Even Angels Fall (Book 3)

Sable

Numbers are simply that. They are just written, unfathomable increments that have little meaning to me. I wish for a fraction of a moment I could see as Lexie does. What would the world be like through her eyes? She must be so close to enlightenment, to figuring out the entire concept of the world.

Why isn’t she the leader of the Prophets?

I keep a stern, unreadable expression, attempting to be as cool and businesslike as I can be. Joshua has long ago given up. We stand beside Met and before us is the largest gathering of Angel civilization I will ever witness alive. They form a scattered line, desiring to meet us, to be blessed by us. They stand in lines hours long, if only to touch our fingers, to hear our voice, and to look into our eyes. It is humbling and I don’t know what to make of it. The numbers that have come to this remote section of Africa is implausible. I didn’t know so many Angels existed.

Here, I thought I was alone.

Within a brief moment, an Angel drops to their knees in front of Metatron, holds his hands tight, kissing his knuckles as he helps them rise. They move to me, lowering to a single knee, pressing their fingertips to their foreheads or their knuckles to the dirt. I reach out as Met had done and grasp their arm to bring them back upon their feet. They look into my eyes. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Met knows each of them personally but I have nothing. I don’t feel pious enough to bless them.

Who am I? I’m just a guy.

They move on to Joshua, bowing at the waist. He claps a hand upon their shoulder and grins like a fool, “It’s great to meet you.” He happily decrees. Then they are gone and another steps forward ready for my attention.

This is what we’ve been doing for the last couple hours. I have yet to sleep and with the African sun blaring down on me, I’m edging on fatigue. But I will stand here until my knees give out.

I’m not worth their praise. I know they are here for Met but I will prove myself while they’re here. I have to figure out what they see in me. I need to find what God sees in me.

I shake hands with a new Angel and glance to Joshua who greets his own. “So how does it feel?” I question him. He gained the second half of his Soul and it changes everything.

Joshua looks at me but takes the hand of a new Soul. “It’s wonderful. Hi, how you doing?” Though he keeps the beanie over his bald scalp, sweat boils down his temple, dipping into his sunken cheeks. He rubs it off on his sleeveless jersey. “I get it now. Everything makes so much sense. I was so selfish in my pain. I thought I was being tortured or counted out but really, I learned a valuable lesson.”

I’m curious and I fully turn to him. “What’s that?”

He touches his boney chest, spreading out his thin fingers. “My heart. When Met healed me, I forgot about it. My heart is what makes me special. It’s why God chose me.”

I put up a hand when an Angel attempts to interrupt. “You know why God chose you?” Joshua takes the Angel’s hand, willingly. He nods, smiling bright to the creature. I clench my fists. “Lexie understands. Melissa and Inoue. Why don’t I?”

He leans in, resting a soft hand upon my shoulder. “I’m sure you do. You just forgot, Sable. We’re mortal. We have terrible memories. We need to be reminded every day that God loves us or we forget. God chose us for a reason. Try to remember.”

He’s a completely different person. He’s happy and whole. Did I change this much when I connected with my Soul? I feel the same. It’s been weeks. I can’t even recall living without it. What was I like before?

I turn my eyes back upon the crowds. I should not focus upon the past. It is the future I need to worry about. I’ve no time to think of friends left behind or the life I once had because it isn’t trivial in my pursuit to save the world. I am a Prophet and I must concentrate on the importance of saving it. It doesn’t matter why God chose me. It is done and I am here. That is the mantra I’ve kept for the past couple of weeks. I will not look back now.

The vast parade of Angels disrupts and distorts. The atmosphere that was calm and tranquil becomes a swift whirlwind of anxiety and panic.

I sense it in my chest. The warmth of love and adoration is suffocated by smoke. Inside my chest, it consumes and blackens, choking me with its thick billowing cloud, filling my lungs and consuming every portion of my limbs.

The Angels begin to separate. The line drifts from us as they form a column down the center. Some refuse to move, Angels dressed in different types of warrior apparel. They form a tight knit row in front of us, hiding me from whatever is happening. Joshua leans into my sight, asking the very questions I’m wondering.

The Angels slowly lower to their knees. Some deny doing so but more than half of the population either press their fists against the sand or their fingertips touch their forehead, depending on their own rank. Whoever has come, they are of grand importance and apparently not very much liked.

