Soul Guardian

Chapter 41: No More

Chapter 41: No More

In the back room of the Arms of the Angels adoption agency Zephyr was strumming on his acoustic guitar and eating Doritos with chopsticks. He hated the orange flavor dust that coated his fingers but couldn't get enough of the salty tangy chips. There was nothing like them in heaven. (Processed foods were not allowed beyond the pearly gates. They had strawberries that could make a poet blush, water finer than wine, but sometimes you really just wanted a Twinkie.)

On the walls around him were photos of the children the agency had helped find good homes. Zephyr was a bit of a schemer and no stranger to vice. But at the end of the day he was still an angel and it was his job to help people. The junk food and funny cigarettes were just the icing on the cake.

He took a sip from his glass bottle of Arizona Iced Tea and went back to work. Currently he was trying to compose a new song but angels weren't known for their creativity. Eventually he went back to playing R.E.M.’s new song Losing My Religion. He was really hitting his stride, strumming away and singing at the top of his lungs.

Angels were fantastic singers as a general rule and Zephyr was no exception. He usually served as a second tenor in the angelic choir but had a marvelous range. It was amazing what you could do when your physical form was largely mutable.

“Losing your what?” Asked a quiet masculine voice from right behind him.

The music stopped and Zephyr froze, not wanting to see his boss’s perpetually scowling face. “It's just a song.”

“Is it?” Gabriel, commander of heaven’s armies and all around sourpuss, took the instrument from Zephyr’s unresisting hands.

He held the acoustic guitar and inspected it, noting the worn fretboard and much loved sling that was beginning to fray. “What did I tell you about maintaining your equipment?”

“You said that an unclean sword was a sure sign of corruption.” Zephyr reached out to take his instrument back. He set it down carefully. “But it's not a sword, it's a guitar.”

“Zaphiel, what am I going to do with you?” He sighed, shaking his head.

Gabriel's salt and pepper gray hair was clipped short in a buzz cut, military style. His strong jaw was clean shaven without a hint of stubble. He wore a meticulously neat black suit with matching leather shoes. Black was good, it hid the dirt and blood much easier than white. Everything about him said soldier.

Zephyr looked like he knew where to find the best sandwiches in town and had strong feelings about the legalization of marijuana. Which he did. He also hated being called Zaphiel. “Why are you here?”

“Did you know that Bael-Sharoth was recently spotted entering Harrows?”

“No, the dining habits of hell’s elite are not something I keep track of. I've got my hands full running the adoption agency and making sure the children under my care find good homes.”

“And you think that is more important than your duties to heaven?” Gabriel pressed.

Zephyr looked at the pictures on the wall of the children he had helped. Boys and girls of all ages smiling with their new families. Second chances granted. Wasn't that what being an angel was supposed to be about? “This is my job and how I choose to serve our creator. Not everyone was made to wield a flaming sword. Some of us have softer skills.”

“Softer skills? Are you a soft angel then? Have you forgotten your past like the others?”

“No. I moved on after the war ended. You should try it someday.”

“Why would I ever want to do that?”

“I don't know, maybe to achieve some kind of inner peace.” Zephyr said, knowing his words were falling on deaf ears.

Gabriel's expressions soured even further. “Peace?”

“Yeah, it is a wonderful thing. Haven’t you heard the expression, give peace a chance?” Zephyr asked hopefully.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“What use do I have for peace? Isn't peace just the held breath between conflicts while enemies rebuild?”

“No.” Zephyr said, remembering his part in the civil war. That was the problem when brother fought brother, both sides always lost.

“No? What is peace then? Can you enlighten me?”

Zephyr looked at the archangel. Gabriel just didn't get it and probably never would. But the words needed to be said. “Peace is a beautiful gift for the future that was paid for yesterday with blood and sacrifice. Peace is the desperate hope that we can do better tomorrow. That all the friends we lost didn't die for nothing. That all the bad shit I did on your orders wasn't for nothing. But I guess you never really cared about any of us, did you?”

