CHAPTER 34: HELEL’S DESCENT
Helel dived.
The world tipped, folded inward, and then there was nothing beneath him.
He sank on his back into the darkness.
The miasma swallowed him whole, thick and viscous, clinging to his armor like oil. Light fractured above him, splintering into distant shards that drifted farther and farther away the deeper he fell.
The glow thinned, dimmed, then blurred into nothing more than memory. His ears rang as though submerged, the pressure wrapping around his skull until thought itself felt muffled.
Cold closed around him.
Not the clean cold of high air or open void. This was wet, suffocating, ancient. It pressed into the seams of his armor, into his lungs, into the spaces between his thoughts.
His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if the darkness itself had hands.
Then, slowly, unwillingly— Memory returned.
Helel opened his eyes.
He stood upright, fully armed, battle gear settled comfortably against his body like a second skin. The weight of his blade at his side was familiar, reassuring.
Wind tugged at the edges of his cloak, carrying the scent of iron and distant smoke.
He was not alone.
A vast chamber stretched before him, filled with Watchers and Sentinels standing in disciplined rows. Their wings rustled softly, feathers catching the light that poured down from the unseen heights above.
The air vibrated with restrained power and anticipation.
At the center stood the Throne: Ophiel, Authority and Metatron.
Samael’s presence cut through the chamber like a drawn blade.
He did not shout.
He did not need to.
His voice carried the sharp, unquestionable authority of command as he spoke, eyes fixed on Helel with an intensity and concealed smile that dared defiance.
“Spare no one. That is your mission.”
The words echoed, final and absolute.
Helel inclined his head once before he left.
No hesitation. No outward protest.
The briefing dissolved into motion.
He had prepared for worse.
The fortress loomed ahead of him, forgotten by time and battered by wind. Its walls were cracked, jagged, wrapped in creeping shadow. Torn banners snapped violently in the gale, their sigils, the houses they fought for long eroded.
Helel scaled the outer wall with practiced ease, fingers finding purchase in stone worn smooth by centuries of neglect with daggers.
He slipped over the edge and dropped silently into the interior.
The supposed camp was… Wrong.
Too quiet.
Tents sagged half-collapsed. Fire pits lay cold, ash undisturbed. Weapons rested where they had been discarded, not arranged, not stored. No guards. No voices. No heartbeat of rebellion.
His hand tightened instinctively on his blade. He moved deeper, step by careful step, senses stretched taut.
That was when he heard it.
A sound so small he doubted it exist— A hiccupped sob.
He followed it into a narrow chamber wrapped in shadow. The air inside was still, heavy with dust and old stone. A single lantern flickered weakly in the corner, barely holding back the dark, casting cob-webs into streaking shadows.
In the center sat a crib.
Inside it lay a child.
Her face was red and blotchy from crying, lashes clumped together with tears. Dust smudged her cheek where she had rubbed her face against her sleeve.
The shadows pooled around her like a living thing, thick and suffocating, yet she remained untouched by them.
Helel stopped cold.
“There’s…” His voice came out rougher than expected, echoing softly in the small space. “There’s a baby.”
He cleared his throat, his head tilting as if trying to get a clearer look that would lead to better understanding or clear puzzlement and confusion. “Is the report… Incorrect?”
The child’s cries faltered.
She turned her head toward him, wide eyes locking onto his face. Her breath hitched once, twice— And then she cooed, curiosity overtaking fear. A tiny dimple appeared in her cheek as her lips curled into an uncertain smile.
Helel froze.
This was not in the briefing.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his blade then sent it back into its pocket dimension. The air hummed briefly as the weapon vanished.
He crouched beside the crib instead, armor creaking softly with the movement.
He extended a finger, smiling, prodding her cheek.
“Hello, little cutie…” He murmured, voice dropping instinctively. “Now who would leave you here? It’s so dark and cold…”
Her fingers wrapped around his immediately, impossibly strong for something so small. She babbled, nonsense syllables tumbling out between soft laughs.
Something in his chest shifted and he breathed out a deep laugh.
He lifted her carefully, cradling her against him.
She fit there as if she had always belonged.
The Throne loomed before him: Ophiel, Authority and Metatron.
The chamber felt heavier than it ever had, air pressing down on his shoulders, on his spine. He could feel every gaze turned toward him, every whisper suspended on the brink of sound.
The child squirmed lightly in his arms, fussing at the unfamiliar weight of the space. He adjusted his hold without thinking, shielding her instinctively.
Samael stepped forward.
He lifted his right hand, pointing directly at the child. “You have defied your order.”
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A ripple moved through the congregation. Then a hush.
“We can still correct this.” Samael continued smoothly, without a smile. “You must destroy the child. Here. Now.”
Silence detonated.
Helel did not look away.
Despite his abated breath.
She stirred in his arm, babbled, she was warm and heavy.
He took a shaking breath, then steeled his resolve on that. “No. I am intent to keep her.”
“I will raise her like my own if I have to.” He said flatly.
A collective intake of breath swept the chamber, it did not stop.
Helel’s glare cut across the space, daring anyone to challenge him.
His stance widened subtly, possessive, immovable, barely a warning.
Another Watcher spoke, voice sharp with disapproval, invoking Samael’s seniority. The murmurs grew louder, tension crackling through the room like static before a storm.
Michael moved first, stepping forward with his shield half-raised, authority and understanding radiating from him. Azriel followed, silent but resolute. Gabriel positioned himself at Helel’s other side, jaw set, eyes calculating.
