Michael landed in the tall grass far away from a bald mound of earth near the other end of the property. Moonlight shimmered across his blade and full coat of armor. His power blanketed the area, searching for anything foul to destroy. He was alone, yet he detected the presence of another. A creature belonging in the lowest level of Hell had been here, walked the ground searching for what had been secreted beneath the soil. It shouldn’t have been possible, but the lingering signature of its putrid essence couldn’t be denied. Futile rage filled him until the ground vibrated.

Quickly he contained his emotions. Rage was pointless. It diluted reasoning and spurred rash behavior, which usually led to disaster. He needed clear thoughts to navigate this dangerous path.

Navigate it he would because much had been lost to close the portal to Hell, namely the immortal life of a beloved friend. He would not let that loss be in vain.

The battle cry rang out in Heaven. The Celestial Army gathered. Darklings were amassing, this time in Africa. The portal had been closed for six months and Darklings continued to abound, their numbers growing instead of dwindling. There wasn’t a second Cruor, and the one buried in the field remained closed. Unguarded. So how was it possible they continued to multiply?

Decisions had to be made, ones that placed humanity on the razor’s edge of a war they couldn’t win, and the extinction that would follow. The decisions had to be made now, before he left to lead the army in the next battle. He stood in the field, indecision rotting his insides. Once foreign, the sensation had become normal since Father withheld his guidance on the matter of the Cruor, the Darklings, and the humans.

You guide me on everything else. Why not this? Irreverent thoughts. One did not question the Holy Father. The portal to Hell could be moved, but not by him or any other angel. They were forbidden to touch it and he had none he could spare to guard the demonic gateway.

He procrastinated, a destructive dereliction of his duty, which kept the Cruor unprotected for months when he understood the gravity of the situation and recognized what he must do, even without Father’s guidance. His foolish inaction jeopardized everything. Braile would’ve had no such qualms. He had the mind of a tactician, used to making thoughtful yet concise decisions without hesitation. Too long had Michael sat beside the Throne waiting for instructions. He didn’t bemoan his lot in life, but he wouldn’t downplay his ignorance.

His thoughts strayed to Gemma, the newly made Captain in the Celestial Army. Six months she had been missing. If she were dead, the scent of her spilled grace would have reached Heaven. Reached him. Only brimstone would have stopped him from finding her. That had to be the case. He imagined her caged in a brimstone cell and had to fight his rage and the need to find her.

With all the things he must do to safeguard humanity, Gemma was not a priority to anyone except him. Finding her must wait, but he would find her, and whomever held her captive would pay.

Michael shoved thoughts of Gemma away and refocused. He knew what he must do and wouldn’t fail. Regardless of his repugnance for the coming task, action must be taken. There was only one being he could trust with the sacred duty.

Trust.

Michael weighed the word and found it lacking because he would never trust the creature he must now employ, not completely, even if the creature was once a member of the heavenly ranks. With a thought, he pinpointed the location of the being. Not far. Then, he opened his wings and took to the skies.

His prey was in close proximity to—a thought sprang into his mind and a glimmer of hope displaced indecision. He had another choice. There was one other he could give this responsibility to. A disciple who, though young and untried by a real opponent, had the skill to complete the task.

For better or worse, the time to train had ended and the trial by fire had begun. His disciple would succeed or fail on merit, as all creatures under Heaven did. She would be no different.

* * *

Taige, once a Spaun of the ninth level of Hell, stood in the tall grass, and peered from a pocket dimension at the Archangel Michael. Lips curled in a sneer, Taige’s ferret-like gaze took in the wide expanse of white and gold tri-level wings, and the empyreal sword, and armor glinting in the moonlight.

He’d only seen the archangel once. It was on the day of the Great Betrayal when Michael chased those who’d disobeyed and doubted their Creator into Hell. At the Creator’s command, Michael entered Hell and deposited the Fallen, as they were first known. Taige, then one of many Spaun demons in the underworld, fell to his knees in supplication when Michael killed the demons that had the temerity to gaze upon his celestial form.

Taige wasn’t present when Michael returned offering redemption to the Fallen. All but a handful accepted the offer and vacated Hell. Those who spurned Michael’s offer remained to become the Demoni Lords. Those who accepted became the UnHallowed. Twice cursed is the name the Spaun gave the traitorous bastards. Hell welcomed them, exalted and worshipped the lot of the fallen angels as gods. At the first opportunity, they fled. More than a handful of Spaun, masters at disguise and deception, tagged along. Some blended into the fabric of this world and called it home. Others, like Taige, would never claim this place. Some sought to go back through the portal, but weren’t strong enough to survive the return trip.

Taige had no sentimental bones. He wanted to bring the chaos of Hell here, to this realm, on this earth. He wanted the Demoni Lords free. A promise he made and was bound by blood to keep.

Michael walked in the opposite direction of where Taige hid, then doubled back. Almost the exact path Taige had taken earlier. Two months ago, he sensed the Cruor in New York City, then in Michigan, and then nothing. As a denizen of Hell, he had a link to the portal. He knew when it appeared in this realm and disappeared, yet always a day late and a dollar short.

This time was different, not because he’d arrived in time to see it. No, it was different because he no longer sensed the Cruor. Even when it wasn’t in this realm, his connection to it remained. It was a link neither time, dimensions, nor distance could sever. Until now.

Something had changed to end his connection. Whatever had caused the change had happened here, on this land, in this field. The presence of Michael proved it. The archangel must have sensed Taige’s presence, which would account for his repeated visits.

Michael continued his walk for some time. Taige watching it all, taking a mental recording of every pause, every lingering stare the archangel had. When Michael paused on a particular patch of earth, Taige tensed with anticipation, then sagged with disappointment when Michael opened his wings and ascended into the sky.

He wanted to travel the same path Michael had, stand on the same spot as the archangel, but Taige dared not. Michael could be waiting for the slightest movement to pounce and Taige was no equal. The archangel would slay him with as much effort as a human took to kill an ant.

No, Taige would be wise. He thought about his master and added vigilant to the list.

Should I inform him of my discovery? His master didn’t suffer fools or pointless conversation. He’d want facts, not speculation.

I could inform him of Michael’s presence. He did hate the archangel. So did they all. His master was irascible and fractious. Not one to praise the messenger of good news, never mind ominous tidings.

No. I will keep this information to myself. I will watch and wait for something noteworthy to use for my own benefit.

Decision made, Taige folded the pocket dimension around him and returned to his master’s side.