Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1)

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Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) Page 22

by Suggs, Lester


  Itishree formed an expression of debate and took in a sharp breath. Gabriel stopped her with a hand gesture and shook Griffin's head slightly.

  “Let us stop here. Think on what I have taught you. We will continue tomorrow on the train,” Gabriel said.

  “All right,” Disappointment in her tone.

  “Griffin wishes to spend time with you and I must leave him to do so,” Gabriel said with a soft voice.

  “Why? I don't understand,” Itishree objected.

  “It is one of God's rules over Angel kind. A very old law separating man and Angels,” Gabriel interjected and added, “Shield your eyes, child.”

  Itishree looked away and covered her eyes with her left hand.

  Griffin sat up straight and there was a terrific blast of light. Like a camera flash had gone off.

  Itishree turned back to Griffin and the smile on his face was magnificent. She returned the smile.

  “Did you catch all of what Gabriel said?” Griffin asked.

  “Yes, but give me a chance the think upon what he said. Are you aware of what he is saying in there?” Itishree asked as she touched her index finger to Griffin's forehead.

  Griffin took her hand in his and looked at their hands together. He returned his look to Itishree and blushed.

  She gave him a much warmer smile in return.

  “Gabriel is gone?” Itishree asked.

  “Yes, and we should be readying ourselves for bed. We must be up very early in the morning,” Griffin said. He stood and took his bed clothes from the opposite bed and headed for the bathroom. Itishree remained silent.

  When Griffin came out dressed in old fashioned wrist to ankle pajama's, Itishree giggled and slid into the bathroom behind him and shut the door. She had picked her pajamas herself.

  Griffin walked around their room and shut off all of the lights but the bedside wall unit between the queen beds. He had to click the unit many times for it to end with both bulbs lit. Moments later he was in bed.

  The door to the bathroom clicked open and Itishree emerged in a long colorful T shirt and stripped leggings. She walked over to her luggage and carefully placed her discarded clothes inside and zipped up the bag tight.

  Griffin watched her every move. She turned and walked between the beds and expertly clicked off the light.

  “Shift over,” Itishree whispered.

  “Shift over?” Griffin asked.

  “Scoot over,” she corrected herself.

  “Oh!,” Griffin said and did so.

  Itishree slid in under his bed covers and snuggled with Griffin.

  “Good night my love,” Itishree purred. She gave Griffin a gentle kiss and rolled over with her back against him.

  Through all of the terror he had experienced in the last few days, there was no other place he'd rather be.

  A Mother's Love

  “Will you be alright?” Deepa asked her sister.

  They stood half embraced at the door of Mala's home. Both had been crying. It was just before dawn and darkness still covered the neighborhood of modest homes, outside of Pune'. Deepa had come over after hearing from her daughter, Aruni. Her niece, Itishree, Mala's daughter was practically a fugitive.

  “I’ll be fine, Deepa. Although I have no idea what I am to do,” Mala replied, gripping her sister tighter.

  They had spoken for hours and both were exhausted from talking and crying from desperation. They both looked like old hell. Each had little sleep and it was likely it would longer before they slept again.

  “We’ll think of something,” Deepa said giving her sister once last hug before turning to go.

  “We always do,” came Mala's reply.

  She stood and watched her sister go. Her husband had waited in the vehicle parked in front. Mala waited until the engine started and saw her sister open the car door to wave. Mala gave a small wave back and closed the door.

  Still dressed in her house coat, night clothes, and grass slippers she headed for the kitchen to make one last cup of tea. It was difficult to concentrate on any one thought. Her daughter, Itishree occupied all of her mind. Would she need to go to seek out Itishree? She would have to borrow the money to go to America. How had this happened? The questions and negative thoughts crashed down around her like an avalanche.

  The kettle cried out, startling Mala. She poured water over tea leaves and waited. Her mind tormenting her over and over. She hefted the cup to her face and allowed the steam to bathe her senses. She felt so weak, Mala thought.

