Chapter 29 #2
“Just… stop.” Abaddon opens his eyes, his demeanor stone cold, all those little hints of humanity washed out. “You’re spouting dangerous misinformation.”
Dusk, damn him, doesn’t let it go. I swear his eyes even darken as he leans into the table.
“We’re the flawed ones, Abaddon. Not the humans.
Our existence is limited to their shadow.
Their heavy, body-fueled emotions make them appreciate every fleeting moment of their fragile existence.
Their ignorance makes them curious, pushing them to seek knowledge and discovery that we sit on and waste.
The testing ground of Earth is made to refine them, while we had everything handed to us.
Would it be so bad to become more like them?
Have you learned nothing from our new allies? ”
I’m pretty sure that’s the polar opposite of how the angels are supposed to think—especially if Michael is the gold fucking standard for the Elohim.
And as much as I like Raphael, he is still part of the Council.
He could be feigning inattention, preparing to repeat this whole conversation back to the red-winged asshole.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I mumble in warning.
But I’m completely ignored. Abaddon glosses right over me, keeping his mask up and his words laced with indifference.
I know him better by now, though. There’s no mistaking how he speaks a bit quieter, with less confidence.
“We can’t change. These are our preordained roles.
We will remain in them indefinitely, or until the Holy Father calls us home. ”
“Will we?” Dusk leans in further. “Or are you just too afraid to look for alternatives?”
Abaddon stands up abruptly, sending a jolt of shock through me. His stance is tense, glaring at Dusk with the quiet hatred of an offended god, as if he’s contemplating murder.
I hold my breath, and the rest of the room seems to, too. It becomes deafeningly quiet.
By some miracle, nobody attempts to murder one another.
Abaddon turns, storms off, and busts out the dining hall’s doors. The audience around the table watches him leave, then casually returns to their conversations, as if nothing even happened.
I look at Dusk, making a discreet gesture that says, Why the hell did you do that?
Because I can, he shrugs in response, nonchalantly piercing a broccoli with his fork and popping it in his mouth.
With a sigh, I stare down at the table. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do in this situation. Maybe it’d be best if I followed Abaddon, tried to talk him down. But then again, part of me doesn’t want to. He shouldn’t have to be coddled—
“Kae,” Raphael calls softly, grabbing my attention. “Do not fret. Malak has good intentions, however unconventional his methods can be.”
He flashes an unamused look at Dusk, making the angel quietly sink down into his chair like a lectured child. But when his emerald green eyes return to me, they’re just as gentle as his soothing voice.
“Abaddon carries a heavy burden. He aims to harden himself in preparation for Armageddon, but he is misguided. The Destroyer does not need less humanity in him for the battle on the surface—he needs more humanity.”
He sighs in disappointment, again reminding me so much of my own father that it gives me a pang of grief. I’ve tried so hard to ignore how much I miss my family. To keep busy. Being cut off from everyone is a yawning black pit of emptiness.
“It doesn’t help that he’s been so isolated this whole time,” I admit.
“He would not have it any other way, unfortunately. It is why I was hoping you’d be able to get through to him.”
That surprises me. And I know I fail to keep it off my face, so I decide to explain, continuing to tell him more than I’d prefer. “I would have thought you were more closely aligned with Michael’s beliefs. That the shepherd should be above the flock.”
“The Will of the Creator is dynamic and ever-changing,” Raphael says with a sad smile.
Come to think of it, all of his smiles have a tinge of something heartbreaking.
“We see one perspective in Heaven, then we come to find a different one on Earth. He challenges us in that way. Some may rise to the occasion, while others cling to their beliefs.”
“And you, Raphael? What do you believe?”
“I believe it is not the place of a bird to fear the ground,” he replies, and suddenly, a tangible feeling of security and comfort envelops me. It comes on strong, settling into my bones, soothing all the aches and pains in an instant. Like a magic balm, of some sort.
