I knew it was a dream, a vision of sorts, but I still staggered back from the creature that was Xyphiel. It wasn’t just that Xyphiel was some horrible mixture of a dragon and demon come to life before me. It was the hate in his eyes, the burning fury that he cast out at the prophets before him.
I turn to face the council, and while most now we're standing, none were moving. I notice that Xyphiel was closer to the doors than they were, which seemed to be a bit of a design flaw. Topics to discuss with Tim later.
One of the prophets turns to the massive doors, shouting, “Guardian Angels! Help us!”
This man, despite being on the third row up, is the first that Xyphiel killed.
Xyphiel flies through the air, pouncing on him and slashes his throat out with his golden clad claw. Xyphiel then turns to Saint Dinah. “There’s no help for you outside.” He dives at Saint Dinah, who is stunned into silence as he tackles her down to the ground floor of the amphitheater.
As they slam to the ground, Saint Dinah pleads, “Kriggary, please, I beseech you, please reconsider your actions! Repent! I beg you!” Tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “Please do not follow this path! It leads to your ruin.”
“Your lies will not sway me any longer,” Xyphiel growls, pushing Saint Dinah back against the far wall. “I will destroy all of your charlatans.”
As Xyphiel leaves her and proceeds to begin killing the other prophets, none of which appeared to be angels like Dinah, I rush over to her.
While the horror unfolding behind me is beyond measure, the screams and terror of the prophets behind me as they were brutally murdered, I look to Saint Dinah curiously.
Tears drip down her cheeks as her eyes never leave him. “What have you become, Kriggary? How have we failed you so?”
I turn to him, then back to Saint Dinah, in shock as I watch the silver seemingly drain from her wings, her wings bleaching as they do so. While the silver is still there, it is faint. Like when I first saw Timothy’s wings, only he gained more silver rather than losing it.
Saint Dinah’s wings aren’t the only thing that is changing, as she seems to age a few years as well, the glow of her eyes fading. “Please… don’t do this.”
I turn to see a corpse hurled at me, a woman’s, she appears to have white hair and looks rather weathered. She reaches out to Saint Dinah with an old wrinkled hand, gasping.
Saint Dinah reaches out her hand weakly, her face falling as Xyphiel lands on the poor woman’s head, crushing it like a watermelon. Saint Dinah’s hand remains outstretched, her eyes locked on the body of the woman’s remains. “Fariah.”
Xyphiel grabs Dinah by the neck, lifting her up.
Saint Dinah barely seems to have the will to reach up to stop him, her eyes far away. “This… came to pass… as They said…”
Xyphiel glares at her, his form slowly shrinking down to that of a normal human. “You will suffer.” He thrusts his hand at the doors to my right, both which open and smashes into the walls loudly. He hurls her out of the room, where she lands on her hands and knees.
“You know not what you have done, Kriggary! I beg you--repent!” She looks outside, further horrified as she sees blood and gore throughout the once white halls of the temple.
I peak out, my eyes wide as I see Ragna, the woman from before, walking towards us.
“Repent?” Xyphiel growls “You dare ask me to repent? Charlatan! Dinah the Metatron, I shall make you suffer. Death is too good for a whore like you!”
As Xyphiel looms over Dinah, I close my eyes, shouting, “Enough, Samael! I get the point!”
Immediately everyone freezes in place. Samael appears next to Xyphiel, towering over him. “O woe is Xyphiel for this path he chose. Had he thrown himself on the Guardian Council’s mercy, a path to salvation would have proved available.” With a flick of his wrist, Xyphiel vanishes in a puff of red smoke. “But alas, that is not the fate he chose.”
I groan. “You don’t choose your fate; fate’s predetermined.”
Samael laughs, the other figures turning to smoke, the temple walls as well, more and more vanishing until only myself, Saint Dinah and Samael remain in an endless white void. “O what a disappointment it is to hear such words from thine’s mouth, Sofia.”
I raise an eyebrow to Samael.
“Fate is a choice but also predetermined. Hath thou never considered that thy hath many fates? What fate thou chooses to weave into the grand tapestry is thine’s choice, but all fates are known by Our Lord God.” Samael moves toward me, looming over me as he does.
