by Pottle, Bill
It wasn't Orifel at all. It was Raphael.
The Seraph stood there, golden armor blazing with the Light of God. His bearing was tall and noble, firm and stern. His previous gentle nature, the nature that had begged for peace and fought for any means of staving off the war, was gone, and in its place was a warrior ready for battle. Looking at him like that, Alizel knew that there was no one else to face Azazel. Only then did Alizel realize that Azazel had shed his armor and sash, and was now standing there wearing only his alb.
The shock on Azazel's face quickly turned to mirth, even joy. “Well, this is truly a fortunate development. I thought to simply destroy a weakling Throne, and yet I shall have sport with one of the mighty Seraphim first.” It was hard to tell if Azazel was afraid. If so, then the mocking undertones were his way of showing it.
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Raphael shrugged, unimpressed. “Orifel has been hidden where you will not find him. But that does not matter. Today, the day when you first face the Armies of God, will be the day when you first taste defeat.”
Azazel brought the hilt of his sword up to his heart and swept it downwards in the traditional salute. “Then let your actions prove the truth of your words!”
Raphael kept his sword in his sheath, but nodded in return of Azazel's salute. “As you asked, so shall the truth of your wretched state be proved upon your very soul.”
Azazel didn't wait for Raphael to draw, but lunged forward in a rage to strike from above. Raphael stepped into the blow, and caught Azazel's wrist before his sword could fall. They grappled for a split second before Azazel brought both his feet up and kicked Raphael backwards.
Raphael staggered and Azazel advanced, sword weaving in front of him. He struck several blows, but Raphael blocked them with an opposite pattern with his forearm gauntlets, negating Azazel's efforts.
Azazel jabbed his sword forward sharply, and Raphael dodged to the side, bringing his forearm guard smashing into Azazel's face. The head of the Powers cried out sharply in pain. It was a new sensation for him, and by the look on his face, extremely unpleasant.
He roared in rage and launched another attack, missing only by a razor thin margin.
Raphael had not yet drawn his sword, and now Alizel was beginning to wonder if he had any intention of doing so. He seemed to be fighting a very dangerous game against the Power. While Alizel was impressed that Raphael had survived so far, surely he couldn't keep this up forever. Was he waiting for something? That couldn't be it, because the three angels who were still in the room, himself included, would have gladly rushed in. Was he toying with Azazel? Or did he really wish not to destroy him?
But how long could he really expect to keep up against the onslaught he was facing?
Azazel came with a horizontal swipe that was so fast it blurred the air. Raphael dodged it by arching his back and leaning backwards,
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but Azazel shifted the direction and came down vertically. Raphael brought both of his gauntlets up in an X block, locking Azazel's sword and stopping the progress of the blade. He kept the blade locked there, so Azazel could move it neither up nor down. The two angels stared into each other's burning eyes, their wills locked in a gaze that would have wilted a lesser angel in an instant.
At the Portal, Lucifer was growing impatient. It was a new feeling for him. He, who had waited on God for billions of years, and waited on his own plans for years as well, was becoming annoyed at the delay of minutes. Yet it was probably not so much impatience as worry that the plan had run into a snag. He had rejoiced when he felt the three tremors that meant destruction of the Thrones, but where were the others? Had Azazel really failed him?
If he had, then there was only one solution. There were very, very few angels stronger than Azazel. Yet, none were stronger than himself. If Azazel had met his match, there was only one solution.
Lucifer himself would have to destroy the Thrones.
Although the idea was disagreeable, he had always thought in the back of his mind that it might have to be done. That was the trouble with relying on others. Eventually, they would all find a way to let him down.
Lucifer knew that there was no time to waste. He drew his sword and rushed toward the battlefield.
The distance was not long, and he covered it in nearly the speed of thought. When he got to the base of the mountain, he saw his armies swarming all around him, and they cheered as he charged forward.
“My lord!” Abbadon cried out. “Enter here to my left. The breach is largest here.” Lucifer followed where Abbadon’s muscular red finger was pointing and saw several of his demons in control of one of the larger openings.
“My lord!” one of them shouted. “Come through here, we have–” But what they had was never uttered, for at that moment the
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clean swipe of a blade destroyed the three demons with such speed that not only did they not know what hit them, they didn't even know that they had been struck.
The white-winged Michael stood in the entrance.
“Brother,” Michael said, the softness in his voice at odds with the hardness of his exterior. “You shall have one last chance. Return to God now before I destroy you.”
