Chapter 32
Gabriel was in a lot of trouble.
Oh, he’d gotten out of the mess at StryTech thanks to Stryke’s anti-angel weapon that had exploded Matrius and Darniel’s organs and given them a touch of amnesia. Gabriel had only been spared the worst effects because he’d been able to summon his golden armor at the last millisecond. And because he’d been largely unaffected, he’d told the Angelic Council a story that made him a hero. He’d actually saved Matrius and Darniel from their own clusterfuck.
Sure, some doubted his story, but it was all they had. So, no, his trouble didn’t stem from that.
It came from a total sham of a trial, which Gabriel realized from the moment the Ordeal began in the Great Colosseum of Justice.
Most of the evidence against Gabriel was circumstantial at best, witch-trial-ridiculous at worst. One jackass, a Virtue named Furiel, claimed he had evidence that Gabriel helped Azagoth destroy Sheoul-gra. The evidence was that he’d once overheard Gabriel tell Reaver that Azagoth was right. Right about what , he couldn’t say. But it was enough that Gabriel agreed with Azagoth on anything, apparently. It was also convenient that Reaver was comatose and couldn’t dispute the account.
Joreem, a longtime friend of Gabriel’s, stood next to him in the center of the judicial process arena as they awaited the verdict, his curly black hair shining in the sunlight.
“It’s going to be a slap on the wrist,” Joreem murmured.
Gabriel noticed Joreem didn’t say, “ They’ll find you innocent .”
“So, you believe I’m guilty?”
Joreem looked at him like he was an idiot. “Come on. You know you are. What I don’t know is why.” He held up his hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”
Yeah, well, Gabriel hadn’t planned on it. Because sure, he’d helped Azagoth, but he hadn’t known the extent of the Grim Reaper’s plans. Gabriel thought the guy just wanted to break out of his prison.
But he definitely hadn’t known he would destroy the prison and release billions of souls back into the realms. It would have been the equivalent of Reaver destroying the human part of Heaven, sending all of them all back into their previous bodies and providing no place for the souls of the departed to go. Human spirits would drift aimlessly on the spirit plane, unable to find peace or be reborn into new bodies. No babies would be born, and chaos would reign.
“What kind of slap on the wrist do you think I’ll get?” he asked.
Joreem shrugged. “A century of soul-sorting, maybe? Or service in the Akashic Library. If they’re really mad at you, you’ll get stuck with counseling newly arrived souls.”
“So…torture. Mind-numbing, monotonous torture.” He shook his head. “Nah. I think they’re going to throw me down into the pits with my brethren.”
“They can’t keep all the Archangels locked down for much longer,” Joreem said in a low voice, even though no one was near them. The arena seats were packed, though. Gabriel had drawn quite the crowd. “People are starting to notice their absence.”
Suddenly, the buzz in the colosseum hushed, and thirty-six red-robed justices, the Angelic High Court, filed in, taking their places standing on a crystal lens that rose into the air. It hovered above the arena so they looked down upon Gabriel.
Next to them, but separated by a few feet, Metatron stood in regal blue robes, his head bowed, his hands bound by a Ligorial.
The First Justice, Tsadkiel, stepped forward. “Gabriel, Celestial of the Archangel Order. We have reached our verdict.” He paused, and in the heavy silence, Gabriel could hear his pulse in his ears. “We do find that you aided in the destruction of Sheoul-gra. We do pronounce you guilty of treason.”
Treason ?
The crowd exploded all around him. Some cheers, some boos, and a lot of shocked gasps.
Joreem shot him a stunned look, surely matching Gabriel’s. Treason was a strong word, associated with only the most heinous of Heavenly crimes.
“Gabriel, have you anything to say?”
Oh, yeah, he had a lot to say. But Joreem jabbed him in the side, cautioning him against telling these bastards what he really thought.
“Just that you’re wrong,” he said in a powerful voice that resonated through the justice facility. “I believed in Azagoth’s mission to help maintain a balance of good and evil souls between the human and demon realms. And I shared his opinion that he hadn’t been treated fairly by Heaven. But I did not knowingly assist him in destroying Sheoul-gra.”
“Noted.” Tsadkiel inhaled deeply and addressed the crowd. “Gabriel has served Heaven as one of the Creator’s most treasured, most trusted sons. His accomplishments over the millennia take up endless rows of tomes in the Akashic Library. He is a beloved, prominent figure in human lore and tales. We must carefully consider punishment, balancing his worth with his actions.”
“Don’t worry,” Joreem whispered under his breath. “They can’t do much to you.”
No, they couldn’t. Heck, this humiliation was far worse than whatever punishment they would come up with.
“So,” Tsadkiel continued, “for the grave offense of treason against Heaven, we sentence you, Gabriel of the Archangel Order, to expulsion.”
Expulsion ?!
“No!” he yelled. “No, this is—”
Armed guards surrounded him, shoving Joreem away and grabbing Gabriel by all four limbs.
“Your wings will be torn from your body,” he said as Gabriel struggled against the guards, “and you will be hurled into the human realm, where you will live as a pathetic Unfallen angel with few powers and little hope of redemption.”
“No!” he screamed as they dragged him toward the platform where his wings would be torn—not even sliced!—from his shoulders.
“Or,” the guy continued, “enter Sheoul and become an irredeemable True Fallen and turn your back on Heaven forever. So it shall be.”
“So it shall be,” all the justices intoned, their command falling with the finality of a guillotine blade in the silent colosseum.
Agony like Gabriel had never known ripped through him, shredding his body, his muscles, his very soul. Blades dug deep into his back as his attackers sought his wing anchors. He felt their fingers clawing, felt the blood streaming down his back and flank.
He screamed, gurgling blood as his bones snapped, his wings twisted and wrenched by powerful hands. They held his arms and legs so he was spread-eagle and then pulled as if he were to be drawn and quartered. He screamed into the ground as his right wing separated from his body. Then his left.
And then there was nothing but darkness.