Hey everyone! This is a new story I'm creating following a very hot angel in Heaven. This chapter is laying some groundwork, so it won't be as spicy as the following chapters. Feel free to tell me what you think, and I hope you enjoy. See the link in my bio for my Patreon, where the second chapter is already released! Thank you so much to those who choose to support my work; it really means a lot!
Lucistor Antaria sat at his expansive marble desk in the heart of the Division of Sentencing, a sprawling floor within the colossal Ministry of Souls building that pierced the eternal clouds of Heaven like a gleaming spire of polished ivory and gold. Sunlight filtered through vast arched windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, casting a warm, ethereal glow over everything, as if the very air shimmered with divine essence. The office walls, made of translucent crystal panels, allowed glimpses into the bustling corridors beyond, where rows of identical desks stretched endlessly under vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the cycle of souls' creation, life, judgment, and rebirth. Soft harp melodies drifted from hidden speakers, mingling with the faint rustle of papers and the occasional flutter of wings.
He flipped through the pages of a thick case file, his strong fingers, long and elegant, like those of a master sculptor, turning each sheet with deliberate care. The first page featured a hazy photograph of a middle-aged man with a weary expression, and beneath it, bold red letters proclaimed: STATUS TO BE DETERMINED. Lucistor's short, wavy blonde hair caught the light as he leaned forward, his chiseled jaw tightening in concentration. His white button-up shirt hugged his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, the fabric straining slightly against the defined muscles beneath, giving him an aura of effortless allure that turned heads even among the celestial beings. His magnificent white wings, soft as the finest silk and spanning wide when unfurled, rested folded against his back, their feathers pristine and glowing faintly.
Page after page slid under his scrutiny, his blue eyes scanning for any overlooked detail, a forgotten act of kindness, a hidden sin. Finally, he set the stack down with a sharp huff, the papers fluttering before settling into a neat pile. A low growl of frustration escaped his lips. He reached across the desk, past the polished nameplate that read "Chief Sentencer" in elegant golden script, and grasped one of two stamps waiting there. The black one felt heavy in his grip, its ebony handle cool against his palm. He brought it down with a resounding thud onto the top page, lifting it to reveal the wet ink sinking into the parchment: SENTENCED TO HELL. A heavy sigh followed as he watched the letters dry, the ink glistening like fresh obsidian.
From a drawer in the desk, carved from a single slab of flawless white marble veined with threads of gold, he retrieved a pen. It caught the ambient light, sparkling with that inexplicable heavenly sheen that imbued every object here, from the smallest pin to the grandest archway. He tapped the tip against his full lips, his gaze drifting upward to the domed ceiling where clouds swirled in perpetual motion, mimicking the skies of Earth below. Deep in thought, his eyes narrowed, brows furrowing like carved marble.
"Well, Robert C. from..." He paused, rifling through the pages once more until he found the detail. "Toronto, Canada. Interesting. We rarely see souls from your corner of the world up here. No matter. Forty-three years should cover it adequately."
He removed the pen from his mouth and scrawled the number neatly beside the stamped verdict, the ink flowing smooth and iridescent. With a firm tap, he aligned the pages against the desk's edge, banishing any stray sheets, and added the file to a towering stack at the corner, a mountain of judgments waiting for dispatch. His gaze shifted across the office, through the crystal walls to the vacant desk opposite his own. Empty chairs and untouched surfaces mocked him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring in quiet aggravation.
"Anya. Anya, please come to my office."
The words had barely left his mouth when a short, plump angel rounded the corner from the hallway, her laughter echoing off the polished marble floors that gleamed like frozen rivers of light. Rosy cheeks bloomed against her alabaster skin, and her bright white wings, speckled with subtle patches of gray, trailed slightly behind her, brushing the ground with a soft whisper. She paused mid-stride, finishing her chat with an unseen colleague around the bend.
"Oh, you are just too much, Lunil." Her smile lingered, wide and infectious, as she waved dismissively. "I'll catch up with you later, dear."
