by Donovan Neal
Apollyon’s heart saddened as he walked the room, reminded of the many days of laughter Saesheal and he shared within. The mirth that Saesheal and he enjoyed usually came at Apollyon’s expense. Apollyon smiled in remembrance. He would miss those days.
However, a frown found him as he remembered his loss. The absence gnawed upon him like a sore. It was a consuming thing this emptiness. Saesheal was closest to him, for they quartered across from each other. Apollyon ached from his loneliness, for none sought to see to his well-being, and none cared for his companionship. Those who would call him brother centered only on his failure. Apollyon missed his friend. He left Saesheal's quarters and turned towards his own home to see one of Lucifer’s attendants knocking on his door.
“Apollyon?” The attendant said.
“Yes. I take it you come with word from Lucifer on my audience?”
“Indeed. He has agreed to speak with you. Be swift, as matters of state require his immediate attention. He only waits for you.”
“Then let us make haste; lead on.” Apollyon said.
Both made for the sky and arched themselves towards the northern part of the city. Lucifer had made his home as close to the mount of God as possible without causing the Ophanim to be irritated. He was also removed far enough from the hustle and bustle of the city to warrant privacy. It did not take long for the two angels to enter into Lucifer’s court. Apollyon followed the lead of his guide, and as they walked up the steps, which lead to the mansion, Apollyon could see from the corner of his eye that Ashtaroth attended.
Warily they eyed each other. Ashtaroth glared at Apollyon from the distance. Their eyes locked in a waltz of mutual disdain. Neither spoke. Apollyon finally turned his gaze when Basus beckoned him to enter a great room.
“Chief Prince Lucifer Draco, I present to your eminence, Apollyon Arelim, Archon of Sol, Son of the Dawn.”
“Thank you Basus. Apollyon please come in.”
Basus left the two alone and slowly closed the door behind him.
“I have urgent business to attend to Apollyon. Basus tells me you have desired audience with me?”
Apollyon rose from his kneeling position. “Aye, Chief Prince. By your own hand were you sent by El to relay His majesty’s word to his servant.”
“Indeed. I also recall that you wanted to query El as to its meaning,” Lucifer said.
“Yes my Lord. I have also received permission from Lord Talus temporarily to forego my duties until I have entreated the Lord.”
Puzzled, Lucifer looked upon Apollyon. “Continue.”
"After coming from Lord Talus, I sought counsel to request an audience with El. Upon doing so, the Grigori present stated I was not scheduled to see El, nor is there record after the conclusion of the six day for me to enter his presence.”
“I see — so why trouble me Archon? Submit your entreaties on another occasion. We all must come before his throne at some point.”
“That is my quandary my Prince. There is no future occasion where I seem to have access to El. It is as if I no longer exist. How can such a thing be possible?”
Lucifer turned away from his guest. His brow scrunched as he pondered Apollyon’s words. He turned back to face him and spoke. “I do not know, yet I muse then that you seek me to intercede on your behalf?”
“Yes my liege. Thou art the Chief Prince. To company with El and petition him is nothing for one such as you.”
Apollyon bowed in submission.
“Rise and fear not. Your fealty is rewarded Son of the Dawn. All that thou sayest I will do,” said Lucifer.
“I am in your debt my Prince. Twice now, you have honored me. I have nothing to return your kindness.”
“Nothing is necessary. I consider you a kindred spirit. If El had not assigned you to Sol, I would have you associated with my work on Earth. Perhaps I will still petition for your release into my charge. In the meantime, I must depart for Athor and prepare my work. Reside here within my hall if you wish, and upon my return I will attend to your request.”
“Thank you Chief Prince. El’s will be done,” Apollyon said.
“El’s will be done,” replied Lucifer.
Apollyon bowed and slowly backed away from the Chief Prince and closed the door behind him.
Lucifer stared silently for a moment and thought to himself, El’s will be done.
********************
The statue continued to morph slowly into shape. Mesmerized, each of the high princes watched the light and movement of the figure.
“We must find him!” Talus implored.
