Grand Angel

Chapter 14: Molded

Grand Angel stood still at the edge of the peak, looking down at the world that he wished to protect yet refused to interfere.

The Seraphs sat with their backs to each other, an uneven circle as they all molded their humans as best they could.

Michael stared down at it with empty eyes, his hair down and in his face while his fingers were shaking. The dirt and clay mixing together, almost impossible to distinguish.

Gabriel was manically trying to perfect it. Rapidly altering everything over and over again until it was even and symmetrical. Perfect proportions.

Raphael lifted his high, using the sunlight to shine onto the small statue and check for any blemishes.

Raguel was relaxed, adjusting the clay in her hands while not seeming to care too much about the small details.

Zerachiel was hiding hers from the others, not letting any get views of her figure.

Jeremiel was already done with the shape. She was now spending her time adding more detail such as hair and marks that appeared to be muscles.

Remiel was hunched over the most, her hair pulled back and out of her face while she seemed to be struggling to keep the hardened clay together. Struggling to shape the solid pieces.

"How are you doing?" Grand Angel asked, his back still to them.

"We are trying our best. But molding this clay is more difficult than expected." Raguel spoke for all of them, lifting her gaze to stare at his bare and clean back.

"You are struggling because you want to create perfection. That is not what I asked of you. If you allow yourself to be one with the clay, for the clay to feel your will and personality. Your character. Then and only then will you be able to create. Expression of yourself, not expression of soulessness." Grand Angel spoke, still staring out at the world.

The Seraphs all sighed, still messing with the clay.

All but Raphael and Raguel, who both had the same idea.
They closed their eyes.

They breathed in deep breaths.

They destroyed and mangled the figures in their hands. The lifeless, soulless statues that did not represent them or their feelings.

They continued to keep their eyes closed, their hands moving without sight to truly feel the soul of the dirt.

The life inside of the clay.

It began to move and shift like butter, perfectly malleable and shaping exactly the way that they wanted.

Ash-Shaytān was resting on his throne, curled tightly in the small seat. Hugging himself tightly while his legs slightly dangled over the side, struggling to fit his entire body. His face was peaceful, even if it was covered in scars that were inflicted by his own hand.

He was snoring quietly, the bags around his eyes fading while he slept for the first time he could remember.

As he slept, the Red began to glow brighter and brighter.

Hovering just above the throne, staring down at him and his vulnerable body.

Open to be attacked.

The Red pulsed, a low rumble filling the Pantheon as it stared.

But it could hear the sound of wings flapping in the Universe.

Flapping loudly despite there being no air in space.

Hadarniel landed, a silver key attached to a necklace around his neck. He noticed Ash-Shaytān was asleep. His body was towering compared to the other Angels, standing multiple miles tall. Yet the Pantheon and Universe was so massive that he looked normal in comparison.