Angels to Ashes

by Drew Foote

  It was the sound of shearing glaciers and collapsing continents. It was annihilation given song, a benediction of extinction, and it was not the Demon’s own voice. The creature merely served as the Voice of Director Leviathan, who was far too enormous to attend the meetings personally. His colossal bulk slept elsewhere, nestled within the depths of Hell’s strata.

  “Angels!” the Voice proclaimed deafeningly. Spider web cracks fanned across the surface of the Frozen Lake from the timbre of the Worm’s voice. The Board went utterly silent, each Demon staring suspiciously at Leviathan’s emissary. “They are involved. I know this.”

  Beelzebub bobbed his head sickeningly atop his corpulent frame. “Perhaps, but why?” he asked. “Heaven shall suffer as badly as us.”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Asmodai replied, his voice soft and dangerous. “Heaven knows its time is running out. Humans hurl themselves into damnation in droves. The longer Heaven waits, the stronger Hell becomes. This is but a precursor to Armageddon.”

  Once more, the Board erupted into howls and shouts. Armageddon, the most glorious of days, was always a topic that got the Board’s attention. There were countless prophecies, of course, but no one truly knew the shape the final battle would take. Armageddon was the end game, the ultimate goal of all plots, and each Director was deathly afraid of meeting it unprepared.

  “You would know, Asmodai!” the Voice of Leviathan bellowed. “Your Demon, Barnabas, is working with them. He slew two of my own!”

  Asmodai, and the rest of the Board, went perfectly silent. The black pools of the Director of Pride’s eyes stared venomously at the Voice. The temperature of the 9th circle seemed to rise precipitously, and the surrounding blizzard stilled.

  “You dare approach one of mine without my permission, Worm?” Asmodai finally asked, his voice guttural. His spines flexed with rage.

  The Voice boomed harsh laughter. The ground of the 9th Circle shook with his fell amusement, and the ice of the Frozen Lake cracked apart in black sheaves. Damned souls attempted to pull themselves from the frigid water, but the ice solidified with impossible speed and sealed them once more. Their torment was eternal.

  “I dare what I please,” the Voice declared haughtily. “I would not have intervened if you could properly govern your peasants. Now hear my rebuke, and do nothing, as is your nature.”

  Asmodai snarled, and rose with a sinuous motion of bleeding edges. The other Directors smiled with anticipation. Leviathan would soon need a new Voice.

  Beelzebub spoke quickly, his jittering voice piercing the tension. “Now, now, friends. Let us not lose sight of who the enemy truly is,” the Prince of Flies said beseechingly. Asmodai stilled, but his face was twisted in murderous rage.

  “Yes, of course. Heaven,” Lilith crooned seductively, her words as sweet as honey, and they seemed to assist in defusing the deadly situation.

  Lilith the Night Mother, Director of Lust, had a presence that always captured attention. Like an unholy Rorschach test, her Demonic body shifted and twisted in the light. She appeared to each observer as what they found most alluring, most irresistible. None knew what truly lurked below the Demoness’ skein of glamor, but it was likely more repulsive than even Beelzebub.

  “How do you know the Angels are involved, Leviathan?” Lilith continued in a sultry drawl. She tossed hair of a thousand shifting colors provocatively over her shoulders.

  “I was … informed … this Barnabas had information regarding the Nexuses. I sent two of my children, and he destroyed them. With the assistance of an Avenging Angel.”

  “Informed by who?” Asmodai growled.

  Babylonia, as silent as a cat amid the chaos, eyed the Voice. Her luminous eyes blinked languidly.

  “That does not concern you.” The Voice smiled a sickly grin, its enormous tongue hanging against its chest.

  “So!” Beelzebub interjected quickly. “We must find this Barnabas and question him. This much is certain. What shall we do about the Nexuses in the meantime? Is it possible to repair them?”

  “No. Utterly impossible. It is beyond our power, and Heaven’s, as well,” a tall, emaciated Fallen Angel answered. Belphegor the Vile, Director of Sloth, wore the flayed skins of false prophets as a cloak over his winged shoulders.

  “What happens if all the Nexuses fail, and there is no more soul traffic?” Lilith asked pointedly.