I glare at him. “Okay then, answer me this, did Saint Dinah just surrender herself to her fate then? Why didn’t she lift a finger to stop Xyphiel! She’s an angel, she seemed more than capable!” I shout, pointing to Saint Dinah.
Samael’s grin widened if that was at all possible. “What would thou hath done in her place? What if it was Timothy who had defamed this holiest site?”
I frown. “Tim would never do that.”
Samael snickers. “O poor Dinah said the same of the fabled Kriggary. Fated a child, you see, an heiress to her throne. Saint Dinah expected a valiant knight ready to repent for Lord God and to serve.” He looks to Dinah, frozen on the floor, “Alas, she received a man of wrath and vindication.”
“She could have gotten his attention at least, so the rest could escape,” I explain, frowning.
Samael’s grin fades. “So the path of the Martyr.”
I shake my head. “I’d have no intention of dying.” I pull out my hand cannon, or at least I imagined I do. “I’d kill the bastard if I had to,” I say this, knowing Tim would never do something like his father.
Samael’s smile returns tenfold. “O, how joyful to hear you would take the path of retribution rather than that of pointless martyrdom!” He chuckles. “Raphael considers it a great honor, to die for a cause.” Then he frowns. “But it is throwing one’s life away.” He stands before me. “One doth not sacrifice a Pawn knowing it could someday become a Queen.” Without warning, Samael grabs both of my hands, pulling them toward him and setting me off balance. “Pawns must be directed, of course, to the other end of the board first.”
I tug and struggle but he will not let go of them. “What the hell are you doing? Let go!”
“O’ long ago, I was to challenge a man to such a predicament.” He lifts his hands up, my hands caught within his fists. “Wrestle free of mine grip and be free, fail and-- He chuckles, “--slumber for however long it takes to free thyself.”
“What?” I shout. I close my eyes, focusing, trying to wake myself up. “Wake up… come on…”
“I hath intervened in this regard,” he squeezes my hands tight enough where I feel my knuckles cracking, “regardless of thou’s self-disciplined training in this field, thy will only wake if thou can pull thine hands from mine.”
I tug hard, but his grip is like steel. I look up to him, staring at his blindfolded face. “Wait, what training?”
Samael tilts his head at me, still grinning, “O’ doth thou think I come to thee for no reason? That your love of Saint Timothy is the sole cause for mine fancy? Nay.” His fists squeeze mine tighter. “Thou hath kept dream journals and been studious in the realm of the occult.” He chuckles, almost pridefully. “Yet throughout that exploration and lucid dream experiments, not once did thou even question thine faith in God. Not once did thou question His existence or His place, even when hearing of other faiths with similar tales to those of the Old Testament, still thou faith held fast.”
“I feel like you’re taunting me, but I also can barely get what you’re saying,” I grumble, tugging left and right and finding no purchase. I close my eyes, heaving a heavy sigh, and I try to think. I open them, and a massive pit opens under Samael.
Samael looks down, yet he remains in place, his wings now extended. “O, what a thought. But Sofia, I expect better of thou. Come now, think not so passively. Bring forth something creative.”
I glare at Samael, trying to push him forward but getting nowhere. The pit vanishes and I close my eyes tightly, trying to think of how to slide my hands out of his. I opened them, grinning rather than glaring.
“O? Thou hath something? Come, prove yourself better than the Persian.” Samael taunts.
I concentrate on my hands, looking at my wrists. My hands soon change into a pair of thin blades, and I pull my hands out swiftly, cutting Samael’s hands as I do. “Ha!” I shout, pointing one of my blade hands at him, “There! Bested you!”
Samael doesn’t appear hurt, though his hands are bleeding. “Clever, Clever indeed,” he says simply, smiling. “Yes. Yes, I made the right choice with you.”
I am about to ask what he meant when a drop of his blood hits the white floor. As it did, I feel dizzy, falling to my knees. On the floor, a massive Halo of the Sun begins to form under Samael, originating from the drop of blood. With each drop of blood, it grows more complete, and I am hit with another wave of dizziness. “W-What are you…”
“Shh… child… is it not beautiful?” Samael says a pair of red eyes start to glow from behind his blindfold. “Opening thine eyes for the first time?”
My eyelids feel heavy and I shake my head to try to focus.
“Yes, fight, keep them open,” Samael instructs, “the first time is oh so difficult.”
