Descent of The Watchers

by D S S Atkinson

the hissing which filled the space signalling the air pressure had stabilised to that of the death probe.

  Her pursuer pressed away at the control panel in efforts to reopen the airlock. Samyaza reached out for the probe’s release valve, turning, she looked back at Yahweh’s high-malakhim. “Stop, Michael!” The commander felt dazed, glancing between the cylinder’s seal and the giant. Should she free the vessel whilst it was open the entirety of Heaven’s atmosphere would be torn away into the voids of outer space. “You will kill us all, I will release the probe whether I am inside or not. Do not do this.” Michael glared at the watcher through his single glowing iris.

  Again the cylinder’s seal triggered for opening, the air inside fell thin, returning its pressure to that of Heaven. Don’t do this, Samyaza’s heart thundered in her chest, she shivered intensely. The malakhim was still, his potent stare remaining fixed upon her. Time froze for the commander, her hand rest upon the death probe’s release panel, the other around Heylel’s chest.

  Slowly Michael gestured to those around him to leave, yet he remained, he continued to glare through the dome at Samyaza until the chamber’s door resealed and pressure shifted once more to match the probe.

  With a struggle she pulled the craft open, assisted by her stillots she first placed Heylel within the cramped space, lifting herself in she extended an arm out to activate the probe’s release then hastily pulled its seal shut behind. She paused for a moment. Quaking in shock she leaned back against the pod’s interior. What will we do? She winced, feeling lost and hopeless. With a judder Heaven ejected the death probe. There was no time to rest. Breathing deeply Samyaza moved to the control panels, she worked at them manically.

  The small vessel was not so different to an ophanim, its coordinates were often fixed yet with a deep understanding of its mechanics it was an easy task to alter its course. She looked over at Heylel’s lifeless face, his long greying hair covered much of it, his eyes were closed though he showed signs of light breathing.

  After some moments she had configured the craft’s navigation to sweep into Eden’s orbit, she would have little control over their destination however, nor ability to land safely, she could only project towards Mount Hermon, the rest would be down to fate.

  “Yaza?” A weak voice panted out behind her, shifting the commander’s attention away from the probe’s panels. She turned to Heylel and grasped his huge hand in hers.

  “I am here, Heylel. We are set on course to Eden.” She brushed a hand through his hair clearing the seraphim’s broad face.

  “My body burns.” Samyaza’s vision fell blurred as her eyes welled.

  “You were stricken down, Heylel. Your suit is damaged.” Through struggled gasps the seraphim looked up, Samyaza felt the lightest squeeze upon her enclosed hand before a faint smile crept across her leader’s face. He reached up, wiping a watery stream from her cheek.

  “We creations do live, after all.” Puzzled by his words Samyaza felt the seraphim’s grip slip away. His eyes closed. A violent shaking shed through the vessel. They were piercing Eden’s atmosphere and the commander knew not how her leader would survive without the support of his life suit once he was exposed to Eden’s air.

   

  9.

  Michael sighed in frustration, he watched helplessly as his target surged away from the mother ship. There is still hope for the commander. Her stubborn wilfulness to believe all that her creators told her was such a disappointment to the high-malakhim. So much potential, crippled by blind faith. Michael looked down towards the image of Yahweh. It stood silent now, motionless. His single iris shifted once more, down upon Heaven’s living quarters. Slowly he returned to the ship’s surface. His watcher kin cowered before the malakhim.

  Touching the ground Michael saw Zebub stagger out from his people, the bulging entity fell to his knees holding hands up mercifully. “Why have you done this, Michael? Why has Yahweh done this?” The malakhim did not look at the watcher, he gazed back once more towards the throne, up at his seraphim.

  “Stand to your feet, Zebub, do not show weakness to your set. There is much to be discussed.” He walked towards the lines of Heaven’s inhabitants. “Gather all watchers to the detainment depot! Everyone, clear the living quarters! Do not touch the wounded or dead. Be gone from this place.”

  For much time he stood, watching his prisoners go without quarrel, they appeared bewildered and fearful, a sight the malakhim regretted, a necessary evil, Michael. The huge being did not move until complete silence overtook Heaven’s living quarters. The only life that remained within was himself, and the humanoid, still imprisoned above. Looking up at the mesmerised creature Michael pressed at a series of digits upon his suit’s thigh.

