I get pulled out of the squad car in my Sunday best and lead into the police station. Fingerprinted? Great. Mugshot? Awesome. Pat down? Man, this day is going great. I start it off burying my family, only to get arrested for their murders in the evening. The pat down is a bit odd, the officer who’s doing it stops at my coat pocket, doesn’t pull anything out, and just waves me by after removing my wallet. I’m finally plopped into an interview room, there’s a little two-way mirror about a two-foot square, a table, and three chairs, counting mine. I notice they are bolted down, which makes sense as I'm sure they don't want folks going full Jerry Springer when being interrogated.
I try to contemplate how I wound up here. Thinking about where everything has been going, and how. I think of a way I can maybe convince the detective who arrested me that his partner isn’t who he seems. Could that work? I think of scenarios where, if he was convinced, what would happen? I know Belial can move objects, I saw that first hand. Something tells me if I had not been handling highly sacred objects he’d be able to pull me too. If I blew his cover, would he just kill us and everyone in this place? Or worse would he kill his partner ala Darth Vader force choke and spin another frame job on me? Should I even count Belial as a ‘he’ or should I just be using ‘it’? Despite all this, I’m feeling oddly calm when I see both of them walk into the room.
The black detective sits down and clicks on a recording device which is embedded in the wall. “So, Mr. Macaione, I’m detective Aaron Brown. We just want to ask a few quick questions and then we can all go about our day.”
I look to Belial, who is letting his partner do the talking for now. “I’ll be happy to answer them, but I’ll say this much: I didn’t murder my family.”
Detective Brown just nods and smiles, "of course." He looks down to a file folder, pulling out a piece of paper. “So the day of the events concerning your family’s tragic demise, where were you?”
Belial is smiling wickedly.
“I was visiting a worksite, and then my office. I was looking for some equipment I had left behind.” I say plainly. I’m not entirely lying, after all.
“Hmm… this worksite, how far away from your house was it?” Detective Brown continues.
“About an hour,” I say simply.
“And why, in the middle of the night, did you feel the need to check for this equipment? Why couldn’t it wait till morning?”
I did not have a decent answer for this, and I tried to think of something that wouldn’t immediately put both Belial and Detective Brown at immediate odds with me. I wanted to try and survive this interview without being in jail, which seemed unlikely at this point. 'Well you demon possessed partner over there sent me off to get an unholy object or else he was going to slaughter my entire family', while truthful, probably would make him think I’m fucking around with them. Despite that being the truth, I decided to try to stick to my lie. “I was afraid it might get stolen, it was pretty expensive.”
“Well, that makes sense… what piece of equipment was it? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Of all the cops in all the world, I get the one competent bastard that can smell bullshit from a mile away, don’t I? Remember folks, get your lie straight before you're in the hot seat. “It was a sandblaster, fairly large one.”
“At least a couple grand right for that right? Wouldn't look too good on the ol' expense report if it went missing?”, the very accurate detective asks.
I nod, and I have a good idea where he’s going with this line of questioning but I’m hoping we don’t get there.
“This job was on Monday and Tuesday, about two weeks ago, right?”
I nod.
“That’s very interesting.”
Belial now interjects, “Why’s that interesting Aaron?”
Detective Brown looks to me now, “Feel free to explain why I find that interesting, Mr. Macaione?”
“Because my schedule at the office don’t say I had a job that day,” I admit, hoping some honesty can be appreciated.
The detective bangs his pen on the table three times, “We have a winner!” He leans over to me, getting uncomfortably close over the table, “Your usual crew also doesn’t say you had a job.”
I say what I’m about to say knowing I’m going to start treading some deep water, “there was a job, but the client preferred to be nonpublic.”
“Nonpublic.” Detective Brown’s playful smile fades quickly. “You know every time I get a prick like you, one of these ‘I can’t be culpable if I don’t know what happened’ assholes, you always have another word for it. ‘Confidential’, ‘On the Down Low’, ‘Under the Table’, ‘Discrete', 'Exclusive’, but 'Nonpublic'? Well that’s a nice way of putting ‘My client is probably dealing with some criminal shit I don’t want to know about.’” The detective leans back in his chair. “What do you say Mr. Macaione, am I in the ballpark?”
