The Garden of Eden: During the Great War in Heaven
The Seraphim Remiel soared above the Garden of Eden, sword in hand and ready for battle.
They had said that the legions of Lucifer would come here, to this beautiful place created for the Lord God’s most spectacular creations, but which was now empty of them.
The humans had been banished . . . punished for the sin of disobedience—a sin that Lucifer Morningstar had predicted.
Remiel landed amid the thick greenery, the stench of God’s anger still tainting the air. It was peaceful here, the clamor of battle, the sounds of brother killing brother not yet reaching its emerald expanse.
Yet.
The Son of the Morning had said that God had given them too much, that the humans would take His gifts for granted and disobey Him in their arrogance.
And in an attempt to prove that his words were true, Lucifer tested them, tempting the first of the humans with the fruit of the Tree.
The Tree of Knowledge; the Tree that was forbidden them.
And Lucifer was proven right; they did betray the trust of their most beatific Creator, but it did not stop the Lord God from continuing to love His newest creations—though He was immensely disappointed.
Which led to their punishment.
For their sin, the humans had been driven from Eden.
Remiel trudged through the forest, his sword of fire cutting a swath through the overgrowth toward his destination. With the humans gone, Eden had grown wild and overgrown—those chosen to be the gardeners no longer there to tend it.
But this punishment wasn’t enough for the Son of the Morning, who wanted these two insolent whelps wiped from existence—for the Almighty to recognize that He had already conceived His most magnificent of creations.
The angels were all that He needed; the angels would love only Him, and never disobey.
But how quickly was that proven false?
Despite their flaws, God did not forsake His human creations. Instead, He chose to love and guide them, picking them over all others.
This enraged the Morningstar, and many others of the Heavenly hosts, and war was declared against Heaven. They decided that they no longer needed Him, that they no longer loved Him, and chose to disobey Him in any way that they could.
Rumor had it that Lucifer and his followers planned to take Eden as theirs, to use it as a stepping-stone—a beachhead—to eventually taking Heaven itself.
This, Remiel would not allow to happen.
Others had been given the chore to cut the Garden loose, to cast it adrift, severing its connection to God’s Kingdom, but here it remained.
This concerned the Seraphim, which was why he was at the ready, cautious that the Morningstar’s legions had already arrived.
If this were the case, it would be up to him; he would need to be the one who prevented Eden from falling into Lucifer’s hands. It was a job he was ready to perform.
A chore that he was ready to die for, if need be.
Having been here before, Remiel had a sense of where he was despite the thick overgrowth. Hanging vines sizzled and popped, dropping to the grassy floor of Eden as the burning blade cut through them, exposing to him the clearing, and what was growing huge and bountiful there.
The Tree of Knowledge.
The sight, more magnificent than the last time he’d viewed it, was marred by a scene of violence and death. The angel soldiers who had been sent to perform their task had been slain, their bodies broken and bleeding—their blood seeping into the rich earth to feed the great Tree.
Only one of the soldiers remained alive.
He was of the Heavenly host, Cherubim, and he knelt amid the carnage, his head of many faces staring with unwavering intensity.
Remiel knew him as Zophiel, a sentry of the Tree.
“Brother,” the Seraphim called to him, but the kneeling angel did not seem to hear. Remiel moved carefully closer, his warrior’s senses on full alert.
“Caution,” said a voice nearby.
Remiel leapt into the air, his burning sword at the ready, only to pull back as he dropped to the ground.
Malachi emerged from behind the great Tree, his vestments of shimmering light spattered with the blood of angels.
Malachi had been one of the originals that sprang from God. First there had been Lucifer, the Light Bringer—and then there had been Malachi, he who would bring life.
“Forgiveness,” Remiel said, averting his gaze temporarily from the great elder angel. Slowly his gaze returned to the dead, and the powerful Cherubim that knelt among them.
“What has happened here?”
Malachi emerged further, his body radiating the power given him by the Almighty.
“It was as if Zophiel had been touched by madness,” the angel explained. “He had been here, guarding the Tree, when the soldiers arrived, and when told to step aside, he seemed to snap . . . and this is what occurred.”
Remy rose to his feet, stricken by the words of the Life Bringer.
“How is this possible?” Remiel asked, still staring at the angel kneeling among the dead.
“Perhaps a flaw in his design,” Malachi suggested, having assisted the Lord God in the execution of the Cherubim’s creation. Malachi had assisted in the design of them all; this was what he had been created for—an extension of God’s artful hand.
As Malachi spoke, the Cherubim Zophiel looked up, madness burning in the three sets of eyes.
“No!” the powerful angelic force bellowed, rising up to his full and impressive height. His armored form was shaking—trembling—as if fighting off some invisible force.
“Quickly, Remiel,” Malachi ordered. “Before more damage is done.”
Remiel knew what he had to do; it was the same thing that had been needed from him since the war began, what seemed like an eternity ago.
Zophiel continued to vibrate as he swayed upon powerful armored legs, eyes suddenly falling upon a mighty sword protruding from the back of one of the angels he had slain.
“Don’t do it, brother,” Remiel warned, his own sword at the ready.
Zophiel hesitated, and for a moment Remiel saw in the Cherubim’s look a Heavenly being in the throes of torment.
But as quickly as the expression had come, it was gone, leaving only a maniacal force of violence behind.
With a bellow that combined the enraged cries of eagle, lion, and man, Zophiel grabbed hold of the mighty sword’s hilt and yanked it free. The sword pulled from the ground, but the body of the fallen angel still hung upon the large ebony blade. The Cherubim roared again, spreading his multiple sets of wings, raising his corpse-adorned sword to strike.
Remiel leapt into the path of the descending blade, blocking the sword’s burning arc with his own sword of fire. The fire from his weapon jumped to the corpse hanging limply from his attacker’s sword, voraciously consuming the dead Heavenly flesh and armor till nothing remained.
“The time for mercy is at an end, Remiel,” he heard Malachi say from behind. “Put the poor beast out of his misery before more bad comes of this.”
Using his sword, Remiel shoved his attacker back, spreading his own wings to put the Cherubim on the offensive.
“Nothing good can come of this, Zophiel,” Remiel roared, swinging his weapon in cracking arcs of fire. “Yield. . . . Set down your sword and surrender.”
The madness had taken the Cherubim’s voice, rendering the former sentry for the Garden nearly animal in his responses. He brought his black weapon down with a piercing cry as Remiel soared up into the air to avoid its bite. The sword cleaved the earth, the grass and flowers growing wild there withering before catching fire.
Remiel descended, his own weapon poised to deliver a killing blow. The Seraphim drew back the sword, aiming the blade for the base of the Cherubim’s neck, where his armor ended. Thrusting forward with the sword, Remiel’s aim was true, but Zophiel, in his maddened state, was faster. The sword blade slipped past its target, allowing the Cherubim to reach up and grab hold of Remiel’s chest plate and snatch him from the air.