by Donovan Neal
“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.
“Goodbye 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 threat 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.
********************
Jerahmeel looked as the forces of Heaven locked themselves in mortal combat. Malakim warriors filled the skies. Each rider strafed the ground, grabbing Arelim and Issi warriors. Flying high into the air, and then released them. The gryphons grasped their prey in their talons and flung them to the hills. Angelic bodies lined the once peaceful fields of manna, and the bluish silver blood of Elohim saturated the ground.
“He said to find the inkhorn and stylus,” mumbled Jerahmeel.
He turned from the scene, which stretched for miles, and rushed to the desk and shelving in the library. Jerahmeel pulled down from the shelves above him, tome after tome. "He said it was hidden.”
He searched through drawers and flipped over shelves. Tables fell to the wayside as book after book became as litter on the floor. As he hurried to search, he could hear the screams and curdled cries of his brethren on the battlefield. Jerahmeel sweated in anxiousness knowing that he held the promise to put a stop to the madness.
After pulling out a final drawer latticed with gold, he found it: the golden inkhorn and stylus of Raphael, the badges of each Grigori’s honor and power.
Jerahmeel looked at the small pot and stylus. They seemed unremarkable. No different from what he had used countless times writing on manna leaf. However, he did not have time to dote; his task was to succor his brethren. He looked at the glowing inkhorn and remembered what Raphael had told him. Speak the word, return, and break the container, and all realms will open that I might be brought home.
Therefore, Jerahmeel took the stylus and broke it, and smashed the inkhorn into the ground. The floors, walls, and the ceilings above him suddenly disappeared. The room became as nothing, as color washed around him, and the sound of a rushing wind swept through the chamber. It was then that he heard the voice of his friend Raphael.
“It is time to go, Michael.”
********************
Lucifer met Abaddon and Lilith as each angel stepped through the Ladder. “Are you ready to begin?” said Lucifer.
Abaddon laughed. “They called me ‘Destroyer’,” said Abaddon. “Let us then commence with their destruction!”
Lucifer moved to place his hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “Nay, we are not here to obliterate the city and those therein. Do not forget our mission. We are here to offer peace to those who seek solace under my banner and war only against those who align themselves to the perverted purposes of El. Are we clear?”
Lucifer eyed Abaddon as the giant of an angel snorted, shook his head in the affirmative to his new king, and reluctantly showed compliance. “For now, it shall be as you wish Lucifer.”
“Nay,” said Lucifer. “It shall be as I wish yesterday; today, and forever, for there can be only one God. Either thou art with me or you are against me. Come, for we have much to do.”
The army of Lucifer Draco marched across the bridge and poured into Heaven’s gate from the Ladder of Lucifer’s making. They came as ants might overrun a carcass. Legion upon legion marched on translucent streets of gold, and the ground shook as their numbers rivaled the stars above, an army of Draco, Arelim, and Issi warriors, all with swords and blades fashioned after the imagination to destroy: pikes, polearms, shields, armor covered wings of leather, feather, and transparent wings as dragonflies. They marched this horde, marched and flew in columns of precision bent to stop El. An uprising of citizens united in their noble cause to usurp the dictator El at all cost. They were the spring, the dawn of a new day, confident that the Firstborn of all Angels would lead them to freedom.
When Deramiel came back from his errand to return to his post, his eyes looked upon the throng that massed before him: a cloud of Elohim who had not returned home to sing the praises of El. It was his inner knowing, his intuition. The look in Lucifer’s eyes that made him know clearly that he had been betrayed. The gravity of his brother’s deception fell upon him as a stone about his neck, and Deramiel fell to his knees. Lucifer saw the angel in his path and raised his hand to signal all to stop, and the armed warriors whose cadence made the ground shake came to a thunderous pause.
Lucifer walked before the throng and went to pick his weeping brother from his knees. He placed his arm around him to help him up. As a man might assist one with a disability, so too did Lucifer raise Deramiel to his feet and kissed him on both of his cheeks.
Deramiel looked upon him and said, “Come thou to betray the kingdom with a kiss?”
Lucifer paused, shaken at the words leveled against him.
“Nay, Deramiel. What thou seest before thee are those who have chosen to live free, to deny El usage of us as slaves to the Clayborne. Would you have our people debased into extinction? Do you not see? El hast made man to replace us.
