. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“Shit. Know where he’s holding him?”

“Yep. Also, nope.”

“Rather contradictory that, don’t you think?”

“I know where it is - but I can’t find it.”

“Don’t make me toss that pitcher at your head.”

Nick snorted. “This brainpan’s hard enough to take it. Seriously however, best estimate has Samael holed up in this tiny pocket right at the Edge. Much smaller than the Rock, but tucked against the nothingness just the same. No force lines to follow to get to it, you understand? I haven’t the sight to spot it, nor wings to even go out and try. You have both. Along with those bracers and blood-soaked feathers to act as compasses.”

“How good is the intel?”

He rotated his glass where it had joined mine on the table. “Solid. And don’t ask what I’ve done to get it. You don’t want to know.”

“Is it a trap?”

“Of course it is.”

“For me specifically?”

“Who else but you would try to find and save that carnage-covered ass, let alone be crazy enough to go?”

“You in on it? Or is that part of the ‘don’t ask’.”

“As far as I am aware, no.”

“Not building confidence there.”

The once-magician shrugged. “This is Samael the Destroyer we’re talking about. I’d be an idiot to make any assumptions about how deep his plans go.”

“Now that you’ve told me, I can’t sit by and do nothing.”

“You should, but you won’t. And I bet Samael knows that too.”

“Coming with me?”

“Fuck no. This is where I get off the bus. At that level, I’m a liability.”

“Alright. That’s fair.”

“If you’re thinking of going in force, what with the whole ancient wrecking crew following your orders, don’t.”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Don’t make this a challenge. Just like you can’t not go, he’d not resist such a fight if offered. If you go by yourself - like with Asmodeus - he’ll talk.”

“That’s the kind of advice someone in on a trap would give.”

“Believe what you like about me,” he said with a wince, “but if you take an army, he’ll never respect you. And he knows every last weakness on this not-so-new team of yours. He’ll have planned for everything, and you’ll lose. Count on it.”

“I could take just Nathanael-”

“That’d only insult him. If you’re gonna do this, it has to be you alone. You need him to perceive you as being his equal - if not an equal to Lucifer himself.”

“Am I?”

He looked away. “I can’t judge that.”

“If you could, what verdict would you wish for?”

The Grigori stayed silent.

“I’d best get to it then.” I finished the drink and stood. “Though what about you? You know that Shemyaza is now Cassiel, right? He could use your help. And he’s gathered most of the Grigori who got punted down here.”

“I know. No thanks.”

“You could also go to the Spires.”

“Maybe I’ll stay here. I like the water.” He lifted the pitcher.

“Think about it.”

“Sure. And should you somehow rescue the Butcher…” Stormy eyes stared at the small waves bouncing within the upheld container.

“Yeah?”

“Tell him…tell him we’re even.”

I paused, but said nothing as I went for the door. And as I left, he put the pitcher down.

Yet the swirling seas slowly becoming calm behind the crystal never released his attention.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“Ma’am, I don’t like it.”

Between the darkest of realms, two winged stars floated in sharp contrast: one gloriously sapphire, and the other shining the purest of white.

“What’s not to like? I find Samael’s hideout, negotiate with a charming smile, retrieve Camael, and with the Regent’s aid we turn the tide of this blood-drenched war.”

“You know it ain’t gonna be that easy. Which is why you haven’t told the others.”

“C’mon, you want him back as much if not more than I do.”

“He would be of great help, not arguin’ that. But sending you off by yourself is as risky as using the edge of an anvil. And the Hunter agrees with me…ma’am.”

“Yeah, well, if we’re lucky the hideout is in a pocket of accelerated time. I can be back before anyone even notices.”

“We’re likely being watched already - you’re not exactly covert.”

“Neither are you.”

“No argument there either. Sense anything?”

Feathers of burning ruby fire traced glowing arcs across empty space. “Maybe…wait, a tug.”

“Can you follow it?”

The brightness grew stronger. “Barakiel was right. Against the Abyss…got it. Wow, it’s small - but I see it.”

“You truly have your father’s sight. Learn to use it as he did, and we won’t need ol’ redwings to win.”

“Huh. The timestream is still wonky, though parts are flattening. But there’s a path that’d speed the journey relative to everything else. I’m going.”

“One martyr attempting to save another. Not wise, ma’am.”

“Are you forgetting what he once told us?”

“Not at all, but go ahead and say it anyway if it’ll make you feel better. Know you want to.”

“Have faith, Nathanael of the Powers. Have faith.”

“I do, ma’am.”

With a flash the more brilliant star sped away, following a line only she could see. Left behind in the afterglow, radiant blue pulsed a sigh’s thought into the surrounding emptiness:

“But so did countless cohorts of our siblings slaughtered by the one you now seek.”

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Questions

 

There, hovering before what only pretended to be the blackest of clouds, lurked a sinister metallic sphere. How, one might ask, does a smoothly specular ball floating within an emptiness pressing against the true Void of Voids earn such a moody description?

The answer is simple: it emanates a hum of resonance filled beyond the brim with barely restrained violence, like a coiled spring which required industrial machinery to press into place and then held back only by a worn and rusted clasp on the brink of snapping. The tension so mighty that, if unleashed, the sphere would launch itself across a cosmos and plow through any stellar object foolish enough to happen to be in the way.

Rules of physics literally be damned.

Towards that incredible potential I flew, admiring the perfection of its reflective surface - so perfect that, as I approached, it was as if another light in the distance also sped towards me.

But my reflection wasn’t the only thing coming. A line of battle-hardened angels, each with armor of obsidian burnished by rubies, prevented the two lights from meeting direct - and as I slowed to a halt their many weapons burst into flames bright yet harshly dark, due to the depth of the multiple angry hues lighting their edges.

From their gleaming and plumed helms no words were spoken, no challenge given, and so I broke the lingering silence instead.

“Your master knows who I am and should be expecting my arrival. There are matters that need discussion.”

The row of Maschitim rotated into two halves, breaking at the center. Burning swords pointed to the sphere where a rectangular opening appeared upon the otherwise seamless surface.

Feeling not unlike a certain ship being pulled inside a more crenelated battlestation, I continued to the port and on inside. Except instead of entering a busy docking bay manned by yet more armored soldiers, the entrance transitioned to a different space entirely.

You’d think I’d have gotten used to the vagaries of subjective realms by now, but nope. The novelty of being caught in a different scene still surprised, requiring a moment to reorient.

Bare feet below a simple white gown touched cold grey stone, one of many large slabs of rock leading as a slender path to stretch forward across a wide and undisturbed lake. Beyond the waters ahead two great and barren cliffs rose, split apart by narrow and towering passage. From the bluffs on the right spilled a slender waterfall, mists filling the bottom pools which fed the greater lake.

Its opposite on the left also had a fall, but not of water. Bright lava flowed over its edge, cascading down as a channel of heat to collect and swirl not into the lake but away as a burning molten river all its own, scorching the passage between the cliffs.

There in the middle, magma met water to spit steam and mist, filling that gorge with dense fog itself glowing scarlet from illumination below. And pulsing like a heartbeat, bursts of lightning sparked between the two cliffs to arc upwards as a legendary-sized Jacob’s ladder.

More striking still was what blocked the flashy passage’s entrance. A being glowered there upon a gilded black-leather chesterfield chair, dark wings splaying out behind. Like me, he wore no armor, just a sleeveless onyx robe lined with red, and across the distance the dagger of his attention struck as if I’d been pierced by an actual weapon.

Oh, and he was as tall as those cliffs, like a giant guardian of clearest of waters and hottest of melted stones.

“Lady Amariel.” A voice from behind startled, breaking the spell of that distant gaze. I spun about to face a woman upon a knee, face hidden behind bangs of dark mahogany draping forward from the bowed posture. Her robe was white like mine, but the hemline flowed with striking shades of violet.

The Light within pulsed with overwhelming need, and without volition a hand adorned with another’s bracelet reached to touch her face.

Her wrist blocked the gesture.

“Please,” she said, without raising her head. The word was softly spoken, yet held the promise of well-tempered steel.

My hand retreated. “You’re a Seraph. Of Lucifer’s House of Light.”

“I am Ithuriel.”

Gabriel’s memories churned. “You followed when he fell past the Gate.”

“As did many of us.”

Heart and stomach twisted further. “And when he departed these realms, the First abandoned you to Hell.”

“He did.”

“I, too, was left discarded in his wake.” Through the gathering emotional storm, a disturbing thought occurred. “What of the others?”

Rising off the knee, she pointed to the far shore. “All are here.”

“All?!” Vision flared and gained new focus. Below the towering Prince of Destruction a semicircle of silver and white marble plinths rose from the sand. Upon each sat or stood angels, all in soft white with hems brushed by lighter pastels - as were their wings. Each figure’s eyes and ears had been bound tight by thick cloth woven of words of harshest power.

And around their necks glinted solid rings of angelic-smithed silver connected to the heavy chains falling to the plinths, locking and binding them to where they perched.

My god, he’d enslaved them.

A wordless cry of horror-filled rage escaped lips as a pulse of brightness roared within, the surrounding waters boiling as Camael’s bracers shifted from decorative gold to practical obsidian bursting with fierce red flame.

Simultaneously, Ithuriel blinked between me and that shore on manifested wings, holding now a katana with violet fire of its own. Instantly she steadied to deflect - and return - any possible attack.

An attack which her blocking presence forestalled. My tongue fought instead for words. “You…you would defend him?!”

“There is much your sight has not witnessed.”

“Are you saying there’s justification for this?!”

“They still live.”

Silence joined the tension between us, and implications rebounded inside my skull. I readjusted the airborne stance. “No chains are upon you. Is he blackmailing you with the threat of their harm?”

“No.”

“Then you serve willingly. I find that hard to believe.”

Hard eyes flickered with ancient pain. “I must.”

“Why?”

“Creation has need.”

The last was said quietly, yet so full of resignation that the rage tasting like a spicy chunk of burning charcoal found itself smothered, and fire-covered fists lowered. “He’s willing to talk?”

“Yes.”

Looking past her shoulder, the giant visage of Samael still sat upon the chair. He’d leaned on an elbow to study the scene. Also leaning against the chair were two scabbarded blades, the twin implements of gore I’d glimpsed through Gabriel’s visions.

His hand rested upon a pommel.

Shifting gathered power to alter perceptual attunement, I took a single step forward past defending violet-flames to cross the waters suddenly more puddle than lake to meet him, size for size. “Then, sir, let us chat.”

An amused grin split a slender beardless face untouched by time. “Certainly. But first, I am given to understand that you enjoy tea?” His deep voice echoed across this notional space held in place by his will.

I took a seat upon the gigantic chair matching his own, as said chair had just manifested in accordance with his invitation. “I do.”

“Excellent.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Ithuriel brewed and served the tea, the act resonating with the same ritual care as taken by a certain dragon friend of mine. In terms of height, she was quite short, having only reached to mid-chest when we’d first faced off. Once steaming cups were ready, she stepped back to stand at her master’s side.

Oh, and while she worked her preparations the setting had morphed around us into a wide sitting room, complete with serving table between our chairs and high-arched windows framed by ribbon-tied navy blue curtains. Through the glass showed still the lightning-sparked scene of dueling cliffs of molten rock and crystal waters. Double doors on a single wall provided the only entrance - or exit.

After taking an appraising sip, the devil himself mused calmly. “Now, what shall we discuss?” We both were still in robes, his black hair resting against a shoulder in a single and thick braid - mirroring my gold-touched reds.

While his swords maintained their place propped against his chair.

“I have my intended topics,” I said slowly, “though apparently so do you.” I put down the cup. The tea was actually quite good, but it wasn’t why I was there.

“You are my guest. Please, proceed.”

Inhaling first, I did.

“I’ve been told that you have taken Camael. This true?”

He savored another swallow of tea. “It is.”

“Has he finally answered your question regarding the enduring longevity of his vision?”

Those eyes of pitiless darkness flashed incredible menace - with strength enough to shatter planets and realities whole. Yet before I could surge again in defense, the generated pressure faded as quickly as it had arrived. “He is indeed stubborn.”

I swallowed, and not from more tea. Good grief, Nathanael had been right. This conversation was not going to go easy. “I need him. And if you’re truly intending to sit on the sidelines, you also should want him back in the field.”

“To fight Beelzebub?”

“Yes. The Fly will eventually come for you too.”

