Halo

So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.
Genesis 1:27

o

When God was finished with his creations, he took it upon himself to appoint an angel with the purpose to design the souls of mortals. She was known as the Designer.

o

Finding God is always considered to be the main component of salvation. This is largely based on the assumption God is a ‘good guy’. Now, whenever a mortal has been granted a position of power, it has almost always gone straight to their head. Thus we have been led to believe that power corrupts.

To be fair, God has been granted an excessive amount of power for the better part of eternity. Who is to say that it hasn’t gone to His head? Or corrupted Him?

And if it has, what do you do about it?

God is neither one being nor many. He is an essence, with more power than you can possibly imagine. You know Him to be described as “omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent”, omni- from the Latin meaning: “all; of all things”. Essentially, God is anything and everything.

So how could He miss this?

Quite simply, the fault lies in the grand design of the universe. God made all in existence to operate on his or her own free will. This vital factor underlies the greater constitution of everything other than God himself. His role requires a great deal of faith in everyone else making the right decisions or reaping the drawbacks those decisions generate and ultimately learning from them.

And as a result of free will, we have a rogue angel playing the vigilante and taking matters into her own hands.

Or so it would seem.

o

Ride closer to her, fly past her. Just a fleeting glance of her face: misery fills her blue eyes to the brims, swirling in her silver tears as they stream over her ivory cheeks. Chestnut hair spills down her back and over her shoulders. She’s crouched, seated on one white heel while her other leg is curled up close to her chest, and her hands are contorted around her pedestal’s platform – the pedestal you put her on.

Her wings, though they span a glorious sixteen feet from tip to tip, cloak her body like a blanket of pale sand-coloured feathers, cramped close to her as one more barrier between you and her heart. You can see the pedestal’s shackle is chaffing the skin of her ankle – a personalized tattoo of her imprisonment.

She wills her sight through the clouds and squints to see the ground far below. And while the world that surrounds her is pale and light, finding every excuse to be as pristine as a hospital but more beautiful than perfection, the world below squirms in its turmoil of darkness. It is a world ignored by those who had the power to change its fate, and mourned for by those who could only sit by and watch, chained by their love and confined by their duties.

She has a secret. It makes her prouder of her existence more than any other being she’s created.

For the first time in centuries she moves. After an eternity of those silver tears shimmering at the base of her vision, she sees clearly and shifts to examine her secret.

But you still don’t know who she is, do you?

You see, while she is not in charge, she makes you all. She designs your loves and hates and desires, your habits, your faults and your charms, and your appearance, of course. You are all hers. She loves you despite your manic desire for self destruction, and mourns you all because of it.

And she watches them for the first time. Both him and her, because she made them to be different.

She made them to find each other.

Now the tears adorning her alabaster cheeks sparkle with pleasure and pride. Her children are learning!

They are by no means perfect. If they were, they wouldn’t belong down there, but up high, on pedestals of their own, chained despite their should-be wings. Instead they grasp their desire, and a will to find each other because their union would bring about the new beginning. It is a plan she has cogitated over for millennia, revising and amending it with every fault she finds. The main factor she focused on was its subtlety. If her boss found out… well, God always forgives, but there must be some sort of punishment.

Her misery is still present, but the joy has lessened its overpowering weight. She is standing now, staring intently into the web of her humans’ paths. Her concentration shows as a radiant beauty across her snowy face. Unfortunately, it also serves as His first flag to recognize her betrayal, though He doesn’t know what the catalyst for her happiness is, He will certainly notice her new-found fervour.

And as the battle rages on below, she watches eagerly, giving it away.

o

She has a magnificent view of the Kingdom of Heaven. She can see as far as the High Courts of Judgement and the Gates of Heaven, both of which are at opposite ends of the Realm of Paradise. This is largely due to her pedestal’s pillar being immensely tall.

The Gates of Heaven are a peaceful place. Saint Peter holds the keys to them, and stands to attention at the entrance in a pale robe edged in gold. Every now and again he will raise his dark head and see Sophia there, crouched on her platform hard at work. The distance between them conceals the presence of her shackles and her pain from Peter’s sight. He too, has no idea of her suffering.

But what he does notice was that she has moved. After an eternity of a single frozen pose, high up there on her pedestal, Sophia is now standing, staring intently ahead of her.

Peter is perfectly aware that what she sees is not the Paradise in which they both exist.

He spares a few more moments to consider the new-found animation in the Designer, before returning to his duty.