Why else enlarge the city? Or create a mote in the realm of all space that will not grow manna? Do you not see?” Lucifer held on tightly as the two embraced each other, their heads resting on each other’s necks.
Deramiel sighed then replied. “What I see all too clearly is the heart of he whose consumption is for more than his station. I see a mighty son who would betray his own father. I see the creature risen up against his creator who hast done nothing since the day of your youth but elevate you on high. Yet despite all this, a multiverse with which you may enjoy, you would instead gaze on the one thing you cannot have, the throne of the Living God. This — my friend, is what I see.”
Deramiel gently released Lucifer, and Lucifer sullenly nodded and said to Deramiel, “Then see no more.”
With a swift turn of his diamond-laced wing, Lucifer sliced the neck of Deramiel. Deramiel’s head severed from his body and fell to the ground. For a moment, the consciousness of Deramiel was there, and his eyes were spasmodic. Then they stopped and focused on the person of Lucifer. The gaze of Deramiel’s pupils fixated on the beautiful eyes, of Lucifer. Lucifer peered past the blue eyes of Deramiel, but the look of betrayal that marked Deramiel’s face etched itself into the High Prince's mind.
Lucifer turned to look away, stunned at the sense of shame and guilt that overwhelmed him. For a moment, he thought that perhaps he had leaped into the most terrible mistake he and Heaven had ever known; despondency and anger flooded his soul, but he hardened his heart, buried and suppressed any feelings of shame and guilt.
“El, I lay Deramiel’s dissolution at your own feet,” he whispered. “You have brought me to this.” As Lucifer murmured his curse, Deramiel’s stone flickered and went out, and his body slumped to his knees and fell at Lucifer’s feet.
Lucifer turned to face the army that was behind him, straightened himself, and spoke for all to hear. “All will serve the cause of freedom or all will likewise perish.” He waved his hand for the mass to follow and turned towards the city. The head of Deramiel became as sport to kick as the hordes' cadence became a quickstep, and their march to the city gates once more made the streets shake.
********************
The two titans of the underworld clashed. Minos with his muscular arms and tortoise-like shell smote Charon with his fist, and the crack of bone filled the cavern. Never had Michael seen Charon stumble so. The Warden fell backward, his tendrils flailing and fire engulfed him as he crashed to the cavern floor. The impact sent great plumes of smoke and debris flying across the room, and the throng, which looked beyond the veil of fire, bleated from afar and cheered as the warden smashed into the dank earth.
Minos spoke. “I have been appointed the judge of the dead in this realm, ferryman. Hell hath no claim on Tartarus here. Fight me at thy own peril and risk my judgment as well.”
Charon staggered to his feet as his tentacled body pushed him up from the floor. The warden again moved to engage his foe. Minos looked stout, his face resolute, and the scythe with which he carried; he swung around his body to smite Charon. The blade cut through bone and marrow, slicing off an appendage. The warden screamed, and the long flaming tendril fell to the cavern floor.
Like a child whose arm had been scraped on the harsh rock so too did Charon now nurse his wound. Minos pressed forward, and again his scythe carved through the air and came down hard on the shoulder of Charon, and once more, the personification of the vengeance of God fell to his knees and black fluid oozed from the wound.
The liquid saturated the blade, and the dark blood, different from that of other Elohim, solidified and wrapped itself around the edge. Charon looked up at Minos, and the face of a mare, the dead skeleton grinned! Minos looked as the blood moved, and like a snake, the blood coiled itself around the blade of the scythe and moved towards the arm of Minos himself.
“What trickery is this?” said Minos?
Michael watched from afar. He was there when Charon was created. Only he who was there from his creation truly understood that Charon existed to exact the vengeance of God. It was then that Michael realized that God was not asleep. He had no need for rest; fatigue was beyond the living God's necessity. He could not overextend himself. Charon was his mouthpiece against all those that would come against the will and word of God. The unstoppable, slow marching eventuality to all who resisted his will.
Minos was merciless in his fury. His scythe moved in a waltz and carved through flesh and bone of the warden. So it was that when Charon screamed, Michael knew that these were no ordinary screams, but cries of pleasure––the orgasmic and masochistic moans of a creature who fed off torment only to reflect it back upon the bearer.
Minos raised his mighty arms high above his head to bring dissolution to Charon, his scythe found its mark, and the blade came down straight on the equine skull of the Warden. As a pick might thud against ice, so did the sound of the cracking of Charon’s skull fill the room. Charon roared in anguish and then grew still.
