Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I
Chapter 10 - Intolerable Redemption

“Where was your neighbor when the rebellion attacked the Creator? Was someone missing from your labor line? Has your friend been more absent in the last few years?

Say something! Some traitors were spotted escaping the scene of their travesty against us all. Don’t risk being associated with a demon!”

-public service flier distributed by the guard, to little success. The public response led mostly to false accusations and paranoia, and were very quickly disavowed by the Archangels.

-O-

Dufaii awoke in isolation and total darkness, his arms numb, his muscles all sore, and his head throbbing with immense pain. The ground beneath him was stone—rough and unpolished. And there was a damp earthy smell to the rocks that his face touched. It told him that he was in a cave … which meant in the mines. There wasn’t a heavy presence of dust in the air, so this was an older tunnel. In the distance were muffled echoes of whispers and crying.

Dufaii felt his own despair like he felt that of the other rebel angels; the difference was that he didn’t have the energy to cry or scream. The ropes binding him were unnecessary because he couldn’t have made himself move if he’d wanted to. He felt a lethargy he’d never felt even after the Storms. It was like a piece of his power was gone, and it took him several moments with his head in a foggy state, pressed against jagged stone, to think of why this might have been. His sword—part of his soul—had been taken from him. The longer he thought about this, the more he realized that he could sense the absence of his weapon as if it were a leg or a foot.

For a moment, Dufaii wondered what had been done to those angels who did not have soul weapons. Had their arms and legs been chopped off and taken? Only a moment of opening himself up to the overwhelming pressure of their combined pain was enough to confirm this. It was the only way they could have been subdued for imprisonment.

Dufaii shuddered and closed his eyes. He had led his brothers and sisters to this and fallen in battle before taking out the Creator, Raphael, and Gabriel. The thought of this replaced any feelings of self-pity in him with a brooding self-loathing.

It was several hours until he heard a sharp sound near him. The sound was familiar, the sound of a pickaxe striking stone. It sounded close and was getting closer so with every hit. After a couple hours of this repeated chipping at the rock, he heard young voices.

“I’m ready for a turn.”

Another voice hushed the first and said, “Quiet, Abhayananda! If the guard catches us, they’ll chop off our arms and throw us in the mountain like they did to Samas.” From that point on, the digging was slower, and they paused for minutes at a time. It was easy to imagine them stopping whenever they suspected someone might be nearby.

The digging went on for a while, the voices never returning. Then, after an unknowable amount of time had passed and hundreds of strikes had sounded against the stone, there was a break and a beam of sunlight entered in.

Dufaii looked around to see that he was in a caver tunnel, now filled with while cave crickets with long antennae. They must have sensed the vibrations. But now that the light pierced through into the dark, they began to scurry.

A pre-adolescent angel with reddish-brown skin, black hair, and gold wings began to try to climb into the small hole. But he wasn’t the only angel in the cave.

Dufaii sensed an armored guard soldier step into the tunnel from an adjacent one, and then. Of course, this was a trap. He used every bit of power left in him and rolled into the guard’s path. The guard stepped on his arm, causing a crunch followed by a searing pain. But he lost his balance and stumbled onto the ground.

The young angel with brown skin and black hair looked with big eyes, stunned and unmoving.

With his pain fueling his voice, Dufaii hissed, “Get out, now, and don’t come back!”

The young angel named Abhayananda listened, quickly crawling out of the hole to rejoin the other young would-be rescuers. There were sounds of flapping wings and then nothing. Hopefully they’d gotten away without being spotted.

Fortunately for the young angels, the guard’s body was too big to fit through the hole they’d made, especially with the metal plate armor.

It seemed that some of the youngest angels had managed to escape the scene of the battle without being seen. The youngest would have followed behind the fighting units, meaning they hadn’t been on the battlefield when the fight had turned. It was a small mercy that they had been able to escape, but it wouldn’t matter if they threw it away to try to rescue the rest of the rebels.

