Goddard finally lost control. He leapt to his feet. “Don’t you understand what’s going on here? Those things are coming to kill us!”
Mankamp was unphased. “Not everyone, Nielz. Some of us have studied the Bibliographa thoroughly and know what sins not to commit. Some of us have lived righteous lives.”
Enraged, Goddard flew at the professor, knocking him out of his chair. Both men grappled one another on the floor. “You think you’re so great?” Goddard yelled. I hope the angels rip you apart!”
The fight was suddenly broken apart by a thunderous crash from above. A fiery red figure came in through the ceiling, landing behind the desk.
Goddard and Mankamp stared at him. He was so composed; he clearly didn’t have a care in the world. Who was he?
The stranger surveyed the studio. The cameramen and other staff stared at him with their mouths hanging open. He then turned his attention to the men on the floor who had forgotten their conflict entirely. “Are the cameras still rolling?”
Goddard blinked in confusion. “What?”
Looking impatient, the intruder asked him again. “The cameras. Are they still rolling?”
“Uh…I think so.” Goddard turned to his producer who was standing a few yards away. The producer gave a terrified nod.
“Good,” the stranger said. “Second question. Is the feed going out to the rest of the world?”
“Yes.” Of course it was. This was a major television station in the midst of the biggest crisis in recorded history. No way in hell were they keeping it to themselves. They needed to let the whole world know, if only for a selfish reason: they wanted help dealing with it.
He gave them a twisted smile. “Make sure you focus in on me.” He then stared directly at the camera. “Attention, mortals. My name is Belial. I am a god. I am the god. In ages past my kind was rightfully worshipped and adored by you. However, certain events—which I won’t get into here—forced us to make ourselves scarce. As science and technology advanced, religion dwindled to the point where only a handful of gods were regularly worshipped. I wasn’t one of them. Everyone thinks Bethos is so great. Well, he’s not. He’s a midget, only nobody wanted to accept that.”
Bethos? A midget? As in, little person? What the yur was this guy talking about? Goddard didn’t think his mind could take much more of this.
Heedless of the emotional turmoil around him, Belial continued. “Everyone either worships Bethos his pathetic lackeys. Oh, sure—a fringe group here and there are devoted to nameless fallen gods. ‘Fallen!’ As if we have something to be ashamed of.
“Well, today that all changes. Don’t worry; my desires are very simple. I simply want every single person in this world to fall on their knees and give me all your love. Forget about Bethos. Forget about the Lost Gods. From now on, mankind shall worship me and me alone. Do that, and my Nephilim will leave you alone. And if anyone decides to get any ideas about opposing me, just ask your military how much success they’ve had fighting my holy troops. The answer: Zero! Go ahead; show the footage of the battle.”
The producer and staff exchanged worried glances. The producer reluctantly motioned to do as he said.
A series of grim images was superimposed over the live feed. It showed fighter craft launching missiles at the giants—Nephilim, Belial had called them—and having no effect on them. Even their clothes failed to be harmed by the barrage. After that, the Nephilim picked up various chunks of debris and hurled them at the jets with inhuman accuracy, bringing them down in horrific, fiery reunions with the earth.
Next, tanks rolled through a city block unleashed the deadly contents of their interiors. The Nephilim shrugged off the shells and brought down their fists on the reinforced armor, smashing it like a pumpkin. It could withstand explosions but stood no chance against the giants’ holy might.
Infantry tried shooting them, but fled after seeing what they could do to serious military hardware. Discipline lost by a mile.
All the while, Belial looked on proudly, as if it were his own children fighting and destroying civilization as Goddard knew it. Perhaps they were his children.
Once the footage ended, Belial turned his attention to Goddard and Mankamp who were still on the floor. “Now, then. I’m going to need priests for the First Church of Belial. How would you two like to have the honor of being the first?”
Goddard looked apprehensively at Mankamp. The other man stared at his Bibliographa, realizing for the first time it was full of crap. There was a real god standing a few feet away. The two men knew they had been left with but one option.
With all the humility they could muster, they crawled over to Belial; they didn’t dare stand without permission. They brought their hands together in reverence. “Lord Belial, we are here to serve.”
He beamed approvingly at them.
* * *
From the room where they had recently brought Belial to task over his failure to procure Ev Bannen’s blood sample, Hera, Shinigami and Quandisa stared at the large flat screen TV. The anger was almost a thick fog they could wade through.
“He has betrayed us,” Shinigami said.
“Thank you for noticing,” Hera said angrily. “I told you that as soon as I got here.” Her wounds from being kicked by the Nephilim had only just healed.
He looked at her from behind his mask. “Being assaulted by a Nephilim wasn’t, in itself, proof. It just means Belial doesn’t like you, something we already knew.”
Hera clutched one of the swords protruding from her abdomen. “Being a god of death doesn’t mean you can’t die. Next time I tell you something, you will believe it.” She said this in no uncertain terms. The implied threat was there in force.
Quandisa said, “I like a man who takes matters into his own hands, but this is going a bit too far.”
