"Annihilation, Chapter 21" by Jane Lebak

Chapter 21

The Lake of Fire lay at the bottom of a cavern with its ceiling a mile in the air. Fingers of rock jutted from the bare beaches, reaching like the petals of a chrysanthemum that had yet to unfold fully, the effect being that the only opening straight down was right at the lake's center where the cavern yielded to dark. On one of those projections stood Mephistopheles.

Poised a mile up on rock baked to glass, he had his wings extended and his eyes closed. The heat scalded him even this high, but still he remained. While his heart pounded, he waited for the fear to rouse him, knowing at the same time it would not.

He remembered: Rahab—oh, God, Rahab!—the sixth member of the Maskim and the demon-guard of Egypt who had watched Moses defeat Pharaoh ten times and had lost his grip on Israel; Rahab who had caused Pharaoh to pursue and then watched as a whole army's bloated bodies floated on the Red Sea.

Mephistopheles looked at the red sea flaming beneath him and closed his eyes again.

And Rahab, Rahab had reported to Lucifer, who had publicly humiliated him and stripped him of his rank. In a desperate attempt to regain favor he had tried to prevent Moses' receiving the Law from the Lord. He had failed. So he'd returned to this pinnacle and leaped.

Rahab had been destroyed by God once. He'd sought a different annihilation for himself under the flames, and to all intents he had succeeded. His whole spiritual form had dissolved after a month. Nothing remained to fish out now, even if they should find him, just a will that lingered and burned.

Under that flaming lake, one could lose his identity, suffer a name-change like the first—when their falling bodies had impacted on Hell's floor and each had tried to remove all traces of God from himself forever. Asmodeus from Asmodiel. Belior from Beliel. Mistofiel had become Mephistopheles; Belazael, Beelzebub. And now Rahab was nothing.

He could be nothing.

To suffer without remembering why.

The Cherub dreamed as he stood with closed eyes, tracking the sweat beading down his cheeks and against his nose and around the corners of his mouth. It lay in his power to forget that he had spat in the face of God. He, who had whored his mind to worse tyranny than the one he had refused to accept long ago, he himself had ripped one of the bright swords from his Creator's hand and shattered it against the stones.

And in a month, he could forget what he had done and know only that he endured eternal reparation.

Mephistopheles knew it would take a month because Rahab's primary Seraphim had screamed for a little over four weeks after their Cherub had submerged. Mephistopheles had stood on the beach among the rest of the higher-order demons (all but Lucifer) dragging the lake, one at a time flashing under the flames tethered to someone on shore; the diver would search the plasma for five minutes and then be reeled out when the pain became dangerous enough to dissolve the will.

Beelzebub will suffer, he realized.

He smiled wryly.

"Why are you doing this?"

The voice of Lucifer, smooth as the lava chugging over the edge of the waterfall.

"I asked a question, Cherub."

"I want to stop thinking."

Lucifer behind him sat on the rock spike and wordlessly ordered Mephistopheles to do the same. He did, still keeping his eyes closed, then turned so he straddled the stone facing Lucifer.

"Are you going to honor God by finally handing over your intellect? Is thinking so bad that you'd lose your freedom to halt it?"

Mephistopheles slumped forward.

Lucifer's tone never wavered. "You can't exchange your life for Gabriel's in some perverted form of justice. There is no justice. It's only us in this world. You can't satisfy any spiritual scales."

Mephistopheles opened his eyes enough to glare at him. "I'm not after justice."

"Then what do you want?" Lucifer said. "I can give it to you."

Fixing famished eyes on Lucifer, Mephistopheles said, "Nothing."

Lucifer sat a little taller, his eyes wide.

Flattening his palms to the spike, Mephistopheles slid forward until his chest pressed against the stone. He crossed his arms and laid down his head.

Mephistopheles understood enough of the future to know that when the world ended, when the Word flooded Hell with uncreated light for the final time, they all would be chained beneath that lake. Their will to do more than endure would be dissolved by the God of their creation—not the god of their rebellion—the one to whom was truly reserved that right.

But even then, not completely. They would know they were no longer self-aware. They would know what they had relinquished.

