Hell's Detective

Chapter Forty- Soldiers Again

The Upperplane had changed its décor.

This time it resembled Ancient Greece, one of Zadrian's favourites. The buildings were flat-roofed and ochre, adorned with pillars delicately carved into lions and horses. Statues of men and women lined the streets, the creases of their faces so deep, the shadows of their muscles so defined, Zadrian was sure they would spring to life at any moment as he walked by.

Angels flocked the courtyard in military formation, wings outspread. They were on edge, he could see it. Almost itching to fight the enemy they thought they had defeated long ago. This wasn't good.

He ducked under the vines snaking up the trellis, wove through the crowd and found and ivory haired angel with piercing eyes and creamy skin and his gruff faced companion.

"What's going on?" Zadrian demanded.

"The Saviour needs protecting," Lyric said. No greeting, no inquiries on how his mission was going, nothing. Small talk was a human invention. Angels were far more business oriented.

"So send bodyguards. This is an army."

"The demons know the Saviour's location. We don't have time for alternatives," Lyric insisted.

"You're going to start another war!" They couldn't do this, not again. Not after the last time.

"There isn't another way," Lyric said, almost as if he'd been programmed to. "We have our orders, Zadrian."

"But there are people living in that city. Have you forgotten the Great War? Planes were levelled, civilizations vanquished. Can you imagine what would happen now?"

"Are you questioning our orders, Zadrian?" Ferris asked quietly, not loud enough to be threatening, but very, very close.

Zadrian glared at him. Of the two of them, Lyric was definitely the more agreeable. Ferris was a soldier by nature, always had been. Zadrian would have taken his concerns more seriously had he been sure he wasn't enjoying the prospect of war quite so much. He had certainly made a name for himself in the last one.

"Are you really one to talk about abandoning orders?" Zadrian snapped. "Or anything at all, for that matter?"

During the Falling, Ferris had almost been seduced to the other side with the rest of the abandoners. It was only by Lyric and Zadrian's efforts that he had remained in Heaven.

Ferris' cool face melted away into something else entirely. He took a step forward, but Lyric put a hand on his shoulder. Lyric hated conflict and went to any measures necessary to avoid it. It was why Zadrian enjoyed his company so much. But today, it just made him want to strike him.

"We have always been told to protect people," Zadrian said.

"And now we're being told to fight." Lyric's voice was heavy with regret. But he wasn't going to stop. None of them were.

"Where's Celeste?" Zadrian muttered.

"She won't listen to you."

"Where is she?!" he snapped.

Lyric sighed as if he was talking to a particularly argumentative child. "In the altar room, praying."

Without another word, Zadrian marched back through the crowd, Ferris glaring daggers into his back. The statues' eyes followed him as he walked down the smooth roads to a large cubic building adorned with delicate carvings weaving through the stone, depicting hunters and foxes and hounds galloping through the forest. He ducked inside.

Celeste was on her knees with her back to him, praying. The only sound was the water from the fountain hitting the iron grate. His feet drifted over the creamy tiles, and he stopped a metre or so away from her.

"Are you seeking advice, Celeste?" he asked. "Or forgiveness?"

Her eyes fluttered open, but she didn't turn around. "I was wondering when you would show up." Her voice was rough, coarse. Like the bark of an ageing tree.

"You can't do this," Zadrian said.

She stood slowly, looked at him. She was small for an angel, sharp faced and shapeless. She looked more like a young boy than anything else. But Zadrian knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. He'd seen her fight wars, slit throats, bury bodies, all in the name of God.

"It's already done."

"Call off the soldiers," he insisted. "No one needs to die today."

"I can't do that. The only way the Earth will ever be safe from the hordes of Satan is if that child lives."

"So thousands have to die in his place?" Zadrian all but snarled. Couldn't she see they were going to murder the creatures God had worked so hard to create? "We nearly destroyed the Earthplane once, why do you think God banished us? If you send those soldiers down, you are dooming the very people we are sworn to protect."

"We sacrifice the lives of a few to save them all," she said, like that's all it was. An equation. "Generations will come after those fallen and generations after that. More and more will die and be born until this tragedy is merely a blink of an eye in their history."

"Is that how you defend yourself?"

She ran a hand through her hair. It was short, white as crystal. "The World will thank us for what we do today," she said, but it wasn't with her usual conviction. She was doubting.

"And what about the people now? What do you think they would say if they knew? Do you think they would thank you?"

Something flashed in her eyes, something buried deep long ago. Something born in the blood and fire they had thrown themselves in centuries past.

"Do you think I want this?" she said quietly. Dangerously. "That is doesn't weigh on me every second? This is what has to be done. And every waking moment, I will see their faces, and every night I will hear their screams, but that is the price I must pay. Hell has its Saviour. Now we must fight for ours. You want to avoid war so much? Save the child."

Zadrian's shoulders sagged in defeat. There was no point in arguing with her. He knew what had to be done.