O. Four days of waiting combined with Orion had ended. If the devil fulfilled his word, I would be waiting for Ablon in the early evening, at a specific point in the shadow of the Río-Niterói Bridge, a colossal concrete structure, thirteen kilometers long, that crosses the bay of Guanabara and connects Rio de Janeiro to the neighboring city.
Despite the invitation he had received to meet Lucifer in hell, the renegade wondered how he would reach his host. And of course, the Morning Star should have already taken care of this, but how?
Unlike the other angels, who can materialize and dematerialize at will, the general had lost the ability to cross the fabric of reality. Sheol, like paradise, is a spiritual kingdom, despite not being superimposed on the material plane, as are the astral and ethereal realms. According to this cosmology, the chances that Ablon had of crossing the membrane were limited, so as not to say null. The most common way to tear the fabric is through magical rituals, like the one taught by the Enchantress of En-Dor, but he did not believe that Lucifer or Orion maintained a wizard on duty for such a peculiar occasion. Most likely, they used dimensional portals—mystical doors that connect one dimension to another—but the cherub was unaware of the existence of any of these power points in that region of the city. Analyzing the alternatives, Ablon could only think of one more way—the River Styx.
The River Styx is a mystery even to the Malakins. No one knows its origin, its nature, or where it begins and ends. It is known, however, that it is an exclusively spiritual river, which runs through the ethereal in specific locations. Its waters act in the same way as portals, transporting the traveler to some higher or lower realm. Styx has many different forks and trails, all memorized secretly by the boatmen.
Boatmen are ethereal beings of unknown origin. They seem to be the only ones who know the true nature of the Styx and its routes. Upon appropriate payment, these sinister entities can take the stranger anywhere.
Traveling the Styx without assistance is complicated, often fatal. Although the river's tortuous waters are apparently harmless, they carry dangers. From one to another, mild slopes can end up in wild rapids, making swimming impossible. Nevertheless, some whirlwinds can suck travelers in, and some of them are actually vortices that lead to unexplored dimensions. Furthermore, many warlike creatures hide in the depths and do not hesitate to attack any creature that crosses its territory—often in search of food. Countless angels, demons, and gods found total destruction in the bed of the Styx.
Shamira had slept almost all day, waking up only occasionally to drink water. Ablon didn't let his eyes leave the window from sunrise to sunset, extending his senses beyond the glass. He was more curious than apprehensive due to his interview with the Dark Archangel. By nature, always suspicious, a characteristic inherent to his caste.
Shamira got up at six o'clock in the afternoon, practically recovered. As there was no bathroom in the room, she had to use a common shower at the end of the corridor. With the water running down her body, she felt much better. She dressed in comfortable clothes because she did not intend to leave the hotel until the general returned.
On the way back to the room, the witch dragged an old television, thrown in the hallway, into the apartment. The object was property of the hotel but appeared abandoned. With an empty pension, the owner found no use for the device. Shamira had a good habit of keeping herself informed about everything that was happening in the world, so she found a way to turn on the device, which was not a very simple task. While Ablon was away, she would try to amuse herself with worldly things—no spells, ghosts, or witchcraft.
All she wanted to do was watch funny series, eat chocolate chip cookies, and listen to pleasant music.
The temperature cooled down again and it started to drizzle. Ablon needed to leave, but he was afraid to leave the witch alone. She had always known how to defend herself, all those years, but that night, there was a bad feeling in the air, a strange smell of danger, that left the renegade on alert. As warriors, cherubim are sometimes surprised by premonitions of this type. He would have given up on the trip, but Shamira reassured him.
"My power is returning. There is no reason to worry," assured the necromancer. "You took your decision. I think you need to focus your energies on meeting Lucifer. I'm the one who should be worried about you, not the other way around."
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
"Of course," she smiled. "I have TV, Chinese food, a beautiful view of the city... Of course I'll be fine," and winked one of her eyes, good-naturedly. "Furthermore, I brought with me some mystical objects in case any eventuality occurs."
He seemed more confident and stroked her hair, placing his hand on her soft face.
"Very good. Lock the door," said the renegade, half serious, half joking. He gave her the key to the apartment, put on his overcoat, and touched the doorknob, but then the woman called him.
"Hope..."
"What is it?" he was surprised.
When he saw her again, the Enchantress of En-Dor was kneeling beside her largest suitcase, opening the lid, unlocking the locks, and lifting the leather flap. From there, she rescued a long artifact, very similar to a sword. The blade was rusty, brittle, and flawed, and a rough bark covered the leaf surface. The handle was made of a blackened metal, more like oxidized bronze.
"I want you to take this on your journey," asked the woman, offering the sword to her friend.
"The Holy Avenger!" he exclaimed, somewhat surprised. "How did you find her?"
"I noticed the signs. I wasn't sure if they were harbingers of the Apocalypse, but I decided to take a chance. Then I concluded that if Armageddon were indeed near, you would need it again. I returned to the place where I had left it and started the excavation. It wasn't easy to find her at the base of the mountain. The mystical energy that was in her disappeared. I couldn't use my magic to track her. I had to trust only on old equipment, which fortunately I am an expert on."