“With the loss of wing, the Regent no longer empowers the fullness of his Purpose.”

“Then I’ll mend it.”

“Just like that?” He swirled the liquid in his cup, the heat rising to slightly occlude his face. “Such has never been done.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“Must there be?”

“Well, it can’t be any harder than burning away the broken pieces of Shemyaza and forging his Name anew, right?”

A sharp jaw set as tone hardened. “You speak so cavalier upon monuments of sacred import.” The scene outside the windows dimmed, as though a shadow swooped over all.

Which, of course, it had.

I sighed. “I do apologize. Such flippancy is a self-defense mechanism. The magnitude of events of late stretch beyond the scope my current capacity is able to correctly appreciate. As is, they threaten sanity. For in truth, I know not whether such an attempt should succeed. Yet I must hope.”

That raised a thick eyebrow. “You readily acknowledge this lack of comprehension?”

“To deny would to be even blinder than I am now. ”

“Then you are most unlike your father. Intriguing. I question whether doing so openly is a strength, however.”

“Admitting such to you? I suppose that would depend. Are you my enemy, Prince Samael? You relinquished your throne.”

“And you raised up another to take it.”

I shook my head. “Only over the city of Dis. He cannot match your influence or power beyond.”

“Perhaps. Have you discerned why I have taken such actions?”

Picking up the cup again, I used it as an excuse to delay response - which he awaited while calm yet also tense, as if patience itself straddled a razor’s edge. “The question has consumed much thought these past firestorms, or set of cycles, however we wish to measure time.”

“And your conclusions?”

Focus drifted momentarily to the stoic tea-brewer and warrior standing at his side. “Suppositions only. Which are potentially coalescing rapidly.”

Again the almost-but-not-quite-malevolent grin. “Then enlighten me - if you would pardon the parlance.”

“Short version or long?”

“Let us begin with quick summation and see where it develops.”

“You did it to manipulate me.”

“Hmm. Too brief. Elucidate.”

“Sure.” My gaze narrowed. “The timing of your abdication is suspect. If I am right, it must have occurred about when I crashed into Beliel’s Rock.”

“Your arrival changes everything.”

“And you have Seers of Light bound to your control.” I looked back to Ithuriel. “Willingly or otherwise.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Even they,” he noted, “experience difficulties navigating the potential futures surrounding your existence. Trickier now than before by virtue of that implement you carry. Yet they uncovered enough.”

“They foresaw my eventual return?”

“Through the slimmest of channels actively piercing the locked Gate by dint of humanity’s gift and curse, a picture of the tapestry’s intent was gleaned. A confounding, yet exciting, vision requiring exploration.”

“Your act of departure set up everything: the Conclave, Azazel’s opportunity, my ascension and traversal through the Chaos. Along with the desperation of the rest of the Sarim to offer me that crown.”

“Which, to even my surprise, you sliced in twain.”

“Before forging another to fend off the added consequence of Beelzebub’s daring, as he destroys soul after soul in his quest to be a singular ego encompassing all.”

He raised a protesting and long-nailed finger. “Not exactly destroy-”

I interrupted, passions rising in spite of intent for fixed control. “Destroy!! What else can such be termed when their unique potentials are smothered and wiped away?!”

“A removal of the weakness inherent in their spirits.”

“Along with their greatest strength!”

“Ah. Now we reach the crux of the divide. And by your own admission and statements, you are unready for such debate.” He gestured for Ithuriel to refill his cup. “You have yet to postulate the ‘why’ behind the ‘what’ of my decisions.”

The steaming teapot in the former Servitor of Light’s grip refilled first his cup and then mine. With a bow, she moved aside to manifest more water into the pot, along with the fires underneath needed to heat it.

Abstract elements of a type in abundant supply within this miniature notional realm.

“Like I said,” I replied. “to manipulate me.”

“Into doing what? Be precise.”

“You wish me entwined with the Sarim. To fight on their behalf.”

“Again, why?” Obsidian orbs burned with the paradoxical fires of impatience and eternity.

“You require it said aloud? Fine. Because my pattern is partially forged of Gabriel’s - and her heart can never release any she has loved. You wish for me to save them.” I blinked. “You may even hope I will smash that Gate!”

He said nothing, staring through the steam rising from the tea with a gaze hotter still.

I shook my head. “But that would only bring Heaven and Michael down upon you all - and after all this time, you no longer have the numbers to stand against the full Host. That would be madness, and lead but to your forces’ slaughter if not your own!”

Irritation filled that smooth face, and arms of corded muscle put aside the cup before he leaned forward. “You miss the mark. Like Gabriel, still are you stuck on concern for these lower manifestations, and thus are indeed blind to what actually matters.”

“They matter!”

“They do not! Not any particular soul, not the demons, nor even the pathetically lesser angels! Not a single one!”

“If they don’t, then what does?!”

“THE ANSWER!!”

Rising from the chair, again his power burst outward, this time with enough force to knock the walls surrounding us over and send the roof spiraling into the sky, only to crash distantly into the middle of the vast lake.

Skin flooded with the Light kept me and the chair in place, and I shouted back. “The answer?! To what question?!”

Like a reverse timelapse of a volcano’s eruption, Samael checked his might, the strain across neck and shoulders smoothing out as if never there.

Except it was. Ever present under a false surface of tranquility.

“The question,” he continued, standing there as if the small house around us had not been blown away. “As once posed to your father. Then to the Archangels, and to Elohim Himself. The question Azrael foolishly attempted to circumvent by slicing across Creation. The question that black-robed half-wit perched on the gathered fragments of my ancient Seat debates eternal, and which I again have aimed as an arrow to strike his very center.”

“Tell me! Help me to understand!!”

He paused then, did the Destroyer, and his gaze tilted towards pity. “No. A weapon needs not comprehend the hand that wields it. Go then, Amariel who is both dread Archon and shining Archangel. Ithuriel shall take you to your Regent. Should you possess the capacity to free him, he is yours. Me and my Maschitim, however, shall depart.” He turned and began walking towards the chasm between the cliffs - and the two swords levitated to follow behind like hounds chasing after their master.

Which perhaps they were.

To the dark feathers covering his back, I called out. “What of the Servitors of Light?! You know I cannot leave them as slaves!!”

Without looking, he waved a hand. “My quiver is spent, I have no further need of these. Ithuriel’s eyes are sufficient to witness the arriving glory of impact, and she alone shall remain. In comparison to that which entwines Camael, the rest’s bindings should prove no difficulty. Or perhaps they shall float here in silence, forever blind as so many others allow themselves to be.”

His stride then paused, and one burning eye peered over a shoulder. “Of course, if you are convinced that each little spark matters so, then prior to attempting anything dramatic I suggest you first ask the Regent a question of your own.” The smirk upon that otherwise elegant face no longer hid the malevolence.

“What question would that be?”

“Whether he still shares my opinions, or would he now act different with regards to your sister and wife.”

Helen? Caroline?!

Shocked into terrible silence, all I could do was watch as the being known to most mortals as the Devil slowly disappeared into lightning-fueled mist.

 

~o~O~o~

 

They’d bound him to a slab of stone deep underground.

Chains forged more of overpowering will than metal cocooned a naked body stuck on its side, their many barbs slick with the protesting emanations of dark skin nicked and sliced by any groaned attempt to shift position. The unmoving platform held deep stains, the splotches matching the shade of missing wings unable to manifest - due to the raw wound running across a shoulderblade exposing leaking muscle and bone.

With Ithuriel standing still at the prison’s creaking door, I’d entered and knelt beside the slab so his one good eye would have a chance to register my presence. As the other was an equal mess of swollen and infected abscess.

That remaining eye focused upon the Light brought to the room, and from his throat came tortured breath barely more than whisper.

“Amariel.”

“You’re not looking too good.” Examination of the chains caused the room to shimmer, the intense power held within the bonds desiring to inflict itself even unto an observer - to rip, to shred, to flay all things. And in their target’s destruction prove thereby its lack of worth.

“Yet I endure.”

Pinching lip between teeth, I hesitated. “He’s woven his Name across your spirit.”

“He has.”

From the doorway, Ithuriel spoke. “To attempt an unbinding will shred the Regent entire. His wounds are too grievous to withstand the strain.”

I cast an unfriendly glare over a shoulder. “And you know this how?”

“I have seen it. Only failure awaits.”

Looking back at the wreck of an angel on the slab, the future came into multiple focus. She was right. They’d stripped him of his armor, and with the loss of wing, the rest could never enfold him with strength enough to maintain against a final squeeze of the Destroyer’s working.

He’d been sealed by Destruction’s curse, a terrible working designed to inevitably remove from Creation that which should not be - or ever have been.

“Amariel will succeed.” Camael’s eye closed, and even against those awful barbs his body stilled with resolve.

No, not resolve.

Faith.

Shaking my head caused glowing wings to bounce, making the shadows behind the platform tilt and sway. “I don’t see a path. You’ll die.”

“Then I shall end. And by your presence alone, has my Purpose been fulfilled.”

“Yet you believe I’d manage somehow anyway??”

“I do.”

Sinking further to the floor, I stared at the blank stonework forming the prisoner’s bed. “You’re a fanatic. Willing to sacrifice anything and anyone, even yourself.”

“If required, yes.”

Shadows bounced now from the light spawned by trembling feathers. “Did you do it?” I asked with voice equally shaking. “Did you curse my wife with cancer, arrange the accident that killed my sister?!”

The angel on the slab fell silent.

“TELL ME!!”

“I did not.”

Exhaling sharply, I looked again upon his blood-smeared face.

The remaining eye then opened and he added, “But neither did I save them.”

I needed to shout again, but no volume was available. Only a whimper, followed by a gasped question. “You knew?!”

“I, too, am of the First’s House. Even as an incarnate, a measure of limited foresight was possible.”

“You were watching me??”

“Ever since Queen Fionnabhair’s heart discovered her sister’s spirit’s rebirth as your niece.”

Still shaking, I rose to my feet. Though that required pressing a palm against cold wall to remain steady. “She told you. The Queen. And through Danielle, you found me.”

“As per contract. Spirits bound by shared love such as yours, these are brought together life after life by the Wheel’s design. Wherever Saibh’s spirit appeared in the tapestry, Aradia’s would eventually follow. As well as the reverse.”

“In exchange, you promised the Queen enough power to destroy Saibh’s Seal.”

“Yes.”

“Which is why you didn’t try to stop her at the pyramids.”

“The Seals were fated to shatter upon your ascendance. Already your presence had weakened them. It mattered not how.” He shifted, and fresh blood smeared across skin.

Unsteady fingers wanted to reach for him - either to claw or comfort, they weren’t sure. But they dared not touch. “With your magic, your contacts, Caroline - my wife - could have been cured!”

“If performed early enough, then yes.”

“And you let her die. You let both of them die!!”

“Such was the path. The only means by which you would succeed. And their souls go on.”

“Tainted by the agonies, by the suffering, you allowed to be!! My god, even Danielle’s death ultimately is on your head!!”

He sighed, a quiet and resignedly tired sound. “It is.”

“Why???” Tears, unable to be dammed any further, finally coursed free.

“Because you are the answer.”

“To what?!”

“Everything.”

“That’s insane!!” I choked on sobs that wouldn’t stop, their moisture slipping across the tongue tasting of salt, mucus, and pain. “They deserved to live!!”

That freshly scarred face, despite the agony of Samael’s bindings, managed an ever-so-gentle smile. A kind smile. An expression of pity - and even peace. “Leave me if you must. Risk not then against the Destroyer’s will, for this is a deserved justice. A justice long desired and earned.”

Wiping cheeks and running nose with a sleeve, blurry vision caught more than just the broken angel before me. Again was Heaven’s Champion standing over a mound of savaged corpses, this time of demons piled many feet high, with his own sanguine essence seeping from behind helm and across a shredded and wingless back.

And over a broad shoulder lay another angel, unconscious underneath a brown coat equally stained red.

Behind this, vast sets of years unfolded, thousands of passing seasons showing a man outliving everyone around him. At times rich and others poor, loved and hated, tortured and celebrated - always eventually abandoned by all he knew and dared love while forever marching forward across endless millennia towards a goal barely glimpsed.

Yet striven for without fail.

And the vision spun further back in history still, as the angel he truly was led loyal Powers in conflicts beyond imagination, always returning enmeshed in more bloody effluence than any other.

The harshest of struggles, the most necessary of slaughters, all stains taken on by his hands, wings, and burning blade.

