Hope's Light (Part Three)

Chapter Ten - Keepers

Layers unfold as the Book advances chapters, and intervals beyond time nevertheless speed forward.

Past further iterations of Light’s expansion, past concept of boundary enforced by the one called to such purpose, past moment of blood and sacrifice, of pain and birth.

Upon the constructed foundation the greater nexus is forged complete by a growing and active Will. A Will expressed through all those now in existence, by the varied and combined abstracts which have expanded and increased their number - each with refinements and developments found within the emerging subtleties from the Names of the originals.

To this nexus are purpose and concept bound, intertwining and merging as words become sentences, sentences become paragraphs, and paragraphs coalesce into story.

A story mapped and guided by the uniting and brilliantly multi-hued Center.

Awareness grows across Creation, and from this singular center flows the new: new layers of manifestation, new beings channeling fresh concepts and ideals, new beauty, new glory, and new infinities.

Yet the resonance of this explosion spills beyond the edges, for those mark only boundary and not restriction. Thus is cast fresh Light upon the Dark, and - as if upon a warped mirror - reflections flawed and twisted appear once more. These shadowed reactions thrash in the regions between, their impurities self-actualizing and - to the horror of the shining Words dancing within the firmament - self-replicating.

For those who had fought against the first waves of Chaos, the last was the most worrisome.

With a roar shaking all existence, the largest of these entities - having swallowed and harnessed any brethren within its terrible orbit - smashes with unimaginable force across the boundary, and what Is again mixes directly with what Is Not.

And this corrupted space expands.

Rallied by the Light of the First, the whole of the Host of Holies charges forth on wings blazing with harnessed intent - warrior surgeons slicing away cancerous cells with blades of unending holy fire. The beast of beasts, struggling mightily as its essence confounds the order upon which Creation depends, slowly is beaten back - inch by blood-splattered inch. Against its terrible fury entire cohorts are lost to the diseased incursion - until the blinding power of the Light finally slams the beast across the threshold. There it sinks unto the depths of depths where its awareness, wounded and defeated, slips into a slumber from which all hope it may never awaken.

But from the wake of its devastation, rippling and tearing at the fabric, multiple cancers large and small creep. These unplanned growths infect the tapestry’s unity and all they touch - including members of the Host themselves.

There, fighting at the edge of edges and gleaming in battle-hardened armor crimson and black, the chief of the frontline warriors reaches dreadful decision. Too many are there who cannot be purged of this unleashed perversion of what is. Even should they be imprisoned, the structures forged to hold them would find their perfection decaying and rotting from the untoward pressures contained within, and the plague seeds these infected companions carry would again spread.

With a cry and flash of blazing sword he spills the blood that brings an end to some of their own.

The heartache ripping through his agonized howl summons a pain-filled echo from my chest, and again the page turns.

Shemyaza.

Co-leader of the fallen Grigori and rebel against the Throne. He who forced his own angelic brethren to breed with humanity in order to spawn an army against Heaven.

And also the entity who had lurked behind the eyes of a brave young man, one who had endeavored to damn himself to Hell to prevent his innermost corrupted spirit from spreading further havoc upon the world.

Fingers tightened in Tsáyidiel’s fur, and a responding low growl built in my beloved gryphon’s throat.

I spoke past my own pulse-pounding clash of rising emotion. “If there is only Shemyaza, then why still wear Cassius’ face?!” The eyes, though. They were wrong: a sickly green - as if my friend’s brilliant blue had been overrun by industrial sludge.

“Amusement!” he sneered. “What else?!”

“I’ve seen in memory the original face you wore in manifestation. Once beautiful and radiant.”

“Look then at what rejection and banishment wrought from life after miserable and mewling life brings - spent as nothing more than a creature barely able to sling two meager ideas together!” He jumped to his feet, tossing back the hood before spreading arms wide.

Upon the forehead of a blond teenager, branded between the yellow strands framing his face sat a brutal red scar, set by the seal his incarnate self had forged. The seal a best friend had been directed unknowingly to use upon him. In addition, forearms also were covered with scars, cuts crossing their curves repeatedly.

With some as fresh and scabbing as those currently decorating my own wrists.

Curled fingers smoothed apart, urging Tsáyidiel to remain calm even as the two Grigori flanking Shemyaza each took a half step forward. On the left was the earth-attuned angel we had just fought, titanium armor upon shoulder and chest crushed inward from Tsáyidiel’s attack.

The other, thin as a dancer, stood wrapped not in armor but black silk. Layer after dark layer enfolded her, covering all but a pair of piercing ivory eyes and a hand extending onyx claws eager to slice and maim.

Except she had no other arm, fabric tight against the shoulder where one should have been. And the feathers upon her wings were not smooth but shredded with a multitude of tiny holes, as if bathed in an acid still hungrily eating its way through.

With use of deeper sight I saw why.

My voice softened. “Was being incarnate really that awful?”

“Awful? Awful?!” Shemyaza’s wings twisted and flexed, hatred bulging from sickly eyes wide and wild. “We who contemplated the infinites, reduced and trapped in muck!! We were meant to raise the pathetic from that dirt and rule!”

“Rule? That was not your charter.”

“Was it not? Does not a parent hold full sway over their untrained and feral children until they reach maturity? Spare the rod, spoil the child!! Humanity, digging with fingernails and teeth in unmanaged soil, were but beasts when we arrived. Beasts! It was our choir who taught them otherwise. Us!” He smirked and added, “Though perhaps I should not expect a lover of brutal Kerubim to understand.”

Tsáyidiel growled again, which only encouraged Shemyaza’s razor-edged laugh.

“See?” he pointed. “Hold tight that leash, Amariel! And question not what decisions we Grigori were forced to make!”

“Forced?”

“Forced!” He barked the word, then shouted it again even louder. “Forced!! Go to Earth, we were told! Go to the slime and the mire, aid these miserably weak creatures and guide them to their oh-so-holy destinies! And we did, oh we did. And what was received as reward?!”

I stayed silent. He had moved away from the throne, pacing there behind the two bodyguards to pause each time within their shadows, ones cast by all the illumination flowing through me - a Light that yearned to enfold them all.

“Well? I cannot hear you. WHAT DID WE RECEIVE?!”

“I do not know.”

“Yes, you do! You do!! Because Aradia knew! But fine,” he said with false calm, as hands continued to tremble. “I shall tell you what we were not offered. Not a chance to rejuvenate our spirits in the Above, to rebalance the divine with the mundane shells we were required to garb ourselves with upon the material planes, oh no. Not as asked, begged, and pleaded for. Instead we were slandered as unworthy - with agents of their cursed council sent to destroy us!”

“Only after Azazel joined with Alal and-”

“ALAL USED HIM!!” All calm shattered as he leapt atop the metal bench, wings snapping through the air behind. Clenching a fist between us he screamed, “SHE USED HIM!!” With that fist he pounded against the scars scorched into his forehead. “With so many promises - the power to defend ourselves - the power to defeat the Throne! Lies. ALL LIES!! What was I to do?” Staring at the hand’s unfolding fingers, he then flinched at the sight of the marks on his arm. “They would have killed us all. Because of my brother’s corruption!” Raising head, he glared again at me - spitting fury and pain. “Archangels deal in absolutes - be they in Heaven or Hell. Even now, the princes of these rotting realms hunt us for my brother’s sin! I fought to keep my people safe!!”

Kokabiel’s memories dug into thoughts: scenes of her being forced to breed child after beloved child, so many which could never survive the unbalanced blend of essences angel and mortal, their dead bodies cradled ever so close in her madly weeping arms.

And for this struggle on behalf of her prince, Shemyaza had thrown her to Azazel to become but a Chaos-overwhelmed thrall.

I couldn’t hold back.

“Safe?!” A foot moved forward as the Light below my skin flared brighter still, causing the two flanking Grigori to flinch and step back. “What of Kokabiel and all the others ruined by your ambition?! Once Azazel crossed that line, you knew what you had to do! But your avarice and greed to rule prevented it!!”

“HE WAS MY BROTHER!!” roared Shemyaza, and the wide chamber contracted, walls and ceiling pulled by the power flowing through his wings as the lines of the realm itself bent and curved.

“And how many more of your brothers and sisters died because of him - because of you!!” The power within surged even further, and with it flowing freely I pushed the space back to its proper alignment.

The tension inflicted upon the weakened realm from being caught between us triggered another quake.

This time a much larger one.

Floor, walls, and ceiling spasmed - the standing lamps scattered about like dropped toothpicks. At the center, five angels spread wings to remain steady even as everything around us slammed back and forth. Stone groaned from numerous spreading cracks and huge slabs began to fall from the ceiling.

Our eyes met, the dark prince’s and mine. And behind his gaze flared something more - a spark of clearer waters leaking through determined to find purchase. With a strangled cry, it found it - and in wordless exchanged agreement, we did what was necessary.

His dark wings expanded over us, lines of force spilling upward from each feather to wrap and catch each falling stone and to reinforce every splintering wall, floor tile, and much more. And as for me, well, the Light unfolded the second set of wings and reached out to the realm itself, brushing past the four elemental layers which had been piled atop the other like a stack of plastic toy bricks: fire over air above earth floating on water. Behind them all, within the structures that maintained them, lay a hollow center. Threads lining that gap had begun to unravel, weak from the lack of an archangel’s will - and empty from the lack of the primal energy needed to fuel the whole.

I’d touched that emptiness at the core before, while channeling the Purpose still infusing everything surrounding it. Samael had cut himself free of the realm he’d created, but that hadn’t changed the meanings he’d embedded into his former home.

Survival. Raw untrammeled survival. And the will to destroy any and all threats against such. Having fought my way across the blood-slicked plains of Hell, I knew that need. I’d embraced it, embodied it.

As had Shemyaza, in his own twisted way.

But so had Cassius - except not for himself.

Letting fresh power flow into those wavering threads and thereby calm them, together my emerging friend and I tamed the spike of dramatic instability our opposing emotionally-driven energies had accidentally triggered.

