Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (65 page)

The Emperor's bushy
eyebrows rose high above his golden eyes, making him appear sad.  Jophiel had
spoken of the Emperor as though he were a trusted father figure and friend as
they had lain together in the afterglow of the mating appointment which had
given them Uriel, but this was the first time Raphael had seen this side of
their Emperor himself.  How could one so powerful appear so mortal?

“Then Uriel will die,
won’t he?"  Raphael was unashamed of the tears which welled into his
eyes.  He was just glad Jophiel was not awake to hear there was no hope.

“No, he won't,” the
Emperor sighed.  “I've gone to an old friend whose talents lay in a different
direction than mine and pleaded intervention.  Your son will live, but I must
bear the consequences for that choice.  We must
all
bear the
consequences.”

Raphael clapped his
hand over his mouth to prevent his sob of gratitude and relief from escaping. 
His natural inclination to gush gratitude was tempered by how old and weary the
Emperor looked right now, as though he carried not just the weight of the
Alliance, but the entire universe upon his shoulders.  All this time, while he
and his fellow citizens had been praying to the Emperor for help, perhaps it
was in reality the Emperor who needed
their
help.  What was it Jophiel
had said? 
No
creature could coordinate something so vast as this empire
alone, not even the Eternal Emperor.

“What do you need me
to do, Your Majesty?"

“Do what you already
want to do in your heart,” the Emperor said.  “I will no longer discourage Jophiel
from raising her child herself.  Nor from choosing to be with
you
, if
that is what she so desires.  But what Jophiel does, the others will follow. 
Do you understand the price of this course of action?”

“Our race will die
out,” Raphael said.

“Shay’tan has the
solution to this problem within his grasp.”  The Emperor's brow furrowed in
frustration.  “I don't know what that means!  The price for staying here in the
material realms is ignorance." 

The Emperor pointed at
Raphael. 

"Finding out information
is where
your
natural talents lie, young man.  I need your help.  In
exchange for this bargain I have made to save your son's life,
you
must
help
me
find this solution Shay’tan has purportedly found.  Whatever it
is, the fate of the Alliance rests upon it.”

“I won't let you down,
Your Majesty,” Raphael said.  "I give you my word." 

Whatever cards
Shay'tan held up his scaly sleeve, it had something to do with the mysterious
buildup in Zulu Sector he was tracking right now and his missing best friend! 
Raphael was certain of it!

Jophiel stirred just
as the Eternal Emperor shimmered out of the room.  “Who was that?”

“Shhhh….” Raphael
kissed her forehead and pulled her closer.  He offered Uriel his finger so his
son could wrap his tiny fingers around his larger one once more.  “Look … his
breathing is easier.  I think our son is going to make it.”

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

And
[Lucifer], who was their leader,

Said unto
them:

'I fear ye
won't indeed agree to do this deed,

And I
alone shall have to pay the penalty

Of a great
sin'

And they
all answered him and said:

'Let us
all swear an oath,

And all
bind ourselves by mutual imprecations

Not to
abandon this plan

but to do
this thing.'

Then swore
they all together

And bound
themselves

By mutual
imprecations upon it

And they
were in all two hundred;

Who
descended …

And all
the others together with them

Took unto
themselves wives,

And each
chose for himself one,

And they
began to go in unto them

And to
defile themselves with them ….

And they
became pregnant,

And they
bore great giants...

Book of
Enoch, Book 1 – Watchers

Galactic Standard Date:  152,323.07 AE

Tango Sector:  Diplomatic Carrier
‘Prince of Tyre’

General Abaddon aka
‘the Destroyer’

Commander of the Angelic Air Force

Abaddon

The Alliance's
highest-ranking Angelic Air Force general had always been a man of fierce
passions and parsiminous words, the kind of old-style general who got things
done because his men trusted him to be the first one into battle and the last
one to exit the battlefield.  To not leave until every man who followed him
either got out safely, or was carried out, dead or alive, oftentimes by
Abaddon's own burly grey wings.

He was a hard man,
forged in the fires of Shay'tan's hammer, the Alliance's oldest serving general
and still as fit as the day he'd graduated from the military academy.  He'd
taken his first kill to win back a homeworld so remote nobody even remembered
the planet's name and come up through the ranks the old-fashioned way, one dead
Sata’anic lizard at a time.  Age had made him wiser, but no less likely to
seize the dragon by the tail.  If anything, age had made him better, shaped his
appearance into the sword the Alliance needed him to be.  Steel grey hair, grey
eyes, grey wings, but it was his fierce courage which had earned him that
fourth star. 

For 635 years he'd
served the Alliance, loyally, without question, and when that day came to fight
a battle too great to win, he would
die
for the Alliance.  Gladly. 

Retirement?  Where in
Hades would he go?  Born into the military, having served his entire life in
the military, and already buried every Angelic he'd ever cared about, the last
thing Abaddon wanted was to be put out to pasture; to twiddle his thumbs while
the Alliance he'd spent his entire life defending ran itself off a cliff.  If
their entire species was about to journey into that dark night, Abaddon
intended to make the journey
with
them.  To go down in a blaze of glory
so bright that posterity would forever remember his name.  Abaddon. 
The
Destroyer.
  Angelic of death.  A name given to him not by his
own
military
forces, but by Shay'tan himself after he'd punished the old dragon with a
particularly brutal defeat.

