With his back against the ground and Annabeth poised nearby, going through cards and constantly throwing glances towards the pack of Ambrosia, Wyatt gave a mental nod.
Warning: Incursion detected nearby. Are you sure you wish to proceed?
Rolling his eyes, he confirmed again. A heavy weight sank over his body as a force deep within thrummed brilliantly, eager. Whether it was Gabriel’s or Wyatt’s own enthusiasm, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care. His eyes grew unnaturally heavy as his consciousness descended deep within himself. The world around him ceased to exist to his senses. His body grew numb, and he no longer heard Annabeth’s quiet breathing at his side. The hard tile beneath his back faded last.
Then he stood before a brilliant path of marble atop a small platform of stone hovering over an empty abyss. This was slightly different from the Class Trial he’d experienced in his previous life.
And by slightly, he meant entirely.
As he stepped upon the marble path leading into the sky, he ruminated on his first Class Trial. Just like every other before and after him, he’d appeared in a card bank and was offered to choose ten cards of whatever Class he wanted to fill out the deck for the Trial. These would have a significantly higher chance of bestowal as Classes progressed.
After he’d picked a suitable setup for Summoner, he’d been given his mission. He’d completed it, was evaluated, and the system compiled a list of classes that would be suitable for him that he selected from. At the top of a dungeoneer’s list was always the class thought to be most effective.
His had not been Summoner.
However, the memory of what had been offered always remained stubbornly inaccessible to him. It had bothered him for so long that he couldn’t remember, but when he learned it was the same for all who didn’t take their recommended Class, he shrugged and accepted it.
But not knowing still irked him when brought to his attention.
Time meant nothing in the Class Trials. When he’d last taken his Trial, it had felt like weeks as he scoured the simulated Dungeon Region, empowered his summons with each fight, and conquered the common Region full of warring lizardmen clans. Yet when he returned, it had been a few hours.
He hoped that it would be less than that this time around. Annabeth only had so much Ambrosia to keep his summons active. If time dragged on in the outside world while he remained within, the summons would dematerialize, and Demer would have no chance of weathering the waves of Devils. He would likely die in that simulation chamber.
He didn’t want to think about the consequences of that happening, but the monotony of climbing the marble steps didn’t allow him to do anything but. Though Annabeth’s comments about the Meven Empire and Cynal provided a modicum of reassurance to his ever-increasing anxiety. Maybe they would reinforce Demer. Maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as he assumed if his Trial took longer.
The only precedent he had for such a scenario were his own experiences in Demiurge. His guild could take a lot of time to reactively mobilize to a surprise incursion and rarely sent more than a token force for anything that wasn’t an incursion of Devils, as many of their members were constantly within Riacore and not simply held in reserve.
But even Wyatt knew Demiurge had been an odd sort of guild.
His train of thought was halted by the fact that Commander Marlon would be alive again, as were his lackeys. Wrath bubbled in his gut at the thought of their betrayal, but he squashed it. In his many years of service to the guild, he had never seen signs of their betrayal before it happened. Before he decided to end them out of principle, he would have to look further into them. He wanted to understand when the change had occurred.
Unless Demiurge’s zealotry towards Devils was always a ruse. A guild specifically created to spend more time than any other organized entity, even the Church of Light, fighting Devils had always struck him as odd when there were so many Regions within Riacore. So many specialties.
He’d never questioned it much, as their resources and vetting process had been second to very few, and those guilds had barriers to entry taller than the the damned marble staircase he climbed.
If it turned out to be the case, that Demiurge was created with the explicit intent to allow Lucifer and his army to wreak havoc upon Eyanora, Wyatt promised himself to see to it personally that they all suffered.
But first, he needed to get through this Class Trial. As he breached the clouds, the staircase gave way to an enormous cathedral unlike any other. The walls were gilded in gold and silver, as was the door dozens of feet tall. Unnecessary. Though he had to hand it to them. If they were trying to make a statement, they sure went loud.
The stained glass told countless stories, likely meaningful to some clergy across Eyanora. Maybe even the Church of Light.
To Wyatt, they meant little.
He paid the gaudy holier-than-thou cathedral exterior no more attention as he stepped forward, eyes locked on the door that surely would allow him to finally begin the Trial. Whatever it may be. Because surely it wasn’t this simple? Walk up a long set of stairs. If his experiences told him anything, it’s that nothing good was ever easy and nothing easy was ever good.
