Armageddon

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Gabriel was tempted to give the child a warning nip, to show who was boss, but decided against it. Aaron was his only concern now.

  “The power of God doesn’t belong in him,” the child then said, staring at Aaron’s face from multiple angles.

  Aaron just knelt there, as if in a trance, swaying ever so slightly as bursts of flame exploded off his armor, making jagged holes and exposing burned and bubbled flesh beneath.

  “It’s too strong . . . too unwieldy. It’s destroying the host body.”

  “Aaron,” Gabriel corrected. “It’s destroying Aaron.”

  “That’s what I said,” the child answered the dog, annoyed. “The host body Aaron.”

  Gabriel sensed someone’s approach and watched as the transformed Dusty came to join them.

  “What happened to him again?” Gabriel asked the child.

  Enoch sighed, exasperated with the continuous parade of questions. “Do you think I’m privy to everything, dog?” he asked. “He’s been changed . . . transformed, if you will, into an instrument of God, and it’s a good thing, too, for I would have likely been killed when the Architects’ base went down, if it wasn’t for him.”

  The child turned his face toward Dusty.

  “He knew right where to find me.”

  Aaron moaned, and he fell heavily to his side, the fire growing larger, hotter, as the armor of the Metatron continued to break down.

  “We haven’t much time,” Enoch said, one of his small hands hovering over the growing divine flames.

  “What are you going to do?” Gabriel asked nervously.

  “I’m going to attempt to take back what is rightfully mine,” he said.

  “And Aaron?”

  Enoch did not answer him as he rubbed his hands vigorously together, and then laid them upon his boy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Enoch placed his small, delicate hands upon the young man.

  In a searing flash that made him cry out, the child found what he sought, wrapped tightly around the man’s soul, and was afraid. For after being so violently extracted from its original host, and the countless years it had spent in servitude to a darker power, this power of God had become quite feral.

  Enoch called to it, but it did not recognize him. Instead, it surged toward him with a roar, and the child was repelled, falling backward to the sand.

  “What’s happened?” Aaron’s woman, Vilma, asked.

  The child could see the fear in her eyes, as well as in those of the dog, Gabriel, and Dusty, as Aaron writhed on the ground, moaning while the force destroyed his body from within.

  “Nothing that I didn’t expect,” Enoch answered shortly, getting to his feet. “The power has been left too long on its own. It’s unfocused, untamed.”

  “Can you . . . ,” Vilma started, but did not finish as the sounds of weapon fire exploded in the air.

  Monsters were slowly advancing upon them, the Unforgiven trying to hold them back.

  “I can try,” the child said, again laying his hands upon Aaron’s smoldering, armored form. “But I must not be disturbed. Keep them away,” he ordered, gesturing with his head toward the battle.

  Without waiting for a reply, Enoch allowed himself to be pulled back into Aaron’s psyche, again searching for the power of God that hid there.

  “Hello?” he called out over the thrumming of Aaron’s heart. It sounded labored, strained, and the child wondered how much more Aaron’s body could take.

  The force of supreme divinity suddenly emerged to confront this intruder in what had become its den. Enoch was terrified, as he had been so very long ago when the Lord God Almighty had originally joined his frail human form with the glory of His awesomeness.

  The God power appeared as many fearsome things as it attempted to drive the child away: a ferocious lion, a shrieking hawk, a hissing cobra. In the blink of an eye, it had morphed into all things that walked, crawled, slithered, and flew upon the planet, showing him the extent of its power.

  And even though he was afraid, Enoch extended his hands, calling it to him.

  That just enraged the God force all the more. It drew back, away from the interloper, warning him not to come any closer. Then it struck, lunging with blinding speed at the child.

  Enoch prepared to meet his fate, but the power of God stopped mere inches from his face.

  He stared for a moment at the force, which simply hovered before him. “Do you know me now?” he asked.

  The force, integral to the creation of all things, just floated there, considering him.

  “You and I,” Enoch continued. “We were together once. We were one and the same.”

  The power drew away.

  “And we could be again.” He extended his hand once more to the fearsome force, presenting it with all that he had to offer. “Accept me, and I will accept you.”

  The God power appeared to grow larger with his words.

  “Accept me and I will make you whole again.”

  The power came at him as a wall of pure force, permeating his every aspect.

  Knowing him intimately.

  * * *

  Above the whine of the Unforgiven’s recharging rifles, Vilma heard the most ear-piercing sound.

  Turning from the battle at hand, she saw the child called Enoch falling away from Aaron’s armored body, trails of white fire extending from his small hands. It was as if he were pulling the power from Aaron’s body.

  And as he did that, the child screamed.

  Gabriel barked frantically, lunging forward to help the boy, who was engulfed in white flames, his cries even more shrill and filled with pain.

  But the white fire did not care for the dog’s interference. A tendril of flame whipped out from the burning body to drive the Labrador back.

  Enoch’s scream had become like white noise, and all Vilma could do was stare as the fire grew larger and brighter, until the child could no longer be seen. It was as if a miniature sun roiled and burned before them.

  Then there was a flash so bright that it threw Vilma to the ground, even temporarily stopping the monsters’ attack.