"It's natural. The sword cannot live without the warrior. Without the strength of my aura, the Holy Avenger is just a piece of metal."
"I know that. That's why I brought her to you. I thought maybe it was time to revive the cherub that saved my life."
"It is a wonderful relic, and I would only use it as a last resort," he paused and looked at the necromancer, with all affection. "I appreciate your efforts, but I shouldn't take it on this trip."
"Why?"
"They wouldn't let me go into hell armed. Besides, the Avenger won't stop me from getting killed by Lucifer, if he wants. In an extreme situation, runes will be more useful. They are a surprise element."
The sorceress agreed.
"Very well. But, about the runes, I say again: they do not act infinitely. You'll only get one chance to escape if attacked."
"I will do my best to stay alive, sorceress, as many times as I can." She put the gun back in her suitcase, and the warrior left the guesthouse. A terrible premonition shook her, and she thought of telling the general, but perhaps it was just a chill.
Just a chill.
Now, at least, the Renegade Angel knew where the Holy Avenger was and would call out to her if he so desired.
The Lord of Volcanoes
At a certain height of the bridge, almost reaching Niterói, the waters of Guanabara Bay became shallower, and the concrete road continued for another three kilometers over dry land. At this point, what you could see on the right was a decaying landscape, the center of which was a complex of naval parts industries and heavy materials. From their warehouses sprouted rows of concrete pipes that discharged sewage and toxic waste into the sea. The banks, close to the factories, displayed pieces of rusty metal and rotten carcasses of oil tankers. The air smelled disgusting, and the dirt particles expelled by the chimneys adhered to surfaces, giving the buildings a depressing dark gray tone.
A continuous strip of dirty sand stretched for two kilometers in the shadow of the bridge, forming small beaches with black waters, constantly covered by the haze of pollution.
Ablon's motorcycle had good traction and resistant tires, so he was able to drive to the exact place where he had arranged to meet Orion. It was one of those dark beaches, rejected even by crawling insects. Because he parked right under the bridge, the renegade thought the noise of the cars would be unbearable, but he looked up and saw that the pillars supporting the runway were more than thirty meters high—enough distance to disperse any noise.
He turned off the engine but left the headlight on, to indicate his position. It was more of a symbolic gesture than a practical one, because he knew that demons could see in the dark—maybe even too well.
Seconds before the scheduled time, the smoke seemed to expand—but it wasn't really pollution. The dense fog that was advancing did not come from the factories or any other worldly source. It resembled, much more, a spectral mist, a diabolical force dredged from forgotten dimensions. The motorcycle's headlight failed, and then the angel felt a jolt in the fabric of reality.
Ablon understood that his hosts were approaching and dismounted, walking closer to the sea. In the midst of the fog, a medium-sized boat appeared, made of wood, very similar to the vessels used by the Egyptians during the New Kingdom to navigate the Nile, but without sails. It was long and thin, with the bow and stern far apart, and equipped with a closed cabin in the center. The cabin had a high ceiling, which blocked the passengers' view of the other end of the boat. But the most frightening detail was, in fact, its drivers—ghostly creatures guided the transport, and the fugitive deduced that they were the strange boatmen.
Ablon had never traveled along the River Styx before and had never come across one of those bizarre beings. They wore black tunics, with long hoods that completely covered their faces. Two of them pushed the boat with long poles. The appearance itself was not frightening, but what impressed, without a doubt, was the total absence of mystical emanations coming from their black spirits. It was as if they didn't exist, as if they simply weren't there. He couldn't feel them.
Standing on a rise in the bow was Orion. He showed his former royal grandeur and wore the mask of human appearance.
Angels and demons are spirits of light or darkness, whose true forms can only be perceived in the spiritual realms. Angels, in general, are very similar to human beings, but most demons reflect the corruption of the heart in their spiritual bodies. They are the image of decadence, and their forms are almost always distorted and monstrous.
Celestials and infernals differ from ordinary spirits because they have the ability to materialize. Their avatars are equipped with human organs, bones, flesh, and blood, but they do not require food, except when they are injured. Avatars are identical to the human body structure, no matter what the spiritual form of those who control it. The exact appearance is defined by the entity, which usually chooses the form that suits it best. Cherubim, for example, prefer strong and resilient avatars, while negotiating and trickster demons tend to adopt a more charismatic form, like pretty girls, friendly old men, or adorable children.
The only supernatural appendages that angels and demons can manifest in the physical world are wings. Some demons, however, do not have them and naturally have no way to invoke them. Both, however, rarely do so, as detaching the wings generates large shocks in the tissue, which makes the process practically impossible in areas where the membrane is thick.
When a celestial returns to the spiritual plane and ascends to heaven, the avatar disperses into the fabric of reality, disappearing from the tangible universe. The only way for a celestial or an infernal to reach the physical world without using materialization is through magical rituals, performed by witches and sorcerers. Orion's avatar suffered from a leg deformity. His knee had been broken for a long time, during the last days of Atlantis, when the city's main obelisk had fallen on it, crumbling the bones below the thigh. For inexplicable reasons, the wound never completely healed, and he was obliged to rely on the support of a cane.
Ablon's eyes found Orion's face through the thick mist, just as the boat anchored.