  At once the image of Yahweh faded, and with it the deceased watchers’ images resting about the floor. Michael looked at the humanoid, its dark eyes were fixed on him. The high-malakhim activated his stillots, they exploded carrying him up towards the humanoid’s container. He watched the creature recoil at the fire his extending tentacles produced before quickly becoming infatuated by them.

  Coming level with the humanoid, Michael took some moments to simply look at it. Its dark skin, malnourished body and large skull which displayed such prominent features. How could such wondrous DNA create such a pathetic life form. The being’s amazement with Michael was interrupted by a sound from beneath. Opening doors followed footsteps and a malakhim walking into the empty living quarters.

  “Michael, the watchers are secure, are there any further orders from seraphim Yahweh?” A strangely sadistic thought crossed the high-malakhim’s mind.

  “Have this grotesque thing shown the magnificence of Heaven, then return him to his people upon Eden. Explain this ship to him in terms he may understand, that he many easily translate to his primitive kin, including what he saw here.”

  “At once, Michael. Will I have the watchers remain detained for seraphim Yahweh?”

  “Yes, Uriel, I will visit them shortly.” Michael did not look at the male he addressed, he awaited the sound of his kin’s departure, continuing to evaluate the humanoid. The scrawny entity rest a hand up against his clear container. Wretched thing. The malakhim’s hatred seethed.

  Once the quarters were clear he returned to the ground before making haste towards Heaven’s detainment depot. His thoughts now rest in uncharted waters. So much can go wrong, still. The fact he had even come this far surprised the malakhim.

  On route to his destination he took a detour. He viewed the empty living quarters and damaged roof above its now peacefully flowing waters. This place is a prison, but there. He gazed at Eden through the dome ceiling of his ship. A home. I’m sorry we could not share it, my love. Without another moments hesitance the huge entity turned about in pursuit of Zebub and his watcher kin. The aged malakhim was weary. Anxious at the thought of where his actions were taking his kind. Heaven forgive me, the single thought continued to turn over in his mind amidst excitement at his plan of action coming to fruition.

   

  10.

  Deep within his territory, beneath far reaching canopies high above, Behemoth’s bulging black eyes searched over the bodies his troop had dragged away from Mount Hermon. Their gold skins fascinated him. Such entities he had not seen in his time. Masters? His primitive mind struggled to make sense of what he saw, of what he had experienced beyond the safe grounds of his home.

  In the early morning light masses of naked giants corralled around Behemoth, around the pile of bronze bodies, glaring at them with an intense curiosity, yet each waited calmly for their leader’s first touch. He dipped low, sniffing before grasping a limp leg. He yanked it causing the entire troop to scatter into the forest, tricked by Behemoth’s abrupt movements he tossed the body effortlessly across the floor.

  Before he could approach his prize the trees around him came alive with some rampant commotion, from all about him his kin trampled through the surrounding flora, amongst their calls a whimpering moan caught hi
s attention. The giant turned, snarling with frustration at the interruption and sight of a live master being thrust out into the clearing in which the nephilim stood.

  “Please, please ple- ” He recognised the word but did not know its meaning. Behemoth swiped out a vicious backhand into the frail master’s face immediately silencing him, the minute body collapsed to the floor in a heap. The troop stood on edge, watching their leader return his concentration upon the strange bodies that lay about his territory. They shifted amongst themselves, apparently unable to resist their urge to tear into the malnourished being, the only thing preventing their actions was an inherent fear of their leader.

  Behemoth began trying to pull apart one of the slender corpse’s bronze skins yet the material would not give despite the goliath’s strength. His breathing became heavy, slamming a fist into the dirt he hauled the deceased body up and turning about threw it at a nearby tree. The corpse slunk to the ground erupting a commotion amongst his kin, nearby nephilim coursed upon it, their restraints unable to hold, a rush of hollers and grunts filled the dense forest causing great excitement to spread through them.

  Together they pulled and tugged at the resilient bronze skin, biting and scratching in an unrelenting manner the beasts would not let