Out of a fervent inner desire to spare others from the same terrible burden, the same terrible need.

All of it, every moment of fixated purpose, stemmed outward from that glimpse granted while upon the widest and most horrendous of battlefields, when confrontation insurmountable had triggered sight to pierce the firmament with a vision beyond all glory, a revelation enough to sustain across eons and travails uncountable.

There in the Light had he beheld a coming Promise as spoken by the Source of All, a Word holding a brilliance beyond all for which he could ever hope.

In that snippet’s image I too saw she who was revealed in that instance of transcendence:

Her face shared the very features which had stared back from every mirror since the resurrection he had so painstakingly arranged.

There, upon this dungeon’s slab, crushed under burdened Purpose imposed and accepted, he lay as willing sacrifice. For within his heart he believed - he knew - that a day of reckoning would arrive for Judgment to be rendered in full. When Creation would sing in beautiful harmony with the heart of the Light Above - and in that glorious completion declare his gathered sins too great and terrible for him to share in that paradise, too ugly and horrific to allow enjoyment of that wonder-filled existence for which he had given all he was and ever could be.

That he himself would never enter the Heaven of Heavens promised to all.

From within each tear coursing across my cheeks, illumination burned like magnesium, as the full spread of feathers fanned out behind to gather all love and brilliance from the Source its majesty could provide.

Ithuriel, bracing at the doorway, shouted. “Amariel! This too will only kill him!!”

In reaction to the shining torrent flooding free, sharp bonds of the dreadful scourge placed upon an angel scarred with far more than physical wounds tightened, ripping inward to shred and shatter all patterns within their grasp.

To thereby fulfill the original Purpose of the deadly Name by which they’d been summoned.

Camael, underneath the wreckage of face and body, stared upwards in embrace of that Light, that music, and the wondrous vision above him matching now what had been witnessed when last he stood athwart absolute Destruction.

His words were whispered. “I am content.” And all future lines within that Sight of Sights burned with his dissolution clear and inevitable.

But I had faced such impossibilities before.

“No. I refuse.”

Removing precious bracers from where they’d long sat as guardians upon my wrists, each was carefully placed around Camael’s forearms. The dreadful bindings forced upon him had just enough of a gap for the current simpler shape of golden circlets, and as such they slipped into place.

He was going to need all the protection he could muster - and as I had learned much from wearing them, maybe they too had from me.

Once more the Spear came to hand, shining brighter still while also swallowing with a darkness deeper than all depths. For within its shaft churned portions of Chaos, bound and balanced by Elohim’s Name - and my own.

By Will and Light those unknown potentials were cast loose upon the surrounding fabric of existence.

Reality of the room, of the space, of the realm, all bent and tore, instantly shredding like tissue against a knife sharper than a quark to toss us free into the emptiness outside leading towards the Abyss. The mirrored sphere fell away, its structure burning with the static of incoherence before blinking into nothingness.

Gathering the warped and unfathomable unleashed energies into the slimmest of threads, a single string of Chaos whipped outward to cross that boundary, and through it burned Light intent with singular purpose:

To forge an entirely new future within the greater matrix of possibilities.

Using only the tip of the Spear, the chains of Samael lifted from the bound angel’s skin, the immovable force not defied so much as separated - for additional volume directly between bindings and Camael’s spirit stretched into being. For the briefest of windows, all barbs and chain floated free, allowing a brightly burning hand to reach for his and pull free the wounded angel’s spirit.

Those chains caught fire with terrible black and scarlet fury, twisting and lashing out to again catch and snare their target. But with a whirled shove from the Spear’s point, the region of pattern itself that the metal coils existed within rapidly sped away, plunging beyond a threshold not even their mighty spellwork could survive.

The Destroyer’s curse, impenetrable as it was, could not fight that which was entirely unbound.

While his spirit heaved with the sudden release of intense constriction, against Camael’s blood-smeared shoulder the missing wing recovered from Asmodeus appeared. That thread of unrestrained Possibility spun about, and with a point honed to infinity was it sewed through his spirit, Light beyond all Light filling each strand and every feathered vane, and by its weaving ancient crimson flames embedded into feathers burst clear with white brilliance once more.

With the one’s surprised restoration, five more wings shimmered into being as the angel gasped from receiving the unceasing flood - filling heart and core as had not been experienced since the First had last shared him such immeasurable glory. After a cry of blessed agony from reaching limits even his powerful spirit could not exceed, a snap of slender glowing wrist shattered the tenuous coils of anathema to the layer beyond, the remaining fragments pulled safely again within Spear’s containment.

We floated there in that moment, as a brightness pulsing beyond the intensities of a billion novas. He who had once carried me tight across the skies of Earth and between the realms of Hell, now held in turn within arms more shine than form.

Though numerous additional blazing lights also orbited us as a wider glowing sphere of their own. With wings extended they embraced and contained the explosive ripples of power from further threatening the disturbance of the fabric of existence itself. Servitors of Light, burning with the individual pastels tinging their feathers and spirits, drank in the purest of nectars for which their very spirits had been created, their chains having melted from the impossible impulse which had altered that Which Is,

Included among their number was Ithuriel.

Floating beside us, she managed a bow, her expression remaining fiercely stoic. However, at her sides, hands twitched and trembled. “This…cannot be.”

Camael blinked open two sparkling diamonds, each fiercely aglow. “Her Promise transcends all.”

Releasing the Spear to again be tucked within the folds of spirit, I released Camael so the repaired wings could find their own purchase upon the space between realms.

Shaking her head, Ithuriel said, “It should not.”

“Yet it does.”

I finally found voice with which to speak. “You could come with us, Ithuriel.”

“Such is not possible.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I must not. For there still is Purpose.”

Camael spoke before I could argue. “Then fly after him, sister. Him and his Maschitim. But know it shall not be forever.”

With a slow nod she turned to do just that, but stopped as I’d abruptly winced and clenched a throbbing fist.

Eyes narrowing, she asked, “Is something amiss?”

Pulses of searing pain from a roaring palm confirmed, and I snarled through a grimace hardening to anger. “One of mine just died. At the Spires, on the Rock.” Opening fingers, I stared at the flaring star burning across the skin. “The Ducal council could be attacking-”

Ithuriel, gazing across the darkness between realms with great intensity, interrupted. “Go, Amariel, and go quick - Beelzebub assaults those Spires.”

“But there’s nothing there he’d…” I fell silent, realizing such a statement was horribly incorrect.

She laid it out. “A great mystery resides upon those peaks. One which Samael allowed to exist, but Beelzebub would ever seek to burn - and even now uses the Book of Secrets to hunt. Do not tarry. Nor shall I.”

Without giving us a chance to say more, she sped off like a comet to chase the dread Sarim she had vowed to serve.

I looked to the restored ancient warrior. “Beelzebub. He’s going after-”

“Raguel,” he said before I could.

“You knew he was there?!”

“Yes. And if the Fly has somehow acquired Raziel’s tome, my brother will be a target.”

“In order to destroy Sanctuary."

“Its sacred hope is a pillar of strength towards resisting Beelzebub’s total consumption.”

Dammit! I should have thought of that. “With the Book, couldn’t he find Sanctuary’s location directly?”

“He has. The existence of the ideal of Sanctuary is a part of Justice itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“It lies within Raguel himself.”

Oh. Oh no.

To the Servitors hovering around us, blinking as they were in awe at their freedom and the Light flowing through their spirits, I shouted as another awful sting flared from the connection to those in my service. “Everyone! Fly to the dark side of Beliel’s Rock! Find us at the Spires near Outpost Epsilon, within the region belonging to Duke Valgor!”

The flock of Servitors, still bright as they slowly recovered their wits, mostly nodded agreement. Camael, however, frowned. “Should they not follow our flight directly?”

Before he could object, I pulled him back into my arms - a sweep awkward to accomplish, and likely appearing utterly ridiculous as his obsidian and gold armor had properly manifested in full - and this time without any missing pieces. “No, they cannot - for I wait not for speed. Brace yourself, Champion of Heaven; Barakiel found the transition unsettling.”

“Found the-”

The sentence never finished. Space, time, and spirit itself warped around us and we were elsewhere.

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Need

 

“You good?”

Ignoring the immediate prostration of the giant and reptile-skinned elephant (who this time had forgotten to first bang the gong), I steadied Camael as he attempted to stand. The sudden shift had certainly unsettled him, but at least he hadn’t thrown up.

Though maybe that was because he hadn’t eaten in a ridiculously long time.

“You move direct through the abstract.” Straightening, he took in the barely illuminated surroundings. “Epsilon.”

“Yeah. We need to hurry.”

“I follow your lead.”

With two wings each we immediately took off, speeding across the dark and frozen terrain. “All things considered, can you fight?”

“By your grace am I fully restored.”

“Hardly mine. I am but a channel.”

He said nothing as rocky ice zipped past below. It was one of those silences where inner thoughts swirled with virulent emotion, and you knew the other party was quietly trying not to make it worse. But now was not the moment for working through anything further, as the glimpses I kept receiving through the mark weren’t good.

Comrades and friends were dying.

Flashes of bright fire in the far distant sky emphasized the urgency. Spotting their sources, he spoke immediately. “Use four wings.”

“Can the realm handle it?!”

“Beliel’s instrument can.”

Additional feathers flared across our backs, and we blinked forward to reach the conflict - Camael’s two-handed swing instantly spreading flames in their wake. Before I could celebrate only overshooting the mark by a few hundred yards instead of nautical miles, his blade had already cleaved a silver-armored angel attacker in twain - one of thirty equally silver-winged attackers spiraling in perfect coordination about their target: a figure hovering within their midst, platinum staff and gleaming armored wings deflecting sword after sword from all sides, while his white robe billowed in the wind born from the swiftness of his martially precise motions.

A robe bearing patches of spreading crimson.

The sudden arrival of the black and gold armored warrior scattered the swarm, and each Fly spat in shouted perfect unison. “Heaven’s Butcher?! Impossible!”

The warrior spun about, hovering there back to back against a wounded shepherd. “Raguel.”

“Brother.”

As the two floated together, the air warped and bent from the intensities surrounding all combatants. Beelzebub’s overwhelmingly-reinforced will pressed against the sky itself, preparing to hammer alongside each directed blow from the surrounding circle of Flies.

While the two at the center burned with hardened Purposes of their own.

“Amariel,” said Camael mind-to-mind as the fiery greatsword lifted. “Defend your people.”

Simultaneous to his message, explosions rocked the mountains below.

Oh heck.

“On it.”

Burning brighter still, I dove for the spiky peaks. But even as I did, Light flared through the two fighting patterns floating behind against a matrix of coalesced immovable stasis. Into both of their hearts poured as much as I dared give, before attention fully swiveled to the assault on the Spire’s plateaus - an attack now illuminated by our three fresh comets blazing across the sky.

The situation there immediately became revealed.

All the entrances to the caverns in the mountain were under attack, fresh ragged and fiery yellow portals had been ripped into existence by the angelic Flies. Spilling from those came unending waves of human Beelzebubs, each overwritten soul perfectly employing the knowledge, experience, and awareness of the whole.

Thus allowing them to wield swords and sorcery to the maximum of whatever each soul’s pattern could withstand.

On the largest plateau, green balefire lanced across bodies piling at its floating portal, the invaders never given the chance to orient themselves as Balus visited one-eyed doom upon any daring to enter his expansive range. At another, the cave’s mouth crackled blue with electric defensive power while assimilated ego-subsumed mages launched their full array of ranged spells upon it: fireballs, blasts of raw energy, all varieties of relentless sorcery hammering defenses slowly weakening yet maintained by a particularly stubborn axe-wielding Scot.

Upon a pause of those volleys, the shield immediately dropped and a rapid spread of empowered crystalline arrows impaled the closest attackers, their silver robes too blossoming with shades of scarlet even as azure defenses reformed.

But it was the third and last entrance which required urgent aid. A lone warrior wielding a perfectly forged pair of katanas slaughtered warrior after warrior streaming from its targeted portal, weaving through attackers faster than normal eyes would ever track. To prevent burns he fought naked, for at such speeds cloth would catch fire due to friction against itself. A truth to which the scars across his entire body attested.

A body slick with not only his own blood but of foes and friend alike, for many of the dead and dying upon this plateau wore not the matching silver outfits of the invaders.

