Forsaken Angel

by J F Cain

  Eiael nodded, her expression showing that she found his questions reasonable. But she wondered what precisely he was looking for and why he was having this discussion with her rather than with the Superior.

  “The closer an event is to the time it will occur, the greater its vibrations,” she explained in her customary reserved manner. “There are people who, for various reasons, are sensitive to these vibrations from time to time. People with psychic abilities also have this ability, and some of their predictions do in fact come true. However, for every successful prediction an individual makes, there are hundreds more of theirs that do not come true. Also, these predictions affect one person only or a relatively small number of people; they don’t refer to global events. And if you were to consider the thousands of predictions made on a daily basis and the countless dreams that billions of people see in their sleep, then you could only really call them coincidences. The Law of Truly Large Numbers—which I assume you know—proves it. The good thing about these predictions is that they aren’t based on religion. They are different from those prophecies that affect generation upon generation in human history.”

  “Which prophecies are likely based on misconceptions,” Abaddon added, seeming convinced by the theurgist’s explanations.

  She nodded.

  “An event is interpreted using knowledge and an objective view of reality. Modern discoveries in physics, neuroscience, and psychology have provided many answers which most people are unaware of, and unfortunately very few have inquiring minds. And, even though the prophecies written many centuries ago were aimed at the uneducated, they are still pondered by modern man. One would expect the rise in educational levels to change this and for these texts to be examined more in terms of their psychological and biological aspects, but only a few researchers approach them this way. And religious people won’t even hear of it. Of course, the centers of power that have every reason to maintain the fear underhandedly perpetuate the situation.”

  “It makes sense that people would look upon the great figures of their religion with awe, even more so if they have some proof of their prophets’ validity,” Abaddon said, guiding the discussion in the direction he wanted.

  “That’s right,” Eiael agreed. “Prophets have been idealized over time and, after so many centuries, it is only natural that the truth will be lost or distorted. Religious people are under the impression that their prophets had reached such a state of perfection that now in their afterlife they are standing next to God. But that is far from the truth. Some of these mythicized people had low morals and a low intellect. Of course, this does not apply to all of them. Some of the prophets were truly spiritually advanced. Their powerful desire to approach their God set in motion a series of mechanisms that—besides the dreams they believed were a result of divine inspiration—also brought about visions. But they had no intention to deceive anyone. They merely made the mistake of thinking their personal projections were globally relevant future events, and of misinterpreting the symbolic images they saw.”

  Abaddon had brought the discussion to the point he had been aiming for. But he was worried that his request might be rejected by the theurgist.

  “I assume you wouldn’t make the same mistake,” he said as indifferently as he could.

  Eiael had been wondering why the Dark Angel was discussing this with her. She now had her answer.

  “I am not a prophet,” she replied, hiding her displeasure that he had tried to manipulate her.

  “No, you are not. But you are the most powerful theurgist on Earth, which means you have the ability to interrupt the spatiotemporal continuum and travel to the past and to the future,” Abaddon responded mildly.

  Eiael knew there was no point in denying it.

  “I would never go to the trouble of predicting unstable future eventualities,” she said bluntly. “I have faith in the Source’s wisdom.”

  “So you can but don’t want to,” Abaddon observed, looking her in the eye as if to reproach her for refusing to help him.

  Eiael leaned back in her chair in an unconscious effort to put some distance between them.

  “If the Source so wishes, It will provide indications of Its will to whomever It desires. I will not interfere.”

  Abaddon was not daunted.

  “Wouldn’t you do it even to protect the Superior?” he asked, his expression challenging.

  “That isn’t the right way to protect her, and I am sure that she wouldn’t approve,” the theurgist replied.

  “I don’t know that. I haven’t discussed it with her,” Abaddon admitted. He paused, hesitating to share what was bothering him with Eiael. But he had no other choice. “I have an awful, vague sense that Lucifer has done or is going to do something that will harm Aranes,” he confided, hoping to change her mind. “I want to find out what it is so that I can prevent it.”

  “You will find out at some point,” she retorted unyieldingly.

  “And if it’s too late then?” the anxious Angel asked with contained indignation.

  “I understand your concern, but lofty goals require sacrifices. You both know that well.”

  Better than you think, Abaddon said to himself and stood up. “I will expect your answer regarding the charity,” he said without betraying his annoyance at her refusal.

  The theurgist inclined her head.

  “You will have it soon,” she responded expressionlessly.

  “All right. Thank you for your help, Eiael,” he said, bidding her farewell and returning to his office at the top of the Meyers corporate skyscraper.

  He stood before the big glass panes surrounding the office space and gazed down at the frozen New York City.

  He was irritated with himself. His worry had caused him to blunder. He shouldn’t have asked Eiael for help. Ever since their first meeting, she had been suspicious toward him, and his return to his true nature hadn’t changed her stance; she had simply tacked on the customary respect demanded when addressing a Celestial. The Guardian commander evidently didn’t trust Dark Angels, and his inability to manage his emotions clearheadedly had given her yet another reason not to. Aranes was right. In its negative expression, fear really was the worst counsel.

