“Uriel, you need a doctor,” I said.
He ignored me. “We’ll put you in that frilly pink dress you like. It’s my favorite, but you already know that.”
“Uriel?” I tried again, but he didn’t even look at me.
I waved down the closest healer, but when they arrived, Uriel batted them away like a pesky fly.
“She likes braids!” he snapped at the man. “I need to finish—don’t touch me! Fuck you, get off me. Get—D! Don’t worry, D, I’ll be right back. I promise, I’ll be right back, baby girl.”
Me and two healers had to physically drag him away from Delilah’s body as he bucked and kicked like a wildcat. He screamed and cursed, landing a punch to my jaw that rattled my brain loose.
“This is all your fault!” he spat at me as a healer held him down while another stuck him with a hypodermic needle. His sea-green eyes flashed with malice, and I cowered away from his rage. “You killed them. You did this! You took them from me, you son of a bitch. I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll—I’ll…”
The drug kicked in then, and he thankfully passed out. In my heart, I knew he didn’t mean it. He’d just lost both his Committeds; he was hurting and angry. He didn’t mean it, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. If not for me, many would not have died.
But I was done carrying the weight of other people’s sins. Lucifer brought this army here, not me. Maybe I’d been a catalyst, but the only blood on my hands belonged to those who’d fallen at the end of my sword. I refused to accept the rest.
After the survivors had been found and moved to the infirmary, it was hours of separating and identifying bodies.
Apparently, after Lucifer had fallen, the remnants of Hell’s army had fled. The Fallen who remained were the ones who had followed Tabitha and Gideon. Unsure if they were welcome, they grouped together on the outskirts of the battlefield, cautiously offering their services to dig the mass grave for the Fallen who besieged Utopia.
Maybe it was penance, or perhaps it was honest kindness. Either way, the group of Fallen who had wanted nothing to do with Lucifer set to work, opening the earth to accept their cursed brethren.
Angels were wrapped in burial shrouds to hide the worst of the damage to their bodies. They were laid reverently aside to be attended to later. They would be set to sail as soon as it could be arranged. The Fallen were tossed carelessly into the mass grave. Gideon helped identify those who had aided our side, and those fortunate few, Tabitha included, were laid next to the angels to be honored.
We worked through the night, navigating the field with torches, flashlights, and moonlight. Lucifer was confirmed amongst the dead, and he was rolled into the grave with his followers. Bel was not. I wrapped his burial shroud myself, laying him beside Obie.
The remaining members of the Seven had escaped. When defeat was imminent, Asmodeus, Mammon, Berith, and Beelzebub had run. Demons and Fallen had fled with them. There was talk of chasing them down, of raiding the cursed realm while they were vulnerable, but I ignored discussion of strategy. I was sick of fighting and death. And as much as I feared the nightmares this day would plague me with, I was tired. More than anything, I just wanted to sleep.
Hours later, when I finally laid down my head, rest evaded me. But the nightmares? They were there to stay.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next few days passed in a chaotic whirlwind. The mass grave was filled in, burying the Fallen under six feet of earth. The dead angels were prepared for the massive sailing ceremony. According to Xavier, the last time the ceremony had accommodated so many dead was at the end of the first war.
Many of the Fallen who had fled were captured and imprisoned in the dungeons of Utopia to await trial and punishment. Asmodeus and Mammon were among them. Berith and Beelzebub hadn’t resurfaced yet, but they would in time. And when they did, we’d be waiting.
But for all our victories, our losses had been great. The Archangel Council was in shambles after Eleazer’s betrayal. Whatever thin trust the people had in their leadership had been dashed upon the rocks, and the Archangels scrambled to preserve the pieces.
The loyal Fallen remained in Utopia, sleeping outside the city wall in tents. No one knew quite what to do with them, and since the angelic politics were in turmoil, no one had the power to kick them out or grant them residency.
Though the mortal realm was none the wiser to the spiritual battle that had raged beyond, the earth had suffered. Without Virtues to regulate nature, Australia was ravaged by record bushfires, a tsunami hit Greece and Turkey after an earthquake, and a contagious flu virus spread through most of the western world.
The human death rates rose, sending Dominions into a panic. Souls could not be delivered, seeing as the cursed realm was in a state of pandemonium. All the realms balanced at the edge of chaos, but not everyone viewed it as a bad thing.
It was an opportunity for change, for renovation, for growth. For the first time, there was talk of officially disbanding the Archangel Council in lieu of a new governing system, one based on equal representation and elected officials. The color of an angel’s wings shouldn’t have determined their place in the realm, their individual worth, or their destiny.
Maybe it was possible to fulfill the purposes the Maker intended for angels while still offering choice. To many angels, this was a radical notion, but change was always scary, especially at the start.
Long-term treaties between Fallen and Angel were in the works. Because this war had revealed, once and for all, that it didn’t matter whether someone bore wings or scars on their back. It wasn’t a determining factor in morality. Many Fallen had shed their lifeblood for their Maker and for Utopia; just as many angels had turned on their brethren for the promise of grandeur and power.
We were all capable of good and evil. We all had two wolves inside of us, forever battling. But we were more than our DNA, more than our scars or the color of our wings. It was our choices, not our genes, that dictated who we were and what we could become.
I was proof of that, even now that my power had changed. Ever since I’d awoken from death, my power had been white. The darkness that had always resided in my soul, wanting to feast and devour and destroy, was gone. No longer could I suck out a soul or erase a being from existence.
I didn’t think that was a bad thing. No one person should be judge, jury, and executioner. I would leave that to wiser men.
But for all that had been accomplished, there was much work to be done, and change wouldn’t happen overnight. But it was on the horizon, and I was hopeful that the future would be brighter.
The sailing ceremony took place four days after the final battle. It began at sunrise and commenced in shifts. The Utopian shore wasn’t long enough to accommodate so many dead. As juvenile as it sounded, we had to take turns.
First one fleet, then another were sent into the sea, embarking on their final journey in this realm. Gideon, Jai, Noel, and I stood with Deborah as Jael and Isaac floated toward the horizon. Nadia’s voice wobbled but didn’t crack as she honored Raphael. Michael, Gabriel, and Gideon pushed his boat into the water.
For a moment, Gabriel leaned into Gideon’s side, seeking or perhaps offering comfort. It was merely a second, but the slump of Gideon’s shoulders relaxed marginally at the touch. It was never too late, I realized, to make amends, to rebuild. Of course, Gabriel ruined it by shooting Gideon a death glare before stomping off, but the hatred lacked the conviction it had once held.