by J F Cain
Landing on the coach’s roof, Anael raised her weapon and swung it forcefully towards Asmodeus, but he managed to shift to the side and her sword hissed through the air. The Archangel followed up with two successive swipes high and low without managing to hit her opponent. As she moved to raise her sword again, Asmodeus attacked with rapid strikes that nevertheless failed to break her defense. Wanting to end the battle the sooner the better, the sly Demon disappeared and then instantly reappeared behind her. Before he could strike, Anael turned, parried and forced his sword down.
“You haven’t changed at all,” she said reprovingly.
“I don’t have to,” Asmodeus replied with an arrogant gleam in his dark eyes.
The Celestial darted to the side, aiming for his shoulder, but that offensive moved failed too. It seemed impossible to penetrate the defense of the Archdemon, who battled on with a conqueror’s mocking smile and confidence.
Next to the two high-ranking entities, Hope was fighting Estaria and all around them the rest of the forces of light and darkness were clashing fiercely on the overturned coaches, on the track, and at the edge of the forest. A Celestial stabbed a Demon in the chest, turning him into dark energy that faded away in the night. Another struck his adversary with the hilt of his sword; the bright energy burned the Demon’s face and he abandoned the physical plane with shrieks. A bit further away, two Fiends plunged their swords as one into the body of an Angel, who became a column of light, swirled up to the sky, and disappeared. A Demon wounded a Celestial in the thigh, causing him to lose his balance. As he was falling to one knee, the Demon beheaded him.
Above the shocked, wounded, and unconscious humans, the transcendental forces of Light and Darkness, invisible to mortal eyes, fought to determine their fates.
Anael was struggling against Asmodeus, who was pounding away at her relentlessly. She parried a low strike, but before she could counter-attack, the hulking Archdemon punched her hard in her side with his free hand. The pain and contact with the powerful negative energy momentarily dazed Anael. Asmodeus grabbed the chance and struck her sword hard. The Archangel’s radiant weapon flew out of her grip and up into the air, and vanished. At once the Archdemon swung his sword towards her throat, but Anael disappeared before it reached its destination. Seeing that their leader had withdrawn, the Angels abandoned the fight and followed her back to their own dimension.
Asmodeus vanished his sword and winked at Estaria.
“See? You were worried for nothing,” he said smugly.
“I don’t think it’s over,” she replied, looking around. The humans had begun to recover from the shock. Some were trying to climb out of the derailed coaches through the windows. The passengers from the last two coaches, which hadn’t overturned, were dialing 911 or running to help the injured in any way they could. Pained moans, cries for help, and sobs filled the somnolent silence of the dark forest. Something isn’t right. The Celestials can’t leave things this way, Estaria thought.
His eyes glazed over with an intoxicating sense of triumph, Asmodeus spread his arms wide as if in welcome.
“Now rise, my slaves!” he shouted as his aura’s dark energy began to spin around him.
From out of the crushed coaches, the souls of the wounded began to emerge like translucent human-shaped forms. They rose into the air and paused to look around them in bewilderment. As soon as they saw the Demons, they were seized with fright and tried to flee, but Asmodeus didn’t let them. Bending to his will, the spirit bodies of the now dead humans began to whirl around him in a vortex. A macabre mournful wail was heard as the souls tried to escape the Archdemon’s pull. With a sinister laugh, he opened his mouth, which grew unnaturally large, forming a terrifying dark chasm, and absorbed them all.
Anael stormed into the Archives still wearing her armor and practically ran to the Source’s representative, who was waiting for her at the end of the hallway.
“He took them …” she said, all shook up. “He took all the ones he managed to wound. He didn’t just kill them! He took their souls!”
The Archivist looked at her with understanding. Such a heavy defeat was unbearable to a Celestial.
“I know,” he said serenely.
“If the Superior were here, this would not have happened. Nor anything else that has happened in her absence,” the rattled Angel went on.
“It is your duty…” the Mentor began to say.
“I am not her!” Anael interrupted him, raising her voice.
Prince Radueriel’s stern gaze fell on the Archangel, bidding her to compose herself. She realized her error and lowered her head in regret.
“I apologize, Sir,” she said more calmly. “It’s just that the Superior always led the major missions. She could vanquish the most powerful Demons. I do not have her powers.”
“Victory is not always ours,” he said compassionately, but his tone remained stern.
The Archangel raised her head. The gleam in her green eyes showed she had just made an important decision.
“I am certain Asmodeus will not stop there, and most likely more Demons will follow his example. It would be better if I were replaced.”
The Archivist waved aside the suggestion.
“That is not possible,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “You share the same qualities as Aranes and that makes you the only candidate. You are obligated to remain in this position and do your duty as best you can.”
“Michael is next in line after the Superior and a former ruler of Elether. It is he who should assume the leadership,” Anael returned politely, yet with determination. “That is what should have happened to begin with. Then no one would have dared to flout the Rules.”
“Are you trying to shift your responsibilities onto someone else?” the Archivist asked her with a searching gaze.
