Forsaken Angel

by J F Cain

“Do not let Asmodeus out of your sight. The next time he attempts to flout the Rules, remind him of his obligation to uphold them.”

  Michael’s honey-colored eyes lit up. His spiritual sister had realized that governing Elether didn’t mean that you had to lead every battle.

  “As you wish,” he said with a bow. He would undoubtedly get the same order from the Archivist. No matter how many things It intended to change, the Source would never allow the Demons to steal a soul.

  Anael smiled and returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of her head. Her morale had been boosted and her spirit had regained its old serenity.

  She would do everything in her power to serve the Source’s will that she evolve; and first of all she would develop her initiative. Her position demanded it. She wouldn’t be visiting the Archivist again to complain or to ask his opinion. She would do what she thought was right in each situation. If It didn’t agree, It would show her Its will. Until then, she wouldn’t allow the Demons to do whatever they wanted. Their heightened influence over humans had increased in proportion with their power and she was no longer capable of fighting the strongest among them. But there were other Celestials who could. She looked toward the back of the great hall. Elether’s general was striding through the double door that the two Angels standing guard outside had opened. She didn’t have his power, or Aranes’, but she did have the responsibility they had both assumed before her: to govern Elether.

  Exuding confidence, she stood tall in front of the Superior’s throne and summoned Wisdom to give her an update on what was happening.

  CHAPTER 9

  In Eregkal, Asmodeus was celebrating the “good haul”, as he called the stolen souls. In reality, they weren’t that many, but he didn’t mind; he planned to repeat his odious crime on a larger scale soon. He had attacked the train to see if, as he suspected, the Celestials were falling apart after their Superior’s fall.

  The big hall, illuminated by floating torches beside the stone walls, shook beneath a jarring clamor. On the ceiling and walls, humanlike shadows moved slowly like slithering serpents. Souls addicted to violence thronged around the battle being waged in the middle of the hall. There, two stout Demons with hideous faces were dueling in their symbiotic armor. All around them, male and female entities wearing conventional armor and rivalling each other in ugliness, jostled each other as they shouted and egged on the duelers. The bets had been placed. Many souls would be changing hands and none of the ethereal gamblers wanted to lose a portion of their power.

  In the depths of the hall, on the flattened top of a large rock, Asmodeus sat on his macabre throne made of blackened human bones. Slumped to the side, with the fingers of his left hand against his temple, he was watching the battle.

  He wasn’t in the mood for any of this. Even so, he had arranged this celebration for two reasons. First, it was a good excuse to keep all his warriors close by. If the Celestials came to claim the stolen souls, they would find it tough going. He didn’t think they would dare to invade Eregkal again just to take back a few odd souls; but prevention never hurt anyone. Second, his Demons loved this form of entertainment in their master’s presence. This way, they could prove their combat skills, which might earn them a better position in the hierarchy.

  Asmodeus glanced sideways as Estaria, who was standing on his right. The slender fallen looked beautiful in her tight leather vest, tall boots, and her wide black skirt that ended midway down her thighs. He didn’t like the two silver saber-toothed dragon heads she had for pauldrons on her shoulders; they reminded him of her warrior status and ruined the feminine image for him. But he thought the leather rerebraces on her upper arms were very sexy, as was the wide belt hanging loosely around her hips—which was why he used it frequently when they had sex.

  The Archdemon sighed soundlessly.

  He would prefer to be celebrating their successful raid with her, but he didn’t because if he sought her out for her company and sex every time he wanted to party it up after a victory, she would catch on to his weakness and might try to take advantage of it. They would then have to part ways and, besides the fact that he would lose the most competent deputy in Eregkal, he would also lose his favorite lover. He definitely didn’t want that. In fact, there was a lot he would do to prevent it. The brilliantly conceived expression “stuck on her” quite aptly described how he felt. So, to avoid losing her, when something good happened, he celebrated in other ways and, when he felt he had shown adequate indifference, he commanded her to get on all fours or on her back with her legs spread wide, depending on his mood. He also went with other female beings to balance out his passion for Estaria, but no one made him feel like she did.