When the tremendous shaking finally stopped, Tsáyidiel hovered behind me. He had protected my back from the other two Grigori who had moved to flank us. This left me face to face with their prince whose rage found itself suppressed - if only momentarily.

“You have the power,” said Cassius eventually, his strikingly blue eyes shining clear. “You could grant this realm an anchor.”

“I will not. I believe in more than for what it was made.”

“It needs one.”

“I know.”

What was left unsaid was what we’d both felt and understood. The realm had refused to accept any other angel to fill itself - the many factions were too splintered. Unless enough souls and spirits - whether contained within demons or otherwise - united under a single banner, none would be considered worthy of replacing the original owner.

With three sets of wings I could overwhelm and override that requirement. But if I did, such would require rewriting everything this place was.

Likely along with everyone within it.

A tired smile emerged. “Your answer to our final essay for the Rabbi.”

“I suppose it is.” I so wanted to touch his face, to brush away the yellow strands dangling over those pained eyes and cheeks. An urge so strong that a hand reached out on its own.

But my friend flinched and spun away. “No!!”

“Why? Please, Cassius, before the old mask recovers, let me-”

“No!” he said again as resolution solidified upon his youthful features. “No atonement could possibly suffice for what was done.”

“But those were his sins, not yours! And have you not paid enough for them?!”

“All are his, as all are mine.”

Moisture threatened to leak along the curves of my cheeks. “Then how can I help you?”

Looking past a brightly winged shoulder, he pointed to the angel wrapped in black cloth. “Remove Azazel’s taint from Yomyael. She is hunted because of it.”

I knew what he meant. Azazel’s touch of Chaos was upon her - he’d used her as a puppet, just as he’d used the agent he’d sent to the Citadel before they’d been destroyed by my timely support of one of Beelzebub’s ego-conquered flies. The remnants of primal Chaos left behind by the proto-Archon defeated above the skies of the Rock was eating away at her pattern.

Shifting in the air, both our attentions moved to her.

She recoiled. “What??”

Eyes of brightness examined her pattern more closely, and an ache throbbed through my chest. “Your heart. It lies shut and locked tightly within.”

Anger flared. “So?”

“You would fight the Light until the end. You would block any attempt to heal.”

“The Light? Screw the Light! Why would I ever touch those lies again?!”

“Because you’ll die otherwise, idiot!” Cassius shouted, though Shemyaza’s harsh tone bled through. “Don’t be so fucking stupid!”

Backing further away, she slashed at the air between us with the claws of her only hand. “I will never forgive what they did to us! Never!”

With fingernails gouging across a forearm to pull fresh blood, Cassius barked, “Let Amariel save at least you before Shemyaza’s cursed madness returns and puts a stop to it!”

“You refused too! Why shouldn’t I?!” Her face twisted into a horrible grimace, ravaging what otherwise would have been beautiful. “I loved the humans! I worked with them, taught them, cared for them - each and every new dawn! And I was forced to watch them die! Generation after generation, sunset after sunset, century after century! You,” she shouted at Cassius - and through him at Shemyaza, “You never loved them as I did! Never let them chip away and steal your heart piece by buried piece!”

“So you locked it all away,” I said quietly.

“Love yields only pain!”

With nails digging even deeper into manifested flesh, Cassius swallowed. “Then you’ll die.”

“Fine! On my terms, I’ll embrace it!”

To my surprise, I found myself speaking. “Behold, for there exists an alternate path by which her existence is preserved.” Light flared bright, and for a moment there were no shadows in the hall.

Cassius blinked in confusion. “How?”

“By use of this.”

Extending a hand, a burst of new Light - and new Darkness - filled the space as again I held the Spear of Destiny.

Though I wasn’t sure that was still its name.

Crafted by blending a Chaos-forged sword as it plunged into my chest with a Roman spear which had survived the ages by having been blessed with holy blood, illumination entwined with its lack in a tight double helix forming shaft and spear tip - meeting at a point sharper than sharp, brighter than bright, and yet simultaneously darker than dark.

A singularity where Chaos met the name of Elohim - where What Could Be But Isn’t combined with What Is.

My friend, always ready with precise elocution, was stunned to silence as his two Grigori companions pulled shoulders forward to try and block the contradicting yet merged fields of power with their folded wings.

Not that their feathers could.

Gaping at it, Cassius finally found his voice, albeit hoarsely. “That’s…Amariel, what have you done to it?!”

“Forged that which is needed.”

Fear filled those eyes, and an even more terrified aspect within shrieked and fled below the icy blue irises entirely. “Have you any concept of what such a thing’s existence alone threatens? What wielding that could unleash?!”

I totally didn’t, yet that’s not what I said in response. “I do what I must, Grigori.”

A face now far paler than the yellow strands framing it nodded as he then looked at Yomyael. “Can it purge her of the poison’s touch?”

“It can contain it. Though not without great pain, for should I withhold the blessings of the Light her pattern will not undergo healing. She will live. Damaged and broken, but alive.” I too returned attention to the corrupted angel. “What say you?”

Hiding behind wings in the process of gaining more holes than feathers, Yomyael peered past. “I fear no pain.”

“Then brace yourself, you who once encompassed the Days of the Most High.”

Bravely her wings lowered, and with anger-fueled resolution she growled, “Do it.”

And so I did.

A scream of horrible agony escaped her throat to scrape across stone and beam of the still-standing hall, summoning yet more dust that fell through the terrible echoes.

For I had stretched out my other hand, and with a twist of wrist began ripping free the infection of her spirit that should not be. At first thin tendrils smoked past the wraps - burning through silk which quickly disintegrated and fell away, but the streams thickened into coils to course past skin, bleed from her eyes, and vomit from every pore and orifice.

The other guarding Grigori moved as if to catch and hold her, but a flick of intent sent him speeding across the hall. “Interfere not, Turiel - you who were the Rock of the Lord. Lest you too become corrupt.”

Her cries became shrieks as she thrashed - arm, legs, and wings, all desperately trying to pull away but finally falling still with only whimpers - for my will held her fixed in place within the air. All the corruption, all the energy foreign to Creation, flowed at my command - and poured into the Spear.

Where Elohim’s Name along with my own merged the unwritten Chaos with that which was already bound.

As the last drop of that which straddles what Is and what Is Not became sealed within the Spear, I motioned for Cassius to collect his sister and then released her into his arms. She was, at this point, blessedly unconscious.

Holding her tenderly, he peered past pale bangs in awe and caution.

Still holding the weapon shining both bright and not, heavy sadness settled upon my feathers. “I had hoped to carry you from this prison, to restore you unto incarnation in the Book of Life. The seal on angels was restored, a path for such is possible.”

He shook his head. “Shemyaza - and therefore I - deserve to be here. It’s safer for everyone. Including us.”

“Is this truly your wish?”

“It is. Will you honor it?”

With a sigh the Spear returned to be held within my spirit’s grasp only, and the odd Light-which-wasn’t faded away. “I shall, Cassius. Though I certainly don’t like it.”

“Should you escape Hell again, tell the Rabbi I believe you aced his essay exam.”

“Your solution sucks, but…so did you.”

He smiled then, an expression genuine as well as rare. “What will you do next?”

I stared past the rock to see the sparks of all the souls and spirits beyond them. “Seek hidden secrets. And find the others my heart clamors to aid.”

“Hidden secrets?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.” A tremor went through him as something inside fought to emerge, but he held on. “Did you immediately fly to Hell because Jenna sent me all the way down? I haven’t been here that long, not even relatively.”

“She’s hurt by what happened. She blames herself.”

He sighed. “Tell her I am sorry and that it wasn’t her fault. At all. And you haven’t answered the question.”

“I didn’t come just for you. But it was certainly a factor in the decision.”

“Thank you.”

“Should you change your mind-”

“I know who to call.”

“Good.” I bit a lip. “I’d hug you but…”

He quickly backed away. “No touching! This close is hard enough as is!”

“Okay. I just…okay. But I hate it! You know that, right?!”

“I do. And I’m sorry about that too.”

We shared one of those awkward pauses. I wanted to either shake sense into him or grab him close and never let go. But I couldn’t. Just like with Yomyael, if he kept his heart closed all I’d do is set him aflame.

Internally however, I vowed to never give up.

There had to be a way.

After the awkward moment something else flickered across his thoughts and then focused. “Hey, Jordan?”

“Yeah?”

“We heard about what occurred over on the Rock. My alternate ass was naturally intrigued to find out what exactly happened to our corrupted brother. Did you really team up with Camael and Barakiel? You failed to mention this back at the Academy.”

“With Shemyaza listening, can you blame me for not filling you in on all the details?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“It is true though. Barakiel helped Camael navigate Hell so he could find me.”

“Then this will interest you: A number of firestorms ago, Camael stumbled wounded out of the city’s plumbing into the fighting pits where desperate and starving demons swarm. He was carrying a comatose Barakiel. A terrible slaughter of those demons commenced, wiping out most of them.” He waved at the hall around us. “Hence this place being so empty and available.”

I frowned. “I just ran into Barakiel, he didn’t mention any of that.”

“Turiel has no idea what it was about, but from a distance watched the start of Camael’s unleashed fury before deciding it was far safer to be elsewhere.”

“Huh. Thanks.”

“And as we’re sharing information, want to expound on why you showed up on my doorstep in disguise amongst a crew of unmarked souls?”

“Oh. Sure. Citadel Security is pissed that their SWAT team got swatted. An agent tricked me into investigating the occurrence while I was looking into something else - I had no idea you were here.”

“So what were you after exactly?”

“Ever hear of the ‘Apostle’?”

“Ah. That.”

“Yeah. That. Know anything about him?”

“Only that he’s a demon that leads souls into worshiping you. I take it such adoration isn’t sponsored?”

“No, it most certainly is not. I’ve heard he’s using these underground spaces too - he could be nearby.”