Gabriel gave the impression of listening but it was clear he didn’t care. He stopped paying attention as soon as he heard the word peace. Which pissed Zephyr off because it was more of the same shit as always. Nobody ever listened to him. Why didn’t anyone ever listen? Lucifer’s rebellion would have been infinitely shorter if the loyalists retreated to the inner sanctum and let God decide what to do. That would have at least kept their hands clean. Instead Gabriel had sent legions of angels to their deaths, and for what? What was the point? God didn't need defending. He was absolute, omnipotent. It was Gabriel's ego that demanded they meet the fallen in battle.

“It must have been nice to watch the battles from afar, swooping in to steal the glory when it suited you. You wouldn't love war so much if you actually got down in the mud with the rest of us, you rear echelon mother-.”

Gabriel wrapped his hand around Zephyr’s throat, lifting him up off the ground before he could finish the sentence. “What is the point of this? Do you really think you can stand against me?”

Zephyr grabbed one of the chopsticks from his pocket and grasped it like a spike in a reverse grip.

Gabriel looked at the chopstick, unimpressed. “Is that little piece of wood supposed to scare me?”

Zephyr lashed out in response, driving the improvised weapon towards Gabriel's eyes.

Reacting with the god-like speed of an archangel Gabriel released his grip and swept the weapon aside harmlessly. He kicked out with his foot and planted it squarely on Zephyr's chest.

The smaller angel hit the wall with a thud. Before he could stand up Gabriel was there in front of him, blocking off any chance of escape. “Have you had enough, Zaphiel?”

Zephyr tried to catch his breath. His whole chest was on fire and he felt the telltale pain of broken ribs. “Why are you really here? I can't imagine you flew all the way down from heaven to kick my ass.”

Gabriel’s face momentarily softened. “You really don't know?”

“No, I don't.” Zephyr knew working with Bael and Maharet was unorthodox but in the end they were trying to help a human child. There was no harm in that, was there?

“Oh. So you haven't heard the good news?”

Zephyr shook his head, still confused. “What good news? Is the boss’s son coming back?”

The archangel explained what was going on and the significance of Bael’s visit to Harrows. Zephyr felt his stomach turn to water as he took in the full meaning of what was being said.

“No, it's too soon. I just got here.” Zephyr looked at the photos of children adorning the walls. All his good work was about to be undone. Armageddon was coming.

The trumpets would sound. Then the final battle between the forces of heaven and hell would take place in the smoking ruins of the mortal realm. There would be no more humans, no Doritos or Twinkies, no more R.E.M. or Pink Floyd. Just Zephyr singing second tenor in the angelic choir as a eulogy for what might have been.

“Are you ready for war?” Gabriel asked.

Zephyr stood up and brushed himself off. “I am ready to fight.”

This response seemed to please Gabriel. He told Zephyr to stay put and wait for instructions. Then the archangel disappeared, leaving only the pain in Zephyr's ribs and the dent in the wall to prove he had ever been there in the first place.

Zephyr gritted his teeth. Oh he was ready to fight alright, just not how Gabriel was expecting. He was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure no harm came to any of the children under his protection. He wasn’t perfect, but who was? That didn’t mean he was going to sit by and do nothing.

It was clear the archangel wanted the apocalypse to happen. He wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate any obstacles standing in the way of his little war. Zephyr had to be discreet and play along until his moment came.

Bael-Sharoth was a baron of hell. But Zephyr was an angel with righteousness on his side. If there was even a chance the apocalypse could be averted he had to take it. Eternity was too long to live with regrets that large.

He concentrated, calling his weapon, almost hoping that it wouldn’t come. Eventually it appeared hovering in the air before him, not as a flaming angelic sword or an infernal halberd, but as a long thin double edged dagger. The metal wrapped hilt and blade were permanently stained black with blood.

Risen demons and fallen angels alike had died by his hand the last time he wielded it. The dagger didn't care who it killed, only that they died. Zephyr waved his hand and the blade disappeared, hidden on his person.

A slight smile tugged at the edges of Zephyr's lips. He had told Gabriel that he lost it during the final conflict. The chewing out and subsequent punishment for losing such a powerful weapon had been severe.

The truth was Zephyr had thrown it into the abyss in hopes that he would never see it again. Now it was back and Gabriel was none the wiser. But what the archangel didn't know couldn't hurt him. Probably.