by Donovan Neal
“There is no escape, High Prince,” a pursuer said.
“We will have the high prince’s head!” said an Arelim.
“Or we will have yours!” said another.
Gabriel stood to his feet and turned to face his pursuers. With grit of purpose, he unsheathed the iron swords which El himself had trained him to fashion, dipped the tip of one sword into the deep dark earth before him, drew a line for his attackers to see, and yelled to the legion who now stood paused to flay him. “I stand before the presence of the Almighty and mouth the voice of God! Hear now this message and never forget. The Lord hath not given me a spirit of fear; for if thou would seek a head to roll this day, you would do well to see to thine own!”
With those words, Gabriel launched himself at full speed towards the mob; wings unfurled and swords raised to attack a Legion.
The mob stood momentarily stupefied, taken aback that they now were on the receiving end of an attack by a High Prince of Heaven. Some moved backwards unnerved in expectance of the high prince to surrender and surprised that this one angel would have the audacity to fight a multitude. However, for others who watched an epiphany occurred: the revelation that greater love had no man than this, that a man would lay down his life for his friend. For Prince Gabriel, many would wager, would die this day, yet they saw that he would sacrifice all to protect his brother who lay unconscious just yards before them.
Others were unmoved, and raised their swords in kind to destroy the High Prince.
With a roar, Gabriel cried aloud, and the swords that he carried burst into flames as he threw himself towards the throng and set fire to the manna leaf to his rear creating a wall of flame. Flames that now barred the path of anyone that would seek to move behind him. The tall stalks of cinnamon smelling leaves burned instantly, their flames leapt high into the air, and dark smoke flooded the plains. Gabriel flexed his great wings, captured a gust of Heaven’s wind, and shoved the same towards the wall of fire, launching a tidal wave of spark and tinder that raced towards the surprised mass.
Many on the front panicked at the wall of searing heat and fire that sprinted towards them and attempted to flee while those in the middle of the great morass were crushed between those who still pressed forward and those who sought to escape.
Gabriel sliced through the thinning throng, hacked limbs, and threw himself against Arelim, shattering breastbone and bursting ligaments, which held wings to flesh, slashing at anything that rose to take up arms against him.
Deftly, he weaved and dodged foes, shifting between his humanoid and cheetah like form at will. He knew he must keep them off balance. The throng found themselves assaulted from every side as the speed of Gabriel’s attack went unchecked against them. To his attackers, Gabriel appeared as if the God King himself had touched him, for he was omnipresent and everywhere at once, such was the ferocity of his attack.
Their screams rocketed to the sky from the heated wave, which launched against them and rolled across the golden fields. Panic and rage united in song with the cries of those whose limbs hung now severed. All joined in harmony in a horrific melody to create a new sound in Heaven. The horde wailed in lament for the lash that was Gabriel. A collective groundswell of underestimation journeyed across the mass. A miscalculation that was but momentary, as gaps in lines filled, and the thought of dissolution at the hands of Gabriel steeled the resolve of many; the corporate consciousness of the swarm knew that Gabriel could not fight if he could not move. Closer each angel moved towards one another. Closing their ranks tighter, they swung at the blur that was Gabriel, who still he evaded all touch.
Nevertheless, they were many, and he was but one. Gabriel now set in the center of bodies both maimed and dying knew that in his race to cut down all, he had left himself no room for retreat. They encircled him, menacingly creeping forward on his position, a blockade of Elohim all seethed with rage to silence the voice of God. When Gabriel saw that he would fall to the throng: when he perceived that he was trapped and that less than a hundred yards his brother lay unconscious, he reached to his side, lifted to his lips the Trumpet of Israel, and blew into the golden vessel. Its sound dashed through the air like racehorses into the golden blue skies of Heaven. The ears of all combatants burst, torn asunder by the blast of so powerful a sound that they fell to the ground, stunned and dazed, and in the moments that occurred between the bat of an eye, the clouds opened up, and the sky grew a putrid dark green.