Realizing that engaging here with the Spear could damage the realm far more than even our restricted angelic presences would, a desire born of the instincts trained across many battles manifested within my fingers and palm. Whereas within a realm of my own I’d recently summoned a golden sword pulsing with spirit’s Purpose, here and now came something new.

A longbow of pure Light extended from my grip, an arrow of sheer brilliance drawn upon a string of sharpest intent - a bow which could fire as quickly as Twitch could swing his blades, no matter the magnitudes of power focused through its strikes.

Bolts of white flame streaked outward and illuminated the mountain, and with attention’s focus ramping further still, the streams split then split again, as multi-directed missiles slammed into targets below and set them aflame with a blaze which was much more than fire.

Wizards and mages immediately attempted to shield, their blood boiling to burst through their skin as the singular mind driving them forced each unit to exceed individual capacity, as Beelzebub shoved angelic-level will through patterns entirely unsuited to such intensity.

With my own thoughts burning with the sight of raw and fresh wounds across the ancient scars upon a dearest friend and loved one, Beelzebub’s attempt failed entire. Arrows scorched through that combined will one after the other - indeed, penetrating not just through them but the entire mountain upon which they stood, as lances of brightness punched out behind to impact the plains beyond.

Human souls, even rewritten, simply lacked sufficient capacity.

But the enemy possessed overwhelming numbers. The portals set against the three entrances widened further, and a rush of silent focused soldiers charged forward, emerging from a world which many intelligence briefings claimed to hold billions.

To a vision examining not only observable data but the patterns granting their existence, the expanse of those portals slipped tendrils of invasion into the Rock’s own matrices, slowly spreading to corrupt and convert the realm itself to the desires of Beelzebub.

Oh Hell no.

This place, this world, was not mine - but I had before held the weapon set at its center. In that moment our Purposes had aligned: to defend this realm, to defend its spirits. All of them, devil or demon or soul.

Every last one.

Shifting aim, another arrow flew, but not with the intent to kill. Instead it sped through the pattern, ignoring entire the physical rules granting the support the inhabiting spirits required, and thereby blazed through rock and ice to reach its target at the core of the realm.

Its Light hit Beliel’s mace, the tool by which Creation’s firmament had itself been forged. Through the arrow did the Source’s intent flow pure - and this time, the mace fought not against it.

Instead, the Second’s mighty implement embraced the energies entire.

With a tremendous pulse the Rock’s pattern convulsed, and all three portals shattered as if made of thinnest glass. That same wave slammed into the remaining silver angels spiraling around the two warriors defending each other’s backs, knocking their attackers across the sky to bounce beyond the boundaries of the realm.

Indeed some crashed past the Edge bordering this inverted bowl, there into depths from which they would never return.

One Fly, however, must have originally been of a stronger order of angel. With crossed arms, he fought against the overwhelming impulse bursting from this realm’s true master.

With calm expression despite the struggle of the effort he spoke, billions of eyes smoldering behind two orbs of silver fighting to focus.

“Hear me, Amariel! In your possession lies the seeds of ultimate destruction, yet your heart claims care for this Creation! Fulfill that care! Depart entire. Lest you end that which you profess to love!”

Wings twisting, this Beelzebub too fled.

The two remaining comrades, hovering there in a dark sky empty of all but them and a single star far above, turned to me as I sped closer to them.

I lowered the blazing bow. “So, uh, we won?”

After exchanging glances, they both slowly nodded.

It was clear though they were deeply pondering Beelzebub’s words.

Then again, so was I.

 

~o~O~o~

 

At Twitch’s bedside, I sat pensively. There were many others in greater need of Maddalena’s aid, so I had stayed with him to bandage as best I could until she could come - leaving the rest of the cleanup outside to everyone else. He’d gotten sliced and banged up, but nothing that would bleed out immediately.

I also managed to do more than simply bind the bloody spots with fresh cloth, but the physical healer’s art was something I still needed more practice in.

Maybe I should have been out helping elsewhere. But Nathanael wasn’t here to tell me otherwise, so darnit, I stayed at Twitch’s side. Besides, between Horatio and Balus, the encampment was in good hands to organize what needed to be done.

In fact, during the attack Horatio had deployed Vance and the twins to activate yet another prepared exit portal deep inside the mountain to use as an escape hatch if needed. The angelic Flies likely would have shut that down, but the folks here had initially thought the attack was sourced more locally.

Especially as no aid had come from parties who should have shown up to stand against the external threat.

Reaching through the echo of my Name etched upon his spirit, I contacted Nathanael. “Hank, old buddy, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, ma’am.”

“The Spires just got attacked by Flies.”

“Is that where you are?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll be. Need me there?”

“Yes…wait, no. We fought them off. Instead, contact Cassiel and tell him to get his ass to the Citadel - along with a posse of the strongest out of those thousands of Grigori who’ve rallied to him. Oh, and make sure Tsáyidiel is there too.”

“A war-party? We huntin’ somewhere particular, ma’am? Like we talked, you’ll be needin’ a lot more firepower if you’re goin’ after Samael.”

“Things on that front are resolved.”

“Already? Huh. And the Chief?”

“Restored. Will fill you in when I arrive. Which shouldn’t be long - time here and there is currently wobbling around parity.”

“Roger that, ma’am, we’ll stand by.” He hesitated, then added, “How many did we lose?”

“A lot less than we could have. By cheating, I arrived here in time.”

“Cheating?”

“Like I once told a certain jerkface commander, I’m full of surprises.”

“No argument there, ma’am.”

“Talk to you soon.”

Picking up a particular old and well-used waterskin, I encouraged Twitch to take another long swallow. The container, forged from the soul of his former reaper partner, never ran dry of cool and clear water. It was his most prized possession. Well, not a possession so much as a duty of care. Leila, having been horribly wounded, had clearly loved him fiercely to save him by transforming into the endless skin - now she was forever silenced, and he had barely spoken more than a single word ever since himself.

What can I say. Hell sucks.

After his absolutely exhausted arm lowered, I used the precious endless waterskin to wet more cloth and dab at his scarred forehead. Eyes closing, he sank further into pillows and blankets as his breathing deepened.

When I’d cleaned and tended all I could, I muttered, “Dammit, Tommy, you don’t belong here.”

He’d fallen asleep and so didn’t hear.

 

~o~O~o~

 

An hour later I was forced to leave Twitch to his (hopefully) peaceful sleep. It had been hard to let go of his hand, but outside the caverns the Servitors of Light had showed up - so naturally I was needed.

And I’d spent enough time sitting there struggling between the two disagreeing sides of my spirit.

Striding out onto the higher plateau in a simple dress of white and gold which was totally unsuitable for such cold, angels in pastel-trimmed and freshly bright robes dropped to their knees. As did the warrior in much darker armor holding a crown-like helm under an arm.

To him, I spoke first of what still lay as a brick upon the heart.

“It still hurts.”

The restored eye upon his face was now marked by a deep scar above and below, a line across socket and dark skin. He’d been healed, but a reminder remained. “It will.”

“Did Gabriel tell you to?”

“No. Her contact by necessity was limited.”

Wings manifested behind me without direct intent, feathers vibrating in tune with each inner tremble. “Was there truly no other way??”

Irises such a deep brown they were practically black neither flinched nor looked away. “I could foresee no other path to such a moment of purest grace.”

“How…how hard did you try?”

Raguel stepped to his brother’s side, holding the shepherd’s crook. “Amariel,” he said, “consider-”

I rudely interrupted him. “Stop! They were good people! All of them!”

The blood-stained armored warrior stoically agreed. “They were.”

Between us, with wings spread I could feel it. Through my spirit that shining glory above had reconnected to him, wrapping Camael in its divine glow, enfolding him within its infinite love.

And yet it hurt.

“I want to forgive.”

He exhaled. “You need not do so.”

“The Light already has.” I refused to wipe away the emerging tears as a question escaped lips. “How can my chest swell with all this care and compassion for you, all while still bleeding such sorrow?!”

Raguel leaned against the staff, head lowering while speaking past falling bangs of white. “This is the price of love.”

Searching Camael’s newly marked face and anciently scarred spirit, I asked, “If you could go back, would you now look deeper to be sure?”

Without even flinching, he answered straightaway. “No.”

“Why not?!”

“Because success gives proof to the necessity. Creation needed-”

“Creation!! Was it Creation that needed or yourself?!”

Unlike when a dear friend had been asked a similarly phrased question, Camael had ready and calm reply. “Both. For that is who and what we are.”

Beyond him waited nervous winged servitors resting still upon their knees. Stepping between Camael and the shepherd, I paused there, and neither moved as I did so.

“Raguel,” I said without looking at him, “In an earlier conversation you implied that the deeds of angels were but scaffolds for the realities forged by souls.”

In that careful and slow way of his, he considered before responding. “In a way, yes, that is correct.”

Fingers of their own accord reached out to first brush then take hold of the soft feathers of Camael’s singly purified wing. “That’s a heap of graxhshit. Our stories are as painfully real as theirs.”

Letting go, I moved past towards the gathered throng still sparkling with previously shared Light.

Neither Raguel nor Camael dared argue the point, and I walked on.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The leader (or at least spokesperson…erm, spokesangel?) of the freed Servitors was named Saphiel, known as the Ruler of the Lord’s Day. While escorting them all inside for refreshment, I idly pondered if that title left him uncomfortable in places such as this where day and night simply did not exist.

Not that I asked.

Maybe it was due to the fact they’d just been freed from eons of bondage to Samael, but the twenty brightly-robed angels settled rather quietly all around the long half-circle conference table on Horatio’s patio, and each were brought cups of wine. At one end of the crescent table, Camael and Raguel had also taken seats, and once everyone was served Horatio motioned for all non-angelics to depart.

As for myself I remained standing, pacing at the center while numerous recently unbound eyes silently watched every move.

Oh. Guess my mood flickering across their wings may have been adding to their nervousness.

“So, Saphiel,” I said, trying to sound more casual and likely failing. “If you don’t mind, I have some questions.”

The short-haired blond lowered his head respectfully. “We will answer all we can, milady.”

The rest nodded agreement. And no, they weren’t all blond - their physical manifestations were as varied as the people of the Earth: Asian, African, European, American, short and tall, dark flowing locks to spiky tight crimson, some were thick with powerful muscle and others slender with grace. Some even had beards; together they were quite a diverse crew.

All except for their eyes, each a shining gold more solid and pure than my own, as theirs lacked the sporadic silver flecks gifted by my spirit’s mother.

“Samael used you as seers, correct?”

“Yes, milady. As much as we were able.”

“To see the past, present, and future.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Which kinda begs the question, doesn’t it? If your visions of such are so good, how did Samael manage to capture you?”

Saphiel shifted on the hard felwood chair. “Two reasons, milady.”

“Which are?”

“Without the Light of Helel flowing true, and being as we are cut off from the Throne, our abilities are diminished from what they once were.”

Okay, that made sense. To reach their full potentials they needed the leader of their House to bolster them, which Lucifer had denied by skipping out of Hell without them. Which triggered yet another question, namely whether they’d followed him across the Gate not so much out of loyalty, but a desire to remain fully-empowered.

Yeah, didn’t ask that one either.

“And the second?” I prodded.

He sighed. “Ithuriel, milady.”

“Ithuriel?”

Clasping his cup in both hands, he stared into it. “She betrayed us.”

A lady with shoulder-length hair of shimmering black snorted. “No. She saved us.”

Saphiel grew annoyed. “She lured us to where Samael could grab us all! Before we even realized Helel had departed Hell! We’ve been over this countless times-”

The woman, who had been sitting both relaxed yet wary with perfect poise, interrupted him. “And even without cloth across eyes and plugs in ears, you still are blind. Ithuriel did as she must.”

“Eleleth, after what we’ve been through, how can you-”

It was my turn to cut him off. “Okay, hold it! Eleleth, if you would, explain.”

As directed, the Ruler of the Lord’s Day hushed to let her answer.

“It is rather simple,” Eleleth said into Saphiel’s reluctant silence, her words carrying a modicum of scorn directed at her fellow Servitor. “Without the First, we are vulnerable. The Sarim of Hell would have scrambled like the beasts they are to capture every last Servitor of Light they could. Then they would have abused us in all the ways in which they delight in their base indulgences of vengeance, and forced us to work for them in between such torture. Samael kept us imprisoned, yes - but safe.”

Shouting, Saphiel rose from his seat. “He slaughtered those who refused to aid him!”