"I think it's better that way," murmured Mephistopheles, and Lucifer, who had felt the general turn of the Cherub's thoughts, said, "He won't ever do what's better for us. You're an idiot to think otherwise."

To silence the voice in his mind, the voice that night and day accused him—

"Mephistopheles," Lucifer said sharply, "use Beelzebub for this. Make him give you fire of a different sort."

Snapping his wings tight to his shoulders, Mephistopheles only shook his head.

Lucifer studied him, his green eyes piercing. After a minute, he murmured, "He used to care about you."

Mephistopheles' head whipped up. "Why don't you shut up and leave me alone? I'm no concern of yours!"

Lucifer leaned back, knees up on the rock, wings spread for balance. "He used to love you, back when he could look into your eyes and give you his fire and you could give him that inner focus he longed for."

Mephistopheles was on his feet now. "Who cares? He's not your concern—you never bonded!"

"I can only assume it was love." Lucifer gazed off into the dark. "Not a crazed need to feed on one another like paired parasites—"

Mephistopheles lunged at Lucifer and slammed him into the cavern wall, a crash that resounded through Hell like the clapper of a gong. They grappled in balance for an instant when it seemed both would plunge to their torments. Then the Cherub gathered himself to emit a concussion blast that filled the top of the chamber, bringing down tons of rock and collapsing the pinnacle on which they stood.

Lucifer snatched him out of the air and flashed him to the ice fields.

"I'll rip out your throat if you go on!" Mephistopheles was screaming. "I'll drop you into the lake!"

Lucifer shimmered until wind and wings merged in the blinding snow. "I'm pointing out the obvious, Cherub, things you already know."

Mephistopheles blasted him again, fire around his eyes and a geyser of snow filling the air. Lucifer batted it aside. "Do you want to kill me?" he yelled over the wind. "Would that silence my voice, or is that in your mind too?"

Mephistopheles rose into the air, six wings spread like the limbs of a mutant sea star, Michael's sigil on his hand streaming spangles of light. He grabbed Lucifer with his will, encircling his heart in chains that pinned his arms to his side, enwrapped his throat and bound his legs together. The Cherub sent power flooding through the web of his will, electricity that struck Lucifer with a crack-boom like a lightning bolt.

Lucifer flexed all twelve wings, doubled up under the web, and blew it off.

Fully armored now, Mephistopheles called his sword to his hand. He flew at Lucifer, who raised an empty hand only to materialize his sword the moment before impact. Mephistopheles hurled himself at him, striking twice a second, throwing all his will and power into the attack. Lucifer parried, dodged, pivoted. The tips of several feathers blew away in the wind.

Mephistopheles broke off the attack and flashed to a nearby ridge, chest heaving.

Surprised and thrilled, Lucifer flashed right in front of him. There's my Cherub!

Engaged in battle with Michael's enemy, the ring on Mephistopheles' hand was on fire. Mephistopheles flung himself at Lucifer, crashed him into the side of the hill, stabbing at him with a dagger, hurling energy from the ringed hand, fire and light hemorrhaging from his entire form. With Michael's power supplementing his own, he drove Lucifer a step at a time until finally Lucifer had his back to a snow bank. Mephistopheles aimed for his heart.

Lucifer brought up his hands and bound Mephistopheles with his will.

Frozen, Mephistopheles tried to thrash, tried to flash away, tried even to close his eyes and scream, but none of himself responded.

"You have your own fire." Lucifer's hair was buffeted by the wind as ice crystals formed on his outermost wings. "You don't have to smother yourself."

The Cherub couldn't break his gaze from those eyes, those eyes.

Without a movement, Lucifer transported them inside a frozen cave, blue-white with internal refractions from Lucifer's own glow. Out of the wind, Mephistopheles could hear his own heartbeat, feel his frenzied breathing.

Lucifer released him enough that he could stand, not enough that he could move. As he settled to the frost-glistened floor, Mephistopheles averted his gaze.

"Remember your power and your independence." Lucifer crooned into Mephistopheles' ear like a lover. "Think of what you accomplished, the accolades you deserve because no one else was even close to being able to figure out the things you did. Not even Gabriel knew the secrets of a soul's construction. Am I correct?"