He pondered. “There are many old and abandoned tunnels around where water was once raised to the city prior to the piping system being built.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” I too mused for a moment. “You know, the Citadel is bound to report your presence here to the Sarim.”

“We’ll be careful. And you be sure to do the same with that Spear. What you just did will be felt.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do.”

“Gee thanks, Yoda.”

He glowered in annoyance, but then looked thoughtful. “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“If you do make it back again, you really ought to have a conversation with your cat.”

“With Khan-kitty??”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He grinned, and for a moment looked like nothing more than a mischievous teenaged boy - albeit one with black wings struggling internally to keep a far eviler mind at bay. “Pretty sure you’ll figure it out. Goodbye, Jordan, and don’t be too stupid - as hard for you as that is!” Without waiting for a response, he flew off towards the keep’s inner rooms, Yomyael held carefully in his arms with Turiel following.

Which left me looking at Tsáyidiel in confusion.

“What was that about?”

“I dare not offer guess, my Queen.”

Puzzled, I shrugged and tried to decide on my next move. But still.

Khan?

Chapter Eleven - Stand

I spent a few more minutes, there in the now-empty hall. Tsáyidiel remained quiet, allowing me space to think. While the idea of returning to give Krux the grief he so greatly deserved appealed, the entire quest to find the Apostle no longer felt as urgent.

Oh, I still wanted to know if this demon had information that could lead to my other friends, and also wanted to find out just exactly who he was to be saying things in my name. But from what Cassius had just told me, other priorities had become much more important.

And thus decision became action.

Perceptions pierced the elemental earth above to chart out the numerous tunnels back to the surface, and we took flight - with me again shrouding the outward shine as Tsáyidiel had taught. Anyone with truer vision would likely still sense our passage - while my companion was virtually undetectable, my own presence sent ripples through the realm’s fabric much the way space curves in the wake of a massive stellar object.

You know, like that of a burning sun.

Back into the heat under the realm’s sky of fire, we sped between towers, retracing our paths to a place we’d already been.

Except this time the azure-skinned demon outside Greepa’s bar didn’t want to let me in.

“You not Citadel,” he growled while looming over me with an eight foot bodybuilder’s frame. “No entry!” Stepping out, he placed himself firmly in front of the nondescript doorway and crossed arms that would have been envy of the most roided-out gym rats.

Maybe it was because I’d just left a friend stuck in a mire of continuous suffering, or maybe it was the fact that a certain drunkard of a Grigori had earlier lied right to my face, but after thinking things over I was not exactly in a good mood.

Not even close.

Even my chosen outfit had shifted. Gone were the mismatched rags rifled from the intake facility’s lost and found, those having been replaced by a medieval yet modern tactical mix of white, in the forms of an embossed leather cuirass over a silk tunic and matching leggings tucked into ivory twenty-first century military boots. A touch of bright gold-laced crimson was provided by long hair bound as a single center braid draped against a shoulder, and out of not wanting to cause a general outcry by the surrounding denizens, wings had been tucked away.

But Camael’s bracers once again provided sharply dark contrast upon otherwise pale wrists in their full-sized and battle-ready golden-black form.

I didn’t give the demon a chance for any further bluster. With an upraised hand, power reached out to sink below his blue flesh and grip one of the souls the fiend had swallowed. Specifically, a soul residing within the pattern of his throat. Meaty demon fingers instantly floundered against that overly-muscled neck as he choked and stumbled to the ground, struggling to keep that former meal down.

Sickeningly, the soul I had grabbed was as slimy as the essence of the demon it rested inside, full of smoldering hatred and a terrible need for violence - equally burning and shrieking in reaction to the Light.

In many ways that was even worse than feeling the pattern of its host.

Disgusted, I released them both and without a word stepped over the whimpering demon.

A quick scan inside the barely-lit joint showed that little had changed except for one important detail. The devil bartender still wore vest and dress shirt, the floors were freshly mopped, a couple of office-attire demons sat at the bar, but the jerk I wanted to find was missing from his nest of empty bottles and soiled napkins.

Greepa stared while pouring an ale - not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Peterbilt.

Oh. I was still glowing. Peachy.

“Your bouncer,” I snapped across the room. “Where is he?”

The bartender took a moment to find his voice, and eventually succeeded. Points to him. “Why…why should I tell you this?”

“He and I have further business.”

“Business?” Greepa licked lips, noting that customers were watching. “What sort of business?” The guy was trying to determine if he should get a cut…or not.

I pushed the issue. “You sure you want to know?” The bar became less dim, and honestly the additional illumination did the dingy decor no favors.

“I…no. I suppose not.” The devil put down the overfilled glass. “He’s off-shift. Typically he takes his sleeps in random corners, but as he’s flush with cash and can afford the bribes - you should try the hydroponics garden. Two floors up.”

I didn’t even nod. I simply turned and walked away.

Out to where a demon on bended knee struggled to regain his lost breath. Except this time the symbol embossed and outlined in gold across the front of my cuirass finally registered within his sight, and in recognized surprise the overly-muscled guy threw himself fully prostrate, forehead shoved firmly against the ground as I walked briskly past.

It was the same mark as upon my palm, only larger:

A four-pointed star.

Nick was found exactly where the bartender had said.

Two floors above the bar, and taking at least three floors more with the space’s height, a hydroponics interior greenhouse lifted rack after rack of well-watered platforms full of vegetables both familiar and not. There were many entrance doors, all locked, but a whispered word gained access and I entered, while Tsáyidiel slid into shadows to stand guard outside.

The dense humidity inside slapped against skin, thick enough that swirls of moisture gathered just below the tall ceiling to rain over plants and walkways all, a light drizzle with occasional heavier drops.

It was with his back propped up against such a water-slogged rack that I found him, drenched from messy beard and wild hair to the damp patchwork-booted toes sprawled straight-legged across the aisle.

Leaking out from under the splayed coat, coarse red swirled into the watery puddle surrounding him.

With the entire area in sleep mode, peaceful quiet was broken only by the low hum from the smaller lights lining the footpaths - and by sporadic buzzing from a distant overhead lamp sparking from a rain-induced short, yielding this haunting impression of lightning dancing far, far away.

His eyelids had closed to those random flashes, and wrapped within crossed arms as if hugging a life preserver sat a thick green bottle - cap in place and interior contents still full.

I stood over him, stood over this unkempt wretch of a being wallowing in misery and overflowing with terrible inner pain. The gash in his side had deepened since last I’d seen him, even though it had only been most of a sleep cycle, as the hooks of agony from his spirit’s suffering clawed tighter at the embedded curse within the wound - tighter than any fisherman’s lost nylon net. His spirit was already frayed due to parts of itself having gone missing, as the feathers of his former sacred connections had been sliced away by a blade of scorching fire long ago.

Another wound which had never properly healed.

My pent-up irritation - the anger, the frustration - all of it washed away standing there in rain which wasn’t rain.

After a pained sigh, I slid to the floor beside him and tilted face into the falling wet, letting warm water trail across cheeks in the place of all the tears I had yet allowed myself to shed.

His breathing eventually revealed when he awoke, and another minute passed in silence filled only by the gentle drops soaking each tray of produce, the meshes underneath plinking excess condensed moisture upon green and purple leaves covering racks below. Together it crafted a sound much like the patter heard below a rainforest’s canopy.

Eventually - albeit softly - my voice interrupted the peace.

“I can see why you like this place.”

A short exhale, and then, “I miss the storms.”

“There’s rain on the Rock. You could go there.”

“Rain and hail with a sun ever-burning below the clouds? That just isn’t right.”

“I suppose not.”

“And electricity is messed up in that realm anyway.”

“I never did understand why the physics there is so weird.”

“Can’t expect subtle consistencies from a place maintained by a hammer.”

“Guess not.”

Drip-filled quiet followed, and then it was his turn to break it.

“I was there, you know. When life was created. On Earth.”

Wanting to give him space to continue, I didn’t say anything.

“The primordial ooze,” he continued after a long minute, “or whatever scientists want to label it, had formed. Water, methane, hydrogen, ammonia, and the other needed bits such as silica, all swirling around in the tides. Beliel summoned the First, along with his perpetual sidekick to be witness and judge from the shores, and I…I flew high above to gather mighty clouds around the globe with the required differentials between ground and sky.”

His fingers found the cap of the bottle. Twisting, the cap came free - but he didn’t drink. Instead he only played with the metal cover, rolling it between fingers and mystically tattooed palm.

“It took awhile,” he eventually added. “Seeding all those sludged pools with zapped potential - not that we cared about the passage of time. We had yet to manifest fully in physical forms, you see. Time’s grasp on spirits is ephemeral, entropy’s touch does not apply.”

When his following silence had dragged on too long, I prompted him again. “And?”

He inhaled slowly. “And under the continual lightning strikes, the created amino acids and compounds finally combined into the shapes Beliel and Uriel had seeded as possibilities into the design. Eventually, for the first time, collated matter self-directed its own movement instead of reacting only to outside impingements. Which is where Azrael’s role came in.”

“How so?”

“Beginnings and endings. The start of such movement implies an end, with entropy breaking things down to be reabsorbed and started again. Life and Death. Over and over.”

“Isn’t that part of the beauty of it? Always changing, always growing.”

“I used to think so.”

We sat there mutely again, both soaked beyond the point where more didn’t matter, until finally I had to probe.

“I need to know what happened.”

“Hmm? I told you: Life and Death.”

“Not that. You being carried by Camael, and both of you hurt.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t make me insist.”

“Would you?”

“Camael took a one-way trip to Hell just to tell me how to leave. I owe him.”

“I came too.”

“You said you were blackmailed. Isaiah filled me in exactly how.”

“Seriously? What a jerk.”

“I’m tired of asking, Nick. Where is Camael?”

“You don’t owe him a damned nickel. Just look at what he did to you. To us! He started all this shit - he stole away your life and manipulated mine!”

“Do you really think he had a choice?”

“That…that raises questions I don’t feel like addressing. Either way, he carries the blame.”