I’m quiet now, waiting, I glance to Belial and catch his shit eating grin. I'm starting to sweat and there's nothing I can do to stop myself.
“We had some forensic accounting done on your business Mr.Macione, pretty preliminary stuff, you know?" he leans over toward Belial. "It should have gone under about a year ago. Or, at the very least, you should have fired someone.”
Belial now interjects, “Now dealing a few jobs under the table here and there isn’t a big deal but…”
“$100,000 bucks? That’s a shit load extra stuffed into your accounts.” Detective Brown says slyly.
I look to Belial, that’s not how much I have in my business, at least not in the bank. Timothy’s case was the biggest score I had in months, and this year the under the table stuff didn’t come close to making up the difference. Not between all the expenses, equipment, and so on I had to pay. Did Belial do something? “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So, you don’t know where payment of over thirty grand came from in the past month? Say the cash we found in an envelope with a ‘Thank you’ letter that wasn’t on your books but was defiantly a payment? Such a nice letter too must have done him a Hell of a favor.”
Admittedly, he had me there. With everything going the way it was I never had time to properly ‘handle’ the cash I got from Timothy’s job. Normally I'd make sure to pay out a bonus or two, buy some equipment, pay off some bills, and always do it with the under the table cash. I suddenly had an epiphany, because maybe Belial didn’t do anything but crunching the numbers of what I had done that year. I did have two cleanups, but they weren’t as high profile, but they did overpay. I’m sweating more as I think about whether or not I am a good person after all? Here I am thinking about how my money laundering didn't go over so well and I think the average kid dealing weed on the street corner could do a better job.
“That accounts for this year alone, and our guys are sifting through your books as we speak, and we keep on finding gaps and payments and bills paid that never should be paid.” Detective Brown cracks his knuckles, "And somehow I do not think your 'nonpublic' clients would appreciate us digging through their dirty laundry. Might get ugly for you, especially if you're on the outside."
That’s the stick, now this guy’s going to give me a carrot.
“Of course, we could just skip all that, if you can tell me, honestly, what happened to your wife and kids. Why the doorknobs were found removed, and why the windows were nailed shut.”
I’m quiet while I think of a way out, but then I hear Belial’s human voice.
“Aaron, why don’t you step out, have a coffee, I’ll turn that thing off and I’ll have a word or two with him.”
Detective Brown looks to Belial, “Ben…” he clicks off the recorder, “I can’t have another charge against you for roughing someone up during interrogation.”
Belial just nods, “It’s okay Aaron, just step out for a second. It’ll be fine.”
Detective Brown stands up and leaves the room.
I am pretty sure about half of all of that was normal ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’ set-up. But with Belial alone with me in the room I am pretty sure I got the ‘Good Cop, Satanic Cop’ game played on me.
Belial wheezes in his normal voice, “That was dull… and boring, wasn’t it?” He leans back in his chair, “Do they still do the chair here? Or just lethal injection?”
I narrow my eyes on him.
“Lethal injection is fun. A lot to go wrong.” Belial's eyes are on me as he leans back, grinning, "you can feel your heart and your lungs start to shut down sometimes."
I adjust myself nervously in my seat, and suddenly feel something in my jacket pocket. My hand discretely checks it while Belial leans back in his seat, looking to the ceiling lights. It’s round, cold, and I feel a cap. I try to hide my excitement. It’s the same type of bottle that Sandy and the kids drank. I wondered what it would do if I doused him in it. I also wonder how it even got into my pocket, but I'm much more concerned with what to do now that it's here.
“You know… beheadings were technically more painless.” He looks me in the eyes now, “I miss beheadings.” He moves his now healed left hand up to his temple, resting his head on his hand. I notice he’s only sporting three of his black rings, and I remember how one crumbled away from touching my wife. "Hangings too. Nothing beats when the rope doesn't snap the neck and you're just left being strangled by the rope, all while you piss and shit yourself in front of a crowd."