“Agreed,” Shinigami said.
“‘A bit too far’?” Hera said, incredulous. “He’s stolen all the Nephilim for himself! The Flawless Few will skin us alive for this.”
As if on cue, a familiar buzzing sounded within their heads. It was a conference call from the higher-ups.
What happened?
Hera was in no mood to be civil. What do you think happened? Belial stabbed us in the back. She was aware of the irony of that statement, but fortunately no one picked up on it. Either that, or no one cared.
This is unacceptable, the boss said.
We apologize profusely for our failure to foresee Belial’s betrayal, Shinigami replied.
With the Nephilim firmly under his command, he can do whatever he wants. You must remedy the situation at all costs. Do not return to HQ until you do. Out. Not one to mince words, that one.
Hera couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Shinigami sigh. “You know what needs to be done,” he said to the two women.
“Yeah,” Quandisa agreed.
Hera balled her fist in anger. “Fine. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
But they all knew what they had to do. And they knew it would be bad. Or, last least…complicated.
Chapter XIII
Ev’s mother had made a critical mistake. She hadn’t gotten dinner started yet when Dom came home. She had been so busy with housework there hadn’t been time.
That, of course, was no excuse. No reason any human could come up with was good enough for Ev’s father. In his mind, incompetence had to be punished with the utmost severity. And unfortunately for Ev and his mother, he practiced what he preached.
She let out a cry when the first blow landed. For some reason, it was only the first blow that made her cry out. She didn’t steel herself until the second. “I’m sorry! I’ll get started on it right away.”
A rational person would have understood things can’t always happen on time. Dom Bannen wasn’t rational. “You should have already gotten started on it, bitch! How many times do I have to tell you?” He let fly with another of his love taps. She went down to one knee.
“Please forgive me,” she whimpered.
> “What was that?” He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked hard. “You. Speak. When. Spoken to!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Bitch, what did I just tell you?”
Her eyes pleaded with him in a way her words couldn’t. “But you spoke—”
His knuckles cut off her words. He let go of her hair, and this time her whole body fell to the kitchen tile. Her eyes were still open, though. Only now they pleaded with Ev to do something. What can she possibly expect me to do? I’m just a kid.
Dom lit up a cigarette. Popular opinion was that smoking calmed you. For Ev’s father, that was true. But calming brought him to a different frame of mind, a more terrifying one. Because when his rage was in control, he punched, kicked, and threatened. But when his rage subsided, his darkest thoughts came to the surface. Ev had heard the words premeditative murder before. This was the day he understood what it meant.
“You know,” his father said, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I’ve had plenty of time to evaluate you, Anni, since we got married. You screw up everything I tell you to do. You don’t deliver food on time; you take forever cleaning up the house; as a wife and mother, you do a pretty miserable job at best. In short, you’re worthless. I’m afraid our son will grow up to be just like you. And, well…I just can’t let that happen. I’ve decided we would be much better off without you.”
She desperately shook her head. “Please, don’t…”
“My mind is made up, dear. It’s time for you to go.”
Anni bawled miserably. This was the best defense she could manage.
Dom left the kitchen. Ev wanted to call someone, anyone to help, but the phone was in the other room—where his father had gone.
Dom quickly returned, only now Ev saw to his horror he carried the baseball bat he had supposedly gotten for home defense. He positioned it above his wife’s head. Ev wanted to cry out, but raw emotion stifled his words. Massive, hot tears gushed forth.
You’ve got to do something, Ev.
What can I possibly do?
There’s a knife on the table. Grab it.
What for?
You know what for.
I can’t.
The voice, however, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Do it.
I can’t!
Kill him! Kill that monster. The world will be a much better place without him.
But…
You want your mom to die? ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t act.
His eyes darted between the knife and his father about to bludgeon his mother to death for reasons no sane person could possibly comprehend. An impossible choice needed to be made, and he was the only one who could make it.
He screamed.
His eyes shot open. He was back in his dorm room. For a brief moment, he didn’t understand what he was doing in there. It didn’t take him long at all, though, to remember the awful things that had happened in Stiftung. The group had returned to Divine Protector Academy and, after an examination by the campus doctor, Ev had been sent to bed to get some rest.
Jaysin came in. “Finally awake, are you, mate?”
“Yeah,” he said wearily.
“I could hear you out in the hall. You musta had one hell of a bad dream. I don’t blame you, what with all that’s happened.” Ev neglected to mention it wasn’t simply a dream. That was something he couldn’t share with anyone right now.
“What’s going on in Stiftung?”
Jaysin didn’t try to sugarcoat it. “It’s pretty bad. The guy controlling the Nephilim—Belial—went on TV and more or less said he’ll call them off if everyone bows down and worships him. Don’t know about you, but that’s not an option for me.”
“What’s the Academy doing about it?”
“They’re in a meeting right now, trying to figure that out.”
* * *
“We need to respond to this with everything we have,” Brandon asserted.
The emergency meeting in the conference room was going about as well as could be expected. Half the staff had gathered there. The other half was away on business.
