The Host stood in the crowded Heart Hall, trying to catch a glimpse of her as they dragged the Mindbreaker in for her second trial, for the crimes committed against the Host and the Council. Chains rattled as they walked her in, a muzzle wrapped securely around her mouth, in similar fashion to the one that little Calathiel wore, keeping her from saying anything should she want to.
The Powers, Virtues, Principalities, and Grigori lines the path she walked. Keeping the others at bay, as they watched her silently tread passed them.
Though they weren't fledglings any longer, the Power Captain's two charges stood at his side, only slightly behind his shoulders, fingers curled into the sleeves of his tunic. Watching her silently cross in front of them, the older of the two ducked behind the Power, and Titus, next to his Captain, closed the gap between them, hiding the young one from view.
The Virtues stood across from them, and in similar fashion, the two young ladies stood behind the one that had claimed them as his. The one who took care of them, gave them a place to belong, who was patient and understanding. Who never yelled and always forgave. Who gave them a home despite how messed up they were. Orion averted her eyes, her fingers curled tightly around the leather belt he wore around his waist, she would be clutching at his hand, had he not been standing at ease with his hands curled around the hilt of his sword. At his other shoulder stood her friend and sister, Gzel stared at the Mindbreaker intensely as she walked before them, as though hoping she could strike her dead with a mere gaze alone. Before them, his fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, Akriel stood up straighter at her passing them, daring her to try and look at his girls. He dared her to.
Eyes tracked him, the young guard leading his prisoner down the aisle, he could feel them burning into his skin. He felt disgusted, he was disgusted with himself, being so close to someone so evil, his eyes burned but he bit back the tears that had threatened to fall. After all their family has been through, she had to bring this about, caused so much more heartache and suffering, and for her own pleasure. Andreus wanted to be at his mentor's side, Titus's hand curled over his shoulder, or his arm around his neck, holding him securely and protectively. Everyone who saw them together knew who he belonged to, where he belonged, and who they would answer to if anyone had any thoughts of foul play for him.
She curled her fingers in the back of his tunic, clutching tightly as she crossed before them, watching her walk before her silently, shoulders curled inward, as though in resignation for what was about to happen. This one being had been the cause of her exile, her being cast out of her home, taking everything from her. It was only her own self restraint and the knowledge of being stopped by the one whose tunic she clutched that kept her from leaping forward. She was robbed of her title, her position, her honor, her home, her brothers. Abraxas had as much right to hold a grudge as anyone whom the Mindbreaker had taken from did. She resented her. Hated her. She wanted to run at her. Get at least one solid strike in. But, Abraxos shifted, rolling his shoulders, he adjusted his hold on his sword and she looked down as he reached a hand back, curling her fingers around his palm, he curled his around hers, and gave a reassuring squeeze.
I'm here.
She squeezed his hand back in return.
I know.
They led her to the center, a raised portion, where the four thrones of the Archangels sat, the Council convened.
She looked down at the scroll she held, then touched the tips of her fingers to her lips, his trial had already come to pass, but this was the one who allowed it to happen, who had made it so the opportunity could come to pass. Turning slightly, she curled the fingers of her other hand around the scroll tightly and sought out the eyes of the one who led the scribes, the Messenger smiled encouragingly, giving her a nod for strength.
Ishariel had this.
She could do this.
Turning back around, she straightened up, set her shoulders, and stared down at the accused below her.
Naomi stared up at her in silence.
Ishariel licked her lips, long since healed from the sewing that had been done and unraveled the scroll.
"Naomi, angel of healing and trauma, you stand before the Council at the face of recompence for the crime of Treason."
The scribe turned to face the gathered host, all watching her as she announced the proceedings for them all the hear, looking up from her scroll as though she had memorized this part.
"We are not here today to prove the question of guilt, that has been proven by self-incrimination and the events that took place before this time of peace, this is a determination of punishment for the crimes committed by the accused before us today."
Nodding, her job semi complete, she turned to look at the Head Archangel. Michael smiled at her, nodding in appreciation to her announcing the proceeding, and turned his attentions to the accused.
"Seeing as it was his gesture that was abused, I believe it best if the Healer were to proclaim what shall be done with you."
Eyes turned from the eldest to the third born.
He sat in his throne, his right elbow resting on the armrest, his chin pressed against his palm, as he watched them all thoughtfully. There was something in his eyes though, the quiet sort of anger simmering, the most dangerous kind of anger. "I am speechless." The Healer sat up straighter. "The gifts that I bestowed upon you were turned into something vile and disgusting. I have never been so disgusted. There are no words to be used to express how I despise you." He stood without prompting, and there was a collective intake of breath, even the other three archangels seemed surprised by his sudden motion. "You used me. My kindness. My generosity. All that I am, you used it against me." He reached back for his blade, tucked in the belt around his waist, gripping it tightly in his hand as he pulled it back around. "You experimented on our family, you used sacred teachings that I gave you against their purpose, turning something so pure into something so tainted." He stalked down the steps leading to the center, slowly, one at a time. A predator stalking its prey.
The other three archangels stood up from their Thrones, gathering above him, as he took control of the proceedings.
Ishariel turned to look at them for instruction. The punishment was already determined. This was not what was said to happen.
Raphael came to stand before her, towering over her, a looming figure. He took her chin in hand firmly. "You shall never use your gifts against another again. If you decide it is in your power to abuse others with your grace." He slit a stretch of skin just under her jugular, in the precise way that was needed to get to the grace within the angel, and not bring them to bleed to death. He twitched his fingers slightly and the grace slowly seeped out, evaporating as it dripping freely, her knees wobbled at the sudden head rush and the only thing keeping her truly upright was his hold on her. "Then you will lose the privilege of having it."
He let her go, watching with distaste as she crumpled to the floor, and reached back to tuck his blade back into his belt. The grace wouldn't seep all at once, it would be a slow process, and she would feel it continually drain bit by bit.
"Cast her out."