Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I

Notice

The Lightbringer is still in recovery after the unfortunate incident which befell them. Well-wishers are welcome to leave notes at the front desk. However, the Lightbringer’s recovery will be best served with rest and private care.

Signed,

The Archangel Raphael

(Notice recovered from the outdoor bulletin of the Library, before the notice of condemnation hours later. Archived therein)

-O-

Dufaii willed his feet to move, finally screaming as he forced himself to move again and dive off the mountain. Orange light began to glow from the dark clouds above. Sleet pelted his face–slung fiercely by the howling wind. Dufaii stayed close to the rock as he flew, angling his wings to direct himself instead of to slow his descent. He found himself losing speed only when he began to weave between trees and boulders. Then he felt the air currents turn against him. Dufaii was only halfway down the mountain. Fortunately, he was at the edge of a cliff, with no more trees or boulders in his way. Dufaii tucked his wings to protect his body and dove toward a dirt hill on the ground. However, it wasn’t enough.

An upward draft caught Dufaii’s wings unexpectedly and dragged him up into the roiling sky. He struggled to regain control, but the winds shifted with such savage chaos that he could not catch himself. He was being pulled into the open sky!

Suddenly, Dufaii felt a vice-like grip tighten around his wrist. He looked down.

The Lightbringer had caught him. They then thrashed against the wind. Their muscles tensed, and their wings tore savagely at the sky. Their features slightly glowed when the first orange flicker appeared, casting light across Heaven.

Dufaii felt every hair and feather on his body curl with terror–as if the electricity were already spreading through.

The Lightbringer’s mouth opened, though no sound could be heard from it. But with their eyes, they spoke one last time. “You always have a choice!” They let out a roar that was inaudible over the wind and threw Dufaii toward the ground with all their might

Dufaii span and fell helplessly towards the ground while the sky grew bright orange above him. He saw a burning flash and heard only the roar of thunder. As he plummeted, he twisted his body until he was falling back-first. So he saw when the orange storm spread and rapidly descended in a shower of electric arcs.

The electric bolts were catching up to him! Fear overcame him, and he could only watch helplessly as they caught up with his freefalling form. But, just as quickly as the lightning began its chase, it suddenly stopped and retracted into the sky. Dufaii watched the retreat of the lightning in bewilderment, as the lightning rushed back up toward a central point.

That central point was the Lightbringer, with their shepherd’s crook raised against the heavens. Against all odds, they were flying upward, in the center of the swirling dark clouds. The lightning was faster–quickly casting him in an orange glow so that he looked like a black shadow swinging at the storm with just a staff. All those arcs of the Creator’s wrath–shaped like electric bolts–formed into one unit that connected with the weapon. It split the end of the crook before traveling into the Lightbringer themself.

Dufaii’s horror at the sight brought to an immediate end as he felt the briefest impact. An instant of pain through his entire body, followed by instant blackness to all his senses.

He was no longer falling. No, he had landed on the ground. His skull had been cracked and his brain seemed to go on and off with impaired function.

Only the force of his terror allowed Dufaii to eventually force his eyes open. The world around him was a blur. He thought he saw several angels standing around him.

Time passed as his brain turned on and off. The light and colors around him changed, so he realized he had to have been moved at some point. Were days passing? Weeks? No, it could have only been minutes. He … couldn’t be certain.

All Dufaii knew was that eventually he was able to see and think again. He was able to feel the piercing pain that shot from the back of his skull, throughout his body, and down to his heels. He was able to turn his head to see the Lightbringer laying on a cot beside him.

Despite the horrendous disfigurement, the bones sticking out and contorted in various directions, the charreds flesh, the featherless wings, staring at the Lightbringer was the only thing that brought him any sense of safety.

So Dufaii did not look away … until something changed.

At some point, the Lightbringer finally moved–jerking violently as their body seized. The bodily shaking quickly escalated to violent convulsions. Their skin and form began to change, turning red and bulbous. Bony protrusions grew from their skull and swiftly began to curve at a rate of physical change that Dufaii had never seen an angel manage.

Eventually the bony protrusions looked like ram’s horns that rose from their skull. That form did not last for long before the Lightbringer’s body began to deflate and their bones began to pop into other malformations. They looked like some sickly and skeletal primate …. before more popping and crunching made them into something a hairless dog … and then a pulpy mess of organs. The changing did not stop for a great many minutes until the Lightbringer stopped moving altogether. Their final form was a mutilated mix of all the appearances they had taken.

