Angelic Wars- First Rebellion

by Rick E Norris

  “The mark,” Pollyon whispered, keeping his arm extended.

  “Yes, I noticed it on the fourth column. So, if my guess is right, we will find our insignia on the fourth, eighth, twelfth, sixteenth, twentieth, twenty-fourth, and twenty-eighth columns. In other words, four times seven, or each forth column, seven times.”

  Pollyon started to turn when Malachy yelled. “Don’t move your arm, look!”

  Pollyon started. “Malachy, why is my mark flaming?” At once, a spattering of etchings lit up around the entire column displaying names from the surface to about twenty feet high.

  Pollyon lowered his arm. “Remarkable.”

  Malachy rubbed her palms swiftly together, pressing a smile through her lips. “Yes, but I think there is more. I assume that each of the seven columns corresponds to each of the seven districts.”

  Pollyon studied the reliefs down below. “I don’t see the connection.”

  “Do you remember what we were told during our initial prex précis about the symbol?”

  Pollyon stroked his chin, still looking at the stage. “That any angel that bears this insignia is our ally for the defense of Heaven against the insurgents.”

  “Right,” Malachy said grinning. “So, what does that mean to you?”

  “That these etchings must be the names of those angels in each district who are allies?”

  “And, why do you think these names are valuable?”

  Pollyon paused. “Because they are allies of the Septemviri. And they are waiting for us to reveal ourselves in order to defeat the enemy.”

  Malachy clapped her hands. “That’s the way I see it.”

  Pollyon walked around the column, running his finger as he spoke. “But I don’t recognize any of these names. We only know the number in each district because every fourth column corresponds to one of the reliefs.”

  “Then it must be important that we get these names back to Al Birka,” explained Malachy.

  “But how?”

  Malachy reached into the back of her robe, removing the same type of crystal surface that contained the map of heaven. She stretched it into a large rectangular shape, large enough to wrap around the column up to twenty feet high.

  “We can take an impression on my map paper. I have enough for each column.”

  Malachy stretched the surface around the column, creating a perfect impression of its inscriptions poking through the map.

  A voice boomed from the stage, however, interrupting Malachy’s focus. Again, no musical accompaniment buttressed the singer.

  Why do you ask me?

  Why do I care?

  I control my destiny

  I define what’s fair

  We are the Creator

  We say it without fear

  We control our destiny

  Reflecting Him is a broken mirror

  Malachy looked down and did a double-take. She caught the harsh gaze of the performer. She had never seen him before. A chill stiffened her spirit.

  The angel continued:

  If the Creator is willing to prevent us from becoming like Him,

  but not able to, He is impotent.

  If the Creator is able to prevent us from becoming like Him,

  but not willing, He is not sovereign

  If the Creator is both unwilling and unable to prevent us from becoming like Him,

  Then we are god

  The crowd jeered.

  No, they turned to her and Pollyon and jeered.

  Panicking, Malachy’s hand trembled as she ran among the other columns, stretching other membranes. She quickly pressed the names of each one, making impressions. She hoped it was good enough. The audience was getting to its feet.

  “Pollyon?” She turned.

  Her trembling turned to panic.

  “Pollyon,” she said in a louder whisper.

  She was alone.

  Chapter 16

  If Azarias felt uneasy about their isolation in Thyatira, the appearance of an unexpected guest did not lend him any comfort. The shiny floors, mysteriously void of the reflection of their inhabitants, had somehow produced a familiar face.

  That of Abaddon.

  Azarias could hear Uriel’s breathing escalate as he stared at the figure that stood between them and the only exit.

  “Well, Azarias and Uriel, you seem to be short of an army or two.” Abaddon’s laugh, saturated with sarcasm, echoed from the corners of the room. The deserted courtyard, the eerie angelic frescos, and now the sudden appearance of Abaddon without his entourage unnerved Azarias.

  “How do you know my name?” snapped Uriel.

