Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) Read online

  Gabriel collected and compartmentalized the report in his mind as he walked, adding a note of how neutral—boring, really—today's report would be. But not all viewings were exciting events and breakthroughs of civil awareness. Moments later Gabriel arrived at his flat and with his right hand palmed his door and walked inside. His heart warmed immediately, as always when entering his apartment. Gabriel looked around and smiled. His apartment was spacious as all Archangels’ apartments were, but his had no extra amenities. His apartment was decorated with deep rich colors from Earth: dark brown wooden floors, deep blue and red cotton chairs, pale green walls, and live plants always made Gabriel glow—especially when returning from the stark whites and beiges of Heaven's institutional buildings. As he always did, Gabriel touched the granite surface of the entry table as he walked into his larger main living space. The granite was cool, solid. The surface always comforting, and reassuring.

  There were only seven apartments of this configuration in Heaven, but none were a terrestrial “home”. Gabriel smiled again, thinking of Urial's expression when she first came to his flat. This was the only place Gabriel felt he belonged to a physical space. This was home, even though everything within these walls was an energized simulation. It was still home. Gabriel wondered again how the other Archangels could make their dwellings into view ports stolen from far away. Michael’s dwelling was a constant view of the same region of space, looking back at Heaven. If you turned around from the scene the floating chairs, communication panel, and entry arch ruined the scene. Gabriel thought the whole environment was rather interesting but wore off quickly. You could only stare at a scene, painting, landscape, ocean for so long. As Gabriel looked around his apartment again, he banished those thoughts. He relaxed. This was home with a roof, walls, and rooms that held individual purpose. Home.

  Gabriel faced the flat, off-white comm panel, the only part of the wall he wasn’t allowed to paint. He placed his right palm against the glossy, identification area and began to file his daily report. Relaxing his shoulders further and with a long exhale Gabriel recalled the Gamma designation, his first viewing location, and played through his observations. Next location, designation, observations. Next location, designation, observations. And the next. And next. And next, until he had replayed the children playing with the stones. He smiled slightly, seeing the children in his mind again. The raw joy of friends, their Sun's warmth, laughter. He observed their playful physical contact with one another; Gabriel could feel the unexpressed love each felt for the other. And he focused on their thoughts. Gabriel replayed the innocent scheming, immature sharpness, and the pure exactness of their thoughts. That emotion would come through over the report and he would, again, catch "Hell" for it.

  At the closing of his report, Gabriel sensed a small dataset indicating he was about to receive a communication. That was rare, even for Archangels, even for him. He furrowed his brow as the panel went dark and all communication ended. An awkward silence broke open the mental clutter of Gabriel's mind and his surroundings. The morning’s report and observations were swept away. In their place was an emptiness Gabriel experienced from so long ago. He was nearly afraid of the nothingness. Two knocks sounded from Gabriel's main door. As he turned toward the sound, Gabriel spoke his first words of the millennium, "Oh, no.”

  Gabriel approached the door and tried to relax before opening it. "Only during times of great need or high purpose are Archangels called directly upon,” Gabriel thought. Gabriel could feel the swell of anxiety from whatever entity stood on other side of the door, and he struggled against his natural tendencies to absorb those feelings. He stepped forward before the feelings could permeate him and opened the door.

  A small angel took two quick steps through the doorway and placed her left palm upon Gabriel's right chest muscle. Her motion happened so fast, that to Gabriel, it seemed his opening the door had sucked her into his apartment. When angels from different classes needed to communicate they could speak aloud, of course, but speaking conveyed far less than mental passage of thought. Touch conveyed in high fidelity. The closer one touched another near the heart the better the transfer; more emotion, more expression, more color, more sound, more depth of image. Male Angels touched with their right hands, females their left. That relic of gender distinction was more a social norm than a technical requirement. Most standard Angels appeared nearly gender neutral given the blanched garb that passed for clothing and total passionless expression of hair style. The smaller Angel nodded her head up to Gabriel and opened her eyes. She was blind, her eyes were solid white orbs. This struck Gabriel as odd and unnecessary. Gabriel knew to question design was frowned upon, but what was the purpose of a blind Angel? Gabriel was drawn to her eyes, milk white against the brilliant natural colors of his apartment. He noticed her hand trembled as she fought to complete her task. From the small gasp she made, Gabriel knew she was terrified. And there were many things to be terrified of, in Heaven.

  She continued to look up at Gabriel through those blinded eyes. Waiting, Gabriel witnessed only silence from the angel's mind. Are my thoughts blocking hers, Gabriel worried to himself. "Why are you here?" Gabriel thought towards the frightened Angel. She shuddered violently and was brought into the present. "I am Sophrael—“ Before she could continue, Gabriel placed his hand over hers on his chest, as gently as a human child would hold a kitten. She flinched as to break away and run, but did not. Though her thoughts of terror—that Gabriel was going to break off her arm—were alarming, Gabriel mentally spoke "Be at peace.” "Be at peace,” he repeated aloud.

