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Thriving with maggots perhaps, of people struggling with their own lives,
suppressed by the crushing ordinances of the governing state. The maggots
in the city below were groveling, struck in the stink amidst the abuses and
refuse of other humans.
Women stood in the midst of the streets, selling themselves as drunk
men shouted and laughed. Children cried out in hunger and despair as the
starving died themselves out in masses. Those fortunate enough to get off
the streets were already locked away, even in the early hour, living in dark,
damp quarters little better than the conditions on the streets.
In the midst of the chaos, atop a tall building, the silhouette of two
hooded figures could be seen. One stood in a flowing cloak that concealed
him completely. Only a silver, soft hand protruded, palm faced upwards,
gesturing out to the city before him. The other figure was in a cloak also.
“So, this is what we are fighting to save. You claim there is that upper
power that the Angels insist, but even Michael and the other holy Angels
have never seen Him. They claim to have heard His voice before.”
“It is on faith that I take it,” the second figure replied, in a soft
woman’s voice.
“You do not see the degradation, the abuse, the pains and agonies
suffered. Humanity has no capacity for love, for beauty, or nobility. You see
the works before you. Look however far before or after into history and you
shall also see that. They all say that man was created in the image of God
Himself. But tell me, where is this God?”
The second figure paused a moment before pointing a figure upward
before the first figure continued.
“Humanity is made in destruction. What was made that could be so
beautiful is there to be destroyed. The most beautiful gifts of humanity, they
take, and they twist and distort into such disgusting mockeries.”
“Yet, it gives you no right to judge. They certainly have the capacity to
destroy, but you, in essence, are playing God.”
The first figure turned, “Let’s take a look.” He took a leap onto the
building next to him as the second figure followed suit.
The two figures landed on their feet in the dark alleyway, stricken with
smells of refuse and human sewage left untreated. A rat skittered here and
there between the human waste, amongst the heaps of humans left dead or
sleeping, oblivious to the pain and suffering around them.
They continued, callous and invisible amongst the people, the wagons,
and animals, continuing past intersections in dismal alleyways.
“You might, believe, Kildred, that the world is like this, but you are only
looking at one side. The depths of human degradation are only one side of
the whole story.”
“Shh!” said the first figure. “Be quiet.” A harsh pounding from above
broke the silence like gunshots. “We were being followed.”
“Oh, God.”
From behind them, they heard footsteps and shouts of laughter. From
the front, the silhouettes of a crowd of people with the glint of weapons
showed. The two figures slid into another alley, deeper into the maze of
alleyways. The reeking smell of sewage and waste gave way to trash bins
and rats, crawling about the alley floor. High above, the smells of rot and
sewage rose like vapors in the night and smoke reflected, paling the night
air.
The head figure turned towards and then back, leading into another
crowd of raucous, laughing men. “Verona, still believe in the nobility of man?
This is what we’re fighting to save.”
The first man stepped over the rotting sewage to get close to the first
hooded figure. His hair was cropped short, but there was a glint of malicious
cruelty in his eyes. His muscles bulged from his jacket and his massive hands
held a gun and a switchblade, “Alright freak , hand over that pretty little girl
you have.”
The first hooded figure turned his head, as if to cue an attack, but the
man continued, “I wouldn’t think about it. You see, all I need to do is pull this
little trigger here, and your little boyfriend here—
Before he could finish, Verona had pulled out two blades with the tips
of her fingers and gracefully slashed the man, tearing out his inner viscera
while throwing both knives across and striking two other men. Before the
other men could react, the first hooded figure, Kildred had pulled out two
daggers and had gracefully dispatched another two men, before sweeping
the legs out from underneath a man, throwing a knife at another man, who
had moments to point the gun at him, but before he could even pull the
trigger, the knife struck him directly in the throat. His hands dropped the gun
as they went to his throat. Kildred ducked behind a dumpster as another
man fired at him. Verona dispatched him silently and gracefully, the last of
the men.
With a silent kind of somber feeling, Verona pulled back her hood. Her
beautiful green eyes in her pure, golden hair and her fair face reflected an
essence of purity, and of a kind of resilient spirit, in spite of all the difficulties
she had endured. She had come through her difficulties with her share of
scars, but none of them tarnished her gentle spirit. For her, she knew the
difficulties of life, and she loved people in spite of their flaws and their
intentions. She was a lover of life, and she fought for what she envisioned to
be better for all. Her dispatching of the men was done in light of what was
necessary for her survival and nothing more. The green eyes indicated a kind
of perception of the beauty in all things, and a willingness to accept things as
they were, rather than to surrender to the difficulties of life.
