Fic: A History of Heaven (Gabriel/Various Angels, PG-13 for this chapter) 37/59
For full notes and other chapters, please see the Masterpost.
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 2,477
Chapter Summary: Cariel is missing, and Gabriel needs to figure out where his lieutenant has gone. Does Azazel have the answers?
CHAPTER 37:
Finding the Truth
Gabriel folded his grace through Heaven and materialized in Azazel’s office, which was just outside Michael’s floors. Like most angelic offices, Azazel’s was spartan, with nothing more than the angel himself to indicate who owned it. Said angel was sitting behind his desk, reading a report. He looked up as Gabriel appeared, his usual faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Hello, Gabriel. I’m afraid Michael still isn’t taking visitors.”
“Good thing I’m here for you then.” Gabriel kept his wings relaxed and easy as he came around the desk to stand behind Azazel’s chair. The Seraph flexed his wings, lifting them slightly in a defensive move. He didn’t trust Gabriel at his back, but was trying to hide his discomfort. Instead, he pushed his chair back to turn and face the Archangel, but Gabriel clamped his hands down on Azazel’s shoulders, holding the younger angel in place. “I heard you came by my tower,” he commented lightly. “Were you looking for me?”
“I was simply wondering where you were,” Azazel answered, craning his neck back so he could watch the Archangel. “You are the only functional Archangel remaining. We can’t afford to lose track of you.”
“Did you get your question answered?”
“I did, yes,” Azazel answered. “You were on Earth, and clearly, your business there has been concluded.”
Gabriel leaned in, his mouth near the side of Azazel’s head. “Who answered you?”
Barachiel had reported Azazel was alone. If Azazel had met one of Gabriel’s angels, the angel would have stayed until Azazel left first. That was fairly standard procedure among all the choirs. Either Azazel was lying, or he had been with-
“Cariel did. He’s always been very helpful.”
Bingo. Gabriel smiled back into Azazel’s face, his fingers tightening on his brother’s shoulders. “Well then, that means you were the last to see Cariel.”
“Have you lost track of your lieutenant?” Azazel did not betray any distress. His smile was helpfully concerned and nothing more.
“Cariel went missing before you left my tower. I have a witness reporting you alone in my office. Barachiel.”
“No, Cariel was certainly there when I left,” Azazel insisted, shaking his head slightly, his smile tinted with mild confusion but a desire to be helpful. “I'm afraid your angel must have it wrong. Barachiel?” Azazel shrugged, a graceful slide of his wings and shoulders under Gabriel's hands, his feathers rustling together gently. “He is a bit... different, you must admit. Ever since the Nephilim got their filthy hands on him-”
“They cut off his wings, not his brain!” Gabriel held Azazel in the chair, a low growl unintentionally rumbling in his chest. “If you think for a moment that I would sooner trust you than him-”
“Gabriel, please,” Azazel twisted as much as Gabriel allowed to look back at the Archangel. “It's my word against Barachiel's, and Barachiel is injured and only freshly returned to your choir, whereas I am the second to Michael himself. You weren't around to be a witness. No one else would put Barachiel's word above mine without proof, and you don't have any. Because there isn't any.” Azazel turned forward again, his hands relaxed on his desk, that ever-present smile smug in Gabriel's eyes. “I don't know where Cariel is. I'm sorry. If I did, I would tell you.”
“Right.” Gabriel forced himself to release Azazel's shoulders, taking a step back. “Right. You're right.” His hand slipped to his side, curling around the hilt of his sword. “I don't know what I was thinking...”
“You care deeply for your second,” Azazel said. “That much is obvious. And it's admirable. Your love for our brothers makes you the gentlest of the Archangels.” The Seraph turned now to look back at Gabriel, and Gabriel took that as his cue to drive his sword forward, one smooth thrust shoving the blade deep into Azazel's head, between those smirking gold eyes.
“Don’t think for a moment that loving my brothers makes me a fool,” Gabriel hissed, leaning in close to Azazel. His brother gaped up at him, shock finally erasing his smile.
Gabriel’s attack was not a fatal one. Head wounds generally weren’t to angels. Heads in general weren’t exceptionally important. Necks, now, necks were a different story. An angel’s core, their equivalent of hearts and brains combined, resided at the base of their throat. A blow there could kill an angel. Anything else was extraneous. Several angels had even survived decapitation during the war, when the blow was high enough to miss their cores.
