The Hallowed’s blank gaze zeroed in on Azrael, effectively ignoring Mita as he closed the door behind him. He waved at the uninviting Acceptance table. His presence demanded the respect of a man with many years, yet the unwrinkled hand that slid from the long robe startled her in its eloquence. Azrael looked up into his glowing eyes with a shudder.
“Let us begin,” he said.
The shyness Azrael had felt the first time had left. It was now replaced with fear and a sickly weakness that pulled on her knees until she felt she’d collapse. She undid the thin tether that fastened her robe, lying naked once more on the table, a sacrificial lamb.
With grim familiarity, her ankles and wrists were tightly bound. She felt the watchful eyes of Mita as her blindfold was secured. It felt insulting to have an audience to what could be her last moments. Served simply as a learning experience for another Hallowed who seemed more fascinated than concerned. The thought prickled bumps across her skin.
Azrael didn’t need her sight to know the moment was frighteningly near. A wooden cylinder was placed in her mouth and Azrael bit down onto it.
“Sorry,” Mita murmured. Whether for putting a bit in Azrael’s mouth like a horse, or standing there while Azrael was naked, she wasn’t sure.
The hiss of the iron jar containing Divine Material sneered at the silence. A warm glow in the dank room beat against the backs of her eyelids.
A rustle of wood and metal sounded louder than the greatest thunderbolt in the world. It signified there was no going back now. Azrael stiffened as a cold, wet cloth was wiped over her back to remove oil and sweat. A clinical stink came quickly after along with a cold heat of evaporating ointment.
The first tap of the crude tools sank the raw material deep into her skin. All thoughts of objection were replaced with rage and anguished determination. The hot wave of Divine Material spread over her skin, reaching downwards and inwards with a razor’s edge. It crawled and growled its way through her physical body. It had no subtlety, nothing to ease her into the pain. It didn’t matter that she knew what was coming.
But this time was going to be different. Azrael wasn’t going to let it burn her soul to cinders.
Faster than she would have imagined, the pain welled up with an intensity Azrael wasn’t sure she could bear. It sang with a deadly beat, spearing in rhythmic waves with every tic of the wooden tools that sealed in more and more of the material to her body.
As she steeled herself against the onslaught, she suddenly was no longer alone with the Hallowed and his unseemly apprentice. A new searing flame burned as molten, ethereal fingers grasped her shoulders. Azrael cried out at the fiery explosion of fresh agony.
Fear gripped her at the arrival of the new presence. It was the Light.
Azrael wasn’t in the Celestial Plane. The padding of the Acceptance table stuck to her flesh and sweat trickled down her neck, along with the tiny streams of sticky blood that dripped down her ribs. The smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils.
But the presence of the Light was here. The entity that she had first encountered in the Celestial Plane had come to this reality. The feminine voice was unmistakable; the searing grasp on her shoulders was surreal. Yet, the agonizing tap-tap of the Hallowed’s tools continued without interruption.
The creature’s grasp was hot as coal and strong as steel. She ran her fingers over places newly embedded with Divine Material, sending waves of nausea through Azrael’s body. Azrael groaned, a sob catching in her throat. Azrael knew she couldn’t move, but she thrashed at the restraints anyway.
You could get out of this… so easily…
The coaxing tone in her soul sang through with a singular note. It wasn’t her own; it was placed there by the invader. It overpowered her own will, rushing an unstoppable feeling of power and freedom through her. Azrael felt her skin sizzle with heat, and the pain began to subside.
Like unbearable temptation, Azrael finally gave in to the call of the Light. The wooden chunk disintegrated in her mouth, the bindings burst into flames. She was released from this torture.
Azrael could hear distant shouting. It was panicked and surprised.
That’s it… come to me…
The warmth continued to surge upwards, like a faucet had been left open in her soul. Light poured out, unstoppable and unburdening.