  Woodenly, she walked out the living room door and into the back yard. In the distance she could hear the city beginning to wake. Rumbling of trucks, an occasional car exhaust, and far off the morning call to prayer. Those few Muslims would be gathering soon. Mala sat on the bench her daughter loved to visit. The sounds of crickets were stifled by her proximity. The birds began to sing overhead as the sun turned the sky a metal blue with pink. There were yellow hues cresting to the east.

  Mala tried to ease her mind into peace. There was nothing she could do from here after all. Itishree's phone, Aruni had given her, had been disconnected. There was no reaching her daughter. Mala had to rely on the lessons her and her husband had taught Itishree. The memories of her husband came rushing back just then. Why had she thought of him? Mala grasped her mouth and quieted the small cry. New tears came easily to her eyes.

  "Why couldn't you be here with me now?" Mala asked her long passed husband. "We need you now." she said to no one. He would know what to say, what to do.

  Letting out a long breath, Mala gave into the reality of the present. She reached for her cup and brought it to her face again, this time to see if the temperature allowed a sip. Sampling the tea her eyes were brought up to the sky. The colorful hues of dawn were racing across the paleness now. There was a line of light suddenly drawn against the sky. She watched it trace along from behind her towards the Sun rising to the East. It ran along in a steady pace, much faster than any aircraft she had witnessed. And then the thread of light stopped. The thin lance of light seemed thousands of feet above her. Mala couldn't know how high up it was. She had never flown in a plane and seldom had ventured to heights. She didn't like high places.

  The taste of tea brought her thoughts back to Earth. The tea was good she noticed, as she lowered her gaze, putting the unknown phenomenon behind her thoughts of family and woe. She had no capacity to guess upon the stars today.

  And, then, she saw the bead of light in her lawn. The small circle of light began to grown to the size of a coin, then to an orange. The light began to trace a path down from the sky. It was about four meters from her bench and steadily growing. Now the beam of light was visible in front of her falling from the sky. It grew steadily in width, now a decameter. Then two decameters.

  There was no sound. No sound at all. The birds had stopped singing. Mala couldn't hear the distance business of humanity. There was only silence. The beam of white light was now the width of a meter and growing. Inside the beam Mala could see particles falling onto the ground within the beam. Thousands of spites crashed into her lawn as the beam continued to grow. The entire event was only seconds in the making but Mala was transfixed by it. She set her tea cup down on the bench beside her. The white beam began to quaver. Then vibrate. And a figure stepped from the beam. It was a tall male shape, his gigantic wings spread out majestically for a brief second and then began to fold behind him as he stepped from the light. Simultaneously as he stepped forward and the wings disappeared, the beam thinned down and winked out. It was gone. Before her stood and impossibly tall male figure, possible three meters in height. He wore a white robe from shoulders to his feet. Ornate gold glyphs decorated the collar, sleeves, and hem of what looked to be a thickly woven stark white robe. It seemed to glow from within.

  The Angel's face was unmarked and plain. Painfully handsome. His raven black hair rested on his shoulders. Angel. An Angel.

  "No!" Mala cried out and threw herself onto the grass. She prostrated herself ont
o her knees and elbows, her face was down, in the lawn. She clasped her hands together.

  "Don't tell me my daughter is dead! Take me instead! Let my children live! Let my Itishree live! She can’t be dead! She can’t be dead!” Mala screamed.

  Between her sobs Mala heard the Angel stepping to her.

  "No!" Mala waled, "No, she can't be dead, no!"

  Gabriel's form began to diminish as he came near Mala. He lost a full meter of his height before he reached her. He made his form kinetic as he reached for Mala. Kneeling, Gabriel lifted her by the shoulder and took her right hand into his left. The Archangel held Mala against his chest. She was sobbing openly.

  Gabriel turned her palm and oriented it against his chest. Mala's eyes opened as her mind-eye began to receive images. Her daughter, Itishree, smiling. Itishree looking out a window, distant images flowing by her. Itishree holding a child. A child! Her grandchild. A son. Itishree was smiling and cooing toward the baby in her arms. There was a man too. Handsome. Caring, and loving. Mala saw the three of them together, happy, in love.