Lucifer looked for the briefest of moments as if he was considering the request, but then the light on his face faded to reveal his usual haughty features. “Let it not be said that the generosity of God is not exceeded by Lucifer. I shall likewise give you one last, but better, chance. Renounce God now and join with me, before I destroy you!”
There was no salute this time as Lucifer and Michael tore into each other. There were really no words to tell of the way they fought. Even if such words existed, the pace at which they struck out at each other was unbelievable.
Those that were there never were able to describe exactly what happened. They fought with swords, arms, legs, wings, and teeth. It seemed as if their fight itself bent time, as if several blows were struck in the same instant.
The blur broke off and the combatants separated. Lucifer struck his sword into the ground and sank to one knee to stop his slide backwards through the gravel surrounding the mountain. The crimson blade had dark clouds swirling violently like a trapped storm. The dragon’s tail uncoiled and then recoiled around his hand to give him support. His shoulders hunched up over his neck and his breathing was ragged.
Michael stood over him, barely winded. He chuckled. “Did you honestly think that you, a creation of God, could fuel yourself with a power that could challenge Him? Your power is but a shadow of his.” Lucifer said nothing, but grimaced. The rest of the armies had both stopped fighting. There was no thought of all rushing in. Michael and Lucifer were so far above them that any lesser angel who
tried to attack would be insignificant.
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Michael stared at him, disbelief spreading on his face. “You fool. You cannot comprehend the power of God, let alone contend with it.”
Lucifer had nothing else to say, and indeed, little breath to say it. But Michael's words, rather than giving Lucifer a chance to recover, enraged him all the more. Michael was embarrassing him in front of his own troops.
Lucifer tore his sword from the ground and lunged forward. Joy in his eyes, Michael blocked the blow and swirled his sword
around, wrenching Lucifer's sword from his grip. Lucifer jumped backwards, but Michael was after him.
In a blinding second, Michael had his sword at Lucifer's throat. “It's over, Lucifer.” The blade was mere atoms away from touching him. “You must now submit to God and disband your
rebellion or step forward and be sent to the Containment.”
Lucifer surveyed his forces out of the corner of his eye, strong, yet defeated. He looked in their eyes. Lucifer had never much cared for others, but now he felt a terrible embarrassment and feeling that he was letting them dow
n. He looked up at his rival Seraph, standing so strong and confident. The dragon on Michael’s breastplate smiled. Was it mocking him?
He could take no more. “I reject your God and I reject your choices!” Lucifer jumped back and called out to his forces as he ran. “Flee! Escape and meet at the rendezvous point!”
“Shall we give chase, sir?” Verchiel came up behind Michael's shoulder even as Michael held up his hand to halt him. “I believe we can still catch them.”
“No, my friend.” Michael replied. “Those are not our orders.”
Backed into a corner, Raphael narrowed the gap between his forearm guards to trap Azazel's sword. Azazel struggled to wrench it free, but the Seraph was too strong.
Raphael jumped backwards and planted his feet on the wall. With a brief flutter of his brown wings that launched his body
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horizontally, he ran around the corner and sent both of his feet flying into Azazel's chest.
Azazel's sword clanged uselessly on the ground several feet away, but he was not finished. He sprinted towards it, with Raphael blocking the way. Azazel grabbed hold of him to grapple, but Raphael reigned down blows with his shin and arm protectors. Azazel cried out in pain after each one but would not yield. Finally, he collapsed to the floor.
“Destroy me now.” Azazel's voice was little more than a whisper. It was more of a plea than a challenge.
“When you turned against God, you lost everything,” Raphael spoke slowly, sadly. “You commanded before, now no one will listen to your most meager request.”
Raphael reached inside of his robe and withdrew a golden cord. Azazel's eyes went wide with fear as he understood what it was made of and grasped Raphael's intention. “You can't! It will burn me. Destroy me instead! Destroy me instead!”
Alizel ran from the room then, but for the rest of his existence he would still hear Azazel's screams echoing in his mind. The cord was made of the same material as the armor, and imbued with the Father's power. The closest humans would have been able to understand was to imagine tying someone in a rope made out of pure fire.
But Raphael was not being cruel for cruelty’s sake. Touching God that intimately was painful for those who had forsaken him, like putting frozen hands up to a fire. They would hurt, but the heat was the thing most needed.
Lucifer reached the Portal only seconds after his embarrassing defeat. His troops were rushing headlong and diving in, caring little that Michael's forces were not in pursuit. This was no orderly retreat. Although many of them had privately doubted Lucifer's plan all along, most had at least trusted him enough to keep fear for their own lives down deep inside. An important change had come over the hordes of demons, although none would admit it. They were
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not following Lucifer now because they trusted him to lead them to glory. They were now following him because they had nowhere else to go.