  Everything went deathly quiet, and Vilma rapidly blinked her eyes, gradually bringing her vision back.

  A striking figure, clad in armor that looked as if it was created from the stuff of stars, stood at least twenty feet high. Its face was hidden by a featureless helmet, but its eyes burned with a supreme intelligence.

  The Metatron was reborn.

  And then her eyes fell on Aaron, and her heart nearly stopped. He was lying naked on the ground, his body human again, but deathly still. She ran to him, falling to her knees beside him, holding back tears of relief as she realized he was only unconscious. She gathered him into her arms, then gazed up at the godlike entity.

  “Will you help us end this?” she asked.

  The transformed Dusty went to stand beside the figure, staring at the Metatron as if waiting for its answer as well.

  The armored giant said nothing. It looked about at the monster legions that had recovered to once again advance upon them, and then down at Dusty.

  Something seemed to pass between the two.

  Dusty nodded ever so slightly, as the Metatron turned its broad, armored back on them and walked away.

  Vilma couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “Wait!” she cried out, cradling Aaron’s body. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to help us?”

  Dusty trailed after the awesome figure, the two of them heading away from the battle, and toward the unearthed temple.

  Toward the House of God.

  Their last hope was walking away, leaving them to the nightmares.

  Taylor and Levi were doing their best to lead the surviving Unforgiven against the remaining monsters, but would it be enough?

  Vilma looked down at Aaron lying still in her arms. She didn’t want to leave him, but she had no choice.

  “Stay with him,” she ordered Gabriel. “Protect him at all cost.”


  “I won’t let them hurt him,” Gabriel said, his fur beginning to glow and spark.

  “You’re a good dog.” She patted his head.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” Gabriel replied.

  Vilma smiled, calling upon a sword of fire as her wings emerged, and then she flew off into battle once more.

  * * *

  Jeremy sat up suddenly on the desert floor, causing his head to spin.

  His eyes drifted about. “Bloody hell,” he slurred, as he realized he was surrounded by monsters, that murderous angel, Verchiel, just beginning to stir beside him.

  “Hey,” Jeremy said to the awakening angel.

  “Are you addressing me, Nephilim?” Verchiel spat.

  “Yeah, thought you might like to have a look,” he responded, slowly getting to his feet.

  The beasts were coming for them with bloodlust in their eyes.

  Verchiel stood, opening the palm of his hand to summon a weapon. “I never believed I would say such a thing, but killing these beasts is growing tiresome.”

  Jeremy could not help but chuckle as he called upon his own weapon. “Well, let’s get this over with. We might find something more to your liking later.”

  His wings stretching out as he prepared to launch himself, Verchiel shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  There was a sudden scream from behind them, and Jeremy spun to meet the attack. But the monsters that swarmed from the cover of the Architects’ downed craft seemed to have no interest in them.

  “What the . . . ?” Jeremy exclaimed, and glanced over to Verchiel, whose shock gradually turned to amusement.

  These monsters laid siege to the others, and although their band was smaller, the other monsters proved no match for their savagery.

  “I don’t understand,” Jeremy said, lowering his flaming ax and watching as their attackers were driven back.

  “What’s to understand?” Verchiel asked with a disturbing chuckle.

  A goblin, clutching a knife and what appeared to be some other beast’s scalp, turned and approached them.

  “A spoil of war, my master.” The goblin bowed before Verchiel, presenting his bloody gift.

  “My master?” Jeremy exclaimed, looking from Verchiel to the monsters that stood among those they had vanquished. They were all bowing their misshapen heads to Verchiel. “They follow you?” he asked incredulously.

  Verchiel smiled, accepting the tribute. “They do,” he said, holding the scalp close to his face, rubbing the course black hair between his thumb and finger.

  “And what, pray tell, do you plan to do with them?” Jeremy asked, looking over the gathering of grotesques.

  “Do with them?” Verchiel asked, letting the scalp fall to the ground as he raised his fiery sword. “Isn’t it obvious, Nephilim? I intend to lead them into battle.”

  * * *

  A wall of primitive monsters tried to stop the Overseer’s progress, but he would have none of it, turning any and all who tried to halt his forward momentum to a cloud of bloody mist.

  For the Architect believed there was a chance that his vision for this world could still be realized.

  Chaos had always been a part of the process. The earth’s inhabitants had always fought to survive, or died, making way for those strong enough to take back the world that God believed held so much promise.

  The Overseer Architect saw earth’s promise too, but his vision was so much grander than what his Holy Creator foresaw. This world could be more than Heaven, and he would do everything in his power to make it so.

  The armies of darkness were nothing to him, a minor inconvenience, and the Overseer destroyed them without a second thought.

  There was still much to be accomplished before his achievement could be viewed by the Lord of Lords. He had to stop the Ladder from being activated, and if that meant the death of the Metatron yet again, so be it.

  Up ahead there was a line of defense, warriors who had risen up to do battle with the escalating evil in the world. These were the kinds of beings that inspired his purpose. They had survived so much destruction already; they could help to transform the world into one that surpassed Heaven itself.

