What catastrophe have I wrought?

Dressed in full armor, the sword of Metatron clutched in his hand, Michael surveyed the bodies strewn about like discarded trash across the lowlands of Kilimanjaro. Some were humans, most were angels who had put down their weapons and allowed themselves to be slaughtered. Such was their penance for their heinous act.

Michael stepped from his elevated perch and walked amongst the carnage, leaving the rest of the Celestial Army hovering overhead. A steady rain fell, created from the tears of his warriors over their fallen comrades. Michael didn’t have the luxury of joining them. His mourning would come later, in private. Finding out what happened, the hows, the whys, the whens, took precedence over his personal anguish.

A pair of iridescent viridian wings caught his attention. Michael’s steps faltered and he veered in that direction until he stood beside the body of Titus. He had achieved his archangel status only a century ago. Too young to have fallen. Michael yanked away, but there was no place his gaze could escape the sight of broken, muddy wings, and twisted bodies, and spilled grace. No place to escape the destruction, the disaster which had befallen the Celestial Army.

“Explain,” he commanded Gabriél, who had landed with a ground shaking thud.

“I was a part of the second wave. We came from the opposite side of the field.” He pointed across the flat plains. “The plan was to cut off the Darklings’ retreat and slay them all in a pincher move.”

Michael spun on his friend and grabbed the collar of Gabriél’s armor. Equal in height, Michael stared into similar golden eyes. “Dead humans are what I see, not Darkling ash!” he bellowed and the rain became a monsoon. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, his horror so great. He released Gabriél and turned away. With great effort, Michael calmed. Clarity is what he needed. The anger and rage would come later, along with swift justice.

“What you see, Michael, may be human now. That was not the case during the battle. They were Darklings.”

Michael nailed Gabriél with a glare. Before he could say a word, Gabriél dropped to his haunches next to the body of a man. Carefully, he moved him on his back. Michael knelt in the muddy field on the opposite side.

Gabriél pointed to the mountain behind his left shoulder. “The first wave of our army numbered five hundred angels. They came in from the peak and swooped down over the mass of Darklings. My team came from the opposite direction, less than a minute later. I estimate the enemy to be about ten thousand. I brought an additional two hundred archangels, elite guard. Ten thousand Darklings against seven hundred angels, the Darklings should have been an easy slaughter.” Gabriél’s voice turned hard with restrained fury. “The battle was fierce, ash filled the air as I flew into position. We were winning, Michael. Then the first scream hit me. And then another, before I had a chance to react. I knew it couldn’t be the Darklings since they die silently. It had to be angels who had fallen beneath the Darklings claws. Two deaths I could accept. Screams filled the air. Lamentation of angels. For a moment, I couldn’t understand what was happening—” His voice faltered.

Michael reached across the body and grabbed Gabriél’s shoulder. “Tell me.”

“Outside, they looked like Darklings…until you stabbed them, then, like a snake shedding its outer skin, the Darkling flew away, leaving a dead human.”

Michael’s hand dropped from Gabriél’s shoulder.

“About one hundred humans died in seconds. Once our army realized what their actions had caused, they dropped their swords. The remaining Darklings slaughtered them. Four hundred angels died today. Those that took human life and those that sought to retrieve their bodies too soon. I sounded the retreat, but not soon enough.”

That answered why the carnage happened, now he needed the how. How was it possible for Darklings to be inside of humans? The dead inside of the living.

Michael rose and tipped his head to Heaven. “Cry no more, my warriors. Tonight, we have suffered a great loss, however, our dead did not die in vain. We will forever honor their sacrifice on this hallowed ground where they died defending humanity.”

Grass began growing, along with trees, and flowers of every description. Watered by the crystalline essence of angels, the flat plains would soon be a jungle. “Collect our dead and call forth the comfort angels to return the humans to their families. At least they will have something to bury.”

Michael spread his wings, prepared to take flight, when Gabriél grabbed his forearm. “What are your orders to the army, Michael?”

What army? Tonight, what was left of the army had been neutered like a knife to the balls of a dog. “After the bodies are collected, drain this field of the essence of our dead warriors. I want nothing except scorched earth remaining. Afterward, a full retreat. The rest of the army are forbidden from engaging any Darkling until further notice.”

Gabriél shook his head and his lips peeled back in a grotesque mockery of a smile. “No. Instead, I shall tell them we have lost the war to the Darkling horde. Thanks to the Heavenly Host, their Demoni overlords are still locked in Hell, though I suspect not for much longer.” He released Michael and opened his speckled brown and white wings. “I will personally gather their essence and return it to the Heavenly Host,” he promised and took to the sky. On the horizon, thousands of comfort angels appeared.

“Brethren!” Gabriél shouted. “Gather our dead and return home. We leave this place of death and defeat.”

Michael stayed earthbound and watched as every angel and every human was lifted from the field and carried away. Only then did he ascend to the heavens. He stopped at the threshold to the Throne. There, his armor and blade vanished and his skin and bones shed, transforming him to his natural state of light. In this sacred place, he wasn’t an archangel. He was a seraph, a sacred guard to the Throne of God.

But Michael was angry and confused, among the many other emotions he had little experience with. Those emotions burned within him and ignited a blaze that consumed his light. He stepped to the throne afire. The other seraphs didn’t move from the stations around the room, though he felt the speculation as he approached the plain wooden chair in the center. With absolute humility, Michael dropped to his knees and prostrate himself on the cool marble floor and asked one question. “Why?”

Whether it took one second or one million years, with that one question asked, he was duty bound to wait for his answer.