  There was deathly silence. No one had the faintest idea what long-term repercussions this would have, and it was a thought that left the Demons profoundly uncomfortable. The world had existed in a stasis of status quo for millennia, and change was incomprehensible to such ancient creatures.

  “Perhaps one of us should dedicate their forces to protecting the remaining Nexuses from any further … mishaps.” Beelzebub suggested hopefully.

  “I will see to it, myself,” the Voice of Leviathan promised.

  Asmodai’s eyes narrowed skeptically, but he remained silent. Several members of the Board voiced their half-hearted approval. Leviathan was a brute, but he certainly tended to get the job done. It was hard to say ‘no’ to a worm large enough to eat an island.

  Beelzebub bobbed his head once more, pleased. “Very well. Director Leviathan shall protect the remaining Nexuses. The rest of us will attempt to find this Barnabas. Perhaps he can explain matters further.”

  The Directors grumbled ill-temperedly, which was usually the closest to a quorum the Board could ever reach. “Before we adjourn, however,” Beelzebub added. “I would hear from Director Apollyon. You have been unusually silent. What say you, Destroyer?”

  The Directors turned to look up at Apollyon’s hulking presence. He loomed over the Board, the largest, by far, without Leviathan present. He seemed a statue carved of onyx, massive and perfectly chiseled. Midnight chains covered the mountainous expanse of his torso. His six wings opened, casting the rest of the Board into eclipse.

  The Destroyer looked evenly at Beelzebub, a silent monolith. He finally responded, and his words echoed through Cocytus.

  “We prepare for war.”

  Lilith tittered alluringly. “No surprise, there.”

  Apollyon turned his head slowly to regard Lilith. The Fallen Seraph’s black eyes appeared empty and devoid of thought, but they were not. It was the still of subterranean lake, placid and bottomless, but terrible things churned within those stygian depths. Creatures from a forgotten time, of impossibly monstrous scale, slid through the inky waters.

  “Laugh now, whore. Laughter will die first in the coming days.”

  “Yes, well,” Beelzebub said nervously. “I think that adjourns this meeting.”

  ~

  “It is the work of Demons,” Archangel Uriel rasped.

  The four Archangels gathered at the base of the ivory stairs that led endlessly up to the Throne of God. Here, at the pinnacle of Heaven, the song rising from below grew into a majestic symphony of hosannas. It was a breathtaking melody, the sounds of the individual souls blended into a perfect harmony to praise Him.

  “We have already suffered great losses,” Uriel continued. “We have lost contact with Baruchiel and Kalyndriel while they investigated the Nexuses. Cadmiel and an entire host were slain by Makariel.”

  The Archangel Michael grimaced, and shook his head sadly. “Kalyndriel is lost? And Makariel walks the mortal realm? Truly, this is grim news you bear, brother.”

  Gabriele, the Archangel of Truth and Mercy, looked at Uriel. Her face was serene and smooth, but her gaze was penetrating. Uriel returned her stare calmly.

  “Agreed, brother,” Uriel answered. “We know not Hell’s goal, but it is surely foul.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Michael muttered. The loss of Kalyndriel was a terrible blow to Heaven’s strength, and one that he grieved personally. She was a mighty warrior and her zeal was an inspiration to her brethren. She had fought by Michael’s side in numerous battles.

  Michael raised flawless, crystalline blue eyes to meet Uriel’s emotionless mask. “Though we do not fully u
nderstand their plans, we cannot afford to let Hell act uncontested.”

  Archangel Michael, the Warrior Spirit, the Patron of Duty and Bravery, looked between his brothers and sister. His array of radiant wings flexed. “Uriel and Gabriele, I leave this to you. Discover how we might end this evil.”

  Archangel Gabriele nodded in serene acknowledgement. Her form was petite, and a cascade of jet-black hair framed her beautiful porcelain face. Although she appeared delicate, nothing was further from the truth. Beneath her filigreed armor was as one of the most dangerous of God’s firstborn. She delivered perfect mercy, and that mercy was efficient and brutal. Michael knew that Gabriele would get to the crux of the matter.

