FAITH AND DAMNATION

  FALL OF THE LIGHTBRINGER

  BOOK TWO

  KATERINA MARTINEZ

  CONTENTS

  Before we proceed

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  We want to thank you

  Also by Katerina Martinez

  Follow Katerina

  BEFORE WE PROCEED

  This book is intended for mature audiences and will contain dark elements, including violence.

  CHAPTER ONE

  SARAKIEL

  Rage could nly get me so far, but my wings were weak. I had been flying for what felt like days, putting as much distance between Meridian and myself as I could. Behind me, where the sky met the water, there were monsters, and Tyrants, and far too much pain for any being to face at once.

  It had broken me. Something inside me had finally snapped, and after the brief moment of euphoria I had experienced upon first breaching the thick, grey mantle of clouds that clung to the Earth… had come the anger, and then, the rage.

  The Archangel Medrion, architect of the pain that wracked me, had escaped my vengeance. I’d had him—for a second, I’d had him—but I’d hesitated. My heart, and what foolish goodness existed inside of me, had stayed my hand, preventing me from delivering the killing blow and soothing the nightmarish memories I carried with me. Memories of the time I spent in his care.

  He was long gone now, and I had no way of tracing him. No way of knowing what rock he had decided to hide under to lick his wounds. What remained of Meridian in the wake of the Wretched’s attack, I didn’t know. All those angels, so many of them now dead, consumed for their Light by creatures who had none of their own but craved it above all else.

  I felt for them.

  Medrion was good at putting on a strong face—the face of a savior. Their only crime was believing he was exactly that, and not knowing the truth of him; not seeing the rot festering just underneath the mask. They had died blind and screaming… that was no way for an angel to go.

  Then there was him.

  The Tyrant.

  Another I had left behind another I would rather forget. When I thought about him—and I tried not to—all I found was confusion, and in that confusion… rage. He had found me, after I had fallen. He scooped me up, pulled me away from the Wretched barreling down on me, and brought me to his Bastion where I would be safe.

  Safe from it, at least.

  The angels under the Tyrant’s command hadn’t seen a woman in so long, they’d thought I was fair game. Some paid a hefty price for trying to take advantage of me—paid in pain. That, I’d thought, had been the Tyrant’s way of marking me. Of making sure everyone around him knew that I was under his protection.

  That I was… his… as much as I could be, anyway.

  I can’t say I hadn’t grown fond of him during our time together. He was cold, and cruel, and possessive. He wore the marks of the sinner—dark horns and bat-like wings—like badges of honor. But underneath all that was an angel, a once radiant being of the purest Light. Falling from Heaven had changed him. This world had changed him. That didn’t mean there wasn’t good left in him.

  I had fallen for it.

  Hook, line, and sinker.

  I had gotten too close to him… almost intimately close. Whenever we were near each other, Lust lurked, invisible, and hungry. For a while, I had wanted to give in, to find out how it felt to give into temptation and lose myself in Lust’s powerful current. Now, I was glad I hadn’t, because when I thought of him, I couldn’t keep myself from seeing her.

  Kalmiya.

  Medrion had captured her during a raid on one of the Tyrant’s convoys. I, more than anyone, knew what that meant, and what Medrion was capable of subjecting her to; especially now that all of God’s angels had Fallen and become partly mortal.

  But when we freed her, and I saw her with the Tyrant… when I saw the way he looked at her, and cared for her, and demanded that I heal her, it had brought up bile. Bile because he hadn’t spared a second to check whether I was okay. Bile because he hadn’t questioned Aithen’s absence; Aithen who had died in such a brutal manner, his skull caved in and crushed under Medrion’s foot. Bile because Medrion had told me Kalmiya and the Tyrant were lovers… and I hadn’t believed his words.

  That was where rage lived.

  There, in the look the Tyrant gave me, the concern for her in his eyes. Had he just used me to get her back? Had he pushed me into Medrion’s jaws as a distraction, for the sole purpose of extracting his lover? What did that make me to him?

  Disposable. Just like Aithen, and just like everyone else.

  There was a reason they called him the Tyrant, a manner in which he had gained his namesake. I was glad I had left him behind; him and all the rest of them. All of them except Aithen. Poor Aithen. He was the only angel who showed me any true compassion, or kindness. He wanted nothing from anyone; he only wanted to make the best of the lot he had been given.

  Though Medrion was gone, I had not given up on vengeance. I would find him, one day, and I would make him pay for what he did to me, what he did to Gadriel, and what he did to Aithen. And as for the Tyrant? He had also made my list.

  I had been soaring over water for some time, ruminating over the events of the past few weeks. I wasn’t sure when exactly I’d left solid ground behind, but I knew I had to keep flying. I had to find Helena, another Bastion of angels, another home for the Fallen. I didn’t know what it looked like, or where exactly it was, I only had a general direction to fly toward.