“You’re… helping me?” My face tightens in consternation.
“I cannot treat the cause of your headache, but I can make it less noticeable for a while.”
I feel my heart clenching in my chest, twisting in guilt.
There is no possible way this gentle soul is secretly a cruel being. His kindness exists in direct opposition to Michael’s fury. I shouldn’t have heeded Dusk’s warning so easily—it was baseless. A judgment by association, not by facts.
“I wanted to do that, too, you know,” I whisper, hoping only Raphael will hear me.
“Before all this, I was going to be a doctor. I was going to protect people, to give them relief from their pain… I don’t want to be the one to cause suffering.
Even if it’d minimize harm to the largest number of people. ”
“I know, my child. It is a tragedy that your human life was robbed from you. As it is for your gift of mortality as well.”
“Gift?” I look at him strangely, but he nods, confirming I heard him correctly. “You do not believe immortality is good?”
“Death is not as awful as it may seem. Mortals suffer for a lifetime, but they are eventually granted true peace for the rest of eternity… An immortal’s toil, however, knows no end.”
We would suffer it together.
The last moments of my near-death experience echo back to me. The intense paradox I felt—like being given the strength of a supernova, but the hollowness of a black hole—I understand it now. I understand what my shadow was trying to tell me.
And, God, it hurts.
All this makeup, all this false bravado, and I still can’t hide how shaken I am by the thought of contending with reality forever. To live with everything I regret, everyone I’ve ever lost, and to never know peace… That’s not a blessing. That is a curse.
“Be still, dear child.” Raphael carefully touches my shoulder, and I can feel my heart rate slow down. The constriction in my lungs lifts, and comfort envelops me once again. “I know you have many questions. You have much to learn, but it will not all happen at once.”
I swallow, trying to force some sense back into myself. The help he gives lends me enough strength to think of one more thing I can ask him. “Can you at least tell me what I can expect, now that I’m immortal? If I lose a limb, for example, would it grow back? And how long would it take?”
He chuckles a little, as if he finds my example humorous.
It’s a soft, sweet sound that I can’t possibly be offended by.
“I assume you will share many similarities with the lower angels. You will still feel the human sensations of your body, such as hunger and pain, so you will still need to take care of your physical form. But if your mortal body dies, your soul will not, and it will be harrowing to experience. Many naturally born angels have an attachment to their first body, taking its same form at every physical resurrection. It is the best way to stay grounded in your individual identity.”
“And in case of dismemberment?” I make a chopping motion on my forearm. I was completely serious with that example. These are important details. “What then?”
“Physical invincibility, along with healing from mortal injuries, are conscious efforts and skills that you will need to practice.” All humor drops from his face, replaced by concern. “Please do not go cutting off body parts to test your limits.”
I don’t know. That sounds like even more of an argument for intentionally hurting myself to practice my self-healing in a controlled situation. But… I don’t want to scare the angel too much. “Right, of course. I’d never do something like that.”
He gives me an uncertain look, as if he doesn’t believe me one bit, but is too polite to push the issue. “You are strong, Kae. You will forge your own path. I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah she is,” Dusk chimes in from across the table, and I can’t help but roll my eyes with a smile.
I resume my eating for a moment before pressing more questions. “So how do you guys know I’m like the lower angels? What if I am like the archangels?”
“’Cause that’s not how it works, Dawn. You were born, not created. And you’re not innately invincible—yes, don’t make that face at me. I’m certain. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had a headache the moment you woke up.”
“Fine. That’s a fair point.” I still don’t buy the whole package, though.
I’m not convinced that merging my soul with a semi-sentient ball of light doesn’t make me at least partially created, but…
I’ll hold off on the lofty potential for now.
“So if you archangels are so invincible, then why do you all have weapons and armor?”
“I’ve already told you—”
“I’d like to hear it from Raphael,” I cut Dusk off, holding up a knife in his direction. Of course, he has to overdramatize it, acting like I’m seriously threatening to cut him and holding his hands up in innocent submission.