“Who were you fighting? Who could have damaged a warrior such as him?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Fine.” The metal cap crumpled between his thumb and curled forefinger. “I did.”

“You did what?”

“I caused harm to Heaven’s untouchable and legendary Butcher.”

My heart fell. “But…why?”

A harsh snort and the bottle raised to his lips. But instead of drinking, he paused and lowered it. “You really going to tell me that you never wanted to? With all that’s happened?”

Though my mouth dropped open, no words came out. With a disturbing inner shudder, I closed it again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thought so. Except I actually did it. To save someone. To save a soul.”

Pulling knees up, I huddled on the floor next to the bitter and fallen angel. “Who?”

Amber spilled from the bottle’s open top, dripping across his hand. “Cathy - Catherine.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Of course you don’t.” With a muffled thud, his head leaned back against the rack behind us. “After graduating Whateley, I went to Oxford. Earned a scholarship, the whole nine, from having the deepest potential well of magic ever tested. For once I actually studied; shit I worked my ass off. In the end, though, I did too well.” He paused, staring upward to let rain slip through unkempt hair and streak greasily across face and forehead.

“How so?”

“Those old farts were eager for each instinctive insight I provided. So they showed me books - forbidden works. Let me borrow them even - which is ridiculous when you think about it - so I could read specific passages regarding the higher workings of magic, and the interplay between spirit and manifestation. Which is how I fucked up, as usual.”

“I heard something about your girlfriend. Was that Cathy?”

“Whatever you heard was wrong. And yeah, that was Cathy. I was crazy in love with her, you know? My first girl, my first love. She too studied magic, but she parroted the same crap as those decrepit professors. I tried to explain to her how their official notions missed the mark, but she wouldn’t listen. So I showed her the passages from one of those books - safe paragraphs, abstract concepts - that proved the point. That’s all. Then I locked the stupid thing away in the so-called secure case the bearded morons had provided.” He wiped the wet from his face, then frowned because all he’d done was manage to smear some of the alcoholic amber across nose and cheeks above the beard instead.

“So what happened?”

Using a dubiously laundered sleeve, he tried to clean his face. “She bypassed their wards while I was sleeping. Read the whole cursed thing in one night without any prep.” He sighed. “Lord knows what that did to her mind and spirit. Next thing I knew, she was shaking me awake - wanting me to join her in performing a greater summoning and binding. I told her she was nuts, ripped the book from her greedy little fingers, and kicked her out of my flat.”

“You didn’t tell the professors?”

He winced. “That would have gotten her - and probably me - forced out. They’d made us students sign affirmations that we would each only study materials as approved by faculty - on pain of expulsion. I wanted to reason with her once she’d calmed down. So that afternoon I went to her place after she’d missed classes, but by then it was too late.” He paused again.

It was my turn to wipe moisture away. “Why too late?”

“When knocking at her apartment, I smelled the sulfur. Kicked my way in - but her flat was a small studio unit. To get the circle to fit, she’d needed the entire space. You see, she’d used her phone the night before. She’d taken pictures of the darker rituals, words and diagrams all.”

“Oh no.”

“Punting the door off its hinges launched the wreckage across the lines and broke the bindings. She instantly got pulled in by what she’d contacted, and the bastard laughed at me past each chewed bite as I hastily banished his ass. Only a bloody mess was left behind.”

Putting aside the horror of the scene, I thought through the consequences. “And the administration blamed you.”

“They had to, or else authorities would have nailed them to the wall instead. It was their spell she defeated to get to the book, and they’d violated their own policies in sharing such a dangerous tome with a student in the first place.”

“Which is when you got expelled - and met Soren.”

“Yeah. I was up on negligent homicide charges and he bailed me out of jail. No idea who he bribed or extorted, but the case simply disappeared. Except looking at it now, he obviously knew full well who I really was, and never told me. Sliced off my wings, let my daughter die under the tsunami, and then what…thousands of years later took me as his apprentice? Just for kicks? Hoping I’d come to remember so he could gloat all over again?!”

I stared past my leggings to the thick leather boots. “Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, he took you as his apprentice because he had hope for you?”

“Hope?!”

“He was working to bring his sacred vision to life. Me, as Amariel. The Light he’d seen in his own ascension during the War in Heaven. The vision which granted him the strength to stand toe-to-toe against the Archangel Samael. The promise in the Light he’s been chasing after his entire existence since.”

“What…what are you saying?”

“You once commented that as Soren he’d told you that he was trying to save the world. Weren’t you part of the world he’s been trying to save? He even gave you back your wings, likely in the belief that I’d be able to restore them. And at the same time managed to get Azrael maneuvered into promising to maintain the Fourth Seal to keep everyone else - all the other Grigori and Nephelim - safe as well.” I shook my head. “Camael didn’t really need you to find me. He traced my location through his bracers; you just made the trip easier with your knowledge of the players and realms’ geography. But even he couldn’t have foreseen the fight with Azazel and Beliel’s Mace, ending with my being pulled into the Chaos so quickly after having been found.”

A fist tightened around the bottle. “He blackmailed-”

“No,” I interrupted. “He manipulated. Out of fanatical hope - not for me, but for you. Think about it. Think about everything he planned and executed. How much care and patience it must have taken, to leave so little to chance. He wanted you to be there when I returned as Amariel in that storage locker. He wanted us together, wanted to finally lift you back into the Light.”

Thick tears of frustration blended with the rain. “Then I truly fucked up. Then as now. Just like always.”

“Tell me.”

With a strangled sniff, a sleeve again wiped his nose. “The demon that swallowed Cathy, after discovering who I really was, traded her up the demonic food chain. To a Duke directly sworn to Asmodeus’ service. I had to bargain with Asmodeus himself to free her soul, don’t you see? He’s too powerful for me to defeat, he was a freaking archangel - he’s one of the Sarim!”

“What could you have possibly bargained with?” Saying it, the answer popped into clarity, and I gasped in horror even as Nick confirmed it.

“Camael. I promised him a wing off Camael’s back.”

“Oh my God. But how?”

He pointed to the bracers upon my wrists. “His protection is missing those. With Asmodeus’ help, the weakness was exploited.”

Anger - nay, fury - boiled. “Then why was he carrying your wounded ass out of the pipes?!”

The Grigori turned his head away. “To save me. From what Cathy did once freed.” He put a hand to the gash under his coat, and it squished raw underneath.

I gaped. “It was her that stabbed you?! After you…” I blinked, rage colliding headlong into befuddlement, and thereby dispelling the tongue’s capacity for coherence.

“After she was declared free. Because she blames me for all of it. The summoning book and for not working with her on the ritual. And then breaking the circle. Her soul - it’s been twisted by that cursed tome and Hell. Or it always was this way, and a naive love-blind sophomore never saw it.”

I couldn’t sit anymore. Forcing myself back onto feet, I stared down at the hunched-over wretch refusing to meet my eyes. “So where is Camael now? He carried you out, then what?!”

“I passed out as he picked me up. Really, I don’t know - I woke up atop a pile of corpses. He was gone.”

“Then you’re going to help me find him. Just like you helped him find me.”

He patted his side, wincing from the touch. “I’m in no shape to-”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Stand the fuck up, Nicolas Wright! Or Barakiel, or whatever the heck you want to be called. Get up! Now!!”

Blinking with shock, he actually did as told, putting aside the bottle first and then needing to lean against the rack to stay steady on battered leather barely qualifying as shoes.

A bonfire churned within my chest, fierce flames licking at the lungs. “Apparently this is a day for painful procedures. Think of it as atonement’s initiation.”

“What are you-”

He didn’t have the chance to finish the question. Wings flashed as I shoved a hand into his side, the fresh flood of power acting as a fiery scalpel to slice at his spirit along the boundary where the cursed blade’s hateful corruption inched towards the broken angelic core. White fire flowed pure to scorch along the lines where his own spirit had hooked guilt, sorrow, and anger to encourage the deadly suicidal progression.

Unlike Yomyael, he didn’t scream. Or even whimper.

He merely shut both eyes and let me do it, though I did have to wrap an arm behind his waist to keep him upright. The surgery wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t neat. Nor did I try to fill the empty hollow at his center with any promises.

Yet when staring into its deepest recesses, a tiny flick of lightning still burned within.

Chapter Twelve - Ideals

Sucking air into lungs finding themselves able to expand fully, Nick again pushed a hand against the rack of green produce to stay upright.

“Gimme…gimme a minute.”

“Sure.”

Emotions, fresh and bleeding, spilled one after another across the lines of his face. Not just the tautness of anger and pain - but also the deepest troughs of despair, haunted by what he’d just touched.

The Light.

Unlike Tsáyidiel who had shattered glass and eardrums with a terrible cry at first taste of the glory which had been so long denied, Nick forced it all down inside despite the fierce and wrenching struggle within.

I kept quiet, and since he waved off an attempt at a comforting hand I stepped away to let him wrestle with the aftermath in solitude.

Tsáyidiel however spoke, again mind to mind.

“My Queen, soldiers gather outside this facility.”

“I know. They’ll wait for us to come out to talk.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the two by the door are from Krux’s squad.”

“Shall I deal with their presence? Or do you wish to speak with them?”

What a polite way to suggest a quick slaughter. “Not really, but I should anyway. If they stay put, for now leave them be.”

“As my Queen wishes…”

The intimacy of our communication made it clear there was more on his mind that he wasn’t sure he should say. “What else troubles you? Tell me.”

“Yomyael. You purged their infection of Chaos.”

“Yes.”

“Without cleansing them in the Light. My Queen, how was this possible?”

That…that was an excellent question.

Somehow I had known I could, as again the higher angelic awareness of my spirit had bled through. Like she had when grabbing hold of Gwydion’s sword to insanely plunge the blade straight through my chest. But one truth was undeniable: by will alone had I gripped the Chaos within Yomyael and ripped it free.