  “Oh, we know quite a lot about you, my friend, but you will find that out later.”

  “Where are all the Thyatira angels, Abaddon?” Azarias turned to the side, looking out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t be sure of anything.

  “Oh, here and there,” said Abaddon. “You see, our leader has this knack for calling his loyal angels from anywhere in Heaven.”

  Azarias turned back. “So, are you telling me the entire district has turned against the Lord?”

  “No, I am not saying that at all,” said Abaddon, shaking his head. “But those who remained loyal to the Creator, were, shall we say, detained. They seemed to seclude themselves, but we’ll find them. Right now, they’re not important.”

  Abaddon arched his head as if to look behind Azarias. “What’s this? You didn’t bring our little friend, Squatinidale?” He laughed. “The last time we chatted, you rode in with your cavalry to save the little fat seraph.” Suddenly walking forward, Abaddon threw open his arms. “What happened to Squatinidale? Did you restrict his movements for his own safety?”

  Azarias narrowed his eyes. “We do not imprison our friends, Abaddon. We don’t know where he is.”

  Abandon placed his hands on his hips. “Well, we do.” He counted on his fingers. “Let’s see. He was at the Bibliotheca at Pergamum, and then he appeared at the Odeum in Ephesus…” He shook his head. “I warned him that Heaven wasn’t big enough to hide him. He can’t hide from the Great One.”

  How could the Great One observe angels from afar? Azarias found this a dreadful omen. His power would have to be unmatched among the angels. The Septemviri could never defeat an angel like this. Maybe he was observing the Septemviri. That could explain why their missions were compromised. If that were the case, Raffaela could be wrong. The Septemviri may not have a traitor. Despite the circumstances, this possibility made him feel a little better. Azarias still felt uneasy to even consider the idea.

  Abaddon’s tone lightened. “You don’t understand, my friends, we want you to be happy. We want you to be independent. We want you to be complete Beings.” His eyes softened. “Why do you look at me as an enemy? I have not harmed you.”

  Azarias and Uriel did not respond.

  “Look, I was once like you. I performed missions without any concept of the overall plan. The Creator kept that information from me. I was supposed to perform by faith, not knowledge. I did not like existing in ignorance. The Creator kept this knowledge like…like a forbidden fruit that I was not allowed to enjoy.69 I was led to believe it was poisonous to my spirit and would destroy me.”

  Throwing his hands and wings open, Abaddon appealed to the angels. “How could it be poisonous? The Great One showed me that I had the knowledge to be God in me the whole time. All I had to do was unleash the power by using my will.”

  Pacing side to side, Abaddon looked down to the shiny, reflective surface.

  “So, I made the choice,” he continued. “This choice was not to rely on the Creator for knowledge but to rely on myself. I am now free to enjoy that fruit and realize a great power.” Abaddon turned back to them and lowered his arms. “I enjoyed the fruit and did not die70…I finally lived. And as I continue to experience the use of this new-found free wi
ll, my knowledge grows.” He stared wide-eyed at them.

  “My eyes were opened, and I became, I am.”71

  Azarias’s mouth dropped open.

  I am? Abaddon, through these two words, was announcing himself as great as God.

  Abaddon advanced with a quickened step. “Why do you just stand there and say nothing?” he pleaded. “Your silence is like that of the Creator. He never talks to me; I never receive His love anymore. Is it because I uncovered His faulty design?”

  The two studiously avoided movement. Azarias, for one, wanted no act or word of his to be misinterpreted.

  He exhaled. “I see I am not convincing you of my position.” Abaddon then looked directly into Uriel’s eyes. His grin grew as he spoke in a guttural voice. “I know what you are feeling, Uriel. Your spirit is betraying you.”

  Could this angel really read minds?

  “You have doubts. Right now, you are confused. You know what I am saying rings true.”

  Uriel’s breathing quickened. “All you speak are lies! Lies about yourself and lies about me.”

