Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
So many poems have written about the angels of lore, Luce thought bitterly, as the heavenly host approached. So many ballads composed likening them to glorious golden beings of light and warmth, and they are all wrong.
There was nothing warm or soothing about the light that poured from the overcast clouds, parting them like a knife through butter. Choral singing rang through the clouds, and a contingent of the host of heaven appeared in the sky, astride gleaming horses fashioned from pure sunbeams.
Like a clap of thunder, a booming voice cried out above the choir, echoing over the clearing at near-painful levels. “And so, the heavenly host rode forth, to cleanse the earth of wickedness and restore peace.”
Jehovah flew in the lead, resplendent in golden armor as he descending from the heavens with his snow-white wings spread wide to slow the fall, each feather capped in deadly serrated gold.
Michael knew that those wing blades took a full half hour to apply properly.
Few situations could justify the wasted time for the showmanship and slight combat advantage they provided, especially for a warrior like Jehovah who so rarely saw direct combat.
It was a frankly disgusting show of vanity with everything at stake.
Uriel and Jophiel flanked him, a small group of perhaps four other angels rode behind, and Ezekiel and an angel Michael believed to be called Ithiel brought up the rear.
It was almost an insult, to appear with so few of his guards—a slap in the face that Luce knew his brother had taken great pains to orchestrate.
“I do grow so weary of cleaning up your messes, brother,” he spoke in grand overtones, projecting an aura of regal calm as he led his cavalry down through the barrier and into the clearing, but Lucifer knew his brother well enough to detect the steel and fire beneath Jehovah’s honeyed words.
“Your interference is not wanted or needed, Jehovah.” Lucifer struggled to his feet, assisted as best he could manage by Michael. “This is a matter of my son, not yours.”
“No.” Jehovah touched down at last, his warriors settling in formation behind him.
Jophiel sneered at Lucifer, carefully ignoring Glory’s wounded stare, while Uriel bowed his head in shame at Michael’s lingering glance.
“My son knew his place and his purpose. Only the son of a traitor could prove such a malignant disappointment.”
“He is not a disappointment,” Mags protested, leaning heavily on one arm as she struggled to rise. She got to one knee, then paused to collect herself. “Any one of the children of Heaven could be led astray as he was. You judge his actions without knowing their cause.”
“Led astray,” Jehovah scoffed. “And what is the ‘cause’ for your own treason, Mary Magdalene?”
Remi blinked slowly, becoming more alarmed as she processed the severity of the situation. “Mags, you need to shut up.”
The other woman ignored her, eyes gleaming bright with defiance as she found her footing and straightened with aching slowness to her meager five foot two. Luce was reminded of David and Goliath as he watched her, unwavering in the face of Jehovah’s towering height.
“Some of us understand that what is right is not always what is easy,” she said. “I make my choices for the betterment of all who live, not in effort to maintain my own standing.”
Uriel went visibly tense as she spoke, knowing exactly how well those words were going to go over. Ezekiel raised a delicate brow but masked his emotions better.
Jehovah scowled. “We shall see how free you are with those blasphemous remarks when we return you to Heaven for your trial.”
“She is going nowhere!” Lucifer snapped. “My son, my court...you have no dominion over my people, brother. I invoke my right as her King to Sanctuary.”
“You dare to challenge me? I think you shall find I have a greater dominion than you believe, Lus’ior.
” Jehovah clicked his tongue and slammed his staff down roughly, sending a ripple through the earth.
“This is why I hate when you attempt to playact as a King. Always dreaming and making up your own rules as you go.”
Lighting fast, a thin strand of golden light flitted across his throat, and suddenly Jehovah was choking as golden ichor spilled down the front of him, staining the robes beneath his armor and dripping in rivulets to the grass.
The wound was ugly, but nothing close to fatal for a Seraphim Eterna.
It was healing before the first drops of ichor hit the dirt, and Jehovah whirled angrily on his brother.
Luce still had his arm extended, fingers splayed in an arc and pointing straight at the other man. “Choose your words more carefully, Jehovah, or I shall do more than deliver a flesh wound.”
Jehovah’s laugh was mocking and cold. “You’re almost tapped out, Lus’ior, don’t try to bluff me. Why any of these fools left my paradise to be exiled with you is a wonder, when you’ve become so pathetic.”
