Dark Surrender

Lucifer wanted the three rings that held the power to open the Gates of Hell and free him from his eternal prison. The angels had made it their task to keep him right where he was, and with all three Magi dead, someone else would have to be charged with the mission of guarding the rings.

“Are you certain Melchior is dead?” Kyriel wondered if he’d missed something.

“Without a doubt,” Gabriel replied, his hand toying with the hilt of the golden sword strapped to his waist. The mighty weapon looked oddly out of place with the shorter length Egyptian garments they’d picked up after their earlier arrival in Thebes. “The priests are already preparing him to enter the afterlife.”

“And the rings?” Kyriel asked, shifting in his chair.

“The rings are gone.” Gabriel sat down on the wooden bench along the wall and leaned his head back, releasing a frustrated sigh. “The priests said Melchior didn’t have them when he arrived in Alexandria. He knew Lucifer was coming after him so he entrusted the three rings to an excommunicated priest living somewhere in Palestine, who in turn assigned each ring to a Keeper, and then scattered them to different locations. None of the Keepers are aware of the others, and only this priest knows who they are and where they can be found. We’ve got quite a search on our hands.”

Kyriel didn’t mind a challenge. He was good at sniffing out treasures. Perhaps Gabriel had picked him for the right reason.

“If I can find this priest, I’ll find the rings.”

“No,” Gabriel said with a firm shake of his head. “We’ve decided to leave it in the hands of the humans for now.”

“Is that wise?”

“The angels haven’t exactly proven themselves trustworthy,” Gabriel reminded in a chastising tone. “Lucifer has demonstrated that he can seduce them as easily as the humans. The rings are safer if no one knows where they are.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

Kyriel could return to his home, where his servants would prepare him a feast fit for a king, fill his cup with an endless amount of wine, and then he could take a few beautiful women to his bed and make love to them all night. He had given up everything to have such an indulgent life, and now he lusted for the familiar comforts of his old world. He envied the angels their wings.

How long was God going to punish him by keeping him on Earth?

Kyriel studied the maps before him, his gaze roving over the different lands and imaginary boundaries. Lands and boundaries that had changed over time, and would continue to change as time moved on. He would be here to watch it all happen. It was miraculous and tedious at the same time. What would he do to fill up the lonely centuries?

Gabriel rose from the bench and stretched his arms over his head. “I need you to stay on Earth. I want you to watch.”

“Watch what?”

“Any time there is a planetary alignment, just like on the night the Christos was born, Lucifer will try to draw the rings together to complete a full alignment of all the planets, and he’ll be able to use that power to help break open the Gates of Hell. We all know what would happen if he ever got out.”

Total destruction of everything Kyriel had come to love about Earth and the humans.

“So I watch?” Kyriel gave a derisive snort. “That’s perfect.”

“It’s a very important task,” Gabriel insisted, that clever twinkle in his eye.

The one that told a person he was already two moves ahead in the game.

“It sounds very important,” Kyriel said, not impressed.

He thought he’d be getting a task more suited for the type of angel he’d once been.

A Warrior.

Gabriel sidled over to the table and inspected the different maps he had spread over the surface. “What do you want with these old maps of Mesopotamia? The place is practically wiped out. Soon the humans will start calling it something different.”

“Which is precisely why I want these maps.” Kyriel rolled up the ancient parchments and placed them back in the leather cylinder case. “They’ll be extremely valuable one day.”

And Kyriel would take great pride in having them hanging on his wall. Another of the many mementos he’d collected to help mark the passage of his time spent on Earth. His banishment from Heaven had already lasted longer than some civilizations.

“I don’t know why you bother collecting so much human stuff,” Gabriel said. “You’re going to need a bigger home to store it all. What’s the point?”

“I enjoy collecting, and a bigger home is no problem.” Kyriel couldn’t explain his passion for wealth and treasure to the Archangel.

Sin was a weakness that belonged solely to the fallen.

He rose from the table and tucked the cylinder case under his arm. “Besides, it sounds like I’ll have a lot of time to waste down here.”

He should have expected the promise of redemption to linger ever out of reach.

“I can assure you, my brother, time won’t be wasted.” Gabriel took a few steps back while he freed his long blonde hair from the tie at his neck. “You’ll need some time to get used to having your powers back.”

Gabriel raised his hand and blasted Kyriel in the chest with a pillar of white light. Kyriel screamed aloud, his arms flung out to the side, and he dropped the case of maps.

Burning pain spread throughout his body, moving down his arms, into his belly, down into his legs. No longer able to stand, he fell to his knees and lowered his head, gritting his teeth against the misery.

When the light faded and the pain finally receded, he looked up.

Gabriel was gone.

Kyriel felt his restored powers surging through him with a comforting warmth he’d long forgotten. With each passing moment, his powers grew stronger and stronger.

He threw his head back and laughed with all the joy of the angels. It might not be the redemption he’d been hoping for, but having his powers back was as close to Heaven as he was going to get.

Chapter 1 (#u1f090327-ebe3-5bd4-aff2-beb1072e2f49)

Rome, Italy

Present Day

A sober, quiet man, Father Antonelli spent his Friday nights with a relaxing bath, a double espresso, and the weekly edition of L'Osservatore Romano. He read the Vatican newspaper more for entertainment than information. It was full of gossip. Though he still lived in his apartment near the Vatican, he had stopped believing in the politics and practices of the Catholic Church long ago.

Man had great evils to fear in this world, and the very Church that should be protecting and preparing its followers preferred to keep the truth from them. There were many secrets hidden in the Vatican.

By rights he should have left the Holy City, but Father Antonelli was a man of habit and after spending more than fifty years living in these apartments he would not be comfortable away from the Church that was so familiar, yet so foreign to him.

There was great power surrounding the Vatican. Something even more powerful than the stench of corruption. It came from the prayers of the faithful, the vows of the devoted, those who came to pray with only love in their hearts. The Holy Spirit brought him comfort in difficult times, and it just so happened that now was one of those difficult times.

At seventy-six years of age, he never expected to find himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Cold, black, metal. As cold as the dark eyes of the man standing over him, wearing black gloves and holding the gun. He had Father Antonelli tied to his desk chair, his arms secured behind his back.

The clock on his desk chimed, announcing the midnight hour.

“I want the names,” the man said.

His voice held no emotion. No humanity whatsoever.