The Works of Julius St. Clair - 2017 Edition (Includes 3 full novels and more)

by Julius St. Clair

  The authoritative tone in his voice was unsettling, but I followed along. If these were God’s orders, then I would obey - at the very least I might be able to get some answers out of Raphael.

  “Lysander, you are an angel, of course, but of a specific type. Every angel in Heaven is classified based upon its abilities. Someday, you will have the complete list, but for now, I will explain your designation. You are what is called - a Messenger.”

  I didn’t bother trying to hide my disappointment. My database was blank in the angel classification department, which meant I had to acquire the knowledge for myself. Surely there was a reason for this…but I didn’t dwell on the matter. The moment Raphael mentioned the word “designation” I was intrigued. But upon hearing the title he gave me, I had to admit - that interest was now gone.

  “Messenger” was the only classification I had heard of so far, but there was no doubt in my mind it was of bottom tier quality. For instance, after seeing Raphael’s height, I knew he couldn’t be a Messenger. Being eye-level to his chest told me that much.

  The more the word “Messenger” overpowered me the gloomier I became. I unintentionally let my imagination wander, and soon it settled on the image of a “mailman”. So this was to be my journey – that of a glorified, angelic mailman - delivering messages to angels about the great and wonderful things others were doing - and not me. I would be the storyteller, enunciating key words and telling tales with grand emphasis, until the real hero of the yarn I spun emerged triumphant, ready to add some spice to my bland exposition. I couldn’t help but wonder…if I was a delivery boy, what was the point of fighting?

  “I can see you’re displeased,” Raphael said, confirming the look of disgust plastered across my face.

  “I’m a Messenger,” I stated, my voice flat and dead.

  “So what if you are? If it got you back into God’s presence or ended up being favorable for your friends, what does it matter what your purpose is?”

  I raised my head in surprise. Already I had begun to forget about my past. How long would it take before it was erased altogether? How long before I was too distracted with my job or overloaded with information to remember my family?

  “Maybe it would be better if you had never been created,” Raphael said coldly. His words were almost too much to bear. Was it possible I could be destroyed and replaced? Would I be aware of anything? I could hear the irritation in Raphael’s words. He was trying to get a message across, and I wasn’t getting it - my logic was taking too long to win out over my emotions.

  “Listen to me, young one,” he said quietly. “I know how agitating this can all be, especially since you’ve only been here a short time. But understand that God doesn’t want a daycare. He wants a university. I can teach you how to be mature, but it’s upon you to adhere to it – to grow into the angel He needs, to ensure His will comes to fruition.”

  An awkward silence hung in the air as he contemplated his next words.

  “Now, as I was saying – you are a Messenger. Part of your job is to deliver important messages across Heaven, but that’s not where it ends. Some angels like the Godhand are strong – they are the tanks or powerhouses of our world. Others, like the Glory, are able to call upon God at any time for His express help in a situation. Your ability is of a tactical nature. You may be of average size and strength, but the way your mind works, it can assess a problem and come to a resolution quicker than any other class of angel here.”

  Raphael waited for me to respond but I was still trying to interpret his description.

  “So, I’m smart?”

  “It has nothing to do with intelligence or having more knowledge. It involves being able to analyze data and use it efficiently. Trust me, your mental database is no bigger than anyone else’s.”

  The notion was hard to fathom, and honestly, I couldn’t imagine flying around telling people I had superior reasoning skills while a Godhand was toppling over buildings or whatever they do. What was I going to say? Hey guys! You think that’s impressive? Watch me solve this puzzle in less than sixty seconds! I highly doubted I would be picked first to go on a secret mission.

  “Don’t underestimate yourself, Lysander. This is a valuable talent, given by God to better serve us all as a whole.”

  “So my reasoning isn’t there just to figure out the best paper route in Heaven?”

  Raphael laughed heartily, his colossal breastplate armor heaving like an exploding bagpipe, despite the fact I wasn’t joking.