“Our weapons and armor are the exceptions,” the healer replies somberly.
“They’re for each other, not for worldly harm.
They amplify strength and invincibility, but their effectiveness is dependent upon the wielder.
For example, a nick from Malak’s greatsword might tear you apart, but not even scratch Michael. ”
“Theoretically speaking, that is,” Dusk interjects. “I haven’t had a chance to try it out on him yet, unfortunately.”
I chuckle dryly, pushing my food around my plate. I think I’d like a chance to cut Michael, too, after the shit he pulled on me. I wonder if the dagger Dusk gave me would do the trick. Maybe I could gouge a little eye out, too. Since it’d grow back, after all…
Before I know it, Raphael gets up to leave, bidding us goodnight. I realize, then, that most of the table has left, and the food is getting cleared away. Before I lose my chance, I swipe a pastry covered with Abyss fruit to take with me.
I stand up, fully prepared to go sit with my thoughts—and my dessert—in peace. Dusk follows me, of course, but I already know I won’t be doing much talking on our brief walk together.
We’re about halfway across the room when the hall doors suddenly burst open.
In walks Abaddon with a stranger.
The man looks strikingly similar to him, yet markedly different. Their black armor is nearly identical, their faces have a similar shape and features, and even their hair is close to the same. Except, however, one is brown instead of silver…
Most importantly, though, are the wings.
Until now, I didn’t think any other angel had the same featherless wings as Abaddon, but the only difference between the two is a reversal of color. Whereas Abaddon’s are black with red veins, this man has red wings with black veins.
If I didn’t know any better, I might think they’re brothers.
“You must be Kae,” the stranger says, giving me a slight bow. “I apologize for being so late. I was going to skip dinner, but then I ran into Abaddon, who told me you were awake and present tonight. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I can’t seem to place where his accent is supposed to be from. Spain, maybe? Or Italy?
“Kae,” Abaddon calls, “I’d like you to meet Semyaza.”
I look at him, and puzzle pieces immediately start to snap together in my head.
Semyaza is the one who first led the angels from Heaven to Earth.
He’s the one Abaddon tried to tell me he understood ‘why he did it’ when his feelings about being with a human started slipping out of him.
I thought the Heavenly archangels couldn’t possibly have families, but I overlooked one key element.
The power of intentional creation.
It doesn’t matter if they were born from the same womb or not. Semyaza and Abaddon look like brothers because they were created to be. They’re as close to siblings as archangels can be.
No wonder Abaddon wouldn’t dare risk a relationship with me!
This whole time, his own brother was being tortured for being with a human.
I’m moderately upset that he didn’t try to explain their relationship to me.
I would have understood. I don’t have siblings, but I do have Jackie, and that’s plenty close enough for me to relate.
Why didn’t Abaddon just talk to me?
Does he have survivor’s guilt?
How does this change things?
As a thousand questions fly through my head, I notice Semyaza is watching me closely, so I meet his eyes. They’re as angelic as any other, painted in a sparkling cerulean blue. Much like Abaddon’s, actually, if only his pigment hadn’t been completely drained out and replaced by a ghost.
His head tilts to the side, eyebrows knitting together, as he intently stares back into my eyes. For a second, I’m put off by it—and then I remember how mine are even more peculiar than his. He must be perplexed by the supernatural shade on a human.
“You seem to have questions,” Abaddon says slowly.
“Many.” As soon as I answer, I realize he could have meant that for Semyaza and not me, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Either way, I’ve had enough questions for one day.
“I’d be happy to help answer them, Kae.”
“That’s very kind of you, Semyaza. But, uh, I’ve already had quite the day as it is.” I start to back away, clutching my pastry close to my chest. “And my head, it’s just—it’s killing me. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Of course. Anytime.”
I dart out of the room before anyone can catch me, almost tripping in my eagerness to get out.