Dufaii could not look away, despite the icy running from his spine to each of his extremities. Only once the changes had been finished for a few minutes did he manage to squeeze his eyes shut. He found himself hoping that the Lightbringer had been given the mercy of death.

But then he heard the mutilated creature take a ragged breath.

-O-

Dufaii waited on a padded stool in some nondescript white hallway within the Holy of Holies. It had been several days since the Second Storm … all of which he had spent resting. With the help of physicians, the natural healing of being a semi-corporeal being, and the naturally healing properties of Heaven, he was already able to walk again with the help of a cane–which rested at his side. One of his arms and both of his wings were in slings–which spared them from the pain of being limp or bumping against objects when he moved.

In preparation for his visit to the Holy of Holies, Dufaii had caught his reflection in the mirror for the first time in a while. While before, he would have characterized himself as being in the upper years of his adolescence, the past few years had unmistakably aged his soul. He was now in the early years of his adulthood. While still lithe in his build, his musculature had filled out noticeably. The humble but surprisingly full beginnings of a beard lined his face neatly.

After preparing himself, Dufaii had given his testimony of the events that transpired to the Archangels, and was running through it yet again in his head while he waited for any news or decisions from them as a result. Of course, Dufaii had left out the bits on his conversation before the storm.

Not that Raphael didn’t ask. Of all of them, she had seemed most dubious of his story. And she’d been most keen on wanting to know what was said between himself and the Lightbringer. Dufaii had replied that he’d only been flying overhead, but Raphael had asked more than once if they had been discussing the events that transpired on Earth or anything else that might upset the Creator.

It had finally been Michael who had come to Dufaii’s defense by pointing out that the Creator’s first Storm had certainly not been instigated by anyone. Then he had spoken to the honest character of Dufaii … which did fill the younger angel’s heart with some unavoidable shame.

Gabriel was the most … quiet of the lot. He had said very little, and asked no questions of his own. His eyes had been watery, and all he had given were his sincere-seeming condolences.

Now, Dufaii asked himself why it was that he hadn’t been truthful in his account to the Archangels. Automatically, he told himself, that there was no way that he could betray the Lightbringer’s secret. Saving all of them from the Second Storm aside, the Lightbringer had only asked him to see Heaven for what it had become and act accordingly. Betraying him meant betraying the spark of … well … Dufaii wasn’t sure exactly. But it was the only hope his kind had left if it was to survive.

Of course self-doubt and self-blame had fallen upon Dufaii immediately. There was a voice in his mind now–one that had only taken residence since the First Storm. While then, it had just been general feelings–a sour feeling of guilt always in his stomach and a tense despair in his back–it had morphed.

In the pain of Dufaii’s recovery, the condemning voice in his mind had gained the ability make words and sentences. They had whispered to him as he waited … replaying the conversation he’d had with the Lightbringer. Adding tone and inflections that had never been, sometimes even words Dufaii would have never uttered aloud. The voices called him a betrayer. They told him that it had been his words with the Lightbringer which the Creator had heard and rightly become enraged by. They told him that Raphael was right to distrust his account … and that Michael was a fool for thinking anything good about someone like him. Worst of all, the words … they sounded like her … Mother … the Creator he had met before they had gone to sleep.

“You … I know you,” said a familiar voice, jostling Dufaii from his tormented thoughts. He looked to his right and saw Hades–the angel who tended the Creator. She had seen the soul of that murdered god appear in Heaven and join with the Creator. The angel looked tired, her straight black hair in at least a couple tangles. There were bags under her golden eyes–completely opposed to her otherwise sharp and rigid face. Still, she carried her much taller form straight and composed. Like himself, Hades also seemed to be in the early years of her own adulthood.

Despite himself, Dufaii looked around just to be sure that she wasn’t talking to someone else. Then he replied, “Dufaii … we had a meeting with the Archangels together.”

“Right,” Hades said. “You saved the Archangel Michael.”

“I … we both contributed,” Dufaii said, not at all comfortable with taking that much credit.

“Well what brings you back to the Holy of Holies, Mr. Contributor?” Hades asked with a playful smile in one corner of her mouth.

Dufaii cleared his throat, not quite sure knowing why he did. “I … was asked to provide testimony … about what happened to the Lightbringer.”

Hades narrowed her eyes, suddenly seeming a lot more interested. “Right in the middle of things again, it seems. And why were you around when the Lightbringer was hit by the Second Storm?”

“They actually summoned-” Dufaii began to say–instinctively defending the Lightbringer from any possible accusation. But then he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to speak to anyone else. He froze, unable to speak again until he managed a pitiful, “I mean, that’s what … I heard.”