She approached Lucistor's door, her steps light on the intricate mosaic tiles depicting swirling souls ascending toward golden gates. At the threshold, her tone shifted to one of mild irritation. "Yes, Lucistor?"
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, the gesture betraying his mounting exasperation amid the serene hum of the office. "Anya, I appointed you as my Keeper of Communications because I believed in your organizational skills."
She scoffed lightly, stepping closer to the desk and crossing her arms over her chest, her wings twitching slightly. "And am I not organized?"
"I'm not disputing that entirely. What I am pointing out is that I've reminded you repeatedly: you must remain at your post at all times." He extended a long, porcelain-pale finger, tapping the desk with each word for emphasis, the sound echoing softly in the spacious room. "Now, could you please forward these files downstairs so the souls can commence their sentences?"
She snatched the stack with a brisk motion, her fingers crumpling the edges slightly. "Fine." Pivoting on her heel, she marched back to her desk, wings dragging with a faint rustle across the floor.
Lucistor pushed his chair back, the legs scraping gently against the marble, and rose to his full height. Towering and majestic, he embodied the ideal of heavenly perfectionlike a Greek statue brought to life, his form radiating strength and grace. His wings unfurled slightly as he stretched, feathers shimmering in the light that poured from skylights high above, illuminating the vast atrium beyond his office where fountains of pure light bubbled eternally.
He stepped out, locking the crystal door with a soft click that resonated like a chime. As he turned, Anya's voice cut through the air.
"Um, I don't know where you think you're heading. A fresh batch of souls just arrived for sentencing."
A deep groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through his broad frame. "Delegate them to the junior sentencers. I have dinner arrangements with a colleague from Soul Satisfaction."
"But, sir, these cases appear quite intricate. Are you certain you want to entrust them to—"
"Anya, enough." His voice carried a gruff edge, eyes flashing with momentary ire amid the tranquil glow of the office lamps. He drew a breath, softening his expression, the lines of his handsome face easing. "Just follow my instructions, all right? As your superior, I expect compliance without question. I value you, Anya, but if this pattern persists, I might need to seek a replacement." His lips pressed into a thin line, discomfort evident in the way he averted his gaze briefly. Yet, such firmness defined the role of chiefs in the Sentencing Division. Even the vigilant Sentinels bowed to hierarchy. Order preserved the fabric of Creation, or so the ancient doctrines proclaimed, etched into the very walls of the Ministry in glowing runes.
Anya nodded silently, her rosy cheeks paling slightly as she shuffled papers at her desk, assigning the new cases with hurried motions. Lucistor proceeded down the hallway, a corridor nearly a mile long, lined with endless rows of desks under soaring arches supported by columns wrapped in vines of eternal bloom. Flowers in hues of pearl and sapphire released a faint, soothing fragrance, mingling with the crisp scent of ozone from the heavenly atmosphere. As he walked, his polished shoes clicked rhythmically on the floor, passing cubicles where sentencers hunched over files, their wings varying from pure white to subtle pastels, all bathed in the perpetual daylight streaming from above.
He smiled inwardly, pride swelling as he surveyed his domain: thousands of diligent angels, each a vital gear in the grand mechanism he oversaw. The Division of Sentencing formed just one pillar of the Ministry of Souls, a monolithic structure housing departments like Soul Creation, where new essences sparked into being amid swirling nebulae of light; Soul Satisfaction, ensuring post-judgment harmony in ornate chambers of reflection; Soul Outreach, dispatching guardians to Earth via portals of shimmering ether; and dozens more. Together, they orchestrated the seamless journey of human souls from inception to final reckoning.
Lucistor nodded at a young sentencer who paused mid-review of a woman's file, her small wings quivering nervously as she looked up from her desk cluttered with holographic projections of earthly deeds.
"H-Hi, Mr. Antaria," she stammered, her voice echoing faintly in the vast space.