And this leisurely walk had been far too easy.
The doors swung open, revealing the high vaulted ceiling with rows of pews by the dozens and the same marble tile all across the floor. At the end, a familiar figure knelt. Wyatt didn’t have to think hard about who else might have three sets of golden wings on his back.
“Come, Wyatt.” Gabriel’s voice sounded through the hall with strength and authority while still somehow managing a low whisper. “I wish to speak with you before you take your first step upon this path.”
Wyatt briefly considered turning around and descending the marble staircase to sit at the stone platform until he was given a new Trial, but he knew another wouldn’t come and delaying would be a waste of time. Despite that, he heavily fantasized about it before stepping down the aisle and beginning another needlessly long trek.
The space between him and Gabriel elongated as he walked. Despite moving forward, it felt as if he got farther and farther away. The pews passed by in the hundreds, yet when he turned around, the door only looked to be a handful of steps away.
Just great, he groused, an Archangel with a penchant for theatrics. Though, now that Wyatt thought about it, all of the Devils under Lucifer were also overly dramatic. Especially Samael.
Wyatt’s eyes remained fixed to Gabriel’s kneeling form, wondering what could possibly be holding the archangel’s attention so thoroughly. Just like the marble stairway, he didn’t know how long it took for him to cross the cathedral’s spatially warped aisles, but he inevitably reached Gabriel. He stepped up the few short steps leading into the apse and took a place beside the angel.
In front of Gabriel and in the center of the apse was a bowl of water thrumming with energy. If Wyatt couldn’t sense the power there, he’d think it was normal, everyday water. But when he looked at it for longer than a second, images took form within. A young, smiling angel floating down from the clouds to deliver decrees and walk among mortals, sharing his faith and the divine messages from above.
“Once, I had pride.” Gabriel’s voice sounded even more weary than when he first addressed Wyatt, and his eyes never looked away from the bowl atop its marble dais. “My humble, noble duty, to bring hope to the world. To spread faith with my brothers.”
The nostalgia trip wasn’t what Wyatt had been expecting in the slightest, but he listened anyway. They had their differing opinions on effective methodology, but Gabriel was the reason he even had a second chance to make things right. Hearing the Archangel out was the least he could do.
“My brothers smiled and laughed then, all unified and driven by faith, by purpose. Things were not easy, but we all understood the mission bestowed upon us.” His armored fist clenched. “Until Lucifer began to question the way of things, our purpose. Even then, Devils climbed from the depths of that blasted Riacore to claw at everything we cherished. It is not natural, that place. Clinging to our home like a parasite.” Bitterness and a deep remorse seeped into his words. “Michael and Lucifer warred in ways I never desired, crafted and honed to perfection. And I still had my pride then.”
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Gabriel rose from where he knelt and placed his gauntleted hands to either side of the dais, his armor perfectly quiet beneath the all white tabard.
“Do you know what happened next, Wyatt?”
Wyatt knew much about many things, namely Riacore. The specifics of ancient history he’d been dragged into the middle of hadn’t been a part of his education. “All I know is that Lucifer became Lord of Hell after seeking shelter within Riacore. I don’t know why.”
Gabriel nodded. “Not many know of what happened. Not even the Church of Light.”
The Archangel stared so deeply into the bowl, Wyatt wondered what memories awaited for an immortal, yet he didn’t pry. If conversation steered toward such a thing, maybe he’d ask, but Gabriel seemed as though he had a point he was slowly—terribly slowly—getting to.
“Back then, the Region within Riacore the Devil scum spawned within had no ruler. Seven Archdevils stood at the top of the hierarchy, each with their own territory. They warred among themselves for supremacy, using Eyanora as fuel to continue their war. Our lands were only a casualty in their conflict. Humans and Angels alike suffered for their greed and pursuit of greater power, and to this day, I still question why?”
“I don’t assume to understand Devils, but who doesn’t seek more power?” Wyatt asked, though Gabriel’s withering look told him that the Archangel disagreed. Instead of immediately defending his stance, Wyatt found a place to sit on the far end of the apse. A cushioned bench, soft as silk. “I spent most of my first life fighting the Devils, and I hate to admit this to you, but they are not so different from what I see of humans and other races.”