I look to Samael, his eyes caught my attention. As I look at them, it seems like there are many irises inside his burning red ones, that they burn behind and in front of the blindfold. The vision is like an infinity mirror, showing iris after iris in a tunnel stretching deep inside of him. My breath speeds up as I feel myself being pulled into them, irises surrounding me and changing colors and hues as the tunnel grows deeper and deeper.
“Sofia… how deep will thou gaze?”
My eyes are wide, and despite the tunnel deepening, I see another set of eyes appearing above and below, six tunnels now, going on forever. “W-what… the hell… are you…?”
Samael smiles proudly, “I am Samael! I am God’s Sword! I am the Seducer of Souls! I am the Severity of God!” He points to me. “What art thou?”
I fall to the ground, everything going dark, the six tunnels of eyes seared into my vision as if I were staring at six bright points of light that burned into my retinas.
…
I wake up in a cold sweat, still seeing the six eyes of infinity burning into my vision as I stare at the wall. I can still see them whether I close or open my eyes, like when you stare at a bright light for too long and it gets burned into your retinas.
I am breathing heavily, blinking away the images as best I can, shivering in bed. I don’t feel alone, I look around the room but see no one, my heart hammering in my chest. I step out of the bed, looking to my hands, seeing bruises on my knuckles and fingertips.
My alarm beeps at me, signaling that it is 08:00. I shake my head, doing my best to clear it and get myself into some suitable enough clothing to walk around in.
Things aren’t how they were in the evening, at least not when I looked at them as I normally would.
I stare at my firearm, the desert eagle I have always relied on as my ‘pant shitting hand cannon’. It is the normal shape I remember but there is some kind of field around it. I touch it and watch as it wraps around my hand, changes colors and goes from gray to off white. I slide it into its holster at my waist, pulling my hoodie on.
I walk out and look around the temple, and the strange fields or auras only seem to continue. I see a rather large and powerful white aura surrounding the two massive statues of Saint Dinah, both of which I regard with a bit more pity than I do reverence now that I know her fate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a massive fount of some kind of grand holy power. I am not entirely sure how I am sure it was holy, but it is huge, a massive aura somewhere within the temple.
I grin, assuming it is Tim, and begin heading down the hallways towards it. With each hall and doorway, I pass, I grow closer and closer to the massive power, seeing it through some walls. I finally arrive at a chapel entrance of some sort, and what I saw shocked me.
Kneeling before an altar, with her staff on the ground resting over her left shoulder, is Lady Tasha. She is within a maelstrom of white light. It shimmers around her and rises high into the chapel’s ceiling. Like a massive cone held over her, it spins slowly, turning around her serenely.
Lady Tasha continues her prayers, unaware of my presence.
I walk in slowly, feeling the pressure of the aura, though it isn’t a physical one. The same sort of pressure you feel when you’re alone in a dark hallway, that feeling of dread: this was the exact opposite of that feeling. I felt this odd pressure of comfort and warmth. As I moved closer to the massive well of light, I reached out to touch it. As I did, I could only describe the sensation as soft and warm, like a downy pillow.
Lady Tasha springs up to her feet as I touched it however, the entire well of energy collapsing around her and pulling tight against her body. I now see her covered in what could only be considered a shell, which shrinks smaller and smaller until it seems to be sealed inside her. “Sofia?” she says as she turns to me, her brow furrowing in concern.
“Hey.” I wave meekly, “What was that?”
Lady Tasha narrows her eye at me. “I can ask you the same…” She walks over to me slowly, “What is…” She leans in, examining my face. “Why is the Halo of the Sun imprinted on your forehead?”
“What?” I place my hand on my forehead, confused as to what she’s talking about.
Tasha grabs my wrist, moving it to the side, “Who have you been talking to?”
I decide it’s probably a bad idea to lie to Lady Tasha since she is certainly more powerful than I thought she was. “The Angel Samael.”
Tasha’s face falls as she releases me, she steps back, her brow furrowing more. “The Angel Samael? He… visited you?”
I nod. “Yes.” I rub my forehead, checking my hand for any kind of ink or blood. I don’t see anything. “Is that bad?”