Lucifer grasped the railing of the Portal and took one look back at Heaven. He hesitated there for a moment. This was, really, the end of the end. He knew that once he crossed the border, he might never again return to Heaven. Yet, could he even still turn back?
“Is this what You wanted?” He screamed in the direction of the Throne of God. “Look at what has happened to us. Look at the cost of this war. Are those weak, pathetic creatures of mud worth it? Will You really pay such a price?”
You have no idea the price I pay for them.
God's words filled Heaven. Lucifer wasn’t sure if he was even expecting a response, but the words certainly had an ominous tone. What could be worse than what had happened so far?
“You have already paid by losing us, every sane angel in Heaven. They will not serve this foolish plan. I will not serve them!” Although there was no need, Lucifer was screaming. Every angel in Heaven heard his words.
All must serve.
“You do not tell me what to do anymore! I have free will. I reject your offer and I reject your kingdom! You think that this is over? There are two battlefields in this war!” With his words, Lucifer flung himself over the railing with the remnant of his followers. He was gone just before he heard the Lord’s last words.
All serve, Satan. Even you. Even Me.
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PART THREE
CHAPTER TEN:
THE SECOND BATTLEFIELD
They drifted through limbo, stopping now and again to regroup. One by one the stragglers joined them, until Lucifer had collected most of his host around him. They were apart from the Universe, but not in Heaven either. But they were closer to Heaven than the Universe; they were still in the Realm of Spirit. Creatures of spirit needed a spiritual world.
“Where are we?” The question was asked by several demons at once. They had settled into the new location, with Lucifer's throne centered in the middle. The edges of their new domain were shifting and undefined, formless black waves that bobbed over the horizon.
Lucifer was still fuming at his defeat, and in no mood to answer. Instead Malphas, the only one of the twelve Thrones who had gone over to Lucifer’s side, took over. Malphas was a pudgy demon, short and square, with a large golden hoop in each of his ears.
“We are in our new home,” he replied. “Which our lord Lucifer, in his brightness, envisioned,” he added hastily. “It is not much now, but it shall become magnificent as I complete its construction. We are now in a place completely without God. Yet, it is every bit as great as Heaven.”
“Shall we call it New Heaven?” Verin suggested.
“We have a name already,” Malphas answered. “It is the Heaven's Equivalent Location, or HEL for short. The best thing about it is that it is transient. God cannot be here.”
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“I don't understand,” the slow-witted Dahaka mused. “Are you saying that God cannot come here?”
“As far as we know,” Malphas explained, “God can be wherever He wishes. Yet, if we don't allow Him here in our hearts, we believe that He will respect that. He has shown that much so far.”
“Why should we trust what God says He will do?” Dahaka was not convinced. “He does not care what we desire.”
“We cannot,” Malphas admitted. “But such is the nature of the battle we face. God holds all power, save what He has granted us. Odious as it is, we have to trust His past behavior. Plus, we do have one advantage. Because HEL is the place where God isn't, if His presence intrudes upon our border, the border can shift.”
“That is beautiful,” Dahaka admitted rather gleefully. “So we can live together, as long as we don't let Him into our hearts. If He or His angels try to come after us, our location can shift.”
“Yes. It is as dark is to light in the Universe. Dark is nothing more than the place where light is not. If the light moves, then so does the darkness.”
“With our base here, we must decide now how to counterattack.” Verin jumped up. “We have wasted too much time already!”
“Wasted? We have hardly spent time at all.” Kasadya alone seemed barely ruffled from their ordeal. “Now is the time to regroup, and to carefully and dispassionately plan out our new strategy.”
“Kasadya is right,” Lucifer finally spoke, and the others turned to face him. “Although I wish to rush headlong and tear down the gates of Heaven myself, doing so would be extremely foolish. God has made His decision. He has chosen the humans over us. There is only one way to make Him pay. We will make them both pay.”
“My lord!” Abbadon exclaimed. “Your brilliance shines even more brightly in our new home. Give me but the word and I will set upon them and destroy every last one of them.”
Lucifer breathed in and out slowly, going over his options and keeping his own council. He stroked his chin thoughtfully with his hand. “Destroying them is good…and it will be done. But not yet.
First, we must make them pay for what they have done…pay for forcing us to start this war.”
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“Your council is wise, my lord,” Kasadya agreed. “Yet, how to make them pay? Can they be held responsible for the turmoil they have caused, as they did so unknowingly? Are we not more just—less arbitrary than God?”