Eleleth coolly regarded him. “And out of fear you capitulated.”

“You also did his bidding!”

She scoffed. “Because I had faith in Ithuriel! Only a select few of our House can see into such distant futures, and she saw something the rest could not. Helel hid his plans from even our sight, yet she was ready.”

Saphiel planted hands on the table. “You don’t know that!”

“Again, I had faith. But now, I hold proof.”

He spluttered. “Proof, what proof?!”

Eleleth pointed a finger. “Her.”

Yeah, she pointed at me. “Great,” I said with a groan. “Just great.” Seeing Saphiel with those golden eyes of his about to bug out of the skull, I waved him back to his seat. “Alright, alright. That does bring up the other item I was going to ask about.”

Remembering the circumstance he was in, Saphiel dropped onto the chair and forced himself to be calm. “Other item, milady?”

“Yeah. Me. Do you know who I am?”

Eleleth spoke up, as Saphiel seemed genuinely unsure how to answer. “You are Amariel. Helel’s daughter ascended.”

“Right. I’m going to be blunt: I keep getting told I might destroy everything - as in Creation itself. And alternately may save it all. What exactly have you Servitors of Light seen? I need to know. Because I’m sick of the cryptic cupcake warning bullshit. My nerves have had it with that sort of crap.”

They all sat quiet, mostly staring at the table or into now-empty wine cups. Only Eleleth breathed in and, after marshaling resolve, spoke. “When you arrived in Hell, we felt it. The Destroyer, for the first time in ages, deployed us entire to squeeze every last glint of you from the pattern.”

“Yeah, I got that much from him. Where do I go from here?”

“We cannot say.”

Frustration mounted. “Cannot or will not?”

Saphiel shook his head and answered for her. “Cannot, milady. From the moment the Grigori Azazel pulled you into Chaos, our deepest visions blur.”

I pulled out a chair at the center of the weird table, and plonked down upon it backwards as otherwise the wings would have been in the way. No, it wasn’t a lady-like maneuver, but neither did my white tunic inadvertently flash anyone. “Samael said something about piercing even Elohim’s Gate to learn more.”

The Ruler of the Lord’s Day nodded. “By dint of mortal wizardry, channels may be opened. He has many mortal followers willing to do his bidding. Painful as it is, some few of us are able to tease sight through those cracks as well.”

“And what was seen?”

Saphiel looked back to Eleleth, and the lady whose white robe was trimmed with soft violet gave reply. “A chase for a certain Book, leading to a Nephelim’s escape from Earth, and to a crux event against a weapon of Chaos. Past that moment, I was unable to see.”

I chewed on a thumb. “And what was Samael’s assessment of all that?”

“He rejoiced that the son of Azrael would go forth and wreak havoc.” She was about to say something else, but hesitated.

“That’s not all, is it.”

“No,” she reluctantly admitted, “Ithuriel saw more. She informed him you would return to Hell as Archon and Archangel, bearing power enough to shatter the Throne.”

“But,” I said pointedly, “she didn’t see me actually do that, did she?”

“No, milady.”

“So what else did she see?! Dammit, tell me!!” That frustration already mentioned? Yup, definitely had increased and quickly was bypassing irritation to reach annoyance if not worse.

Maintaining perfect stoic expression against the crosshairs of my glare, Eleleth answered. “A Judgment. But not the outcome, for she shrieked in terrible agony from the attempt, spending many cycles overwhelmed by pain recovering.”

“A Judgment? You mean from Azrael?”

“Yes.”

A sinking feeling plummeted through an otherwise empty stomach. “And just what will he be Judging?”

Pure eyes of gold captured mine.

“You, milady. In the fullness of his sacred capacity and Purpose, the Archangel Azrael shall render holy Judgment upon you.”

Oh. Is that all?

Joy.

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty - Diplomacy

 

With everyone watching, I stepped to the table, filled a goblet, and downed it in one go.

Ugh. Whatever vintage Horatio had brought out this time, it wasn’t Asmodian. Nor I’d bet of the wines Vance had spoken highly about a long time ago, those crafted by the elves of Nidavellir. I’d forgotten how bitter were most of the offerings in Hell - heck, I’d even have preferred that Chardonnay from the dragon soiree I’d attended with Isaiah.

Dangit. Isaiah.

What was I going to tell my friend? That his greater spirit would eventually decide whether I should be allowed to exist? And if decided against, Azrael would be forced to destroy me.

Would that mean Isaiah would have to try to kill me too?

And what if I resisted? Or what if he did?

Crap. Crap crap crap.

I refilled the cup, and cringed through another long swallow.

No one spoke while I did. Some may have been holding their breath.

“Alright,” I finally said. “That sucks rocks disguised as chocolate covered almonds, but alright. It’s a future bridge to go storm and fall off of.” Deciding the alcohol was no longer worth the slime across the tongue, the goblet returned to the table. Looking the Servitors over again, I posed the obvious question. “You’re all free of Samael. And I could use the help. By show of hands, how many of you are willing to serve under my command?”

A small number of hands went immediately up - including Eleleth’s. But some stared at the table with unmoving arms, and others exchanged uncertain glances.

Saphiel spoke up. “You don’t mean to force us?”

“Hopefully not,” I said, face squinching like I'd bit into a lime. “But as Eleleth said, the other Sarim will hunt you if you just go off on your own. And I’ll be honest, proper wartime strategy would insist on heavily guarded protective custody rather than letting Beelzebub get his pincers into you.”

He frowned. “Then what choice do we truly have?”

I pointed to the end of the table. “Here’s an alternative. Serve him instead.”

All eyes followed, and Raguel - who had been deep in contemplation of all the consequences of the recent revelations - startled upright. “Excuse me?”

“You. Angel of Justice, Protector of Sanctuary. You need guarding, and also forewarning. As soon as there’s opportunity, Beelzebub will certainly make another attempt to ruin your day. From those attacks he wasn’t just trying to shred your manifestation - he wanted to end you entire. After all, oath-wise you’re fair game. But I figure with the help of these seers, you should stay one step ahead - and they can get word to me to pop my feathered butt over to save you should the need again arise.”

Camael, still sitting, nodded in agreement. “It is an excellent choice. The ideal of Sanctuary must be preserved.”

I stared at Camael, and considered. “You know, as Regent of the House of Light, you could simply take command of them all.”

He shook his head. “These crossed unto Hell before the title was granted. Just as you, I would needs must force their compliance.”

“Huh. Oh well.” Gesturing at the Servitors, I walked to the end of the table where Raguel and Camael perched. “Figure it out, folks. Take a moment amongst yourselves to decide.”

Chairs scraped against dirt floor, and some of them began to huddle. Whereas those who had already raised hands stayed put with airs of hard-earned patience despite any and all circumstance.

Standing close to the two at the corner, I regarded Raguel - and this time took a much deeper look. Wings were still out, so this time a pulse of brightness caught it.

Sanctuary.

Camael had been right, it existed within Raguel’s spirit - a necessity folded into the pattern where the brightest soul-orbs I’d ever beheld sat secure within an alternate space of lush greenery, freshest of streams, and gentle sun above, each radiating brilliant auras which would have shamed entire rainbows.

A miniature paradise locked into a timeless and unchanging scene.

There they waited, these souls of transcendent peace and serenity. Marking the continual ticks of clocks across eternity, all while yearning for release from these realms of perpetual darkness - away from an existence which could do naught but taint their glorious purity.

My god, they were beautiful.

In awe, I asked, “How could such exist in this place?”

Raguel smiled with great tenderness. “How can you?”

Staring at them, staring at him - a realization came into focus. “Your core, where Elohim’s Name once sat, their hope - their faith - keeps it full.”

“They sustain me, and I them. As I am their sanctuary, so too are they mine.”

Feeling remarkably unworthy, I worried a lip and came to decision. “Camael is right. This needs protection. What must we do? Hide you somewhere else?”

The smile faded. “The enemy knows my whereabouts. And any new place of mystery shall be revealed immediate within the Book of Secrets should he keep looking.”

“I’ve now taken the measure of this spot, these Spires. If need be I can port here direct from anywhere.”

Camael tapped the table. “Raguel’s presence - his essence itself - buttresses the effort of our friends. More will believe in their mission simply by his spirit being here. It is good if he stays.”

He may not have realized what he had just said, but I did. Camael had referred to Twitch, Maddalena, Horatio, and all the rest as ‘our’ friends.

They’d claimed his heart too.

“Then we fortify it further,” I declared. “Once a small matter is taken care of, I’ll send Nathanael and others here to supplement the defense. Deal?” I offered a hand to Raguel.

Reaching past the staff resting against a shoulder, Raguel clasped at my forearm instead, and wrist-to-wrist he held firm. “You know what truly must be done.”

Meeting the gaze of gold peering out from behind bangs of white, I nodded. “I’ve some ideas.”

For a moment the expression on the older being’s face was as fierce as his defense against Samael all those eons ago, but it - and the strength of his grip - then softened. “We shall abide. But there are many who have been doing so since time immemorial.”

Still dazzled by what lay hidden within him, I couldn’t stop staring. “I’ll try to hurry.”

“This is all for which we may ask.” He let go, but other weights remained.

Camael then spoke up about one of the many.

“How did Beelzebub achieve the Book?”

“Long story.” Okay, I may still have been giving the Regent a bit of the stink eye, and the clipped response carried that too.

Not that he was deterred. “Kalka’il was to give it to you.”

“Yeah, well, too-rigid secrecy interfered on several fronts. Then Alal meddled, and Matityah got his hands on the tome before I found Kalka’il.”

“Matityah?”

“Azrael’s son. Busted through the Fourth Seal and tossed the Book beyond Hell’s gate to keep me distracted. Kalka’il and the Powers were to continue chasing him and his pet Chaos blobs.”

If that shocked the ancient warrior, it didn’t show. Though the crimson fire from the uncleansed wing pulsed brighter. As for the one I’d reattached, it glowed a brilliant white almost as pure as my own.

“The Book,” I continued, realizing he really did need to be brought up to speed, “did its thing once here - appearing before a demon fanatically seeking the mysteries behind who and what I was. Beelzebub took it from his corpse while I was busy playing with a Child of Leviathan.” A hand moved to protectively cup the tiny spark dangling from my neck.

“Ah.”

Hmm, what else was there he needed to know. “Also, Shemyaza is now Cassiel and ruler of Dis. And most, though not all, of the other Sarim made me their Warleader to fight off the nonstop invasions of Flies - like the one you just witnessed.”

“You have been busy.”

“When the heck am I not? Speaking of which-” I turned back to the murmuring (or possibly bickering) Servitors, and called out to them. “Time’s up, everyone. As much as I’d love to stay here and abuse the generous hospitality, I’ve got places to go, enemies to defeat, and better wine to drink. What’s the breakdown? Any others willing to offer me their aid? Let’s see it.”

The suite of golden eyes stared back without blinking, and just over half now raised hands. To my surprise, Saphiel’s was among them.

Within, the Light did not hesitate - or give room for second thoughts. A burst flared from feathers spreading wide, and into all who’d lifted arms poured blazing intent as fresh letters of purest fire inscribed themselves unto the smeared space within where once Helel’s and Elohim’s Names had burned so true. This wasn’t simply a replacement, either - no, it was as an intricate key fitting into a perfectly matching lock. And having opened, the connection sparkled clear and immeasurable.

They now were mine, and I too was theirs.

There, in those shining presences, I felt something not experienced in a long, long time:

An absolute sense of belonging.

 

~o~O~o~

 

As much as I wanted to stay with Twitch and everyone else, certain pressing business simply couldn’t wait. Therefore did nine angels, glittering like diamonds reflecting a noonday sun, follow Camael and I between the realms, as we sped our return to Dis and its Citadel hovering between layers of fire and earth.

Nathanael and Cassiel met us at an entrance hatch more properly designed for a naval vessel, both boys earning rolled eyes and quick gesture for them to not bother with all that kneeling or saluting nonsense. As for Tsáyidiel, I’d already reached out to give him his orders on the way.

“No time for formalities, gents,” I announced. “Abagor is in his office, and his crew is in the war room. Nathanael and Cassiel, head to the Aerie with whomever you’ve rounded up - and take these Servitors with you. For now, they’ll follow Nathanael’s commands as if they were my own.”

Catching sight over my shoulder of the many additional presences burning behind, Cassiel’s eyes widened like a brilliant summer sky. “Where did you-”

“Tell you later. Camael is with me. Move.”