  Sophrael shivered at hearing another's voice. After another moment, she gained her composure and leveled her head to think directly into and through Gabriel's chest: "Master Gabriel, you are summoned before the Principles. You will be under the Dome of the Principles within the afternoon." She paused then raised her head towards his and returning the gift of audible voice said, "Metatron will be there!" Lowering her head and removing her hand from beneath Gabriel's, Sophrael turned, walked out of Gabriel's apartment and was silently gone.

  Called Away

  Gabriel couldn't move. A few moments ago he was on another planet with a warm Sun watching children play, and now a summons from the Principles. This could only mean he was going to be transplaced to another universe. Metatron was proof. Metatron often used lesser Angels of the Dominion to transplace Archangels when there were many messages going out, but Metatron himself meant more. Something important. He was going to be sent out again. "How long would I be away?" Gabriel thought. "Which message would I be taking?" He stared into the hall without seeing. A few moments passed and Gabriel saw that he'd not let go of the door since he opened it. He carefully closed the door and walked back to the comm panel.

  Placing his right hand again on the glossed area, Gabriel thought of Michael. Other than Urial, Archangel Michael was the only other friend he enjoyed within his own Angel class. Michael and Gabriel had many experiences in common, Michael knew humankind — having been to Earth himself. The two Archangels had many long conversations, in the past, and Gabriel welcomed the thought of having one now. Having no family, Michael was the closest bond Gabriel knew. "I need to see you,” Gabriel thought into the panel, adding a visual of where he wished to meet. The panel replied with a familiar tone of recording success.

  Gabriel disconnected. He turned and took in his apartment like a thirsty Angel takes in light. If he was being sent out, he could be gone years, maybe decades. Gabriel tasted the anguish in his mouth. He would be without his own consciousness the entire assignment. His mind would be his own for one moment, and then decades could pass without his knowledge. Then he would wake up back in Heaven. His actions during his assignment would be unknown to him until he interacted with a comm panel. Then, the rain of images would overwhelm him, just as they overwhelmed every Archangel. There would be a long period of recovery while another Archangel began a review. It would be even longer for him to recover emotionally. And after that he
would welcome his surroundings once again. Methodically, Gabriel sat in his favorite chair, a heavy cotton arm chair so dark red it was nearly black. The chair was overstuffed yet firm. it seemed to melt around and support him.

  Now and again, when work was slow, Archangels were allowed to revisit their visited worlds, mostly to review and confirm reports from oversight. Archangels were also mandated to review evolving civilizations, to become familiar with technology, and to record the rise and fall of nations. Decades ago, he had looked in on a living relative of Muhammad, twenty three generations removed. The woman, unaware of her lineage, had settled in Cyprus after the death of her father. She was struggling to bring something called, 'interior design' to that region of the world. Gabriel had observed her over the course of several days, noting her thoughts and actions, weighing them against her religious upbringing. What had caught Gabriel's attention was her obsession with ordering a chair. She knew that even within her own apartment, she would be judged against her creative style. Over the course of many days she had settled on this chair. After delivery, the descendent of Muhammad had moved the chair to many locations before deciding its true place. The day after she had moved it last, Gabriel had reached into her, found her emotional satisfaction, attachment, joy, and love for this chair. Love for a chair. Rubbing both his hands over the chair arms, he allowed the sensation of the fabric to command his tactile senses. Gabriel recalled her emotional memory and knew he had made this memory his own. The melody of distant memories was sweet. He allowed himself to swim inside these emotions. Her pride, his pride, her joy, now his joy revisited swelled within Gabriel. There was no sensation quite like this in Heaven. Gabriel had witnessed the creation of gun powder, control of the sea, the advent of flight, nuclear weapons, mass communications, and through currency debt — the enslavement of mankind. Few enough memories were sweet.

  He stood and scanned his living quarters. Gabriel recalled where he had first seen these terrestrial items. He created most of them from memories of his past visits to Earth. Because Gabriel could not recall first person memories from his visits — all of his paintings were from a third person perspective recalled from panel reports. Each was a scene Gabriel found striking while reviewing his own actions. It was difficult, at times to remove himself from the image. Two were of Mary: one from the moment she had accepted and embraced her fate; the other of the moment her and her child had first shared eye contact. Gabriel had included more surrounding into the image of Mary and child. It seemed impersonal now. Gabriel realized he had failed to appreciate his belongings often enough. He touched a corner of the painting's frame, shifting the perspective and zooming closer to their faces. Gabriel moved the reference point, in three dimensions, before settling on a pleasing vantage. The faces of Mary and her future were now the main objects in the frame. There was a small fire nearby to keep them warm. The flames reflected in Mary’s tears. Gabriel allowed himself to feel her love. From his living quarters a universe away, Gabriel's eyes teared too. There were few emotions as powerful as this. The joy here was almost too much even for an Archangel.