  The fiery Uriel bowed low before his brother. “Entrust this to us, Michael. Hell’s fruit shall not ripen upon the vine.”

  “I have no doubt, Uriel. Keep me informed. There is much at stake.”

  “Indeed, brother.”

  Chapter 15

  Hell-bound

  I wandered through the wreckage of my office. Slowly, I reached for an autographed baseball signed by a player I helped make the big leagues. Now Gressil’s black gore covered it. I once enjoyed collecting mementos from my numerous successes; they helped me remember the difference I made in peoples’ lives.

  It was a small thing, but it was mine.

  Kalyndriel sat silently in the only functional chair I had left. She had hardly uttered a word since she first made her impressive entrance. Being a master of observation, I sensed she was having a rough day, so I let her sit and collect herself. I supposed I was, somewhat, in her debt.

  I looked closely at the Angel. Something was different about her, although I couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps a new hairstyle? I continued to study her carefully, trying to discover what was amiss, and then it struck me like the blow of a hammer.

  “Your halo!”

  The Avenging Angel had no glowing crown above her head. Furthermore, I could not feel her Heavenly aura. That was new.

  Kalyndriel turned to me. Wind whistled mournfully through the ruined walls of my office as she considered her reply. The ichor dripping slowly from the ceiling seemed to count out the fraught seconds like a metronome. She finally nodded.

  “Yes. I have been cast out.”

  “Oh. Well. I see. May I ask why?” I probed. Arcturus surveyed the situation from the safety of the mantle. He was uncharacteristically quiet, himself.

  She lapsed into silence once more. I shrugged, and proceeded to examine anything other than the Avenging Angel, without a halo, sulking in my shattered workplace. Arcturus swallowed loudly.

  “I was banished by Archangel Uriel,” she eventually replied. “And I don’t know why. But it has something to do with you, and the soul of Walter Grey.”

  Her wings lit up with a pulse of anger, practically daring me to say something flippant.

  I was no fool. “You have my deepest condolences,” I said as sincerely as I could muster. I hoped it was enough.

  The Angel made no reply.

  “This Walter has certainly turned out to be more trouble than he’s worth, to both of us,” I continued. “Perhaps you should tell me what’s really going on.”

  Kalyndriel considered me skeptically. She shook her head. “It might be best if you don’t know.”

  I gave a small laugh. “Best?” I asked incredulously. “We’ve long since passed whatever ‘best’ might be, Angel. In case you haven’t noticed: you’ve been thrown out of Heaven, and Leviathan is trying to fucking eat me.”

  I waggled my finger at her. “You should probably start being honest with me, because I suspect that I’m all you have. How many contacts do you have, outside of Heaven? Am I right?”

  She was mute. Terrible emotions waged war on her delicate features, melodies of sadness and loss. At the sight, even my blackened soul felt the briefest twinge of sympathy, though I ushered it swiftly away.

  May her God help her, I really was all she had; what an awfully depressing situation for an Angel.

  “Look,” I continued carefully. “I appreciate you flying over here to save my ass, I truly do. It appears as though both of our employers have seen fit to terminate us. Now we need to find out why.”

  I grinned hopefully. Kalyndriel exhaled a ragged breath and leaned back in the chair, rubbing her forehead.

  “Very well,” she acknowledged bitterly. “I will tell you: The Nexus system, the only conduit of souls, to either Heaven or Hell, is failing irrevocably. Souls are being denied their judgment, and no one knows why.”

  “Walter Grey was present the night it all began, and Walter Grey is the only hope I have. I must find him, and you are going to help me do that,” she declared.

  I gave an appreciative whistle, astounded. That was, indeed, serious news, and it had dire ramifications for both Heaven and Hell. I saw why it was so important to her, but it didn’t even come close to explaining everything. It still didn’t justify why we had both been targeted for elimination, which was certainly the most important question to me, personally.

  “My, my,” I murmured to myself, as I struggled to interpret the puzzle before me. “And whatever is happening, there are certain factions in Heaven and Hell that are disturbingly interested. And, strangest of all, some of them appear to be working … together.”

  Kaly nodded. “You still haven’t told me why those Demons were present.”