  From the Angel, Mala could sense the openness of love. The sensation was coupled with the warmth one gets when surrounded by family. She smiled at the images and sensations. These were future images. Itishree was alive. She would have a husband and a child. They would be happy and fall deeper into love as time passed.

  Mala's fears washed away under the weight of renewed happiness. More images came. She saw Itishree in front of crowds both outside and from under enclosures. She was teaching. Lecturing. People all around Itishree respected her, loved her, believed in her words. Their faces fixed upon Itishree. She saw more images of Itishree standing before throngs of people, speaking, educating, inspiring those who gathered around her.

  Mala looked up at Gabriel's face and asked, “My Itishree is alive and happy?”

  Gabriel nodded twice and smiled. His eyes were as blue and deep as time, she noticed.

  She closed her eyes and new tears of joy came.

  “Wait,” Mala said. “You will keep her safe?”

  She looked up at Gabriel again. He brushed back her hair and holding the back of her head, nodded again. This time the Archangel’s face was solemn, serious.

  Gabriel stood and brought Mala to her feet at the same time. Once she was under her own balance, Gabriel took a step backwards and grew the displaced meter back to his full height. He turned and was gone. His body making an arc of light shooting into the brightening sky. Mala watched as the line of white light drew itself back towards the west, racing away from the new day.

  She collapsed unto the grass and whispered, “thank you.”

  Crickets began to chirp their last songs before the heat of the day sent them underground. Birds hopped back onto tree limbs and looked around sending out calls. Mala caught the faint sounds of civilization again. She found her cup, broken where it had fallen from the bench onto the step stones beneath. She picked up the few pieces and smiled. She looked back into the sky. The darkness was nearly gone now. Only a thin trace of the white line remained. Then, disappeared.

  Change Begins

  Gabriel road his stream of light west. He took several minutes to cross back into the Western Hemisphere. He flew high in the atmosphere instead of using a more commercial altitude. He relived encountering the military aircraft. The collateral damage had been high and repeating that stunt was to be avoided, if possible. Witnessing his automaton-self kill for no reason caused pain inside of the Archangel. But Gabriel knew there would be more pain. Others would have to die. But some deserved to die and worse. He swept away the brief misery and concentrated of his tasks. Traveling around to do his mission wasn't putting the vessel or his prophet in danger and therefore, he could destroy where destruction was called upon.

  His beam materialized within a courtyard of a large white building near Orlando, Florida. The sky was full of folding reds and yellows. Darkness was an hour away. Gabriel stood a moment weighing his responsibilities. In his mind the near future was a fixed set of events. In this moment he neither regretted nor relished what he was about to begin. These were just the tasks set out for him. But Gabriel admitted to himself tonight's task he may enjoy.

  He shrank and solidified his form and used an unlocked rear door. This so-called church was a sprawling complex of buildings added onto as the funds and responsibilities allowed. He walked down a long hall way. On Gabriel's right and left the rooms were multifunctional. He stopped at an open doorway and peered in. The room was a classroom. Possibly one used to teach the lies of hate this ministry had employed in Africa, or in the Americas.

  He turned and looked down the empty hall. Ahead he could see the double doors of the sanctum. There were halls ahead to the left and right. Gabriel continued to explore, walking quietly down the hall. There was no hurry. Except for his task, he knew he was alone in the building. He stopped by a large cork board covered in written material. Class schedules, event reminders, and sheets regaling God's work. Pictures of the senior pastor, Mark White, were surrounded with messages loaned from our father. A burning inside Gabriel began to grow. This man had orchestrated sins spanning continents. As he turned and quickened his pace, a sword sprang and grew from his right hand. The sword was long, over six feet. It was said to have been forged whole from God's own hand, the sword was solid metal. It's appearance was monogamous. There were no jewels in the hilt, and no leather wrapped it's three hand's breath length. Gabriel walked with the sword point down near the floor.