"I knew you would come, my friend," said the Fallen King, with a calculated tone of voice, characteristic of the satanis. The expression was sober, but it did not hide the satisfaction of being, once again, by his side.
The general knew his friend's vibrations well and was sure that the one in front of him, on the bow, was indeed the ancient elohim, and not a simulacrum sent by Lucifer to ambush him. The distrust lingered, but he elegantly jumped onto the boat.
Upon noticing the passenger's ticket, the boatmen apparently understood what they came for and stuck their poles in the bed, preparing to turn around. The angel just watched them in silence.
"Our trip won't be long," warned Orion, as the boat turned back into the smoke. Suddenly, the shores disappeared, and the bay faded away. The water changed color and consistency, shifting from dark green to blood red. They had now entered another dimension.
The renegade said nothing. He analyzed the changes and movements of the creatures in black.
"You must be wondering who these are, right?" said the Atlantean, indicating the faceless entities. "No, they are not demons, like me. They are the boatmen."
"I imagined it," agreed the cherub, for the first time. "So, shall we take the route through the Styx?"
"It's the fastest way, and therefore much more expensive."
The general did not know the logistics of these trips. He had never needed to travel the hidden paths.
"And what was the payment required?"
"Essence," revealed the friend. "They greatly appreciate the energy of our pulsating aura."
Ablon understood the answer.
"I felt your emanations when I came aboard, Orion, and I still feel them now. If you used the energy of his aura to pay the boatmen, he must have been exhausted by this."
"I wasn't the one who paid for the trip," interrupted the infernal, pointing to the stern.
The cherub stretched his neck and saw, at the other end of the boat, the outlines of a humanoid creature, shrouded in the shadows of the night.
"It was Amael, the Lord of Volcanoes," added the fallen man. "He gave up a good amount of his energy to the boatmen. It will be weakened for some time. That's why you didn't feel the presence from him. It is empty."
"Amael..." muttered the general, more to himself. He clearly remembered that figure, once a glorious woman, who had once been an angel too, but like many, had ended up deluded by the false promises of Lucifer, joining the Dark Archangel in the war against Michael.
Moved, the renegade started to head towards him, but Orion stopped him.
"No," warned the demon. "It's best not to get too close. He couldn't face him."
"Why?"
**"You know the story. Amael was, in the past, an ishim, an angel who controlled the forces of nature. His title was Lord of Volcanoes, because of his supreme power over the province of fire. When Michael and the archangels ordered the flood, Amael was chosen to carry out the mission. Used all its power to melt the polar ice caps and thus increase the level of the oceans. But, in fact, he never wanted to do that. His pupil, Aziel, had the chance to refuse the assignment, but he had no way out. And responsible for the deaths of millions, and yet one innocent..." Orion paused and looked at his shadowy silhouette. "Overcome with a terrible sense of guilt, he joined the Devil and fell to hell, like me. Today, he is a zanathus, an elemental demon."
"This was the same flood that destroyed your city of Atlantis. It was the same waters that buried your dreams?"
"Yes. I considered Amael responsible. I already felt a lot of hatred for him. Now, however, I can only feel pity. Poor tormented creature. A murderer of millions, victim of his own crime."
It had been a long time since the old companions talked like that. They had been separated due to the arrogance of their leaders, but not even distance had ended the friendship. The presence of the Fallen King transported Ablon back to Atlantis, the majestic capital of the kingdoms of old.
"Hatred turned us into monsters, my friend," said the cherub. "And the truth is, the more I decide to participate in a war, I'm tired of these endless killings. I'm tired of to escape. My curse is not that I am a renegade, but that I was forced to become a murderer. I am tired of killing to stay alive."
"You are no longer a fugitive, general, and you were never a murderer. The time for persecution is over. The time has come to seal alliances and leave the past aside. It is no longer important who we were, but who we are and what we will be. We all have our sins. Some have already paid for them, others have not. What does it matter? Sooner or later, everyone will have to face sentencing. And it's not up to us to judge them. It's up to us to just do what we think is right. This way we will guarantee our redemption."
Orion's words seemed to emanate from the renegade general himself. The shared past had shaped in them the same values, the same convictions. It was difficult to understand how chance had placed them on different sides, so different.
"It's not worth two damned."
The boat sailed on the ethereal trails of the Styx, guided by the skillful steering of the boatmen. The waters, the reddish trees were more agitated, but the fog had receded, allowing them to see the banks. Sliding along the shore, a series of figures ran, but Ablon was unable to identify their shapes. As the drivers did nothing, he concluded that such monsters were harmless. Above, the sky was a curtain, dark, sterile, without moon or stars.
At one point, a pleasant smell caught the passengers' attention. It was in the air, in the waters of the river, everywhere. It was a type of aromatic vapor, which contained the wonderful fragrance of wildflowers. So, when the cherub looked around, the scene had changed radically. The gloomy atmosphere had disappeared, and a comfortable light had whitened the landscape. Ablon noticed on the riverbank and realized that the river now crossed a forest dimension. Multicolored flowers shared space with magnificent trees, which were so beautiful that they didn't even exist on earth. Squirrels climbed the logs, rabbits drank water from puddles, and a fox slept among the roots of a large oak.
