Hope's Light

Chapter 10

by Erisian

Book 6

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Part Three

 

Chapter Ten - Keepers

 

Layers unfold as the Book advances chapters, and intervals beyond time nevertheless speed forward.

Past further iterations of Light’s expansion, past concept of boundary enforced by the one called to such purpose, past moment of blood and sacrifice, of pain and birth.

Upon the constructed foundation the greater nexus is forged complete by a growing and active Will. A Will expressed through all those now in existence, by the varied and combined abstracts which have expanded and increased their number - each with refinements and developments found within the emerging subtleties from the Names of the originals.

To this nexus are purpose and concept bound, intertwining and merging as words become sentences, sentences become paragraphs, and paragraphs coalesce into story.

A story mapped and guided by the uniting and brilliantly multi-hued Center.

Awareness grows across Creation, and from this singular center flows the new: new layers of manifestation, new beings channeling fresh concepts and ideals, new beauty, new glory, and new infinities.

Yet the resonance of this explosion spills beyond the edges, for those mark only boundary and not restriction. Thus is cast fresh Light upon the Dark, and - as if upon a warped mirror - reflections flawed and twisted appear once more. These shadowed reactions thrash in the regions between, their impurities self-actualizing and - to the horror of the shining Words dancing within the firmament - self-replicating.

For those who had fought against the first waves of Chaos, the last was the most worrisome.

With a roar shaking all existence, the largest of these entities - having swallowed and harnessed any brethren within its terrible orbit - smashes with unimaginable force across the boundary, and what Is again mixes directly with what Is Not.

And this corrupted space expands.

Rallied by the Light of the First, the whole of the Host of Holies charges forth on wings blazing with harnessed intent - warrior surgeons slicing away cancerous cells with blades of unending holy fire. The beast of beasts, struggling mightily as its essence confounds the order upon which Creation depends, slowly is beaten back - inch by blood-splattered inch. Against its terrible fury entire cohorts are lost to the diseased incursion - until the blinding power of the Light finally slams the beast across the threshold. There it sinks unto the depths of depths where its awareness, wounded and defeated, slips into a slumber from which all hope it may never awaken.

But from the wake of its devastation, rippling and tearing at the fabric, multiple cancers large and small creep. These unplanned growths infect the tapestry’s unity and all they touch - including members of the Host themselves.

There, fighting at the edge of edges and gleaming in battle-hardened armor crimson and black, the chief of the frontline warriors reaches dreadful decision. Too many are there who cannot be purged of this unleashed perversion of what is. Even should they be imprisoned, the structures forged to hold them would find their perfection decaying and rotting from the untoward pressures contained within, and the plague seeds these infected companions carry would again spread.

With a cry and flash of blazing sword he spills the blood that brings an end to some of their own.

The heartache ripping through his agonized howl summons a pain-filled echo from my chest, and again the page turns.

 

 

Shemyaza.

Co-leader of the fallen Grigori and rebel against the Throne. He who forced his own angelic brethren to breed with humanity in order to spawn an army against Heaven.

And also the entity who had lurked behind the eyes of a brave young man, one who had endeavored to damn himself to Hell to prevent his innermost corrupted spirit from spreading further havoc upon the world.

Fingers tightened in Tsáyidiel’s fur, and a responding low growl built in my beloved gryphon’s throat.

I spoke past my own pulse-pounding clash of rising emotion. “If there is only Shemyaza, then why still wear Cassius’ face?!” The eyes, though. They were wrong: a sickly green - as if my friend’s brilliant blue had been overrun by industrial sludge.

“Amusement!” he sneered. “What else?!”

“I’ve seen in memory the original face you wore in manifestation. Once beautiful and radiant.”

“Look then at what rejection and banishment wrought from life after miserable and mewling life brings - spent as nothing more than a creature barely able to sling two meager ideas together!” He jumped to his feet, tossing back the hood before spreading arms wide.

Upon the forehead of a blond teenager, branded between the yellow strands framing his face sat a brutal red scar, set by the seal his incarnate self had forged. The seal a best friend had been directed unknowingly to use upon him. In addition, forearms also were covered with scars, cuts crossing their curves repeatedly.

With some as fresh and scabbing as those currently decorating my own wrists.