Now or never, I think, as I thumb the cap off the bottle in my pocket. “Shut up.”
Belial’s gaze shifts slightly, “What if I don’t, Red Fred?”
I remember what my mother used to say whenever she felt she was dealing with things possessed in the house. Normally it was a drier on the fritz or a bird that somehow managed to get into the house but the phrase rang pretty clearly in my head for some reason the second the bottle was opened in my pocket.
I hoped I wasn’t going to look like a complete moron if this didn't work. I splashed the contents of the bottle on his hand first, then his face. I made sure to get every one of those rings covered in the water too. While I did this, I shouted, “In the name of Jesus Christ, get thee behind me!”
Steam erupted from his rings and he gasped suddenly in intense pain, he chokes as he inhales the rising steam from his hand. He stands up quickly and pressed himself against the wall, and he back to flail as if he couldn’t breathe. I kept splashing him and got a bit on myself in the process, I was a bit frantic at this point.
I remember every time I saw an exorcism flick, and start chanting: “In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit, leave this man!” interjected with a few "The power of Christ compels you!" If not for the apparently seizing man across from me I likely looked ridiculous.
Belial is wheezing, hacking, and coughing, his rings have broken and crumbled to the ground. I feel like I’m missing something serious in all this because he’s still in front of me, his yellow eyes swirling and glaring at me. I can almost hear his voice in my head as if it's saying "When this wear's off I'm going to murder you." I'm pretty sure I'm just pissing him off right now, but he's definitely weakened.
I look to the bottle, and I notice something is written on it, is it a parable? I splash Belial one more time and read the bottle, then I give my own shit-eating grin to Belial, and read the writing out loud:
“Most glorious Prince of Presence, Saint Enoch the Knower of Secrets, Heavenly Scribe, The Governor of the World! Expel from this cursed flesh the fallen before me!”
After the words leave my lips I feel dizzy. I’m not sure if that’s because I just might have successfully cast out an all-powerful demon prince or because I’m being tackled by Detective Brown. Either way, when I hit the floor I'm completely winded, and not sure if I can keep chanting.
“What the fuck did you just do to my partner?” Detective Brown shouts. From his point of view, things have gone far too south far too quick. Maybe he did just get a coffee and came back to see his partner being dosed in what looked like acid from the outside.
Both of us are distracted, however, as the screams coming from Belial change pitch. Suddenly they go higher, shrieking, and I watch his mouth open unnaturally wide as his head points upwards, his back arching unnaturally, arms stiffening to his sides as he begins to shake.
The form of a man crawls out of is opened mouth, naked from the waist up. His eyes are yellow and black swirls of smoke, his form translucent, his brow is furrowed as long black hair seems to float over him as if he's underwater. His face, his body, his arms, hands, every part of him looks physically perfect as if some male fitness model just appeared out of this guy's mouth. His form grows, it fills the room, moving over the ceiling as I notice a pair of black wings appear to be on either side of him, they look like black flames. The flames rising from each wing seem to make the room hotter, and ash falls from the bottom of each. the wings are so large they fill the entire room and block off the exit. I'm suddenly hit with a strong scent of sulfur and the shrieking from the physical body of Benjamin grows louder. Belials left hand reaches out toward me, his teeth gritted.
“Fred.” His voice hisses louder than I had heard it before, no longer a wheeze, a vile breath reaching me and the detective makes me retch. “Not by you… you pathetic… sinful… mortal!” He yells, his voice bellowing and shaking the room, “I will not be cast out by the likes of you!”
The room shakes even more, and his hand almost touches me, his finger appears to turn to smoke and his hands grab his chest, his wings wrapped around himself. Above him, there's a more terrifying sight.
A spear pierces through him, from above, again translucent, a massive hand holds the spear. The hand is black, clawed, and seems to be scaled, like a lizard. A giant lizard head pushes down from the ceiling, white glowing eyes drowning out the light of the fluorescent bulbs in the room, and more contrasting black scales along its muzzle. I can make out a pair of horns near the back of its head, but the disappear into the ceiling. I hear an unearthly roar as the spear is pulled back, and then thrust through Belial again, hitting him in the chest, right into where I assume a heart would be if the bastard had one.