Azrael transcended her flesh as her soul soared as a goddess in the sky. She overlooked the fields and the oceans. She could feel every soul around her reaching across the land and sea. Men raked the soil in the dying sunlight. Women nursed their babies in their sealed off homes. Azrael raised her hands to catch them. They sparked against her fist, but she scooped them all up in one fell swoop. Her hand was as a god’s, grazing across the expanse. She latched onto every single one of their souls and drew on their power.
It was unlike anything Azrael had ever experienced. She felt the harmony of all their souls unite into a single flow. They collided and merged in chaotic thrums. She sucked them in until she was the only one left with a pulse.
It came to an end with a sudden snap. It was as if a delicate strand that had been holding her up was instantly cut. Azrael felt herself falling and growing cold. She was slowly immersed in darkness until there was nothing.
Silence surrounded her, and the ache of her physical body chimed like a weak child. Azrael hid from it, pushing herself against the wall of darkness. Her body wailed for her to come back. She didn’t want to return to the pain, but she was so cold and alone. There was no choice. Azrael reached out.
The pain hit like a wall of thorns. Azrael cried out as fiery coals scorched her back in searing lashes.
A human hand rested on her shoulder, little comfort as it was. Azrael sobbed, crying in her nakedness, bereft of dignity. Azrael cried out for a mother. The only mother she had ever known.
“Majesty, please. Help me…”
The blindfold was undone, and the first sight was the radiance of the Queen. She held Azrael’s chin in her hand and smiled, as if she had heard Azrael’s plea. The Queen’s face was framed by thin smoke streaming off of her skin. Her eyes glowed like a Hallowed’s, and Azrael became lost in their depths. Azrael could see straight into the Queen’s soul, and it was beautiful.
“It’s over my dear. My darling. Rest now.” Azrael knew it was the Queen who used her magic to induce calm and assurance. A blanket of fatigue wafted like a sweet fog. She gladly welcomed a release from the pain and let her body fall into the Queen’s arms as unconsciousness swept her away.
And so Azrael slept, fitful dreams plaguing an otherwise peaceful rest. She would awake groggily for a few moments, only to glimpse a sleeping Mita or a hovering Gabriel. And then she would fall back into unconsciousness once again. It felt like a night that would never end, a sleep that never bade restfulness. Azrael ached from head to toe, and every part of her desperately called out for relief.
Azrael didn’t know if it was the trauma to her body, or a realization of what she had encountered, but death undoubtedly knocked at her door. Azrael refused to answer. Now, it watched her constantly, leaving a stench in the room that would linger.
The dreams were fleeting, always how dreams are. But in that moment, so real and intense. Memories transformed into ethereal sensations of her subconscious.
As if once again on the Hallowed’s table, the scorch of Light wound across her body and dove straight for her soul. The feminine voice goaded a reaction. The ethereal being beckoned and pushed until Azrael would cry out in rage. Then it would all go black, save for one sparkling light in the distance. It was the Queen. But she was nothing but a speck, a reminder that she was there, only if Azrael made the effort to reach her. Whenever Azrael got close, the Queen’s face painted with worry before she vanished, and Azrael was once again left alone in the blackened abyss.
Those were the moments Azrael feared the most. The Light was mocking, searing and vengeful. But the Dark was worse. It was cold and dangerous. It haunted and frightened Azrael. She’d open her eyes wide, but she
could see nothing. Every corner was too dark to cast a shadow; every space was filled with a seeping void. Even though she was cold and lonely, there was a presence that promised companionship and relief. Yet the pit of her stomach roiled with fear. Azrael mindlessly rolled into a ball and grabbed her ankles, pulling her knees close to her chest.
This was a world between the nightmares. Something that filled the silence with a deafening low tone...an endless drone of lamentation. While Azrael refused to embrace it, she added her own cry to its song. She bemoaned for her soul.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gabriel's Plea
Gabriel surged high into the clouds as his breath came in short gasps. Physical fatigue was not an issue. He had long ago become accustomed to the strenuous flight between Manor Saffron and Celestia. He was burdened by fear.
In a few short moments he would be face-to-face with the Council. This was no simple update on Azrael’s condition. This was her reckoning.
