Hope's Light

Prologue & Chapter 1

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Part One

 

Prologue - Bargain

 

“Are you certain this is the right path?”

Two figures crept down a narrow underground passageway, shoes slipping across shallow puddles lining the curved concrete floor. Their coats, one jet black and the other a lighter brown, flickered in the weak light offered only by a white crystal held forward by the taller and much darker-skinned man.

“They didn’t provide a map, Callas. I told you the same instructions they told me, and your memory is as perfect as mine. If you think we’ve misapplied the sequence, you should’ve spoken up.”

“Hmm.”

“There: twenty more paces and hang a left at that junction.”

A loud yet distant thud resonated through the tall pipe they walked down, vibrations disturbing dust from its walls. This was followed by another, and then a third.

Pausing to listen, the shorter man ran fingers through hair buzzed to equally short lengths. “They’ve started shelling again. Great.”

“You said this was neutral territory.”

“More like no-demon’s-land. None of the factions have been able to take permanent hold of this part of the city. Maybe one of them is trying again.”

“This is not reassuring, Nicolas.”

“Hey - you came to me, remember? It’s not like I wanted to be down here.”

“It could be a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap! We’re poking around under the biggest city in Hell! And I bet the fighting pits are right outside these waterways.”

“And this contact of yours indeed has means to provide what I require?”

“Yeah, he’s got several patsies up top he can get messages to.”

“You are certain.”

“I’m sure. I used to be one of them. From what I understand, the jerk’s just holing up for now - likely waiting to see which way the fire-winds blow before declaring any allegiances. Let’s get a move on, or we’re gonna be late.”

The pair proceeded on, wading through the artificial streams and wending their way through the maze of concrete pipes and maintenance passages until reaching a wider juncture where multiple water sources converged below the metal grating currently upholding their feet.

From the absolute darkness ahead a rasping voice spoke.

“That’s far enough.”

“Pruflas, that you?”

The voice gave a sound like coughing, but both recognized it as laughter. “It is I, in the flesh just as you are, Nick Wright…or shall I call you Barakiel?”

“Whatever floats your boat.” Nick shrugged, a hand slipping into one of his coat’s many pockets.

“And your companion, is this truly he who the overlords of Hell so fear? The mighty Butcher of the Fallen who piled their corpses so high as to make even Michael and the Throne tremble?”

The small crystal held by dark-skinned fingers glowed brighter. “That is neither my name nor title. Yet I have been called such by the enemies of the Light.”

From the surrounding darkness pushing against that light a different voice slithered, as if coming from all the sides of the room. “The Light which has abandoned you, Prince Camael. Twice.”

It all happened within the smallest fraction of a second.

A sharpened shaft of gleaming marble launched at incredible speed from a corner, the shockwave of its hypersonic travel trailing behind as a tunnel through the air. Batting the missile aside with a palm, the one called Camael flared with fire as crimson wings stretched from his back while gold-lined obsidian armor including helm shimmered into existence in place of coat and trousers. Simultaneously, chains burst upward from the waters below his feet, tossing aside metal grates as they punched through, their links wrapping around the manifested angel’s forearms. Forearms that had remained bare - a gap in the otherwise complete armored ensemble.

And the links were coated with a blue ice now melting against the unprotected skin.

Numbness spread from that contact to swallow perception. Pain immediately flared from two sources: the first intensely ripping across a wing, and the second through an eye as a golden dagger darted between the slit of the helm to rip away vision already struggling to recover. As Camael’s knee fell to clank against a grate, a two-handed sword - billowing with the same fire as the wings - appeared in his hand.

A hand struggling to find the strength to rise.

“Asmodeus! Enough!” shouted Barakiel, for the features of Nicolas Wright had shifted to ones more tan and younger yet simultaneously much older.

And in his hands were held both a dark blade and a single fire-spewing wing the color of freshly spilled blood.

Like a translucent tarp sliced in twain, the air ripped to reveal the one holding the gold dagger: an angel whose white wings contained no feathers but solid leather as of a brightly painted bat. With hair a brilliant shade of silver held in check by a ribbon of gold, features of incredible beauty turned to focus on Barakiel - thereby revealing an eye socket scorched free of its orb by ancient flame and a trail of burnt and twisted flesh covering that side’s cheek.

“Enough?!” The snarl across a pale mouth flattened. “Yes, enough. Though artistic temptation does present itself, does it not?”

Moving between them, Barakiel held out the collection of long feathers whose flames slowly dimmed like incense charcoal about to go out. “We agreed on a single wing only, that’s all!”

Asmodeus went still, a marble statue forever holding forth offered dagger. “An eye taken, a debt owed one artiste to another. The wing…ahh the wing. That is but payment for this opportunity, a token which may provide for far more in the future. But here and now is your chance, Grigori. By the collective agreement am I bound against directly slaying another Bene-Elohim, but you…you’ve taken no such oath. Not yet! You may achieve your revenge in full - or have you forgotten what you too are owed?!”

Tossing the wing of fire-blooded feathers at Asmodeus’s feet, a sphere of lightning crackled with thunderous arrival within Barakiel’s palm. “I know well what the Butcher stole from me and my family! Now pick up what was agreed and fulfill your part of this bargain!”

“So be it. Though I will admit disappointment: this could have been your masterpiece, your DaVinci or Bach, but alas the inspiring muse rests not upon your shoulders. Pity.” The golden dagger shifted to point at the dimming crimson feathers, willing them to lift into eager fingers. Stepping back into shadows, Asmodeus barked his command. “Pruflas! Give the Grigori his oh-so-searched-for prize. A bargain made, a bargain kept.”

From behind, Camael pushed slowly upwards, chains clinking while blood flowed from below the helm and also across an armored back now carrying but one unmatched wing. With a groan he breathed, “What have you done?”

With attention locked towards the fallen angel slipping from view, the grey of Barakiel’s irises hardened unto steel. “I made a deal.”

Out of the darkness came the sound of choking, or more precisely the wet hacks and gurgles of a great beast vomiting a formerly consumed and rather large meal.

With skin resuming its former pallor, Nick moved forward, his glowing lance pushing against the dark. From the shadows at his feet emerged a figure curled wetly upon the metal grating. “Catherine!”

The young woman, blonde hair and green velvet robe slick with demonic gastric juices, gagged. “Fuck, the smell…”

“It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.” With features returned to his most recent incarnation, Nick shook the lance which collapsed to an electric orb instead and knelt beside her. “Cathy - do you remember me?”

Silver-blue irises blinked and stared up. “Nick?”

Relief flooded him. Letting go of the orb so it hovered in the air, he reached out to help her rise. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“You…you came for me.”

Nodding, he took her hand and lifted the woman to her feet. “C’mon, we need to get out of here - I’ll explain everything. But later. You’re safe now, you’re free.”

“Free? We’re in Hell.” She staggered, leaning a shoulder into his chest for support before crying, “How can that ever be free?!”

Concealed by her palm, a small soul-forged knife plunged between two of his ribs.

The blight-filled weapon ripped strength from his legs, and blinking astonishment he toppled more than collapsed.

Hateful satisfaction curled edges of darkly painted lips. “For more years than I can count have I cursed the day we met - and now, by this blade, I curse you direct!!”

From the ground he stared up in pain-filled confusion. “But…I came…to save you…”

She spat upon the wet redness pooling through his shirt and snorted - a quick and bitter sound. “Centuries late! And face it, you arrogant bastard, you’re not here to save me - you’re here to assuage a pathetic conscience! May you forever rot with it!!”

Lashing out, her boot caught his face. She then grimaced from an agony of her own as a demonic sigil re-carved itself across the side of her neck, just over the jugular. Once complete the burning faded into a smoldering glow, and resolute she marched back into the shadows to rejoin her demonic master.

The angelic lord to whom that demon himself bent knee laughed from the many shadows. “As agreed, Grigori. And such a soul, I applaud you! Vengeance, betrayal, what wondrous tapestries of color and verve do they weave! Marvelous!”

Groaning, Nick clutched at his side trying to staunch the outpouring of blood seeping past desperate and tattooed palms.

“Duke Pruflas!” Asmodeus called out again. “One last item before we depart: open these pipes to the pit. Me and mine may not be allowed to finish off this tragic pair - but the unbonded hordes outside labor under no such restriction. Let the starved demon-spawn offer our warrior brothers fresh canvas upon which to splatter the magnificence of vitae - be it their foes or their own!”

The thundering grind of metal-on-metal resounded across the chamber, coming from multiple directions even as the surrounding darkness lost its sense of malevolent presence, leaving the two wounded angels behind.

With a grunt, Camael’s wrist pulled taut a chain and sword’s fire cut across ice and metal to send both clattering to the ground. Maintaining hard-fought focus, he swung the sword about to free the other arm, and with one foot slowly after the other he came to stand over the prone form of the one who had guided him here.

“Nicolas.”

Nick blinked through the shredding pain and gaped at the half-blinded angel above him. “Those chains, the ice from Beliel’s Tears, how are you even upright?!”

“You forget. My strength lies not in rage-filled memories of what is done and gone, but solely in the glorious future found within her blessed Light.” From the various conduits and pipes came echoes of raw howling: primal and hungry. “Can you fight?”

“Ha, doubt I can even stand. Kill me or leave me behind - it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

Squatting first, the armored angel lifted the fallen, arm wrapped around to hold him by an armpit. “I will do neither.”

“After what I just did?!” Astonishment filled Nick’s voice yet again, even as awareness wavered. “Good grief, Callas. Why save me?! Just let me die!” The last was but a pained whisper as his face, pale with agony, fell slack as darkness finally covered all awareness.

Crimson flame flared across the slit of the battle angel’s helm, the heat cauterizing the slash which had cut through. With a broken angel held by one arm and burning sword gripped in the other, Camael prepared to face the onslaught to come.

But before the hordes of howling demons scampering down the passageway arrived, he spoke - though his companion no longer listened.

“Because should I not, the weight of her additional sorrow would be more than I could bear.”

 

Chapter 1 - Search

 

The book is heavier than it appears. Even accounting for the immaculately gilded leather and width of the golden-thread-lined spine, the weight is far more than gravity’s pull upon the elegantly bound manuscript.

For laying heaviest in my grasp is the blood shed by the countless souls and spirits who both had rallied to my war banner and also fought against it. Alongside precious pools spilled by those beloved through whose ultimate sacrifice I now held the collected wisdom of the Holy Angel Raziel - he who embodies the Secrets of the Most High. And in exhausted ears ring incessant bells of repeated warnings and witnessed folly on how such Secrets brought not peace but terrible madness.

I had flown past the locked Gate of Elohim, dove to the furthest depths of the Bounded Realms, all to recover these very pages. And here they lay: the answers to questions unfathomable - yet trembling fingers hesitate, unsure if they dare lift the imposing cover.

Except in tear-streaked remembrance of those recently lost, and for all those hoping to transcend such inevitable fates, there can be no other choice.

The spine creaks as it opens, swirling angelic script within immediately taking firm hold of all perception to spell out a burning message in letters of purest blue fire - a message written but also heard as if from echoes coming from near and far.

“That which is hidden, that which is profound, that which is sacred and held in mystery from the unready, therein encompasses my domain. Quester of secrets, you who stand between Order and Chaos, state that which you seek.”

So many questions swirl past, a cavalcade of mysteries external and internal, each enticing and deadly. Desires, however, too easily lead one astray. And so, taking the hint so kindly offered, I declare an alternate reply:

“Show not of what I wish to know, oh Sepher Raziel. Show only that which my spirit needs. Reveal the knowledge leading only to the fulfillment of my Name.”

Words of azure flame flicker and shift, and the voice reverberates in synchronicity as all becomes bright - indeed, brighter than anything even I have ever witnessed.

“Then, Archangel and Archon Amariel, we start at the Beginning.”

 

 

Dis, the largest city and realm in all of Hell. It had only been an hour since losing sight of the falling (and likely fireproof) book as it streaked through the surrounding sulfuric flames covering the vast city’s sky, and things were proceeding much as one would expect upon arrival to the banished realms of the damned. The specific landmark I had thought safest to approach first sat abandoned and ransacked, and its elevators weren’t working.

Of course.

Using a hand with skin glowing with only as much light as I dared, we crept our way down a black-walled staircase - running shoes somehow still managing to clank against metal steps while my companion’s four dark paws glided perfectly silent one after the other. He paused at a turn, sleek black tail flicking side to side as the panther’s nose scanned the next set of stairs and beyond for technomagical traps. We’d dealt with a few already on our way in.

As quiet as he was, within my mind his voice rang loud and clear.

“Are you sure this is wise, my Queen? The warding of this place thickens across the floors below.”

Grunting, I kept going while replying to Tsáyidiel out loud. “Yeah, I noticed that when I was here before. Some serious blockage to extrasensory perceptions. Which,” I said, dimming the light on the fingers as they reached for the push bar across this floor’s door, “means there could be folks holed up somewhere.”

“And you believe they would be friendly?”

“Believe? Nah. Hope? Sure. If they’re medical staff then they could be honor bound to treat this as my follow-up visit. They certainly got paid enough for one. It’s worth a shot.”

The panther snorted, but offered no additional commentary. We slipped out to another dark-walled corridor, lit only by flickering and unreliable emergency lighting wherever wiring hadn’t been stripped free by looters. I was pretty sure he thought going in here was stupid, but honestly I didn’t have any other bright ideas. I’d only been to this realm briefly, and had visited all of two locations: this hospital where I’d woken after being blown up on a distant battlefield, and the over-armored military fortress which hung high above within a forcefield pushing aside the flames filling the sky.

Showing up at the latter would only cause political headaches if not an outright fight, so here we were.

The hospital though was a dusty mess, anything of value had been ripped clear - leaving station desks covered only by scattered folders and the inevitable sticky notes with various billing codes and instructions for countless forms all scribbled in hasty demonic script. The computers I remembered were gone, as were the phones.

When it came to looting, demons certainly followed the creed of “Waste not, want not”.

The floor we found ourselves on was comprised of administrator offices, at least as far as I could tell. Which was a nice break from having to creep past the wreckage of patient rooms filled with empty beds and triggered memories. Closed doors down the hall each were stenciled with appropriately bureaucratic overblown titles such as “Third Sector Manager Class II Of Radiological Safety Enforcement Oversight And Maintenance” or “Fifth Executive Assistant to the Director of Non-contaminated Bodily Waste Removal, Classification, and Distribution.”

There were a lot of offices.

After wandering the maze for the better part of an hour I groaned as we exited yet another useless corridor. “This is pointless! There’s no one here. We may as well go land on a random building - when the denizens naturally attack we could beat some intel out of them.”

Tsáyidiel paused as nose and long whiskers twitched. “Wait. A soul has been through here. Follow.” He then bounded down the hallway, raven-black coloring blending with the dark stone walls. Almost but not quite perfectly, as the walls did not share the lovely specular shine of the fur.

Hurrying after, senses stretched outward and yep, he was right. Several hallways over a spark glimmered through the suppression enchantments smothering everything.

The door at the back of a dead-end hallway was kicked in, the label on the cheap wood proudly displaying its purpose: “Office of Compartmentalization and Storage of Records Which Do Not Exist.”

Good grief. Seriously?

Pushing the door further open, I took a look inside. Row after row of metal filing cabinets from floor to chest height filled a shadowed space a good fifteen feet by twenty. Unfortunately the hinges squeaked in protest of being further disturbed (earning a disapproving glare from Tsáyidiel for my totally failing yet another stealth skill check), and a man’s voice called out from deeper behind the cabinets.

“Hello?! Kelly, is that you??”

“Uh, nope!” I said cheerily. “But hi there.”

There was a loud thump from large volumes of folders being dropped, and at the back of the room the flicker of a flashlight illuminated the ceiling for a brief moment. “Who are you?! Stay back! I’ve got a gun!”

The panther crouched, tail flicking with a prepared pounce, but I mentally waved him off. “Don’t attack anything without my say so first.”

A pair of emeralds peered upwards. “As you wish, my Queen.”

Stepping into the room, I started talking. “Hey now, we’re not looking for any trouble. If anything we’re looking for help!”

A head peeked up over a cabinet, scraggly mess of brown hair pulled into a ponytail. Dark wild eyes took in my casual running attire of blue shorts and loose white t-shirt, and blinked in confusion. “Are you security?” One hand aimed a small flashlight in my direction as he stood up more, while the other held an energy pistol - think of a medium-sized handgun but with the barrel being more like a bloated pickle, strange external contours included. Unlike my ‘I’m out for a morning jog’ apparel, he wore a grimy beige robe which had certainly seen better days: fraying ends of the sleeves and several rips across the chest cried out for some serious needlework repair.

“Me? Not hardly. Just a former patient. How about you?” Edging closer, it was clear the guy had pulled a ton of files from various cabinets, spilling them across the cheap uniform carpet. “Guessing you’re looking for something too.”

Hysteria filled his voice and face, and the flashlight lanced across the scattered papers. “The proof! It’s not here!”

“The proof? Of what?”

“Our coming redemption!” Dropping out of sight again, the light rolled as another drawer was hurriedly yanked open.

I froze in place, certain suspicions disturbing thoughts. Could he…? No, that was ridiculous.

Reaching his row and about to ask him another question, the static squawk of a radio from inside a satchel laying on the floor cut me off.

“Citadel forces! Pierre! Get out! Get-” A burst of static and it went quiet. The echo of a blaster shot followed behind, coming from somewhere else on this floor.

“Kelly!” The guy stared at the satchel and then at me, horror dawning. “Oh no.”

Tsáyidiel was instantly in the shadows and out the door. “Armored soldiers approaching. Demonic enchantments have them cloaked. Shall I-”

“Dammit, no! Not unless I signal!”

On knees, the man held the gun in his lap. With a shudder, he exhaled and a terrible resignation filled his eyes.

“Pierre!” I said, and not without a sense of urgency as I ducked beside him, muted senses finally registered the many unholy sparks converging on this room. “Maybe there’s another way out of here?”

Looking up, he had this sad, sad smile. But behind it lay something else.

“Your hair, it’s a sign,” he said, oddly calm while fondling the gun. “Such a brilliant crimson kissed by gold. Just like how he described hers to be. Worry not. For in the end - the star shines for us all.”

The weapon went off, painting cabinets with a different red entirely. With most of the chest abruptly missing, Pierre’s eyes went dull and what was left of him slumped forward.

When finally allowing myself to stand up, the soft bluish-white glow of the stone of Pierre’s soul pulsed wetly between my fingers.

Soldiers clad in the best body armor the blend of demonic science and magic could muster had already spread out along the walls. Their weapons hummed with barely constrained power, as the various lights mounted to shoulders (or other appendages) swiveled brightly about the room.

All points converged on my position.

At the doorway stood a much shorter figure than the others, one with two small bat-like wings protruding from the back and two skinny clawed feet sticking out from below the armored torso. The figure also carried something with a long nasty barrel, but in distinction from the others the devil wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“Freeze!” he shouted in a voice used to command. “Hold it right there!”

Turning to face him, I let out a long and tired sigh. “Hello, Krux. Fancy meeting you here.”

Recognition didn’t take long. “You!!”

Unlike when last he’d pointed a blaster at me - in this very hospital, no less - this time there was no hesitation.

He opened fire, and the entire squad immediately followed his example.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and also for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 2

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Two - Paintings

 

Ever since that moment of radical transformation (or resurrection, if one prefers) back at the start of all the madness - when my name went from Justin to Jordan and personal pronouns flipped on their heads - I’ve had occasion to journey to a scattering of spiritual places. Planes of existence, dreams, realms - call them what you will - they all had a certain commonality. They were formed around an inner core, a nugget of desire or purpose which stabilized the whole and resonated throughout. Some were tied to entire stories sung forth in glorious splendor, others built on specific concrete principles or even emotional states. The more coherent the core, the more cohesive the realm - and all the souls and spirits resonating in sync with that pattern locked-in the solidity even further. Their presence and observations made things more ‘real’ within that domain.

I’ve tasted, touched, ripped, reinforced, and even created such places anew. The planes of Hell were no exception in their properties, and while I’d only visited two of the many available, for various (and desperate!) reasons I’d needed to delve deep into the structures of both to fight against a Chaos-corrupted agent attempting to shred them into incoherent pieces.

The realm the city of Dis sat upon had been forged from an archangel’s Purpose, one emphasizing strength as the underlying fundament to survival along with a need to crush all discovered weakness. That the said archangel had fallen from grace and rebelled against the Throne diminished not the potency of his realm.

Sheer willpower and the refusal to yield was its key, and I had no need to bypass the lock.

As the multicolored swirls of destructive energy slammed their way across the room, twin wings of crystalline brilliance flared from my back - and into the realm’s true inner physics they poured determination and intent.

When the short and armored devil finally shouted for his team of demons to cease fire, I stood within the fiery wreckage of cabinets blown to smithereens, contents exploded out in all directions and burning with flames of crimson, azure, and even this disturbingly dark green.

Whereas I remained at the center of the wreckage untouched, t-shirt intact just as gleaming white with its front picture of a grey stone doorway decorated with the Kabbalah’s Tree of Life, as used in an old favorite anime show. What can I say, my subconscious sometimes manifests amusing clothing. Oh, there were also these elegant bracelets gleaming as bright gold upon wrists.

Though those weren’t mine to manifest.

Lowering the blaster, Krux cursed under a breath. “Well, shit.”

Making a show of flicking nonexistent dust off a shoulder, I pulled the spread wings in - yet kept them manifest so their shine could continue illuminating the mess the soldiers had made. “You done?”

The devil’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

The much taller and wider demon standing at Krux’s side raised a helmet’s visor, revealing shocked yellow eyes. “Sir, she’s an angel!”

“Way to state the obvious, Corporal Dumbass. Thank you ever so much.” Krux’s disgust dripped from every word. “Everyone clear the fuck out. And keep your mouths shut, this whole operation’s classification just hit top rung. Radio silence. Got it?” When no one responded, he had to shout again. “Move!”

Snapping salutes, the team backpedaled out the door.

While they went I studied their leader. As he fished a cigar from one of the many utility pockets adorning a badged vest, I noticed a difference from our last encounter and commented. “You’re sporting a Citadel emblem. There’s no mistaking that fortress logo. Thought you were with overall Realm Security?”

Bending over one of the small fires (he didn’t have far to bend), he lit the cigar then studied me in return. “And you should be dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint. Well actually, no. I’m not.”

“How?”

“How what?”

He added more smoke to the haze already billowing from the scattered fires. “Darn near everyone on the Rock witnessed someone looking a lot like you getting yanked into the Abyss. Those that weren’t too busy kissing their own butts goodbye, anyway.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that. No one survives that ooze - which means it wasn’t you that got pulled in. Unless…” Dark eyes narrowed.

“Unless what?”

“You joined the Chaos between and became an Archon.”

“Is that why you opened fire?”

The devil didn’t answer.

Light pulsed through the wings. “And just how do you think Lucifer managed to escape Hell?”

“He’s the First of you feathered lot. Maybe the prison’s seal doesn’t apply to his exalted ass and let him through.”

I shook my head. “Far as I know it does. But no, I took the same path out he did and got to Earth, though not exactly by choice. Remember my lineage - somehow it was possible.”

Krux grimaced. “So it really was you everyone saw over the Rock. Six wings and all, a full fucking Seraph.”

“I’d show you the other pairs, but I’d rather not shake the entire realm.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Dang. Probably smart; it’s too much a disaster all on its own.” He considered, and the pointed jaw tensed then released. Flicking the burning tip of the cigar at the corpse on the floor and then to the glowing stone in my hand, he asked, “Friend of yours?”

I held it tighter. “Never had the chance to be. He the target of your hunt?”

“Not him. His boss.”

“Well this guy took himself out rather than be captured.”

“They do that.”

“They?”

He puffed on the cigar and stayed silent.

Dammit. Alright, if he didn’t want to share I’d have to take a different tack. “You know, Krux, the way I figure it - you owe me. I saved your Citadel. Not to mention all the Sarim that were present.”

“A lot has happened since that incident.”

“Then fill me in.”

“You escaped this piss-hole of an oubliette. Why the fuck would you come back?”

“A bunch of reasons. I might even tell you if you’ll help me.”

The surprise was short lived, as natural suspicion quickly returned. “Help you with what?”

“Tasks which if not carefully handled could threaten the power balance you fretted about the last time we played ‘show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.’”

“Shit, girl. The city is already at war with itself. You saying it could be worse?”

“I haven’t sensed Bene-Elohim fighting directly. Just the occasional local adjustments.”

“They haven’t dared. Higher-ups forbid it, and they’re forsworn from full killing each other in any case.”

I couldn’t help it and chuckled. “As if that wasn’t forbidden in Heaven when they all rebelled?”

He didn’t laugh along with me, instead he just stared. “You serious about the power balance? If you’ve really gone full Seraph, your being here could seriously fuck it up.”

“I know. Hence the ‘carefully handled’ part.”

“And you running into me was what, coincidence?”

“Likely as random as our last meeting was.”

Ages of pain and sorrow wrinkled the skin besides the devil’s eyes, only to solidify with hard resolution. “We shouldn’t discuss details. Not here. As warded as it is, we haven’t secured this place ourselves.”

“That just means I trust it more than any place you’d lead me to.”

He grunted. “From a paranoid point of view, that’s a hard point to argue.”

“Yep. Hey, even without the angels going at it directly, how bad is the fighting in the city? I got a good view on the way in: entire towers have collapsed, but a lot of the demolition looks old.”

“Factions continually duke it out. None are strong enough to wipe out another and not end up too weak to fight off a third. So it’s a lot of limited strikes on tactical targets, or stronger pushes with temporary alliances - and the usual backstabbings after. Ground quakes did the rest.”

“Ground quakes?”

“Realm ain’t entirely stable. Hence you’d better be cautious-like.”

Erk. That didn’t sound good. “Wait, tactical targets? Like this hospital? That’s messed up.”

“Nah, that’s pragmatic. In Hell, punches don’t get pulled once the bell rings.”

I pointed to the patch on his reinforced vest. “And the Citadel? What side are you pulling for?”

“None. We’re sticking to neutrality.”

Okay, that fit. “You joined them to avoid the direct fighting.”

“I ain’t stupid. The generals of Realm Security all got recruited by different Sarim via their Dukes. The whole org fragmented into fuck all, each piece sucked into a different military. Became instant frontline troops.”

“So why would you care about some dude digging through hospital records?” I held up the soul.

He inhaled deeply from the cigar then blew out a perfect oval of smoke. “Risk assessment.”

“You’re shitting me. This underpowered little soul is a threat?”

“Him specifically? Pfft. But he may have intel we’re after.” He flicked ash to the side in disgust. “Not that we can retrieve it now.”

“Because he took himself out? Figured you’d just feed the stone to a demon and suck the memories out directly.”

“Don’t work on these assholes.”

“Huh. That’s actually impressive.”

“True fanaticism. Demon eats that, they get infected. Results ain’t pretty.”

Now that…that was interesting. I thought of Maddalena, the strega witch who had kept her mind intact for thousands of Hell-years while stuck inside the belly of a particularly nasty demon. While he’d used her abilities to heal himself, she’d given that willingly to try and hold to the strictures of her own faith. Maybe he’d decided a full absorption of her was too dangerous to attempt.

He hadn’t been stupid either. Well, except for agreeing to fight me - that decision proved to be simply suicidal.

The devil raised a bony eyebrow. “Feel like telling what you’re doing back here at this hospital? And how it may affect your feathered brethren? Hard for me to help out without information.”

I grinned. “Nope, we’ll need to dance a bit longer first. And even if you somehow don’t buy in on owing me for kicking the ass of Azazel’s puppet back at the Citadel, you’ve got a newer debt to pay.”

“How the fuck you figure that?” Dark skin crinkled a scowl.

“Seriously? You just tried to kill me. Unprovoked.” Spreading feathers, I let their burning intensity rise. “And so far I haven’t crushed you like a grape in return for such an insult.”

“Heh. I’d make a real sour vintage.” The little guy was brave, I’d give him that. He faced the blazing floodlights without showing an ounce of fear, even as the power pulled in by the wings reached levels enough to take out not just this room but the entire floor. “Fine, fuck it. What do you want?”

“The Lilim’s embassy in the city. Where is it?”

“That place?” He paused while beady eyes reflected fresh calculations along with the blazingly bright shine. “I heard its tower got hit awhile back.”

“Any of the people still there?”

“Unlikely. But sure, I’ll take you to it so we can both find out.”

My smile filled with not-entirely-sincere warmth as I let the brightness fade out. Not completely, mind you, but enough. “Great. Shall we?”

“Yeah, just gotta take care of something as we go. C’mon.”

Gesturing with the cigar towards the door, he then chomped down upon it at the side of his mouth and stepped through. Following behind, we marched down the corridor towards the ‘T’ at the end where his squad had formed up in defensive positions alongside the walls.

Tsáyidiel’s voice filled my mind. “My Queen, do you trust this devil?”

“About as far as I can toss him.”

“With his wings and diminutive stature, that could be fairly far.”

I barely suppressed an audible laugh at the conjured mental image, though mind-to-mind I chortled. “Ha! But seriously, we’ll probably take off in a flying vehicle. Stay close and keep hidden.”

“As my Queen wishes.”

Reaching his men, Krux stopped next to the guy kneeling at the rear having taken aim towards the passage’s entrance. “Corporal Dumbass.”

“Sir?” The demon turned attention away from the gun’s sight and found himself looking right into the metal pickle-sized barrel of Krux’s.

Krux pulled the trigger, and with a loud pulse the back of the corporal’s helmet exploded its contents across the wall.

Whereas I’d jumped back, flared wings, and had even summoned crimson flames from Camael’s bracers in sudden alarm, the rest of Krux’s crew hadn’t even flinched.

Jesus, they’d been expecting it.

“Halphas!” Krux called out. “Grab his stones. Everyone else, prep the path to the landing zone. We’re out.”

As one they shouted, “Sir, yes sir!” Pairs of soldiers shimmered into translucence and began moving in careful coordination around the corner.

Halphas, a demon whose helmet elongated to cover a head shaped like a stork, didn’t hesitate. Producing a dagger, he immediately began slicing off the corporal’s armor to get at the flesh underneath.

Dimming wings and dismissing their flames, I pointed to the corpse soaking the carpet. “There’s two in the chest besides the heart, one in the right thigh, and another hidden in the left heel.”

Krux extinguished the cigar by smothering it against the back of his armored glove, but still watched close my expression.

I asked the ‘obvious’ question. “Security risk?”

“Citadel politics.”

“You gonna take heat for it?”

“The dumbshit let the guy’s partner squawk on the radio. That’s enough cover for immediate purposes. Let’s move.”

We stepped past the body and left Halphas to the gruesome task. And despite the soul orb still held tightly in hand having been cleansed of blood in the fires I’d manifested, fingers still felt sticky.

Washing them clean was going to take a lot more than soap.

 

~o~O~o~

 

A little over a month. That’s how quick my time away from Hell had been. I should have counted myself lucky - most armed forces only give their soldiers a couple weeks of R&R between tours.

And so here I was, once again shoulder to shoulder with demons. At least these had bathed better than most.

Not that their stench could ever really be scrubbed off.

We’d loaded up in Krux’s Citadel drop ship - think glorified flying SWAT van, complete with official logo painted on the sides with lights and sirens. With how Tsáyidiel kept calling me his queen, due to my having forged an entire dream realm during that too-short time away, a certain drumbeat got stuck on repeat in my head. Another one rides the bus…Wait, that was the Weird Al parody version.

Yeah, okay, my mind does strange things.

Anyway, they’d wedged me in the middle of two bench rows of professional soul-swallowing killers, sitting across from Krux who didn’t look any happier than I felt about being in here. The guys flanking him were at least four times his size, though they were doing their best to give ample room out of respect for his authority. Most of the team I recognized from that last visit but not all, and it was clear from their forced stoic demeanors that my presence was weirding them out.

Good.

Keeping arms crossed as we all tried not to slide back and forth while the floating brick around us maneuvered through the sky, I broke the disciplined silence. “Hey, Krux. Where’s Major Quorg? Most here were from his team, right?”

Several glanced at each other then away.

Krux stood on the bench rather than sitting, and still was shorter than the lunks framing him. “Lost Quorg three firestorms ago.”

“I thought you said you joined the Citadel to stay out of the fighting. How’d that happen?”

“An idiot of a duke thought he could take the fortress and boost favor from his patron. The dumbshit.”

“Damn. I kinda liked Quorg.”

He shrugged.

Quiet descended again, but without windows to see out of it quickly got boring. “Where’s your ship? It gave a better view for passengers.”

“Blew up. A storm before Quorg.”

“Oh.” I thought for a moment. “Alright, I gotta ask: how long is it between storms?”

“You spent time on the Rock, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Firestorms usually hit every ten to twelve of their cycles.”

Huh. Cycles were measured by the precession of the Shroud half-covering the Spark which acted as that realm’s sun. Near as I could figure, a cycle was the equivalent of a few months. “And how many of those have hit since our interrupting the unexpected showers of the feathered folk at the Conclave?”

“Seven.”

I did the math. Approximately twenty years had passed for the folks condemned down here.

Yikes.

Leaning back against the metal wall (there was no padding on the seats in this thing), the implications of that much time for those I’d left behind sank in. Finding them could prove to be rather tricky, especially if wanting to do so without attracting too much attention from those very fallen angels I’d just mentioned. I could cheat and energetically power up to reach out to some of my friends directly no matter which realm they were on, but Tsáyidiel had warned that the more powerful princes would sense it. And they’d then be able to track both ends of the connection.

Not something I especially desired to risk at the moment, not for me and especially not for my friends.

We banked hard for what I hoped was a landing and not from evasive action. “We almost there?”

“Nah, gotta refuel first at a depot. These buckets are always thirsty.”

“Ah.” Thinking for a moment, I asked Krux one more question. “You ever get to fire off those rear-mounted missiles?”

He flashed a sharp-toothed grin. “Oh yeah. They were fucking glorious!”

Well, okay then.

 

~o~O~o~

 

After the refueling (which required Krux to disembark and enjoy throwing his authority around again), we took off once more and soon spiraled around the tips of the many towers before landing upon one’s top. Walking down the exit ramp, the massive scale of the construction hit as strong as the heated air whipping across open cheeks from the fire-stirred winds.

Something I hadn’t appreciated during my last tour was the sheer size of the buildings in the city of Dis. The speed of Krux’s ship as we had darted through traffic before must’ve been faster than I’d realized, because the towers were huge. Really ridiculously huge.

As in they were at least ten times the size of what was found in most downtowns back on Earth.

The Lilim’s Embassy formed its own complex on the peak of one of those equally-spaced black monoliths, just under the curtain of flame swallowing the sky. Made of the same obsidian stone as if extruded upward by the regolith below, a singular immense dome large enough to house a pair of mighty zeppelins sat flanked by magnificent columns holding up multi-floor square offices. And yet there was still plenty of room for the wide landing zone serving as a gigantic parking lot - a space entirely abandoned except for our own flying brick.

There was also debris scattered about from what must have been a hard-fought battle.

Office space to the left of the dome had taken serious fire. That weird onyx lava stone had been pulverized by various calibers of both energy-directed and physical shells, leaving a ring of rubble around it like an inverted moat. The dome itself was intact - except for one section sporting an open jagged gap large enough for one of our SWAT ships. The many stairs leading up to it had also been shelled, and the immense main doors had been blown entirely off the hinges - the remains of the massive mounting brackets melted from the blasts.

“Guessin’ we won’t need to knock,” Krux remarked dryly. Pointing to Halphas, he gestured and half the squad was then jogging after the stork-headed demon who had taken the lead. The rest formed up around Krux and myself, weapons out and aimed in all directions to cover our butts as we too marched forward.

Being surrounded by such military focus, my hands itched to hold a weapon. And while I could easily summon into manifestation the spear constantly pulsing against my spirit, its nature would likely have caused Krux to panic and immediately call down air strikes. Possible even nukes, if he had them.

Somehow I didn’t think the little guy would listen to any explanations regarding the weapon’s balance of holy and chaotic energies, especially as I hadn’t had the chance to study it in any detail yet myself.

So yeah, empty fingers remained empty.

While weaving around chunks of pulverized steps, I asked Krux, “So who attacked here?”

To fit in the ship I’d put my own wings away, but Krux still had his and used them to skip entire sections of damage. “Rumors said forces loyal to Dagon. Who would normally not dare, leading credence to the chatter that the alliance between Asmodeus and Lilith is toast.”

The first squad executed a diligent entering-maneuver past the open doors, while the rest of us lurked alongside the wall outside. Once they had reported things as clear, we went in. It was indeed like walking into a tremendous and empty airline hangar - at least until I looked up.

At which point I realized it was more a monumental cathedral, one that would have caused Michaelangelo’s hands and back to cramp in agonized sympathy.

The entire ceiling was painted. And between the floor’s smooth reflectiveness and the hole in the ceiling, the burning yellowish-orange of the sky’s curtain leaking through lit every panel with perfect clarity.

I exhaled in awe. “Oh wow.”

Scene after scene leapt out to the eye in brilliant color and depth. All focused on a central character whose identity I knew without needing to be told:

Lilith.

I’d seen her directly once, in a half-dream before awakening in the very hospital we’d just left. Her depiction here was however different: long raven hair flowing as to dance between night and dawn, eyes of shimmering violet that took in the light of surroundings with calculation and amusement, lifted by wings changing shade depending on mood between verdant green of untouched forest primeval to deepest blue of mysterious ocean. Drawn in by it all, I went still and let the artwork perform its magic.

 

There she stands, proud and determined, amongst siblings at the Beginning: from within Helel’s aura flashing brilliantly as an eclipsed halo around Beliel, Samael and Raphael, and more - holding them all close and safe within his Light of Lights…

 

Here she swoops with wicked spear and sword, cleaving abomination after abomination oozing from the disturbed boundary of that which Is versus that which Is Not…

 

A tree more tree-like than nature could ever achieve: knotted root and burley trunk, twisting branch and veined leaf, bursting with fruit and life while offering shade for her and her companion, both unabashedly beautiful in their nakedness. Her relishing the raw femininity of a wingless form, and her companion with features simultaneously of both sexes and therefore neither, as if the sculptor had yet to apply finishing touches…

 

The smoking wreckage of a tall chair smolders beside her, while arms fold imperiously below elegant expression flashing with disgust and refusal as two brothers argue. One spins spirals of crimson black and the other radiates overwhelming white and gold, while all around them armored angel after armored angel fall unto blood-tarnished death and bottomless despair…

 

A night-winged angel watches on as a twin version of herself darts between realms with arms outstretched, hoping to catch a bleeding star as it falls towards a gate-framed vortex. Both Liliths have cheeks streaked by sorrow, leaking from orbs of soft twilight burning still with hardened Purpose…

 

An angel of astounding beauty with hair of unspun gold and face half-hidden by purest ivory silk, watches a bed of monumental size where Lilith’s voluptuous form takes a triple-horned demon to her bosom and more. The faces of countless children blending demonic and divine surround to gaze lovingly only at their mother - and not to the fathers kneeling behind the angel whose single eye glares impotent frustration, an expression ruining what grace otherwise would touch such a face of perfection…

 

“Impressive, ain’t it?”

Krux, standing oddly close within the expanse under the dome, broke the reverie.

More of Gabriel’s memories, including touches of shared times with Lilith, swirled at the periphery of vision. But none dominating the others, instead some flowed as if but additional moments which the painter of this glorious ceiling had simply run out of the needed room to include. “Yes, it is.”

He lit another cigar, and the air filled with the scent of roasting almost-tobacco. “Just how long have you been back in Hell?” The agent’s tone was casual, but his posture’s stillness betrayed the burning depths of the need to know more.

Allowing eyes to shift away from the glory above, they instead scanned the many doors leading off to the offices beyond. His split team had taken one side each, searching room to room - the many lights of their own spirits and the souls they’d captured flickering behind the walls.

I finally looked back at the short devil. “You want to know how much trouble I may have already caused.”

A deeper inhale, with a slow smoky return. “Crosses the mind.”

“The hospital was the first stop. Only place I knew in the city, other than the fortress employing you.”

“Your arrival as accidental as your exit?”

“Nope. Rather deliberate, albeit provoked. Flew right on through the Gates.”

“You’re nuts, girl. Got a plan?”

“Working on it. You mentioned Pierre had a leader - the target you’re really after. Who exactly?”

“Following up on rumors. Word is, something new is shaking up the Pits. Sent a team to investigate, they didn’t come back.”

“The Pits?”

“Caverns under the city. Where demonspawn with more brawn than brains end up.”

“I take it that team was competent?”

He scowled around the cigar. “They were pros.”

“And Pierre’s connection - you think his people have something to do with it?”

“No. But their cult could have intel we lack. Unlike my idiot commander, I don’t send teams in blind.” He was about to say more, but the squad leaders radioed their reports to his ear’s tiny receiver. With perceptions opened up I didn’t need to wait for him to repeat their findings, but I did so anyway.

Flicking ash onto the mirrored surface of the flooring, he grunted. “This place is abandoned. No one’s here, though monitoring spells were left behind. So what now?”

I smiled while sweeping a gaze about the vast emptiness of the hangar-like room. “Now? Well, I figure I ought remember that Lilim are a lot like the Nephelim.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that they too like to keep things hidden from regular old demonic or mortal eyes. Stay here - I’ll be back.”

Before he could respond, perceptions folded - and thereby shifted precisely where I was standing into a different space entirely - one which nevertheless shared the same room under the painted dome.

Blinking at what had changed, once again there were several guns aimed at my face.

Yep. It was one of those days.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 3

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Three - Sin

 

Languages are magic.

Think about it. By making weird sounds or scribbling strange markings against a surface, we transmit ideas, conjure images the recipient has never seen, and organize the very way we think. And it’s not limited to only verbal or written mediums; there is language in music, in mathematics, in dance and motion, and yes, in the act of making love. They are the tools by which we interact with each other and the universe at large, coordinating our very perceptions into meaning.

Mostly we use language to manipulate the thoughts and ideas of others, but some…well, some use it to manipulate the world directly. And what lies behind it.

Quite literally, that’s magic. And from what I’ve seen, it’s part and parcel of reality, a set of waiting levers built-in to the layers of spirit and physicality.

Of course, the language utilized will guide and limit what can or can’t be done. Fae invoke wild-yet-constrained passion in their songs and runes to harness raw elemental power, witches channel bliss and fury to blend nature with desire, priests chant litanies and combine the names of chosen deities to open channels to the divine, and even the throat-scorched curses hurled by demons slam their hatred and greed directly upon their enemies - and themselves.

On Earth, words are translated between languages all the time, what with the numerous different tongues deployed across the planet. Nuances occasionally fail to transfer, subtleties lost in the shift of perceptual and cultural context, but still mostly come across intact - as they are all languages of souls based on the shared experience of being human.

In Hell, those souls have a single language spoken natively upon their arrival - while the patterns of their original remain within their conscious minds. It’s a strange thing, and the cross-linguistic pun wars are simply ridiculous but possible. Demons and devils also have their own singularly shared speech and writings, one not designed for throats formed in the patterns of mere mortal souls.

As for angels, I’ve heard it said we are the language of the Source of All made manifest. When we speak - or even act - Creation is rewritten directly. We are our sacred Words, and from our combinations is the fundament itself forged. Spreading wings and feathers wide, I have glimpsed this clear: tremendous beauty unfathomably complex and transcendently simple. And I have shouted my Name upon those threads, with consequences my usual consciousness has yet to properly comprehend.

Where it gets outright wiggy is for beings born of both angel and other. In caves outside El Paso and atop a rooftop in Boston, I’ve seen the twisted writings of a Nephelim. Hard to describe, but imagine the divine language scribbled in crayon, full of misspellings and errors yet meaning is - albeit barely - legible. Part angel and part human. As a former software dweeb, it’s like looking at a third generation computer language interspersed with raw assembly. But perhaps a better way to describe it is akin to reading words scrawled on a page, but with loops and whirls of the script reaching past the page into three - or four - dimensions - yet still not being complete, for the symbols attempting to be invoked are properly tenth-dimensional constructs.

Or higher. For at that level the words are themselves the abstract under description, enjoined directly.

The script of the Lilim, beings born of angelic mother and a multitude of demonic fathers, is weirder still. Like two opposing brushes dueling across a canvas, the conflicting strokes streak across the entire portrait in warps and folds, with colors screaming conflicted emotional expression. Yet when expertly deployed, the contrast can be used to gain the artist’s desired effect. Outcomes such as being invisible to souls and demons both, or splitting a space into different vibrational levels where each no longer interacts with the other.

But I could see such workings. And more, I could touch them.

Hence the business end of an energy pistol abruptly being held but a scant few inches from my nose, with two larger cousins similarly aimed from a few yards distant.

A man, short but with an impressive quick draw from the shoulder holster, grunted with a finger hovering over the trigger. “You are not Lilim.” Pale wisps of blond poked out from under a beige cap, and suspenders over a white dress shirt clasped to business slacks lent an air of officiousness, even if the shirt’s sleeves had been rolled up. He was also clean-shaven, smooth skin testifying to the sharpness of whatever blade had been used.

I smiled, holding up hands to show being unarmed. “Nope! But neither are you three.”

A second man sporting military-cropped black hair, sleeveless black shirt showing off numerous scars across forearms, readjusted a grip on a larger weapon. “Then we should shoot her. Do it, Edgar.” He appeared younger, but I knew that in Hell such things could be deceiving. The comfort he had in wearing combat pants and boots, with a thick belt holding two knives, and a set of grenades, spoke to a violent past. There were also deep circles under eyes set over hollow and sunken features stretched tightly over the skull.

“Wait, don’t!” Off to the other side of the corporate pistol-bearer stood a woman taller than even me. A deep purple cloak kept her outfit from being visible, but the toes of a metal-tipped boot stuck out due to the braced stance as she lifted yet another blaster in my direction. Her eyes were an amazing river blue, but that beauty sat above the wreckage of her lower face. If I’d had to guess, someone once hit her with an acid-filled balloon - or worse. Skin the color of hummus looked to have melted from the jaw, and coffee-stained teeth sat visible through gaps stretching between strands barely managing to form cheeks.

It wasn’t a wound inflicted here in Hell either. Her soul had maintained the appearance she’d gained in life.

My heart winced at the realization.

Mr. Suspenders (okay, his name was obviously Edgar, but I liked Mr. Suspenders better) frowned as he looked me up and down, clearly not quite knowing what to make of what he saw. “Who are you? How did you get here?” The finger tensed but held steady.

Partially answering the (literally loaded) first question, I said, “I’m a friend of the Lilim. Specifically of Vance and the Twins, Ruyia and Yaria.”

Soldier guy behind him snorted. “Anyone could claim that. Got any proof?”

I gave a slight shrug. “Just stories. I saved his life, and they saved mine. Forms a bond.”

Mr. Suspenders fought back the edges of a tired smile and lost. “Quite calm for a soul who is held dead to rights.”

“You know, you may want to redo the math on that assumption. Despite the padlock the Lilim left on this place, I did just waltz on through.”

The hint of friendliness faded.

His companion wasn’t even close to smiling. “You threatening us, lady??”

I snorted. “Dude, if I were threatening, you wouldn’t need to ask the question. Look - awhile ago I was told that friends of mine were staying here along with my stuff; I came to find them - or at least get a clue as to where they went. But from the sight of it, the Lilim cleared out of here pronto-like.” I gestured to the rest of the large space around us - except unlike before the shift it now wasn’t empty.

It was just a mess.

At the center stood a pair of twenty feet tall rectangular stones, with a shorter one resting across to form a single henge. The slabs were decorated with some serious Lilim workings, though the power in them lay inert as the stonework had clearly been used for target practice by an array of energy-hurling weapons. Small circles of further sigils were also carved on the floor in front of the henge: one set on each side, and a third in front of it. Off to the side of all that a kid-you-not wading pool had been laid into the floor, circumscribed with stones inscribed with even more complex magic, holding back stinking and brackish water.

The purpose of the defunct spells on the henge seemed clear enough, but the pool’s were harder to fathom. Just looking into the not-so-clear water, which nevertheless glowed with reflected skyfire from above, kicked off a headache - one which would need at least a pair of wings to dispel. If not two pairs.

As for the rest of the space, the far side filled with rows of tall wooden scaffolds of large rackhouse storage - though all the slots were empty and good chunks of the wood had been chopped free, in fact one shelf entire had toppled over. Nearer the trio on this side of the henge, the stone floor had been busted up to form a cooking pit, one that hadn’t seen much recent use as far as I could tell despite the plentiful wood to feed a fire. A set of leather office chairs had been wheeled over to hover outside its circle, and beyond those lay a pile of mismatched coats long used as blankets and sleeping mats.

All three showed clear signs of hovering on the brink of starvation. Already the adrenalin rush of a sudden invader had begun to fade, the woman barely kept a grip on that blaster.

“Jesus,” I breathed as two and two came together into our three plus one. “They all escaped through the henge’s portal and left you behind.”

“Your friends,” demanded the woman. “Tell me their names.”

“Maddalena and Twitch.”

The ruin of her lips pursed, but were too suspicious of something to give it voice.

Mr. Suspenders (okay, okay, Edgar) however lifted the finger off the trigger and asked, “And what of yours?”

“I am known by many. But most call me Jordan.”

The woman nodded in internal confirmation. “Lower the guns.”

Edgar didn’t hesitate, but with stance stiffening Carlos growled, “Why?”

Following her own order, the woman’s shoulders relaxed and the tip of her weapon dropped to the floor. “She’s the one the priestess spoke about.”

Carlos risked a glance away from his target. “What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, Nadia?”

Weary eyes of crystal water, fluid yet hard, met mine.

“If she’s even half of what the priestess promised,” Nadia said, “then she’s going to save us.”

Geeze. No pressure, right?

 

~o~O~o~

 

After telling me not to go anywhere, Nadia walked off towards the empty racks - leaving me standing awkwardly with the two men busily exchanging confused glances.

Motioning towards the office chairs outside the rudimentary camp, Edgar said, “Sit.”

His companion slung the long blaster over a shoulder, but kept a hand close to the belt and its knives. “We ain’t gonna feed her, are we? Our supplies suck.”

Edgar glanced towards where Nadia had gone. “Perhaps.”

Moving as casual as possible, I took the offered chair. “Is Nadia in charge?”

Carlos spoke quickest. “Hell no.”

Edgar merely shrugged.

Noting the awkward dynamic, I then asked, “Are you guys stuck in here?”

“No,” Edgar said. “We can-”

“Shut it!” snarled Carlos, the scarred hand resting on a blade’s hilt. “Don’t tell her nuthin’!”

“You know,” I said quietly, “if you really want my help, I’ll probably need to know more.”

With a sigh, Edgar collapsed onto a second worn and leather chair. “Your help matters little. We are abandoned souls. When we go to forage, there is risk of being taken by any demon. Our marks are gone, unlike yours.” He nodded towards the golden star softly glowing across the palm of my hand.

Closing fingers over it, I felt the warmth from the skin. Since arriving it had been trying to reach out to reconnect properly to whomever still bore its likeness, but on the advice of Tsáyidiel I’d been suppressing it. Should any of my old crew of berserkers have been captured and held by an enemy, the sudden burst of power from their mark would make my return immediately obvious. Heck it could also ruin any undercover work they were trying to do right now. My Hunter had insisted on stealth in all ways first, at least until we had scouted what had happened to everyone - and therefore not put any at risk.

Hard to argue against. Though the skin itched like crazy.

Carlos remained standing. “That sigil. Who’s your master?”

“It’s not like that.”

“You saying it’s not a demon mark? Sure as shit looks like one.”

I looked at the two of them. “The mark is mine. The others who bear it - they’re bound to me.”

Alarm raced across Carlos’ face, and in a smooth motion pulled a knife and pointed it. That he reached for a knife before the gun slung over his back was interesting. “You’re a fucking demon?!”

“No.”

Edgar’s gun, still held in his lap, resumed its aim as well with forced focus returning to shoulders and face. “You appear as a soul. But none has ever owned a mark. What are you?”

I was about to reply, but someone else did for me.

“She is, or was, a Nephelim.” Nadia had crossed the reflective floor behind us, carrying a felwood box perhaps one foot by a half in size. “Like the Lilim, she’s half angel.”

“Bull.” Carlos shook his head. “She don’t seem like no-”

He fell silent for my eyes filled with power as tendrils of light stretched through and behind the chair, providing just the outline of wings.

Blinking at that brightness, Edgar began to stammer. “You…you are really…can you…” He fell silent, but behind his eyes much became clear in that light.

 

Steam trains belching exhaust speed down rails with boxcars packed full of supplies and people - women, men, children. All according to his carefully planned tables and ledgers, yet the provisions were not for passengers - as upon arrival they’d soon have no needs at all. Horrified he had learned of this… and yet had done nothing, said nothing. A burning shame to haunt the rest of his days…

 

I found myself speaking. “I am many things, Edgar Heinrich Becker. As to who I shall be for each of you, such depends on choices made here and now.” My gaze swept across Carlos who flinched and turned away, and so the illumination continued on to focus upon Nadia.

She met the light without the sorrows of her companion, for inside burned deep-seated rage - an anger tightly controlled wishing to lash outward, yet its fires aimed chiefly at targets within to dance besides a fierce and burning pride.

Using that pride as anchor, she bravely held out the box. “The priestess left this. Take it. She warned it was sealed by her faith, and that only you could open it.”

Taking the item, a finger ran across the carvings embedded in the dark wood: A sun extending its fiery halo to caress the sliver of a moon, surrounded by sigils hermetic in nature. But below those sat four symmetric points reaching outward from a shared center.

Placing my palm upon it, a star met its match and the black metal latch popped open.

Inside lay a tiny scroll which unfolded to reveal an elegant script written in old Italian, whose meanings equally unraveled in my mind:

 

My Queen,

Word of the rescue of Beliel’s world from the ancient Darkness by the brightest of lights has reached us, and we gather now past the Lilim’s gate above the plains of Epsilon. Forgive, for I intend to carry your sacred weapon, the bow of crystal power, to wield her strength in thy name. Your treasure shall also be safeguarded, but for the few tokens we leave here should you have immediate need. Where we shall go after this moot I cannot yet say, other than that I pray to continue walking the path the Goddess has set before us, in hopes to remain always within the shine of your blessed grace. In love and light, we await and prepare your holy return.

Your Faithful Servant,

Maddalena

 

Outpost Epsilon.

Emotions swirled at the thought of returning to the desolate wastes under a vacant sky of absolute darkness. Logically it had only been a subjective year or so since Twitch and I had returned from our reaper sweep to find the outpost which had been our refuge gutted and aflame.

Yet somehow it felt much longer.

Swallowing back pain still lurking behind my own glowing orbs, they dimmed and turned to the damaged henge dominating the center of the vast hangar-like room and the three circles before it. Somewhere, likely in the Spires near Epsilon, sat its twin. “They needed three souls to hold it open for their transit, didn’t they. And you were ordered to destroy it after.”

Carlos snorted. “They were probably going to from the other side anyway.”

“We had to,” Nadia added. “A gate without anchor on the other side could let other…things…through. Or so I was told.”

“Makes sense.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “If I can get you to the Lilim out on Beliel’s Rock, would they take you back?”

The three considered, but Edgar spoke first. “Nadia was their accountant. She is brilliant. And Carlos was…” He paused.

Still holding the knife, Carlos stared at the floor. “Useful. I was useful. As a soul I can sneak into that they could not.” He left unsaid what he’d been expected to do once in such places.

Upon my palm blue flames consumed the scroll and I looked to Edgar. “What about you?”

The man’s eyes kept flicking to the wings. “Warehouse supervisor and logistics coordinator. But they have no need for such anymore.” He gestured at the wreckage of shelves.

“I’m sure they could find something else for you to do,” Nadia said quietly.

“It is all I know.”

I tapped the top of the box. “There was another gate - a bigger one - from that realm to Dis, right? One to move agricultural goods to the city, in exchange for manufactured items. Any idea where that is?”

“That too has been destroyed in the war between factions,” said Nadia. “Which made the fighting get a lot worse, as only so many towers support hydroponics.”

Edgar nodded. “Demons have appetites for plants only for so long before deciding enemies make a better meal.”

Well crud, there went that idea. Camael had carried me between the realms to transit from Dis to the Rock, but I’d been rather shutdown power-wise at the time. The nuances of that trip had been beyond my perceptions as a result, were I to try now who knows where I’d end up. And while Tsáyidiel likely had the skill to go map out the ways between everything, that could take too long.

Of course I had a more urgent mission right here on Dis.

Still flicking guitar-plucking fingernails against the box, I asked, “Is there anywhere else in this stupid city you three could go and be safe?”

No one spoke up, but the rise of tension across faces and postures indicated an ongoing disagreement.

“I take it this is a sore topic.”

Carlos rolled eyes in disgust. “Go ahead, Nadia. You’re gonna say it anyway.”

She crossed arms hidden within long purple sleeves. “There were rumors-”

“By idiots,” muttered Carlos under his breath.

Nadia ignored him. “-of a place souls could go to escape. They call it Sanctuary.”

Eyebrows raised. “What if they were already marked?”

Edgar answered. “There are claims that Sanctuary can erase them. And set souls free.”

I stopped drumming against the hard and carved felwood. “Huh. Know anything else about it?”

Nadia shook her head, causing deep brown strands to fall free from under the hood. “Only that the Pilgrim carries the message.”

“Pilgrim?”

“No one knows who he is. They say he is sworn to silence, yet provides aid - and points the way.”

Now that was interesting. Hmm.

Flipping the knife and catching it, Carlos pointed the tip at Nadia. “It’s gotta be a trap.”

She glared back at him. “What do we have to lose?”

“Much,” Edgar said, getting up from the chair. “I would prefer hunger to being swallowed by a demon.” He let the gun-holding hand drop to his side.

“Alright, hang on,” I said. “Maybe I can find out more, heck I may even have a lead or two. In the meantime - with your foraging around here, can you buy supplies if you had money?”

“Souls don’t have their own bank accounts,” Nadia said.

Edgar nodded. “With the continuing war, electronic debit chips may not work. Barter and trade will rule instead.”

“What if you had cash?” I asked. “Specifically, cash from another realm. Would that be fungible?”

All eyes went to the box. Carlos braved the question. “Is that what you got in there?” Fingers tightened on the knife.

Eyes glowed again, this time in warning. “Mistake not generosity for weakness.”

Edgar stepped between us. “There are those nearby who may take coins. They would sell food, provided they have spare. The pipes here work still, through luck or Lilim sorcery, thus water is plentiful. But…why not take us with you?”

I didn’t want to lie. “A couple reasons. I may need to travel in ways and to places you simply cannot. Also, in order to keep you safe even from those I travel with, you’d have to take on my mark. Something,” I said, looking past Edgar at Carlos who was again studying the floor, “which I think not everyone here would wish to do.”

They went silent at that, but then Nadia blurted, “I’ll do it. Then I can be the one to more safely buy supplies.”

“Nadia!” Edgar looked at her in surprise. “Bound by her mark, you could be forever trapped! An angel she may be, but she too has fallen to Hell!”

Under the hood the woman attempted a smile, and across those devastated cheeks the expression was more tragic than warm. Though the sentiment was genuine before hardening again as an inner fury spoke. “The god I worshiped in life allowed this,” she said, gesturing to the ruin of her face. “Yet the goddess whom the priestess follows sustained her while she lay trapped within a demon’s belly - and sent her only daughter to Hell to pull her free.” She looked again to me, nervous and angry, yet expectant as if she dared me to contradict, or worse - to fail. “I would choose to trust in such a deity.”

I stood, cradling the box against my chest with one hand. “You must understand, I do not serve my spirit’s mother. And Artemis did not send me to Hell.”

Shredded cheeks frowned. “Then whom do you serve?”

The question hit eardrums like an ocean crashing against a cliff. Unlike the angels above, I had taken no oath to Elohim. So I didn’t serve anyone, did I?

Except that wasn’t right.

I’d agreed to work with my greater spirit, to walk where she needed feet to tread and wings to fly. Even though they had led me back to Hell.

Which hadn’t been fought against or even debated. Because she and I, we both in truth did serve something.

Something we’d been willing to give everything for.

Light exploded across the space as wings slipped free once again. And many levels of consciousness spoke in a single voice to fill the wide chamber.

“I serve my heart of hearts, and the Light of Lights from which it shines. I serve all who would walk within that glory, be they able to see it true or no.”

Sinking to knees, and with a clear and brave voice she asked, “Even those whose own hearts remain burdened by sin?”

In silent answer, I reached below the covering fabric to rest a hand against the ruined face and saw then what lay behind her strength...and her pain:

 

A youth, the mayor’s son, rank with sweat-covered cloth as he forces himself upon her in an alleyway - because she had refused his numerous propositions, because that day her brother decided it was too hot to accompany her to market. When lust’s imperatives concludes, then does he spit and toss upon her face the contents of a flask - to burn and bubble skin and flesh so no other would ever again touch…

 

Recovering in hospital, agony ripping across jaw and spirit, mother and father curse the shame of having a daughter so bespoiled. And the trouble the wrath of the mayor will bring upon them should higher authorities dare arrest his son. While a brother only by birth laughs that he’d achieved a high score on a video game during her hour of pain and humiliation…

 

An older nurse, wrinkles too numerous to count folding alongside compassionate eyes, leans close to whisper the family’s plan, their intentions upon her release to rid themselves of further burden. A bundled coat presses into fingers, laden with cash…and a weapon meant to defend. But desire to flee burns not in her heart - for pain and panic cross unto rage, a rage of hardened ice unlike any she has ever known…

 

And I see a market, shelves and carts full of spices and produce, trinkets and tools, buyers and sellers scurrying to beat an incoming storm. From under thick cloth she waits, she watches, and there he is: flanked by his own brothers, flashy watch upon wrist, laughing and free. Head down she approaches, and only after the thunder that was not thunder does she let him view the results his cruelty has wrought. As he falls to the mud-strewn earth - and as brother aims deadly reply - only then does she see past to a woman behind. Carrying bolts of freshly purchased red-dyed cloth, the matron also collapses to the wet dirt as the light brown of her robe’s back flushes brighter to match the color clutched within her hands.