"Do you know what place this is?" Ablon asked.
"I'm not sure," Orion replied. "The boatmen of Styx never take the same route more than once. I imagine we are crossing Arcadia, the land of fairies."
"The land of fairies," he agreed. "She is incomprehensible even to us. But I thought the fairies lived in the ethereal plane, which permeates the physical world. I didn't imagine they also had a dimension just for them."
"Some say they migrated to the world of men a long time ago, but Arcadia is their central house," ventured the Atlantean.
"And where else should we go?"
"I don't know. It was Amael who led the entire bargain. He told me that the River Styx was widely used formerly, by the pagan gods, and which was abandoned after the Ethereal Wars. He told me about the legend of leviathans, boats like this, but gigantic, capable of transporting thousands of souls."
Not long after, the boat made a sharp turn to the right, entering a secondary channel and going up the river against the current. Visibility was good, and just ahead, the passengers saw a small waterfall, whose fall descended from a rocky slope. Given the course of the vessel, they would have a good time under the waterfall. The travelers felt the splashes, but the waters parted and the boat ran inside a tunnel full of stalactites.
The feeling of tranquility was left behind. Screams of despair were heard—terrible human screams, full of terror and anguish. For some reason, Ablon thought they were in the way right to hell. With keen senses, he noticed, even in the darkness, that the stone walls were decorated with the faces of men and women, which moved, attached to the clay.
Finally, the boat slid out of the tunnel and out into the open. It continued downstream through a region detestable, with a reddish sky, known as the Valley of the Damned. A dark plain was born on the bank of the river, and its soil was piled up, as far as the eye could see, with pieces of human bodies, who writhed in agony. Hybrid creatures—bizarre mixtures of man and animal—jumped on the corpses, biting and devouring their flesh. In some places, holes in the ground spat jets of fire, forming tongues of flame.
"This place has always been horrible," Ablon rambled, "but I clearly perceive the personal touch of your master here. Lucifer turned Sheol into a second Gehenna."
"My master is the lord of pain and despair. But don't feel sorry for those you see suffering here. They deserved it."
Beneath the cherub's feet, the wicker floor shook. They were the drivers who moored the boat, attaching the ropes to the anchorage shafts—a terrifying structure, built entirely of human bones.
The Fallen King left the vessel and followed a road paved with skulls, which passed through bodies and ended up at the mouth of a bed of scorched stones. Somewhere in there, the Morning Star awaited his guest.
Ablon stepped out of the boat, intending to follow his friend, but someone grabbed his arm. As he hadn't felt any vibration, the renegade imagined it was one of the boatmen, but when he turned around, he discovered poor Amael, the Lord of Volcanoes, who caught his attention. He maintained the human appearance that he had used to go to Haled. The brown eyes were deep, sunken in heavy circles. His long, frizzy hair was dripping with sweat, and he looked very weak and exhausted—even his speech was weak, vacillated.
"General... will you forgive me? Forgive me for what I did?" The voice sounded hoarse, like the sigh of a terminal patient.
The cherub could not remain insensitive to the situation. He felt sorry for the infernal, a disturbed entity, full of heartache.
"You don't need my forgiveness, Amael. Besides, who am I to forgive you? I'm just a fugitive, that's all," he replied, somewhat awkwardly. He did not see himself as a judge, much less a savior.
The zanathus's eyes shone with hope, and he pleaded again:
"You know what I did was wrong. I never agreed with the orders of the archangels. Did you know that Miguel ordered catastrophes because he hated the land, he was jealous of it? Here, in the basement, most people think that I acted correctly. And that's why I need your forgiveness," he begged.
Ablon analyzed the unfortunate man, with all the pity in the world, and placed his hand on his shoulder, just to comfort him.
"If it will make you feel better, then I forgive you."
"Thank you, general," the creature lowered its head, gratefully. "One day I will completely redeem myself. And a promise."
Already in the distance, the Fallen King of Atlantis, standing on the path of skulls, called the general.
"Ablon, my lord awaits you."
The renegade turned to the dejected Amael for the last time, but he had already returned to the shadows. He tried to forget the scene on the boat. He tried to expel the anguish from his heart. Tried to forget the pain of those who were suffering, in heaven, on earth, and also in hell. He left the torments behind and returned to trust.
He turned his back on the boathouse and continued forward, straight to the serpent's lair.
The Terminator
The cave entrance was being guarded, and its guardian was no ordinary sentry.
None other than the demon Apollyon, the Exterminator, formerly known as the Destroying Angel, one of the most feared assassins in hell, defended the passage. Coincidence or not, it was also Ablon's greatest enemy, and had been for thousands of years. Some say that old enmities never end, but they gain strength, accumulating hatred and fury, and sometimes explode into violent attacks. For most of his existence, the Renegade Angel had known how to control his anger, but the presence of the malikis always aroused a special anger in him. This time, however, it was the general who gave the orders. He had been invited and had the boss's protection. He preferred, then, to contain his destructive impulses and not act on them at first.
When the two fighters faced each other, however, the tension could not be avoided. They were fighters by nature, and both wanted to enter into a duel. The demon advanced, but Orion stopped him.