The horde, which sought to slay Gabriel, gawked as they turned their gaze upward. For with the eclipse of the sun and through pierced clouds, they saw Ladders burst open across the lid of Heaven. Thunderous booms littered the peaceful skies while lightning strokes raced across the firmament to embrace each other: for upon winged gryphons rode legions of mighty Malakim. Thousands with unsheathed swords and spears descended upon them like locusts atop a field of defenseless corn.
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Jerahmeel huffed as he entered the Hall of Annals, panting as he looked at the clear wall that separated him from the Zoa. He was always jovial, and knew that levity could release tensions. Yet as he stood within the confines of the Hall of Annals, there was nothing that could generate lightheartedness this day.
Raphael had brought him to this place once before.
El hast decreed that you be given access to this place, but, alas, tread carefully, for within are the tomes of all creation. Within thou might know the invisible things from the creation of the world.
All right, Raphael. Jerahmeel thought to himself. You said this was important. I hope you were right.
Jerahmeel poured over the room and tried to remember all that Raphael had showed him. He stepped up a flight of stairs past the volume of books that floated and lined themselves on shelves and entered a room of pure white.
Ahh, this is it, he thought as he opened his mouth to speak to the listening room. “Location of Gabriel?”
The room flashed the colors of the spectrum, and Jerahmeel stood as if he was in a dream, when suddenly under his feet the dark rich dirt of the Elysian Fields appeared. Jerahmeel beheld as Gabriel stood surrounded by a legion of Elohim ready to pounce upon him. Gabriel panted, and the blood of Elohim stained the golden hilts of his flaming swords and splatter was awash over him. His eyes glowed with a crackling light, and power dripped from his body as sweat beaded and glistened from his muscular form.
In El’s name! Jerahmeel whispered aloud. "Gabriel! Gabriel!" he yelled.
Yet it was to no avail. Jerahmeel watched as the sky opened to reveal that the Malakim Gryphons fell from the skies, and that House Malakim rode upon them to do battle on their Prince’s behalf.
“But where is Michael?” Jerahmeel wondered aloud. The room unable to recognize if Jerahmeel posed a question or directed a command responded. The image of Gabriel disappeared from view, and the great room displayed Michael weeping uncontrollably alone.
“Argh, ya stupid room! I didn’t say change the scene! Show me both Gabriel and Michael!”
The walls of the room obeyed and displayed on one wall Gabriel and the Malakim now locked in heated battle with house Arelim and Issi. The other portion of the wall displayed Michael weeping alone in a dark room.
“In El’s name! Half of Heaven is in battle in the Elysian fields!”
Jerahmeel watched helplessly at the twofold scenes before him and wondered how he might provide help.
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“We are almost there my prince,” said Iofiel.
“Good.” said Raphael. “We must quickly return to Jerusalem and make haste to find Lucifer.”
The duo moved deeper into the cold and damp filled emptiness. With each step, Raphael followed Iofiel into the shadows, their hands out stretched reaching to feel their way against the cold rocky wall. Raphael noticed that his vision grew dim; his ability to see lessened with each step.
Raphael followed Iofiel and he led him deep into the bowels of Athor to a circular stairwell that lead into the de
pths of the earth past the foundations of the gleaming city; darkness became their third companion. The blackness reached out to ensnare and entangle a blackness that became tangible to the touch and enveloped them like a well-worn robe. The darkness hung oppressively upon them, suffocating and heavy. It was then that Iofiel suddenly stopped.
“What is wrong?” said Raphael.
“We are here, my Lord," replied Iofiel. "Look."
Raphael strained to see through the deep fog of blackness, but despite his vision, even he could not peer through the veneer that lay before them, and the light that emanated from his own body no longer was able to penetrate the darkness.
“Look at what? I see nothing but blackness roundabout. To what should my eyes gaze upon?” he said.
“Try again, my Lord, but look not with your natural eye but with that which we see in the spirit.”
“Wait…I see it.” said Raphael. “Lucifer was wise to conceal his actions on this wise.”