The first figure stood up from behind the dumpster. His piercing grey
eyes indicated a kind of darker perception from behind. His face was worn
with the grievances of life, one who has faced too many difficulties all his life
overcoming them with a kind of persistent strength. There was a fierce red
scar above his brow, but his face was as fresh and clear as any man in his
youth. There were several wrinkles, and his brow was constantly wrinkled
with concerns and thoughts, but the placidity of his face expressed a
tempest of emotions, one of intensity and wholesome strength. It was an
honest face, and certainly one with the capacity to perceive more than it
betrayed. Yet, there was some bitterness in his grey eyes, as if they had
seen far more pain and suffering than any other man that looked his age.
Kildred nodded towards Verona as both turned away from the carnage
and picked out the knives. Taking a knife to one particular man who was
writing, and gently laying the blade of the knife on the man’s throat, he
whispered quietly, “Who sent you?”
The man’s eyes were pleading, “Please—
“You just attacked us about now, I’m in no merciful mood.”
“You don’t understand! He made me do it! He—
“Kildred!” Verona cried out.
Kildred looked up and swerved as a bullet flew past. With the hilt of his
knife, he deflected the bullet up into the air. The man who had fired the
bullet stood for a moment before falling, Verona had fired a bullet into his
back with the gun of another man.
Kildred turned to Verona, “make sure they’re dead. I don’t want any
more men suddenly shooting at us.”
Verona immediately turned to the bodies. Kildred immediately turned
back to the man. “Who sent you?!”
The man laughed, “he is too great for you, but the Palatinate shall fall!
And Cerebros will rise. And he shall reward me in death!”
“Who sent you!” But the man was already dead, choked on his own
blood.
Verona stood waiting. “I count eleven bodies.”
Kildred turned his head, “Let’s go.” He turned to go.
“Wait! Kildred, come back, look at this symbol.”
He turned back to Verona, kneeling beside her over the corpses of one
of the men, and turned over the arm of one of the men, pulling the sleeve
back a bit further. “Remember this symbol? It was on one of the swords of
the Fallen.”
Kildred turned to the symbol. It was a semicircle with an engraving of
an upside down cross and two lines that protruded from the arms of the
upside down cross. The longer end of the cross protruded halfway through
the curved line, almost like an arrow through the bow.
“Didn’t this look like that symbol on Anaphias’s sword? When he found
us looking for David and Theo?”
Kildred recalled his memories, flashing back to that particular moment.
The vivid image of the Fallen Angel raising his sword at them before dueling
Riephox came back to him. Just the moment before the strokes dealt moved
too fast for them to see, the spring in the blade left a moment where the
blade was immobile and in that moment the symbol had etched itself into his
memory.
Kildred turned to another man about him, rolled up the sleeve. The
symbol was there. He turned to another man. “They all have the symbol on
their right arms.”
“What could this mean?”
“We’ll need to find Anaphias.”
Kildred turned to Verona. There was something strange about the way
he analyzed the buildings around him, expecting some kind of imminent
threat to them. There were strange red gleams from the buildings nearby,
that appeared for instants and disappeared later. His sense of foreboding
warned him of a kind of threat.
They had traveled to a major core site in England. Stonehenge was one
of the most powerful core sites in the world, but they found themselves in an
abandoned country, with nothing but heaps or so of human waste, refuse.
Kildred was uneasy, that much Verona could tell. She had fought
alongside him for the past twenty years and it was easy to tell when
something else had his attention. “I have their scent, but something is
blocking me from tracking it.”
Verona turned, “maybe it’s not as strong in this world. Your tracking
skills are unparalleled in our world.”
Kildred glanced around, scanning. “Don’t talk so openly. Something is
watching us.”
They continued along the abandoned streets. The city was completely
abandoned, but scraps of metal here and there were scattered along the
streets. Ahead, the distant façade of cathedrals and other ancient buildings
rose above to block the sun as it set.
He bent over a scrap of metal. “This is the seal of Anaphias.”
Verona bent over with him. She scanned the symbol. A semicirle was
intersected by the long point of an upside down cross that served as the
center of the fork of the Devil.
“I’m starting to think this is something beyond Anaphias.”
“Are you saying that Anaphias was an agent?” Verona turned away,
scanning the darkness.
“Yes. Of what, I am more uncertain.”
Verona turned to him. “There’s only one force powerful enough to
control Anaphias. Anaphias would not even serve the Devil himself.
Cerebros.”
The name struck both of them as a shock.
“Is it possible?” He fell before Creation. He is the reason why there was
a Second Creation. To say that he is rising is tantamount to saying that there
will be another struggle so massive that it will destroy the world.”
“The Norse spoke of Ragnarock. It was a war when the gods and giants
would die, and Yggdrasill would collapse. The Greeks spoke of how the
immortal gods would one day die when their worshippers forgot them or died
out. They can’t really die, but they can cease to exist. That’s why they were
so aggressive and jealous of each other. To be forgotten was a threat to their
existence.