Belial screams once more; his voice shakes me to my core. “No! No! Do not send me back!” at his last words suddenly nothing but a black ball hovers over the mouth of Belial’s previous host. I see the black lizard's face open its maw and a white light douses the little ball over Belial's former body. Suddenly all the air seems to be sucked out of the room and I feel a massive pressure smash into me and knock me and the detective into the far wall as the black ball seemed to explode in bright white light.
I hear nothing but ringing in my ears right after I hear glass shattering and the sounds of alarms blaring. Someone grabs me, hauling me out of the room. As I’m being shuffled out, dust and chaos all around me, I see Belial’s body lying motionless on the floor, his partner shouting something or other to other officers, the officer who has me keeps pulling me and roughly handling me. I feel weak, and I shield my eyes as I’m suddenly outside, then thrown into the back of a car. My ears barely stop ringing, and I think I have myself composed enough until the car starts up, speeding off, sirens blaring.
I hear a Latin accent again, from the front seat, “That was amazing Fred! Good job!”
I look up and see Chavez, wearing a police cap and uniform giving me thumbs up. Right before I pass out, I realize that the cop who gave me the pat down must have been Chavez. He put the water into my pocket. I chuckle as I lose consciousness.
...
I’m woken up by a knocking on the rear window, I groggily look up to see Chavez’s smiling face on the other side, now without the policemen’s cap on.
“Fred! Wake up, man! Let’s go!”
The door opens, and I’m dragged out.
Chavez gets me to my feet, but I feel weak, and can barely walk.
“You did great Fred, you did. Hang on a little bit longer.”
I can’t go on and fall to my knees, everything is still spinning.“
Saint Timothy!” Chavez shouts, “Quickly!”
Before I know what’s going on I see Timothy rushing towards me.
“You have to heal his spirit!” Chavez says, “The exorcism took a toll on him.”
“…Jorge, I-I don’t know how.” I hear Timothy admit.
Chavez grabs Timothy’s hand and places it on my forehead. “Ask your grandmother!”
Timothy then takes a breath and suddenly I feel, well, better.
I blink my eyes clear and start to get up off my knees. By the time I’m standing, I look to Timothy in front of me, still wearing his trench coat, looking at his hand curiously.
Chavez is thrilled, “I told you! Belial’s interference wasn’t enough to weaken the gift passed on.”
Timothy nods, seemingly in shock, and then looks to me. “You did well Fred.”
I lean up against the car, and look Timothy in the eyes, “So you’re not an angel?”
Timothy shakes his head, but Chavez protests.
“He is!”, Chavez smiles to me, “But he’s young still, he doesn’t know his own strength, Fred.”
I look to Chavez, oddly, “How do you know?”
“Because I read, Fred, I read the Bible.” He points to Timothy. “He’s the grandson of Saint Dinah, daughter of Enoch.”
Timothy just nods, “We can talk later, Chavez, I think Fred needs to know where he is.”
Chavez smiles and points to a two-story house. “That’s your new home.”
I look around, there seem to be a few homes sprinkled here and there, but it looks like I’m in the middle mid-western bum-fuck nowhere.
Timothy and Chavez make their way down the walkway toward the two-story home, and I follow. When Timothy gets to the door he knocks three times.
“Fred’s here,” Timothy says as he knocks.
The door opens, and I see Sandy’s smiling face.
I run past Chavez and Timothy and I hug and kiss her for what feels like too short a time. Right up until I get a firm punch to the shoulder.
Timothy and Chavez both wince.
“Never take a job like this again!” she says. “We were scared half to death!” She takes a deep breath, "Also we're going to start going to church, like, a lot!"
“I thought you were dead… you and the boys…” I said softly.
Suddenly Sandy is glaring at Timothy, “Oh? You did you?” She charges at Timothy and proceeds to hammer his shoulder a few times, punctuating each hit with a word. “Timothy! How dare you do that to him!”