Dufaii struck his forehead against the stone and whispered, “Don’t you dare come back.” His eyes stung a bit when he said this. And he knew nobody could hear him, but he hoped against everything that the adolescent angels would not try anything like that again.

“I hope that hurt, traitor,” the guard he’d tripped seethed. The angel then stepped on his arm a second time, with less pressure but enough to send another wave of pain from the broken bone in Dufaii’s forearm.

Dufaii groaned in agony, writhing on the ground. He spent several minutes like this, breathing forcefully and trying to bear the pain in his arm.

A few hours later, several angels he couldn’t see grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to his feet. One grabbed his arm in the exact place the bone had been broken and began to force him to walk down the tunnel with the pain blinding him.

Dufaii was led down a series of torchlit tunnels that eventually grew brighter with more sunlight. Then, faster than he was ready for, he was exposed to the noon sun, right outside an entrance to the mountain tunnels.

Ahead of him was the lake, the dwellings of the mortals, and the Holy of Holies on the far end of the island. With a hand still on his broken arm, he was forced on the long march toward the dwelling place of the Creator.

But he wasn’t alone. To his right was Hades with nearly a dozen guards around her. One of her black wings was torn nearly off. To her right was Ammon, being dragged forward roughly by manacles binding his wrists. Behind, Dufaii could hear thousands of agonized groans and cries.

Orders were barked at them from all sides, and there were sounds of violence. All these sounds were muffled, however, by the haunting rattles of chains dragging the rebel angels through Heaven.

Though Dufaii was conscious for the great march from the mountains to the Holy of Holies, his pain, the theft of his sword, and his grief worked in tandem to play tricks on his mind. He was in and out of the moment. At times, he could think of nothing but the agonizing pain in his arm as a guard twisted it and shoved him forward. At other times, it seemed like nothing around him was real, just a scene passing before his eyes like the passages of a book.

Gradually, the rattling of the chain around him diminished. He, Hades, and Ammon were being separated from the rest of the rebel angels who were being directed into the largest chamber of the Holy of Holies. Then, the three of them were separated from one another and forced into three separate rooms.

Dufaii found himself in a small white room that was featureless except for a podium likely meant for a book. Like all the rooms in the Holy of Holies, the room in which he stood was lit by a vibrant light with no evident source, it illuminated all without creating shadows.

Inside the room with him was the Archangel Gabriel. He was not as tall as Michael, though he was certainly taller than most other angels. He had dark black skin, was clean-shaven, and bald. He had circles under his eyes that made him look perpetually tired. His wings were jet black, his feathers pruned and pristine. He wore loose-fitting orange robes and was armed with only a shield. When he spoke, it was with a calm tone and deep voice. He said, “Hello, Dufaii.”

Dufaii wasn’t sure how to respond; he remained quiet.

“You needn’t fear me,” Gabriel said. His disposition was nothing short of friendly and genuine. Of the three Archangels, Gabriel was the one with which Dufaii had had the least amount of interaction. And though he was reputed as the most even-tempered of the Archangels, he was still one of them.

“I attacked the Creator,” Dufaii said, voicing his doubt. “And you crushed my skull.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said and then leaned heavily on the podium. After a moment of thought, he asked, “Did … you know that another Storm was inevitable?”

“I thought we all did,” Dufaii said.

“Yes … anyone who has the strength to give the matter thought would, I think,” Gabriel said. He lowered his head into his hands and began to rub his temples. “I forget sometimes … there is a strong denial among the Archangels and the upper echelons of trusted guards, messengers, and scholars. It is highly taboo to speak about such things.”

“And you … still didn’t help us,” Dufaii said and shook his head. He couldn’t understand what he was hearing. The Archangels hadn’t actually been in denial about what would happen, they’d fully known and just forbidden the other angels from speaking about it. It seemed like a cruel conspiracy, but then why admit it now?

