Uriel calls me over again. “Hurry, before the others get back. I will be helpless.”
Cephus swats at me with his arms, his flames burning, but I kick him again.
“Please,” Cephus gurgles. “Let me speak.”
“You’re pathetic,” I say. “You think you are immortal, but tonight you will experience real pain. You are no better than the victims you mocked.”
“So blind,” he lifts his hand to his wound. “You’ve never understood.”
I grab his arm and throw it harshly against the ground. I lean into his face. And shout. “What is there to figure out, Rogue? You are an evil, vile, delusional creature. You are an enemy of the Origin. Your constant riddling disgusts me.”
“Don’t you get it? I’m not the enemy of the Origin, you are!” Cephus’ mouth whistles with each labored breath. Some of the blood begins to harden on his chin and his eyes open and shut intermittently.
“Listen to me. You don’t realize who you fight for. Your every cut, stab, and attack has all been a part of a carefully crafted ruse. You are as much a Rogue as I am. Only you are a Rogue who rages against the Origin, not the so-called Prince.”
“I’ve heard this before.” I spit right into his flailing eyes. “I fight for the Origin and His Prince.”
“No, you don’t. The Prince’s ambitions are lifted toward the very Origin Himself. Think about it, the Origin is a creator yet you bring death. Do you really believe you are doing the Origin’s work?”
“What choice do we have? Sit back and allow you to kill us. I’m nothing like you!”
“Michael!” Uriel shouts looking over his shoulder. “This isn’t the time for this conversation. Cut me free.”
No, we will finish this.
“Your Prince,” Cephus says, “Lucifer, he plays you all as part of his great game. You are a deceived fool.”
“They are coming!” Uriel shouts standing to his feet, his arms still bound.
I see the others running toward us. I look back down at Cephus. His body is empty and limp. I spit, knowing that I missed out on the opportunity to enjoy his departure. To taste one last drop of his torment.
“You have no right to die like this!” I shout at his corpse. “You can’t leave this world still holding onto your delusions of innocence. You are a murderer.”
A Rogue swings at Uriel. I rush over and block the blow with my shield and then kill the Rogue.
“Took you long enough!” Uriel holds out his arms revealing the bind.
I begin cutting the bind as other Rogues rush toward us. I act as quickly as I can but Rogues are all around us. “Why is this taking so long?” I shout.
A blade protrudes out from Uriel’s chest.
Uriel slumps over and falls to the ground. Blood oozes from his stomach.
The Rogue who stabbed Uriel pulls back his bloody sword and swings it at me. I deflect the blow. My flames burst sending the attacker backward.
“No!” I shout.
Suddenly Sal lands beside me. He brandishes his sword toward a Rogue who was lunging at me from behind. “You couldn’t wait for us, huh?”
Christine dashes toward Uriel’s side, cradling his bleeding body.
Swords clank and spark around me as our soldiers advance into the completely disorganized and unprepared Rogues. They have no leader to direct them, and they are surprised by the advance. It’s a bloodbath. All over the structure, Rogues fall to the ground, naked and defenseless.
As if following a leader who commanded them to cease the battle, the Rogues all fall to the ground, crying.
I stand beside Christine who is cradling Uriel in her arms.
“Get him to a Healer,” I say.
“No,” Uriel says. “I don’t have long left.”
A tear drops down Christine’s eye.
“You have to do something,” I shout toward Christine.
“This isn’t your place,” Sal grabs at me, trying to stop me but I persist in reaching for Uriel.
“What’s wrong with you?” Uriel, swats at my arm. “Learn to let go.”
“I’m sorry.” I drop to my knees. “I should have come to you sooner. It’s my fault.”
“But you got your revenge.” Uriel stops to collect his breath. “It’s okay. I loved fighting for you, and I pray we pleased the Origin today.”
“You did,” Christine wipes a tear from her eye. “And I will keep pleasing him for the both of us.”
“That’s my girl,” Uriel says.
His eyes close.
I weep there beside his lifeless body, feeling even more pain building up inside me.
“I hate them!” I shout rising to my feet. “Foul, disgusting worthless Rogues. Do not stop until each and every one of them is dead!”
“Michael!” Gabriel grabs my arm. “They are crying for mercy. It’s over.”
“Take them prisoner,” Sal orders.
“No,” I shout. “Kill every last one of them. This is a day of judgment.”
A look of confusion falls over both my army and the Rogues.
“You command your armies as you wish.” I glare over at the two captains. “But to my soldiers, show no mercy!”
A bow and arrow fall onto the ground beside me. I turn to see Celles glare at me.
“I am no murderer,” she says.
The soldiers follow her lead. They step back from the Rogues and sheathe their swords.
“Do you wish to join Auro in the dungeons?” I rush over to the Rogue who was kneeling in front of Tinus. I slice the Rogue’s neck with my sword, spraying the blood onto the grass below. “I said no mercy. If you are too cowardly to do your jobs, I will kill every last one of them myself.”
The naked Rogues begin to wail and moan. In unison my army re-engages while my co-captains and their armies look on, their mouths wide open. My soldiers jab, slice, and cut.
Each disgusting defiler of the Prince falls dead in the soil.