An impulse to argue flared, but Nathanael’s strong hand on a shoulder cut that short, and Cassiel instead only said, “Yes, Warleader.”

Nathanael did, however, ask a question. “Is Abagor being arrested?”

“Remains to be seen. Be ready either way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nathanael took a step back, pulling Cassiel with him to give enough room through the metal opening so I could step inside.

Camael and I then marched through the structure, wending our way through battle-focused corridors until reaching stairwells leading to the more opulent yet functional quarters above. Demon soldiers and officers, those who kept this station operational, carefully got the heck out of our way.

As we went, I caught myself absently rubbing at empty wrists. Glancing to the side to where the missing bracers had returned to be again amongst their matching pieces of armor, I forced myself to stop doing that.

Their true owner noticed. “Do you wish for them back?”

“No, I need to learn to stand without.”

“Ah.”

“They just…they’ve been a comfort.”

“I am glad.”

The last was spoken softly, and through the awkwardness lingering from our earlier conversations, we walked on in silence until we stood outside the wide double doors leading to Abagor’s personal office. It was one of many along this gilded and lushly carpeted corridor reserved for visiting angelics.

“Should this go sideways,” I said quietly, “remember that I want him alive.”

“Understood.”

Without further ado, the doors pushed open and we strode in.

Abagor, wearing the usual grey suit and black tie, sat behind a broad desk which took up the far side of the room. Unlike some who had set up offices here, he hadn’t wanted a circular mini-conference table, so the entrance and center were bare with only the thick burgundy carpet. In fact, he hadn’t even wanted chairs in the room besides his own high-backed leather executive.

Sure, a refreshment cart - one of those with two wheels which function a bit like a wheelbarrow when moved about - lurked in the near corner with glasses and decanter standing by, due to diligently being refreshed every few hours by an orderly. And the walls were painted with abstract lines weaving the impression of mountain peaks covered by fog, so it wasn’t entirely without something to stare at, if one got bored since there weren’t any windows.

He looked up as I came in and was about to say something, when Camael stepped in after me. Whatever words Abagor had in mind never got spoken, as all expression froze upon his carefully chiseled features.

“Butcher,” he said with forced calm, as the air around a hand shimmered from preparing to manifest a weapon.

“His title,” I said, striding purposefully across the empty carpet, “is Regent of the Seat of Light. You would do well to remember that.”

Because I willed it, the doors behind us closed on their own after our wings had cleared the doorway. My feathers may also have pulsed dangerously.

“Of course,” Abagor said slowly, gesturing away the floating displays which had hovered over his desk. “Warleader, you have returned.”

“Are you surprised?”

“That he…the Regent…is not only present, but healed? Yes.”

“Did you know where he’d been held captive?”

“Not before you.”

“How did…actually, nevermind. That’s not important.” I moved to the side of the desk, keeping wings to the wall. “What IS important is the detour we were forced to take before getting back here.”

“Detour, Warleader?”

“The Rock, Prince Abagor. Your assigned realm as Caretaker.”

Forefingers steepled above fists, and were brought against lips. “I see.”

“Do you. Because funny thing, that. Beelzebub attacked…and none of your Maschitim showed up to destroy his portals.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Isn’t it. If I hadn’t been able to transport instantly to provide aid, much would have been lost.”

Camael stood silently, with feet planted slightly further apart than parade stance would allow. Oh, and the blood-fire wing kept dripping flames onto carpet which had therefore started to smoke.

When you think about it, when needing a heavy as backup against a fallen angel, across all the manifest universes there probably wasn’t a better choice.

“I should check on them, then.”

“You may want to. Their eardrums are likely still ringing from the pulse Beliel’s instrument sent out to shatter those portals.”

That caught him, and the surprise registered as a blink. “The mace…took action?”

“I asked it to. Politely. To defend what you and yours would not. What was your price, Abagor?”

“Price?”

“What did Beelzebub offer you? And, by the way, I highly recommend being honest here. Otherwise the Servitors of Light I picked up along the way will pierce the past to discover it all regardless. I’m sure your people downstairs have already filled you in on their presences.”

The fingers lowered, and he reclined further in the chair. “You truly are astounding, Amariel.”

From behind, Camael in a gruff tone agreed. “She is.”

Not wanting the conversation derailed, I growled. “Spill the deal, Abagor.”

He considered, then nodded. “Very well. In exchange for my non-interference with his removal of Raguel, Beelzebub agreed to two terms.”

Maintaining cold focus, I said, “I am all ears. And they are?”

“Chiefly, that the Rock would never again be a target of his assaults.”

Okay, that earned a frown as implications began to dawn. “Interesting. And the other?”

“That, in the process, he eliminate a problem you and I share.”

A foot took step closer to the desk before catching myself. “You can’t mean-”

“I do. That situation requires resolution. But as you did not immediately declare to arrest, or even attack, my personage - then the Lilim and the rebels against the Ducal Council must still live. Or by my calculation this conversation would have already been less friendly given your...proclivities.”

“You bastard!” I snarled. “The Lilim are safe and sound, though many of those you called ‘rebels’ paid the price in full for this! Oh, and Raguel is just fine as well by the way!”

He had the audacity to sigh. “Also unfortunate.”

The desk was looking eminently punchable. As was the jerk sitting behind it. “You should pick a different term.”

“It applies. This arrangement would have protected Beliel’s artifact - which as you have seen up close carries tremendous power. Should Beelzebub manage to incorporate it into his ego-gestalt, he could gain the strength to shatter the Gate, and the Throne itself would tremble. All would suffer should this come to pass.”

“Like you care! You only wished to preserve your assignment, your status! And eliminate those who could testify against you regarding those Tears!”

“An added benefit. For both of us.”

“For me? How-”

“It should be obvious.” If he had dared, he would have rolled those harshly penetrating eyes. Instead he remained cool, something I was having a rather hard time with. “You are not Queen over Hell, Lady Amariel. The crown you wear, by your insistence, is that of Warleader only. Therefore you have gained no authority to pardon the Lilim for their crimes against our laws. This leaves Lilith open to conflict with the rest of the Sarim, which at present for our tenuous alliances we can ill afford.”

“Yet you betrayed-”

“I betrayed nothing. By this agreement was the realm under my protection assured of safety, and a political liability for our entire war effort potentially removed.”

“No, you betrayed me!”

“I promised no interference only at the arena - the Lilim are still within my protectorate, and you left them there. And you also abandoned your post here, without notice, to personally challenge Samael.”

Both hands pressed into the desk’s corner, causing wood to creak. “Did you know Raguel was at the Spires?!”

“Beelzebub informed of this via channels with his initial offer.”

“Raguel is under my protection, do you understand?!” That need flared within, the resulting power burning into the fallen Maschitim’s unwavering eyes.

“I do now.”

“So,” I said with clear distaste, “now what?”

“This depends on you.”

“Does it?!”

“Will you take vengeance upon me, Amariel of the Light? Shall you indulge that desire?”

“I desire justice!”

“To gain in war requires sacrifice. My acts were to advance the greater cause.”

“Does that make them right?!”

“Right or wrong is meaningless. Necessity in such circumstance rules all.”

“I don’t…I don’t know that I agree.”

“Then have the Butcher attempt arrest, and in my efforts to resist he shall destroy me. And watch then as this alliance collapses, watch as Beelzebub triumphs and swallows all.”

The thought of all those lost to this mess lay even more bitter across the tongue than had Horatio’s cheaper wine. Abagor was wrong, horribly wrong. Yet, from his perspective he was right - increased prevention of Beliel’s strength from ending up in Beelzebub’s greedy fingers was worth a lot. And arresting Abagor or causing any fuss over this would make matters worse - so much worse. The Fallen would first turn against me, and then immediately upon each other.

Their fears would rule.

“Dammit. And damn you!”

“I am in Hell. Already have I been damned eternally.”

I looked to Camael, looked to see what I should do.

From within that gold-lined helm, eyes burned not with suggestion. No, they sat calm and awaiting my order. Calm and…sadly resigned.

Crud.

“We,” I said bitterly, “seriously need to work on our communication.”

“Communication?” Abagor raised an eyebrow.

“Never mind. Fine. Say I don’t have Camael cut you down. At least, not today.” Past grinding teeth, I forced the words asking the immediate question. “Where would we go from there?”

Slowly the chair pushed back, and he stood. “We evaluate options. And with the unique capabilities you’ve recently demonstrated, along with the aid of the Servitors of Light you have brought, we proceed and win this war.”

“How?”

“By first deploying the Seers, and then proceeding much like you have wished for some time. If you’ll allow us to the War Room, I shall explain.”

Looking to me for permission to walk ahead, with a sour nod I gave it. Camael, however, didn’t budge, so Abagor needed to step around the armored warrior.

He made sure to give several feet of extra room as he did, and Camael swiveled to follow.

Exiting after them, I paused once in the hallway. “Hold up.”

Abagor stopped, and looked back.

While maintaining eye contact with the Fallen prince, I gave a short whistle. Out of the room behind us immediately came trotting an immense black panther who pulled up to brush against my hip.

I threw a not-entirely-pleasant smile to Abagor while scritching my beloved Hunter. “Now we can go.”

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-One - Riders

 

Like most plans, it was easier said than done. Which is why I again floated between the realms in that weird space-that-wasn’t, blazing out with six wings and trying to spot a specific distant spark in a burning haystack the size of a galaxy.

Oh, and while getting yelled at.

“You must tighten the focus!!”

With a grunt of frustration, I tried - the floodlight of feathers swiveling in their pursuit of a target several realms away. “I don’t see him!” Threads of that domain filled all vision, spinning with incredible complexity and detail - soul after soul, story after story, each a universe of emotion, history, and entanglements. As well as all the rules forging the patterns through which they moved.

It was too much.

Eleleth tsked from where she hovered besides me. “You are too easily distracted.”

Dammit. “How the heck do you filter everything?!”

“Force of intent, of will. You must let go, while also seizing the perceptions with all that you are.”

“That makes no sense. You know that right??”

“We are channels of the Light that perceives and thereby upholds all things. You keep reaching towards the All instead of the One.”

“With this much energy, that’s what it wants to do!!”

“The Light or you?”

Ugh. Dangit. “We’re connected, he and I. I could just-”

“No cheating! Focusing only to those directly inscribed with your Name will not be possible against our true quarry!”

I couldn’t help it. Just thinking of it caused a vision of Tsáyidiel to pop into view, with him glowing so bright inside with all the love I had for him - and him for me. He lounged as a panther across a thick tree branch in a glade upon a small and isolated isle surrounded by deep ocean in the watery realm of Forneus.

Eleleth scowled, and with a swift flick of wrist whacked me upside the head with a glowing staff.

“Ow!”

“I said no cheating. Now we must wait while the Hunter finds a new hiding place. Tell him.”

“Argh. Fine!” Reaching out, I communicated with the resting cat. “Tsáyidiel!”

“My Queen.” The image shifted as the big kitty stretched while yawning a set of large and sharp teeth, with tail brushing past the thick leaves.

“We’ll need to try again. Find another spot.”

“Should I restrict our connection?”

“No!! Never do that! I need to learn control, I really do. I’ll get it!”

“Perhaps another should help-”

“Your stealth is the best at simulating the effect that holding the Book of Secrets is granting our foe.”

“There are Fallen with such skill.”

“None I can so easily communicate with.”

Fuzzy ears flicked above his head. “With your granted strength, the Servitors of Light are able to narrow the region where the original and nexus of Beelzebub resides, correct?”

“Yes, but that’s as far as they can go. It’s a hazy blob of possibilities and not a precise location. They think I can do more.”

“You can, and eventually will, my Queen - but there is another concern.”

“Oh?”

He hesitated.

“Say it, my beloved Hunter. Whatever it may be.”

“Your searches, my Queen. They feel as the warmest of suns after the chill of early morn. Your target will sense their presence and have warning.”

Shit. “That…that is indeed a problem.”

“You have the ability to shift instantly to distant places should you know the pattern intimately, yes?”

“I do.”

“Then I offer an alternate solution: work with the Servitors to isolate the nexus as best as possible. Then send me to complete the hunt. And when I succeed at locating our prey, through our treasured connection move yourself to me direct as only you can.”

“That’s too risky! If you are spotted-”

“All hunts carry risk, my Queen. Is not your fighting Beelzebub’s nexus also a danger?”