Damage to an angel’s head wasn’t even difficult to heal. Azazel was certainly strong enough for his grace to mend the damage as soon as Gabriel’s sword was out, and while it was in, it was effectively acting as a plug to keep Azazel from bleeding out too much grace and spirit before he could heal.
The sword in Azazel’s head served a different purpose. During the war, the Host had discovered (quite by accident) that angelic silver inside an angel’s head effectively cut them off from the Host. They could still sense their brothers and be felt as alive, but they could not communicate on any of the mental frequencies connecting the Host: caste, choir, or all. By impaling Azazel’s head, Gabriel was able to keep the Seraph from calling for help or warning his allies.
“You’re going to tell me where Cariel is,” Gabriel purred, running two fingers down the exposed length of his sword until he could press them against Azazel’s forehead, “but I don’t want to hear it in your voice. I want to read it in your mind.” Before Azazel could protest, Gabriel shoved himself inside his brother’s mind.
It was the height of rudeness to poke around in another angel’s mind without their express permission, but angels still set up mental walls and defenses just in case. Some angels, like Balthazar, simply didn’t care about good manners if they could get something out of it. Most mental barriers could withstand an attack from the average angel of the Host. Only a handful of angels in Naomi and Alastair’s garrisons could actually slip past mental walls without wholesale destruction to the attacked angel’s mind.
Gabriel was not one of those angels. His method of uninvited mind-reading involved slamming a battering ram into the shining walls behind Azazel’s eyes, shattering his defenses into a thousand pieces and ripping them out at the root. Just like with the dragon, Gabriel was aiming for complete control and not finesse, or even keeping his brother’s mind intact.
Azazel tried to fight back, but his capabilities were severely limited by the silver in his head. Gabriel brushed off the fluttering of the Seraph’s mind, yanking his memories forward and flipping through them. Azazel did meet with Cariel in Gabriel’s tower, and Cariel had tried to dismiss his brother. Alastair had appeared behind Gabriel’s second, jamming a silver spike into the back of his head, and the two struggled as Azazel watched. Eventually, Azazel sighed and flicked his hand at the pair, sending a wave of grace to hit Cariel and immobilize him. As Cariel slumped in Alastair’s arms, Azazel met the younger Seraph’s gaze. “Take him away. Be quick about it. Gabriel won’t be gone forever.”
Alastair and Cariel left first, folding through Heaven. Azazel swept up the papers Cariel had been holding, about to set them on the desk, but then he shrugged and tossed them gently back to the floor before spreading his wings and taking flight himself.
Alastair had Cariel. Alastair, the angel of re-education. Alastair the interrogator. Alastair the torturer.
Angels tried not to refer to Alastair with the t-word. Angels were good. They didn’t torture. They… persuaded. Firmly. And permanently. Gabriel saw no reason to gloss over the truth with Alastair. The young Seraph had a knack for getting other angels to do exactly what he pleased, or to think exactly what he told them. He had been useful in the beginning, when the angels were still trying to figure out who they were. Gabriel suspected Castiel had been sent to him several times while Raphael had been his choirmaster. Gabriel himself had never sent an angel to Alastair. He didn’t believe there was anything inherently wrong with any of his choir. They were as their Father made them, flaws and all. Even Balthazar.
More recently, Alastair (and Naomi) had been tasked with scouring the Host for any angel who had created a Nephilim. As it was difficult to determine when a night of pleasure had just been a night of pleasure and when it had been something more, Michael had decreed that any angel who had lain with a living human woman was to be executed. The Host had agreed. Better to remove all of the infection than risk sparing some just because healthy members might also be cut away. Gabriel thoroughly agreed with this, confident that none of his angels had been involved. The Nephilim had been enough of a nightmare for his choir that none wanted to see it repeated.
Gabriel had been wrong. He had lost several dozen angels to the interrogators, mainly low-ranking Angels and Cherubim who were frequently stationed on Earth. Raphael and Michael had actually lost more than him, and about sixty of Sammael’s former angels were executed for treason as well. Cariel had been above suspicion. Gabriel had vouched for Cariel’s innocence himself, confident that even if, somehow, Cariel had desired a human woman, the Seraph had kept himself far too busy in Heaven or at Gabriel’s side to actually act on such desire. He had not gone before Alastair, and Gabriel had intended to keep it that way.
“Why,” Gabriel asked slowly, dragging his focus out of Azazel’s memories to look into the angel’s golden eyes, “did you have Alastair take Cariel?”
