Finally, a special device held a victim’s inner physiology — their metabolism — in a particular geometry. To manipulate the metabolism, at least two different containers were attached to the upper chains just above the head, with a feeding tube attached to the bottom of the container. One end of the feeding tubes provided an intravenous feed, while the other was threaded down the esophagus and directly into the stomach. A bit was installed in the victim’s mouth to prevent the Angel from chomping down on the tube and restricting the flow.
Any number of substances could be poured into the containers, thereby delivering them directly into circulation and the stomach, permeating the meat with the desired flavor or marinade. Of course, this same device could easily serve as a method of torture by delivering noxious substances or parasites.
A small tube was inserted into the urethra and a large tube was inserted into the anus so that the bladder and colon could be continuously flushed. Both tubes ran into the slots in the floor where the urine and feces were collected. These lower slots were continuously flushed with water to ensure that no foul odors entered the kitchen.
The term ‘harvest’ was used for two very different types of Angelic dissections. The individuals who took elements of the Morontial Personality, or Ratna for the manufacture of Nephilim were the types of Harvesters Frank and Janene tracked. Those types of harvests resulted in the destruction of Individuality, the ultimate form of death.
Chef Vohu Manah and his staff did not touch the Morontial Personalities; they only dissected the Angel’s Celestial body for consumption as food. Which body parts were removed determined whether the Angel’s Celestial body lived or died.
But even if the Celestial body died, the Morontial Personality was returned to the Valkyrie. They would take the Personality to Salvington where a new Celestial body was grown around it. Then the individual would start a new life, just as Major Butler Metcalf had after Kuko Kiena killed his Celestial body.
“Oh, look here. This is a beautiful set, isn’t it?” Chef Vohu Manah said as he stopped in front of an exhausted-looking, middle-aged male Seraphim with broad white wings. Vohu Manah would not care to know but this Angel was Robert Sagham, the same Seraphim that only 195 Eden years ago had sat comfortably talking to Bill on Oceania, while Brittney and Jessica sat in a booth gazing at Collin Striker with dreamy eyes.
“Take the bit out of his mouth. I want to hear this one scream.” Brice removed the bit from the Angel’s mouth and then handed his master a large pair of hinged shears. He turned the Angel around so Chef Vohu Manah was facing his back. Brice held the Angel steady so Vohu Manah could make a precise cut.
“This is just like trimming roses,” Chef Vohu Manah said to Salecia as he pointed to the nodes along the main stem of the Angel’s wings. “Of course, there is always a compromise between how much wing to harvest versus how long it takes for the next set to grow.”
He took the shears and carefully aligned them just beyond the first node. “We are, however, speaking about Lord Smigyl and our dear Lord Indra, aren’t we?” he asked rhetorically, then clamped down on the handles. There was a loud cracking sound as the shears crunched through the wing’s large central bone, followed by a low and pain-filled groan that joined in with a chorus of other loud cracks and groans and cries as the other chefs conducted their own harvests.
Chef Vohu Manah might have thought he understood why this Seraphim was crying so bitterly. Yet, his understanding was incorrect. Robert Sagham had heard of these feasts for the gods, but this was the first time he had experienced the pain of the harvest firsthand. He cried because he realized he had not been compassionate and caring enough to those Angels who had gone before him in this bizarre, ritualistic torture.
“Luckily for some, like my dear old friend Guru Patanjali, flavor is the primary concern when selecting a wing. As for the Nazz, who cares about exquisite flavor? Certainly not them.”
Salecia detected some sadness in Chef Vohu Manah’s voice
Two assistants quickly appeared. One of them detached the newly harvested wing from the clips and quickly carried it back to Chef Vohu Manah’s cooking station. They laid it in a vat of sweetened fluids to enhance flavor and preserve the wing’s metabolism until Chef Vohu Manah was ready to trim, baste, and flash fry them in a vat of hot oil.