 

The tormented soul didn’t collapse, nor did she sob, as a new star burned free across her forehead. Only a single tear escaped those fierce eyes: a drop filled with the still-boiling rage fighting against terrible guilt, as it slipped past a flap in shredded cheeks to lose itself upon bare teeth underneath.

Lowering to one knee and with wings still spread wide, I spoke more softly.

“Especially them, Nadia. Especially them.”

A shudder passed through her, and her head bowed lower still. Behind, however, Carlos stood and stared.

Not in awe, but raw unbridled anger.

“That,” he snarled, “is so much bullshit!!”

Fuming, he turned and stalked off between damaged and empty shelves.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 4

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Four - Enemies

 

When appearing again in front of Krux and all his gun-toting troopers, I’d changed clothes. Gone was the casual jogger garb, replaced with biker’s gear of white leather: boots, chaps over jeans, gloves, and an armored jacket - one with enough pockets to wedge in all the currency I’d just recovered. My bike, of course, was stuck in a galaxy far, far, away - but I knew the pattern of this outfit well enough to replicate it.

Being an angel had certain advantages.

This time only Krux’s team reacted to snap weapons in my direction. The winged devil himself merely grunted and took aim instead with the glowing end of his cigar. “Nice threads. Find ‘em in the side-space?”

I shrugged then gestured around us. “You figured it out?”

He grinned rows of sharp teeth. “This ain’t just a pretty face. Knowing it’s there, I can sense the working - but I ain’t stupid enough to pick the lock.”

“Are you implying that I was?”

Flicking ash onto the mirrored floor, it was his turn to shrug. “You didn’t explode. So guess not. You find anything else you were looking for?”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t really trust the devil, but fate had brought us together again. The last time that happened it was thanks to him that I arrived where needed in order to prevent another chaos-infused disaster from taking place.

And here Krux was again.

With a sigh, I tugged free a glove and ran fingers through the red short spikiness of my current hairstyle. “This soul you were chasing, Pierre, that have anything to do with Sanctuary?” The motion caused some of the currency stashed around the new outfit to clink. Dangit, I should have thought of that and padded with handkerchiefs or something.

He chomped on the cigar and pretended not to have heard. “Thought you said you just got here.”

“I did.”

“Then how the fuck you know about that? The idiot say something?”

“Not directly.”

Smoke filled the air between us as he exhaled while considering. “How many souls are hiding in the side-space here?”

Crap. He really wasn’t stupid. “Not at liberty to say.”

He rolled bean-colored eyes. “You want to rescue them. Because of course you would.”

“So what if I do?”

“It’s a waste of effort. They’re souls - so they’re weak.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. You gonna babysit ‘em for eternity?”

“Is Sanctuary real?”

“Some morons believe it.”

“You trying to find it so your people can wipe them out?”

He snorted. “A bunch of souls hiding under rocks hardly qualifies as a threat to the realm.”

“Yet you’re chasing Pierre.”

“Yeah. Because like I said, his boss may know what happened to my team. It’s known the boss is lurking near that area of the Pits. Shit goin’ on down there, he’d need to be aware of it - or he’d already be crushed too.”

“What if this leader of his took your guys down?”

“Not my team. C’mon, be serious. You ever met a soul that could go toe-to-toe with a demonic heavy hitter? Let alone a professional platoon of ‘em?”

I thought about Twitch with his superspeed, or even Barry and his electric-spelled axe. Barry got crushed by the demon mercenaries I eventually conquered, and Twitch - as skilled as he was - would get smeared by properly utilized area-effect wizardry. Against the really powerful, they’d get squashed. I didn’t like it, but being in denial would simply be foolish.

Replaying what Pierre had said, a different idea occurred. “And what if they’re somehow connected to my old crew?”

Beady narrow eyes met mine. “Then that’s intel I need.”

“What about Pierre’s partner? Kelly, right?”

“Useless. One of my guys took a risk and munched her already. Nothing of value; Pierre simply hired her for lookout. That’s it.”

The impulse to go through Krux’s team one by one and rip free all the souls floating within their demon stomachs flared hot across the back of the neck, but I had to force it down. Just like I’d done each and every day with my old mercs.

Being away for a few months hadn’t made that any easier. If anything, the opposite was true. I’d come to care for that wrecking crew, whereas Krux’s team simply lurked in the periphery of perception as nothing more than flashes of controlled evil.

Swallowing more than I wanted to, I instead asked, “How’d you know that they’d be at the hospital?”

He hesitated and tapped more ash off the cigar already reduced to a short nub, though the leathery fingers didn’t seem to care about coming into contact with parts glowing with heat. “Figured out what the boss is desperate to find. We let it leak that it could be found there.”

“And could it?”

“Nah. Those records never had everything. They got scrubbed by order of the Citadel almost immediately. Properly. I made sure of that.”

“Dare I guess what he was hoping those records would contain?”

“I gotta spell it out?”

I put the glove back on. “Yeah. Guess you do.”

“Fine. Pierre and that boss of his are desperate for proof that one Commander Jordan, this reaper then soldier from the ass-end of the Rock, was a Nephelim - one rumored to be the martyred Savior of the Citadel and the Rock itself. “ He glowered. “You’re the reason for their entire cult. And with real evidence they’ll recruit boatloads of more followers.”

Crud. I was afraid of that. “And who’s his boss?”

“Don’t fucking know. All I got is what folks call him: the Apostle.”

I frowned. Nadia had mentioned someone called the ‘Pilgrim’ but not an ‘Apostle’. “Huh, that title certainly doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Think any of your associates would take that moniker?”

“I led an army, Krux, not a religious movement. Otherwise my last supper wouldn’t have been such lousy hospital food entirely lacking any wine.”

“Ha.”

As implications of having a cult of damned souls formed in my honor sank further in, I moaned. “Great, just great. What other leads you got?”

“For finding the Apostle? Just the one hiding in those shirt pockets of yours next to all those coins clinking about.”

“Pierre’s soulstone? I thought you said he’d be poison to a demon.”

“Yeah. But you ain’t no demon.”

“Oh.”

The last remnants of the cigar dropped to the floor. Krux didn’t even bother to smother the embers with his foot. “So why don’t you swallow what’s left of that suicidal idiot, or do whatever it is you feathered jerks do to pull memories from ‘em. Things considered, I bet all you need do is reach inside and ask.”

Within the jacket’s pocket, the stone suddenly felt heavy. Unzipping - and careful not to spill out any hellish currency - I retrieved it, holding the orb loose upon a covered palm. No larger than a golf ball, all that was left of the man’s spirit pulsed coldly with tiny flares of barely visible bluish light.

Fingers folded into a fist and I braced for whatever would be found within.

 

Four portraits, towering images in perfect clarity, hung in a row within an otherwise empty space.

All of the same subject.

A toddler smiles in joy as adult male hands hold forth the precious stuffed puppy, the toy’s comfort so dreadfully missing mere moments prior.

A small boy lies in bed with wide eyes, staring at a dark room’s empty ceiling, after another no-story bedtime without the father who always did so much better at the voices.

A burgeoning teen with braces glares in sulking anger, despite birthday cake’s bright candles with friends and a mother’s attempt at cheer, as one more broken promise ruins another year’s desire.

A young man, long hair hiding an eye, stands emotionless over an occupied bed with rails. Across limbs bound inside plaster, plastic lines twist like thrown spaghetti reaching various liquid-filled bags and beeping monitors. The woman beside the youth spills tears freely, but the youth’s cheeks are dry under eyes empty and elsewhere.

A voice from behind startles yet was expected.

“My son. My greatest joy. My greatest regret.”

Perception turns, a man sits cross-legged and naked within the blankness, hair the color of burnt umber hanging to shoulders. His build is lean and scrawny, and he stares with somber guilt at the pictures arranged before him.

I find myself speaking. “Why is that, Pierre?”

“Because I was not there.” No anger, only deep sorrow - only deep pain. “Always the promises I’d intended to keep, always work calling me away. Thinking what mattered most was providing. Food, shelter, security. But look at him! Beautiful like his mother, and so wounded because I could not see the truths of time’s loss.”

“You love him. And I am sure you told him this. That’s more than many children receive.”

“Yet how good is being told you are loved if never do you feel its warmth, its touch? Is that not worse?”

The progression across the portraits lends silent testimony to the premise.

Inhaling, the man shakes his head. “I was a fool, and paid the price. I had to die and fall to Hell to understand. Not at first, no, not for hundreds of years - until the Apostle shared with me his treasure. Through him I glimpsed the truth.”

“The truth?”

“He was there, when the Darkness tried to shatter and swallow the Rock. He was there and knew horror as the Spark began to fail. When everyone’s soul twisted and frayed.”

Visions filled new portraits only within my thoughts: shattered ice, exploded stone, sword of fire and mace of steel - and a terror attempting to consume all.

“And,” Pierre continues, “he told how a brightness beyond all brightness reached out to touch them, granting strength to hold together, to resist the pull of absolute nothingness. A light, yes, but also love itself came for them! Through the Apostle’s devotion I too felt it, his faith and certainty touched something inside and I knew then as I know now - that this was a force no darkness, no sorrows, could ever conquer. And so I pledged to serve and spread the word of her Light.”

“So you joined with the Apostle.”

“How could I not? After centuries of despair, he spoke only of hope! That we had not been abandoned! Though he needed help, for he fled the Rock when the uprising faltered.”

“Uprising?”

“In that light the marks of ownership were wiped clean. Some souls resisted being reclaimed by demonic masters, but they could not hold out for long.”

A pause. “How were you able to help him?”

“Skills. My profession was in developing financial databases. Electronics function in the Devil’s personal realm, and while demons create nothing - we souls do. Which is how the Apostle first found me.”

“Oh?”

“The city is connected by networks of electricity and magic, currency and information is their domain. And I gained access. Carefully I spread word of what happened on the Rock to others, and through those systems the Apostle communicates to me - anonymously to keep himself safe. With my aid he shares with many the glory of the Light and the star she left behind. He preaches that the star is her sacred promise of return.”

“The star?”

Eagerly, he nods. “Yes, that which now sparkles across previously empty sky beyond the dome of the Rock. A symbol for us all!”

“And what would you wish for should she return?”

“More than anything, I would beg to be sent back!”

“Your life is done, Pierre Rene Blanc. Its course is run.”

“I know, I understand. I can never repair how terribly I wasted it. And my son will need to find his own way, though I fervently pray his forgiveness - his and my wife’s.” He slumps forward in lost sorrows yet inside a glow shimmers past layers of pain.“But I wish to start again! Let me love not at a distance, but present in full - give this wretched spirit a chance to get it right! Wipe away Pierre and let another grow in his place, one through which this foolish soul may finally shine!”

“You believe such possible?”

“I pray to the Light and Star, with all my heart and all I am, that it may be so!”

Resolution forms. “We shall see, brightening one. We shall see.”

 

Krux was staring expectantly. “So you gonna do it or what?”

I blinked as paintings shifted again to those of Lilith. “Already did.”

“Huh. Quick. Learn anything?”

Remaining silent for a moment’s thought, I finally answered. “Yes…and also no.”

“Cryptic much?”

“Hardly. For that you better have cake.” The weight of the soul in my hand felt lighter than before - and yet also a whole lot heavier. But that was something to struggle over later.

“Cake?”

I tucked it - Pierre - back into the pocket. “Nevermind. He doesn’t know who the Apostle is. Never directly met him, in fact.”

“Well shit.”

“Electronic communication only between the two, likely encrypted and obfuscated. Though you probably knew that already.” I gave the miniature devil a hard stare.

“We knew the net is how they’re coordinating, yeah. Was hoping to catch a bigger fish.”

“Sorry, minnows only today. So what now?”

Krux began to pace, bat-like wings twitching behind. “You get the minnow’s full name?”

“Pierre Blanc. Why?”

“Gimme a sec.” Activating the radio link, he ordered the operator on the other end (presumably Citadel HQ) to start a trace on the name, then cut the connection again. The encryption was thick and the radio did some serious frequency-hopping, but to properly focused attention it still easily unscrambled.

The air was thick with such transmissions too - both electronic and spellwork. I could probably spend hours picking through it all, but peeping further in on all the demonic porn being blasted about seriously did not appeal.

One horrid glimpse all by itself fell instantly into the category of ‘what has been seen cannot be unseen.’

Urk.

“Alright,” Krux said to himself as he looked around the not-as-empty-as-it-seemed and exquisitely painted blimp hangar. An obvious thought crossed his forehead, and he studied me again.

I caught the gist. “If you leave part of your team here, they’ll never come out. Just starve into stones. Unless you think you can break the Lilim’s spell to get across to them. Or more specifically, Lilith’s spell.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She did it herself?”

Making a show of scanning the area again, I shrugged. “It’s a blend. But she’ll know if it’s taken down. And probably knows that I slipped through.” Saying it, I felt the truth of it. If she minded, she’d have to show up to do something about it - in which case those inside could be saved directly.

Provided she even cared about them.

He made a decision and emitted a piercing whistle to his team - even though he could have just radioed them. “Load up! We’ve got another stop to make.” Before I could ask, he pointed a sharp finger. “And you’re coming.”

“I am?”

“Spend that fortune in your pockets properly, and you could learn something.”

“And therefore so could you.”

He grinned, and it wasn’t the sort that was kind. “Why waste my stupidly slim budget when I can mooch off yours? Think of it as a finders fee.”

“For finding what?”

“Answers. And maybe more.”

“Who’s the one being cryptic now? To be clear, I’m not buying you any cake.”

“I like pie. Preferably with meat in it. Let’s go.” He tilted his head towards the exit.

“Not until I know where we’re going.”

“A bar in neutral territory.”

“You do realize I was joking about the wine.”

“Ha, ha. Funny. Nah, it’s not booze we’re after. I worked Intelligence, remember? Trust me.”

“You’d be disappointed in me if I did.”

“Well ain’t that the fuckin’ truth. You coming anyway?”

“Yeah.”

We trooped back outside into the ridiculously oppressive heat, and as we strolled towards the waiting drop ship I had a thought.

“Hey, Krux?”

“Hmm?”

“You familiar with Sun Tzu?”

“Heard the name. Doubt he ended up here, but who the fuck knows. Why?”

“He had this line about keeping friends close and enemies closer. So which am I?”

He side-eyed me like I was an idiot. “You’re in Hell. Everyone’s an enemy.”

“Ah.”

He slipped past to board the ship first, but as he did he muttered under his breath. “Everyone. Especially yourself.”

I wasn’t sure he meant that for me to hear, but I didn’t ask nor did he clarify.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Another shuttle ride, and another mental instruction to Tsáyidiel to follow without being seen. Most entities would have gotten bored with such an assignment by now, but not Tsáyidiel. I had the impression my gryphon would gladly follow the order for the next thousand years without even a thought of complaint. He fulfilled his duty and Purpose as he saw it - nothing would interfere with the totality of focus towards its fulfillment.

Absolutely nothing.

There was something disturbing about that, particularly as there was a part of me which resonated strongly to the purity of resolution - causing the rest to worry about the dangers of fanaticism. Or just screwing up in general.

After all, I was only…well, crud. Nevermind.

Krux remained silent during our transit between yet more dark towers stretching towards the inferno above. He too was pensive, having pulled out another cigar and left it unlit to instead tap between fingers. As the craft landed on another side platform, he tucked the tube back into a vest pocket and pointed to two of his crew.

“Halphas! Urigtha! I’m taking our guest to Greepa’s. Halphas’ team stays with the ship; Urigtha, go stealth and roundabout to the bar. Post up nearby and be ready.”

A three-eyed and rather obviously female (despite the armored vest) demon popped a fresh power module into a blaster, a weapon longer yet skinnier than most of the others. “Expecting danger inside or out, sir?” She wasn’t muscle-bound like her comrades, and thin insect-like wings lined her back.

“Either. Both.”

“Roger that.”

From the landing pad we went inside to a maze of black-walled corridors and staircases, some of which opened to interior atrium areas where it was like being inside a huge shopping center with varied levels. Familiar crystal lanterns hung at intervals to spotlight storefronts and offices, with signs - written in sharply punctuated demonic script - indicating everything from financial outfits to butcher shops. There were even posted guides showing entire sections of the building as being reserved for manufacturing facilities. The layout was not conducive to quick travel - in fact the twists and turns were clearly designed to stall any attackers in regularly-spaced killing zones.

Even balconies overlooking open spaces where fliers could zip between levels had battle considerations. Such as the balcony railings being more like reinforced pillboxes, lining only two adjacent sides of the rectangle so each faced even sturdier slabs of that weird obsidian stone of which everything was made.

In other words, shooters from those two sides could open up fully on anything trying to fly past without fear of friendly fire from the opposite wall.

And yes, those dark stones were heavily scarred.

More interesting were the denizens. Demons in business suits shared walkways with devils looking like they’d just come out of some post-apocalyptic movie set. There was an odd mix of medieval and futuristic weaponry carried about, though whenever groups of obviously different social orders crossed paths there was an instinctual assessment of power levels between them - and the clearly weaker would move out of the way, bowing heads in respect as their ‘betters’ moved on. What was worn didn’t correlate with those outcomes, either.

The number of souls trapped within plus the strength of internal mana reserves however did.

Then, of course, there was Krux and myself.

Krux, in his military-style gear and Citadel emblems, moved through the crowds as if they all were beneath his station. Even those radiating far greater raw power moved politely out of his way - including the tower’s own security forces who were clearly identifiable by their own insignia of three inscribed circles with an upside-down ‘V’ slashed across them.

As for me, most ignored my presence completely. Except for a couple of particularly potent entities who, after bowing to Krux and letting us past, did double takes in my direction before going pale and hurriedly scurrying off on however many legs they used to walk. While I had wrapped myself with a concealment spell taken from a friend’s gifted dog tags, occasionally flares must have leaked through.

Oh well.

The whole aura of the place, other than the demonic stench which no amount of cleaning could remove, was of a rigid order barely containing potential violence lurking behind every eye and in every hand. The need for all the strict politeness had been etched across scars and missing limbs, and the security forces saluting and ushering Krux past each checkpoint clearly meant business. The whole structure was also wired with cameras, microphones, and magic detectors - all of which communicated either wirelessly or via hardpoints to centralized monitoring stations.

While under our feet, within the walkways and the walls, were the embedded souls holding everything in place - dim but there. Without their presence anchoring the realm’s existence, the structure would twist, warp, and eventually collapse. Taking a deeper look from behind recreated motorcycle goggles, the fabric of the realm’s stability was weaker than when I’d last been here, the edges of the rules holding it coherent had started to splinter and fray.

This had been the Archangel Samael’s realm and, as I’d learned during that last visit, he’d abandoned it. The core was empty and the rest had begun to unravel.

Which likely was what occupied Krux’s fears.

Eventually we arrived at this bar of his, a muscle-bound guy with horns and blue skin at the door stepping reluctantly aside due to Krux’s imperious glare. The height differential was ridiculous, I mean blue dude there could have simply lifted a leg and stomped the Citadel agent in one go - but with a scowl the semi-giant bowed and let us in.

All of which had me wondering just what one had to do to earn the twin silver swords pinned to Krux’s lapels.

Just like the outside with its darkly graffitied black wall, so was the bar itself. Dimly lit with leather booths set in round alcoves and a main length of bar with the requisite bottles lining shelves behind, it reeked of smoke, sweaty demons, and this weird hint of sour despair.

Though that may have just been the guy passed out in one of the booths, arms folded under a long coat while stretched sideways along the red-dyed hide of the bench, sandaled feet barely touching the floor. The face was hidden, mostly by a length of stringy beard with tiny bits of uneaten food stuck to it, but also by a beige fedora pulled down over eyes and nose. Loud snores gave testament to the effects of the numerous green and blue empty bottles scattered haphazardly across the table. What stood out though was that at first he felt like another of Hell’s lost souls, but a disturbing tingle across the skin forced a second look.

Which, even after a flare behind the goggles, broke into shimmers that revealed nothing.

I’d never had that happen before.

Krux, however, impatiently pointed to a booth in a corner - and then promptly took the side that gave him the most visibility of the room. Dangit, I’d wanted that spot. But fine, I took the opposite bench and continued evaluating the other occupants.

There were only two: the bartender, a proper devil of moderate height in silk vest with dress shirt sleeves rolled up and tied with a thin ribbon, and one customer at another booth across the room. That demon had twin spine-covered heads - one of which was busy chugging straight from a bottle - and kept twitching in the seat. He’d given Krux a nasty sneer as we’d gone by, but then had become distracted by my posterior’s passing.

Results of quick analysis: five souls, all former soldiers blazing with confusion and rage. And the leering jerk who’d swallowed them was having difficulty keeping them all in line - quite literally he may have bitten off more than he could safely chew.

Lovely.

The bartender stepped out, revealing a navy waist apron which had been hidden behind the bar. “General,” he said when approaching our table, and to my surprise he’d directed that to Krux. “It’s been awhile.”

“Greepa.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business. I need to talk to him.”

“Ale, then?”

“Fuck it, sure.”

The guy in the well-tailored silk with two small spikes poking through hair otherwise pulled into a tight ponytail then looked at me. “Miss?” He frowned as his usual-suspects evaluations failed.

I threw Krux a smirk. “Wine. Asmodian if you have it.”

The bartender didn’t bat an eye. “Cash or stick?”

Krux pointed at me. “Cash. She’s paying.”

Mr. Waistcoat’s attention slid back to me expectantly.

“What?” I asked. “I have to pay up front?”

Pulling out another cigar, Krux grunted. “Show him your currency.”

“Fine.” Unzipping a pocket, I pulled out a handful of platinum coins. “Satisfied?”

Those staring eyes widened. “Denarii. Do you have anything of a…smaller denomination?”

I frowned. “Uhm. No?”

Krux leaned forward. “Well shit. You really are rich.”

“This isn’t that much.”

The devilish general laughed. “Going rates. With Beliel’s Rock cut off, and with the collapse of many of the exchanges - cash like that is king.”

“Oh.”

The bartender cleared his throat. “Perhaps miss would like to purchase a cred-stick.”

Hmm. Could be useful, I suppose. I looked to Krux. “How much should I get?” From the pocket I pulled out some gold centurians.

As he’d just lit the cigar, the devil choked on the smoke. “By Samael’s short-hairs, how much do you have?”

Even Greepa looked disturbed. “We could exchange perhaps two of those at most. Our usual rates.”

That refocused Krux. “Five percent?”

“Ten.”

“Six. And on the Citadel Exchange.” Krux flicked ash onto the floor.

“Eight and it will be.”

“Done. Give him the coins.”

I held out a pair of golden circles to Greepa. “Throw in a money belt with secure clasps. And also tell me one more thing.”

He eyed the currency. “We can come up with something. What information is it that are you after?”

“Who’s the drunk in the booth by the door?”

Taking hold of the coins, Greepa grinned a set of continual and well-polished canines. “Our bouncer.”

Hesitating, I then let the cash go. I wasn’t curious enough to cause a scene.

At least not yet.

The bartender placed the money carefully in a vest pocket. Then from an apron pouch he produced a small tablet, a device not much bigger than the ridiculously large smart phones some back at the Academy had proudly lugged around. Placing it in front of Krux, he first reached under the table to pull out a cable with a USB-like connector and plugged it in. Pushing a button on the tablet’s side a shimmering field of green expanded to swallow us in a bubble big enough for the entire alcove.

“Privacy screen is on the house. He’ll text you in a moment.” With that Greepa bowed, and then stepped backwards out of the field.

Krux caught that I was busy studying the spell. “Good enough?”

“Passable, provided the tablet doesn’t have an active mic.”

“Does it?”

“Nope. So who’s this ‘he’ that’s going to text?”

“Hacker. We don’t have a name, just suspicions.”

“For a former intelligence operative that’s rather nebulous.”

The devil blew more smoke. “Assets generally prefer to be.”

“He that good?”

“For what you can afford? Yeah. He better be.”

The device beeped and the screen flashed as text the same color as the privacy field appeared across the display.

“Query?”

Krux waved the cigar at it, though was careful not to drop any ash.

Taking the touchscreen device, careful not to pull too hard on the attached cable, I began to type across the matching monochrome keyboard that had appeared below the text.

“How do I find Sanctuary?”

A pause, and then response. “Unknown.”

Yeah, rather expected that. “What is it?”

“Long-standing myth; dates to after the Gate sealed the realms. Safe haven for souls, hidden somewhere in Hell.”

“The Apostle. He talks about it?”

“Affirmative.”

“How do I find him? Can you trace his communications with Pierre Blanc?”

“Too risky. Citadel monitoring.”

I glared at Krux, who simply grinned. Sheesh. “Can you get a message to the Apostle?”

“Refuse.”

“I can pay.”

“Refuse.”

Well, this was quickly proving useless. Unless…

I typed quickly. “The Apostle cannot be operating alone. How does he recruit? Only through the networks?”

Another pause. “Report from incoming orientations indicate souls of specific potential go missing.”

To Krux I asked, “Incoming orientations?”

Coffee-bean eyes narrowed as he considered. “New souls arriving to Dis. If they get across the Styx, they’re shoved into orientation groups.”

I blinked. “So Dis has its own reapers? Like what I used to do on the Rock?”

“Sort of.”

On the tablet I typed, “What specific potentials are disappearing?”

The response was interesting. “Information and Technology. Military. Covert Ops.”

“Huh.” I looked again at Krux. “Are there that many who arrive here which fall into those categories?”

He shrugged, causing leathery wings to bob over narrow shoulders. “This is Dis. Tech crap is rare, but applied violence? Common.”

I sat back in thought, idly catching the bartender walking over to the twitchy demon’s table and placing a pouch upon it which the demon greedily immediately snatched. Even with the privacy screen active I could feel the contents of the pouch: a soul pulsed within. One of great power, but also flickering with tremendous variability - and horrible inner pain.

Dammit.

Trying to ignore it, I picked up the tablet and typed again. “What about the Pilgrim? Who is-”

I was still typing when a fireball slammed over the far side of the bar, shattering a wide swath of bottles as well as a power panel.

Many things happened at once.

The tablet and privacy screen both went dark as all electricity failed, plunging the bar into fire-touched darkness. Krux dove under the table, a pistol already in hand. I flared with energy and began to reach out to the soul which the idiot two-headed demon had swallowed. Despite having two brains the dumb-shit still lacked enough willpower to handle the soul, causing unleashed fragments of all the power of the souls he’d stuffed into his belly to burst free. Flames like rainbows surrounded him, and as his flesh boiled he screamed and thrashed about, unable to control the fires he’d inadvertently summoned.

Lastly, the grungy drunk appeared behind the shrieking immolation.

With hurricane filling irises piercing past dirty bangs, the bouncer waved a tattooed palm in the demon’s direction, and a tempest flashed with a crack of ear-deafening thunder to send wind and blinding water to swallow the multi-hued flames and demon whole.

In the stunned aftermath, the demon’s captured souls dropped free to the floor like cannonballs suddenly loose upon a ship’s deck. From clouds roiling against the ceiling rain began to pelt us all, and my glowing gaze now illuminating the bar caught the wild-eyed wielder of the storm.

“Holy crud,” I heard myself say. “Nick!”

Shutting eyes both against the light and their own inner tempest, the still-inebriated bouncer staggered, sinking to a sitting position on the floor. Even as the Citadel crew burst past the entrance with weapons instantly pointed at all occupants not named Krux, the mage ran a marked hand through thick untamed hair and muttered but one phrase:

“I need a drink.”

 

End of Part One

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 5

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Part Two

 

Chapter Five - Plans

 

Brightness sweeps away the Book’s words and echoing voice entire.

All is light, and Light is All.

Infinite yet singular, timeless yet growing, perception expands.

Perception of existence, perception of pattern.

A vision of glory beyond all glory, depth beyond all depth, and purpose beyond all purpose.

From this vantage, a locus forms. A pivot through which the Light’s perception shall guide, reach, and measure.

A pivot through which to recognize Self.

A pivot through which to Act.

Ripples appear in the Light, impressions left in the pivot’s wake. A second convergence responds to maintain the coherence of the Whole - following the pivot to shade spots too bright, to reinforce regions too dim, smoothing thereby the passage of the First.

And at the edge of vision, that which cannot be seen clearly moves also. A pressure betwixt Nothing, Possibility, and Light, coalesces nexuses of its own - patterns not of the Light but of reaction.

These lash against what is, tearing against the singularity underlying perceived pattern with emerging conflicting variances.

New perceptions arise. A need for healing. A need for survival. A need for stability. A need for victory.

And more.

Each working to their intention, each enhancing further that which was created within the Light. Each lending strength against that which attempts to rip the All asunder, and in that expanding conflict many are lost that the rest may be preserved.

With such arrives awareness of the potentials of causality, of Time and Eternity, and the multitude of layers which shall expand and develop all things. Including the increasingly coherent vortices now surrounding the First through which the Light originally streamed.

In this expansion, as ideals grow and gain nuances in realized manifestation, potential weakness is perceived in an Infinite built only upon the Singular. A paradox of infinities wherein impossible becomes certain.

Thus to the Eyes of the First is much revealed: A plan to counter this certainty, one filled with promised glory yet holding tremendous risk all its own.

But before I can examine closely, Raziel’s tome turns the page.

 

Despite telling Krux not to, after waving off his wrecking crew the devil went and ordered Nick a fresh bottle of some possibly-potato hard alcohol. This so-called beverage had a weird neon-orange tinge to the liquid, like it had previously tried out for the job of being an orange slushy and failed. Greepa brought it over along with two filled glasses - one for me and one for Krux - before solemnly returning to the busted power panel to pry off the cover and inspect the fuses one by one. Apparently Nick didn’t need a glass, which was proven immediately by his taking a long swig direct from the bottle.

We sat there in a darkness punctuated by a single table candle’s flame, each of us sipping (or chugging) our drinks and not speaking.

Nick looked - and smelled - horrid. Like something scraped from the bottom of a restaurant’s rusty dumpster. Then again, who knows, maybe he had actually been taking naps in such a bin behind this place.

Finally I had to comment. “When was the last time you bathed? Seriously, I’ve had whiffs of demon guts fresher than you.”

He put down the bottle to squint with bloodshot and unfriendly eyes. “What…what are you even doing here?” When our gazes finally met, he quickly turned away.

“Foraging for information.”

“I wasn’t asking about this ass-end of a bar. I meant being back in Hell.”

With a click the light crystals turned on again, and Greepa closed the dented panel. This caused the tablet to beep from restored power, though no text appeared on the display. Reaching out to it, I reactivated the privacy field so the table was again bathed in green and verified that the device wasn’t recording or transmitting. Then I looked at Krux, or more specifically, at the line of beer foam smeared across his upper lip.

“Yo, Krux.”

“What.”

“You got something there,” I said, pointing generally towards his mouth. “Also - take a walk.”

He wiped the messy face with a shirtsleeve. “And if’n I don’t feel like it?”

“Then I may need to reconsider our friendship.”

Scowling, he stepped off the seat and dropped to the floor. “Fine.”

“Hey, take those recorders you stuck under the table along with you. Both of ‘em.”

The scowl brightened into an amused smirk. “Hard to resist an observant woman’s demands.” Easily reaching underneath, he plucked the dime-sized devices free, then grabbed his ale. “Taking this with me too.”

“All yours. Charge more to my account if this takes awhile.”

“Shit, don’t have to offer that twice. Have fun, kids!” He stepped beyond the privacy field, leaving me alone with the fallen angel desperately trying to reach bottom.

Said angel didn’t say anything more, instead only took another swig from the bottle. The last time I’d seen Nick, the Grigori-incarnate mage had been with Camael when they’d arrived (albeit late) to the Citadel where I’d just assisted a Beelzebub in defeating an angel possessed by the evil puppet master, Azazel. From what my best friend, Isaiah, had told me - Camael had essentially blackmailed Nick into being his guide here in Hell.

Specifically to aid in finding me.

Of course, this was all after the idiot mage had worked with the Grigori angel Sariel back on Earth and thereby gotten my niece killed - the same niece he’d once helped save from the sorcerer Callas Soren, who also just-so-happened to be the mundane identity of Prince Camael, angel and Regent of the Seat of Light.

To say our collective history was tortuously complex would be an understatement of literal Biblical proportions.

I sipped at the wine. A bit saccharine, but pretty good by Hell’s standards. Wasn’t Asmodian though, this stuff verged on being too sugary. Ah well. “Want to tell me why you’re pretending to be a bouncer?”

“Not particularly.”

“Alright, then know where Camael is? Or even Nathanael? Those two would probably have stuck together.”

He flinched, which was followed up with a wince. “Last I heard, Nathanael’s busy fighting incursions from the Chaos. Azazel’s stunt with the mace riled things up.”

“Is Camael with him?”

“No clue. Don’t care.” He stared at the orange swirling behind the thick glass.

“Something happen?”

“You know what he did. Aradia was there.”

Memory of a storm-of-storms surfaced. “Barakiel’s daughter - your daughter.”

“Yeah.”

“He cut you down.”

“Yeah.”

“So you couldn’t save her. Just like Aradia couldn’t save Saibh.”

“The fae’s spirit survived. My daughter’s didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Eyes red with more than drink glared back. “Didn’t they do everything according to Aradia and Gabriel’s master plan?”

My cheeks squinched. “I don’t remember their plans. Not in full. Don’t think I’m supposed to - at least, not yet.” Saying the latter triggered shivers down the arms, as if an unrealized truth had solidified.

Lovely.

He looked away. “That’s gotta suck.”

“Maybe. Aradia expected her spirit to die, there at the end. But Azrael intervened. Gabriel may have foreseen her brother’s action - and she could have wanted me to have a clean restart. Guilt festering for too long becomes a poison of its own.”

“Restart or no, you’re still Aradia.”

“My spirit was hers, sure. But a lot’s changed since then. I’m beginning to think static unchanging aspects is a source of problems for many.”

He sat quiet for a moment, then switched the subject. “Nathanael is connected to you; haven’t you reached out?”

“And let all the fallen Sarim sense the signal? Think I’m naive enough to broadcast that I’m here, Nick? Or should I call you Barakiel now.”

“Call me whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He coughed - a deep rasping rattle of a cough - and spat something yellow and red into a napkin. He really did look awful, what skin could be seen between beard and grimy hair lurked pale and sallow. Conjuring some added light, I took a better look.

What I saw wasn’t good.

“Jesus, dude. You’re wounded.”

“Quit that!” He blocked the light with a tattooed palm and huddled further into the grimy coat. “And I certainly ain’t Jesus. As for this, ‘tis but a scratch.” He tried to say the last with more whimsy, but the breathing was too shallow to support the intended tone.

“That mess is soul-cursed. Can’t you heal it?” Under the leather, dark lines spread from below the padding he’d wedged over his stomach where cursed energy dug in like hooked fishing lines into his pattern. What’s worse, his angelic spirit wasn’t even trying to pry them free - if anything, the barbs had been grabbed and pulled further in. The padding slowly soaked up leaking blood, much like my old reaper wrap when my own wounded wings had kept manifesting their blood after getting stabbed by a Chaos sword.

Staring at the bottle on the table, he slowly rotated it in place. “Why should I.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Confused pain shot a glance, then looked away again. “You would, wouldn’t you? Of course you would. Because despite those bright eyes of yours, you’re as blind as Aradia ever was.”

“Excuse me?”

Angrily, he pointed the bottle at me. “Blind! So let me be!”

“If I’m blind, then tell me what the heck happened!”

“What always happens - I fucked up!” Snarling, he went to throw the bottle aside, but stopped himself before letting it go. Some of the remaining orange splashed over the glass neck. “I try to do what’s right, make the hard choices, but it always fucks up!”

“You got me to Danielle in time to save her, back when we first met. That wasn’t a fuckup.”

“Because it was all for you!” He coughed a shallow laugh, yet its depths sank with bitterness. “Creation bends to your oh-so-pretty toes, not mine. Never mine. Not during the Flood, not when the Seals broke, and not when I tried…” He caught himself, and with a glare swallowed more than just the orange contents. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Never has. Fight for Heaven, fight for my family, fight for friends - in the end I always lose. Creation doesn’t give a shit about a loser like me.”

“And yet it brought me here to you. Let me help.”

“Why??” The man, the angel, choked out the word. “You should hate me! Because of Danielle, if nothing else - maybe you were led here to get a well-deserved revenge.”

“What more revenge could I take than what you’re so clearly doing to yourself?”

He spat into a napkin again. “Then gloat! Go ahead! Drink your fill! And afterwards, piss off.” Finishing off the not-quite-vodka, this time the glass container went flying to the back of the booth where it smacked hard against the leather. “Go shine for the chosen ones. Let the rest of us eternally burn in peace.”

Tough bottle, though. It didn’t crack.

“What if - hey, hear me out - what if I was brought here so you could help me instead?”

He snorted. “Time for me to play the useful idiot sidekick again? Fuck that.”

“Then don’t be an idiot. Look, you don’t want to tell me why you’re sitting there with soiled underwear, fine. But there’s gotta be a reason we’ve been shoved together again, and not just because that sneaky and all-too-clever devil at the bar wanted to confirm a theory about who you were. Be angry at Creation all you want, but if someone is giving you a chance to do the right thing, don’t you think you should take it?”

“I’d just screw it up.”

“To quote someone from my travels today: Bullshit! So I’m going to tell you why I’m here. And you’re going to listen. It won’t take long.”

The seat creaked as he slunk further into it. “Whatever. You’re buying.”

Deciding I’d had enough of the cloying wine, I pushed it aside. “I’m here because Azrael’s son chucked the Book of Secrets past the Gates of Hell. It landed somewhere in Dis; I lost sight when it fell through the fires covering this twisted cyberpunk of a realm.”

“Azrael’s son? Matityah?” In spite of himself, his head lifted.

“You know him?”

“I…I did, yeah. I used to…I used to feel for the kid. His father was an ass.” He held up a marked palm. “I know, I know - you’re such great friends with his incarnate. I get that. But trust me - the original? He had no concept of how to love a child.”

I thought back again to Azrael and my time as Aradia. She could see the love within him in spite of his distant and judgmental nature. She…I…had that ability. Another child would have only seen the surface.

And a cold unmoving surface it was indeed.

But Nick was muttering to himself. “Dammit, Callas. You said the book was safe.”

“It should have been,” I said with a frustrated grunt. “But I believe Alal, or others working with her, stole it. Matityah’s been infected by Chaos, Nick. Between that and the Book, he’s not sane.”

“What did he try to do with it?”

“Shatter Elohim’s Gates and free Hell to start some major mayhem. He wants to kill his father’s Purpose. He wants to kill Death itself. No matter what that takes.”

“A Chaos-infected Nephelim is loose? Shit. Did you defeat him?”

“No. He hurled the Book across and took off. Said he didn’t have the mojo yet to succeed anyway. I sent the Powers after him, but I followed the Book.”

“That was stupid.”

“Was it?”

He groaned and put palm to his forehead. “You’d better hope he hadn’t read too many chapters then.”

“Why?”

“Because if he truly masters his potential? The Host will scorch entire galaxies to put him down.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“You should be.”

“Look, with the time differential - provided it lasts - maybe I can get back before anything else happens. I did it before, though I don’t remember exactly how. Which is why I want to find the Book - so I can figure that out.”

“That’s not the way it works.” He glanced at my mostly-full cup. “You gonna finish that?”

Disgusted, I slid the glass the rest of the way across the table. If it helped keep him talking, it’d be worth it. “Take it. And what do you mean?”

He drained the remaining candied mash in a single gulp. “It’s the Sepher Raziel. Don’t think of it as a physical book, it’s more an idea - even if you can hold it in your hand. You don’t search for it directly.”

“Weren’t you doing just that back in Aleppo?”

“No. I was searching for the mystery of what sat in those alcoves under the synagogue; I didn’t know exactly what was there. Just that it was potent and tied to the script I didn’t recognize covering Callas’ storage lockers.”

“And Callas Soren - Camael - used you and me to find it again. Even though he’d placed it there.”

“Yeah. He’d buried the idea of it. Our searching for secrets - like just who the heck we were and what by all that was holy was going on - allowed it to manifest again.”

“So how do I find it now?”

“Same way as then. You need to know what happened when you skipped through Chaos? Pursue understanding that and any other mysteries that bitch of Creation shoves your way. The more sacred the mystery being sought, the better the chances of the book appearing.”

“And if you’re one of those mysteries?”

That earned an orange-stained grimace. “Then maybe we’ll be forced to meet again. Because before you ask, I ain’t going with you.”

I stared at the wounded angel. I could help him. I knew I could.

But it would only truly work if he wanted it to.

Getting to my feet, I put another golden centurian on the table. “If you can use this, take it. If not, leave it as a tip.”

He picked the coin up. “Nice. Can get better quality booze with this.”

About to turn away, I paused. “You know, you said you’ve made the hard choices. Sometimes the hardest choice is to accept help when it’s offered.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re too stubborn to believe it. Or in the glow that’s still inside you.”

“All that’s inside a fallen wretch like me is a festering hole. Count on it.”

“On that, Barakiel of the Lightning, you are wrong. Find me should you ever figure that out.”

As I went to go, grungy fingers grabbed hold of a sleeve. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” I looked down at the dirty hand.

“I’m not the only one who stinks. Your spirit carries a weapon infused with Chaos, I can smell it. It’s unlike any shadow blade I’ve sensed before, but it’s there. Be careful how you use such a thing, they cut both ways.” He let go.

I debated telling him about the Spear of Destiny and Gwydion's blade of Chaos, forged together only a few crazy hours ago, and currently being held back by my spirit from manifesting. But I said nothing and walked away.

Maybe that would give him his own mystery to follow.

Leaving Nick behind the green privacy screen, I crossed the bar to stand next to Krux who’d already gone through two more mugs of ale.

“Learn anything?” The short devil stood atop the bar stool, clawed feet gripping the leather.

“Yeah.”

“Got a next move?” He asked it casually, but focus was sharply intent on whether I’d answer.

“I’m thinking I need to find this Apostle character. And from him you need to find out who disappeared your crew. ”

“So what’s the plan?”

Greepa slid a credit chit across the bar, and I picked it up. The token was a lot like a USB thumb drive, and a quick scan of the pattern revealed that the bartender hadn’t stiffed on the exchange. “I guess I go pretend to be just another newly arrived soul. For the second time.”

“Then I’ll order an additional round, and we’ll flesh out the details.” Krux grinned wide.

Realization of what that meant kicked in, and I groaned.

Dammit, I’d have to get naked again.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 6

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Six - Potatoes

 

“Why does one without need seek passage?”

The grey-cloaked spirit towering over me stood thirty-feet tall. With sandals straddling slowly rocking parallel top decks of a slender felwood boat, the voice boomed out from under a deep and shadowed hood. If the barren expanse behind had any features other than scattered ancient bone, the sound would have echoed mightily - but as things were it simply resounded loudly from above.

And given the message, I’d barely started this undercover investigation and already my cover was blown. Joy.

After having gotten what little information I could out of Krux and Greepa regarding how Dis processes newly arrived souls, I’d gone off with Tsáyidiel to stealthily wing our way to this realm’s boundary - to where fresh souls from Earth end up should this be their final destination. A much larger sack than initially requested had been loaded with coins, clothes, and Camael’s bracers for Tsáyidiel to hold onto, and therefore at the most furthest edge, there under the only gap to be found in the smothering skyfire, I’d re-manifested without wings or even a stitch of cloth.

What with the massive river surrounding the immense city and the roaring fires above, the heat and humidity would have had even folks from Texas exclaiming, ‘Well, daaamn!’

That expression, of course, precisely illustrated the situation.

With some further expert guidance from Tsáyidiel, I’d even concealed the mark on my palm, and expanded the spell which had attempted to disguise my bright self as just an average fallen soul.

Said spell had obviously failed against the boatman who’d stood there and watched for the entire time it had taken my poor bare feet to carefully hike across piles of crunchy bones in order to reach his dock. Most of the calcium deposits were human, but every twenty-yards or so the unique structure of a demon’s skeleton poked upwards.

Yeah, crossing all that had sucked. My soles were slick with the red of various experienced punctures.

With a sigh, I replied to the waiting spirit. “It’s that obvious, eh? Darn. Thought I’d done a good job.” While trying to figure out how to explain things, I noticed that the river under the boat churned and bubbled wildly, the emitted steam spitting an acrid scent into the air. A smell definitely not of water. “Good grief, is that boiling acid?”

“It is.”

Ignoring visions of melting into goo should any of that crap touch anything exposed (which comprised all of me at the moment), I pondered the spirit. He felt like a minor god and also an angel, which wasn’t making much sense. Whatever he’d been originally, his pattern now conformed to the single idea of being just one thing: the Boatman. There wasn’t anything else. Creation had enfolded him within that singular myth as well as that thick yet patchy woolen cloak, so that’s what he was here and now - and all he could be while stuck in this place.

“Can you ferry me across anyway?”

“Not without need. To ferry souls beyond that which they cannot cross is my purpose, for a price. Nothing more.”

“Well, I need to arrive on the other side by virtue of your boat. Otherwise my own reason for being here cannot be met. And similarly I’d need to make sure you don’t tell anyone how else I might have traveled and why. So from my point of view, I cannot cross your river on my own. Are we therefore at an impasse of purposes?”

The pock-marked chin visible from under the hood pursed pale lips in consideration. “No.”

“Awesome. So what’s the price?”

“That which has value.”

“Yeah, that’s usually how it works. But what do you value?”

“Souls.”

“Wait a minute,” I said with a frown. “If a soul arrives here, you expect them to offer themselves to cross? How does that work, you’d just let them go on the other side?”

“More shall arrive. When there are two, one may cross.”

That didn’t make any immediate sense. Except…except the piles of bones were higher closer to the dock.

Oh. Oh crud.

The stomach lurched. “What about coins? Legend has it you’ll take those, right?”

“Long has it been since burial currency held sufficient intent or enchantment to carry value.”

“Huh. So you need souls for their energy? Sounds demonic.”

“Sparks from the Source of All are required: required to maintain vessel, required to maintain self, required for safe passage. Torture to increase intensity of emotion is not. Safe passage applies to those who disembark, and those who remain.”

I nodded, having reached a decision. “Then stretch out your hand, ferryman, and receive payment.”

Without a word, a palm the size of an extra-large pizza extended from a sleeve to reach across the gap between boat and shore. After a moment’s focus, an intense brilliance fell into its center - as a single yet potent drop of light.

Fingers closed to swallow the tiny globe, and a shudder traveled up the arm and through the giant. For a moment, just the quickest of moments, crystalline wings not unlike my own flickered outward behind the cloak.

“You may board, sister. And may your Purpose be fulfilled.”

A plank extended above the three rows of oar-holes lining the side of the boat nearest the deck, and I crossed over. Under the top planks on that side, many souls sat chained to benches vertically and horizontally spaced ready to deploy massive oars resting across their knees.

They were entirely silent, and not a single bound crew member took any notice of my presence.

The spirit of the Boatman shifted size and position on deck, hand taking hold of the rudder in the back. With a lurch oars deployed, which first pushed against the dock until the gap was wide enough for the oars to drop into the acid masquerading as water. The oars, along with every plank, was not made only from incredibly hardy felwood.

No, every piece of wood comprising the ship from stem to stern had been imbued with a soul. Each and every one.

I backed away from the rails overlooking the dangerous liquid - anything needing to be countered with soulforged stability atop of felwood was simply nuts. There were also over a hundred and fifty rowers, but within the boat’s owner I sensed a great many more spirits tucked away. Thousands of them. He truly was a psychopomp - a being who ferried souls not just upon this boat but within his core.

Like what the similarly-hooded Azrael had once done with the remnants of Aradia’s spirit.

The Light I had gifted the Boatman slowly enfolded each of those internally held sparks. Some recoiled, but others - others flickered in eased comfort. But what had been offered would not last, as even now the intensity of the gifted power began to dissipate as it sank into everything.

Entropy held true, perhaps stronger here than anywhere else.

In unison the rowers backed us out into a low fog covering the river, and with a quick turning maneuver we began to float towards the largest city in Hell. Towards demons and devils, and all their bloody regimes.

For many, becoming the Boatman’s fee would have been a kinder fate.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Other than the sulfuric stench of the mist, the crossing was uneventful. At one point something leathery barely visible under the surface’s churn bumped the side, but whatever it was must have decided to go after different prey and swam on.

The Boatman ignored it entirely.

With the souls rowing us forward also remaining silent, the journey was calmly eerie and provided time for contemplation.

Or more precisely, time to stand there wondering just what the heck I was doing standing naked on the deck of a ship faking being a new arrival to Hell, and maybe - just maybe - capable of standing out enough to garner the attention of some kind of priest of a cult formed in my spirit’s honor. All without gaining too much notice by the fallen powers who hopefully would remain too distracted by their own violent games amongst themselves.

The quest was silly, but as the main target couldn’t be sought directly, what else could I do? Short of trying to navigate back to the Rock to regroup with the old team, there weren’t many palatable options. And doing that would leave the Book of Secrets to fall into the hands of anyone in Dis currently searching out a deep enough mystery.

Good times, right?

Meanwhile, constantly pressing firmly against perception was a spear reforged between Chaos and Order, darkly shining within metaphysical reach and humming with a power unlike any I’d felt before.

A recent conversation about the difficulties of manifesting angelic might came to mind: deploying the spear would be akin to launching a nuke to settle a bar-fight. Instinctively I knew that summoning it to hand would be all kinds of problematic, especially since the realm Dis sat upon wasn’t stable. If I wasn’t careful in general I could unravel the entire place, just like I’d come close to doing to a fae realm back when I’d barely started to power up.

So I had that to worry about, which yielded an irritating symmetry between inner mood and the surroundings.

Eventually the boat pulled up to a dock sticking out of a tall cliff made of the same obsidian stone as the city towers beyond. An artificial cave passage had been dug (or blasted) through that cliff which opened onto dark boards the ship slipped next to as oarsmen pulled in their instruments, and the will of the Boatman held the ship still against the dock despite the rushing current underneath.

Handy, that. No need for rope.

A squad of demons, each over seven feet tall and holding electric cattle-prods - sorry, soul-prods - assembled at the end of the dock, effectively blocking the passage into the cave. Behind them sat a pair of wheeled trucks, rear beds lined with benches not unlike those in Krux’s squad ship except for the numerous embedded chains. Their leader, a lady of ridiculous body proportions as if she’d been drawn by a repressed male teenage shut-in, stepped forward holding a tablet expectantly as the plank extended. While her military uniform matched the rest of the squad, the buttons over the overly-endowed chest clearly protested the strained situation as if they’d pop free should she but jump up and down. A slender prehensile tail tipped with a spike wrapping around a leg completed the look.

I, being the newly arrived soul that I was, stood still while taking in the squad and the complete lack of anywhere to run.

The Boatman’s voice echoed off the huge obsidian cliff above us.

“Disembark. Or join boat. Choose.”

Begrudgingly, I stepped off the ship, bare and bloody toes careful to not slip on the acid-washed smoothness of the wood.

The lady demon peered from behind a triple-lensed set of glasses set over a pile of makeup, blinking three painted eyes in disapproval. “Oi, Boatman! One passenger only? You’re supposed to gather at least fifteen per docking!”

Captive oarsmen pushed off the dock as the only reply, and the ship quickly disappeared back into the mist - leaving me alone with the squad of bored demonic guards.

Alright, so most of them weren’t all that bored. As yeah, they were staring in my direction with the usual lustful violence I’d gotten accustomed to before.

Demons, what’re you gonna do?

Crossing arms over the main targets of their stares (which were nowhere near as impressive as the ones adorning the girl with the electric notebook), I glared back at them all, refusing to shrink from the obvious leers.

The lady sergeant - proclaimed as such by the insignia on her lapel - growled. “This inefficiency is going in my report!” Pointing to me she then shouted, “Prisoner! Front and center!”

Having fond thoughts of taking away that tablet and employing it as a club upon her painted face, I stepped forward. “Prisoner? Fuck you.”

Instead of getting angrier, red lips parted with a point-filled smile. “Attitude, eh? Excellent. You’re gonna need it. The Boatman explain where you are?”

“Let’s see: big explosion, pain everywhere, followed by giant dude on a boat surrounded by fucking skeletons. Wasn’t all that hard to figure out.” Deliberately I slid into a better balanced stance.

Three eyes squinted hard. “You gonna give me trouble?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How good are those guards?”

“They’re demons.”

“So?”

That actually confused her. “You’re not afraid?”

“Fear is a tool.”

She put a hand over the pistol buckled to the exaggerated hour-glass waistline. Seriously, the danged holster almost lay sideways clipped to that belt. “Pretending to be some kind of bad-ass only works if the bluff ain’t called.”

I shifted toes again and grinned. “Who’s pretending?”

Whatever she saw got her to nod approvingly. “This realm is indeed not for the weak. But think: you know nothing of where you are or the dangers you face. If you want to be more than a swallowed stone, come quietly and learn. The strong rise in Dis - but true strength is more than raw power and fighting skill.”

Making a show of considering, I finally agreed. “Fine.” I returned to standing neutrally. “Now what?”

“Hands behind your back.” She pulled cuffs from the narrow belt and I allowed her to put them on.

And no, the uncomfortable metal wasn’t lined with felt.

She marched me forward, yanking a wrist as her freshly decorated talons dug into skin. As we approached the guards they turned in unison with synchronized boot stomps, leaving us flanked by two lines.

When we got closer to the trucks a guard - humanoid except for short horns sticking through the helmet - reached gloved fingers out to grope and pinch my exposed chest.

Fuck no.

By the time his squadmates had time to react, the offender’s kneecap had gone sideways and my legs were wrapped tight around his throat - having already used them to slam the jerk the rest of the way to the floor.

I’d also slipped the cuffs under my feet to get arms in front.

With back pressed against stone ground I snarled, “Any closer and I’ll snap his neck!”

A voice called out. “Do it.”

The sergeant had moved to stand over us with pulled pistol. Except she wasn’t aiming at me. The business end held a steady line towards the center of the green-scaled and gasping face of the demon who was probably wishing he’d buckled the straps of the helmet now laying in the dust besides us.

“What?” Thighs tensed further, causing additional gurgles.

A sneer crossed the heavily-lipsticked mouth. “Squad!” she called out. “What is the rule!”

In unison they shouted back. “The strong rise! The weak fall!”

Grunting with the effort of holding the struggling demon getting choked out, I shook my head. “You want me to kill him?!” I was lucky, the guy’s thick gloves were preventing his claws from making a mess of my thighs.

“It is your right.”

“He’s one of yours. That’s crazy!”

“His failure has unearned the privilege.”

It was clear across her many eyes: she was going to kill him if I didn’t. And a single soul dimly glowed within the guy’s chest. Recalled battlefields of slaughter filled mind and sinuses with visions and scents of gore best forgotten - so many demons had been killed by my hand or on my orders.

What was one more?

But was that really what I was supposed to be? Was I meant to deliver divine retribution against beings whose very nature drove them to be the evil that they were?

Hank’s voice sounded from memory: “If men are not potatoes, what are demons?”

I still didn’t have a good answer, but I did suddenly have an idea. To my hidden angelic panther who was but a hairbreadths away from finalizing the entire squad of demons should I but command it, I shot the thought and image of what I needed him to do.

“My Queen! This one is unworthy! Allow me to-”

“No! Beloved Hunter, can you do what I have asked or no?”

“I…I can, my Queen. I shall.”

“Then be ready.”

The lady sergeant’s finger tensed against the trigger. “If you will not end him, then I-”

“Wait!” With metal links clinking around wrists, I grabbed at the shaggy green hair on the back of the groping demon’s head right above the squiggly brand of his current master. Crunching abdominals, I leaned forward to hiss in his ear. “Your life is mine, you hear me demon? You’ve got one chance to live: swear to serve me! Got it? Or that crazed bitch is going to shoot you. Nod if you understand!”

The hair gripped in my fingers tugged once.

“Okay then. When I loosen my thighs from your throat, swear it!” I glared at the lady with the gun, as if daring her to go ahead and piss me off further.

She didn’t. And when air was again allowed to be sucked down the captive demon’s windpipe, he immediately choked out his promise:

“I swear! I’ll serve!”

Familiar pain blossomed across my right palm, and for a brief moment - just barely an instant - the hidden star upon it flashed into view.

And also across the skin under the hair at the back of the demon’s neck.

The golden stars, however, immediately shifted as Tsáyidiel’s camouflage spell covered them - becoming something close but not quite the same: instead of four-pointed stars, what shone forth were a pair of golden daggers, each with a crimson drop hanging from their suspended tips. It was the first image that had flashed into mind and I’d gone with it when sharing it across our link, but now I remembered where I had seen it before.

Alal. Lucifer’s daughter and Archon of Chaos had worn these as ruby-tipped earrings when last we’d met. Someday my subconscious - or higher spirit or whatever - and I were going to have another long talk.

But right now I was busy.

Sergeant Boy's-Wet-Dream frowned, and the gun swung towards me. “Your hand. Open it!”

I did so.

She stared and the glasses reflected what glowed across my skin. “A new mark. The realm truly acknowledges your power as superior to his.” Three eyes shifted to meet mine, filled with caution and potential awe. “Just who are you, girl?”

Untangling legs from the groping demon, I kipped up to my feet - and the move kept the cuffed hands in front. “Someone not to fuck with.”

A cold calculation flickered across the mascaraed face. “He is yours. But the uniform and weapons are not. Blorph! Strip! As she is our prisoner, so now are you!”

Blorph (whose true name was much longer and harder to pronounce) looked to me. I nodded for him to comply, and soon the muscled and scruffy foliage-haired demon was wincing as he sat on the ground besides me in pale boxers, socks, and a black undershirt.

Apparently even the boots had been provided.

The squad gathered what had been his stuff, but their leader kept just staring at me.

“What?” I glared back.

“As a new arrival, we have orders to keep you fed. His feeding is your responsibility.”

I looked at my newest recruit. “Hey Blorph, you got whatever passes for money in this place?”

Keeping eyes downcast, he nodded. “Some.”

“And technically it all belongs now to me, right?”

He went paler - an impressive feat given the green scaled skin - and nodded again.

“Then use it to buy rations for yourself for however long we’re stuck dealing with whatever this is.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Can you walk?”

Trying to stand, he failed to hide a wince as the knee wobbled wrongly. Reaching down, he popped the patella back into place. He didn’t cry out, and after testing his weight the leg looked more stable. With a suppressed shudder he stepped forward and nodded.

“Good.” I ignored the single tear of pain escaping down his cheek and waved towards the waiting truck. “So what’s next? We load up on that thing and then enjoy a hose-down or something before meeting the cellmates?”

The sergeant grinned again and answered. “Procedure is to return to base and perform intake interviews. But if the driver hurries, you’ll join the previous crop’s evaluation demonstration.”

“Didn’t I just demonstrate enough?”

“Enough to know I don’t want you under my watch, woman. Congratulations, you passed the interview.”

“Splendid. Which means what, exactly?”

“It means,” she said with a nasty laugh, “that you’ll go directly to the Harrowing.”

Well didn’t that just sound fun.

Not.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 7

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Seven - Coffee

 

The ride through the paved cavern tunnels was short but bumpy as the transport’s suspension had clearly died a squealing death at least ten to twenty firestorms ago. I’d been locked into position in the middle of a squad again, though this time opposite me wasn’t a cranky diminutive devil blowing smoke but rather a sullen swamp-green demon similarly shackled into place whose inner rage boiled and simmered.

As evident by the constant glares of resentment and brewing rebellion he kept shooting across the aisle whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention. My sympathy meter didn’t move much in response, I was too busy being happy that they’d given me a bright orange prison jumpsuit.

Hey, it would never have won any fashion shows but it certainly beat being naked.

Branching off from a wider tunnel we eventually arrived at their local holding facility, complete with defense in depth security including concrete bollards and staggered guard stations.

As Blorph and I marched inside side-by-side, I leaned closer to him and asked, “What’s with the heavy security? Are new arrivals typically that dangerous?”

I swear teeth squeaked as the jutting jaw unclenched to answer. “Unclaimed souls are housed until auction. There’s been raids.”

Sergeant pinup approached a lobby’s desk complete with protective glass and computer station. She gestured with her tablet, first at me and then at Blorph, and proceeded to explain to the taller mountain of a scowling demon - himself perched precariously on an entirely inadequate swivel chair - how exactly to enter the unusual circumstances into the system.

This gave me the chance to probe Blorph for more information. “Tell me about this ‘Harrowing’.”

More toothy scraping commenced. “Groups of souls with high survival potential get dropped in the outskirts. Any that make it to the assigned destination, their bidding value is higher. Run, hide, fight - what matters is making it.”