Azazel didn’t answer. Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure he could answer, as his eyes were unfocused and vacant, reflecting the damage Gabriel had inflicted on his mind.
“Hmph.” Gabriel pursed his lips and shrugged, shoving back into Azazel’s mind. He had to delve deeper for his answer, flipping through months and years of Azazel’s life.
Every new memory uncovered heaped more evidence on Gabriel’s theory that this Seraph, the most powerful in all of Heaven, was actually a traitor. Azazel did check in with Michael, but never for instructions, and the Archangel had been too distracted by his own grief to give more than a wave of approval in his second’s direction. Gabriel hated seeing his broken oldest brother through Azazel’s eyes, each memory tainted with scorn and hatred for what Michael had done to Lucifer.
Skipping past those, Gabriel followed a trail of deception through Azazel’s mind. Lucifer’s top Seraphim, now scattered through the three remaining choirs, had all reported to the golden-eyed angel. Alastair had been his right-wing angel, and together, they subtly plotted to sabotage Heaven’s works. Raphael’s garrisons were fed false information about enemies. Michael’s choirs were thoroughly tied up with red tape and extraneous reports. Gabriel’s choirs were constantly battling minor natural disasters on Earth, overextended and distracted. Lucifer’s angels had been trained to turn their hands to anything, and they did it well.
Azazel had been frequently frustrated by Cariel. Gabriel had to allow himself a swell of pride at the stubbornness of his own second as he rebuffed Azazel’s attempts to infiltrate Gabriel’s choir. Cariel had kept Azazel’s Lucifer loyalists low and underpowered in the hierarchy of the choir, and he had made no secret about keeping an eye on Azazel himself.
“We need him gone.” Azazel stood at the window of his office, his hands locked together behind his back, golden eyes fixed on the icy tower to the south, his true home. “Anyone would be better in his place.”
“He’s Gabriel’s lover.” Alastair lounged in a chair, rocking it back onto two legs as he watched his older brother. “And our Lucifer taught Gabriel to reject bullshit. We can’t lure him away on false pretenses.”
“Then make them true.” Azazel flexed his powerful wings, stretching his grace. “You’re good at that.”
“You think Gabriel will buy it?”
“Of course not. Even if it were genuinely true, he’d throw a tantrum.”
Alastair sighed, dropping his chair back onto all four legs. “I don’t want to be the one to tell him Cariel’s been fucking around with humans.”
“We’ll tell him only after Cariel’s gone.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?”
“The Nephilim are providing a suitable distraction.” Azazel smiled thinly, his gaze going unfocused as he turned his attention to Earth. “I have him forbidden from killing any of them until they are all gathered. ‘Michael’s’ orders, of course.” Alastair chuckled at Michael’s name. “Their execution should take some time. Enough time to steal Cariel away from his tower. By the time he returns…”
Alastair grinned, drawing his silver spike. “It’ll be all over.”
“Do it properly, in case there are inquiries. Interrogate him. Make sure he actually has incriminating memories.”
“I know what to do, Azazel. This isn’t the first time we’ve framed someone.”
“Then see it done.”
Gabriel pulled out of Azazel’s mind, his grace wrapped tight and agitated around him. “You… you traitor!” Gabriel knew every language in the world, but none had a word strong enough to describe the revulsion he felt for this angel. Lucifer had tried to bring absolute free will to Heaven. He wanted his brothers to have a choice, to be independent and free from God. He had gone about it all wrong, but Gabriel could understand his logic and sympathize with him even as he stood against him.
Azazel didn’t care about free will or giving his brothers a choice. He wanted Lucifer to rule Heaven undisputed, and death to anyone who stood in Lucifer’s way. There was no logic behind his desires, no good will, just death and pain. Gabriel stepped away from Azazel, drawing his sword out of his brother’s head. “You don’t understand him at all…”
Azazel slumped forward, pieces of his spirit dripping from the hole in his forehead even as his grace rushed in to staunch the flow. Gabriel turned away for a moment, pressing one hand against his mouth to pull himself together. Cariel. Alastair still had Cariel, and Gabriel was running out of time. He couldn’t stay to punish Azazel. Not now.
“I’ll deal with you later.” Gabriel turned back to Azazel, throwing his grace at his brother. Two ribbons of pure Archangel power wrapped around the Seraph’s arms, tying him to his chair. It would take more focus than Azazel was capable of right now to pull free. The physical damage might already be healing, but Gabriel’s rampage through Azazel’s mind could not be so easily mended.