Sariel looked at Talus and had never before seen his brother speak so anxiously.
“Talus, what is it that plagues you?”
“I looked and looked at the figure; perhaps my own desires caused me to hold back the truth. I know not. What I do know is that this sigil belongs to Apollyon! Of this I am sure.”
Sariel looked at Michael and his brothers.
“Talus did you not say, and can we not see, that this figure who wrestles with Saesheal is not Apollyon? Is it possible that this is an Arelim not yet formed? And if it is Apollyon, what of it? What would you have us do? He has not committed offense short of his own failure to questions El’s goodness.”
“Sariel surely you don’t think that questioning the goodness of God is a trite thing?”
“Nay — yet El himself has the power and means to deal with Apollyon if He sees fit. Was it not He that informed us of his thoughts? If he knew this would he not know if more would be wrong? Was it not the Lord of Heaven and Earth whose hands crafted the figure we gaze upon? And Talus tell me — has El mentioned any assignment, action, or concern about Apollyon that we or anyone else are to pursue: other than the Chief Prince himself? Nay my brother. Do not seek to stir the flame of doubt where none exists.”
Sariel stepped away from the figure and headed down the steps towards the entrance to the city. He paused and turned to speak. “However, I suggest that you find Apollyon. If his Prince concerns himself with his welfare, then Apollyon should be allowed to hear his concerns.”
Jerahmeel turned to speak to his brother. “Sariel is correct. You are his prince. You should find him and talk with him.”
Raphael placed his hand on Talus’ shoulder. “Do not avail yourself to fret. I will scour his tome to see if his watcher has entered anything new that should be brought to the court's attention.”
“I appreciate that Raphael. He is on leave from his duties when last we met. He wanted an audience with El. Therefore, he should still be here. I will begin to look for him. Within the Great Library is a good place to start. Michael, would you assist me?” Talus asked.
“Aye, I also wish to see his sigil for myself. Come, let us go.” Michael said.
********************
Apollyon relaxed himself in the great hall of the Chief Prince. It was apparent that Lucifer was a connoisseur of beauty. His personal lodging almost rivaled that of Athor. The finest of Elysium tapestries decorated his walls and silks from the Adonis trees draped his windows. The silk was the finest quality and laced with gold, and shimmered. The floors were purple and radiated an orange hue as they glowed. Lapis lazuli was used to grout the diamond tiles on the walls.
Lucifer’s furniture was of Chittim wood. The wood's pores dripped a sap that perfumed the room, and the wooden couch's frame conformed to whoever sat or laid on it. Floral pelts adorned Lucifer’s tables and couches. Books upon books littered his shelves, and various instruments of measurement were strewn about his desk. A plumb line and other devices used to build were nestled in a case. Apollyon traveled upstairs to his bedchamber, and it became apparent to him by the number of hand carved instruments that Lucifer was an adept minstrel and psalmist. In addition to more books, Cora leaf pages of song after song of handwritten praise and worship lay near his bed. Lucifer seemed to possess a Grigoric record on every aspect of creation.
“Am I disturbing you Archon?”
Apollyon recogni
zed the voice: a voice which last time he had heard it, he held its bearer by the throat. He turned to see Ashtaroth standing in the bedroom doorway.
“I was not aware that the Chief Prince had granted you right to grope through his affairs. Or am I to take it that your being in the masters chamber is due to some infatuation that I know not of?”
Apollyon smiled embarrassed.
“I meant no disrespect to his lordship. I will leave immediately.”
“So once more your actions show a lack of forethought. Yet again, does the Archon display his propensity to waywardness? Be not deceived. I will of a surety bring this to my Lord's attention.” Ashtaroth turned to leave, and Apollyon’s mind was rife with the words of this angel who presumed to be so smug and superior.
“Ever the servant, are you not Astarte?” Apollyon said.
Ashtaroth stopped and turned to face Apollyon. He slowly walked towards him. Fear was not in the nature of an Elohim. Apollyon towered over him, but Ashtaroth did not fear for his safety and spoke.
