The Successor of Ramiel: The Zoharian Bladers, #1

By Oliver Kerrigan

'Zera, the Archangels demand victory from the Successor of Ramiel. It is time you earnt that title.'

Powerful. Headstrong. In Denial.

Zera, a powerful warrior of Heaven and wielder of the Zoharian Blade Ramiel, is thrust into the latest phase of the celestial battle that has lasted millennia. Grief stricken following the death of his wife, he must embrace divine power to save not only himself but the Earth he has sworn to protect.

And in the shadows lurks a presence. A Fallen Angel with his own Zoharian Blade.

The stage is set.

Failure sparks disaster.

Throw yourself into a blend of epic fantasy, urban mystique and action-adventure. Experience the friendship and camaraderie of Zera's fighting angels as they clash swords with demons and fight for Heaven's cause.

'The Successor of Ramiel' marks the beginning of a trilogy that will leave you eagerly anticipating the next twist in the divine duel between the Zoharian Blades.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oliver Kerrigan
• Release date: Oct 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201636623

Book preview

Before the dawn of man, Lucifer fell, splitting the angels into the divine and demonic. Legendary swords, called the Zoharian Blades, forged before the time of the Lucifer fall, command powers reserved to myths. These swords have placed themselves amongst prominent new age angels. Influencing the world beyond the physical, these swords call out for their siblings ...

1 – Zerachiel

4 pm: St. Michael’s Church, The City of Rumon

They’re here somewhere.

Zerachiel landed on the rooftop of a small stone-built church which stood in the heart of the city and closed his pollution-stained wings. He surveyed the busy streets below. Where are the demons hiding? His still-dark hair, deceiving other angels of his true age, wavered in the breeze. On top of his dark grey Kevlar-woven clothes was fastened a bronze breastplate from which roared the fierce face of a lion, its décor a tribute to the Romans. His shoulder guards were segmented; panels of high impact-resistant steel slotted together. A reinforced leather belt, to which an empty sheath was buckled, crossed his body.

Gripped in his right hand, the legendary lightning sword – Ramiel. Carved from a citrine-hued crystal, extracted from the lost mines of Heaven, it was bestowed with enigmatic, mystical power. Heavenly runes, their meaning locked in time and their secrets guarded from mortals, were inscribed upon the blade –

דעמאנל

Ramiel’s will, a permeating, all-reaching magnetic field, interfered with passing electronic devices. The people on the streets below stopped and stared blankly at their frozen phone screens, lost without constantly checking their uneventful newsfeeds. Zera smiled. You’re doing it again, Ramiel. As the reliance on electronic technology grows, your influence expands. The distractions of modern life made it easy for Zera to hide in plain sight. People never look up. They have no idea an angel’s looking at them. I’m in the realm of optical illusions where tricksters reside.

He scanned every angle; anything out of place was a clue. He ignored the passers-by hurrying to their next engagement. Citizens of all creeds and beliefs navigated through the rush hour, but they were not of interest to an angel’s eyes, not unless they were a demon in disguise. Zera only needed a sniff of their fetid odour before latching onto a demon’s trail. They’re getting better at hiding themselves. He raised an eyebrow. Maybe they’ve learnt to wash?

Ramiel’s runes began to glow a golden yellow. Engrossed in his search, he did not notice. A sharp static shock hit the back of his hand. Ouch! His hand stung. What’s made you so nervous, Ramiel?

‘So, you did notice me?’ cut-in a female voice from behind.

An alpha angel, wearing a long tan leather coat, stood where his shadow should have been. She smiled, satisfied with her entrance. With clean, white, pointed wings like the legendary Pegasus and a rose-gold halo above her head, this angel wielded a sword carved from smoky quartz. Her wings, as she closed them, threaded through silts in the back of her coat. Zera immediately jumped to the obvious conclusion. That sword is just like Ramiel. Smoky quartz? Is it possible that it’s Arakiel?

Arakiel vibrated in response; the church’s ancient foundations quivered. The sacred runes engraved upon its blade glowed rose-gold to match the alpha angel’s halo –

פלא פקתן

‘You’re a hard angel to find, Zerachiel,’ the angel announced with a playful undertone.

The church shuddered from the ground up. Zera shivered. What’s this vibration? He studied his challenger intently. She’s not just a pretty face. Her hazel eyes are trying to cut through me. She’s constructed her façade well over decades of refinement and guidance from her master. An Archangel’s guidance, if I’m not mistaken. Problem is, which Archangel sent her?

‘I’m Seraphiel,’ she said, answering the question that hung in the air. ‘But call me Seraph. It’s easier on the tongue.’ Zera looks the part; well-built with a suitably heavy brow, but what he’s been through has removed the youthfulness from his face.

Zera did not acknowledged her obvious confidence; he focused solely on Arakiel. Ramiel and Arakiel are resonating. I can hear a faint ringing, like a bell chiming in my ear, that I can’t ignore.

‘Arakiel detected Ramiel’s presence,’ Seraph remarked. ‘Fitting that a blade of lightning calls out to a blade of the Earth.’