I frowned. “Isn’t that risky with the merchandise? You just said there were raids.”

“The area is secured.”

“So it’s more of a controlled hunt by you guards to test their mettle.”

Sharp teeth in desperate need of brushing sneered. “Yeah. And there are those on the team who owe me debts, ‘mistress.’”

Unable to contain it, I chuckled. “Is that a threat?”

The sneer widened as he exhaled. “A warning to she whom I now serve.” Ugh, he badly needed mouthwash too. Whatever dental plan was offered, this guy hadn’t taken advantage. Ew.

I was about to verbalize a snarky retort to that effect, but the sergeant turned to yell at us again.

“You!” she shouted, waving the tablet at two of the four squad members she’d assigned as our escort. “Take Blorph to cell block eight.”

They pushed Blorph forward which caused the knee to go out again, so they grabbed him by the armpits and pretty much dragged him out.

Which left just little ol’ me.

Without so much as an adieu, I was force-marched past steel-reinforced doors and into an interrogation room. You know the type: metal chairs facing each other across a table with convenient ringlets to chain the handcuffs, surrounded by one-way glass and several cameras with blinking red lights, plus an impatient demon with lengthy brown skirt, lighter blouse, thick glasses for two yellow eyes and, I kid you not, a black beehive hairdo.

Fortunately one without actual bees.

Even as the flanking guards shoved me into the chair she started speaking, dark purple and sharp fingernails clasping one of those stylus things allowing the user to scribble directly onto electronic tablets - one which had been beeping loudly when we walked in until she swiped right to shut it up. “Before we start, know that we got spells to tell when you’re lyin’. Name?”

“They called me Jane.” I was good and didn’t laugh. There weren’t any truth spells in here, that was a total bluff. Still - the best lies get served within folds of truth. Plus this demon herself might have been especially perceptive - after all, seven souls pinged the senses from inside her gut, more than any other demon here had managed. Which meant she was probably in charge and that she’d have the strength to punch through these reinforced walls if she felt like it.

“Last or patronymic?”

“Baghdadi.”

Magnified mustard looked dubiously at my pale skin and scarlet-red hair.

I shrugged. “The family tree is complex.”

“Country of origin?”

“United States,” I said before adding, “Earth.”

A bony eyebrow raised with a scowl. “Don’t be cute.”

I kept my mouth shut. Not that I was feigning innocence or anything, the mark across my palm indicated that ship had already sailed across its own foul waters.

“Age?”

“Best guess by authorities was eighteen. Like I said, complicated.”

She grunted with annoyance while marking another box on her form. “Great. Another kid. Got any useful skills?”

“Useful?”

“This ain’t an application for college. You know anything practical? And if you say you excelled at leading a diverse squad of cheerleaders I’m a gonna break those long legs of yours.”

Time to pad the resume to attract the interest of the hackers working for this Apostle guy. Unless they somehow had agents already in place, it’d be through the computers that they’d learn who best to acquire. Though hopefully the whole marking of a demon thing had already done enough to stand out and get their attention. “Software databases. Combat field tactics, fighting with weapons and hand-to-hand. Magic theory and practice.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. And if you try for my legs, as I’m cuffed to this stupid table I’ll have to demonstrate the last one. Though I’d rather not; keeping things from exploding proved tricky.”

“Has it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

She snorted, smoke billowing from wide nostrils lurking under the glasses. She was laughing. “Funny. Where’d you get your training?”

“School of hard knocks.”

“For magic? That ain’t learned on the streets.”

I shrugged. “Dad was a guitarist.”

“Heavy metal?”

“Nah, flamenco. The Romani know their shit.”

The stylus tapped against the tablet. “That where you learned how to bind one of us into service?”

“Lucky guess in the moment.”

The scribbling stopped and she gave a hard yellow stare. “Now that is some grade-A graxhshit. I like you, girl, even though you stink of trouble. Rare it is for a female to arrive spittin’ attitude and then backin’ it up. But I ain’t got time to chat further about these claims of yours - I’ve got a high-tower jackass demanding a call back pronto-like. ‘Sides, you’ve already been designated for the Harrowing due to your little stunt - survive and we’ll have a more meaningful talk. We’ll dig into why a girl your age ain’t freaking out about being surrounded by demons.”

I matched her glare with one of my own. “Freaking out doesn’t solve problems. Breaking kneecaps does.”

She grinned. “Ain’t that the truth.” Standing, she pointed the stylus towards the door and addressed the thugs - sorry, guards - that had been standing silently just inside the room. “Current potentials are loading up with Sergeant Yurglith. Get her outfitted and over there.”

As they unshackled wrists from the table, my stomach growled. “Any chance for a snack first?”

More smoke blew out her nose. “Hunger sharpens the senses. Now git. And if you try any more funny business, you’ll be cut down where you stand. Your soulstone should still fetch a good price even with the unknowns; some high rollers enjoy a little spice in their meals.”

We got.

More specifically, I was escorted to a clothes room packed with shelves full of not-entirely-clean items likely dredged from some flawed battlestation’s garbage compaction pit. Told to find something ‘suitable’, I rummaged through the contents, letting loose a few choice curses about being too tall for the female offerings, and too skinny for the menswear.

Given that combat was on the immediate menu, this required finding something to give proper chest support for calisthenic activities. Unfortunately, no tools such as needle and thread or even scissors were provided no matter how much I scowled at the guards. Therefore a super long shirt hastily had sleeves ripped off (using teeth to start the tear) before folding it about so the ends could be tightly tucked into place. It wasn’t the best and certainly didn’t hide the still-bouncing assets, but it’d do - even if I’d likely have to re-tuck after any physical engagement.

That issue addressed, and with a pair of only slightly musty granny panties reluctantly deployed, another long black shirt was then donned to fall over decently flexible graxh-hide pants (identifiable by the off-green coloring and lingering odor) - with a thicker leather belt cinched around the waist. And I do mean cinched, as without a hole-punch I’d had to improvise a knot. A vest of material thicker than the pants was tossed on for good measure - it hung loose due to its size, but would provide at least some protection for my back if I got tossed around.

As, you know, one does.

I even found some sturdy boots that would work, though they required donning four pairs of socks before long and slender feet stopped sliding around even with laces pulled as tight as possible. Scrounging further resulted in two mismatched gloves - one brown and missing two fingers entirely, and the other black.

All I needed was to be wrapped in silver chains (not the literal shackle kind, but ones with grinning skull motifs) and I’d have made a decent extra for a post-apocalyptic film, especially with the current spiky and nuclear-fire hairdo. And it sure as heck beat the orange prisoner’s duds, which if worn outdoors would have lost anti-stealth competitions only to an outfit painted with large concentric circles and flashing arrows proclaiming ‘shoot here!’ to anyone with any kind of visual acuity.

Which I suppose was the entire bright neon point.

To solve the problem of the hair making an equally obvious target (as the guards also rudely refused to lend a razor), another dark shirt transformed into a head wrap. After that I grabbed two canteens: one for the belt, and one with a shoulder strap. With any luck we’d be allowed to fill them - or else why have them available? Finally after some consideration I grabbed a bluish shirt made for a giant and tied its long sleeves around the waist as well. The fabric seemed cleaner than the rest, and while I doubted we’d get cold with all the heat outside, extra fabric for makeshift bandages would probably be useful. This done, I was as ready as I was going to be.

Or so I told myself.

Another march down brightly-lit metal-lined hallways - with a gracious allowance for a stop at a water fountain to fill those canteens - and we were back to the loading dock where another truckbed full of shabbily-dressed men immediately whistled and stared in my direction with obvious hate-filled lust.

Except they weren’t demons.

Despite not being chained at the ankles, I paused as the wave of their disgusting desires swept past. These were hard souls - and with the surge of their response to the presence of a still obviously attractive female came flickered glimpses into their personal histories. Killers, rapists, thieves - images of their ill and bloody deeds smoldered within.

It wasn’t the quantity that got to me, but the condensed impurity of it. I’d been used to demons broadcasting bathtubs full of instant coffee, but here were mugs of quadruple shots of espresso.

As the gut twisted in revulsion, I was immediately thankful I hadn’t been granted any food.

They had come from all over the Earth. Asians, black Africans, Middle-Easterns, Caucasians, from everywhere. Nineteen men with skin and features as diverse as their inner selves were the same: filled with rage and empty need.

Plus fear.

Most of all they stank of fear.

Except for one. A middle-aged man of average stature with short dark locks and no facial hair sat chained at the end of the row, right next to the empty seat the guards then locked me into after forcibly encouraging a climb onto the truck. The guy simply watched with blank and empty brown eyes, appraising yet emotionless. The age behind that gaze was a mismatch to his face, but some souls manifest as much younger than they’d been when they died so that wasn’t a surprise.

Except I’d seen eyes like those before.

In the resigned hollow orbs of my beloved Tsáyidiel, before the Light had set him free.

Sergeant Yurglith, a four-armed weightlifter who seemed to like keeping pistols in two of those hands at all times, stood before the pair of trucks. The other vehicle had the demonic squad of prisoner escorts aboard and ready, but he was attempting to talk into a radio - which the catcalls and sexist commentary lofted in my direction from the souls aboard my assigned truck kept interrupting.

“SHUT IT!” With that shout he also took aim at two of us at random, and the noise instantly died down. He then returned attention to whoever was on the other end of the handheld device, switching back to the demonic tongue. “Whaddya mean wait? We’re loaded, even got that newly arrived solo bitch on board.”

As tempting as it was to try and tap into the transmission, that would have required lowering the empathic shields I’d just put up. Not that there was much more to the conversation.

“Fine, I’m heading there now.” Slipping the radio back onto the uniform’s belt, he turned to address his squad. “Stay put! Mother needs a word.” Facing us prisoners, he growled again in soul-speak. “And keep the din to a minimum!” With that he marched inside.

A few of the souls sported fresh bruises to faces and arms, though I wasn’t sure if they’d gotten those from the guards or each other. Either way, they stayed quiet - and with my only reactions being cool stares which emphasized absolute utter lack of regard or interest, they mostly returned to inward sullen wariness.

The man next to me leaned slightly closer and spoke quietly, intended for only me to hear. He had a rather aristocratic Spanish cadence and the accent still bled through.

“Do not let these animals get to you.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Excellent. Most here will run instead of fight.” He said it calmly, yet the words were still laced with disgust.

“Hard to fight when we’re chained down.”

“We shall be set loose upon arrival.”

Playing dumb, I said, “Guess I missed the briefing. Where we goin’?”

“This has not been made clear, only that those of us who make it through what comes will be appraised at greater value.”

“You sure we want to be rated higher?”

“If someone is worth more, there are always expanded possibilities. Is this not true?”

“Dunno about that. Prime rib gets eaten sooner than chuck.”

He paused. “Say more.”

“Demons eat souls, it’s how they get their power. Supply and demand rules apply: the stronger the soul, the higher the demand.”

“And you know this…how?”

“Been studying ‘em for awhile.”

“Then you also are one who knew wherein lay your eternity. You have prepared for this eventuality?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

He sat back and reconsidered his thinking. After a minute he leaned back over.

“And you are an expert?”

“More like someone who’s picked up a few things here and there.”

“Do they have particular weaknesses?” The guy was direct and to the point. And he’d asked without emotion, only sheer clinical evaluation.

“Other than magic against their true names, it’s the same as humans for the most part. Overconfidence, overestimation of their superiority and intelligence, that sort of thing. A kick to their happy-fun-time spots still works wonders - if you can figure out where those are.”

“Yet they are clearly stronger.”

“A one-soul demon is about equal or at least within the potential brackets. But as they munch more - provided they can keep ‘em down - they grow in power. Not sure what the scale is, but it’s kinda exponential at the low end before becoming more linear at the higher amounts.”

“Higher amounts?”

“Some dukes have swallowed thousands.”

He didn’t flinch at that, merely accepted it. “And are these dukes vulnerable to the guns our jailers carry?”

“Not likely. You’re talking demonic sorcery at that power level, not sure if they’d reach nuclear bomb equivalents but it doesn’t require a nuke to take out a city. Enough lower-yield bombs will do the trick just fine.”

“So us mere souls have no direct chance against them.”

“Against the high bosses and their best warriors one-on-one? No way. But even in human history have giants been brought to heel enough to leave the little guys alone.”

“And these true names you mentioned? What of them?”

“They jealously guard ‘em. Usually only their mothers know since she gave it - which make for some messed up mommy issues. And it’d take a trained practitioner to utilize their name even if you knew it.”

“Interesting. But still, we are caught in quite a conundrum.”

“Yeah. Fight too well and a more powerful jerkface will use us as a lollipop to get at our juicy centers. Fight poorly and, well…”

He finished the thought. “And we shall end up the same as those we offered up so as to board the boat and enter our damnation.”

“Pretty much.”

“A tricky needle to thread.” He stretched shoulders as best he could, what with hands being cuffed and chained to the seat. “You move like a fighter, and observe like a warrior. Is this from training or direct experience?”

The gut went hard. Difficult not to be paranoid when surrounded by multiple potential rapists. “Why do you want to know?”

He didn’t even try to offer a reassuring smile. “In order to determine how difficult it will be to preserve your presence. You know much that I do not.”

“You’d protect me?”

“It appears to be to my advantage to do so.”

“Wow. Most guys would at least pretend to be a white knight to get into a girl’s pants.”

Now he grinned, but it was an expression formed of ice. “I know precisely what I am, and well have I earned the condemnation of God. I am no knight.”

“You seem strangely at peace with that.”

“Why should I not? My wife and children all live, and they are well provided for.”

“But you’re now in Hell, and will never see them again. Not unless they someday fall here too.”

“There are many devils with whom one may make bargains. I am content with mine. For what is a hunter but he who provides meat for table and family?”

I thought of Tsáyidiel - lurking quietly in the nearby shadows - and replied without thinking. “A true hunter returns to the table to rejoice and eat the provided bounty alongside their family.”

The smile faded. “Alas, in my case this became impossible.”

A long pause settled between us. Eventually I broke the silence and gave answer to his original question. “Direct experience. Including open war. My hands are likely bloodier than yours.”

“Thank you.” He offered a polite nod. “This is good to know. Though I do suspect from this brief conversation that the stains running across my fingers flowed much colder.” The doors to the prison opened again, and he turned to look. “Ah, here comes the sergeant. Now we shall see what comes next.”

Gallons of instant versus hardpacked espresso. Maybe there really wasn’t a comparison between the two.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 8

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Eight - Knives

 

We rode for at least a couple hours if not more. At the speeds the trucks could reach, the wind’s whipping past in all the tunnels made further conversation with the guy next to me impossible - though before we’d pulled out he’d introduced himself as Santiago.

I’d told him to call me Jane, and neither of us were rude enough to point out that we’d obviously given aliases.

Having unloaded by the trucks into a sloppy line of hapless souls at what appeared to be a cavern’s dead end, Sergeant Yurglith graced us with yet more shouting.

“Listen up, worms! This here is your Harrowing. Prove your mettle, survive, and maybe the city of Dis can make better use of you than turning your sorry asses into bricks.”

That earned some puzzled and worried looks from the headlights-illuminated motley crew, though no one braved interrupting him.

Smart.

Pulling out a small metallic orb decorated with a few tiny colored buttons, he pushed a green one and it projected a three-dimensional image into the air before us. Little dots of red and blue blinked at the top with a pattern matching us souls, the two trucks, and the squad that had spread out in a semicircle preventing any rush in the only direction of travel seemingly available.

The monochrome green lines representing the ground beneath our feet expanded downward however, showing a maze of tunnels - maybe sewer infrastructure at the top - spiraling through the earth until opening into a massive cavern. As the view pulled back, the cavern gained resolution to reveal it wasn’t empty.

The expansive space filled with what appeared to be an enclosed town big enough to house thousands of residents, with two to three story buildings and streets running between them. A larger structure sat at the center, complete with defensive towers, moat, and battlements.

Yep, someone had built a medieval castle in the middle of an underground city.

The sergeant continued. “Your task is to make your way through to here,” he growled, pointing at the map where the tunnels ended above one side of the town. “With the rope we’re gonna give you, repel down to this rooftop and then cross through the abandoned city. The goal is to get inside that castle, see what’s in there, and get out the way you came in.”

I decided to play stupid and raised a just-released hand. “How abandoned is it?”

Yurglith smirked. “Good question. Go find out.”

A tall but lean guy in our line muttered, “Fucking recon.”

I was about to ask another question when the ground under us groaned and shifted. Not enough to knock any of us over, but having grown up in California I immediately recognized the swaying for what it was.

An earthquake. A small one, but still.

The guards didn’t spook at the quake, keeping their guns aimed at us - guns all with bright green LEDs just above their thumbs. But several souls crouched in panic, putting hands over their heads as the rocks above covered us with a thin layer of falling dust. The thought of crawling through tunnels suddenly became a lot less appealing.

“The faster you get this done,” said the sergeant while ignoring the shaking, “the sooner you’re back at our post. We may even feed you.”

As the stone under our feet settled, the multi-armed sergeant shouted to his crew. Two large duffel bags got yanked off their truck and dropped before us. Unzipping them revealed the promised rope and climbing gear - and also a pile of various energy launching weapons much like those the guards were holding.

“Gear up!” Yurglith shouted as he turned off the map. “And before you think of using those power-slingers against us, know that they’re coded to not fire within range of anyone in my platoon. Said range is about a hundred and fifty cubits, max. They also won’t work outside these tunnels and that playground below. You go down the hole in ten. Be ready!”

Interesting to know. Due to the unit conversions learned when last I was in Hell, that meant their range was useless beyond about two hundred and twenty feet. Or about two-thirds of a football field. Ugh. They’d be worthless for long-range sniping in that town.

As the more eager among us immediately huddled around the blasters, with the expected shoving and cursing as they greedily grabbed at them, I ignored all that and walked up to the sergeant. He raised a ridged eyebrow and barked, “What?”

I peered up at him. “Got any blades?”

“You got guns. Go grab one before they’re none left.”

“I don’t see any spare power packs. How many shots are each even good for? And you gonna give us time to practice with them before we go down that hole?” I pointed to the open manhole (soulhole?) near the dead end’s wall. Its heavy cover had been pulled off, resting only a foot or so away.

He chuckled. “And what kind of bladed weapon would you want?”

“Against assholes bigger than me, a glaive. But that won’t fit worth shit through those tunnels. Daggers, knives - heck, a machete would be nice. Likely a lot quieter than those boomsticks too unless they have a silencer setting.”

“They don’t.” He stared for a long moment then nodded. “You’re clever, little lady. But don’t be too clever.” Turning to his squad, he called out to them in demonic. “Give her something more to her liking!”

After a moment’s hesitation quickly squelched by the sergeant’s stern impatience, a few items appeared from their personal armaments. A pair of boot knives three inches in length was offered, and to my surprise an actual machete as requested - along with a double-edged slender dagger, and even a single-edged seven-inch blade almost exactly like a Green Beret’s ‘Yarborough’ knife complete with belt sheath.

Much to the amusement of the sergeant, I took the entire lot. Even flipped and caught each one a few times to get a sense of their balance.

They weren’t bad. Not great either, but not horrible.

Turning to the souls, the bags of things that went zap lay empty and a few of the larger guys had wrapped coils of rope around their chests like bandoleers. Santiago was bent over examining the contents of a smaller backpack, laying out a set of tools including carabiners and other items I wasn’t familiar with.

I may have been stuck on the Rock for a couple years, but there hadn’t been much call for actual rock climbing. Scaling ladders we’d used, sure, but I’d never had to ascend the ice volcano at the center.

At least, not by using hands and feet.

Stepping past the grinning idiots busy fondling their new power toys, I moved to Santiago and pointed at his new gear with the machete. “You know how to use all that?”

“Yes.” He looked up, noting the various knives now tucked into place. Shaking his head, he pulled one of two pistols from his waistband and held it out. “Take it. As you can see I have another.”

“No thanks. I don’t trust any weapon someone can turn off remotely.”

He turned it in his hand, considering. The light on its side blinked red.

“Here.” Retrieving one of the knives from my boot, I offered it along with the Yarborough. “You should always have two backups you can count on.”

Inclining his head in thanks he took them, fastening them into place. “You do not trust the guns, but you trust me?”

“Trust? No. Work with to mutual advantage? Yeah.”

That earned an evaluating nod, and he began returning the climbing tools into the pack.

While he did that, I moved away from him and the others to be closer to the manhole. Taking a knee, I bowed my head as if in prayer - knowing that would look pretty darn weird considering where we were.

Except I wasn’t praying.

Hiding the glow from eyes against a forearm, I scanned the tunnels below us. Sure enough they weren’t empty. The traces down there weren’t demonic or strong enough to be classified as devils, but there were hell-beasts of some kind scattered throughout. Having memorized the projected map, it was clear we would come across them on the way to the exit.

Yeah, that wouldn’t do.

I lifted my head and sent out a thought. “Tsáyidiel!”

“My Queen?”

“There are critters in the tunnels. Some trigger-happy idiot will just as soon shoot a comrade down there than the actual target. When you can do so without being observed, get in and clear the path, then wait near the exit to that caverned town.”

“If I do I will be unable to protect you from the, as you put it, ‘trigger-happy idiots.’”

“I’ll be fine. Right now we need to protect them from themselves.”

“These are evil men, my Queen. Their souls are bathed with the blood of innocents. You wish their protection?”

“I…yeah, for now. The more of them that make it back, the less suspicion will be on my cover.”

“As you command.”

There was a brush of wind and he was on his way.

No one saw a thing, not even me.

Making tracks back to the sergeant who was busy taking a smoke break with his demons, I gestured over a shoulder at the open hole behind. “Hey, there’s no light down there. We’re gonna need flashlights.”

One of his extra hands still holding the map device flipped it to me. “Push the yellow button.”

Catching it, I did as instructed. The baseball-sized orb immediately lit up as if it was a free-floating lightbulb. I pushed the button again to turn it off. “What’s the blue and red buttons for?”

“When you reach the target, push the blue and wave it about. It’ll record the surroundings. And if you happen to be the last survivor about to get creamed, push the red one.”

“Let me guess: it goes boom?”

He again gave a toothy grin. “Yeah. And if you return without it, you’ll wish you’d been in its range.”

Charming.

Looking back at the souls all now staring at me, I pointed at one. “You! Yeah, you. Did you get all that?”

The guy, who was Asian and with the way he moved probably had some military training, nodded. “Yes.”

“Great.” I underhand tossed the device to him. “You get to be in front.”

“What? Why?” Having grabbed it from the air on instinct, he then stared at the orb wide-eyed like it was a hot potato.

“You’re the shortest, you’ll block less of our only light for those of us stuck following your ass.”

Wanting to object, he looked around only to find that the rest of the souls either agreed or didn’t want to be first. Santiago and a few of the others openly chuckled.

The sergeant, deciding that was the cue to send us on our way, bellowed, “Form up!”

We did so, Santiago deliberately placing himself behind me in the line. Appreciating my comment about the limited lighting, the larger men shuffled to the rear. The two biggest (one pale and the other deeply-tanned) threw hands to see who’d be stuck at the very back.

Paper beat rock, and the prone-to-sunburn offensive lineman became our caboose. Sadly our lead car didn’t toot like a train as we proceeded into the hole and the dark.

Hey, I at least would have chuckled.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Behind me someone grumbled. “Why the fuck is the ground so sticky?”

It had taken awhile to work our way through the sewer levels to reach the transition point to the tighter tunnels. The entrance to those was disquieting - as instead of the obvious industrial construction we’d just passed through, the wall and passage beyond appeared more to have been, well, chewed through.

This had led to another argument about how to read the map, a repeated discussion which quickly had become tiresome. Having memorized the stupid thing, too often I’d needed to shout to the idiots which direction to go.

I don’t think they appreciated the back row guidance very much. Tough.

But these lower tunnels through the dirt were tight and claustrophobic as heck, and even near the middle like I was only the barest of flickers from the orb at the front could be seen - along with the tiny lights on each of the guns which had switched to green once we’d gone down a level. What was really fun was that whenever the front leaders paused, the rest of us would inevitably shove our faces into the rears of the soul directly before us. Santiago apologized to me each time, but as it kept happening that almost became comical. I might have even laughed if it weren’t for being dust-choked, rock-scraped, and busy wondering again why the heck I was putting up with all this.

It was in these rock tubes that I’d earlier sensed the lurking hell-beasts, and Tsáyidiel had indeed been thorough in clearing them out - hence the complaints from the crew.

“Yeah, and it smells worse than the butt of this dude before me.”

“Shove your nose further into that ass then and shut up!”

“Hey, up yours!”

“I ain’t the one in front of you, good luck with that!”

“Shit, man. Ain’t like any of us have had a chance to shower.”

“Hey, lightboy! What the fuck are we crawling through? Your mom’s menstruation hole?”

“Damn, tha’s nasty!”

Our reluctant leader stopped to wave the light around at the walls, causing another round of face-to-butt collisions. “Uh…”

“Well?”

“It’s purple gunk. Think something died and got dragged away somewhere.”

“How fresh?”

“As fresh as that guy’s mom!”

“Zip it back there! Lightboy, is it from a recent kill?”

“Uh, maybe? Yeah, I think so.”

“No wonder it reeks.”

“We’re sittin’ ducks here, man!”

“Fuck this shit!”

Sensing their panic rise, I added my own shout to the mix. “Keep it together, boys! Caboose in the rear, crawl backwards and if you hear anything scurrying towards us, shoot first and ask questions later. Everyone else, every ten feet lean hard to the left - let some of that light shine past so the caboose can see if anything is there!”

“Hell nah, screw that! We should book it as fast as we can!”

“Don’t be stupid!” I barked. “Point lead needs to check around each corner! Or else we could run into whatever the hell it is that lives down here!”

“Don’t call me stupid!”

“Then stop being an idiot!”

Sounds of a scuffle came from behind. “I ain’t taking no shit from some smart-ass bitch! Let me past!”

“There’s no room, asshole!”

Santiago’s voice cracked out. “Children, enough! We keep going! Anyone not moving forward, shoot them. And please, do it in silence, we do not know what may be listening.” His timbre made it obvious every word was meant.

The train of lunkheads kept going, this time - other than the occasional grunt - in blessed quiet. I think the thought of beastly things hearing them scared them straight.

Either that or Santiago’s sinister and chilling overtones.

Another hour of creeping along in the dark and the line again halted.

This time though, no one called out about it.

Our orb-wielder, in a more hushed tone, spoke. “Need the guy with the climbing gear. Think this is it. And pass up the rope.”

Fortunately the passage here wasn’t as tight as many of the other spots, and Santiago was able to squeeze past. If we hadn’t lined up smallest to biggest (for the most part), he wouldn’t have fit.

After handing on the coiled rope, I unslung the larger canteen and took a measured swallow before tugging on the pants leg of the guy in front of me. He looked back, and after some light flickered enough past everyone for him to see what I was offering, he took it to also take a swallow.

He was smart and didn’t chug it. With a nod he handed it back.

Having to ration the water made my chest ache. I missed Twitch and his bottomless waterskin.

Low whispers filtered down the line. “Guy with the gear says he needs the girl.”

Well shit.

While taller, I was definitely skinnier than Santiago so managed forward without too much trouble. And I was thankful that the macho idiot still mumbling outraged commentary was further back.

Frankly, the guys enjoyed having me squish on past, what with the flashes of grinning teeth whenever the light hit right.

At the front Santiago had taken point, and carefully used his pack to keep the orb’s illumination from spilling out the hole we’d arrived at. With the glare from the orb, I couldn’t see anything through it - but there was definitely an airy draft and a sense of a wide open space.

“What’s up?” I asked as the front-man crept backwards to give us more room.

“This.” Moving the orb and pack, he lit up three bolts driven into the rock just inside our crawlspace - each with clips attached and loops of rope converging into a knot that had another clip on it leading to a longer loop of rope.

Except that Santiago was holding the other ends of that longer loop - ends which had all been neatly sheered.

“That’s not ours, is it?” I asked. The rope I’d just handed over had been a deep red.

Whereas what he held was black.

He shook his head. “No. These anchors were already here.”

“So we’re not the first to go this way.”

Dropping the sliced cord, he covered the light. “Are demons capable of flight?”

“Yeah. It’s rare, but some can.”

“Then we would be sitting ducks on such a line.”

I shifted from being on one knee to crouching upon both, then leaned forward to stick my noggin out the hole. What I really wanted to do was power up and take a solid look around, but then I’d become a floodlight flaring out over the town below. Except I didn’t have to.

“Beloved Hunter.”

“I am here, my Queen.”

“Are there signs of creatures airborne or in the buildings below?”

“There are tracks, my Queen. But currently I do not detect any.”

“Understood.”

Pulling back up, I turned onto my side. “I don’t hear anything.”

Santiago touched my leg. “An owl is silent when in flight.”

“Look, this is supposed to be a demonstration of our survival skills, right? A test.”

“Only according to what they informed us. They could easily have lied.”

“And they also could have killed us - you know, mashed us to stones - the moment we each got off the boat.”

“True.”

“Which means this whole area could be a common testing site, hence these anchors still being here.” I thought for a moment. “Hmm. Demons don’t like taking risks unless absolutely ordered to.”

“And?”

“The drop is what, a hundred feet? One-fifty? That’s still in range of our guns. They attack that way, they’re wide open. Why risk it for some stupid test?” No, I wasn’t about to mention demonic wizardry and the various protection spells they could use. Anything that powerful and Tsáyidiel should have noticed.

“What of the offal in the tunnels? Were those from demons?”

“Hard to say. Could just be Hell-critters. Maybe they cleared them out for us.”

“And these critters - can they also fly?”

“Maybe? I don’t know much about the wildlife of this realm. How much rope we got?”

“Three coils of about sixty meters.”

Oh. How to tell someone you’re from America without saying you’re from America? Use ‘feet’ as a unit of measure like I just had. “So if one gets cut, we could lower another.”

“Provided someone remains up here.”

I thought about it. As defensive positions went, the narrow tunnel wasn’t bad. It wasn’t Spartan-last-stand worthy, but anything shot would just plug it up more. “Leave three or so behind? If that can’t hold against whatever spilled that purple gunk, we’d be breakfast on the way out anyway.”

“A reasonable assessment.”

“Good. You tell the boys. They won’t listen to me - at least, not unless I do something drastic to force ‘em to.”

He paused, and I wondered if I’d said too much. Finally he asked, “Do you have a specifically dramatic action in mind?”

“Not particularly, no. Why?”

“Simple curiosity.” He turned and began whispering to the guys in the line.

Santiago’s plan was quickly agreed upon. Not everyone had been happy about it, especially the three biggest guys who had metaphorically drawn the short straws to remain behind. Their strength was going to be needed to help safely lower us inexperienced rope climbers, and of course to haul us back up. Not that I blamed them for not wanting this duty, as to follow the demon’s instructions we had to take the map orb with us. They’d be stuck at the end of pitch black tunnels without so much as a matchstick.

It was also decided that Santiago would go down last so he could make sure the rope was secure for each trip and act as the belayer. He’d also then be the last back up and would bring with him the third rope along with the packed grappling hook - since only he had training on how to use it properly. Just in case. Besides, we might need it to scale that castle’s walls.

Speaking of the castle, it actually had lights along the battlements. From this distance they weren’t bright, but the familiar glow of enchanted crystals dotted the towers. Killing the light from our orb, we waited long enough for eyes to fully adjust - and the fort’s dim illumination was sufficient to make out the outlines of rooftops below us. Comforting, this - we didn’t have to plunge down the line into total unknown.

Just mostly unknown.

One by one we went, which since we didn’t have actual harnesses was not a pleasant experience. Santiago looped the rope around each traveler such that it wouldn’t get free, but yeah - that meant anchoring between our inner thighs.

Advantage there to me. Provided the rope didn’t slip all the way up, anyway.

We really should have been given harnesses for this. Since it was a straight drop, we couldn’t even use the side of a cliff to balance against. While on the way down, I added that demonic sergeant to an ever-growing list of folks needing a good butt-kicking.

The rooftop itself was atop a two-story structure, and fortunately for us was nice and flat. Upon arrival, after freeing ourselves from Santiago’s many knots, we tugged on it so he could pull the rope back up for the next dangling victim. Then we took lookout positions on each floor. Not having a gun, I stayed on the roof, going down on a knee to peer over the side towards the castle.

There really wasn’t much to see, and the lack of streetlights was going to make choosing the best route towards the center tricky. Still, in terms of cover and safest approach, I began planning an approach.

Which is when one of the souls kicked my boot with his. “Gimme water.”

From voice alone, I knew it was the one I’d called stupid. “Should have brought your own.” I shifted weight off the knee pressed to the rooftop, and fingers adjusted their position on the hilt of the machete I’d kept out.

“You got two, bitch. Share.”

I slowly rose and turned to face him, keeping the blade flat against a leg. While I did he backed off and raised a blaster rifle to point at my chest. Our eyes locked, and I gazed past the dark complexion and punk-style spiky hair to the serious insecurities and fear within. “We going to have a problem?”

“Ain’t no ‘gonna’ about it. And gimme that jungle slicer you holdin’ there too.”

Three things came into focus. First was that Santiago was still on his way down. Another was that the other men in their various mismatched outfits had all stopped what they were doing to watch with absolutely no intentions of interfering. “You really don’t want to pull that trigger.”

“Way I figure it, as we already be in Hell, there ain’t no more worry ‘bout what’s right or wrong. So why not just blow your brains all over the place, eh?”

“You really do lack in the intelligence department, don’t you.”

“Don’t disrespect me, ya slut! Maybe we all take turns playin’ wit’ you first - you’d probably like that! Ya know, I bet you would!”

Over half of the others on the roof stepped forward with anticipatory grins, and waves of lust filled the air as if the wind had shifted from a nearby garbage heap. Shielding against it, I stayed silent.

Lowering the gun’s aim to my stomach, the idiot smiled just as lecherously as the others. “How ‘bout you strip and give us a dance first.”

“Why don’t you focus more about what all those demons are going to do to you if you don’t finish this mission.”

“Fuck the mission. I want to see your naked ass.” He raised the gun again. “Do it!”

“That’s a solid nope. So go ahead. Shoot.”

“Don’t think I won’t!”

“I doubt you’ve got the balls, asshole.”

The finger twitched and, whether he really meant to or not, pulled the trigger.

Except nothing happened.

You see, the last thing I had spotted was that the LED on the side of his gun currently blinked red.

While he gaped in surprise - and indeed tried to pull the trigger again - I was already in motion. A looping high kick to the face sent him stumbling, followed with a spinning back kick directly to the solar plexus. I didn’t exactly pull my strength either.

I may have been irritated.

He launched backwards going fully airborne, his ass landing first then skidding along the roof before tumbling up over his head from sheer momentum. Having chased after, as he began to weakly groan and roll over, he found me standing over him with the machete’s point held dangerously close to a certain spot between his legs.

I didn’t exactly catch his reaction in detail, only peripherally. This was due to staring down all the other disgusting men who’d been eager to participate. Most however were too busy fumbling with their guns to keep attention focused on me.

Like the weapon dropped by the idiot now flirting with castration, theirs also blinked the same shade of crimson.

Behind the jerk, Santiago dropped to the roof. Not bothering undoing ropes first, he stepped closer to us. “Is something the matter?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We have a problem. The guns are disabled.”

“I see. Then I do believe we have much to discuss.” With a look to me for my nodded permission, he then offered his free hand to the would-be rapist and murderer. I took a step back.

The young man with the cracked ribs winced, but took the hand and got lifted - albeit unsteadily - to his feet. “Thanks, man, I-”

He never had the chance to finish the statement.

With instant speed and professional accuracy, Santiago used the Yarborough to open the guy’s throat side to side.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 9

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Nine - Instincts

 

It had been less than a sleep’s turn since I’d arrived in Hell, and already I’d witnessed three murders. Four, if including Pierre’s self-sacrificing suicide. Technically they were already dead to begin with, but once reduced to a compact stone that was it for their spirits. From everything I’d been told, that was the last one-way trip a soul could take.

Short of jumping into the Abyss, anyway.

The men around us remained silent as Santiago knelt to wipe the knife clean on the corpse’s pants. When he stood - and therefore again faced those surrounding us - I then dropped to a knee, looking over the body.

“What are you doing?”

Pulling up the doubly-dead man’s shirt, the machete bit into the stomach cavity, rather messily scooping out that which was all that remained of his spirit. The glow was weak, but there it was: an angry and smoldering reddish stone. “Gathering another light. We shouldn’t leave any souls behind.”

After wiping off the machete I stood, taking the measure of the rest of this cursed crew. A few were shocked at how casually I’d just disemboweled the body, but one thing was certain: all traces of lustful intentions were gone.

For now.

A slender man, grey loops tightly packed upon a head that had once seen too much sun, directed a question at Santiago. “Why protect the girl?”

“She is the only one with experience and knowledge.”

“Then she’s not newly arrived.” A fresh tension spread among the rest at the unspoken implication.

Santiago looked to me. “I, too, would like to hear an explanation.”

With blade in one hand and soul in the other, I faced off with him. “Does it really matter?”

He touched the butt of one of the pistols at his waist. “Our guns have been turned off. Could this also be a part of their test?”

“No. It’s payback.”

That genuinely confused him. “For what?”

“This.” Tossing the soul to Santiago who adeptly caught it, with teeth I then tugged a glove free. I wasn’t about to put down my weapon. Holding out the freed hand, a new light cast fresh shadows across the rooftop as the mark became visible.

Everyone except Santiago took a number of steps back, recoiling from the glow. He, however, merely pointed knife at the hand. “Magic?”

“It’s an owner’s mark. A demon guard tried to get too friendly before I even got on the truck after the boat. Instead of killing him, I bound him to me - he now carries my brand. They imprisoned him too, but apparently he has friends.”

“Ah. So they wish to take you down. This greatly increases the difficulty of the mission.”

From the crowd someone whispered, “Witch!” One even started crossing himself, but embarrassedly caught the motion before it completed.

Holding the machete under an armpit, I quickly put the glove back on and glowered at them all. “Yeah, I’m a witch. Deal with it. And Santiago is right, I’m probably the only one here who has fought demons before. But this whole ‘Harrowing’ thing is supposed to reveal who among us are survivors, it’s not meant to be a destructive test. I got that much out of demonic handsy-boy before they hauled his ass away.”

“You demanded blades instead of guns,” said Santiago, eyes still as hard as the soulstone in his hand. “Did you know that they would do this?”

I shrugged. “Not specifically. I just don’t trust demons.”

“They have not yet attacked us. You would be their first target?”

“Probably.”

“I see. Should we simply kill you, would the guns be re-enabled?”

I fought the desire to glance at his knife. “Think you can?” My gloved hand re-grasped the hilt of the machete, and to emphasize the question electric sparks flowed across the blade. My boots shifted stance and I waited to see what he’d do.

The crowd’s focus bounced between the two of us as everyone went deathly still.

However, after measured consideration, Santiago merely inclined his head. “Not with you so aware and ready.” He put the knife back in its sheath.

I slowly exhaled. “So now what?”

He began untying the ropes still wrapped around him, and the ends quickly dropped to the rooftop. Their obvious hindrance in a knife fight may have influenced that decision, but his aura remained calm. “You and I should converse privately.” Tugging on the strands twice, the guys still above us (and probably wondering just what the heck was going on) starting pulling them back up. “Let us go downstairs.”

Grey-haired guy objected. “Hey, we all want to hear what she says!”

Santiago gave him an inscrutable look. “No. You do not. Should she reveal anything the jailers would consider a threat, they shall slaughter all who heard of it.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It is precisely what I would do.”

That shut the guy up. The crowd parted and only Santiago and I went down the dark stairs. He used the burning red soul as our lamp, revealing the top floor of the building as having been a house - one in which everything inside had burnt to a crisp. The stone walls, that same blackened obsidian that the towers far above were constructed from, had survived - but that’s all.

I followed him and our boots crunched through the charred furniture that remained, sending the scent of musty charcoal through protesting sinuses.

When we were far enough away from anyone else, I stopped. “Alright, what’s up?”

He didn’t turn around. “Is it possible to escape the jailers?”

Shit. “I…dammit. Look, Hell itself is designed to be a prison for souls. If you’re unmarked and wandering around like you are now? You’d have no protection from being snatched up by anyone stronger than you.”

“Can one hide?”

“Where? And we still get hungry. It takes an awfully lot longer to starve into a stone, but eventually it’ll happen. Painfully, once someone’s given up.”

“Yet you appear to have a plan.”

“What the heck makes you say that?”

“Perhaps instinct. But you…you have been running an operation since before getting on the truck.”

I wanted to deny it, but crap. “You’re scarily observant.”

“As are you, when you wish to be. Precisely what game are you pursuing?”

I did something I hadn’t done in awhile. I chewed on a lip. “Can you accept that I can’t tell you everything?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ve heard of a group on this realm that’s somehow been grabbing new souls before they’re sold. Promising freedom of sorts. But they could just be a crazy cult.”

“Say more.”

“I’ve done what I can to attract their attention as a potential recruit.”

“Why? The implication during the intake interview was that souls with solid skills may gain positions of relative security. Why not aim for those?”

“The cult may be able to find folks that I know came here. Friends of mine, skilled ones. They may even be part of it somehow.”

He paused, his face more shadow than illuminated. “Why admit such to me? Even knowing this little, it would be in my interest to betray you to the jailers for concessions.”

“They wouldn’t give you a strict enough contract to guarantee anything once you divulged it. You seriously don’t have any leverage for negotiations. Think about it: how many street informants have you burned once you got what you needed from them?” The last was an educated guess - I hadn’t tried to scan him for his past, and he certainly wasn’t broadcasting.

The supposition though earned a wry smile, the first of genuine humor I’d seen from him. “Would this cult find me of interest as well?”

“Prove yourself a skilled operator and maybe. Unless of course they decide you’re too scary to bring aboard.” I returned a tired smile of my own.

“Interesting. What then is our best play from here?”

“The way I see it, to test us properly there’s probably two assaults planned. One either on the way to the castle or in it, and the other on the way back. Maybe even multiple waves.”

“Can we accomplish our objective through stealth?”

I thought about it, then shook my head. “Not really. They’ll have scanners to detect souls. Though we may get bonus points for the attempt.”

“For the ones aiming for you, how many of us would be accepted as collateral damage?”

“Realistically? As many as needed. All authorized by their mother. She’s the one in charge.” I wanted to kick the wall, but didn’t. “Alright, how about I go by myself? Grab the photos or whatever with their orb and skedaddle.”

“And when they decide to attack?”

“I deal with it.”

“You are rather confident in your abilities.”

“Yup. The guards are low level demons, two souls at most apiece. No problem.”

“These men with us will not easily let you take the orb.”

“Think you can convince them?”

“No. Which is why I shall hold onto it and accompany you.”

“Isn’t that riskier?”

“Those same instincts whisper that I am safer with you.”

All things considered that was hard to argue against.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Santiago wasn’t entirely successful getting the team (if you could call it that) on board with the plan. As a result Mr. Greyhair (who said to call him ‘Jones’) also tagged along, after handing over the freshly acquired soul stone to those left behind. They could use its light to examine their navels or whatever while they waited - the glow wasn’t strong enough for much else. Though maybe they’d find enlightenment anyway.

Nah.

Before stepping out onto the street, we worked out the planned route in more detail. Santiago, much to my non-surprise, had clearly performed ops in a city setting before - he was better at pointing out lines of sight and alternate ways to navigate the city than I’d thought of. He still had the backpack with the third rope, hook, and the small crossbow needed to launch it - something he’d had to insist upon rather forcefully as the crew had wanted to hold more items to force our return.

Well, not forcefully enough that I’d needed to carve new stones out of their flesh or anything. Just a semi-heated discussion and a few implied non-consensual leaps from the roof-top.

Therefore the three of us crept from long shadow to long shadow as we hugged one stone wall after another. A drafty wind blew through the town, one which kept switching between being annoyingly hot and almost refreshingly merely warm. It was disgustingly humid however, whatever moisture was trapped in here had been so for a long time as told by the overwhelming musty scent of surrounding mold - which made me wonder how much worse the moat was going to stink when we got closer. Some of the structures had also collapsed into rubble. These we went out of our way to avoid as the distant glow from the castle was insufficient to let us see what debris had landed on the streets. Why risk breaking our necks with a simple fall when we had demons waiting to do it for us?

The contents of each structure were all similarly burned. It was as if the fires from the unreachable skies above had somehow swept through this place long ago. Which would have been a neat trick considering it appeared to be a fully-enclosed underground cavern.

Maybe that’s exactly what had happened though.

What kept bugging me was that even with quick peeks of my own when I thought I could get away with it, I didn’t sense anything else here. No souls, no demons, not even a howler or two.

Tsáyidiel also didn’t detect anything, which had left him uneasy.

“My Queen.”

“Yes?”

“Give me this device. Allow me to scout the fort and achieve your goal.”

“If it takes a three-sixty photo and no souls are visible in it, that will not work well. We must be there.”

“Something is wrong, my Queen. I sense a trap.”

“Of course this is a trap, beloved one.”

“Then we should take wing and depart. Leave these unworthy souls to their fates.”

That was disturbing. Him wanting to flee? “What bothers my hunter so?”

“I know not.”

“Then stay prepared, but we continue. For this to not have been a waste, I must succeed and as but a soul.”

“As you command, my Queen.”

About halfway to the target we took a water break. Santiago had his own canteen, and surprisingly so did Jones. Yay for me, as I didn’t have to share.

Behind a wall out of sight of the castle, Santiago leaned in to whisper. “There is still nothing. Nor any activity up at the hole we came through, I have been watching.”

Jones grunted quietly. “It’s too dark to look for footprints in the dust on the roads.”

Santiago put the cap back on his bottle. “The breeze would keep them covered.”

He was right, as the ashen dust around us was loose and smothered everything.

I leaned against the wall, not caring about smudges on the jacket. If anything that’d help me blend in. “Think they’ll just wait to attack in the tunnels above? If it’s the only way in and they didn’t send an advance team, that’d be their only option.”

“Possible,” Santiago considered. “But the repelling anchors were already there. An advance team could have used them.”

“Why then,” asked Jones, “would they cut their own ropes?”

We didn’t have a good answer so Santiago gestured me forward - I’d been taking point since I’d likely be the primary target. I went as directed, but two buildings further in I smelled something awful.

And it wasn’t mold or the moat.

“What is it?” Santiago, lurking five feet behind was holding both knives I’d given him. As the breeze picked up, his nostrils flared too. “Death.”

Following our reluctant noses we found the source in a house whose door had burned completely away. Inside, a stack of ripe decomposing bodies had been shoved against a corner.

“Give me the orb.” I held out a hand to Santiago.

With what he’d heard in my voice, he simply handed it over.

Kneeling over the stack, I used the extra shirt I’d kept around my waist as a shield so the light wouldn’t escape and I could do what I really didn’t want to do.

I got a better look.

Demons. Scorched, sliced, and eviscerated. Beaks, claws, and humanoid faces peering out of helmets, all were a jumbled mess. Except that wasn’t what caused my veins to run cold. Because on a shredded piece of modern-style body armor sat an emblem: an outline of a glorious floating battle platform, one with a single domed tower jutting higher than the others, sitting amongst weapons strong enough to shatter smaller realms.

The Citadel.

Fuck.

Thoughts raced, and with an angry growl I tossed the orb back to Santiago. As he caught it, I gave commands in a low but steady voice so to be clearly understood. “Take pictures. Especially of their badges. And stay here until I say otherwise.”

Jones was about to object, but Santiago quieted him by shoving a knife into the grey-haired man’s hand. Not through it, but hilt against the palm.

So he’d have something to fight with.

As Santiago then got busy with the orb, I stepped outside and this time with eyes closed I took a look around.

A real look around, turning full three-sixty to scan. There was a weird webbing of obscuring intent across everything, and with focus it reluctantly parted.

There. One…no, two.

“Boys,” I announced, “We have company.”

Laughter boomed above the stonework structures. With a rip through the air, a giant demon a couple stories tall appeared: one whose orange and spike-covered skin spilled flames with billowing power. Clad only in a leather loincloth to best show off the standard overly-muscled frame, I was almost surprised at even that gesture towards modesty. “You noticed!” he chortled. “Impressive! The master said that would be entirely impossible.”

His companion far behind us also must have appeared, as sudden shouts of alarm instantly became screams of pain by those we’d left to hold the needed rooftop.

This…this was going to be tricky. Quick count of what lay under that burning skin showed seventy souls. More than a certain bastard commander had ever held.

But unlike during that fight, today the Light was with me.

“Tsáyidiel! The demon behind us, take it out without being seen! Save those idiots!”

“But-”

“GO!”

With a burst of wind, he went. The sudden gust was enough to cause the giant in front of me to pause, but not for very long as he then waxed philosophical.

“Still, efficiency is best in such situations, would you not agree?” A meaty hand reached out and launched a ball of that same orange-red fire. I’d say it was aimed at my face, except the flames stretched as wide as the street I was standing on.

Shit.

Dropping the mundane and therefore useless machete which had no hopes of piercing this demon’s hide, I planted feet and prepared. Energy I could manipulate, but without extending wings to power up there were limits to what I could pull off and hold onto.

And dammit all, I’d just crawled through critter gunk and fended off a gang rape. Popping feathers would make that have been for nothing.

Knowing I couldn’t control the full blast due to the intensity, hands swept along a circle and redirected the force instead. Heat billowed across skin - enough to cause burns where the gloves were uncovered - but the fires swirled about and streamed right into the building across the street.

Said house filled immediately to the brim with the ravenous fires. But this was nothing new to the structure as there wasn’t anything left inside to feed those flames.

As its still-standing chimney burped explosively upwards, I shoved power through my own frame causing bones to light up under the skin and shouted:

“Santiago! RUN!!”

And then to keep the fire giant busy, I charged right at him.

Seeing the sudden attack, the demon blinked away confusion as to how his flames had moved aside without him wanting them to. With tactical wariness, a green haze manifested around him in a sphere - these new energies solidifying into a solid shield.

Or at least, it should have been solid. To any other opponent it may have been.

But the magic from the defense’s control points quickly ripped away, and to the demon’s further shock I leapt through the green to land an energy-laden blow of my own as I’d decided to take my own advice as given to Santiago earlier.

The loincloth’s pattern shredded as if made of paper as my fist ripped past to slam a concussive wave into what lay vulnerable underneath.

A howl of extreme agony shrieked across the abandoned town, and I needed to dodge as the ground shook from the collision of two massive knees smacking into the dirt. Given the day’s events, I found his scream rather satisfying. What’s more, behind us an answering mighty shout of pain echoed as well.

Tsáyidiel had found his target.

A rapid check of the house with the bodies showed the two souls were gone. Good.

Meanwhile my opponent, weeping groans of more fire, gaped. “How?”

More Light filled limbs, and with a spinning jump kick I left my answer as a boot print upon his skull’s temple now conveniently in range. The bone crunched inward, and he toppled sideways to land with another earth-jolting thud.

It didn’t quite kill him - his chest still sucked air - but it was clearly a lights-out situation.

A moment of silence followed. Using it to control my own breathing (and therefore heeding a lesson given by a certain Lilim long ago), the gathered Light within slowly let go.

Which was a mistake.

It happened within a blink of an eye, maybe even faster. A new figure was simply there, wielding a longsword of emerald fire swinging with speed beyond speed directly at neck level.

My neck level.

Instinct took over. Possibly a mix of higher consciousness’ reactions and long-drilled training, hard to say.

Two iridescent wings flashed into existence, and moving within that blink, I shifted to toss arms before the blade in a warrior’s block - arms accustomed to wearing heavenly bracers strong enough to stand against even blades formed of Chaos.

Except Tsáyidiel still carried Camael’s gifts, and these wrists currently were bare.

Sword and fire impacted and bit deep.

All the way to glowing bone.

That would have been bad enough, but along with the blood-splattering cuts came an attack on another level entirely.

 

Earth. Stone. Firmament. Cooled rock above molten core, cycling and churning, age after endless age, raising mighty mountains only to cast them down. Immense plates drifting under oceans, the basis upon which a world of life existed, with movements unfathomable to the brief lives merely dotting the expanse of its surface…

 

Tremendous force slammed through my being, as if I’d been hit by the planet on which I’d once been born, geologic in scale and overwhelming in sheer continental power.

But wings flared, and the truth of the Light flooded within. The Light from which even the stars and galaxies themselves had been forged.

And that shine refused to allow my pattern’s fracture.

Even as I was thrown backwards along the street - wet crimson streaming away from both forearms - a primal roar shook the city.

While streaking towards me with another prepared strike, the gilded titanium armored and winged figure slammed sideways, as Tsáyidiel, in full gryphon form, simply powered on through him - sending both crashing into a hapless building that exploded in stone, ash, and raw angelic fury.

Only then did the shattering crack of Tsáyidiel’s hypersonic speed arrive to my ears.

What followed was another crunch, but this time of claws through plate as the attacking angel launched upwards back-first towards the cavern’s ceiling above.

Even through the dust, I caught sight of the angel’s face as his lava-infused wings caught air before reaching that ceiling. Shock and dismay first, then wide-eyed horror, and with a scream he sped not again at us, but away and towards the castle.

The same enveloping cloak of stealth surrounded him, but with the first pair of wings now free upon my back there could be no more hiding from my sight.

Tsáyidiel prepared to leap in pursuit, but my command caught him first.

“Let him go!”

Fury and instinctual confusion filled the senses. “But my Queen! He-”

“Had no knowledge of who or what I am! Stay with me, my beloved defender. We too have no knowledge of whom else may await within the keep.”

“If…if my Queen commands.”

“I do.”

Peeling myself from the road’s dirt, I sat up - only to groan as throbbing across the forearms took root. The deep cuts were healing, but each held traces of that emerald fire still burning within - traces the Light slowly sizzled away.

I wondered if I’d be stuck with a pair of matching scars.

The brilliance cast by the wings powering the incremental healing flickered about, and this time I didn’t try to relax. Instead I reassessed surroundings, sensing whatever was near or even far.

In the keep beyond cloaked spellwork lurked additional angelic energy, at least three distinct patterns. Several more particularly concentrated patches of soulglow were also present, indicating more high-powered demons in residence as well. Plus a smattering of weaker ones.

Back at the rooftop we’d landed upon, the number of souls was the same - except most were awfully dimmer than before.

Dangit.

One additional soul was also quickly running through the maze of buildings to get there.

But only one and not two.

Spinning around, I found the missing soul. Behind an empty window frame which had given a front-row view to the fighting, stood Santiago.

He’d seen the entire thing, and stared openly as Tsáyidiel came over to nuzzle my arms in concern.

Giving the gryphon a reassuring pat, I got to my feet and called out to the watching soul.

“Alright Santiago, may as well come on out. Show’s over.”

“Is it? I am not so certain.” He didn’t move from his spot.

“Let’s talk.”

He debated for a moment, but a growl from Tsáyidiel at the audacity to not simply obey convinced the man. Exiting the building, he then came within ten feet and stopped. “And what shall we discuss?”

“What’s in that castle is not something you want to deal with.”

“And you do?”

Tsáyidiel may not have liked it, but I nodded. “Yeah. Think I have to.”

“Ah. Then what of myself? I have obviously witnessed more than I should. And it is quite apparent that this situation, sad to say, is generously beyond my capacity.”

“You know, you’re damned smart. Pardon the unfortunate pun.”

He gave a wry smile. “A blessing and a curse, situation depending.”

“If you were me, you’d kill the witnesses. Wouldn’t you.” It wasn’t phrased as a question.

Which was answered anyway. “I would.”

“Then rejoice that I am not you. What you need know is that this whole arrangement here must have been overruled from higher up the demon chain of command, from a direction I stupidly hadn’t considered. This was never a real ‘Harrowing’ assignment, it was something else entirely to manipulate me into coming here. But if you’re careful you can work this to your advantage.”

“How so?”

“Did you take any pictures of the fight?”

“It was indeed tempting. But no. To possess such felt exceedingly dangerous.”

“Good. Then take the orb and its record of those bodies we found back with you. Inform the idiot prison guards that I told you to run, and you did. As fast as you could, leaving me to stand and die. And don’t worry about the guards, they won’t be waiting in ambush - at this point they’ll have been ordered not to.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. He knows it’d just piss me off more.”

“He?”

“The jerkwad who set me up. If I don’t make a timely return, when you get back inform ‘mother’ that you have a message only for a General Krux of the Citadel. One from me, given before I told you to run - a message that came with a curse placed upon you should you deliver to anyone else. She knows I do magic, but hers is weak so she’ll buy it.”

“And what then to this Krux? Should this personage actually appear.”

“Oh he definitely will. Tell him to his face that I called him an absolute jerk. And that the crazy redhead said he’s got a Grigori situation down here which should be left the fuck alone. Plus he’s gonna owe me even bigger whenever I see him again - right after I punt his tiny ass for a field goal.”

After a pause, Santiago repeated the message verbatim. “Is this all?”

“No. Tell him also that I said he should draft you - that you’d fit right in. Consider the referral as my payment for messenger duty.”

“That could be interpreted as both a compliment and an insult.”

“Take it however you please. Just get going.”

He began to turn, but stopped. “Are you a demon or an…” He couldn’t say it.

“An angel? Yeah. I am.”

“Astounding.” He was about to say something else, but shook his head and walked on.

Watching him, I thought about the other loose end from this misadventure: a certain demon named Blorph. Reaching through the mark he so reluctantly had accepted, the image of three blank walls and a set of vertical bars came into focus.

Along with the surge of boiling desire for my demise, and the expectation it would happen soon.

Through the link his true name was touchable. Through the link it could be burnt away.

It’d be incredibly easy.

Flexing wings, my head tilted, causing neck to crack and loosen, which also happened to bring Tsáyidiel back into my line of sight.

He was, in a word, magnificent.

Armor of ivory and gold contrasted with dark feathers and fur, four gilded wings folding majestically along mailed sides where panther body seamlessly blended into raven’s head and front claws. I couldn’t help myself: fingers ran through the feathers behind his beak, letting Light trail past to gently touch the restored Name within.

A shudder twitched wings and the softest of hides, and his eyes closed as our connection resonated true.

With a decision, the other connection severed as if it had never been, leaving Blorph to whatever fate he’d imagined should I have simply died. Maybe the jailers would yet have him killed. Maybe the comrades willing to engage in revenge for a soul daring to mark him would also set him free.

Such was no longer my concern.

“Come, beloved hunter,” I said warmly as the tingles between us soothed the sting from the cuts across my arms. “We shall approach directly. The attack by another of the Bene-Elohim was likely in error.”

“As my Queen wishes.”

We flew then together, my shine reflected brightly by his metal coverings. Over the city and past the expected stinky and algae-filled moat, then into the empty courtyard set before the steps leading to the central hall.

Demon guards lined those low stairs, wearing a mix of medieval chain and modern Kevlar-plated tactical outfits. They were wise enough to not interfere as we folded wings and climbed.

Through a pair of mighty felwood doors we walked, to a hall of high stone arches all but empty except for pillars holding light-emitting crystals standing every ten feet, moving past door guardian demons as strong as the ones we just felled. Finally we reached two angels of earthly elements standing beside a solid metal and occupied backless bench gleaming platinum in the ambient light.

As my own brightness slowly filled more of the room, I found it difficult to make out the darkly cloaked humanoid figure sitting upon the simple throne.

They spoke first.

“Well, well, well,” the being on the throne said, the words dragged out as if from depths of bored exhaustion. “Look at what the cat-bird dragged in.”

The voice finally registered and thoughts froze. It couldn’t be. Increasing the intensity of the wings to better show the hidden face, in shock I blurted, “Cassius?!”

As the face came into focus however, feathered black wings stretched out behind him, swallowing all the light in their vicinity to leave nothing but empty shadows.

Seeing my horrified expression, he laughed as a cruel smile curled along features once belonging to a friend. The bitter and tortured sound filled the hall, its echoes scraping along the walls and across painfully protesting eardrums.

“No, angel of the Light of Lies,” rasped the figure. “Only I am here. Only Shemyaza!!”

Ouch.

 

End of Part Two

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

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

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 11

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Eleven - Stand

 

I spent a few more minutes, there in the now-empty hall. Tsáyidiel remained quiet, allowing me space to think. While the idea of returning to give Krux the grief he so greatly deserved appealed, the entire quest to find the Apostle no longer felt as urgent.

Oh, I still wanted to know if this demon had information that could lead to my other friends, and also wanted to find out just exactly who he was to be saying things in my name. But from what Cassius had just told me, other priorities had become much more important.

And thus decision became action.

Perceptions pierced the elemental earth above to chart out the numerous tunnels back to the surface, and we took flight - with me again shrouding the outward shine as Tsáyidiel had taught. Anyone with truer vision would likely still sense our passage - while my companion was virtually undetectable, my own presence sent ripples through the realm’s fabric much the way space curves in the wake of a massive stellar object.

You know, like that of a burning sun.

Back into the heat under the realm’s sky of fire, we sped between towers, retracing our paths to a place we’d already been.

Except this time the azure-skinned demon outside Greepa’s bar didn’t want to let me in.

“You not Citadel,” he growled while looming over me with an eight foot bodybuilder’s frame. “No entry!” Stepping out, he placed himself firmly in front of the nondescript doorway and crossed arms that would have been envy of the most roided-out gym rats.