I swallow the bile in my throat.

Met places a calming hand on a soldier that stands in front of us. “What is this distaste? Do you draw your swords in front of me?” He chastises. “Do you judge a creature that has lived over nine thousand years? He deserves your veneration, not your aversion. ”

Shame bows their heads and their hands fall away.

Met raises a hand, “Come, you are welcome here,”

I peek over Met’s shoulder and for the first time, I see him.

“Erelim Fallen Elder Dion.”

The Erelim stands far at the bottom of the line, wearing off-white linen pants that hang loosely, swallowing his feet. His chest is bare aside from the gold medallion, hefty and heavy upon his bulbous chest. He is a huge monster of a man and even from this distance; I know he could over power us all. His shoulder length hair is ungainly and carelessly tossed about. He smirks, his lips wide and stretches the length of his thick jawline.

Dion holds out his hands. “Am I welcome?” He questions loudly. He has a thick Russian accent that seems unnatural. “I am denied Heaven and I am forbidden God’s love but am I welcome here, in your presence, Chancellor?”

Angels murmur and curse under their breath, some rising instantly off their feet.

This is a Fallen? Will they all make me feel so disgusting inside?

Met steps forward, “We are Light and we are equal. It is of lesser beings that cannot understand God’s decree. God loves you as I love you. Come Dion, let us talk for there is much we must say.” He turns toward me, toward the small thatched housing that isn’t far from us. Met lays a hand upon my back and leads us inside.

I wait to take a seat. I must greet this Erelim. I forget the protocol when greeting such a being. Am I supposed to get down on my knee or is he? Do I put my fingertips to my forehead or do I place my fists on the ground? What if I screw up and I disrespect him? There is a reason the Angels don’t like him and why Heinrich has told me next to nothing of this Erelim.

The flap swings open and Dion must duck to enter it. In our makeshift tent, his giant form is overwhelming. He has to be nine or ten inches taller than me. I look up to meet his eyes. His shoulder width is that of a killer. Men like him don’t even exist in this generation anymore.

Met cares little for his attempt at manliness. He reaches up to Dion’s cheeks and grasps them tight. “Look at you, my boy. You’ve grown.” He laughs, “What is with this hair? I hear of a wonderful invention called showers.”

Dion rolls his eyes, seemingly taking Met’s fatherly touches in stride. It’s an odd thing to witness. A bear being coddled by a squirrel. He bats Met’s hands away, “It suits me well enough. I lasted eight thousand years without a shower; I can do so just fine now.”

Met chortles lovingly.

Joshua shifts and gains Dion’s quick attention, “Are these God’s Apostles?”

Met points, “This is Sable, the leader.” Dion glances at Met silently asking if he has to go through the whole procedure of proper introductions. It’s a simple nudge that forces him to move. Dion lowers to a knee, it barely touches the floor but even so, he comes up to mid chest on me. He does neither of the hand signs and Met quickly explains, I’m sure because he’s read my mind, “Dion is an Erelim. He does not give up his power nor his knowledge to anyone except to me and to God. Well, Lucius but we won’t delve into detail.” Dion chuckles, rising with the help of a chair. “Now, Sable, you press your fist to your chest and bow at the waist.”

I look at Met, “Why?”

“As you’ve been told, being the leader, you bow to no one, except an Erelim, me and God. An Erelim will protect your Soul at all costs. This demonstrates that you respect that.”

I’m hesitant. I stare at him and he readily glowers right back. He’s daring me to deny the action. I don’t want to disrespect Met and it’s not my intention but I don’t know this man. These Angels they come from everywhere and they give up their Soul to me so easily. But they don’t know who I am. They don’t know me at all. I’d respect the one person that stands up to me and won’t bow. But there has yet been one. Just because God declares, it doesn’t mean I’m worthy.

And just because he’s an Erelim doesn’t mean he’ll save my Soul.

He’s Fallen.

“Sable.”

I can’t take back the thought. I don’t know if I feel ashamed or not. Fallen are different from Angels. If it weren’t true, then Dion’s arrival wouldn’t make me feel so foul.

“It’s alright, Metti.” Dion eyes me with a sweet, fakeass smile, “We’ll be friends soon enough.”

As desired, Met moves on, “I didn’t think you would see me. Last time we spoke.” Met bows his head, “Well. You are here now. How is your clan? Progress was going well the last I heard.” He taps his chin in thought, “You have over two thousand members now, is that right? And four elders?”