  Abaddon lowered his brow and looked to the left as if someone was whispering in his ear. A smile broke through his serious face.

  “Uriel, you have wagered your entire existence on systems and organizations. When creating strategies for others, you have built your work on the foundation of the Creator’s values.” Abaddon opened both hands. “What if these values are flawed? Then that means all of your service, all of your thinking, and your entire purpose has been flawed.”

  Abaddon lowered his voice and looked directly into Uriel’s eyes. “You are clinging helplessly to every word I am saying. You are saying to yourself, Could this be true?” He stole a step nearer. “Deep in your spirit, you know it is true.”

  Azarias looked at Uriel, to Abaddon, and then back to Uriel. “Uriel.”

  Uriel didn’t move, his eyes affixed to Abaddon.

  “Uriel, listen to me,” whispered Azarias.

  Uriel turned to Azarias. A tear tracked down his face.

  “Uriel, it is okay that a little doubt has seeped into you. You have been given the gift of an informed faith. Remember back to all the great things the Lord has done for you. The feeling of love and trust He gives you. Cling to that, not Abaddon’s hollow words.”

  “Uriel, don’t listen to Azarias.” Abaddon’s tone seemed to grow in confidence. “If what Azarias is saying is correct, you would not be having these feelings. Why would the Creator create doubt? It is another contradiction in the Creator’s plan. First, the Creator creates your faith, and then creates a flaw in that faith—this doubt? Which is it? Either way, the Creator is flawed; you are flawed; we all are flawed, and we all are gods because God himself is flawed.”

  “Look, Uriel, you’re a planner.” Abaddon tilted his head. “Doesn’t the Creator seem contrary to everything you have been taught? You have taken ideas, values, and various angelic gifts of others to craft a strategy for different tasks. So, why is there doubt? It doesn’t seem systematic or rational. The Creator has made a mockery out of you by withholding this very important fact. Thus, all your work has been a mockery.”

  Azarias tightened his hold on Uriel’s shoulder. “The only thing flawed here is Abaddon’s logic. The Lord gives us a choice to love Him, with the right to doubt Him. But we can choose to stay within His grasp in our insecure times. To ask Him to let go would be self-destructive because we would be left to our own self-delusions.”

  Uriel dropped his head in shame. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Azarias. Sometimes I feel so weak. I want to serve the Lord, but it is so hard…so hard.”

  “I understand, Uriel,” responded Azarias. “All I ask of you is to be patient. These feelings of doubt will leave with the enemy once we cast them out of Heaven. You are not alone.”

  Abaddon moved a little closer. “Enough of this, my sappy little friends. Our little confrontation will have to end here.”

  He pointed his finger in Azarias’s face. “We are going to have to detain you. You see, we are convincing countless angels in this revolt against the Creator and cannot have you stand in our way.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, yes, I know, you are only seven little angels; but the Creator has a habit of taking those who are insignificant and transforming them into menaces when absorbed in His Spirit.”

  He paused and smirked. “I mean, just look at that Squatinidale…how pathetic.”

  Azarias took two steps. “We know your plan, Abaddon. The Lord is on the Throne and in control. He is calling you back with the voice of His ever-loving mercy. Why don’t you reverse your course and find your way back home to Him?”

  “Quiet, you fool.” Abaddon’s voice trembled with anger now. “Don’t you see?” His jaw tightened. “Can’t you see? Why don’t you see? We don’t want what you are offering, because you can’t offer anything that we have not willfully rejected.”

  Azarias’s gaze remained steady. “The offer is expiring, Abaddon. Accept the Lord’s mercy before we cast your soul out of Heaven for eternity. At that point, there will be no turning back.”

  “Azarias,” shouted Abaddon, “I don’t need mercy. I don’t need grace. I don’t need God, because I, and others like me, am god.”

  Abaddon inched another two steps and motioned to them. “Now, you two must come with us.”

  “Us?” Uriel replied. “I only see you.”

