In the midst of the discourse, in mid-sentence, a boom from the sky made them all shudder and turn. There, a black and red flame cloud tore across the heavens like a comet, but a thousand times faster. A long tail was arching across the sky, blackening all the blue around it, and the wake of the falling object was black soot and death. Faster and closer it ripped through the sky, visible only to the creatures who lived in the spirit. With a forceful slam on the ground, directly in front of them, the black figure landed. Like a cloud into the ground around him, the ash fell off him and landed in a soft rain covering everything around. Suddenly Azazel pulled out his whip with a cracking sound and Semjaza drew his immense swords, thinking that this was something else. An ambush. But the dark creature did not turn to face them. His enormous black wings, beat once, shuttered and then folded. With one finger, he pulled up the mask he used for carrying out his tasks and exposed his face. He wasn’t here to kill, but to deliver a message.

Samael the Destroyer, The Angel of Death stood before Shamsiel, his black eyes like the cosmos. Diamond sword in the left hand, and trumpet in the right. He lifted the trumpet and blew three times into the sky. The earth shook with the resonation and birds fled the trees. Although the men of the city below us had not heard it with their ears, their hearts melted like wax inside of their chests. Whatever anyone was doing in the world, they stopped. Somehow all things knew that a profound change was occurring. Not understanding what any of it could mean, they continued on, bent in their daily tasks. The world went on for them.

But not for Shamsiel. For the destroying angel, Samael, had come to banish him. Shamsiel had chosen, in one brief second, to question and doubt HIM, and for that, there was no forgiveness. With an unearthly scream, Shamsiel’s wings caught fire, twisted themselves and fell off, one by one, shriveling and drying up as they went. The bluish-green feathers that once adorned them, now turned brown and faded into the dust. His blue tone took on a darker hue and his brilliant sword now seemed to suck up the light around it, instead of giving off its own. His eyes, surprised and shamed, looked deep into Samael’s. Shamsiel had been banished forever. The Death Angel said nothing, merely holstered his trumpet, and pointed his long arm away, towards the city, and away from the gates of the Garden of Eden.

“Or so the story goes,” Azrael said, as he stirred the embers of the dying fire in front of him.

“What happened to Shamsiel, daddy?” the little boy asked. He had been lying in his lap, playing with a bird his father had made him.

“I met your mother,” Azrael, as he was now called, said smiling. He scooped up the boy and they headed home. The bird flew from his hands, off into the night.