“I don't want to go with you anymore. I don't want to play a part in your annihilation.”
“That's enough!” ordered Tara, waving her hand. “Stop being so negative. Tomorrow we're going to kill this child together, like we planned. Then I'll go back to the Decision-Makers and reclaim my position at the head of the Fifth Legion. When I return, you'll see that I was right.”
Nina’s eyes, still overflowing with tears, remained glued to the floor. She didn’t answer. Her trembling body and the hollow expression on her face were proof of her disagreement.
Then, she suddenly turned on her heels and left the room without saying a word. Still in shock, Tara watched her disappear without trying to hold her back, not knowing what to think about what had just happened. It was only several minutes later that she finally managed to turn off the light.
She didn't have a good night. The faces of the Sages appeared to her in her dreams as monsters ready to kill her. She was hunted and tortured, betrayed by her own side... In the distance, she could hear Nina's heart-breaking voice telling her that she should have stayed with her and deserted the Decision-Makers forever. Finally, They grabbed her and dragged her to a dark room where she remained sequestered for what seemed like an eternity. One fine day, a seraph guard who looked like Enkaz, came to her and decreed that he had come to carry out the orders of the Sages: the next moment, he cut off her wings with his sword. This punishment among the angels was called amputation. Screaming in pain, Tara now bathed in the blood that poured from her back, as she lay alone in her dark cell, her wings on the floor beside her.
She woke up with a start as the pain in her dream became unbearable. She was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Her heart was pounding wildly. She knew she was in danger, yet she couldn’t back down now. There was no escape: she had to kill the child as she had been ordered to do. But Nina wasn’t wrong: Diane's death was an outcome she had to seriously consider.
Anxious, she got up to get a glass of water while repeating over and over again in her mind the plan she had worked out with Nina to kill the child. Enkaz had given her all the information she needed, it wouldn't be too difficult... at least she hoped it wouldn’t be.
As agreed, she met with Nina at noon at Châtelet, in a small, damp and dark, cobble stoned street. Mother and child lived alone on the second floor of an old decaying building. As soon as she saw Nina, Tara felt the pain that was emanating from her heart. A strong throbbing pain mixed with a lot of love. Nina's watery eyes weren’t very encouraging.
“I'm not going to die,” Tara said, annoyed by Nina’s fear that had given her nightmares all night long.
She wasn’t reassured about the Decision-Makers either. She didn't need Nina's grief-stricken eyes to remind her of the danger she might be facing if she succeeded in her mission.
“If anything should happen,” the coach replied in the same tone, “I want you to know that no one is more important to me than you.”
“Stop!” Tara cried.
She didn’t understand how this statement could be coming from the woman who had put her through such hell for two months without ever showing her the slightest consideration.
“Focus on the mission. You'll see, I'll prove you wrong.”
“I hope so,” Nina said, following her lead.
Nina's pessimism encouraged her to prove that she deserved to reclaim her position as seraph. Soon, she would sit on the throne alongside her peers and be received by the Decision-Makers once again. She would return to the head of her army of six hundred legionaries and prove to all those who had doubted her that she was worthy of them.
They arrived in front of a small wooden door locked by a code. Tara entered the code that opened the door without delay. They then entered a tiny stairwell that smelled like mold and stung their nostrils. Nina quickly covered her mouth to avoid coughing. The light wasn’t working, forcing them to grope their way up the wooden stairs to the second floor. The wood creaked under their weight, as if it was ready to break. The insalubrity of the place made their hearts ache.
When they arrived on the first floor, they discovered a door with chipping paint. It was made of armored steel and was lit by a tiny opening in the wall that was almost entirely hidden by countless spider webs.
“Only one floor to go,” Tara whispered, slowly creeping ahead.
Her heart was beating so fast that she could feel her pulse echoing in her ears. She would have collapsed if her anxiety hadn’t been overpowered by the adrenaline. Finally, the fateful moment arrived.
When they reached the second floor, they stopped silently in front of the door like two predators. There was no room for error now. They were only allowed to strike once, and they couldn’t make any mistakes. Nina would take care of the mother while Tara killed the infant.
They stood in front of the apartment door that was dimly lit by the whitish light that came through the tiny window. Without wasting a second, Nina took a metal instrument out of her pocket and used it to open the door. It wasn’t locked so it opened almost instantly.
Tiptoeing like two cheetahs on the lookout for their prey, they entered the apartment, arriving directly in the tiny living room. The walls were just as decrepit as the rest of the building.
Suddenly, Tara froze in her tracks as an inexplicable feeling of tenderness took hold of her: sitting in front of them, she saw the mother who had fallen asleep in a small sunken armchair, next to a wooden crate elevated by two other crates that served as a cradle. The mother's face, although deeply marked by her dark under-eye circles, radiated a soothing contentment as she slept beside her child.
The scene made Tara lose all memory of her mission instantly. But she was brought back to reality when she saw Nina delicately approaching the armchair with a syringe full of anesthetic and stealthily pricking the arm of the mother who barely felt a thing. Seconds later, she was sound asleep.