  Remember that, he told himself and returned to his desk to get on with his work.

  Back at the castle, Eiael had called Fares, the twins Stephan and Paul Thornton, and Diana “The Arrow” Reed to the library. These were the same Guardians she had sent to protect the Superior after her incarnation in the physical dimension. Once Abaddon had regained his powers, Aranes had said she no longer needed their protection. So the Guardians had returned to the castle and their duties.

  However, Eiael believed that the last few months’ quiet wouldn’t go on much longer. It was obvious to her that the inaction of Eregkal’s high-ranking entities wasn’t due to the unknown powers that it was rumored Abaddon would develop, but rather to the impending birth of his child, since this meant double the booty for them. If someone didn’t manage to abduct Aranes, they would have another chance with her infant, which would undoubtedly serve equally well for their unholy purposes. And evidently, most of them—except for Lucifer, who wanted it all—had the same strategy.

  The head of the Guardians stood up and regarded her order’s most powerful theurgist warriors one by one as they lined up in front of her desk.

  “I want you to stay close to the Superior discreetly. She may need help,” she said, her gray gaze flicking from one to the other, as if she was making each one of them responsible for the mission.

  “We would be honored,” Stephan replied humbly, and Paul and Diana nodded in agreement.

  Fares took a step forward and turned to look at his subordinates.

  “This time we are called upon to face an extremely difficult situation. We may need to go against Demons and maybe even the higher-ranking of their kind,” he said, preparing them.

  “She is our protector. From the depths of time, the Guardians have survived thanks to h
er help. We will not turn our backs on her now that she needs us,” Eiael added, determined to keep the vow, both hers and her warriors’, which demanded sacrifice for the protection of life and balance on Earth.

  With expressions that revealed their disdain of death, the Thornton twins and Diana inclined their heads in agreement.

  “I will notify the rest of the Guardians,” said Fares, unmoved by the life-and-death decision that had just been taken.

  The four Guardians bowed to their leader and left the library, knowing that they might never return there. They were trained to fight the Cursed and the Fiends, the least powerful and intelligent soldiers of the dark realm. The Demons they dealt with using expulsion rituals, but those entities knew the theurgists’ tactics and would do everything in their power to prevent the coordinated efforts needed to do it—and this wouldn’t be hard to do in a battle where less powerful beings would be fighting off the attacks of supernatural entities. The Guardians’ survival was dependent on the assistance they received from the Exorcists, who were responsible for subduing and driving the Demons out of the physical world. None of the theurgist warriors expected the Celestials to help. They were convinced that in their mission, their only support would come from Abaddon.

  CHAPTER 3

  In the sphere of the supersensory world, in one of the highest planes of the celestial kingdom, one of the timeless entities of invisible creation lay in his personal energy field. Gabriel hovered motionless in a supine position, his eyes closed and his hands crossed at his abdomen over his white tunic. A blinding unearthly light pulsated rhythmically around him and entered his body, restoring his powers. His body was held in suspension, but his consciousness was active and his attention was turned to Abaddon, who was working in his office at the top level of the Meyers Group skyscraper.

  The Archangel had recently regained consciousness and since then he hadn’t let the Dark Angel out of his sight. He was worried about his old friend, but at the moment he was in no position to help him. He had lost all his energy in his battle with Lucifer and had yet to regain his powers. But he couldn’t wait to get back into action. He believed that in the near future Abaddon would be facing difficulties and would need his help and guidance. Gabriel saw increasing signs of this on Earth in the last few days. He didn’t know what the Source was planning, and that made his worry greater. It had changed the eternal Rules that governed the ethereal world and no one knew what to expect anymore. Aranes would deal with the coming events, but he had his doubts about Abaddon, since his ethereal memory was still bound by the Source.

  The Archangel wondered why It was keeping the commander of the Defenders in the dark. Did It trust him so much that It believed he could carry out this highly dangerous and difficult mission with a human consciousness? Or was It purposely exposing him to mislead Lucifer? For many centuries, the Fundamental Intellect had been putting Abaddon in Lucifer’s crosshairs. The pursuit of Aranes had caused the two high ethereal entities to clash on other occasions too, but this time the future of humanity hung even more in the balance. And preserving equilibrium was the Source’s primary concern. To achieve this, It might sacrifice the Dark Angel. Would it take such a huge risk given that his soul was inextricably linked with that of Elether’s leader? And how would Aranes deal with it?

  The Archangel turned his attention to the mansion. The Superior stood at the window of a half-finished nursery on the second floor, her preoccupied gaze on the winter garden landscape. She was wearing jeans and a baggy shirt almost the same shade of blue as the freshly painted walls.

  She looks so at one with her physical environment, it’s as if she’s returned to her initial human nature, thought Gabriel. No one who looked at her would ever imagine that the mysteriously beautiful pregnant woman held the future of life in her hands and within her body. She had always borne the burden of this enormous responsibility on her shoulders, but now she looked saddened. She was most likely expecting unpleasant developments and was worried about Abaddon. After thousands of years of unfulfilled love, the commander of the Defenders had succeeded in becoming the sole weakness of the Superior of the Angels. Who was responsible for this change? Gabriel suspected that the Source affected the two Celestials’ feelings; perhaps It was even the cause of their strange love.