Gabriel returns, then, from delivering a message to one of God’s servants. He is an archangel, phenomenally tall, golden skin lit from within and a significant length of curling golden-brown hair.

After observing Peter’s face, the angel frowns. The process is one in which Peter feels as though his insides are being burned beneath the ultra-bright light that are Gabriel’s sapphire eyes to the point where the angel has most likely read his mind.

“You are distressed.” It is clearly not a question.

Peter glances towards the Designer. Gabriel notices the direction of his gaze. “Something is different,” Peter explains. He doesn’t mention his added feeling of wrongness.

“Yes, something is different. Something about her has changed.” Gabriel continues to stare at the Designer, a glowing golden hand tucked under his chin in thought.

Peter remembers himself, bows deeply at the waist, and then twists an elaborate key in the lock of the golden gates he guards.

“Entrance to the Heavens, Gabriel,” he announces, gesturing ahead of himself.

Gabriel nods, “Yes.” His voice is distracted as he drifts forward, his ten-foot wings only half extended and totally motionless. Wings are merely a physical manifestation of the essential differences between angels and other beings. They actually contribute nothing whatsoever to an angel’s ability to fly.

Three Dominion angels from the Second Triad had been waiting to ambush Peter as soon as Gabriel disappeared. Uzziel and Haniel are both impossibly tall, with black, shoulder-length hair and raven wings. Babiel is smaller, only standing as tall as his fellows’ shoulders, and with long white-blond locks of hair. He scoots forward to Peter, Uzziel and Haniel flanking him, and says, “That was Gabriel. What did he want?”

Peter frowns at Babiel.

Uzziel and Haniel cross their arms over their bare chests. “Do honour us with the privileged knowledge our brother has bestowed upon you,” Uzziel says quietly, regally.

Peter sighs in response, then gestures simply at the lonesome angel on her high perch. No explanation is needed.

Babiel gazes at her for a long moment. Uzziel and Haniel exchange meaningful looks. They both know that Babiel will impart some wisdom on them any moment now.

Peter is on the verge of tapping his foot. He is in no mood for Dominion games.

“There is a secret.”

Babiel mumbles his adage, but everyone hears him as clear as a thunder clap.

o

The Designer is incognisant of her surroundings. This is why, when she is suddenly joined by the brothers Uzziel and Haniel, she is caught by surprise.

Conversely, Uzziel and Haniel can not decide what to say to her, what to ask. They avert their eyes from the shackle chaining her to the pedestal, instead staring straight into her eyes.

Feeling their scrutiny, her back stiffens in response, and she wears her scars and tearstains as badges on her soul.

“How is progress?” Haniel asks, eyebrows rising with the question.

She is suddenly weary. “Oh, the Earth is good and populated.” She pauses, unsure whether to go on. Fatigue can explain her next statement, for she never would have mentioned it otherwise. “The mortals are seemingly drowning in themselves.”

If she had been human, she would have gasped and instantly slapped hands over her traitorous mouth. As it was, she simply heaves a great intake of air and holds onto it for as long as possible, before expelling it in a great sigh.

Uzziel stares at her with great fascination, such as a child would a long lost grandparent. For though angels were created by God before the earth itself was made, some angels carry the presence of more age than others. In this same way, the Designer seems to be one of the eldest of the sons of God.

Haniel feels he should make up for Uzziel’s lack of maturity. But he is also confused.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

The Designer shrugs, knowing she has already said too much. This will take some explaining.

“There are many of them, you see.” She gestures into the cloud around them and a montage of images depicting Earth’s mortals appear. “They operate a lot like us, although they are far less civilised.”

A pause, during which the three angels carefully examine the images.

“See? There!” The Designer indicates a bronze-haired young man, entering into a new work space. A blonde woman instantly makes a beeline towards him, just as her colleague has started talking to him.

“They eagerly descend on each other,” Uzziel observes.

“They have a bloodlust we do not,” Haniel notes.

The Designer shakes her head mournfully. “They have life.”

The brothers turn stony faces to look at her. It is a ‘Whatever you say’ moment, if angels actually said as much.

And although there is nothing suspicious about the Designer’s behaviour – she is just being her usual, peculiar self – the two Dominions report back to Gabriel with a weight that seems to be caused by more than an odd encounter with the reject angel. They can feel the secret the Designer kept. Only its ambiguous nature was the problem.

They quickly explain this to the archangel, then leave him with his thoughts.

“Babiel,” Gabriel snaps. His voice rings out clearly and the small Dominion is at his elbow almost immediately. “It is your turn. Try to glean as much information as you can.”