  It’s her angelic origins, he often rationalized it to himself. Those entities are different; they’re not like any others.

  Even so, despite all these feelings he had, their relationship remained a relationship based on power. The Archdemon’s need to maintain his personal power, which he felt was threatened by his lover’s influence, propelled him to treat her cruelly, and he never forgot that his second-in-command was a smart entity, too smart for her position—she could easily go after his at some point.

  He often thought about this likelihood and wondered what he would do if she revolted against him. I’ll wipe her out with my very own hands, was his constant furious response. Asmodeus glared sideways at his deputy. She’ll either exist with me, or she won’t exist at all!

  Estaria didn’t notice his gaze; she was watching the spectacle the roused Demons made. She appeared calm, but her senses were on alert. Gaap had told her about the Celestials’ invasion of the dark dimension and she was sure there would be reprisals for Asmodeus’s idiotic move. On her guard, she waited for her former comrades to attack. She would have to act quickly to avoid the clash. When the battle began, she would make sure to disappear in the chaos. She hoped one of the high Celestials would put her master out of action. By the time the Archdemon recovered, she would have taken over his position and armies. His greed gave her a great opportunity to get rid of him.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Asmodeus was calculating the consequences of a revolt on the part of his deputy. The disagreeable prospect gave rise to a need to confirm his complete power over her. He reached out, slipped his hand under her skirt and dragged it over her cheeks. Estaria hadn’t seen his hand approach her and jumped.

  “Will you relax already?” Asmodeus shouted and slapped her on the backside. “You’re getting on my nerves!” He withdrew his hand and banged the arm of his macabre throne with his fist.

  To avoid anything worse happening, Estaria gave him a smile that said she knew how to calm him down. When her master was annoyed, he was more disagreeable than usual.

  “No coward’s mother has ever cried over his body. It’s the mothers of the brave that shed tears,” she quipped.

  “Stop with your nonsense and sly smiles, or else I’ll celebrate with someone else,” Asmodeus threatened. Yet, despite his annoyed expression, his eyes were pinned on hers as, with an anxiety he would never admit even to himself, he tried to figure out what lay behind her seeming high spirits.

  “You know I tend to stress. But that keeps me ready to fight … and eager to meet your demands and desires,” Estaria excused her behavior.

  Asmodeus cursed inwardly.

  Damned female! The Source made her to torment me. “I’ll think about if I want to see how eager you are,” he said, acting tough.

  Estaria turned to face the duelers so that he wouldn’t see the satisfaction on her face.

  I hope you don’t get the chance to think anything, she thought to herself and waited impatiently for the Celestials to appear.

  Her expectations weren’t dashed. In the empty space between the raised throne and the roaring dark entities, a bright light appeared and lit up the hall. The shouting faded and the wounded duelers stopped fighting. All the Demons, except for their leader, conjured their symbiotic armor and swords. Squinting against the
glare, they waited for the entities carried by the radiant energy to appear.

  Somewhat belatedly, the Archdemon wondered if he had reckoned wrong.

  Earth was a seething cauldron and Aranes was living it up with her beloved Abaddon. Her replacement was only fighting with the Superior’s Angels at her side and, even though she was losing battle after battle, no one was supporting her. Since their head’s departure, the Celestials were losing souls by the dozens every day. Why would they suddenly care if they lost a few more, given that they had basically abandoned humans to their fates?

  Keeping the Demons in irritating suspense, the glare faded slowly until Prince Radueriel’s form could be made out inside the light. Everyone was taken aback and stood motionless, not knowing how to react.

  Estaria’s eyes widened.

  The Archivist here?

  Asmodeus was thinking the same thing, but he had focused on the fact that the high Celestial was alone.