Slowly, Raphael made out that darkness writhed within the darkness. Then Raphael saw the onyx door and the seal of Lucifer Draco. It was a strange thing, oval in shape, but the oily blackness which was before him was so dark, so devouring of light that it made the surrounding darkness seem as light. Slowly the depth of Lucifer’s sin saturated Raphael's understanding. For to conceal oneself was to attempt to deceive God. Raphael began in that moment to grasp the gravity of Lucifer’s cunning, a cunning that would seek to pluck out the very eye of the Almighty. For where in the multiverse would one run from God? Nevertheless, here within the bowels of the Earth, Lucifer sought to create a place of shadow to hide his atrocities from Heaven.
Raphael put his hand to the door, and it was icy cold to the touch. His breath turned to vapor in the damp and musty air. He intuitively knew that within the confines of this door was another realm, a realm where the presence of God did not bring warmth. Iofiel stepped to the side, and Raphael turned the handle and pulled the heavy and onyx door. The seal of the First of Angels had been broken. Raphael jerked even harder, yet the door resisted and became heavier. Iofiel came to assist, and the duo pulled as one. The door creaked in reluctance, then gave way and opened to them. The seal of the chamber ripped and a hissing sound filled the air; and the cavern smelled with the stench that Raphael had only smelled prior when the blood of Corlus had spilled on Heaven’s soil –– dissolution.
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“Why is this door thus that it refuses to open?” said Michael.
Raphael and Iofiel turned to see Michael standing behind them, studying the dank dark door and the structure over them.
“Are you ok?” asked Raphael.
Michael looked at his brother, nodded and then turned to Iofiel. “I repent of my actions earlier. I ask your forgiveness.”
Iofiel placed his hands on his leader's shoulder. “My concern is for my Lord's welfare. I would see you whole.”
Michael smiled. “Thank you my friend.”
Michael turned to look at the huge door and felt its surface. It was cool to the touch and had a rough feel as if he was touching the exterior of something made of coarse rock; there were also ridges to it.
Michael leaned closer to inspect the door. Slowly he approached and placed his cheek against the wall. He lifted his head, and his eyes darted to make out an outline and the rise and fall of something — breathing.
“This is no door,” said Michael, and he quickly backed away.
But it was too late, for Iofiel had already dug his hands deep into a ridge and used his weight to pull against the door and lurched the gate open, ripping the hinges from the sidewalls. Screams and wails then filled the corridor. Suddenly, light shined from two slotted sources above them. The ‘wall’ moved, buckled, and turned inside out to reveal an Elohim now towering above them. The dark figure had four arms, his back was like the shell of a tortoise, and Iofiel had ripped from the creature a scale that he himself had thought to be a door. There was no door. There was but an angel, disguised and concealed, who barred the path of anyone who might dare go further.
Michael looked into the body that was the creature and gasped, for within its bowels were the bodies of Elohim trapped and pushing against its flesh to escape. Each soul was emaciated beyond recognition, and their wails and groans filled the cavern as they pushed against the translucent skin of the creature. They were as bones heaped upon one another, refuse to be discarded, living angels crushed under the weight of one other, suffocating within the innards of the angel’s flesh.
“I know thy scent, Michael of the Kortai. I am Minos, and though thou be the Builder of Heaven, you are not welcome here. For respect of thine office, I offer you passage to go whilst you may still leave, but know of a surety dissolution awaits you if you abide here. Tartarus is for the enemies of the Chief Prince, and my orders concerning intruders are clear.”
Michael was quick to speak, “Who art thou to do harm to your own kind? Release those within I beseech thee. This ought not to be.”
“Nay.” replied Minos. “For the God King has himself created a realm that exists to consume Elohim, and we are told that the very fires of the Kiln have ceased to ignite our kind. We will not become lackeys of the clayborne, nor will we bow the knee to El who would sentence us to slavery.”
Michael winced as the groans of those within Minos cried out for relief.