Curled fingers smoothed apart, urging Tsáyidiel to remain calm even as the two Grigori flanking Shemyaza each took a half step forward. On the left was the earth-attuned angel we had just fought, titanium armor upon shoulder and chest crushed inward from Tsáyidiel’s attack.

The other, thin as a dancer, stood wrapped not in armor but black silk. Layer after dark layer enfolded her, covering all but a pair of piercing ivory eyes and a hand extending onyx claws eager to slice and maim.

Except she had no other arm, fabric tight against the shoulder where one should have been. And the feathers upon her wings were not smooth but shredded with a multitude of tiny holes, as if bathed in an acid still hungrily eating its way through.

With use of deeper sight I saw why.

My voice softened. “Was being incarnate really that awful?”

“Awful? Awful?!” Shemyaza’s wings twisted and flexed, hatred bulging from sickly eyes wide and wild. “We who contemplated the infinites, reduced and trapped in muck!! We were meant to raise the pathetic from that dirt and rule!”

“Rule? That was not your charter.”

“Was it not? Does not a parent hold full sway over their untrained and feral children until they reach maturity? Spare the rod, spoil the child!! Humanity, digging with fingernails and teeth in unmanaged soil, were but beasts when we arrived. Beasts! It was our choir who taught them otherwise. Us!” He smirked and added, “Though perhaps I should not expect a lover of brutal Kerubim to understand.”

Tsáyidiel growled again, which only encouraged Shemyaza’s razor-edged laugh.

“See?” he pointed. “Hold tight that leash, Amariel! And question not what decisions we Grigori were forced to make!”

“Forced?”

“Forced!” He barked the word, then shouted it again even louder. “Forced!! Go to Earth, we were told! Go to the slime and the mire, aid these miserably weak creatures and guide them to their oh-so-holy destinies! And we did, oh we did. And what was received as reward?!”

I stayed silent. He had moved away from the throne, pacing there behind the two bodyguards to pause each time within their shadows, ones cast by all the illumination flowing through me - a Light that yearned to enfold them all.

“Well? I cannot hear you. WHAT DID WE RECEIVE?!”

“I do not know.”

“Yes, you do! You do!! Because Aradia knew! But fine,” he said with false calm, as hands continued to tremble. “I shall tell you what we were not offered. Not a chance to rejuvenate our spirits in the Above, to rebalance the divine with the mundane shells we were required to garb ourselves with upon the material planes, oh no. Not as asked, begged, and pleaded for. Instead we were slandered as unworthy - with agents of their cursed council sent to destroy us!”

“Only after Azazel joined with Alal and-”

“ALAL USED HIM!!” All calm shattered as he leapt atop the metal bench, wings snapping through the air behind. Clenching a fist between us he screamed, “SHE USED HIM!!” With that fist he pounded against the scars scorched into his forehead. “With so many promises - the power to defend ourselves - the power to defeat the Throne! Lies. ALL LIES!! What was I to do?” Staring at the hand’s unfolding fingers, he then flinched at the sight of the marks on his arm. “They would have killed us all. Because of my brother’s corruption!” Raising head, he glared again at me - spitting fury and pain. “Archangels deal in absolutes - be they in Heaven or Hell. Even now, the princes of these rotting realms hunt us for my brother’s sin! I fought to keep my people safe!!”

Kokabiel’s memories dug into thoughts: scenes of her being forced to breed child after beloved child, so many which could never survive the unbalanced blend of essences angel and mortal, their dead bodies cradled ever so close in her madly weeping arms.

And for this struggle on behalf of her prince, Shemyaza had thrown her to Azazel to become but a Chaos-overwhelmed thrall.

I couldn’t hold back.

“Safe?!” A foot moved forward as the Light below my skin flared brighter still, causing the two flanking Grigori to flinch and step back. “What of Kokabiel and all the others ruined by your ambition?! Once Azazel crossed that line, you knew what you had to do! But your avarice and greed to rule prevented it!!”

“HE WAS MY BROTHER!!” roared Shemyaza, and the wide chamber contracted, walls and ceiling pulled by the power flowing through his wings as the lines of the realm itself bent and curved.

“And how many more of your brothers and sisters died because of him - because of you!!” The power within surged even further, and with it flowing freely I pushed the space back to its proper alignment.