"Step aside, Apollyon, he is our guest."
The Terminator held a mystical sword, the infamous Black Fire, woven because it was the most powerful weapon, surpassing even the relics of the archangels. It had belonged to the god Behemot, servant of Tehom, and was a gift from Lucifer. Known for taking part in countless cruelties, his blade was dark, broad, and heavy, and burned with black, spectral flames. It was coveted by all warrior demons, but there was no one who could steal it from its fencer. Aggressively, he drew his sheet, but kept it pointed at the ground.
The Destroyer's body appeared human, but the deformed face betrayed the mark of his discord. The eyes were like black globes, and two rows of pointed teeth protruded from the mouth. A long burn on the right side of the face, which began on the head and ended on the chin, left the flesh exposed, revealing part of the muscles and tissues of the skull. The wound was inflicted by the Scourge of Fire, the flaming sword of the archangel Gabriel, during the war in heaven.
Apollyon was taller and stronger than Ablon, but not as agile and resilient. His wings were collected, imperceptible. Later, Orion would reveal that the monster didn't usually use them, almost never.
Malikis did not clear the way, so Satanis forced the way. But the guardian didn't want to give in and gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. His gaze glared at the renegade, his enemy for ages.
"Ablon, the Renegade Angel..." sneered the killer, in an inhuman voice. "You must have a lot of courage to come here, alone and unarmed," the comment sounded like a threat.
"I thought you wouldn't understand," replied the celestial, impassive. "But I'm not unarmed," and looked at his own fists. "I think I can do a lot of damage with what I already have."
He provoked, referring, obviously, to his battle technique, the Wrath of God.
The demon warrior smiled maliciously.
"Still arrogant. You're lucky to be alive. Your friends, however, are all dead. Myself, I ended up with a lot of them. The head of your main accomplice, Yarion, has a place of honor in my castle. The Brotherhood of the Forsaken has finally succumbed. And soon, you'll find the same fortune."
"If you're so capable, why haven't you ever beaten me? I have always been at Haled, waiting for you. Many demons found my trail and I overcame them all."
Anger is a feeling inherent to the Malikis, the order of warrior devils. Apollyon was the image of chaos and there was little he could do to contain his anger. He wasn't worried about controlling his ardor, but just to destroy, liquidate, crush. Thus, at the celestial's declaration, he charged without thinking, raising his sword in combat position. But the cherub didn't move, and before the Terminator attacked, the King Fallen of Atlantis intervened between the two, cooling the tension.
"No, Apollyon. There will be no fighting in this place," he censored, using all his monarchical oratory. "I already said that Lucifer has issues with him."
Furious, the Destroyer complied, without knowing exactly why, and allowed the entrance.
"Be patient, malikis," urged the Renegade Angel. "The Day of Reckoning is near."
Still filled with rage, but prevented from advancing by Orion's repellent powers, the infernal replied, in a prophetic character:
"Ablon, your destiny is as red as your wings."
"And yours is as black as your heart."
Lucifer's Proposal
Orion and Ablon descended through dark tunnels, which ended in a large hall carved into the stone. A gallery emerged beyond the passage and was filled with bones, from floor to walls. Flames occasionally sprouted from the ground, lighting up the scene and releasing smoke.
Despite the cave's spaciousness, the renegade felt an unpleasant feeling of claustrophobia, perhaps because of the misty atmosphere, which reserved areas of shadow here and there, hiding unspeakable dangers.
Lucifer, the Morning Star, was at the bottom of the cave, elegantly seated on his throne of skulls. His majestic posture was far superior to that of ordinary leaders and imitated the grandeur of a god. From a distance, he looked like a beautiful man, with a youthful face, fine features, and an angelic appearance. The skin was soft, delicate, and his eyes reflected a deep blue, just like the brightness of the sky. The long blonde hair was braided, tied with tiny gold threads. A white silk tunic covered his entire slender body, missing the only thing that really distinguished him as a hellish being: a hideous pair of bat wings.
Standing at his side was his chief advisor, the hateful demon Samael. At first glance, he was just a despicable little creature, thin and slender. He had a body like that of serpents and a double tongue that moved in and out of the mouth, between the snake fangs. He was dragging himself, because it had no legs, only arms, similar to humans, in contrast to its bizarre shape.
When he was still an angel, Samael was entrusted with the task of transmuting himself into a snake and going to the Garden of Eden to try the memorable Adam. His vile and dangerous nature brought him closer to Lucifer from the beginning, and after the fall, he accompanied his master into the darkness of Sheol. When he became a demon, he continued leaving his detestable mark on humanity, having guided countless souls to corruption. He was so famous among earthly people that he was often confused with the Devil himself, receiving from mortals the designation of Satan or Satan.
Orion knelt before his master, sprawled across the bone chair. Further back, Ablon was on alert.
"Good work, my servant," praised the Dark Archangel, recognizing the effort of the Fallen King of Atlantis. "I thank you for your loyalty."
Then, he looked at the general, satisfied, and turned to his men.
"Orion, Samael," he spoke to the demons. "You can go now."
"Yes, my master," accepted the Atlantean, returning to the same tunnel through which he had entered, Samael dragged and disappeared into an obscure corner.