The reforged Spear now held those foreign energies, contained by the power of Elohim’s name - but it was not the source of the control needed to direct the flow. It couldn’t do that, for the Chaos was anathema to Creation. All it could do was keep it forcibly under wraps and prevent its spread.

Like Lilith had needed to do when pulling Azazel’s booby-trapped spellwork out of a certain idiotic general who had leapt upon its explosion. She’d had that stuff swirling about inside a jar on her table, wherever that table had actually been. But those energies were more like Yomyael’s corruption as they too had been warped and twisted by Azazel. Unlike the purity (if one could call it such) which had formed Gwydion’s sword.

Alal had given that to him. She’d made those cursed blades, wrapping the insanely external essences by her will alone in order to slip them within Creation’s bounds. And I’d used my own Name to expel her influence from what Gwydion had wielded before engaging the Spear to lock down those patternless patterns.

Thereby touching it directly without becoming infected myself.

Yet I’d had to do that before. When Azazel had dragged me into the depths alongside him, only for me to then be pulled out by Isaiah’s firm hand. Thinking about it, everything spun. And it was my turn to gasp and lean against the stacks of farmed foliage.

Because I’d just had a flash of remembered horror. Of Azazel’s essence in its entirety dissolving against not my skin but my raw spirit itself, as the tempest of unforged potentials swept us both away.

If I’d eaten any food, it would have ended up on the damp floor. Empty heaves wracked the stomach instead.

Somehow I’d survived.

Somehow.

Gwydion had been right to call me by the title he’d given when pleading so passionately for his people. For I, too, like Alal was an Archon of Chaos.

I’d been hoping that Azrael had used Isaiah to save me, to pluck me out of that tempest before anything bad could have happened. Which was horribly naive, as Time itself had to be a mess beyond the bounds of Creation. An instant Outside may as well have been an eternity.

Alternately I’d thought that Alal had helped, out of some deranged devotion to sisterhood if nothing else - but she’d denied taking any direct action. She’d only witnessed. Insufficiently buttered popcorn and all.

No.

I’d done it.

Me.

Or perhaps more accurately, my spirit and my true Name. Somehow.

“My Queen! What ails you?!”

Deep breath, had to let it out slow. “Just…nothing. I’m fine.”

Now was not the time to fret about the more worrisome implications. One foot - or wing - after the other, I needed to keep moving forward.

Or so I told myself.

Looking back over at Nick to see if he was ready yet, the answer was clearly in the negative. He was sitting seiza on knees, a small crystalline orb hovering over outstretched palms - one with lightning flickering in resonance to the distant lamp’s sparks.

Within that stormy globe floated a tiny pair of pale grey wings.

Leaving him to his personal meditations and pain, I forced myself back up by ignoring the budding headache, and went to the green painted door. It slid automatically open as if we were aboard a starship - or outside a convenience store.

Not stepping out, I addressed the taller of the two demons lurking outside.

“You’re Halphas, right? What the heck do you want.”

The stork-headed demon had the grace to look nervous. “General Krux requests a parlay.” It held up an electronic pad, the display showing the Citadel emblem. “Remote if agreeable.”

“He doesn’t trust I won’t squish him in person, eh? Fine. Put him on.”

Claw-like fingers flicked across the illuminated surface. Huh. I wouldn’t have thought claws would work on a touch pad.

The screen flashed, and Halphas held it up so I could see Krux’s horned head fill the frame.

“Jordan,” he said without missing a beat. “Appreciate the chat.”

“Thanks may be premature. Though you definitely owe me. You get my message?”

The devil grinned. “Santiago? Yeah.” The toothy smile disappeared. “You found my missing team.”

“We did.”

“Grigori, that’s what your soul said. Who was it?”

“Someone your standard Citadel teams really don’t want to mess with. Your team was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Azazel’s forces?”

“Not anymore. And no, they’re not Chaos infected.” That one of them had been infected until I took care of it was none of Krux’s business. In my opinion anyway - besides, I was no longer in the mood to pass on all that much information to the devilish agent. Plus if the short agent knew I could do that kind of thing with the Chaos he’d probably soil his shorts - if he was wearing any, hard to tell from a video call.

“You sure?”

“Definitive.”

He considered, clearly disliking not being the one to confirm directly. But as I was the one in the first place to warn his ass of Azazel’s original threats, he couldn’t exactly accuse me of not understanding the importance of being sure. “I take killing my squad kinda personal.”

“Unless you’ve got angelic backup, they’re out of your weight class. Suggest you leave them be.”

“What about yours? You just let them go?”

“We discovered that this realm isn’t stable enough for us to fight it out. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Shit. That big tremor, that was you?”

“Yeah.”

It took him a moment to process, whereupon need for revenge got shoved aside by necessity. After all, he and the rest of his crews stood upon this realm too. If it went, so did they.

He didn’t have to be happy about it though.

“You didn’t come back. You abandoning the original mission?”

“Something else came up.”

“What?”

“None of your beeswax.”

While he didn’t get the language-mangled pun reference, he caught the implication. “And here I thought we’d been building up trust.”

I snorted. “With you redirecting that whole Harrowing nonsense without telling me first? You’re funny. Or have you forgotten you tried to shoot me?”

Krux shrugged. “Opportunities appear and I take ‘em. You’re missing yours with the Apostle.”

“Oh?”

The calculating smirk peeked out from behind the surliness. “Yeah. They reached out. To that soul-buddy of yours.”

“To Santiago? Seriously?”

“You were right, they’ve infiltrated the computers at the holding tank. So we added some isolated surveillance to a few spots while you were busy. Caught something when your boy was alone before I got there. No video, sound only.”

Krux pushed a button to the side of the camera and an audio file began to play.

Folding arms over the star decorating my chest, I listened as a calm voice spoke, one with the slightest of sibilance on each ‘s’ as was common among fanged denizens.

“If you can hear this, say so - but quietly. The microphone in your room will pick it up.”

Santiago’s voice responded, hushed and careful. “I indeed hear you.”

“There is little time before the jailers return, so this must be brief. As a newly arrived soul you sit at a crossroads. Have they explained what shall be your fate should they continue holding the reins of your fate?”

“Slavery or be swallowed. Distasteful choices both.”

“And if there was a third choice? Would you take interest?”

“Possibilities always interest me. Yet how do I know you are not merely an obedience test set forth by those that have jailed me?”

“You do not, nor will you until after a choice is made.”

“Name your offer then.”

“A fight for freedom. A fight in the name of she who offers a path to all who are lost within these realms of darkness. A fight for the Eternal Light she shone into the deepest of shadows, and will return to shine again.”

“This is hardly specific.”

“Which makes it no less true. Do you wish to be free?”

“None are ever free. Though I do prefer to choose the chains that bind. I presume that you, whoever you may be, do not contact every soul who happens by. Why would you believe that I am worthy of such risk?”

“Because you were closest with the soul who was left behind.”

“Ah.”

“We wish for you to share everything you know about her. In exchange for your freedom.”

“As I am given to understand, an unmarked soul is fresh opportunity for any demon’s feast. What good would your so-called freedom be?”

“A suitable illusion of such a mark can be provided. Or you could choose to join our holy cause. You have demonstrated skills, useful ones.”

“And why, pray tell, has she who has not returned generated such fascination?”

“We know what resides in the buried castle below. And what you and the others reported happened. She bade you run, now the authorities have deemed the abandoned town off-limits while she is still missing. And in a nearby cell to yours a prison guard is being held, one marked by her hand. A soul’s hand. Though that unknown mark has now faded, it is yet another mystery.”

“And so? Who do you think she was?”

“The purest of lights came to this realm of towers once in the form of a woman, a fact learned by us only upon our banishment to Dis. We follow the paths and signs, searching out the sacred meanings behind each of her holy acts. And this unique soul you encountered, she could be a portent of the Light’s imminent return.”

“Have you forgotten that we are in Hell? What meaning could such hope possibly carry here?”

“She to whom we gift our worship saved our original realm: demons, devils, and souls alike. Touching each of us with her holiness, lending strength to stand against depths of terror threatening to destroy all. For her purpose is of redemption and glory, and soon we shall have the means to pave her way with welcome of worthy offerings. If you had felt the touch of her holy light, you too would understand.”

“I see.” The conversation paused for a beat, then Santiago spoke again. “I find myself intrigued. Endeavor my release and I shall tell you what I can.”

“Existence again prepares the stones for the tread of her sacred feet. Exercise patience, my friend, and when the jailers go to move you, be prepared.”

“And how might I identify who is with you versus who is not?”

“By their uttered phrase shall you know them. They will say, ‘Through a blindfold the truth shines clear.’ Ah, the guards come. Stand ready.”

The playback stopped and Krux peered out of the screen. “What’cha think?”

No response was given immediately as thoughts were spinning. Because with that passphrase a suspicion building while listening to each additional sentence had consolidated.

Not that I was going to let the Citadel agent know that.

“Oh I dunno. I think someone drank too much Kool-Aid.”

The devil blinked. “What the fuck is ‘cool-aid’ - that for when a meal’s too spicy??”

“Uh, it’s something rabid crazy cultists drink. Nevermind.”

“Ya sure these guys are actually nuts? What with everything you’ve done?”

I tried to ignore that. “You’re afraid of the war here spreading. How big is this Apostle’s organization?”

Krux growled. “Unknown. Maybe you should show up and tell them to chill the fuck out. Give ‘em some of this not-quite-cold beverage of yours.”

“Only if necessary. Because like I said, something else came up which won’t wait.”

Beady little eyes glinted. “It threaten this realm?”

“Far as I know, it doesn’t. Did you grill Santiago about that conversation when you got there?”

“No need. He spilled it all - along with your hiring recommendation.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. He’s a sharp one, Krux. He’ll play all sides until he needs to pull the trigger. Or a knife.”

“Smart.”

“You’re going to let him be taken by them, aren’t you. To be your mole.”

“Gotta love me a double agent. When you’re done with whatever-the-fuck-it-is-you-aren’t-telling, look me up and maybe I’ll fill you in on what we find.”