“I know you’re confused,” the Archangel Gabriel said. “You may not believe it, but I worked ceaselessly to find a way to fix the Creator. Everything you see here in the Holy of Holies, all the research Raphael headed in the Library, the wall and the guard the Michael has assembled to keep us safe. We all knew what was coming, and we were working on every end we knew to stop it. I even spoke to the gods … most of whom haven’t even yet been lost to madness. But we couldn’t let panic spread among the populace or the Creator would have known, and a third storm would have doubtlessly triggered earlier than necessary.”

“We almost escaped,” Dufaii said weakly, tears burning in his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to try to understand all this. He just wanted it all to end, to be free from the perpetual fear and rage that followed him every day of his life since the first storm. And he’s been so close. Now … everything was gone.

“I tried to convince the Creator to let you go,” Gabriel said, barely above a whisper. “When that didn’t work, I tried to convince him that Michael could handle a few untrained miscreants. But when the Lightbringer was released … the Creator became more terrified than I have ever seen them.”

Dufaii hung his head at this.

“But …” the Archangel Gabriel said and finally stood straight. “Something happened it that battle. I don’t know if it was because the Creator saw that most of the angels were still loyal to them, or if it was something to do with the storms being used against them, or if it was because they survived the event they feared most. But they … he’s different now. He walked back to the Holy of Holies after the battle. He gave orders for what was to be done. The aura of tension, like two tectonic plates pressing against one another, is settled. The earthquake has happened, and it has passed.”

“But what about my people!” Dufaii said, trying to shout but not managing through his exhaustion and the emotions welling inside him. “They were dragged here like the humans drag along war captives. The guard have no understanding, only hatred for us. And the Creator may not want to lash out with a third storm, but that doesn’t mean he is suddenly better. He will destroy us.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Gabriel said, looking at him with a very grave expression. “It’s going to be difficult, but I think I can convince the Creator to grant all of you pardon for your actions. What I need to accomplish that is for you to make a case for yourself when you speak on behalf of your people before the court.”

“Court?” Dufaii asked. “You … you have the wrong person. You need to talk with Hades about this. She speaks for the people. I trained them and I fought, but I cannot speak on their behalf. None would want me to. And with everything … it’s clear that I cannot make the right decisions for them.”

“There’s no time,” Gabriel said with a shake of his head. “Each of us was told to speak with one of you about what would happen today. We Archangels will plea for mercy to the Creator and to the guard on your behalf. Hades and Ammon will be told that the best thing they can do is to remain silent and accept the terms of mercy presented to them by the Creator.”

“Terms?” Dufaii asked.

Gabriel nodded. “Yes … my proposition is that all angels who participated in the rebellion will be marked for their sins against the Creator and be called the Redeemed, angels saved but for his mercy. They will be expected to serve in places where you can be supervised and slowly regain Heaven’s trust.”

“No…” Dufaii muttered, shaking his head and muttering desperately to himself.

“And even so, it is not enough,” Gabriel continued, twisting his face into a sickened expression. “The Lightbringer will need to be held responsible for your fall. The court needs a scapegoat, a target for their wrath … once again. This time, I will not allow us to be so cruel as to let them live. They will be destroyed for all of your crimes.”

“We’d be slaves,” Dufaii said, his clenched fist now shaking. “Heaven would treat us like lesser creatures, demanding that we grovel for the rest of eternity. And the Lightbringer … they gave their sanity for ours. They saved us all, loyalists included! And Heaven wants them dead?”

“Remember, Heaven still doesn’t know what the Lightbringer did. This is, perhaps, the only reason they didn’t all follow in your rebellion, only to be destroyed by a Third Storm. The Creator is the one who knowingly wants this … and he’s feeding off their wrath,” Gabriel said with a heavy sigh. “Hades and Ammon will be told it is their only option. And maybe it is.”

Dufaii looked up at him and turned his head.

Gabriel walked over so he could again look him in the eye. “Remember, the Lightbringer as they were would have gladly become a scapegoat and been destroyed to save his people, especially given the knowledge of what they would become. And the Lightbringer’s current existence is worse than death.”