From the center of the clearing came a drawn-out groan as Foster slowly returned to consciousness in the rubble that now shifted around him. Remi took the momentary reprieve to drag herself to her feet, radiating a determination unique to those with nothing left to lose.
Eyes glowing crimson, she turned from Foster to face Jehovah directly, moving Mags aside to safety. “There’s more than one reason we chose to follow Lucifer, you golden fallacy.”
Bal pushed himself up and crossed to Remi’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re an arrogant prick, for starters.”
“And a hypocrite for holding others to standards you reject,” Camiel added, taking Remi’s hand and gripping it tightly.
Judas staggered to his feet, stepping up beside Bal. “You’re a real selfish bastard.”
“You use your affection as a tool for manipulation,” Glory rose unsteadily to her feet, leaning on Sachiel for support as they joined the other Fallen in forming a wall between Jehovah and their King. Jophiel made a wounded sound but refused to meet his sister’s searching gaze.
“You let others fight your battles for you,” Sachi said, wrapping an arm around Cami’s waist as he reached her, Glory standing at his side.
“You thrive on praise you’ve done little to earn,” Rag walked with heavy steps to stand behind his wife, expression grim but resolved.
Remi’s lip curled in a derisive sneer. “You lash out like a child with a temper and then claim your actions to be justice.”
Their auras flared powerfully to life as they tapped into the reserves of power Lucifer had granted them, colorful light dancing through the clearing brightly enough to rival Jehovah’s golden glow.
Lucifer felt a swell of pride and adoration for them blooming in his chest. These were his people; this was his family.
And they were risking everything to protect him.
“We chose our side long ago,” Rag said firmly. “We choose it again every single day.”
“We followed Lucifer because we believe in him, and we’re willing to die standing up for what we know is right,” Cami added.
Jehovah watched impassively during their speech, looking almost bored.
It was only the slightest tick of his gaze up over Camiel’s shoulder that made her tense up and start to turn.
The blade sunk deep into her back before she could complete the movement, sliding through muscle and sinew like so much wet paper to emerge from the front of her chest.
Uriel flinched, reflexively reaching for his own sword at the same time Jophiel gripped the pommel of his. Jehovah stilled them with a gesture, waiting to see what would come next.
“So die,” Foster said quietly, the cold whisper clearly audible in the stunned silence of the clearing.
Cami hissed, trying to twist away from Foster’s ironclad grip on her shoulder, but it quickly died into a guttural cough as the blade lodged in her sternum prevented her from healing.
Thick black blood spilled freely down her torso.
“Cami!” Sachiel wailed, trying to pry Foster off of his wife, but it was like wrestling with a statue. “Foster please!”
“Camiel,” Luce choked, stumbling forward while gripping his own chest. “No!”
“Yes,” Foster smiled, a slick and lifeless facsimile of joy, and gave a heavy shove that sent Cami’s impaled form sprawling to the dead grass. Her aura surged one last time, brilliant emerald against the pale gray sky, before flickering out like a dead bulb.
Remiel let out a bellow of rage, rushing toward the boy, only to slam up short against an unseen barrier.
Rag beat his fists against the walls of their invisible prison, while the other Fallen seemed too stunned by Cami’s demise to even react.
Sachiel knelt brokenly at her side, hand hovering over his wife’s lifeless body as if he could somehow turn back time.
“What is this?!” Rag punctuated each word with a bang of his fist.
“A precaution.” Foster wagged his finger at the two still fighting as if chastising naughty animals. “It is not yet your turn to perish.”
The King of Angels laughed. “Clearly it was a mistake to loan your power to those who cannot wield it.”
“Only you would twist the knife over such a loss,” Lucifer’s voice was hollowed out by anger and grief. Even as the power he had gifted to Camiel trickled back into him, replenishing his dwindling stores, he would have given anything to have her back instead.
“And only you are a blind enough dreamer, head full of heretical nonsense, that you would risk your own survival by loaning your power to anyone who asks for it.”
“The cost of my survival cannot be measured against the weight of the shame it would incur,” Lucifer said, with shocking calm, “if I were ever to cavort myself as you do. Neither of us is the center of this Universe, as you well know, and yet only one of us insists upon clinging desperately to a false crown.”