“Aye, a servant am I. I serve the Chief Prince, the Lightbringer himself. He, who stands in the midst of the Stones of Fire. It was he that held both you, and I in the Kiln. Yes, simpleton; I serve him. You, on the other hand serve only foolishness, and carelessness, and you have your reward. You are neither worthy of the title of Archon, and I personally hope…”
Ashtaroth paused to point at the cracked stones that beat within Apollyon’s chest. “El never again seeks to utilize the stone with which caused your creation.”
Apollyon leaped at Ashtaroth to grab him.
Ashtaroth stepped to his side, and Apollyon went flying past him into a desk smashing the desk of soft Chittim wood to pieces.
“You mocked me upon our last encounter Archon. Do not presume that your physical stature impresses me. You caught me unawares before. I will not be so caught in the future.”
Apollyon rose from the floor, kicking the soft legs of the broken desk away from him. “Do not concern yourself with being unaware Astarte. I want you to know that it is I who will pummel you into submission!” Apollyon replied.
Apollyon rose from the floor and heaved the large pieces of desk from before him. Stray pieces flew out the second story window and crashed to the golden streets below.
Startled denizens looked up as two Elohim could be seen grappling with one another. Apollyon and Ashtaroth then broke through the walls to fall from the upper balcony and joined the mangled pieces of wood and brick on the street below. Dozens of onlookers scattered as the entangled bodies of the duo crashed onto the street.
Onlookers watched their mouths agape, as Apollyon grasped Ashtaroth by the throat, and lifted him as he squirmed into the air. Coughing and gagging, Ashtaroth contorted his body and used his tail to wrap itself around a piece of wood lying on the ground, and like a whip smashed it across Apollyon’s face.
Apollyon screamed in pain as the wood broke the soft tissue of his face and bluish liquid oozed from the corner of his lip and cheek.
Ashtaroth did not wait for a response and moved quickly to kick the large angel in the torso knocking him back through the door of a merchant’s store.
Once again wood, stone and metal gave way, and Apollyon found himself covered in rubble. Slowly, he rose dazed from the debris while vendors scurried to flee.
Ashtaroth laughed, “You called me little angel Archon, yet it is you who sits on his rear in disgrace. Come to me fool, and let us see how buffoonish you truly are!”
Apollyon clenched his fists and his eyes narrowed and enraged, and the power to control a sun welled within him: and one thought alone filled his mind towards Ashtaroth, the angel who had taunted him for so long.
Dissolution.
********************
“What if we do not find him here?" asked Michael.
“Michael my being tells me that we will find Apollyon. I just hope that it is not too late,” said Talus.
“Too late for what?” Michael asked.
“That, my friend is what concerns me. I do not quite know. All that I know is that right now I need to see his sigil.”
“Well, El’s audience chamber is up ahead, so we can inquire shortly as to Apollyon's scheduled time for meeting.”
The two high princes lightly touched down in front of the door to the great chamber. All Elohim nearby bowed in submission, and the two quickly stepped inside the building.
The chief keeper of the hall ran towards the pair and bowed before the two princes.
“Lord Talus — Lord Michael! You honor us by your presence within our halls. Please, please how can we help you?”
“Rise my friend; we are in need of some answers. Have you seen an Arelim by the name of Apolly…”
“Apollyon? Yes High Prince. He was in here not too long ago and asked about his scheduled meeting with El.”
Talus asked, “Can you tell us when he is scheduled to meet with the Lord?”
“Of course, Prince Talus. There is nothing within our power that we would withhold from you. We cannot remember ever having two from the royal court within our place of business. It would honor us if…”
Michael interrupted, “We are in swift need of this information, Chief Scheduler. Please make haste.”
“Of course, of course High Prince: Apollyon yes. Let me find his––oh, yes. I distinctly remember our conversation; Apollyon has no scheduled meeting with El––ever.”
Michael and Talus looked curiously at each other and then at the record keeper.
“No meeting? What do you mean ever? You mean he came here and didn’t make an appointment?” Talus asked.
“No, High Prince he came here, but we couldn’t make an appointment. You may see his tome if it pleases you.”