Michael replied, “I am not slow to answer thee Minos, for I am on the Lord’s side and forever shall I stand with El.” Michael turned to look at Iofiel and smiled. Iofiel nodded knowingly.
Minos retracted his arm into a pocket of his flesh, and from within the deep folds of his arms, appeared a long scythe, which glistened and dripped with mucus. “Then come,” he said, and know that Tartarus awaits you.”
Minos heaved his scythe over his head and slammed the blade into the dank ground, and the steps underneath the trio shattered.
Iofiel quickly placed his back against the wall, missing the blow by inches; the breeze of Minos’ forceful strike cooled his face. Raphael and Michael both jumped clear of harm’s way, while a shower of rock and debris exploded around them and sent small pebbles like shrapnel into their bodies. Michael sprinted, and hurled himself into the air to grab the hand of Minos, struggling to use his weight to pull the creature’s arm behind its back. Yet, Minos was too strong and flung Michael over his shoulder as one might swat a gnat. Michael careened into the dark stone wall, and with a great thud; hit the damp rock and fell violently to the ground.
“I have moved the stars into place on El’s behalf.You are nothing to me Prince. In vain, do you fight against me.”
Minos lumbered closer to Michael who lay helpless on the ground. Michael’s shoulder and back ached and throbbed, screaming out for relief.
The giant black Arelim moved in closer for the kill.
If dissolution is the Lords will,– then I will face it standing. Michael thought and struggled to rise to his feet.
Minos stood with his scythe gripped tightly and raised the weapon to cut Michael down; he placed his foot on Michael’s chest pinning him to the ground.
“Good bye Prince of Heaven,” said Minos.
Michael closed his eyes, content in the knowledge that dissolution awaited him, but in the moments that the blow was destined to connect, the crash of falling rock thundered and the chasm’s ceiling cracked. Light flooded the chamber, and Minos leaped to avoid being crushed as angel upon angel fell upon a singular hooded figure whose whips for arms flayed them to, and fro.
Michael rolled out of the way and marveled that the battle above to stop Charon had reached Tartarus itself.
Oblivious to all the angels that sought to bring him to a stop, Charon eyed the massive body that was Minos. His gaze fixed on the black onyx figure of he who would pretend to stand as a guard to a nether realm, a pretender to a throne that was his alone. Charon moved and dragged with tentacled arms a multitude of angels behind him, and Hell was awash in ecstasy. In a heated lust of engorgement,
dangling angel flesh near and far, and like an intoxicated slut, she had her way upon the flesh of Elohim that dared to strike the Warden of Hell.
Without slowness of gait and without sound or pronouncement, Charon marched towards Minos to confront the imposter as warden of the nether realm. For in all the multiverse, there could be only one.
Minos had heard of Charon; yet, the report had not done Charon justice. Minos was Lucifer’s answer to Charon, and Tartarus a mere projection of the realm of Hell, a prison made after the fashion and likeness of Lucifer’s schemes. Watching Charon, Minos knew that Lucifer had established him and Tartarus as counterfeit.
“I have no quarrel with you ferryman. Do not force my hand, for my allegiance to the Chief Prince is clear, and this realm is shut by my hand and opened by none other. You may not pass, for I am the Maw here.”
Charon did not speak. He only moved, plodding closer to confront this imposter. The worms, which did not light on Charon’s body, slithered away from his flesh and crawled to the ground, as if commanded by some unspoken voice. Creating a veil of fire that allowed none to pass or else risk consummation; they formed a line between him and the squadron of angels who now lay behind him in ruin.
Michael skirted backwards as Minos focused his attention on Charon, this new thereat absolute. Minos walked to meet the Warden of Hell.
“Raphael! Michael! Come quickly!” called Iofiel. Motioning with his hand, Iofiel stood within the cleft of a rock, and Raphael and Michael joined him.
“Michael, are you alright?” asked Raphael.
“Aye,” said Michael grabbing his arm that still was sore from his impact against the cavern wall. The trio hid and watched as the lumbering giants of Minos and Charon approached one another.