“Your information is as well gathered as always.”

“If only to ensure your safety, Dion. The Merci keeps a tab on you to keep you alive. You may run from them all you like but they are there for your security.”

Dion scoffs, playing with the multiple bracelets upon his wrists. “Metti, you are as innocent as you have always been. Is that what Sariel tells you? Do you know of the foulness he keeps from you?”

“Do not bring your discourse here. I won’t hear it.”

“Of course you won’t hear it. You haven’t wanted to hear it in four thousand years, why should that have changed? You believe that everything is colored in black and white and your world is as bright as the sun and mine is darker than the night. But live in reality one day, Metti, and come to terms that shadows have entered your world long before Lucius opened the doors.”

My dislike for this man is only growing. Why do this to Met? He is a pure hearted man. Why shove his nose in the dirt to make him see the grime? It’s evil.

That’s exactly with Dion is, isn’t it? Maliciousness?

Met smiles softly, “You sound like him. Does he still preach often? I long to hear his voice again.”

“I didn’t come here for this.” Dion roughly states, aggravation so obvious in his tone that it startles.

Met takes a deep breath only to sigh out. “Of course.” He straightens. His face tightens and becomes the Supreme Ruler of Heaven before my eyes. “State your purpose.”

“I don’t know. I am being foolish and hopeful.”

“Those two words are not the same.”

“Aren’t they?” Dion stands. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Dion.” Met snatches his hand. “Why have you?”

Indecision is in his eyes. He momentarily looks over at us.

“I have…sensitive news. Tymician lives.”

Met clamps a hand over his mouth, a sign of relief shining in his watery eyes. “I didn’t want to believe...” Grief cuts him off. He takes a deep breath, swallowing any tears. “Thank you for that.”

“I doubt it does us any good. Lucius keeps him in a holding cell in the Second Level of Sheol. He is torturing him to death.” Dion holds up a hand before Met can protest, “Tymician betrayed him. Lucius could not ignore it. You understand that this information given to the wrong crowd will be detrimental. The Grigori tears itself in two parts and mutiny is everywhere. If they learn Tymician is alive, civil war will tear Hell apart.”

Met roughly leans back, hiding his face in his hand. He obviously needs a moment and Josh takes the initiative. “Who is Tymician?”

Dion’s black eyes lift up, “The third Angel to Fall. He was the most powerful Fallen before me.”

I drop back in my chair. I knew that name sounded familiar. When Heinrich spoke of Ariel and Dane Monte, he could not complete the triangle of the Three Lamps without briefly touching upon Tymician. There was hesitation that I didn’t understand until now.

Minutes tick by before Met collects himself and he lowers his hand to face Dion. “What do you think I can do?”

Dion shifts in his seat and he pulls something from his pocket but doesn’t reveal it for our eyes yet. “There is a girl that could help him. None of mine can find her. And so far as I know, none of yours can either.”

“Who?”

Hesitantly and with effort, he lays the paper down upon the table. I lean my chair to see the photograph and stumble, catching myself on the edge, hitting my hand harder than I realize.

Swiftly, I get to my feet to snatch the picture up before Met has time to take a closer look. “This girl.” I whisper. “This is the girl.” I shove the picture toward Met as I desperately seek Dion’s gaze, “Who is she?”

“She’s of no consequence to you.” He tells me stiffly. Dion plucks the item from my fingers and presents it to Met. “Can you find her?”

Clenching my teeth, I quell my temper as I watch the flickering of his Light. I’m standing in front of a very powerful Fallen, one that could relinquish my life force in an instant. I don’t trust him, I don’t like him, and I don’t know what he is capable of. I can’t spout off accusations.

I trust in Met however. He will see Dion’s obvious deception.

“This is Kyla?” The name jolts my gaze back upon Met. I bet Dion hadn’t expected Met to know that. “There have been several events concerning her. Perhaps it is time I figure out why this Fallen is important. You say you need her. I shall find her.”

Fallen?

Memories assault me. Contradiction distorts reality. My images of her are vivid and bright. “She isn’t Fallen.” I burst out in defiance. “She was crying.” Taking my attention from my dreams, I find their gaze, “When I met her, she was crying. Her skin was hot. She had a fever. There was blood in her cheeks. She’s not Fallen.”

