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“A handful?” Uriel barked. “Ninety thousand of your Order sided with Satan against God. No other Order lost even half that. You are forever tainted. No amount of inspiring spirituality in humans can make up for that.”
Reaver stood and addressed the fiery redhead. “Suroth. Why would the Principalities be dissatisfied with the state of mankind and the Archangels’ leadership? Humans are aware of the existence of angels and demons. Their conversions to religion have been unprecedented. You should be overjoyed. Your yearly quotas to bring religion to humans have been hundreds of times higher than at any other time in history.”
Suroth hissed. “At what cost? The knowledge of demons living amid humans has also caused chaos and a disturbing rise in Satanism. Evil and sin are growing as quickly as faith in a higher power is. We can’t keep up, and we lack the guidance from on high to deal with it. We need new tools. New weapons. The Powers can’t spare time to help us anymore.”
“Enough!” Zaphkiel rose above everyone, his wings aflame, his aura writhing with orange lightning. “We Thrones have the votes to take control. Stand aside, Archangels.”
Oh, shit. The Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, and Principalities together numbered in the tens of millions. And even if the Seraphim and Cherubim stood with the Archangels, there were fewer than a thousand on their side.
They needed the Order of Angels to stand behind them, or the Thrones would succeed in a hostile takeover.
Michael’s thoughts clearly went in that same direction, and he spun to Teleri, leader of the Angels. They were what humans might think of as common angels. Guardian angels. They lived and worked among humans, disguised as humans, each managing several human souls at a time.
And there were a billion of them.
“Teleri. Where do you and your brethren and sistren stand?”
Teleri stood, her sapphire robes swinging around her hips. “We choose not to take sides.”
“Of course, not,” Uriel snapped. “Your neutrality is cowardly.” He glanced over at the Memitim delegation of three. “And you?”
Hawkyn stepped forward, his serious expression so like his father’s. “It seems we weren’t consulted about this little rebellion the way everyone else was.” More than a little anger seeped into his voice. The Memitim were regarded by most as the dregs of Celestial society, and more than a few in Heaven believed they shouldn’t even be considered angels. “I will consult with my fellow Memitim before I commit to one side or the other.”
Disappointing. Memitim numbered in the thousands, and their muscle would be welcome. But Reaver understood Hawkyn’s reluctance to blindly choose a side for his Order. Especially given that his—and every Memitim’s—father was Azagoth, who had caused all this tension in the first place.
“This is wrong,” Metatron said. “This is not how it is done. You all agreed to let a century pass—”
“Things have changed,” Zaphkiel argued. “We demand a Convention of Celestials.”
“I said no!” Metatron roared.
“Do you speak for God or yourself?”
Tension winged through the air, and Metatron, who Reaver had rarely seen angry, suddenly seemed fifty feet tall with the wingspan of a jumbo jet. “What if I say I speak for God?”
“Then let us hear it in His voice,” Suroth called out.
“That’s not how it works.”
“Funny, that’s how it has worked in the past.” Zaphkiel slapped his palms together and held them in front of his face. “Oh, Father, if we displease you, let us hear in your own voice, through your vessel, Metatron.”
Every eye turned to Metatron. Fury blazed in his eyes, red-hot and stormy. All around him, lightning sparked and sizzled. The tempest grew, filling the auditorium with electric tension that skittered across Reaver’s skin.
Uncle Met was about to unleash the power of the Almighty, crack some skulls, and drive angels to their knees before him.
Anticipation built, ramped up to the boiling point. Harvester’s nails dug into Reaver’s palm. Silence was heavy, and fear was a sharp bite in the nostrils.
And then…
Nothing. The storm passed as Metatron slowly descended back to the stage, his eyes still burning with fury.
And defeat.
Reaver’s chest felt like it had caved in. This was…not good.
“Looks like God’s plan is non-interference, after all,” Zaphkiel said. “I’ll take that as a sign that He supports our cause.” He waved his hand with a smirk, and suddenly, the auditorium filled with warriors from the Order of Powers.
Reaver squeezed Harvester’s hand. “Stay here. If things get ugly, get out. Go to Limos’s place.”