Maybe it was because I’d just left a friend stuck in a mire of continuous suffering, or maybe it was the fact that a certain drunkard of a Grigori had earlier lied right to my face, but after thinking things over I was not exactly in a good mood.

Not even close.

Even my chosen outfit had shifted. Gone were the mismatched rags rifled from the intake facility’s lost and found, those having been replaced by a medieval yet modern tactical mix of white, in the forms of an embossed leather cuirass over a silk tunic and matching leggings tucked into ivory twenty-first century military boots. A touch of bright gold-laced crimson was provided by long hair bound as a single center braid draped against a shoulder, and out of not wanting to cause a general outcry by the surrounding denizens, wings had been tucked away.

But Camael’s bracers once again provided sharply dark contrast upon otherwise pale wrists in their full-sized and battle-ready golden-black form.

I didn’t give the demon a chance for any further bluster. With an upraised hand, power reached out to sink below his blue flesh and grip one of the souls the fiend had swallowed. Specifically, a soul residing within the pattern of his throat. Meaty demon fingers instantly floundered against that overly-muscled neck as he choked and stumbled to the ground, struggling to keep that former meal down.

Sickeningly, the soul I had grabbed was as slimy as the essence of the demon it rested inside, full of smoldering hatred and a terrible need for violence - equally burning and shrieking in reaction to the Light.

In many ways that was even worse than feeling the pattern of its host.

Disgusted, I released them both and without a word stepped over the whimpering demon.

A quick scan inside the barely-lit joint showed that little had changed except for one important detail. The devil bartender still wore vest and dress shirt, the floors were freshly mopped, a couple of office-attire demons sat at the bar, but the jerk I wanted to find was missing from his nest of empty bottles and soiled napkins.

Greepa stared while pouring an ale - not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Peterbilt.

Oh. I was still glowing. Peachy.

“Your bouncer,” I snapped across the room. “Where is he?”

The bartender took a moment to find his voice, and eventually succeeded. Points to him. “Why…why should I tell you this?”

“He and I have further business.”

“Business?” Greepa licked lips, noting that customers were watching. “What sort of business?” The guy was trying to determine if he should get a cut…or not.

I pushed the issue. “You sure you want to know?” The bar became less dim, and honestly the additional illumination did the dingy decor no favors.

“I…no. I suppose not.” The devil put down the overfilled glass. “He’s off-shift. Typically he takes his sleeps in random corners, but as he’s flush with cash and can afford the bribes - you should try the hydroponics garden. Two floors up.”

I didn’t even nod. I simply turned and walked away.

Out to where a demon on bended knee struggled to regain his lost breath. Except this time the symbol embossed and outlined in gold across the front of my cuirass finally registered within his sight, and in recognized surprise the overly-muscled guy threw himself fully prostrate, forehead shoved firmly against the ground as I walked briskly past.

It was the same mark as upon my palm, only larger:

A four-pointed star.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Nick was found exactly where the bartender had said.

Two floors above the bar, and taking at least three floors more with the space’s height, a hydroponics interior greenhouse lifted rack after rack of well-watered platforms full of vegetables both familiar and not. There were many entrance doors, all locked, but a whispered word gained access and I entered, while Tsáyidiel slid into shadows to stand guard outside.

The dense humidity inside slapped against skin, thick enough that swirls of moisture gathered just below the tall ceiling to rain over plants and walkways all, a light drizzle with occasional heavier drops.

It was with his back propped up against such a water-slogged rack that I found him, drenched from messy beard and wild hair to the damp patchwork-booted toes sprawled straight-legged across the aisle.

Leaking out from under the splayed coat, coarse red swirled into the watery puddle surrounding him.

With the entire area in sleep mode, peaceful quiet was broken only by the low hum from the smaller lights lining the footpaths - and by sporadic buzzing from a distant overhead lamp sparking from a rain-induced short, yielding this haunting impression of lightning dancing far, far away.

His eyelids had closed to those random flashes, and wrapped within crossed arms as if hugging a life preserver sat a thick green bottle - cap in place and interior contents still full.

I stood over him, stood over this unkempt wretch of a being wallowing in misery and overflowing with terrible inner pain. The gash in his side had deepened since last I’d seen him, even though it had only been most of a sleep cycle, as the hooks of agony from his spirit’s suffering clawed tighter at the embedded curse within the wound - tighter than any fisherman’s lost nylon net. His spirit was already frayed due to parts of itself having gone missing, as the feathers of his former sacred connections had been sliced away by a blade of scorching fire long ago.

Another wound which had never properly healed.

My pent-up irritation - the anger, the frustration - all of it washed away standing there in rain which wasn’t rain.

After a pained sigh, I slid to the floor beside him and tilted face into the falling wet, letting warm water trail across cheeks in the place of all the tears I had yet allowed myself to shed.

His breathing eventually revealed when he awoke, and another minute passed in silence filled only by the gentle drops soaking each tray of produce, the meshes underneath plinking excess condensed moisture upon green and purple leaves covering racks below. Together it crafted a sound much like the patter heard below a rainforest’s canopy.

Eventually - albeit softly - my voice interrupted the peace.

 

“I can see why you like this place.”

A short exhale, and then, “I miss the storms.”

“There’s rain on the Rock. You could go there.”

“Rain and hail with a sun ever-burning below the clouds? That just isn’t right.”

“I suppose not.”

“And electricity is messed up in that realm anyway.”

“I never did understand why the physics there is so weird.”

“Can’t expect subtle consistencies from a place maintained by a hammer.”

“Guess not.”

 

Drip-filled quiet followed, and then it was his turn to break it.

 

“I was there, you know. When life was created. On Earth.”

Wanting to give him space to continue, I didn’t say anything.

“The primordial ooze,” he continued after a long minute, “or whatever scientists want to label it, had formed. Water, methane, hydrogen, ammonia, and the other needed bits such as silica, all swirling around in the tides. Beliel summoned the First, along with his perpetual sidekick to be witness and judge from the shores, and I…I flew high above to gather mighty clouds around the globe with the required differentials between ground and sky.”

His fingers found the cap of the bottle. Twisting, the cap came free - but he didn’t drink. Instead he only played with the metal cover, rolling it between fingers and mystically tattooed palm.

“It took awhile,” he eventually added. “Seeding all those sludged pools with zapped potential - not that we cared about the passage of time. We had yet to manifest fully in physical forms, you see. Time’s grasp on spirits is ephemeral, entropy’s touch does not apply.”

When his following silence had dragged on too long, I prompted him again. “And?”

He inhaled slowly. “And under the continual lightning strikes, the created amino acids and compounds finally combined into the shapes Beliel and Uriel had seeded as possibilities into the design. Eventually, for the first time, collated matter self-directed its own movement instead of reacting only to outside impingements. Which is where Azrael’s role came in.”

“How so?”

“Beginnings and endings. The start of such movement implies an end, with entropy breaking things down to be reabsorbed and started again. Life and Death. Over and over.”

“Isn’t that part of the beauty of it? Always changing, always growing.”

“I used to think so.”

 

We sat there mutely again, both soaked beyond the point where more didn’t matter, until finally I had to probe.

“I need to know what happened.”

“Hmm? I told you: Life and Death.”

“Not that. You being carried by Camael, and both of you hurt.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t make me insist.”

“Would you?”

“Camael took a one-way trip to Hell just to tell me how to leave. I owe him.”

“I came too.”

“You said you were blackmailed. Isaiah filled me in exactly how.”

“Seriously? What a jerk.”

“I’m tired of asking, Nick. Where is Camael?”

“You don’t owe him a damned nickel. Just look at what he did to you. To us! He started all this shit - he stole away your life and manipulated mine!”

“Do you really think he had a choice?”

“That…that raises questions I don’t feel like addressing. Either way, he carries the blame.”

“Who were you fighting? Who could have damaged a warrior such as him?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Fine.” The metal cap crumpled between his thumb and curled forefinger. “I did.”

“You did what?”

“I caused harm to Heaven’s untouchable and legendary Butcher.”

My heart fell. “But…why?”

A harsh snort and the bottle raised to his lips. But instead of drinking, he paused and lowered it. “You really going to tell me that you never wanted to? With all that’s happened?”

Though my mouth dropped open, no words came out. With a disturbing inner shudder, I closed it again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thought so. Except I actually did it. To save someone. To save a soul.”

Pulling knees up, I huddled on the floor next to the bitter and fallen angel. “Who?”

Amber spilled from the bottle’s open top, dripping across his hand. “Cathy - Catherine.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Of course you don’t.” With a muffled thud, his head leaned back against the rack behind us. “After graduating Whateley, I went to Oxford. Earned a scholarship, the whole nine, from having the deepest potential well of magic ever tested. For once I actually studied; shit I worked my ass off. In the end, though, I did too well.” He paused, staring upward to let rain slip through unkempt hair and streak greasily across face and forehead.

“How so?”

“Those old farts were eager for each instinctive insight I provided. So they showed me books - forbidden works. Let me borrow them even - which is ridiculous when you think about it - so I could read specific passages regarding the higher workings of magic, and the interplay between spirit and manifestation. Which is how I fucked up, as usual.”

“I heard something about your girlfriend. Was that Cathy?”

“Whatever you heard was wrong. And yeah, that was Cathy. I was crazy in love with her, you know? My first girl, my first love. She too studied magic, but she parroted the same crap as those decrepit professors. I tried to explain to her how their official notions missed the mark, but she wouldn’t listen. So I showed her the passages from one of those books - safe paragraphs, abstract concepts - that proved the point. That’s all. Then I locked the stupid thing away in the so-called secure case the bearded morons had provided.” He wiped the wet from his face, then frowned because all he’d done was manage to smear some of the alcoholic amber across nose and cheeks above the beard instead.

“So what happened?”

Using a dubiously laundered sleeve, he tried to clean his face. “She bypassed their wards while I was sleeping. Read the whole cursed thing in one night without any prep.” He sighed. “Lord knows what that did to her mind and spirit. Next thing I knew, she was shaking me awake - wanting me to join her in performing a greater summoning and binding. I told her she was nuts, ripped the book from her greedy little fingers, and kicked her out of my flat.”

“You didn’t tell the professors?”

He winced. “That would have gotten her - and probably me - forced out. They’d made us students sign affirmations that we would each only study materials as approved by faculty - on pain of expulsion. I wanted to reason with her once she’d calmed down. So that afternoon I went to her place after she’d missed classes, but by then it was too late.” He paused again.

It was my turn to wipe moisture away. “Why too late?”

“When knocking at her apartment, I smelled the sulfur. Kicked my way in - but her flat was a small studio unit. To get the circle to fit, she’d needed the entire space. You see, she’d used her phone the night before. She’d taken pictures of the darker rituals, words and diagrams all.”

“Oh no.”

“Punting the door off its hinges launched the wreckage across the lines and broke the bindings. She instantly got pulled in by what she’d contacted, and the bastard laughed at me past each chewed bite as I hastily banished his ass. Only a bloody mess was left behind.”

Putting aside the horror of the scene, I thought through the consequences. “And the administration blamed you.”

“They had to, or else authorities would have nailed them to the wall instead. It was their spell she defeated to get to the book, and they’d violated their own policies in sharing such a dangerous tome with a student in the first place.”

“Which is when you got expelled - and met Soren.”

“Yeah. I was up on negligent homicide charges and he bailed me out of jail. No idea who he bribed or extorted, but the case simply disappeared. Except looking at it now, he obviously knew full well who I really was, and never told me. Sliced off my wings, let my daughter die under the tsunami, and then what…thousands of years later took me as his apprentice? Just for kicks? Hoping I’d come to remember so he could gloat all over again?!”

I stared past my leggings to the thick leather boots. “Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, he took you as his apprentice because he had hope for you?”

“Hope?!”

“He was working to bring his sacred vision to life. Me, as Amariel. The Light he’d seen in his own ascension during the War in Heaven. The vision which granted him the strength to stand toe-to-toe against the Archangel Samael. The promise in the Light he’s been chasing after his entire existence since.”

“What…what are you saying?”

“You once commented that as Soren he’d told you that he was trying to save the world. Weren’t you part of the world he’s been trying to save? He even gave you back your wings, likely in the belief that I’d be able to restore them. And at the same time managed to get Azrael maneuvered into promising to maintain the Fourth Seal to keep everyone else - all the other Grigori and Nephelim - safe as well.” I shook my head. “Camael didn’t really need you to find me. He traced my location through his bracers; you just made the trip easier with your knowledge of the players and realms’ geography. But even he couldn’t have foreseen the fight with Azazel and Beliel’s Mace, ending with my being pulled into the Chaos so quickly after having been found.”

A fist tightened around the bottle. “He blackmailed-”

“No,” I interrupted. “He manipulated. Out of fanatical hope - not for me, but for you. Think about it. Think about everything he planned and executed. How much care and patience it must have taken, to leave so little to chance. He wanted you to be there when I returned as Amariel in that storage locker. He wanted us together, wanted to finally lift you back into the Light.”

Thick tears of frustration blended with the rain. “Then I truly fucked up. Then as now. Just like always.”

“Tell me.”

With a strangled sniff, a sleeve again wiped his nose. “The demon that swallowed Cathy, after discovering who I really was, traded her up the demonic food chain. To a Duke directly sworn to Asmodeus’ service. I had to bargain with Asmodeus himself to free her soul, don’t you see? He’s too powerful for me to defeat, he was a freaking archangel - he’s one of the Sarim!”

“What could you have possibly bargained with?” Saying it, the answer popped into clarity, and I gasped in horror even as Nick confirmed it.

“Camael. I promised him a wing off Camael’s back.”

“Oh my God. But how?”

He pointed to the bracers upon my wrists. “His protection is missing those. With Asmodeus’ help, the weakness was exploited.”

Anger - nay, fury - boiled. “Then why was he carrying your wounded ass out of the pipes?!”

The Grigori turned his head away. “To save me. From what Cathy did once freed.” He put a hand to the gash under his coat, and it squished raw underneath.

I gaped. “It was her that stabbed you?! After you…” I blinked, rage colliding headlong into befuddlement, and thereby dispelling the tongue’s capacity for coherence.

“After she was declared free. Because she blames me for all of it. The summoning book and for not working with her on the ritual. And then breaking the circle. Her soul - it’s been twisted by that cursed tome and Hell. Or it always was this way, and a naive love-blind sophomore never saw it.”

I couldn’t sit anymore. Forcing myself back onto feet, I stared down at the hunched-over wretch refusing to meet my eyes. “So where is Camael now? He carried you out, then what?!”

“I passed out as he picked me up. Really, I don’t know - I woke up atop a pile of corpses. He was gone.”

“Then you’re going to help me find him. Just like you helped him find me.”

He patted his side, wincing from the touch. “I’m in no shape to-”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Stand the fuck up, Nicolas Wright! Or Barakiel, or whatever the heck you want to be called. Get up! Now!!”

Blinking with shock, he actually did as told, putting aside the bottle first and then needing to lean against the rack to stay steady on battered leather barely qualifying as shoes.

A bonfire churned within my chest, fierce flames licking at the lungs. “Apparently this is a day for painful procedures. Think of it as atonement’s initiation.”

“What are you-”

He didn’t have the chance to finish the question. Wings flashed as I shoved a hand into his side, the fresh flood of power acting as a fiery scalpel to slice at his spirit along the boundary where the cursed blade’s hateful corruption inched towards the broken angelic core. White fire flowed pure to scorch along the lines where his own spirit had hooked guilt, sorrow, and anger to encourage the deadly suicidal progression.

Unlike Yomyael, he didn’t scream. Or even whimper.

He merely shut both eyes and let me do it, though I did have to wrap an arm behind his waist to keep him upright. The surgery wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t neat. Nor did I try to fill the empty hollow at his center with any promises.

Yet when staring into its deepest recesses, a tiny flick of lightning still burned within.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 12

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twelve - Ideals

 

Sucking air into lungs finding themselves able to expand fully, Nick again pushed a hand against the rack of green produce to stay upright.

“Gimme…gimme a minute.”

“Sure.”

Emotions, fresh and bleeding, spilled one after another across the lines of his face. Not just the tautness of anger and pain - but also the deepest troughs of despair, haunted by what he’d just touched.

The Light.

Unlike Tsáyidiel who had shattered glass and eardrums with a terrible cry at first taste of the glory which had been so long denied, Nick forced it all down inside despite the fierce and wrenching struggle within.

I kept quiet, and since he waved off an attempt at a comforting hand I stepped away to let him wrestle with the aftermath in solitude.

Tsáyidiel however spoke, again mind to mind.

“My Queen, soldiers gather outside this facility.”

“I know. They’ll wait for us to come out to talk.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the two by the door are from Krux’s squad.”

“Shall I deal with their presence? Or do you wish to speak with them?”

What a polite way to suggest a quick slaughter. “Not really, but I should anyway. If they stay put, for now leave them be.”

“As my Queen wishes…”

The intimacy of our communication made it clear there was more on his mind that he wasn’t sure he should say. “What else troubles you? Tell me.”

“Yomyael. You purged their infection of Chaos.”

“Yes.”

“Without cleansing them in the Light. My Queen, how was this possible?”

That…that was an excellent question.

Somehow I had known I could, as again the higher angelic awareness of my spirit had bled through. Like she had when grabbing hold of Gwydion’s sword to insanely plunge the blade straight through my chest. But one truth was undeniable: by will alone had I gripped the Chaos within Yomyael and ripped it free.

The reforged Spear now held those foreign energies, contained by the power of Elohim’s name - but it was not the source of the control needed to direct the flow. It couldn’t do that, for the Chaos was anathema to Creation. All it could do was keep it forcibly under wraps and prevent its spread.

Like Lilith had needed to do when pulling Azazel’s booby-trapped spellwork out of a certain idiotic general who had leapt upon its explosion. She’d had that stuff swirling about inside a jar on her table, wherever that table had actually been. But those energies were more like Yomyael’s corruption as they too had been warped and twisted by Azazel. Unlike the purity (if one could call it such) which had formed Gwydion’s sword.

Alal had given that to him. She’d made those cursed blades, wrapping the insanely external essences by her will alone in order to slip them within Creation’s bounds. And I’d used my own Name to expel her influence from what Gwydion had wielded before engaging the Spear to lock down those patternless patterns.

Thereby touching it directly without becoming infected myself.

Yet I’d had to do that before. When Azazel had dragged me into the depths alongside him, only for me to then be pulled out by Isaiah’s firm hand. Thinking about it, everything spun. And it was my turn to gasp and lean against the stacks of farmed foliage.

Because I’d just had a flash of remembered horror. Of Azazel’s essence in its entirety dissolving against not my skin but my raw spirit itself, as the tempest of unforged potentials swept us both away.

If I’d eaten any food, it would have ended up on the damp floor. Empty heaves wracked the stomach instead.

Somehow I’d survived.

Somehow.

Gwydion had been right to call me by the title he’d given when pleading so passionately for his people. For I, too, like Alal was an Archon of Chaos.

I’d been hoping that Azrael had used Isaiah to save me, to pluck me out of that tempest before anything bad could have happened. Which was horribly naive, as Time itself had to be a mess beyond the bounds of Creation. An instant Outside may as well have been an eternity.

Alternately I’d thought that Alal had helped, out of some deranged devotion to sisterhood if nothing else - but she’d denied taking any direct action. She’d only witnessed. Insufficiently buttered popcorn and all.

No.

I’d done it.

Me.

Or perhaps more accurately, my spirit and my true Name. Somehow.

“My Queen! What ails you?!”

Deep breath, had to let it out slow. “Just…nothing. I’m fine.”

Now was not the time to fret about the more worrisome implications. One foot - or wing - after the other, I needed to keep moving forward.

Or so I told myself.

Looking back over at Nick to see if he was ready yet, the answer was clearly in the negative. He was sitting seiza on knees, a small crystalline orb hovering over outstretched palms - one with lightning flickering in resonance to the distant lamp’s sparks.

Within that stormy globe floated a tiny pair of pale grey wings.

Leaving him to his personal meditations and pain, I forced myself back up by ignoring the budding headache, and went to the green painted door. It slid automatically open as if we were aboard a starship - or outside a convenience store.

Not stepping out, I addressed the taller of the two demons lurking outside.

“You’re Halphas, right? What the heck do you want.”

The stork-headed demon had the grace to look nervous. “General Krux requests a parlay.” It held up an electronic pad, the display showing the Citadel emblem. “Remote if agreeable.”

“He doesn’t trust I won’t squish him in person, eh? Fine. Put him on.”

Claw-like fingers flicked across the illuminated surface. Huh. I wouldn’t have thought claws would work on a touch pad.

The screen flashed, and Halphas held it up so I could see Krux’s horned head fill the frame.

“Jordan,” he said without missing a beat. “Appreciate the chat.”

“Thanks may be premature. Though you definitely owe me. You get my message?”

The devil grinned. “Santiago? Yeah.” The toothy smile disappeared. “You found my missing team.”

“We did.”

“Grigori, that’s what your soul said. Who was it?”

“Someone your standard Citadel teams really don’t want to mess with. Your team was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Azazel’s forces?”

“Not anymore. And no, they’re not Chaos infected.” That one of them had been infected until I took care of it was none of Krux’s business. In my opinion anyway - besides, I was no longer in the mood to pass on all that much information to the devilish agent. Plus if the short agent knew I could do that kind of thing with the Chaos he’d probably soil his shorts - if he was wearing any, hard to tell from a video call.

“You sure?”

“Definitive.”

He considered, clearly disliking not being the one to confirm directly. But as I was the one in the first place to warn his ass of Azazel’s original threats, he couldn’t exactly accuse me of not understanding the importance of being sure. “I take killing my squad kinda personal.”

“Unless you’ve got angelic backup, they’re out of your weight class. Suggest you leave them be.”

“What about yours? You just let them go?”

“We discovered that this realm isn’t stable enough for us to fight it out. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Shit. That big tremor, that was you?”

“Yeah.”

It took him a moment to process, whereupon need for revenge got shoved aside by necessity. After all, he and the rest of his crews stood upon this realm too. If it went, so did they.

He didn’t have to be happy about it though.

“You didn’t come back. You abandoning the original mission?”

“Something else came up.”

“What?”

“None of your beeswax.”

While he didn’t get the language-mangled pun reference, he caught the implication. “And here I thought we’d been building up trust.”

I snorted. “With you redirecting that whole Harrowing nonsense without telling me first? You’re funny. Or have you forgotten you tried to shoot me?”

Krux shrugged. “Opportunities appear and I take ‘em. You’re missing yours with the Apostle.”

“Oh?”

The calculating smirk peeked out from behind the surliness. “Yeah. They reached out. To that soul-buddy of yours.”

“To Santiago? Seriously?”

“You were right, they’ve infiltrated the computers at the holding tank. So we added some isolated surveillance to a few spots while you were busy. Caught something when your boy was alone before I got there. No video, sound only.”

Krux pushed a button to the side of the camera and an audio file began to play.

Folding arms over the star decorating my chest, I listened as a calm voice spoke, one with the slightest of sibilance on each ‘s’ as was common among fanged denizens.

“If you can hear this, say so - but quietly. The microphone in your room will pick it up.”

Santiago’s voice responded, hushed and careful. “I indeed hear you.”

“There is little time before the jailers return, so this must be brief. As a newly arrived soul you sit at a crossroads. Have they explained what shall be your fate should they continue holding the reins of your fate?”

“Slavery or be swallowed. Distasteful choices both.”

“And if there was a third choice? Would you take interest?”

“Possibilities always interest me. Yet how do I know you are not merely an obedience test set forth by those that have jailed me?”

“You do not, nor will you until after a choice is made.”

“Name your offer then.”

“A fight for freedom. A fight in the name of she who offers a path to all who are lost within these realms of darkness. A fight for the Eternal Light she shone into the deepest of shadows, and will return to shine again.”

“This is hardly specific.”

“Which makes it no less true. Do you wish to be free?”

“None are ever free. Though I do prefer to choose the chains that bind. I presume that you, whoever you may be, do not contact every soul who happens by. Why would you believe that I am worthy of such risk?”

“Because you were closest with the soul who was left behind.”

“Ah.”

“We wish for you to share everything you know about her. In exchange for your freedom.”

“As I am given to understand, an unmarked soul is fresh opportunity for any demon’s feast. What good would your so-called freedom be?”

“A suitable illusion of such a mark can be provided. Or you could choose to join our holy cause. You have demonstrated skills, useful ones.”

“And why, pray tell, has she who has not returned generated such fascination?”

“We know what resides in the buried castle below. And what you and the others reported happened. She bade you run, now the authorities have deemed the abandoned town off-limits while she is still missing. And in a nearby cell to yours a prison guard is being held, one marked by her hand. A soul’s hand. Though that unknown mark has now faded, it is yet another mystery.”

“And so? Who do you think she was?”

“The purest of lights came to this realm of towers once in the form of a woman, a fact learned by us only upon our banishment to Dis. We follow the paths and signs, searching out the sacred meanings behind each of her holy acts. And this unique soul you encountered, she could be a portent of the Light’s imminent return.”

“Have you forgotten that we are in Hell? What meaning could such hope possibly carry here?”

“She to whom we gift our worship saved our original realm: demons, devils, and souls alike. Touching each of us with her holiness, lending strength to stand against depths of terror threatening to destroy all. For her purpose is of redemption and glory, and soon we shall have the means to pave her way with welcome of worthy offerings. If you had felt the touch of her holy light, you too would understand.”

“I see.” The conversation paused for a beat, then Santiago spoke again. “I find myself intrigued. Endeavor my release and I shall tell you what I can.”

“Existence again prepares the stones for the tread of her sacred feet. Exercise patience, my friend, and when the jailers go to move you, be prepared.”

“And how might I identify who is with you versus who is not?”

“By their uttered phrase shall you know them. They will say, ‘Through a blindfold the truth shines clear.’ Ah, the guards come. Stand ready.”

The playback stopped and Krux peered out of the screen. “What’cha think?”

No response was given immediately as thoughts were spinning. Because with that passphrase a suspicion building while listening to each additional sentence had consolidated.

Not that I was going to let the Citadel agent know that.

“Oh I dunno. I think someone drank too much Kool-Aid.”

The devil blinked. “What the fuck is ‘cool-aid’ - that for when a meal’s too spicy??”

“Uh, it’s something rabid crazy cultists drink. Nevermind.”

“Ya sure these guys are actually nuts? What with everything you’ve done?”

I tried to ignore that. “You’re afraid of the war here spreading. How big is this Apostle’s organization?”

Krux growled. “Unknown. Maybe you should show up and tell them to chill the fuck out. Give ‘em some of this not-quite-cold beverage of yours.”

“Only if necessary. Because like I said, something else came up which won’t wait.”

Beady little eyes glinted. “It threaten this realm?”

“Far as I know, it doesn’t. Did you grill Santiago about that conversation when you got there?”

“No need. He spilled it all - along with your hiring recommendation.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. He’s a sharp one, Krux. He’ll play all sides until he needs to pull the trigger. Or a knife.”

“Smart.”

“You’re going to let him be taken by them, aren’t you. To be your mole.”

“Gotta love me a double agent. When you’re done with whatever-the-fuck-it-is-you-aren’t-telling, look me up and maybe I’ll fill you in on what we find.”

“Only if that suits your purpose.”

“My purpose?” A lip curled. “Is to prevent as much damage from Bene-Elohim bullshit as I can.”

“Hey, I’ve helped stop a lot of that!”

“Yeah, which is why we’re talking. But when that changes? Revolutions - stupidly noble or not - are forged in blood.”

“You really believe I’ll start a revolt?”

The glint shifted, reflecting instead a deep weariness. “Everyone blindly following idealisms eventually tries. And you cursed feathery fools are direct manifestations of those ideals. Troublemakers - like this jerk of an Apostle - understand this, even if you’re too stupid to. When the time comes, angel, you won’t be able to help it.”

With a flicker the screen went black. He’d ended the call.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 13

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Thirteen - Traces

 

“Alright dude, how’s this supposed to work?”

Nick and I were standing on the tower’s rooftop. A wide variety of antennas, all made of clumped bundles of wire or actual dishes pointed at distant targets, surrounded us. The power and signal cables, hardened against the ridiculous heat from the uncomfortably close burning sky, coiled about like massive snakes having a grand ol’ party.

A party we’d intruded upon, though we had done our best not to trip over anyone.

Nick ran fingers through the still-damp mess of his hair - a tricky task due to getting stuck on some of the nested mats lurking under all that mud-colored overgrowth. “Never done it myself,” he admitted. “But those bracers are part of him - you want to find Camael, they ought to have a connection you can trace. Because you were right, he always knew roughly where you were.”

“That’s so not helpful.”

“Yeah, well, it’s what I got. If it works, there should be two traces. One from the wing, and the other from the bastard himself.”

That earned Nick a hard glare.

One which he didn’t shrink from. “He should be the stronger of the pair.”

“And then what? We just fly after it?”

“You do. I get to wish you bon voyage then go downstairs for a bite to eat.”

“Like Hell. You’re coming with me.”

He tilted his head in disgust. “No wings, remember. I can’t traverse the realms.”

“But you can be carried.”

“By you? C’mon. You’ve never done this before, you’re gonna have a hard enough time focusing on the path. One mis-attunement along the way and I’d be falling through the void. No fucking thanks.”

I grinned. “Who said it’d be me?” Pursing lips, I gave a loud whistle. Okay, it wasn’t as loud as done by folks who magically use two fingers to emit ear-piercing shrills - but for some reason I never could make that work reliably.

The effect however was still impressive, as behind me materialized my very own battle tank - sorry I meant battle gryphon. In full white-gold armor covering torso as well as gleaming along the edges of all four wings, Tsáyidiel appeared. His large raven head hovered above mine to offer Nick a glare of his own.

Speaking of, Nick’s reaction was totally worth it. Stumbling backwards he exclaimed, “Holy shit!”

“Barakiel, meet Tsáyidiel. Tsáyidiel meet Barakiel. Though I call this bearded bum Nick because he can’t seem to make up his damned mind.”

Nick’s hands had flared with purple power, which after a moment’s hesitation he shook away. “The Hunter. He’s…” The words failed in his throat as he took in Tsáyidiel’s full and restored glory.

I nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

“But he tried to kill you.”

“And Danielle. Stopping him from succeeding is how the First Seal got broken.”

“Then…why?” His voice cracked asking the question.

Without needing to look, I reached up and put a gentle hand against my hunter’s beak. “Because he was enslaved. Because he fought it however he could, or else I would have died a second time right there in front of my house. Because even after dropping her out of the sky, Danielle asked me to save him.” Tsáyidiel lowered his head so I wouldn’t have to stretch as far.

“I…I thought Kokabiel and Tamiel were the only ones.”

“No. Tsáyidiel was the first. And aren’t you forgetting Nathanael?”

“He doesn’t count,” he said with a shake of his head. “He only got severed because of flying into Hell to help you.”

“Splitting hairs.”

“Important ones.” His jaw set.

“Are they? Is love so quantifiably deterministic?”

He paused. “Fuck. You’re really gonna make me go with you.”

“You better believe it.”

“Why? I’d just slow you down.”

“You still know more about the rest of Hell than I do. But mainly, because you need me to.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.” Closing eyes, I focused on the bracers - tossing the thought at them that I’d really, really like to find the rest of the angel they were a part of. Their response was instant; a line of red fire blossomed across that inner vision to spear through the orange flames above us. If there were supposed to be two, I only saw the one. Seemed pretty bright, though. “Tsáyidiel, you see it?”

Tsáyidiel, in a rarity for him, spoke aloud. “Through you I do, my Queen.”

“Good. Load up Nick and lead the way. If he weighs too much with everything hidden inside that coat of his, make him fly naked.”

“Hey!” Nick protested.

I couldn’t help it and chuckled. “Aw, it’d be funny.”

Tsáyidiel didn’t say anything, though he did lower himself to allow a reluctant fallen angel and former magician climb aboard.

As my own wings flared for explosive liftoff, Nick frowned. “Wait a minute, did he just call you ‘Queen’?”

Rising into the air, the giggle became a laugh. “Yep. Now hold on tight - because we like to go fast!”

With that Tsáyidiel launched himself and his passenger beyond this realm, and muting my brightness as best I could I gave chase.

Those elemental fires above us tickled as we flashed on through.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Unlike the spirit-realms near Earth, spawned as those were by billions of dreamers each and every day, the regions between the realms of Hell were empty, like the physical vastness of space spread between stars and galaxies. With only that narrow passage to Elohim’s Gate connecting it to the rest of Creation, the whole of Hell was like a gigantic suspended waterdrop dangling from a broken faucet - as if waiting for the surface tension to finally break so it would fall the rest of the way into the surrounding Abyss.

And of course that surface itself was covered by that infinite fractal layer of Primal Chaos, ready to shred anything passing through to the nothingness beyond. That imponderable insanity continually pressed against the drop, containing and granting it shape in an unstable equilibrium between what Is and what Isn’t.

Crossing the emptiness was a conflict of sensations, an absolute hollowness tugged by more than just emotion but resonances of states of being, each stretching out hooked claws from the realms floating aimless within that void. The Rock’s crushing sorrows and regrets, Dis’ stolid repudiation of weakness, and more: of ultimate greed and selfishness, of untempered pain and hatred, of vacant ecstasies, of the pettiest and sharpest of cruelties, and of every shade of darkness which slithers across to dampen the sparks of bright divinity inherent to every soul.

Together there was this cacophony of wretchedness, but underneath lay a singular beat: one of abandonment, of awaiting dissolution, of slammed doors and futures bereft of all possible purpose.

We flew through that tapestry of hurt, and the reaching tenterhooks pierced an aching heart.

Eventually the fiery line we were chasing led to what appeared, to me anyway, as a tightly grouped collection of balloons - each flashing with contrasting shades of browns, reds, and blues. Except their edges were smeared, like all those diagrams of electron probability clouds found in undergraduate chemistry books - or as if someone had played with the image too much using a blur tool in a photo editor. Slipping beyond the fuzzy edge of one of the orbs to phase into its existence, we found ourselves standing within a new realm.

And also smack-dab in the middle of a skirmish.

Having followed the Nick-carrying gryphon, the metaphysical barrier mists barely had begun to clear when Nick shouted, “LOOK OUT!” and before I could react he’d launched himself from Tsáyidiel’s back to tackle me from a frantic swan dive.

His coat flared out like a cape escaping the red sky behind as he did so, and its spell-woven protections gleamed with brightened gold as a stream of bullets smashed into its weavings - right where I’d just begun to stand.

My wings, Nick, and coat crashed into wet yet hard-packed earth, glowing feathers acting like a slip-n-slide to speed us along a few meters more. As my energy surged to re-orient, Tsáyidiel was already in motion.

His roar of fury bellowed forth, sending even more clumps of mud outward like a miniature earthen tidal wave. With a four-winged leap he launched airborne, and the sparsely-armored demon holding a crude AK-47 knockoff went down in a shower of blood and talons.

Shouting in demonic immediately came from all around.

“They’ve got a heavy!”

“Pull back! Pull back!”

I tried to rise, but the mage straddling my stomach pushed a tattooed hand against my chest. “Stay down!” His other palm projected a bluish shield around the two of us, while with eyes more focused than I’d seen in quite some time he hurriedly scanned our surroundings.

A squad of mismatched demons was running towards a number of trucks, including a massive tanker whose coiled piping stretched out to plunge into a small pond, its internal charged crystals powering a pump trying to suck the pond dry. One of the trucks - modified with spikes and decorative skulls - was a pickup, and in its bed a Ma-Deuce clone began to belch fifty caliber rounds at the enraged gryphon, spent casings spilling upward one after the other.

Without thought, I threw reinforcing power into Tsáyidiel - and with the surge his white-gold armor flashed across feathers to harden them against the onslaught. Bullets sparked off the surface and with another leap the pickup’s suspension groaned mightily under the full weight of the gryphon’s panther-like torso and rear paws.

Oh, and the demon operating the gun got dispatched by a single backwards thrust of a rear paw right through his helmet-covered head, kicking the rest of him free of the vehicle to tumble into the moist dust besides the pond.

The other demons didn’t bother with any further attacks, hopping into and on these apocalyptic-styled patchwork vehicles which immediately took off across the barren plain stretching out around us - heading towards a grouping of rocky hills at least ten to twenty miles away.

As Tsáyidiel’s front talons began slashing through steel and aluminum at the hapless demons in the front cab of the vehicle left behind (whose occupants were busy lamenting that the weight of the gryphon had snapped the geared connection from engine to rear wheels), I stared up at the mage pinning me to the ground.

“Nick.”

“They’re fleeing! Stay put!”

“Nick!!”

He finally broke attention from the dying demons to look at me. “What?”

I flicked eyes to the hand firmly holding me down. It wasn’t exactly centered - or maybe it was, just not against the chest as a whole. And gone was the leather cuirass I’d manifested before, as once again the subconscious had decided upon a simple all-purpose lavender toga-like dress. Maybe it was because of the high temperatures radiating from this sky.

Which, of course, meant I wasn’t wearing a bra.

From behind the draping bangs in desperate need of a trim, Nick’s eyes boggled. “Oh. Oh!!” The forceful fingers released, and with a flush creeping up over the beard, he carefully rolled to one side. But along with the increased blood flow came a mischievous grin.

“Don’t!” I said, raising an index finger in warning. “Don’t say a word.”

“Not even ‘sorry’?” The smirk widened.

Doing a sit-up, I pulled knees in so I could jump back to my feet. “Just shut it,” I growled. “I mean that.” With another bright surge, all the mud and grime caked into my hair, wings, and dress disappeared.

“My Queen, shall we give chase?” Tsáyidiel again spoke mind-to-mind, conveying the full thrill of a potential hunt as multiple prey scurried off into the distance.

I answered him aloud. “Not until we’re oriented. Alright, Nick. Where the heck are we?” Trying to get a better sense of things, I checked around us, noting a lack of features under the scarlet-covered sky. There was no sun, the illumination was this constant glow horizon to horizon over scrub brush and heat-cracked stone. I also couldn’t help but note that the reality of the realm felt, well, squishier than even the Rock or Dis had ever yielded.

Much like a half-baked dream barely hanging on while the dreamer’s cat kept meowing a demand for breakfast in their ear.

Dangit, I already missed my kitty.

The smirking mage, busy miming fondling something in a hand with an over-dramatized appreciation of texture, blinked. “Hmm?”

“The flag on that tanker. Puce green dinosaur skull with pink agate for bottom teeth on yellow background. Recognize it? It should stand out as those colors are horrible.”

“Not really. Which isn’t that surprising.”

“Thought you were an expert on all the factions down here.”

Finally getting serious again, he shook his head. “No one can keep track of all the demonic groups, especially not here.”

“Here as in Hell, or here specifically?”

“Eh, both.”

I glared. “So you know where we are?”

“Specifically? No. But I don’t need to.”

“Oh for…are you deliberately being an ass?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Okay, okay,” he said as he noticed anger becoming genuine. “There’s only one place that’s comprised of a clump of soap bubbles like we saw coming in. Welcome to the Asmodian Pearls.”

“Asmodeus then? Wait a minute, doesn’t he-”

Nick answered before I could finish the question. “Yeah. He’s got Camael’s wing. Which means we followed the wrong trail.”

“I saw only one.”

“That may not be good news.” His face went hard under the scruffy beard. But with wings still extended I could feel the confused conflict he felt inside about the possible implications.

“Shit.” I turned towards where the line of red fire in that inner sight still stretched off towards a point on the horizon.

“Asmodeus has a palace at the center of the pearls, like this huge museum where he shows off his greatest treasures. You won’t like them, but I bet you the wing is on display in there.”

“What do you suggest?”

He brushed mud off his knees. “Well, either there’s only one trail because Camael is truly gone, or he’s extremely well hidden. Either by his own hand or someone else’s.”

“Wouldn’t he have carved out an exception so I at least could find him?”

“Dunno. Though I’d have thought that highly likely, all things considered.”

“Dammit.”

The mage scratched at his scruffy and unkempt head. “He hasn’t worn those bracers for millennia, but the wing is freshly removed. You want to break the concealment, adding the wing would greatly help.”

I stared at him. “What are you saying?”

He grinned through the matted beard. “Want to sneak in and steal it? With Tsáyidiel’s stealth we might be able to pull that off - you and I can disguise ourselves. Get into his Heart of the Pearls, grab it, and get out.”

“No.” Muscles underneath cheeks tightened.

“You sure?”

“Tsáyidiel is a hunter, not a thief.”

“Trust me, Asmodeus won’t give it up otherwise. You want it, we steal it.”

“I said no.”

“Well then, just what do you suggest?”

“Mount up. We’re flying directly to this palace. No stealth. No pretenses.”

“Where we’ll do what exactly??”

“Make an offer even one of Hell’s Sarim cannot refuse. I’m tired of pretending to be human.”

The mage wanted to ask more, but a nudge from Tsáyidiel’s beak into the small of his back kept him from it.

My gryphon however did comment, mind to mind. “My Queen, if you are contemplating what occurred at Arcadia, Asmodeus is far stronger than Queen Fionnabhair. And this is a much larger realm.”

“If anything, beloved Hunter, my intentions lie towards the opposite. But should need arise and all six wings manifest, be ready.”

“Always, my Queen.”

Nick again climbed onto the gryphon’s powerful back, and together we took to the air. Not trying to hide, we streaked towards the flat line of the horizon in pursuit of the connection between bracers and distant angelic wing. The continual flow through my feathers left a brilliant trail across an otherwise solid crimson sky.

For those scraping out a living from the harshly barren desert below, it must have been quite the sight.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 14

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Fourteen - Balance

 

The crimson trail illuminated by the bracers held steady and straight, but the realm of hot barren desert curved away as we flew higher through a sky of perpetual sunset. There the path twisted to snap at right angles to the realm’s reality, and once more we found ourselves fading through clouds into somewhere else.

Through a salty fog rose blackened cliffs akin to basalt, as if hundreds of individual towers of darkened rock thousands of feet high had squished together like sardines in a can into a unified edifice. We stood upon the shallow shoreline stretching alongside those emergent cliffs, and at the top a sprawling structure could be seen, having been carved directly into those darkened walls. Unnaturally smooth stairs climbed before us, leading from the sand directly into the depths of the mountain.

That solitary path was guarded by a lone figure glowing with sage-tinted flames acting as dancing armor over a deeply verdant tunic. Moss-colored hair billowed freely to their waist, continuously ruffled by the sharp wind pressing chilled air against the stones. And behind them that breeze teased the barest outline of wings holding their own unique shade of forest accenting the wild and drifting hair.

“Approach and identify.” They spoke in the angelic language, tones crisp and clear over the swells of the ocean crashing at our backs, yet sounding neither male nor female. Indeed their features blended a masculine chin with high feminine cheeks, perfect smooth skin flowing across sharp bones as a sepia bark.

With a gesture to Nick and Tsáyidiel for them both to hold steady, I stepped forward wearing still the practically-standard-at-this-point lilac tunic. “I am Amariel, and I would speak with Prince Asmodeus.” For some reason the thought of detailing titles with full formality entirely lacked appeal.

The angel frowned, but then startled with recognition. “I know you.”

I too required a moment to search memory. “You were at the Citadel.”

“I was. Too weak to move and huddled in a corner, yet I bore witness. Though then you had not such wings. I am Posri.”

Almost did I correct them, for that was not their entire name. With wings still extended the final part of the original lettering within their spirit was clearly seen, but it lay smeared and distorted. “I greet you, Posri. And am gladdened at your recovery from that day.”

“Under what aegis have you come to speak with the prince?”

“My own. For while my existence was fathered by Lucifer and exalted by Gabriel, in truth I owe allegiance to neither - nor to the Throne above. I am bound only by the ties my heart would fain hold tight.” Dangit, I’d slipped into formality anyway.

They considered and nodded. “Then I bid you welcome, Lady Amariel. For in truth, the prince has been expecting you. Know however that only you may enter.” They then offered an acknowledging tilt towards Tsáyidiel and added, “With all respect to the Hunter of Hunters, my instructions were clear that should you arrive the prince would see you and you alone. If your companion wishes, refreshment will be brought to him upon these shores.”

The angel of fiery greens pointedly ignored Nick’s presence entirely, causing the mage’s expression to sour though he kept his mouth shut.

Which was likely for the best.

I looked inquiringly to Tsáyidiel, but he shook his raven head and replied. “Appreciate. No need.” Underneath and unspoken was the discomfort of my going in without him, but he knew me well enough to not protest.

And knew that should I have need, I would call.

“Let us ascend then, milady.” Turning, Posri began the climb into the mountain.

Upon feet surprisingly sandaled and not bare, I moved after him.

There were a ridiculous number of steps, illuminated first by the flares of Posri’s leaf-toned armor followed by the light spilling from my feathers as we wended our way along the narrow passage snaking its way upward in a rather meandering spiral. It took us quite awhile, accomplished in a meditative silence which suited me fine.

Though I did wonder why we had to climb instead of just flying to the top. Oh well.

At the summit, stepping out again into open air below rolling grey clouds, an immense plateau stretched over miles of solid rock. No vegetation dotted the surface, only a scattered yet tremendous collection of marble plinths, with most holding a statue or relief carved from the same material - each pulsing with the faded glow from an embedded soul.

I stopped walking to take it all in, and Posri paused as I did so.

As eyes resolved the individual statues, within the mind came clear and terrible visions of what the figures - wielding swords, spears, guns, and all other weapons one could imagine - represented.

Deaths.

But not just any deaths.

Passion flaring within each visualized scene caught and tugged at the core. Hatred, love, fear, terror - each tinged powerfully with strong emotion along with burning will and resolve. Souls and even demons, for the souls which had been within them had also been collected, the sculptures capturing the outline of the spirit and essence of each.

None were exactly the same.

As the initial surge of disorientation passed, Posri spoke.

“I shall inform the prince that you are here.” After a bow, they strolled between a pair of standing stones and flickered away.

This left me alone amidst the gallery to wander aimlessly past the incredible number of displays. Not all were poses of action upon a battlefield, and some were of women and even children - lined up to be shot, hung, drowned, or otherwise disposed of - but each defiant and unrepentant. Not all were easily seen, such as the one plinth bound by angry pulsing energies whose contents would require breaking the imposed seal to view.

And there in the middle, distinct from the rest, a solitary wing dripped hot blood of fire from steaming feathers floating above a rock scorched and stained from the impacts of those flames.

“Do you see it?” asked a voice. “Does your vision encompass the glory of these monuments?”

I turned slowly to pretend I hadn’t been startled. Behind me an angel had approached with perfect stealth, and they hadn’t come by foot or wing.

They sat instead upon a wheelchair.

Below a short azure tunic, thick bandages covered knees and marked where calves and feet should have further extended. From his back spilled an ivory canvas curved by polished bone, yet where wings should have brushed the ground they too fell short, the leather upon them ripped and jagged. Silver hair sank long against a cheek, though in the breeze still blowing wet across the plateau, the rustled strands revealed a face half-destroyed by fire’s kiss. The visible side held incredible beauty, deadly and sharp lines creasing cheeks once touched and molded by perfection’s grace.

Ignoring my obvious shock at his condition, the angel spoke again. “Many who have visited fail to appreciate their artistry.”

“You’re Asmodeus.”

“Was. I was Asmodeus. What I am now remains to be seen.” Hands rested upon a lap.

“Barakiel did not mention your…wounds.”

“I bore but the one when last I met with that particular Grigori.” He gestured towards the ruin of the covered side of his skull and its empty socket. “The gift bestowed upon me by the glorious Butcher from crossing blades in pursuits of our holy aims. A gift now properly balanced upon his own features - for is it not written, ‘An eye for an eye’?”

“Barakiel failed to mention that either.”

“That one has yet to believe in anything of worth, and thus his feet stand not on stone but sinking sand. But you…let us look at you.”

Pushing the metal-spoked wheels forward, he made a slow circuit around where I stood, examining from all angles like a sculptor appraising a block of uncut marble’s suitableness for their next project.

I too examined him in return. To deeper sight, his pattern was…well, it was as if the words comprising his existence had been abruptly sheered. Flashes continuously flared at the edges, only to fall away and go forever dark.

“Your spirit,” I said slowly. “Your Name…” The tongue tied itself, unable to express properly the horror of his condition.

“Yes. I am dying. Piece by piece, spark by spark, and inevitable.” He spun the wheels to face me straight again. “But that is not important.”

“How is that not-”

“Because!!” The mask of calm cracked abruptly as the fairer side of the face twisted as if to match its destroyed twin. “What matters is my question! Do you see it, Amariel of the Light? Do you understand the truths gathered within these pearls held so dear within my garden?!”

I took a step back. “Truths? You’ve gathered death upon death.”

“No!!” If he could have risen he would have, but instead he caught himself pushing uselessly against the chair’s arms before forcing away the gathered tension from shoulders and clenched fingers. Exhaling and sinking back, barely louder than a whisper he pleaded, “You must see it. You must…”

Torn from the desperation within the plea, I gazed again at all that surrounded us.

What was I missing?

Such slaughter, such pain, but what did they have in common? The only thing standing out was their steadfastness in the face of death. “They died ready and willing.”

“Yes. Yes!!” Asmodeus sat up straighter in the chair. “But why??”

Comprehension began to unfold, and the thread binding them into similarity became clear. “Purpose. They willingly died for a purpose.”

He nodded emphatically, the single silver eye aglow. “Not just die, they fought - each in their own way. But there is more! What else do you see?! Regale me with your insight, daughter of he whose eyes of gold saw all!!”

I attempted to go deeper. These souls and demons, whether on Earth or within the individual bubbles surrounding the smaller center where we currently stood, had each struggled not to preserve themselves or even their comrades.

No, they’d willingly sacrificed their lives for something else.

For an idea.

The plateau spun as thousands - if not millions - of visions coalesced into comprehension.

“Fanaticism,” I breathed. “They believed, wholeheartedly and without reservation, in a cause they deemed more important than themselves.”

Asmodeus, eye closed yet joining in the vision I’d finally encompassed, inhaled. “Fanatics, yes, perhaps. But all, each and every one, consumed by faith.”

“Faith?? Here are those who died for communism, or for atheism, even for the ideas underlying bigotry and hatred!”

He waved off the objection. “Religion comes in many flavors. And these - these shining pearls - sacrificed themselves, in glorious blood and effluence, upon the altars of their chosen cause. Etching their unique beauty upon Creation!”

Recoiling in horror, the images shook away. “And how many others were slaughtered for those causes? How much pain resulted?!”

The eyeless socket and its active opposite regarded me. “Is freedom not worth fighting for? Is security? Or uniformity? I care not of the judgments, that is not my department!” He pointed towards Camael’s hovering crimson wing. “What about a belief in the eventual rightness of Creation’s plan?”

“You,” I stuttered, “You fought against it.”

“I fought against a stability without purpose! Against the flaws revealed to Lord Samael, against the generation of a future not worth sacrificing for, not worth spitting one’s last breath and essence into the teeth of its opposition.” With respect if not outright adoration, Asmodeus reached out to touch the bottom tip of one of Camael’s flaming feathers. “This one, there upon that battlefield, he saw something of true worth within the Light. My purpose, my reason for being, quivered with the flames of resonance from his defiance to our warchief when those blades of fury and fire crossed and clashed! And when he and I eventually struggled direct, sword to sword, will to will, he bested me. Me!! Do you comprehend what that means?!”

“Tell me.”

That half-shattered gaze held me fixed. “That we were right! That our Rebellion was necessary!”

“How could your defeat possibly mean that?!”

“Because by our acts was he forged. Every drop of our precious blood to his flaming sword’s swing a glorious hammer to the anvil of Camael’s essence - without us, without the war, he never would have achieved his ascension!!”

Thoughts flashed upon another Monument, far away from Asmodeus’ garden, hidden in sorrow underneath Gabriel’s mountains and forests. “So many perished! So much pain and terrible loss-”

“Think!!” he shouted, a snarl curling his lip. “Prince Camael filled with a greater purpose, perhaps the greatest ever touched. And this glory has driven him ever since! Through battles against sureties of defeat yet emergent in victory. And now I too tie myself to that Purpose, its purest of flames granting the strength to fend off, even if temporarily, my eventual destruction with every measured breath!”

“What are you saying?”

He smiled then, a too-wide flash of shining white teeth. “Long have I had to contemplate after the war’s end. Much have we debated, abandoned as we have been to these realms. And then just as Samael shocked us with unthinkable abdication, you appeared at the Conclave - only to immediately go forth and rescue Beliel’s retreat. Now here you are, returned once more - your existence validates all!”

“That’s insane.”

“Of course!” He laughed, a tortured and awful laugh below the half-ruined face. “We all are mad down here, as must those Above also be. Because in all spaces between, the balance is laid to waste.”

“What balance is there between those who would slaughter their brothers instead of working out their differences in harmony?!”

“What indeed. Untempered ideals, blind purpose, this is not how Creation was meant to be.” He spun the wheelchair about and threw arms aside to encompass all his ‘pearls’. “In the Beginning, when the First beheld a vision greater than the sums of all our parts, when he saw beyond the need for selfish survival - then was I, Asmodeus, created. But I was not meant to serve my purpose alone! DO YOU SEE?!”

Gaping at the twisted and broken angel, thoughts collided within my skull. “Being cut off from Elohim, it did more than just isolate. It…it untethered you. All of you.”

“When one ideal is taken too far in the exclusion of all others, where oh where must this lead?”

The answer was sadly obvious. “To destruction and ruin.”

He sank deeper in the chair, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths from the immense strain of the burst of exuberance - though passion still lit the fire within the remaining eye. “Then, Oh Wielder of Light, ponder the plights of all. Be they Above or Below!”

I had to ask again. Despite not yet processing all he had just said, I had to. “What happened to you, Asmodeus? Please. I must know.”

He spoke, now more slowly between each recovering inhalation. “Your recent enemy. With Beliel’s mace, his actions stirred the denizens that exist within and beyond the infinite sliver between Creation and Abyss. Several of her children awoke.”

“Her?”

“She is Nameless, lurking within the depths of the Chaos at the threshold of where Abyss eats away at all. But we, we call her Leviathan. She who almost destroyed us at the Forging when I too came to be.”

“And her children, they did this to you?”

He raised a solitary finger. “Not they. Only one. Three invaded past our boundary. One destroyed by me, one fleeing still before Beelzebub and his swirling Flies, and one more hidden - hunted now by Lilith and your Nathanael. But understand - they are only the beginning of what shall come. For as they stir, so shall she.” A sinister grin spread below the scars. “I wonder, oh I wonder - will there be enough of us remaining to hold against her wrath? Will we stand strong in glorious united purpose or fail at last? For her children are but the smallest of fragments cast off from the unfathomable whole.”

I gaped at the awful damage to his pattern. This wasn’t like what I had beheld within Yomyael, for Asmodeus wasn’t infected. All traces of the Chaos had been cleansed - or, looking closer, trimmed away by an expert’s scalpel and serrated saw, tools which had removed limbs and essence to prevent infection’s spread. All of which had left him as being at most half of what he’d been. So much was lost, I wasn’t sure there was enough remaining to work a restoration - even if fully inspired within the shining Light.

Even if he could open his heart to its majesty in full.

The fallen angel clearly had been no weakling, even now in this damaged state he burned with residual power. I’d seen minor entities of Chaos at the gates of Hell, those hadn’t worried the Powers I had called against them. But if only a tiny shard of Leviathan could do this to Asmodeus…dear God. What would their mother do to an archangel? Could even Michael’s incredible might stand against such?

What would she do to everyone? To everything?

“Which brings us,” he said with a lopsided smile, “to our negotiation.”

“Our what?” Head spinning, it was a struggle to refocus.

“The reason you are here. The reason I knew you must come. You wish the burning wing of Heaven’s champion, the third-most treasured prize of this collection. Do you not?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then I offer it to you - provided you take with it one additional gift.”

Suddenly uneasy, I asked, “Which is?”

With a gesture, an item appeared in his grasp which he then held out as sacred offering.

It was gold.

It was unadorned.

It was forged as a simple circle.

“Archon and Archangel Amariel, daughter of Helel the Lightbringer, she who is named Conquest in these End of Days - I ask of thee to take the crown of your father. I ask of thee to save our realms and people.” He inhaled deeply and added:

“I ask of thee to rule over Hell.”

 

End of Part Three

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 15

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Part Four

 

Chapter Fifteen - Continuance

 

Time, fluid in its speed across all realms, inexorably moves forward with each advancing page.

Upon the fundament do towers rise, gleaming with marbled perfection in the undying shine radiating eternally from above. Multitudes of angels, working hand-in-hand and wing-to-wing in the fulfillment of the plans laid out by their cherished Architect, constructing the channels which culminate at the focal point, at the tallest tower of all:

The Throne.

There, at the brightest center, the holy Words of the angels are wrought together, continuously bound and blended, their songs and voices merging into a splendor beyond all splendor.

And there, as the final brilliant strands coalesce into the final phase of structure for which all have striven, behind twin majestic doors a moment of disharmony as two voices, equal in burning passion, clash in argument.

“I tell you, brother: this working is flawed! You must reconsider!”

“How, Samael? How can this sublime evolution be mistaken? Creation grows in leaps and bounds, new Words form in glorious determination to join our brotherhood! Our numbers stretch towards the infinite, our understandings and potentials rise unending with each passing moment!”

“And yet I tell you, here and now, it scratches at my core! I feel it, Helel. I feel the pinging of danger, as strong here at the center of this edifice as out on the Edge of All Things.”

“There is no danger. We follow the Plan, its unfolding more perfect with every beat of our collective wings.”

“A Plan only you view in full! Even Uriel in all his architectural wisdom has confided that he cannot predict the eventual capabilities of the engine you and he have forged. Do you claim to see all, brother?”

“I see enough. I see what must be.”

“Blinded are you by Gabriel’s soft illuminations, submerged within tender compassion and the comfort offered by her wondrous dreams - while ignoring that she was not created alone!”

“We all have endured sacrifice. How many have we lost to achieve the eminence of this stability? Our price has been paid, brother, in the blood of our brethren and of our hearts. Has that not been enough? Must you seek yet more to spill?”

“I seek the fulfillment of my Purpose. Are you so certain that binding ourselves in this fashion yields not a dilution? For I am not.”

“When you witness what our harmonies shall accomplish, you too shall be assured.”

“Tell that then to these untarnished guards who surround your towers, they who look with prejudice and disdain upon we who stand proud against the darkness beyond. We who bear the holy marks of savage service upon our patterns - the service and sacrifice granting these glittering upstarts the very space and time within which to exist! Go and order these growing numbers of untried soldiers to reflect on the true meaning of harmony and what it requires to achieve! For me and mine shall be elsewhere.”

“Where will you go?”

“Leviathan may slumber, the Chaos does not. From its infinite potentials new archons ever stir, and their pain-filled rages and ego-induced insanities threaten continuous past the boundaries. We therefore shall depart, back to our realms along the Edge. As ever have we been the true guardians of all that is, unyielding and eternal in our sacred duty - and through our struggle is allowed your safety and experimentation at the center. When you achieve that of true worth with which to prove your points, send word and I shall surely come.”

In challenge one angel departs, and the other remains.

Though not without a pause of silence in the midst of crescendos from the voices singing the surrounding symphony.

Even the Book goes still, as if itself in deepest contemplation, before finally flickering on.

 

 

“That’s absurd.”

I couldn’t help but stare at the crown of gold. Physically its form was simple.

In reality it was anything but.

“Is it?” Asmodeus ran a finger along its gleaming circle, the metal shining from the stored power within. “Tell of this: when you set out to find me, what had you intended to offer in return for the Regent’s lost feathers?”

“I hadn’t entirely decided.”

“Humor me with possibilities.”

“Honestly? Either to threaten to tear your realm apart…or save it by replenishing the Light needed to maintain its existence.”

He chuckled, a note building slowly until booming laughter caused his chest to wheeze which forced the sound’s clipped end. “And yet,” he said past the gasp, “you still perceive the taking of this crown as absurd? Priceless, absolutely priceless.”

“Hell is fragmented, isn’t it? Are you saying that the other Sarim would accept me as their queen?”

“Not all. But enough.”

“Enough?” I shook my head. “The city of Dis itself is already a mess! Wouldn’t me trying to claim the throne of Hell throw each realm into war?”

“Existential threats make for interesting allies, would you not agree? As in the past, and always. We fools scrambling upon the echoes of what we once were cannot stand against Leviathan, not as we have become. Your Nathanael, he shines brighter than all who have crossed unto Hell but Lucifer - yet his strength flows through your Word. Yours. And even he cannot stand against Leviathan.”

“Not alone.”

“Exactly. The First himself required our aid - and our sacrifice.”

“What of those who wouldn’t join?”

“We either unite or be subsumed unto the Abyss. We do what we must - be it with or against one another. And we are fully aware that Elohim will not open His barred gate to send reinforcements.”

“Do we?” Turning away, I chewed a lip while Camael’s brilliant feathers painted glowing crimson across my cheeks. “Michael would also do whatever is necessary.”

“And should he cross in force, this would leave Heaven undefended. Azrael’s great tear is a glaring flaw within Creation - and through it entities of Chaos also attempt access. Michael can no more leap that gap as abandon his post entire. We stand or die here, the only assistance from Above…is you.”

“What makes you think I want to save all of you in the first place?! You rebelled against Heaven - I’ve dreamed of that slaughter, Asmodeus! And the horror of it remains beyond comprehension!”

“Because you are here. Returned to Hell.”

“So??”