“Please calm down,” Freya said.
“Calm down? You were there! People died so we could escape. We have to make sure it wasn’t in vain!”
“But we need a plan,” Aphrodite said.
“We have all the plan we need,” Brandon argued. “We take everyone, we go in, and we kill the enemy.”
Bethos didn’t look convinced. “You’d leave the Academy undefended?”
He hadn’t thought of that. “Well…I mean…maybe…”
Atlas said, “I’m with Brandon. We’re strong enough to take out the Nephilim. We can do it.”
Bethos pondered this for a moment. “But are we strong enough to take out the Nephilim, Belial, and whoever else in Zero Grade that might show up?”
“We don’t believe Canivàl is working with Belial on this,” Freya said. “By all indications, he’s gone rogue.”
“But how can you be sure?”
Brandon replied, “We can’t. But as soon as the Nephilim arrived, they attacked Hera. And from what Freya told me, they weren’t too friendly with Shinigami, either.”
“It could be a ruse,” Aphrodite suggested.
But Brandon said, “You don’t know Belial like I do. He’s not one for deception. His ego is so big, he thinks he doesn’t need it. So big, in fact, he doesn’t need anyone. Including Zero Grade.”
“Our priority should be finding him,” Bethos decided. “He holds the Blood Key. Stop him, and the Nephilim will turn docile without their master.
“Do we know his current location?” Atlas asked.
Brandon provided the obvious answer to that question. “Last we saw, he was at the TV station. But even if he’s not still there, believe me—he’ll make himself known before long. He’s the kind of guy who needs a massive castle and throne to match. He’ll set up shop somewhere the whole world can see him and tremble. After all, he wants to be the world’s one and only god.”
“But what do we do in the meantime?” Aphrodite said. It was a good question. The people of Stiftung were suffering; something had to be done, and fast.
Freya had a suggestion. “A group of us could go down there and…relieve stress.”
Bethos considered it. “How big of a group?”
She shrugged. “Anyone who volunteers.”
“You can count me in,” Atlas said.
Aphrodite nodded. “Me, too.”
“It goes without saying I’m in,” Brandon said.
After a moment’s hesitation, Bethos said, “Very well. I really don’t want you going, but I have a feeling I’d have a real fight on my hands if I tried to stop you. The rest of the faculty should be back any time. All I ask is that you wait for them to return before leaving.”
* * *
After the meeting, Brandon caught up to Freya in the hall. “I wanted to ask how you’re doing.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. He didn’t believe that at all.
“Don’t lie to me, Freya. Tell me the truth.”
She looked up at him with moist eyes. “I thought I had saved her. After all the bad these we’ve done to mankind, it made me happy to think I was giving back.”
“You are giving back,” he assured her. “We all are. Don’t condemn yourself just because a student rejected your kindness.”
He could see that wasn’t enough. “Maya was going to do such good things. I believed that, even as I had saved her, she would save countless others. She had the potential to be the greatest goddess of love ever.”
“You know as well as I do,” he said. “Some men get their hooks into women and twist them into something they weren’t meant to be. Belial’s exactly the kind of guy who would do that.”
“Do you…do you think she can still be saved?”
He sighed. “Not if she doesn’t want to be.”
* * *
Ev wandered the campus listlessly. He had no destin
ation in mind. Everywhere he went, he wanted to be somewhere else.
Due to the crisis in Stiftung, all classes had been canceled. Nevertheless, the students didn’t simply lock themselves in their rooms. They were living their lives as best they could. In the gym, they trained. In the library, they read. In Holy Pizza—where Ev and Maya had shared a special day—they ate, laughed and nervously discussed their fears concerning the current situation. There was no universal reaction to the events that had yet to finish playing out in the Murnau Islands. Some students moped about, fearing the end of the world was at hand. Others took a more lighthearted view, confident the Lost Gods would put a swift end to the conflict and life would soon return to normal. No one mentioned Maya.
After visiting every place on campus, Ev concluded the reason he couldn’t find someplace to settle down was because every area had people in it. People distracted him from his thoughts. Normally that might have been considered a good thing, but today he felt he needed to think about what had happened.
So he went to the one place on campus with no one in it—the Prayer Chamber. Normally there was a faculty member stationed outside to make sure only authorized personnel entered, but they must have been called away to deal with the Stiftung Crisis (as it had come to be called).
He knelt down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Once again the voices called out in prayer, only now there were many more and crying out with more anguish than he had ever heard in this spherical room. Ev realized it had been a mistake coming in here. In a way, this place was far more crowded than anywhere else on campus. He hadn’t come in here with the intention of answering prayers, however noble it may have been. He just wasn’t in the mood.
Out of all the desperate pleas for help, there were a few words of gratitude. He honed in on a familiar one. It was the woman whose son they had astral-projected over to the hospital to help. It seemed all traces of the cancer had disappeared, even though the doctor could no longer remember how he had done it. Freya had been telling the truth when she said the knowledge wouldn’t last.
God School Page 12
