One of the most recognizable figures in the trilogy is General Mikhael. The series is founded on various attributes from the diverse mythologies found around the world. In this case, Mikhael is from the Judeo-Christian-Islamic books of faith. In those texts, he is translated into English as Michael the Archangel. In the series, he regains his Hebrew name and discards the infantilizing makeover done by medieval Christians.
The general is commander of one Legion. He shares this distinction with Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael. Theses commanders have risen to the heights of Seraphim, but to complete their tasks, they maintain the appearance of Svargaduta. Their presence is still more remarkable than the average svarg. Mikhael stands head and shoulders above those in his legion. Instead of being the boyish figure Europeans and Americans are familiar with from medieval art, he boasts a sturdy form. On his back, he carries two great wings that resemble the tail feathers of peacocks. The feathers of those wings are considered to be powerful trophies with extraordinary attributes. To have one is to be under the General’s protection. His svarg crown is nested in a mat of dark gold curls. His chiseled features are accented by a short beard.
Mikhael’s armor is similar to that of Captain Maiel’s. The breast plate, however, is made of emerald green scales with burnished gold trimmings. The lappets are a rich brown leather, lying over a dark green pterugres. On his feet, the general prefers caligae. To protect his shins he wears greaves.
The General has a robust personality to go with his hulking sea captain look. The legion soldiers under his command are deeply loyal to him. The armor of each order that he oversees has some aspect of their leader in it’s construction. For instance, the moon order armor is cobalt blue like the breast of a peacock.
He interacts with those of higher rank or below with great ease, and is well liked by all. Metatron, the King’s chief council, faces the General’s enthusiasm with stoicism that can appear to be disapproval. His efforts on behalf of the king are legendary and thus he also has the respect of others.
When Captain Maiel escapes to Samsara to avoid her council, Mikhael shows great attentiveness to her plight. The impression that he grieves displays a sentimental disposition, quite fatherly. Every soldier is of value to him, as more than military power and numbers. Mikhael is a family oriented engel (male duta). He see’s his legion as a vast family.
Mikhael’s actual family is large and still growing. In Ketu with the Archangel Biael, Mikhael makes his home on Mount Zion. His apartments are comfortable, if not opulent, including guards at the door. The reality of his family deviates from the lore that duta are sexless adolescents.
Some art, more recently created, has come closer to the reality of his appearance. So, too, a few of the stories contained in scriptures, like Daniel in the Lion’s Den, are founded in a great deal of truth. The burning bush, however, is inaccurate. Mikhael is not a fire order. His armor suggests another sect, perhaps Terra Order. His penannular is not marked for an order and has not been for many eons.
An excerpt from The Trailokya Trilogy, Book One: The Shadow Soul by K. Williams:
One of the more realistic sculptures of the General.
While Dominic continued to study the odd room, the doors behind him opened again. The duta stepped toward them, nearly leaving him behind. He rushed to catch up, wondering if their interview had been denied. The question fumbled on his lips as he passed through the door into an antechamber and yet another room. He was struck dumb, trying to comprehend the space.
Alex and Gragrafel approached what resembled the balustrade of an old palace balcony. Two statues framed the opening, one rendered like a sphinx—or cherub—and the other a multi-faced throne. Beyond them hung a raspberry-streaked sky twinkling with stars and a few clouds. They must have been at the mountain’s peak, where the tower stood above all of Zion and the perpetual light beamed into forever. Dominic had no words. He stepped into the circle, taking note of the sculpted walls and vaulted ceiling.
A small, navy blue door, smattered with silver stars, swung back. From it, a dark-skinned engel in brown robes joined them. Behind him arrived the elusive Lord Councilor Ganesha. The Lord’s great elephantine head turned toward them, and Dominic wagered he saw through their facades. His trunk twirled in dismay. A double set of arms hung tensely at his sides. Metatron had chosen to embody his svarg sattva for this meeting. On his head he wore a narrow cap of silver that came to a point in the center of his forehead. His black eyes scanned Dominic.
“Your offspring betrayed us, Gragrafel. She follows her own orders and risks several souls in the process. This doesn’t bode well for your line,” the brown-robed engel said.