The tension inflicted upon the weakened realm from being caught between us triggered another quake.

This time a much larger one.

Floor, walls, and ceiling spasmed - the standing lamps scattered about like dropped toothpicks. At the center, five angels spread wings to remain steady even as everything around us slammed back and forth. Stone groaned from numerous spreading cracks and huge slabs began to fall from the ceiling.

Our eyes met, the dark prince’s and mine. And behind his gaze flared something more - a spark of clearer waters leaking through determined to find purchase. With a strangled cry, it found it - and in wordless exchanged agreement, we did what was necessary.

His dark wings expanded over us, lines of force spilling upward from each feather to wrap and catch each falling stone and to reinforce every splintering wall, floor tile, and much more. And as for me, well, the Light unfolded the second set of wings and reached out to the realm itself, brushing past the four elemental layers which had been piled atop the other like a stack of plastic toy bricks: fire over air above earth floating on water. Behind them all, within the structures that maintained them, lay a hollow center. Threads lining that gap had begun to unravel, weak from the lack of an archangel’s will - and empty from the lack of the primal energy needed to fuel the whole.

I’d touched that emptiness at the core before, while channeling the Purpose still infusing everything surrounding it. Samael had cut himself free of the realm he’d created, but that hadn’t changed the meanings he’d embedded into his former home.

Survival. Raw untrammeled survival. And the will to destroy any and all threats against such. Having fought my way across the blood-slicked plains of Hell, I knew that need. I’d embraced it, embodied it.

As had Shemyaza, in his own twisted way.

But so had Cassius - except not for himself.

Letting fresh power flow into those wavering threads and thereby calm them, together my emerging friend and I tamed the spike of dramatic instability our opposing emotionally-driven energies had accidentally triggered.

When the tremendous shaking finally stopped, Tsáyidiel hovered behind me. He had protected my back from the other two Grigori who had moved to flank us. This left me face to face with their prince whose rage found itself suppressed - if only momentarily.

“You have the power,” said Cassius eventually, his strikingly blue eyes shining clear. “You could grant this realm an anchor.”

“I will not. I believe in more than for what it was made.”

“It needs one.”

“I know.”

What was left unsaid was what we’d both felt and understood. The realm had refused to accept any other angel to fill itself - the many factions were too splintered. Unless enough souls and spirits - whether contained within demons or otherwise - united under a single banner, none would be considered worthy of replacing the original owner.

With three sets of wings I could overwhelm and override that requirement. But if I did, such would require rewriting everything this place was.

Likely along with everyone within it.

A tired smile emerged. “Your answer to our final essay for the Rabbi.”

“I suppose it is.” I so wanted to touch his face, to brush away the yellow strands dangling over those pained eyes and cheeks. An urge so strong that a hand reached out on its own.

But my friend flinched and spun away. “No!!”

“Why? Please, Cassius, before the old mask recovers, let me-”

“No!” he said again as resolution solidified upon his youthful features. “No atonement could possibly suffice for what was done.”

“But those were his sins, not yours! And have you not paid enough for them?!”

“All are his, as all are mine.”

Moisture threatened to leak along the curves of my cheeks. “Then how can I help you?”

Looking past a brightly winged shoulder, he pointed to the angel wrapped in black cloth. “Remove Azazel’s taint from Yomyael. She is hunted because of it.”

I knew what he meant. Azazel’s touch of Chaos was upon her - he’d used her as a puppet, just as he’d used the agent he’d sent to the Citadel before they’d been destroyed by my timely support of one of Beelzebub’s ego-conquered flies. The remnants of primal Chaos left behind by the proto-Archon defeated above the skies of the Rock was eating away at her pattern.

Shifting in the air, both our attentions moved to her.

She recoiled. “What??”

Eyes of brightness examined her pattern more closely, and an ache throbbed through my chest. “Your heart. It lies shut and locked tightly within.”

Anger flared. “So?”

“You would fight the Light until the end. You would block any attempt to heal.”

“The Light? Screw the Light! Why would I ever touch those lies again?!”

“Because you’ll die otherwise, idiot!” Cassius shouted, though Shemyaza’s harsh tone bled through. “Don’t be so fucking stupid!”

Backing further away, she slashed at the air between us with the claws of her only hand. “I will never forgive what they did to us! Never!”