  But flying was no longer an option; or, at least, it would stop being an option soon. All around me there was only water. Water and clouds, as far as the eye could see. Already I was feeling the effects of dehydration, hunger, and extreme fatigue. I hadn’t slept in days, or eaten, or even had a sip of water despite how much of it there was around me. I knew well enough not to drink salt water though, that it would only make things worse.

  The question I was faced with now was simple; do I keep going, or do I turn around?

  Going back to find sustenance would make finding Helena even harder. I hadn’t steered off course since I got into the air, but I knew if I turned around, I would inevitably get lost. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to push on.

  I forced my wings to beat again, pushing myself higher into the air where the clouds were thinner. I had gotten used to soaring, to gliding. In truth, it felt good to be up here, amongst the clouds. It felt like home somehow, or as close as I could get at least. But I couldn’t keep this up forever. I needed to land, I needed to find shelter, and I needed it fast.

  The wind whooshed past me, a cool breeze caressing my tired face. I shut my eyes and turned my head toward the brush of air, allowing it to refresh me and reinvigorate me as much as it could.

  Then I felt it.

  A pulse at the edge of my senses.

  When I opened my eyes again, I saw it. Light. It was bright enough that I could see it even at this height. A lighthouse? I wasn’t sure. It shone brightly, but it seemed too low against the surface of the water. Wings aching, I knew I would have to dive beneath the clouds to get a better view.

  Instead of controlling my descent, I curled my wings up behind my back and let myself plummet. The rush of wind through my hair and my feathers was heavenly, a reprieve, but as I raced through the air, falling rapidly into the mantle of clouds beneath me, I felt my mind float away from my body. I knew I was falling too fast, but I was too exhausted to do anything about it.

  Something inside of me refused oblivion’s call. I fought off the encroaching darkness, keeping myself awake and conscious. I opened my eyes, unfurled my aching wings, and with a force of will managed to twist myself around in the air as I fell, leveling out and soaring gently above the sparkling water beneath me.

  There was definitely a light down there… bright, shining, and powerful. It wasn’t man-made, either; it was pure, and warm, and welcoming. A beacon amidst the vast nothingness all around it. This beacon sat on an island that was little more than a rock jutting out of the water. It wasn’t until I drew much closer to it that I realized it wasn’t just an island, or a rock, or a light.

  It was a Bastion.

  The light was coming from a tall, white tower set into the side of a long dead volcano. Around the tower were tall, white walls, similar to the ones that surrounded Meridian. This Bastion wasn’t nearly as large, but the tower was twice as tall, and its light shone far across the water. At night, I was sure, this thing could’ve been seen from all the way across the horizon.

  It was Helena. I could feel it. I had found Helena.

  Tears stung my eyes,
and as they formed, the wind rushing past my face picked them up and scooped them into the air. I soared closer, my flight path wobbling as I approached the Bastion. I was weak.

  Thinking I may have found shelter, I may have found aid, the promise of a warm bed, a meal, and all the water I could possibly drink, had suddenly sapped what little energy I had left inside of me.

  As I neared the white tower and its walls, I thought I saw movement on the parapets. People, angels, their wings unfurling. They were drawing weapons—even from up here I could see the glimmer of steel—but

  I could only hope they would ask questions before using those weapons on me, because I was rapidly losing control of my limbs, and my vision was again starting to blur, to darken. I was getting closer, and while I was able to pull up to avoid slamming into the parapets, I wasn’t able to slow myself down.

  I slammed into the ground like a rock, striking it first with my shoulder, then rolling onto my wings, and tumbling over myself like a sock in a drier. The world spun, and spun, and then slid, until eventually I came to a complete stop. I didn’t know what state I was in, or how serious my injuries were as I slowly succumbed to the encroaching darkness. I heard a commotion, but the sounds were distant, and they warbled like I was underwater. Shadows covered me, then I saw the faces of angels, bright, and shining, and as vibrant as the light that had drawn me to them.

  Then I heard a voice I thought I recognized.

  “Get her inside, quick!” they said, “And get a Lightbringer down here right now!”

  “I… am a Lightbringer,” I croaked, the words ripping their way out of my throat.

  “Quiet, Sarakiel—conserve your strength.” Someone tapped me against the forehead. “Sleep.”

  In an instant I greeted unconsciousness like an old friend… and drifted off into the dark.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MEDRION

  “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” I said, gazing at my own navel. “It has been centuries since my last confession.”

  “Centuries?” asked the man across from me. His voice was old and withered. I could not see him for the partition between us, but I could smell the stink of cigarette smoke from his vestments. “Surely that is a figure of speech, my son.”

  “It feels like centuries. Maybe more.”

  “The weight of sin can feel this way. It is a burden we carry.”

  “What do you know of sin?”

  “I… know much about sin. Far too much. I also know I can help you.”