“Kildred,” Verona’s calm voice was shaking with dread. “I think we
walked right into a trap.”
Kildred spun around. Behind them, two hooded figures stood in wait a
couple dozen paces back.
Mika turned to Michael. “You ever have those moments when you feel
like your entire life is revolving around something, or someone? Like that
inexplicable feeling when you’re walking, and you suddenly have that sense
of obligation to something or someone?”
Michael turned his head towards Mika. “I feel that every moment of my
life. My whole existence is that which revolves around my Father, to commit
to His will as much as we can.”
Then suddenly, a thought spurred to Mika. She turned to the golden
angel, and gazed into his golden eyes with her brown ones. “Have you ever
actually met him?”
Michael turned back to Mika. “No. I’m far too insignificant to be in His
presence. The Seraphim delegate the will down to me, and I obey.”
“But have you ever questioned Him? His will? Have you ever wondered
any of the possibilities?”
“No, because to do so is a desecration of my faith.”
Mika’s eyes glowed with a sudden thought, which, at its inception
fueled her and gave her strength as she spoke with the angel. “They take
God to be a separate entity, with His own will, but what if we misinterpreted
God? God is a light within our own hearts, a shining light within us, giving us
the awareness of our surroundings, changing them, empowering us. We all
have our separate interpretations of God, and every single side that has ever
fought a war in history claims to have had ‘God’ on their side.”
Michael turned away, shocked. His deep voice reverberated with power
and intimidation, but beneath that quaking rage, Mika could sense some
speculation forming as a seed, “You can’t simplify it like that. God must
exist, something beyond our hearts. Besides, Jesus Christ died on the Cross.
And he was God too.”
“I’m saying about something deeper. I’m saying that when Lucifer
turned to me, he spoke to me, and he said something like ‘I caused no evil
when I tempted Eve to eat the fruit. I brought God into the hearts of men, so
that they could achieve far more. That is why man is so noble. Each and
every man now has the ability to become a god, because a piece of God lives
on within him.’”
Michael was outraged, “You’d take the word of the Devil seriously? His
voice is beautiful for a reason! To tempt you to fall to his beliefs.”
“What if this is all an orchestration? What if you and Lucifer have spent
all this time battling each other, when, in reality, there is a greater evil that
is rising, but in the façade of Lucifer? Lucifer claims he was framed for his
crimes over the past few millennia, and that his Fall was actually
orchestrated far before his creation?”
“What are you speaking of?” Michael’s anxious golden eyes turned to
her.
“Over the past thousands of years, men have died for their beliefs. The
Reformation in Europe and the Great Schism were products of what? Men
thought their interpretations of God were right, so they fought for them. No
one considered the possibility they were wrong. I’m proposing that maybe, in
a sense, all of us are wrong, that God exists in each of us to unify all of us,
not, as most Christians say, as a single unified entity condemning humanity.”
Michael gazed at this human girl. She amazed him. Of all the people in
the world, throughout the millennia, she was proposing a new idea, one so
radical it could not be possible, but the conviction with which she voiced it
convinced even him.
Yet, in such theologian disputes, nothing could really be proved except
by taking leaps of faith and then justifying them afterwards. That’s what
Christians, Muslims, Judaists, and almost all the practitioners of religion had
been doing for millennia. Up to a certain point, one could build trajectories of
logic so convincing, but up to that point, the trajectory left empirical and
solid knowledge and stretched across the gap of speculation into vast foreign
territories.
He gazed at the girl with longing, yet he knew far better. He should’ve
understood the Edict of Angels. The first rule of which was that Angels must
reject all emotion and passion. Passion ruled reason, and was the primary
cause of sin. Yet, to have emotion was to be human. That logic followed that
to sin was to be human, because humans had the capacity of emotion. Thus,
in order to escape sin, one had to forsake emotion. That was why Angels
were so envious of humanity. The need to control one’s emotions was often
overwhelming. The ones who did not control their emotions fell to
condemnation. “That was why Lucifer fell,” he thought. The love the Angels
had for God was not out of emotion, but out of reasoned love. It was in their
perfunctory nature to love God, even though they would never meet Him.
Yet, deep within him, that façade of neutrality had begun to crack. The
dam holding back the flood of emotion, the losses of his brother angels had
taken his toll. He had held back all, tears, but rather, performed the rite of
blessings for the angels. Throughout the years, he had followed orders, one
of the mightiest angels, content to obey because he had no other purpose to
his existence. Now he had a reason, and the inception of that idea led to the
cracking of his wall of emotion. A single tear ran across the incandescent
skin of his fair face.
Mika held Michael’s face in her hand. The tear lingered on his chin for a
moment, before dropping onto the back of her withdrawn hand. Mika looked
at the pearl of water for the longest time, before putting it to her mouth. The
droplet of water was salty but sweet, like vinegar.
“Let’s go to Atlantis.”