"Hello, young one." His smile warmed like sunlight, revealing perfect teeth. He plucked the file from her grasp, flipping through it with expert ease. "Let's examine this. Ah, you've marked her for Hell. Intriguing." Pages rustled as he scanned further. "I concur. Excellent assessment."
The angel's face lit up, her cheeks flushing with delight. "Thank you, Mr. Antaria!"
"Now, propose the duration," he said, returning the file with a gentle handoff.
Nervous once more, she pored over the documents, jotting notes in the margins with a pen that sparkled like starlight. "Ninety-nine years and seven months?"
He arched a golden eyebrow, his majestic wings shifting subtly. "Confident in that?"
Doubt flickered in her eyes; she rifled through the pages anew, fingers flying. Suddenly, she halted. "Oh. The shoplifting incident at the charity store. How did I overlook that?" She mimed a light tap on her forehead, her laughter tentative.
Lucistor chuckled, a rich sound that resonated through the hallway. "Precisely. And that adds—"
"Two more years," she burst out, beaming with triumph. "So, one hundred one years and seven months!"
"Impressive. Soon enough, you'll claim my seat. Always scrutinize the early years closely; that's when missteps accumulate most." He winked, his blue eyes twinkling, and continued toward the lobby, his stride confident and fluid.
Memories surfaced as he walked: his own beginnings in Sentencing, wings perky and spirit ablaze with zeal to reshape Creation. Ages past, when Heaven brimmed with untainted joy. Many souls he'd judged had since reincarnated, granted fresh starts on Earth. Except outliers like that Dahmer fellow, still serving, no doubt. Lucistor shook his head, dispersing the thought like mist.
At last, he reached the lobby, a grand expanse with soaring pillars and a central fountain spewing cascades of luminous water that refracted rainbows across the walls. He veered toward the elevator bank, sleek doors of burnished gold, when a holographic alert blared from the Heaven News Network display hovering in mid-air.
A news anchor materialized in three dimensions, seated at a transparent desk littered with ethereal documents. His blonde hair lay slicked back impeccably, wings folded neatly against his suit. Narrowed eyes fixed on the invisible camera as the alert tone pierced the air, drawing heads from nearby desks.
"Good evening. This just in: HNN has received reports from the War and Policing Division of the Ministry of Divine Affairs that another assault has struck the northern communications array. This incident joins a troubling series of attacks on Heavenly infrastructure over the past year. Authorities suspect infernal influences, but details remain scarce. Stay tuned for updates as the situation develops."
Lucistor froze, his handsome features hardening as murmurs rippled through the lobby. The holographic image flickered, casting ominous shadows across the otherwise serene space. He clenched his fists, wings tensing involuntarily.
The murmurs swelled through the lobby like a rising tide, voices overlapping in a cacophony that echoed off the soaring pillars and bounced across the luminous fountain's cascading waters. Whispers turned to urgent chatter, then to outright exclamations, as angels exchanged wide-eyed glances, their faces paling beneath the eternal glow of the skylights. Panic hung in the air, thick and palpable, like a storm cloud encroaching on Heaven's perpetual serenity, it felt unavoidable, a force that twisted serene expressions into masks of dread. One by one, sentencers abandoned their desks, files forgotten mid-flip, chairs scraping harshly against the mosaic floors. Groups formed in the aisles, wings brushing against each other in agitated flutters, as discussions erupted about the implications of yet another attack. Work ground to a halt; no stamps thudded onto parchments, no pens scratched verdicts. Sentences for souls lingered unfinished, stacks of case files gathering a faint layer of ethereal dust in the still air. Disorder took root, spreading like vines overtaking the blooming columns, disorder, the ultimate abomination in Heaven, a shadow that threatened to unravel the divine tapestry.