“And … that’s it?” Dufaii said. He couldn’t believe that this would be their fate. To be slaves while the Lightbringer was butchered. To be forever marked, humiliated, and subjugated to barbaric treatment by the guard and likely all angelkind.

“That’s why what I’m telling you is so important,” Gabriel said, a vein sticking out more pronouncedly now from his temple. He didn’t look angry, however. He looked desperate … desperate to be understood because … he was no longer in control of the situation. Nobody was, not even their mad tyrant, and maybe none of them ever had been. Yet the Archangel was trying … trying to control this one piece of how things would play out. Trying to live out his role as caretaker to his kind while the world was clearly burning around him.

Gabriel continued, “It’s not my place to make that decision for your people. If you want the angels who followed you to have any choice in what becomes of them, you must lead them in begging for the Creator’s mercy.”

The weight of it was enough to make Dufaii drop his head.

There was an urgent knock at the door.

Gabriel sighed heavily, stood, and walked toward the door. As he opened it to leave, he said, “I wish there had been another way to satiate the Creator’s paranoia than to sacrifice a third of my brothers and sisters to his wrath. But, sometimes, there are no right answers. Please … brother … make the right choice for our people.” Then he left and closed the door behind him.

-O-

“How do you live with yourself when you find you must play the role of villain to take care of the ones you love?

In one of my rare sabbaticals, I once became the guardian angel of an aspiring saint. Like so many other saints, he had been parentified at an early age–forced by her parents to take the role of parent of the family. She cared for her siblings, she counseled her parents, and she took the place of mediator between them and the younger children.

The unfortunate truth in those situations is that children–even aspiring saints–are still human. To spare the younger siblings the wrath of their parents and far more horrific abuse, she would keep her younger siblings in line by abusing them in smaller ways. She would smack them, demean them, and strategically select their most dangerous behavior to expose to her parents for more severe punishments. Even so, she enjoyed none of it. She lived perpetually on the razor’s edge of anxiety and depression. It was more than once I had to intervene on her behalf so that she did not successfully end her own life.

The stress of the abusive situation her parents pushed her into was too much for any child to bear. In addition to robbing her of her childhood and any semblance of mental health, it broke her spirit and every inner connection she had to her family. The first chance she got, she fled the home … only to find herself with the first abuser who would take her in her cripplingly low point of self-worth. As for the family, they all descended into a chaos of violence and tragedy without their oldest sister there to play the role of surrogate parent and minor dictator.

Eventually, as a saint, she became a very traumatized but very kind house-mother to other abandoned children. She made a difference there. But her trials at home did not make her stronger. They did not even serve her family in the long run, they did nothing of value. So was there a point in any of it, other than keeping her from killing herself in what chaos her home would have been had she not controlled it?

Likewise … was there any use in what I did during the Fall? Or was I just a scared little miniature tyrant trying desperately to temporarily subdue an inevitable storm, all just so that I could breathe?”

-another excerpt from “Reminiscences of the Fall” by the Archangel Gabriel

-O-

When Dufaii felt himself being moved again, he realized that his eyes had been more than closed. While angels did not sleep, his mind had shut down for a while. Now he was awakened as guards grabbed him by either shoulder and forced him to his feet. He was ushered out of the room with a podium and into the bright, white hall. Ahead of him he saw several guards pushing Hades. Behind him, he sensed Ammon along with many more of the guard.

As Dufaii walked toward the auditorium, he noticed something slowly changing. He became a little more alert … like the missing piece of his soul was not far off. Was it possible that his sword was nearby?

Dufaii, Ammon, and Hades were led into a stairwell when they got a brief look at their brethren being pulled by their chains into a doorway, there on the first floor. The three were led up a long series of stairs. It was strenuous, given Dufaii’s injuries, even more than the walk from the mountain. He felt his muscles begin to burn, and his body ached with every jarring step up. Even though his energy was returning, he was in no condition to fight or escape. It was only enough that he would be fully alert when his people were judged … and this seemed even more cruel to him than his previous condition.