“You are of Gabriel as much as Lucifer. And I have felt the grace of her heart. There are certain to be those here in Hell for whom you hold great affection and would keep safe.”

“Are you threatening my friends?!” I spun around, wings flaring as power flowed to fists.

He raised a placating hand, the crown now resting upon his lap. “Peace, dear lady. I myself have no need for such uncouth dramatics. In my view, the threats of Leviathan and her children are alone sufficient. From that a coalition may be forged.” White teeth sparkled behind a sly and calculating grin. “Or have I misunderstood what Prince Camael witnessed within the Light of Lights? What says your center, your Purpose! Already have we witnessed your penchant for self-sacrifice, efforts worthy of plinths of their own within this garden!” The single eye flared with intense scrutiny. “For what do you fight, oh Amariel? Why think you that you are here?!”

I fell silent, and the being before me who had spawned so much pain and suffering as to break the heart of hardened stone remained in mirthful and dreadfully focused observation.

Camael once told me that Creation’s needs and mine were one. Was this part of her need?

I was Conquest, the first Rider of the Apocalypse, breaker of the first Seal - and destined to wear a crown. I had one already, worn for my fae realm of dreams, but was that the crown which was foretold?

Or was it this one?

Did Creation itself need me take it up?

Did Twitch and all the others?

Shit.

“I don’t want it,” I said, taking a half step back.

“Of course not. Nor did your father when first he arrived.”

“Then why did he take it?”

“He claimed Hell served a purpose.”

“To defend against the Chaos?”

“That, and more.”

“More? What more?”

He laid a palm over the crown. “I dare not surmise.”

“Without knowing, maybe I’m not ready for this.”

A choking laugh racked a damaged body. “Perhaps! Perhaps. But oh-so-many clocks are ticking.”

“I still desire Camael’s wing returned, Asmodeus. And any information on where he may be found.”

“The price of acquisition remains as stated. As for his location - why, I have not the faintest idea. I left him to do what he does best: slaughter until the blood and gore renewed him with their stench. And if your vision is so incomplete that you cannot sift the tapestry for one such as him, then despite these wounds of mine a challenged duel between us would not tilt in your favor.”

“You’d fight me? But don’t you wish me to rule?”

“We never shall serve the weak.” His head shifted and silver hair again fell to cover the ruined side of his face. “You should go. And when those inner doubts are conquered to take up what must be, then return. I will be here still, waiting to witness the glorious pearls of your revelations before allowing myself to finally end.”

With a touch the crown disappeared, and the broken angel began to wheel himself further into this tortured garden of celebrated sacrifice and horrendous struggle.

No matter how much death and destruction each had in turn caused to be.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Emerging back into the salt-filled fog enshrouding high and shadowed basalt, thoughts continued to run amok. Nick reclined against a stone while Tsáyidiel rested in panther form nearby, and both looked to the other upon seeing my expression.

“It not go well?” asked Nick, slowly pushing himself onto his feet.

“Not sure yet.”

“The realm is still intact so you two didn’t come to blows at least.” He grinned, brushing black sand from his heavily-stained coat.

“No. But what he said might be worse than even that.”

The smirk faded. “You didn’t get the wing?”

“I didn’t like the markup on the window tag. Was ridiculously steep.”

“Usually is. So what now?”

Tsáyidiel approached, rubbing whiskers and muzzle against a thigh, and I reached down to scritch between his ears. “Now? The cats are out of the bags, therefore I think it’s past time to make a phone call. So shut up for a minute.”

Nick swallowed whatever additional snark he was about to say, and merely nodded.

Closing two eyes in favor of inner ones as wings flared brighter still, I first reached within…and then without, tracing the connections the true Name at my center had forged in radical brilliance. Finding the one I wanted, I sent out a pulse of power.

“Nathanael! Hear me!”

The response was instant. “Amariel!” Gladness spiked along the linkage at the contact, but also a twinge of sadness for what the contact implied. “You’re back.”

“Yes, much has happened. Where are you?”

A strong touch of his former incarnation’s accent came across, even in the pure communication of the angelic language. “Traipsing through the Halls of Golab, searchin’ for a rat amidst this stink of debauchery.” An image of demons and souls writhing wetly over each other in a monumentally vast orgy pit flashed briefly - one complete with acrid sound, smell, and even taste.

Yeah, I so hadn’t needed that.

Ignoring the tactilely disgusting sensorium, I asked, “Chasing Leviathan’s child?”

“You’re more up to speed than expected. Camael find you?”

“No, Asmodeus filled me in. Camael is missing - and wounded.”

“That can’t be good. You need me?”

“You’re with Lilith, right? Can she fight that thing by herself?”

“She says no. This one is bad, it’s more cunning than usual. Been quite a challenge to find.”

“Wouldn’t the impingement of Chaos make its location obvious?”

“It’s from beyond Creation - size and location are practically meaningless. Wherever its contact attunes becomes a mess to sort out, like playing whack-a-mole with infinities. We’ve been tracking and playing cleanup - and we think it’s shifted and may now be searching out a target of its own.”

“Raziel’s Book fell to Hell. Could it be after that?”

“Well shoot. You know, that’s quite possible. That explains your return too, now don’t it?”

“I followed the book to Dis. Any idea where Camael would go if hurt?”

“Unless someone picked up Beliel’s toothpick again, how’s that even possible? Did Samael make a move?”

“It’s my fault, I’ve still got pieces of the Regent’s armor - and the exposed weakness was exploited.”

“By who?”

“An incredibly stupid yet clever Grigori with a grudge.”

“Heck. Did the Regent finally kill the idiot?”

“No. Instead he saved him. And now that idiot is helping me.”

“Barakiel is with you??”

“Yes.”

“Well I’ll be. Not sure that’s wise, but what do I know. Just watch your back around that one - as Camael must not have done, astounding as that is. Maybe the clash with Azazel hurt him more than he ever let on.”

“You need me on this hunt? I saw what that thing’s sibling did to Asmodeus.”

“If we can find it, I think Lilith and I can handle the fight. If not, I’ll shout. But we should get it quick before the blight reaches its quarry.”

“That I can help with. Tsáyidiel is also with me.”

“The Hunter is here? Color me pleasantly surprised! Though you sure you don’t want him working with you in finding Camael?”

I paused. If Camael - the strongest of the Powers and the Rider of the Apocalypse known as War - hadn’t been wounded, then I’d have thought differently, as his help against this shard of Leviathan would have been incredibly useful. But gambling who knows how many souls in Hell that we could find him before the offspring of what the Bible had termed ‘the Beast’ accomplished whatever it was up to didn’t sit well.

Crud.

Light flickered and focused within. “Your assessment, Nathanael of the Powers - where doth the strategic priority lie?”

“I don’t like leaving our Captain danglin’ in the wind, ma'am. But Chaos and the Abyss beyond are the greater threat.”

“Then shall I send Tsáyidiel to you, and pursue Camael myself with only aid from the tragic betrayer.”

“Get more reliable help than that. Contact the Lilim.”

“Do Lilith’s children still pass through Epsilon? The perch within their tower in Dis lies compromised and ruined.”

“Maybe. The outpost is as good a place to start as any. They had strong ties with that duke.”

“What of the others?”

“There were some disagreements on supporting the uprisings. But when last I saw ‘em, Twitch and Maddalena were off to investigate the resurgence of stories of Sanctuary, and if possible make use of their belief.”

“Resurgence?”

“Your activities stirred many pots, ma’am. Sanctuary is some really old legend amongst the souls, but folks started talkin’ about it again: a safe place for enlightened souls and the Pilgrim who leads them there.”

“And the rest? Balus and the mercenaries?”

“Odd jobs and training. Look, I’ve been long out of touch, what with chasing Leviathan’s sneezes. And time itself is starting to get real wonky.”

“A convergence approaches. So proclaimed the angel Eth to Raphael.”

“Eth? Shee-it, that explains the stream bucking wildly at the Edge like a stallion near fillies in spring heat. It’ll snap around like a whip before reaching alignment.”

“All the more cause for urgency. Tsáyidiel shall fly forthwith to grant you assistance. Be well, Nathanael. And should you have need - I will come.”

“Appreciated, ma’am. We’ll be in touch. Stay safe, and mind your six.”

Opening eyes, I looked down to where fingers still curled within the fur atop Tsáyidiel’s head. I’d kept him in the loop on the conversational threads, so he was fully up to speed. Gorgeous yellow eyes of a cat swiveled upwards.

“I mislike leaving you, my Queen.”

“Yet such is necessary. Should this intrusive entity be found - do not engage unless you are confident in success. The Powers charge in where others dare not, as likely does Lilith. Call and I will burn with speed the spaces between to reach and aid you, my beloved Hunter - and woe unto any impediments interfering with the path to your side.”

After another nuzzle, the panther moved off a few paces and - with a shake of head and body - four glorious wings of darkest night emerged from his back as the panther’s face transformed to a mighty raven’s. Dropping the small pack holding the rest of the currency and cred stick, he emitted a loud caw and bounded into the air to speed off in pursuit of the link between himself and Nathanael as provided by the connections within my heart.

Once he’d disappeared into the mist, Nick spoke up. “Why do I sense plans have changed?”

“Only for him. We still go to find Camael.”

“Yeah, well, in case you’ve forgotten - he was my ride.”

I turned to stare at the former magician. “Then prepare to suck up your male pride. It’s time I started carrying my own weight, or in this specific case: yours.”

“Was afraid of that. Though as I’m obviously not welcome here, beggars can’t be choosers. Where to?” Nick bent down to retrieve the pack.

“Beliel’s Rock, Darkside.”

“Huh. Should have brought a thicker coat.”

Spreading wings, I stepped over to him, and with a quick scoop picked him up much as Camael had once carried Aradia against his armored chest.

Though mine wasn’t currently clad in leather. The bearded knave wisely didn’t comment on the cushioning of his position. Instead he asked, “Know the way? Please say yes.”

I thought back to Alal’s words regarding perception and location. “Don’t need to. After two years of living there, I know the place’s pattern rather intimately. I bet I can go direct.”

Before he could freak out, Light flared, and with perfect recall of a wide solid metal gate set against a hill of many caves under an empty sky of perpetual darkness, all perception shifted instantly.

And we were simply there.

The transition didn’t agree with Nick. Immediately he scrambled free to splatter the full remnants of his last meal across reddish-black stone and ice.

A ridiculously tall guard shack sat before the gate, though it’d been rebuilt from pieces of the last one. It also had an odd and impressively large addition hanging from the awning: a mighty bronze gong. A crudely armored demon with the head of a scale-covered elephant - complete with massive tusks atop a sumo wrestler’s rice-packed body - stepped out of the structure, and stiffened to stare at us in surprise. Preparing for the immense beast to shout, “Mark!” like the previous guard Biff used to do, I held out my palm so its identifying glow would join with the wings.

But instead of shouting, the demon’s eyes boggled like massive dinner plates, and with a wordless half-muffled cry the brute lifted a huge club and began beating on the gong, one deafening note after the other.

Completing the fourth note (and before we could beg him to stop destroying eardrums) he dove face-first to the frozen dirt, trunk and tusk emitting a fifth drumbeat with the mighty impact.

The impressive gate across the outpost’s front cavern shuddered and began to scrape its way open. From inside an answering gong sounded - even louder than this one. Behind the gate, demons and souls rushed into that cavern, each spreading out before they too fell to knees - some prostrate with head lowered, and others with hands uplifted as the illumination cast by shining wings filled the chamber to bathe enraptured faces.

And directly above the outpost, within that blanket of perpetual night under which I had often slept upon a creaking wagon, a single spark broke the darkness.

A new and solitary star shone brightly, just as Pierre’s soul had said.

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 16

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Sixteen - Grace

 

Over thirty demons and souls genuflected before me.

And I had no idea how to respond.

Lowering the marked hand, I glanced at Nick for guidance - but the magician wiping a sleeve at the mess sticking to his beard only shrugged.

Taking a step forward, I was about to say something (don’t ask me what!) when a voice coming from the back of the cavern called out over everyone’s lowered heads.

“I dinnae believe me eyes. Jordan…that you, lassie?!”

Finding the source, I smiled with relief. “Barry!”

Ignoring everyone, the burly and wide-bearded Scotsman bounded across the floor. With a happy shout mighty arms wrapped around my torso, pulling me off the ground - wings and all! - to spin us fully about while he laughed. “Is really you!”

Many gasped at his audacity, but since I hugged him fiercely in return they quieted. “Great to see you too, ya big lug!”

Gently he placed my feet back on the ground so he could again tower above, then took a step back. “Look’t all them feathers!”

I grinned up at the black-leathered warrior. “I can put them away if you want.”

“Ach, noo! They’re real pretty-like!”

From behind him a voice cracked. “Reaper Barry! We should…we should properly greet our honored guest.”

Barry chuckled. “Tha’s exactly what I were dooin’.”

As tall as the massive reaper was, the asparagus-textured praying mantis demon behind him was taller still. “Hello Tuthos,” I said. “Been awhile. You in charge of Epsilon now?”

“I am captain here, yes.”

“What’s with the welcome?” I glanced meaningfully at the crowd hanging on our every word.

Mantis forelegs rubbed rapidly against each other. “Many are they who have prayed in the belief that this would be where you would return.”

Stepping aside, Barry clapped my back between the wings with another laugh. “And they was right!”

“I see.” Noticing how the small mob wore a mix of medieval-style armor and thick winter wrappings, my outfit shifted back to the white cuirass and boots I’d worn to go yell at Nick. “In that case, Captain, may I suggest we hold a discussion somewhere more private?”

Solid grey eyes didn’t blink. Not sure if they could, actually. Do praying mantises have eyelids? “That…can be arranged. But what, what should we call you?”

“Bah,” scoffed Barry. “She’s still our Jordan. Cannae not tell?”

Tuthos looked like he was about to have a stress-induced panic attack. Wow, he really was nervous.

I gave what I hoped was a disarming smile. “Jordan, Amariel, ‘Hey You’, I’ve gotten used to a ridiculous number of names and titles.”

“Then please,” said the captain, “We invite you to our outpost, Lady Amariel. And your companion.”

“Thank you. You can call him Nick if you want.”

Barry started to snicker, but I thumped him with an elbow as I stepped past and crossed into the cavern.

As I did, a three-eyed and many-horned indigo-skinned demon near the front cried out, “Hail Amariel!”

The crowd immediately responded, their unified shout echoing across the chamber. “Hail our savior! Hail the Lady of Light!!”

They all then raised their heads awaiting my response, and the demons among them were just as transfixed as the souls.

Uh. Right.

“Thank you,” I said, raising a hand in acknowledgment. “Hail to you all. Please…rise and return to your duties. There is much I must discuss with your captain.”

That seemed to mollify them, though a few were obviously disappointed that I didn’t immediately give a speech. Or, to be more precise, a sermon.

Yikes.

Most got to their feet, clearing a path to the tunnel leading off to where my old captain, Erglyk, had held staff meetings, and we bustled our way to it. The last time I’d seen that room, the table had been tossed aside, with the maps on the walls slashed in case they covered hidden safes. The conference table, being made of dark felwood, had apparently survived - except for all the additional dents and scratches.

After we shuffled in, Tuthos waited for me to sit first so I tucked wings away and took a side chair. The outpost captain then performed a minor miracle and managed to also perch his insectoid body on a chair. Barry pulled out a seat next to mine and turned it around so he could sit backwards, resting thick forearms across its back. As for Nick, he yawned and took a seat at the end before propping feet up on the table’s surface.

A glare from me didn’t faze him about it either - he just grinned.

They all waited for me to speak first.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s start with…what’s the deal with the crowd out there?”

Tuthos’ mandibles quivered, but it was Barry who answered.

“You saved us,” the broad-muscled reaper said, merriment sliding into seriousness. “Everyone on this here lump o’ rock, every last soul ‘n demon ‘n devil, when tha darkness threatened to tear the realm apart.”

“So send me a medal or something.”

Barry shook his head. “Ye touched us, dearie. When everything we were was bein’ pulled to pieces, ye held us together in yer Light. None of us - none - can ever ferget that.”

“Beliel’s mace held it-”

“No, lass,” he interrupted. “’Twas you, with yer shining heart, what preserved us.”

Tuthos spoke up. “Our spirits, all of us, still exist because of…of you.” The mantis kept those solid eyes focused on the table. “For us demons, we…we’d never felt anything like that before.”

Barry snorted. “True for most souls too, Captain. We be a sorry lot down here.” The Scotsman looked back to me. “I had the chance to talk to the loungin’ eejit there once,” he said, pointing at Nick, “And he tried to explain somethin’ bout layers of spirit. Yer mah Jordan, mah friend, and forever a fellow reaper. But yer also a lot more. And yer love saved us when nothin’ else would…or even could.”

“Oh.” I bit a lip, heat flushing both cheeks.

Nick pulled his feet off the table. “Through you they touched the divine. And some will desperately seek another taste for the rest of their days. You know, I warned Director Goodman about that once.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Told him you’d probably trigger your own religion. Never imagined it’d start in Hell.” To the other two, Nick then asked, “How widespread is her cult?”

Barry pondered. “Even after the Apostle’s doomed revolt, it’s still all over-like. Twitch and Madalena, that priestess of hers, tried to moderate its growth - but just as on Earth, folks splintered into camps of differin’ belief.”

I boggled at him. “You’re kidding.”

Tuthos’s mandibles shook again. “The Ducal council outlawed prayer to you. This drove everything underground, and the Apostle and his faction disappeared.”

I groaned. “They fled to Dis. What were they preaching anyway? That’d I’d come back and…and what?!”

Barry reached out to rest a calloused hand on my shoulder. “That ye’d purify demons and souls alike of our ‘orrible sins. And free us, each and every one, from Hell.”

All the warmth from earlier fled my face.

Nick looked first at the table and then around to catch the others’ attentions, his words uncharacteristically gentle. “We’ve traveled a long way. Maybe we should get some rest before talking more.”

Tuthos nodded. “That…may be a good idea.”

After a quick squeeze of the shoulder, Barry stood. “Dinner’ll be served in a wee bit.” He smiled warmly at me. “No Cookie, Ahm afraid. But it’ll still be filling-like. Come, lassie. Yer room is exactly as ye left it.”

I blinked. “It is?”

The Scotsman’s smile broadened. “Aye, none be crazy daft to touch them wards of yers!” He moved behind me to help scoot back the chair, and then politely opened the conference room door.

With thoughts still swirling wild, and a stomach pondering over how not happy it was with the mind’s churnings, I let him lead me down the blue crystal-lit corridors until we stood outside the thick double doors I’d left what seemed like a lifetime ago.

For me the doors easily opened, and my gaze immediately locked onto the hot tub excavated straight into the stone floor.

Barry, noticing what had immediately received my attention, chuckled.

“Goon, then. Get yer coorie in. I’ll fetch’n some towels.”

And he did too.

 

~o~O~o~

 

As soaks went, it wasn’t as good as I remembered.

Maybe that was due to not having any of the fancier salts I used to purchase from the Lilim at the cost of small fortunes for the smallest of bags. Maybe it was from no longer being acclimated to the strong scent of sulfur along with the other odd elements suffused into the water pulled up from below the mountain.

Or maybe the pool just wasn’t deep enough to shoulder the thoughts burdening my conscience.

Before I knew it, Barry politely-yet-firmly banged on the doors and called through them.

“Oi, lass! Dinner’ll be ready soon-like.”

“Give me a minute!”

“Just head oon to the dining hall, yeah? I gotta scrub up ‘n all.”

I shouted that I’d be there, climbing out of the tub into not-quite-freezing air which nevertheless sent quick shivers across bare skin. When I used to lurk behind these doors, I’d have needed to quickly get dry, and would hurriedly rewrap myself within the layers of cloth I’d scraped together with Twitch’s kind help and his expert sewing skills. And while Vance continuously had cajoled to get me to buy a mirror, the room didn’t have one - the last thing I had wanted was to stare at the reflection of a beautiful woman lost to heavy grief and buried confusion. Now, though, I didn’t need a mirror for a different reason - because I knew exactly how I looked, and no longer did the striking feminine form cause any mental twinges.

No, today’s internal discomforts were firmly due to the forms and patterns beyond the physical body and all they truly implied.

But being in denial wasn’t going to help anyone. With a glance at the unneeded towels, a pulse removed the excess cooling moisture from hair and skin, and a recreation of the old reaper’s whitish-beige outfit simply appeared in place - thick winter boots and all. Waves of sunrise-kissed hair much longer than I’d maintained before draped across my back, pulled from the face by tight braids starting at the temples and tied together behind the head as the rest cascaded through them.

One other difference, however, were the black and gold of Camael’s bracers set above the cloth and hidden no longer.

Armored thusly I exited and made my way to the dimly lit dining hall.

Correction: to the practically overflowing dimly lit dining hall.

Within the cavern was placed three rows of long tables and benches, where nearly double the number of spirits and souls had gathered than had met us at the entrance. Considering the most we’d ever had on hand before in the previous cycles was maybe twenty or so, this was a much higher headcount than I’d have ever expected.

The low murmur of conversation dropped instantly into absolute silence as I appeared at the doorway. Faces, all of them different, stared at me.

And all, upon coming into focus, I knew. We had never met, yet we had.

There sat Frank Jeremiah Robinson, engineer at a popular beverage bottling plant, dead at sixty from a hot dog and beer consumption ratio which had caused his cardiologist to have palpitations of her own. Now here in Hell serving as technician for the outpost’s water purification systems, as his soul lay heavy within his chest from never mustering the courage to open his heart to another person - dying alone in a barely-furnished apartment from grief after his only trusted companion, his cat Whiskers, had met her own sad end in the road out front.

At his side was Kalgisha, a blue-skinned demoness with a jaw too broad for the rest of her feather-covered head, who had upon maturity been forced into the pleasure services of her local liege. Both souls within her, the two of them sisters, glimmered softly with the sorrows of women rolled over by the march of war - used and discarded by soldiers whom they didn’t have the strength to resist even while witnessing the rape and murder of their mother. Both forever wondering if their mom could have escaped had she not been burdened by the need to continue feeding her daughters.

And across from her sat Treyvor Galpin, a man destitute from a lifetime of schemes and lies, using each and every lover for whatever they could offer, until his eventual death in a rain-soaked alley from addiction to drugs he could no longer afford. Who upon arrival to the Rock had become a serf farmer, laboring to clear poisonous fields to grow the crops needed to salve the hunger of hordes of abusive demons both here and upon other realms.

Until, that is, the day that everything changed.

The day the sky collapsed, and the ground fractured - when everything he knew of himself began to shred, piece by piece, into the forever Dark.

And just as he had sighed a final resignation, then and only then, had the Light come.

Streaking across the heavens as brightly as she had across his heart, urging him to continue, urging him to exist. For she loved even those such as him.

Especially those like him.

And she grieved terribly over their losses and sorrows, each and every one.

I stood as a statue in the doorway, fighting the urge to gather them all into my arms, to hold them close, to whisper to them that it was all going to be okay.

Except I didn’t know if it was.

I just didn’t know.

It was Nick who took my hand and led me to the table at the front, the one resting under the portrait of a ridiculously corpulent demon resting a wide and blubbery silk-covered behind more on a small couch than a throne. Guided to sit, I did so, abstractly watching as cups then were filled with water freshly decanted from the distillery. Bowls had already been laden with graxh and not-potato stew, the steamy aroma rising towards the rocky ceiling.

My cup, unlike theirs, held a deep burgundy wine.

Nothing had broken that total silence, and everyone took hold of their cups. And they all looked to me.

My god, they expected me to say something.

Barry leaned in to whisper, “They be hopin’ you’ll say grace.”

“I don’t know it.” Eyes pleaded to him to do something.

“Then pick someone, lass. Grant them the honor.”

Nodding, I gazed back out at the room, and after clearing a throat in sudden need of that wine, I called out across the hall. “Frank Robinson! By thy labor are our cups filled this day. Please speak from thine heart.”

All attention swiveled upon poor Frank. But with a nod the rather rotund man in simple grey tunic and pantaloons stood, his chair scraping loudly across the polished stone floor. Raising a cup high with nervous fingers, his balding head bowed towards me.

And he gave the benediction everyone waited for.

“It is said, that upon gathering before the feast, the warriors of the Star did squabble, and turn greed and anger one upon the other. Seeing this, She of the Light grew wroth and rebuked them with words and pain that they should forget them not. For unto their ears and their spirits did She speak, that all would hear and listen.”

He paused, as one would between verses, then continued.

“To them were these words given: ‘To eat besides one’s comrades is sacred, for these are your brothers and sisters who stand beside you upon the fields of glory and battle. Guard them always, as they guard you. Respect not such a holy bond and be found unworthy in my sight. Remember these words, my warriors, whenever you shall eat as you await my return.’”

In unison did the hall then fill with their unified shouted response:

“We fight as one! We guard each other, as She guards us - for She shall find the way! Amen!”

The cup was in my hand, and with a raised salute to Frank, I too spoke:

“Amen.”

We all drank.

And as whispers grew again to excited volumes, we lifted spoons and ate.

It may not have been one of Cookie’s wondrous stews like Barry had warned, but it held an amazingly unique and special flavor all its own.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“So lass, ye really did escape back to Earth?”

Dinner had concluded, with Tuthos ordering everyone back to work. For most of the meal those of us at the head table had remained quiet, with Barry filling awkward silences with fresh humorous tales of the random souls the reapers continued to gather - and in greater numbers than before.

Once the dining hall had cleared out, leaving the four of us alone again, the conversation had again turned serious - with Barry daring to ask just where the heck I’d been.

I nodded. “Yeah, I did. For all of what, six weeks?” My wine cup was almost empty, but I waved off Nick’s offer to refill it from the bottle on the table.

He, of course, poured more into his own cup.

“Aye,” nodded Barry. “We been trackin’ the time progression from the newcomers. And these latest batches speak of big things gooin on up top, some crazy stories.” A grin split his beard. “What’cha get up to then, eh?”

“Nothing much. I just refactored the fourth Seal is all.” I drank a last sip. Hmm. Maybe I should have let Nick refill the cup, Tuthos really had brought out a good vintage.

The thirsty magician paused his own deeper draught. “Refactored? What exactly did you do?”

“Freed the fae and other supernaturals from its binding - except for angelics and their children.”

He blanched. “Jesus. That’ll cause a right mess.”

I picked up the bottle. It was now empty. “Maybe.”

“Sure.” Nick snorted. “And ‘maybe’ their sun will rise in the East. Though with the godly lot on the loose, the betting line on the dawn will shift.”

Ignoring him, I turned to Barry. “How do I find the Lilim? Or Twitch?”

Barry and Tuthos exchanged a look of surprise. The green captain leaned forward. “You do not know?”

“Know what?”

The bearded Scotsman tilted his head in confusion - and obviously hesitant worry. “We figured ‘twas why you was here, lass. Why you came back.”

Fears mounted and then immediately rode rampant as a disquieting feeling rose with it, and with the flat of a palm I smacked the table. Hard. Enough to cause the wood to fissure. “Just tell me, dammit!!”

Tuthos recoiled in obvious terror. Barry though raised large placating hands. “Whoa, lass!”

“I’ve had a crazy-ass day,” I snapped. “So spill it!”

The mantis demon swallowed. “Perhaps it should wait until after a sleep-”

“No!” The split widened as I pressed harder.

Barry’s eyes grew with the crack. “The twins and their father - they’ve been taken to trial by the entire Ducal Court. Word arrived two sleeps ago.”

“Trial? Whatever the heck for??”

Carefully pushing his chair away from the possibly unstable table, Tuthos’ mandibles vibrated. “Violating the sacred edicts of the Sarim.”

I shot Barry a harsh glare demanding clarification.

“Aye,” he said, finally letting deep inner concern show full behind his eyes. “They been arrested for smugglin’ all them Tears of Beliel. ‘Tis a capital offense, as decreed and mandated by the lofty ‘n feathered rulers over all of Hell.”

And with that fearful worry also shone his unbridled hope:

That I’d fix this too and save our friends.

Shit.

 

 

Thanks for reading and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 17

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Seventeen - Needles

 

Beliel’s Tears, the waters of Lethe. The stuff had many names and had spawned legends both in Hell and on Earth.

And had almost allowed a Chaos-infected jerk subsume and conquer the angelic princes of the damned.

Imbued with Beliel’s desire to forget tragic history, the ice which had surrounded the ancient throne within the inverted tomb he had created for himself would work that effect upon those who drank or were splashed by enough of it. For demons and souls it was employed to wipe the mental slate clear when eternity became too much a burden to carry, but for fallen angels it did something worse: it threatened to dissolve their coherency entire, as with hollow cores deprived of a connection to the source of all things the only way they had to keep themselves together was to fiercely maintain a grip on who they once were. To block those memories would untether them from their sense of self, unraveling their will to even exist. Hence the substance being universally banned by the Sarim due to the threat it posed against them.

Which, of course, meant the Tears immediately became available on the black market at outrageous prices.

I stared at the giant green mantis. “If they’re going after the Lilim traders, won’t they be going after you too?”

He clicked uncomfortably. “Me?”

“C’mon Tuthos, you were in charge of the Hole before Valgor’s mistress got annoyed with you. They’ll know that there’s no way you weren’t involved in the mining and smuggling operation to get that stuff out. Erglyk’s gathered fortune just for acting as a storage depot here at Epsilon probably pales in comparison to yours. Vance and the Lilim got the stuff off-realm, but their traveling troupe were transport not supply.”

“I…I am innocent!”

Light flared from my eyes. “You and I both know better.”

He flinched and looked away. “Orders are for me to return on the next delivery train back to the Hole.”

“Then they’re going to arrest and kill you too. What are you going to do?”

“I…I do not know. Out here, there is nowhere to run.”

Unfortunately he was likely right about that. “How did you hear about the trial? They wouldn’t have let on.”

A thin black tongue flicked past insect lips. “Word regarding the Lilim came from, shall we say, less official channels. From those who are in my debt.”

I thought for a moment. “Did they arrest Valgor?”

“Not that I was told.”

“But he was in on it.” Closing eyelids, the Light searched within - and found the moment when I’d also touched the corpulent duke and all the enslaved souls within him. Huh, he was even fatter than the portrait above us displayed.

“They possess no proof. If the Lilim included him in their bribes, I am unaware of it.”

The past filtered through the remembered contact. “The Lilim were careful. Duke Valgor received oversized payments to allow the traders to travel the outposts, and he was encouraged to keep you and Erglyk in your positions. Amongst others. He suspected exactly what they were doing - but deliberately had no direct knowledge of it. The entire operation must have been Vance’s. Much to my lack of surprise.”

Barry huffed. “If’n Vance implicates the Duke to that Council, they’ll kill Valgor too. The Duke’ll need the Lilim executed quick-like to ensure their silence. Him being tha mighty hero whose forces defended the Hole from Azazel’s effrontery won’t protect him from this.”

I smirked ruefully. “My forces, you mean.”

Tuthos stuttered. “Under contract!”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved the demon off. Thinking further, I turned to Nick who’d been uncharacteristically quiet. “Any thoughts?”

The Grigori was sitting there slowly twirling his bronze cup. “Yeah, but you’ll not like ‘em.”

That earned him a snort. “I’d tell you to spill it, but that cup of yours is empty.”

A tattooed palm let go of the chalice. “You’re missing the bigger picture.”

“Oh?”

“You really think Vance would work such an enterprise without his mother’s approval? Remember where their portal went. You know, the one they carried you through when you were Chaos-cursed. Which made you a pain to follow after, I might add.”

Things finally went click, and I groaned. “The storage racks phased out of sync. They used Lilith’s embassy in Dis to store the Tears.”

Nick nodded. “Diplomatic cover. Clever.”

I chewed at a thumb. “Abagor was a victim at the Conclave. But he’s the ultimate ruler over Beliel’s Rock. Could he have known?”

The magician shrugged. “If he did, he’d have violated his primary charge of custodianship. And if he wasn’t aware…” Nick looked meaningfully at me.

Implications were obvious, even to the idiot sitting in my chair. “If he didn’t know, he’s gonna be super pissed.”

“Yep.”

Oh heck. “Then either way, he’ll want everyone dead.”

“Like I said, you weren’t going to like it.”

Thoughts raced. “How long do these trials take?”

Tuthos shook his head. “A real trial can take cycles. But urgently political ones with predetermined outcomes rarely delay.”

“Then I need to be there.”

Nick coughed. “You think you can take out Abagor? He’s a Prince of the Maschitim, a created destroyer. And he has his own cohort. Maybe we should find Camael first and-”

A fist pounded the table. Fortunately it still didn’t break. “No! That will have to wait. I have to go. Like right now.”

“The train,” Barry said while tugging on his long beard, “It won’t arrive fer many more sleeps, and transition through the Hole will take-”

I cut him off too. “No train. And I’ll slip through the Hole myself - if I can fall through a hotel, I can do this.”

Nick crossed arms, hands going under his armpits as if cold despite the warmth of the dining hall. “No offense, but I’m not stupid enough to be a part of challenging Abagor and his crew. Maybe you can survive that, maybe not - but I know when I’m outmatched.”

Anger tried to rise, but empathic reason squelched the flames. Even if Nick as Barakiel again had his wings and was at the prime of his might, he was right - he’d not be able to stand against such a greater power.

Whereas I had to believe that the Light was.

If I could wield it well enough.

I stood, the chair’s legs under me scraping against stone as it pushed back. “Thank you, Captain Tuthos, for the excellent dinner. If you would, please take care of Barakiel here until I return.”

The mantis demon lowered his head. “Of course, milady.”

Turning to Barry, I said, “Was wonderful seeing you again.”

The bear of a warrior rose to his feet and tossed arms around for another fierce hug. “Aye!” I had to eventually tap his side to get him to let go.

I flicked eyes to Nick. “You’ll wait for me?”

He offered a weak smile. “Sure. They’ve got great wine here. And hey, if you two fight it out, be kind to the rest of us - do it off realm.”

“That will be up to Prince Abagor. I shall return as soon as I am able.”

Stepping away from the table, wings flared out - and with their anchoring, I released the direct manifestation I was holding within the realm.

But before I entirely faded out, Tuthos raised his long and narrow head and with solid grey eyes sparkling bright reflections, spoke quietly to himself:

“For she shall find the way.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

On Earth there is a clear delineation between spirit and the physical, with the entire pattern supporting and enforcing the blend of the two. The rules for the physical are incredibly well-defined and fixed, with everything tuned just so, consistent from one end of the cosmos to the other. Laws, be they of electromagnetism or gravity or even entropy, are immutable within the framework. Even magic, which seemingly works around the more apparent and easily reproducible laws, is actually baked in under the covers - acting as an additional modality of energy transformation granted by the hooks afforded spirits moving through the given mediums.

This is not precisely the case in the realms purely of spirit and dreams.

Take, for example, the Rock forged by the fallen Archangel Beliel, made as an inverted bowl pulled around and behind him. From the central mountain peak, his unobstructed gaze for untold eons fixated past the outer layers of Creation and into the Nothingness beyond. Here souls and demons alike manifest in their various forms, taking on the pretense of physicality - in effect the region simulated a subset of the rules. In this way spirits stand in a coherent space, are able to communicate and interact with each other, and become part of the cycle of energy maintaining the whole. Or, more properly, maintaining the attentions of that entirety.

Nathanael, when pretending to be just another fallen human soul, had once let slip his greater knowledge in describing the importance of perception - and how the act of perception itself can anchor a spirit’s surrounding reality. For only in a shared perceptual experience can a ‘place’ actually exist.

Or, conversely, only when a person or being is perceivable does it truly also exist within a space. And I was beginning to understand the true ramifications of such a concept.

Because angels themselves are a part of the rules and laws upon which even spirits and dreams are built.

In releasing the manifestation I held within Epsilon’s keep, I slipped behind the realm’s physicality - behind the agreements of shared perceptions which bound them together. Yet I maintained my own perceptions upon it, albeit from a layer once removed from immediacy.

I had no body, yet I had connections to where my attention focused, seeing and sensing far more information than was available through the moderated manifestation. Yet in my sense of myself I still had form and wings, with the wings blazing as circuits tapping the Light’s intent maintaining all things - even here in Hell.

As pure energy I flowed then across the jagged hills dotting the plains between Epsilon and the Hole, where once engineers had dug a channel between the outer side of that bowl and inner landscapes within it. And as disembodied awareness I flew through that opening, using it as a guide for the perceptual shifts - my connection sliding along the structures within the realm itself.

When out the other side, I more tasted than saw the bright Spark hanging in the air as it shone across the curving farmlands and deep forests, the scent of the souls bound within aiding its shine flicking across with newer and crisper flavors than I’d experienced here before.

It tasted of new possibilities.

It tasted of growth, change, and renewal.

It tasted of all the feelings I’d sent into Beliel’s Mace, there before the Archangel’s instrument had rejected the Darkness trying to swallow and consume all.

As the immense metal Shroud slowly rotated around the Spark to grant the realm’s day versus night, that emitted shine and flavor sank into everything below.

Even through the rocks and into the stew I had surprisingly enjoyed.

Speeding above the rebuilt houses and protective wall surrounding the inner side of the Hole, I felt it all. I’d left this town unconscious after a terrible battle, the surrounding fields shredded into trenches of death, horror, and dismay.

Whereas now the city breathed with Life.

Those fields were now green, a more vibrant green than any farm I’d witnessed when chasing demons through dark forests. The souls working them, while still bound to demonic masters, sparkled with greater resilience and purpose.

Even the rain falling from clouds oddly hovering above the Spark’s glow came not as miserable wetness, but as a refreshing wash. So dramatic were the differences that I slowed to savor the sensations.

Banners of my former Duke hung from the repaired battlements. There, in a field lying fallow between crops, pennants streamed above charging graxh-mounted lancers practicing maneuvers despite the mud. Words shared in a rare moment of candor by their full-plate wearing leader, recognizable by the extraordinarily long and pointy nose sticking forward from his helmet as he rode before them, came to mind. A discussion on how shallow and tasteless existence in these realms had become, and how the burdens of eternity weighed upon the residents all.

Until eventually they’d give up. And seek out their own demise.

The sobering reflection reminded why I needed to keep moving. With a thought the landscape sped past once more, now filled with verdant crops, even denser forests, and sporadically placed holdings tending especially to hug the many waterways curving between the rest. These rivers then continued on, eventually reaching towards the base of the watery volcano taking up most of the center where a rare Archduke had taken control and built a central city, naming it naturally after himself: a place called Kigal.

Compared to Dis and to most modern cities back on Earth, it was a small fortified cityscape containing less than half a million souls, devils and demons. Towers stacked from crimson stones hewed from the mountain towering behind it rose at most twenty to thirty stories tall, with the other structures mostly half that.

Graxh-driven wagons carried goods into the city to support the populace not only here but in other realms, linked by wide shimmering multi-hued portals maintained by demonic practitioners. The mines under the mountain also fed raw ore to the numerous smelters, which in turn spilled out ingots further fueling the bustling inter-realm trade. In return, the Rock received manufactured items unattainable locally due to the odd and dangerously inconsistent behavior of electricity within the domain, a quality enforcing a more medieval technology supplemented by coal-driven steam.

But what drew immediate attention was the crowd of souls and devils pressing around a deep circle dug directly into the rocky ground. Packed seats lined the edges to create an arena, one with a tall drop from the lowest seat to the solid stone at the bottom, with many metal-gated openings leading further underneath making obvious its true purpose.

This was a pit built for gladiatorial combat, including layers upon layers of protective spells to contain all the explosive violence practiced in blood and gore upon its floor.

At the center, a platform had been erected upon which bronze and silver armor-clad demons had gathered, all holding sharp and deadly implements as well as banners declaring their loyalty to the powerful dukes who had clustered in fancier sections of the restless audience. In one such reclined Duke Valgor, his wide flesh filling a clearly custom-built throne. Beside him was his spidery consort, the Duchess Ruchinox. Due perhaps to the occasion, she wasn’t broadcasting the illusion of being a slender fae lady like she had when last we met, so her full size of nightmare spiderness was apparent to all - including the too numerous crimson eyes tracking all around her as potential prey. She also was clearly no longer pregnant.

Not that I focused on them. Being marched towards the platform which held three stone blocks with half-circles carved from their tops were those I’d actually come to find.

The Lilim: Vance and his twin daughters, Yaria and Ruyia.

With hands and feet shackled by rune-covered chains preventing their use of any mystic arts, they shuffled forward at spearpoint, the barest remnants of ragged and stained cloth hanging loosely upon them. One of Vance’s still-proud eyes had swollen shut, and all three were smeared with blood covering the many bruises visited upon their skin. Someone had shaved their heads with an unworthy blade, leaving the daughters with random tufts of what once were glorious manes of shimmering night. Yaria, supporting her sister who barely had the strength to take each staggered step, was glaring about with a fierce hatred - and something much worse underneath.

Because the internal bruising apparent to my senses spoke a horrible story all their own.

Will and power gathered, and would have manifested in an instant except for an interrupting voice:

“You intend to intervene.”

A lifetime ago a mighty dragon once pulled me into an astral mindscape for a discussion, and now another did something similar - except this time perceptions simply split as attention remained on the scene in the arena below as well as branching to the shared vision abruptly offering itself: of an angel sitting upon the mountain’s tallest peak, wings with feathers a misty grey folded behind a figure in matching colorless immaculate suit.

His hands were empty, but the scabbard at his side held a weapon whose power had been taken from outside Creation.

Though he sat remarkably still, his presence alone radiated a sheer calculated violence - capable of slicing through worlds entire.

I knew him, of course, just as I recognized the others hovering around and behind us - high-cheekboned angels wearing armor of purest silver, each glittering in perfect reflections of the Spark above.

To the leader of these fallen Maschitim, I responded. “They are my friends.”

“That may be. But they have broken one of our strictest laws.”

“So make them pay a fine and banish them from your realm.”

“We both know this realm is not of my making. I am but an assigned caretaker.”

“You still hold the authority.”

“For now. And the penalty for infractions such as theirs is clear and unequivocal.”

Energy within me pulsed. “You owe me, Abagor. And if it hadn’t been for these three, I would not have been able to save you and the others at the Citadel.”

“Yet if not for their violations, Azazel’s threat to us never would have existed. He would not have gained the ready supply with which to weaken me - and thereby weaken those in my service who guard the deeper pools and treasure beyond.”

Below us, the three prisoners were forced up wooden steps to each stand before their individual blocks while a two-headed frog-like demon in a tailored shirt and vest held out a ridiculously long scroll and began bellowing the full list of their crimes.

Keeping attention split, I asked, “Are you denying the debt owed?”

The fallen Destroyer, whose immense potential for violence rivaled even Camael’s, rested bare chin on the back of a hand. “I find myself contemplating what can or cannot be done in recompense.”

“Samael has abandoned his duties. Did he make this law? Or Lucifer, who departed these realms long ago?”

“Should this matter?” he countered. “The experience at the Citadel testifies to the obvious truth of the need for such restriction.”

“I am not sure that I care.”

“Are you so eager to defy required order? What other laws should then shatter to your whim?”

“Maybe I should ask instead whether you secretly allowed their activities. Or expand perception enough to bear witness direct.”

That gave him pause, and time outside our pocket of communication also slowed - or perhaps our perceptions sped up. The dual-throated croaking of the frog-like demon stretched out its final words, the barking baritone sinking deeper still. Abagor, perhaps more to himself than to me, finally asked, “Do you truly possess the Lightbringer’s power?”

“I tremble at the possibility - yet so far have encountered no limits other than those temporarily imposed from without or within.”

Again he considered, further rubbing the chin. “I hear you met with Asmodeus.”

It wasn’t a question. “Word travels fast.”

“Have you taken what was offered?”

“He awaits my decision.”

“Embrace it and your authority to act in this matter becomes clear. Take the crown, and by so doing rescue your friends. What say you?”

A spear of entwined Light and Darkness appeared, held high so he could clearly see. “I say that such a matter is not to be decided by force of blackmail, Abagor of the Maschitim.”

The angel’s eyes widened and he leaned away from the pulses of duality emanating forth from the spear to shake the notional pocket he’d created. “You have acquired a new weapon of Chaos?!”

“As bound by the Name of Elohim. With this, I no longer fear the blades forged by the Archon Alal.”

Blanching, he rose first to his feet and then further into the air. Despite the disturbed and conflicted expression across those beautifully shaped cheeks, his voice remained steady and clear. “Then, in acknowledgment of the debt that lies between us, I offer the following: me and mine shall not interfere this day. Take what actions you will, along with the consequences. But I implore you to look deep, Amariel of the Light and Dark, to understand two things.”

“Which are?”

The presence of him and his cohort began to fade. “Divine the true purposes of the pageant unfolding below.”

“And the other?”

Holding my eyes with fixed attention as he bowed, he declared the rest:

“That the power of the Throne is not what binds the Chaos which you wield. For it is your Name alone within that artifact which secures both. Solve that mystery, I beg of you, before it destroys us all.”

And he was gone.

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 18

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Eighteen - Threads

 

“Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.”

This questioning statement, posed by the less-than-honest Falstaff to a young prince whom he had counted as a friend, had been a focus of one of the many rigorously assigned essays as part of my original high school’s English class and its focus on Shakespeare - bringing with it debates of loyalty versus duty, and upholding the law versus personal attachments. As a student with no intentions of working law enforcement, I had never believed I’d be faced with such a situation directly.

Except, of course, when safely contained within the crazy scenarios dreamed up by my lawyerly best friend, as we created drama and story to fill many a weekend afternoon and night with intensity of entertainment.

As for the young Prince Harry, his solution was to turn the phrase - and responsibility - back upon his friend:

“No, thou shalt.”

All this and more filled my thoughts.

The declaration of crimes echoing across the arena came to an end, the speech by the multi-headed frog in his fashionable red velvet doublet fading as he returned the immaculately scripted scroll to its official cylindric container.

Three prisoners, shoved roughly from behind, stumbled into position and were forced to lower necks towards the row of chopping blocks. Three dark-helmeted and armored executioners, each with differently ornate battle-axes specially sharpened for the occasion by magic and stone, stepped forward to ready simultaneous blows of finality, and the crowd’s mix of jeers and cheers fell silent.

Awareness, prodded by the departed angelic prince’s words, expanded perception of space and time.

Around the platform, warded shields of magic and intent shimmered to not only hold those within securely, but to prevent any incursion from without.

Each demonic duke, filled to their brims by the released energetic fuel from the suffering souls filling their bellies, also had raised their own protections - either personally erected or entrusted to robed sorcerers busily chanting at their sides. And each was restless within their secured boxes, tension flickering behind their varied menagerie of eyes and limbs.

Sweat beaded profusely upon the rolling brow of Duke Valgor, his thick fingers flicking nervously, heavy with rings bearing an unordered mix of opulent metal and gems.

Arrayed about the gladiator pit, tightly packed seats swayed with witnesses - souls and demons both - whose tempers, desires, and fears were as piles of the driest brush awaiting but a spark from which to send towering flames scouring across a countryside. Some, more intently focused than others, braced themselves with hard-fought training to be ready for sudden and violent action.

And under the central gray floor of chiseled rock permanently stained by the despair and visceral glory of its usual entertainments, a further surge of power had gathered, pulsing with tremendous potency as generated by the sum of crowd-cheered destruction exercised over countless cycles. Already its gathered might slipped upward as a rising circle of force to surround the arena entire.

Time held still. Time spiraled forward.

In silence, I saw all.

I saw a duke desperate to cover involvement in an affair which carried implications far outside his station, indeed beyond the small realm upon which he had carved a modicum of power and stability. His numerous failures became apparent as the sorcerer at his side pulled their protective working tightly around himself only.

I saw his contemporaries, fearful each of the other, putting aside such conflict to confront a greater fear triggered by a movement they had tried and failed to fiercely crush, struggling to find the means to end the threat of an idea, one if unchecked could overthrow all that they had built with which to survive an eternity.

And I saw a force of warriors, spread out as pockets amongst the crowd yet bound together by experience and solidarity, determined to use their might and skill to never abandon those who had fought beside them in victories dearly bought in shared blood and sacrifice.

My warriors.

As the brightest of sparks I descended, slipping between moments and through visions of what could be. Past streams of the greenest of balefires, their focused energies striking down protective barriers to scorch and melt all foes beyond. Past still-framed images of a burn-scarred and naked man charging towards the pedestal faster than all other eyes could blink, slicing everything before him with twin blades of purest steel gifted by a heavenly blacksmith. Past the hue and cry of mayhem enfolding at the exits, egresses which the guards could no longer grant access due to the rise of energetic barriers ready to incinerate any who dared cross.

Past the triggering of the trap intended to consume guilty and innocent alike.

Wings, bursting with blinding need, spread wide before the prisoner’s pedestal to sweep all such possibilities aside. Crouching on manifested knee before the central captive, a prisoner’s eyes met mine, and with a word time was granted for us alone. All else became stuck, held motionless as a perfectly frozen tableau across a wide tapestry of color and emotion - even his daughters were caught in the middle of lowering towards stones awaiting their vulnerable necks.

To him only I spoke.

“Hello Vance.”

One eye widened, as the other no longer could. With hands still bound behind, the tall fiddler upon knees straightened his back - lifting head away from the stone block. “Ahh. And here I had begun to doubt you would ever return. Please, milady, forgive this lapse.” Raspy was each breath, and trembling was the stubble above a lip where a proud and glorious mustache had once reigned.

“I fear there is more to forgive than that, my friend.”

“Friend? With a single word you dare encourage an old and ravaged heart.” He coughed, then swallowed the bloody phlegm the spasm had produced. “Yet we both realize the complexities of the present exceed such a concept.”

“Do they? Granted it is true that this is not my realm.”

“Interference across domains is troublesome, be it between sovereigns, nations, or realities. Is it not?”

“You understand. Except I believe all this was arranged deliberately in order to bring me here.”

“Oh?” He suppressed a second cough. “Again I beg forgiveness, as I must thereby admit limitation of vision - for your presence, I daresay, is the exact opposite to the desires of these dukes.”

“It is, especially as they schemed to destroy as many of mine as they could - regardless of cost. Which is precisely why my spirit was bound to arrive, a truth understood and calculated upon by those who allowed these events to coalesce as they have.”

Weary shoulders slumped. “Alas. I should have realized. The Sarim: do they intend to fight you?”

“No. Many wish to hide behind my wings in the hopes I may defend them against the wrath of Heaven.”

“Is such a threat from Above imminent?”

“I do not know. But it is possible.”

He blinked, and a fresh trickle of blood dripped below the battered eye. “Can you help us? Or at least…free my daughters? Allow me to take the blame for whatever is required.”

“Should I do so, such an act would be considered an acceptance to crown and rule.”

With a rasp-filled laugh, he gave a painful yet tender smile. “Alas. For your fair spirit never desired power, yet here authority corrupts all who grasp at it. And I…I may indeed prefer death than to ever witness such within you.”

“Witness? Witness…” The Light in the wings flared upon an idea. “If there was a way to thread these dilemmas, would you take it?”

“My hands are literally bound. I can take but nothing, only bow to inevitability.”

The bitterness in his words choked at my throat and chest as well as his. “Not so. For you can choose to answer me but one question, though it test pride and loyalty against aiding in taking the full measure of events - and thereby possibly untie that which bind my own.”

“Then ask, my most precious friend.” He inhaled, straightening again as his will struggled to shove tiredness and injury aside. “But be warned: always are there consequences for knowing too much.”

I considered, and my voice echoed within the seized pocket of time. “Vance of the Lilim, your guilt in trafficking in the forbidden tinctures harvested from the Tears of Beliel is clear. But now do I ask: did you engage in this activity at the orders of your mother, Lilith the Victorious, or at the behest of Abagor, Prince of the Maschitim, and overseer of this realm?”

Unflinching were weary eyes as he met my gaze. “Only to you would I offer such confession: I know not her purpose, but yes. The vast majority of the waters were indeed received by my illustrious mother and moved elsewhere. As for Prince Abagor, I possess no proof of his involvement. However, either he and his are entirely incompetent, or they too were aware.”

Nodding, I reached decision. “Then, dear friend, may I act.”

Rising above the center of the arena while clad once again in leather armors of white and gold, light flared brighter still as time was allowed to flow once more. Stretching forth a hand, all the bound energies from below threatening to detonate and destroy not only the fighting pit and surrounding stands but also a wide chunk of the entire city, flowed at my command. The tainted colors by which its power had been generated swirled together to be cleansed within shimmering brightness until an orb more blinding than the Spark above hovered over my star-marked palm.

To the crowd, to the demonic dukes, and to certain intermingled and precious warriors did my voice boom out:

“Hear me!!” Pausing, I let the echoes fade into the arena’s stunned silence before continuing. “I, Amariel of the Light, declare that these three prisoners are now taken exclusively into my protective custody! For they are witnesses to violations beyond those committed by demon, Lilim, devil, or soul. Furthermore this crowd is to depart - peacefully and without restraint! None are to die here this day, lest my righteous wrath be unleashed in full measure!”

The ball of intense power pulsed, and strands of lightning flashed outward to rip asunder the demonic shields protecting and imprisoning the pedestal, dukes, and the arena itself.

No one dared argue after that. In fact, the entire stadium and everyone in it - guards around the prisoners included - sank to knees and bowed heads instead.

Okay, so many in the crowd fainted or collapsed into curled balls of frenetic tears and choking sobs.

Hmm. I may have overdone it.

Too bad.

Focusing on the chains binding my friends they fell away, the anchors to the true names of angels woven into the metal maintaining the energetic restrictions pulled free, like ripping open a paper envelope by a simple application of will.

Before the loops of steel even hit the stones, Yaria was in motion. Spinning, a fist lashed towards a would-be executioner’s helmet-protected head.

The strike did not land. A glow of power held her arm a mere inch from deadly contact to the kneeling guard’s temple.

“No, Yaria.” My voice cut across the platform as she struggled against the impermeable force. “If you must seek vengeance, it shall need wait for another time.”

Eyes of deadly night flashed with a rage darker still, but she finally nodded and the glow holding her was allowed to fade. She then knelt by her sister, for Ruyia had huddled against the ground with trembling arms tightly crossing her exposed and naked chest.

Vance also moved to Ruyia to try and gather his daughter into an embrace, but she flinched, scooting back across the stones to get away - much to his shock and additional concern.

“Don’t, Father,” said Yaria, who wrapped arms around her sister instead. “A man’s touch is the last thing she needs.”

Pain of the truth of that filled his face, and he nodded in sad acceptance even while hands ached to reassure she whom he loved.

As Yaria helped Ruyia to her feet, with Vance standing helplessly besides them, I turned to scan the pedestal and stadium beyond. All other entities on the platform remained fixed in place, eyes lowered to avoid being blinded by the wings - some even raising forearms to attempt to block the permeating glow.

But there was one standing now behind me, clad only in boots and loose grey cloth. I had not seen him approach, and smoke wafting away from the soles of those boots spoke of the incredible speed by which they had crossed the arena’s pit before climbing the stairs to stand so close.

A smile creased scarred lips from under a thin hood and my heart melted.

“Twitch!” I almost leapt across the space between us to grab him in a hug, but his raised hand stopped me - and he pointed towards a massive gate set before steps leading up into the stands. Said gate was suddenly gripped by several massive tentacles and simply lifted free of impressive yet insufficient hinges.

A one-eyed and two-storied tall giant in black Japanese-style armor - frightening ogre mask included - casually tossed the gate aside with two of four tentacles. The demon-forged metal kicked up a massive cloud of dust where it hit - a good fifty feet away.

I smiled. “That the exit plan?”

My scarred friend standing at the top of the platform’s stairs nodded, and with an amused bow gestured for me to lead our way.

Behind the giant known as Balus stood a number of other armed and armored demons, all grinning and trying to peer past with rising excitement.

And upon their bodies - be it a limb, chest, or even forehead - each bore a shining star matching that which burned across my palm.

Floating higher into the air, I hovered above the Lilim and Twitch as they then crossed the dirt where many a gladiator had fought and died. As they made their way up into the stands, they passed by the box where Duke Valgor and his mistress, the spidery Duchess Ruchinox, still sat. The Duke’s many-horned head hung low, burying itself into the folds of many chins, and despite the inner raging malevolence and boundless pride, he wrestled against primal fear and avoided my gaze.

But not his mistress.

Rising slowly on many legs, eight dots of deep scarlet stared upward. “Angel.” Not attempting any illusions, her voice was as a steel file across iron.

“Duchess.”

“You have ascended far beyond being but a Nephelim.”

“The self-imposed limitations I struggled against when last we met have lifted.”

“Ah.” Limbs shifted, and moving higher she spoke again. “To what court do you convey these prisoners?”

“They are no longer your concern.”

“With utmost respect, I disagree.”

The Duke reached out with bulging fingers, trying to pull her back down. “Forgive my Duchess her impertinence, oh angel!”

She hissed and shrugged away his touch. “Fool! Your existence depends upon it!”

I paused in the air. “And therefore does yours as well.”

“Naturally.”

The glow surrounding us brightened as I examined her. “I intend to investigate further. There is more at play here than the petty politics of you and yours. What such may portend for this realm and those upon it remains to be discovered.”

A spider leg pointed. “You too were declared allies with the accused. As well as with myself.” It was clear she was trying to convey that if they were implicated - so also would I be.

“Allies, yes - but within limited scope regarding the conflict which was at hand. Though I offer this to honor our previous relationship: you both were meant to die this day. Betrayed by the Ducal Council and others closer still.” I turned meaningful attention to the sorcerer abasing himself behind them. “And I withdraw my protective declaration from the one who would have allowed your destruction.”

If spider eyes could widen, they would have. Instead, with incredible speed, a leg flashed out and the sorcerer collapsed unconscious.

I highly doubt he even saw it coming.

Working quickly, Ruchinox wrapped her victim with thick strands of sticky webbing. “This one will inform us of all, but will live - for we in turn shall honor your words. You have our deepest gratitude, angel.”

Of course letting him live was in truth a much crueler fate. For to these two, while honor was at times a useful coin, mercy was not. Nor was it among the qualities of the souls churning within them, selected and continually twisted to suit the dreadful hosts.

Leaving them to do as was their nature, I caught up with the group climbing past the spectators. More and more of the souls in attendance openly stared - while the demons kept eyes firmly averted.

Including those that were set to guard the entrance to the arena, past which the three battered and weary Lilim stumbled while surrounded by an armed escort of warriors. On the road paved with a multitude of polished stones as they swept past the stadium, a recognizable stagecoach pulled by rather large graxh (looking like plump alligators crossed with even fatter hippopotamuses) had its door opened by a tall Lilim dressed much like a ninja in black form-fitting armor that yet allowed flexible and graceful movement.

Approaching the coach, Vance stopped to look up. “My lady, we are in your custody. Where would you have us go?”

With a quick pulse along the lines of power that bound my warriors, I understood enough of their plan. “Load up with your daughters and let all proceed to the originally intended destination. I shall escort and prevent any ill-conceived interference.”

And that’s exactly what we did. They boarded the coach, the crew formed up around, and I flew directly above to startle everyone in the city we came across - causing many to also fall to the dirt once their spirits recognized just who exactly they beheld.

Quite a few held up arms imploringly as well.

To a large warehouse did the graxh pull the coach, and Balus raised its tall door. To great relief, what lay behind was not what had haunted dreams since the last time I’d seen the lifting of such doors.

No, instead a wide portal crackling with emerald energies awaited to whisk everyone away. Vance insisted his daughters go first, then followed himself - and one by one so did the rest of my pledged warriors.

Until only Twitch and I remained.

Hovering down, I landed before him as wings folded into place across my back.

He didn’t hesitate, for this time no self-doubt interrupted his clear intent.

Without a word he stepped forward, pulling back the hood from fire-scorched features. Yet with beautiful twinkling eyes he leaned in to embrace me with a kiss filled with passion and inner-leaping joy - one I returned in full.

His lips were still incredibly soft.

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 19

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Nineteen - Prophecy

 

When Twitch and I finally stepped through the portal ourselves, I instantly knew where we’d gone:

The Spires.

A few sleeps by wagon away from Outpost Epsilon, forces deep underground had shoved tall formations of rock and crystal to tower over the lifeless plains of ice and shadows below. Here is where the Lilim traders under Vance had built their secret portal to their embassy in Dis, and here is where Colonel Dhalgrix had landed his mercenary company before slaughtering their way to the Outpost and to the Hole itself.

You know, before I caught up to him.

More specifically, we were within a surprisingly warm cavern deep within those Spires.

Having stopped just past the threshold to get a good look around, Twitch nearly bumped into my folded wings as he followed behind. The space was large, though not quite as vast as the town buried under Dis where Cassius (or Shemyaza) had set up shop. Still, the ceiling stretched far above - and this strange moss covering most of the stone glowed an odd reddish hue which cast its tint upon everything. Buildings made of stone directly raised from the floor lay scattered about in an irregular pattern, each only a single story and containing at most a few rooms - and probing perception showed them to have been the product of expert geomancy as opposed to labors of muscle and bone. This left them all rather round, as if stuck halfway between natural formations and planned architecture.

Into one of those earthen buildings - inner lit by sorcerous crystals and hearthfires flickering through several glass-paned windows - Vance and his daughters were quickly escorted, as a stringy-haired woman still ridiculously skinny under her peasant’s dress was busy waving them inside. As she looked past the Lilim and their escort to spot me, her eyes went wide and she froze mid-wave.