“Only if that suits your purpose.”

“My purpose?” A lip curled. “Is to prevent as much damage from Bene-Elohim bullshit as I can.”

“Hey, I’ve helped stop a lot of that!”

“Yeah, which is why we’re talking. But when that changes? Revolutions - stupidly noble or not - are forged in blood.”

“You really believe I’ll start a revolt?”

The glint shifted, reflecting instead a deep weariness. “Everyone blindly following idealisms eventually tries. And you cursed feathery fools are direct manifestations of those ideals. Troublemakers - like this jerk of an Apostle - understand this, even if you’re too stupid to. When the time comes, angel, you won’t be able to help it.”

With a flicker the screen went black. He’d ended the call.

Chapter Thirteen - Traces

“Alright dude, how’s this supposed to work?”

Nick and I were standing on the tower’s rooftop. A wide variety of antennas, all made of clumped bundles of wire or actual dishes pointed at distant targets, surrounded us. The power and signal cables, hardened against the ridiculous heat from the uncomfortably close burning sky, coiled about like massive snakes having a grand ol’ party.

A party we’d intruded upon, though we had done our best not to trip over anyone.

Nick ran fingers through the still-damp mess of his hair - a tricky task due to getting stuck on some of the nested mats lurking under all that mud-colored overgrowth. “Never done it myself,” he admitted. “But those bracers are part of him - you want to find Camael, they ought to have a connection you can trace. Because you were right, he always knew roughly where you were.”

“That’s so not helpful.”

“Yeah, well, it’s what I got. If it works, there should be two traces. One from the wing, and the other from the bastard himself.”

That earned Nick a hard glare.

One which he didn’t shrink from. “He should be the stronger of the pair.”

“And then what? We just fly after it?”

“You do. I get to wish you bon voyage then go downstairs for a bite to eat.”

“Like Hell. You’re coming with me.”

He tilted his head in disgust. “No wings, remember. I can’t traverse the realms.”

“But you can be carried.”

“By you? C’mon. You’ve never done this before, you’re gonna have a hard enough time focusing on the path. One mis-attunement along the way and I’d be falling through the void. No fucking thanks.”

I grinned. “Who said it’d be me?” Pursing lips, I gave a loud whistle. Okay, it wasn’t as loud as done by folks who magically use two fingers to emit ear-piercing shrills - but for some reason I never could make that work reliably.

The effect however was still impressive, as behind me materialized my very own battle tank - sorry I meant battle gryphon. In full white-gold armor covering torso as well as gleaming along the edges of all four wings, Tsáyidiel appeared. His large raven head hovered above mine to offer Nick a glare of his own.

Speaking of, Nick’s reaction was totally worth it. Stumbling backwards he exclaimed, “Holy shit!”

“Barakiel, meet Tsáyidiel. Tsáyidiel meet Barakiel. Though I call this bearded bum Nick because he can’t seem to make up his damned mind.”

Nick’s hands had flared with purple power, which after a moment’s hesitation he shook away. “The Hunter. He’s…” The words failed in his throat as he took in Tsáyidiel’s full and restored glory.

I nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

“But he tried to kill you.”

“And Danielle. Stopping him from succeeding is how the First Seal got broken.”

“Then…why?” His voice cracked asking the question.

Without needing to look, I reached up and put a gentle hand against my hunter’s beak. “Because he was enslaved. Because he fought it however he could, or else I would have died a second time right there in front of my house. Because even after dropping her out of the sky, Danielle asked me to save him.” Tsáyidiel lowered his head so I wouldn’t have to stretch as far.

“I…I thought Kokabiel and Tamiel were the only ones.”

“No. Tsáyidiel was the first. And aren’t you forgetting Nathanael?”

“He doesn’t count,” he said with a shake of his head. “He only got severed because of flying into Hell to help you.”

“Splitting hairs.”

“Important ones.” His jaw set.

“Are they? Is love so quantifiably deterministic?”

He paused. “Fuck. You’re really gonna make me go with you.”

“You better believe it.”

“Why? I’d just slow you down.”

“You still know more about the rest of Hell than I do. But mainly, because you need me to.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.” Closing eyes, I focused on the bracers - tossing the thought at them that I’d really, really like to find the rest of the angel they were a part of. Their response was instant; a line of red fire blossomed across that inner vision to spear through the orange flames above us. If there were supposed to be two, I only saw the one. Seemed pretty bright, though. “Tsáyidiel, you see it?”

Tsáyidiel, in a rarity for him, spoke aloud. “Through you I do, my Queen.”

“Good. Load up Nick and lead the way. If he weighs too much with everything hidden inside that coat of his, make him fly naked.”

“Hey!” Nick protested.

I couldn’t help it and chuckled. “Aw, it’d be funny.”

Tsáyidiel didn’t say anything, though he did lower himself to allow a reluctant fallen angel and former magician climb aboard.

As my own wings flared for explosive liftoff, Nick frowned. “Wait a minute, did he just call you ‘Queen’?”

Rising into the air, the giggle became a laugh. “Yep. Now hold on tight - because we like to go fast!”

With that Tsáyidiel launched himself and his passenger beyond this realm, and muting my brightness as best I could I gave chase.

Those elemental fires above us tickled as we flashed on through.

Unlike the spirit-realms near Earth, spawned as those were by billions of dreamers each and every day, the regions between the realms of Hell were empty, like the physical vastness of space spread between stars and galaxies. With only that narrow passage to Elohim’s Gate connecting it to the rest of Creation, the whole of Hell was like a gigantic suspended waterdrop dangling from a broken faucet - as if waiting for the surface tension to finally break so it would fall the rest of the way into the surrounding Abyss.

And of course that surface itself was covered by that infinite fractal layer of Primal Chaos, ready to shred anything passing through to the nothingness beyond. That imponderable insanity continually pressed against the drop, containing and granting it shape in an unstable equilibrium between what Is and what Isn’t.

Crossing the emptiness was a conflict of sensations, an absolute hollowness tugged by more than just emotion but resonances of states of being, each stretching out hooked claws from the realms floating aimless within that void. The Rock’s crushing sorrows and regrets, Dis’ stolid repudiation of weakness, and more: of ultimate greed and selfishness, of untempered pain and hatred, of vacant ecstasies, of the pettiest and sharpest of cruelties, and of every shade of darkness which slithers across to dampen the sparks of bright divinity inherent to every soul.

Together there was this cacophony of wretchedness, but underneath lay a singular beat: one of abandonment, of awaiting dissolution, of slammed doors and futures bereft of all possible purpose.

We flew through that tapestry of hurt, and the reaching tenterhooks pierced an aching heart.

Eventually the fiery line we were chasing led to what appeared, to me anyway, as a tightly grouped collection of balloons - each flashing with contrasting shades of browns, reds, and blues. Except their edges were smeared, like all those diagrams of electron probability clouds found in undergraduate chemistry books - or as if someone had played with the image too much using a blur tool in a photo editor. Slipping beyond the fuzzy edge of one of the orbs to phase into its existence, we found ourselves standing within a new realm.

And also smack-dab in the middle of a skirmish.

Having followed the Nick-carrying gryphon, the metaphysical barrier mists barely had begun to clear when Nick shouted, “LOOK OUT!” and before I could react he’d launched himself from Tsáyidiel’s back to tackle me from a frantic swan dive.

His coat flared out like a cape escaping the red sky behind as he did so, and its spell-woven protections gleamed with brightened gold as a stream of bullets smashed into its weavings - right where I’d just begun to stand.

My wings, Nick, and coat crashed into wet yet hard-packed earth, glowing feathers acting like a slip-n-slide to speed us along a few meters more. As my energy surged to re-orient, Tsáyidiel was already in motion.

His roar of fury bellowed forth, sending even more clumps of mud outward like a miniature earthen tidal wave. With a four-winged leap he launched airborne, and the sparsely-armored demon holding a crude AK-47 knockoff went down in a shower of blood and talons.

Shouting in demonic immediately came from all around.

“They’ve got a heavy!”

“Pull back! Pull back!”

I tried to rise, but the mage straddling my stomach pushed a tattooed hand against my chest. “Stay down!” His other palm projected a bluish shield around the two of us, while with eyes more focused than I’d seen in quite some time he hurriedly scanned our surroundings.

A squad of mismatched demons was running towards a number of trucks, including a massive tanker whose coiled piping stretched out to plunge into a small pond, its internal charged crystals powering a pump trying to suck the pond dry. One of the trucks - modified with spikes and decorative skulls - was a pickup, and in its bed a Ma-Deuce clone began to belch fifty caliber rounds at the enraged gryphon, spent casings spilling upward one after the other.

Without thought, I threw reinforcing power into Tsáyidiel - and with the surge his white-gold armor flashed across feathers to harden them against the onslaught. Bullets sparked off the surface and with another leap the pickup’s suspension groaned mightily under the full weight of the gryphon’s panther-like torso and rear paws.

Oh, and the demon operating the gun got dispatched by a single backwards thrust of a rear paw right through his helmet-covered head, kicking the rest of him free of the vehicle to tumble into the moist dust besides the pond.

The other demons didn’t bother with any further attacks, hopping into and on these apocalyptic-styled patchwork vehicles which immediately took off across the barren plain stretching out around us - heading towards a grouping of rocky hills at least ten to twenty miles away.

As Tsáyidiel’s front talons began slashing through steel and aluminum at the hapless demons in the front cab of the vehicle left behind (whose occupants were busy lamenting that the weight of the gryphon had snapped the geared connection from engine to rear wheels), I stared up at the mage pinning me to the ground.

“Nick.”

“They’re fleeing! Stay put!”

“Nick!!”

He finally broke attention from the dying demons to look at me. “What?”

I flicked eyes to the hand firmly holding me down. It wasn’t exactly centered - or maybe it was, just not against the chest as a whole. And gone was the leather cuirass I’d manifested before, as once again the subconscious had decided upon a simple all-purpose lavender toga-like dress. Maybe it was because of the high temperatures radiating from this sky.