  “Can you?”

  “If not, why would you have come here?”

  I brushed my hand through my hair and took a deep breath in through the nose. “Curiosity,” I said, leaning my head against the hard, wooden wall behind me.

  “Confession. That is why you are here. That is how I can help you.” He paused. “Unburden yourself upon me, and by the grace of God, I will absolve you of your sins.”

  A smirk curled the corner of my mouth. “By the grace of God…” I echoed, pushing the last word out through my teeth. “Where should I begin, father?”

  “At the beginning. I am here to listen.”

  I allowed myself a moment to consider the priest’s words. This was a man who had devoted his entire life in service to God, to my creator. A man who believed he could absolve the sins of another, simply because they asked forgiveness.

  He did not know what I knew.

  He did not know the capricious, vengeful nature of the deity who brought me into Her world. But in truth, I was curious. What if this man did have a connection to God that even I didn’t? What if he could reach Her where I and the rest of my people could not?

  I owed it to myself to explore this option. If he could indeed speak to God, then maybe my problems were solved. If he could not… I would have to look elsewhere for answers to the questions that kept me up at night and plagued my every waking moment.

  “I am impure,” I said, having chosen my words.

  “You have impure thoughts?” ventured the priest.

  “No, father. I am an impure being. Imperfect. Tarnished. I am the son of a self-righteous, vengeful, petty creator who never once cared about the damage She could inflict on the people she claimed to care about.”

  “Often our parents don’t know how to show us the extent of their love. They are only human, after all. Flawed. Imperfect, as you say.”

  I turned my gaze to the side and stared at the man on the other side of the partition. It was difficult to get a clear image of his face, but I didn’t need to see his face to know what he looked like. He was old, his grey hair receding, his skin pulled over his bones like there wasn’t much left of him. He had lived a long, long life mostly spent in service of other people.

  Had it not been his choice to live in such a way, I would not have had any respect for him.

  “I should not be imperfect,” I said. “I should be a being of purest Light, one of the most magnificent creatures in all of creation, but I am here, rolling around in the dirt and the filth like a squealing sow.”

  “Pride is a sin, my son. The Bible teaches as much.”

  “Pride… pride is a tool, father. A means to an end.”

  “What end?”

  “Perfection, of course. The meek cannot walk the path of perfection; this is a privilege only for the prideful, for those who believe they are better. Through that belief, they become better.”

  “Blessed are the meek. Through humility, we can achieve grace.”

  “I yearn for grace, father. I lust for it. I desire it more than anything else.”

  The priest slightly nodded, then closed his eyes. He folded his hands on top of his stomach, then sighed. “It is never too late to walk the path of humbleness. Simply name your sins, ask for forgiveness, and God will grant this to you through me.”

  I tilted my head slightly to the side, regarding the mortal curiously. “Very well,” I said. My jaw clenched. “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. I have lied, I have hurt, I have manipulated, abused, and tortured. I have killed with my bare hands. I have exulted in the shedding of blood, worshipped false idols, and taken all the flesh I wanted without asking. I want God to forgive me.”

  The priest turned his head up to look at me. He could not see me, not fully, not through the partition. Mortals were not able to perceive angels, not without being raptured, and then instantly—and violently—killed. But there were ways to make them perceive us safely, if only you knew the secrets of creation.

  And I did.

  To the priest’s credit, his expression was stoic. His face was not that of a man wracked with fear, or horror, or even disgust because he did not believe the words I had just uttered. “You are speaking in metaphors again,” said the priest.

  “Are you calling me a liar?” I asked, my voice rising.

  Somewhere outside the confessional, a baby began to shriek in response to the sudden, sharp raising of my voice. For a moment, just a moment, I felt something rumble inside of me. It wasn’t hatred, or loathing, or annoyance. Those emotions were common to me, far too common.

  This emotion was… soothing.

  Calming.

  “I am not here to accuse,” said the priest, “Or to judge. I am only here to absolve, but I cannot absolve your sins if you do not take confession seriously. This is a sacrament.”

  I lowered my head and shook it lightly. “Can you absolve me or not?”

  The priest sighed. He then made the sign of the cross with his right hand and said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I absolve you of your sins. Let us recite the Our Father, and I will deliver upon you, your penance.”

  Nothing happened.

  Not while the priest spoke.

  Not as he uttered that ridiculous prayer.

  Our Father? These priests were lying to themselves about God. That flimsy old book they clung to was written by men, mortal men. Petty men who lacked the ability to create and were so filled with rage upon learning of God’s true fundamentally feminine identity, they did all they could to suppress, oppress, and abuse their female counterparts for the rest of time.

  It became clear to me within moments, this priest lacked any kind of real power to speak to God. She was still out of reach, and Heaven was still burning. I turned my eyes toward him again, only this time, I allowed my Light to surge through them, catching the priest’s attention.