Lady Tasha clutches her staff to herself tightly, “Samael is…” she turns from me, and looks down to the staff in her hands, “He is God’s rod, to His staff. When God seeks to punish, to seek retribution, it is often Samael who is the angel God sends to do so.” She clears her throat, “and… that person needs to be… very naughty.”
I raise my eyebrow at her. “Like… slaying the firstborn of Egypt kind of thing?”
“It’s possible. Samael’s name is never mentioned in scripture, but many say it was God himself.” She sighs. “But that’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” I ask, “I mean, why wouldn’t he? Pharaoh was kind of asking for the ol’ wrath of God, don’t you think?”
“God is great, but his hand cannot enter this world directly, it is why he sends his angels.” Lady Tasha nods solemnly. “That was before Christ when he sent a part of himself as a man to suffer for our sins. Before that God was vengeful. He was an angry God.” She smiles. “Now, God is love.” She looks to the altar in reverence.
I frown, looking around. “I agree but… that love didn’t seem to help this place out any when Ragna and Xyphiel showed up.”
Lady Tasha turned to me, her eyes wide. “The Angels did their best.”
I narrow my eyes. “Saint Dinah cowered before Xyphiel.”
Lady Tasha turns from me again. “She was not an angel of violence.”
“She should have been,” I state flatly. “Would have saved us all a whole lot of trouble if she killed him then and there.” I walk closer to her, still feeling the pressure of her holy energy. “For that matter, why don’t you fight him?”
Lady Tasha shrinks back from me, “I… I couldn’t, not directly.”
“Why not? I saw what you had within you, Tasha, you could probably send Xyphiel and Ragna packing all the way to hell on your own. So why don’t you?”
Tasha closes her eye, pulling the staff close to her, “God is Love. Not wrath. I will not raise his staff in anger. I will use it to save those who serve, to heal them, to protect them.”
“You can protect them by eliminating their enemies,” I explain. “But there’s probably another reason you won’t raise your power against them.” I look her over, “considering you’re Tim’s half-sister, I’m going to guess you’re not from the angelic side.”
Tasha’s lips pursed as she turns from me entirely.
“You won’t fight Xyphiel or Ragna because Xyphiel’s your father.”
“Please… leave.” Tasha says softly.
I move to place my hand on her shoulder before she grabs it by the wrist tightly.
I see her eye burning red in anger in a rather familiar color, and I just stare back at her. “So I’m right then? Like Father like Daughter?”
Tasha lets go of me immediately, stepping back, her hand to her mouth in shock. “I’m… nothing like him!”
“Yet you have his eyes.”
I watch a tear roll down Tasha’s cheek. “I can’t help that! I am not like him! I won’t be a murderer like him! I will not slay people and justify it as God’s divine providence!” she shouts.
“So that’s the real reason then? You’re afraid you’ll end up like Xyphiel if you kill in the name of God?” I relent a bit, seeing I’ve pushed Tasha pretty hard.
Tasha walks back to the altar. “Leave me, please.” she whimpers.
I do as she asks, and feel the pressure of her spirit again. I look back at it once more and wonder if that power is only when she prays, or if it can be used to fight at all.
It’s at this point that I bump into Zepherina on my way out of the church. I stagger back a bit as I do so, as it feels like I smacked into a wall.
Zepherina’s hands steady my shoulders as I stumble back and she grins to me. “Hey, Sofia!”
“Hey,” I respond, looking to her. “Do you know where the training room would be, by any chance? I was supposed to meet Tim.”
Zepherina smiles broadly and points down the hallway for me. I notice her aura is strong as well, but the pressure from her seems controlled, powerful, and oddly pure. The color is off, however: violet certainly, but tinged white and black mixing and churning on the surface. “Head down the hallway, make a right, and keep going, you’ll see a big door to the left, and that’s the training room.” She walks by me towards the altar. “Go easy on him okay?”
“I will, thanks Zeph.” I find I am getting along with Zepherina better than I expected, of all of Tim’s sisters I’ve met so far.
After a few moments, I manage to find the training room. The door isn’t much different from the others, but my main clue is hearing Sergeant Demond’s voice echoing down the hallway as I near the door.
“So you’re telling me you’ve never once allowed this to finish?” Sergeant Demond’s voice echoes.
I quietly move to the entrance, looking to see Sergeant Demond standing opposite of Tim in a massive room. There appears to be padding on the walls and floor.