  “Those Demons worked for Leviathan, and I’ll give you three guesses as to what, or who, they wanted.”

  “They wanted this Walter, guy,” Art piped up.

  The Angel paused thoughtfully. A mournful breeze ruffled the papers that now lay scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. A part of me realized, sadly, that I would likely never stand there again. Hundreds of years of nesting, all gone in the blink of an eye. My beautiful clock stared mournfully up at me from a pile of debris, the cuckoo extended like a cadaver’s tongue.

  Kaly finally spoke. “So, if you’re being attacked by other Demons … then that means that I’m all you have, as well?” The slightest smirk creased her lips.

  Wonderful: the Angel could be a smart ass. Her little observation made the terrible day even worse. I frowned, and then had a sudden uplifting thought.

  “Not quite,” I declared triumphantly. “I have loyal Arcturus!” I gestured proudly at the chunky Imp sprawled atop my crooked mantle.

  Arcturus shook his tiny head firmly. He turned away, studying a toppled martini glass with great intensity, pointedly ignoring me.

  “You fat little traitor,” I accused him. He continued to look away, save the middle finger he half-heartedly extended. I turned back to Kalyndriel, scowling.

  “Well, you may be right. So the question now is … what do we do?”

  The Angel looked down at her gauntleted fists, still painted with Nimis’ entrails. “Heaven has cast me out, and Hell is trying to eliminate you, and it all leads back to Walter Grey. The only way to set things right is by discovering on the meaning behind all of this,” she replied.

  The Angel’s voice was decisive, but I wondered who she was trying to convince.

  “From the way you put it, that sounds very simple,” I said. “The problem is that Walter is in Hell, and one of its most powerful Directors wants my head on a stick. I don’t stand a chance of actually reaching Walter’s soul.”

  “What if you had a protector?”

  I shook my head, depressed. “It’s of no use, I’m afraid; Arcturus’ talents lie elsewhere. I am still trying to discover what they are, but I know what they are not. He’d never be able to protect me against Leviathan.”

  The Angel offered a cold smile, a sliver of moon on a winter’s night. There was a frightening edge to it, a lust for vengeance.

  “Me. Without my halo, would I be able to venture into Hell?”

  I paused in surprise. I hadn’t considered it, but it could work. From what I could tell from standing next to her, she should not cause much alarm in Hell. Her presence felt like t
hat of a Fallen Angel; the stain of an ancient divinity unconnected to Heaven.

  “Actually, that’s a pretty good idea,” I admitted, turning the notion over in my head. “There’s still the problem of you not actually looking like a demon, though.”

  “So, how should I look?” she asked with mild irritation.

  “It’s not like there’s anything wrong with how you look,” I laughed disarmingly. Women, be they Angel or Demon, were all the same. “Your wings and armor, though … well, they’re awfully alabaster, don’t you think?”

  Kalyndriel nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, appearing to lose herself in concentration. The Angel exhaled a rattling sob, a sound filled with anguish.

  She breathed in once more, and the breath was ragged and hungry; it was the jet intake of a hunter giving chase, drinking deeply to fuel the bellows of its furnace. The atmosphere in the room seemed to thicken and congeal. The temperature around us rose rapidly.

  I noticed the Angel was changing. To my astonishment, her wings and armor began to blossom black with an inky darkness that spread outward from her chest. The nightfall covered her like an eclipse overtaking the land below. In but a few moments, her bulky armor was the color of the moonless sky, and her wings crackled and arced with nether energy. Color, itself, seemed to be absorbed and devouring by those shadowy appendages. Her hair remained platinum white, however, which seemed to only contrast and enhance the rest of her abyssal appearance.

  I was truly impressed. “How did you pull that off?”

  “I am but a reflection of what lies within my heart …,” she murmured. She gazed sadly upon her midnight raiment.

  I coughed. I was not entirely certain how to respond to that. “Very nice?” I acknowledged. “You look like a bona fide Fallen Angel now.”

  Anger flashed across Kalyndriel’s face, a thundercloud appearing from clear skies. Her hands clenched into fists, the enamel of her gauntlets creaking with strain. That was obviously an unwelcome subject.