Timothy, gasps in pain, “I’m sorry Sandy!”
She turns around sharply and walks back inside, “The boys are playing video games right now, and they won’t shut up about how the Internet sucks. Now get in here while I try and figure out dinner.” I hear a litany of other complaints from her, from the stove to the refrigerator and the like, which is typical of her.
I walk inside, relieved to find my wife safe and still slightly crazy, and greet my two boys. For the first time in weeks, I feel happy and free. After dinner, where my boys challenged Chavez to a round of some first-person shooter, I see Timothy in the backyard looking out over more than an acre of property, apparently mine. The sun setting in the distance.
I walk toward him, looking him over. “So how old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” Timothy says.
“Jesus, I have fifteen years on you,” I say plainly.
Timothy nods.
“How, exactly, are you an angel?”
Timothy shakes his head, “I’m hardly an Angel. Certainly, not a saint like Jorge keeps calling me.”
“So, what are you then?”
“At best, half angel, half…” he looks far away into the sky, “monster.”
“Care to elaborate? I’m done being in the dark.”
“So, we’re breaking the ‘no questions asked’ policy?” He smiles as he turns to me.
I nod, “Yes. Because I won’t be doing that anymore.” I shudder, “I was worried enough about the cops finding out what I did but,” I take a deep breath, “I guess I didn’t realize what else was just as interested.”
Timothy just chuckles. “To answer your question, I’m the grandson of Dinah or Enoch, who is the daughter to Enoch, of course, known as the Metatron. The voice of God.”
“Enoch, that's the guy I shouted about in front of Belial.”
Timothy nods, "Most exorcisms don't go that well. Part one is getting the name of the spirit infesting the body. Part two is ensuring you have the correct angel to get the job done. Most possessions, you can invoke Michael the Arc Angel and they'll go screaming because Michael's the commander of God's army. Half the time Michael will actually delegate the task to a lesser angel, but that depends on the individuals' faith and resolve. That can drive out most lesser demons. For Belial we needed bigger guns... but a stronger resolve. That's why we needed you, seeking justice, and retribution. Otherwise, you may have died." Timothy frowned to me, "It's why I had to make you believe Belial had killed your family. It was hard, as I can't lie."
I try to let that not sink in, "so... You can't lie, at all?"
"As a descendant of Enoch, it's kind of in my blood. I mean, someone who speaks for God has to lack the ability to lie, of course."
I try to think of a time when Timothy lied to me, but while he withheld information, he never did lie. My Families souls were safe, that was true, and he didn't even lie about the blood or how long it was there. Also explains why he was shit at haggling. "That means you talk to God? The Metatron speaks for God, right?"
Timothy sighs and shakes his head. “My mother was stolen from Dinah when she was a child, stolen by none other than Belial. He corrupted her, filled her with hatred and despair. She had me with a… let’s just say a mass murderer. A fallen prophet. One of the people who destroyed the temple we had to restore, actually.”
“So that’s the monster half?” I ask.
"Yes." Timothy places his hands in his pockets, "My mother left me alone with my father, so I never learned what she knew. I've never even met her." He takes a deep breath, "One day I ran away from him, and found the entrance to the Guardian Temple. The only thing that comes naturally is my ability to do this." he said with an outstretched hand as a pair of doors appeared in the yard out of nowhere.
I look and inside, now well lit, is the room I was so used to working in but had no desire to visit again.
"I used its gates to come to this world, joined the military, rose up the ranks, and gained influence. Because I’m going to fight my father.” He looks to me, “I’m going to stop him and his sister from destroying another world. To do that, I needed a base. I did my best alone, but I needed help to fix the temple up.”
“So, you called me.”
Timothy nods again. “I didn’t lie about how I heard of you. Everything else is… settled.”
“How did you save my family? I thought they were dead, I saw bodies.”