Upon reaching the glimmer in the clouds, the massive golden gates of Celestia came into view. The gates opened upon sensing his immortal soul. Passing the invisible barrier, the golden city of Celestia sprang into view.
Gabriel had far outlived the grandeur and beauty of the city. To him it was nothing but an overly decorated ball of light that hoped to blot out any glimpse to its core of corruption.
He didn’t pause to greet the guards at the entrance. Against protocol, he didn’t even land. But his ice blue eyes were hard to miss. The outcast had returned.
Without a second glance, they ordered the gates closed once again.
Gabriel thrust his wings and soared past the spearing spikes of the Celestial towers. Other angels were further down and beat their wings with leisurely grace. What hurry could an immortal truly have? But Gabriel worried not for the endless days of Celestia, but for the short nights of the Aedium and humans. If the color of his eyes didn’t betray the difference of his heart, his mannerisms would.
Reaching the core of Celestia, the Cathedral came into view. It had long ago been renamed: Principat. One of the many blasphemies the Council forced Gabriel to endure. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he landed. How he wished he could overthrow their power. But he needed their help. Countless demons had begun their raid onto Manor Saffron. Surely the Council would step in now?
His bare feet slapped against the golden streets as he strode into Principat. Its grand arches towered over him and spanned out with golden wings of their own. The old Cathedral hadn’t had such narcissistic adornments.
Two warrior angels stood in his way. Metal horns spiked on each arch of their wings. It was a weapon Gabriel found barbaric and gruesome. They stiffened as he approached, but as soon as the color of his eyes became visible, they relaxed. He was expected. The massive doors opened.
Gabriel spanned through the multitude of doors and guards to the final sanctum that would house the Council. As he reached the last door he clenched his fists in determination. His choice of words could be the difference between life or death for Azrael.
He was never good with words.
When the final doors opened, he stepped into the dim chambers with what he hoped was confidence and poise. But he was distracted by the fact that the room was lit only by Divine Material that lined the floor and the walls. Its glory had dimmed, constantly fed upon by the Council, and soon would need to be replaced.
Gabriel sighed.
Replacement would require a culling of a portion of the Birthing Forests to harvest the Divine Material to reconstruct this chamber. Why did the Council need so much power? What was the purpose?
As his eyes adjusted, he saw a singular figure atop a curved throne. The Seraphim.
“Gabriel.” The Seraphim’s voice boomed throughout the chamber and Gabriel’s wings instinctually shrank against his back. Angered, he snapped them out again. He would not be intimidated by the Seraphim.
“Where are the others of the Council, Seraphim?” he demanded.
The Seraphim laughed. “Others? They don’t need to be here for this.”
Gabriel frowned. Already the meeting was not going in his favor. The Seraphim was impossible to negotiate with, especially without the others to tone him down.
“Do you have news on the Princess? Has she survived?” His voice was insufferably indifferent, not revealing if he would be disappointed or pleased if Azrael had perished.
Gabriel shifted his weight. “Yes. However, she has...” Could he tell the truth? If the Seraphim knew that she battled against an archdemon, or worse, for dominance over her soul...
“She has...what?” the Seraphim persisted.
“She has taken ill. The session has proved to be too soon. She will need extended time to recover.”
“Hmm. You come all this way just to tell me it will be more time?” The edge on the Seraphim’s voice was sharp and dangerous.
“No, sire. I come to request a legion to exterminate the Fallen that continue to breach the border in attempts to interfere with Azrael’s Acceptance. Uriel’s Legion suffered great casualties—”
“You cannot handle a few demons?”
“Of course, Seraphim. However, this is more than a few. And they are led by an unknown commander. We may have an archdemon who has breached truce. Uriel was badly wounded and I fear he won’t survive.”
The Seraphim sank in his seat and the room grew dark. Waves of heat and rage slammed through Gabriel. Gabriel wiped sweat from his brow.
“Are you certain? How do you know this is an archdemon?”
