But how?
Although she hadn't asked it out loud, Michael heard her question. "How do any of us fall?"
Sin.
More angels promptly vanished, returning to their endless duties, as others materialized. The Dominion, with their dowdy, gray suits and small, matching wings, quietly dished out orders to the remaining angels. Serah just stood there, staring wordlessly at Michael, hoping something would spill from his lips to make sense of it all, but he chose to remain mute. If he had answers, if he had an actual explanation, he wasn’t planning to clue her in.
"May I have a moment, Serah?"
The monotone voice diverted Serah’s eyes from Michael. She turned to an awaiting Dominion, her voice guarded as she replied, "Of course."
Hannah’s grip tightened for a brief moment before she left in a pop of static electricity. A large hand grasped Serah’s shoulder then, heavy and strong, pulling her down while raising her up at the same time. It was comforting, yet concerning—welcoming, yet fearsome. The presence of an Archangel was uncommon, the touch of one practically unheard of. The lingering angels vanished in a
heated murmur of gossip, leaving Serah and Michael alone with the Dominion.
"You have a new task," the Dominion declared. "Your presence is required at the border between the righteous and the wicked, at the edge of Earth where everything descends into flames."
It took Serah a moment to grasp the instruction. "Wait . . . the front lines?"
He nodded in confirmation.
"There has to be a mistake," Serah said. "My calling is with the children, not in this war."
"There are no mistakes," the Dominion said. "You’re a Power. This is what your kind does. You protect the innocent
from evil, and there’s no greater threat than what exists there."
"What am I to do?" she asked. "What’s my directive?"
"You’re to report to the gates."
She gaped at him. "The gates?"
"You’re to demand a cease-fire from the leader of the uprising. The fighting has gone on long enough without reprieve. Too many have fallen. You have until the snow falls on you to establish the truce."
"I’ll do it," Michael chimed in. "I’ll go in her place."
"You can’t," the Dominion said.
"I can, and I will," he replied. "She has no history with him."
"That’s the point," the Dominion said. "He has none with her, no harbored resentment or long-standing grudges to get in the way. There’s a greater chance of cooperation if—"
Bitter laughter erupted from Michael. "Cooperation? You think he’ll
cooperate
?"
"There's a chance he will, if she can appeal to his original nature. Serah has proven herself to be patient and persistent at tapping into a soul's conscience. It's her talent. She cultivates it. If you went, Michael, the plan would never work."
"It won’t work either way," Michael declared. "He has no conscience to tap into! Don't you understand? We’ve sent men down there for ages to convince him to stop this utter nonsense, and he never listens! So I’m going instead, to spare her the pointless journey."
"It’s not your job."
"Not my job?" Anger stirred Michael’s voice. "When the final battle comes, it is
my
duty to face him—mine and mine alone."
"Yes, I'm aware, but it's not time for that yet."
"You may oversee the other angels, but you don’t order me around, Dominion. You don't dictate what I do. You don't tell me what it's time for."
"While true,
Prince
," the Dominion sneered, the first bit of emotion Serah had ever heard from one of them, "it’s not
our
order."
Michael hesitated before muttering, "
it's His."
"Yes, and I’d hardly refer to God’s will as pointless. He has reasons even if no reason can be found." The Dominion turned his attention back to Serah. "It’s imperative you report to the threshold straightaway. He’ll be anticipating your arrival."
A loud crack ricocheted through the land as the last of the Dominion dispersed. Michael’s hand on Serah’s shoulder grew heavier, weighed down by resignation.
"Come away with me," he
whispered. "We’ll spend the night together."
Serah reluctantly shook her head. Numbness coated her mind, slowing her reactions. She was in shock.
The gates?
She'd never known anyone to have gone, only hearing stories of the horrors that existed there. "You heard him, Michael. I have to report."
"Tomorrow," Michael insisted. "Nothing will change overnight, Serah. In fact, nothing will
ever
change when it comes to him. There's no point rushing just to get nowhere. Besides, you could probably use the extra energy."
It wasn’t difficult to convince her. Serah relaxed against Michael, her golden, shimmering wings folding into her. Her back flush against his chest, she let out a deep, submissive sigh.
The war had been brewing since the beginning of time. One night wouldn’t make a difference, right?
Michael wrapped his sturdy arms around her as he leaned down, nuzzling into her neck. "Where to?"
She gripped his forearms. "You choose."
It's a myth that Heaven is a singular place. There are no pearly gates leading to a fluffy sanctuary, no Saint Peter monitoring names and determining if people are allowed inside. Salvation isn't run by a book. There's no Naughty or Nice list, à la Santa Claus.