The chamber erupted.
Arguments overlapped. Wings flared. Hands tightened around hilts.
The Throne rose.
The sound was not loud, but it was absolute.
The decision fell like a blade.
Sanctuary was granted, a warning was issued.
Cheers broke out before anyone could stop them.
Helel looked down at the child in his arms. “Did you hear that, little sunbird? You have a home!” She blinked up at him, rocked in his arms, unfazed by the near missed cosmic upheaval, and yawned.
Time blurred.
She grew.
Small fists pounded his knees in protest when he tried to leave. She escaped naps with astonishing creativity and questioned every lesson with stubborn brilliance.
Helel started to laugh more than he ever had before, chaos bending gently around her orbit at every report he received, mostly from Raphael and a younger recon in who mostly baby-sat, Yael.
She grew taller.
Still stubborn.
She would pout dramatically when he announced his departure, turning her back on him with theatrical offense. And every time, he would promise he would be home soon, with well thought off and thoroughly selected gifts for appeasement.
Every time, she believed him.
She always waited.
Helel remembered that day with brutal clarity.
He had bypassed his own abode, excitement buzzing through him.
He wanted to surprise her, he had returned early, mission completed faster than expected. He imagined her face lighting up, he threw a bright blue trinket and caught it as it fell through the air.
He imagined her mock outrage melting into relief.
He walked into her abode with a light knock.
Empty.
He turned back, frown forming.
Searched the neighboring halls.
Called her name once.
Then again.
Louder.
No answer.
His pace quickened.
Questions multiplied.
He asked Sentinels, they shook their heads.
Searched the training grounds. Courtyards. Corridors.
Sent out recon with a mission to find her.
The pit in his chest grew heavier with every unanswered call.
“She’s missing.”
The words hollowed him out.
Six days.
Six nights without sleep.
He sat in her Abode, staring at the walls that still smelled faintly like her.
He tore through abodes, archives, halls, familiar places.
He begged.
He demanded.
He threatened.
Then—
“Suryel was found.”
Hope detonated.
He ran.
Samael pointed down a corridor without expression.
The lapis lazuli floor stretched empty and gleaming— Until Helel saw it.
A yellow flower.
He stopped dead.
He bent slowly, reverently, and picked it up.
The petals were soaked through, blackened red and gold, sticky with blood.
His heart stopped.
“She was… Here.” He breathed. “But now… Where is she?”
The door to her ward slammed shut in his face moments later.
He stormed through it anyway.
The room was empty.
Too clean.
Too hurried.
Raphael stood beside an empty bloodied bed, pale, frozen mid-motion as he stripped the sheets away.
Helel stepped closer, slowly, every movement deliberate, dangerous.
“Who… were you healing here?” He asked quietly even though he knew very well who the Abode belong to. “Where… Is Suryel?”
Raphael’s hands shook.
He grabbed at Helel as he turned.
Helel tore free. “Do not try to touch me!”
Sentinels rushed in, weapons drawn.
Rage bloomed.
Flame tore through the kingdom and split the sky.
Helel sank deeper.
Faster.
A thousand years collapsed into a single, roaring moment.
“Sur… yel.” He whispered, clinging to her name as if it were an anchor.
Then—
Impact.
He slammed into the lapis lazuli floor with a bone-jarring crack, air tearing from his lungs.
He rolled instinctively, armor scraping, then pushed himself up, hands splayed against the cold stone.
“This place is— SURYEL!”
His voice echoed violently down the corridor.
Silence answered.
His heart skipped a beat.
Then—
“Helel?”
The sound of frantic movement.
Hands slapping stone. Uneven breaths. Footsteps scrambling closer, slowing as caution took hold.
He saw her.
Hazel eyes, sharp and wary. Arms raised defensively in the shadows, fists clenched.
“Did you seriously plan to hit me every time we meet?” Helel laughed, breathless, relief breaking through him. His gaze swept her quickly, urgently. “I finally found you.”
“You are… Helel, right?” Suryel whispered.
He closed his eyes. He never knew he missed hearing his name, softly threaded through her voice. He promised not to forget this time, he engraved it to his memory.
“Yes.” He said, voice breaking. “I’m here. I am Helel.”
Suryel sprinted out from the shadows and launched herself on him.
He staggered back, barely catching her as she collided with his chest. His arms locked around her instinctively, holding her as if letting go would shatter reality itself. She’s here. I missed her… Oh how I missed her.
They stood there, breathing each other in.
Suryel pulled back just long enough to wipe at her face angrily, tears spilling anyway. She smacked his arm hard. “You always take forever to find me!”
He winced, then sighed. “I’m sorry,” He said softly. “I deserved that.”
He pulled back, cupping her face, brushing her hair away.
His thumbs wiped at her cheeks, memorizing her.
Then his smile vanished.
His eyes dropped to her hands.
Dried blood.
Gold-tinged.
Aether.
His jaw tightened.
He met her gaze again.
“Who hurt you?”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a promise.
A death sentence waiting for a name.
Author’s Note:
I was listening to Tarby & Aviators - Little Sister [Progressive Rock] while writing this. I recommend you listen to it while reading this chapter. But before or after would work too :D.
Anyway~ Oops. Prison might be safer for Samael at this point. I’m taking bets. If Azriel passed the cube to Helel, Who here bets he will shake that shit like a snow globe? LMAO.