  “If you’re so unsure about the talent God gave you, why don’t we test it?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “A little sparring session. Get the rust off those wings.”

  “But you’re bigger than me. You’ll win.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because when I look at…you…I,” my voice trailed off as I suddenly saw Raphael in a new light. My “Messenger mind” was tingling with life and now that my temper tantrums were over, I was able to think clearly. The world had been hazy since I had been blinded by God’s light, but now my vision was adjusting, and an unusually sharp clairvoyance dominated my senses. I saw Raphael for who he was. Yes, he was far larger than I was, and a lot more experienced. No doubt he had participated in more sparring matches than I could count. But what I figured out very quickly and quite intuitively was that everyone had a weakness – you just had to find it. See, no one was God – no one had the foresight and omnipotence He did – and with that knowledge bursting forth like the arrival of a messenger with great news, I figured out how I could beat Raphael.

  CHAPTER 4: Suffer Not

  God wouldn’t make an angel perfect – hence the reason for so many classifications – each angel could only be strong in one aspect, not all. Of course, this also meant that each class of angel had a fair share of strengths and weaknesses. Godhand angels may be the “powerhouses,” but maybe they lacked in reasoning or intelligence. Maybe they were only able to tap into unfathomable power for a short time. Perhaps they were slow moving. As for the Glory and their ability to call upon God personally…it sounded like they could be the most powerful angels of them all - but just because they called, didn’t mean that God always answered. I knew that personally. A conflict could arise that God wanted the Glory to learn from or figure out on their own. I also assumed the Glory couldn’t be ridiculously strong, at least in foreseeable size – which meant Raphael was probably not a Glory.

  He could be a Godhand, but all that supposition told me was to be careful, and this I knew regardless. My newfound tactical mind relayed to me that anyone who initiated a fight, friendly or otherwise, probably thought they could win. And Raphael, with all his expertise in dealing with new angels, was probably sure he could beat me, especially since I had never fought before.

  But with experience also comes complacency. And that meant that he assumed he knew what I would probably do next. How I would fly at him or, as a Messenger, how much speed I had at my disposal because I was smaller. Basically, he was confident he knew everything about me and my tactics. But in the end, I believed it would be his downfall.

  He probably had figured out a hundred different ways I would attack, so I was forced to go against my instinct and do the one thing no one expected – to be random. Yep, that was the master plan. Anything else, I’m sure Raphael had seen it all before and could counter accordingly. And it couldn’t just be a little random – it had to be a ridiculous show so out of this world, Raphael wouldn’t know what to do. Could I be random enough to beat him? We were about to find out.

  “Are you ready?” Raphael asked me abruptly, separating my thoughts.

  I tried to answer him – in my own way.

  It was the first time I actually saw my slender arms reach forward, my closed hand the size of a pebble compared to the gong-like breastplate I aimed for on Raphael. Yes, I had armor as well, but I didn’t want it. I didn’t need it – I was sure one of the boulders he called fists had more than eno
ugh stopping power to render me useless with or without it.

  Raphael saw my fist coming a galaxy away, already raising his right palm to meet it like a catcher’s mitt. I dug deep within my database and pulled out a strange countermeasure. I stopped my assault abruptly and fell backwards, placing my right hand onto the floor and letting my wings maintain my balance – my left leg swinging into the air toward Raphael’s cheek. His eyes widened in surprise as he dodged the kick, but I was still moving. My left leg came down, and though my back was turned towards him, I pivoted and swung my left leg back at him again, coming from the other side. I barely missed, but he was now slightly off balance. I let the momentum of my left foot carry me and I continued my attack after it landed, squatting low to the floor and trying to sweep him off his feet with my right wing, which was a ridiculous notion since wings were as dense as pillows. The wing could easily slam into his legs with no damage and little reaction. All he had to do was stand still.