Zera felt Ramiel’s internal magnetic field fluctuate. Should I be worried?

Seraph experienced the equivalent sensation from Arakiel’s internal tectonic fault line. You’ve never quaked like this before? Protecting Zera, are we, Ramiel?

‘Why are you here?’ Zera asked, his guard raised.

‘I wanted to meet Ramiel’s famous blader.’

Flattery did not register with Zera. He’d been around too long and seen too much to care about trivialities. He cracked an unexpected smile, softening his jawline. She’s so relaxed. I haven’t encountered someone like her for a long while. In a gesture of respect, Zera bowed and his halo revealed itself, shining the same golden light as Ramiel’s runes. Outstretching his arm, he adopted Ramiel into an attacking position.

‘Bold of you,’ Seraph observed. She opened her wings to their fullest extent, their arc rising then falling like a perfect bass clef. She lunged forward, Arakiel purring. Zera swung Ramiel. The blades clashed. Lightning sparked off Ramiel; Arakiel quaked. The church trembled. From the street below, they heard light bulbs explode in sequence – bang, bang, bang. Zera pushed hard. She’s good. Seraph equalled him. He lives up to his reputation. Both were satisfied. Both stood down.

Pulling back, Zera and Seraph now had a clear impression of each other and of their blades.

‘Not bad,’ Seraph complemented.

‘Enough indulgence. Who sent you?’ Zera demanded.

‘You’ll find out, after midnight.’

Zera recoiled. Why midnight? He shook his head. I don’t have time for this. ‘Don’t try and have too much fun being difficult, Seraph.’

‘Sparring should be fun.’

‘Sparring’s over. I’ve got work to do.’

Seraph inclined her head, her long blond hair fell to the side, obscuring her inquisitive eye. ‘How’s that going? Found Saleos yet?’

Zera furrowed his forehead. Who exactly is this woman? Barachiel hasn’t mentioned her in any of his briefings. Seraph grinned. He’s trying to unpick my façade. Good luck with that, Zera.

Ramiel and Arakiel continued resonating. The background static hiss around Ramiel intensified. Something’s wrong. Zera was apprehensive. Is she going to attack again? Arakiel reduced the frequency of its vibration; Seraph giggled. We’ve ruffled this angel’s feathers. ‘It’s been fun, Zera. See you soon.’

Seraph glimpsed at her watch, then, without prior announcement or hesitation, jumped off the roof. Her wings opened wide and flat, decelerating her descent. Landing on the ground, she bent her knees, cushioning their impact. Turning back towards Zera, she saluted him with a wry smile. Her wings folded back underneath the slits in her coat; the fabric camouflaged their existence perfectly. As if on cue, her halo vanished as she walked onto the street, returning Arakiel back to its sheath under her coat. Before long, she melted away with the rush hour torrent, just another woman heading towards her next destination.

Ramiel calmed; the order of its universe restored.

Zera shook his head. Barachiel’s going to hate this.

2 – An Archangel in a Nightclub

11 pm: Eden Nightclub, Downtown Rumon

Barachiel was one of the oldest angels left on Earth. He’d served long and he’d served well. With his cultivated Father Time beard that was whiter than his grey wings, Barachiel’s chiselled features had been softened by age; now wrinkles were engraved on his face and veins pushed against his thinning skin. Once a towering figure, he had shrunk into an apology of his former self, but still immaculately dressed in long flowing silk robes that dated from the turn of the last millennium, he sat in a dingy private room in a grimy backstreet nightclub where the strip lighting jarred against the black walls. On the small table in front of him, his trademark china pot of freshly boiled tea waited patiently to be poured.

The door opened. Barachiel shuddered at the racket coming from the main room in the club. I hate that music. I should have bought my radio so I could listen to Beethoven or Dvorak. When you reach the age of 8850, musical innovation just becomes noise. His mind returned to serious matters; his guests had arrived.

Uriel, one of the four Archangels, had requested this meeting, though not here. She did not like these tawdry surroundings. Hers was a more upmarket world. He could have picked a wine bar at least. Millenia of years old, Uriel could be mistaken for a woman in her late forties, fashionably allowing flecks of grey to show in her hair. She did not wear make-up; she did not have time to apply it given her all-consuming job. Uriel was not the tallest angel, but the authority she calmly exuded made her the strongest presence in any room. Her sleek platinum suit, tailor-made, woven by Heaven’s best, could never crease. Uriel proudly wore trousers; she was the trouser Archangel. She saw Barachiel and was saddened that he was showing the signs of age. I might be older by five hundred years, but I have the benefit of aging more slowly. He must be near retirement. She sat down, crossed her legs, ready for business. ‘Why here of all places?’

‘No one expects angels to be in such a place,’ Barachiel answered with a satirical smile.

Uriel ruefully smiled back. It was not in her nature to question such trivial things. She just accepted. Barachiel poured some tea. Uriel took a sip and found its fruity aromas surprisingly refreshing. Oh, how delightfully mundane!

‘I’m surprised by your meeting request, Uriel,’ Barachiel remarked. ‘I’ve been asking for one for years to no avail.’