“I am not ignorant of mortal desires,” Gabriel defended.
“Are you not?” Wyatt challenged. “When has death ever been a concern for you? Or suffering?” He gestured to the cathedral around them. “Up here in your pristine chapels, separated from the world. Why even bother with the lands below? Surely you’re far enough removed from Eyanora’s lands that there is no threat to your way of life should you and your kin become isolated? What true threat do you face that is not of your own choosing following some accursed duty and sense of righteousness?”
The Archangel frowned. “We are the guardians of this realm. It is our home. Would you not fight back against an invader who attacks the humble village you come from? Are your summons not fighting to protect the academy you attend?”
Wyatt paused and chewed over Gabriel’s words before responding. “In my last life, I never once saw an Angel defend Eyanora or wage an offensive against Riacore.”
“Nor should you have.” Gabriel shook his head. “Millenia ago, when you mortals barely knew of fire, there were seven Archangels. As war raged, that number began to decrease, yet we never drew near the seven Archdevils. This world’s laws do not allow such an imbalance.”
Wyatt’s brows rose. Some kind of world law? I’ve never heard of such a thing. And it somehow factors in Riacore, which contradicts Gabriel’s previous statement of Riacore not being a critical part of Eyanorea. He didn’t let his thoughts show, but his mind raced as Gabriel continued.
“For each of my brothers that fell, those that remained grew even more powerful. At the cost of our brothers, of my family, we three remained. Empowered and griefstricken, wearied by millennia of war and loss.” He took a deep breath, composing himself, then looked up at Wyatt. “Lucifer and Michael could no longer fight without me, so I abandoned my pride as a messenger and took up arms.” His hands splayed on the edge of the bowl. “I had never fought before. It didn’t matter. For the first time, I understood mortals, could see the reason behind the actions of the Devils. Nothing could stop us then. My presence alone burned away countless lesser Devils, and in moments I could feel one of the Archdevils generals. We three were unstoppable, could protect our world, could put an end to things.”
“Considering the events leading up to this moment, I have a hunch things didn’t go how you planned?” Wyatt asked.
Gabriel gave him a wry smile. “Do they ever? Even you, sitting here, was never part of the plan.” He removed his hands from the sides of the bowl, then he took a seat beside Wyatt. “We had coined the term the laws of equivalency at the time, but we were so ignorant then.” He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his fingers, resting his chin on them. “I will be the first to admit my kin are gullible, simple in their righteousness. We could never expect what happened next.
“Riding the high of glory from one crushing victory after another, we purged the Devils’ influence from Eyanora. Cleansed all footholds and secured each portal. There was no way for the Devils to return without us being able to react.” He glanced toward Wyatt. “This is where things turn for the worst.”
“Someone got greedy?” Wyatt guessed.
“We grew our army and empowered the Church of Light. I remained behind, while Michael and Lucifer entered Riacore. We hadn’t suffered defeat in so long, we no longer thought it possible. But I had been suspicious. Our purging of Eyanora had been too easy, token resistances at best,” Gabriel said, his golden eyes glazing over. “They let us believe we had a chance, but we were ignorant of much. Mephisto, Archdevil of Deception, had plotted and planned against everybody. It’s only in hindsight I can see the machinations of his brilliance, even if I scorn it.”
I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me, Wyatt thought, but he remained patient. Barely.
“The civil war had always meant the Archdevils would never be united. Unbeknownst to us, the civil war was nearing its end. All that time, we had never fought against the Archdevils, defending their seats of power and fearing for the loss of their claim should they oppose us. Or so we thought.” Gabriel let out a rush of air, growing agitated. “Mammon’s greediness made him an easy target for Mephisto’s trickery. Befitting his sin would be the cause of his undoing. Beelzebub consumed Mammon, then Belphegor. His claim grew, and Mephisto united Leviathan, the Archdevil of Envy, quite easily in his cause to strike down Beelzebub and his army. Astaroth, Archdevil of Pride, could not accept he was lesser than any of the other Archdevils. Asmodeus of Lust remained unmoved, refusing to leave his dungeon of hedonism.