I find my seat, sorrow building in my chest. The girl that I pictured in my mind was supposed to be like me. She needed help and was in that wicked place for a moment of rest. The reason I remembered her so well was that she reminded me of who I use to be: broken and alone and tired. I felt a connection with her.

Now she is someone else. Someone I don’t want to know. If Dion is any indication, then Fallen are atrocious creatures.

“You have a different girl.” Dion claims. “Kyla came into Tymician’s house ten years ago after being dug out of her own grave. She’s Fallen.”

“Ten years ago? Isis said the same thing.” Met wonders. “The last Fallen was over twenty years.”

“Hm.” Dion mutters. “That’s what the Fallen Circle said. So they really don’t know who she is.” His bulky muscles twitch beneath his gold plated medallion.

Met directs his attention up to Dion. “I will do this. For Tymician. You must stay here with them, I needn’t tell you why.”

“Understood.”

Met turns his eyes to us. “Obey Dion. If a problem occurs he will protect you.”

I watch Met go seeking his attention, a moment of his time if only to beg him to see what I see. Why does Met believe him so willingly? Dion’s a Fallen!

Joshua taps me on the arm and I snap away, alert. “That’s pretty weird right? What do you think’s going on?”

“I’m telling you, I met this girl and she was as human as they come.”

“Be realistic, Sable. What are the odds of you actually meeting the girl Angels and Fallen are searching for? She’s Asian. A lot of Asians look the same.”

“Tsk. That was a little racist.”

“It’s genetics.” Joshua gives me a pat on the shoulder and heads over to the small wood stand, pouring us each a glass of water. I drown it. I forgot how thirsty I was.

I’m in the middle of getting my third glass when the curtain rises and two twin females come strutting through with beautiful smiles on each of their faces. Panic strikes me, and I jump toward Josh, if only to protect him, ready to fight for our lives. They only wiggle their fingers in greeting.

Dressed in civilian clothes they look like normal people, tight shirts to express their bubbling bustline and short shorts that nearly ride up to their buttocks. The twins saunter over to Dion caring little for us.

“Dios femenino.” Josh bumbles.

Dion chuckles deep in his throat. “You may sit. Unless you are afraid of the female sex.” Each woman takes a waiting hand of Dion’s and sits upon the table, folding their legs before him, baring more skin than should be legal. “Polina and Nina. Meet the Human Prophets that will save the world.” They glance back over their shoulder, look us up and down for a moment before they rightly giggle. It’s a completely different response to how Angels treat us and I’m thrown off by their disregard.

I revert back to myself quicker than Joshua and shove him into his seat. “They’re Fallen.” I snap. Any attractive capabilities they have are erased by that huge detail I can’t overcome.

Joshua mumbles taking his seat, “So what?” He leans to try to get a better view of their tanned legs.

I smack him, “You’ve got a girlfriend, remember?”

“There’s nothing wrong with looking. And you don’t got a girlfriend so there’s no guilt on your part.”

The very thought of it disgusts me but I don’t want to share my biased views just yet. It’s obvious he doesn’t share my opinion. I’m a Prophet. I shouldn’t be judgmental. Then again, I’m a savior for the human race. Nothing in that contract said I had to love Fallen too.

They speak Russian. The words are fluent and I am incapable of figuring anything out. I pretend that I hear Amsterdam and London but I could very well have made it up. All their words jumbled together. If Lexie were here, no doubt she’d be able to help us. I’m sure Russian is in her ample supply of dialects.

He signs a bunch of papers, which requires the girls to face us, leaning over the table as he writes. Their cleavage is readily available for our eyesight and Joshua has completely disregarded being subtle about ogling the Fallen twins.

He hands the final paper and replies in English for us to hear, “Return to your duties. Keep an eye on Lesnk.” They bow their heads as dutiful soldiers.

Nina turns to us while Polina begins to walk away. She struts to our side of the table and leans down with her hands upon it. Joshua leans back, dumbfounded and speechless. I only glare at her, meeting her eyes, daring her to say or do anything remotely close to harmful so I can prove to Met that Dion is detrimental to our lives. She smirks at me. “Do us all a favor, Prophets. When you get into Heaven. Join the Merci. No one wants to hear your droning about human goodness and equality. Your kind is the reason I Fell.” She winks before leaving the house.