“Because the Archangels would summon you for a rumor you heard,” Hades said, almost like she was talking to herself more than to him. She then ran a finger along the sling that went from around Dufaii’s neck to his arm. “More secrets. You know what they are telling the other angels, don’t you?”

Dufaii shook his head, his face going flushed. Somehow, he had never assumed that they would tell the angels anything except what had actually happened.

“That the Creator had targeted the Lightbringer … that they are investigating what the Lightbringer did to invoke the Creator’s wrath,” Hades replied, her tone droll.

“That isn’t what happened!” Dufaii said. He didn’t realized that he had raised his voice … or even that he had slammed his good arm backwards into the wall. Not until he saw Hades’ wide-eyed reaction and saw the blood-splattered imprint in the wall behind him. Heat rose to his face and he shook his head repeatedly. “I’m … I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

However, Hades’ eyes had widened as well. She did not seem scared by his outburst at all. If anything, she seemed … fueled by it. She replied, “And the Creator … they are parroting that same narrative as if it were true. We should talk more … but not here. Until then, keep all that under wraps. Don’t let the Archangels think for a second that you’re thinking of telling anyone. They have the Lightbringer under lock and key. And I doubt they’ll spare anyone who threatens their coverup.”

Dufaii opened his mouth to reply, but the other angel was already walking away. He stood there for a few minutes, wondering what had just happened. Were the Archangels and Creator really telling the angels that the attack had been on the Lightbringer specifically? What could they possibly hope to gain from that? And what … what had happened to Dufaii in that moment when he’d found out? He let out a groan and put his bleeding hand over his face. It felt like his mind was coming unraveled.

A few minutes later, it was the Archangel Michael walking down the hall. He paused when he reached Dufaii, making no secret at looking at the bloody imprint of a fist on the wall.

“I’m … sorry,” Dufaii said, shaking his head. “I really don’t know what happened.”

Michael waved it away and shook his head. “Your brain was severely injured from your fall. Stresses have been high. I’m … also sorry that Raphael’s questioning was as harsh as it was.”

Dufaii nodded, unsure how else to respond. His previous guilt was still there, but doubt as to any of the Archangels’ motives now clouded his feelings even further.

Michael gave a heavy sigh. This was unusual; the Archangel was far less prone to mortal habits. He then said, “In the coming days, you will perhaps hear stories that contradict the one you told the Archangels today. I don’t … particularly like all this secrecy and playing with truth. Maybe I should have voted with the Lightbringer to tell everything to our kin the first place. I just never imagined that things would come to this.”

Dufaii looked up at the Archangel, remembering what Hades had said and unable to believe that he was genuinely trying to hide his reactions. It felt like he was living in a nightmare.

“Anyways,” Michael said without any of his normal conviction. “It’s important to the Archangels and to all our kind that you keep what happened secret. There are … so many layers to this. But what matters is that we need to trust the Creator now more than ever. I know it’s difficult in light of all this. However, our faith now may be what saves them from all the pain they went through. And maybe what saves all of us.”

Inwardly, Dufaii could hear a tiny and even younger version of himself screaming as loudly as they could at the all-consuming void of fear and isolation closing in around him. His worst nightmares were coming true. Outwardly, however, all Dufaii could do was to nod.

-O-

It was several months after Dufaii had gone to see the Archangels. It was now common belief that the Lightbringer had been struck down for acts of rebellion against the Creator. As both the Archangel Michael and Hades had advised, he had not told anyone otherwise. This was made a simple feat for the fact that he had nobody to tell … and that his presence had been kept a secret. He had arrived at the barracks minutes before, and was now stretching his triceps by folding one arm behind his head until he felt a burn.

Dufaii looked around the training room. The whole building was nothing more than a single room that about a hundred angels could fit in if lined up in rows. It was about as Spartan a building inside as the square outside. The walls were made of gray stone slabs and the floor of polished wood. In the corners of the room, there were barrels filled with staffs and wooden swords. A single square hole in the ceiling let in the noon light through glass. He had spent nearly every day here, in intense training.

The Archangel Michael, his instructor, stood in the corner of the room, near one of the barrels. With a metal training sword that seemed small in such a large angel’s grasp, he executed a standard flurry of attacks that he always warmed up with. He wore steel plate armor, which made his already intimidating stature even more so. Upon finishing his repertoire of basic strikes, Michael lowered his sword to his side and approached Dufaii. The Archangel said, “You’ve seemed different as of late. It’s a welcome change.”