“You can go ahead now,” said the coach, looking emotionlessly at the child.
Tara was still standing in the entrance of the apartment and hadn’t seen the infant's face. Nonetheless, the sight of the little family peacefully asleep had touched her heart. So much so, that she couldn’t move.
“I can't do it in front of the mother,” she said painfully.
“She's sleeping,” the coach remarked with an icy matter-of-factness.
“Even so.”
Surprised, Nina glanced at her in disbelief. Nonetheless, she understood from Tara's expression that she needed to move the mother away from the child. She did so without delay. Grabbing the sleeping woman and lifting her as if she only weighed a few grams, she disappeared with her into a dark room at the far end of the apartment.
All of a sudden, Tara found herself alone with the child, the baby who one day, she said to herself in order to regain her courage, would seriously harm women and all those whom he judged inferior to him. He would become a violent man and an excellent orator who would lead his disciples into committing terrible crimes.
Taking a deep breath, she solemnly walked towards the wooden crate in which the baby lay sleeping. Despite her precautions, the wooden floor creaked despite her slow and cautious steps. Then, she heard a sound coming from the cradle. It was the baby. He had heard her. He was probably waiting for her to come now, hoping it was his mother she thought.
Horrified, Tara felt her blood freeze over. Barely breathing, she continued to move forward, readying herself to discover the innocent face of the child the Decision-Makers had ordered her to eliminate.
Now, standing in front of the cradle, she stopped dead in her tracks. In awe, she gazed lovingly at the almost naked baby, lying on a cushion that served as a mattress and covered with a simple woolen blanket.
When he saw her, he stopped fidgeting and opened his eyes wide, curious, almost seduced by the being that stood before him. As she contemplated his chubby little body, Tara's ambition had completely disappeared, giving way to a terrible feeling of anxiety. She felt her legs tremble as
she gasped for air. The child had smooth, pure skin, and he continued to gaze at her with his surprised and innocent little eyes.
“Do it,” whispered Diane, who was fully awake inside her.
Tara stooped down over the wooden crate, trembling, not letting the baby out of her sight. The little one looked at her without blinking an eye, he seemed amazed by her long blonde hair.
“Just do it! He’ll be born again into a new body, one with a better destiny for himself and for humanity. You're doing him a favor.”
Tara couldn't breathe. She was sickened by what was being asked of her. Reluctantly, she put her hand into the wooden crate. The closer they got to the child, the more she felt her strength leaving her.
“Hurry,” Diane ordered. “The longer you wait, the more your human weaknesses will prevent you from doing what’s right.”
Tara gagged violently. The child felt the anguish eating away at her and became agitated. Suddenly, she put her hands on his little mouth and nose to prevent him from breathing. She felt the baby's soft, smooth cheeks, refreshed by the damp, cold air in the room. He tried to scream, but Tara was leaning on him, preventing all sound from escaping. The baby’s face quickly became blood red, as he wiggled and squirmed in all directions, trying to escape her hold. Her face twisted and tears rolled down her cheeks as she tortured the tiny being. His fragile skull seemed to be crushed under the pressure of her hands. Disgusted, Tara cried uncontrollably while she continued to crush the innocent being who struggled in vain under the pressure of her hands. She was fully conscious of her dreadful act and the unfairness of the fight. The more the seconds went by, the more her heart felt torn apart.
It was then, just as she felt that he was about to give up, when his movements became slower and slower, weaker and weaker, that Tara really realized what she was doing.
Unable to continue, she suddenly took her hands off the child's face. He barely had the strength to catch his breath. Seeing him so weak, she was overcome with an irrepressible maternal instinct. She quickly picked the baby up and cradled it in her arms, focusing on bringing him back. She hadn’t forgotten the healing power of the angels, and moreover, of the Seraphim. She concentrated intensely on his little body, re-injecting him with the energy of life as she held him.
The baby, whose mouth was covered with drool, became less red within seconds, then his complexion turned pink before going back to its normal color. His vital energy was flowing back into his limbs, helping them regain their strength.
Then, in addition to vitality, she sent him love. There was no better remedy than love. The unconditional love that she sent him was just as strong as the guilt she felt.
When she knew that he was out of danger, she prayed that this love would never leave him, hoping that it would guide him in the life choices he would make in the future. If he was guided by love, she thought, he could never become a murderer.
Delicately, she put him back down on the cushion at the bottom of the box and wrapped him in the woolen blanket. He had recovered his serenity and had fallen deeply asleep: she could leave now.
Distressed, she couldn't face Nina straight away. Instead, she chose to shout to the dark room in the back of the apartment that the mission had been accomplished, while simultaneously running out at top speed, leaving the door open behind her. She had almost killed an infant with her own two hands. There was nothing glorious about killing a helpless being. The angels of the Sphere were monsters.
Disgusted by the act she had almost committed, she continued to run once she was out of the building. She ran fast, frantically, as if to escape from Diane, Nina, and her destiny. Without thinking, she ran towards the Seine, too upset to go home and face the other missionaries; too upset to face any human beings either. She no longer knew who’s side she was on. She no longer knew who she was.
