This is a work of fiction and is not intended to defame or glorify any current or historical figures.
The religion in this story is fictional but heavily based on a real religion.
The story includes fictionalised portrayals of the archangel Raphael and Jack the Ripper.
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The sight of the tall bronze statue of Seraphim Aeternus annoys me every day. It stands directly in front of the Grand Hall of God, the very place I must pass to reach the Heavenly Gates, where I work, daily. Every time I look at it, I'm reminded of the Principality who reduced me to nothing more than a working angel.
For someone who claims to be an angel, he carries more pride than anyone I've ever seen. In my few years here, I've already banished Asmodeus from returning to the Heavenly throne, alongside Michael, another archangel, and a friend of mine. That should earn me some credit, right? But apparently, that stoic Principality is the one who decides our worth.
Before you say anything, yes, I am an angel, a being that "has not sinned"! But, I still have a human heart and soul. I'm not a pure light vessel with wings. That's why ascended humans don't go any farther from the rank of Archangel, because we're not purely virtuous.
"Raphael, it's time to attend the gathering,"
Uriel approaches, guiding me toward the hall. His eyes betray a quiet pity for my situation.
"Principality Amadeus is waiting for you."
I follow him inside. The Grand Hall looms overhead, its pearly gold structure pressing down on my confidence.
Uriel walks ahead, his golden veil shimmering behind him.
If anyone comes close to being purely virtuous, it's Uriel. He never hated, never complained, never sinned, not once in his life. I don't understand how someone can live like that. But, then again, I heard he was raised in a church. That would explain it. Among all the saints here, I'm the youngest. Uriel, Michael, Gabriel, Seraphiel, Remiel, Raguel… They all come from the medieval ages or earlier. Sometimes I wonder why God gave me this seat. The only modern human, and from Korea, no less.
Standing beneath Principality Amadeus are my fellow archangels. Their gazes fall on me, cold and unreadable.
I've never felt so wronged.
I thought they would at least understand, but even they shut me out. Now I'm standing before them, all of them pretending like they don't even know me.
Only Uriel remains by my side, my only hope of being understood.
Amadeus, the lowest-ranking Principality, stands at the center of the hall, his displeasure obvious.
"I'll be direct, Archangel Raphael," he says. "You are hereby punished for disobeying and challenging the authority of the Principalities."
He flips open the grand archive.
"'Challenging the authority of the Principalities'? I've only ever challenged you."
You should've seen his face when I spoke up.
"It seems you still have no shame." He continues.
As much as I want to leave this situation, that would probably reduce me to a normal angel again.
"Your punishment is to descend to Earth and capture the sinner known as 'Jack the Ripper'."
A murmur spreads across the hall.
'Jack the Ripper'? Why would a sinner be on Earth? More importantly, isn't that—
Michael raises his hand, interrupting my thoughts. Amadeus acknowledges him with a slight gesture.
"What do you mean by 'capture a sinner on Earth'?" Michael asks.
"Exactly that. A sinner has escaped Hell and is now roaming the Earth."
The murmurs grow louder.
Amadeus turns back to me, his expression still dissatisfied.
"Your job is to either recapture the sinner or kill it."
'Kill' is a little bit harsh, no?
Well, I guess it is Jack the Ripper…
"What makes you think I'd listen to you?" I snap back, who cares about the court rules at this point?
"I'll make sure you will."
That's… ominous.
I exhale. "Fine. It's not like I don't have a choice anyway."
"Wise decision," he says with a faint grin.
"Let's hope you don't perish on Earth."
"What—"
Before I can finish, the floor beneath me splits open.
Uriel reaches for me, but I fall too fast.
The golden hall vanishes, replaced by a familiar blue sky. I try to spread my wings, but they don't respond, no matter how hard I will them to.
I hit the ground. Safely, somehow, but the familiar weight on my back is gone.
Of course. They wouldn't send me here with privileges.
Of course not.
"Where am I?" I mutter, brushing my hair away from my face.
"Why… is this place so familiar..?"
A hand lands on my shoulder.
I turn to see a woman with unusual skin. Dark olive, scattered with lighter patches. She wears a white top and matching trousers, with long grey gloves reaching up to her biceps.
For a moment, I realize she might be staring because of my robe—
"Huh?"
I look down. The robe is gone.
Instead, I'm dressed in a white collared shirt beneath a grey sweater and black trousers.
Well. At least Amadeus had the decency to spare me that embarrassment.
"You're standing in the middle of the street," the woman says, her voice carrying that same sharp, refined English I've come to associate with Michael.
"You should move before a car hits you." She continues.
Upon closer inspection, the female figure has an uncanny, black aura around her. The shadow of a very familiar figure crawls on her back.
I nearly strike her, my fight or flight kicking in.
That's not just some paranormal ghost… thing I saw. That was clearly Lucifer behind her. I would never mistake that figure.
"You're a sinner."
She looks at me with a shocked face, a clear indicator that I hit the mark.
Then she turns—and runs.
"Wait—get back here!"
I lunge to grab her, but suddenly, a dark void engulfs my mind. The sinner and the city disappear, and all I can see is black.
"Archangel." Lucifer's grating, whispering voice rings in my head. A shadow crawls past the corner of my eye.
"Lucifer!" I shout, my eyes dart around the space, trying to pinpoint his location.
A hulking shape of metal rushes past, close enough to graze me, dragging a sharp gust in its wake and snapping me out of the dark vision.
In my confusion, I stumble back, unable to process what just happened.
The figure in the corner of my eye is gone, and the voice seems like a fleeting hallucination rather than something real.
"What?"