The second assistant cleaned off the clamping device and handed it to Chef Vohu Manah while lifting the weight to create slack in the rope. Chef Vohu Manah carefully attached the clamps and hooks into the end of the stub. The weight was lowered to pull and encourage the growth of the next set of wings. Then he repeated this exacting process on the other side of the victim.
Chef Vohu Manah stood back and examined his handiwork, glancing at his fellow chefs as they wandered through the rows of strung-up Angels, one by one evaluating and harvesting.
Chef Vohu Manah scrutinized Robert Sagham expecting to see terror on his face. Instead, he saw no fear, no contempt, no anger. Not even pain. Robert Sagham looked down on Chef Vohu Manah as if he were some sort of science experiment. A curiosity. Nothing more than a strange, nasty parasite.
All the stories are really true then, Robert thought. This is the face of pure evil. How strange he should be such a good chef.
And then Robert did the unexpected. He spoke to Chef Vohu Manah. Chef Vohu Manah appeared to lose interest and wandered off in search of another nice set of wings.
“Salecia,” Robert Sagham whispered as she stiffly walked past. She froze in place. She could not look up.
“Just hang around long enough to see what he does to get me back,” Robert said. “See how he gets his revenge for being insulted by a mere pigeon. Then you’ll see what kind of monster you’ve been sleeping with.” Salecia scurried away without acknowledging the Angel.
“Oh, pity. This little one had such sweet wings, but I guess four sets was her limit,” Chef Vohu Manah said as he caressed the Angel’s buttocks.
“In fact,” Chef Vohu Manah said as he whispered to Salecia. “They were so sweet that I kept all four sets for myself. Only Patanjali could have appreciated the difference.” He looked at Salecia with an impish smile, letting out a little giggle.
“What is your name, sweet one?” Chef Vohu Manah asked, eyeballing the Angel.
“rit-e,” the Angel mumbled back, unable to articulate with the bit in her mouth and a feeding tube down her throat.
“Well, rit-e,” Chef Vohu Manah sarcastically replied. “You have done very well this evening.”
“You do realize that Guru Patanjali traveled from Urantia with Lord Smigyl and is at the banquet tonight, don’t you?” Salecia said as Chef Vohu Manah scanned up and down the young Angel’s body one last time. He would hand her over to the Clerics who negotiated the release of prisoners of war back to the Valkyrie.
“So I guess I’ll just…” Chef Vohu Manah stopped in mid sentence.
“Did you say Guru Patanjali is here? Right now? I thought he was on Urantia.” His gaze remained frozen on the Angel.
“I’m sorry, dear friend. I thought you knew. Yes, he’s at Indra and Smigyl’s table right now. I thought you were filling the hall with the aroma of Angel Crisps because of him.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Chef Vohu Manah exclaimed. His entire mood instantly lifted knowing that there was at least one individual eating tonight that appreciated the many subtleties in his masterful recipes.
“Then I must prepare for him a special treat.”
Chef Vohu Manah thought for a couple of seconds, then fixed his attention on the Angel’s small breasts. Then he moved his attention down.
“One more little sacrifice, little Rit-e,” he said to her, holding out his hand. Brice handed him a dull knife with a serrated blade. “You are about to make Patanjali very happy
And being the Angel she was, Brittney, screaming in sheer agony, thought of all the millions of girls on Eden’s dark continent of Frakfraka who underwent circumcision as just another part of the Daligastian culture.
&n
bsp; Chapter 34
Josephine’s Father is a What?
Every girl has a father. Every boy has a mother. Never forget this.
—El Elyon
Oceania
General David Pesagniya did not seem to mind the long period of silence that elapsed since Collin and he started walking on the beach.
Hard not to forgive someone who has accomplished such a remarkable feat of stupidity, Pesagniya thought. He’s not just your average idiot who’s somehow capable of bonking some chick without knowing she’s his boss, and then breaking off the relationship by bonking her twin sister, without knowing who she was either? This took a real dedication to stupidity.
The rush of a warm wave ran high on the beach, caressing their lower legs. The receding wave pulled Pesagniya out of his own thoughts, back to the troubled Collin.