Dion finds it nothing less than hilarious.

A few curses roam in my head, none a Prophet should be thinking let alone saying, so I clench and unclench my fists in a meditation process while Josh goes on about how gorgeous she was, completely dismissing her obvious insult to all the great and heroic Prophets in the past. Do Fallen have absolutely no respect for anyone? Just because they are absent from God’s grace doesn’t mean they have to act like they are evil and wicked. They can have some semblance of esteem for beings better than themselves.

Dion, even after minutes have passed since the twins left, is still chucking reading over the papers that were left behind. I send a glare his way and his eyes catch mine only escalating the malice between us. He deepens the chortle.

I’ve had enough. “What?” I bite, pushing my empty glass of water to the side.

He leans back with a smug grin on his lips. “You don’t like me.”

“You’re lying to Met. What’s there to like?”

“Tell me my lies.”

“You said she’s of no consequence. But she obviously is, if you’re making Met track her down. What do you need her for? She’s an innocent girl. She’s sick and she’s scared. She has no role in this.”

“You have no role in this, Prophet. You are confused with another creature. Your emotions are unnecessary and a bit dramatic.” He rests his forearms on the table, his rings shining in the light. “Your eyes reveal your judgments. You don’t like me because I am Fallen. It’s odd to see hatred in a Prophet and slightly unbecoming.”

I bow my head, ignoring Joshua.

“Let me ask you something. Do you think Angels will be on the battlefield with you? What do they know of violence? Will they know how to protect you from the Darkness? Hundreds flock to you now, bow to you in the sunlight, love you but the moment that portal opens and the sun disappears, they will abandon you. They will cower in Heaven, ignore your cries, and close their eyes to your pain. They have done it for thousands of years and they will continue to do so.

“It is us that will be beside you. Fallen that will raise a sword to your enemies. Fallen that will bleed for you. Fallen that will die for you. Remember that when death surrounds you and not an Angel is in sight.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this. In history, Angels haven’t fought the wars. They’ve stayed on the sidelines, they lingered in the medical tents, and they assisted in the burial rituals. They were there for the aftermath but where were they during the battles?

Am I foolish to think this time it will be different?

It’s a little over an hour before Met returns and I breathe a sigh of relief. He enters in the same body but his face is grave. He stands by me, as if afraid to be too close to his companion.

Dion notices and slowly rises to his feet, “What is this?” His eyes dart to the entrance, sensing something I can’t. “Stand down your men, Metti. You wouldn’t want to cause a bloody battle, would you? Not with your precious Prophets in my reach?”

Met rests a calming hand upon my shoulder. He looks upon Dion with a cold, cheerless expression I’ve yet seen. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt, Dion. Tell me honestly. Do you mean to deceive me, to trick me?”

“Metti--”

“You give me hope. I thank you for telling me about Tymician. And for revealing just how important this girl is to Lucius.”

“You know what she is? Tell me!”

“I will not help you. If it costs Tymician his life, he will forgive me. He understands her significance. But you. You muddle with a complexity beyond your intelligence. I pity you, Dion. For you are a tool that Fate so crudely uses. It will crush you if you do not choose a different path.”

Dion slams a powerful hand upon the table. My glass spills over and rolls, hitting the sand without a sound. “Do you think Fate or you will stop me from this? God will repent the day She created me while She sits and watches above. She will lament and Her tears will drown the world. Prepare for war, Metti. It is coming and I will stand with the Devil as it boils over.”

Met’s hand falls from my shoulder and he steps to the side, “Then I must stop you.”

Dion grins, “Oh? You will intervene? A man that stood by as Lysander cried out to God, you will stand up to me and bare your Soul? No, I think not. You don’t haven it in you, Metti. God knew it. It’s why Adam didn’t choose you.”

There’s a sudden silence. All of Met’s strength and coldness seems to dissipate. Met himself seems to shrink.

Dion steps up to him, boldly and daring. “How many know Ariel is God? How do I know? As I’ve said, the shadows have pierced your world, Metti. Be careful whom you threaten.”

I fasten to my feet, shoving myself in front of Met, guarding him. “Touch him and I’ll break your back.”

Shock flashes over his face before a chuckle wiggles his Adam’s apple. “I like you, boy.” Dion steps toward the exit, waving a beastly hand, “You can learn something from him, Metti. He doesn’t possess your fear.”