#hellonearthvirtue

"Chastity," the one who speaks is obviously their leader. The angel speaks calmly not a hint of the anger he can see in some of the others. "He has repented, but his body grows weak, he is dying even as we speak. If you do not grant him salvation his soul will be lost to Hell."

"As it is meant to be," he tries to keep his voice calm, but he feels something simmering in the back of his mind. He feels trapped.

One of the others steps forward, wings bristling. "You would let Hell take him? Grow that much stronger?"

Chastity flinches away from the force in his voice. "He has not repented."

"He has."

"No, he has not," Chastity shakes his head. "He has said the words but he does not truly regret his actions," and that was almost horrifying. The Virtue could barely believe some of the actions this man had taken his fellow humans. "He enjoyed the power he had over others. He does not deserve the Blessing of Heaven. I will not Cleanse his soul."

Now he could be certain of the anger in some of their eyes. Their leader simply looks upon him with pity. "Dear Chastity," why did those words make dread curl within his Grace? "We are at War. Every soul that is brought through Heaven's Gate is a victory, it makes us that much stronger and able to resist Hell's spread. Do you truly wish them to win?"

Them. He could only assume it was Hell the angel spoke of. "What comes, comes. This was all foretold by our Creator long ago, and I will fulfill the Purpose that He gave me. I cannot send a soul to the Gates who has not truly repented his crimes and sought forgiveness.I care not the pretty promises you have given him. They are not mine,""

The flash of anger on the angel's face was ugly. "You would let them win. You do not deserve to be counted among Heaven's Host," the dread nearly unfurled into fullblown panic as some of other stepped closer. It was with great effort that he held his ground. He would not be bullied into going against his Purpose.

"That is not for you to decide," brave words, though he did not feel it. There was an old panic and sorrow in the back of his mind. Ancient memories of another time he refused action. "That is for the Archangels or the Martyr to decide, not you," he would have numbered their Creator, but the One so rarely spoke these days. The best guidance he could gain from his Father was the pull of his own Grace. That he knew he could trust.

"We are allowed to punish traitors," his shivered at the snarl of anger.

"No, you are not. If you see me of wrongdoing then bring me before Michael, or Azrael, or even Abel. But it is not your place to punish me."

Later he would not be able to recall how he kept himself from simply running away. The anger and general outrage in the room was cloying, but before they could make a move there came a rattling breath, and then silence.

The human was dead.