- 1 -
A lone figure stood on a rock, staring into the distance. The setting sun illuminated the man's beautiful face, which held a distant expression. His blue eyes gazed into the past.
"You're here, Michael." A soft voice rang out.
The figure stirred. Michael slowly turned around. Behind him, he saw the silhouette of one of his friends—Gabriel.
"Hurry up. You don't want to be late for the meeting, do you?" the angel called in an amused voice. Michael was known for his dislike of all gatherings, meetings, and reports.
"I'm coming..." The Commander of the Heavenly Host sighed softly. With a careless gesture, he waved away a seagull that wanted to perch on his shoulder and followed Gabriel.
***
"I hate this! Everyone counts on me to be at their beck and call, but soldiers' pay is a waste of money!" Michael slammed his fist on the oak table. The beer, which had been in pewter mugs until recently, now flowed in a wave across the boards.
"Misiu, calm down." Raphael hesitantly patted his friend on the back, but quickly stopped, struck by the Archangel's furious glare.
"How am I supposed to be calm?! People are deserting me! How am I supposed to protect the gates when I have no soldiers?!
No one answered him. Why would they? The situation was looking very bleak: the Council had cut military funding again. The same thing happened with the money for Raziel's research and the ingredients for Raphael's medicines. And how were they supposed to serve Heaven?
"Gentlemen, we've been in this situation several times before, and somehow we managed to get out of it," Uriel said in a soothing voice.
"But Metatron was with us then," Gabriel remarked bitterly. His companions nodded sadly. Metatron, using Michael's words, had crossed over to the enemy camp—in other words, in the words of a simple civilian: he had moved from the angels to Lucifer's side. This sudden change of heart surprised everyone, including the Lord of the Underworld. Many tried to investigate the reason for this… desertion. Many rumors circulated. That Metatron had had enough of the archangels' power. That he disliked the laws governing Heaven. There was also one that he wanted to overthrow Lucifer from the throne and rule Hell. It was unknown whether any of them were close to the truth. But the fact remained: Metatron had abandoned the Kingdom.
"I don't know how we'll deal with the Council," Ariel sighed quietly. He was answered by a grunt of agreement. The angels took long swigs from their mugs, downing the last of their beer. Michael wiped the foam from his lips, pushed back his chair, and stood up.
"I'm going for a walk," he said, ignoring the questioning glances. He staggered between the tables and disappeared into the darkness beyond the door of the "Medusa's Head."
"I don't know what's wrong with him. He's always sitting by the sea, staring at the water. That's not like him. Where's our fiery Michael, who used to hit first and ask questions later?" Gabriel asked.
"I think," Raphael began. "I think it has to do with Metatron.
" "Meaning?" the others asked in unison.
"You know... Metatron was always a role model for Michael. And now he's gone."
The Archangels nodded in agreement.
"You can't talk about such things soberly!" Ariel suddenly shouted.
"You're right." Uriel supported his friend. "Another round!
" - 2 -
"Amelia..."
A whisper, softer than the breeze, escaped the lips of the man sitting on the beach. Images from the past began to appear before his eyes. One face dominated them. Hers. Short, red hair, pale skin dotted with freckles. And green eyes. He used to compare them to emeralds. His friends would mock his fondness for a mere mortal, but he didn't care. They were so happy together. But good things never last. Amelia worked at a bank. One day, a group of thieves broke in. A stray bullet, fired at a guard, robbed Michael of his life. He saw her smiling face again. He could almost hear her voice.
"But she won't come back!" he shouted into the darkness. The distant cry of seagulls answered him. A single tear rolled down the angel's cheek. He quickly wiped it away, seeing a shadow on the sand.
"Hello, Michael." A melodic voice, belonging to one of the angels, reached his ears.
"Hello, Arinna.
" "Has the Council given you a hard time again?"
The archangel nodded. The angel sat down beside him, her gaze fixed on the dark depths of the sea. Michael looked closely at his companion. She had raven-black hair tied in a loose knot, full lips, and dark blue eyes that looked like a quagmire at night. On her back were three pairs of wings—the attribute of every Seraph.
"Could you stop looking at me like that? I'm embarrassed. "
Michael shook himself and blushed deeply. "I'm sorry..." He muttered, embarrassed. "Don't apologize." Arinna burst into a shimmering laugh. "Can't you see I'm teasing you? " "I'm not in the mood for jokes lately... " "Is it just about the Council?" the angel asked. "Or maybe something else?" Michael's mouth tightened into a straight line, and his eyes darkened. A shadow of pain crossed his face. "Well... It's seven years ago today, isn't it? " "Yes." The man cut him off. "Actually, I never knew what you saw in her," Arinna said casually, shrugging. "She wasn't pretty." She had virtually no figure... Yes, she had quite a character... - Can you stop that?!