We have avenged Terra and restored honor to the Prince, Lucifer the Bright and Morning Star.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Refusal
MY PALMS SWEAT as I untether my breed. My eyes are dry, from sleepless nights. He nudges me with his head to catch my attention, but I don’t acknowledge him. I am somewhere else.
I thought that the end of the war would bring me the same peace that it brought the rest of creation, but I was wrong. The memories of battles repeat in my mind’s eye. The clank of metal still rings in my ears, the perspiration of struggle still itches my skin, and the smell of rotting dead friends still pervades my senses.
I wonder if it is my own rotting soul that I smell. My mind torments me while I wake but sleep brings me no escape. For it’s in the night that she visits me. I once longed to look upon her face but now when I gaze into her hate filled eyes, I beg her to leave. But she won’t. She punishes me and I deserve it.
Terra spits and grinds her teeth. Her disgust for what I have done drips with every accusation she throws at me. I tell her I want nothing more than to bring her eternal rest but she only turns her back to me.
“Your revenge,” she tells me, “Was just that, yours. You have not brought me peace. No, you brought me shame. Doing your evil in my name.”
My breed brushes his nose against a truffle growing at the bottom of a plum tree. He turns to me, and then looks back at the ground. He wants to share with me his discovery but grows tired when I don’t show interest. He devours it himself.
“It’s time for you to return to the wild,” I say. “No angel will ever be able to hurt you again.”
The beast sits back on his hind legs as if in protest.
“This is my final goodbye,” I say. “I have invested too much of my energy reaping destruction to return to ministry and design. And your time of warring with the angels is over. This is the end of our story, and this is the role which you must play.”
I don’t know why I open up so much to an animal that can’t comprehend, but I let the words drop from my lips
as if they are the tears from my eyes that I can no longer produce.
I turn from the beast. A faint, pleading whimper resonates from behind me. I don’t heed it. Instead, I flap my wings and rise into the sky toward the setting sun. The breed looks up to me roaring.
“No,” I say. “You are not to follow.”
He looks down toward the ground and then curls up in the soft grass, licking his paws.
I soar onward. Purple, upon pink, upon orange stratifies the horizon. It is not the first sunset that fills my vision nor will it be the last. Perhaps, the sight is beautiful. I no longer care. For me it is a symbol of my torment. The grant of eternal life is no gift but a punishment in disguise.
I know what I speak of as I have grown quite familiar with punishment over the past five days since the war concluded. With their leadership dismantled, the remainder of the Rogues put up no fight. They surrendered and we dutifully rounded them up to stand before the Prince for judgment.
“The rot of rebellion,” the Prince declared, standing before his great throne in public proclamation. “Will only spread throughout the realm if it is not treated seriously.”
The Prince ordered us, his army, to kill any that refused to acknowledge his authority. Many soldiers found excuses to avoid carrying out the acts, but I volunteered. I have finally accepted my role as the executioner. It no longer matters to me that revenge is hollow and that it brings me no fulfillment. I don’t deserve fulfillment anyway. Rather I simply follow my role, the dark angel who carries forth judgment.
To those Rogues who bowed a knee before the Prince, he punished them with eternal damnation in the dark dungeons confined under his Temple. They wept and begged for death. Their sentiment is understandable. The punishment for those who repented seems worse than the death of those who continued to ravage against his lordship.
I snap out of my thoughts just as I reach the Temple Center, the pyramid grows larger in my view. The site of the platform always reminds me of the day Raphael clipped our wings.
I turn due west and approach the Courtyard. The place we once worshipped the Origin at the Acceptance. That ritual now seems like a relic of a different race, a remnant of a forgotten era.
The Courtyard now stands as more of a memorial to my days of training with the other soldiers, a place of destruction, not of uplifting. But the war is over, so soon the weapons and gear will soon be melted down for materials or perhaps put to some other peaceful use.
I land on the stone tiles and look about the circle. I bend down and clutch a stray bean, perhaps left behind from the first competition between me and the angel once known as "the Frosted.”
With all my vengeance and hatred, that was still a much more innocent time. I had never taken a life, and I now see that drawing blood, even if it’s done just once, changes a heart and creating mass graves removes the heart altogether.
“Feels like an eternity ago doesn’t it?”
Gabriel stands in front of me. I don’t know how I overlooked his presence. He looks clean and rested but behind his eyes, he still looks troubled. Perhaps he struggles with the same regrets I do.
“I ask myself,” I say. “If I knew then what I know now, would I have continued down this path? Would I have continued to plant the seeds of blood if I knew that no fruit could ever grow from spoiled soil?”
“It makes it worse that the whole of the Temple Center bustles with celebrations of peace.”
“There will be no peace for us.”
“I fear there will be no peace for anyone.” Wrinkles fold on Gabriel’s forehead. “The Prince seems to have acquired a taste for blood.”
“A sweetness that’s familiar to our palates as well.”
“Yes, but we know the syrup gives way to a bitter feeling in the stomach, an empty unquenchable hunger for relief.”
“We did what we had to do.” I stand to my feet. “We must never forget that the Rogues attacked us first.”
“We all have our role to play.”