“What is it son?” he asked, giving Collin’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. Collin looked up from the sand into David’s kind and intelligent blue eyes.
“Frank warned me about you.”
“Really?” David asked, somewhat amused at the idea of a screw-up like Frank Haiguns giving Collin advice.
“He said that just because you look gentle and seem like a nice guy and talk with a soft calm voice, never underestimate ‘that creature’ for a second.”
“Creature, huh? An interesting choice of words,” David replied, smiling. “But I’ve been called a lot worse I guess. So are you worried that I’m going to do something horrible to punish you because of how you treated Josephine and Wrenn?”
For a few seconds Collin contemplated what the penalty could be. “I guess I’ve been anticipating some sort of punishment. I mean, you are her father aren’t you?” Hearing Josephine call him PaPa had confirmed that idea. “So you would be justified…”
“What you did was more a matter of youthful inexperience, fear of entrapment, and misdirected libido. There was no intentional malice here, Collin. Josephine understands that. I’m quite sure her mother and father will say the same thing. However, you should prepare yourself for some serious anger if you don’t put forth a strong effort into patching things up before you meet either one of them. On top of that, there are still some other problems we have to work...what’s wrong?”
“Who is her father? I thought you were.”
“Oh, no, right right. I’m her Godfather, not her biological father,” David replied. “I’m her biological father’s primary bodyguard.”
Collin twisted his head sideways, staring at David, trying to calculate what he meant. Her biological father’s primary bodyguard? He turned his head straight, and then gave it a good shake.
“Excuse me?” Collin finally uttered, knowing that bodyguards were typically several ranks below their charges. With Josephine and Michelle, it took a captain to guard a colonel. “What kind of thing requires a five-starred Silver Storm General for a primary bodyguard?”
David draped his arm around Collin’s shoulders.
“Well, you know Sipheria, right? She’s a five-star general. You know she’s a bodyguard for King Joshua, the Michael Son of Nebadon?”
“Josephine’s the daughter of a Michael Son,” Collin replied flatly, feeling his energy sucked out of his body.
“That’s right. Michael of Ninveth.”
“I just betrayed the daughter of a Michael Son…”
“My presence here within Satania is at the request of King Joshua, acting as an outside observer on behalf of King Ayasia and Queen Ariea of Ninveth.
“I just betrayed and hurt the daughter of a Michael Son…”
David gave Collin’s shoulder another friendly squeeze. “You of all people must understand that every girl has a father and every boy has a mother. And, I can tell you as a matter of fact that this affair with Josephine wasn’t your first time with the daughter of a Michael Son or a Mother Spirit.”
“Please stop talking now. I just don’t want to know,” Collin mumbled.
The two walked in silence for some time before Collin asked, “Am I, at some point, going to be confronted by the parents of everyone I ever abused?”
“Yes,” David replied flatly.
“In our educational programs we heard lectures on the nature of the Thrones…” Collin stopped in mid-sentence, unable to say any more as his mind was pulled open, giving him a glimpse into the realms of the Thrones.
“I do, in fact, understand where you are right now,” David finally said, giving Collin’s shoulder another fatherly squeeze. “Whenever I think too much about the nature of the Thrones — a Michael Son, Mother Spirit pair — and the repercussions of our involvement with them, I find myself falling into a realm that quickly overloads the intellect. They stand at the juncture between Havona and all the Celestial and Material Realms. They are, after all, the Creators of the Celestial and Material Realms.”
David fell silent. He had a vision of everyone in the Creation, living their life, with some of them believing they were in control of their destinies, others not. David saw everyone helplessly sliding down slippery slopes carved out by the Thrones, slopes they had sliced into the structures of reality, designed to eventually fulfill El Elyon’s ultimate desire for everyone and everything.
“And even after billions of years in service to them, my mind still becomes bewildered if I dwell upon it too long.”
“Have you ever seen one angry?” Collin interrupted.
