by Eric Black
Nearly cut in two, Juan dropped the Ark and slid sideways to the ground. His blood poured onto the ground and flooded the discarded Ark.
“No!” Enoch screamed helplessly.
Baraqiel smiled tauntingly at Enoch, thoroughly enjoying Juan’s death. He raised his sword and the blood of Juan dripped from the sword onto the ground.
Baraqiel’s smile ignited a deep, ancient rage in Enoch. Enoch rose into the air and transformed into the archangel Metatron. He reached out and grabbed Baraqiel by the throat and squeezed. As he squeezed, he looked at Baraqiel and briefly considered imprisoning him in Dudael for eternity. Then, he changed his mind and instead of sending him into eternal bondage, Metatron slaughtered Baraqiel. He felt no remorse.
He turned and looked back at where Juan’s body had fallen. He went to his side with a glimmer of hope but it was for naught. Juan was dead.
Metatron picked up the blood-drenched Ark. As he did, he recalled all the bloodshed that the Ark had brought through the millennia. Juan’s death confirmed it was time to end what had occurred.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Diego knew Juan was dead and the thought struck him with deep grief. He looked at the Morning Star and placed blame; in doing so, the grief transformed to a deeper rage.
He was exhausted from fighting the Morning Star but the rage renewed his strength. He had almost given up several times but the thought that Juan needed him to keep fighting kept him going.
Now, it was more than that: Juan’s death gave him the ire to fight.
He lowered his shoulder and ran into the distracted Morning Star. The Morning Star recoiled slightly but recovered and swatted Diego. Diego was hurled to the side.
Diego raised his sword and attacked the Morning Star again but the Morning Star connected with a left hand and Diego was sent flying. On his third effort, the battle-weariness was too much and Diego’s sword was knocked from his hand. He knew this was the end and he looked up at the Morning Star, waiting for the final blow.
The Morning Star grinned in such a way that only battle lust can bring. Juan was dead and without Diego, the others would give up. Mankind would have no more champions. Men would lose hope and free will would turn their worship to him. The revolution he had started eons prior would come to a climax and he would be victorious.
He raised his hand to strike Diego with the blow that would end his life. But before he struck, he gave out a call of victory that echoed throughout existence. He wanted all to know that creation had moved past God and that it was the Dawn of the Morning Star.
Diego watched the Morning Star raise a fist to end his life and prepared himself for the conclusion; but it did not come. Just as the Morning Star’s arm started forward, Azazel intercepted, reaching out and seizing the Morning Star’s arm.
Azazel’s rage was too much and the Morning Star could not sever his hold. He turned to face Azazel and gave up Diego in the process. The two angels grappled as Diego rejoined the battle.
Only a moment before, the Morning Star was sure of victory. Now he began to see that victory slipping away. Azazel would not relent and as such, his victory over the Sons of Cain was unsure.
The Morning Star managed to get his arm around Azazel’s neck and started to squeeze when a new force entered. The Morning Star recognized the victory that had seemed imminent was now complicated with the appearance of Metatron.
Diego’s eyes widened. He had only seen Enoch become the archangel once before and the consequence was terrifying, even to his allies.
The Morning Star shoved Azazel away and turned his full attention to Metatron. Diego then saw something he had not seen before in the eyes of the Morning Star: not quite fear but a silent respect.
Metatron moved towards the Morning Star and Diego saw that Metatron wielded a sword. Metatron swung so hard that the gust blew Diego backwards. He did not see the sword strike but at the moment of impact, all became dark and silent.
At first, Diego was not sure what happened. He became disoriented and squeezed his eyes shut to fight the nausea.
Once the feeling subsided, Diego opened his eyes and saw that they were back at the gateway to the garden. Faces revealed that everyone was just as confused as he. Then, clarity came and the Sons of Cain understood; it was over.
Creation returned to the way it was before the Watchers found the Ark. They still found the Ark, only it was the replica forged by Solomon. The replica was useless for the Watchers’ purpose and sat lifeless among the survivors. Without the true Ark, the Watchers had accomplished nothing.
The Morning Star, all observed, was once again merely a serpent crawling through feces.
Standing before the remaining Watchers, Metatron called for Shamsiel and Cherubim to join him. They did and the legions of angels fell in behind. With his face betraying the fury of the universe, Metatron looked out over the Watchers and declared, “Your sentence is death.”
The legions of angels came forward and commenced the slaughter. A few of the Watchers feebly attempted to defend themselves but most accepted their fate and were consumed by the fire that came from the swords.
The serpent was untouched, forced to watch the death of those he had led. It was not until the bodies of the Watchers filled the ground with lifelessness that Metatron approached the serpent.
