Rage and Ruin by Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,179

my sword collapsed.

In the center of the light, the form of a man took shape. He was tall, nearly seven feet, and as he stepped out of the column, I saw that he wore billowing white pants, his chest bare and skin so luminous and ever shifting, he was neither white nor brown and yet somehow every shade in existence. Just like my father.

But this was not my father.

That much I knew.

He strode forward, his back to the stone archway and the churning static-filled center. From the amount of power he was throwing off, he was definitely an archangel.

Sulien didn’t cower or run. He remained where he stood.

Waiting.

“What an entrance,” Roth murmured. “Wonder what he’s compensating for.”

The archangel lifted his hand and flicked his wrist, and then Roth and Cayman were both suspended like an invisible hand had snatched them up. They flew through the air and crashed into the rocks and boulders. Both went down, shifting in and out of their forms, landing in the mess of rocks, arms and legs strewn at awkward angles.

Oh God, they didn’t move.

My head snapped toward the archangel as he came to stand behind Sulien, placing his hand on the Trueborn’s shoulder.

“My son,” he spoke, his voice soft and warm, as if it were full of sunlight. “What have you brought me?”

“The blood of Michael.” Sulien smirked. “And two demons. They were unexpected.”

A dawning sense of horror woke inside me as the archangel turned his head toward me, eyes pure orbs of white. He stepped around the Trueborn—around his son—his lip curling on one side as he looked me up and down.

“The child of Michael,” he spoke. “I was expecting someone more...impressive.”

I blinked.

“But then again, Michael hasn’t taken any real interest in you, now, has he, child?” he continued. “I should not be surprised.”

Okay.

That was rude.

“Who in the Hell are you?” I demanded.

“I am the Gospel and the Truth. I appeared to Daniel to explain his visions, and I stood beside your father and defended the people against the Fallen and other nations. I am the Saint that appeared before Zechariah and Mary, predicting the births of John the Baptist and Jesus. I am the archangel who delivered Truth and Knowledge to Muhammad.” His wings lifted and spread out behind him, and there...there was something wrong with them. Inky veins streaked through the white, leaking what looked like tar. “I am Gabriel, the Harbinger.”

40

Shock rolled through me, feeling like I’d been thrust unexpectedly into freezing water as I stared at the archangel Gabriel.

“You look surprised.” His lips curved into a smile.

Instinct demanded I take a step back, but I held myself in place. “I don’t understand. You’re Gabriel.”

“Pretty sure he’s aware of who he is, darlin’.” Sulien looked over to where Roth and Cayman were.

I barely heard the Trueborn. “How could it be you?”

“How could it be me killing Wardens? Demons?” One whitish-blond brow rose. “Because it was me. My son kept an eye on things—an eye on you—but it was me.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It had nothing to do with being wrong about Sulien and everything to do with the fact the Harbinger was Gabriel, one of the most powerful angels—one of the first to ever be created. But it suddenly made too much sense. The angelic wards and weapons. The ruined video feeds. It seemed so obvious, it was almost painful, but even I couldn’t understand how an archangel could work with witches and demons and kill not only Wardens but innocent humans.

“Ask me,” he coaxed. “Ask me why.”

“Why?”

His smile grew. “I’m going to change the world. That’s what all of this is about. What all of this has been about.” He gestured toward the archway. “The souls of the deceased. This portal.” He paused. “Misha. You. I’m going to change the world for the better.”

All I could do was stare.

His wings lowered, their tips nearly touching the ground. “Man never should have received the gift God bestowed upon him. They’ve never been deserving of such a blessing as eternity. That is what a soul grants a human—an eternity of peace or terror, their choice, but eternity nonetheless. But a soul...it does so much more. That is how one loves. That is how one hates. It is mankind’s essence, and man was never deserving to know such glory.”

“How... Who can say that man could never be deserving?”

“How could man be deserving of the ability to love and to hate and to feel when His first creations—us, His ever