by Callie Stone
“Guess I read that message right after all,” marvelled Kieran.
“Come on, the copter’s idling outside and that fuel is not cheap,” Natasha implored us while opening the front door. The sky was darkening as the sun set and we saw our ride, a black helicopter marked with a small facsimile of the congregation’s insignia painted on it in white. The aircraft was congregation property, apparently, although it was clearly designed to avoid attracting much attention. It was essentially unmarked. The team ducked their heads to avoid the still spinning propeller and made their way towards the helicopter’s cabin while I just stood there, feeling the strange tingling feeling.
It was not unlike what I often felt when something extraordinary was happening. It was a subtle feeling that could accompany excitement, but I knew it also could mean I needed to be on guard, that I was sensing something unusual occurring. I felt the need to take a quick look around the empty field and the nearby dense patch of trees, but nothing I could see was out of the ordinary. There was just a peculiar feeling I had in my gut, and my heart which seemed to be going much faster than was typical.
“Come on, Troy, time is wasting away!” Kieran shouted, slipping into his more assertive, schedule-keeping mode.
Or, perhaps I had imagined it, as I saw nothing but darkness coming from the wood as I ran to board the copter.
“Oh for...Troy! Stop your mournful dawdling and climb aboard the helicopter this instant!”
I clambered inside.
We were soon in the air. The view of the countryside was quite pleasant, if you ignored the reason for our journey. We were soon over the Adriatic Sea, which was much darker than the sky, making its presence known only when we flew over tiny islands.
“This is an interesting route we are taking,” I remarked.
“Better to fly mostly over water,” Alexander answered automatically, thumbing through some old, leather-bound volume he had of some book or other.
Usually it was the other way around when traveling by air, but I could only imagine that there was some sort of congregation agreement in flight plans in Italian airspace. Likely for the safety of all involved.
Soon we were over land again, crossing over the east coast of Italy, somewhere around Pescara on the way to the congregation’s growing facilities in Rome.
As we approached the city and the bright lights beneath us became brighter and denser, I noticed Alexander switch from briefly looking out the window to sticking his nose back into whatever book he was reading—likely to avoid seeing any glimpse of Vatican City, which for him must have been a dreadful sight indeed.
As the helicopter lowered itself gradually somewhere on the outskirts of Rome proper, I saw what must have been the command centre for the congregation. It certainly looked like it belonged to some sort of military or national security force rather than something like the congregation.
“We’re landing at our secondary airport, just outside of the city,” Alexander explained when he saw me looking out the window. “From here, Hask should have a car to take us to the portal here in Rome. Where it is in the city.”
“Hopefully he will know where that is, too,” Natasha remarked quietly.
Upon landing, I saw that this airport was actually a good deal larger than what I expected for something neighbouring the congregation in Rome. The helicopter was soon off-loaded onto a large tarmac with dozens of other helicopters and small private planes. No sooner had our helicopter landed than it was taken away to some hangar to make room for the next arrival. From there, we walked onto the taxiway to see a large, black American SUV of some sort pull to a stop right in our path.
“He’s sending Hummers for us now,” Natasha sighed, slightly annoyed for some reason. The SUV in question had heavily tinted windows, so you couldn’t see who was inside. The moment we stepped onto the taxiway, however, all doors unlocked and the rear passenger door opened slightly.
“Is it weird that I’m getting into a car with someone who could be anyone inside?” I asked nervously.
“Just get in,” Natasha said. “Cars are a lot harder to rig to kill you than planes or even helicopters.”
“Maybe for you,” I grumbled, climbing in.
The interior looked pretty posh, and smelled new. The moment I sat down, the door shut behind me and the car pulled away from the tarmac even before Natasha got inside. Whoever was driving didn’t turn to look at us, but had to have known we were sitting in the back.
“Hask has good taste in cars,” Natasha said, sliding over to make room for me. The car was big enough that we could sit facing each other in the back, even with our seat belts on. “He doesn’t like to splurge on himself, but he knows how to treat others.”
“He can’t be making that much money as a director,” I said, leaning against the armrest as we rode smoothly along the roadway circling outer Rome.
“So this car alone is a splurge,” a faint yet oddly familiar voice commented from behind the closed screen which separated us from the driver’s seat.
Natasha frowned. “How much do you think a congregation director makes?”
I shrugged. “Twenty grand? Hundred thousand quid? Something like that.”
“Try again,” the voice said. It was a woman’s voice, I realised, as faint and gruff as it sounded.
“One million?” Natasha laughed. “Wait...Mrs. Beatrice?”
“Yes. And higher,” Mrs. Beatrice said, lowering the screen to reveal that she was, indeed, Director Hask’s receptionist whom we all knew and loved. “Try again.”
“Five million?” I tried.
“Higher,” Beatrice said.
“Twenty million?” Alexander nearly had a trace of laughter in his voice as he entered his own contribution to the exchange.
“And is this euro or quid?” Kieran asked, joining in on the fun in the only way he knew how.
“Does it matter at that point? And also, higher,” Beatrice said, sounding annoyed.
“A hundred million pounds?” Natasha asked.