Timothy laughs, “I got your message. When I did I realized the mistake I made, that I didn’t know where you were or that you had a family. But you should thank Chavez, he knew where your address was. From there, I was able to will the gates to open. I had just opened them in the basement and found your family there. Sandy’s quite the smart woman, by the way. She had soaked towels and sheets and shoved them under the doors, windows, and was doing her best to hide under a soaked blanket. She was shocked to see a pair of doors appear out of nowhere, but she ran in regardless, taking the kids.” He sighed, “from there I was able to substitute some corpses, and Chavez and I figured out a way for you to defeat Belial.”
I raise an eyebrow, “Why couldn’t you defeat him?”
Timothy’s smile weakened as he looked at my new house, “I was afraid." he kicks the dirt slightly, frustrated, "Belial manipulated my mother, stole her away from my grandmother, and nearly gotten his hands on something that could have handed him the world, all because of my miscalculations. He’s older and more powerful than anything I’m likely to ever face or be. So it's like you thought in the car. Your Guardian Angel is kind of a," he grins a bit at me, "pussy.”
“Like I thought?” I said, bewildered.“
Mind reading is a simple trick, if you’re part Angel, apparently.”
“Why me?”
“Honestly?” Timothy said, some amusement in his voice, “Belial, at his core, is a follower of Lucifer. Like his master, he’s most vulnerable when he thinks he’s won the day.”
“So, me thinking he killed my family, and him tormenting me was him… what, boasting?”
Timothy nods, “Pride comes before the fall, always.”
I shake my head, "So, I get why I helped but... you couldn't call in reinforcements? For a thing like Belial?"
Timothy's smile falls, "Fred... I am the reinforcements."
I felt my stomach fall a bit. "What do you mean?"
Timothy looks to the temple entrance in front of us. "Angels existed on this plane because God needs them to perform his miracles. God, while Omnipresent, is also Omni-absent. The angels serve his desires, and he directs them from time to time." He looks to me, "Think of it as if every time God blinks, a few hundred years pass. He can only invoke his will directly from time to time when directly called upon by someone of extremely strong faith."
I look to the temple doors again, "So that temple..."
"The Guardian Temple, where God's Angels amassed to co-ordinate his will, chose prophets, create miracles, lead by the Metatron."
I recall the blood I had to clean up, "So wait... you mean...?"
"They're gone. Murdered by, what is in essence, my aunt and father. I'm all that's left, and I'm trying to rebuild. So for now, we need to lean on the resolve and faith of mortals, like you." He smiled at me, "But now I don't feel so helpless. I feel like there's a chance, however small." Timothy looks at the opened gates with a faraway gaze, "We're losing, however. I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to recover and get the upper hand."
"How long do you need?" I ask like I could do anything.
"Fifteen... maybe twenty years? Which, reminds me, I need to get back to work." Timothy gives out a sudden whistle. "Chavez and I should go, we've caused you enough trouble.”
“Chavez? Still?” I laugh, “What do you need him for?”
Timothy looks to my house again with a look of serenity, as I see Chavez running out towards us with a plate with a slice of cake on it. “To show me what I can hopefully become.”
“Saint Timothy, I'm coming! Also, Mrs. Macaione made you a cake!” Chavez shouts.
Timothy narrows his eyes, “I swear Chavez if it's-“
“Angel food cake.” Chavez just smiles broadly at the pun.
I groan as Chavez hands over the cake to Timothy, who is also rolling his eyes, and they walk towards the doors.
Timothy stops before closing the doors, “If you need me again, you have my number.”
The doors close and vanish into thin air. “I hope I never see you again,” I say out loud as I head into my new house.
...
Epilogue:
Ten years later, and I work in restoration. On the weekends, my new crew and I check out churches in need of repair, and free of charge, work on restoring their stonework. We do it as charity, nothing but the raw materials are paid for. Usually, the priest takes up a collection via the old school plates or we get it done by a crowdfunding website.
My new guy Devon is on the second floor of this church overlooking the center aisle, checking out a stone pillar in bad shape. “Fred, this thing can’t be secured… we’re going to have to get some temporary supports for the roof and literally rebuild it from the ground up. Knock out the old, bring in a new one, whole nine yards.”