  Not removing his eyes from the two, Abaddon called out. “Angels of the districts, please join us.”

  The movement began from the walls down the hall. The frescos spun to life. From each a spirit resurrected from within it.

  The frescos secreted angels.

  Enemy angels that crowded the hall with Abaddon.

  “Let me introduce you to the other gods,” Abaddon continued. “These one hundred angels represent scores of districts and countless angels that have seen the real light. They are my high-ranking officers.”

  The two hundred moaning rivers flowing from the four ranges that surrounded the Philadelphian center had found their home. Raffaela turned in circles, relishing the thought that not a single drop spilled onto the center courtyard surface, leaving it dry and radiant. All rivers flowed into large crevasses that lined the inside walls bordering the four sides of the courtyard. Everything was orderly and perfect as harmonies sung by a chorus of angels.

  But that may not be for long. The odd etchings branding the vinifera fruit concerned her host, and it concerned her. What did it mean?

  Raffaela turned back to her patient angel and scrutinized the opening before them under the large tholos. Taking his cue, she followed him down the stairway.

  She pressed on for two more steps and then stopped. A large, suspended, but lighted subterranean area seemed to have devoured the remaining staircase.

  The host angel returned from below, landing on the step beyond her. “Stay close, there are many habitats here. I don’t want to lose you.” He again launched himself and dove into a vast, open, and apparently bottomless cavern.

  Raffaela paused and then scurried down the remaining few steps.

  She leapt into the void.

  What beauty.

  Nowhere in Heaven had she seen an underworld. The mission urgency vanished as elegance captivated her.

  Searching below, she saw a bottom, three hundred feet down. It extended in four directions, the entire square mile courtyard. Like all of Heaven, the Lord’s Spirit lit the cavern to every remote corner. Hundreds of shimmering waterfalls boomed, in an almost slow motion, cascading around the metropolis hundreds of feet below. These curtains cast a violet hue throughout the Holy Center of Philadelphia, filling large florescent pools.

  The pools spawned hundreds of brooks that meandered among the many buildings, and angels basked in the refractions, singing songs of praise.

  Raffaela wanted to shout out her own pr
aise and thanksgiving to God for allowing her to see such a beautiful site, but her voice ignored her command. She was too moved to find voice.

  They landed next to one of the canals. Turning to the left, they walked through the entrance of a large bungalow-type edifice. “I thought we were going to the administration structure.”

  The host raised his eyebrows. “We are.”

  Raffaela clutched his arm. “But shouldn’t the administration structure be the largest because of its importance?”

  “Not here,” her host said with a slight snicker. “The first is last, and the last is first in service.”72

  Raffaela lowered her head. “Of course.”

  They entered a tight, uninviting dwelling and found it occupied by six angels murmuring to each other as they gazed on a list of names attached to the wall. They didn’t notice Raffaela or her guest. Venetian-type plastered walls gave the room a rustic look.

  On a wall was inscribed the name Dionysius-Administrator of Philadelphia.

  Raffaela followed her guide across the room. She must meet this Dionysius. She wondered what the administrator would be like in such a beautiful place, surrounded by awe-inspiring angels.

  Her host paused at an angel sitting with her head down in what seemed to be meditation. The host angel knelt down before her and kissed her hand.

  “How are you feeling today, my friend?”

  The angel looked up, a frightful glare exposed.

  Her eyes were red, her look agonized. “I am weak. I am afraid I cannot take this much longer, Dionysius.”

  Raffaela’s mouth dropped open.

  Dionysius spoke to the distressed angel. “You are only weak when not in the Lord’s Spirit. Let the Lord carry your load. Now please go in peace and bask in the light of the vinifera like the others. The Lord has done a good work in you and will be faithful to complete it.73 May the Lord be with you always.”

  The angel tried to smile. She nodded and slowly walked away.

  Dionysius threw casual acknowledgements at other angels who were working.

  Raffaela clutched his elbow. “When I saw you kneel and kiss her hand, you…”