Without sparing Azazel another glance, Gabriel spread his wings and flew.
Next...
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 2,477
Chapter Summary: Cariel is missing, and Gabriel needs to figure out where his lieutenant has gone. Does Azazel have the answers?
CHAPTER 37:
Finding the Truth
Gabriel folded his grace through Heaven and materialized in Azazel’s office, which was just outside Michael’s floors. Like most angelic offices, Azazel’s was spartan, with nothing more than the angel himself to indicate who owned it. Said angel was sitting behind his desk, reading a report. He looked up as Gabriel appeared, his usual faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Hello, Gabriel. I’m afraid Michael still isn’t taking visitors.”
“Good thing I’m here for you then.” Gabriel kept his wings relaxed and easy as he came around the desk to stand behind Azazel’s chair. The Seraph flexed his wings, lifting them slightly in a defensive move. He didn’t trust Gabriel at his back, but was trying to hide his discomfort. Instead, he pushed his chair back to turn and face the Archangel, but Gabriel clamped his hands down on Azazel’s shoulders, holding the younger angel in place. “I heard you came by my tower,” he commented lightly. “Were you looking for me?”
“I was simply wondering where you were,” Azazel answered, craning his neck back so he could watch the Archangel. “You are the only functional Archangel remaining. We can’t afford to lose track of you.”
“Did you get your question answered?”
“I did, yes,” Azazel answered. “You were on Earth, and clearly, your business there has been concluded.”
Gabriel leaned in, his mouth near the side of Azazel’s head. “Who answered you?”
Barachiel had reported Azazel was alone. If Azazel had met one of Gabriel’s angels, the angel would have stayed until Azazel left first. That was fairly standard procedure among all the choirs. Either Azazel was lying, or he had been with-
“Cariel did. He’s always been very helpful.”
Bingo. Gabriel smiled back into Azazel’s face, his fingers tightening on his brother’s shoulders. “Well then, that means you were the last to see Cariel.”
“Have you lost track of your lieutenant?” Azazel did not betray any distress. His smile was helpfully concerned and nothing more.
“Cariel went missing before you left my tower. I have a witness reporting you alone in my office. Barachiel.”
“No, Cariel was certainly there when I left,” Azazel insisted, shaking his head slightly, his smile tinted with mild confusion but a desire to be helpful. “I'm afraid your angel must have it wrong. Barachiel?” Azazel shrugged, a graceful slide of his wings and shoulders under Gabriel's hands, his feathers rustling together gently. “He is a bit... different, you must admit. Ever since the Nephilim got their filthy hands on him-”
“They cut off his wings, not his brain!” Gabriel held Azazel in the chair, a low growl unintentionally rumbling in his chest. “If you think for a moment that I would sooner trust you than him-”
“Gabriel, please,” Azazel twisted as much as Gabriel allowed to look back at the Archangel. “It's my word against Barachiel's, and Barachiel is injured and only freshly returned to your choir, whereas I am the second to Michael himself. You weren't around to be a witness. No one else would put Barachiel's word above mine without proof, and you don't have any. Because there isn't any.” Azazel turned forward again, his hands relaxed on his desk, that ever-present smile smug in Gabriel's eyes. “I don't know where Cariel is. I'm sorry. If I did, I would tell you.”
“Right.” Gabriel forced himself to release Azazel's shoulders, taking a step back. “Right. You're right.” His hand slipped to his side, curling around the hilt of his sword. “I don't know what I was thinking...”
“You care deeply for your second,” Azazel said. “That much is obvious. And it's admirable. Your love for our brothers makes you the gentlest of the Archangels.” The Seraph turned now to look back at Gabriel, and Gabriel took that as his cue to drive his sword forward, one smooth thrust shoving the blade deep into Azazel's head, between those smirking gold eyes.
“Don’t think for a moment that loving my brothers makes me a fool,” Gabriel hissed, leaning in close to Azazel. His brother gaped up at him, shock finally erasing his smile.
Gabriel’s attack was not a fatal one. Head wounds generally weren’t to angels. Heads in general weren’t exceptionally important. Necks, now, necks were a different story. An angel’s core, their equivalent of hearts and brains combined, resided at the base of their throat. A blow there could kill an angel. Anything else was extraneous. Several angels had even survived decapitation during the war, when the blow was high enough to miss their cores.
Damage to an angel’s head wasn’t even difficult to heal. Azazel was certainly strong enough for his grace to mend the damage as soon as Gabriel’s sword was out, and while it was in, it was effectively acting as a plug to keep Azazel from bleeding out too much grace and spirit before he could heal.