Dufaii nodded with his best attempt at resoluteness and replied, “I’ve committed myself to forward action, to control that which I am able instead of the decisions of others.” It was a rehearsed reply. Though it felt a little shaky, a part of him thought that this was probably for the best.

“I commend you,” Michael said, seeming almost hesitant to ask more. “You would do well as part of my guard.”

“You … know how I feel about the guard,” Dufaii said and felt the muscles in his neck tighten a bit. He shook his head to keep his anger at bay and approached the barrel of weapons near Michael. He chose another metal training sword and pointed the blade up from his hip in the combat stance the Archangel had taught him.

Michael began to circle but he held his blade casually by his side. It put him at a slight disadvantage, but the Archangel often put himself at a disadvantage. In the months since really throwing himself into his training with the Archangel, Dufaii had realized that this seemingly arrogant posture was more likely an attempt to make his own challenge greater. Perhaps this was the only way he knew to increase his own skills while also improving those of his students. As he circled calmly, he said, “They are immature, trying to prove themselves. That’s why I need soldiers like you. I can’t constantly watch them to instill discipline as they work out how not to abuse their power. But with enough commanding officers, we could do a lot more to curb their lack of discipline and make them into servants of their people and the Creator.”

This assessment of the guard was accurate … and yet a gross understatement. They had only been formed in the last year, and they were already flaunting their authority over other angels. It made sense, the position beckoned those with a desire for authority. Yet these angels were little more than adolescents, teenagers suddenly given tremendous amounts of power over their peers. They had detained angels for flying too close to the Wall, and even taken the initiative to direct angels working on construction. Physical reprimands were not a rarity.

A part of Dufaii told him that perhaps this façade of strength was how the guard guard responded to their own terror after the storms. They refused to ever feel weak and under another person’s power again. But his anger and resentment towards them outweighed what empathy he perhaps could have mustered if he had really tried. Besides, of all the angels who needed his empathy, to spend any on the guard felt like a waste.

“That would take years and we have other problems,” Dufaii said and struck with a light attack, his anger driving him to attack with a little more force than what he’d meant.

Michael hopped backward and evaded the strike. Then, he said, “If you don’t plan to join the guard … then you have another reason to have thrown yourself into your studies like you have?”

Dufaii stopped, took a breath, and re-positioned himself. “If the gods really plan to attack, we need scouts to patrol the physical realm, study them, and signal an alert in the case of an attack. I feel like such posts would be better suited to me.”

What Dufaii did not reveal was the true reason for wanting Michael to create such a position. There had to be a few angels who wanted to leave. The Lightbringer had known some … including their messenger named Kueng … and Hades. If they had an opportunity to become scouts, they could all leave together. Not as enemies of the Creator or even as escapees, but as allies to the angels who could finally be safe.

That was Dufaii’s true plan. It would just be a matter of creating the position, convincing those angels to apply, and then persuading Michael to choose them rather than members of his guard. But none of that would work if Dufaii submitted himself to the established hierarchy of the ranks. He knew that his best bet was to keep his bargaining power by staying apart.

Michael struck horizontally at shoulder level, forcing Dufaii to block. The Archangel used the momentum created by the block to spin and swing from the opposite direction. The strategy was direct … simple, and standard in his repertoire of attacks. His fighting style was not cerebral or tricky in any way; it was straightforward and predictable. What made it work was that he practiced his form with such zealous dedication that he could instinctively respond to any situation with overwhelming force and speed.

It was enough that Dufaii had to give his all just to keep up and avoid being hit. He knew he was falling behind–that if he did not reset their current engagement, Michael would gain the upper hand. So, Dufaii ducked under another attack and slashed at the Archangel’s shins. Michael sidestepped the slash and then kicked Dufaii’s legs out from under him.

The sparing match was over. Michael offered a hand and helped Dufaii back to his feet. Then he said, “You’re right; a time for more advanced military branches has come. But I … fear the reason you don’t take a post in the guard is that you fear connection to others.”

Dufaii cringed as he tried to put his training sword back into the weapon barrel, taking too long to do so. He found could keep his thoughts hidden to a degree by masking everything through the general anger toward the Creator that he always felt. But this unexpected cut sliced too deeply for Dufaii to feel like he could hide it well for several seconds.

“There’s no shame in what you’re going through … even the anger,” Michael said and put an arm on his shoulder. “We all dealt with the Storm in our own ways. And after what you went through with the Second storm … I can see why it’s hard for you to reconnect to anyone. Why you might think that you can’t anymore. But letting people in, even if it’s just one person, you need that. I’m not trying to reprimand you. I just … worry … for you.”