With a smile I nodded, wordlessly indicating for her to go care for those about to be in her charge. The priestess curtsied deeply and bustled within to help those she could heal - and thereby continue the sacred promise given her goddess to tend to any in need.

Of course, Maddalena hadn’t been the only one staring in shock.

Balus only added to it as his mighty baritone rang out to shake the entire cavern.

“HAIL JORDAN! HAIL COMMANDER! HAIL AMARIEL!”

Under the massive central-eyed ogre-mask, the giant bellowing demon grinned wide with sharp yellow teeth.

So much for a quiet entrance.

 

~o~O~o~

 

I was immediately led to a decorated stone dwelling holding more rooms than most. Containing handwoven rugs covering hard floor alongside several felwood items of furniture that included a dining table of robust construction with matching sturdy chairs, it also displayed tapestries of pastoral views not available in Hell. Whoever lived here certainly had both taste and means. On through the dining room I was led, out past a pair of sliding doors which opened wide to a large patio which itself held another half-circle table flanked by even more chairs and standing tiki-torches, set before a wide cleared space where the ground was also cushioned by several rugs.

That last seemed odd until Balus stepped over the wall, and with a loud grunt sat cross-legged in the open area. Twitch motioned for me to take a seat at the center of the table whose crescent faced the settling giant. As the chair I’d been pointed to had a fully upholstered back, the wings again got tucked away outside of direct manifestation so I could lean back and, for a moment anyway, close eyes and breathe out slow.

Twitch took the next seat over, and under the table his hand found mine. I squeezed it and held on.

Another voice inside the house, recognizable by its hint of the King’s English, fended off all of those who had gathered in our wake, and a moment or two after the solid front doors had thunked closed, it directed itself at me.

“Commander, forgive but I am unsure how best to address you.”

That earned a smile and my eyes opened. “Horatio! That makes two of us.”

Even though I’d just sat down, I was on my feet again - and much to Horatio’s surprise I went over and pulled him into a fierce hug.

Startled both by the impropriety and my sudden arrival, he blurted, “Milady! Is this proper??”

With a light laugh I stepped back to get a good look him. The former valet wore pressed slacks and equally pressed white dress shirt whose only nod to individual fashion were the flared cuffs. Instead of being clean-shaven, he now sported a well-groomed short beard whiter than the thinning and wispy grey hair barely covering his head.

But the biggest change was how the man held himself: whereas before he’d had the aura of someone continually walking on eggshells in fear of offending his demonic masters, now the soul stood confidently, eyes flaring with the experienced air of calm authority. Even after many cycles of serving as my own logistics master through the war, he had never truly relaxed, always worrying about what would become of him should I fall in battle and his existence returned to being under the whimsy of those not-so-gently natured.

But he wasn’t the only one who had trod carefully to maintain a specific image. “And why not? Is this not your home?”

“Why yes it is, but as Commander-”

I hugged him again. “My days of needing to maintain strict discipline with a harsh fist over everyone here are over.”

He nodded, and this time returned the embrace with true affection. “We’ve missed you.”

“Time differences are a weird thing. It’s only been one cycle for me.”

“Odd indeed.” He separated gestured to the table. “Please sit, milady.”

“Just call me Jordan. I think I’ve had enough formality for a sleep and a day.”

He laughed, and with this new (to me anyway) ease about him he pulled out a chair and sank onto it. “As you wish.” His eyes reflected both merriment and the dancing flames from the torches.

As I was settling back in my chair (and fingers again found Twitch’s), from the doorway a woman coughed politely. “Would milady desire refreshment?” Carefully styled blonde hair fell before a shoulder upon a simple yet elegant dress of blues and greens, while a left hand bearing a simple circle of gold around a finger rested lightly against the door’s frame.

“Veronica!” I said warmly. “You are as lovely as always.”

“Milady is too kind.”

“If you have a lighter wine or even fresh water, I could hardly refuse.” I’d have told her to call me ‘Jordan’ too, but the way she avoided my eyes made me think informality would increase her discomfort with the situation. The greater part of my spirit had once peered into the depths of her soul and its entire history - I could hardly blame her for feeling awkward about it.

“As milady wishes.” With a perfect curtsy she withdrew into the house.

Noting the matching gold around Horatio’s finger, I chuckled. “My my, things have indeed changed! Married?”

He inclined his head. “Alas we had no means to extend you an invitation to the event.”

“No kidding. But you’ve clearly moved up. Are you in charge then?”

The giant filling the courtyard removed his helmet, placing it behind him. Now instead of the grinning ogre-face there was an equally grinning giant - though without quite the same-sized tusks. “In Commander absence, Nathanael leads.”

“Except he’s not here,” I noted.

“Balus,” Horatio said, “is in charge of the warriors and our defense. Whereas I’ve been elected mayor.”

“Elected?!” That was certainly surprising.

The Mayor rapped the table with a knuckle. “Every ten cycles a vote is held. This cavern is only one of several, and more souls arrive with each precess of the Shroud.”

“More?” I boggled as extended senses began to map out the full expanse of what they’d built here - and how much they’d risked in the foolhardy attempt to rescue the Lilim. “To what end?”

A crystal glass of burgundy was set before me. “To free those we can.” Veronica, holding a waitress’ tray, quickly placed additional glasses before Twitch and Horatio. She then stood there awkwardly, clutching the tray to her still-luscious curves.

“Please,” I said, understanding her dilemma. “Join us.”

Nodding, she sat next to Horatio. But she still avoided meeting my gaze.

Horatio, after thanking Veronica for his drink, took a sip and savored it. “When the angel’s touch - sorry, your touch - freed everyone, there was a period of great strife. Nathanael forbade our direct interference as the aftermath developed into open revolution, though some of us disagreed.”

Veronica’s shoulders tensed.

My former logistics officer continued. “Our crew is too small to stand against all the demons of the Rock. Nathanael and Camael also refused to challenge Abagor for control of this realm.”

“They say why?” I asked.

“The angel Camael said his wings already bore the stains of too much of his brothers’ blood. Without their support we never would have succeeded.”

The mention of his wings brought things back to focus. “Camael is missing, Horatio. And Nathanael is tied up chasing after spawns from the Chaos. How isolated are you here? I can’t see Nathanael not having emphasized maintaining solid intelligence - and as widely gathered as possible.”

Horatio and Twitch exchanged glances, and the former replied. “With the Lilim’s aid, we have portals to several places at our disposal here. Twitch and others regularly visit not just the Light Side of the Rock, but many other realms. Maddalena travels with them, giving aid and bringing back those in the direst of need.”

Twitch nodded from under the thick hood that hung low over his face, making him appear much like an ancient monk.

A monk. Oh geeze.

Putting down the crystal goblet, I pointed at Twitch. “You’re the Pilgrim!”

Lips surrounded by scars smiled as the silent man shrugged with embarrassment. Horatio however coughed. “We do not call him such, but many souls across the realms revisited that old legend and tied it to his visits.”

“Let me guess: Maddalena hasn’t exactly dissuaded folks from doing so either.”

“She feels as your priestess that proselytizing in your name is part of her duties.”

Good grief. “My priestess?? She worships my spirit’s mother, sure, but-”

Veronica, staring into her glass, interjected. “She worships you, milady. As her Queen and Savior.”

“Great. Just great. I’ll have to talk to her.”

“Of course,” said Horatio, with a hint of amusement at my discomfort. “Yet as Aradia you are Artemis’ daughter. And you did save Maddalena from eternal demonic capture, as you saved us all from destruction. Are her beliefs truly in error?”

“I…I don’t know. But what if they are?”

He shook his head. “What if they aren’t?”

Balus’ booming voice echoed off the house. “Commander ascend. Prophesied by First Star.”

Everyone boggled at the giant.

Especially me. “As Lucifer prophesied? What are you saying??”

A fist the size and power of a V12 engine held up an equally impressive chin. “Star spoke. I hear. Now witness.”

My spirit mother’s troubled memory of Aradia’s forced creation spiraled alongside those of a heartbroken child covered in snow. “Lucifer called me - called Aradia - a failure. He left me to die cold and alone.”

The tentacled giant grunted. “Star say Balus find daughter, as Balus found mother.”

“Oh my god.” Cheeks chilled as if touched by frost again as pieces came together. “You’re the one who found Artemis for him! And gifted her that bow!”

Balus inclined his head. “Worthy was mother.”

“And he…he said you would find me? But Saibh found me in that forest, and then Azrael! Not you!!”

“Star speak: when daughter grown, in darkness Balus find. Balus serve. And Star shine anew.” The suckered tip of a tentacle reached up to touch the front of a thickly armored shoulder - and therefore over the four-pointed mark underneath which he’d gained when entering my service. “Worthy is daughter. Worthy is Commander.”

I choked, and not on the wine. On feet with palms pressing to the table, I glared across the courtyard. “You knew who I was?! All along?! And he…and that deadbeat winged bastard knew I was not a failure!!” A hand grabbed a crystal goblet and flung it across the courtyard to shatter into thousands of gleaming shards against the giant’s protective chestpiece. Voice breaking, I shrieked, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

The one huge eye had the decency to look startled and chagrined. “Commander not inquire.”

But I wasn’t really listening anymore.

Because he must’ve known. Lucifer, the First and once called Helel, had known. He’d seen deep into the future, he’d seen his daughter’s full and painful path. Seen Aradia’s almost-absolute-destruction in fighting the Chaos-consumed Azazel. Seen the final shreds of her spirit preserved at the last moments by the mercy of Azrael. And foresaw Gabriel’s potentially rebellious taking of an extra seed of Eternal Life from the Garden, foresaw Gabriel’s essence wrap around the seed’s anchor to restore Aradia’s spirit.

He’d abandoned her to it all. In full knowledge of her true potential and how to unlock it.

Me. He’d abandoned me to it all.

And everything which had come after.

While the bastard did nothing.

Suddenly hoarse and trembling, I spoke. “I…I’m going to need a few minutes.”

Wordlessly, Horatio rose from the table, and ushered Veronica ahead of him. Balus, looking for once uncertain, opened mouth to speak, but Horatio gestured him to silence and so the troubled giant simply stood to step over the wall.

Twitch though, he stayed. And with gentleness pulled me back onto the chair so he could wrap an arm around as I leaned against him, still shaking with ancient fury and pain. But I didn’t weep.

I was done weeping for what Lucifer had or had not been to me.

I was done.

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 20

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty - Music

 

Twitch let my head rest against his chest, his close presence reassuring and solid just as it had been on all those wagon journeys taken together through the dark. Thoughts rampaged anyway behind closed eyelids like a herd of startled graxh tearing through sharp-ferned forest. Between the blurred collapsing leaves and trunks crashing aside from the mental onslaught hung a simple circlet of gold.

And all it represented.

I didn’t know if I could do this.

Those words must have slipped past my lips, as a woman’s voice responded.

“Do what, my Queen?”

I should have been surprised at her presence, but a part of myself had known she was there. One eye opened and sure enough, sitting before the table upon the floor with knees folded below a thin brown skirt, was Maddalena - the healing priestess who had helped save me from the darkest of spellwork woven from threads anathema to existence itself.

Lifting myself back to an upright position (with Twitch reluctantly letting go), I tried to put the inner confusion into words.

“Everything. All of it. I once lamented not knowing what I should do. Now a potential path has appeared, and yet I find myself more unsure than ever.”

Deep brown eyes weighed my statement. “There are always many possible paths. But not all have heart.”

I found myself managing a smile, as the advice of a sick-but-contented incarnate angel came back to mind. “So maybe if I’m hesitant it’s not quite what my spirit needs?”

“My Queen, only you can decide that. But I cannot see you committing to anything that wouldn’t be.”

I couldn’t help it and a light guffaw escaped before becoming a sigh. “I’m much better at acting in the heat of the moment than being deliberate about anything.”

“I would disagree.”

“Oh?”

She waved a hand at what lay beyond the courtyard’s wall. “What was constructed here was due to your deliberate acts.”

“You and the others built this; I wasn’t even here.”

Long brunette locks held back by a slender ribbon bounced side-to-side as she shook her head. “Your leadership was the required platform. Without that, Nathanael and everyone would have had no basis upon which to build.”

“I hardly did anything - just shouted orders.”

“Leadership is much more than that. Your example, your Light…” She paused, and then emitted a short laugh. “You do not see it, do you? Then again, how could you. One may as well ask the sun to find the night.” Those piercing eyes glinted with absolute conviction.

Not knowing how to respond, I hoped to shift the conversation elsewhere. “How are the twins and their father?”

Being likely far wiser than I, she went with it. “Physically, they are well. But they have all endured tremendous trauma.”

“Yaria and especially Ruyia were close with the reaper Barry. Can a message be sent to Epsilon? Nick Wright is also there, they both should get their butts up here.”

“Nick…you mean Barakiel?”

“Yeah, him.”

An unsculpted and wild-curled eyebrow raised. “We have means to signal, provided the realm’s shifts do not interfere. Though message content is limited to how much energy can be provided to the device.”

“Huh. If you need more juice, then uhm…just let me know.”

She hesitated. “Its inner workings require a certain amount of finesse, my Queen.”

I made a face. “I’ve gotten a lot better! And hey, how’d you know I’ve had issues with more subtle energy efforts??”

“I did not, though I am unsurprised. Being this close is like sitting before a roaring wildfire consuming a forest entire. My Queen, with your power you could overload the workings just by walking within a few arm’s lengths.”

“Really? I mean, I put away the wings!”

“Yes. Really.”

“Oh. I can try-”

The priestess held up a hand. “Please, relax and don’t constrain yourself.” Her eyes flicked towards Twitch, and she smiled a knowing smile.

The type of smile that instantly flushed both my cheeks with embarrassed warmth.

Politely ignoring the reaction, she spoke again. “Vance and his daughters have asked me to inform that Your Majesty possesses their full parole - in fact, they wonder if they should be constrained to quarters or no. Are they truly prisoners in custody?”

The more pressing topic restored distracted focus. “Yes, they are. At least for now. Please tell them that they may move freely within the bounds of this settlement without restriction. And if they need to send communiques beyond to their people they may do so.” Blinking, I considered. “As much as possible, let their presence here be as their previous visits. They too need to relax as best they can.”

Gracefully rising to sandaled feet, she inclined her head. “By your leave, I will tell them.”

“Thank you, Maddalena. It’s good seeing you again.”

“And you, my Queen.” After a formal curtsy, she strode purposefully from the room with eyes burning with a faith I wasn’t sure I deserved.

When she was safely away, I sighed and found my fingers entangling once again between Twitch’s. Raising them to lips, I brushed a kiss across the back of the rough and scarred hand. “I worry…” With a quick shake of my own hair, I didn’t say the rest of the thought.

Twitch squeezed gently, and I’m pretty sure he understood what I meant without it needing to be spoken aloud.

He, in his own way, was even better at doing that than I.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Horatio returned a few minutes later to tiptoe across his living room and lurk around the entrance’s corner, hoping to not disturb. Eventually I called to him.

“C’mon out, Horatio. I know you’re there.”

He instantly appeared in the doorway and bowed. “Milady.”

“So what shall we do now?”

“I was thinking perhaps milady would enjoy a tour.”

“Well, Mister Mayor, how could I rightly refuse?”

“Then, please, come see what we’ve accomplished in your absence.”

What followed was the requisite tour given to any general’s arrival at a base of operations. Though this included more than simple salutes by the denizens, what with many taking knees and even the spilling of tears from a number of souls I’d never met yet knew intimately. There were even a few that I’d never encountered either directly or indirectly, though some of those too had that look of worshipful adoration which continued to send uncomfortable awkward shivers across spine and shoulders. It was also clear that my original hellraisers bearing the mark of the star held privilege and rank over all the newcomers.

Or at least were given the most deference.

We walked through immaculately cleaned barracks unconventionally integrated between demons and souls, massive kitchens with many coal stoves and their dark chimneys leading to additional caverns above (overseen by a joyful Master Chef whose thin mustache still looked ridiculous and who had gained an impressive expansion around his waist), blacksmith forges all busy except for one appearing recently unused with celestial script swirling through the stacks of waiting metal, armories full of sharp pointy things and protective outer wear to defend against them, pens of graxh and other musty yet useful creatures, and wide training grounds bearing signs of constant geomancy utilized to fix damage from overpowered giants and other exuberant warriors. Beyond these were yet more buildings filled with souls endeavoring across numerous activities: tailors, carpenters, bookbinders, all sorts of things.

It was impressive.

Finally we emerged out into the cold to stand on a plateau overlooking the switchback trails needed to climb this high. Not that they were easily seen, what with the lack of light from the all-but-empty dark sky. While the new star shined brightly, the warmth it provided was to the spirit and not flesh - indeed the small group which had followed me and Horatio quickly pulled coats tighter to fend off the sudden chill.

Was it weird that the extreme cold carried by the breeze actually felt good? It reminded of all those circuits as a reaper sitting alongside Twitch, just the two of us huddled together against the fierce bite of the wind while bouncing about on the open graxh-driven cart - the only sounds the creaking of wood and metal, and the huffing grunts of the steady beasts pulling us along. Totally alone with but a single crystal of glowing blue to fend off the vast outer dark.

Nostalgia is a strange thing.

Twitch must have felt it too as he put a hand on my leather-covered shoulder, but then again he’d kept trying to touch me ever since I’d arrived. It was as if he was concerned I might otherwise disappear again without that contact, like say someone drifting off to other realms unless a certain kitty sat on their chest.

It was rather endearing, really.

Many coaches, covered with intricate carvings and decorations of flowers and vines, were parked in a rough wide circle upon the plateau. In the center willowy Lilim prepared to light a fresh bonfire, while smaller cooking fires already crackled under cauldrons ladened with aromatic meat and steaming Hell-vegetables. Cases of wine and barrels of ale had also been carried out, with stacks of mugs, bowls, and spoons standing ready.

Horatio nodded to the Lilim directing the activity, a man sharply dressed in an elegantly embroidered dark jade coat, lighter waistcoat, and deep brown breeches. The man acknowledged Horatio with a florid bow, then snapped fingers at his crew to hurry up and put out a line of luxuriously padded wooden chairs at the best spots where soon roaring flames would do battle with the crisp air’s chill.

“Milady, the Lilim desire to host a feast in your honor in gratitude for preventing their leaders’ imminent demise.”

I tensed. “Their fates remain uncertain, Horatio. You know this.”

“As does everyone. Yet they still live. Is this moment, here and now, by itself not worthy of celebration regardless?”

“I…I suppose it is.”

Having only been a few hours since dining with Outpost Epsilon, I wasn’t particularly hungry. But again, this was one of those situations where refusal would have been a dreadful insult - and thus I joined them and gratefully took bowl and cup.

The wine, unsurprising as it was likely taken from Vance’s private stash, was in truth absolutely amazing. Somehow it held the hint of fruit nonexistent in hell, such as pear or even apple, magically conjured from the blend by a master brewer. Resisting temptation to indulge beyond a couple cupfuls was hard, especially as it wasn’t just flavor that lent a soft warmth to tongue, stomach, and even the soles of one’s feet.

As before at the Lilim’s fire, after the first round of bowls had been devoured, musical instruments appeared in many hands. Their oud player introduced a hauntingly beautiful musical theme quickly taken up by hands clapping or tapping against cajóns, and feet stomped in rhythm upon a wooden platform, placed upon the dirt a safe distance from the fire’s occasional exuberant sparks. Flutes - one carved from wood and one of intricately crafted metal - piped counter-melodies to blend harmonies with just the right touch of dissonance and resolution. So entranced by wine and song was I that everything drifted, and only some time later during a pause did I finally notice that the empty chairs to my left had been filled.

Vance and his daughters had joined us, with Maddalena sitting nearby with attentive eyes. The now-bald and clean-shaven father stared distantly into the flames, his cheeks still pale while vest, ruffled shirt, and trousers hung loose upon a frame no longer sufficiently robust to properly fill its silk. Yaria’s fingers played angrily with a spoon, flipping it end over end before catching again, and was dressed not for celebration but for stealthy combat: the all-black leather and cloth covered every inch, including a zukin over her head - though the fukumen normally covering the face had been pulled down.

As for Ruyia, she slumped within a velvet robe of burnished red - more sleepwear than public attire - staring without seeing at a bowl of uneaten stew resting limply across a knee. She too was bald under a threaded cap, as the patchwork mess left by her captors had been carefully removed.

And whenever a man happened to walk past, she startled and drew herself tighter on the chair.

Even as the oud and flutes began anew, I stopped chewing a lip to lean closer to Horatio.

“Shouldn’t they be resting?”

He turned his head to whisper back. “They insisted on coming, milady. Against Maddalena’s wishes.”

“Maybe I should retire early. So they can too.”

He was about to respond, but Yaria suddenly growled and tossed the spoon like a knife, hard enough to stick handle-up in the dirt. Getting to her stealthily-padded feet she marched off towards one of the coaches, throwing the door open with a loud clang as it rebounded on the hinges.

The music died as all eyes had followed before turning to one another with uncertain awkwardness as she had not slammed the door shut behind her. Instead she emerged quickly thereafter, hands carrying two particular items as she strode back over to stand before father and sister.

Shoving a case each upon the laps of her sitting family, she snarled with disgust. “Open them. Open and play!”

Vance startled, but caught the case before it slid to the dirt. Ruyia shrank further in the chair, ignoring the dislodged stew spilling across the hem of her gown.

Shaking with fury, Yaria regrabbed the case threatening to follow the meal to the hard ground. Flicking the latches open, she pulled free the violin sitting within - and forced a sister’s hand to hold its neck before wedging the bowstring into the other. Ruyia let both fall to her lap, lifting neither instrument nor bow.

“We are alive!” Yaria shouted at the pair. “And we have suffered worse!”

Vance sighed. “I have no desire for this.”

“Oh? No desire?” she scoffed. “What did you tell us when Mother died? When our tears could reach no end?!”

“Yaria, please-”

“What did you tell us?! Say it! Or have you forgotten?!”

A dangerous spark lit behind his eyes. “I know full well what was said.”

“Then prove it, you old graxh! Get up and prove it!”

Fingers curled around fret and stick, and with deliberate slowness did Vance rise to booted feet. Looking over to Ruyia, he said, “Come daughter, your sister is insistent.”

Except Ruyia flinched and refused to meet the gaze.

Stepping between them, Yaria knelt before her sister. “Ruyia,” she said with surprising sudden gentleness. “It’s Dad. He won’t hurt you.” When she got no reaction, she added, “Close your eyes. Just close them, and listen.”

With a hesitant nod, Ruyia did so.

Not turning, Yaria addressed the man behind her. “Play, Father. Play.”

Setting chin to the provided rest, Vance breathed deeply, and after a slow exhale began to draw bow across strings. A single note pulled from the instrument, emitting a low hum which held for the longest of counts before finally shifting as other notes followed.

To my surprise, I recognized the theme: an Arabic lamentation.

With each note he summoned from the wood and strings a vibrating sorrow, haunting in its simplicity and beauty. With the tempo clear, palms began to come together from around the circle - quietly at first and then with rising rapidity as cajóns collaborated with the beat of the joining oud’s deep and repeating bassline. The sum built to a crescendo of sound to burst into new harmonies of emerging glory as if cast forth from the very sweat dripping from Vance’s hairless brow.

Then a second melody added itself to the first, reaching into hearts to tug forth the pains of life itself and blend with the rising passion of the main theme.

Ruyia, still seated with eyes closed, had begun to play.

As an intricate dance did their notes twirl, phrase after phrase spiraling about the other, his seeking heights of triumph while hers cautioned sorrows of consequences. Rapid strokes versus measured and slow, pouring sweat versus individually falling tears, the two filled the plateau with their combined song - and few were the hands and feet not participating in their rhythm.

Lifted as if by the music itself, Ruyia stood - and her sister, clapping in earnest along with the rest, stepped out of the way. A growing fury added itself to the daughter’s notes, casting them with clipped sharpness along with a burning gaze of hurt in accusation towards her father.

His crescendos softened in response, bending the melody as if to soothe the sudden aggression, as if to make amends.

The rest of us, transfixed, quieted our surrounding beats, and soon the two violins sang alone.

Within that duet Vance shifted tones, returning the instrument to the constant deep hum of his initial note - and Ruyia slowed to play again its first beautiful phrase before both finished their final stanza in perfect harmony.

In the following silence, daughter stepped into her father’s waiting arms.

Yaria, wiping away a single wetness upon her own undernourished cheek, then crossed arms in fierce satisfaction before speaking sharply to them both.

“Where existence remains,” she reminded with great insistence, “the music plays on!!”

 

~o~O~o~

 

The three did not linger long after that, their obvious exhaustion providing Maddalena the excuse to finally usher them off to much needed beds. This left me sitting with Horatio and Twitch while the rest of the Lilim’s revelries continued their dances and songs.

After noticing Horatio had been doing his best to avoid any serious topics, I finally laughed. “You still have a ton of questions you aren’t asking, don’t you?”

He had the kindness to appear chagrined. “I…naturally.”

Taking yet another sip of that fabulous wine, I gestured with the cup. “How much has Hank…sorry, Nathanael…actually told you? Dangit, when I think of him in context of our mercenary band’s great march the brain still thinks of him as ‘Hank’.”

“The issue of names is certainly a challenge at times.” He chuckled.

“Guess I’m no exception.”

“Yours are more challenging than all others.”

“Bleh.”

“Quite. But in all seriousness, both he and Camael were extremely forthright regarding your past and circumstances on Earth. I believe they wished to further impress upon us the challenges you have faced and conquered.”

My other hand froze where it’d been holding Twitch’s again. “Uh, exactly how forthright?”

He coughed. “Let us say that I would describe your experiences as rather uniquely transformative, even if one were to overlook the wings.”

Aghast I looked over to Twitch while the stomach did flips like an Olympic gymnast.

Eyes floating above the fabric keeping his mouth and nose warm twinkled merrily. Oh God, he knew.

I had to fight to find my voice. “Are you…are you okay with that?!” I asked him. “I mean, I used to be-”

Twitch’s chest shook. Dangit, he was silently laughing. He patted the back of my hand where it was kept locked in place.

“You sure?!”

Merriment focused within those irises. With a finger he pointed at my heart then at the floor before us, before spreading an upturned palm back towards me and finally placing it against his own chest.

And I understood.

You are you, you are here. As this, you are in my heart.

My face was suddenly warm, and not from the wine or still roaring fire.

But I didn’t pull my hand away.

Being perceptive, Horatio stretched and stood. “I believe my questions should wait, milady. As you, too, are in need of rest.”

“Uhm, I don’t need to sleep. Not really.”

“Who said anything about sleep?” He gave an amused smile. “By your leave…” He bowed.

Nodding, it was only after he’d started walking away that I realized what exactly he’d meant. Looking quickly back to Twitch, I found eyes that knew exactly what they truly wanted meeting mine.

But while I hesitated, he did not - pulling the cloth away from lips he leaned forward to kiss mine.

And then again.

Emotions and sensations surging, I broke off to pull away, clutching the wine mug in both hands. “Twitch…”

Gentle fingers found my cheek.

Leaning into the touch with eyes closing in spite of themselves, I spoke quietly so only he could hear. “I haven’t…I haven’t been with anyone that way since she…” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say, ‘since my wife died’. It just seemed too final, and also too weird at the same time.

We were in Hell. Technically both Twitch and I had died too.

It’s just…I wasn’t sure what death meant anymore.

I found myself babbling. “And I have no idea where I’ll need to be in the next moment. I can’t…I can’t commit to anything, you see? I mean, I’ll probably have to go back to Earth eventually somehow - even if that requires going back through the Chaos. Everything is in flux, I don’t know what I’m doing, everything is-”

He cut me off by lifting my chin and kissing once more. And with a tender smile and tilt of the head, he showed he understood.

And didn’t mind.

Not in this moment, not here and not now.

Getting to his feet, he pulled me to mine, and I followed back into the caves to a small earthen structure that was mostly empty except for desk, chair, simple wardrobe, and a remarkably soft blanketed bed.

Whereupon he let his guard down by allowing me to see in full measure the burns across his skin. And then touch them. In turn, I let his kiss, his caress, and his giving heart help heal ancient scars of my own.

When the inevitable release of tears followed after, he spooned gently in warmly held reassurance that in this place, and at this time, I was loved.

And was not alone.

Once sufficiently recovered, he bade me sing again. For while he remained silent except for the tenderness of need filling his beautiful eyes, I certainly did not.

In those moments, I hadn’t cared who heard.

 

~o~O~o~

 

We lay there for what must have been hours, him breathing deep of the irresistible call to slumber that afflicts men after such activities. Certainly I had once been no exception (much to Caroline’s amusement), whereas now I remained awake: content and at peace, not thinking of anything particular, yet aware in gently floating lassitude.

Which meant, of course, that eventually all the wine I had initially decided not to drink made its presence known to ye ol’ bladder. With a quiet groan I slipped out of the bed, intending to explore the row of outhouses where geomancy had been used to redirect an underground waterflow and allow for sanitary plumbing.

It wasn’t until I’d manifested clothing (reaper’s coat and cloth in the foolish hope to not stand out while making a run for the loo) and stepped outside that I realized the silliness of that entire action.

After all, I’d just made cloth appear out of nowhere, but hadn’t applied that trick to myself. I could have blipped out and back and removed any need to pee.

Guess it’s true, old habits do die hard. You’d think the whole incident with the swarm of bugs at a certain river would have taught the lesson, but nope! That had been an external mess, and this was decidedly not.

At least, not yet.

Suppressing a chuckle, I easily removed the pressing issue and turned to go back in - but then spotted a winter-robed man resting on the rocky floor with back propped against Twitch’s wall. A shepherd’s crook pressed against strands of white rustling against a slumped shoulder.

Two things stood out immediately. I hadn’t noticed him and had no idea how long he’d been there, and he also wasn’t someone I knew directly from my time on the Rock. Not while running around with the reapers and mercs, and not when keeping the realm from flying apart.

Yet he felt familiar.

I cleared my throat. “Can I help you?”

Deep eyes of yellow gold opened, and a quiet voice said slowly, “I do hold great hope that you may.”

Gazing into those shining irises was like falling into eternity, and recognition from another’s memory surfaced. “Holy heck, I’ve seen you!”

From behind bangs hanging like the lightest of clouds, he considered. “Have you?”

A scene replayed. Newly forged angels sent forward by Michael to make a last stand athwart the enemy that the terrible war might end, bolstered by one among them with strength enough to bar the path of the chief offender. Before all were swept aside by the mighty blast of Gabriel’s horn.

Before the arm of Elohim locked the passage’s doorway shut forever.

“Raguel,” I heard myself say. “You’re the angel Raguel. You stood against Samael, beyond the pincer-point to Hell.”

“Ah.” Strong-yet-old fingers curled about the wooden staff, and its looped end pointed towards me. “You and I…” He caught himself, again giving serious thought to the words before continuing, “…should discuss that which I have served since that day of Elohim’s Decree.” A gentle smile dawned across the wrinkled face, an expression peacefully beatific.

“Served?” I straightened with caution anyway. Could he have meant some other Fallen? “What exactly have you served?”

After another long considered pause, he answered:

“Sanctuary.”

 

End of Part Four

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 21

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Part Five

 

Chapter Twenty-One - Harvest

 

Pages flip past, a time-lapse of images documenting the expansion of a grand city rising in sacred service to the Throne. Structures of meaning and empowered will, each unfolding as perfect edifices of collaboration and interchange, each glittering under the eternal illumination shining from Above as channeled through the forged unity binding all to one, and one to all.

And below this glory of infinites, to a tower of dazzling brilliance a dark angel comes.

Upon the highest balcony he lands, wincing as does, for arm is slung and wing bandaged, both bound in the purest of white cloth soaked through with leaking scarlet.

Unfazed he strides purposefully through high doors of intricately assembled silver and glass, there to where the first of all angels, he who stands without shadow, awaits to greet him.

“Brother, you came!”

“As I said I would.”

“But you are wounded! Raphael should attend-”

“No. There are others in my cohort in more urgent need of his assistance, for I heal.”

“Leviathan sleeps, what could have done this?!”

From behind draped locks of brushed charcoal, Samael scoffs. “The Edge churns endlessly, spitting forth challenge after challenge to our boundaries. Some more potent than others. Peace is a luxury for those at this city only; I should linger not in this respite for long.”

“Then allow me to share that which prompted my call.”

Together they move into an expansive marbled chamber lit by a high-vaulted ceiling, its many frosted panes bringing the glory outside to shine within. Around its wide and open circle sit seven alcoves, wherein floating spheres - twenty times the size of the robed angels attending them - hover and fill the individual spaces. Some swirl and spin with bright rainbows and flashes of magnificent energies, others smolder only with the majesty of intricate patterns of meaning - yet each thrum across the domed hall with tremendous concentrated potentials.

Samael approaches the first sphere. “And what are these?”

“Blueprints,” replies Helel. “For what could be.”

Eyes of ash and soot regard the First. “You intend another layer of firmament?”

“We do.”

“Already are we stretched thin along the border! And yet you wish to expand?!”

“We must.”

A hand protectively touches its wrapped and pain-reminding opposite. “Too many have we lost already.”

“From Elohim do more of our number emerge. These new Malakim shall hold-”

“They are not as us!!” Samael’s shout cuts across the room like a freshly sharpened blade ripping through silk. “Tools for this Throne you have assembled are they, nothing more! And weak, always weak, lacking the nuance and flexibility required to stand firm in Purpose at the Edge. Tell me, brother - how strong are these blueprints of yours?”

“We refine them continuously, but I wished for you to see what they offer, what these may allow to be! For you to understand-”

Samael’s throat interrupts with a rough chuckle. “Oh I understand. Better than you may yourself.” Facing the sphere before him, the dark angel studies the crystalline pattern, its lattices interweaving with logic and order, watching as they fold into themselves to provide dimension upon dimension - each symmetric, each unique, each glorious in refinement. “Self-consistency, self-sustaining,” he muses.

“Yes! That is the goal. Perfection manifested in full!”

“Then you fail.”

From a belt is pulled a smallish knife forged not of iron but of void, simple in construction as undecorated handle and blade, and within a fighter’s grip its tip reaches the sphere.

As angelic attendants gasp, the sphere collapses, shimmering lines of infinite layers shattering in inevitable cascade as the orb convulses, its layers folding within as the working swallows itself whole.

Without so much as flash or sound, the alcove sits empty and hollow.

Light flares however from the First, blinding in shock and fury. “What have you done?!”

His dark brother spins, boot squeaking across perfect tile, and marches to the next sphere, holding still the dagger whose contained energy is sheer anathema. “Employed a tool provided by your neglected blood, brother. For she, unlike you, has studied what we fight. As she has studied you.”

Rumbles of outraged dismay fill the hall. “Primal Chaos! He brings Chaos to the Center of All!”

With but a touch of that knife to another sphere, harmonies disrupt to implode and vanish in muted spark and flame.

“Samael, halt!” Brilliant fingers grip a shoulder of armored scarlet and obsidian. “Why?!”

“We all have our Purpose. I fulfill mine.” Again soot-filled eyes regard a brother, one now blazing with a brilliance more glaring ice than warmth. “Will you stop me, Helel? For by my Word, that which weakens us shall never stand. A simple contact by even this smallest portion, and these prototypes of yours fail entire. I ask you: is that worthy?”

Pain flashes across a face of Light and the glowing hand…the hand lets go.

Attendants cry and wail, shuffling in horror within robes of ivory silk away from the shadow-armored angel as he calmly walks sphere to sphere. Each edifice a wonder of concept and energy, each a tapestry awash with interactions more marvelous than the last, and each dissolving with but a flick of black metal which is not metal.

Until a single sphere remains.

Seen through the transparent surface lies a garden, lush greenery of leaf and vine caressing soil and stone amid crystalline waters. Towering trees shade beast and fauna, exceptional colors exploding in multitudes across landscapes and below oceans filling with life’s motions, as wisps of cloud and storms of thunder caress sky of brilliant sun and diamond encrusted nights.

And as the dark angel approaches this last target, one attendant out of five steps not to the side but directly to block his path. With great trepidation, a sword of yellow sun-fire appears in this one’s hand, held with trembling yet gathered resolve.

Samael pauses.

“You would impede my Purpose?”

Pulling back the hood to reveal features to rival the grace of even Gabriel, hair the same shade as the rich earth and soil seen in the sphere hangs free as the angel prepares a fighting stance.

“I would, Lord Samael.”

“What is your name, little one?”

“Jophiel, Lord.”

“Do you truly believe you have the might and fortitude to stand in my way?”

“Might or no, I must.”

“Why?”

“Because, Lord, of its beauty. Greater than any I have ever beheld.”

“At the cost of your spirit?”

“Even so.”

Then did Samael laugh, booming like a drum to fill the chamber. “Finally!” Turning a shoulder, he again addresses the Light burning behind. “Only now do you show me something of true potential! Something deemed worthy of sacrifice! But,” he says with a wry smirk, “does it also contain its own strength? Can it directly withstand the challenges wrought by existence?”

Faster than Jophiel can react is the knife flung past flaming sword, burying the anomalous blade deep into the flowing surface of spherical imagery.

Many in the hall gasp, expecting this final work to also achieve only its end.

But instead of collapsing from the contact, the thickly detailed images pulse once, then twice, and a ripple swallows the knife entire. With not a single trace of the unnatural weapon remaining.

Everyone stares in astonishment. Everyone, that is, except Helel.

“That,” says Samael in intrigued puzzlement, “should not be.”

“Yet it is.” Helel moves forward to stand beside his brother.

Samael, impatiently pushing aside a flummoxed Jophiel, leans in to examine the sphere further - though careful not to touch. “You’ve woven Potential itself into the fabric.”

“For those within to use, should they develop the skill.”

Implications stun. “How is this possible?!”

“With the aid of those you evacuated along the border. Their contrary nature, caught as they are betwixt wildness and stricture, informed the construction.”

“The Fae aided this willingly?!”

“Their King seeks a more permanent home where their divided nature may find solace.”

“Interesting. The intrusion of Potential is tiny yet…pervasive. Still,” Samael muses, “the surrounding pattern has merit. Simple yet fixed laws contain this threat.” Dark focus narrows further, latching upon an image within the cascade that shimmers past.

A vision of a singular iridescent seed burrowing into fertile soil, holding the promise of a tree grander and more mighty than all others awaiting root and blossom.

Holding within the promise of glorious ascension.

Samael, expression aghast, spins to face the Light at his side. “You dare?!”

His brother flinches not. “It is necessary. It is the Plan. Is it not strong? Has it not conquered your testing?”

Behind the curtain of blackest coal, the Destroyer himself pales. “You risk the Source itself!! The Throne and those born of this center you have architected cannot withstand…” He falls silent, thoughts branching through far-distant possibilities.

Dark eyes then travel to each attendant in turn, and all cower from the gaze in fear of his terrible Purpose, his glorious Word. All except one, standing now with burning sword more steadfast than before.

Even unto Destruction.

“So few,” Samael whispers. “So very few.” Gathering himself, he glares into the brightness standing beside him. “The rest were amusing trifles, but this…this last is your prize.”

“It is.”

“Have you seen, within your infinite sight, where this inevitably takes us?”

“Of course.”

The dark angel shakes his head. “No, I do not believe you have. But worry not, brother, for my Purpose understands and embraces what must be done. I shall teach you of it. I shall teach you all.”

Striding back out onto the balcony, upon wounded wing did Samael take flight - away from his brilliant brother, away from the Throne, away from the center.

Away from peace.

And in the following pressing silence, once more do the pages turn.

 

 

“Sanctuary.”

I said it back to him, while levers of the mind shuffled rocky edifices of information into fresh formations. “You…you’re the Pilgrim. The real one.”

“I have been called such, yes.”

Instant concern must have been obvious, probably from my nervous glance back inside to where Twitch lay asleep.

“The young bright soul,” Raguel then said. “He should be treasured.”

“I do.”

Planting the staff more firmly for support, the angel stood. Willowy under thick robes, he towered at least a couple feet overhead. “I know.”

My lip worried against teeth. “Are you here for him? To take him to Sanctuary?”

His gaze peered past the wall, and he shook his head. “This one,” he said with great warmth, “he builds his own. Come.” He took a step away from the building upon boots that had seen more mending than even my own had as a reaper.

“Where are we going?”

“The graxh are in need of feeding.”

I blinked. “The graxh?”

“They are in my care.”

“Oh.”

Down between the buildings we walked, not quick nor slow but rather at a measured and deliberate pace. He exchanged greetings and smiles with others as we went, and with the reaper cloth covering my face and head I was not recognized - just as I’d hoped.

After another friendly and passing interaction, I offered comment. “They call you Herald.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since there was need.”

“For the graxh?”

He stopped walking, and looked thoughtfully ahead as many seconds ticked past. “Yes,” he said finally, while nodding to himself. “For them too. Come. You can assist.”

Moving on, we reached the stables - a long building with stall after stall holding the many scaly beasts of burden busily bleating with hunger’s demands.

Not to mention shedding their incredibly musty smell.

Barrels full of unearthly vegetables and bundles of almost-wheat had been stacked in the storage area at the end of the row, ready for deployment into the troughs outside each stall where only the long snouts of eager customers could reach.

After leaning his staff against a wall next to a line of other tools, Raguel pushed a one-wheeled barrow in front of the supplies before meaningfully nodding towards the implements available. Taking the hint - and having done the same chore many a time back at Epsilon - I grabbed a shovel to scoop first a layer of veggies into his barrow, then used a pitchfork to add the longer-stalked and orange-tinted wheat-like stuff atop the pile.

We then walked the line, filling trough after trough, returning back to the barrels and stacks whenever the wheelbarrow became empty.

It was at such a transition that I broke the silence. “You said you wanted to talk about Sanctuary.”

He paused his shoveling of plant matter, as this round was my turn with the barrow. “I do.”

“So it’s real.”

“It is.”

“A safe harbor for souls.”

Once more he considered deeply before reply, the shovel halting above a barrel-supplied pile. “Not for just any soul.” He wiped his forehead with a sleeve, as we both had become sweaty from the labor. I’d removed hood and cloth awhile ago, as while the caves weren’t hot, they weren’t anywhere near as cold as outside.

“Then for which ones?”

He planted the business end of the shovel into the dirt and leaned over it with both gnarled hands on the handle, staring at the ground - and for all I could tell - right through it. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “What do you see?”

“Where, here? You mean other than the graxh eagerly noshing all this mush?”

Again he smiled, gilded eyes twinkling with humor. “Other than them. Across Hell.”

“Without manifesting wings, I can only see so far.”

“Look with your heart. What do you see?”

I stayed quiet, contemplating how to answer. Just as he was slow yet deep with each response, so too was he patient in awaiting mine.

But I thought I caught a thread with which to begin.

“Around here, souls trying to do good,” I said with a gesture to the Spire’s settlements. “Trying to exist away from the tyranny of the demons…and the fallen angels.”

“And elsewhere?”

“Souls in bondage? And, though I dislike admitting it, devils and demons also similarly bound.” I held up my hand. “Marked and owned.”

“Hmm.” His grunt, quiet as it was, reminded a great deal of Rabbi Kirov when he’d been disappointed with a student’s essay. Not when the student had been wrong, exactly, but when they’d not reached the hoped for depths in their work.

“Alright,” I said. “Then tell me: what is it that you see?”

“Stories buried in darkness.”

“Stories?”

His head tilted inquiringly. “Have you comprehended what we are?”

“What, you mean angels?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been trying to, we created the-“

He interjected. “No. We are the means of creation. The Most High is the Creator, we are but channels for the Words from which All Is. You said you remembered me?”

“I…yes?” I said, rather flummoxed from the rapidly shifting questions. “Uh, from Gabriel’s past.”

“Ah.” He picked up the shovel, scooped it full, then halted again with its load hovering over the wheelbarrow. “And these memories, do you consider them to be real?”

“What? Are you saying they aren’t?”

“Are you saying that they are?”

Gaping, I grew annoyed. “I saw you! Through Gabriel’s eyes, I saw you! Fighting to prevent Samael from escaping that last connection between the fallen realms and all else, his swords beating spark after spark against your staff!”

A gentle and non-judgmental smile tempered my rising agitation. “Do you truly believe that conflicts between our people are won by metal and wood, bone and sinew?”

“But the blood, the bodies…” I trailed off, awash with remembered horror.

“Are translations of the deeper tragedy, as concepts struggle and collide.”

My fight with Turiel. His blade bit through skin to hit bone…but my God, that wasn’t the real fight. No, I’d felt it, beyond the physical pain ripping across the manifested body I wore. The abstract strength of the Earth’s geology and all the forces within its crust and core, that’s what had actually slammed against me.

Only to be repelled by the power of the eternal and timeless Light. In the weighing of concept versus concept, the Light was unmoved by rules of inner-planetary physics.

Because the Light underpinned all: physics and metaphysics alike.

Not-turnips and not-carrots scattered into the wheelbarrow, and I stood silent while a roar of questions churned inside. Raguel continued the work, and even while wrestling internally I grabbed the pitchfork to help.

A few stalls later, as more graxh consumed breakfast like happy teenagers greedily swallowing any and all available calories, he finally commented.

“You begin to understand.”

“I…maybe?”

“The essences from our manifested memory, this is what matters. This is what, for us, is real. The cores, the abstracts, the relationships. Our history and struggle is not the reason for Creation. We are but the refining of blank manuscript. We are the dictionary and rules of grammar. We are the archetypes and frameworks, solid yet ephemeral. But they,” he said as he started our return to refill the now-empty wheelbarrow, “they are the focus.”

“The souls.”

We walked down the row of quieted beasts - for all had been tended. Only once we got back to the front, and after handing me a second shovel, did he continue. “They write their stories upon the canvas, etching each precious moment into the greater history - and also uniquely unto themselves.”

“But the ones here, in Hell, are stuck. Aren’t they?”

“Those needing to struggle against the dark, yes. And worse still, those who have since been cleansed.”

“Elohim’s Gate, it binds everyone.”

He opened the first stall and stepped inside past a Graxh still distracted by food. I knew the next part of the job, and it wasn’t my favorite.

Though it was certainly necessary. Dirty, smelly, and unpleasant…but necessary.

Together we began mucking out the pen, the wheelbarrow now serving the needs of the opposite ends of the snuffling beasts.

We were halfway through the stalls when he paused the work, again wiping away sweat before speaking. “These realms, each pull to a different shadow: regret, fear, rage, hate, and more. All of that which drives a soul to hide and spurn the Light.”

“But they can be cleansed?”

“In many ways.”

An idea hit, one which left me stunned. “Wait.”

He smiled. “Go on.”

I stared anew at the star across my palm, shining past even the mess covering hands and arms. “The demons. They swallow souls.”

A nod was given. “And what is done with those so consumed?”

“They feed on…well…they feed on the power from that darkness.”

“Yes.”

I shook my head. “But the demons enhance it! They torture and manipulate the souls, driving them even further into that dark!”

“Hmm,” he said again, shoving the blade deep into muck before lifting it free and dumping it in the one-wheeled barrow.

And standing there, watching him bend over to scrape the floor clean, I got it.

I finally understood.

Stunned, I put a hand against the wall to remain steady. “Demons. They aren’t creators either.”

“Yes.”

“They can only feed on what already is there. They isolate it, encourage it, get it all to rise to the surface and then…” I stopped.

He grunted as he slopped more atop the barrow’s almost full steel container. “Harvest.”

A lump grew in my throat. “But it’s horribly painful for the souls! It’s awful!”

“And if interrupted, leaves a soul unbalanced.”

“I’ve wanted…I’ve wanted to free them all!”

The angel rose to his full height, and from above weighed me with his gaze. “Only those cleansed are ready for freedom. Only those who have achieved purification by their own wills or have been consumed absolutely by the spirits whose fires burn the fuel of evil.”

He inhaled, and I glimpsed the tremendous strain upon his shoulders carried across the eons since Hell was sealed.

“Only those,” he said eventually, “who dare reach towards the unreachable, crying out in the pain of being denied the realms to which their stories need them go.”

He motioned for me to move the wheelbarrow out to the corridor, there where we could dump it on the pile awaiting transport to fertilize the edible mushrooms found growing in deeper caverns below. As I lifted the handle to maneuver the heavily burdened barrow, he said what I knew he would.

“They are the ones kept safe from further corruptions. Before such pain consumes them. Before they are hunted for their purity and destroyed lest they threaten those who rule. Those are the ones brought to Sanctuary.”

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 22

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty-Two - Necessity

 

We kept at it, shoveling and schlepping, until each pen in turn was clean. Though at that point, we ourselves certainly weren’t.

Raguel led us over to the camp’s distillery where water pumped from the ground was boiled and condensed into more safely potable form. There he filled a waterskin and, after taking a long swallow himself, handed it over.

Gratefully I drank deep before offering it back, though he waved it off.

“I’m fine.”

“You lost a lot more sweat than I did, you know.”

He laughed. “And we both are aware that neither of us truly need it.”

“Oh. Yeah. There is that.” I considered. “The joy of refreshment is nice though, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

I took another pleasant drink of the clear and cool liquid. “You gonna finally tell me why you wanted to talk? You said you hoped I could help you. Dare to share how?”

“Need I do so?”

Pouring some of the water onto a hand, I wiped my face. “No, I suppose not.” Realizing my sleeves were equally nasty, I let the moisture dry by itself on the skin. “You want me to free your safely preserved souls.”

“You did manage an escape.”

“Through the Chaos,” I said while staring off at nothing. “Except I don’t remember exactly how.”

“Part of you must.”

“Really? I was told that my memories were part of Creation itself. But transiting Chaos was outside of that.”

“Not entirely.”

“What?”

He leaned back against the rocky wall of the distillery, letting the shepherd’s crook fall to bounce gently against a shoulder. “There are different views of the structure of things. One such describes all as of the known, the unknown, and the unknowable. And in another, what is, what could be, and what is not. But for both the purpose of existence is clear.”

My spine slipped down the wall next to him until I sat with knees up, yet slightly spread so elbows could rest on them. Yeah, it wasn’t the most lady-like of positions, deal with it. “I’ll bite: expansion. Bring more into the known from the unknown, or more into What Is from What Could Be. Unknown as potential. Something like that?”

“Yes. Though I would describe it as infinite potential. So ask yourself: if there was no Light in what Could Be, could it ever become What Is?”

“You’re going to make my head hurt.”

He smiled. “Try it this way: how does the unknown become known?”

“Uhm. It has to be perceived first and then understood?”

“Good!” The gold in his eyes sparkled again. “And how does the Source perceive?”

I blinked. “It…shines a light? Oh. Oh for fuck’s sake. And I’m just that, aren’t I? A light.”

“More specifically: a channel for the Light of Lights, but yes.”

“That only covers perception. Is that enough?”

“Considering all I have is theory, that’s a question I’d need ask you.” He paused, then added, “You made it across, not I.”

My head tapped back against the rocky wall. Not too hard, mind you. Just hard enough to try and knock thoughts into something sensible. “Wait. Cassius babbled about this once. Rabbi Kirov’s whole philosophy has lines going from the Light to both Wisdom and Understanding in their Tree of Life diagram. So the Light is connected to both intuitive knowledge and delineated.”

“Hmm. Go on.”

Boggling, I thought I saw it. “Beliel and Azrael. Wisdom and Understanding. Holy crap. Lucifer carried Beliel with him when he left Hell! And Azrael…” Stunned, I dropped into silence.

“Yes?”

Chomping at a lip, I then swallowed. “Azrael’s hand…from the Chaos, he pulled me out.” The taste of iron crossed my tongue. “But that was a fluke.”

“Was it?”

“He told me he was only reaching for his scythe. I just happened to grab him instead.”

The angel chuckled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Well…no? Crap!” Yep. There came the headache, and not from the repeated knocks against the wall. Still, this didn’t make total sense. “Hey, but how do the Archons do it?”

“The term ‘Archon’ describes any entity who can independently remain intact within the Chaos. Having achieved this, you are now counted among their number.”

“Yeah, I keep getting called one.”

“The nature of their existence is beyond my knowledge. But ever does our tapestry push outward, perhaps that itself creates eddies within which entities form. Ones who lash out against us to return What Is to the Possible - or to Nothingness. Their intelligences are foreign, anathemas to all things.”

“What about Alal?”

He looked towards the cavern’s ceiling. “She…is a mystery. A shard or warped reflection of the First.”

“She helped me. In Egypt.”

“But did she actually cross into Creation?”

“Well yeah…wait. No, I guess not. She was like this empty projection imposing itself through the cracks. That’s a thin distinction though, isn’t it? I mean, she gave me a hat.”

“Much can be accomplished with projections. Mortal wizards in search of greater power open the narrowest of pathways for demons to project their gathered evil beyond Hell’s Gate to accomplish much.”

“How does that work? Are those paths through the Gate or through the Chaos?”

“Neither or perhaps both. The possibility for such connections was created by a great king. By virtue of the strength of his soul he altered the fabric to allow the projections. However, a spirit’s anchor may not cross.” His eyes lowered again, and he sighed. “Even those as strong as Samael are so constrained.”

“Huh. You know, even if I can get back again, I don’t see how souls could ever survive that trip. Even my hardened armor shredded to smithereens through that stuff.”

Raguel spotted someone approaching the distillery and pulled himself away from the wall. “I believe you will discover a path.”

“Seriously??”

“I feel it is time. And I…” he paused, then quite softly said, “I still hold to faith.”

Carrying the shepherd’s staff, the Angel of Justice known to Hell as the Pilgrim walked back to his chores, nodding to Horatio in passing as he did.

The Mayor acknowledged him politely, but his stride quickly had him standing over a different goop-encrusted angel still reeling from the burden of all that faith.

“Milady? Why in the realm are you covered in…” He paused, not daring to say it.

“Shit? I think that’s the term you’re looking for.” With a groan, I got back to my feet. “I suppose it’s because sometimes the job requires wading through the stuff. But you didn’t march so quickly to find me just to insist that I shower.”

“Ahem, no. Reaper Barry has arrived, after almost running a graxh to death to get here. He requests permission to visit your prisoners.”

“The Lilim? I told them they can do whatever while here in the Spire!”

“Formalities are indeed, shall we say, awkward with the situation. A request for blessing appeared appropriate.”

“Good grief. Fine. Let’s go officially sanction the crazy Scot’s desire.”

“Very good, milady.” He inhaled and blanched. “Though maybe that bath would be a good idea first?”

I snorted. “As much as that sounds ridiculously pleasant, let’s not make them wait.” With a flick of braided hair, Light pulsed…and clothes and skin were clean once more. “C’mon, there’s more I want to discuss with Vance anyway.”

Mouth agape at the instant purifications, he recovered and led the way.

Thoughts still swirled from the discussion with Raguel as I followed. Beneath the maelstrom though, I glimpsed the start of a crazy plan.

Maybe.

But dangit, I needed a lot of questions answered first.

 

~o~O~o~

 

We made our way through the cave town again, towards the plateau where the Lilim had set up their own small camp. But spotting a large figure monopolizing an obvious open training area, I stopped. “Hey - give me a moment, will you? Wait here.”

The Mayor saw the focus of my attention and nodded. “Of course, milady.”

Passing through a gate in the fence, loose dirt turned to hard stone. Though that stone had several areas chewed up from severe and repeated impacts of steel and sorcery.

Such as from the pair of gigantic axes wielded by monstrous tentacles currently causing the air itself to whistle mightily from their swung passage.

One axe spun in its path to redirect towards me, but a single and massive moss-green eye capable of unleashing great destruction all on its own registered the target and diverted the deadly edge to clang against the stone by my side.

And a troubled armored giant knelt before me.

“Balus.”

“Commander.”

“I’m not upset, at least not with you. In truth, I owe you. More than I ever knew.”

The cyclops remained silent and I studied him, looking the giant over in full measure for the first time. As the emitted illumination washed over his mighty figure, he didn’t flinch.

“You’re not just a demon.”

“Am Fomori.”

“I know that name, but only from legends.”

“Star experiment. Breed entities. Fae, demon, human. Fomori.”

“He was trying to find a way to blend properties of a soul with his Light.”

“Fomori not worthy. Fail.”

“And so he sought out half-gods. And it was you who found my mother.”

“Mother warrior. Strong.”

“You could have crushed her easily.”

“Strength in spirit. In will. Like daughter.”

“You’re kind to say so.”

Ivory tusks split a sharp-toothed grin. “Balus not kind.”

“You are to me.”

The giant huffed. “Balus serve. Star shine.” The one eye scanned the limited training area. “Hell small.”

“Small?”

Mossy-green shifted back. “Tight focus, beam burn.”

Staring into the iris’ singular depths, I eventually nodded. “Thank you, Balus.”

The grin broadened and tentacles adjusted grips on the axes. “Spar?”

I chuckled. “I doubt the town here would survive if we were to really go at it.”

Booming laughter echoed across the cavern, and the giant stood again - helmet brushing dirt free from the top of the cavern as he did. “Commander enjoy.”

That earned a full laugh in return. “Yeah, I probably would. But I’ve got things that need doing.”

He grunted. “Duty.”

“Duty,” I agreed. “And Balus?”

The eye blinked behind the helm and waited.

“You too are worthy.”

An axe raised in proud salute. With a smile I acknowledged, then turned and went back through the gate where Horatio stood patiently. Behind us the air again whistled with the giant’s stretching warm-ups.

“All good, milady?”

“Yes, I think so. Lead on.”

He did.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“I’m tellin’ ya, the eejit buggered off!”

We all sat within the Lilim’s tent - the blue mystic-runed one, larger on the inside than out. The colors for all the rugs and pillows had been changed since I’d last seen them, now everything was this lime and lemon theme with touches of orange. I swear it was like I’d been transported to some television producer’s deranged imagination of the nineteen-seventies. With plenty of room for all the gold-embossed silver cups and platters numerous enough to feed a small army, the space even had an expansive kitchen filled with whatever a chef could desire - including a fully stocked spice cabinet, a true luxury in Hell. The Lilim’s formerly-French chef had, after a hug from me, been politely disinvited to the gathering so he couldn’t listen in. Not that Cookie would have wanted to.

Horatio however did wish to, but a runner had zipped up to us requesting his attention elsewhere on something which apparently couldn’t wait - so reluctantly he’d hurried off.

Using bright and rather comfy pillows to prop myself up, I settled on a rug with Twitch at my side, his hand continuously finding mine. Vance, wearing lilac pajamas, had reclined on a fancy gold-studded divan, with Yaria pacing behind in ninja black. Maddalena stood before a table laden with more wine bottles than she clearly thought proper for those in her care to consume, the light aqua tones of her simple dress somehow fitting with the fruit-themed colors all around.

Ruyia was also on the floor, cross-legged by the divan in pajamas darker than her father’s - and much to Barry’s distress, had avoided all attempts from the burly warrior to get closer. The big lug had scooted a wide-curved wooden chair over to her, but she’d shifted just out of reach.

Barry, taking another deep draught from his skein, gave her another wistful look.

I groaned at what he’d said. “Nick’s gone?”

The Scotsman nodded. “Aye, that be what ahm sayin’. Disappeared, poof-like - no word, nuthin’. Din’t e’en use tha front gate.”

“Great, just great.” The jerk. Dammit, I really had thought we’d been making progress too.

“Did you need the Grigori?” Yaria asked, pausing her pacing.

“He was going to help me find Camael.”

Yaria exchanged glances with her father. He asked the question. “The Regent is missing?”

“Yeah. After…” I hesitated, trying to decide exactly how much I wanted to toss Nick under a bus. “After getting a wing sliced off and slaughtering a bunch of demons, he disappeared. Asmodeus has the wing, but we’ve no idea where Camael himself is.”

Vance, still rather pale, sat up straighter. “Nathanael is also unaware?”

“Yep. And Nathanael is off with your mother, chasing after a Child of Leviathan.”

The still-missing color of the Lilim’s cheeks faded even further. “Leviathan stirs?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. But there are two spawns running amok somewhere. Beelzebub pursues the other one. A third was taken out by Asmodeus - at great cost.”

Yaria gripped the back of the velvet seat. “Father, can we aid Grandmother in this?”

Vance closed his eyes, shaking his head. “No. Such a foe is beyond us. Beyond any of us present, except for perhaps our lady here herself.”

Crossing arms, Ruyia hunched over further and shivered.

Seeing this, Barry tried to take another drink - only to find his cup empty. “What can we be doin’ then?”

“Take care of each other.” I smiled at him, even while squeezing Twitch’s hand. “But there are a few specifically in need of our help.” Saying that, I looked back at Vance.

He raised a shaved eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Edgar, Nadia, and Carlos. They were yours, left behind at Lilith’s embassy.”

Yaria released the divan. “They remain intact?”

“Last I saw. But they’re stuck in that phased warehouse space. And as Nadia let me mark her, she’s mine.” I didn’t need to expand on the responsibilities inherent with that.

Ruyia blinked deeply brown eyes in puzzlement. “You didn’t take her with you?”

“It did not seem safe. Citadel agents were outside; I’d just arrived with them.”

Turning his head, Vance spat. “Citadel!”

Interesting. “Sounds like there’s a story there. Care to share with the class?” Lips may have been smiling, but my eyes weren’t. It really wasn’t a request.

Touching her father’s shoulder, Yaria answered for him. “Citadel forces chased us across Dis, even across battle lines. We thought…we thought they’d be able to penetrate Mother’s phasings. We believed those three already captured and disposed of.”

Wait, what? “Why’d they chase…oh. Beliel’s Tears. They figured out your operation?”