Which, of course, meant I wasn’t wearing a bra.

From behind the draping bangs in desperate need of a trim, Nick’s eyes boggled. “Oh. Oh!!” The forceful fingers released, and with a flush creeping up over the beard, he carefully rolled to one side. But along with the increased blood flow came a mischievous grin.

“Don’t!” I said, raising an index finger in warning. “Don’t say a word.”

“Not even ‘sorry’?” The smirk widened.

Doing a sit-up, I pulled knees in so I could jump back to my feet. “Just shut it,” I growled. “I mean that.” With another bright surge, all the mud and grime caked into my hair, wings, and dress disappeared.

“My Queen, shall we give chase?” Tsáyidiel again spoke mind-to-mind, conveying the full thrill of a potential hunt as multiple prey scurried off into the distance.

I answered him aloud. “Not until we’re oriented. Alright, Nick. Where the heck are we?” Trying to get a better sense of things, I checked around us, noting a lack of features under the scarlet-covered sky. There was no sun, the illumination was this constant glow horizon to horizon over scrub brush and heat-cracked stone. I also couldn’t help but note that the reality of the realm felt, well, squishier than even the Rock or Dis had ever yielded.

Much like a half-baked dream barely hanging on while the dreamer’s cat kept meowing a demand for breakfast in their ear.

Dangit, I already missed my kitty.

The smirking mage, busy miming fondling something in a hand with an over-dramatized appreciation of texture, blinked. “Hmm?”

“The flag on that tanker. Puce green dinosaur skull with pink agate for bottom teeth on yellow background. Recognize it? It should stand out as those colors are horrible.”

“Not really. Which isn’t that surprising.”

“Thought you were an expert on all the factions down here.”

Finally getting serious again, he shook his head. “No one can keep track of all the demonic groups, especially not here.”

“Here as in Hell, or here specifically?”

“Eh, both.”

I glared. “So you know where we are?”

“Specifically? No. But I don’t need to.”

“Oh for…are you deliberately being an ass?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Okay, okay,” he said as he noticed anger becoming genuine. “There’s only one place that’s comprised of a clump of soap bubbles like we saw coming in. Welcome to the Asmodian Pearls.”

“Asmodeus then? Wait a minute, doesn’t he-”

Nick answered before I could finish the question. “Yeah. He’s got Camael’s wing. Which means we followed the wrong trail.”

“I saw only one.”

“That may not be good news.” His face went hard under the scruffy beard. But with wings still extended I could feel the confused conflict he felt inside about the possible implications.

“Shit.” I turned towards where the line of red fire in that inner sight still stretched off towards a point on the horizon.

“Asmodeus has a palace at the center of the pearls, like this huge museum where he shows off his greatest treasures. You won’t like them, but I bet you the wing is on display in there.”

“What do you suggest?”

He brushed mud off his knees. “Well, either there’s only one trail because Camael is truly gone, or he’s extremely well hidden. Either by his own hand or someone else’s.”

“Wouldn’t he have carved out an exception so I at least could find him?”

“Dunno. Though I’d have thought that highly likely, all things considered.”

“Dammit.”

The mage scratched at his scruffy and unkempt head. “He hasn’t worn those bracers for millennia, but the wing is freshly removed. You want to break the concealment, adding the wing would greatly help.”

I stared at him. “What are you saying?”

He grinned through the matted beard. “Want to sneak in and steal it? With Tsáyidiel’s stealth we might be able to pull that off - you and I can disguise ourselves. Get into his Heart of the Pearls, grab it, and get out.”

“No.” Muscles underneath cheeks tightened.

“You sure?”

“Tsáyidiel is a hunter, not a thief.”

“Trust me, Asmodeus won’t give it up otherwise. You want it, we steal it.”

“I said no.”

“Well then, just what do you suggest?”

“Mount up. We’re flying directly to this palace. No stealth. No pretenses.”

“Where we’ll do what exactly??”

“Make an offer even one of Hell’s Sarim cannot refuse. I’m tired of pretending to be human.”

The mage wanted to ask more, but a nudge from Tsáyidiel’s beak into the small of his back kept him from it.

My gryphon however did comment, mind to mind. “My Queen, if you are contemplating what occurred at Arcadia, Asmodeus is far stronger than Queen Fionnabhair. And this is a much larger realm.”

“If anything, beloved Hunter, my intentions lie towards the opposite. But should need arise and all six wings manifest, be ready.”

“Always, my Queen.”

Nick again climbed onto the gryphon’s powerful back, and together we took to the air. Not trying to hide, we streaked towards the flat line of the horizon in pursuit of the connection between bracers and distant angelic wing. The continual flow through my feathers left a brilliant trail across an otherwise solid crimson sky.

For those scraping out a living from the harshly barren desert below, it must have been quite the sight.

Chapter Fourteen - Balance

The crimson trail illuminated by the bracers held steady and straight, but the realm of hot barren desert curved away as we flew higher through a sky of perpetual sunset. There the path twisted to snap at right angles to the realm’s reality, and once more we found ourselves fading through clouds into somewhere else.

Through a salty fog rose blackened cliffs akin to basalt, as if hundreds of individual towers of darkened rock thousands of feet high had squished together like sardines in a can into a unified edifice. We stood upon the shallow shoreline stretching alongside those emergent cliffs, and at the top a sprawling structure could be seen, having been carved directly into those darkened walls. Unnaturally smooth stairs climbed before us, leading from the sand directly into the depths of the mountain.

That solitary path was guarded by a lone figure glowing with sage-tinted flames acting as dancing armor over a deeply verdant tunic. Moss-colored hair billowed freely to their waist, continuously ruffled by the sharp wind pressing chilled air against the stones. And behind them that breeze teased the barest outline of wings holding their own unique shade of forest accenting the wild and drifting hair.

“Approach and identify.” They spoke in the angelic language, tones crisp and clear over the swells of the ocean crashing at our backs, yet sounding neither male nor female. Indeed their features blended a masculine chin with high feminine cheeks, perfect smooth skin flowing across sharp bones as a sepia bark.

With a gesture to Nick and Tsáyidiel for them both to hold steady, I stepped forward wearing still the practically-standard-at-this-point lilac tunic. “I am Amariel, and I would speak with Prince Asmodeus.” For some reason the thought of detailing titles with full formality entirely lacked appeal.

The angel frowned, but then startled with recognition. “I know you.”

I too required a moment to search memory. “You were at the Citadel.”

“I was. Too weak to move and huddled in a corner, yet I bore witness. Though then you had not such wings. I am Posri.”

Almost did I correct them, for that was not their entire name. With wings still extended the final part of the original lettering within their spirit was clearly seen, but it lay smeared and distorted. “I greet you, Posri. And am gladdened at your recovery from that day.”

“Under what aegis have you come to speak with the prince?”

“My own. For while my existence was fathered by Lucifer and exalted by Gabriel, in truth I owe allegiance to neither - nor to the Throne above. I am bound only by the ties my heart would fain hold tight.” Dangit, I’d slipped into formality anyway.

They considered and nodded. “Then I bid you welcome, Lady Amariel. For in truth, the prince has been expecting you. Know however that only you may enter.” They then offered an acknowledging tilt towards Tsáyidiel and added, “With all respect to the Hunter of Hunters, my instructions were clear that should you arrive the prince would see you and you alone. If your companion wishes, refreshment will be brought to him upon these shores.”

The angel of fiery greens pointedly ignored Nick’s presence entirely, causing the mage’s expression to sour though he kept his mouth shut.

Which was likely for the best.

I looked inquiringly to Tsáyidiel, but he shook his raven head and replied. “Appreciate. No need.” Underneath and unspoken was the discomfort of my going in without him, but he knew me well enough to not protest.

And knew that should I have need, I would call.

“Let us ascend then, milady.” Turning, Posri began the climb into the mountain.

Upon feet surprisingly sandaled and not bare, I moved after him.

There were a ridiculous number of steps, illuminated first by the flares of Posri’s leaf-toned armor followed by the light spilling from my feathers as we wended our way along the narrow passage snaking its way upward in a rather meandering spiral. It took us quite awhile, accomplished in a meditative silence which suited me fine.

Though I did wonder why we had to climb instead of just flying to the top. Oh well.

At the summit, stepping out again into open air below rolling grey clouds, an immense plateau stretched over miles of solid rock. No vegetation dotted the surface, only a scattered yet tremendous collection of marble plinths, with most holding a statue or relief carved from the same material - each pulsing with the faded glow from an embedded soul.

I stopped walking to take it all in, and Posri paused as I did so.

As eyes resolved the individual statues, within the mind came clear and terrible visions of what the figures - wielding swords, spears, guns, and all other weapons one could imagine - represented.

Deaths.

But not just any deaths.

Passion flaring within each visualized scene caught and tugged at the core. Hatred, love, fear, terror - each tinged powerfully with strong emotion along with burning will and resolve. Souls and even demons, for the souls which had been within them had also been collected, the sculptures capturing the outline of the spirit and essence of each.

None were exactly the same.

As the initial surge of disorientation passed, Posri spoke.

“I shall inform the prince that you are here.” After a bow, they strolled between a pair of standing stones and flickered away.

This left me alone amidst the gallery to wander aimlessly past the incredible number of displays. Not all were poses of action upon a battlefield, and some were of women and even children - lined up to be shot, hung, drowned, or otherwise disposed of - but each defiant and unrepentant. Not all were easily seen, such as the one plinth bound by angry pulsing energies whose contents would require breaking the imposed seal to view.

And there in the middle, distinct from the rest, a solitary wing dripped hot blood of fire from steaming feathers floating above a rock scorched and stained from the impacts of those flames.

“Do you see it?” asked a voice. “Does your vision encompass the glory of these monuments?”

I turned slowly to pretend I hadn’t been startled. Behind me an angel had approached with perfect stealth, and they hadn’t come by foot or wing.

