Squatting, he picked up the loose documents and with a couple of quick swipes and a finishing flick, they were much cleaner. He scrutinized the list of items through a dingy haze; they were from the last auction and mostly materialistic junk. Yet one article caught his attention.
Number 13:
One (1) ceremonial blade.
Place of Origin: Sri Lanka.
Estimated age: 2000 years +
A tiny thumbnail was aligned to the left of the description. It showed a decrepit blade, worn down after centuries of misuse. There was no further text, such as a mention of who was offering the object for sale, but Dajjal was already intimately familiar with that particular party.
He stood back up, releasing the pages and they fluttered back down into the filth on the floor.
Carrying on toward the lectern, he searched for a ledger or something else that could possibly yield a name. Luck in his favor, the book was still present on the podium, open at the last page of entries. Scanning them, he saw that the auctioneer had started recording the sale but for some reason never finished, leaving no record of who the buyer was.
“That’s quite a pity,” Dajjal said through clenched teeth, hiding his escalating fury well.
Eyeing a nearby chair, he took a seat on the edge of it, his thoughts far more violent than his spoken words. Fondling his beard, he looked around and considered the dust that was everywhere.
All of this stuff… he thought. Could it be… the attendees of the auction?
There was a tinge of joy in him as Dajjal assumed himself sitting on the remnants of the auctioneer’s body, having strode through the lifeless soil of the crowd. It was balanced by envy of the perpetrator, having been able to commit such a distinctive massacre. It drove Dajjal’s thirst for more blood, challenged to produce something greater each subsequent time. He would have to quench that thirst, and soon.
Given everything he'd seen, Dajjal was now convinced that it was the reapers who had the weapon, though he was still undecided if it was Death or another. What was certain is that there was no way a Journeyman or Gage, if he were still alive, would have slaughtered a room full of innocent people.
Dajjal knew that in order to maintain an upper hand, he would have to figure a way into the reaper’s realm, or draw them out – which should be easy with even more death.
“That is it then,” Dajjal muttered, looking one more time across the sooty gallery. It was peaceful, like a gentle calm before a mighty storm. “The time for waiting is over, deliverance is at hand!”
The decision was made. Dajjal would have his forces make way for Megiddo, the site where the last battle would be fought against the Order and their minions. Along the way, Dajjal would make sure that every last man, woman, and child he encountered would die in the most sufferable ways, carving a path of death across the Earth that would leave Death with no choice but to come reap with his scythe.
There was another matter to address – that of the ward he had spotted upon his arrival. Dajjal was now wise to the Order keeping tabs on him, so planned on returning their kindness. He thought it best to do so by dulling the spearhead that comprised their elite operatives, but didn’t have a strategy formed just yet. Morax would likely relish the task as Dajjal prepared his legions to march.
Having gotten all that he needed from the auction house, Dajjal rose and marched assertively out of the gallery, back down the long hall, and into the still terrified streets. The crowd had thinned from when he first entered, but there were still plenty of people rushing around. Sadly, the demon found that his favorite music had faded.
Raising his arms, hellfire arrived on command and Dajjal made sure to give everyone around him a warm and loving embrace. Just like that, his symphony returned and the sound of it was glorious.
“WE NEED TO TALK,” Kahli expressed to the angels gathered around, her voice edged with worry.
Marcus was also apprehensive, returning to his hard plastic seat with milkshake still in hand. He thought it best to let the winged big boys deal with this issue, especially since he was still processing everything that had happened recently and had no idea how to deal with a reaper head on.
The silent stare down persisted, the three other angels standing like imposing statues while the entire mall and its patrons remained frozen in time.
“Are any of you able to talk with me?” she pressed, pointing a well-manicured nail toward Azrael. “Or are matters of such cosmic importance above all angels just as much as they are with this dumb meathead?”
Azrael was unamused.
“Watch yourself, reaper,” he said forcefully. The mall dimmed behind him, as if great wings stretched out like the shadows.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of insult or threat?” Kahli jabbed, though she had taken a step back.
“Well, considering I could end you just as easy as blinking….” Azrael underscored, blinking twice for good measure.
“ENOUGH!” bellowed Michael, at his wits’ end. Even his hands were shaking with frustration. “This is why I never like leaving the Chorus… Azrael, calm yourself. Reaper, tell us what you know.”
“Direct,” she said, tilting her head. “I like that. So, shall we all take a seat?”
She motioned toward the table where her eyes fell upon Marcus. He tried to avert his gaze, but could not. Kahli could tell that it bothered him deeply.
“No,” Michael stated, drawing her attention away, much to Marcus’ relief, “we are fine where we are. Continue.”
Kahli shifted her weight from one leg to another, her slender black dress hugging her body, shimmering while her fashionable heels clicked against the floor.
“Very well,” she began, plucking a french fry off the table next to her. She popped it, still warm, into her mouth and chewed. “I'm addicted to these things. As I said, my brother’s actions are veiled, shrouded in a darkness that I cannot pierce. I fear that he has, for lack of a better term, gone mad with the idea of power.”
