Sinners (SAINTS #2) | ✓

prologue

FAR ABOVE THE CLOUDS
VOX DEI

FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

AZRIEL ALWAYS HATED THESE meetings. They were boring, long and made him feel like he was dying, even though he was immortal. The one thing he liked about it was the fact he could see all those gods again, just to get on each and every last one of their nerves. Every year Vox Dei was held and every year he managed to cause multiple fights.

Being with so many gods was bound to be a mess. Every one of them was bound to a religion, their powers only as big as the amount of people who believed in them. For Azriel that never had been a worry though, he could feel it in his veins that he was one of the strongest here. As the ruler of hell he gained power with every person who believed in heaven and hell, causing him to be invited to this meeting every year.

Sometimes the smaller gods came too, but if they did it was only when urgent issues presented themselves. No, this meeting was usually reserved for the big shots, those who had enough power and subjects to matter. After all, if it were not for these meetings, war would have broken out long ago among them. The borders between their kingdoms weren't crystal clear at times after all and it wouldn't have been the first time for him to steal a soul originally meant for Hades. He actually wouldn't even mind war, perhaps then things would finally get more exciting.

His wings carried him along, higher and higher, until he finally reached their usual meeting place. It was far above the reach of any of their realms or kingdoms, so it would be fair to them all, a little island made of clouds. Long ago it had had a name, but that was lost now, as forgotten as the ruins of the temples on it. Amidst the rubble stood a long, ivory table, cracked with golden veins and surrounded by chairs. There they were seated, all the big players, those whose names still caused reverence in this universe.

The Old Gods were at the end, the Greek and Northern, their expressions always the most human in the emotions they showed. Their voices, though amused, reminded him of the songs of lost saints, about hubris and crying children, none of which enough to move them. They were made of silver and gold, divine tragedies and desperate prayers, of those who foughts wars to meet them, but only met death instead.

The Hindu and Egyptian deities were on the right, a splash of colors against the rest. The end of the world lay in their eyes and if you looked too long you could see it, taste it - the screams of the fallen, the dreams of the faithful. Power interlaced itself in their every movement, their skin glittering like jewels.

The archangels, of all religions, were on his left. They were clad only in whites; cream, alabaster, pearl. Their wings were spread out behind them in their full might, glittering under each ray of sunlight they caught as if infused with diamonds. He supposed he resembled their faces, perfect, bored, divine. Once, he had been one of them after all.

At the head of the table sat the Grim Reaper. He who assessed the person's faith when they died and brought their soul to the correct place. In a way, he was more powerful than them all. He had hair so dark it seemed like it was made of shadows, his eyes jet black. The light avoided him, his obsidian cloak and his silver scythe, gleaming with the souls it had reaped. A sort cloudy smoke circled around him, the death whispering to him with every movement. Azriel supposed it was a weary existence, as proved by his eyebags, so dark they seemed like they would never disappear.

One look at the open seat on his left made Azriel's smile become more wry. He wasn't surprised their God had decided not to show up again. He was one of many beliefs, so powerful he could skip these meetings without any consequence, as he did, time and time again. Azriel despised him. He folded his wings in then, not wanting the reminder of his own blind loyalty, or the fact that had been thrown out as easily as he had been. The black color of his wings was enough to point that out, especially between the immaculate white of theirs.