  Gabriel allowed himself equal measure of interest of each display and item. The journey of emotion was a gift Gabriel didn't mind. The Principles could wait a few minutes more. Next Gabriel walked into the bedroom and within his chest of drawers pulled out his favorite article of clothing, a worn, blue cotton, long—sleeved pullover. He lay the pullover onto the bed and removed his starched white tunic. Noting the worn seams and collection of minor holes, he pulled his blue friend over his head and onto his body. As always, the faded blue cotton lent its warmth and self confidence to Gabriel. He smiled, flattening the fabric against his torso. Walking back to the main door of the apartment, Gabriel turned and looked over the apartment one last time. On the adjacent wall was another small area of glossy white. Without looking, Gabriel covered it with his right hand and closed his eyes. When Gabriel opened his eyes, the apartment was bare, white washed, floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Everything was gone, and along with it Gabriel's joy. He left his apartment and headed for the park to meet Michael.

  As Gabriel walked along the wide stone paths, he began to open his mind, broadcasting mental calls for Michael. He waited for his dear colleague to reply. Each classification of Angel had their own connectionless method of communication. Within each class, Angels could convey basic communication over distance, mind to mind. The fewer the Angels in a class, the easier it was to segregate, and communicate over greater distances. This communication was based on the same principle of prayer.

  "Got your message,” Michael's words came into Gabriel's mind.

  "I'll be there shortly, my friend,” Michael added.

  "Thank you, my friend,” Gabriel replied.

  'Friend'. Gabriel pulled that word from his mind and held it like a familiar flower. In Heaven, friends were rare and beautiful.

  Gabriel found an empty bench and sat down. Michael's voice was becoming more clear as he neared Gabriel's location.

  "I'm on the usual bench,” Gabriel sent to Michael.

  "I know it well,” Michael responded seconds later. He added, "You're a creature of habit.”

  Gathering his thoughts and putting away his fears, Gabriel felt he was close enough to Michael to begin a more detailed dialogue.

  "The Principles have summoned me,” Gabriel began.

  "I was hoping this was you telling me you'd set your kitchen on fire again trying to cook human food,” Michael said.

  Gabriel could feel Michael’s smirk.

  "No, not this time.” Gabriel added, "Although..that was an interesting story.”

  After a short pause, Gabriel continued, "They're sending me back.”

  In an oasis, Gabriel had possessed a boy in which to observe Muhammad for the first time. It was an important assignment and great care and patience had to be used to ensure success. Watching Muhammad, Gabriel had appreciated the esthetics of the trees — the shade making the sunlight dance like a thousand knives. Using the boy, Gabriel had watched Muhammad come and go and became comfortable with that tree. Here, on his park bench in Heaven, Gabriel recalled some of that same comfort. The trees, although different species, offered a similar arrangement and flow of foot traffic under its shade.

  "Worrying and recalling a past journey in the same instant,” Michael's voice bounced around Gabriel's mind. Michael added aloud, "You're a complicated Angel, Gabriel.”

  He was standing in front of Gabriel now. Michael sat down arm's distance away and on Gabriel's left and put his outstretched hand on Gabriel's shoulder.

  “Tell me what has happened,” Michael thought into Gabriel's mind.

  “I was summoned this morning,” Gabriel began again. "And I have to appear this afternoon.”

  “At least you won't have to wait long to know why they've called you,” Michael said.

  “They’re sending me somewhere, I can feel it.”

  “Have an idea where, this time?”

  "The Banthid have but one message, but I'm a judge there,” Gabriel said. "I delivered three messages to the Spark, where Urial is judge. And has been no indication it is time to go back. The humans have but one last message, and I have had no indication there either. Have you delivered a final message?"

  "No one has,” Michael responded. "I've checked.”

  Their mental correspondence fell into a comfortable rhythm.

  "Do you think this is a new universe? A new race?" Michael asked.

  “We haven't seen the signs, and it's just too soon for any new race to send a messenger,” Gabriel noted.

  They sat silent for a moment watching worker Angels walk about the park. Occasionally they would catch a sideways glance. Common benches were not made for Archangels.

  Gabriel broke the silence, “Michael, how much do you remember of your journeys to other worlds?"

  "As energy?" Michael asked. “Little.”

  Gabriel was about to open up to Michael in a way no other Archangel had, to his knowle
dge, and this gave him pause.

  "I've done terrible things out there. Terrible things.”

  "We all have,” Michael thought as he looked down onto the dirt.

  "Especially those we possess."

  Michael paused as he contemplated his next words.

  "Gabriel, while we are energy, we are the unmitigated instrument of God. You know this." Michael thought with earnest. "We have no control over our actions and this is by design. Our missions are too structured, important, and precise for us to blunder around with our emotions and empathy raging."

  Michael turned and looked at Gabriel for the first time. "We are weapons of epic proportions, you more than I. Gabriel, one day, and it may be today, you will be called upon to end a world, releasing every soul therein. You, alone, have this added ability. You. The Archangel Gabriel."

  Gabriel was already looking at Michael. “God doesn't give a task for which we are unprepared, and I'm not prepared to eradicate a world, omnipotent with or without my own will.”

  Each looked out into the park for pleasant views to relieve the awful thoughts of deeds performed and yet to be performed. The silence went on for minutes.

  "Metatron is going to be there,” Gabriel said. "Don't see him a coming to adjudicate a birthday party."