The water endlessly lapped against their forearms. They were cursed by its simple power. The chains restrained their hands and feet to the bottom of a subterranean river, making them weak and powerless. Thin golden necklaces were wrapped around their neck, up their chin, and over their tongues, to bind their silence.
For nearly an eternity the Watchers hunched in the water of the caves far below the surface of the earth, forever silent and forever damned. Some said their punishment went far beyond what their disgrace warranted. The Archangels—Michaela—proclaimed the punishment suitable for the angels responsible for the Nephilim long ago. For if an angel could find lust so easily in his heart then he would find himself comfortable with the weakness portrayed by a kneeling sinner.
And oh how the Watchers regretted admiring those women. How they wished they had just stayed in Heaven, satisfied with watching from afar. But endless time passed, and watching had led to wanting. The Nephilim were a result no one had seen coming, a surprise of the ultimate kind. The Watchers even regretted their children.
More than that, they regretted accepting their punishment with bowed heads and guilty hearts. They hated themselves for marching two hundred strong into the bowels of the earth like diseased outcasts. They told themselves they deserved it then. But that was long ago and they had reconsidered.
Their biggest regret of all was not killing Michaela when they had the chance.
Azazel assumed his retribution would come violently. He had led the Watchers down to Earth’s women that fateful day. So it would be him who settled his hands around Michaela’s soul. He hadn’t heard about the fallibility of an angel’s life, but he pictured Michaela’s death countless times, countless ways.
Azazel had always imagined bursting forth from the soil, followed by his fellow damned. Instead, on the night of his freedom, the soil came to him with a soft sigh. It started as a trickle, a soft pattering of dirt they didn’t recognize at first because they were so lost in their timeless, ceaseless stupor. But then the dirt became a hard rain, and they searched above them to see the night sky for the first time in a long, long time.
The ground trembled. The water swirled, stirred to waves. Rocks fell into the river, and the underground waterfalls stopped their descent. Two hundred angels looked to one another with a quiet hopefulness they didn’t dare speak aloud.
When the caves collapsed, it took the water from their chains. With it gone, they easily broke the metal and removed the gags. They rose slowly and stiffly. They waited because they expected to see avenging angels coming to announce the End of Days and the end of them.
No one came. They didn’t see the seraph, Jehoel, take to the night sky, seeking only to get away as fast as he could. Azazel leaned back, cocking his head to take in the stars above him. With a mighty flutter, he stretched his decrepit wings out, reveling in their breadth. An excited tremble worked up his spine.
It was time.