“Is it alright if I take Raziel with me?” Babiel inquires. “Angel of Mysteries, and all. It should be fair game for him to figure out Sophia’s secret.”

Gabriel inclines his head. “I suppose that would be fitting. Fetch him and then pay a visit to the lovely Designer.” His voice is distracted as ever.

Babiel shoots into the air and, with an inclination of his right wing, he drifts off in the direction of the High Court of Judgement and the retreat for First Triad Thrones. Thrones are angels of justice and will, and so it is only fitting for them to retire to the High Court of Judgement, where all their dealings take place.

Babiel passes over the Court, drifting on his back and feigning confidence. “Raziel!” he calls. “Raziel, O Raziel!”

A magnificent angel rises to join Babiel, his pearly white skin shimmering in the light of God’s Kingdom. His head is draped in great chains of silver hair, and his wings span eighteen feet of silver feathers that are preened to perfection.

“Dominion, what is your purpose here?” Raziel’s voice is a force of disinterest.

Babiel lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Gabriel has a problem,” he says, inclining his eyebrows to emphasise the significance of the matter.

Raziel clenches and unclenches his jaw. “And what is the nature of Gabriel’s problem?” he inquires, his dispassionate voice ever so slightly icier than before. The whole effect is a little more intimidating than Babiel feels he should be dealing with.

“Well, her,” he replies, jerking his head in the direction of the Designer. His voice has turned harsh despite the whisper.

The corners of Raziel’s lips turn up in a sly smile. Babiel is instantly filled with apprehension for Sophia.

“What has she done?” Raziel asks, finally exhibiting the curiosity Babiel had first expected of him.

“That is his problem,” Babiel declares. “We don’t know.”

The silver angel’s interest is piqued, and the pair of them quickly join Sophia. Fortunately, this time she is prepared.

“Why, if it isn’t the Throne Raziel!” she exclaims none too quietly.

“Designer,” Raziel inclines his head regally as a way of addressing her. His face of disinterest is fully intact again, paired with a grave look in his silvery grey eyes.

“And the Dominion Babiel,” she adds, touching Babiel’s cheek briefly with the caress of a mother. “Raziel, it has been a thousand years. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Her face splits into a grin so radiant that some the glow of her former self returns.

Babiel resists the urge to shield his eyes, she is pulsing so brightly with spirit.

“Designer, you have a secret,” he informs her, clenching his fists and bracing himself, determined.

Raziel crosses his arms over his ivory chest. Babiel could never be subtle.

The Designer frowns. “A secret? What could it be?” For such a perfect plan, she cannot understand how she is instantly suspected.

“Yes.” Raziel casts a meaningful glance towards her shackle. “Designer, you are bound by the Lord to be eternally honest. Do you disrespect him so readily as to lie to us, your brothers, your Father?”

“There are mortals more honest than you,” Babiel chimes in.

She stays silent, fearing their next words more than anything ever before.

“How could you expect to go on in such sin? This is Heaven, Designer, the home of our Father, God’s son and the Holy Spirit. You dare slander its name with your acts of secrecy and trickery?”

“And what does it mean for the mortals who will join us? How can we perform our duties, maintain our dignity, with them knowing what you have done?”

“You have betrayed us. And for what? What is your secret?”

“What is your secret?”

“What is your secret?”

Unable to control herself for a moment longer, she sank to her knees on her pedestal, her arms clenched around her middle and her wings flanking her. Silver tears dripped down her face in an unending flow of misery, shimmering on her alabaster cheeks.

Raziel and Babiel fought to hold their ground. It would not do to give into such emotions now.

“There are mortals,” the Designer sobs, palms flat on the pedestal’s marble platform. “Mortals and mortals and mortals, that our Father has no knowledge of. They do not matter to him, for he is controlled by the glory of his name. He is obsessed with filling the world with life – so much life that he no longer identifies with each of them. And me in the middle of it all – Creating mortal after mortal to go into the world without the guidance of the God that once promised to be there for them.

“All I did – all I wanted to do – was give their world back to them. Let them run their lives and their world without the interference of God’s glory.”

“You did what?” came an unexpected voice. And then her body is rising into the air, the shackle’s chain straining on her ankle. Her wings twist outwards behind her, her arms splay by her sides as though being pulled from the wrist and her head tilts backwards, face exposed to the light.

Gabriel appears before her. His arms are extended with the effort of contorting her body.

“Created two mortals, Gabriel,” she shouts. Her hair is spreading outwards now, extending like chestnut tendrils zapped with electricity. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Of course not,” Gabriel spits sarcastically. “Secrecy only requires the ordinary.”