The sword in Azazel’s head served a different purpose. During the war, the Host had discovered (quite by accident) that angelic silver inside an angel’s head effectively cut them off from the Host. They could still sense their brothers and be felt as alive, but they could not communicate on any of the mental frequencies connecting the Host: caste, choir, or all. By impaling Azazel’s head, Gabriel was able to keep the Seraph from calling for help or warning his allies.
“You’re going to tell me where Cariel is,” Gabriel purred, running two fingers down the exposed length of his sword until he could press them against Azazel’s forehead, “but I don’t want to hear it in your voice. I want to read it in your mind.” Before Azazel could protest, Gabriel shoved himself inside his brother’s mind.
It was the height of rudeness to poke around in another angel’s mind without their express permission, but angels still set up mental walls and defenses just in case. Some angels, like Balthazar, simply didn’t care about good manners if they could get something out of it. Most mental barriers could withstand an attack from the average angel of the Host. Only a handful of angels in Naomi and Alastair’s garrisons could actually slip past mental walls without wholesale destruction to the attacked angel’s mind.
Gabriel was not one of those angels. His method of uninvited mind-reading involved slamming a battering ram into the shining walls behind Azazel’s eyes, shattering his defenses into a thousand pieces and ripping them out at the root. Just like with the dragon, Gabriel was aiming for complete control and not finesse, or even keeping his brother’s mind intact.
Azazel tried to fight back, but his capabilities were severely limited by the silver in his head. Gabriel brushed off the fluttering of the Seraph’s mind, yanking his memories forward and flipping through them. Azazel did meet with Cariel in Gabriel’s tower, and Cariel had tried to dismiss his brother. Alastair had appeared behind Gabriel’s second, jamming a silver spike into the back of his head, and the two struggled as Azazel watched. Eventually, Azazel sighed and flicked his hand at the pair, sending a wave of grace to hit Cariel and immobilize him. As Cariel slumped in Alastair’s arms, Azazel met the younger Seraph’s gaze. “Take him away. Be quick about it. Gabriel won’t be gone forever.”
Alastair and Cariel left first, folding through Heaven. Azazel swept up the papers Cariel had been holding, about to set them on the desk, but then he shrugged and tossed them gently back to the floor before spreading his wings and taking flight himself.
Alastair had Cariel. Alastair, the angel of re-education. Alastair the interrogator. Alastair the torturer.
Angels tried not to refer to Alastair with the t-word. Angels were good. They didn’t torture. They… persuaded. Firmly. And permanently. Gabriel saw no reason to gloss over the truth with Alastair. The young Seraph had a knack for getting other angels to do exactly what he pleased, or to think exactly what he told them. He had been useful in the beginning, when the angels were still trying to figure out who they were. Gabriel suspected Castiel had been sent to him several times while Raphael had been his choirmaster. Gabriel himself had never sent an angel to Alastair. He didn’t believe there was anything inherently wrong with any of his choir. They were as their Father made them, flaws and all. Even Balthazar.
More recently, Alastair (and Naomi) had been tasked with scouring the Host for any angel who had created a Nephilim. As it was difficult to determine when a night of pleasure had just been a night of pleasure and when it had been something more, Michael had decreed that any angel who had lain with a living human woman was to be executed. The Host had agreed. Better to remove all of the infection than risk sparing some just because healthy members might also be cut away. Gabriel thoroughly agreed with this, confident that none of his angels had been involved. The Nephilim had been enough of a nightmare for his choir that none wanted to see it repeated.
Gabriel had been wrong. He had lost several dozen angels to the interrogators, mainly low-ranking Angels and Cherubim who were frequently stationed on Earth. Raphael and Michael had actually lost more than him, and about sixty of Sammael’s former angels were executed for treason as well. Cariel had been above suspicion. Gabriel had vouched for Cariel’s innocence himself, confident that even if, somehow, Cariel had desired a human woman, the Seraph had kept himself far too busy in Heaven or at Gabriel’s side to actually act on such desire. He had not gone before Alastair, and Gabriel had intended to keep it that way.
“Why,” Gabriel asked slowly, dragging his focus out of Azazel’s memories to look into the angel’s golden eyes, “did you have Alastair take Cariel?”
Azazel didn’t answer. Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure he could answer, as his eyes were unfocused and vacant, reflecting the damage Gabriel had inflicted on his mind.