“The Padre’s not going to be happy.”
Devon shouts down, “He can pray for it to be fixed, but unless God sends mason angels, it ain’t happening!”
“Ask and yee shall receive.” The priest of the church apparently overhead us, and he walks toward me. “Dare I ask? I’m sure that’s expensive.”
I nod, “I’ll get a quote together for you and see what we can do, father.”
He nods, “And I’ll call my insurance company after I pray to God to help me through the customer support robots.”
Priests all have terrible jokes, by the way. Something you learn when working in multiple churches.
My tinnitus kicks in, which I've had for the past ten years. I wish it was the normal sort, where you hear a high pitch ringing. It's not, it's a high pitched scream. The sort I heard when Belial was cast out. I pull out some ear drops which I keep in the same bottle Chavez gave me. The screaming stops pretty quickly.
The priest looks at the bottle for a moment, "Saint Enoch? Obscure!"
I laugh, "It was a gift from a friend of mine, Timothy."
The priest nods, "Ah, that makes sense that he's named Timothy."
I look to the priest oddly, "Why does it make sense?"
The priest smiles at me, "Well my boy, Timothy means 'Follower of God'!"
I smile and nod, "Yeah... that's him."
One of the nuns runs up to us, “Father, something is happening on the news in Jerusalem!”
The priest turns and follows her, I follow out of my newfound curiosity.
We all head into a back room with a television in it, two other nuns are inside glued to the TV. It looks like an overhead shot of destroyed streets the headline reads: “Terror in the Holy Land.” I see a little “i24” logo in the corner, never heard of the channel before, personally.
“I’m sure it’s just hyperbole sisters.” The priest starts.
The camera pans down to a group of five people. Three of the group look like they are wearing a uniform of sorts. Two are women both blond, the man is bald. They’re wearing white long sleeves with black vests and matching black pants. Another man is seen next to them, and it’s hard to make out what he’s wearing. It’s red and brown and black, and I swear he could be wearing a cape or something, short white hair on his head. The largest figure of the five looks like a massive man with long white hair braided down their left side, while the right side of their head seems to be shaved completely. The larger man wears what looks like white full plate armor and a white cape with a blue accent inside of it.
Suddenly the bald guy cracks his fingers and fire spews forth from his hands like he has a flamethrower under each palm.
One of the sisters watching screams and the priest tries to comfort her.
The anchorman on the TV feed chimes in, “It looks like they have some kind of advanced weapons systems, and it seems attack helicopters and being called in-Oh My God!”
The camera shakily changes as the white figure is suddenly in the air, and a pair of white wings have unfolded from behind. In an instant suddenly, something springs from the angel’s back, lands in its hand, and smashes into the helicopter, destroying it in an explosion of fire before the figure flaps their wings again, blasting the debris away and diving at the next helicopter, jabbing the object that was pulled out into the helicopter closer to the camera. I lunge for the remote and hit the pause on the TV.
Frozen on the screen it’s clearer to see it’s not a man but an absolute monster of a woman. In her hands is a massive sword, huge and bulky, and yet she seems to wield it without much effort. It looks like there is a blue omega symbol on one of the shoulders of her white armor. I recall what happened to the helicopter as she swung at it, destroyed in a single blow. I remember the blood stains of the temple as my hellish tinnitus kicks in again. I remember the gash in the floor as I spot the sword on the screen. Mike's voice echoing in my mind:
"This looks like one clean cut."
The voice of the woman who Timothy was talking to in the temple behind the barricade, and I remember what she said over the sound of machinery, "It was her, wasn't it? The daughter of Lucifer."
One of the nuns asks, “is… is that an Angel?”
My face goes pale as I realize who this is, what she can do, what she has done. She's here now, the people Timothy is trying to stop. I try to fathom if Timothy has had enough time to get ready. If we have any hope at all.
The priest suddenly starts to speak behind us all, “ And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts, and I looked, and behold," he points at the screen ominously, his hand shaking, "a pale horse and his name that sat on him was death, and hell followed with him."