Mephistopheles agreed.

"I will again make you the offer." Lucifer took a step backward and spoke clearly. "Since they appear to do you no benefit, would you like me to break all your bonds?"

A long stillness in Mephistopheles' mind. Then, almost without thought, a refusal.

"As you will. However, from a practicality perspective, I cannot allow you to stay depressed." Lucifer shook his head. "You're impeding our next move, and you're causing a morale problem. Belior is maneuvering to replace you, and I have enough to do without putting him back into his box."

Mephistopheles apologized.

"I don't want an apology. I want results." Lucifer folded his arms. "Beelzebub failed to motivate you, but I'm not going to fail. If reminding you of your true strength didn't knock you out of this rut then I don't know what will, but I want you to apply your unrivaled intellect to the problem above and before all other pursuits, and you will find yourself a solution. You are not to drown yourself in the lake because I'll personally reel you out and do something worse."

Lucifer released his hold on Mephistopheles' voice. "Yes, sir."

"Go straighten yourself out, and stay out of my path until you're functional again. Then we'll go fetch Camael from his presumably enchained vacation."

Mephistopheles found himself flashed out of Hell onto the top of Mount Aconcagua in South America, higher than the clouds that foamed grey beneath his feet.

Michael and Raphael were in the middle of discussing preventative tactics when Raphael's eyes lit, fire surged around him, and he vanished.

Saraquael drew back. "Well, that doesn't look good."

Michael flashed after Raphael.

He appeared in Uriel's bungalow to find Raphael scolding a blue streak and Gabriel on the edge of the bed with his head between his knees.

"Are you some kind of idiot? Did you forget you're hurt?"

Gabriel projected the beginnings of an explanation, that he'd thought if maybe—

"That maybe if you just killed yourself, then Satan could have a nice relaxing afternoon?"

Michael pushed between the pair. Saraquael had appeared, and momentarily Ophaniel followed. A touch found Gabriel shaking. "This is nice and all, but can you heal him a bit?"

Raphael folded his arms. "Not if it's going to give him license to keep pushing himself beyond reason."

Michael got on his knees, face-to-face with Gabriel as he picked up his head. "Are you in pain?"

Gabriel shook his head. More like, startled.

Ophaniel got down next to Michael. "What were you doing?"

"We need a safeguard." Gabriel couldn't keep his voice steady. "No one else understands the mechanics of the soul, so it's up to me."

Raphael huffed.

Behind Michael, Saraquael said, "Raphael, please?"

The healing glow looked almost begrudging, but instantly Gabriel's breathing eased, and he sent Raphael a thankful look. Raphael's wings relaxed a bit.

Ophaniel moved closer to Gabriel, inadvertently pushing Michael out of the way. "What did you try?"

"I toyed with the idea of a soul reserve." Gabriel rubbed his chin and frowned. "If we could store enough of ourselves in a safe location, maybe we could reconstitute that in the event that someone got captured and destroyed."

Ophaniel tucked up his knees and mirrored Gabriel's expression. "That makes sense, but how would you do it?"

"That was the issue." Gabriel sighed. "A Guard is disembodied will. When we make an object, it's disembodied substance. A sigil is disembodied energy. I couldn't figure out how to combine them."

Michael and Saraquael exchanged looks. "Cherubim," Saraquael mouthed at him. Michael smothered a laugh.

For five minutes Gabriel and Ophaniel traded questions and answers in a firefight with words for bullets until Raphael tried to intervene.

Ignoring Raphael, Gabriel wiped out a handful of light-diagrams with a wave of one hand. "That's when I considered the power reserve again. Some athletes bank their own blood so they'll have an added infusion of their own hemoglobin before a competition."

Ophaniel tilted his head. "Completely undetectable. But that helps only if there are enough parts remaining to recharge."

"And I'm not even sure how to put them all back together," Gabriel said.

"Guys," Raphael said.

"The next thing I did," Gabriel said, "was I bi-located—"

Ophaniel let out a "eureka!' gasp as he jumped to his feet. "And then you have it all in one spot!"