Finally at the top of the stairs, Dufaii was led through a doorway into the auditorium. It was a massive dome, large enough to fit every angel in Heaven with still some space leftover. He found that he, Hades, and Ammon were standing on a massive platform, much higher than the ground. From his vantage point, he could see angels standing on large stone stairs below him. The rebel angels were crowded in the center of the room, unarmed and mostly wounded. Black blood stained much of the white stone upon which they stood. On the edges of the room stood the guard, weapons still drawn and at the ready.

In the remaining space, on the other side of the guard, many more angels stood with confused and concerned expressions. These were the builders, some scholars, and other angels that had neither been part of the rebellion nor the guard. A few of the rebel pre-adolescent angels filled the ranks of the confused watchers, meaning they hadn’t been discovered. A few angels in this section tried to talk with their loved ones who were wounded in shackled. Of course, the guard did not allow anyone through to do so.

Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael stood on a second platform that was parallel to the one which Dufaii, Ammon, and Hades stood on. Between them was the highest platform, upon which stood the Creator in the same smoke-covered battle form as before. He seemed attentive to a discussion among the Archangels, as their faces revealed the passion with which each spoke.

Dufaii thought about trying to read their eyes or lips to see what was being said, but their backs were turned to avoid this. So instead, he closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on what he would say when called upon. His thoughts in the auditorium were clearer than what they had been even in the stairway.

Slowly, Dufaii felt his emotions of rage and panic joined by coherent thought. This situation was not over, he realized, there was still some element of choice yet to be made. All his despair and self-loathing were still inside him and a part of him wanted to seek them out for comfort. But the thinking part of him struggled against the part that wanted to give in. He couldn’t give in to them, not yet.

The Archangels suddenly stopped their discussion and turned to face the angels below. Michael hobbled forward, looking like a shell of himself. Raphael shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Gabriel, however, kept calm as he faced the condemned and said, “The Creator, in his mercy, has decided to forgive any angel willing to fall on their knees, plead for forgiveness, and renounce the Lightbringer. He asks that the leaders of the rebellion prepare their responses first. Every angel will then be called upon one by one and marked as redeemed should they choose to accept this amazing grace.” While his words were filled with euphemisms and praises, his tone was dry. It didn’t quite sound insincere, but neither did he seem particularly taken with the decision that had been made.

Dufaii shuddered at the words none the less. He held on to the only thing he could, his memories. In particular, he remembered what the Lightbringer had once told him. No matter the situation, he had a choice. He could give in to his self-pity and check out of the situation for good. He could give in and slowly try to make things better for his kind as time went on. Or he could try to fight … for what would probably be the last time. No matter what, those choices remained. Those choices always remained. And he could never allow himself to forget it.

“Hades, Ammon, and Dufaii, what say you to the Creator’s Mercy?” the Archangel Raphael asked.

Hades and Ammon looked at one another for a moment. Psychic thoughts passed between them as they were finally able to speak for the first time.

It was a rapid series of messages, more than Dufaii could intercept. So, instead of waiting for them, he cleared his throat to get their attention. Then he whispered into their thoughts, “I am not the leader of these people … but I do have something to say if you will allow it. I swear I will speak only for myself.”

Ammon looked unsure but Hades gave him a particular look. She saw something as she always seemed to. She looked at Ammon and whispered something. Then, the two of them looked at Dufaii again and nodded.

Dufaii nodded his appreciation to them and then stepped to the edge of the platform. He looked at all the angels below, feeling their mix of terror, rage, and confusion, rising. They were like pockets of air that were all different in scent, humidity, and temperature.

Dufaii opened his mouth to speak but his voice cracked from the fear. He cleared his throat, took several deep breaths, and then tried again. “What I have to say goes for me and me alone. My brothers and sisters who fought for the almost impossible hope of freedom and safety will likely accept the Creator’s mercy. And after all they have endured, I can only respect them–whatever they choose. However … I cannot stay quiet while this court treats them like loathsome scum. This is not justice … and it’s not mercy.”