The serpent looked up at Metatron and could feel Metatron’s rage. Where before the Morning Star looked in respect, now there was a true fear. Without speaking, Metatron drove his sword into the head of the serpent, ending his treachery once and for all.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
With a weary parting, what was left of the Sons of Cain journeyed back to their respected place in the universe and Diego returned with the priest to Ethiopia.
All of creation had experienced the Watchers but it seemed only a distant memory, as if everyone had shared the same bad dream that they just couldn’t recall.
When Metatron hid the Ark, undoing all the Watchers had done, he also undid time. His striking down the Morning Star was merely symbolic; plus, he had very much enjoyed the moment.
In the physical world, less than a day had passed. Diego and the priest returned to the cathedral and met with the investigators about the stolen Ark. The investigators were cagy and visible shaken but they could not explain their current state. They informed the priest that they had found no trace of the missing artifact but they would keep the investigation open and would inform them if they found anything. The priest thanked them, offering them a cup of coffee for the road and then closed the door behind them.
When the grounds were empty, Diego and the priest settled around the small table that occupied the kitchen area of the priest’s quarters. “Seems strange,” the priest commented, staring into a half-drunken cup of coffee.
“What seems strange?” Diego asked.
“It seems strange that it’s over. It’s over and mankind will never know. We have just experienced the end times, only it is not the end times. And I must go on preaching on the subject as if it will someday happen, even though I know it already has.”
Diego looked at the priest. “You are a man of faith.”
“Of course, I am.”
“Then your faith should be enough. Mankind is searching for meaning in life. So your spreading of faith is more important than validating a story from a religious text.”
“You’re asking me to validate lying and discount the Bible at the same time.”
“Not at all. The Bible and other books of religion are important for passing on consistent messages about God. But in the end, they are merely words on paper. It is the application of those words in life that create true worship.
“I’ve always enjoyed reading about the end of days but it was much less enjoyable to live that out. Not everyone can handle knowing what you and I know and they do not need to know. What they do need is faith. Now that you know the truth of existence, you are the person to bring that to them.”
The priest considered Diego’s co
mments. “And I thought I was supposed to be the spiritual leader with all of the answers.”
“Perhaps,” Diego said smiling. “But, I’ve lived longer.”
In the following months, time passed and people moved on as they always do. The common dream that all of creation had experienced faded and the world became a cheerful place.
Diego stayed with the priest and they often spoke until the late hours of the night. But as the world moved forward, Diego thought more and more on his past. He did not share his deeper thoughts with the priest but the priest could tell that a depression was growing on Diego.
As time grew, so did Diego’s depression. He began to withdraw and the late night conversations grew less frequent. Diego began taking long trips and would often be gone for several months at a time.
Then one day, everything changed. Diego had been gone for six months and when he returned, the priest welcomed him back as he always did. Only this time, Diego seemed lighter.
That evening as they sat around the table, Diego was more talkative. Diego had been very congested about his feelings but that night shared his thoughts with the priest.
“I have lost everyone in life that I care about,” Diego started softly. “My father died in my arms in a battle caused by my greed. During that same battle, I was mortally wounded and Juan, who had been my sworn enemy, saved my life by taking me to the garden.
“While in the garden, my wife died and my children were left without a father. Again, because of my greed, in order to save my own life I had to abandon my family. I looked in on them but too many years had passed and I didn’t know how to approach them. It almost seemed better that they thought I was dead.”
Diego paused and looked up; the priest could see the tears in his eyes. “Juan is dead. Most of the people I knew for centuries are dead; killed in a battle that was meaningless. Again for greed. I am the last Keeper of the Fountain. And while I continue to guard its secrets, I have lost everything in doing so.”
The priest opened his mouth to speak but Diego raised a hand to silence him. “You have become very dear to me. For many years it was just me and I had no one with which to share my true thoughts. I have enjoyed this time with you but now I must leave.”
The priest was shocked. “Why? Where will you go?”
“Father, you and I are on separate paths. You have a congregation to tend to and I have another path.”
The priest did not know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak several times but the words fell dead. Finally, he looked directly at Diego. “You have found your path?”
Diego smiled. “I have.”
“I’ve been worried about you for some time now.”
“I know. But worry no more.”
“If I can’t be concerned about you, who will?”
Diego did not speak for a moment. Then, his smile returned. “There is someone else.”
The priest considered to who else Diego could be referring. Then it hit him. “Her?”
“Yes, her. We are to meet in the morning. We’ll make our way back to her planet.”
The priest laughed out loud. “I’m happy for you, old friend. But I still don’t know what she sees in you.”
“I’m not sure I do either.”
The priest looked as if he had something to say but then looked away.
“Are you okay?” Diego asked and then realized that tears filled the priest’s eyes.
The priest looked back at Diego. “I shall miss you.”
“And I shall miss you.”