  Which is exactly what I needed him to do. Yes, wings were basically glorified rain clouds in formation, but they were as thick as silk in visibility. And I had my right leg swinging behind my wing to ensure Raphael would hit the floor. Incorporating a seemingly useless Earth fighting style – Capoeira – may just have been random enough to trick him into failure.

  Raphael let an air current propel him upwards even though he knew of my wing’s composition. I worried that maybe he suspected my plan, but it didn’t matter for I had switched gears. My left wing followed his ascent with a fist to follow. This time, he let the wing connect to no effect, and though he felt confident for a second, he didn’t in the next. My left fist forced his body rocketing upward as I hit him with every ounce of power I could muster. There was no guarantee I would get another chance at him again, so I put all I had into it, even to the point of hurting myself – my thoughts becoming faint and my body weighed down with a sense of lethargy and exhaustion. Raphael hit the floor like a drop of water, his crash making no audible sound, but his body flailing in all directions – all motor control lost. His head bounced up for a second under the blunt trauma, and then he laid there, eyes closed.

  And this is when I grew afraid, fidgeting nervously over whether he would get up or not.

  Because I could still sense he was nowhere near defeated.

  I couldn’t articulate it, even to myself, but there was something wrong about his fall. He hadn’t been acting…but I couldn’t shake the uneasy notion that he was still strong. Very strong. There was an aura emanating from him that screamed he had a lot of fight left. And the only hope I embraced was the verity that I knew little of what a defeated angel looked like. Especially since I knew inherently that angels are eternal.

  What did happen to an angel when they were beaten in battle? Nothing? Did they just fall down for a second and then get back up as good as new? Or did they have to go to a shop and get their armor repaired? Was their armor an indication of their health? Or was it their hair? Their wings? Maybe they lost a bit of reputation - a mark against their record which is broadcast throughout Heaven…either way, Raphael was about to get up in a second, and I had nothing left.

  “What do you sense?” Raphael asked me authoritatively, his eyes firmly shut.

  “That nothing has changed,” I answered obediently. “You fell, but that’s it.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I was wondering about that myself.”

  “What do you think happens to an angel when they fall?”

  “It hurts?”

  “Actually, no,” he said, suddenly in a standing position and a few feet from my face. His speed was so scary I barely heard him speak. “We don’t feel pain in a violent sense. To us, it’s more of a discomfort rather than a crippling sensation. So tell me, if the angels of God had an enemy – hypothetically speaking – what would prevent an ongoing stalemate between the two? If you hit me, I fall, get back up and hit you and you correspond with the same – what’s the point?”

  “There must be some way to crown a winner.”

  “True. And there is. We are spiritual beings so we create the impression of having an endless supply of energy at our disposal, but that is not the case. Let me ask you this. Can an angel defeat God?”

  “No,” I said immediately. The idea was preposterous.

  “Why not?”

  The question disturbed me and I felt a quiver in my spirit. What was the point of dwelling on such things? Of course a creation couldn’t be stronger than the creator…could they?

  “God is all-powerful. We are not,” I finally decided upon. Raphael nodded, apparently satisfied.

  “Correct. We are made with eternal spiritual life, but not unlimited power. Even our abilities are divided amongst classes. No individual angel possesses all of the classes’ abilities. On top of that, the spiritual capacity with which we are born with is our maximum limit. Unless God should allow it, we can never go beyond what we are given.”

  “I don’t understand. Do you mean I can’t become a Godhand if I want to?”

  “No, you cannot, but what I am really discussing is angelic pressure, the energy that stabilizes you and keeps you in good health. For example, if I were to classify levels of spiritual energy and say I was a level 3, and you were a 1 - no matter how hard you try, how much you train – you will never be at a level 3. You will never be able to hurt me or cause me discomfort.”

  “But you still haven’t explained how someone can lose a fight. Even if you are a ‘level 3’ and I was a ‘level 1’ what does it matter? I’ll get back up again.”

