Haziel, without breaking his gaze upon the vast room of convalescing, electrified souls, spoke swiftly to his mentor. “What shall be of these sinful creatures? Surely they will be cast aside for there is no repentance for this!”

Chamuel was silent. Though unflinching, he felt troubled inside in regards to the entire situation. His greatest comfort was that he was not The Promise Keeper, for he had not the slightest clue of what their demise should justly be.

As far as his eye could see, incased for their own protection, were a multitude of disobedient spirits whom lost their ability to even provide their own council. They had embarked in monstrosities the most abused and troubled human soul would, and these were not damaged humans. They were a cut above, set aside for something better; something amazing. With clouded judgement and lack of divine patience brought them here, to the last place they should yearn to revisit, though as painful as it was, for the next place they endure should be hell eternal, from which there is no escape.

Again, Haziel confided in Chamuel. “I swear, Commander… if they are awarded a second chance, I am taking myself as close as I can get to The Promise Keeper and letting him know exactly how I feel about this!”

“You will do nothing of the sort!” Chamuel snarled, looking directly at his apprentice. “Sheathe your emotions, for they do not rule us. Vengeance is His and I can guarantee you, no one is more disappointed in all these anti-ambassadors than Him. Honestly, Hastiel… remember your place!”

And in that second following his final word, a crack of lightning so bright that it blinded all in captivity, flashed in every square inch of the throne room, followed by an unmeasurable darkness. Still restrained physically, the captives now had full use of their eyes and they blinked desperately, trying to regain sight but to no avail.

The rich dark, black now transitioned immediately into a massive blur of white. No shapes could be made out, only a dizzying hue of bright and glaring white.

A cold condensation seemed to be touching everyone in the room, as though its arms wrapped around each soul then left, leaving a residue of clammy wetness glistening on their restrained bodies.

And then he appeared, as plain as day at the front of the throne room, though barely visible as his majesty proceeded him. His glory blended in with the cold, stark white burnt in all of The Gatherings eyes. His shape was mighty. Boulders for shoulders, massive hands and tree trunk legs.

His face radiated so much light, it almost burned as the hottest fire, amidst such a cool scene. The more they gazed upon him, the more the background faded from blaring white back to the original state they had seen the grand throne room, before the visions and before the blindness. And the more the surroundings resolved themselves, the struggle to continually gaze at The Promise Keeper was almost impossible, for who could stare the creator of all in the face? This group of terrified souls failed miserably.

His mouth did not move as He spoke. His voice, though audible in the English language, rolled out like crashing rivers and bellowing thunder. “You struggle to see me for all my goodness. I, too struggle to see you because of all your evil attached to yourselves like mold on fruit. The fruit is good; the fruit is mine, yet you have tainted it and created a death growth that will overtake what I had in mind when I birthed the fruit.”

Silence ruled the room. No one in their right mind dared to say a word, for they hung on each word poured out upon their ears as liquid life, though in the form of chastisement.

The Promise Keeper continued. It now became visible that he was seated in an opulent throne, his weight situated to his left. Not sitting back, his form was equally imposing as his very presence.

”You’d think I would know better by now… to give so much to you and expect so little… only to have that small amount turned to the darkest of evil and watch your inheritances burn like you all shall sizzle in the furnace below the universe. Cattle. And where is your farm hand?”

Chamuel was at Peter’s side in a heartbeat. With the release of his restraints, Peter’s lifeless body fell onto Chamuels back and he rode his way to the grand throne. His eyes met with Savannah and tears streamed from her liquid blue eyes. Chamuel dumped Peter’s body brazenly onto the cold marble floor at the foot of the seven steps to the grand throne. He laid there for a moment, unsure of what muscles might work to right himself before his creator.

Chamuel kicked Peter’s side hard and that was enough motivation to make him give effort. He cringed in pain as he somehow made his way to his knees, with both hands bracing himself on the bottom step. Peter raised his head slowly, as his neck was extremely sore and jarred from the restraints and the battle to escape them. Sweat pooled on his wrinkled brow and found its way to the floor in front of his trembling body. His eyes burned in the glory of the Promise Keepers gaze.

An array of multiple colors shot out from their suspended cocoons, connecting one to the next, back to front. Like white fire and lightning, with as many variations of vibrant color as a rainbow, their paralysis seized them with no escape remotely possible. Evident on their faces, most tried to struggle but were met with brute restraint.

All of the peace keepers had since filed out, no longer needed as the electric cells did more than their job, save Haziel and Chamuel.

They strolled through the rows of prisoners, hands clasped behind their backs in a state of viable command. Reaching the back of the grand throne room, Chamuel addressed The Gathering.

“Remove thy defenses. You kneel naked. Fully exposed for all of your vile offenses.”
His voice reached a feverish pitch, bellowing a resounding call.

“View, now, your wretched lives! See, without your own thwarted and disconnected vision. Tapped in to what He has witnessed and myself alongside the Master. Swallow your blasphemous sin!!”