Anael was astonished. That thought had never crossed her mind.
“I am trying to fulfill the purpose for which I was created. To serve the human race,” she replied with conviction.
The Mentor nodded in agreement.
“That is precisely what the Source expects of you.”
“I am trying to meet Its expectations. However, I am unable to honor the obligations of such a high-ranking position,” the Archangel insisted.
The Archivist’s face gentled.
“Perhaps because you believe you are unable.”
“Or because I was not created with this ability,” she retorted.
“Even so, you ought to evolve.”
Anael’s eyes widened, as if she had just grasped the end of the yarn that would lead her out of the labyrinth of ignorance.
“Is that what the Source is asking of us, Sir? Is this why all these inconceivable things are happening?”
“Whatever I say stems from my own knowledge,” he clarified. “The Source has not expressed Its will.”
Unfortunately not, Anael thought. “Before the battle, I requested reinforcements. Why didn’t you send any?” she inquired calmly, wanting an explanation for his unprecedented inaction.
The Archivist moved a few steps away. He felt bad about the stance he was forced to take towards the high-ranking Celestials, but there was no way he would go against the will of the Guiding Mind. It had prevented him from sending the Archangel any reinforcements, and of course, It hadn’t explained Its decision.
“Those were my orders,” he replied, turning to see her reaction.
Anael was taken aback. After the first shock wore off, she looked the Mentor in the eye.
“What will happen to the souls Asmodeus took?” she asked, anxious about their fate. “Those people are not going to die.”
The Supreme Authority’s representative turned his gaze on the golden gateway.
“It will decide.”
“Of course,” the Archangel said blankly. The Mentor obviously couldn’t or wasn’t permitted to provide a clear answer.
She bowed and left, certain that the difficulties she had been facing since she had beg
un to govern Elether would pale before the ones she would have to face from now on.
The headquarters of the ruler of the celestial realm were empty, enveloped in an expectant silence. After the destruction Aranes had caused, the Source had rebuilt the hall so that no one would know what had happened before the Superior’s departure. The big dome on the ceiling that let in Elether’s radiant light was in its place once more. So were the white rose windows and the large curved window behind the platinum throne that stood on a square dais of ten steps. The ruins Aranes had left behind her had been transformed into the earlier imposing hall that emanated power, grandeur, and yet also a sense of peace, as befitted the second mightiest domain in the celestial kingdom.
Anael appeared in the huge hall and as she made her way toward the dais, the armor on her chest and arms was absorbed into her body. A white coat formed over her equally white gown, fastened on the side with a row of silver buttons. She began to climb the dais steps, but then stopped, and overcome by a sense of doubt and inadequacy, she looked up at the platinum throne. The suspended sun and moon that used to flank it when the anointed leader of Elether had been present were no longer there, and the swirling spiral in the large window behind the throne no longer cast its brilliant light on it.
I do not deserve this position, Anael thought, frowning as she sat down on the steps.
Ever since Elether’s head had left, there had been more riots and wars on Earth. Large populations were being uprooted and were heading into the unknown to save themselves. Countries with rich resources were plagued by hunger. So-called enemy nations were being wiped out and human rights violated on the pretext of protecting a country or ensuring its freedom. These things had always occurred on Earth, but never so widely. The balance had been irrevocably disrupted, the scale was tilting dangerously toward darkness, and she didn’t have the power to reverse the situation. Neither the Source nor people were giving it to her.
Humans just didn’t care; not only about their neighbors, but often not even about themselves. Refusing to accept the responsibility that was theirs, they allowed invisible rulers to determine their life on the planet. As long as people didn’t care, she would lose the battles she waged. The Source’s stance made it clear. If the human race didn’t take any action, they would soon be descending into a new Dark Ages, worse than the one they had emerged from just a few centuries ago.
Upset by her gloomy thoughts about the human race’s prospects, the Archangel rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her palms.
How will I ever deal with this situation? she wondered, feeling as if she were at a dead end.
Michael appeared in front of the dais and regarded her sadly.
Anael sensed him and lifted her head.
“Did you see what happened?”
“Yes.”
“And why didn’t you help me?”
“I was ordered not to get involved,” Michael replied, not managing to prevent a faint trace of displeasure from showing in his voice. This was the order the Archivist had given him from the very beginning of this unfathomable situation involving Aranes and Abaddon’s secret mission, and the one he received repeatedly whenever he asked for permission to act. Only when Lucifer had abducted the Superior had he been allowed to do something. The Guiding Mind seemed to be challenging both Angels and Demons to show their limits.
“What is going on, Michael? What is the Source asking of us?” Anael asked, feeling confused, as if someone had placed a board game in front of her and she didn’t know the rules. She hoped to get an answer from him that would confirm the Archivist’s opinion, so that she would know what to do.
Unfortunately for her, her spiritual brother had the same questions.
“Maybe only the Superior knows,” he responded warily. He didn’t want to discuss his thoughts on the matter. He could be wrong and he didn’t want to influence any other Angel.