“How so?” Samael piped up, grabbing the back of his chair for support. “Death is already a powerful entity. What more could he possibly gain?”
“That's just it… I'm not sure,” Kahli replied. “What I do know is that the blade is the key to him achieving this goal.”
“It also happens to be the key for the humans to stop Dajjal and avert the apocalypse,” Michael added, scrutinizing her from top to bottom. “At least according to the extracted pages of the Lemegeton. This is not mere coincidence. Perhaps his goal is nothing more than the same.”
“The Lemegeton… that's the grimoire of Solomon, right?” Marcus asked, looking up from the table.
“Yes,” Azrael replied. “The pages that deal with the actual ritual for opening a doorway to Hell, amongst other realms, were removed from that book long ago for safekeeping. It was done so that lesser beings couldn’t attempt to perform them and cause havoc. Yet, the knowledge persisted throughout the ages, locked in the core memories of reapers, angels, and, as we know: demons.”
“Who removed the pages?”
Marcus’ last question went unanswered, Kahli moving to address Michael’s statement. There was no time to give new angels a history lesson.
“I too thought that my brother’s goal was in line with stopping the infernal tide. Now, I'm not so sure there isn't more going on.”
Azrael sighed, rubbing hard on his sinuses.
“It’s all well and good to say that, but is there anything else you have to go on, besides intuition?” he asked. “Something more tangible?”
Sliding out a chair, Kahli glided into it, gracefully crossing her legs.
“He did contact Dajjal,” she continued, giving a stern sideways look to Azrael, “through the dreamscape. From what I understand he had, for a short time at least, considered giving the blade to the demon… until he was faced with Dajjal’s extremely big ego. It was then that he changed his mind. Afterwards, he told me that Gage was the right recipient for the blade and of course, not knowi
ng any better, I agreed with him. After all, Gage is ‘the man who does not fear death’ is he not?”
The conversation continued back and forth, but Marcus was downright muddled. He leaned over toward Samael, who was trying to listen to both conversations at once.
“What's the dreamscape?” he whispered extra quietly. “I’ve not heard of it in any of the lore.”
Samael looked down, then back at the main conversation, and down again. With a wayward snicker he scooted out his chair and took a seat.
“It’s a place where celestial beings can converse with each other, like reaper to demon,” he said in just as low a tone. “It is removed from the other realms, well more like the space in between them. Anyway, things there are hidden from the eyes of those in the physical realm. Very hard to get in and even harder to get out, especially if you lose your way.”
Marcus sipped his shake, eagerly listening to Samael as he carried on, his lips moving a thousand miles an hour.
“Time does not act as it does elsewhere there, so one can see the past or witness the future just as easily as opening a door and walking through it. Quite possibly the best part though? The place also makes direct communication possible between celestials and mortals. It's like a hard line straight into the mind. Ever wonder how angels are able to hear and answer prayers, or speak to people’s conscience… guardian angel type stuff?”
“The dreamscape?”
“You bet!”
“Geez,” Marcus said as he sucked down the last of his milkshake. “I had no idea that's how it worked. You learn something new every day, or in this case something new every few minutes.”
Azrael’s booming voice interrupted the two of them, saying, “Hearing all this, it sounds to me like Death was terrified that Dajjal would cut him down with his own weapon, should he get a hold of it.”
“Agreed,” Kahli replied. “What I saw in Dajjal’s heart during that conversation and as he watched things unfold was utter malice. He is driven to spread not only fear, but torment over all things. Had he gotten the blade, he surely would have opened the way to Hell, and would no doubt have killed Death afterward.”
“Which brings us back to the question of why he ever considered giving it to Dajjal in the first place,” Samael said, rejoining the conversation. “Everything points to him being a nasty fellow, right? Why chance enabling him?”
Kahli started to say something but Michael cut in.
“We’ll have to ponder that as more time allows,” he said, giving the surroundings a quick sweep. “Remember that it continues to flow outside our little pocket here, bringing Dajjal closer to his end game. As it stands to me, given what we know for certain: Death is on the side of humanity, wanting Dajjal killed and Gage was given the blade to deliver that blow to him.”
Nods came from all around, though Kahli’s was delayed.
“Where is Crosse now?” Michael asked.
Azrael grumbled, a heavy sigh following. Marcus did not like the sound of it.
“He is dead,” said Azrael, crestfallen.
At those words Marcus’ heart sank and he nearly wept. He had no idea, being recalled to Heaven right after the Necrophage died.
Michael appeared flustered by the report, knowing for a fact that his soul was not in Heaven.
“I thought we had just this wrapped up in a nice little package,” he blustered. “Now you're telling me that this so called ‘man who does not fear death,’ who was given THE VERY blade of Death, that Dajjal needs to open the gates of Hell is now, in fact, dead. You know I fully expect you to put a bow on this package and tell me that Gage was killed by Dajjal himself!”
Michael started a deep laugh, finding the notion preposterous yet that was quickly ended by the truth in Azrael’s cold eyes.
“That is exactly what has happened.”
It was difficult to tell if Michael was irate or dejected, his arms tossed up high but the expression on his face was shifting so much that it looked jumbled.