“Exactly.”
“But our role did not cease at the end of the war,” Gabriel says. “We must stay watchful of all who threaten the Origin’s order. We must not sin against His creation.”
“Where is this coming from?” I ask.
“Our Prince. He acts less like a Prince who looks out for creation and more like a vengeful soldier who desires control. His recent speeches come from an angel bent on extending his power.”
I step toward him. “He is the most beautiful of all creation. All of his choices are perfect.”
“No, the Origin is the measure of perfection. What if the Origin and the Prince don’t align?”
“It was the Prince who gave me the strength to reap my revenge,” I say. “He showed me how to tap my gifting. He guided me through the war.”
“What has that revenge brought us but holes in our beings?”
I draw my sword. “Do you now go the way of the Rogues? You spit heresy, against the Prince, the Angel of Light.”
“And do you still carry your sword?”
Gabriel’s mouth folds downward and he slowly shakes his head from side to side. For a moment, he closes his eyes as if remembering some painful memory and then speaks when they reopen.
“Has our friendship returned back to this place? Am I once again the nameless villain? No more than an enemy even after so much struggle and pain?”
“You hurl accusations against the Prince.”
“Because I fear that the Prince subverts the Origin. He is filled with pride, Michael. And many of his captains are as well.”
“You’re wrong,” I put my sword back into its scabbard dismissing him.
“I am going to address this,” Gabriel says. “At the captain’s debriefing today. I wish to have your support.”
“You will stand alone,” I say. “I grow tired of all this meddling. Just let me fade away.”
He doesn’t respond.
The light dims in Gabriel’s eyes and he finally breaks the silence. “Then answer me one last question. If you hold any reverence for our friendship, indulge me one last thought.”
I don’t respond but I also don’t leave.
“As the Origin grows more distant from us, does our world grow more wonderful or more treacherous?”
I don’t answer.
He continues. “When you step away from the Origin, do you make the world a better place?”
Again I stay silent.
“The Origin creates,” Gabriel says. “And Lucifer corrupts. We will soon be faced with a choice. When that time comes, I pray your heart is strong enough to do what’s right.”
I turn my back to Gabriel and lift into the air.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Celebration
THE BLUE SATIN hangs weightlessly on my shoulders, reminding me of another life. One when I wore my Designer’s robes comfortably. Now, I feel naked without the cold chainmail pinching and ripping the skin on my chest. And my hands, they are too clean. The scars have already begun to heal and all spots of blood and grime remain conspicuously absent.
An angel with long gray hair looks up at me and nods before she pushes open the towering, stone, Temple doors. I smile at her as the great hall becomes visible in front of me.
I march forward, my eyes drawn upward toward the domed ceilings. I remember the first time that I walked this great hall. I felt like an unwelcome guest, undeserving of an audience with the Prince. I can’t help but chuckle at the thought. After all that I have been through, that is one thing that still hasn’t changed.
“You came,” Sal greets me, his hand outstretched.
His golden sword sheath stands out from the reflective threads of his white Temple garments. I imagine his weapon looks as incongruous as my own. But unlike Sal’s, I know that within my sheath, Rogue blood still stains my sword.
“We missed you earlier at the strategy meeting,” Sal says. “The Prince attended the meeting himself.”
“Yes,” I say. “I regret th
at I was not able to attend. I had some much needed rest to attend to.”
I am lying. The purpose of a strategy meeting with the Prince after a war has concluded completely escapes me. With the death or imprisonment of every last Rogue accomplished, I will not engage in any more frivolity. I believe these games of war have already altered me enough.
“We all understood,” Sal says. “Nobody could question your loyalty to the Prince.”
“He is my Morning Star,” I say.
“Follow me.” Sal purses his lips, his eyes eager as he leads me quickly down the great hall. “The Prince has us all gathered in the inner banquet hall.”
A sniffle echoes through the archway just before we make a turn. It is followed by the sound of a feminine whimper. An angel leans forward against the wall ahead of us. Her long brown hair pulled back lazily and tied with a ribbon. The dark purple threads of her dress lie tightly against her feminine form. She turns, startled at our arrival.
“Captains,” Christine throws her head back. “It’s such an honor to see you again.”
She wipes her cheeks with her fingers and bites her lower lip. The red lines in her eyes tell the story she tries to hide.
Neither of us acknowledges her as we pass, as if she were simply one of the candelabras or other decorations in the hall. It feels cold but she represents failure. I’ve felt enough pain to last a thousand eternities with my own hurts. I will not share in the loss of her parallel as well. I don’t have shoulders broad enough to bear the weight of it all.
Another Ceremonial smiles at us as we approach the entrance to the great hall. She holds up her palms and we come to a stop. She turns toward the room.
“I now present to you, the Honorable Captains Salidryl and Michael, both from the Clan of the Arch Gelian. Welcome to this great hall of our Lord, the Great Prince, the Bright and Morning Star.”
We walk toward the front of the hall and grab our place at the head table.
“Please, Raphael,” Sal says. “Don’t look so glad to see us.”
Raphael doesn’t respond. Instead he continues to scowl, holding his fork in hand and staring down at his empty plate.
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