"But naturally one can't head around doubled all the time." Gabriel spoke with a bright animation as if he hadn't been shaking minutes ago. "It weakens all of us. The key has to lie in diminishing one half and increasing the other—"

"Gabriel," Raphael said.

"—but that's when I got dizzy and couldn't continue." He looked up at Raphael. "You're about to detonate, aren't you?"

Brushing a wing by one of Raphael's, Ophaniel imposed calm on him through their own bond.

Michael turned aside from the laughter bubbling in Ophaniel's eyes and focused on an amused Gabriel. "Was I mistaken, or were you supposed to be sleeping?"

Suddenly sober, Gabriel admitted he was.

"And you're not."

This too Gabriel acknowledged.

"And one more thing," Raphael said, getting between Gabriel and Michael. "You do not—do not—run experiments on yourself. I'm not sure how you even had enough energy to bi-locate, but there's not enough of you now to go dividing yourself."

As Gabriel was about to protest, Raphael said, "I told you I don't want to have to put you back together again, so do me a favor and stay in one piece!"

Looking aside, Gabriel acquiesced.

Ophaniel still sparkled, though, and Michael wondered what he was thinking to give him that secret smile.

Michael left Gabriel with Raphael. He brought Saraquael and Ophaniel back to the conference room.

Saraquael looked out the window. "We're still stuck for protection."

"Has the enemy made any progress?"

Saraquael emitted an uneasy aura. "I have to say, I don't like the rumors coming out of Hell right now."

Michael frowned.

"I have conflicting reports, all from minor demons, that Mephistopheles is on the move, but they're divided as to whether he attacked Beelzebub, whether he attacked Satan, or whether he got attacked."

Michael opened his hands. "What's the harm? There's nothing I'd find more welcome right now than a demonic civil war."

"He's probably got the political capital to pull it off at the moment." Saraquael shook his head with a sigh. "But I saw him consulting with Asmodeus when I found Remiel. If he's combining the army and his own people against Satan, we may be facing a very motivated, absolutely united force. What better way to consolidate a new ruling order than by invading Heaven and annihilating a few of your enemies?"

Well, that would stink. Michael turned to Ophaniel for his opinion, but the Cherub had a thousand-miles-away gaze.

Raphael returned. "He needs a private guard. Or an anesthesiologist."

"Is he all right?"

"Now," Raphael said, eyes dark as the heart of a coal. "I can't convince him it's wrong to push himself like crazy. Even worse, Jesus told him he has to recover soon, so what is he doing? He's taking that as an injunction that something bad will happen soon and that he can't afford to sleep."

Michael folded his arms. "That doesn't sound good."

"Not on any account, no. I forced him back to sleep. I made him promise to contact me the moment he awakens, and when he does," Raphael said, smirking, "I'm going to put him straight back to sleep."

A windblown Zadkiel appeared. "Michael, I need your help with a situation."

Michael noticed just before he flashed away how Ophaniel looked right at Saraquael, and how the Dominion wore an intrigued smile.

Jane Lebak wrote her first book at age three, in magenta crayon, on green-bar computer paper. Her writing has improved since 1975, but the passion remains.

Jane's first accepted novel was signed by Thomas Nelson in 1993 when she was 20 years old, enrolled in the English and Religious Studies programs at Cornell University. The Guardian, a fantasy about angels, was published under the name Jane Hamilton the next year when she was enrolled in an MA writing program at SUNY Brockport. It sold 23,000 copies plus 5,000 copies of a Crossings Book Club edition, before being declared out of print.

Jane got married in 1995 and delayed her publication goals to begin her family, but she never stopped writing. She has had short fiction published in Catfantastic IV, Dragons, Knights and Angels, The Sword Review, and Liguorian Magazine, among others, and nonfiction published in Chicken Soup For The Cat Lover's Soul, Holding Hands With God, Byline, Celebrate Life Magazine, Mothering Magazine, and several more. Numerous humor pieces have appeared in The Wittenburg Door and in The Compleat Mother. Although Thomas Nelson insisted she change her maiden name, she now publishes under her married name.

For more information visit < www.mindflights.com >. The above items appear as part of Volume 1, 2008, Issue 1.

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Seven Archangels: Annihilation

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