Eons ago, the Great Archangels Gabriel and Michael, elevated to the exalted roles of Aetherial Architects of Heaven, had proclaimed in resounding decrees that only through impeccable order could the celestial realm endure. Their words, inscribed in glowing runes on the grand arches of the Ministry of Souls, served as eternal reminders. In the wake of the Morningstar Rebellion, when Lucifer's uprising had scorched the heavens with flames of betrayal, most of Heaven's angelic hosts had perished in the cataclysmic battles. Vast halls once filled with harmonious choirs lay silent and bloodied, feathers scattered like fallen stars across cracked marble. Only the Aetherial Architects survived the slaughter, their divine might unbroken. With Lucifer cast down into the abyss, Heaven teetered on the brink of collapse, its mechanisms shattered. Souls, denied proper judgment, were thrust back to Earth in spectral forms, restless spirits that wreak havoc upon the mortal world. These wayward essences ignit wars among nations, their whispers fuel hatred in kings' ears; they stirr tempests and earthquakes, splitting the ground and flooding valleys in fits of unguided rage. Up above, in the fractured paradise, the few remaining beings descended into chaos. Lowly angels, bereft of leadership, turned on one another in frenzied skirmishes, their once-pure wings tearing at allies in paranoia-fueled brawls. Heavenly gardens withered under neglect, portals flickered erratically, and the very air grew heavy with discord. It was Hell manifested in Heaven, a perversion of all that was sacred.
Yet, the Aetherial Architects rose to the challenge, their forms radiating unyielding light amid the ruins. With unwavering resolve, they rebuilt from the ashes, forging new angels from sparks of divine essence in vast creation chambers where nebulae of light swirled like cosmic forges. They meticulously established the hierarchy that governed to this day: a pyramid of roles from the humblest clerks to the chiefs like Lucistor, each link forged to maintain equilibrium. Departments interlocked like gears in a grand celestial machine, ensuring souls flowed smoothly through creation, life, outreach, satisfaction, and sentencing. Protocols were etched into law, rituals of order enforced with vigilant Sentinels patrolling the halls. Heaven could not afford to descend into disorder once more; the scars of the Rebellion lingered in every rune, every whispered legend, a warning that even paradise balanced on the edge of oblivion.
Lucistor blinked back to the present, the holographic news alert still flickering in the air like a persistent omen, its blue light casting eerie shadows across the fountain's rippling surface. He surveyed the scene with growing alarm, his chiseled features hardening as he witnessed his own sentencers contributing to the turmoil, clusters of them gesturing wildly, voices clashing in a disharmonious chorus that drowned out the soft harp melodies from the speakers. Wings overlapped in confusion, feathers disheveled, as the once-methodical rhythm of the division fractured before his eyes. He straightened to his full majestic height, muscles rippling beneath his white shirt, and raised one hand high, palm outward like a beacon. His magnificent wings unfurled with a dramatic whoosh, spanning wide enough to cast a soft, glowing shadow over the nearest groups, their silk-soft feathers shimmering in the ambient light that filtered through the vaulted ceilings.
In an instant, his voice boomed from every direction, amplified by some innate divine resonance that made the very walls vibrate and the fountain's waters tremble. "All sentencers will return to their work immediately or risk termination and expulsion from the Division."
The command echoed through the lobby and down the mile-long hallways, cutting through the din like a blade of pure authority. Silence descended swiftly, as abrupt as a curtain falling. Angels froze mid-sentence, eyes widening in realization, before scattering back to their desks with hurried flaps of wings and muffled apologies. Chairs scraped once more, this time in retreat; files were snatched up, stamps retrieved from drawers. The holographic display dimmed, its alert tone fading, as order reasserted itself. Lucistor lowered his hand, folding his wings neatly against his back, and exhaled a measured breath, the tension easing from his broad shoulders. The lobby returned to its serene state, the fountain bubbling peacefully again, flowers along the columns releasing their calming fragrance as if nothing had transpired.
