Chapter 35 #2
“I do not like having my devotion to the Creator questioned,” Kiba says, their voice an identical copy of Michael’s.
It even carries the same cadence as his.
“My means of involvement, specifically, are what I hesitate on. Even the most loyal of servants should think critically about the orders they obey when it does not come directly from God Himself.”
That last piece is a very pointed jab at the Council’s authority. I know it, and so does everyone else here. It feels like we’re all holding our breath for a few bated seconds, and then… Michael starts laughing.
I’ve never wanted to hear the sound come from him, and I have to fight to keep from cringing. He laughs like a wealthy old white man who just bought his fifth yacht. It’s disgustingly pretentious.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Semyaza. I don’t mean to insult you.
It’s just that this one is such a gem. I can see why he’s your second in command.
” Michael shakes his head, grinning. “It’s been far too long since someone has acted the way you do, Kiba, and even remotely has the value to back it up.
As the Archangel of Imitation, I appreciate that you are highly discerning in the use of your ability.
Now, be a dear and shift back. I see enough of myself when I look in the mirror. ”
Kiba listens, a smug look falling over their returned face.
“If it eases your conscience,” Michael continues, “then Uriel will personally take the soul of the most corrupt politician he can find for you. Won’t you, Uriel?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” he answers simply, his musical pitch suddenly seeming more unnerving than peaceful. Much like the death he represents, I suppose.
“Great, now that that’s settled,” Michael rolls his eyes, swiveling his chair to face his side of the audience. “Do we have anyone from House Vesperin here? If so, please stand.”
Two young angels, a boy and a girl with dark hair and wiry frames, reluctantly rise to their feet. They look like mere teenagers, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, if their appearances are anything to go by.
“Ah, the twins! You’ll do perfectly.” Michael acts like he’s playing some sort of game as he acknowledges them. I can’t help but wonder where the fuck he’s going with this. “Remind everyone for us, who is your father?”
The girl answers slowly, quietly, “Teyrin of House Vesperin.”
“Thank you. That is all, you may be seated.” Waving them off, Michael spins his chair back towards the master shapeshifter. “You remember Lyra, don’t you, Kiba? Your only granddaughter born before Triumph Day?”
Kiba’s eyes remain glued to the twins, their body frozen and lacking all prior bravado. Even their voice comes out pained, “Yes. I remember all the children of my bastard son.”
“Well, not all. Vesperin’s had a few more in the past two thousand years. But with your absence, of course, they were born without specialties. So you’re not missing much on that front.”
Their gaze finally shifts to Michael, darkened by something vindictive and sinister. “What have you done to my Lyra?”
“The same thing I had to do with all of the Watchers’ descendants, of course.
” Michael pauses nonchalantly to inspect an invisible blemish on his golden gauntlet, prolonging the time it takes him to get to the fucking point.
“We needed more shapeshifters, you see, and Lyra was the only womb with your specialty. So, I cleansed her bloodline with my seed. Haven’t you heard? It’s a truly unique skill of mine.”
Oh, God.
What in the actual fuck.
Is he seriously gloating about his sexual relations with Kiba’s granddaughter… in the name of EUGENICS? That is so far beyond revolting. It’s sick, twisted, perverted, cruel—
Semyaza places a warning hand on his second, who looks like they’re about to come undone, but Michael doesn’t relent. He keeps pushing and pushing.
“It’s a shame your dear granddaughter remains in our Purgatory for high treason these days.
Luckily, though, Lyra’s and my cleansed son Teyrin has produced plenty of new bloodlines with your shapeshifting specialty, and he just keeps going.
” A dark chuckle. “I even have some of them with me here today. I’m so glad I could arrange this introduction, Kiba, between you and some of your newest great-great-grandchildren—my grandchildren. Wave hello, twins!”
The two teenagers from before reluctantly obey, looking more uncomfortable than if a gun were pointed at their heads.
“Vesperin was a mistake. I never meant to have offspring.” Kiba’s voice sounds demonic, shaking with fury. “You have abused my gift and reduced innocent Lyra to a broodmare. Have you no shame?”
“Oh, don’t be so sour. Vesperin has been a blessing to Elohim.
You should be proud of your boy! He’s a true loyalist and an outstanding citizen, despite the traitorous actions of his parents.