  “Enough,” Gabriel said.

  His form shifted from solid to light. Gabriel moved as lightning within the walls of the massive church, burning through every wall between him and this pastor. There was a booming whip crack of thunder that trailed directly behind the Archangel. The concussion blast blew Mark White's desk free of paper. The room shook from Gabriel's presence. The human jumped from the sudden entrance. Pictures and plagues fell from the office walls.

  Gabriel stood before a large pecan desk. Three human forms could have laid across its length together. The desk was also ornate. Each corner was carved resembling ancient columns covered in vines. The surface was at least three inches thick and held several cutouts to pass electronic cables. But now the human's computing accessories lay behind him on the floor.

  Gabriel took a moment to admire and record the desk. There may come a time to replicate such a marvel.

  But that may be the future. This was the present.

  Mark White was understandably mortified. He began spouting the most ridiculous of questions. “Who are you? Who let you in? What do you want?” And, then began making demands, “Get out!” the human shouted. Ridiculous puny human.

  Gabriel extended his wings. The room was large but the walls fought to contain the gray-white wings. There was an effect Gabriel had seen before. Mark White's mouth stopped emitting sound. The color drained from his face and his eyes widened to twice their normal opening.

  As Gabriel lifted the sword it cut through the massive desk like a molten cheese wire cuts through warm tofu. The blade not only cut, it also burned the desk as it traveled. Whiffs of acrid smoke rolled from the blade. The right side of the desk flipped over backwards as the left crashed inward with a quaking thud.

  Gabriel brought the sword tip up to Mark White and laid the last two inches of the blade upon his sternum. Mark's shirt crackled and a line burned through his shirt before Gabriel squelched the blade's heat.

  Mark made a gibbering sound as his mouth open and closed in quick succession. Gabriel remained expressionless.

  Through the physical contact with the blade Gabriel began transmitting images to Mark White. Images of black men and women hanging, African children crying as their loved ones were dragged away, and of lovers being torn from each other and executed. The images marched beyond each other. Over and over the pictures of the dead clipped by. There were thousands.

  Gabriel watched Mark White's eyes fix and his mind's eye was captured by the streaming images. The pasto
r's breathing began to race.

  “What am I seeing?” he asked.

  “Those that have died from your influence,” Gabriel replied through the sword.

  The images continued.

  “Africa?” it asked.

  “Yes”

  “But these are queers!” it squealed.

  “You lead the influence to have thousands of humans put to death over their personal individuality.” Gabriel said through gritted teeth.

  “These aren't God's children. They were perverts, deviants, homosexuals,” it said.

  Gabriel pushed the blade through it's skin until it touched his breast bone. It screamed.

  “We were doing God's work!” it shouted.

  Gabriel watched it begin to shake. Tears ran from it's eyes. But before the inevitable pleading began, the Archangel said, “Here is God's response. No one has the right to judge another's happiness.” The blade pushed through the back of the office chair. The spray of blood from it's chest foamed and made a pink steam mist. It bucked, struggled to escape from Gabriel's blade, but only made the hole more lethal.

  “Now watch as I end your wicked dynasty.”

  Gabriel removed the blade and drew it into his arm. It vanished. The Archangel drew in a breath and an explosion emanated from Gabriel's body, but it left the pastor where he sat, dying. The energy passed over the desk, pastor, and his bloody chair. But it folded then disintegrated the wall behind him. The shockwave of energy passed across the grounds leveling the church. Many neighboring buildings were damaged too. Small fires erupted from exposed gas lines and flames licked skyward under pressure.

  Now, at the center of what was a sprawling complex of connecting buildings, Gabriel stood on naked dirt and cracked concrete. The Archangel watched as one of humanities pariah took its last breath. Gabriel knew everything this man had built would unravel and fall apart now. One less murderer. The ground swell of hate that polarized three African nations would be reversed.

  “I do God’s work,” the Archangel said to himself.

 

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