‘Well, you’ve got my undivided attention now.’ Uriel shifted in her seat. ‘I too am worried about Rumon’s escalating demon activity. So, you’re getting more help.’

‘How many angels are you sending me?’ Barachiel asked, trying his best to hide his delight.

‘Two,’ Uriel answered. Barachiel outstretched his bottom lip. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought it would be just the one. ‘The first is a young angel named Haniel. She’s a graduate Missionary Angel who’s only just turned one hundred and fifty. Seemingly average by all accounts.’

Barachiel raised his right eyebrow. Seemingly? Uriel smiled. He hasn’t lost his insight with age. ‘She’s like us.’ Uriel chose her words diplomatically. ‘That is, Haniel appears to have the same capabilities as us.’

‘I see.’ Barachiel was intrigued.

‘She’s an interesting potential; one you can help realise.’

‘When does she arrive?’

‘She will be at St Denys when you return.’

‘That hardly gives me time to prepare, Uriel.’

‘Then you’d better be efficient with your time.’

Barachiel laughed, shaking his head. Uriel grinned. Barachiel’s one of the few who would be so open with an Archangel. Well, he has earned that privilege. Barachiel leant over to grab the teapot. ‘And the second angel?’

‘I’m dispatching Seraphiel to help you with the Saleos investigation. She rivals Zera.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Barachiel poured more tea.

‘She wields Arakiel,’ Uriel answered sharply.

Barachiel stopped pouring. He glared at Uriel, his concern tangible. He placed the teapot on the table. She cannot be serious. ‘You think placing Ramiel and Arakiel together wise?’

‘Ramiel and Arakiel aren’t enemies and Seraph is one of my best.’

‘Then why send her to me?’

Uriel was ready for the obvious question. ‘Seraph had a recent bereavement. A new mission would help her greatly.’

‘Who died?’

‘I cannot say.’ Uriel did not bother to dodge the question. Barachiel would see through any attempts anyway. ‘Seraph is a handful and more than a little unorthodox. You’re ideal for her, Barachiel, considering you handle Zera.’

Barachiel rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m concerned about putting Ramiel and Arakiel together. Zera has not recovered from the last time he encountered such a sword.’

‘I’m aware of the Valafar incident, Barachiel. But those blades are game changers. You of all angels should know that.’

Barachiel’s unease did not melt away, but Uriel’s word was final. Her word was law. He sipped his tea. I’m getting too old for this. ‘Has Seraph already arrived?’

‘She arrived this morning.’

‘Then I shall accommodate her.’ Barachiel bowed his head, acknowledging his superior.

Uriel understood Barachiel’s concern. I know it’s a lot to ask, but Seraph needs this. Who knows? Zera and Seraph can help each other out. ‘If things go wrong, I’ll pull Seraph out upon your request. You have my word.’

‘Thank you.’

Uriel nodded, allowing Barachiel to depart, his tea unfinished.

She sighed. This was her personal experiment. If Zera and Seraph can maximize their potential together, then it might finally push Hell out of Rumon. I appreciate Barachiel’s concern, but we need every advantage we can get.

3 – Ghosts at Midnight

Midnight: St Denys Cathedral, Rumon

Haniel stood in front of the hundred metre tower that preceded the gothic structure of the cathedral in this, the old centre of Rumon. She’d been taught that the north and south transept arms flanked the six-bay nave and were studded with characteristically pointed arches. Standing in the vast cobbled plaza, she noted the coffee shops and restaurants, some with chairs and heaters outside, maximising the pull of their location. Behind her, a fountain was littered with pennies from wish-makers; its impressive centrepiece an encrusted, verdigris installation of Neptune pointing skywards. A Roman god standing close to the cathedral – what an odd combination.

An unassuming young angel, Haniel had auburn hair and although she dressed to look older, her freckles betrayed her. She was the girl-next-door you never noticed, who shrank into the corners and hid in passing shadows. But in the middle of the plaza, she was exposed. The cathedral made her feel small. It did not help that it was midnight. Caught in the moonlight, the carved statues of saints on the lofty façade stared into her amber eyes. It made her nervous, as if she was being judged for sins she never committed. She detected a low-pitched buzzing. She shivered; her body reacting to the presence of someone who was not there. Are they trying to put the fear of God in me? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. She spun to the right.

Nothing. Was that a woman there?

She pushed at the cathedral door. It’s unlocked? Entering, she saw the candles were still lit, wax trickling down their sides. The lingering scent of incense was almost choking. Good job I’m not asthmatic. In the moonlight, the stained-glass windows glistened in a kaleidoscope of colours; the stories of saints and angels entwined in trailing ivy – a document of the complex relationship between Heaven and Earth.

A grey-haired, round-faced man with honest blue eyes was waiting for her. He was the reverend of this cathedral. Haniel stopped, profiling him. He’s gentle, unassuming. I’m never going to meet such a perfect stereotype again.

‘You must be the new missionary,’ he said as he bowed courteously. Haniel nodded. ‘I’m the Reverend Wilson. Welcome.’

Haniel had never been bowed to before; it was a new experience and she had to resist the urge to giggle. But then her eye was drawn