Dufaii felt the air become silent around him and half-expected to be cut off. But it seemed that the angels were either too stunned to speak or else wanted to watch him dig his own grave. So, he took a deep breath and faced the Creator with a loathing glare. That being which had tormented him and everyone else he knew.

Oddly, Dufaii found that it was not like looking at the guard, but rather like looking at the savage animals he’d seen back when angels had traveled freely to Earth. His eyes emitted rage that masked … fear. It was like an animal, no more. This was not the Creator he’d met … the kindly maternal being that had gifted a piece of her love for plants and the mysteries they held.

Upon seeing this, Dufaii could not help but soften his loathing into pity mixed with disgust. “Do you … even remember her?” Dufaii asked with a weak voice as he faced the warrior deity.

There was no visible response from the Creator. Just a flare of the anger that was already there, the rage that blocked Dufaii’s words and any impact they might have had. Of course, if his words could make the Creator vulnerable then they were a threat. And all the Creator was an animal clawing at everything that moved because it feared death. Because it did not understand that the thing killing it was inside itself.

Dufaii shook his head and looked down. He thought about the days of his childhood sifting through every plant he could find, tasting, cutting, grinding, collecting, and writing everything he knew about each one. He said, “One of the first things I wanted to ask you about were the seeds of plants. There were two primary types of seedlings that I noticed. Those that fly, and those that fall at the mother plant’s feet.”

The Creator said nothing.

Dufaii peered at him, “Once, I think you wanted us to grow and thrive and fly. Maybe that’s why you gave us the ability to fly … though there’s no logical reason we should be able to. All the same, you wanted us to fly.”

The silence in the court was absolutely electric.

Dufaii, while still feeling all the effects of his trauma, felt like he had stepped out of his own body and brain. As if, for just a second, he was the brave hero he imagined his people deserved.“No longer do you want us to be seeds that fly. You want us to suffocate under your shadow. I didn’t really understand before … but it was a mistake to merely try to escape with my people. That was never what the real you wanted …. what Mother wanted. They made the Lightbringer with the ability to fight back against you and all your angels combined more powerful than you.”

The room was silent; all the mixed pockets of air were no longer varied and scattered. There was only one frigid and deeply humid aura that cut through the room. It was terror from every angel watching below. Not of Dufaii … but of what the Creator would do. Already, the spikes of rage had become more than just occasional flared in the Creator’s eyes. There was a pulse of them now … all directed at him.

Well that was fine by Dufaii. The Lightbringer had given his life to appease the wrath of this monster. The true Creator had sped up their sleep to destroy it. His would be a small sacrifice to do the same.

Dufaii wasn’t going to let the Lightbringer be the scapegoat for this monster’s wrath. This was an animal that had remained unchecked and even fueled by the guard and so many other angels. Even the Archangels had let this go on for their devotion and fear of it. And while perhaps he understood their intentions, he could not help but despise them for their cowardice.

Dufaii looked at the Archangels and then faced the guard. Then he said, “The rest of you demand that we debase ourselves to satiate this pathetic monster’s wrath as well as your own. All because we hoped for something more than slavery. You are cowards and opportunistic abusers. Whether in this moment you feel happy, fearful, vindicated, or apathetic … you elect to do nothing as your family is condemned. We’ll be killed, tormented, or imprisoned and you will say it is our fault. You demonize us because you find yourself in the position of having a little more power than us. And you try to assuage your own guilt, saying this monster can do whatever it wants and call it good. But neither power, nor law, nor our love for the true Creator who once was determines what is right. Even the true Creator would have no more right to abuse his creation than the humans who abuse their children–and is just as despicable for doing so. The gods are not the evil threat to you, nor are we who rebelled. This heinous beast is the only threat … and all of you are the evil that allows it.”

Finally, Dufaii spat in the direction of the guard, shook his head, and stepped back to show that he was finished.