Once alone, she stopped next to the riverbank, trembling, her face contorted by her sobbing. So that's what it was like to be a missionary? Killing helpless humans? What was the merit in that? Was death the only way to bring balance to the Earth? Peace seemed to depend on a bloodthirsty dictatorship governed by the angels. Was that what she aspired to?
On the brink of collapse, she sat down on the cobblestoned banks of the Seine and lost herself in her thoughts. She was a monster. Diane had earned her fame at the cost of hundreds of helpless lives. Did one have to be a devil to shine among the angels? Was that why the great warrior had deserted her legion for over two hundred years? Apparently not... since the seraph herself had encouraged her to suffocate the child.
At the same moment, the image of the infant’s face, red with pain and tears, came back to her mind making her immediately feel nauseous. The thoughts were so vivid that she could do nothing else but vomit profusely as she bent over the Seine. She was disgusting. She didn’t deserve to be called an angel. She was no better than the demons.
Feeling weak, she sat on the banks of the Seine for several hours, hanging her head down in grief. Empty of all desire, she didn’t even bother to wipe away her tears. This wasn’t her. She wasn't a child killer.
“You failed. You’ve sacrificed us.”
From the other dimension, and yet in the very heart of her being, Diane’s voice echoed like a death sentence.
“You were asked to sacrifice one life in order to save thousands of others; you really don’t understand the scope of our mission, do you? If this child survives, thousands will be tortured and perish because of you Tara.”
Following Diane's harsh disapproval, Tara gagged even more intensely, but there was nothing left to vomit. She just stood there, motionless, pale and sweaty. She knew she had failed. She didn’t have what it took to do otherwise she thought.
And as if to torture her even more, she could feel the seraph's anger and disappointment rising from the depths of her being. Unlike her, the warrior within her was ready to massacre anything that stood in the way of achieving her goals. After this betrayal, the one who had pleaded Tara’s case to Sofia, now categorically disowned her; Diane no longer recognized herself in her.
“You don't recognize yourself in me anymore?” replied Tara in a disenchanted voice. “Well, from what I’ve been told, I’m a part of you.”
She then grinned scornfully before continuing:
“Which means that the weakness you accuse me of isn’t only mine Diane, it's yours too.”
“Never have I had an incarnation that was so weak,” replied the seraph in a murderous tone. “You must be the sum of all my weaknesses concentrated into one insignificant person.”
“Or maybe you changed during your two hundred years of wandering. Maybe your heart of stone has softened...”
“Only death welcomes the weak when they go to battle. If my heart has softened, I’ll make it tough again. I don’t belong with the weak.”
“And what if it wasn't weakness? This love Diane... this compassion...”
“Do you even know what you're talking about! This love you think you feel for a future tyrant who will lead thousands of women and children to their deaths! Aren't you ashamed to feel compassion towards him?”
They both remained silent for a long time. A silence during which each considered the other with anger, contempt and resentment.
Then, after a few minutes, Diane seemed to calm down. Astonished, Tara felt that the seraph was trying to understand her... Because to understand Tara was to understand herself...
After a long moment, they finally converged. Tara felt that the seraph was beginning to accept her own weakness. It was then that Tara recognized Diane's remarkable intelligence: intelligent people don't lie to themselves, they face the truth, first to understand it, then to master it. Thus, Tara understood that Diane was simply trying to control her own weaknesses so as not to let herself be dominated by them anymore.
“Every life is precious,” began Diane, in a sign of forgiveness. “but the number prevails over the individual.”
“Why was he allowed to be born then?”
“We do our best to control human destinies, but we’re not always able to react before a soul incarnates.”
“Am I really supposed to think that I would have done a good deed by killing that child?”
“Yes, you are.”
Tara didn't answer. She was silent for a few seconds before smiling scornfully:
“How could I possibly think such a thing?”
“By not looking at the life you would have taken but at the lives you would have saved. There are thousands of them.”
Tara looked down. Reasoning in that way broke her heart. She didn't want to consider human life in such a pragmatic way.
“Don't forget,” Diane continued, “their souls are always left untouched. By killing this child, you would have only separated the soul from the body. It would have reincarnated soon enough. And thanks to you, he certainly would have had a happier life than the one he would have lived now.”
“But how did we get here? I thought that no birth was due to chance.”
“Indeed, every entity has a destiny, more or less grand, more or less virtuous.”
“Why do negative destinies exist? Why don't the Sages only create good destinies? Humans would be naturally happy. And we wouldn't have to do all this dirty work.”
“It's not up to Them.”
Tara went silent again. After thinking about it at length, her heart suddenly jumped in her chest:
“In that case, who decides on their destinies?”
“The Universe.”
“The Universe...”
She remained silent for a moment. Instead of appeasing her, Diane's words revolted her:
“You mean to tell me that the Sages order the killing of beings whose fate has been decided by the Universe?”
“Exactly. In order to maintain balance.”
“In order to maintain balance...” Tara repeated mechanically. “So, the Sages go against the decisions of the Universe?”
“Yes, but only if necessary to maintain balance.”
HAGEN: 1. Revelations Page 31