“I guess I still have Daniel,” the priest said as his tears dissolved into a smile. “He has a better disposition than you.”
Diego nodded in agreement. “I will come and visit; perhaps not as often as you would like but I will come.”
The priest wiped the tears from his eyes. “We should get some sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow, traveling to another planet and all.”
“You know, Father, I’m not all that sleepy. How about a final evening of cards over coffee?”
The priest looked at Diego and feigned a yawn. “You do know that I meet with the bishop in the morning? And he likes to come early.”
Diego looked somewhat disappointed and the priest shrugged. “I guess the bishop will just have to deal with a cranky old priest.”
Diego smiled. “I’ll put on the coffee.”
CHAPTER FORTY
They waited until Diego was gone before approaching. They knew he would recognize them for who they were. The priest was the same as Diego but his knowledge of creation and his experiences in the entirety of existence was still somewhat infantile. They knew he could be deceived.
Three of them came to the cathedral as simple people of faith who would pray to the God that had long ago turned from their ancestors. It was true that they were not as ethereal as their grandfathers or even their fathers for that matter; they were definitely human but aspects of them were ethereal.
The three took the road to the church and left behind hundreds that waited in the shadows, waiting for the moment to show their selves to the world.
Some of their kind had turned their back on who they were, choosing to fall into the human way of life (or other ways of life depending on the planet). Others had forgotten who they were entirely. But they could not stall their plans hoping to lure the lost back onto the path that was destined for them.
They waited for creation to calm back down. The death of the Watchers was unknown to most people except in their deepest subconscious. All of existence knew something had happened but could not recall what it was. What they did know was that as the veil of fear lifted, they found life better than it had ever been. The tensions between peoples of various worlds shifted and for the first time in perhaps ever, there was a peace among creation.
Those in the shadow waited for everyone to overlook the dangers that lie in the forgotten realms. Now that only a few remained who could stop them, it was time for the revealing.
It was late when the priest walked into the chapel. Before he went to bed he would visit the chapel to make sure all was well and that fresh candles were placed for the following day’s prayers. It was not unusual to see people in the later part of the evenings but it was nearly midnight when he entered the chapel and saw three men spread among the pews.
It struck him odd that the three men would be there so late but it struck him as more odd that they were spread out. He found it unlikely that three men who did not know each other would come to the chapel so late. He detected something was not quite right.
“Do you gentlemen require anything?” the priest said aloud. “Stay and pray as long as you like. I’m here to make ready for the morning but please don’t let me disturb you. Let me know should you require me.”
None of the three men turned towards him.
The effect of being ignored sent a chill through him. These men were dangerous. And although he knew because of who he had become they could not harm him that did not belay any of the fear that was slowly creeping towards his heart.
As if sensing his fear, the three men turned towards him. The priest saw them clearly and recognized something familiar about them. They stood and began walking in unison. He backed out of the chapel towards the front doorway and his hand felt the doorknob. With a twist, the door was open and he turned to step outside.
Outside in the courtyard were hundreds of people, all very similar in height and build and all with a unique but analogous appearance. He started at the unexpected mass and did not notice that the three men had come up behind him. He felt their presence and turned to face them.
The man in the middle smiled at the priest. “Don’t worry, Father. We only want what you want.”
The priest summoned his courage. “And what is that?”
“Why, to rule over creation, of course.”
This angered the priest. “How dare you! Of course I don’t want that.”
The man widened his simper, exposing straight white teeth and tilted
his head as if he was considering the priest’s words. If possible, the smile grew. “It’s a shame. You would have been welcome among us.”
“Who are you?”
“You already know that answer, Father.”
The priest drew a blank but then a name came to him. He knew who they were. “You are the Elioud.”
Part Two
MORE ANGER THAN SORROW
CHAPTER ONE
Baltimore, Maryland – November 1921
She saw the blood. Through the tears that blurred her vision, she could barely discern the crimson but it was there; the blood in her eyes was the foundation of her tears. She tried to cry out but a sturdy hand over her mouth only caused the words to release in a low muffle.
Jack had kidnapped President Libby Williams without as much as a single shot being fired. He took her to a remote location, just outside of Baltimore. He knew he had some time. The public alarm would not be raised as quickly as with other abductions because the White House handlers would not want the general public to know.
The blood lust ran deep as he looked into her frightened eyes. The steel in her eyes just below the fear – the steel that also ran through her spine, allowing her to serve successfully as President – pushed that blood lust over the edge. It was almost sexual. But he did not have plans to assault her in that way. If any part of him was to violate her, it was the blade concealed in his pocket.
When he finished, he looked down at his work (something of which he was always proud, like Van Gogh staring at his completed canvas). The work was optimum and the thought of the horror it would inflict upon others was almost too much for him to contain.