Lucistor reached up with one elegant hand, his fingers combing through the stray locks of his short, wavy blonde hair that had escaped their precise arrangement during the outburst. He swept them back into place with a smooth motion, restoring the sculpted perfection that framed his chiseled face. The gesture carried a subtle grace, his muscles flexing faintly beneath the crisp white fabric of his shirt. A deep huff escaped his lips, a sigh of relief that eased the lingering tension in his broad chest, as the lobby's atmosphere settled back into its familiar rhythm, the fountain's gentle burble resuming its soothing cadence, the harp melodies weaving through the air once more like threads of calm.
He turned his attention to the assembled sentencers, who lingered at their desks with hesitant glances, wings still slightly ruffled from the earlier commotion. With a steady breath, he addressed them again, his voice now modulated to a resonant baritone that carried through the space without the earlier boom, wrapping around each angel like a comforting embrace. "Please remain calm, everyone. I understand the uncertainty gripping you right now, perhaps even a touch of fear in these trying moments. Rest assured, our finest guardians labor without rest to shield us all. The War and Policing Division holds the reins firmly; they manage every threat with unerring precision. Those communication arrays, vital as they are can be reconstructed swiftly by the skilled artisans in the Ministry of Divine Affairs. No soul faces peril here. All is well, and order prevails as it always has."
His words flowed with a unique gentleness, a quality that seemed innate to him, softening the edges of authority into something paternal and reassuring. As he spoke, a soft smile curved his full lips, crinkling the corners of his striking blue eyes in a way that radiated warmth. He directed this expression outward, sweeping his gaze across the room to meet the eyes of each sentencer, from the young ones with perky wings huddled near the fountain, their small frames still trembling slightly, to the veterans at the far desks, whose furrowed brows smoothed under his regard. One by one, shoulders relaxed, wings folded neatly once more, and tentative nods rippled through the crowd. Lucistor's presence anchored the space, serving as a beacon that drew the division back from the brink of unease, restoring the seamless hum of productivity amid the grand architecture of their eternal workplace.
Lucistor drew in a deep breath, his broad chest expanding beneath the taut fabric of his white button-up shirt, filling his lungs with the crisp, faintly floral air that permeated the lobby. He turned toward the elevator bank, a row of sleek golden doors embedded in a wall of polished ivory marble veined with threads of shimmering light, each door flanked by ornate carvings depicting ascending souls in graceful flight. With a purposeful stride, his polished shoes clicking softly on the mosaic floor that sparkled like a sea of embedded stars, he approached the central panel.
He extended a finger and pressed the luminous call button, its surface warm and pulsing gently under his touch like a living heartbeat of divine machinery. In an instant, as if summoned by his will alone, the nearest door slid open with a melodic chime that resonated through the vast lobby, echoing off the soaring arches and the central fountain where luminous waters bubbled in perpetual harmony. Soft light spilled from within the elevator car, illuminating its interior: walls lined with mirrored crystal that reflected infinite vistas of heavenly clouds, a floor of translucent glass revealing glimpses of the Ministry's lower levels far below, and a control panel adorned with glowing runes for each floor, from the bustling Soul Creation depths to the lofty pinnacles of the Aetherial Architects' chambers.
Lucistor stepped inside, his majestic white wings folding neatly against his back to fit the spacious yet intimate confines, their silk-soft feathers brushing lightly against the cool crystal surfaces. The door whispered shut behind him, sealing out the restored hum of productivity in the lobby, the distant rustle of papers, the occasional flutter of wings as sentencers returned to their tasks. He selected his destination with a quick tap on the rune for the upper dining halls, where his friend from Soul Satisfaction awaited amid terraces overlooking endless celestial gardens. As the elevator ascended smoothly, a faint vibration humming through the floor, Lucistor allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection, his chiseled features softening in the gentle illumination, the weight of the day's disruptions lingering like a subtle shadow.
I hope you enjoyed the first installment of Divine Intervention. In the next chapter, we'll get to know Lucistor... a lot better ;) Find out if there's more to Lucistor than what meets the eye.
Second chapter is already up! Link in my bio!
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