When he was sure that his subjects were no longer listening to him, the Son of Dawn relaxed and opened a cordial smile.
"You can't imagine how happy I am that you accepted my invitation."
"Spare me your pleasantries, Lucifer. This is a business trip."
"But of course it is," agreed the Morning Star, with an evil smile, hidden by the smoke of the flames.
"What happened to your horns and tail? You seem to have changed a lot since the last time you were about."
The Dark Archangel stood up, showing great calm. Self-confidence was certainly his most important characteristic.
"Now, general, don't be impressed. I can take any form. At first, even I was surprised, but after so many years, things are getting boring. 'The Devil has many faces.' You may have heard this somewhere."
Ablon's serious expression didn't change despite his devilish mood.
"I understand," he just said, like someone who doesn't see the humor in a bad joke.
Lucifer walked steadily towards the renegade, but stopped at an acceptable distance.
"By the way, I hope Apollyon didn't cause any problems at the entrance. If he did, I apologize. Try to understand that he and you are like two sides of a coin. Absolutely different, but belonging to the same piece."
"What do you mean?" reacted the celestial, asking himself if that wasn't just one of the many stratagems of the infernal species.
"Understand, your destiny has been linked since the beginning. Apollyon was once an angel, in charge of destroying Sodom and Gomorrah. And we know that the conjuration you commanded was triggered when Miguel ordered the annihilation of these two cities. Unfortunately, you ruined everything when you took up arms against the council."
"Unfortunately," Ablon hurried to clarify, "I confided my revolt to one of the archangels, to one of the big ones. He believed that he was also outraged by the prince's tyranny and his intention to end humanity."
As he said this, the warrior looked angrily at his host and added:
"But this archangel betrayed me."
The Son of Dawn soon took the hint and became defensive: "I didn't really want to do it, Ablon, I swear to you!" he protested, with a touch of childish innocence.
"Then why did you do it? You knew that by betraying the conjuration you would gain more power and prestige. It was so, wasn't it? Ambition."
"Yes, yes!" he exclaimed, excited to have the opportunity to present his version. "I betrayed them to be able to climb the hierarchy and be equal to Miguel. Only then could I engineer my own rebellion and have a chance to emerge victorious. I knew you would never depose the tyrant. There were only eighteen. Eighteen angels!" Lucifer tried hard to be convincing. "I, on the contrary, managed to bring a third of the sky to my side. We really had a chance to win. Do you understand now? It was nothing personal. I never had anything against you. I have always admired your will and your perseverance. But I had to sacrifice brotherhood to start something much bigger, which, I imagined, would last forever."
"Don't be a hypocrite, Lucifer. You never wanted the good of humans, nor of angels. I wanted to testify against Miguel for private reasons. I wanted to take his place and rise above God."
"That's not true, general. I want the good of humanity, and that's why I called you here. To prevent our enemy from bringing Armageddon upon the earth."
"And why do you think I would want to stop you? Armageddon marks the awakening of the Most High. Yahweh will wake up from his sleep and punish the unjust."
"Now, Ablon, think carefully! If this is true, then why is Miguel preparing for Final Judgment? Why are you so eager for this moment? He is an oppressor and surely the first to be doomed if the Creator wakes up."
"What's your hypothesis, then?"
"Miguel probably discovered a way to use the energy that will be released upon awakening, too high to become a god himself," declared Lucifer, reaching the point where he wanted.
The cherub was confused.
"Is that possible?"
"Undoubtedly."
Ablon knew that Miguel did not lack the desire to become omnipotent. His desire for power was unlimited. He would be capable of anything to achieve divinity, even stealing the Father's energy. The renegade was sure of that, but how did the prince intend to implement his macabre project?
The Morning Star strolled through the cave, awaiting the warrior's reflection. Bat wings moved slowly, back and forth, following the elegant walk. He stopped next to a flame and played with the fire, putting his finger in the flame.
"I am asking for your help to prevent the Prince of Angels from completing his terrible plan, sparing thus thousands of human lives," concluded the Lord of Sheol.
"If it is true that Miguel intends to ascend to the level of God, what assures me that you will not try to imitate him?"
"I already said that I don't want to be God, Ablon. Perhaps in the past, when I was still an archangel, this had crossed my mind, but not today. Take a look around you. I have my own kingdom here. I have my servants. Nothing threatens me, not even the heavenly legions," he assured, walking back to the throne. "Bringing unjust souls here and torturing them is what I like to do, you know that. For me, it is imperative to preserve things as they are. Angels in heaven; we demons in hell. There is no one who benefits more from dispute than I do. She moves heaven too, but the truth is that my brother realized he is losing. Degradation has taken over humanity. Increasingly, the dead people come to me. That's why Miguel wants the end of the world, he wants the fabric to disintegrate soon."
The Devil sat down again and gave a more detailed explanation:
"We, the infernals, have no daydreams of purity. See the case of those who die in kindness. Their spirits go to heaven and remain there for all eternity, trapped in those boring celestial colonies. The archangels would never allow them to become winged. But we... oh, with us, it's different," he rejoiced. "Every corrupted soul that comes here has its chance to grow, to prosper, and come to command entire hordes. It's not an easy path, of course, but with this, our forces are multiplying. Soon we will have enough troops to invade paradise."