  What is he doing here on his own among so many Demons? he wondered. There was an old rumor that his frequent contact with the Source had given the great Prince powers superior to those of other Angels. But this had never been confirmed, since his position prevented him from taking part in battles. Also, he never left the Archives. He’s come to Eregkal for a few souls? The Archdemon set his questions aside and faked a smile. “What do you know, it’s Aranes’ grandpa,” he called out a mocking welcome.

  The Supreme Authority’s representative stood there with a commanding air in his pure-white suit with its long jacket, surrounded by bright light.

  “I believe you have something that does not belong to you,” he said sternly.

  Asmodeus’s face hardened.

  “I don’t care what you believe,” he scoffed.

  “You know that the Rules forbid me to fight you, but you flouted them first. Do not tempt me, Asmodeus, because I will annihilate you,” the Archivist warned him.

  “The only thing I’m hearing is idle threats by an old man,” the Archdemon jeered, protected by the Celestials’ unquestionable obedience to the Rules. Let’s see what you’ve got, he thought with uneasy curiosity.

  He motioned to one of the burly duelers to attack the Archivist. The Demon was flustered. He would rather the lot hadn’t fallen on him, but he couldn’t look like a coward. He gripped the handle of his axe nervously and then, silently, so that he wouldn’t be noticed, he leaped over the heads of the dark entities and rushed at the high Celestial, whose back was to him. Prince Radueriel sensed the approaching negative energy and turned with his hand raised. From his open palm, white rays of light shot out and wrapped around the Demon, who disintegrated with a pained cry. Seeing the Archivist’s calm expression and the ease with which he had wiped out their comrade, the other dark entities retreated. The rumors about the great Prince’s powers seemed to be true and none of them wanted to risk themselves to further confirm them.

  The Archivist’s gaze swept across the Demons to see if anyone else was feeling brave. No one seemed up to the task so he turned back to Asmodeus.

  “Now we can get on with the matter at hand,” he said and extended his other hand towards the Archdemon with his palm open and facing upwards.

  Estaria took two discreet steps back to protect herself. The magnetic pull from the Archivist’s hand was drawing Asmodeus to him. The Archdemon gripped the bones protruding from the arms of his throne and tried to resist the powerful force that sought to set the disrupted order to rights. His body jerked forward and through his black leather clothes a white light began to shine in the region of his chest. As if compressed from the inside, his chest split open in different spots and white human-like shadows began to rush out of it. The infernal vulture thrashed about and cried out from the terrible pain of having the souls he had stolen only a few minutes ago in Earth time being violently torn from him.

  Freed from their dark prison, the human souls gathered on the Archivist’s palm in a whirling motion that slowly gathered momentum. When the last soul had left the ethereal purloiner’s body, they all became a condensed sphere that was absorbed in the palm of the Source’s representative. He lowered his hand and looked at Asmodeus coldly.

  The Archdemon had rested his head against his chest in exhaustion. With effort, he lifted his head and straightened his body to avoid humiliating himself further in his subject’s eyes.

  “This changes nothing, Archivist. You can’t do this forever,” he said, his eyes shooting flames, letting it be known that he wasn’t fazed by this show of power and that there would be reprisals.

  “I think we are done here,” the high-ranking Celestial said, entirely unconcerned about the threat. “Oh, and one more thing. What you believe does not matter at all.” He turned to look at Estaria and, with his enigmatic gaze on her, he left the infernal realm in a flash of light.

  The fallen Angel felt that the Archivist had wanted to send her a message that she didn’t get.

  Did he get the message that I tried to send him? she wondered longingly.

  The Archdemon had caught the Archivist’s gaze on her and looked at his second-in-command with suspicion.

  “What was that?” he said through gritted teeth.

  In the blink of an eye, Estaria replaced her symbiotic armor with her clothes and shrugged.

  “How should I know?” she asked indifferently. But inside she felt the cold grip of anxiety. She knew she would pay dearly for it—not only the Archivist’s strange look, but also what he had done. Her master would take his rage out on her.

  The Archdemon set the matter aside for the moment, schooled his expression, and turned to his minions with a smile on his face.