“Prime Minister
Lucifer,” General Abaddon stepped off his shuttle onto Lucifer’s flagship and
gave the Alliances highest ranking civilian authority a grudging salute.  “What
is this urgent matter that can’t be discussed over regular communication
channels?”

“Please,” every aspect
of Lucifer's demeanor was coached to reflect his status so that Abaddon
wouldn't forget who outranked whom. “This matter is too sensitive to discuss in
the open.” 

Abaddon regarded the
charismatic adopted son of their Emperor with cool grey eyes, giving him
neither fawning adoration nor disgust.  Lucifer was a force of nature to be
reckoned with; manipulative, brilliant, flamboyant.  He'd served the boy-prince
after the Emperor had disappeared because that had been Hashem's will, but over
the centuries Lucifer had earned Abaddon's grudging acceptance.  Unlike the
Emperor, Lucifer had never made the mistake of taking the military for granted.

“Zepar,” Lucifer
called on his comms pin as they walked, his demeanor devoid of warmth, “have
you gift wrapped the package?”

“The treatment appears
to have worked,” Zepar’s muffled voice could be heard crackling over the comms
pin. “She will be compliant.”

“Send her down.” 
Lucifer scrutinized Abaddon with the intensity of a cobra watching a mouse it
was about to consume for dinner. 

Abaddon had known
Lucifer for almost as long as long as he'd been alive; disapproved of his
well-known appetites nearly as long.  But like him, Lucifer cared first, and
foremost, for the Alliance he'd birthed in the Emperor's long absence.  The
cold, calculating stare Lucifer gave him now, however, made even
The
Destroyer
shudder.

“General Abaddon,”
Lucifer's eerie silver eyes glittered like twin moons as they took their
seats.  “I have a gift for you.”

Two Angelic guards
guided an elaborately dressed humanoid into the room.  A female.  With Lucifer
it was
always
something female!  Lucifer sat across the table, tapping
his pencil to the beat of the Alliance National Anthem while he waited for
Abaddon to figure out whatever stunt he was up to now. 

It took a moment for
Abaddon's brain to process what his eyes refused to
see. 
His eyes
widened as he realized what he looked at.

“Is that…???” Abaddon
trailed off.  His falcon-grey wings jutted out with surprise as he rose to his
feet and nearly knocked over his chair.

“Yes,” Lucifer donned
a wolf-like grin.  “I found the root race.”

“Where?!!”  Abaddon
stalked around the attractive, brown-haired female, his wings betraying the awe
he kept from showing on his face.  His sword-hand trembled as he touched her
Angelic wedding dress, or at least what
used
to be a wedding dress until
the Emperor had realized his hybrids were failing to reproduce and forbidden
them to form permanent unions.  Abaddon was one of the few still-serving
members of the military old enough to have actually
seen
one first-hand.

“They were right where
Hashem left them,” Lucifer waved his hand in a contemptuous manner.  “You know
how my father is.  Always starting little seed worlds and then forgetting where
he put them.  Ooopsies!  We’re all dying out and father forgets he ceded a
thirteenth seed world to Shay’tan during the last galactic war.  Heaven forbid
he should have to kiss the old dragon's scaly tail and concede a couple of
moves in that chess game of theirs to save our species.”

Abaddon's lip curled
in a snarl at Lucifer's flippant belittlement of their species' predicament. 
His nostrils flared as he clamped down on his anger.

“He’s known where they
were all along?” Abaddon growled.  Amongst a species that prided itself on
self-control,
The Destroyer
was infamous for his temper. 

“Of course he has,”
Lucifer said.  “It was Shay’tan who brought their existence to my attention. 
Not that the old dragon is doing it for
our
benefit.  You know how
Shay’tan is.  Everything comes at a price.”

“Why didn't Hashem
have me send in a spy ship to see if the root stock was still there?” Abaddon
asked.

“He knew
exactly
where they were all along,” Lucifer said.  “He abandoned them to die when the
Sata’an Empire annexed their homeworld.  Their planet doesn't have any
interesting resources, so Shay’tan simply ignored them until he learned the
root stock
itself
is a valuable commodity”

“Valuable?” Abaddon
said.  “What you’ve just found is priceless!”

“Ahem,” Lucifer
coughed, skillfully changing the direction of the conversation onto the topic
he wished to discuss.  “It's my understanding that, like me, you've suffered a
few … delays?”

“That's none of your
business!” Abaddon growled.  The issue of his infertility was a
very
sore
topic.

“Well, here is my solution
to that problem,” Lucifer ignored the harsh tone.  “I have mated with three of
them, with three happy results now on the way.”

"Three?  At
once?" 

Abaddon circled the
female, examining the pliant, drugged woman as she stared off into space, swaying
to an internal tune.  It was no secret Lucifer had met no success reproducing
despite heroic, some said inhuman, efforts to spread his seed around to as many
Angelic females as possible.  News that after 225 years he'd suddenly sired
three offspring was an effective sales pitch for whatever he was selling.