The seagulls, perched a few meters away, took off with a loud flap of their wings.
"What do you mean?" the angel asked innocently.
Michael didn't answer. He rose from the sand and walked along the shore.
"Men..." The woman muttered under her breath and lay down on the damp earth. Such a beautiful night begs to be slept in, she thought, closing her eyes.
***
"My head..."
Gabriel hesitantly dragged himself out of bed. By some miracle, he made it to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. He emerged only after an hour—only then did he realize he'd washed away the grime of yesterday. With only a towel around his waist, he sat down in a wicker armchair on the balcony. His eyelids drooped, and images from last night flashed before his eyes. He smiled to himself, remembering Raziel's tirades. If only the Council had heard his curses!
***
"Medusa's Head" was empty at this hour. Not counting the minor demon lying under the table, snoring mercilessly, the bar staff, and two hooded figures sitting at a shadowy table. They leaned over the counter so the bartender wouldn't overhear their conversation, wiping the tables with a cloth that violated all cleanliness regulations.
"How's Metatron?" a deep voice spoke from beneath the first figure's hood.
"He's hidden among the Dark Ones." The second replied. His voice was like a diamond: beautiful, but it could cut glass.
"Suspicious... He's not trying anything?" The words were tinged with suspicion.
"Ari, I would have told you. Our intelligence hasn't detected anything."
The first figure rose heavily, as if dizzy. She held onto the table. Underneath his robe, clearly defined wings were visible.
"Keep an eye on him," she said, and moved toward the door.
The man, still sitting at the table, removed his hood. Black locks fell over his face.
"Not only him..." He said quietly under his breath. "Not only...
"
The streets of London, already crowded with people rushing to work, perfectly matched his mood. Rain fell almost constantly. The famous London fog made it impossible for people to see anything in front of them. Because of this, Michael had already been hit several times by pedestrians and almost run over by a taxi driver. Ignoring the horns, he crossed the street. After all, you can't kill an angel like you can a mortal.
"Watch where you're going!"
London drivers weren't the most polite.
Michał watched the people passing by with interest. They didn't even notice his wings, even though he hadn't even covered them with his coat. The passersby's gaze lingered on them for a moment, but then passed on as if nothing had happened. It was so typical of humans, he thought with disdain. They convince themselves something isn't there, even if it's right in front of their eyes. Still shaking his head at human behavior, he entered the small café. His mood immediately improved. The café wasn't crowded, like most places in Soho, but it had a pleasant atmosphere. The angel approached the cash register.
"A frappe with mint syrup, please," he said to the slender brunette, smiling as only angels can.
"In or out?" The saleswoman, impervious to the smile, punched in the drink code into the cash register with a bored expression.
"In.
" "Two and a half pounds."
With a quiet sigh, he paid. Once again, he remembered he was on Earth. Here, his smiles meant nothing.
- 3 -
Gabriel nodded to the angel holding the wine goblet. The trembling girl hurried to the table and filled the goblets of the Archangels seated there, then quickly departed.
"Wonderful wine, Gabriel," Ariel, known for his penchant for fine drinks, said approvingly.
They were sitting on a spacious terrace overlooking the distant reaches of the Moon. This was the seat of the Lord of Revelations. Apple trees were just beginning to blossom in the nearby garden. The sweet scent of the blossoms wafted to those seated. Along with the wine and the warm afternoon, it made the winged men seated at the table visibly drowsy.
"I don't know how you can drink anything anymore," Raphael muttered. "After this morning, I think I'll be a teetotaler."
"I agree with Raphael," Raziel interjected. "I thought someone had opened my head last night, pissed in it, and then closed it again.
" "Don't exaggerate. I felt perfectly fine.
" "Because you, Kamael, are a soldier. And soldiers have hard skulls," Uriel explained with a laugh.
"Not 'Kamael,'" Kamael snapped. He was hypersensitive about his nickname, which had been given to him by one of the beautiful angels, Karina. Only she could address the commander of the twelve thousand Angels of Destruction that way without any unpleasant consequences.
"Stop it. We're supposed to be a team. How are you going to defend the Kingdom if you're constantly eating each other?" Gabriel's normally calm voice now trembled with anger. His eyes flashed.
"You're right..." Kamael muttered, embarrassed. He raised the cup and bowed it towards Uriel. "Sorry, old man.
The angels drank the drink in one gulp.
"
Michał looked around the café. At this hour, few people had decided to drink their morning coffee. Everyone was in a hurry. Their lives were one blur. Always on the run. Always in a hurry. But a few people were clearly in no hurry.