Encoded in their restraints, behind their eyes played out like a movie screen, documenting each individual’s life of wrongful choices. As children, young adults through an hour ago… all was accessible and in their face to see and repeatedly. Also, the walls in the grand throne room became giant screens, flashing lies, sex fantasies, deceitfulness, robbery and murder.

Peter began shaking as he was forced to view his horror reel, with scenes blending together and sped up in almost a slapstick format yet sinister as all hell, then some played out in extreme slow motion. Up close visions of his hands decapitating women and children mere moments before arriving here. His cold, calculated death parade mirrored the deepest of evil living in him, accentuated by the shrieks of onlookers trying to protect those around them.

Peter struggled to watch the sick brutality and his eyes shifted to the screens around him, though unable to move his neck or face.

Blood and torture was everywhere. His eyes wouldn’t close; an imposed paralyses kept them open. The weight of his misdeeds were too much. Like others amidst they’re own life’s shame episode, he cried out for mercy. “No more. Please! Forgive me! Please! No more!”

Other shrieks were audible, as their bodies vibrated and clenched, somehow baring their own evil actions.

“God, please!!”

“Help!”

“I’m sorry! Make it stop!”

“We are sorry!”

Savannah, a row behind Peter, was living out her worst nightmares but with its own twist, for the visions she was induced to view also included her father with scenes of molestation. Tied in with them, visuals played out of her own fantasies of the myriad of brutal ways she wanted to torture him, in pay back for his heinous and callous sins against her. Blood welled up in her tear ducts and would have poured out, had it been possible, for the restraints left their eyes without duct access, as they needed to see the madness.

She felt like her head was exploding as the visions intensified. Watching the lives she took by the bodies she invaded for the first time was unbearable and she did everything in her power to look away. But without any control, her gaze remained fixed on the vicious calamities caused by her hand and her heart. Though clouded and unresponsive at the time, she now took the full impending weight of her darkest day, and it killed her by the second.

Chamuel and Haziel stood at the front of the grand room, watching these lost souls in the purest form of torture they would ever inflict.

No joy or honor was taken by these two mighty Peace Keepers; they took no enjoyment from the scene surrounding them. Merely a disciplinary tool that would never be forgotten and that will rehabilitate them as though they stood before God himself on judgement day.

Death after bloody death of the innocent and of the guilty littered the streets. Twisted, broken limbs, and pools of blood where everywhere. The carnage ended almost as quickly as it began. The hideous remnants of gore would not soon be forgotten.

Only the dead truly know how life begins after death, and with these undead souls, once lost and now incarcerated to face trial for their misdeeds, they will define that statement. In the blink of an eye… once dually possessing humans and vying for control by any means necessary… are now piled up, one scared apparition after another, on the floor of a grand throne room.

Abandoned yet again, the gathering felt indifferent. Once left to rot on a desolate wasteland, and now trapped in this new place, though much preferable in its shiny, gleaming beauty.

The hall was vast. Many glorious statues of gold and onyx stood abundantly, amidst indescribable art that adorned the massive walls. The floor employed white and caramel marble, cold and flawless; beautiful and majestic. The ceiling seemed open to the atmosphere of heaven itself, swirling with color and the movement of angels.

With all its rich abundance of glory, a deep sense of fear ran through all in attendance, Peter and Savannah inclusive. As breathtakingly beautiful as it was, this was not the place you wanted to be, though unknown still where they were.

They pulled themselves to their feet, huddled closely together, everyone touching. With wide eyes and elevated heartbeats, no words were uttered. Guilty consciences and cluttered thoughts made for enough to barely concentrate on.

The grand lights seemed to flicker, more subtle than not, only detected by a few in The Gathering. Then they dimmed completely for a second and the ground began to shake as footsteps became audible, running, stomping.

Peace Keepers flooded the palatial foyer, seizing and arresting all in attendance. Strong hands gripped The Gathering, two at a time, by the meat of their arms. Last to arrive was Chamuel, the great arc angel and leader of this heavenly army bred to serve. He surveyed the guilty, looking deeply at several of the lost souls. His gaze fixes on Peter, then Savannah and the look is of the utmost disgust, so much that both captives are forced to look at the ground. The chiseled peace keeper Haziel, holding Peter by his arm, placed his fingers on Peter’s chin and raised it. Peter looked at Haziel to which he responded, “Not I. Him.” He pointed to Chamuel who know approached Peter with great speed.

Chamuel wrapped his hand firmly around Peter’s neck and lifted him four feet off the ground.

Simultaneously, he lifted his other arm, making it a fist and holding the salute. All members of The Gathering, Peter included, were raised into the air and restrained fully from head to toe. Surrounded by an orange field of light, they remained practically paralyzed in a state of full surrender suspended well above the floor. Kneeling, with arms wide and head locked slightly upward and forward, they remained.

An array of multiple colors shot out from their suspended cocoons, connecting one to the next, back to front. Like white fire and lightning, with as many variations of vibrant color as a rainbow, their paralysis seized them with no escape remotely possible. Evident on their faces, most tried to struggle but were met with brute restraint.