  A sublime radiance suddenly flooded the nursery and Michael appeared. The majestic Archangel was incandescent in his platinum armor as the high vibrations of his ethereal nature collided with the much lower vibrations of the physical plane, lending him the glorious brilliance of all celestial entities. His brown hair brushed the pure-white cloak fastened to the bulky pauldrons on his shoulders and his warm hazel eyes emitted the light of Elether.

  Aranes saw his reflection in the window and turned with a smile on her lips. The last time she had seen him was on her wedding day, when she had been abducted by Lucifer. Since then, eight months had passed in earthly time.

  The commander in chief of the celestial hosts bowed respectfully.

  “Superior, I greet you.”

  “Michael, I am glad to see you. To what do I owe this visit?”

  “I wanted to speak to you,” he answered simply.

  Aranes looked into his eyes for a moment, not saying a word.

  “Are you here on the Archivist’s orders?” she then asked.

  “No, this was my decision.” The Archangel crossed the room and stood before her, a sober expression on his face. “I am worried! The prophecy you want to come true does not only concern Abaddon. It mentions grave dangers for you, too,” he said with his customary directness.

  Aranes clasped her hands behind her back and walked past him.

  “And the dragon stood before the woman who was about to give birth, so that it might devour her child the moment it was born,” Aranes recited the passage from Revelations as she paced on the plastic sheeting covering the floor.

  Michael followed her with his gaze.

  “Lucifer wants you above all, and because he is greedy, he will try to take you both.”

  Aranes turned to face him.

  “Abaddon will do everything in his power to prevent it,” she replied with a conviction that aimed to frighten anyone who may have been listening.

  The Archangel nodded wordlessly.

  Aranes saw the doubt in his eyes, and that doubt was not about her partner’s ability to protect his family. The Celestials feared Abaddon. Ever since she had revealed her hidden name to him, he had been developing powers, and only the Source knew where they would end. But an all-powerful entity with a human consciousness was a very dangerous thing. The truth was that she was also worried about what he was capable of doing in order not to lose her and their child.

  “Aranes, please be careful. I am sure that the dark forces will resume their attacks as the time approaches for you to give birth. Lucifer is not the only one pursuing you,” Michael said calmly, but his eyes were filled with anguished pleading.

  “I know, Michael,” she replied composedly.

  “The Fallen will not attempt a frontal assault. He will try to get what he wants underhandedly,” the celestial general continued. Overcome with anxiety, he had forgotten that he was addressing a more advanced military intellect than his own.

  “I am of the same opinion,” Aranes agreed.

  The commander in chief of the angelic hosts bowed.

  “Be careful,” he repeated and disappeared, leaving the wonderful soft fragrance of Elether behind him.

  “So, my former brother and sister, this time I will have to agree with you,” Lucifer said from Eregkal and, seated in his high-backed armchair behind a stone table, he boomed a command: “Lyla!”

  The head of the Succubae appeared before him at once, her head bowed subserviently.

  “At your command, master,” she answered with feigned eagerness. When she raised her head and saw Aranes’ image on the ethereal screen hovering in front of Lucifer, her eyes filled with hate.

  Her reaction brought a grim smile to the
Dark Lord’s lips.

  “You’ve always been obsessed with her. Has that changed?” he challenged her.

  Lyla tore her eyes away from the screen and turned to look at her master, making sure to assume a neutral expression that wouldn’t betray she felt the same hatred toward him too.

  “No, but your orders were clear. No one is allowed to harm her,” she replied.

  “Poor Lyla. You never had a chance against her,” Lucifer said, his contempt evident in his eyes.

  The conceited Succubus would have really liked to tell him where he could shove his opinion, but she preferred to hold her tongue until she had gained the power to pay back all the insults she had been forced to suffer from all of Eregkal’s higher entities.

  “You underestimate me, master! Besides, she has been human for a while now,” she replied as calmly as she could.

  Lucifer’s expression hardened.

  “That can be your advantage … go after her,” he ordered coldly.

  As soon as Lyla realized what she had heard, a satanic smile of satisfaction lit up her face.

  “It will be my pleasure!”

  “I don’t doubt it,” the Dark Lord remarked sarcastically. “Do your best. I expect results.”

  “Rest assured, master, I won’t let you down,” she promised.

  “You may go,” he said, his tone disinterested, as if he was doing her a favor by deigning talking to her.

  Lyla bowed and vanished from his sight.

  Lucifer mentally commanded the screen to turn off. His gaze fell on the live snake tripods with flaming mouths directly in front of him that formed a corridor leading to the heavy iron door to his lair.

  It will be black snakes like these that will coil around Abaddon, and their fire will scorch his soul, he thought spitefully. Lyla was an idiot, but she was strong enough and more than willing to pursue Aranes. He didn’t expect much from his unruly subject; the only thing he did expect was for her to put some pressure on Abaddon. The rest he would take care of himself.