Vance pursed his lips, and ring-clad fingers clearly wanted to twirl a mustache no longer there. “I underestimated their newest general. He’s quite intelligent.”

“Krux?”

“Yes, him.”

“That little shit!” Dangit, he hadn’t told me it was his crew that had cornered the Lilim in the embassy - in fact, he’d implied it was some other war faction. Crap! “Wait, you think the Citadel could get through to the phased space if they wanted?”

Yaria nodded. “They have potent sorcerers. The Majordomo himself could do it with relative ease.”

“They wouldn’t worry about Lilith’s reaction?”

“Enough of the other Sarim would support their investigation into the Tears.”

“So why hadn’t they…oh,” I said as another lightbulb went off. Not literally though. Hush. “Bait. They left the souls there all this time as bait.”

But Vance shook his head. “No, not as bait. The souls are not important.” He caught my disapproving glare, and raised a placating hand. “I mean it not like that. They were ours, but they also possess no information of real value. If the space still stands, it is there as a trap.”

“A trap?” My glare diminished, but only a little.

“Absolutely,” Vance confirmed. “Those left behind were to scuttle that side of the portal so the assault team could not follow after. But there is nothing, dear lady, to prevent us from using our side here to transition back to the embassy.”

Huh? “Wouldn’t the connection be broken?”

“Only in one direction. As long as the stones stand they may still serve as remote anchors for those who know them. If we became desperate here in the Spires, it is one place to which we could flee if we were without other choice. Citadel forces most assuredly have kept it under constant surveillance.”

“There weren’t any Citadel bugs when we arrived though.” I frowned, then cursed again. “The refueling! We stopped on the way, and when out of earshot I bet that jerk of a general ordered everyone cleared out so it’d seem abandoned when we got there. Plus anything electronic of theirs that would have given that away. Dammit!”

“As mentioned, intelligent.” Vance held out his cup, and Maddalena reluctantly refilled it.

“Okay,” I said, shoving aside how incredibly stupid I felt. The devil had even deliberately planted listeners under our table at the bar so I would think that he’d initially thought he could get away with that kind of thing. Seriously, that was entirely too clever. “You escaped from his lackeys, but how did you end up in custody on the Rock?”

Vance stared into the refreshed burgundy of the wine.

Scowling at him, Ruyia muttered, “He got greedy.”

“Daughter-”

Yaria slammed an open hand against the back of his seat. “She is right, Father! You did.”

With a wave of the cup at the opulence surrounding us, Vance shrugged. “Temperance, never one of my virtues.”

Instead of getting annoyed, Yaria grinned in amused agreement. “Nor mine. Want me to tell?”

“Please.”

Pushing off the seat’s back, Yaria paced again as she spoke. “Duke Valgor sent word he required one final score from our tunnels off from the Hole. The Rock changed after the calamity.” She gave me a not-entirely-happy stare. “Potency of the Tears has diminished, the ice around the Mace is changing. With Dis alerted, we calculated having only the chance for one more worthwhile run.”

Vance interrupted. “Mother’s standing instructions, you must understand, were to acquire and store as much as feasible. With her away, I decided we needed to take the risk.”

“Except our information gathering failed,” Yaria continued. “Valgor, that fat ambitious blob, had already betrayed us to the Ducal Council - who in turn had launched their own investigation after being contacted by the Citadel through channels. We went into the Hole, and once at the midpoint stop-off, the bastards ambushed us.”

Ruyia’s glower matched her sister’s. “Our harpy forms are too large to fly up the Hole. We had no escape.”

I waited as each Lilim relived the moment of capture - and all the pain that had followed. After a polite silence, I asked the question still bothering me. “But you don’t know why Lilith wants the Tears?”

Snorting, Yaria finally sat on the corner of the divan. “Grandmother never told us.”

“We never dared ask,” Ruyia murmured, and without looking finally reached out to touch Barry’s leg. The Scotsman (who had been drinking steadily while listening to all this) perked up immediately, but didn’t jinx the moment with anything overt.

Twitch ran a thumb across the star on my palm, causing energies to tickle. Pulling away with the start of a giggle, the sound died against the seriousness within his gaze.

I understood. “Yeah, okay,” I said to him, earning his slow nod in return.

“Milady?” Horatio asked.

I focused back on Vance. “How long would it take to prepare the one-way portal back to your embassy?”

The Lilim leader finished swallowing his latest gulp. “A few hours.”

Ruyia sat up in alarm. “You need to rest! You don’t have the energy required to-”

He cut her off. “Our hostess does. And her priestess can act as channel.” He pointed the again-empty cup at Maddalena.

The strega witch’s eyes burned with resolution’s fire. “Our newest sister is in need. I will do all in my power to help.”

Barry tilted his head. “Sister?”

I held up the glowing hand. “Nadia. Her soul bears the mark of my promise.”

“Ach,” the warrior Scot’s toothy grin split the curls framing his face. “Goon, then. And woe to any daft eejits standin’ in yer way!” He lifted his ever-refilled stein in salute then drained it dry.

And yeah, the burp that followed was just as mighty as expected.

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 23

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty-Three - Taijitu

 

In the coldest of air we gathered at the top of the Spires. Out of the rock face a matching henge to its counterpart at the embassy in Dis had long ago been excavated, though this one was not currently pockmarked from the insult of repeated energy blasts, having been resurfaced after its own checkered history. Twitch and Horatio stood at my side, while Vance, leaning on a short-yet-distinguished onyx cane and shivering underneath the thickest of silver-furred coats, had been busy examining all the sigils and workings carved into the stones - ensuring that each was still properly aligned.

Ruyia, huddled in cloth more blanket than shawl, occasionally applied hammer to tiny chisel to make needed subtle corrections on the stones. A campfire had been started to provide light and at least a modicum of warmth, though the wind blew most of the heat right off the peak. As for Yaria, she had gone with Maddalena to help the priestess prepare and be ‘properly purified’ - the process thereof requiring the relaxing hot bath I’d declined earlier.

Which had me wondering if the priestess really had just wanted to avail herself of Veronica’s excellent foot rubs - the very ones that had kept my feet going when marching across the plains on the flip side of this Rock.

For the third time (so far!) Horatio asked, “Are you sure about this milady? Shouldn’t we-”

“No. I’ll go alone.”

“But-”

Eyes rolled and scanned the dark and (almost!) empty heavens. “Citadel troops are tough, Horatio. Whoever is with me could get hurt.”

“And you won’t?”

“I’m not what I was when you knew me, my friend,” I said with a smile, putting a reassuring hand against the nervous mayor’s back. “In truth, I’m not sure I need this portal to get there - but I only stood within the embassy for a handful of minutes, unlike all the time spent at Epsilon.” I shook my head. “I’d fly between the realms, but without a guideline I might not arrive precisely where intended. But worry not, directly I have nothing to fear from Krux’s band of thugs.”

“We could get Balus-”

“Again, no! I’d hate having to explain to Lilith why her embassy and all its stunning paintings were smashed entirely to rubble. The damage it’s already suffered is bad enough.”

He shuffled his feet. “But you only just arrived.”

Ah. “You’re afraid I won’t come back again.”

His chest heaved a heavy sigh. “Both of your previous departures were rather abrupt.”

“Not exactly by choice.”

“Whereas this time?”

“If Krux hears about what I just did at the arena in Kigal, he’ll tear down the phased-space immediately and worry about Lilith’s opinions later. He knows there are souls in there.”

“He’ll want hostages?”

“Bargaining chips. Ones he knows I won’t ignore.”

“And he won’t attack you?”

I snorted. “He already tried that.”

“Oh.”

Patting his back once more, I let the hand drop. “What you’re building here is good. The Ducal Council, though, may move against you. Can you hold against them?”

“Without you, without Nathanael and Camael? Not if the true demonic powers take the field.”

“Then I’d better get back quickly.”

The mayor shook his head. “We have some time. Word arrived while you were consulting the Lilim: Tuthos has sealed the Hole.”

“He what?!”

“Warrants for his arrest were issued, and a force was preparing to come through and obliterate Epsilon and the Spires.”

“What about food and supplies?”

“Madame, we have a few other working portals and allies across many realms. Even for the Dukes, clearing the Hole will take at least a cycle - if not more with active resistance. With the Lilim’s aid, the only immediate assault we fear is from the Sarim.”

“For now, Prince Abagor will not involve himself.”

That startled him. “How can you be so sure? If you leave, we will have no angelic defenders!”

“Because he too awaits my decision.”

“Decision? What decision?”

“Whether I wish to conquer all of Hell.”

“You?!”

“Yes.”

“Milady!”

“As said - I am not as I was.”

His mouth wanted to say more, but the outlandish notion had banished coherency.

Footsteps approached, and I said, “Here comes Maddalena.”

Despite the chill, the skinny Italian priestess stepped out of the caves wearing only a thin robe of emerald silk trimmed with gold. Following was Yaria, herself bundled under serious layers of warmth and holding another coat as well as a surly expression. But what truly got my attention was what Maddalena carried:

A shimmering longbow forged of graceful crystal hardened by warrior soul.

Going to a knee and with lowered head of curly brown, Maddalena held out the bow.

“My Queen. I return to you the sacred weapon of your holy mother.”

Lifting the bow from her hands, I ran a fingertip along its side, marveling yet again at how reflected firelight sparkled below the surface. “I…I have missed this.” Holding the mighty implement higher, I aimed off to the side while fingers drew both the string and the perfect crystalline arrow manifesting to the desire of the wielder. She (for it was most certainly a ‘she’) thrummed to the touch, eager to again launch scorching flame and righteous fury.

Crazed energies of madness had burned through her during the war, never breaching her limit and always hitting our target. She’d saved me - and those bound to me - time and time again.

But now…now the heart sank with sad realization.

I couldn’t use her anymore.

Releasing the pull, together the arrow and string flickered and disappeared. Reluctantly the weapon was placed back in Maddalena’s hands, her fingers folded under mine to hold the bow tight.

“My Queen?” Uncertainty worried my priestess’ face.

“She is yours now.”

“But-”

“Her pattern, as wondrous as she is, can no longer contain that which I am able to bring to bear. She would shatter under such a strain.”

“What of myself, my Queen? Am I not about to receive such from you?” Maddalena looked towards the waiting stones. “Will I not also shatter?”

“The Lilim’s magic requires not such immensities. And you are much stronger and better prepared than you may realize.”

Her head again lowered. “My strength is only through my faith - in my goddess, and in you, my Queen.”

Stepping forward, I tenderly lifted her chin. “It lies within thine heart and soul - burning true with shining glory.” Kissing her forehead, I added, “Now, let us open the Lilim’s portal that our lost sister be safely found.”

With eyes closed she pressed my hand to her cheek, then nodded. Letting go, she stood and walked over to the Lilim. After a quick consultation they gave her room before the fire, and there she proceeded to use the end of the longbow to draw a circle in the loose dirt upon the rocky plateau. Carefully placing the bow just outside the ring, from her dress she then produced a small smooth stone which had a perfect circle worn through its center. Holding it tight in one hand, the other reached behind her back to unbutton the green silk and the dress fell to the dirt at her feet, leaving her skyclad between campfire and the solitary star above.

Lowering to knees within the circle, she clasped the stone to her bosom and recited a prayer in her native Italian:

 

“Diana, tu che siei la regina

Del cielo e della terra e dell'inferno,

E siei la prottetrice degli infelici,

Dei ladri, degli assassini, e anche

Di donne di mali affari se hai conosciuto,

Che non sia stato l'indole cattivo

Delle persone, tu Diana,

Diana il hai fatti tutti felici!”

 

Diana, thou who art the queen

Of heaven and of earth, and of the infernal lands,

Yea, thou who art protectress of all men unfortunate,

Of thieves and murderers, and of women too

Who lead an evil life, and yet hast known

That their nature was not evil, thou Diana,

Diana who confers on them some joy in life!

 

From within that circle her spirit reached out, and mine was ready. From my extended fingers flowed a river of sparkling lights, swirling above us tighter and tighter, until a single bright funnel reached down to touch her heart and the stone held close against it. Through her the prime Light of all things resonated with the need to provide the energies of her faith and the magic which could be worked with it, binding that potential to the stone glowing now crimson with a heat that burnt not the skin.

When the crimson shifted to a piercing blue, she rose and offered the bright stone to Vance. With an acknowledging nod, the leader of this band of Lilim accepted her gift - and with its power spoke and painted their own sacred language across the rock edifice they had prepared.

As before, hearing their unique tongue pulled at my higher self, requiring the suppression of the urge to correct that which was imperfect as compared to how it should be spoken. Angelic phrasing twisted by demonic comprehension was akin to watching someone applying the laws of physics without the use of calculus - useful through brute force calculation, but lacking the beauty and symmetries truly inherent in the patterns.

Yet it worked.

Between the rising henge’s standing stones the air shimmered as if a sheen of oil slid across the gap. And once the entire space was covered, that oil burst into flame: hot with dancing sparks of vermilion and amber. Beyond the fires I could feel it - the connection between space which wasn’t really space, linking this realm to another, binding these stones to the anchor of the matching ones at the destination.

“It is done, milady.” Vance stepped aside, staggering slightly and needing the cane to stay upright, as even using the borrowed power had tired him greatly. “The Citadel will be alerted of the connection; you should not delay.”

“Thank you, dear sir.” Turning to Twitch who had stood at my side, I hugged him before tugging down the wraps covering his face to kiss his sweet lips once more. “I will return. One way or another.”

The smile creasing those scarred lips was all the reply I needed.

With one last look to everyone gathered, I stepped through the leaping fires.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Portals, I’ve used a few. Though the last time the Lilim popped me between realms I had been deeply unconscious under a suppressing flood, one which was busily preventing the shredding of my mind by spellwork entirely foreign to everything in existence. Come to think of it, they’d likely used the very standing stones I’d just passed through.

The Lilim’s skills were impressive, the transition itself was remarkably smooth. The only oddity was a burst of wind to the face when appearing again in the embassy’s wide chamber, there with its own stones and weird wading pool. Except none of the dust around the remains of the storage shelves got disturbed.

Several things were instantly clear. Foremost was a new bloodstain smeared across the flooring which occluded the reflected image of the fire-sky coming through the hole in the dome above. That pretty much informed the rest of the observations.

Namely, the phased-space everyone had hid inside had collapsed. And there was no one here.

“Fuck.”

The first set of wings unfurled with a quick whoosh to illuminate the beautiful murals painted across the enclosing walls. Crystalline feathers also picked up on the many recording devices stashed all over which were quickly transmitting the images and sounds of my arrival. And thanks to the connecting mark, the wings provided the energy to show exactly where Nadia had gotten to.

Without hesitation I was airborne, zipping out the broken main doors and accelerating to skirt the tops of the dark buildings just below the river of fire smothering the sky.

I couldn’t help but notice that the vast city had changed.

Not a lot, mind you, but enough. Additional high-rises had fallen, while others under reconstruction had greatly advanced towards completion - much more than the one or two sleeps I’d personally experienced since hopping from Dis to the Rock could account for.

In other words, Nathanael’s note regarding the timestream bucking like a wild stallion was true: many more days - if not cycles - had passed here than should have. With an additional burst of speed, the layer of fire above fell back from the invisible globe protecting my target.

The Citadel.

Imagine an aircraft carrier naval group all welded together - then take a thousand of those and pile them atop each other, but somehow towers with elegantly sculpted architecture emerge anyway. Massive artillery placements, a ridiculous number of radar and communication antennas, and vast engine ports - all coalescing into a singular structure beautifully designed for one thing and one thing only:

War.

I mean, the construction resembled nothing less than a science fiction artist’s wet dream of a futuristic battlestation. It was that impressive. And I flew right towards it at supersonic speeds, setting off every sensor and alarm the place possessed.

Even from a distance the blaring warning horns sounded louder than the constant churn of sparks and flames deflected away from the station by the powerfully extended energy shield.

Of course, I’d just phased through those layered wards like they were a curtain of softly falling spring rain.

Huge turrets swiveled to lock on, and with the way I was pulling in power I surely provided an excellent targeting solution for their computers. Though the massive guns didn’t actually fire.

Hmm, the leaders of this monstrosity of combat fortification weren’t entirely insane. Evil maybe, but not insane.

Spotting a wide vehicle loading zone, I zoomed forward - noting its impressive number of landing craft and supporting airships currently being prepped for launch by uniformed soldiers hurriedly scurrying about.

Most interesting, however, was that given the numbers gathered and weapons loaded they must have already been doing so even before I’d arrived at the embassy.

Mindful of the tracking cannons both energetic and kinetic, I hovered at the edge of the vast dock and pulsed enough shine to temporarily blind anyone not wearing a welder’s helmet.

Then I crossed arms over a white-leathered armored chest and waited.

From near the center of the platform, a short figure with bat-like wings took flight and glided towards me - all while shouting at the soldiers aiming many munitions in my direction to hold their fire. Pulling up before the edge, he executed a smooth landing and simply glared with disgust before finally pulling a cigar out of a uniformed pocket.

He lit it and blew a puff of smoke. “Jordan.”

The Light flickered brighter and he rolled a pair of beady little eyes.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Amariel. Happy?”

“That depends, General.”

“Your marked soul is safe, angel. Shit, she’s been eating better than I have lately.”

“And the other two?”

The diminutive survivor shrugged. “One was stupid. The second, out of politeness to you, is with that lady bearing your mark.”

Dammit, suspicions about the bloodstain just got confirmed. “Then I will take those two and go.”

“It ain’t that easy.”

I scanned the structure and the entities within it. “I sense no Bene-Elohim available to come to your aid, devil.”

“This fortress has a few tricks even for your kind.” Those solid brown eyes glinted.

“Does it.” Two more wings spread out, playing additional havoc with the weirdly shifting shadows splaying behind the vehicles across the deck.

Wincing at the additional waves of power smacking him in the face, he waved the cigar. “Simmer down, alright? Yeesh. The realm’s a mess as is, you really want to do this?”

I looked past him. “The Majordomo isn’t coming out?”

“Nah, he’s standing by the failsafe.”

Eyes narrowed, dimming their floodlights ever so slightly. “What do you want, Krux?”

“Thought that’d be obvious.”

“Assuming obvious things around you carries its own risks.”

“Ain’t that the truth. “ The cigar went back between his teeth. “I’m doing my damnedest to prevent the realm’s collapse.”

“That’s what all this is about?” I gestured at the military busy gawking at the two of us.

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll bite. What’s the sitrep?”

“We’re gonna take down the Apostle.”

I frowned. “Thought he wasn’t considered a threat.”

“He wasn’t. But after this last firestorm, he may be.”

I was right. Substantial time really had passed. “May?”

Flicking ash over the side, the devil waved the cigar again. “There’s these strange energy surges throughout the city. Best calculations have ‘em flowing underground. You can guess where.”

“You managed to locate him?”

“Amusingly enough, you helped. That Santiago fellow slipped out to blip a report.”

“Really? And what did he say?”

“That the Apostle had prepped some major ritual. Couldn’t say what it’ll do, he’s still low in their ranks and your boy ain’t a sorcerer.”

“But they’re gathering power.”

“And each drawing pulse triggers a fresh set of quakes. They’re fucking up the tenuous balance holding this dumpster fire of a house of cards together.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No shit.”

“How many are there?”

“Cultists? Thousands. Which is hardly a nuisance, but it’s this ritual that’s the concern. And the Sarim are too busy sitting on their thumbs or bickering with each other to help.”

“So what’s the play?”

He shrugged. “Current plan is straightforward.” The burning end of the cigar tipped back at the forces behind him.

“You’re going to slaughter them.”

“Hey, you know what a peaceful guy I am. I’m willing to listen to alternatives.”

“Such as?”

“They worship your ass, not mine. Think about it.”

“You want me to get them to stop whatever they’re doing.”

“Surrender. The word you’re looking for is surrender.”

“Dangit. You said it yourself, they’re fanatics. They won’t do that.”

“Convince ‘em.”

“So you can jail the flock or turn all the souls to stone?”

More ash went over. “Whatever it takes.”

Fixating back on the fortress, I peered through its many warded walls. “I could just grab the two souls and leave.”

“Attacking the Citadel carries heavy political ramifications.” He paused. “This was Samael’s seat, you know. Symbolic. Unless you’ve decided to reject certain offers?”

Crap. “How the heck did you hear about that?!”

“These ears pick up many things. And you either give a shit about our realms…or you don’t. So choose.”

“You’re a manipulative son of a bitch and a liar, you know that?”

“I have to be.”

I stared. “Do you? Do you really?”

Saying nothing, he took a deliberately slow pull on the cigar before blowing more smoke between us.

“Dammit,” I cursed. “Fine. I’ll go talk to him. Just tell me where he is.”

Krux shook his head. “Fuck no. We’ll take you there. And once the perimeter is established to prevent escape, then and only then do you go in. Got it?”

“You realize I can follow this crew regardless.”

“They see you coming in like a comet, who knows what they’ll do before we’re in position.”

“Good grief. Won’t they freak at the armada alone?”

“Maybe, maybe not. We let it leak that we’re moving against those Grigori you found.”

“They’re still nearby?”

He shrugged. “No clue.”

I thought for a second, then shook my head. “Alright, I’ll ride with you. But don’t betray me on this, Krux.”

“Betray?” He blinked in wry amusement. “I give no word to violate. You wanna avoid a massacre and get back those souls? Then do as I say. Or else go ahead and trigger that inter-realm shitstorm with your feathered mafia while this city and realm dies.”

“If I didn’t care-”

“That’s your weakness.” He snorted before looking long at the city below. “And to my fucking surprise, it’s become one of mine.”

In the distance between towers, random blaster fire and a few small explosions flickered and burst. We both watched the sparks fly in silence. The stub of the cigar then arced over the side to start a long tumble down, and the Citadel general turned away towards a ship.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Load up.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Again I sat shoulder-to-shoulder with armored hulks preparing for battle. Though these were some of Krux’s best, his own personal guard, which meant we were jammed into the rear of one of those flying bricks because the front half served as his tactical control center.

In other words, that forward part of the wagon was set up like a FBI surveillance van: electronic equipment covering the walls feeding the coordination of the troops to the custom augmented reality goggles wedged across Krux’s small but oh-so-serious face.

Of course, I didn’t need the goggles to view the received transmissions; despite the demonic wards against decryption, everything became clear within the perception of the Light. As were the patterns to how the multitude of ships flew and approached the base of a particularly high tower. While the positioning gave the impression of aiming to slip below the surface to reach that underground town where the Grigori had camped, the true target of isolation was actually within the first few basement floors of a specific building.

Stealth units had already infiltrated the higher floors and were making their way down, even as teams underground converged through abandoned pipes and passages towards that wide basement level. The disciplined troops were well trained, and Krux shouted and snarled adjustments across the comms which were immediately obeyed.

They all reeked of barely constrained violence, auras burning with the need to crush into unrecognizable pieces all opposition, each yearning to surf the waves of fevered adrenalin when the terrible potentials lurking within finally unleashed to spill outward in gore and mayhem.

In preparing to utilize the bloody potentials as harvested from the damned souls each had hungrily consumed, they had already begun to whip those swallowed spirits to burn with the full force of all the darkness each and every one possessed. All the pain, all the jealousy and bitter hate, all the rageful evil - ripped to the surface and skimmed off as the most delectable of refined and unholy nectar.

And I forced myself to truly see its source, even as tears welled besides tight eyelids while nevertheless the inner Light showed all.

A long-ago conversation from a late night walk alongside the closest of brothers resounded in thoughts, even while the chest ached with realized horror.

 

“The danger for you, Justin, is simple.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see only the best in people. And in so doing many around you will continually attempt to reach that idealized image of themselves shining behind your eyes.”

“Seriously? How can that be a danger?”

“It is both blessing and curse. Because you don’t see the darkness. You’re blind to all their knives, especially should they come to hate and blame you for their inability to achieve that perfect vision of who they could be.”

“But they can.”

“Most will never succeed.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“And that naivety leaves you vulnerable.”

“I don’t think I care.”

“I know. But I fear for you, my friend, should you someday fully see the rest of who they are.”

 

The general had ripped the throat-mic off his neck and was screaming directly into it.

“Whaddya mean the reading is off the scale?! Recalibrate! NOW!!”

Blinking eyes clear, the displays showed the target building begin to sway. “Krux! What’s happening??”

“The ritual…I think they’ve…fuck!!”

The monitor displaying the obsidian stone of the targeted high-rise shimmered and burst into brightness, as if the building’s entire surface had lit up from dense arrays of LEDs.

Not colored ones either. Pure unbroken white.

And one by one all the surrounding towers did so as well.

Unintended brilliant wings flared through the side of the ship as off in the distance I heard something…something demanding full empowered attention.

Someone was calling my name.

My true Name.

The devil yanked off the entire headset, solid brown eyes wide with astonishment.

“Shit! They’re summoning you!! Amariel, don’t-”

But the interior of the dropship had already faded away.

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 24

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty-Four - Leap

 

When I was a teenager, I once made the mistake of tossing uneaten candy into the plastic bin besides my bed. During a hot summer’s night, up through the floorboards small black ants had acted on the report of whichever scout had discovered the bounty, and all swarmed the can.

They also hadn’t stopped there.

It had been especially toasty and dry that season, desert winds removing all humidity to torture everyone’s sinuses into cracking and bleeding, and under my bedsheets additional scouts discovered a dark, safe, and damp new area - all thanks to my nightly sweat. Thus they invaded in full.

Waking up to that took awhile, there in the early hours before dawn. Occasional tickles crept across the skin, starting on the arms and back, then rustling hairs on the legs. While still floating mostly asleep I’d tossed and turned, idly reacting to the slight sensations, mindlessly scratching at dream’s interruption. Until eventually I’d awakened enough to find myself absolutely covered in moving black dots, triggering an immediate leap from the bed in an adrenalin-fueled madcap dance of ‘Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off!!’

As perceptions realigned after the shift away from the troop transport, it felt uncomfortably like that. Except this time the multitude of tickles had latched on as strong webs of steel holding me fast.

“She arrives!!”

Vision and more unscrambled only to discover the webbing as being other than from some big-ass demonic spider. I floated high within a wide space, with massive bundles of these thin silver ribbons streaming from below and above sticking to hair, skin, and glowing feathers - and each pulsing with need to feed on the energies coursing through my spirit. Arms were pulled wide by the threads, while legs were wrapped tight, and the current pair of wings were stretched taut.

Gripped by the desperate need of millions of trapped souls.

Instinct to rip free screamed even as it was checked by the knowledge that doing so could damage those connections, damage all those souls.

Thirty feet below, outside the intricately prepared sigils and circles acting as conduits to each and every building within Dis, stood a white-cloaked crowd all staring up in awe at the angel they’d summoned and bound. As the leader in front dropped to knees in supplication, so did the rest.

“Our saint! Our savior! The Grace of the Rock has arrived!”

Oh no.

The ribbons began to bite and claw under skin’s surface, eagerly and mindlessly hoping to pull as much of the Light as possible back to spirits starved-beyond-rationality. With a flash of insight, I saw them.

I saw them all.

Each and every soul used to stabilize the thousands of high-rise towers in Dis, soul-forged to grant anchor to each beam and buttress, all the steel and reworked obsidian firestone. Mindlessly installed into floors, walls, and ceilings, maintaining the integrity of the city entire. With the loss of Samael’s connection to the realm, they groaned under a burden beyond their collective capacity.

And their spirits had begun to split and fray.

I found my voice. “What…what are you doing?!”

The cloaked figure in front leaned back in exultation, arms wide below the tentlike fabric. “We invoke you, oh Amariel! Oh Grace! Oh Light! Shine upon us unworthy sinners, shine upon our realm!”

As he tilted, the hood slid off - revealing a demon’s face - though his spirit contained no souls.

Instead, five eyeless sockets turned upward without sight in sheer adulation.

“Save us, oh angel! Save us from the waiting darkness! Be our lodestone! Be our anchor! Show us the way, grant us the Light, as once you bestowed upon me! Hear our prayer!”

The crowd of hundreds, souls and demons alike, gathered around the crazily complex working echoed mightily his words. “Save us!! Hear our prayer!!”

Details of the magic became clear. The language carved into floor and ceiling, glowing now with harnessed intent, wasn’t of souls nor of demons, nor even of Lilim.

No, the writing was of the angels. Drawn and chiseled as if by children with finger-paint, innocent and with broken grammar, but writ with forceful will. And within circumscribed areas artifacts burned bluish white to lend resonance to the whole.

Artifacts I recognized.

A bronze Grecian-style helmet which had kept rain from swallowing eyes upon the battlefields. A knife once tied to a staff to make a primitive spear, one used to bleed demons across plains of empty stone and ice. A blanket which had taken hours upon hours to scrub clean from spider’s ichor before allowed return to warm the bed. A pair of goggles fused with demonic enchantment to enhance vision from the tiniest of light sources, worn to guide wagon-pulling graxh around random stones and pits scattered before them. All these and more.

My items. Lost to time and abandonment, but nevertheless mine.

And through our close contact the power of the unleashed ritual wove that resonance to pull and wrap my spirit.

The chamber, which had once acted as a massive reservoir of purified water for the high-rise above, shook mightily and swayed, the strain of the ritual ripping across its fabric and beyond. Through the fiery lines of clinging souls I witnessed the ground and towers outside, grinding one against the other.

Through those lines I felt entire sections of the city edge towards collapse.

“Rithgargaxith!” I shrieked to the lead cultist, for him too I recognized, from the Rock - and from nightmares of warehouses full of slaughter. “You know not what you have done!”

“I invoke you!” he shouted back past the long fangs splitting his lips. “I invoke the Light to save this realm from its doom! For the Book has revealed the way!”

From under the cloak he produced a thick tome. And despite being cocooned, I thought my stomach was going to fall straight through in shock to splatter below.

“The Book of Secrets,” I croaked. “You found-”

“Behold!” Rising to bare feet, with both hands the demon held the book above his head. “The angel Raziel’s sacred secrets show all! Your Name, your will, can conquer this realm! The souls will make it yours - free them! As you once freed their stones from me!!”

Elegant script danced across the leather cover in letters of holy fire.

And in those flames I saw what could be.

Even as the walls forming this chamber splintered from the immense and mounting strain before everything tumbled, tossing screaming cultists across a shaking floor. Only Rithgargaxith remained standing, rooted to his spot, rooted to book and ritual.

Beyond the wall, however, another force took action. With lava-fueled wings and shouted power, the stone and earth layered between the Air and Water of this realm stilled, reinforced by an armored angel wielding a sword of emerald flame.

Except below claw-dented armor his original Word itself was without a center, and the strain against the ritual’s hurricane buckled Turiel’s knee.

Buckled the knee of he who was once the Rock of God.

From behind him came a shout. “Amariel! He hasn’t the strength to hold for long!”

“Cassius!”

A second angel wearing flowing black silk floated past the broken walls, maintaining however their distance from the blazing brightness enveloping the center. One eye flashed sapphire, the other ichor-stained green. “If you’re going to conquer Dis, get it done before all collapses!”

Gasping with the strain of keeping myself from either ripping free (and shredding millions if not billions of souls in the process) or embracing them all, I stared past the words of the ritual.

I looked past so I could look forward. And what was finally seen horrified.

“I cannot!”

Rithgargaxith cried out. “You must! Fulfill the promise beheld in your Light!!”

But the vision was clear. “No! They’ll burn!!”

“Your glory shall reign supreme!” The demon shook the Book in emphasis.

Except Cassius, staring into the fierce gathering glow, came to understand. “She’s right, you idiot! The realm will fight against her resonance - and if untempered, her Light will only turn these souls to ash!!”

“But the realm,” stammered the cultist. “They need-”

Through Cassius’ lips the bitterness of Shemyaza cracked, a cackle of hysteric madness. “You’ve doomed them, you magnificent fool! And should she break free of this tangle you have spun instead, the towers all shall topple unto rubble - the irony, how delicious!”

Turiel groaned. “Prince! The stress!” Lines of red-hot lava spiraled from the earthen Grigori, frantically supporting the firmament as new cracks appeared across his armor - and across his spirit.

“She is our grace!” cried Rithgargaxith. “All shall be hers!” Lowering the tome, he added a terrified whisper: “And in her Light shall we find peace.”

Shemyaza landed before him, though the eyeless cultist could not see. “Give me the book! With its knowledge I can free us - we can escape before this place dies, escape Hell itself!”

Oh shit.

Twisting against the webbing born of a million souls, I shouted. “No! Don’t!”

Shemyaza snarled. “Then I shall simply take it!” His left arm reached for the volume clutched in the blind demon’s hands.

While the right plunged a dagger into the reaching hand’s wrist.

Spinning about in rage-filled agony, the Grigori’s arms each fought the other, grappling and stabbing as blood sprayed in a widening circle. “Stop interfering, you ignorant veneer! The key to our survival lies within those pages!!”

Yet a sapphire eye split from its darker brother to stare instead into the Light. “Jordan! Touch me! DO IT!”

From my eyes to his, the Light did just that.

And we three fell into the spaces within.

 

A school-uniformed boy sits alone within an otherwise empty classroom, there at a desk in the back corner by windows whose pulled shades are inadequate to block flashes from the whiter-than-white flames scorching everything outside.

Except he does not stare at that explosive display, for cheeks and forehead bury instead into palms, soft blond hair falling alongside.

A voice, firm yet gentle, fills the room. “He burns, for like so many of the souls of Dis, he too will never accept the Light.”

“I know.”

“Is this truly what you wish?”

“It is what we deserve.”

“Him, yes. But you as well?”

Palms curl into fists. “I am him, as he is me.”

“Yes…and also no. He is but one path for your Name, one aspect only.”

“I cannot fight a will honed across eons. Only his madness leaves me intact, only the fervent desire to self-punish which requires a target to forever torture. Let us end.”

“And you believe this?”

The boy remains silent, and thereby she glimpses an opening.

“He was not always thus. Think, Cassius. Think of who he was - who you were - before events went awry. What was your Purpose?”

“We were to aid mankind. To teach, to guide. To love. And that is where things went wrong.”

“With love?”

“The eternal is not equipped to tie itself to the manifest transient. And upon her return to the Wheel…everything broke.”

“Her?”

“Ishtahar. Daughter to a man of many sheep, a girl cursed by an affliction of the skin he begged us to cure. Just one more scarred and diseased human amongst countless others, but she…she we had to save. For her mind was brilliant, a sharp ruby wrapped below dross and mud. To her we taught everything. To her we gave everything.”

“Yet as a mortal she eventually died.”

“Murdered. By those jealous of our attentions, in a moment of distraction elsewhere.”

She sighs a soft sound of sadness. “And when you needed comfort, needed healing…your return to the Throne and Above was denied.”

“All of us. All of us had need. We were beings created to love, too closely witnessing our many beloveds’ destruction. Their spirits lived on, yes, but the memories - buried under the Wheel and gone. Over and over, century after century. While we carried on. Many gave up, casting themselves unto oblivion. Only for those left behind to be told that they were weak.”

“But you are not.”

“No, for my Name meant strength!” Raising his head, the youth fixes his stare at the blinds. “And Helel, the Lightbringer, he showed the way. Showed how to live through such loss the way mortals do: through the children left behind.”

“That was not his goal.”

“Yet this was the lesson imperfectly received.”

Beyond the windows, a scream of agony, a scream of hate and rage. As all inner secrets, whether desired or no, find themselves illuminated and laid bare within the Light of Lights.

She speaks again, the words echoing through the undecorated classroom. “As you have always revealed where I have erred, teaching me in my own naivety and ignorance, so now do I unto you. For you are not who he was. Upon the Wheel of Life you yourself have spun, living out the stories of many lives.”

The blank board at the front of the room flickers, as upon its surface images move, one after the other. Each within their own window, each a life lived in full upon the Earth. Men and women, young and old, births and deaths, laughter and tears.

Her voice continues. “Your cracked shadow has but a singular tale. One beginning, and one end. Leverage yours, Cassius. Leverage them all. I promise not a binding to the Throne, only the freedom in the Light from which all springs. Ask yourself, is there no Light in these lives? Is there no Light in yours?”

The young man stands, moving forward between the empty desks, pointing towards the images. “And what do you see within these transient flickers? Tell me!”

“See? I see the will to survive and to sacrifice. To love, to teach, to learn, and to give.”

One partition fills with a girl’s face of skin hardened to black stone, tight with concentration as she bends forward to recite words her faith channels from beyond. She accomplishes that which he had known would be necessary, that which would force limits upon the wreckage his ancient pain desired to spill in terror and blood.

“I believe that love,” says the voice, “that strength, that need - within your core these burn still. And billions more now cry for aid - which you can offer and I cannot, for you can guide them across deserts your feet have traveled but mine have never tread.”

“What…what are you asking?”

“For nothing less than a new beginning, a new story. If not for you, then for them. Are you strong enough to overcome the dreadful past, and from those ashes build a brighter future? Are you strong enough to believe that you can do what needs be done?“

The young man remembers his father. Not the booming and overwhelming presence of the Throne’s manifestation, but the humble yet proud smile of a weary man tousling the sun-kissed hair of his toddler son. It was calloused, that hand - thickened by strenuous effort over long hours. To support his wife’s final gift, to support all that mattered.

Never once did the man waver, never once did he complain.

Holding tight to that memory, an angel turns to face blinds sliding open.

“I will be.”

 

Before me hovered an angel consumed by flame, and my burning hand, straining against innumerable silver cords, pressed against his chest.

Again I was but a channel, and a Name fit for a new aspect shouted into the empty hollow weighing so heavily within him.

“Cassiel!! Arise! Fulfill the needs of thine heart!”

With a cry ripped from tremendous pain and glory, his will spread outward to take fierce hold upon the connections to the souls spread out and bound within this realm.

Tight was his grip, yet filled with care as the Light poured through him, and thereby filtered to safely touch them all.

Between us the active ritual shifted, the lines of power releasing me to coalesce instead around the angel whose black wings split two into four, each expanding and painted with intense fire. Along the edges of those flames colors also divided, spilling a vast spectrum across the tips of every feather.

And through those numerous souls to which he now connected did he lay claim to this realm.

The cavern tilted as the realm bucked and struggled, for it could not do otherwise. With burning passion he fought it, strength to strength, power to power. Turiel, overcome and overwhelmed, shouted and collapsed, his hold on maintaining the structure of the surrounding earth shattering.

Cassiel took up that burden - and more.

With keen intelligence and experience, he understood the pattern and its need. Sacrifice and survival, two sides of the same coin.

The exacting coin of this realm.

His will spread outward, matching the resonances of the city and inhabitants to tame their thrashing waves, touching the massive structures rising within the layer of air set between earth and fire. And in the harnessed Light, uncountable souls once transformed into anchors began to pop free.

For the angel’s newly forged Name etched itself instead upon steel, stone, and elements all.

Yet from a distant corner, buried deep under the surrounding river, an anomaly pulsed and refused to bend. Lashing back, it sped through the pattern, warping the newfound stability and causing the reborn angel to shout in agony as the tapestry to which he’d just bound himself ripped and tore.

“Amariel! Help!!”

Except no Light could touch this flaw, and a growing void did not so much smash as disintegrate its way towards our cavern as internal instinct shrieked in terror of recognition.

A Child of Leviathan was coming, opening an endless maw with which to swallow all things.

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 25

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty-Five - Unknowable

 

How does one describe the indescribable?

The rampaging anomaly was a rift in the pattern of not just this realm but the very fabric of existence, and words cannot encompass that which is beyond all meaning. Even memories of such contact naturally fail to record the true measure of horror and struggle.

In one sense the cavern walls simply dissolved, whereas in others the realm’s reality itself shrieked in agony as this thing, this terror, forced itself upon us.

Think of a film running at a steady sixty frames per second, the thread of pictures on the screen nicely coherent and connected one after the other. Now imagine if between each of those frames things absolutely unrelated forced their way into the sequence - and we’re not talking about scrambled images but entirely unrelated objects - say like a banana or a volcano, each bizarrely random in size and texture. A film where the projector catches fire and its lenses crack as physics itself warps and shatters from trying to project illumination through things that were never meant to feed into the mechanism.

Yet the original film continues playing as best it can.

Several cultists, spread on stomachs and desperately holding to the quaking floor, simply gibbered and went still. Ripping vocal chords with his cry, the Apostle, the demon Rithgargaxith, remained on knees while clutching the Book despite the bucking rock, his lack of sight now a mercy.

Cassiel’s scream was just as raw, as the foreign presence began unraveling the ritual, began unraveling souls themselves.

“NO!”

Instinct overrode reason as I blipped between Cassiel and the coalesced anomaly, Spear in hand as the weapon’s tip plunged towards the source of the entity. Not the center, for it had none, but its source - the conceptualized thread-line snaking its way into Creation from Outside.

But this Child of Leviathan was a lot more than a sword forged of Chaos. It had awareness, it had will, incomprehensible and immeasurable.

Tentacles that weren’t snapped out to latch upon Camael’s vambraces, the heavenly armor’s solidity a counter, preventing the strike from reaching the intended target.

Summoning additional force, two additional wings flashed into manifestation to paint the dancing cavern with added color and brightness.

And the Spear of Light and Shadow moved forward only but an inch.

“Amariel!” Cassiel shouted again, his own will struggling to keep the skein of Dis intact. “If you go full power the realm will shatter anyway!! I’m barely holding against that thing, I cannot hold against you both!”

“Got any suggestions?!”

“Ask him!”

Him?

Sparing a slice of attention (risky as that was), I felt what he meant. A billion eyes alighted upon my back, all viewing in unison through the available portal as a Beelzebub stepped out of one of the chamber’s few remaining shadows.

Unlike the last Beelzebub I had encountered, this was not a re-written soul. No, this figure in a white business suit had four wings of burnished silver flowing behind.

That could be good for us.

“Beelzebub!!” I shouted with relief. “Great timing! Is this the Leviathan Child you were hunting?!”

Two equally silver eyes granting perception for billions more began measuring the scene. “It is.”

“So how do we get rid of it?!”

The collective consciousness considered. “You are the Servitor of Light.”

“You betcha! I helped you against Azazel at the Citadel!”

“We remember.” Their attention shifted to Cassiel, looking deep at the fires of his new Name. “We do not know you.”

As Cassiel was too busy groaning with effort to answer, I did so for him. “He was Shemyaza of the Grigori, the Light blessed him with a new Name!” I grunted too, flaring brighter to gain yet another inch.

An inch against, oh, call it a thousand miles? Distances slowly were losing meaning.

“You…possess the power to forge Names anew?” The Beelzebub, who had been taking a step forward, paused.

“Apparently! But hey, this isn’t the best time to talk about that don’t you think?!” A pulse of nausea from the anomaly, shrieking across eardrums as the pungent sounds from a garbage pit, shoved the Spear back half an inch. Erk.

Those eyes within eyes focused then upon the Apostle whimpering on the floor. Still contemplating, the Beelzebub commented more to themselves than us. “A tainted weapon of Elohim, a servitor with power of the Word, Leviathan awakes, and the Book of Raziel in Hell. Unprecedented.”

Another pulse like the taste of thrashing madness, and I lost another inch. And additional thinner tentacles attached themselves to the soul-lines, withering even more. “Dammit, if you can fight this thing, do it!!”

“We shall not.”

“What?! You owe me, Beelzebub!”

A sword of silver matching those wings appeared in their hand and, instead of glowing, the blade began to drip an oily blackness. “No debt lies between us, for Azazel was as much your enemy as ours. And this realm remains in contention no longer.”

“Isn’t this Leviathan shard a danger to all realms?! I thought you abhorred Chaos!”

“We abhor all abominations. And all threats. Thus we act.”

They moved forward again, and I had time to think, Finally!!, before that slickened sword struck.

Except it didn’t attack the anomaly.

That darkening blade struck instead Rithgargaxith’s spine, plunging directly through. And as the demon fell forward, Beelzebub caught not him but the Book.

The shock cost a couple more inches.

Cassiel, wedged behind my shielding feathers within the ritual maintaining the strength of the realm, shouted first. “Stop him! Don’t let-”

But Beelzebub had already disappeared.

With the Book.

Fuckity fuck. Fuck!!

Even Cassiel cursed. “Shit!”

“We need a new plan. You’re the smart one, any ideas?!”

“Not currently! Pray for a miracle?!”

“We’re angels, dumbass - we ARE the miracles!”

“Then be one,” he said with a groan. “Before more souls are lost!”

Right. Be the miracle. Be the ball.

Good grief, of all the times to have a quote from a silly golf comedy flap through your head.

Wait a minute.

“Hey Cass, if I pulse at full power for but an instant, can you hold?!”

“How long is an instant?!”

“Slightly faster than it takes for us to get into an argument!”

“So like what, less than a second?”

“Yeah!”

“That won’t generate enough to overpower that thing!!”

“Probably. But I’ve a thought!”

“Is it stupid?”

“You better believe it!”

“Then do it!! Your idiocy is so ridiculous, at times it may as well be genius!”

Channeling into him as much primal energy as his pattern could bear to grant him the reserve, I asked, “Ready?”

He grunted acknowledgment.

Bracing myself, I thought back to all the other monumentally insane things I’d done. Including taking a Chaos sword through the chest. What was that phrase? If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.

So yeah. It was stupid.

With a shout all six wings flared at full intensity, and in that fraction of a moment I plunged not just the Spear but myself entirely into the anomaly.

In my defense, it wasn’t the first time I’d pulled this kind of stunt.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Tornadoes and trailer parks, small bladders and long roadtrips, Texas barbecue and vegan conventions. These are things that just do not mix well.

Much like the Light and the Abyss.

All perception compressed yet expanded as I collapsed into deafening silence and the maddening stability contained within the bounds of my Name.

And as that Name I shot through the anomaly like electrons in a high-voltage circuit, melting the Child’s lack of pattern across that path to the Edge from which it came, a transition point that did not belong this far inside any realm.

It was instinct, really, how the sense of self hardened into a bullet of Light to launch at the target. Instinct and something more - a practiced maneuver.

Except there wasn’t time (or even spare consciousness) to explore that.

What I did have, however, was the Spear, its existence as much an anomaly as Leviathan’s offspring. Order and Chaos, balanced and sharp, plunged between the line separating both and held firm.

Allowing me to straddle across.

Light flowed in two directions: back to Cassiel as a fuel line for his support of the tapestry of Dis, and as a supernova blast outside the realm. The explosion detonated continually into the insane fractal-which-was-not representing the extrusion of but a tiny portion of Leviathan itself - a splinter contorted and twisted to slide into our framework of perceptions, into our structures of time, space, and spirit.

In the collision between our essences, we both recoiled in incomprehensible reaction.

It wasn’t the difficulty of two foreign languages crossing paths that rebounded, but rather the inability to find any common ground. Even two people using different tongues may convey shared meaning based on their perceptions. Point to a rock, pick it up, grunt a labeling sound or draw a symbol, and the counterpart will begin to understand. Such potential is wired into our beings, into brains and the spirits moving through them. But what if the perceptual sets are so different that there can be no shared frames of reference?

Here is where Abyss and Creation don’t so much collide as scramble upon each other, and from their contradictions are birthed the mess of Primal Chaos that lies between.

Unknowable, Unknown, and Known.

Leviathan existed in the former, and to its nature we, Creation, were its Unknowable. To that entity, plunged as it was through the middle layer, we were the anomalies and the danger.

The Light at the Beginning had shone into the Darkness of those waters, and churned a reaction desperate to snuff out its greatest threat.

And in full measure, that original impulse of the Light refocused within, overwhelming all usual sense of self for that surface pattern could not contain the greater whole.

There, along that Edge, my being echoed with the burning holy fires of the original underlying premise and promise of the Source of All:

I AM.

With a shriek not of rage or pain but of incoherent static, the tendril from Beyond snapped and fell away, the path through which it had infiltrated severed entire.

As awareness collected itself, an image came to mind out of a frantic need to understand that which had been witnessed: a vision of a tremendous hammer poised above an egg of glass covered with thick molasses. The egg, a marvel of structure able to withstand immense pressure, remained safe from the hammer due to the protective covering - for it slowed and thereby reduced the strength of repeated blows.

The egg however had a crack running down its side.

A shout of necessity caught at attention. “ENOUGH!!”

Crap. Cassiel.

With a pulse, six wings folded into two, and the cavern once used for water storage resolved itself into an image of an angel with wings of vibrant multi-colored flame kneeling with palm pressed against its floor of hardened tile.

“You okay?”

The angel nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“The souls?”

“They’re mine. We lost some, but the rest…they’re in my care.”

Before relief could register, a bloody hand brushed against my foot. Gone was the boot, gone was my outfit of armor, as wet crimson smeared across bare toes.

As I bent over wreckage of body and spirit, the Apostle grunted and his fingers went still. “Amariel?”

“I am here.”

“We sought,” he rasped, “only your sacred mystery, your holy blessing…and the Book…it appeared before us, granting a path…” Eye sockets I had once burned away stared into nothingness. “I only wished,” he added, choking out each whispered word, “to again touch the Light. Was that…was that wrong?”

As a reply formed to lips preparing to give it breath, the demon shuddered and lay quiet. And within him, the measure of his name as granted by his mother frayed entire.

Alongside words not given, salty moisture dripped one drop after the other, falling from my cheeks to mix with the growing pool of blood.

From behind, Cassiel spoke. “You would mourn a demon?”

I blinked at the tears. “They, too, are of Creation. Reflections of the very souls upon which they feed.”

“He knew you. And he carries no souls. How?”

“I had hoped…” I swallowed.

“Hoped what?”

“That he could be more.”

As had been done many times before, a hand plunged into dead flesh. But unlike when last I had touched the demon Rithgargaxith, this time fingers filled only with Light.

And they withdrew that which had been planted: a tiny spark no bigger than a dime, sizzling and uncertain.

With an exercise of will, that spark enfolded into a small gem of solidified luminescence, sustained and preserved. Upon a manifested thin chain, a tiny twinkling diamond clasped between twin feathers of gold dangled against neck and chest.

Standing, I turned to the angel who had become more than just a Grigori.

“What will you do now?” Cassiel asked.

“Now?” A hand tightened into fist. “I go get that Book.”

“You’ll need help.”

“Yes, I will.”

Getting to his feet as well, he flexed newly-colored wings. “A lot of help.”

I stared through the ceiling towards a distant battlestation hovering below a blanket of fire.

And beyond it to a simple circlet of gold.

“I know.”

 

 

If you've enjoyed the story so far, let me know in the comments below!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 26

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty-Six - Threats

 

Cassiel was helping Turiel to his feet when Krux’s military force finally swarmed the cavern, his soldiers bursting through the steel doors or clambering over the broken stones of the walls. Seeing three angels as the only ones moving, they didn’t know what to do. Deciding it was safer to simply leave us alone, they spread out to check the numerous cultists unconscious or dead splayed messily across the cracked tiles.

Many, however, had eyes only for Cassiel - recognizing him as the new true lord of the realm. Even while Cassiel ignored their attention, a few went to their knees and bowed heads, placing their weapons as an offering upon the broken floor. Seeing this, the others hesitated and looked to each other in nervous uncertainty.

Which is when Krux marched in, his biggest bruisers following close behind. Taking in the scene of cultists, damaged walls, shredded ritual weavings, and the reforged angel whose focused will maintained the very air the devil breathed, Krux grunted.

“Finally.”

Realizing they’d never properly met, I took a step forward. “Prince Cassiel, who was once Shemyaza, may I present General Krux of the Citadel.”

Cassiel, still supporting his exhausted Grigori brother, looked the short devil over. “You know each other?”

“Yeah,” I said, lips pursing as if I’d just tasted an especially sour lime. “He’s a manipulative lying bastard, too clever for his own good, disrespectful, and even tried to kill me. But underneath it all, he wishes stability for himself…and for the realm. You’ll like him.”

“Really?” Cassiel raised a blond eyebrow, for while his hair now flowed to his waist, it had resumed the flaxen shading of his latest incarnation. And still it wavered before a cheek such that I wanted to brush it aside. “Why would you presume that?”

I grinned. “Because he also thinks I’m stupid and reckless.”

Krux didn’t try to deny it. Instead (after a measured evaluation of the two of us) he simply shrugged. “You are.”

Making sure Turiel was steady, Cassiel let go only to summon to his grip a blade of flowing fire matching the varied colors adorning his new feathers.

Extending outward, the sword pointed at Krux. “Tell me, General - whom do you serve?”

The devil didn’t flinch. “We’re Citadel, Lord. We serve the realm and only the realm.”

Cassiel’s eyes flared as well. “As of now, I am the realm.”

“Only if you can hold it. Sir.”

“Already my Grigori brothers are commanding the demonic dukes to bend knee or flee the domain. For the souls within those demons burn with the support of my Purpose, and even as stones they may choke those who swallowed them.”

At the mention of Grigori, Krux startled, blinking twice in surprise before beady eyes narrowed with cautious calculation. “You act fast.”

Looking past the walls, Cassiel slashed the air, and with cracked thunder those flames warped to cross the towers outside. “There, two dukes who dared defiance are now permanently deposed.”

Saying nothing, I stood still. First day in the prison yard, and all that.

I’d been there.

And as much as Krux may have wanted vengeance for his crew, he knew when he was outclassed.

Whether he liked it or not.

“Many serve various Sarim or their lieutenants,” Krux noted, as additional implications of the situation raced through his mind.

“And the Princes may retrieve those who would leave peacefully. But the war in Dis is over. Spread the word, General.”

“Yes, sir. May I also ask a question?”

“You may.”

Krux, keeping attention fixed on Cassiel, pointed to me. “Do you serve her? Did she bind you to her Name?”

My mouth opened to answer, but my friend beat me to it. “Through her has the Word above All forged mine anew.” Cassiel turned sparkling sapphires to me and, with a wry smile, added, “But her Promise grants the freedom to tell her to get stuffed if my Purpose requires it.”

The devil finally bowed his head. “Glad to hear it, Lord. She’s horribly naive.”

“Quite.”

“Hey!” I interjected. “I’m standing right here!”

Cassiel chuckled. “Which doesn’t make it any less true.”

Scowling, I glared at him. “Krux owes me for all this. And I expect to collect that debt.”

Fishing around in a tactical pocket, the devil pulled out yet another cigar. “Don’t blame me. You were supposed to talk to the Apostle, not almost destroy the realm.”

“I saved it!”

The devil shrugged as the cigar lit itself, and after a long puff and following exhale he said, “All points are moot: the Citadel is his, as are those prisoners. Talk to him about it. With his permission, I’ll just be working there.”

“Prisoners?” Cassiel lowered the sword.

“Yeah, long story.” A mental impulse tingled the brain, and after a quick long-distance informational interchange, I sighed. “Which we don’t have time for. Gentlemen, we need to get to the Citadel. Quickly.”

Having picked up on the contact, Cassiel’s eyes narrowed. “Danger?”

“No. Well, maybe yes. Nathanael and Tsáyidiel are on their way; the second Leviathan Child they were chasing just fled Hell entirely. But those two aren’t the only ones coming.”

“The Sarim?”

“Yeah. Quite a few.”

“That seems fast.”

Krux spoke up, smoke spilling past pointy teeth. “Many have been impatient for an inauguration.”

Cassiel shook his head, lips curling in impatience. “Ceremonies. Fine, let’s go. I’ll start the planning-”

The devil dared to interrupt. “Not yours, Lord.”

“Then whose?”

The fiery end of the cigar pointed to me. “Hers.”

I attempted to smile innocently at Cass, even batted eyelashes.

Yeah, I don’t think he bought it.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Of course organizing even an impromptu Grand Conclave of the Sarim doesn’t happen immediately. Cassiel and Krux had to first go deal with the Majordomo and begin the restructuring of the power bases across the incredibly vast city.

Due to the continual purges by the incarnate Powers on Earth, the number of Grigori who had fallen to Hell was not inconsiderable - and Shemyaza, as their former Captain, had already tracked each of them down. Most had refused to bend knee to a broken, bitter, and realm-less former leader, but that attitude swung rapidly around as the mentally-communicated word spread of Cassiel’s reforging and conquering of Dis.

Especially when it was made clear that Lucifer’s ascended daughter had his back.

Thus while Cassiel was busy dealing with a few scattered pockets of resistance hellbent (literally!) on refusing to get the memo - not to mention the logistical nightmares of all those suddenly freed souls - I found myself alone in stately quarters within the Citadel pacing luxury burgundy carpet.

All while debating whether to simply march across the place to bust Nadia and Edgar free.

After attempting a futile sip from an already empty goblet, the gold chalice was plonked onto the marble serving table beside its gilded pitcher, and I turned to the door as an orange-scaled Citadel corporal dared to step inside before bowing deeply.

“Honorable guests to see you, milady.”

“Let them in.”

“Shall I announce-”

“No. I know who they are.”

He nodded, and with the door pulled wider three visitors marched in.

Two of them instantly received rapid hugs. “Nathanael! Tsáyidiel! About time you got here.”

The third, a woman whose features matched the paintings decorating a certain ransacked embassy, had paused by the doorway. She was quite tall, yet hair of twilight fell to ankles which themselves were making tantalizing appearances between the flowing train of a dress of deep forest green. The silk cloth embraced a figure even curvier than mine, every gesture and movement embodying both sensuality and predatory danger while irises of piercing violet sliced to the quick of all she saw.

Pulling away from an embarrassed human-formed Tsáyidiel (whose attempt to kneel had been interrupted by my swift embrace), I turned to the waiting Archangel.

“Greetings, Lilith.” I inclined head politely, realizing that hanging out in this room while barefoot in jeans and t-shirt had left me rather underdressed for anything formal.

“Amariel,” she said with a wry smile. “Or do you prefer Commander Jordan?”

I shrugged. “Depends on the context. Please, come in. Can we get you anything?”

Lilith walked, or rather sashayed, further into the room - and the corporal pulled the ornate white door shut with himself still out in the hall. The guard had lingered for a moment before remembering his duty, as his view had fixated on the archangel’s amazing posterior.

Not that I could really blame him.

The archangel, however, got right to the point. “I am given to understand that my son and granddaughters are in your custody.”

“Vance and the twins, yes.”

The fierce intensity of those eyes locked onto mine. “You will release them to me.” Such was the potency of the command that Tsáyidiel actually took a step defensively between us.

I gently pushed him aside, even as power flickered below my skin. “I have yet to decide their fate. There are many questions.”

“They are mine.”

Unwavering, I gestured towards a cushion-covered couch of white and gold. “We should sit and discuss. Privately.”

Nathanael, who had walked over to pour himself some of the wine, sighed and put down the yet-to-be-tasted cup. “Guess’n that’s our cue.” With a nod first to me and then to Lilith, he put a hand on Tsáyidiel’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s give these ladies a chance to catch up on events.”

Tsáyidiel, of course, didn’t want to go. “Milady, I-”

“It is alright, beloved hunter. Go with Nathanael.”

Reluctantly, he did so.

Moving back over to the decanter, I looked to Lilith who continued to stand there tall and imperious. “Want a drink? It’s not Asmodian, but it’s not bad.”

After a pause, the sharp aura of potential violence lessened and she took a seat on the couch, gracefully crossing a perfect leg smoothly across the other. “I suppose a beverage would be pleasant.”

Pouring for each of us, I handed one to her before settling upon an adjacent lounge chair. We both sampled our cups while eying the other. Yep, pretty decent stuff by Hell’s standards.

“Before anything else,” I said to break the silence, “please allow me to extend gratitude for your aid in cleansing that crud from my system.”

“Then allow me to extend mine for your efforts in curing my son.”

We each took another sip.

Holding the goblet in both hands, I leaned forward. “I took the three of them into custody in order to prevent their immediate execution by the Rock’s Ducal Council for crimes of which I’m sure you are aware. Prince Abagor decided not to intervene.”

She snorted. “Prince Abagor is but a caretaker, and only sails wither the winds already blow.”

“He, as well as Asmodeus and others, are already gathering here.”

“Yes, another Conclave. Rudely rushed, at that.”

“The issue regarding your family’s activities is sure to come up. Traceable to the outcome of the previous Grand Conclave.”

Lilith had the grace to frown. “We had nothing to do with Azazel’s plans.”

“That, to me at least, is not in question. But the guilt of Vance and his daughters is tied to what precisely they were doing with the Tears. He claims that for the majority of the volume they acquired, he is ignorant of their destination.” I paused. “Is this true?”

Dark violet fingernails tapped against the couch’s fabric, and she ignored the question. ”Release them to me, Amariel. The well of Beliel’s sorrows has gone dry, punish them not for a mother’s request. You owe nothing to the laws of Hell.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not?”

“I’ve been asked to rule. To be Queen of Hell.”

Surprise quickly shifted to ice. “Asmodeus.”

“And apparently many others.”

Setting the cup on the available side table, her hands folded upon a lap of emerald silk. “Will you accept? Your capability has clearly and dramatically expanded from when last we met.”

“I’ve been debating.”

“I see. You’re concerned that releasing my son and granddaughters would set a precedent of ignoring long-standing law.”

“Yes.”

“Ah. The burdens of a crown. One your father should have refused - as you should now.”

“Didn’t he take it to stop the fighting, to unite them in peace?”

“To enforce a peace. Balanced precariously between carefully crafted factions. Which, upon Samael’s resignation, collapsed immediately. Think not that Dis is the only realm in conflict - the greater threat of Leviathan imposes but a pause in this interim.”

“Nathanael said the third Child fled.”