“Yes, I have,” David calmly replied. “The worst I’ve seen was Queen Ariea angry when…”
“What happened?” Collin asked after seeing the distant look on David’s face.
“Well, let’s just say she had a come-apart when she heard about Prince Daligastia’s rape camps in Satania.”
Wonder what that looks like, Collin mused.
David continued. “When Ariea drew her sword on Daligastia, it was as if her rage ripped a tear into the fabric of Creation…”
From the look on David’s face, Collin was not sure he wanted him to continue.
“It was then I finally understood the mechanisms of annihilation.” David shook his head. “There was something under that tear. The Thrones call it, ‘The Lake of Fire’.
“On that day, I saw it for myself. Ariea opened The Lake of Fire right in front of Daligastia’s eyes, possibly as a warning of what awaited him if he did not repent. I have no idea if someone as thick as Daligastia actually saw it, but I saw it. And it was then when I came to appreciate the real powers that El Elyon conveyed to the Thrones. With my own eyes, I saw the substance that is capable of pulling apart and dissolving a Personality, casting it into annihilation…”
“So annihilation is really a one-way street?” Collin asked quietly.
“Yes, Collin. Annihilation really is a one-way street from which none can ever emerge,” David lied, knowing there was more to it. “And that’s why we are so worried and anxious to save as many corrupted Personalities — those who have turned from King Joshua to Lord Smigyl — as we can before King Joshua’s final bestowal. Because once it’s over, it’s really over.”
“So I should watch myself.”
“Yes, of course. Everyone should watch themselves, especially in affairs of the heart. But really, you don’t have to worry about that ultimate end. It’s the Overlords and their ilk who have joined with Smigyl in rebellion that have to worry about their ultimate end in The Lake of Fire. Not you. You’re just a stupid kid who did a stupid thing.” David gave Collin another fatherly smile and a pat on the back. “You won’t be annihilated, young friend. You’re on your way to Havona to meet El Elyon. That, I guarantee you. Where we are, right now, on this little patch of Paradise called Oceania is but a first stepping stone.”
David’s smile faded again. His hands were clasped together behind his back as he studied the pink sand.
“I’m sorry, General Pesagniya. I wish I could believe that. But the way I run through Angels. I find it impossible El Elyon would ever welcome a cad like me.”
“Welcome you?” David said
with a chuckle. “He can’t wait to meet you. And as far as running through Angels, more likely it’s them running through you.” Wow. This guy really does have it upside down.
“Then tell me, Lieutenant Striker. What’s your purpose here? I know you run logistics, but that’s just a space-filler. The big picture. Why you, here, now in the Eden Theatre, on Oceania?”
“Right now? Village idiot probably fits best. But Skillit tells me I’m an entertainer. She always laughs when she says it.”
“You don’t believe her?” David asked. “From my experience, Skillit is the one who gets it right. Being an entertainer of Angels sounds pretty good to me. They need some entertainment, anything to distract them from the shit that happens on Eden.
“Every planet in the System of Satania is tough duty. Remember what I just said about The Lake of Fire and a one-way street called annihilation? The way I see it, the Overlords are on that one-way street right now. What’s worse? The innocent ones whom the Overlords have tricked are the real issue. That’s who the Angels are trying to save, and why they dive into warped planets like Eden, time-after-time, doing their best to extend King Joshua’s hand of compassion. So many times they incarnate with such optimism, trying to reach out, only to find their hearts crushed, and their hands bitten off.”
David glanced at Collin, wondering if he had been listening. David stopped walking. Collin noticed a couple of steps later, then turned and walked back.
“Collin, that is where good men like you come in. You help them forget. It really isn’t about the sex, beer, and Soma. It’s about distraction — trying to forget about the sadistic, twisted, and corrupted relationships the Angels had to deal with on Eden. You help them remember what it feels like to be an Angel again. Your ‘entertainment’ helps them forget. And being an Angel myself, I appreciate all that you do.”
Lilith: Eden's Planetary Princess (The Michael Archives Book 1) Page 23