  But they were in his way. It disturbed the Overseer greatly to remove beings of such enormous potential, but it was the only way.

  Time was of the essence if Heaven and earth were to remain disconnected.

  * * *

  “Who the hell is that?” Vilma asked, slashing down a troll, as her eyes fixed on a large, hooded shape that moved with incredible speed across the battlefield, decimating anything that got in its way.

  The Unforgiven took notice as well. Vilma saw Levi freeze, concern on his face. It was if suddenly all the monsters attacking them were forgotten.

  “Direct all fire!” Levi commanded, and the Unforgiven aimed their weapons at the juggernaut advancing on them.

  The fallen angels’ high-tech weaponry did nothing to slow the figure, and Vilma realized that it was now up to her. The weapons of the Unforgiven might not be able to deter this new threat, but the power of a Nephilim might.

  Wings spread wide, she leaped into the air with a sword of fire, ready to strike. She dropped down into the path of the hooded figure, swinging her blade at where she imagined its legs would be. But the creature captured the burning sword with a spidery hand.

  As she tried to pull the blade back from its clutches, she stared, stunned, as the sword fizzled and disappeared. The figure grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close. Vilma felt a charge like thousands of volts of electricity passing through her body, totally immobilizing her as the being’s single large eye studied her from inside the hood.

  “Nephilim,” a voice boomed inside her head, and she cried out in pain. “You were to be one of my Inheritors.”

  The figure released one of her shoulders, bringing a spindly finger up to her face, brushing her forehead.

  Vilma cried out again as her mind was invaded by a deluge of terrifying imagery.

  And with that imagery came a revelation.

  She knew she was in the presence of the Architect, and that he and his kind had toiled for millennia to make this world so much more than what God had intended. From terror, darkness, and despair, a new world would emerge, a phoenix from the ashes of the old.

  She saw how the Architects had taken Nephilim from all over the planet and hidden them away, until it was time to repopulate the world. She saw how the Nephilim were to breed, to produce the optimal offspring.

  Mated pairs.

  The Overseer released Vilma, and she fell limply to the ground, the Architects’ plan now seared to her brain.

  Vilma was supposed to be part of this grand scheme, but the image of the mate chosen for her by the Architect was not Aaron Corbet.

  It was Jeremy Fox.

  She lay there, stunned and nearly paralyzed, when she heard a strange sound carried upon the wind.

  It started off softly, but then grew steadily louder.

  It was the sound of flapping wings.

  Many. Flapping. Wings.

  Above her, the sky filled with a legion of winged warriors.

  Hope exploded inside her as the Architect beheld the vision too.

  Nephilim.

  * * *

  The Metatron climbed the enormous steps to the House of God with ease, for this place had been built for a being such as he. At the open doors, he paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the area, searching for A’Dorial, although something told him this angel was no more.

  He waited for the guise of the Instrument. Once a tool to sever the ties between earth and Heaven, to prevent the disease of evil from spreading, now it would serve another purpose.

  The being who had once been called Dusty struggled up the last step to his side.

  Then the Metatron and the Instrument strode through the open doors of the House, to the stone slab in the center of the room. Now in the presence of the mechanism that could unlock the Ladder, the Metatron’s body grew even larger.r />
  The stone began to hum, a strange tune filled with the infinite wonders of the universe and of God’s love for this simple, yet magnificent world.

  The Metatron passed one of his large, armored hands over the flat surface and keyhole-like opening. A light as warm and comforting as the first ray of sun after a storm shone up from the aperture.

  He turned his towering gaze to the human manifestation of the Instrument. The reflection of Heaven’s light glinted off the Metatron’s helmet to shine upon the metallic body of the young man once called Dusty.

  The Instrument’s metal form began to change, any semblance to the human body quickly disappearing.

  Over the centuries the Instrument had been many things: a trumpet to call down the End of Days, a sword so sharp it could sever the ties between Heaven and earth.

  And now it took on its newest shape and purpose.

  A key.

  A key to unlock the passage between the world of man and God; a key to unleash this planet’s unlimited potential.

  It was time.

  The Metatron picked up the key and carefully inserted it into the lock. Even though the machine had been frozen in place for such a very long time, the key turned easily. There came a series of loud clicks as the cylinders fell into place and the mechanism was activated.

  The Metatron stepped back, watching as the machine gradually came to life, its low, gentle hum growing along with its power.

  It won’t be long now, the Metatron thought just as the Ladder to Heaven emerged in a rush of searing light and fire.

  The enormous swirling helix rose through the temple’s ceiling to punch through the thick, all-encompassing darkness, glowing brighter, and brighter still, as it burned away the heavy clouds that enshrouded the planet.

  And all who lived upon the earth then knew that Heaven was watching once more.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  NOW

  Is this the end of the world? Vilma’s aunt Edna wondered as the searing light filled every inch of her kitchen, erasing every shadow.

  The creature that had invaded their home cried pathetically as it died, the brilliant light burning away the evil that had allowed it to exist.

  And though the light was so very bright, Edna and her husband could not help but stare into it as they bathed in its reassuring warmth.