With fingernails gouging across a forearm to pull fresh blood, Cassius barked, “Let Amariel save at least you before Shemyaza’s cursed madness returns and puts a stop to it!”

“You refused too! Why shouldn’t I?!” Her face twisted into a horrible grimace, ravaging what otherwise would have been beautiful. “I loved the humans! I worked with them, taught them, cared for them - each and every new dawn! And I was forced to watch them die! Generation after generation, sunset after sunset, century after century! You,” she shouted at Cassius - and through him at Shemyaza, “You never loved them as I did! Never let them chip away and steal your heart piece by buried piece!”

“So you locked it all away,” I said quietly.

“Love yields only pain!”

With nails digging even deeper into manifested flesh, Cassius swallowed. “Then you’ll die.”

“Fine! On my terms, I’ll embrace it!”

To my surprise, I found myself speaking. “Behold, for there exists an alternate path by which her existence is preserved.” Light flared bright, and for a moment there were no shadows in the hall.

Cassius blinked in confusion. “How?”

“By use of this.”

Extending a hand, a burst of new Light - and new Darkness - filled the space as again I held the Spear of Destiny.

Though I wasn’t sure that was still its name.

Crafted by blending a Chaos-forged sword as it plunged into my chest with a Roman spear which had survived the ages by having been blessed with holy blood, illumination entwined with its lack in a tight double helix forming shaft and spear tip - meeting at a point sharper than sharp, brighter than bright, and yet simultaneously darker than dark.

A singularity where Chaos met the name of Elohim - where What Could Be But Isn’t combined with What Is.

My friend, always ready with precise elocution, was stunned to silence as his two Grigori companions pulled shoulders forward to try and block the contradicting yet merged fields of power with their folded wings.

Not that their feathers could.

Gaping at it, Cassius finally found his voice, albeit hoarsely. “That’s…Amariel, what have you done to it?!”

“Forged that which is needed.”

Fear filled those eyes, and an even more terrified aspect within shrieked and fled below the icy blue irises entirely. “Have you any concept of what such a thing’s existence alone threatens? What wielding that could unleash?!”

I totally didn’t, yet that’s not what I said in response. “I do what I must, Grigori.”

A face now far paler than the yellow strands framing it nodded as he then looked at Yomyael. “Can it purge her of the poison’s touch?”

“It can contain it. Though not without great pain, for should I withhold the blessings of the Light her pattern will not undergo healing. She will live. Damaged and broken, but alive.” I too returned attention to the corrupted angel. “What say you?”

Hiding behind wings in the process of gaining more holes than feathers, Yomyael peered past. “I fear no pain.”

“Then brace yourself, you who once encompassed the Days of the Most High.”

Bravely her wings lowered, and with anger-fueled resolution she growled, “Do it.”

And so I did.

A scream of horrible agony escaped her throat to scrape across stone and beam of the still-standing hall, summoning yet more dust that fell through the terrible echoes.

For I had stretched out my other hand, and with a twist of wrist began ripping free the infection of her spirit that should not be. At first thin tendrils smoked past the wraps - burning through silk which quickly disintegrated and fell away, but the streams thickened into coils to course past skin, bleed from her eyes, and vomit from every pore and orifice.

The other guarding Grigori moved as if to catch and hold her, but a flick of intent sent him speeding across the hall. “Interfere not, Turiel - you who were the Rock of the Lord. Lest you too become corrupt.”

Her cries became shrieks as she thrashed - arm, legs, and wings, all desperately trying to pull away but finally falling still with only whimpers - for my will held her fixed in place within the air. All the corruption, all the energy foreign to Creation, flowed at my command - and poured into the Spear.

Where Elohim’s Name along with my own merged the unwritten Chaos with that which was already bound.

As the last drop of that which straddles what Is and what Is Not became sealed within the Spear, I motioned for Cassius to collect his sister and then released her into his arms. She was, at this point, blessedly unconscious.

Holding her tenderly, he peered past pale bangs in awe and caution.

Still holding the weapon shining both bright and not, heavy sadness settled upon my feathers. “I had hoped to carry you from this prison, to restore you unto incarnation in the Book of Life. The seal on angels was restored, a path for such is possible.”

He shook his head. “Shemyaza - and therefore I - deserve to be here. It’s safer for everyone. Including us.”