The car stopped, and she popped the screen back up again. “Well, we’re here. I know at least one of you boys is readying to open the door for me and then you can head inside.”
I felt myself smiling lightly, looking out at the congregation’s Rome headquarters.
The building was massive, easily the size of a castle from the outside. Large and looming, dark stone blocks making up its construction. My smile nearly turned into a laugh when I noticed the door to the SUV’s cabin opening on its own.
“You don’t need our help, these doors open on their own.” Natasha was echoing my thoughts, although she sounded a bit more irritated. “And are you not coming inside with us?”
“I guess not now,” Mrs. Beatrice shot back at Natasha in that vague way of hers. “You’re all adults, you can find your way around.”
None of us could have argued with that logic if we had wanted.
Walking into the refurbished office and academic building where Hask was working, it did indeed look empty, with fluorescent lights humming over empty hallways. Natasha silently led us to Hask’s clearly marked office on the first floor.
For the first time in hours I saw Natasha let her lips relax a bit and form into something akin to a smile as she knocked on the office door.
“It’s open!” Hask’s voice informed us, and Natasha smiled warmly as she led us into the office.
“Hey, Emilio,” she greeted him, seeing him sitting behind his desk, the glow of a computer screen illuminating his face.
Hask, who I last remember as being in his mid-fifties but looking like he was in his late thirties, looked up at us, smiling as he recognised each of us.
“Ah, Natasha, it’s good to see you. You’ve grown since the last time I saw you.”
“Very funny,” Natasha said, her smile dropping just slightly. “We just wanted to stop by to see you while we could.”
“I understand,” he said. “I know this must be not the kind of assignment you signed up fo
r, or have prepared for but you have to realise that this world is at stake, and there will be sacrifices that need to be made if we are to prevent the destruction of everything.”
“We know,” Natasha said, looking at us. “We’re ready to do our duty, aren’t we, team?”
We all nodded, with Michael just barely able to hold in a chuckle in response to Natasha’s earnest pep talk.
“Very well,” Hask said. “Now let’s get you to the portal; you’re already very late for it.”
“Where, pray tell, is this portal?” asked Alexander.
“Oh, this little place you may have heard of by Palatine Hill. But, before I get to that, I’ve got a gift, of sorts, for Natasha.”
“What is this you’re talking about?” Natasha raised an eyebrow quizzically at the director.
“This is about your sword,” said Hask, handing Natasha what appeared to be an old scroll of near-crumbling parchment paper.
Natasha regarded the scroll in her hand with a growing bemusement. “What does this have to do with my sword?”
“You should be getting better at figuring these things out by now.” Hask was outright grinning—watching him as he regarded Natasha and her sour confusion at the piece of parchment, I could not recall ever seeing the director act so cheeky. “And I know you’ve always been much cleverer than most.”
Natasha’s bewilderment only seemed to grow as she held the scroll.
“Those words are not as inspiring as I’m sure they sounded in your head.”
Before hearing Natasha’s response, I would not have thought it possible to bring the entire motley crew gathered in the director’s office to laughter. Natasha herself seemed tickled by her own response, wearing a coy smirk as the rest of us chortled loudly.
“Here’s a hint my dear: what you hold in your hand is nothing without your own special abilities. Without them, it really is just a roll of parchment.”
“And this is supposed to be a complement to my sword?” Natasha held the scroll up to examine it better, revealing it to look pale and translucent in the overhead lighting. “Like a shield or something.”
“I knew you’d get it quickly.” Hask nodded, his grin having settled into a soft, subtle smile.
“And this will protect me from what exactly? A bullet? A…claw?”
Hask cleared his throat. “From the creatures you’ll face on this mission, not necessarily. But it’s a start.”
Natasha growled a bit, which for some odd reason bright a touch of blushing to my cheeks.
“I’m a bit tired now, but...”
There was a small flash of light, nothing from what we had seen from her in our last battle or any battle before that. It was more akin to a camera flash, or an incandescent light bulb just before burning out. However, immediately after the flash had cleared, Natasha no longer had a scroll in her hand, but was decked out in a sleek, comfortable, yet formidable looking version of the armour a Roman centurion may have worn marching into the British Isles.
“How do I look?” she asked, doing a slow turn for all of us to see.
I did not know how to respond at first, but then Michael chuckled and said “Like Coco Chanel’s interpretation of the Praetorian Guard.”
“Like what?” Natasha huffed, showing much more annoyance than sincere curiosity.
“A…never mind,” Michael laughed.
I did not laugh.
I stared at the woman before me in shock and awe.
I never thought I would see such a…such a vision.
She was like an angel, no scratch that, she WAS an angel. Even through my stress and exhaustion, I was compelled to spend a wondrous moment taking it all in. I was glad that I did.
Natasha’s eyes were a verdant shade of emerald which struck me to my core. Her skin, even though none of us had been able to properly care for ourselves in days, was pure, pale, and flawless. Her body was that of a goddess’s, a glimpse of its cursive beauty enough to send even the dead into waves of passionate heat. Her face was of a beauty which was not classical, only because it transcended space and then. And she stood there, cloaked in a blood red robe with golden lining, a silver sword strapped to her side.