“Hm!” she growls, with no real response she can articulate.

Raziel peers over his shoulder at the angel suspended in mid air. “What are you going to do with her?” he asks, turning his face to Gabriel’s so there was less than two inches between their skins.

“That is not my decision. We shall have to summon the Full Court. Babiel, make yourself useful. Go make the summons. Raziel, commune with the Lord, he should be present.”

The two angels scatter, leaving Gabriel with his prisoner.

“Designer!” he yells.

“Gabriel, all of Heaven must hear you now,” she says.

“All of Heaven must know of your betrayal,” he replies, his voice cutting her to pieces.

“Brother, put me down. Let me face my penalty with dignity instead of in the binds of your strength.” The power Gabriel is employing demands that everything be exposed of her. The result is every limb is being pulled as far way from her body as physically possible. The experience is quite painful.

“And what if you escape?” Gabriel asks suspiciously.

The Designer let out a laugh devoid of mirth. “And go where? There is nowhere you won’t find me, Gabriel, no place exists without the Lord’s touch.”

And seeing reason, he slowly lowers her to her pedestal.

“Did you never wonder why I was chained here?” she asks, gesturing towards her shackle and chain.

Gabriel didn’t answer.

“I refused once before – refused to make more of them for Him,” she explained.

Playing along to placate her, Gabriel took the bait. “Why?”

“Haven’t you been listening? Gabriel, he isn’t the same pure essence of spirit that he was before. He’s changed. His glory is his pride. He doesn’t care about quality anymore, that is all me. No, all he wants is quantity.” She spits the last word out like it was a sin itself.

“Well, now you can tell him to his face. Come on, Designer. Move!”

“Uh-uh-uh!”

Gabriel whips his head around to glare at her. She pouted. “Only God lets me leave,” she reminds him.

“Father, as your angel, I ask your presence be made here now!” Gabriel shouts grandly.

Gabriel, my child, why do you require my audience?

“The Designer has committed crimes against you. She has sinned against you, and awaits judgement at the High Court. I beg you release her from her chains so that she might be present at her sentencing.”

The shackle snaps free of her ankle, and she immediately drops to massage the red tattoo of her imprisonment.

“Father, I promise that all will be explained in the High Court,” Gabriel announces. He secures one hand underneath the Designer’s armpit, and coaxes her rise, none too gently.

Within moments, they are entering the chamber that serves as High Court. A circular room, tiered seating rings most of the space, centring on the pedestal at the centre which faces a space reserved for God’s presence. The seating is filled with the Nine Choirs of Angels, each Triad assigned their own section. Gabriel pulls her forward and sets her on the pedestal at the centre. There is no need for a shackle; the power of God holds all in their place.

Pistis Sophia, you have betrayed me. You accuse me of indulging in my glory, making it my pride. Are you God?

“No, my Lord.”

Then why do you see fit to take my place in caring for the world of mine creation?

“I do not wish to take your place, my Lord.” The feeling of Nine Choirs of Angels’ stares burning into her back is incredibly unnerving.

So what was your intention, Sophia?

“I meant only to give the mortals a chance to choose for their own, my Lord.”

“Traitor!” Gabriel yells. Similar remarks erupt from the audience.

Silence! Sophia, you attempted to achieve this goal how?

The Designer swallowed. “My mortals, Lord.”

Your mortals, Sophia?

“Yes, Lord. The mortals with which you charged me create, to design the souls of.”

Raziel’s no-nonsense voice rings through loud and clear. “Sophia, answer the question.”

“Lord, of the mortals I designed, there were two apart from the rest. I made it so. They would be different. And when they found each other, Earth would be sealed from Heaven, from your influence, from your pride and glory.”

There is a collective gasp from the audience of Choirs. This was entirely unheard of.

Pistis Sophia, you have betrayed me.

“Yes, Lord.”

You realise your actions cannot be undone. While Heaven exists outside of time, your souls have been designed and created. They exist in the subconscious of Earth. Your goal is inevitable.

“Yes, Lord.”

I cannot allow you to remain in Heaven. You no longer possess the faith to stay here. Your soul is lost from the path of light.

“Lord?” Tears are again patterned across her cheeks like silver veins of misery.

I forgive you, Sophia, but you must go. Now!

And the power of God’s might that had held her in place was gone. Everything was gone. The court, the choirs, the pedestal, and God’s presence. Instead, she was falling.

Falling down to Earth.

An eternity of falling.

Just falling.