“You’d be alone. I cannot-”

“Please, my Queen. For ages I was a slave to Azazel, the threads of my pattern made puppet while a hidden core helpless to resist experienced all. Beelzebub is an evil greater still, for he allows no such core to remain. He denies even the hope of freedom to those engulfed by his will - I would fight for those lost to such horror, and to save those he would yet corrupt forevermore.”

“And should I say no?”

“Then I would beg, my Queen. With all heart and spirit.”

I floated there, burning with Illumination’s love for all things. After a moment’s internal reflection, I spoke to Eleleth - all quirky student casualness having vanished from my tone.

“Change of plans.”

Her persona of disapproving instructor shifted entire in response. “Warleader?”

“We practice a different maneuver. Call the Servitors.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

“This really what you be wantin’ to do?”

We gathered, the entire war council, there in the Aerie where everyone stood around the many tables and their displays - some showing active fighting even now. Asmodeus in his wheelchair, Lilith in a tight dress of flowery green, Cassiel in blue silk robe, and Abagor in the usual colorless suit. Plus Camael and Nathanael in gleaming armors forged in ancient battle against many of those present in the room. Tsáyidiel also was there, except being nervous around such powers, had chosen the form of a raven to perch upon my white-leathered shoulder. Many lesser Sarim were not in attendance, staying close as it were to their own realms which were too vulnerable should they depart.

But it was Nathanael who had asked the question.

“Want?” I said to him. “This isn’t about what I want.”

Abagor, arms held behind his back, spoke. “Perhaps with more time, your ability to focus will increase-”

I waved him off. “Every moment that Book remains in Beelzebub’s hands, and with every additional soul sucked into his devouring ego, the threat to everyone here grows worse. We’re running out of time.”

Lilith, cleaning an immaculately painted fingernail with the sharp tip of another, nodded. “Victory lies with those willing to grasp it. This plan can succeed - or at worst deal tremendous damage to the foe.” She gave Camael a respectful nod.

The warrior in black and gold had been quiet so far, but now broke that silence. “Should I do this, it will change the nature of this conflict.”

Asmodeus scoffed. “All this will do is hurry it up. We have tap-danced around the stricture - but neither Lucifer nor Samael are enforcing it. One side or the other will break it first - better us than them! And we even have the excuse that you new arrivals have never taken the oath that was forced down our collective throats!”

Camael’s eyes burned from behind the helmet’s slit to stare at mine. “If this is your true wish, then my blade shall serve as it ever has: without mercy or hesitation. Whether I prefer or no.”

My chest tightened hearing that. “If there was any other way-”

The legless angel in the wheelchair laughed, a horrible screeching merriment. “What is this?! Is the Butcher suddenly reluctant to shed rebellious blood? The scandal!!”

“Shut it, Asmodeus!” I snapped. “No one asked you.”

Unashamed, he smirked. “Only because I am dying! But to think I would live to witness such a day!”

Beginning to pace (and reminding me of Isaiah as he did so), Abagor again tapped at lips with a forefinger. “The Seers believe Beelzebub’s true self is upon his home realm, surrounded by Flies of all strengths. He would only flee should he truly be filled with terror.” That finger pointed then at Camael. “It requires a massive attack led by Camael, the Champion of the Powers we so feared, cutting down all Flies before him with an aim towards the general location of the nexus center - this will strike great and terrible panic into Beelzebub’s core.”

Nathanael nodded. “Ayup, precisely. Now that the Servitors of Light have purged the majority of spies, we’ve a chance for real surprise. Oh, he’ll know we’re planning a large op, but for once not the details. When Camael strikes, the bug’ll skedaddle. Even in the War he stuck around only when assured of success, or else the bum fled like a spooked donkey in a monsoon.”

Abagor’s lips curled into harsh smile. “Unless Samael threatened him otherwise.”

Cassiel, however, frowned. “I still mislike it. This requires commitment of the bulk of our forces. And he may not flee alone, but take stronger Flies with him, leaving Amariel and her hunter outnumbered. From what I understand, she’s carried others before across the distances without anchor, why not now?”

“Because,” I said, “we timed it. If I carry anyone else when I, well, when I blip…the transition takes longer. Much longer. No matter how many times we tried. And most passengers spend precious moments after disoriented.”

Many looked to the raven on my shoulder. But none commented on how such a delay would leave Tsáyidiel openly vulnerable after breaking stealth to contact me.

Lilith folded arms under her chest, a move that gathered most male gazes away from the bird. “Every action taken so far has been defensive. This is no way to win.” She turned attention to me. “What say those Seers? Does fortune favor this action? Or shall I draw cards?” She smiled, and not unkindly.

My face however pinched. “They’ve had a lot of trouble seeing my future. According to them, I’m a smear of static. But they do see a Beelzebub attempting escape of the realm and Tsáyidiel’s sudden call. After that, everything is uncertain.”

“But,” she said, corners of her mouth sliding into a darker smirk, “he does flee.”

“He does.” I nodded. “And alone - shoving everything else he has in Camael’s path.”

Nathanael tapped a desk. “What if some of us hang back, waiting to ride in to wherever Amariel ‘blips’? I’d gladly lead that charge.” He winked at me.

That caused Asmodeus to snort. “A fight between Archangels is not for lesser Captains. Has her shine up your lower cheeks befuddled your perception of scale, oh Gift of God?”

I was about to yell at Asmodeus again, but Lilith spoke before I could. “The crippled buffoon is right. With Beelzebub’s current power, only myself, Camael, or Amariel have the potential to take him on. Or Abaddon, but he still refuses all entreaties to join the cause, and hides sniveling amongst his vainglory mirrors. I will stand by, but it must be at a sufficient distance, or Flies would be sent to engage me as well, as forced distraction. Should I see opportunity, however, I shall take it.”

Again, she looked to me. “In the end, it is the Warleader’s call. Shall we rally our armies of demons and souls to invade Beelzebub’s home and force his exodus?”

Everyone quieted and awaited my reply.

“Let’s win this,” I finally said. “I’ve got even crazier problems waiting after that I need to deal with.”

Only Asmodeus laughed at that.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Everyone went their separate ways to prepare. As promised, I sent Nathanael to the Spires to bolster its defense - which in turn would free Abagor and more of his Maschitim to join the assault on the realm simply called ‘Beelzebub’, because of course it was - given that every single resident had been absorbed by the Fly’s immeasurable ego.

In secret, I was relieved that since those at the Spires were recovering from their recent attack, they had reason to not join this new one. Maybe that wasn’t fair to all the other demons and souls the Sarim were gathering for the invasion, but it’s how I felt.

With everyone busy - Seers keeping eyes peeled on the Fly’s movements, Tsáyidiel stealthily making his careful way towards the target realm and egotist’s nexus, Cassiel organizing the logistics of his army gathered from the residents of Dis, that sort of thing - this left me free to wander the halls of the Citadel.

How many salutes I missed from total lack of paying attention went uncounted.

Passing one of the few more expansive indoor gardens, I slipped inside to stare at a small grove of twisting felwoods - their dark roots waiting to trip the unwary, and broad leafs ready to slice unprotected skin. Grow-lights lining the ceiling shined brightly from above, but the thick foliage kept everything below in shadow.

Including a certain armored figure kneeling in the dirt before a floating and flaming two-handed blade, one burning with the same brilliant crimson which had protected me through so much pain and adversity. The helm had been put aside, and the revealed head’s bare skin matched the shade of surrounding bark as it bowed in meditation.

And prayer.

I hesitated, not wanting to disturb, but of course he noticed my presence.

“My lady.”

“Prince Camael.”

“Are you in need?”

“I…need many things.”

“Then speak,” he said, lifting eyes to stare only at the sword of fire, “and I shall render aid.”

Worrying a tired and perpetually-healing lip, I sighed. “I need to know this is right.”

“Beelzebub is an evil, a blight long overdue being cleansed from all Creation.”

“Not him. On that, I do agree.”

“What then troubles you?” The fires across the blade danced and sang of their finely honed fury. And underneath, their ever present hopes.

“Asking you to do this.”

“I have already agreed.”

“But you are weary of such fighting. I can feel it press against your spirit, now more than ever.”

“Such changes nothing of what must be done.”

“And for that, I am sorry. I let the Book get away, and now we’re here.”

“Kalka’il failed in his task to bring it to you.”

“Only because I forced a good man to total silence.”

“Secrecy,” he said with a note of ancient sadness, “is both blessing and curse. Which is why Raziel’s Tome was commanded buried so long ago.”

“You don’t have to do this. I’ll find another way. Somehow.”

“Time itself aligns, and therefore runs thin. And your statement of additional tasks needing accomplishment is entirely correct.”

“Still.”

“Worry not for me, Blessed Lady. For this path of stains and my feet are well acquainted; indeed, I shall grant you a secret of my own to ease your thoughts should you wish it.”

“I fear wishing for anything. But truth, truth I need.”

“Therefore shall I share. Each day since the War between our people dawned its horror, have I mourned the slaughter. Only within the shine of Aradia - within the Light that burns ever so brighter now within you - did I begin to admit such in full.”

“Then how…how can I ask this of you?!”

“Because you must. Now go, for you too should prepare. Purge all doubt, Amariel of the Light, for the hand of the Most High acts through you to correct that which needs correction. And we, we who understand, are with you however you may need.”

Biting harder, again the taste of wet and warm iron graced the tongue.

As bid, I turned to go, but stopped partway to say one more thing to the kneeling warrior.

“Camael, hear me: Any Heaven which would bar its gates to you, is no Heaven at all. To this, I swear.”

He said nothing, and so I stepped through the doors.

And behind, a black and gold gauntlet took hold of flaming sword.

 

~o~O~o~

 

I bore witness.

Alongside the Servitors, with their cores resonating brightly across every fiber of my being, we set our sights upon Beelzebub’s realm. The ego collective had created and consumed a planet, burrowing deep under the crust to fill the entirety with dedicated and synchronous activity. Each continent fulfilled swaths of industry or agriculture, with tremendous machines managing to the last particle every system of weather. Sweeps of perfectly circular clouds raced across a sky lit only by a single giant of turbulent red gas, providing the mechanism by which Beelzebub’s Will granted the realm the energy needed for its maintenance.

Energy ultimately provided by all the souls he’d consumed.

Everyone worked upon that world in silent harmony, for they had no need of individual communication. Nor laughter, nor entertainment, for no joy was present within this realm, only complete and absolute utilitarian purpose. There were no stray thoughts, only the expanse of the mind of Beelzebub peering through all senses, controlling every flicker of spirit, every move of muscle and bone.

Our first wave struck outside this simplified solar system, entirely beyond the fabric of space it simulated. A force of Maschitim, each with gleaming armor streaking colors of battle and destruction, spiraled inward as their spears and blades sliced away all portal connections - removing the enemy’s anchors of intent which allowed fast travel by realignment of the spiritual planes.

Even as white-armored and winged Beelzebubs swarmed in response to defend, additional Maschitim plunged towards the planet - spreading across the sphere to rip wide fresh portals of their own, each linked to the staging areas prepared across Dis and numerous other realms.

Thus was the perfectly measured calm of the world of Beelzebub shattered.

Spilling through those rifts came roaring armies of frenzied demons, charging below waves of technomagical marvels of military might, as craft built for air-to-air and air-to-ground assault shot outward to engage the reacting forces scrambling to launch their own. Endless missiles streaked across that managed sky, bringing death and obliteration to carefully chosen targets, striking radar stations, launch runways, defensive batteries, and more.

Buildings, installations, and souls exploded across the planet entire as every concentrated city found itself under full assault. Yet even as all those wiped out by the attacks collapsed into perfectly matching stones, not a single Beelzebub-conquered soul cried out.

Floating beside me in the space between realms, murmuring Servitors relayed the vision of the assault in absolute clarity to the commanders coordinating our units, channeling all data through the Citadel - a primary function for which the battlestation had been constructed, and a required counter against an enemy who instantly perceived and processed everything through a giant unitary Mind.

We knew, as Beelzebub did, that we did not have enough forces to conquer and hold against the greater hordes at his command. But this was not our goal.

Our goal was confusion. And chaos.

To support this, entire divisions assaulted city centers only to immediately retreat through their portals, their destinations then warping to the opposite hemisphere, where our forces would then attack anew. After the initial objectives, each additional target had been determined by the Citadel’s calculations to be indicators of a massive push - one which never came.

