The Fallen

There must have been a sale somewhere, Aaron thought perversely, almost starting to giggle. The angels followed Verchiel closely as he strode down the hallway as if he belonged there, and Aaron forced his family back into the kitchen, out of his destructive path.

“What has happened here?” he heard Verchiel ask, in a low, melodic voice that was almost pleasing to the ear.

The Powers soldier held out his wounded arm to his master and averted his gaze. “The animal—it has been altered.”

Verchiel moved toward them—toward the family, his dark gaze on Gabriel, and they retreated to the living room.

“Stay away from my family,” the dog growled menacingly, baring his teeth and putting himself between the Stanleys and the angel leader.

“He has done this to you,” Verchiel said in disbelief, looking from the dog to Aaron. “It is worse than I imagined,” he whispered. “The Nephilim has spread its taint to a lowly beast.”

“I’m not lowly,” Gabriel snarled, and leaped at his newest adversary.

In a flash, powerful wings appeared from Verchiel’s back and swatted the dog violently away.

The animal yelped in pain as he hit the far wall, narrowly missing the windows, and crashed to the floor.

“See the damage you have already wrought, monster? This is why we act,” Verchiel growled, his wings slowly flapping like the twitching of a pensive cat’s tail before it strikes. “This is why the unclean must be purged from my world—” The angel paused, considering what he had just said before he continued. “For if allowed to fester, the consequences would be inconceivable.”

Aaron left his family to go to his dog’s side. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Gabriel struggled to his feet and shook his body vigorously, shedding the effects of his injury like water. “I’m fine, Aaron,” the dog said, fixing his gaze on Verchiel. “And I won’t let him hurt you.”

Aaron stood and patted his dog’s head. “That’s all right, this is over now.”

Gabriel gazed up at his master, a quizzical expression on his canine features.

Aaron addressed Verchiel. “No matter what you think…I’m no threat to you or your mission.”

Verchiel tilted his head to one side as he listened.

From the corner of his eye Aaron could see that more of the angelic soldiers had moved into the room to encircle him and his family. He didn’t react. He didn’t want to show any signs of aggression.

“Whatever you’ve heard—or sensed—about me is a lie. I want nothing to do with Nephilims—or the crazy prophecy that comes with it. I already told Camael, I renounce it. Whatever it is, it’s not going to be part of my life,” Aaron said firmly. “Please, leave my family and me alone.”

Verchiel smiled and Aaron was reminded that he was in the presence of something all together inhuman.

“Camael believes you are the One,” Verchiel said smugly, moving his head from one side to the other.

“He’s wrong,” Aaron responded emphatically. “I want nothing more than to have a normal life.”

“He believes you to be the one whose coming was foretold in an ancient prophecy, that you are going to reunite the fallen angels with God.”

Aaron shook his head vigorously, remembering the old man with the cataract-covered eye from his dream. “I don’t know anything about that and I don’t care to know.”

“Criminals,” Verchiel spat. “Those who fought alongside the Morningstar against the Father during the Great War and fled to this pathetic ball of mud, those who disobeyed His sacred commands—those are the ones of whom the ancient writings speak. If this prophecy were to come to fruition, they would be forgiven.”

Aaron said nothing. He glanced at his parents who were huddled with Stevie, Verchiel’s soldiers surrounding them with their flaming weapons. They appeared to be in shock. He wanted to tell them how sorry he was for bringing this down upon them. He hoped there would be time for that later.

Verchiel shook his head. “Imagine the Almighty looking favorably upon the by-product of angel and animal. It is an insult to His glory.”

“I swear you have nothing to fear from me,” Aaron said. “Please, leave us alone.”

Verchiel laughed, or at least Aaron believed it was a laugh. It sounded more like the caw of some great, predatory bird.

“Fear you, Nephilim?” Verchiel said with what seemed to be amusement. “We do not fear you or anything like you.” An orange flame sparked in the palm of his hand and began to grow. “The Powers’ mission is to erase anything that would displease our Lord of Lords. This has been our purpose since Creation, and we have performed it well these many mille

Verchiel now held an enormous sword of fire, and Aaron heard Lori gasp. “It’s a nightmare,” she said softly, “some kind of bad dream.”

If only that were true, he thought sadly.

Verchiel watched the weapon blaze in his grasp, his eyes of solid black glistening. “And when our mission is finally complete, He shall give us this world—and all who live upon it will know that I sit by His side and my word is law.” The Powers’ leader admired his weapon. “But there is still much to be done.”

Verchiel pointed the blade at Aaron. “You must die, and so must everything that has been tainted by your touch.” He motioned toward Gabriel and then across the room at Aaron’s parents and Stevie.

“Listen to what I’m saying,” Aaron pleaded, stepping forward. Two of Verchiel’s soldiers grabbed him, driving him roughly to his knees. “Please,” he begged as he struggled against his captors.

Verchiel still pointed his sword toward Tom, Lori, and Stevie who had again begun to flail in his mother’s arms, moaning and crying at the angel’s attentions.

“Beg all you like, Nephilim. It will do you no good. You shall be destroyed.” He paused, suddenly interested in the cries of the child. “All except the young one,” the angel said thoughtfully.

“I think I’ll keep him.”

Verchiel garnered a certain measure of perverse satisfaction as he watched the Nephilim squirm. This was the savior? The one who was supposed to bring about a peace between Heaven and Earth the likes of which had not been seen since Genesis? It was laughable—yet, there was something about him.

“Bring me the child,” he ordered with a wave of his hand.

If there was ever to be peace, it would not be until the enemies of the one true God were turned to ash drifting in the wind. This belief, of his own devising, was the only one he could ever come to imagine.

“Leave him alone!” the one called Aaron shouted, struggling mightily against his captors.

The accursed dog moved defiantly toward him, the skin of its snout pulled back in a ferocious snarl. The blood of angels stained its muzzle.

“Shall we see who has the worse bite?” Verchiel asked, and brought his sword to bear on the dog.

“No!” the Nephilim cried. “Come, Gabriel. Please, come to me.”

Hesitantly the dog returned to his master’s side, growling and snarling at the angels who held him. “Good boy,” Verchiel heard him say. “It’s okay, everything is okay.”

Verchiel decided that it was time to show the boy how wrong he was. He motioned toward Uriel, still nursing his wound from the Nephilim’s tainted animal.

“The child,” he ordered Uriel. “Bring it here.”

The angel tore the squalling youth from its mother’s arms while Sammael and Tufiel restrained the parents. The cacophony of screams and wails put Verchiel’s nerves on edge, but he restrained himself. After all, they were only animals.

Uriel brought the writhing child before Verchiel, holding him by the hair for closer examination. “This one,” the wounded angel noted, “seems full of spirit.”

Yes, Verchiel thought, staring into the child’s unfocused gaze. He shall serve us well. He brought the burning sword up beneath the child’s eyes and moved the blade back and forth. Its eyes followed the fire attentively.