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I had not thought those words for a long time, had not felt the vibrations of their meaning strum against the walls of my heart… not in years, perhaps. But as I sat in that cell, alone, in the wake of my reunion with Sarakiel, I heard them resurface, and felt them brush against the core of my being.
Not like the warm touch of a feather, but like the cold, dead hand of shame.
I was not made for shame. I was never meant to question myself or my integrity. My station. My worth. I was made for one purpose, and one purpose alone; to protect. The problem with that mandate, however, was that God’s definition of ‘protect’ was rarely given to us clearly.
We angels had been made to think for ourselves, but if we went against Her wishes, we were punished for it… even if we didn’t know what Her wishes were. With little else to do in captivity, I found myself thinking back and remembering the one place I wanted desperately to forget.
Heaven.
I remembered standing in that glorious, golden antechamber, bathed in Light. I remembered the feel of the suitof armor I wore; white, pristine, with intricate golden filigree that swirled and reshaped itself at its own whim. Despite the many combat encounters I had been in, there wasn’t a scratch on it. A suit worthy of my namesake.
Abaddon.
He had been one of Lucifer’s closest allies and most trusted confidants, but when Lucifer rebelled, and his angels took a stand against God and Her holy army, Abaddon’s name was one of the first Michael called out during his sentencing. Abaddon was to be cast into the Pit, stripped of his name, his titles, and any authority he had.
Demon, they had called him.
It meant,Rebel Against God.
He was defiant to the last, swore his fealty to Lucifer over and over, and tried fruitlessly to turn Michael to their side. But Michael was loyal to God, first and foremost, and he would not be swayed by Abaddon’s words. He was thrown to the Pit, and the angels talked—perhaps the first example of ‘gossip’ amongst our kind. Those who sympathized were swiftly silenced, and the others learned to distance themselves from anything to do with the situation.
I didn’t have the luxury.
I had been named for him, but now Abaddon was a traitor, a demon, and I still bore his name.
The weight of it was heavier than the suit of armor I wore. I knew I had to prove myself, show them I was better than he was—stronger, faster, moreloyal. I was a fool. Abaddon was the first to be cast to the Pit, but others followed; and then one by one, each and every angel with the misfortunate of carrying their names were stripped of their grace and authority, for some reason or other.
I found myself in that grand hall that day because the council finally had their reason to wipe me from memory as well.
The double doors in front of me opened, and I turned my head up and opened my eyes. There were two Warriors with me, one at each of my sides. I walked with my chin up, my chest proud, my wings curled behind my back. The Warriors followed, one hand on the pommel of their swords.
An unnecessary gesture, considering I had no intention of harming anyone.
I was a Guardian, after all.
The chamber I entered was grand indeed, a huge, circular structure with a massive, domed ceiling. It was airy, and open along the sides, offering a view of sunny skies and puffy, white clouds as far as the eye could see. Towards the back of the chamber was a table, and sitting at that table on high-backed, golden chairs were seven angels.
Each had their wings curled behind their bodies, each wearing a white toga pinned at the shoulder with a broach of pure Light—a symbol of their House. A set of wings for the Lightbringer; a shield for the Guardian; a sword for the Warrior; a horn for the Trumpet; an eye for the Oracle; an arrow for Seeker; and a scythe for the Psychopomp.
This was the grand council.
Each of the angels sitting here was a designated representative of their House. Each of them was about to weigh my actions and determine whether or not what I did deserved punishment, or whether my actions were in fact, justified.
“Abaddon,” said the Trumpet, visibly recoiling at the name, “Guardian of the Third Choir, Second of His Name, Warden of the Word. You stand accused of a serious crime.”
I nodded. “I stand here of my own free will and volition,” I said. “If it pleases the council, I would like to hear the charge.”
“You have broken one of God’s commandments,” said the Lightbringer. “You interfered in mortal affairs. How do you plead?”
“With respect to the council, the issue is not so simple that it can be answered with a plea of guilty or not guilty.”
“You were charged with protecting a human, that human was hit by a car because of you. It seems rather simple to me.”
“Yes, but the human was only injured, and I would argue thatpreventingthe accident would have gone against God’s command?—”
“—It was your job to intervene, Abaddon,” the Oracle cut in, “If God asks us to interfere, we do as we are told. We are not privy to the intricacies of Her plans. The fact of the matter is, that mortal is now in a hospital, unable to fulfill their destiny.”
“It isn’t our place to question the design,” barked the Warrior. “What was your intention, if not to hamper God’s plan?”