“When we arrived, all was chaos. Beelzebub had consumed Asmodeus and warred with Leviathan and Astaroth. Mephisto did not fight and instead approached Lucifer, the youngest of us, promising of putting an end to the war for good, speaking of alliances and non-aggression treaties, claiming that he had no hand in any of the disputes. Should he be left alone, he would run Hell and leave Eyanora be, content to rule over Riacore.”
“Surely your brothers knew better?” Wyatt asked, knowing the answer before asking. How else would Lucifer become the ruler of Hell and Michael have been left a pale light of his former glory?
“Michael knew better, but Lucifer hoped to see an end to the war more than all of us. Had fought with piety greater than even Michael, our eldest brother. He was still young then, both of them were. Naive. Neither of them knew Mephisto was an Archdevil either, giving them the impression they could deal with the threat easily,” Gabriel explained.
A rock sank into the pit of Wyatt’s stomach. “Archdevil of Deception, indeed.”
“They arrived to watch Astaroth fall, but Leviathan ensured Mammon would not grow stronger by consuming the Archdevil of Wrath himself.” Gabriel shook his head. “I should have been there. I believed it was the right choice, that the token forces would give way to a greater invading force the moment they both were confirmed to be within Riacore. I waited and worried everyday, years passing by, fearing the depths of Riacore would somehow take my remaining brothers from me, and I would be left alone.”
“But your duty bound you to Eyanora?” Wyatt guessed. “If your suspicions were correct and you joined them and an attack did occur, you’d never have forgiven yourself.”
“It is not my own forgiveness I care for. If our father deemed my actions worthy of his forgiveness, then I would be forgiven. It is that simple. But throughout all of the war, he had not spoken. Some thought like you, that our engagement in Eyanora earned his ire and his silence was his judgement, that we should return to our isolated paradise. Others disagreed and thought his silence stood for a lack of disapproval. Surely if he had disapproved, we would have known?”
“This may be heretical, but what of your own satisfaction and pride?” Wyatt didn’t dig the whole seeking approval thing, though he understood where Gabriel came from.
Gabriel gave him a long look. “Maybe if I had thought of such a thing then, we would not be here and my brothers would still smile. Maybe Michael would still be alive.”
“What a dangerous word.” Wyatt could empathize. He had asked himself countless times what he could have done differently after Annabeth had disappeared. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Always maybe, yet it never offered comfort and robbed him of peace of mind, never allowing him to accept what had happened. He had thrown himself into anything he could to escape that word.
Gabriel continued, “Lucifer and Michael commanded their forces forward and struck, wading through tides of Devils, slaying generals with ease, and joined the Archdevils. Leviathan’s great regeneration allowed him to hold Beelzebub at a stalemate, yet could do nothing to make progress. Not until Lucifer and Michael joined. For a hundred years, war continued, Mammon eventually fell after critically injuring Michael, fragmenting his divine soul. Lucifer, enraged, cut down Leviathan. When the battle stilled, he stood atop mountains of corpses, holy ichor and devilish miasma mixing as one.”
“And everyone lived happily ever after,” Wyatt grunted.
“If only. No. Lucifer had seen the power of the Archdevils, had seen more generals spawn, had cut down those generals before they could, too, become Archdevils. The war would never end, so he decided it could at least be mitigated,” Gabriel said, golden tears streaking down his face. “He took upon himself the burden of ruling Hell and cast away his divine soul as Michael watched, powerless to intervene, and I watched over our home, ignorant of events. He absorbed six of the Archdevils’ eternal souls, ensuring they would never rise up again. He cast Michael from Riacore in his final moments as our brother. The moment he became ruler of Hell, I knew. Such an imbalance could not be tolerated. His divinity flooded me, and I knew something had gone horribly wrong.”
“Then how do you know all of this? Did Michael return and tell you?” Wyatt asked, somehow finding himself far more engaged in the climax of the story than he ever thought possible.
“When I descended, Michael had little more strength than a mortal. He could not speak for hundreds of years after that, no.” He tapped the side of his head with a gauntleted finger. “When I absorbed Lucifer’s divinity, it came with his memories of what had happened.”
Wyatt grimaced. “That must have been disorienting.”
Gabriel gestured toward the bowl of memory water. “To this day, it still is. It’s why I’ve spent so much time here, collecting my mind.” He grimaced. “Well, now I don’t have a choice.”
One thing didn’t make sense about his story. “So what happened to you? Why was your soul shattered?”
“Because Lucifer won.”