They sat instead upon a wheelchair.

Below a short azure tunic, thick bandages covered knees and marked where calves and feet should have further extended. From his back spilled an ivory canvas curved by polished bone, yet where wings should have brushed the ground they too fell short, the leather upon them ripped and jagged. Silver hair sank long against a cheek, though in the breeze still blowing wet across the plateau, the rustled strands revealed a face half-destroyed by fire’s kiss. The visible side held incredible beauty, deadly and sharp lines creasing cheeks once touched and molded by perfection’s grace.

Ignoring my obvious shock at his condition, the angel spoke again. “Many who have visited fail to appreciate their artistry.”

“You’re Asmodeus.”

“Was. I was Asmodeus. What I am now remains to be seen.” Hands rested upon a lap.

“Barakiel did not mention your…wounds.”

“I bore but the one when last I met with that particular Grigori.” He gestured towards the ruin of the covered side of his skull and its empty socket. “The gift bestowed upon me by the glorious Butcher from crossing blades in pursuits of our holy aims. A gift now properly balanced upon his own features - for is it not written, ‘An eye for an eye’?”

“Barakiel failed to mention that either.”

“That one has yet to believe in anything of worth, and thus his feet stand not on stone but sinking sand. But you…let us look at you.”

Pushing the metal-spoked wheels forward, he made a slow circuit around where I stood, examining from all angles like a sculptor appraising a block of uncut marble’s suitableness for their next project.

I too examined him in return. To deeper sight, his pattern was…well, it was as if the words comprising his existence had been abruptly sheered. Flashes continuously flared at the edges, only to fall away and go forever dark.

“Your spirit,” I said slowly. “Your Name…” The tongue tied itself, unable to express properly the horror of his condition.

“Yes. I am dying. Piece by piece, spark by spark, and inevitable.” He spun the wheels to face me straight again. “But that is not important.”

“How is that not-”

“Because!!” The mask of calm cracked abruptly as the fairer side of the face twisted as if to match its destroyed twin. “What matters is my question! Do you see it, Amariel of the Light? Do you understand the truths gathered within these pearls held so dear within my garden?!”

I took a step back. “Truths? You’ve gathered death upon death.”

“No!!” If he could have risen he would have, but instead he caught himself pushing uselessly against the chair’s arms before forcing away the gathered tension from shoulders and clenched fingers. Exhaling and sinking back, barely louder than a whisper he pleaded, “You must see it. You must…”

Torn from the desperation within the plea, I gazed again at all that surrounded us.

What was I missing?

Such slaughter, such pain, but what did they have in common? The only thing standing out was their steadfastness in the face of death. “They died ready and willing.”

“Yes. Yes!!” Asmodeus sat up straighter in the chair. “But why??”

Comprehension began to unfold, and the thread binding them into similarity became clear. “Purpose. They willingly died for a purpose.”

He nodded emphatically, the single silver eye aglow. “Not just die, they fought - each in their own way. But there is more! What else do you see?! Regale me with your insight, daughter of he whose eyes of gold saw all!!”

I attempted to go deeper. These souls and demons, whether on Earth or within the individual bubbles surrounding the smaller center where we currently stood, had each struggled not to preserve themselves or even their comrades.

No, they’d willingly sacrificed their lives for something else.

For an idea.

The plateau spun as thousands - if not millions - of visions coalesced into comprehension.

“Fanaticism,” I breathed. “They believed, wholeheartedly and without reservation, in a cause they deemed more important than themselves.”

Asmodeus, eye closed yet joining in the vision I’d finally encompassed, inhaled. “Fanatics, yes, perhaps. But all, each and every one, consumed by faith.”

“Faith?? Here are those who died for communism, or for atheism, even for the ideas underlying bigotry and hatred!”

He waved off the objection. “Religion comes in many flavors. And these - these shining pearls - sacrificed themselves, in glorious blood and effluence, upon the altars of their chosen cause. Etching their unique beauty upon Creation!”

Recoiling in horror, the images shook away. “And how many others were slaughtered for those causes? How much pain resulted?!”

The eyeless socket and its active opposite regarded me. “Is freedom not worth fighting for? Is security? Or uniformity? I care not of the judgments, that is not my department!” He pointed towards Camael’s hovering crimson wing. “What about a belief in the eventual rightness of Creation’s plan?”

“You,” I stuttered, “You fought against it.”

“I fought against a stability without purpose! Against the flaws revealed to Lord Samael, against the generation of a future not worth sacrificing for, not worth spitting one’s last breath and essence into the teeth of its opposition.” With respect if not outright adoration, Asmodeus reached out to touch the bottom tip of one of Camael’s flaming feathers. “This one, there upon that battlefield, he saw something of true worth within the Light. My purpose, my reason for being, quivered with the flames of resonance from his defiance to our warchief when those blades of fury and fire crossed and clashed! And when he and I eventually struggled direct, sword to sword, will to will, he bested me. Me!! Do you comprehend what that means?!”

“Tell me.”

That half-shattered gaze held me fixed. “That we were right! That our Rebellion was necessary!”

“How could your defeat possibly mean that?!”

“Because by our acts was he forged. Every drop of our precious blood to his flaming sword’s swing a glorious hammer to the anvil of Camael’s essence - without us, without the war, he never would have achieved his ascension!!”

Thoughts flashed upon another Monument, far away from Asmodeus’ garden, hidden in sorrow underneath Gabriel’s mountains and forests. “So many perished! So much pain and terrible loss-”

“Think!!” he shouted, a snarl curling his lip. “Prince Camael filled with a greater purpose, perhaps the greatest ever touched. And this glory has driven him ever since! Through battles against sureties of defeat yet emergent in victory. And now I too tie myself to that Purpose, its purest of flames granting the strength to fend off, even if temporarily, my eventual destruction with every measured breath!”

“What are you saying?”

He smiled then, a too-wide flash of shining white teeth. “Long have I had to contemplate after the war’s end. Much have we debated, abandoned as we have been to these realms. And then just as Samael shocked us with unthinkable abdication, you appeared at the Conclave - only to immediately go forth and rescue Beliel’s retreat. Now here you are, returned once more - your existence validates all!”

“That’s insane.”

“Of course!” He laughed, a tortured and awful laugh below the half-ruined face. “We all are mad down here, as must those Above also be. Because in all spaces between, the balance is laid to waste.”

“What balance is there between those who would slaughter their brothers instead of working out their differences in harmony?!”

“What indeed. Untempered ideals, blind purpose, this is not how Creation was meant to be.” He spun the wheelchair about and threw arms aside to encompass all his ‘pearls’. “In the Beginning, when the First beheld a vision greater than the sums of all our parts, when he saw beyond the need for selfish survival - then was I, Asmodeus, created. But I was not meant to serve my purpose alone! DO YOU SEE?!”

Gaping at the twisted and broken angel, thoughts collided within my skull. “Being cut off from Elohim, it did more than just isolate. It…it untethered you. All of you.”

“When one ideal is taken too far in the exclusion of all others, where oh where must this lead?”

The answer was sadly obvious. “To destruction and ruin.”

He sank deeper in the chair, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths from the immense strain of the burst of exuberance - though passion still lit the fire within the remaining eye. “Then, Oh Wielder of Light, ponder the plights of all. Be they Above or Below!”

I had to ask again. Despite not yet processing all he had just said, I had to. “What happened to you, Asmodeus? Please. I must know.”

He spoke, now more slowly between each recovering inhalation. “Your recent enemy. With Beliel’s mace, his actions stirred the denizens that exist within and beyond the infinite sliver between Creation and Abyss. Several of her children awoke.”

“Her?”

“She is Nameless, lurking within the depths of the Chaos at the threshold of where Abyss eats away at all. But we, we call her Leviathan. She who almost destroyed us at the Forging when I too came to be.”

“And her children, they did this to you?”

He raised a solitary finger. “Not they. Only one. Three invaded past our boundary. One destroyed by me, one fleeing still before Beelzebub and his swirling Flies, and one more hidden - hunted now by Lilith and your Nathanael. But understand - they are only the beginning of what shall come. For as they stir, so shall she.” A sinister grin spread below the scars. “I wonder, oh I wonder - will there be enough of us remaining to hold against her wrath? Will we stand strong in glorious united purpose or fail at last? For her children are but the smallest of fragments cast off from the unfathomable whole.”

I gaped at the awful damage to his pattern. This wasn’t like what I had beheld within Yomyael, for Asmodeus wasn’t infected. All traces of the Chaos had been cleansed - or, looking closer, trimmed away by an expert’s scalpel and serrated saw, tools which had removed limbs and essence to prevent infection’s spread. All of which had left him as being at most half of what he’d been. So much was lost, I wasn’t sure there was enough remaining to work a restoration - even if fully inspired within the shining Light.

Even if he could open his heart to its majesty in full.

The fallen angel clearly had been no weakling, even now in this damaged state he burned with residual power. I’d seen minor entities of Chaos at the gates of Hell, those hadn’t worried the Powers I had called against them. But if only a tiny shard of Leviathan could do this to Asmodeus…dear God. What would their mother do to an archangel? Could even Michael’s incredible might stand against such?

What would she do to everyone? To everything?

“Which brings us,” he said with a lopsided smile, “to our negotiation.”

“Our what?” Head spinning, it was a struggle to refocus.

“The reason you are here. The reason I knew you must come. You wish the burning wing of Heaven’s champion, the third-most treasured prize of this collection. Do you not?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then I offer it to you - provided you take with it one additional gift.”

Suddenly uneasy, I asked, “Which is?”

With a gesture, an item appeared in his grasp which he then held out as sacred offering.

It was gold.

It was unadorned.

It was forged as a simple circle.

“Archon and Archangel Amariel, daughter of Helel the Lightbringer, she who is named Conquest in these End of Days - I ask of thee to take the crown of your father. I ask of thee to save our realms and people.” He inhaled deeply and added:

“I ask of thee to rule over Hell.”

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

- Erisian