Anael regarded the celestial general. She felt rather than saw the confusion behind his serious expression.
No, despite all his power, he wouldn’t either be able to rule Elether right now, she thought, bewildered by this realization. At once she was overcome by worry, which quickly morphed into fear. The light dimension is like a rudderless ship in a tempest! And, strangely, it is the Source that has caused and is maintaining the storm.
Michael noticed the anxiety in her eyes and guessed what had crossed her mind.
“Don’t be discouraged, Anael! A few lost battles will not decide an eternal war such as ours,” he said with calm certainty.
“How would you feel if you were in my shoes?” she asked, discouraged.
“It is not how I would feel, but how I would deal with it that is important. And I assure you, I would not give up.”
“You say that because you are powerful, like the Superior,” Anael replied, averting her gaze, as if ashamed she didn’t possess the same power.
Michael seemed to pause in thought.
“Where do you think I draw my power from?” he then asked with a sober air.
Anael looked perplexed.
“Where we all draw it from: the work we do and people’s faith in us. You are their most beloved Archangel.”
“And what do you think made me stand out?”
Anael’s gaze was riveted on his eyes as she tried to see what he was getting at.
“Your power.”
“The Source made us all with the same abilities. Why have I accumulated more power?” Michael continued.
Anael’s mind flashed back to the distant past. Since the beginning of the Ethereals’ creation, Michael had stood out with his indomitable nature and moral integrity, just as Aranes had later on. And because she remembered the two Eletherian leaders’ pasts well, she also remembered that they didn’t succeed by giving up.
She nodded to show she understood.
“Because you were always aware of your capabilities and had faith in yourself,” she answered, annoyed with herself for allowing disappointment to blind her.
“Exactly,” Michael confirmed. “I never forget that I am part of the Source. Just like you.”
Anael lowered her eyes in thought.
The Archivist had also mentioned faith. Perhaps that was what the Source wanted from the Celestials: to further develop their independence and faith in themselves. Besides, wasn’t that what It was asking of humans? The Archangel believed she had grasped the Supreme Authority’s intentions and she felt heartened. Now she knew what she had to do.
Michael saw the clouds of doubt and defeatism lift from his spiritual sister’s face.
“Rise, Anael!” he said, extending his hand to her. “Your place is not on these steps, even if they lead to Elether’s most elevated seat. If you think you cannot sit on the Superior’s throne, then stand before it and guide the Celestials. You are the leader right now, and the Source wouldn’t have given you this position if It didn’t believe in you.”
Anael gripped his hand, stood up and gave him a spontaneous hug.
“Thank you for your support, Michael,” she said gratefully.
The general was taken aback, his hands suspended at his sides.
No one had ever hugged him, and the only entity he had put his own arms around was Lucifer in their last clash in Eregkal—an entirely unpleasant experience. The sensation coming from the Archangel who represented love in all its forms was very pleasant of course, but he had no idea how to react. He definitely shouldn’t be standing stock-still with his arms open. He might make her feel bad. Your sister needs your support and you must do whatever you can to help her bear the heavy burden of ruling Elether, he told himself. His inner prodding helped. He overcame his discomfort, put his arms around the current celestial leader tenderly, and patted her shoulder. He had seen humans do this to those dear to them. “I will always be by your side, Anael,” he assured her, his warm voice inspiring trust. “Even if I am not permitted to help you in your battles, I will be beside you, reminding you who you are.” He gripped her
arms and gently pushed her back so that he could look into her eyes. “Although I do not think you will need it again,” he added with certainty.
“You think correctly,” she replied with a smile. His words and his touch had strengthened her, as if she had absorbed part of his power.
Michael let go of her arms.
“Good,” he said and gestured to the dais. “Get up there then and do your job.”
Believing he had done his job, he turned and crossed the big hall to leave as he should have arrived: through the door. He had made an exception and appeared uninvited at the Superior’s headquarters because he had known in that difficult moment Anael wouldn’t have allowed him in.
The Archangel currently in charge of Elether began to climb the dais steps with renewed confidence. However, the Superior’s absence still troubled her.
Where is she? She had searched for her everywhere and hadn’t found her. Why was the Source hiding her? Had something happened to her that had forced her to abandon her position? She had asked the Archivist, but his reply had been vague, just like most of them were lately. Was it because Aranes wasn’t coming back? It does not matter, she told herself sternly when the suspicion crossed her mind that, maybe, somewhere deep inside, she wanted Elether’s anointed leader to return so that she could relieve her of the responsibility she was struggling to shoulder. Humans prayed for help without doing anything to help themselves. But she was one of the highest-ranking Celestials and there was no excuse for her to behave in the same way.
She reached the top of the dais and stood in front of the platinum throne.
“Michael!” she called before he went through the door.
The celestial general stopped and turned about with a whirl of his white cloak. From her tone, he realized she was about to give him an order.
“At your command,” he responded, showing the required respect to the Superior’s replacement.