I notice Tim’s wings are black and scaled now, small horns are pushing out of his head, and he seems a good foot taller. “No,” he grumbles. “I’m always too afraid to… let go.”
Demond looks to the door, seeing me, and then walks to his left, forcing Tim to keep his back to the doorway. “You need to let go. There’s nothing to worry about, you’re not going to hurt me, or anyone else.”
Tim shakes his head. “This… is too much. I can’t!”
“What do you normally think about when you feel this happen, Major? What’s the trigger? You’ve always held it back so you should know what it is that you want to avoid thinking about.”
Tim’s form jumps a bit in size and I watch the horns on his head grow a bit larger, a black lizard-like tail grows out further from behind him. I notice even his feet start to change shape.
I bite my lip as I watch, worried he might fly into a rage as Xyphiel did in my vision.
“I’m guessing you’re thinking about it now? Come on man. If you don’t let it out you’ll never get a hold of it.” Demond explains.
Tim’s hands slam down onto the matted floor, changing to claws as his shirt pops open, exposing broader shoulders and a more muscled chest, his skin changing rapidly from his normal tone to a black set of scales. I notice little stripes of red streaking across his shoulders and arms here and there. His neck grows longer now, pushing away from his shoulders a good three feet. He growls, “I… I’m not…”
“Stop thinking about it, embrace the pain, treat it like a bandage: Rip it off!” Demond encourages.
With a rather startling roar, Tim’s face pushes into a lizard-like muzzle. His wings shake as he finishes.
My eyes go wide as I watch the aura around him shift and surge. Surrounding his body is a force not unlike Tasha’s, but more concentrated, firmer and closer to his skin. No, almost a part of his skin. It pulses over his skin, inside of him, and around him. It’s incredible.
I see a familiar blue light reflected on the mat in front of Tim. It must be coming from his eyes. Eyes I desperately want to see.
I slowly walk into the room, Tim not noticing for now.
His tail wraps around his leg, and his growls stop, his voice is smooth, not gruff as I expected, “My God… I feel… is this my mouth?” he shudders, “I must look hideous… like a monster.”
“I resent that word,” Demond shrugs. “Granted I’d shit myself if you came charging at me from a dark alleyway…”
Tim shakes his head. “Okay… I pulled it out, there’s nothing left in there.”
“How do you feel? In control, out of control?” Demond says.
I manage to get around to Tim’s right side, and he spots me, his face turning to me. My heart skips a beat.
His face is unrecognizable, with black scales over the lizard-like face and the straight horns pointing out of his skull. But his eyes, his eyes, and the burning blue rings in his white eyes. His irises are slits but outside of that, it’s those beautiful eyes that grab me, and the first thing that hits those beautiful eyes is a look of absolute fear and dread.
“S-Sofia… I… “ He turns from me, his wings wrapping around him, “Demond! Help me change back, damn it!”
Demond doesn’t say a word, just looking to me and nodding.
I walk towards him, kneeling down and parting his scaled wings like curtains. “Tim?”
He’s shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. “I… I didn’t know how to explain! This darkness in me, I’m trying to-”
I stop him, placing my hand on his snout and looking into his eyes. “You’re you. I love you. I don’t care how you look, Tim.”
His nostrils huff a burst of hot air as it pushes into my hand. His eyes glow brighter now, and I see his spirit literally surge around him. I look at his wings as white feathers seem to sprout from them, and his features start to look more and more human. Within a few moments, Tim is his usual angel self, his eyes still glow, but they’re more human. He hugs me tightly.
I grin, cradling him in my arms. “It’s okay.”
“It is most certainly not okay!” I hear Eva’s voice from the training room. Behind her is Zepherina, who is grinning ear to ear.
Tim turns to Eva, raising an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
Eva storms in, fists clenched, “You mean to tell me, my brother,” she grits her teeth, “my meager brother turns into a beastly black and red Seraphim?”
Zepherina snickers.
Eva turns to Zepherina, glaring, “Shut up, Zeph!”
Tim narrows his eyes to Eva. “It’s something I’ve been struggling with.”
Eva growls an actual growl, her blue eyes flickering with an odd but familiar glow. “Struggling?” She glares. “At least you would be feared on the battlefield like that!”