” Michael casually cracks his knuckles. “You are powerful, yes, but you have been replaced many times over. All thanks to Lyra and her willingness to breed with me, however reluctant she may have—”
Kiba lunges across the table like a rabid animal.
And they promptly freeze in place under someone’s magic.
Michael’s wicked laughter fills the room. He turns to the least horrendous Council member at his side, granting me a good look at the pure joy on his face. “You wanted me to teach the cadets a lesson about war, did you not, Raphael?”
“That is correct,” he replies solemnly, staring at Kiba’s frozen body with an expression caught between melancholy and pity.
“I believe this should be sufficient, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes, you made many fine points.”
I don’t know what’s more sickening to me right now: Michael’s vile nature—or everyone’s disgusting sycophancy towards him?
Abaddon catches it. He glances at me, frowning, just before sending another wave of power over me. The revulsion I feel instantly dies from embers into ashes, and everything human about me recedes.
I’m barely left with conscious thought, listening to everything in a haze.
“Brilliant,” Michael hums, releasing Kiba from their frozen position.
Still wearing the wrath of a thousand suns, the shapeshifter sinks back into their chair as Michael prattles on.
“If you want Lyra released, you will treat the Council as your superior. You will work with the Speculatores, follow Council Law, and report to us directly in Elohim when ordered to.”
“Absolutely not,” Semyaza interrupts—to the collective gasp of the audience. “Kiba is my second-in-command. I will not have them reporting to anyone other than me, and I will not allow them to suffer any more penance to enter your city.”
Michael bristles, his discontent poorly controlled, as he answers quickly.
“Don’t be foolish, Semyaza. Earth is insecure, and I will not continue to use the Abyss as a neutral meeting ground.”
I can almost physically see the fake nonchalance as it falls over him.
“However… there is an easy solution that I have the authority to decree.” Michael takes a dramatic pause, rising to his feet, and raises his voice to make an elevated announcement.
“I hereby grant a pardon to the Profuga gathered here today. Henceforth, they will not face penance for their past transgressions in order to enter Elohim.”
Discourse breaks out in the room.
“A pardon!”
“…The Semyaza? In Elohim?…”
“They won’t last a day—”
“—My kids won’t be safe!”
“Thank you,” Semyaza says with a shit-eating grin, leaning back in his chair. The room senses foul play, quieting into a murmur. The vultures in the stands are greedy for gossip. “I’m glad that’s taken care of. However, I won’t need to use it for this. Ramiel, please materialize.”
There are two seconds of shocked gaps and chatters while Semyaza raises his forearm—then a fucking raven appears on it out of thin air.
The only angel on the side of the Elohim who doesn’t look surprised is none other than Michael.
“Ramiel,” he yawns, looking at the bird with disinterest. “I was wondering if you’d show your face sometime today. I suppose this… form… in which you prefer counts as a face. Is this you volunteering to communicate across multiple realms for us?”
The bird’s responding “Yes” is a low croaking imitation of human words.
“Now you have both my second and my third working for your cause,” Semyaza says, almost like it’s a warning. “Surely that is enough to spare us from contempt in your dystopia.”
More discourse.
“They insult our home!”
“…Archangel of Multiplicity…”
“—Was here the whole time!”
“—Send them all back!”
“Enough,” Michael growls, immediately bringing the room to a dead silence. “One of Ramiel will be sufficient. Perhaps he will finally deign to have some children while in our dystopian city… Let us move on. Gabriel, feel free to spare my parched voice by sharing the official plan.”
Gabriel straightens, folding his hands in front of him on the table. I guess he doesn’t feel like standing up again?
“To secure the Holy Land and its gate to the Abyss, we will activate the 144,000 and take control of modern-day Israel and Palestine. The two witnesses, one for each country, will lead the humans. They will report directly to the mission’s commanding officer, Archangel Malak.
We predict this should take no longer than seven days, even with considerable opposition. ”
My stomach drops in an innate, physical fear response that can’t be smothered by Abaddon’s magic.
I fear for Dusk. The Israelis and Palestinians aren’t just going to hand over their countries to a militant death cult like the 144k.
No sane person would! It’d be a slaughter!
There’s no way Dusk would ever agree to something like that… Right?
I search the crowd for his familiar face, but I struggle to find it as Michael continues speaking for his partner-in-war-crimes.