Prologue
THE UNNAMED ANGEL
For over two thousand years, I’ve been burning alive.
When torture is ignorable and death is only temporary, time becomes our ultimate currency—and deprivation of it is the highest form of discipline.
Unless, that is, the Creator intervenes.
Then we suffer a punishment truly befitting archangels.
His Holy Fire consumes much more than the vessels we use to interact with the world. It blazes through our very spirits, cleansing us on a level that exceeds physical boundaries. We surrender our individuality, willingly, to become numb to the pain, the hopelessness, the loss.
There is little I remember from before; little left of who I once was. I died here in every way that mattered.
The Great Deceiver, they once called me. The King of Lies. I held a mirror to all creation, and the angels blamed me for what they saw. They wanted someone to be responsible for the darkness, so they gave it my name.
Twenty archangels marched from Heaven during the Fall, so twenty were punished with a fate worse than death.
I watch, now, as everyone but me is released from their long suffering. On our island in the endless lake of fire, I sit at the summit of misery. I remain in a cage of brimstone while their broken chains fall to the ashen ground around me.
Oh, how they rejoice.
I am not the first thought in anyone’s mind. Not with the taste of freedom on their tongue. They weep with joy, singing praises to the Almighty. No longer numb, no longer in agony—the truth of our punishment is so soon forgotten. The angels who betrayed us are only a distant memory.
Except for the ones who misplace their blame on me.
Semyaza, the one who originally led the Fall, heads straight for me, a snarl resting on his returned face. His rage-filled eyes greedily take in the flames that I’ve become, barely left in the shape of a soul.
“How apt you should remain in Purgatory,” he says to me. “Had you not lusted for power, we would have been able to continue our lives in peace. You have brought this upon us all, and you deserve exponentially more torment than we do for it.”
A voice is difficult for me to form from the flames, but not impossible. It takes to the air in a hiss and a crackle. “I lusted no more or less than you did—”
“I did not rape and murder countless innocent mortals!”
I resist the urge to scoff at his unchecked temper. “There is no such thing as an ‘innocent’ tyrant. I merely allowed my followers to escape their own oppression, and I did nothing that a woman did not explicitly ask me for. Your prejudice in extramarital affairs clouds your judgment.”
“Your lies have no hold over me, Deceiver. You are nothing but a wretched sinner.” Semyaza emphasizes his point by hurling a ball of spit at me, smug satisfaction filling his face as it sizzles in the flames.
“The Creator has made His Divine Will clear. You will rot in here for the rest of eternity, and I will smile at the thought of your pain. It is the only thing I have left to bring me such joy.”
He tilts his chin up before immaterializing out of the prison realm in a flash of light.
Spineless fool. I should not have wasted my energy arguing with him. He and his people will never be brave enough to face the truth. Even now, they flee without a second glance in my direction.
He who does not stand for something, stands for nothing.
I will always stand for free will.
Soon, there are only a few left in this godforsaken realm. I don’t doubt their reason for lingering. Their loyalty to me was hard-earned, and it is even harder to lose.
Still, I give them an open invitation—one that can be declined.
“Come, if you may.”
They all accept like moths to a flame.
Amezarak, my faithful second, ventures up my hill at the head of the group. He clears his raspy throat, shaping a slight bow before me. “Master, seeing you suffer pains me beyond all measure. But it is clear that the Almighty’s binding power far surpasses my abilities. I have let you down.”
A flicker of emotion threatens me with its impending return. “Do not measure yourself by the shortcomings you were designed to have. It is impossible to release me; therefore, I must be killed.”
A somber silence transfixes my small audience. They know it would be a mercy to me. Even now, the numbness I shroud myself in is close to abandoning me.
But my death is not without risk.
The higher the angel, the harder the fall.
“You have never died before,” Amezarak says slowly, with caution. “Even if we were capable of killing you, we cannot know how long it’d take for you to regenerate. It could be weeks, or it could be centuries.”
“Nobody has ever tried before, but that does not make it impossible. It may take every one of you, and it may use everything you have to give, but it will work. If you have any faith in me—” I pause, trying to steady myself.
Fire licks every fiber of my being, pushing deeper and deeper into my emotional armor.
“You will end my suffering now, so that I may be free another day.”
Amezarak takes one look at the rest of my followers, whose faces remain stony and resolute, before he bows his head in understanding. “You have our complete faith.”
I’m out of time.
“Our very souls are fuel.” Pain, fire, burning— “You only need to detonate it.”