Ablon didn't like what he heard at all, but Lucifer reassured him:
"Of course, we don't intend to do anything like that. I know, better than anyone, that there is no darkness without light. But the truth is that that despot up there on his perch," and he pointed a finger upwards, "is becoming blurred with fear of what I might do," the tone became more aggressive, "and found the right time to act."
The demon's persuasiveness was legendary. Many times, Ablon had repeated to himself even though he would refuse the deal, but now he couldn't deny that he was eager to hear the proposal. He still didn't know if he would accept it, but the fact was that the Dark Archangel's arguments made all the difference. Rarely had the warrior heard such serious truths about the tyrant Miguel, and the propositions of Lucifer, in fact, were placed in such a way that both seemed already allies against a greater danger.
"Let's say I accept. What is my part of the deal?"
The Son of Dawn smiled in the dim light and adjusted himself on the throne of bones.
"You know the Fortress of Sion. It wasn't a question."
"I saw it being built."
"In a chamber on the penultimate floor of Sion is the Hall of Portals. It is a circular room, with many doors, which are actually mystical passages to other planes of existence. One of them takes to Sheol, connecting the chamber to a specific point in hell, very close to this cave in which we are now. What you need to do is enter the tower and open the sliding door. So, me and my hosts will be able to storm the bastion from the inside. We will catch Miguel off guard and kill him, thus shortening his days of cruelty. Otherwise, we would never be able to penetrate the bastille."
The Renegade Angel stared into space, digesting those words. Meanwhile, Lucifer reached into a hole next to the throne and from there he took out a rustic object, molded in solid clay. It was shaped like a cross, surrounded by a ring, and the size did not exceed that of an open palm. The appearance was ordinary, but its vibrations were very strong. The surface was marked by mystical inscriptions, in a language only accessible to angels.
"Take it!" the Dark Archangel threw the object into the air, and the fighter caught it reflexively. "This is the key. All you have to do is fit it into the door cavity and push it through. We'll be there in a moment."
The renegade analyzed the relic and verified its authenticity.
"Why me?" he asked suddenly, still reluctant to agree. "Because you need me to do the service?"
Lucifer contemplated the guest, with a certain air of admiration.
"Firstly because you are the best fighter I know. After everything you've been through and all the enemies you've faced, I don't believe there is anyone in the world who could beat you in direct combat." It was an exaggeration, of course; the Morning Star understood that it should exalt him, as a technique of eloquence. "Secondly, because you lived in Haled for a long time and know better than anyone how to hide its pulsating aura. Therefore, the guardians of Sion will not be able to be alerted to your presence if you decide to sneak in, which I highly recommend. After all, not even a general would survive an army of furious cherubs," he concluded and waited for the warrior's reaction, leaving him right in front of him, willing.
Ablon was still undecided, but he didn't know exactly why. How could he make a pact with the same entity that, years ago, had put him and his friends in the line of fire?
"What I offer you," reinforced the demon, noticing the celestial's hesitation, "is not just the opportunity to defeat Miguel. It's the chance to save the universe."
The Renegade Angel pondered. It wasn't exactly what he expected to hear from the Lord of Sheol. The Devil always had the right words for the most opportune moment. In verbal disputes, he was invincible.
"Listen, warrior," he continued, amending a new topic, "don't think I'm oblivious to what happens on earth. I know that men are involved in their own war and that they have developed weapons capable of devastating the planet. But for us immortals, these bombs that threaten to fall are just signs that indicate the imminence of the Apocalypse. No matter how much humans try to destroy themselves, they will never be completely successful. Not even we can do that. Do you remember the ice age? Remember the flood? I've lost count of how many cataclysms the archangels have fomented," he adjusted the tone of his voice to appear more dramatic. "No... the land will survive this world war, as it has done before, and its remnants will rise from the ruins. However, if Miguel achieves what he plans, the massacres will continue. Without the fabric of reality to limit their powers, the angels of death will roam the rubble taking every human life, until there is no one left—no primates to soil creation. But..." The tone changed again, taking on a glorious inflection. "If we win... If we win, everything will go back to the way it was before tyranny, and paradise will be finally ruled by the winged devotees of the word of God. You will achieve your redemption and return to heaven as a hero."
"What about God?" surprised the angel, cornering the infernal.
"God?" For the first time, Lucifer seemed complicated, but with his sharp mind, he soon got around the situation. "Well... If Yahweh really wakes up, general, then he'll know what to do. But I don't think we should count on it anymore. If you really want to know, my conscience is clear. I always did what I thought was right. I have never bowed and will never bow to a murderer. However, I am aware that I will not be my own judge. If the Almighty decides to punish me, I will be able to do nothing but accept the sentence. I am not ashamed of my sins, because they are no greater than the mistakes of others."