Dufaii shook his head, still facing away. He wasn’t exactly sure what was happening here, and that concerned him. The Archangel’s touch and the softly spoken words saved only for him … was it possible that Michael felt something more than a fraternal bond from all their time together. It … didn’t matter. Not Dufaii’s feelings, not the potential for something between them, none of it. He had a mission, and Michael had made his refusal to see the truth all too evident.

Dufaii shook his head and took a step back when he turned to face the Archangel. “The guard only respects their own, and those who wield power with most brutality. I won’t do that. I won’t lend credence to their abuses with my presence, not even to try to fix them.”

“I …” Michael said, his voice trailing. Then, his voice became a little more official. “Then, as Warrior Archangel, I hereby appoint you as the first in your own division of military and espionage against the gods. My requirements are that you handpick a squad of your own. Leadership over a group will teach you the skills of connection that … I hope will help in what you are going through. And better prepare you to become my second-in-command.”

“You-” Dufaii began to say, stunned by the Archangel’s words..

Michael lifted his hand to stop him and shook his head. “I … just want to make it clear that I hear you. Your thoughts and opinions, they mean more to me than anyone. The Archangels don’t … think much of me. And the guard fears my position, as you say. But you see me and … I think Heaven would be genuinely remiss not to have your input validated to the highest recognition I can give it.”

“I … yes,” Dufaii replied and swallowed. “Thank you, Archangel.”

Michael smiled. “There are other angels like you, those who would like to help but for whom the guard has created a negative impression as well. The creation of a militaristic alternative may be just what we need to secure their faith and loyalty. In the meantime, you have made it clear to me that the time to make amends and changes is now.”

Dufaii felt a little taken aback. Whatever confusion he felt with his feelings toward the Archangel was redoubled.

Michael walked to a locked barrel in the corner of the room and produced a key from the leather cord around his neck. He entered and then returned with a double-edged longsword in a leather sheath and belt. He stepped close and handed the weapon to Dufaii. “Your preferred weapon. Am I correct, Scout Commander?”

Dufaii held out his hands, palms up, and accepted the sword. He wrapped the belt around his waist and let the weapon fall to his side. It felt oddly right to him.

“I’m glad you’ve thrown yourself into this new attitude of purpose,” Michael said. “I struggled to know how to say something after your hearing with the other Archangels, given the emotional and political turmoil of the situation. But you were justified in your fear and doubt. It’s difficult to accept that our fate is tied so completely to that of our maker. But our job is to hope for the best and to be productive with the time we have … something I think you now understand.”

This struck a chord in Dufaii; he remembered the day of the Second Storm. What Michael was telling him was directly opposite of what the Lightbringer had said. It didn’t sit easy with Dufaii. He took a moment to breathe and looked down at the sword, the symbol of faith which he’d been entrusted with.

Dufaii said, “Thank you, Archangel. I will do my best to honor the trust you’ve placed in me.”

Michael nodded and then, with a sort of awkward suddenness leaned in and touched his lips to Dufaii’s.

Dufaii did not move at first. He was just … overwhelmed … until he finally closed his eyes and let himself taste Michael’s lower lip between his own. Maybe … maybe his plan … and this … maybe it would all work.

-O-

“Why did the Creator stop at their second attack on angelkind? Raphael has stated her opinion that the Creator saw the mistake in their actions when they essentially destroyed the Lightbringer. For an angel of science, however, this strikes me as a position of overwhelming faith. Surprisingly, it is Michael’s view that holds more weight. He maintains that the Creator was ill … and that it took them that long to regain their senses after the horrors of their spiritual sleep. We know for a fact that the Creator regained their senses as the souls of gods and mortals returned to them–making them whole. And I do believe that the Creator who once was would have been the singular being to have fought the hardest not to become the monster they became.

Were my motivations to assuage my own guilt, I would accept the opinions of my siblings. However, I had pieced out the truth not long after the second Storm of Wrath came. The reason that there was no third Storm was a direct result of the rebellion.

The paranoia that the Creator woke up with was not a mere delusion. It was a projection of their own evil and wrathful desires for control onto their children. There never was an enemy except for the ones the Creator forced into that role by their own abusive, self-fulfilling prophecy.

Our brethren, those so demonized as to take up that name for themselves, saved all angels from the Creator’s wrath in the same way that the Lightbringer saved us from the second storm. And if I could disregard this whole charade of Heaven and Hell and thank each of them–throwing myself at their mercy–I would.

Alas, the threat is not gone and the story is not yet finished. And I still have my own demonic role to play.”

-“Unredacted Private Journal 52” pg. 27, by the Archangel Gabriel