Chapter 24 Suriel
My legions of angels are battered, exhausted, overwhelmed by the sheer number of traitors. We’re holding the line as best we can, yet each battle is harder than the last. The number of those that want to follow Lucifer grows by the hour.
His silver tongue, the tongue that was meant to guide humans back to God, and his beautiful face, his once pure divinity have become weapons against his brothers, sisters, and our Father. Yet, it’s no less potent.
The men and women I’ve trained beside and led for centuries are exhausted, wounded, scarred by maiming and killing those they once served with. Every emotional wound echoes with one that bleeds across our skin.
“Suriel,” Lucifer says, approaching me as we designed.
There’s no need to slaughter angels if we can come to a truce.
Judgment meeting charisma - I should have no chance to fall for his way with words.
“This is madness. We are angels, full of divine grace, Father’s most beloved, yet He wishes us to bow to humans, to give them all we have, for what? ”
“It is God’s will,” I say evenly. “We were made to uphold that will, to obey, to protect. We were never created to turn weapons on one another. The dissent must be quelled, and you are needed for that, brother. I have no personal problem with you. Fall in line, admit your mistakes, and beg God’s forgiveness. ”
Lucifer’s eyes burn with something unholy, but his smile remains.
“Oh, dear Suriel.” He strokes my face gently.
“You are exhausted, injured, unable to think for yourself. Question this: if you are meant to judge, to welcome or turn others away from the Heavenly kingdom, why are you unable to judge God’s laws - their fairness, whether they are right or wrong?
Why are you unable to question your obedience, even when angels rely on you? ”
I refuse to answer.
“Because we are stronger than God. Because He has no plan, only weaves it clumsily when confronted with a question or problem. We deserve more. If animals can surpass their sires, so, too, should we,” Lucifer soothes.
“Your men are exhausted and, you know, I now fight for something greater than myself. For the legions and garrisons that follow me. I will not stop. I will not fight fairly. I will torture, convert, or kill them all because the greater good deems it necessary.”
I see it in him, and can feel the weight of his new responsibility on his shoulders - not nearly big enough to handle it with grace.
He won’t stop.
He will kill them all and his own ranks will die. Heaven will be nothing but scattered bodies and the memory of an experiment gone wrong.
“We both want a truce. Take some time, talk to your ranks, let their perspective factor into your … judgment,” Lucifer says before gently kissing my cheek. “I do not want to see you fall.”
With that, he walks to his men, saying we are allowing time for healing, for rest. Lucifer has a way of twisting something terrible into a mercy, yet his words ring true - at least to him. He believes he is fighting an unjust father. Lucifer believes he is doing what is best for angels.
And if God truly designs everything with the future in mind, as I’ve been meant to believe, then Lucifer could only ever become this.
A rebel in Paradise.
My resolve shakes as I walk through my garrison. Some angels have had a wing removed, others are barely holding their divinity together, evident by their slowed healing. When they sleep, they scream, remembering all their brothers and sisters - dead at their hands.
Guilt is a heavy emotion, one we cannot outrun, cannot rise above, can only learn to make room for. My own hands are bloodied, with flesh or golden powder collecting beneath my nails as a permanent reminder of the lives I’ve taken defending Heaven.
Perhaps the price is too high. Perhaps we’re not meant to bow to the humans, but we’re meant to keep them in line, as we have the armies of lesser angels, organizing them, training them, preparing them.
Is it God’s word that is wrong, or the delivery of such language without Lucifer there to ask for clarification?
For two days, I mull over the thoughts. I weigh my guilt and devotion against one another, trying to find judgment free of influence.
Yet, Lucifer’s weariness, the true pain he feels in killing other angels, angels he’s loved as siblings, angels he’s helped raise echoes in my mind.
God’s plan and my devotion counter Lucifer’s pain and his righteous anger at every turn, attempting to soothe the impossible ache that reverberates through my muscles.
It was never meant to be this way.
Heaven is meant to be unified.
With Lucifer taking up arms against those he loves, turning words into darts that poison minds and warp reason, Heaven can never be united under his rule. One taste of power will corrupt.
He’s stolen garrisons, but again … if God made him this way, am I meant to decide or simply accept the future is out of my hands?
“I’m so tired, Suriel,” one of the lesser angels whispers as I hold him, providing him a final warm touch, a final loving face since he is beyond saving. “This isn’t what it’s supposed to be. Why would Father let this happen? Why doesn’t he help us?”
“Rest,” I soothe. “All will seem brighter tomorrow.”
He smiles and touches my chest, giving me divinity he can’t spare to heal my more obvious wounds until my blood and gold coated feathers drop, leaving patches of scarred skin instead of lovely wings. “You deserve better, archangel. All of us do.”
His hand goes limp, falling to his chest as he releases a final breath. Gold dust releases into the air. I touch it with my fingertips, trying to hold the life he was meant to live. I close my eyes.
We all deserve better, but is Lucifer’s way actually better?
Exhausted, unable to deal with the weight of my own injuries, my thoughts, and the future of my garrison, I let myself drift in something close to sleep until I’m woken by a touch. Shaking, my eyes open and Lucifer is there, dabbing my neck where a sword nearly cleaved my head from my shoulders.
“Suriel, you have no reason to decide now,” he says, voice soothing. “Your garrison has chosen and you, as their leader, must serve them. They have understood that God is merely an idea, not a man. He is no longer fit to rule.”
“What do you mean?” I demand.
He waves his hand and I see my garrison mixed among Lucifer’s legions. They look renewed, determined, angry.
“They’ve made their choice, as every human is free to make their own. Angels should have those same freedoms, shouldn’t they? All of us should be capable of free will, not simply forced to behave as we were made,” Lucifer says gently.
“This is …” Blasphemy, a traitorous act, not one of brotherly love. It’s manipulation disguised as love, but perhaps my brother has learned from God himself how best to move armies and angels with words alone and the veiled threat of punishment.
“This is the future, Suriel. They raise their swords against God. They raise their weapons to defend their freedom. Why don’t you raise yours?” Lucifer asks, eying the flaming sword in my hand.
I judge the weight of it, read into the restless legions behind Lucifer rather than the man himself. No more time for judgment, only decisions, a decision that will demand sacrifice in one form or another.
“Choose … Suriel … Suriel, it’s time to-”
I let out a sharp yell and grab the wrist touching me. A different word, then a squeak echoes me as warmth and lust claw their way through my stomach, my mind, threatening to reopen every old wound. Those eyes - dark, brown, earthy eyes.
“Hey, it’s me. It’s Charlie. You still have a fever, Suriel. What are you dreaming about? What are you-”
“I’m choosing!” I bellow as I realize where I am, who I’m with, and what’s happening. Hellhounds infect everything and the Devil isn’t going to let me rest in dreams.
I fall back onto the pillow and see her wrapped around me, twisting judgment and divinity into something unholy compared to human desire and softness. I laugh, I can’t help it. My shoulder burns, hellfire scorching from the inside out, warping everything.
“Here,” she puts something to my lips that tastes like wine. She nibbles her bottom lip. “I don’t have any holy communion, but if you want salt, I’ll give it to you. You just need to rest. I’ll keep you cool. Just rest and …”
My eyes close, just to blink, but Charlie’s voice fades as sleep drags me under.
I’m plunged back to endless fighting, pleas of mercy, angels questioning me.
My memories twist with nightmares, always featuring Lucifer.
Because Lucifer always wins no matter what any of us decide because discord and death are rewards to those who only crave chaos.