FALLEN FROM GRACE

Vermillion’s body had shifted when the attack had occurred. He was prepared for the struggle, but not for the natural disaster that would come to disturb their protective operations alongside the Secret Service. He could hear the voices of his fellow agents calling out to him only for their voices to fade into black. But when his vision returns, he’s greeted by a scene encased in the golden glow of heavenly rays. Standing before him is an angel with a face that is blurred but carried the same structure of his figure. Before him, was an entire being that couldn’t be humanly explained.

“Heavenly Father, please. I implore you to just see to reason as to what the Morningstar was attempting to accomplish. I do not dare act upon his actions; merely do I seek to share words of understanding. What we have done, is it not correct? Adam and Lilith created as equals, born to be as one, neither meant to topple over the other. She fled due to the first man’s own greed. Eve had been naïve after Lilith had ran, as she was created to be so, should we not have foretold that she would dare accept the apple from Lucifer? Did it matter when the first man had sinned first beforehand with his actions of greed?” the angel cries.

The entity before him seems to be displeased with his questioning. Words aren’t heard by Vermillion, but he could feel the anger rattling through his soul. Instead of a hint of vocalization, he merely feels a vibration that could only shatter another being. Other angels that were witnessing the event step closer to him, judging him and chaining him. Vermillion’s hand reaches out on instinct to stop them. Why are they doing this to him for just stating an opinion?

“No!”

“My child, you’ve become tainted by the words encouraged upon others by Lucifer. I’m afraid you cannot stay. You shall join your brethren on earth, but I shall show mercy to teach you. You will not be frozen, nor will your kin be slain in this lifetime. However, your soul shall become mortal yet retain only a simple advantage. Your lives shall not live long, nor will you be permitted to remember your true lineage. Should these memories resurface to call back to your origins, you will ultimately join Lucifer in the domain he had created.”

The angel’s wings are yanked away as he is carried away. Vermillion chases after them until he’s falling. His body rushes toward the earthly grounds of the planet. He closes his eyes tightly, waiting for the impact, only to be jolted awake by the pure bitterness of ammonia. His eyes take a moment to adjust underneath the bright lights of a hospital room. He recognized it well. It happened to be one of the medical wings within the FBI’s headquarters. He attempts to move but is restrained to the bars of the bed by cuffs. He looks up to see his own colleagues standing before him with expressions of concern and fear.

“Agent Amos….” Special agent Jones softly. Special agent Hamilton steps aside for her to step closer, “Try not to move too much.”

“Jones, Hamilton—what is the meaning of this?” he asks.

Both agents silently turn to each other before turning back to him.

“Did the mission fail? What about the painting?”

Special agent Hamilton sets down a folder before him with pictures of the scene, “The earthquake interrupted the attack from the terrorists. Chaos pretty much took over the operation. A fire even managed to break out within the museum. However, the painting remained untouched.”

Vermillion stares at the image of the painting, a piece of artwork that he didn’t get a chance to see. But when he gazes at that painting his entire body freezes. A slender jawline, fair complexion of silk skin, warm hazel eyes and long strands of blond hair that fell over their shoulders. Hanging low from his back were a pair of wings fading from white to grey. Both his colleagues move the image of the painting aside.

“We couldn’t believe it too, but then we found more photos similar to this…” Hamilton spreads out a line of photos, each one from different areas of time.

“We weren’t sure what we were looking at, but your body really showed what it was capable of to us.” Jones says, her finger pointing to several bloodied areas on his body. Wounds that were meant to be fatal were non-existent.

Vermillion’s heart races in his chest, “I—I don’t know what—”

“Vermillion, you were impaled by several pieces of glass and metal. You should have died.” Jones says.

His eyes cast back down to the photos when they lock onto one recent photo from 40 to 50 years ago. It was his face standing in the center of a cathedral with his hands held together in prayer and defeat. His cheeks stained in tears with grief. A reel of memories fly before his eyes. A woman who held his heart and had carried his child stood in the forefront of them, dragging every other life in line behind the one he shared with her. His arms tug at the restraints. Both of his colleagues quickly move away. Their backs moving to press up against the opposite wall, hands reaching for the weapons at their belts.

“Father—I have not sinned as you punish me…!” His eyes dawn in a golden hue as he cries against the heavens, his wings of black spreading, raining feathers of old, “You made me human!” He breathes, “Am I not entitled to the same joys?!” His cries blend into supernatural screeches like birds as flesh and bone crackle together. With his memories restored he fades into a sea of dark feathers, fated to fall to the flames of Hell where a reunion awaits with his beloved.

Michelle Alvarez comes from the historical city of Savannah, Georgia. When she’s not writing her original works, she can be found writing for a variety of fandoms. Her inspirations come from storylines of true depth and characters that stand along the grey lines of morality. She eases her mind with funny videos, anime and naps during the weekend.