“Show us quickly!” Talus demanded.
The Chief Scheduler turned to the shelving behind his desk, reached, and pulled down a book. He found the entry for Apollyon and turned the tome around for his two patrons to view.
“See Apollyon’s record has no entry after the 6th day. And there is... oh my this was not like this before.”
“Speak. What troubles you?” Talus commanded.
The attendant turned the book around and pointed to the letters that emblazoned slowly within its pages.
Talus looked, and his countenance paled.
“Michael, do you see?” Talus asked.
“Aye." Michael answered. “There can be no doubt now. Sariel and the others must be informed immediately.”
The text of the page was unmistakable. There was no listing for any future meetings with El past the sixth creation event. Only one word stood out in blood red cursive angelic script.
D-E-S-T-R-O-Y-E-R
********************
“Apollyon Son of the Dawn, stand down immediately!”
Morael an angel who stood by the bridge between the third and second heaven, and who granted entry into Heaven had come. He stood now in front of the gaping hole made from Apollyon’s impact.
“You and Ashtaroth have caused enough damage this day. Do not compound your failure. Stand down now and be judged!”
Apollyon looked upon him, scowled, and wiped the spittle from his mouth to speak.
“Judged? Which of you would dare judge me? False you are! Depart from me! None here I call kindred. For my brother is shame, my sister failure. No Guard of Heaven; you all have disdained me. You all are simply too cowardly to admit it. I am alone. Ashtaroth was correct when he named me ‘Destroyer’ and rightly so.”
Apollyon’s voice grew shrill and harsh, and his sarcasm filled the ears of any present to listen.
“Come let us reason together Morael. You will be the first to witness the ‘New Dawn’.” Apollyon reached into his chest and revealed his sigil the carved stone that bore the name given by El to every Elohim.
“I renounce Apollyon, the name of my creation, and my creator; a new name shall I now pronounce.”
He used his talon and deliberately began to deface and sco
red out his given name, and Heaven beheld an act of sacrilege never before seen.
“That creature no longer exists…,” Apollyon declared.
Morales screamed, “Apollyon, No!”
Apollyon saw Morael standing before him, but his words were ignored. In the sight of all, Apollyon scarred his sigil. His Heartstone darkened from the alteration, the burning light of the sun contained in its fire went out, and his stone became disfigured. His body rapidly changed color to a dark and fiery hue. Bony protrusions emerged from his spine, and mouths of flame erupted from his shoulders. His Heartstone pulsated violently, and there swirled a blackness within as if something alive, wanted to escape.
“…Abaddon shall I be.”
Abaddon then charged the angel, this creature who dared position himself between predator and prey. Abaddon flew headlong into Morael and slammed into the would-be protector of Ashtaroth. Disbelief filled with fear overwhelmed Morale’s mind on his witness of Abaddon’s purposeful self-injury. Morael, placed his hands in front of him to try to protect his face and screamed out in pain upon Abaddon’s bearish assault.
The two angels flew into a wall of another building, and stone and mortar blew apart around them. The explosive impact shook the ground and shattered nearby windows. The affected structure began to teeter, moan; and ache as its shifted weight buckled under pressure and duress. The roof collapsed and buried Morael and Abaddon in a blanket of rubble.
A momentary pause of silence allowed injured onlookers to move quickly in order to escape the destruction. The rubble began to heave, and the sound of movement emanated from the center of the debris field.
Abaddon soon rose from the wreckage, as a person come ashore from the raging sea; dirt and fragments of wood and stone slid off his large frame, and as a man might hold a cat by its scruff: Abaddon held the unconscious Morael by the collar of his heavenly robes. Blood and water streamed from his limp body. Abaddon dragged the broken and bruised body of the angel from the rubble and stood defiantly as his leathery wings projected a dark shadow over him so that only the luminance from his eyes were seen, eyes which smoldered with a yellowish glow. Abaddon threw with disdain the bruised and broken body of Morael, Guard of Heaven, into the street for all to see and then contemptuously spoke to the gathered crowd.