Gragrafel hadn’t met with the grand council yet. He’d seen those who controlled access to them. Dominic frowned, disappointed he had lied.
“Mighty Metatron.” Gragrafel stepped toward him.
The statues beside the balustrade came to life. Dominic’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, rendering him speechless. They were not statues, but the ancient duta themselves, the eldest of their kind. His lips became further sealed by Lord Ganesha passing but a pace from him, standing several feet taller and considerably wider than he. The councilor’s eyes searched him again, but the councilor didn’t speak. He chose to sit upon an ivory pedestal and wait.
“Please heed my words before you cast final judgment. I brought this soul to speak on my daughter’s behalf. We know it’s your right to cast her out—and we all know the gravity of the situation, which may warrant such extreme actions. But this soul is here to ensure that such actions won’t be necessary,” Gragrafel said.
A single seraph floated into view beyond the narrow pillars and balustrade. Dominic stepped back, startled by the apparition’s face. Its head was adorned with a helm of gold, and six radiant wings camouflaged the sattva. Their eyes were upon him, pinning him to the spot like a hunted deer. The cherub lifted its three pairs of wings, arched its back, then rose from the pedestal to turn and view Dominic better. The councilor scowled from a man-like mien, tail whipping irritably. On the other pedestal from the throne, a similarly human face watched him. It turned into the mien of an eagle, then changed to that of a bull, and then a lion. Each watched him expectantly. Each offered a different perspective. Dominic froze, attempting to process the sight and subsequently forgetting for what he came. Panic fanned the flame in his throat.
“You’ll heed my words as well, before you dare cast judgment,” a voice boomed through the room. “What mean you by involving Illuminati to trap my captain? She’s no rogue, you overzealous politicians.”
Mikhael swept past him, blustering. He bent to one knee before the High Council and crossed his arm over his chest, fist on his left shoulder—a gesture of respect among the legion guards. The supreme alders were unmoved by his arrival. If Mikhael met with such a reception, then hope was foolish.
Dominic reeled. They were sure to question him and he was uncertain he could withstand an interrogation. He practiced the words in his head. He need only speak to them to be done with this. Yet his mind continued to track back to the watcher and Mikhael’s words, stirring a panic inside him that glued his mouth shut.“Give him a moment. The boy hasn’t ever been in the presence of such high resonance. He’s but a soul and needs to comprehend. You must recall when I was a lad and stared open-mouthed at each of you. Oh, how doubtful you were of me,” Mikhael explained.
Dominic’s blood boiled. He was tired of how duta dismissed souls as weak, confused children. He had spent more than four millennia in their world, served in the legion for centuries, and spent all of that time combined in and out of the White Citadel. If he were anywhere else, he would prove his strength and character. However, a contest with the general wouldn’t return his wife, but neither would speaking about souls’ inability to comprehend higher forms. Despite himself, Dominic aimed for the high road and bit his tongue.
Mikhael went to Dominic’s side with a friendly smile. His great hand clamped on Dominic’s arm, dragging him forward to the towering triplets.
Mikhael’s penannular.
Dominic nodded to the high council, sliding the backward flat-cap from his golden head. Sparring with these surly hulks would not be much of a contest, he decided. They made him feel pathetic. His heart sank.
“Thank you for seeing me, wisest of all alders,” Dominic said.
Metatron shifted on his feet. The councilor’s restlessness and intense demeanor put Dominic on edge. Mikhael gave Dominic’s back a sharp pat that nearly shoved him off his feet. He forgot his speech as though the blow had struck the words from him.
“Let’s be introduced properly,” Mikhael said. He boisterously added, “This is Dominic, Maiel’s ketu and retired draco of the Sun Order. The soul my captain helped for the last three thousand Earth years.”
Mikhael stepped behind Dominic and scowled at the supreme alders. They weren’t the only ones to have Adonai’s ear. His presence dared them to defy the king’s wishes. He’d march through the door to the ruler’s chambers and have a good word with the king about that.
“This grizzly-looking fellow is Metatron.
Mikhael swept past him, blustering. He bent to one knee before the High Council and crossed his arm over his chest, fist on his left shoulder—a gesture of respect among the legion guards. The supreme alders were unmoved by his arrival. If Mikhael met with such a reception, then hope was foolish.
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