“Where is he then?” Michael spat, frustrated tears glimmering in his eyes. He looked to Azrael whom he knew could track souls after death.
“I have my suspicions,” Azrael answered, deliberately vague so as not to clue in Kahli.
“Investigate them,” Michael charged, “and take the others with you.”
“What of the blade then?” asked Kahli.
“Dajjal does not have it,” Azrael answered. “That much I know is certain. Otherwise if he is as arrogant as you’ve said then he would already be ushering Hell upon the Earth. In that fact we are blessed and have been strangely fortunate. I cannot see it, but I believe that it is still with Gage’s body, or at least somewhere nearby.”
“You can’t see it? “asked Marcus. “I gather then that Dajjal can’t sense the artifact either?”
Azrael and Kahli both nodded at the same time.
“Correct. It is not one of Lucifer’s possessions,” Kahli answered. “As such, demons and angels cannot detect its presence. I could when I first obtained it from the auction but now, I cannot either. Only he and those bestowed by him, like Gage was, know exactly where it is.”
“That and the compass you mentioned to us, Marcus,” Azrael replied. “Considering it was Solomon’s.”
“But it’s not like I can just stroll into HQ and pick it up,” Marcus said sarcastically.
“Well, you could,” Azrael answered, piquing Marcus’ interest. “But I would rather deal with this in another way. Come… Marcus, Samael, let us depart.”
“Where are we going?” Samael asked.
“Heaven,” Azrael replied. “There is something there I need to get.”
Then, in a burst of noise and a flash of light the three were gone, leaving Michael and Kahli behind in the mall. Silently they continued to stare at each other, deep down neither trusting the other.
“So, have you told us all that you know?” Michael asked the reaper. “It would seem that we are in agreement that things are far more widespread than one world or realm can handle and that the balance of all things is in trouble. Despite what the others think, I feel as though your brother does have some kind of agenda, something to benefit him above all the others. Can you really tell me that you do not know any more of what he has planned?”
Khali stood and walked back over to the tray of french fries, picking up a couple this time.
“I do not know any more. I have told you all I know.”
She turned, lifting the food toward her mouth when Michael’s left hand seized her forehead, his right one forming a sign of benediction. The look he carried on his face was emotionless… stoic… virtuous.
“Then we have no further use for a rogue reaper,” he muttered and let go of her forehead.
She dropped the fries and there was an incredible surge of power from the ground. She glowed ominously, shining beneath her black dress before light came bursting out of her eyes like white magma. She cried as her body was scorched from the inside out, her ruby lipstick coated with blood that flowed like a river down her neck.
Michael thrust his right hand forward and sparks spun around it like a wild wheel of fire. Kahli fell away as ash before detonating like a bomb. The cloud swept through the mall and as it passed, time resumed, none of the patrons ever knowing that an angel had just killed a reaper for the first time.
GAGE WAS MIRED in utter darkness, floating in an endless void where up was down and left was right. He tried to recall how much time had gone by since he’d awakened. Seconds, minutes, or even centuries, it was all the same as he tumbled end over end. There was no feeling of a gentle wind over his skin, nor the sound of air rustling past his ears, nor the smell of tea tree and mint shampoo which reminded him of his dear, sweet Adrienne.
Where is she? How is she? Is she still… alive? Jesus, how long have I been in here!?
Ironically, the questions he could not answer were the ones that he wanted answered most. There was nothing that he could do as he continued end over end, his last mem
ories being Dajjal stripping him of the four treasures and ripping his body apart.
Does he have them all? Is the world burning?
Again, he could not answer and eternal black was all around him, swallowing his mind. Gage knew that no matter what, he was destined to be forever alone.
That is, until he was made aware that he wasn't.
“Gage?” said a distant whisper, echoing through the dark.
Gage perked up from the doldrums, surprised to have heard anything, but to hear a voice that was not in his own head had him delighted. Quickly he opened his mouth, took a deep breath to shout back, and… no sound came.
“Gage?” the voice repeated, this time with concern. Something about it was familiar and welcoming. He had desperately wished for that and now that it was here, he couldn’t respond. “Can you hear me, G? Is that really you?”
His face contorted woefully as he tried to answer again.
“Gage?”
DAMMIT!
He couldn’t form any words! He struggled, forcing the air out but there was still no sound at all.
I’M HERE! he called out in his mind, but it was to no avail. I’m here, goddamn it…
A long and stabbing silence returned, sending Gage to the verge of tears.
I’m… here…
There was a sound like rustling wind through a forest of trees.
“De malorum via!” the voice shouted, returning powerfully.
Gage could feel again! It was a warm sensation, pleasantly spreading from the center of his chest all the way out to the tips of his fingers. The surroundings shifted from darkness to pure, comforting light. It was quiet and he felt unflustered, like being welcomed into the open arms of Heaven itself.
At last, eternal rest…
A force then pulled on him, hard like a rope tied too tightly around his waist. It yanked him off to the side, through stinging vines and slapping branches until he was slammed, shoulder first, against the trunk of a big tree.
Running on Empty (Journeyman Book 6) Page 6