  “Come, my warriors,” he shouted jovially, wanting to seem unfazed by what had happened and to underplay the humiliation he had just suffered. “Let’s carry on partying. It’s no big deal. We’ll capture other souls to increase our power.” He looked among the Demons. “So, who’s going to take Xeroc’s place?”

  Sedoum, a Demon who coveted Estaria’s position and lost no opportunity to prove his willingness and strength, shoved aside the Demons in his way and came forward.

  “I am, Master.”

  The Archdemon raised his hands.

  “Let the fight begin,” he proclaimed, indicating that the celebration should resume.

  Forced to show that their morale hadn’t suffered a blow, Asmodeus’s warriors began to shout enthusiastically, while their master watched the fight begin with a fake smile pasted on his face.

  Bread and circuses. A genius idea by a ruler who had wanted to draw his subjects’ attention away from their grave problems—one that was successful to this day. The Demons’ bread were the souls from which they drew their power, and after this unparalleled humiliation he had to find a way to give them the illusion of power—because of course he would never give them any real power—and make them forget the event that had ruined his image. Asmodeus was seething inside. This had been the most humiliating defeat of his existence, and if the Source hadn’t sown all this confusion, he would never have had to experience it.

  The Archivist appeared at the scene of the accident. The passengers from the last few coaches had gotten out and were standing out of the way, numb with shock. Some who were calmer were still walking among the injured and trying to help them in any way they could.

  The high Celestial looked inside the toppled coaches. The physical hosts of most of the stolen souls were trapped there, and none of the uninjured passengers had managed to get inside.

  Thankfully, otherwise humanity’s foundation would be shaken by the great “miracle” of a mass resurrection, he thought.

  He stood on one of the coaches and, unseen by human eyes, he extended his left hand. The bright sphere containing the stolen souls formed on his palm and started to whirl. The top of the sphere opened and the energy shooting out of it created a two-meter-high vortex. One by one, the souls split off from the swirling energy and as they returned to their physical hosts, the vortex became more
and more transparent, until it dissolved completely into the invisible energy that encompasses and pervades all.

  This time justice had been restored, although not entirely, since the heavily injured would suffer quite a bit. At least they wouldn’t remember their soul’s unwilling journey to Eregkal.

  That is the important thing, the Archivist told himself and left the physical plane.

  The Demons’ sudden cheers when Sedoum hit his opponent hard startled Asmodeus. He immediately glanced to the side to see if Estaria had noticed his momentary lapse. He caught her looking hurriedly away and was annoyed. More than anyone else, he wanted to look strong in her eyes.

  He assumed his usual relaxed air, shoved his hand between her thighs and dragged it up toward her buttocks.

  “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll also get to celebrate,” he said, his gaze on her promising pain rather than pleasure. He couldn’t get the look the Archivist had given her out of his head.

  She gave him a theatrical smile of acceptance.

  Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to escape the torture. Until she made up her mind to get rid of him. If she ever managed to overcome her fear of Eregkal’s cruelest Archdemon and made that decision.

  Cries of approval and curses were heard coming from the middle of the hall. Sedoum had disarmed his opponent. The loser raised his hands in the characteristic gesture of defeat and waited with the victor’s sword resting against the base of his neck.

  Sedoum smiled and his rotted teeth made his ugly face look even more hideous.

  “Master, if you agree, I think I shouldn’t deprive you of a good warrior,” he shouted with feigned nobility and dutifulness intended to convince Asmodeus of his leadership skills.

  Asmodeus smiled, hiding his distaste for the show his ambitious subject was putting on.

  “The decision belongs to the victor,” he replied magnanimously. Stupid cocksucker, you’re all I need right now!

  The Demons’ gazes swung back and forth between their master and the winner of the fight as if they were looking at beings from another, unknown dimension. Everyone was wondering the same thing: What the hell was happening? There was way too much graciousness and politeness going on. Had the Archivist teleported them all to Elether without them realizing it?