A frenetic dance of terror designed to occupy and stretch as much of that collective Mind as possible in preparation for one event and one alone:

Prince Camael’s arrival.

And arrive he did.

Upon one white and three scarlet wings, and ensconced in a nimbus of holy red flame, the warrior of obsidian and gold streaked through a sparking electric portal stretching above the planet’s largest city, one dwarfing Los Angeles in sheer area and New York in constructed density. Immediately the blazing sword cleaved high-rises entire, metal and steel groaning unto collapse in bursts of deadly dust and debris. And against the angelic Beelzebubs attempting to dislodge his portal’s anchor, the blade spun to cut not just their manifestations from the realm, but their spirits.

Sliced away and lost forever.

Across an entire planet, every resident - whether they be fleeing or fighting - broke their odd silence which had carried on even through the mayhem, as billions of voices suddenly cried out as one:

“BUTCHER!!”

Missile after missile, angel after angel, jet after jet - all swarmed against him, and all fell to that blade of crimson fire. Winged Beelzebubs in cities continents away fled duels against the Maschitim, away from everywhere portals flickered in and out of existence with accompanying clash of sword and shield. Each now sped on matching feathers towards the truest of threats attacking their shores.

Not that it mattered.

For Camael slaughtered all.

Defenders seethed in coordinated swarms, and a single cylinder launched from an orbiting satellite - aimed not outward, but down gravity’s well.

Eleleth shouted my Name. In an instant of understanding, through the connection forged with that one ivory wing, I channeled to our champion all that our burning hearts could carry.

Not needing to directly collide with the archangel marauding across city and sky, a device forged of angelic language detonated - not as a nuclear flash, but as a tearing through the fundamental structures upholding the realm.

Thousands of miles ripped asunder: buildings, earth, air - within a terrible cloud the very pattern of the city below shredded and collapsed.

To rising horror and dismay, all souls trapped within that terrible radius - be they within our demons or merged with Beelzebub - dissolved entire. No stones, no sparks, gone as if they’d never been.

Yet as the absolute destruction billowed outward, Camael floated still at the center, hovering now upon the blazing fires spilled from six blinding identical wings - the veins of each feather sparking with crimson blended equally with the purest of white flames.

Lifting his sword, the energies of that blade flashed upwards as a roaring column to torch the satellite, detonating in orbit the additional prepared doomsday weapons stored within.

And with that tremendous explosion the sky filled with a second circling sun.

Underneath the fiery canopy, then did the manifestation of War, the Second Horseman of Revelations, speak unto this world:

“If you care so little for your realm, then there exists no need for restraint.”

Swinging that immense sword about, the Prince Regent of the Seat of Light burned brighter still and sliced at the realm entire.

Aiming for its core.

Oh God.

About to shout across that link to order him to stop, a different connection flared instead.

“My Queen! The nexus flees!”

Repeated practice drummed thoroughly into instinct overrode all, and I blipped.

Into the heart of the primary sun.

Through those fires of roaring fusion, a curved sword of black flame forged not of physical metal swung at a towering golden-armored gryphon, the raven-like front claws desperately rising to parry against a strike they knew they’d be too late to counter.

A Spear of gold-entwined-onyx interposed, casting aside the intended blow with strength enough to toss back the attacker.

Hovering within the countering white fire spilling from six wings of my own, I spoke to the multi-armed figure holding not just that scimitar but several more.

“Beelzebub. Let’s finish this.”

A billion facets gazed back, and a Fallen archangel nodded.

“So be it.”

As though a Sensei had shouted ‘Hajime!’, our fight began.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Beelzebub.

An entity concentrated into iridescent white armor covering a torso with four weapon-wielding arms and two wide yellow wings, not feathered like those of birds but membraned like an insect. All while wielding a mind buttressed by billions of spirits, deployed as an incredibly powerful distributed network of calculation.

Which meant the fight was not going well.

Lack of any terrain within the element-fusing star yielded an open battlefield, which we both streaked through in clash after brilliant clash. His attempts to swing blades of oily blackness through its solar flares came under fire from my bow of purest illumination, as arrows brighter than the photosphere forced him to close again with multiple strikes against spinning Spear.

And with such shifts in proximity, the bow too would morph, flowing into defending concentrated Light wherever needed, acting as instant brilliant plates deflecting attacks as surely as any armor of Heaven.

Switching weapons occurred at the speed of thought, driven by instinct and the branching images of potential futures as foretold by the gifts of Light’s perceptions. Yet with the billions of Flies projecting every possible motion and counter, my opponent’s pre-simulated vision was as clear as mine.

Therefore we continued, far faster than my beloved Hunter could keep pace with, and he fell further and further behind. Cut for cut, parry for parry, my tremendous speed versus Beelzebub’s overwhelming power.

And therein lay the danger.

Our physical fight, dramatic and intense as it was, spurring the star to more rapidly burn through all available fuel, only represented a portion of the true struggle.

A struggle of ideas.

Even while Spear sparked against ivory armor, and hardened Light flashed to deflect scimitars, a heated discussion occurred simultaneous in an alternate plane of thought, will, and spirit:

“You cannot win, Amariel. Surrender to the inevitable.”

“I disagree!”

“Our destruction no longer is possible. Confirm with your sight: should even this nexus be destroyed, another node shall expand to take its place. Eventually all existence shall be Beelzebub, and Creation shall reach intended perfection!”

“Only this nexus of yours has the energetic capacities to wield the whole! Take that out and the rest collapses - your Flies contain not the pattern of an archangel!”

“By this Book has been revealed that which is achievable. It has shown the lies to our perceived limitations. It has shown the lie to many things!”

“Then when I rip that scroll from your belt, I shall discover how to stop the rest!”

“Too late, sister and anomaly. By your gift into our hands, our ascension is assured.”

“Yet you flee from Camael!”

Each word, each meaning of communication, came with a hammered blow of sheer ego-driven willpower. Absolute certainty smashed against mental defenses, barriers erected by dodging and deflecting while holding to a single Light-infused thought.

I threw back at the collective a thought, causing the manifestation to stumble back as Spear drove forward with thrust after thrust:

“Your path stands against Creation’s Purpose! Never was the goal to combine into unitary stasis!”

“The great flaw as revealed to Samael! Without singularity of Plan, all that is built is vulnerable to that which lies beyond. Spread your vision further, Archon! Gaze from without, then attempt claim that Creation is stable. For you cannot, as the Throne itself is weak - weaker than any have ever suspected!”

A whirlwind of steel spun a fresh assault, requiring exacting precision to avoid being skewered upon sharp edges glowing blue from the extreme heat of our surroundings. Spinning the Spear at such a speed as to appear more a shield, sparks blossomed into explosions ricocheting outward.

And still Beelzebub continued the attack by words and blades.

“Yet rejoice! Again this gift revealed truth: with sufficient spirits forged to our Name, we shall burn past this prison and scrape that elevated seat clear - we shall bring Creation to its ultimate result! For in that glorious moment, all our siblings shall embrace the glory of Beelzebub!”

Stumbling back, I could see it. I could see Beelzebub’s ego-driven poison spreading soul to desperate soul across Hell, each aching for release from suffering, release from pain, release from hate. For even as stones, they cried eternal.

Hell would, within the unbound infinite granted by time, eventually succumb.

And should he break free and consume the Throne in Heaven, all angels across Creation tied to that Glory would too be lost.

Instantly.

A deep rip across a leg cast blood sizzling into the flames, and I darted back using rapid bowfire to grant fight’s delay to refocus.

My four-armed opponent, nimbly stepping aside from each Light-infused arrow, saluted.

“There!! You perceive! Why fight? Accept what shall be! We are and always shall be! And those Above have no strength to stand against us!”

“Accept? The Light shall never accept this!”

“Forget not, we too are born of that Light! We are its foregone conclusion!”

Against that vision, a heart boiled hotter than the star around us, and once more did I call upon the Spear. Once more did the Chaos bound within spiral outward.

With a yell both in spirit and manifest, I charged forward, spiraling alternate futures one after the other. Ones where Beelzebub fell, ones where all divine sparks would be kept safe.

Except Beelzebub was no stranger to fighting Chaos. Responding with his own roar ripped through billions of throats, a mighty singularity of intent clamped onto the black-yet-not-black coils attempting to coax the fabric of Creation into new lines.

That Will, that immense Unity, snuffed them out. One by one, before new threads could blend into the pattern and take hold as fresh possibilities.

And those united voices laughed.

“Archon, think you that we cannot stand against the dance of Chaos? By blood and fire are we forged of that struggle - and by Raziel’s revelations are we rendered immune!”

Again we danced, the lines of possibility dividing and collapsing, roiling and forced still. Around us the star churned with the added heat, expanding outward to twice its size and more.

Neither of us gained advantage, but neither found resolution’s path. Back on Beelzebub’s planet, Fly after Fly fell to Camael’s blade - each loss weakening the powers of calculation, but not fast enough. Soul after soul, embedded within that whole, ceased all attention towards the demons cleaving through their ranks, shifting focus entirely to the fight between their enthroned nexus and the angel bleeding desperation to find solution.

Except there was a path. Flickering at the edges, I caught glimpses and rejected. Over and over.

Yet it kept coming back.

Frenetically I swung the Spear, risking and gaining additional scarlet lines across ferociously bright skin. I didn’t want this. Streams of Chaos flooded forward with potential alternate branches, only to be smothered like fires ripped free of all oxygen, leaving only the one. Still my chest cried against it.

But it wasn’t my decision.

It was his.

“My Queen.”

“Tsáyidiel! NO!!!”

“Ego’s ultimate triumph, my sacred Queen, lies within its willing sacrifice.”

From stealthed approach possible only to God’s divine Hunter, Tsáyidiel leapt through the solar fires, grappling with claw and beak to embrace the uncalculated instantaneous reaction of four slick-burning scimitars slicing through the golden-white gryphon armor.

Slicing through Tsáyidiel’s Name.

And I, shrieking a heart’s bleeding cry, instead of attempting to rescue my beloved, used the slimmest of opportunity to slam tip of Spear into the provided opening through Beelzebub’s nexus - sending unleashed Chaos and Light into every channel and thread within.

Beelzebub’s painful howl immediately joined my own.

With white-hot fury, those channels burned. With bleeding sorrow, they ripped asunder.

Across the nearby planet, and throughout the vastness of Hell, Beelzebubs echoed that cry as their many billions collapsed.

Four hands released blades still buried in thick hide to clutch weakly instead at the Spear impaled through their own chest, and the remnants of a beautiful gryphon tumbled away to consumption by fusion’s fiery caress. Beelzebub’s core gazed upward in astonished confusion and growing terror as connection after connection within sparked brightly.

And disappeared.

“We…We are Beelzebub! We are…I am…Beelzebub…”

Light flared. Ripping free the Spear, that channeled intensity flashed across the Name exposed by gaping wound.

“No,” I said, voice awfully distant. “Not anymore.”

The final remaining pair of eyes burned away in the heat of a Light greater than any star.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Camael found me floating amidst the furnace, clutching to breast a glittering scroll case as well as the only piece I could find: a shard of golden-white metal cast free from a mighty wing’s bend. Inscribed across armor’s fragment lay a final message, carved in immaculate script by a beautiful and glorious Kerubim as he prepared for one final leap, one final hunt:

Weep not, my Queen, my savior. For joyous redemption is at last accomplished.

I failed to heed that message. Tears fell unbound, boiling away in the runaway fusion of the realm’s now unstable sun.

With gentle and wordless compassion, the obsidian armored warrior guided me away from that space, away from the mess our attack had left behind.

Away from a devastated planet spinning alone around a solitary and expanding star. Away from the scattered wreckage of thousands if not millions of angels who in the depths of fallen despair had surrendered their deepest Purpose. And away from billions upon billions of lost souls scoured clean of all names, all pasts, and all stories of touching glory or miserable sin.

For their sacred sparks had been wiped complete at the moment of their acceptance of Beelzebub’s overriding Name.

The Regent led between the realms to the Citadel, past silent and watchful Servitors, past saluting officers of angels and demons, leaving me to the quiet and needed solitude of his meditative chamber of rooted earth under shadow-canopied trees. Upon the dirt I sat without chair or rug, the weight of countless sacrifice pressing heavily against thighs, held again in the manifest shape of a mighty tome bound by leather and gold.

I thought of them all, and opened the Book.