  “Ah, but here’s the truth of the matter. We cannot gain more than our current maximum of spiritual energy, ever...but we can lose it. If I were to hit you now, with all my might – your spirit, what we call your angelic pressure, loses some of its potency. The same thing happens when you exert yourself and put more energy into one attack than another. It’s very similar to the concept of exercise. Exert more angelic pressure – and you get more tired. Receive ‘damage’ from another being, and you lose some as well, depending on how badly you were struck.”

  “So what happens when someone’s angelic pressure goes to zero?”

  Raphael cast his eyes downward and his right wing fidgeted momentarily. I couldn’t help thinking of the new angel on the island, coiling his wings and contorting his body. It told me that Raphael had a past not worth asking about.

  “Zero,” he said in a stoic tone. “Well, it all depends on how hard you are hit when your angelic pressure is at a critical level, but…you lose consciousness. Your ‘body’ remains intact and present, but there’s no animation. You cannot move, think, feel – you are completely oblivious to the world around you, like you were before you came into existence. From there, you are in stasis, a type of limbo until your angelic pressure steadily recovers, enough for you to gain consciousness. I don’t even want to think about how long an angel would be unconscious if one continues to hurt them long after they have gone unconscious. One could be out of commission for centuries after enduring such trauma.”

  I was clueless to the severity of his message, and easily let it be forgotten. Like death, like gravity – it cast no weight upon me.

  “Then how do we win? What if an enemy is stronger than us spiritually? What can we do that doesn’t end in us being knocked unconscious?”

  “Tell me – when you knocked me down with that crazy dance-style martial art –”

  “-you know what it is?”

  “Of course. Remember, we are born with the same knowledge.”

  “Some of it seems like a waste of space to me – like a land called Canaan, what is –”

  “- that’s irrelevant right now. What did you feel?”

  “I was glad. Ecstatic…because you thought you could beat me.”

  “I never said anything insinuating that. What makes you think I was confident about the outcome of our sparring match?”

  “It’s like you told me �
�� I’m a Messenger, a tactician. I assumed you had seen many ‘new angels’ like me before, and other Messengers too - so you already knew you’d win.”

  “And that upset you a bit, didn’t it?” he sneered. I stretched out my neck to the side and stood up straight.

  “A little,” I said. “So I devised a plan on the spot. I figured that by trying random techniques, it might throw you off – and it worked.”

  “Did it?”

  “What?”

  “Did it work? Did you win?” he asked me casually.

  “I didn’t bring your angelic pressure down to zero. And if we continue our match, I’ll have to factor in our conversation and try new tactics, but for now, yes, I’m winning.”

  “And how do you feel about that? Feel good?”

  Raphael began pacing around me, his wings and arms held close to his sides as he studied me like a lab experiment. Whenever I managed to fight through my fear and look at his face, his body would seem to flicker and suddenly he would be behind me again. He was getting faster with each successive look and if I didn’t get a handle on my nerves soon, I would end up on the floor in a ball, crying myself into absenteeism.

  “It felt good, to prove you wrong,” I said, clearing my throat. Now that I was alone, I had to start standing up for myself. Stop being afraid.

  “A sense of pride, am I right?”

  “Yes. Because I showed you that I’m not to be looked down upon.”

  “I guess you’re ready to out-spar anyone, aren’t you?”

  “If they challenge me, then I will accept.”

  “You believe you are ready for anything?” he said with a half-chuckle. Where was he going with this?

  “I’m ready,” I said boldly. “For anything.”

  “Then I wonder how you will feel…when I show you this, young one.”

  He waved a hand into the air idly and the room was washed in a light so bright it was almost void of color. I couldn’t even say it was white. It was simply so magnificent I was blinded into submission, dropping to my knees as Raphael was consumed in the light’s radiance. I couldn’t help thinking that it was God – but this light was borderline painful and I couldn’t open my eyes. I could only wait for it to wane, whispering to myself unknowingly for comfort.