Zepherina walks in. “Eva, I think they need some context.”
Eva whips her head to Zepherina, glaring at her sister, “They do not!”
Zepherina leans down. “Come on, shorty, show me your fangs.” She pokes Eva hard in the shoulder.
“Stop that!” Eva growls again, her fists clenched.
“He showed you his, now you show yours. ” Zeph then leans back with a shit eating grin. “Pinky.”
Eva growls again, her body rising up rapidly. Her robes suddenly fit her more snugly, her form still very feminine, her feathers pulling into her wings as they too turn more scale-like. I think I know what to expect until her wings become a bleach-like white.
Her tail pokes through a premade hole that was hidden by the robes before when loose, and now I see where the ‘pinkey’ nickname originated. Pink swirls form random little patterns across her tail, and as her neck lengthens the patterns remain. White and pink is the color scheme, and now Eva is finally as tall as her sister, her tail twitching in agitation. Her eyes are not glowing as powerfully as Tim’s, but I can see her aura is similar: powerful, merged with her body, and pulsing through her.
“There you go, strawberry crème,” Zepherina adds a final insult to injury.
Eva roars in anger at her sister, showing her sharp and deadly teeth.
“Please don’t kill me: I’d hate to die by a watermelon margarita,” Zepherina goads.
Eva’s maw snaps shut mere inches from Zepherina’s face.
Zepherina doesn’t flinch, grinning.
I do my very best not to laugh. “I… I mean you look very powerful to me.”
Eva turns to me, her tail relaxing. “I am powerful like this. Tasha says this is a Seraphim form, granted to us from the blood of our father.”
“Cursed from him.” Tim corrects.
Eva’s neck turns to Timothy, her body still facing me. “For me, this is a curse. Because I look like a damn fruit smoothie.” She sighs, “But you dear brother,” she explains as she shrinks back down to her normal angel shape, “look badass.”
I notice how much power vanishes from both Tim and Eva as they shift back to their angel forms. “You two do realize how much more powerful those ‘Seraphim’ forms are, right?”
Zepherina nods. “Well yeah. It’s the only time my sister isn’t a pipsqueak.” She taunts again. “Granted she’s not as strong as me, but at least I can feel when she hits me.”
Eva shoots her a withering gaze.
Tim looks to me. “I always was afraid I couldn’t control it.”
Demond chuckles, moving towards the four of us, “You were more afraid of what everyone around you would think of you compared to how dangerous you’d be if you were transformed into it.”
Tim grumbles. “It hurts like hell you know.”
Eva shakes her head. “Only if you fight it. I first turned thanks to this one when I was five years old. Zeph was laughing hysterically, Lady Tasha called it a miracle, and I thought I was going to die of embarrassment.” She crosses her arms. “Pink!… for God’s sake. Why pink?”
“It’s mostly white…” Tim corrects, “But you’ve… been changing into that shape since you were five?” Tim asks, flabbergasted.
“Lady Tasha helped me learn how,” Eva explains. “She called it a gift.”
Zeph rolled her eyes. “She didn’t ‘show you how she just helped you hide it from mother.”
“Your mother doesn’t know?” I ask. I suddenly feel an odd pressure from Tim, I turn to him and see his eyes shift to slit irises.
Eva nods. “It wasn’t terribly hard to hide it. I only turned when I lost control over my emotions or felt distressed. My mother rarely put me in such a mood.” She looks away. “She rarely puts me in any mood.”
Zeph shrugs. “I don’t get why you and mother don’t get along. I keep telling you, you just need to spar with her.”
Tim seems to be changing again, faster this time, and he groans a bit as his neck stretches out, his eyes closed tight as his face stretches.
Eva shakes her head at Zeph. “Mother clearly has favorites. I’ve come to terms with it, Zeph, that’s all. She favors the strong.”
Tim leans back, now in his black and red Seraphim form, his eyes open, not nearly as bright. “Rachel.” He growls his right hand clenching, his claws digging into the padding on the floor.
I place my hand on him, looking into his eyes, “Tim?”
Zeph turns to Tim, a serious look of indignation crossing her face for the first time, “Our Mother, Rachel, yes.”
Tim glares to Zeph., “You mean, the woman who abandoned me with him?”