“Is this truly your wish?”

“It is. Will you honor it?”

With a sigh the Spear returned to be held within my spirit’s grasp only, and the odd Light-which-wasn’t faded away. “I shall, Cassius. Though I certainly don’t like it.”

“Should you escape Hell again, tell the Rabbi I believe you aced his essay exam.”

“Your solution sucks, but…so did you.”

He smiled then, an expression genuine as well as rare. “What will you do next?”

I stared past the rock to see the sparks of all the souls and spirits beyond them. “Seek hidden secrets. And find the others my heart clamors to aid.”

“Hidden secrets?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.” A tremor went through him as something inside fought to emerge, but he held on. “Did you immediately fly to Hell because Jenna sent me all the way down? I haven’t been here that long, not even relatively.”

“She’s hurt by what happened. She blames herself.”

He sighed. “Tell her I am sorry and that it wasn’t her fault. At all. And you haven’t answered the question.”

“I didn’t come just for you. But it was certainly a factor in the decision.”

“Thank you.”

“Should you change your mind-”

“I know who to call.”

“Good.” I bit a lip. “I’d hug you but…”

He quickly backed away. “No touching! This close is hard enough as is!”

“Okay. I just…okay. But I hate it! You know that, right?!”

“I do. And I’m sorry about that too.”

We shared one of those awkward pauses. I wanted to either shake sense into him or grab him close and never let go. But I couldn’t. Just like with Yomyael, if he kept his heart closed all I’d do is set him aflame.

Internally however, I vowed to never give up.

There had to be a way.

After the awkward moment something else flickered across his thoughts and then focused. “Hey, Jordan?”

“Yeah?”

“We heard about what occurred over on the Rock. My alternate ass was naturally intrigued to find out what exactly happened to our corrupted brother. Did you really team up with Camael and Barakiel? You failed to mention this back at the Academy.”

“With Shemyaza listening, can you blame me for not filling you in on all the details?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“It is true though. Barakiel helped Camael navigate Hell so he could find me.”

“Then this will interest you: A number of firestorms ago, Camael stumbled wounded out of the city’s plumbing into the fighting pits where desperate and starving demons swarm. He was carrying a comatose Barakiel. A terrible slaughter of those demons commenced, wiping out most of them.” He waved at the hall around us. “Hence this place being so empty and available.”

I frowned. “I just ran into Barakiel, he didn’t mention any of that.”

“Turiel has no idea what it was about, but from a distance watched the start of Camael’s unleashed fury before deciding it was far safer to be elsewhere.”

“Huh. Thanks.”

“And as we’re sharing information, want to expound on why you showed up on my doorstep in disguise amongst a crew of unmarked souls?”

“Oh. Sure. Citadel Security is pissed that their SWAT team got swatted. An agent tricked me into investigating the occurrence while I was looking into something else - I had no idea you were here.”

“So what were you after exactly?”

“Ever hear of the ‘Apostle’?”

“Ah. That.”

“Yeah. That. Know anything about him?”

“Only that he’s a demon that leads souls into worshiping you. I take it such adoration isn’t sponsored?”

“No, it most certainly is not. I’ve heard he’s using these underground spaces too - he could be nearby.”

He pondered. “There are many old and abandoned tunnels around where water was once raised to the city prior to the piping system being built.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” I too mused for a moment. “You know, the Citadel is bound to report your presence here to the Sarim.”

“We’ll be careful. And you be sure to do the same with that Spear. What you just did will be felt.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do.”

“Gee thanks, Yoda.”

He glowered in annoyance, but then looked thoughtful. “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“If you do make it back again, you really ought to have a conversation with your cat.”

“With Khan-kitty??”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He grinned, and for a moment looked like nothing more than a mischievous teenaged boy - albeit one with black wings struggling internally to keep a far eviler mind at bay. “Pretty sure you’ll figure it out. Goodbye, Jordan, and don’t be too stupid - as hard for you as that is!” Without waiting for a response, he flew off towards the keep’s inner rooms, Yomyael held carefully in his arms with Turiel following.

Which left me looking at Tsáyidiel in confusion.

“What was that about?”

“I dare not offer guess, my Queen.”

Puzzled, I shrugged and tried to decide on my next move. But still.

Khan?

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian