Chapter 27
Shivering, Tadeo held onto Dante as he lowered his face, furrowed together his brows.
The last of his beastly features receded slow with wet squelches, then he felt himself wobble, but one of his hands clutched at Dante’s jacket a tad tighter for stability.
All of his body continued to ache and itch.
And he might’ve been too hasty to transfigure back into this body — all his organs felt tilted, awkwardly shifted from their typical positions, some too heavy.
In the pit of his stomach, there was a burrowing hole that some insides dribbled into.
But Tadeo could only look ahead. The angel who had led him here, the beautiful Dina, who bore an empty expression as he stood on the shore; he appeared to be listening again.
In the last instance of this, Tadeo had thought he was consulting God.
But he felt no holiness now, nor divinity, as water lapped at his ankles.
Something was wrong. The stars still screamed.
The thuds of feet running called Tadeo’s attention, and he weaned himself off the soldier’s support before looking to all the angels he’d freed from the sea.
Many of them sprinted, stumbling, and laughing as they came up to the sand to collapse onto it, over stomach and over knees, in what the anti-Christ couldn’t help but find reminiscent of soldiers arriving home victorious, yet agonized over the horrors of war they’d endured, never once worth their lives.
Up ahead, the dark-skinned, braided one stood, staring forward, still holding onto the chain leash of the twitching, one-winged Watcher.
“What the fuck is going on out here?” Dante asked, his hand returning to Tadeo’s arm, squeezing it. “What did you do? How long has the sky been screaming?”
Immediately, Tadeo grumbled, “It wasn’t like this before I came back for you.”
“For me?” Dante tilted his head toward Tadeo, then chuckled. “So, you really came back for me, papi?”
Tadeo scoffed — and he did not allow himself to acknowledge the burn on his cheeks, told himself it was angry irritation — “What? You really thought I’d leave you there?
” Dante lifted the wrist stump where his hand used to be, and that was answer enough.
“That was different. Look, I don’t need you to forgive me. ”
“I wasn’t going to, papi.”
“Just be glad that I have some principles, and—” Tadeo shook his head, told himself to stop talking about this, then wrenched his arm away.
The water swirled around his feet at the rough movement, and he expelled some of the cool air stuck to his teeth.
“Tell me what you were doing with the angels before I freed them.” At that, the soldier’s expression flickered, and his smile fell. “What?”
“Tadeo,” Dante began, voice dropping to a whisper.
“I don’t think the demons are the only evil ones here.
” When Tadeo quirked a brow, the soldier explained: “I spoke to them in Hell, and they told me that they worked together with the angels to imprison these Watchers during the great flood. After that, God gifted Hell to them, to the devil specifically.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tadeo replied bluntly. “They must’ve been lying to you.”
“Look, I’m not stupid enough to believe demons at their word, but there was an angel down there, too, and—” Dante, sighing, nodded his head in the direction of those they’d freed.
“Güey, just look at them.” Though hesitating, allowing Dante’s words to sink deep into his bones first, the anti-Christ trailed his gaze to examine the Watchers once more, their huffs, their twitching, their stumbling, their grunts.
Like animals, they panted, frantic eyes following every movement, their teeth bared.
“Tadeo…” Both the young man in question and the soldier turned their heads at the speaker — the leader of the captive Watcher angels, seemingly — the least bloodied of them: Azazel.
He was beautiful and wide-eyed, but the sadness that haloed his head made him ghostly, as well.
When he spoke again, it was in that angelic tongue that was utterly unknowable to humans.
“I’m sorry,” Tadeo told the angel. “We don’t speak your language.”
Though Azazel didn’t reply, he parted his lips again, then he turned to Samyaza, who was looming behind him, a low reverb starting to sound in his throat.
“Be calm,” Azazel soothed before he felt a tug on the lower end of his robe, and he saw one of the other Watchers had come to him — Danel, on his knees over the sand.
He was rasping, eyes clenched. “What’s wrong, brother?
” He spoke kindly, all the animosity between them faded now.
Thousands of years bound beside one another had forcefully done away with hatred.
It does away with most things — it breaks one down, removes them from their interests, from experiences, from who one once was.
When you become nothing but suffering, then there’s little left to distinguish yourself from other sufferers. “Can you speak?”
Danel’s hundred wounds bled onto the ground as he used his other hand to clutch at the hair he’d cut short — as many other Watchers had done to their beautiful, angelic locks once upkeep became impossible.
He rasped, “It hurts. The stars.” He held on tighter to Azazel’s robe, put himself against his side as a child might.
Nearby, the slow Baraqiel was dragging the body of the faceless Kokabiel before dropping the angel of the stars on the shore and doubling over to pant and shiver, wings folding back inside himself.
“Dina,” Tadeo finally called, forcing himself to address the one who’d caused all of this. “What’s happening?”
Blinking, Dina finally seemed to fall from his trance, and he tilted his head, as if he didn’t remember Tadeo for a moment. “Oh.” Then he replied, beautiful but too hollow: “We’re saving your Earth, Tadeo. This must happen to save it.”
Azazel watched Dina carefully, not understanding the words but not trying to.
His mind was occupied; that angel there, Azazel was certain, was his close friend from Heaven, but the great reunion he would have expected, that he’d imagined would occur if he ever saw that sweet little angel again, was absent.
Didn’t Dina recognize him? ‘Don’t you care that I stand before you?
You act as if I’m a stranger to you, and I feel that you’re a stranger to me. ’ Why?
Tadeo’s answer was shakier, uncertain, confused. “The sun is dark. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen, is it…? I know this. It’s a sign of the end.”
‘Lie to him,’ said Apsinthos.
‘Lie?’ Dina replied, heart stuttering. ‘But how?’
‘Lie to him, or it will all be over. You must lead him to destroy the world, or you will never have Heaven again, Dina.’
‘But what if he doesn’t want to? If I can’t convince him?’
‘His wrath will consume him, angel. All you have to do is keep him on this path. He will become their destroyer. Lie to him. Lie.’
It had been one thing to feign ignorance, to tell the truth misleadingly, but lying to a distressed face was another.
Dina’s open mouth choked up; he wanted to confess that this had to happen, that this was the only way to end evil.
They had to destroy it all. They had to die to resurrect — all of them.
“It must get worse before it gets better,” he told the anti-Christ. “Please trust me, Tadeo. This must occur. I understand that it doesn’t seem so, but—” The guilt was dirty, heavy. “You must have faith, Tadeo.”
“Faith, eh?” Dante echoed.
Tadeo glanced at the soldier beside him, noticed his narrowed eyes, tense expression; and Tadeo’s heart thumped hard enough in his chest to hurt, but he returned his attention to the angel soon enough. “Is it true that angels and demons worked together to imprison these Watchers? Why?”
Again, Dina required a second of silence before he spoke again. “The story of the great flood is far more complex than what your people wrote down.”
“Agh,” Danel groaned, hoarser this time; then, he grunted up to Azazel again. “I can hear the sun— It’s saying a million words to me at once. I can’t think. I can’t.” A whimper, high and helpless, escaped Danel’s mouth. “I’ve never been able to hear it, not like Kokabiel does.”
“What is it saying?” Azazel calmly asked.
“I don’t know,” gasped the fallen angel of the sun. “I can’t make sense of it. If this is what Kokabiel hears, I understand why he is the way that he is.”
“He,” croaked the always-quiet voice of Baraqiel, “must be hearing it all too.” The nearest Watchers turned to see the body of the red-haired Kokabiel, splayed out over the ground, shuddering in harsh jerks, almost as if he were convulsing, with fingers grasping at nothing.
Suddenly, Baraqiel nudged him hard with his foot, almost a kick.
Unlike the others, Baraqiel’s body was almost entirely devoid of gory gashes, for he had gone quietly, without resisting, when Michael’s angels came for him amid the flood rain.
Dante told Tadeo: “I don’t think he’s telling the truth.”
But Dina ignored him to say: “Think of the story of Abraham and his son, Tadeo. Think of the story of Job. To do good for God, you must confront a call that first seems implausible and cruel, and you must face adversity. You will be rewarded for it. The world will be saved. You must trust in His plan.”
Tadeo clenched his jaw. “I do. I do trust in Him.” But this did not feel right.
“If what you say is true, though, then what do we do now?” He could feel Dante’s frustrated glare on his skin, searing, but he was being careful.
‘What comes after the darkened sun? I can’t remember.
I can’t remember now. Fuck, I can’t remember. ’