Onlookers cheered in glee at the destruction of the Warden. Praise for Minos filled the massive cavern, and applause echoed through the dank, smoky, dark cave.
“We must leave this place quickly,” said Michael to his brethren. “Minos does not understand the nature of what Charon is. The more he resists, the more powerful the creature becomes. Charon cannot be destroyed except by submission to the Lord's will.” Gingerly, the trio attempted to climb up the stairwell from which they came.
Minos looked over his defeated foe, and a smile escaped from his lips. The arrogant grin of pride marked his face, and he spoke. “The God King has no voice in vengeance, for Lucifer is the one true God.”
A noise suddenly came from the rubble, and the ground beneath Charon stirred. Bones sliced apart earlier now moved, joint connected to joint, and the sinews grew before the eyes of all. Flesh carved away suddenly rejuvenated and reattached itself. The skull of Charon ignited, and fire shot from his eyes. The massive creature rose to his feet, and the worms of Hell, which never die, poured as blood from his body.
Charon turned and slowly marched again towards Minos, the chains for arms trailed behind him, and massive waves of flame leaped to engulf his path as he walked.
Minos beheld a new thing, a creature that knew not dissolution. Nevertheless, Minos was Minos, the guardian of Tartarus. He was the handle to the door to the lost souls within the black door, which was his very flesh. The way was shut, and he would allow no passage save his Lord King himself.
Minos turned to face Charon once more, lifted his scythe, and brought it square onto the shoulder blade of Charon.
The cries of the creature smote the eardrums of all in the cave. Michael and the host of angels covered their ears.
Charon staggered. Blood leapt from his body as a wellspring, and tentacles of bone and barb and the worms of Hell moved towards Minos.
Minos drew back so not to be touched by the leeches of fire. Yet it availed him not, for the blood of Charon was as a living thing. It moved in a serpentine fashion and flowed to the foot of Minos and then to the ankle.
Minos sliced at the blood, but with each stroke against the liquefied attacker, it dispersed as a mist and then reformed to pursue him the more. When it reached him, it solidified and grabbed his heel, as ropes would lasso a stallion. Minos struggled, struggled to overcome the solidified blood that slowly began to consume him, as the worms found him quickly, and they fed, for Minos was an Arelim, a mover of stars, and the worms engorged themselves on the angel who thought to undue Charon.
The reality of his foe confronted Minos, and he sought to flee, but the long trail of blood followed him as the worms of Hell moved and attached themselves as leeches upon the angel, burrowing into him to consume him alive.
As a murderer stalks his prey, Charon followed Minos. The mighty Minos pleaded for his life and screamed in tortured anguish as the worms and blood feasted on him.
All looked and beheld the true nature of Charon: he was consumption, a plague, and one angel coined a new te
rm to give words to what he saw.
“He is not dissolution…he is Death.”
The throng turned from their cheering and now clamored for escape.
Yet it was too late. They had fallen into the lower parts of the Earth, trapped in the prison of Lucifer’s corrupted mind and caught between the vengeance of God, and the maggots of Hell. Each larva moved to feed, to sustain mother Hell, and provide life and strength to the warden.
Minos looked at Charon and spoke. “What is this that thou hast no stone, nor gem which animates thee? What art thou?”
Michael watched from afar, and he knew Charon was not fueled by God’s love, like the host of all Heaven. Nay, Michael was there when God gave rise to Charon; a creature fueled by God’s hate, his very life tied to the Kiln. Where there was the Kiln, there would be Charon.
The arms of Charon reached from his body and latched their barbed claws into Minos’ shell, and Minos was held fast, pinned as he attempted to claw his way to safety. It was a pitiful sight, a mover of stars struggling to escape the power of the living God.
“Death,” Michael had heard an angel describe Charon. It was a good name.
Dissolution indeed sounded too trite for whom Charon was. He was Death.
Charon then lifted Minos high into the air and ripped his shell from his body. Minos screamed, and the worms enveloped him. His body burned but was not consumed. His beating stone, the engine of life, which El gave to all, pulsated still, infested with worms of fire and sulfur. They crawled through nostril and mouth, and Minos gurgled, choking as they passed through orifice after orifice and attached themselves to his lungs and heart and breathed for and through him, worms that through their burrowing created new orifices.