A man with gray hair sat by the window. He had set up an easel in front of him and, with long brushstrokes, was painting the reality of the world beyond the glass. Dark colors dominated the canvas. A cup of espresso stood in front of the painter. From time to time, as if mechanically, he would take a small sip and return to painting.
The table near Michael was occupied by a black teenager with deep brown eyes. Chocolate hair, curled like springs, framed her face, giving her the appearance of a lioness from the depths of Africa. The girl was busy wiping tears from her cheeks. Michał hesitated for a moment, then peered into her mind. And quickly withdrew. He regretted ever having looked there. At that moment, the black woman looked at him. Her gaze fell on her wings. She smiled slightly. Michael averted his eyes from her. Something about the girl made him feel uneasy. To hide his confusion, he glanced at another figure sitting in the café...
...but this one was disappearing behind the door. At the same time, the angel felt a vibration in his pocket. He reached into it and pulled out a silver disc.
***
"Michael!
" "Gibreel, calm down. Do you want wrinkles?
" "How am I supposed to calm down?! I'd have a heart attack! I was at your place, but no one had seen you since yesterday! Humans think the worst...
" "Gabriel," Michael interrupted this monologue.
"Yes?" the surprised archangel asked.
"Correction: you're not human.
" "You're nitpicking!" Gabriel shouted again and hung up.
- 4 -
A lone rider raced across the sky. Pale, almost white hair fell over his blue eyes. He was mounted on a bay steed with silver hooves.
"Move, you rascal!" "The rider shouted.
The horse neighed wildly and tossed its head, but accelerated. He ran so fast that the stars and planets turned into bright, blurry streaks. The wind bit into the eyes of the angel sitting in the saddle. His fingers, clenched in the horse's mane, went numb. Just a little longer, he told himself silently. You'll hold on, old man.
Finally, in the distance, he saw the white walls of the Kingdom.
"Faster, Jasper! Almost there!"
Powerful hooves struck the cobblestones in front of the Palace of the Most High. The weary rider, with his last strength, climbed the stairs. He rapped on the brass knocker. A gin in green and gold livery opened for him.
"Metatron is forming ranks," the newcomer gasped, and fainted.
***
The white-haired angel opened his eyes, then immediately closed them. The face of Abaddon, the Angel of Extermination, is not the most pleasant sight upon waking.
"Raziel, your patient has awakened!" Abaddon shouted. The angel lying on the military bunk opened his eyes again. The Prince of Mysteries took Abaddon's place. He leaned over the rider and muttered a few incantations. The angel felt new strength flowing into him.
"What is your name?" Raziel asked in a gentle yet decisive voice.
"Andachiel," the angel rasped. His lips were chapped from the wind, and his throat was as dry as the desert. "Do you have any wine?"
Raziel nodded and gestured for one of the angels. While his wine wasn't as good as Gabriel's, it was still among the finest. Andachiel gulped down the contents of the goblet. Abaddon refilled the vessel.
"You said Metatron..." Raziel began.
"...is gathering soldiers," the Exterminating Angel finished for him.
"More like a limp motley crew," Andachiel snorted. "A few regiments of the Dark Ones and the worst dregs of the Deep. But there are quite a few of them. They rival the armies of the Kingdom.
" "And Lucifer's men?" Raziel asked. Formerly, the Lightbringer had been a member of the Cherubim choir. He was one of Raziel's closest friends. They were still puppies dreaming of higher positions. They wandered the Gardens of Eden with the Archangels, praising the Lord's greatness. Sometimes they approached the Throne Palace, but sooner or later some overzealous gardener would chase them away. And then Lucifer went crazy and rebelled against the Lord. Since his departure, the company had been so quiet…
"Raziel, are you listening? This is no time for reminiscing. "
Abaddon's harsh voice snapped the Prince of Magi from his reverie.
"You're right," he said softly. "So what about Lucifer?
" "He refused Metatron's proposal. Instead, he's in a dungeon," Andachiel said grimly.
"A dungeon?!"
"The Dark Ones invaded his palace yesterday. They imprisoned Lucifer, Samael, and Asmodeus in a dungeon, and slaughtered the rest." The messenger spoke in a grave voice, a look of hatred and disgust crossing his face. "The Dark Nobility toyed with the soldiers before they killed them. I think they considered a quick death too..." He paused, searching for the right word.
"Gentle?" Abaddon prompted.
"Exactly. They considered a quick death too gentle an end. They impaled Lucifer's soldiers. Everyone: djinn, salamanders, sylphs, geniuses... They spared no one.
" Raziel stared dead-eyed at the wall.
"Inform Michael—Abaddon." "The fun's over."