It was an impressive speech, Ablon acknowledged, but were the Dark Archangel's words true, or was it nothing more than an act to push him into the trap or use him as a pawn in his game? The Son of Dawn was cunning, treacherous, and, above all, seductive. He mastered oratory and knew how to exploit the weaknesses of his interviewees. Anyone would easily bow to him, especially in the face of such a tempting proposal: destroy the wicked Miguel, save humanity, and return to paradise. What more could a renegade angel want? Everything fell into place, and from what the Cherub knew of Lucifer's personality, he was not being adverse to his nature. All would win: angels, demons, and men. Of course, many mortals would fall victim to the force of their human weapons and the war they themselves designed. But the general had already witnessed situations much worse, like what happened after the flood, when only a few lands survived, and even reduced, they revitalized the entire civilization.
The evidence pushed the renegade to respond positively, but his final verdict surprised the Devil.
"I can't do this, Lucifer."
"I don't understand, general," his expression was serious, but neutral. "If we unite, we can achieve what both you and I have always dreamed of: putting an end to the oppression of the archangels."
"I'm a renegade angel. I never took part in this confrontation between heaven and hell because I never agreed with it. And it will not be now, near the end, that I'll change my position." He turned his body, already preparing to leave the cave. "But don't worry. Your information is safe with me. I will use it to the best of my ability and maybe even do something to stop Armageddon," he added firmly. "But it will not be alongside a traitor."
The words came out aggressively, but there was no anger in his heart. It was such a solid opinion, conscious, which came from experience, and not from the fury of revenge. In fact, Lucifer was never the object of his revenge, not even the Archangel Michael, but the demon Apollyon, who had tortured his friends.
Prepared for any attack, the celestial closed his fists and took two steps back. Lucifer did not appear to be the type who took insults, and perhaps he wouldn't have liked being called a traitor. But, as the demon had previously observed, Ablon was an unparalleled opponent, and now he still had the protection of the magical runes engraved on his arm by the Enchantress of En-Dor.
Contrary to all expectations, Lucifer replied, "I respect your decision, general. If that's what you believe, then so be it."
Yes, that was it. And that's final. There was not much more to say, and the general was not willing to stay there, in such disastrous company. He walked toward the exit, but then he remembered that he was still holding the key— the mystical relic that Lucifer had given him and which, supposedly, would open the passage to hell.
As he had not sealed any agreement, he thought it would be good to return it, but the Morning Star prevented him.
"No, Ablon, keep the key. Just in case you change your mind."
The Renegade Angel was surprised. Lucifer had always been smart and prudent, but there was no prudence at all in leaving such an important piece in the possession of someone who was not his ally. The celestial imagined that attitude could be calculated, an action put into practice to make him reconsider. But, if that was his goal, the Dark Archangel had failed. Ablon was not willing to join the fray. He shook his head in the negative and once again thought about letting go of the object, but the host reiterated:
"Don't worry about me. I ordered a copy to be made," he declared, winking one of his eyes and resuming his sarcastic side. "Take her with you."
Finally, the hero agreed, and put the relic in his pocket. There was no harm in keeping it. Maybe its vibrations could give him away, but who would come hunting him at this point? He had just encountered the Devil himself, and if Michael himself appeared to kill him, he would face him. Again, he reflected on all possible tricks and concluded that Lucifer was no longer a threat. Then, he left the cave.
His last vision was very similar to the first: he glimpsed the Devil sitting on his throne of skulls, with an indecipherable expression behind the smoke.
A Terrible Foreboding
As he walked toward the exit of the cave, going through those nebulous stone tunnels, Ablon understood that he would not really be safe as long as he remained there, in hell, at the mercy of his enemies. He had always known, in fact, that this would be the most critical moment—once he refused the alliance, nothing would stop Lucifer from ordering his death. So, he wouldn't be surprised if he found a death squad waiting for him, ready to annihilate him in the passage ahead.
It was with surprise, however, that the Renegade Angel found the path clear. Unlike a brutal and bloody welcome, all the general noticed was the opening in the cave in front of him and the long road of bones that led to the anchorage, where the boatmen were waiting to take him back. Orion was there, awaiting his return, but he saw no sign of Apollyon, and that disturbed him seriously.
The Fallen King of Atlantis approached along the road of bones, always limping with the pain in his knee.
"You refused the alliance, didn't you?" he asked, already anticipating the answer.
"As you already imagined."
The two walked toward the wicker boat. There, the sinister drivers prepared their rods.
"This could have been our last chance to win," lamented the Atlantean, visibly disconsolate.
"I don't trust Lucifer. Behind that passionate speech, there is a sick and evil mind. The Devil always lies, and is therefore completely predictable. No, Orion, I was once susceptible to his ideas, but this time I could somehow see the shadow of betrayal in his eyes. I still don't know what he plans, but nothing is as it seems. Something tells me we are being used as pawns in a gigantic conspiracy. All of us. Including you."
Orion had also been deceived by Lucifer, as well as Amael and so many others who gave themselves over to the rebellion. Others, like Samael and Apollyon, had always had corrupt hearts, and for these, there was no greater grace than being thrown into hell. To the King of Atlantis, then, who knew better than anyone the multiple faces of his master, the Renegade Angel's suspicions were not all unfounded. Upon hearing the general's warning, Satanis nodded slightly, but did not dare to go further.
Before getting on the boat, Ablon looked back once again at the entrance to the cave, and a feeling of terror assaulted him.
"Let's go, Orion. Something terrible is about to happen."