No, Heaven’s an
idea
. Heaven’s the space a free soul inhabits once it has been expelled from the body, the energy that once lived inside a person crackling on in its own little corner of the atmosphere. You could call it an illusion, pure imagination, but it's deeper than that. It's a magnificent dream on an everlasting loop. It’s still existing, even though you technically no longer exist.
Heaven’s what you make it, whatever you want it to be. A lifetime of obedience earns you an eternity of freedom.
Michael and Serah materialized in the middle of a wide-open field, the grass nearly as tall as their knees. Brilliant wildflowers blanketed the isolated land—reds, oranges, yellows, purples, and pinks all mixed in with the vibrant green. It’s Heaven to a woman named Margaret Lou Jackson, who spent all 48 years of her professional life crammed in a small office cubicle. She’d always wanted to travel and see the world, to enjoy nature and experience true peace, but she never got the chance until she passed away.
"It’s so beautiful here," Serah said, taking a few steps through the field, her bare feet sinking into the soft earth.
"Not as beautiful as you." Michael plucked a pink flower from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. "This is the shade I imagine your flesh would be if you could blush."
He approached, sweeping her long, brown hair over her shoulder before tucking the flower behind her ear, the pale pink brightened by her colorless skin. His large hand cupped her cheek. "You're frowning. What troubles you?"
"I just can't believe it," she whispered. "Samuel's everything. He's a great warrior."
"He was," Michael agreed, sweeping his thumb gently across her bottom lip. "You mustn't dwell on that."
"How can I not?" she asked. "I don't understand."
"You're not meant to," Michael said.
"But. . ."
He pulled her closer, disrupting her train of thought as he tried to ease her burden with his embrace. Serah reached up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their lips met, his tongue exploring hers as they kissed softly, sweetly, in no rush. His strong arms wrapped around her, comforting her, as his massive wings slowly started to fold away. Michael was vulnerable when he took his human form, no more powerful than the rest of them. Serah was one of the rare few who had ever seen him so exposed, stripped down to the core, his guard completely crumbled.
Even like this, his wings hidden, his true nature concealed, Michael remained inhumanly beautiful.
Still kissing her, he removed his pristine white suit, leaving him stark naked when he finally pulled from her lips. She studied him, taking in his immaculate body—his perfectly formed muscles and engorged manhood—as she dropped her dress to the ground, joining him.
They made love in the middle of the field, rolling around in the grass, the two angels merging as one. It was sensual, a tingling ball of never-ending energy and light. Here, tucked in the middle of someone’s obscure serenity, the two could borrow a moment alone in a cluttered universe.
He kissed her neck, his tongue lapping her skin as he hovered over her writhing body, slowly pushing deep inside of her. They worked in perfect harmony, her shifting her hips as he drove inside, filling her completely.
This was their Heaven, touching upon the raw nerves buried deeply inside of them. Very few of them found it, very few knew it was even there, but they’d been the lucky ones to stumble upon it together. What they had was pure, untainted, which was why they were allowed to have it.
It went on and on, neither needing to rest, only ending when their time together ran short. Hours had passed, one day trickling into the next in the blink of an eye. Michael stopped his movements, still on top of her, still inside of her, as he stared into her deep, brown eyes. "I love you, Serah."
She ran her hand through his tousled, dirty blond hair and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "I love you, too, Michael."
"Be careful down there," he said. "He can be tricky."
"I know he can. And don’t worry—I’ll be fine."
"You will," he agreed, pulling away from her to stand up. He snapped his fingers, his clothes back in place and wings expanding in a sudden whoosh, from vulnerable man to infallible Archangel in a split second. He gazed down at her still lying on the ground and smiled. "After all, you
still have God on
your
side."
Unlike Heaven, Hell is concrete. It thrives nearly 1800 miles beneath your feet, veiled between the hard mantle and the scorching core of Earth. The fiery pit is literal, although it, too, is much more than that. It's made up of every nightmare ever conceived, torturing its inhabitants day after day.
Hell's reserved for only the truly nonredeemable, those who are so evil nothing can be done except lock them away. It's a maximum-security prison for the deranged. Their souls, their energy, are too dangerous to be allowed to mix with the rest, so they've been cast down to the lake of fire, away from innocents.
Unleashing what dwells down there would be catastrophic, which is why it’s guarded and sealed. Still, it happens. They find ways to slip through the cracks, reappearing on Earth and wreaking havoc until they’re sent back. For every one caught, though, another two seem to make it through. It’s an endless bloody cycle of chase that results in casualties every day.
There's only one way to get to Hell. Deep in the Pennsylvania woods in Hellum Township, not far from the small town of Chorizon, is a series of seven gateways that must be passed through. Many have tried to walk down the path, hearing the legends, thinking it’s a joke, but no mortals have ever made it past the fifth gate. The feelings of despair and death, the menacing sensat
ion of evil, is so overwhelming no man dares go on.