Gabriel stiffened. “How often have you seen demons band together long enough to penetrate the Divine Material of the Manor? Especially the largest Manor. We should protect our...investments.”
The Seraphim stilled and the room brightened a shade. For once, Gabriel said what the Seraphim wanted to hear.
“You have been sole ambassador to Manor Saffron since your banishment, Gabriel. This was not a punishment, but a chance to redeem your station. We have taken note of your battles against the demons who have besieged Manor Saffron.” He folded his hands and regarded Gabriel with a pensive stare. “If you truly believe an archdemon has crossed the border, then I approve your request for aid.”
Gabriel bowed deeply with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, your grace—”
“After Azrael has recovered.”
Gabriel froze in his bow. After? What would be the point in that?
But the decision had been made. “Of course, your grace.”
Gabriel turned his back to the Seraphim before he’d completely left the room. The entire negotiation could have been negated by that action of disrespect. But the Seraphim was amused by Gabriel’s temper, and instead of rage he roiled with laughter.
It was worse than denying his request.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dark Coma
Azrael didn’t entertain the question if she were dead. Death couldn’t be this horrific. Time wound itself into a little ball and she pulled at it like a cat playing with string. It went on and on forever, darkness and void. Nothing made sense, there was no up or down. There was only loneliness and the ever present shadow that called to her, asking her why she insisted on braving this world alone. His words, so twisted and snarled, didn’t offer any solace or protection. Nor did the ball of Light that flitted like a searing flame, bringing spots to her vision and a moment of heat before it was gone again. The Light ruled by fear, the Dark by seduction.
But the warmth on her face was different this time. It was steady, pleasant, and made her flutter her eyelids open. Like all nightmares, hers had finally come to an end.
Dry eyes struggled to take in the all-too-bright world, but it was the stark brightness of reality. Crisp air nipped at Azrael’s cheeks and she drew in a deep breath, almost instantly turning over to sobs. Pain scratched her throat at the effort of sound, as did a reverberating throb running up and down her back, reminding her that her Acceptance was still healing. But Azrael wanted to embrace the pain like
a long lost friend. This was the pain of the living, pain of reality, a stark change from darkness and nightmares.
Her vision finally cleared and her familiar room in Manor Saffron’s Inner Sanctum came into view. The walls kissed her with their Light and steam drifted from a lonely cup of tea on the corner table, accompanied by a closed book resting beside it.
Azrael battled her way out of silk sheets that stuck to her skin, slick from sweat born of her nightmares. When she was able to sit up straight, she indulged in the steadiness that came from a world that did not spin or change, did not have lingering voices taunting her from terrifying corners of her mind. She was finally safe.
An otherworldly sense granted by her Acceptance told her that she was not only safe, but no longer alone. Meretta soon appeared in the doorway and gasped when she saw Azrael. Her hands shot over her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes.
Azrael’s heart cracked at the sight of Meretta’s disbelief and joy. It was the kind of joy someone kept locked somewhere deep inside, joy that could turn to grief should it never be opened. It suggested that Meretta had begun to believe that Azrael would never wake.
“Meretta. I’m okay,” Azrael assured her. Tears welled in her own eyes. She couldn’t stand to see Meretta in pain. The joy that washed over her face was so bright it hurt and Azrael spread her arms wide for an embrace.
Bursting into heart-breaking sobs, Meretta ran into Azrael’s arms, and her familiar lavender-scented locks splashed into Azrael’s face. The twinges of pain that ran up her back were welcome punishment for making Meretta reach this state of distress. She gripped Meretta as hard as she could, which wasn’t very much, but Meretta squeezed the very breath out of her with a shockingly strong grasp.
When Meretta loosened her grip, but hadn’t ceased her onslaught of tears, Azrael shushed her as she stroked her back, allowing Meretta’s slick curls to run through her fingers.
Finally, Meretta calmed herself and crumpled to the side of the bed. “I knew you’d wake up. I just knew it.” Her voice came out harsh and coarse, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d been crying.
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