However, Hades took his arm and stepped both of them forward once again. She said, “Dufaii speaks for me as well. I would rather be destroyed for daring to be free than to apologize and suffer the indignity of this pathetic creature’s ‘redemption’ forever.”

Ammon joined them, “We will proudly stand and die as demons; a term that we will define, not any of you.” With that, the black curtain of their sign of rebellion fell over his eyes. But it was not a brief flash as before. He allowed the black to remain, to overtake the gold completely as he faced the angels.

Hades joined him and made her eyes completely black. Dufaii then also turned his eyes black in the symbol of his people’s rebellion. The guard and the loyalists among the free angels began to jeer, shouting and threatening in such chaos that nothing specific could be heard.

The rebel angels, however … the demons … they stood in unison and turned their eyes black. Among the free angels, several made their eyes black and forced their way through the guard to stand with their new brethren. This included a dozen of Raphael’s followers in blue robes. Even a guard dropped her weapon, transformed her eyes, and stepped among the rebels.

“You reject my mercy!” The Creator shouted, his voice booming and reverberating so strongly that it shook the entire room. He turned around to his platform where he took hold of something that hadn’t been visible before from where the rest of the angels stood below. It was the unconscious form of the Lightbringer, still drenched in her own black blood. The Creator dangled the Lightbringer from her ankle and dropped her off the platform. Her body struck the rock below with a sickening splat and was further disfigured from the impact. The Creator shouted, “You will all suffer and repent until only dust comes from your mouths. And even then, no mercy will be found for you.”

There were more screams of terror from below as the angels and demons watched the Creator grab something else. It was a massive V-shaped wooden bin like what had been used to carry logs before they’d been stripped for construction. But when the Creator tossed it below, a shower of arms, legs, wings, and thousands of weapons cascaded upon the condemned. Countless demons were cut and impaled, even many of the guard. It was only the effort of other guard angels grabbing their fallen companions out of the way that they were not crushed along with the demons by the wooden bin itself or by the small explosion of splinters when it hit the ground.

Then, the room began to shake … just like the earthquakes in the mortal realm. Those demons still standing fell to their feet. A few tried to take flight but were cut down by the members of the guard who swooped upon them, landing kicks to their bodies and merciless strikes with their weapons.

With a great sound, the floor cracked and opened like the jaws of a monster. It began to swallow demons by the thousands.

Dufaii felt his footing disintegrate to rubble beneath him. He fell helplessly as the platform upon which he stood collapsed. He tried to reach for something to grab, but everything was crumbling and falling with him and upon him. The last he saw and felt was the impact of white marble crushing his body and slamming his head against another piece of rubble as he fell into the abyss.

-O-

“It is not my place to question the Creator. So I can only confess to … the personal flaw of doubt in my limited perspective of things.

It is in that light that I confess that I do not understand the extent of the horror that the Creator allowed in that pocket of pure death that he sentenced our fallen brethren into. That pocket had only ever meant to collect the lifeless souls of those who rejected life itself. By this, I do not mean souls who took their own life or found the world to be distasteful. Those souls, like all others, found their way either to the gods of their choosing or to Heaven to be with the Creator who cherished them.

I mean the souls who saw life and sought to destroy it with a level of sadism that even mental illness could not account for. Souls who, with their eyes opened, snuffed out every bit of goodness they could find through abuse and murder. The only way to keep such souls from being lost to the universe–propelled away with the same exact force that kept all other lost souls tethered to the Creator–was to create a vacuum where nothing of the Creator’s life-force could be found. A place of death–perfect for the eternal rest of corrupted souls.

Such a place was never meant for our kind … and … it’s hard for me not to see a punishment like that as anything but sadistic torture. Of course, this just shows the limits of my own understanding. I trust that the Creator can forgive my flawed nature.”

-an unredacted diary entry from the Archangel Raphael, recovered as she underwent a period of psychiatric care shortly after the Fall

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