Zeph’s face softens, “Well… boys belong with men.” Zeph now seems to sense she’s in a rather awkward situation.
“Xyphiel is not a man,” Tim growls, standing up, matching Zepherina in height. “He’s a damn monster. He didn’t have any damn part in raising me. I was just the reminder of the woman who ran from him.”
Zeph was about to say something before Eva interrupted.
“I didn’t have it much easier. It seems I reminded her too much of my father.” Eva sighs, “I was raised mostly by nursemaids and handmaidens.”
I narrow my eyes at Eva, thinking about what size fiddle I could possibly play for the woman raised like a damn princess.
Zeph bites her lip, “Well… listen it’s not my fault, okay? I… Mother likes me for some reason.” she looks to Eva, “I keep telling her to go easy on you. She’s hard on you because you’re the heir to the throne and all.” She smiles, “and the future Metatron.”
I look to Tim, then to Eva, “Wait, which one of you--”
Eva shakes her head, “We both need to be together to commune. I can’t seem to maintain the connection long enough to hear anything alone, and Timothy hears so much it drives him mad.”
Tim nods, looking to his hands. “Now why am I stuck like this…”
“Probably because you’re hating on your mother,” Demond explains. “Seems she’s your trigger.”
Tim glares at Demond, “Rachel is not my mother.”
Eva frowns. “But she is.”
Tim turns to Eva. “Maybe to you, but she left me, mother’s do not do that to their children.”
Zepherina has taken a few steps away from the rest of us. I can feel her embarrassment from a mile away. “I’m sure she had her reasons, if you spoke to her, maybe?”
Tim growls, “I’ll never speak to her.”
I reach up to Tim, placing my hand on his snout. “Calm down Tim.”
Tim looks to me, his eyes glowing again, and he starts to shrink down.
“There… it’s okay.” I explain, smiling wide.
Tim smiles weakly to me. “Well… seems I’m getting something under control.”
Jason’s voice soon interrupts the lot of us. “Hey uh, everyone…” he walks in holding his phone, “We have a problem.”
Tim frowns, “What’s the problem?”
Jason looks to Eva and Zepherina. “Well, it kind of involves everyone here.” He hits the play button on his phone; it looks like the recording of a newscast.
The image starts as a normal newscast, with an anchorman standing in front of a military base.
“We now go live to Ian Brady, who has managed to get a hold of the Terrorist and is interviewing them live.”
The image cuts to that of a woman’s face. She has familiar ice blue eyes, brown hair, and looks to be in her mid-fifties. “Are we live?”
A man’s voice squeaks from off camera, “Y-yes.”
“My face is framed as we discussed?”
Another whimper from off camera, “y-yes ma’am.”
“Good.” she smiles sweetly to the audience, “Hello everyone, and I mean everyone. I am Queen Rachel, you’ll soon know me as the Queen of the true ruler of this earth. But for now, know that I have lent my two children to the United States military in the hopes of them getting their hands dirty in some good old fashioned warfare.” She scoffs. “However, as I mentioned, the true Empress of this world has arrived, and as such, I need them back to be groomed to be her heiresses to the throne of this little dirt-ball.” She makes a motion with her head as the image zooms out.
I notice the room she’s in is Colonel Anderson’s office. “Tim…”
Tim just nods, looking at the phone, holding my hand.
“As such, I have a similar request: return my children to me and I’ll stay your execution for a short while.” The camera zooms out to the point where her whole body is shown. She’s wearing a skin-tight armor, displaying an athletic physique. A belt seems built into the armor around her waist, and pads appear on her shoulders, arms, chest, and thighs. Her wings then spread wide, white, the edges tinged silver. “However every hour, on the hour, things will get rather biblical up in here.” She grins madly, pulling out a weapon I’ve never seen before.
It looks like a machine gun, but the barrel looks as if it’s fashioned into some kind of bayonet. She points it at the camera, the voice from before is heard shrieking.
“Wait! You said if I co-operated you wouldn’t!”
“I said I wouldn’t kill you slow, mortal. A swift death is your reward.” With that, she pulls the trigger, blood sprays from off camera, and the camera falls, facing a number of other people tied up and facing a wall. I recognize Colonel Anderson as one of them.
“One of these people will die every hour.” Rachel reiterates, “Bring me, my children.”