Her light, golden hair was stunning even when was pulled back into a ponytail, with loose ringlets falling over her forehead, stopping just short of her large, round, cherubic eyes. Those eyes of hers lit an especially large spark within me as I looked at her under the guise of seeing her magical armour. Her eyes were round indeed but with an upturn which gave them the hint of an intoxicating almond shape, and the brightness of their colour and the power of their gaze pierced through me. Her armour fit perfectly on her slender yet muscular frame. Even while fatigued and rumpled as the rest of us, she still looked more beautiful than any being of any kind I had seen.
And even though she was silent standing there, as I took in her beauty sense memories of her melodic and enchanting voice, her angelic voice, played around with me and struck up sparks of desire throughout my mind and soul.
“Where is this portal again?” Alexander’s question broke my enchanted reverie, which was alright as we all needed to be in top shape.
“Well, about that, my gladiators,” Hask began.
“Gladiators?” I interrupted.
“Yes, gladiators. You are all warriors, fighters, chevaliers and heroes in our great fight,” Hask tried to explain.
“Wait a second,” I raised my hand as if I were back in class in my earlier days at the congregation.
“Wait a second, indeed,” Alexander hissed. “I am no gladiator, sent to fight and die for others’ amusement in the Circus Maximus. Or the damned Colosseum!”
“Right,” replied Hask, briskly to the door behind his desk. “Except for the Colosseum part, because that is where the demons have their portal here in Rome.”
Hask opened the door just enough to reach out and retrieve a very dear looking beige suit jacket. While I knew the door led to a closet of sorts, I realised I had no idea how large that closet was. I deduced it could not have been very sizable for him to just reach in like that.
Hask slipped the jacket on over his shirt and vest. He buttoned a single button, clearly in the starting stages of preparing for something.
“Let me get this straight,” I began, trying to maintain the director’s focus as well as my own. “The demons have chosen locations for the pentagram ritual not only in the midst of the largest cities in their countries, but in this instance literally in the dead centre of one of the most populated cities on Earth?”
“Exactly! This is where the souls are concentrated.” Hask swiftly smoothed and straightened his suit before reaching back towards the closet door.
“Now that Natasha has her armour, let’s get you boys suited up, shall we?”
“But what about the police?” Kieran queried in an urgent manner which made clear he’d held in the question as long he could. “Or the authorities here in Rome. This is one of the country’s biggest landmarks.”
“The police...” Hask shook his head. “Things are getting just as bad here as they are anywhere, the police can no longer be bothered with some old ruins. Plus, when you get there, you will see why every human is scared shitless of going within a ten kilometre radius.”
Hask pushed the door open completely, revealing not a closet but a vast, well-lit storage space easily twice as large as the office where we stood.
My teammates and I followed the director into the expansive space. The air was noticeably chillier there, and there were various garments and a few weapons hung on the walls.
However, most immediately noticeable were the four sets of armour prominently displayed on limbless mannequins. The armour sets vaguely resembled Natasha’s, albeit far less stylish.
“The helicopter retrieving you lot gave me ample opportunity to dig out these ancient battle-suit replicas I’ve been saving for such an occasion. I also had them to take them out a bit.”
There was clearly one for each of us, and wh
ile I didn't question anything else about this plan, I wondered how Hask knew our correct sizes.
“Try them on,” said Hask. “I prepared them so you wouldn’t have to waste time fetching your regular gear. And also so you boys would not feel left out after Natasha got her shield up.”
Alexander, Kieran, Michael, and I all took the hint about timing and with no further delay we all went to gearing up in the provided equipment, each of us choosing the suit which seemed to be roughly our size.
The armour was heavier than it looked, but after I managed to squeeze into mine it felt secure and, from what I could sense, aerodynamic.
“Humans were very small two thousand years ago,” Michael gasped, having some problems with his armour until he shifted into a shorter version of himself. “Phew. That is much better.”
Turning to face him briefly, I noticed that Michael had also taken the opportunity to shift his face into that of Russel Crowe’s.
“I know it’s not quite as handsome as my usual face,” he shrugged, “but he got an Oscar for it.”
“Hell’s bells,” I commented, not really knowing what else to say. “That is really something.”
“Give it a rest,” added Natasha. I could tell she was rolling her eyes by the annoyance in her voice.
Hask led us out to the main driveway—I noted that it did feel surprisingly comfortable at least, walking in the armour—and drove us himself in a giant black SUV identical to the one which had taken us there from the airport.
Even as it approached the witching hour, the streets of Rome were packed with vehicles, jamming narrow motorways and honking endlessly. Things did begin to get considerably less crowded as we penetrated the heart of central Rome and got closer to the Colosseum.
There was a pale, blue light emanating from nearly every surface which seemed to get stronger the closer we got. When I spotted the Colosseum itself, it was like something out of Ghostbusters. Even with the lights on the outside, it was lit up from the inside like a Christmas tree. Hask pulled over to the side of the road, where we could get a better view of what was going on.