***
Michael walked quickly through the streets of the Kingdom. He was hurrying to Raphael's residence—they were all supposed to meet there. Abaddon didn't reveal the details, but his face said it all: war was brewing. The Commander of the Host burst into the grand hall and, ignoring the footmen dressed in blue livery, rushed to Raphael's office. Everyone was already inside.
"Speak not: Is Metatron preparing to attack?" he asked, already at the threshold.
Everyone nodded sadly. Gabriel spoke.
"Gentlemen," he began. "I won't deny that the situation is critical. I don't think we'll survive this. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't fight with all our might. We must defend the Kingdom, even at the cost of our lives. There's no doubt about that. Metatron has clearly gone mad. In my opinion, he's been with the Light for too long. I don't know if he thinks he can control Heaven alone. The fact is, he's our enemy now. And if you meet him in battle, don't hesitate to strike. Otherwise, the blade might pierce you."
There was a moment of silence, unbroken by the slightest murmur. Raphael summoned the servants with the wine. When the cups were filled, he proposed a toast.
"I'm glad we could cooperate. Your health and the Lord be with you."
They drank in silence. For what could one say at such a moment?
- 5 -
The Kingdom had fallen. The ruins of once-beautiful buildings towered above the bodies of the fallen. Everywhere was only blood, mud, and feathers. Billions of feathers. The enemy forces were far, far greater than all the troops of Heaven. Even the Locusts, a division of the Angels of Destruction, were no match for them.
Metatron stood silently on the surviving terrace of the Throne Palace. As he had expected, he found no Lord there. For God had departed many years ago. He had abandoned everyone to their fate. But the angels did not give up so easily. They sold their lives and the Kingdom's freedom for a very high price.
When Metatron entered the Elysian Fields, they were already waiting for him. Locust troops in blue, yellow, and green. They were led by Kamael—as always, dressed in the typical garb of the Angels of Destruction: a white linen shirt, black slim-fitting trousers, and high riding boots with numerous buckles. His brown hair, long to his jawline, was combed back and tied with a black headband. He smiled contemptuously. However, the smile quickly faded. Kamael was one of the first to die after a stormy, though brief, battle with Baal. The Angels of Destruction fell like flies. The demons dealt with them without much difficulty.
Michael, seeing the Locust's defeat, sent the parasim—the heavenly cavalry—into the fray. Initially, they gained a slight advantage: the Deep Ones began to retreat, and the demons fell thickly to the riders' arrows. However, Metatron had anticipated this move. After all, he had once been a resident of the Kingdom. Against the parasim, he deployed creatures inhabiting the areas around the Lakes of Fire. The creatures resembled giant spiders on long, thin legs. They had armored bodies that no arrow could penetrate. The creatures began to shoot streams of boiling lava. Riders and horses fell to the ground, dying in terrible agony. Those who survived the attack were trampled mercilessly. Such was the end of the brave parasim.
Next to march were the Thrones, Chayot, and Chariots, but they too fell. Nothing could defeat Metatron's army. Not even the Seraphim, a remnant of whom remained in Heaven. The Fire Ones descended on the attackers like golden lightning bolts. Their enormous wings thrashed the air, sending fiery winds upon the enemies. Twelve Seraphim participated in this battle. They managed to slay several thousand demons. But Metatron, skilled in spells, unleashed a deadly rain upon them. The highest of the choirs lay dying amidst the bodies of other defenders. Only the Servant Angels, who until then had never even seen a sword, remained. No wonder the Deep Ones wiped them all out. The Kingdom was falling. And the powerless Archangels watched all this. Seven friends stood on the hill. Ariel, Prince of Jupiter. Uriel, Regent of the Sun, Archangel of the Divine Presence. Raziel, Archangel of Mysteries, Prince of Magicians, Lord of Mysteries. Raphael, Angel of Healing. Abaddon, Angel of Destruction. Gabriel, resident of the Moon, Lord of Dreams and Apparitions, Angel of Death. And Michael, Commander of the Host, titular Cherub.
Metatron's troops charged at them, but the leader stopped them with a gesture. He climbed the hill from which the Archangels were watching the massacre.
"I told you I would win," he whispered. "Why didn't you join me?"
Michael rushed at him, sword drawn. He managed to graze the King of Angels' shoulder. Sticky blood flowed from the wound.
"Mika'il... I thought you had wised up," he said, a note of disappointment in his voice.
He raised his hand and began to whisper an incantation.
"Farewell, Michael," he whispered, then struck the Leader with red flames. Michael fell motionless to the ground. His friends had no time to react. The flame struck each of them. One by one, they fell beside Michael.
Not a single angel survived the carnage that was this battle. Metatron had triumphed. The kingdom had fallen.
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