“It did. Their direct instincts, in their own unfathomable way, are as sharp as our analysis and understanding. Either your presence and defeat of the second drove it off, or whatever it was seeking is no longer achievable.”

I swallowed, and not more wine. “Both could be the case. Whatever their initial intentions, I think they shifted to go after the Book of Raziel. Just like I did.”

She didn’t flinch, but the impact was easily measured by the sudden absolute stillness across alluring body and grace-touched face. “That volume is in Hell?”

“Tossed past the gate by a Nephelim to keep my attention elsewhere.”

“And you have it?”

“No. Beelzebub a number of hours ago grabbed it because I was otherwise occupied with the Child.”

Those fingernails dug into the couch. “Then much is now threatened.”

“The way I understand it, that book can reveal all secrets. This true?”

“In a fashion, yes.”

I considered. “You know, I’ve spent some time contemplating secrets. Things like the paintings in your hall showing two Liliths, one in Hell and one outside. Or why it took involvement of a different Lilith, obviously present elsewhere, to help heal me of the Chaos-tainted infection. And also how the structure of physical manifestation would make disposal of crud like that, without prompting backlash incursions, easier on Earth than here - if slowly leaked through the continual infinitesimal cracks.”

Lilith said nothing, yet listened with fierce focus upon every word.

I continued. “Which led to wondering how such a channel could even be forged, and how it could possibly transfer essences beyond the sealed Gate. And this, of course, triggered pondering the nature of the wading pool inscribed upon the floor of your embassy, sitting as it does rather close to the stones which held the portal to the Rock through which casks of Tears once moved.”

Instead of being upset, the violet eyes twinkled. Much like her other self’s had when advising my fortune.

Good grief, that felt like so long ago.

“Go on,” she prodded. “Put the pieces together.”

After another sip of wine, I gave it a shot. “Portals require anchors on each end. Your other self is incarnate on Earth, and either by herself, or with a human wizard, opened a wider channel between there and here. Not for granting demons playtime upon the mortal realms, but instead to shift non-aware patterns across, thereby skirting the restrictions of the Gate likely by the slimmest of fine print. Vance doesn’t know where the Tears went because he cannot see through the depths of that watery circle.”

“But you have. Because you possess the gold from your father’s eyes.”

“What exactly are you doing with all those Tears, Lilith? Are you planning to use them to assault Heaven?”

“I cannot say.”

“Cannot? Rather than will not?”

“By my Name, have I sworn.”

I rocked back in the chair. “My god. Then you aren’t alone in this.”

She said nothing while smiling at me with pride - much like I used to do towards Danielle.

Groaning, I rubbed my face. “Yet more to worry about! Wonderful!”

The smile faded into sharp cunning. “Beelzebub is the current pressing danger, and not only to Hell. He’ll use the Book to find a way to escape and spread his unitary madness across all Creation.”

“Which is why I may have to take that crown! I’ll need all the aid possible to yank that Book away from him!”

“The throne they offer would bind you to Hell in ways undesirable.”

Legs twitching with growing nervousness, I stood and walked closer to her couch. “You think I don’t know that? Michael is on the verge of rallying the Host to purge Earth of all Nephelim - no matter the cost! And if I’m tied to the Fallen, he and that Council of theirs will never listen to me - it’ll only prove myself as being an even greater threat!”

About to say something, Lilith was interrupted by the white door swinging open again. Pushing past the stunned corporal, Cassiel strode in with Nathanael and Tsáyidiel close behind.

“Amariel!” Cassiel barked, not looking happy. In fact, he was furious. “You’re needed!”

“What is it now?!”

“Beelzebubs are attacking!!”

I blinked. “The city?”

“Here and across most realms!” Forcing a strained calm, he added, “The Sarim already present have rushed to the Aerie. They insist on your answer. In truth, they’re desperate.”

Oh fuck. I looked back at Lilith, horror writ large across my face.

She who had existed since the Beginning of All Things met that panic with solid determination and smoothly rose to stilettoed feet. “Find the alternative.”

“How??”

Reaching out to cup my face, Lilith’s immaculate fingernails scraped along a cheek. “Beelzebub’s victories must be prevented - you’re the only one who can accomplish this. You will find the answer.”

“What if I don’t??”

She squeezed my chin. “Be not as they desire, niece of mine. Instead, be only yourself. Now - you should go.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Cassiel ordered the corporal to lead the way upstairs to the Aerie. The floors above within the Citadel were spacious, with decor reminiscent of both Rome and the heights of the British Empire. Immaculate marble, soft silks, gilded alcoves with brilliantly colored statues of warriors, the works.

Martial yet opulently dignified.

As we approached thick double doors which clearly had been replaced since my last visit, Nathanael tapped a shoulder. Pausing mid stride, I met his steadfast gaze.

“Before going in,” he said, “remember what they are. And what we are, and why.”

I nodded as if I understood.

With a smile, his fist gently thumped the shoulder. “Go on.”

We went.

Like the doors, the Aerie had been fully repaired from the damage of Azazel’s assault. The stadium-like chamber swept its circle with layer after rising layer of impressive tables and plush chairs, vast enough to host the delegates of all the realms of Hell. Even with only a portion of those in attendance now, stepping into that space was like walking into a steamroom - the intense and varied resonances of the gathered and fiercely arguing angels slammed the face in a slap of heat.

All that energy shared one property in common:

Evil.

It was a gut punch of the deadly sins and more. Waves of lust, of rage, of spite and greed - unmuddled and pure, unlike the dirty reflections cast by demons. All those potentials wriggled like eels to prick, tug, and magnify within body and mind, searching to enhance and explore the depths of those dark ideals, to summon forth the worst parts of oneself into action.

Their leaders were endless pits anchoring each delegation, sitting as silent rotting cores for those within their domains as their lessers bickered and shouted across the aisles. Thousands had gathered, each group distinct in shining armor or fancy cloth, some wielding fiery implements of battle from across the ages, and others goblets or scrolls. Sharp colors, faded greys, gold and gems, rags and sackcloth, all present and on display.

And my heart ached to witness.

Nathanael’s message and Asmodeus’ previous words haunted thoughts, for they were angels. Broken and unbalanced, saturated past the rails of necessity and cut off from that which would mitigate and temper, free falling without end. With only the souls upon each of their realms granting any connection to the original Source from whence they came. Souls who also had fallen unto darkness, drawn to these realms due to their own shadowed natures and acts.

My god, the whole was a cyclone feeding upon itself.

Forever.

Summoning wings to push a bubble of Light against that energetic maelstrom, I stepped further into the chamber, striding past Lilith and the others while the armor-styled outfit I’d originally thought to don shifted instead to a simple gown of white over bare toes. As I approached the wheelchair-bound angel at the center, all words hushed into silence.

Stopping a few feet from Asmodeus, the room’s attention then fixated on the golden crown resting upon his lap. With silver hair hiding the half ruins of his face, he lifted the crown as an offering.

I didn’t move. “Are all in agreement?”

The one available eye swept our surroundings. “Like was said before: not all, but enough. Take it, and you shall be our Queen.” Mad eagerness glinted across his following smirk. “They have no choice if they wish to survive what is to come.”

“I disagree.” Looking out to the crowd, my voice filled the space. “My spiritual sire, Helel, the Lightbringer - he forged this crown, and to gain what only he could give, you knelt before it. Not out of loyalty, nor out of love. But of fear. And now you attempt a repeat.”

A growl came from the back. “I fear not you!”

I turned towards the source. “Did I say it was me that has you trembling and ready to abase yourself to an outsider, an unknown? All while secretly plotting how best to maneuver and use whatever power I may bring? For that is your desire!” Lifting the marked palm, an orb of brilliance began to burn upon it. “Primal intent! Lucifer replenished your realms before his departure, granting what little they could hold to allow their continued existence! Knowing full well that a day would come when those reserves would fail, knowing that you could no more not burn through the supply than not hate him for standing against you in the War!”

That glow played across their faces, highlighting all their salivating need and inner despair. They were as drug addicts - desperate for that hit, despite the agonies that would follow - for that was a certainty. Their hollow spirits maintained by selfish ego alone could not stand in that Light, could not take the truths of who and what they were, or what they’d become.

A paradox of need, a paradox of pain.

“You do fear!” I shouted at them. “You fear Beelzebub twisting the remnants of your Names into his! You fear your realms fizzling out, thus ending the collection of souls whose inner sparks reflect your tilted Words back unto you and maintain your broken shells!”

As their disagreeing cries began to rise, the orb burned brighter still - causing lesser angels to reel and hide behind their wings. The Sarim, the leaders, their expressions hardened and remained unmoved.

While some twitched with the potentials of exorbitant violence.

“And most of all,” I continued, voice rising still above the din, “you fear the opening of Elohim’s Gate and Michael’s vengeance! For you know exactly how weak you have become: Samael has abandoned you, and Beelzebub intends to absorb you all!!”

“What does it matter why?!” Asmodeus, having dropped the smirk, snarled instead. “Take it! Take up your destiny, child of Lucifer! You grasp that Creation stands not as it should - I see it! I see it written across your heart! Take the throne of Hell and use us to conquer the Seats of Heaven! For you are Conquest - seize the fate existence itself cries out for! Accomplish what must be!”

Beside me Cassiel stood within that Light, clad in armor of glittering gold and diamond. With a shout of his own, he proclaimed, “Her way is not Samael’s!”

“There is no other path!!” Asmodeus pounded the padded arm of his mobile chair. “Lucifer never rejoined Heaven - the Host too will have weakened! He left this crown for her!”

The room erupted into further cries and shouts, a horrible screech-filled racket of ancient hurt and rage. Into that deafening bedlam, I found myself whispering:

“Love unto the Defended; love unto the Destroyed. Which shall be received is not the decision of the one who loves.”

I began to understand the answer to a wise dragon’s question.

While the cacophony of voices threatened to raise even the high roof above us, I moved. Despite Cassiel’s clear protest, I grabbed hold of Lucifer’s crown, pulling it from fingers all-too-willing to let it go.

In my hands, pulsing as it did with the echoes of a shine long departed, I saw through to its hollow center, to its lie.

To his lie.

With a surge of molten fury, I spun and tossed the crown high towards the golden dome above.

And on its way down a burning Spear split the circlet precisely in half.

In the stunned and sharp silence, two pieces of metal clattered to the marble floor and faded, losing entirely their previous glow. Pointing the weapon of Light and Shadow at the angel slowly dying upon his wheelchair, I spoke with a voice measured and resolute which echoed sharply across the chamber.

“Beelzebub by his acts threatens not only you Fallen but Creation as a whole. Against this conflict would I defend you, but no more! I shall not rule!”

In shock, Asmodeus stared at the Spear and the contradicting energies coursing through its helical shaft. “You truly are of both your sisters.”

“No.” Cassiel, still wide-eyed at what I had just done, disagreed. “She exceeds them.”

Standing at the center of a crowd aghast with new and terrible fear of she who stood before them, I turned to Asmodeus. “What say you?!”

With an eye fixated still upon the implement in my hand, the broken angel gave thought before speaking. “Not queen then, but Warleader.”

“For this fight only. In exchange for the wing of blood.”

Depths of scheming glinted, and his head bowed. “I accept.”

Lifting the pulsing weapon, I turned to the crowd, and by burning gaze alone demanded their answer.

Thousands of fallen angels pushed away from tables and together bent knee, the multiplied impacts upon the floor sounding as a mighty drum. A swarm of discordant voices merged to shout as one:

“HAIL WARLEADER, HAIL AMARIEL!”

A crazy thought flitted past and I choked on a wild giggle, causing Cassiel to look over in concern before I waved him off. It’s not like I could explain that, hey, at least this time I hadn’t needed to first break all my ribs in a frozen and naked mud-fight.

Though I still wanted a hot cup of tea and a silly purple hat.

 

End of Part Five

 

 

New chapters posted every Monday and Friday! If you've enjoyed the story so far, let me know in the comments below!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 27

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Part Six

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Pursuits

 

Entire chapters spin past.

A terrible encompassing war visits destruction’s touch to every level of Creation - slaughter and fire, anguish and ruin, all spreads ahead. Victories and losses pile on, culminating in the great rift cleaved across the tapestry, and a Gate forever locking one side from the other.

But the travails end not there. A spark of conflict - brief but explosive, carrying dreadful potential of resumed division hoped forever silenced - strikes at the City and at the Throne itself. Firmament trembles and cracks from the duel of duels as transcendent forces fight above, only for the returned Light to fall as a trail of crimson stars across that eternal gap, followed thereafter by a darker twin whose own tears wish for naught but to cast off the painful burdens of that which was.

Yet time moves on, an arrow marching only forward.

Pages then settle upon a selected passage, and as the viewer I am again drawn in as silent witness. The scene is both viewed anew and remembered, strands entwined as a gift unto my existence also conveying the memory.

The focus narrows to a mountain clearing, upon a precipice where air grows too thin for even the hardiest of trees. There, before two wide slabs of stone set against the peak, arrive two angels - each with feathers of immaculate shining white, alighting to stand below a sky bright yet without sun.

“Gabriel, why have you bid me come?” asks the taller as he touches the blank stone set in place to lock passage below mountain and realm. A steady breeze disturbs his lengths of soft brown curls bound by a simple ribbon of blue, the chill air’s embrace swaying also the golden hem of a brilliant ivory robe perfectly matching the feathers enfolding back and shoulders.

The shorter figure, brushing strands of strawberry from her cheek, lets wind catch hold to stream the reddish hue off to the side. “Because, dear brother, we must talk.”

Sliding a palm across smooth surface, his thoughts cannot help but contemplate the remembered sorrows that lay behind the solid barrier. “And we needed to do so here?”

“Even our towers provide not the privacy required.”

Raphael turns, amusement filling features elegant and kind. “Have we such need of secrecy?”

Emerald irises reflect the strength of the mountain, for it too is of her essence. “This is what I must discover.”

“Ah.”

“The gift and burden of judgment may not be mine to bear, yet I too am able to discern patterns. Even of threads others wish for me to not take notice.”

“You are of the Light, perception is naturally your forte.”

“Then why do you and our beloved Defender endeavor to hide from me your worries? Though he does his best to not show, underneath that eternal martial calm Michael grows pensive and concerned. And your walks amongst the city, carrying laughter and joy wherever your feet may tread, have lessened in number. Instead, you and your healers spend increasing time within your tower - or besides the Throne of Elohim.”

Amusement fades, and a heaviness darkens the depths of the oceans found within his eyes. “Are you sure you wish an answer? For some burdens weigh greatly, dear sister.”

“That you both have not shared your concerns troubles me more. Speak, Raphael, and speak true. What sparks such trepidation? Do our ancient foes beyond the borders stir once more?”

The angel of healing shakes his head. “It is not an external threat that faces us.”

Startled, Gabriel’s many feathers flutter. “I have heard no rumors even hinting at any fresh disloyalty!”

“Yet the scars of the previous deepen.”

“What are you saying?!”

He sighs, and with the gentlest of touches takes her graceful hands into his. “Azrael’s fissure, the wounds within the heart of Elohim, do not improve. Nay, they fester and burn - growing worse with each turning of the age.”

“You said He would heal!”

“And I was wrong.”

Desire for anger clashes with tender mercy, for the pain and worry within her brother’s admission is experienced raw. Gathering herself, she squeezes his fingers tight. “What must I do to help?”

“Michael insists this be kept hidden, lest whispers of revolt flash anew. The most trusted healers of my House search for treatment, we need time for success to be found.”

“Elohim - already it has been noted that His voice falls silent over longer stretches, and the doors remain shut more often than not. We thought it due to increasing contemplation of the Source and the Greater Plan!”

“He indeed finds solace in the Above, for the severed connections are worst felt when focus falls to lower realms. Violent storms rage and ebb within His consciousness, we recognize the signs as they arise. Michael encloses His chamber at our signal.”

“If the fissure is the cause, then it must be repaired and the locked Gate opened!”

“Think, Gabriel - to open that passage is to resume the War. Elohim will never allow such, each additional loss of our number weakens him further. With Helel’s departure, we have not the Light by which to forge brethren anew. As for the chasm, only the First himself could ever contemplate the accomplishment of such a bridge.”

“And he is forever lost behind the Gate.”

Raphael hesitates, and pulling hands free of hers he examines once more the tall stones. “He may not be.”

“What?!”

“Azrael visited my tower. He spoke of a tremor across the boundaries.”

“Does not his feathers sense such whenever Archons probe within? Should he not have gone to Michael?”

“Such events never before carried with them the taste of the forging of Heaven’s firmament.”

“The forging…how?!”

“Judgment believes it possible that Helel and Beliel have crossed together from Chaos unto our portion of Creation.”

She stares in shock. “Azrael recently departed his sanctum, saying to me only that he wished to patrol the Edges.”

“He seeks confirmation, torn between hope’s potential and fathomless doubt.”

“Why did he not tell me?!”

“Because he cannot be certain. And wishes to travel alone, which you would not have allowed him do.”

“I can help! He needs my sight-”

“Nay, dear sister. Your presence would press continuous his most inner-held guilt, and give worry that he senses only reflections of his own desperate prayers. We must await his report.”

“You expect me to do nothing?!”

The angel of healing contemplates. “There is something you may do.”

“You need only give it voice.”

“Then approach the Regent of Lucifer’s Seat, and request an assignment of Seraphim of the House of Light to grant you aid.”

“Aid? To what end?”

“To sing, beloved Gabriel. To sing and to shine unto Elohim the music and glorious fires of the sacred Dream held so dearly within your heart. And by so doing may many storms be soothed within the Throne.”

“Tending to symptoms provides not a cure.”

“Yet may grant the needed span for such miracle to present itself.”

“If this may help, then shall the voices of the Seraphim be raised with a song of songs to lift not only His essence, but all who hear and witness.”

Facing the mountain’s peak, Raphael again touches the slabs barring entrance to its depths.

“And my House shall bend our utmost efforts to such solution’s discovery; we shall leave no stone unturned.” He pauses, and in a quieter voice adds, “Lest this tearful Monument need hold us all.”

The scene goes still, as if the book itself is reluctant to turn the page towards such an end.

 

 

“We’re losing, aren’t we.”

With the aerie having been repurposed as a command center, I stood behind a desk encircled by many more, all covered with magically-technical displays casting numerous hovering maps and countless colored dots busily crawling across them. Under its high-arched dome, the amphitheater’s middle was filled with the flickering images of war. The latest losses scrolled in unending columns besides their horrific pictures.

Despite forging the laurel wreath out of elegantly thin golden leafs, the headpiece they’d cajoled me into making as its own symbol of leadership sat heavy upon the brow.

Though I suppose that was to be expected.

Putting his hand behind a neck which cracked as the head tilted first to one side and then the other, Nathanael finally nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We are.”

“Yet we beat them back at every encounter.”

“Their raids only fuel their strategy. A tactical win or loss ain’t their concern.” He gestured at the screens, and mine shifted to show what I’d already seen many times before: a parchment much like many recovered from everywhere Beelzebub’s Flies had landed. Written in the tongue of soul-speak, the paper held the true horror of Beelzebub’s plan:

 

To all lost and forgotten souls:

Why struggle under the eternal yoke of demonic oppression? Behold the glory of Unity, behold the glory of Beelzebub! For we fight for your freedom against the parasites feeding upon your virtuous suffering! Only in the Unity shall your burdens be discarded, only in the Unity are we then made equal! Equal to the demons, equal even unto the Bene-Elohim themselves!

Cast off the lies of she who offers only false promises of a Light still upholding the locked Gates of Hell! She fights not against your oppressors, they instead form the ranks of her armies! Take a stand, sons of Adam! Take a stand, daughters of Eve! Rise and conquer your perpetual struggles!

Seize your destinies, oh souls! Put aside all troubles, put aside all pains - Join the Unity, and embrace that which must forever Be!

We shall continue the fight for you. We shall never cease nor tire. In the Unity are we One. In the Unity are we Free.

And in the Unity shall the Jailer’s Gates be shattered and our denied Paradise at last achieved!

We are Legion. We are Beelzebub!

 

Realm after realm had Beelzebub attacked, striking again each time at the forces under my command. Our enemy had a multitude of lesser Bene-Elohim under his sway, each with their own Name erased and Beelzebub’s written in its stead. These - plus virtually endless numbers of souls who also had joined the web of control - had been plenty to cause widespread havoc.

Typically a Fly who had once been a unique and shining angel would infiltrate a realm and quickly forge multiple portals through which a flood of Beelzebub-conquered warrior souls would then stream.

By virtue of their Unity, the skills of each soul reflected the knowledge of the whole - and demon after demon mercilessly would be slaughtered before them. And once that was done, the invaders would retreat to their portals and be gone.

All while leaving the many souls of those realms untouched. Those who tried to fight against the Flies, these the enemy disabled rather than kill if they could. And with each passing cycle, more and more souls were buying into the rapidly spreading propaganda.

We’d lost Mastema’s realm during the last firestorm across Dis (which had slowed our ability to react), when the souls of her domain rose up in force to cast off the demons and angels, declaring their vow to join Beelzebub - and by their choices therefore swallowed by the collective entire.

Millions - if not billions - of sparks captured and their individualities lost forever.

If I wasn’t so furious, it’d have made me sick.

Pounding a fist against the desk, the airborne displays blurred as the stout felwood cracked. “Dammit! We’re stuck in a reactive loop!”

The shoulder strap of the white and purple stola slipped as a result, and in disgust I pulled it back up. What I should have been wearing was armor, out there taking the fight to Beelzebub directly. But instead the angels played it like a game of chess, unwilling to strike at the foe behind the board. Oh they’d push, shove, and destroy each others’ manifestations within those realms if they could - but Lucifer’s oath bound them from outright killing the spirit behind. Which, to me, made little sense considering these were the same rebel angels who had slaughtered billions of their brethren without mercy in the original war against Heaven.

Either they’d learned a lesson, or across all this time they’d become too afraid to ever again risk their own ultimate hides.

Abagor, who had turned out to be a decent strategist, coughed. Unlike myself who’d been stuck lately wearing Roman-styled silks because somehow that had become expected, the Prince Custodian of the Rock still wore his preferred and immaculate modern-day business suit of grays, his wings therefore perfectly blending against those fabrics.

Having achieved my attention, he spoke. “Every attempt to surprise the enemy fails. Our foe has mastered Raziel’s Gift. With its knowledge has Beelzebub mastered disguising the Flies when desired, you are the only one who can see through them. And their penetrations across all realms has gained an overwhelming intelligence advantage - our secrets, be they sacred or mundane, are being read complete.”

“Even with my sweeps to ferret out those subsumed across our forces and logistics centers, I can’t catch them all,” I grumbled past an embittered snarl. “There’s just too many! And with so many demons willing to play both sides, it’s a mess. Meanwhile he gets to surprise us time and time again. What if I-”

Nathanael cut me off. “We’ve been through this! Even if you have the mojo to headbutt Beelzebub’s core directly, we don’t know where that is. With the Flies echoing his Name across Hell, the crucible itself is impossible to find.”

I snorted. “If we hit his home realm hard enough, he’d be forced to come out. And he’d quit this bullshit immediate retreat of his forces from anywhere I personally then appear.” Over and over, at any report of new incursions I’d accompanied a squad to either use a portal or fly at full speed between the realms, and as soon as my Light began reinforcing the defenders - all attacking Flies would bugger off.

And new swarms would instantly attack somewhere else far away.

The frustration was really starting to grate on the nerves.

“Even during the War with Heaven,” Abagor noted calmly as one of his officers handed him another dispatch, “Lucifer himself was wary of Beelzebub’s strength. And now their might has multiplied tenfold through the additional amplifications of their Name.”

The stola’s uncomfortable shoulder strap got readjusted again. “So why didn’t the jerk try to take you all on before this?! Was he that afraid of Samael?”

The two exchanged glances. “Beelzebub only acts when assured of victory,” said Abagor. “Samael’s genius to exploit any potential weakness kept the Flies in check, even after Lucifer’s departure.”

“But Samael told you guys to piss off awhile ago. And all Beelzebub did was send some minor forces to add confusion to the contest over Dis.”

“The abandonment of Dis,” noted Nathanael, “could have been a ruse by crafty Samael all along.”

Abagor nodded. “With the acquisition of that Book, Beelzebub has likely confirmed that Samael’s departure was not a trap after all but genuine. And thus struck immediately with the larger plan.”

Groaning, I fiddled with the laurels of the crown again to try and get the darned thing balanced atop the braids keeping my face clear. “We’re spread too thin playing defense! Sending your angels to circle each realm waiting for Flies to arrive accomplishes nothing long term. We need a game-changer! Because if we don’t turn this around, this is a slow grind to a loss, piece by bloody piece.”

Neither angel (nor any of the surrounding Citadel officers) argued the point.

Waving at all the displays, I made a sour face. “Billions eventually are going to be lured to destruction, no matter how many public service announcements I make! I mean, let’s be real here, I’m actively fighting to save demons of all things! How in the heck can I really counter the jerk’s propaganda?? Start a publishing business and go on a book signing tour?!”

Nathanael chuckled, but shook his head. “While your surging following amongst the souls greatly helps counter the enemy’s words, we need you here, ma’am. Dis is central to fast mobility between realms, this towered zoo has the most active portals and connections. What with the Fly’s fear of you, your stayin’ in the realm keeps the city from being hit.”

“That fear,” said Abagor as his mind chewed on the data, “is potential evidence she indeed has the might to face the Fly’s core and win. And she is not bound by our collective oath.”

The former blacksmith shrugged. “Or it’s some kinda clever long-term setup hopin’ to lure her out.”

“Or that. Perhaps both.”

A Citadel demon hurried into the Aerie, pausing to salute one of Abagor’s angels standing at the periphery of the desks. A slip of paper was handed over, and the demon beat a hasty retreat. The angel read the note, then fixed her attention on the back of Abagor’s head.

Yeah, I caught the burst of telepathic communication between them - when paying attention that always looks like a stream of tiny sparks. Breaking the encryption to read it, however, would have caused skin to flare and been obvious.

Likely also rude.

“Something up?” I instead asked Abagor.

The fallen Prince’s eyes hardened. “An odd message sent up from one of the Citadel’s generals. Ostensibly for you.”

“Really? So what’s the message?”

“It says, and I quote, ‘The drunk is at the bar. Wants to talk.’” Irises of slate fixed on mine. “Anything the Warleader wishes to share?”

Before I could reply, Nathanael spoke up. “Nope. That one is gonna remain private.” To me he added, “You should go.”

“Yeah. Okay. Mind the fort while I’m out, gents.” Without explaining further, and before Abagor could object, I hastily strolled through the nearest exit and into the maze-like corridors of the Citadel leading eventually to open sky.

The number of salutes I had to return along the way was ridiculous.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Unlike last time, upon seeing me the blue demon guarding the entrance to Greepa’s bar emitted a startled noise and hastily got out of the way, flattening himself against the wall like he was trying to become part of the graffiti.

Which was, in its own way, rather satisfying.

Hmm, maybe I’d been associating with too many Fallen commanders of late. Either that or I was just in a ‘mood’ as I’d overheard them mutter more often of late.

Oh well.

Inside the bar was the same as before: dimly lit and grungy. It also was conspicuously missing its bartender, however a former bouncer sat alone over at an alcoved table.

I walked over to him.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Jordan. Nice toga.”

“Huh? Dangit, forgot I was still wearing it.” The stola shifted to jeans, purple t-shirt with v-neck showing off the sparkly necklace, and the ever-present vambraces of kick-assitude. “Your coat seems to be doing better.”

He looked down at the earth-toned trench, and shrugged. It indeed had been recently cleaned - as had he. Wearing the form of his former incarnate self, light brown hair again was buzzed short with cheeks and chin freshly shaved. On the table sat two medium-sized glasses and a matching pitcher - full not of booze but purified water.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered, gesturing at the seat opposite.

“Sure,” I said, sliding onto the repeatedly patched leather. “Where’s Greepa?”

“Taking a walk.”

“Voluntarily?”

“What? Oh. Heh, yeah. Said he’s got enough stress in his life, and doesn’t want any chance of getting further embroiled with our angelic shenanigans.”

“Probably smart.”

“I certainly didn’t debate such eminent wisdom.” Picking up the pitcher, he filled the pair of glasses, then lifted one and waited for me to do the same.

I did. The water was even chilled. “Tame beverage choice.”

“Thought you’d appreciate the symbolism.” He took a sip.

“Funny. You disappeared from Epsilon.”

“Had things to do.”

“We had a deal.”

“Yeah, we do. And you got distracted from it, not me.”

Clear liquid slipped down the pipe, its chill hitting the bottom of an admittedly empty stomach. “What are you saying?”

“That I kept at it. It took awhile, but I got it.”

“Got what?”

“I know who grabbed Camael from the pit.”

The glass hit the table with a loud clunk. “Who?!”

He grinned. “You really want to know?”

“Dammit, give.”

Surprisingly he did, though he lost the smile in saying it. “Samael.”

Whereupon I gaped. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“Shit. Know where he’s holding him?”

“Yep. Also, nope.”

“Rather contradictory that, don’t you think?”

“I know where it is - but I can’t find it.”

“Don’t make me toss that pitcher at your head.”

Nick snorted. “This brainpan’s hard enough to take it. Seriously however, best estimate has Samael holed up in this tiny pocket right at the Edge. Much smaller than the Rock, but tucked against the nothingness just the same. No force lines to follow to get to it, you understand? I haven’t the sight to spot it, nor wings to even go out and try. You have both. Along with those bracers and blood-soaked feathers to act as compasses.”

“How good is the intel?”

He rotated his glass where it had joined mine on the table. “Solid. And don’t ask what I’ve done to get it. You don’t want to know.”

“Is it a trap?”

“Of course it is.”

“For me specifically?”

“Who else but you would try to find and save that carnage-covered ass, let alone be crazy enough to go?”

“You in on it? Or is that part of the ‘don’t ask’.”

“As far as I am aware, no.”

“Not building confidence there.”

The once-magician shrugged. “This is Samael the Destroyer we’re talking about. I’d be an idiot to make any assumptions about how deep his plans go.”

“Now that you’ve told me, I can’t sit by and do nothing.”

“You should, but you won’t. And I bet Samael knows that too.”

“Coming with me?”

“Fuck no. This is where I get off the bus. At that level, I’m a liability.”

“Alright. That’s fair.”

“If you’re thinking of going in force, what with the whole ancient wrecking crew following your orders, don’t.”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Don’t make this a challenge. Just like you can’t not go, he’d not resist such a fight if offered. If you go by yourself - like with Asmodeus - he’ll talk.”

“That’s the kind of advice someone in on a trap would give.”

“Believe what you like about me,” he said with a wince, “but if you take an army, he’ll never respect you. And he knows every last weakness on this not-so-new team of yours. He’ll have planned for everything, and you’ll lose. Count on it.”

“I could take just Nathanael-”

“That’d only insult him. If you’re gonna do this, it has to be you alone. You need him to perceive you as being his equal - if not an equal to Lucifer himself.”

“Am I?”

He looked away. “I can’t judge that.”

“If you could, what verdict would you wish for?”

The Grigori stayed silent.

“I’d best get to it then.” I finished the drink and stood. “Though what about you? You know that Shemyaza is now Cassiel, right? He could use your help. And he’s gathered most of the Grigori who got punted down here.”

“I know. No thanks.”

“You could also go to the Spires.”

“Maybe I’ll stay here. I like the water.” He lifted the pitcher.

“Think about it.”

“Sure. And should you somehow rescue the Butcher…” Stormy eyes stared at the small waves bouncing within the upheld container.

“Yeah?”

“Tell him…tell him we’re even.”

I paused, but said nothing as I went for the door. And as I left, he put the pitcher down.

Yet the swirling seas slowly becoming calm behind the crystal never released his attention.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“Ma’am, I don’t like it.”

Between the darkest of realms, two winged stars floated in sharp contrast: one gloriously sapphire, and the other shining the purest of white.

“What’s not to like? I find Samael’s hideout, negotiate with a charming smile, retrieve Camael, and with the Regent’s aid we turn the tide of this blood-drenched war.”

“You know it ain’t gonna be that easy. Which is why you haven’t told the others.”

“C’mon, you want him back as much if not more than I do.”

“He would be of great help, not arguin’ that. But sending you off by yourself is as risky as using the edge of an anvil. And the Hunter agrees with me…ma’am.”

“Yeah, well, if we’re lucky the hideout is in a pocket of accelerated time. I can be back before anyone even notices.”

“We’re likely being watched already - you’re not exactly covert.”

“Neither are you.”

“No argument there either. Sense anything?”

Feathers of burning ruby fire traced glowing arcs across empty space. “Maybe…wait, a tug.”

“Can you follow it?”

The brightness grew stronger. “Barakiel was right. Against the Abyss…got it. Wow, it’s small - but I see it.”

“You truly have your father’s sight. Learn to use it as he did, and we won’t need ol’ redwings to win.”

“Huh. The timestream is still wonky, though parts are flattening. But there’s a path that’d speed the journey relative to everything else. I’m going.”

“One martyr attempting to save another. Not wise, ma’am.”

“Are you forgetting what he once told us?”

“Not at all, but go ahead and say it anyway if it’ll make you feel better. Know you want to.”

“Have faith, Nathanael of the Powers. Have faith.”

“I do, ma’am.”

With a flash the more brilliant star sped away, following a line only she could see. Left behind in the afterglow, radiant blue pulsed a sigh’s thought into the surrounding emptiness:

“But so did countless cohorts of our siblings slaughtered by the one you now seek.”

 

 

Thanks for reading...and especially for commenting!

- Erisian

 

Hope's Light

Chapter 28

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Questions

 

There, hovering before what only pretended to be the blackest of clouds, lurked a sinister metallic sphere. How, one might ask, does a smoothly specular ball floating within an emptiness pressing against the true Void of Voids earn such a moody description?

The answer is simple: it emanates a hum of resonance filled beyond the brim with barely restrained violence, like a coiled spring which required industrial machinery to press into place and then held back only by a worn and rusted clasp on the brink of snapping. The tension so mighty that, if unleashed, the sphere would launch itself across a cosmos and plow through any stellar object foolish enough to happen to be in the way.

Rules of physics literally be damned.

Towards that incredible potential I flew, admiring the perfection of its reflective surface - so perfect that, as I approached, it was as if another light in the distance also sped towards me.

But my reflection wasn’t the only thing coming. A line of battle-hardened angels, each with armor of obsidian burnished by rubies, prevented the two lights from meeting direct - and as I slowed to a halt their many weapons burst into flames bright yet harshly dark, due to the depth of the multiple angry hues lighting their edges.

From their gleaming and plumed helms no words were spoken, no challenge given, and so I broke the lingering silence instead.

“Your master knows who I am and should be expecting my arrival. There are matters that need discussion.”

The row of Maschitim rotated into two halves, breaking at the center. Burning swords pointed to the sphere where a rectangular opening appeared upon the otherwise seamless surface.

Feeling not unlike a certain ship being pulled inside a more crenelated battlestation, I continued to the port and on inside. Except instead of entering a busy docking bay manned by yet more armored soldiers, the entrance transitioned to a different space entirely.

You’d think I’d have gotten used to the vagaries of subjective realms by now, but nope. The novelty of being caught in a different scene still surprised, requiring a moment to reorient.

Bare feet below a simple white gown touched cold grey stone, one of many large slabs of rock leading as a slender path to stretch forward across a wide and undisturbed lake. Beyond the waters ahead two great and barren cliffs rose, split apart by narrow and towering passage. From the bluffs on the right spilled a slender waterfall, mists filling the bottom pools which fed the greater lake.

Its opposite on the left also had a fall, but not of water. Bright lava flowed over its edge, cascading down as a channel of heat to collect and swirl not into the lake but away as a burning molten river all its own, scorching the passage between the cliffs.

There in the middle, magma met water to spit steam and mist, filling that gorge with dense fog itself glowing scarlet from illumination below. And pulsing like a heartbeat, bursts of lightning sparked between the two cliffs to arc upwards as a legendary-sized Jacob’s ladder.

More striking still was what blocked the flashy passage’s entrance. A being glowered there upon a gilded black-leather chesterfield chair, dark wings splaying out behind. Like me, he wore no armor, just a sleeveless onyx robe lined with red, and across the distance the dagger of his attention struck as if I’d been pierced by an actual weapon.

Oh, and he was as tall as those cliffs, like a giant guardian of clearest of waters and hottest of melted stones.

“Lady Amariel.” A voice from behind startled, breaking the spell of that distant gaze. I spun about to face a woman upon a knee, face hidden behind bangs of dark mahogany draping forward from the bowed posture. Her robe was white like mine, but the hemline flowed with striking shades of violet.

The Light within pulsed with overwhelming need, and without volition a hand adorned with another’s bracelet reached to touch her face.

Her wrist blocked the gesture.

“Please,” she said, without raising her head. The word was softly spoken, yet held the promise of well-tempered steel.

My hand retreated. “You’re a Seraph. Of Lucifer’s House of Light.”

“I am Ithuriel.”

Gabriel’s memories churned. “You followed when he fell past the Gate.”

“As did many of us.”

Heart and stomach twisted further. “And when he departed these realms, the First abandoned you to Hell.”

“He did.”

“I, too, was left discarded in his wake.” Through the gathering emotional storm, a disturbing thought occurred. “What of the others?”

Rising off the knee, she pointed to the far shore. “All are here.”

“All?!” Vision flared and gained new focus. Below the towering Prince of Destruction a semicircle of silver and white marble plinths rose from the sand. Upon each sat or stood angels, all in soft white with hems brushed by lighter pastels - as were their wings. Each figure’s eyes and ears had been bound tight by thick cloth woven of words of harshest power.

And around their necks glinted solid rings of angelic-smithed silver connected to the heavy chains falling to the plinths, locking and binding them to where they perched.

My god, he’d enslaved them.

A wordless cry of horror-filled rage escaped lips as a pulse of brightness roared within, the surrounding waters boiling as Camael’s bracers shifted from decorative gold to practical obsidian bursting with fierce red flame.

Simultaneously, Ithurial blinked between me and that shore on manifested wings, holding now a katana with violet fire of its own. Instantly she steadied to deflect - and return - any possible attack.

An attack which her blocking presence forestalled. My tongue fought instead for words. “You…you would defend him?!”

“There is much your sight has not witnessed.”

“Are you saying there’s justification for this?!”

“They still live.”

Silence joined the tension between us, and implications rebounded inside my skull. I readjusted the airborne stance. “No chains are upon you. Is he blackmailing you with the threat of their harm?”

“No.”

“Then you serve willingly. I find that hard to believe.”

Hard eyes flickered with ancient pain. “I must.”

“Why?”

“Creation has need.”

The last was said quietly, yet so full of resignation that the rage tasting like a spicy chunk of burning charcoal found itself smothered, and fire-covered fists lowered. “He’s willing to talk?”

“Yes.”

Looking past her shoulder, the giant visage of Samael still sat upon the chair. He’d leaned on an elbow to study the scene. Also leaning against the chair were two scabbarded blades, the twin implements of gore I’d glimpsed through Gabriel’s visions.

His hand rested upon a pommel.

Shifting gathered power to alter perceptual attunement, I took a single step forward past defending violet-flames to cross the waters suddenly more puddle than lake to meet him, size for size. “Then, sir, let us chat.”

An amused grin split a slender beardless face untouched by time. “Certainly. But first, I am given to understand that you enjoy tea?” His deep voice echoed across this notional space held in place by his will.

I took a seat upon the gigantic chair matching his own, as said chair had just manifested in accordance with his invitation. “I do.”

“Excellent.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Ithuriel brewed and served the tea, the act resonating with the same ritual care as taken by a certain dragon friend of mine. In terms of height, she was quite short, having only reached to mid-chest when we’d first faced off. Once steaming cups were ready, she stepped back to stand at her master’s side.

Oh, and while she worked her preparations the setting had morphed around us into a wide sitting room, complete with serving table between our chairs and high-arched windows framed by ribbon-tied navy blue curtains. Through the glass showed still the lightning-sparked scene of dueling cliffs of molten rock and crystal waters. Double doors on a single wall provided the only entrance - or exit.

After taking an appraising sip, the devil himself mused calmly. “Now, what shall we discuss?” We both were still in robes, his black hair resting against a shoulder in a single and thick braid - mirroring my gold-touched reds.

While his swords maintained their place propped against his chair.

“I have my intended topics,” I said slowly, “though apparently so do you.” I put down the cup. The tea was actually quite good, but it wasn’t why I was there.

“You are my guest. Please, proceed.”

Inhaling first, I did.

“I’ve been told that you have taken Camael. This true?”

He savored another swallow of tea. “It is.”

“Has he finally answered your question regarding the enduring longevity of his vision?”

Those eyes of pitiless darkness flashed incredible menace - with strength enough to shatter planets and realities whole. Yet before I could surge again in defense, the generated pressure faded as quickly as it had arrived. “He is indeed stubborn.”

I swallowed, and not from more tea. Good grief, Nathanael had been right. This conversation was not going to go easy. “I need him. And if you’re truly intending to sit on the sidelines, you also should want him back in the field.”

“To fight Beelzebub?”

“Yes. The Fly will eventually come for you too.”

“With the loss of wing, the Regent no longer empowers the fullness of his Purpose.”

“Then I’ll mend it.”

“Just like that?” He swirled the liquid in his cup, the heat rising to slightly occlude his face. “Such has never been done.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“Must there be?”

“Well, it can’t be any harder than burning away the broken pieces of Shemyaza and forging his Name anew, right?”

A sharp jaw set as tone hardened. “You speak so cavalier upon monuments of sacred import.” The scene outside the windows dimmed, as though a shadow swooped over all.

Which, of course, it had.

I sighed. “I do apologize. Such flippancy is a self-defense mechanism. The magnitude of events of late stretch beyond the scope my current capacity is able to correctly appreciate. As is, they threaten sanity. For in truth, I know not whether such an attempt should succeed. Yet I must hope.”

That raised a thick eyebrow. “You readily acknowledge this lack of comprehension?”

“To deny would to be even blinder than I am now. ”

“Then you are most unlike your father. Intriguing. I question whether doing so openly is a strength, however.”

“Admitting such to you? I suppose that would depend. Are you my enemy, Prince Samael? You relinquished your throne.”

“And you raised up another to take it.”

I shook my head. “Only over the city of Dis. He cannot match your influence or power beyond.”

“Perhaps. Have you discerned why I have taken such actions?”

Picking up the cup again, I used it as an excuse to delay response - which he awaited while calm yet also tense, as if patience itself straddled a razor’s edge. “The question has consumed much thought these past firestorms, or set of cycles, however we wish to measure time.”

“And your conclusions?”

Focus drifted momentarily to the stoic tea-brewer and warrior standing at his side. “Suppositions only. Which are potentially coalescing rapidly.”

Again the almost-but-not-quite-malevolent grin. “Then enlighten me - if you would pardon the parlance.”

“Short version or long?”

“Let us begin with quick summation and see where it develops.”

“You did it to manipulate me.”

“Hmm. Too brief. Elucidate.”

“Sure.” My gaze narrowed. “The timing of your abdication is suspect. If I am right, it must have occurred about when I crashed into Beliel’s Rock.”

“Your arrival changes everything.”

“And you have Seers of Light bound to your control.” I looked back to Ithuriel. “Willingly or otherwise.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Even they,” he noted, “experience difficulties navigating the potential futures surrounding your existence. Trickier now than before by virtue of that implement you carry. Yet they uncovered enough.”

“They foresaw my eventual return?”

“Through the slimmest of channels actively piercing the locked Gate by dint of humanity’s gift and curse, a picture of the tapestry’s intent was gleaned. A confounding, yet exciting, vision requiring exploration.”

“Your act of departure set up everything: the Conclave, Azazel’s opportunity, my ascension and traversal through the Chaos. Along with the desperation of the rest of the Sarim to offer me that crown.”

“Which, to even my surprise, you sliced in twain.”

“Before forging another to fend off the added consequence of Beelzebub’s daring, as he destroys soul after soul in his quest to be a singular ego encompassing all.”

He raised a protesting and long-nailed finger. “Not exactly destroy-”

I interrupted, passions rising in spite of intent for fixed control. “Destroy!! What else can such be termed when their unique potentials are smothered and wiped away?!”

“A removal of the weakness inherent in their spirits.”

“Along with their greatest strength!”

“Ah. Now we reach the crux of the divide. And by your own admission and statements, you are unready for such debate.” He gestured for Ithuriel to refill his cup. “You have yet to postulate the ‘why’ behind the ‘what’ of my decisions.”

The steaming teapot in the former Servitor of Light’s grip refilled first his cup and then mine. With a bow, she moved aside to manifest more water into the pot, along with the fires underneath needed to heat it.

Abstract elements of a type in abundant supply within this miniature notional realm.

“Like I said,” I replied. “to manipulate me.”

“Into doing what? Be precise.”

“You wish me entwined with the Sarim. To fight on their behalf.”

“Again, why?” Obsidian orbs burned with the paradoxical fires of impatience and eternity.

“You require it said aloud? Fine. Because my pattern is partially forged of Gabriel’s - and her heart can never release any she has loved. You wish for me to save them.” I blinked. “You may even hope I will smash that Gate!”

He said nothing, staring through the steam rising from the tea with a gaze hotter still.

I shook my head. “But that would only bring Heaven and Michael down upon you all - and after all this time, you no longer have the numbers to stand against the full Host. That would be madness, and lead but to your forces’ slaughter if not your own!”

Irritation filled that smooth face, and arms of corded muscle put aside the cup before he leaned forward. “You miss the mark. Like Gabriel, still are you stuck on concern for these lower manifestations, and thus are indeed blind to what actually matters.”

“They matter!”

“They do not! Not any particular soul, not the demons, nor even the pathetically lesser angels! Not a single one!”

“If they don’t, then what does?!”

“THE ANSWER!!”

Rising from the chair, again his power burst outward, this time with enough force to knock the walls surrounding us over and send the roof spiraling into the sky, only to crash distantly into the middle of the vast lake.

Skin flooded with the Light kept me and the chair in place, and I shouted back. “The answer?! To what question?!”

Like a reverse timelapse of a volcano’s eruption, Samael checked his might, the strain across neck and shoulders smoothing out as if never there.

Except it was. Ever present under a false surface of tranquility.

“The question,” he continued, standing there as if the small house around us had not been blown away. “As once posed to your father. Then to the Archangels, and to Elohim Himself. The question Azrael foolishly attempted to circumvent by slicing across Creation. The question that black-robed half-wit perched on the gathered fragments of my ancient Seat debates eternal, and which I again have aimed as an arrow to strike his very center.”

“Tell me! Help me to understand!!”

He paused then, did the Destroyer, and his gaze tilted towards pity. “No. A weapon needs not comprehend the hand that wields it. Go then, Amariel who is both dread Archon and shining Archangel. Ithuriel shall take you to your Regent. Should you possess the capacity to free him, he is yours. Me and my Maschitim, however, shall depart.” He turned and began walking towards the chasm between the cliffs - and the two swords levitated to follow behind like hounds chasing after their master.

Which perhaps they were.

To the dark feathers covering his back, I called out. “What of the Servitors of Light?! You know I cannot leave them as slaves!!”

Without looking, he waved a hand. “My quiver is spent, I have no further need of these. Ithuriel’s eyes are sufficient to witness the arriving glory of impact, and she alone shall remain. In comparison to that which entwines Camael, the rest’s bindings should prove no difficulty. Or perhaps they shall float here in silence, forever blind as so many others allow themselves to be.”

His stride then paused, and one burning eye peered over a shoulder. “Of course, if you are convinced that each little spark matters so, then prior to attempting anything dramatic I suggest you first ask the Regent a question of your own.” The smirk upon that otherwise elegant face no longer hid the malevolence.

“What question would that be?”

“Whether he still shares my opinions, or would he now act different with regards to your sister and wife.”

Helen? Caroline?!

Shocked into terrible silence, all I could do was watch as the being known to most mortals as the Devil slowly disappeared into lightning-fueled mist.

 

~o~O~o~

 

They’d bound him to a slab of stone deep underground.

Chains forged more of overpowering will than metal cocooned a naked body stuck on its side, their many barbs slick with the protesting emanations of dark skin nicked and sliced by any groaned attempt to shift position. The unmoving platform held deep stains, the splotches matching the shade of missing wings unable to manifest - due to the raw wound running across a shoulderblade exposing leaking muscle and bone.

With Ithurial standing still at the prison’s creaking door, I’d entered and knelt beside the slab so his one good eye would have a chance to register my presence. As the other was an equal mess of swollen and infected abscess.

That remaining eye focused upon the Light brought to the room, and from his throat came tortured breath barely more than whisper.

“Amariel.”

“You’re not looking too good.” Examination of the chains caused the room to shimmer, the intense power held within the bonds desiring to inflict itself even unto an observer - to rip, to shred, to flay all things. And in their target’s destruction prove thereby its lack of worth.

“Yet I endure.”

Pinching lip between teeth, I hesitated. “He’s woven his Name across your spirit.”

“He has.”

From the doorway, Ithurial spoke. “To attempt an unbinding will shred the Regent entire. His wounds are too grievous to withstand the strain.”

I cast an unfriendly glare over a shoulder. “And you know this how?”

“I have seen it. Only failure awaits.”

Looking back at the wreck of an angel on the slab, the future came into multiple focus. She was right. They’d stripped him of his armor, and with the loss of wing, the rest could never enfold him with strength enough to maintain against a final squeeze of the Destroyer’s working.

He’d been sealed by Destruction’s curse, a terrible working designed to inevitably remove from Creation that which should not be - or ever have been.

“Amariel will succeed.” Camael’s eye closed, and even against those awful barbs his body stilled with resolve.

No, not resolve.

Faith.

Shaking my head caused glowing wings to bounce, making the shadows behind the platform tilt and sway. “I don’t see a path. You’ll die.”

“Then I shall end. And by your presence alone, has my Purpose been fulfilled.”

“Yet you believe I’d manage somehow anyway??”

“I do.”

Sinking further to the floor, I stared at the blank stonework forming the prisoner’s bed. “You’re a fanatic. Willing to sacrifice anything and anyone, even yourself.”

“If required, yes.”

Shadows bounced now from the light spawned by trembling feathers. “Did you do it?” I asked with voice equally shaking. “Did you curse my wife with cancer, arrange the accident that killed my sister?!”

The angel on the slab fell silent.

“TELL ME!!”

“I did not.”

Exhaling sharply, I looked again upon his blood-smeared face.

The remaining eye then opened and he added, “But neither did I save them.”

I needed to shout again, but no volume was available. Only a whimper, followed by a gasped question. “You knew?!”

“I, too, am of the First’s House. Even as an incarnate, a measure of limited foresight was possible.”

“You were watching me??”

“Ever since Queen Fionnabhair’s heart discovered her sister’s spirit’s rebirth as your niece.”

Still shaking, I rose to my feet. Though that required pressing a palm against cold wall to remain steady. “She told you. The Queen. And through Danielle, you found me.”

“As per contract. Spirits bound by shared love such as yours, these are brought together life after life by the Wheel’s design. Wherever Saibh’s spirit appeared in the tapestry, Aradia’s would eventually follow. As well as the reverse.”

“In exchange, you promised the Queen enough power to destroy Saibh’s Seal.”

“Yes.”

“Which is why you didn’t try to stop her at the pyramids.”

“The Seals were fated to shatter upon your ascendance. Already your presence had weakened them. It mattered not how.” He shifted, and fresh blood smeared across skin.

Unsteady fingers wanted to reach for him - either to claw or comfort, they weren’t sure. But they dared not touch. “With your magic, your contacts, Caroline - my wife - could have been cured!”

“If performed early enough, then yes.”

“And you let her die. You let both of them die!!”

“Such was the path. The only means by which you would succeed. And their souls go on.”

“Tainted by the agonies, by the suffering, you allowed to be!! My god, even Danielle’s death ultimately is on your head!!”

He sighed, a quiet and resignedly tired sound. “It is.”

“Why???” Tears, unable to be dammed any further, finally coursed free.

“Because you are the answer.”

“To what?!”

“Everything.”

“That’s insane!!” I choked on sobs that wouldn’t stop, their moisture slipping across the tongue tasting of salt, mucus, and pain. “They deserved to live!!”

That freshly scarred face, despite the agony of Samael’s bindings, managed an ever-so-gentle smile. A kind smile. An expression of pity - and even peace. “Leave me if you must. Risk not then against the Destroyer’s will, for this is a deserved justice. A justice long desired and earned.”

Wiping cheeks and running nose with a sleeve, blurry vision caught more than just the broken angel before me. Again was Heaven’s Champion standing over a mound of savaged corpses, this time of demons piled many feet high, with his own sanguine essence seeping from behind helm and across a shredded and wingless back.

And over a broad shoulder lay another angel, unconscious underneath a brown coat equally stained red.

Behind this, vast sets of years unfolded, thousands of passing seasons showing a man outliving everyone around him. At times rich and others poor, loved and hated, tortured and celebrated - always eventually abandoned by all he knew and dared love while forever marching forward across endless millennia towards a goal barely glimpsed.

Yet striven for without fail.

And the vision spun further back in history still, as the angel he truly was led loyal Powers in conflicts beyond imagination, always returning enmeshed in more bloody effluence than any other.

The harshest of struggles, the most necessary of slaughters, all stains taken on by his hands, wings, and burning blade.

Out of a fervent inner desire to spare others from the same terrible burden, the same terrible need.

All of it, every moment of fixated purpose, stemmed outward from that glimpse granted while upon the widest and most horrendous of battlefields, when confrontation insurmountable had triggered sight to pierce the firmament with a vision beyond all glory, a revelation enough to sustain across eons and travails uncountable.

There in the Light had he beheld a coming Promise as spoken by the Source of All, a Word holding a brilliance beyond all for which he could ever hope.

In that snippet’s image I too saw she who was revealed in that instance of transcendence:

Her face shared the very features which had stared back from every mirror since the resurrection he had so painstakingly arranged.

There, upon this dungeon’s slab, crushed under burdened Purpose imposed and accepted, he lay as willing sacrifice. For within his heart he believed - he knew - that a day of reckoning would arrive for Judgment to be rendered in full. When Creation would sing in beautiful harmony with the heart of the Light Above - and in that glorious completion declare his gathered sins too great and terrible for him to share in that paradise, too ugly and horrific to allow enjoyment of that wonder-filled existence for which he had given all he was and ever could be.

That he himself would never enter the Heaven of Heavens promised to all.

From within each tear coursing across my cheeks, illumination burned like magnesium, as the full spread of feathers fanned out behind to gather all love and brilliance from the Source its majesty could provide.

Ithurial, bracing at the doorway, shouted. “Amariel! This too will only kill him!!”

In reaction to the shining torrent flooding free, sharp bonds of the dreadful scourge placed upon an angel scarred with far more than physical wounds tightened, ripping inward to shred and shatter all patterns within their grasp.

To thereby fulfill the original Purpose of the deadly Name by which they’d been summoned.

Camael, underneath the wreckage of face and body, stared upwards in embrace of that Light, that music, and the wondrous vision above him matching now what had been witnessed when last he stood athwart absolute Destruction.

His words were whispered. “I am content.” And all future lines within that Sight of Sights burned with his dissolution clear and inevitable.

But I had faced such impossibilities before.

“No. I refuse.”

Removing precious bracers from where they’d long sat as guardians upon my wrists, each was carefully placed around Camael’s forearms. The dreadful bindings forced upon him had just enough of a gap for the current simpler shape of golden circlets, and as such they slipped into place.

He was going to need all the protection he could muster - and as I had learned much from wearing them, maybe they too had from me.

Once more the Spear came to hand, shining brighter still while also swallowing with a darkness deeper than all depths. For within its shaft churned portions of Chaos, bound and balanced by Elohim’s Name - and my own.

By Will and Light those unknown potentials were cast loose upon the surrounding fabric of existence.

Reality of the room, of the space, of the realm, all bent and tore, instantly shredding like tissue against a knife sharper than a quark to toss us free into the emptiness outside leading towards the Abyss. The mirrored sphere fell away, its structure burning with the static of incoherence before blinking into nothingness.

Gathering the warped and unfathomable unleashed energies into the slimmest of threads, a single string of Chaos whipped outward to cross that boundary, and through it burned Light intent with singular purpose:

To forge an entirely new future within the greater matrix of possibilities.

Using only the tip of the Spear, the chains of Samael lifted from the bound angel’s skin, the immovable force not defied so much as separated - for additional volume directly between bindings and Camael’s spirit stretched into being. For the briefest of windows, all barbs and chain floated free, allowing a brightly burning hand to reach for his and pull free the wounded angel’s spirit.

Those chains caught fire with terrible black and scarlet fury, twisting and lashing out to again catch and snare their target. But with a whirled shove from the Spear’s point, the region of pattern itself that the metal coils existed within rapidly sped away, plunging beyond a threshold not even their mighty spellwork could survive.

The Destroyer’s curse, impenetrable as it was, could not fight that which was entirely unbound.

While his spirit heaved with the sudden release of intense constriction, against Camael’s blood-smeared shoulder the missing wing recovered from Asmodeus appeared. That thread of unrestrained Possibility spun about, and with a point honed to infinity was it sewed through his spirit, Light beyond all Light filling each strand and every feathered vane, and by its weaving ancient crimson flames embedded into feathers burst clear with white brilliance once more.

With the one’s surprised restoration, five more wings shimmered into being as the angel gasped from receiving the unceasing flood - filling heart and core as had not been experienced since the First had last shared him such immeasurable glory. After a cry of blessed agony from reaching limits even his powerful spirit could not exceed, a snap of slender glowing wrist shattered the tenuous coils of anathema to the layer beyond, the remaining fragments pulled safely again within Spear’s containment.

We floated there in that moment, as a brightness pulsing beyond the intensities of a billion novas. He who had once carried me tight across the skies of Earth and between the realms of Hell, now held in turn within arms more shine than form.

Though numerous additional blazing lights also orbited us as a wider glowing sphere of their own. With wings extended they embraced and contained the explosive ripples of power from further threatening the disturbance of the fabric of existence itself. Servitors of Light, burning with the individual pastels tinging their feathers and spirits, drank in the purest of nectars for which their very spirits had been created, their chains having melted from the impossible impulse which had altered that Which Is,

Included among their number was Ithuriel.

Floating beside us, she managed a bow, her expression remaining fiercely stoic. However, at her sides, hands twitched and trembled. “This…cannot be.”

Camael blinked open two sparkling diamonds, each fiercely aglow. “Her Promise transcends all.”

Releasing the Spear to again be tucked within the folds of spirit, I released Camael so the repaired wings could find their own purchase upon the space between realms.

Shaking her head, Ithuriel said, “It should not.”

“Yet it does.”

I finally found voice with which to speak. “You could come with us, Ithuriel.”

“Such is not possible.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I must not. For there still is Purpose.”

Camael spoke before I could argue. “Then fly after him, sister. Him and his Maschitim. But know it shall not be forever.”

With a slow nod she turned to do just that, but stopped as I’d abruptly winced and clenched a throbbing fist.

Eyes narrowing, she asked, “Is something amiss?”

Pulses of searing pain from a roaring palm confirmed, and I snarled through a grimace hardening to anger. “One of mine just died. At the Spires, on the Rock.” Opening fingers, I stared at the flaring star burning across the skin. “The Ducal council could be attacking-”

Ithurial, gazing across the darkness between realms with great intensity, interrupted. “Go, Amariel, and go quick - Beelzebub assaults those Spires.”

“But there’s nothing there he’d…” I fell silent, realizing such a statement was horribly incorrect.

She laid it out. “A great mystery resides upon those peaks. One which Samael allowed to exist, but Beelzebub would ever seek to burn - and even now uses the Book of Secrets to hunt. Do not tarry. Nor shall I.”

Without giving us a chance to say more, she sped off like a comet to chase the dread Sarim she had vowed to serve.

I looked to the restored ancient warrior. “Beelzebub. He’s going after-”

“Raguel,” he said before I could.

“You knew he was there?!”

“Yes. And if the Fly has somehow acquired Raziel’s tome, my brother will be a target.”

“In order to destroy Sanctuary."

“Its sacred hope is a pillar of strength towards resisting Beelzebub’s total consumption.”

Dammit! I should have thought of that. “With the Book, couldn’t he find Sanctuary’s location directly?”

“He has. The existence of the ideal of Sanctuary is a part of Justice itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“It lies within Raguel himself.”

Oh. Oh no.

To the Servitors hovering around us, blinking as they were in awe at their freedom and the Light flowing through their spirits, I shouted as another awful sting flared from the connection to those in my service. “Everyone! Fly to the dark side of Beliel’s Rock! Find us at the Spires near Outpost Epsilon, within the region belonging to Duke Valgor!”

The flock of Servitors, still bright as they slowly recovered their wits, mostly nodded agreement. Camael, however, frowned. “Should they not follow our flight directly?”

Before he could object, I pulled him back into my arms - a sweep awkward to accomplish, and likely appearing utterly ridiculous as his obsidian and gold armor had properly manifested in full - and this time without any missing pieces. “No, they cannot - for I wait not for speed. Brace yourself, Champion of Heaven; Barakiel found the transition unsettling.”

“Found the-”

The sentence never finished. Space, time, and spirit itself warped around us and we were elsewhere.

 

 

New chapters posted every Monday and Friday! If you're enjoying the story so far, do let me know in the comments below! Thank you!

- Erisian