“Hmph.” Gabriel pursed his lips and shrugged, shoving back into Azazel’s mind. He had to delve deeper for his answer, flipping through months and years of Azazel’s life.
Every new memory uncovered heaped more evidence on Gabriel’s theory that this Seraph, the most powerful in all of Heaven, was actually a traitor. Azazel did check in with Michael, but never for instructions, and the Archangel had been too distracted by his own grief to give more than a wave of approval in his second’s direction. Gabriel hated seeing his broken oldest brother through Azazel’s eyes, each memory tainted with scorn and hatred for what Michael had done to Lucifer.
Skipping past those, Gabriel followed a trail of deception through Azazel’s mind. Lucifer’s top Seraphim, now scattered through the three remaining choirs, had all reported to the golden-eyed angel. Alastair had been his right-wing angel, and together, they subtly plotted to sabotage Heaven’s works. Raphael’s garrisons were fed false information about enemies. Michael’s choirs were thoroughly tied up with red tape and extraneous reports. Gabriel’s choirs were constantly battling minor natural disasters on Earth, overextended and distracted. Lucifer’s angels had been trained to turn their hands to anything, and they did it well.
Azazel had been frequently frustrated by Cariel. Gabriel had to allow himself a swell of pride at the stubbornness of his own second as he rebuffed Azazel’s attempts to infiltrate Gabriel’s choir. Cariel had kept Azazel’s Lucifer loyalists low and underpowered in the hierarchy of the choir, and he had made no secret about keeping an eye on Azazel himself.
“We need him gone.” Azazel stood at the window of his office, his hands locked together behind his back, golden eyes fixed on the icy tower to the south, his true home. “Anyone would be better in his place.”
“He’s Gabriel’s lover.” Alastair lounged in a chair, rocking it back onto two legs as he watched his older brother. “And our Lucifer taught Gabriel to reject bullshit. We can’t lure him away on false pretenses.”
“Then make them true.” Azazel flexed his powerful wings, stretching his grace. “You’re good at that.”
“You think Gabriel will buy it?”
“Of course not. Even if it were genuinely true, he’d throw a tantrum.”
Alastair sighed, dropping his chair back onto all four legs. “I don’t want to be the one to tell him Cariel’s been fucking around with humans.”
“We’ll tell him only after Cariel’s gone.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?”
“The Nephilim are providing a suitable distraction.” Azazel smiled thinly, his gaze going unfocused as he turned his attention to Earth. “I have him forbidden from killing any of them until they are all gathered. ‘Michael’s’ orders, of course.” Alastair chuckled at Michael’s name. “Their execution should take some time. Enough time to steal Cariel away from his tower. By the time he returns…”
Alastair grinned, drawing his silver spike. “It’ll be all over.”
“Do it properly, in case there are inquiries. Interrogate him. Make sure he actually has incriminating memories.”
“I know what to do, Azazel. This isn’t the first time we’ve framed someone.”
“Then see it done.”
Gabriel pulled out of Azazel’s mind, his grace wrapped tight and agitated around him. “You… you traitor!” Gabriel knew every language in the world, but none had a word strong enough to describe the revulsion he felt for this angel. Lucifer had tried to bring absolute free will to Heaven. He wanted his brothers to have a choice, to be independent and free from God. He had gone about it all wrong, but Gabriel could understand his logic and sympathize with him even as he stood against him.
Azazel didn’t care about free will or giving his brothers a choice. He wanted Lucifer to rule Heaven undisputed, and death to anyone who stood in Lucifer’s way. There was no logic behind his desires, no good will, just death and pain. Gabriel stepped away from Azazel, drawing his sword out of his brother’s head. “You don’t understand him at all…”
Azazel slumped forward, pieces of his spirit dripping from the hole in his forehead even as his grace rushed in to staunch the flow. Gabriel turned away for a moment, pressing one hand against his mouth to pull himself together. Cariel. Alastair still had Cariel, and Gabriel was running out of time. He couldn’t stay to punish Azazel. Not now.
“I’ll deal with you later.” Gabriel turned back to Azazel, throwing his grace at his brother. Two ribbons of pure Archangel power wrapped around the Seraph’s arms, tying him to his chair. It would take more focus than Azazel was capable of right now to pull free. The physical damage might already be healing, but Gabriel’s rampage through Azazel’s mind could not be so easily mended.
Without sparing Azazel another glance, Gabriel spread his wings and flew.
Next...