by Ramy Vance
“I did. I would have perished had it not been for this human who found me. He saved me.”
Miral looks at the human, Enoch. “And your reward shall be the Kingdom of Heaven.”
“I need no reward,” Enoch says.
At this, Miral chuckles. “Need and deserve are often at odds.” Then, reaching a hand for Oche, “Help me up. Perhaps together we can—”
But before she can finish her thought, a great howl pierces the field. Enoch turns to see seven giants rushing from the forest, brandishing clubs made from broken tree trunks.
Behind them stands one unassuming boy. He looks like an ordinary human child, except his eyes are lit with an ancient wisdom beyond that of any mere mortal.
The child lets out a vicious cry of war as he points at Enoch and the angels. Immediately and without hesitation, the giants charge at them.
Oche picks up Miral’s sword. “Fools.” Then, faster than thought, he moves through them, slicing all seven giants with the Blade of God. All fall. “They blindly obey their master, even if it means death.”
“They are compelled to obey him.” Miral tries to stand. Her leg is severely broken, as is her left wing. She cannot walk. She cannot fly. She is helpless.
Oche turns the blade on the child who shows no fear. “You are next, child.”
“No,” Miral says. “You stand no chance. Run, Oche. Run.”
“Never.”
“I order you.”
“Then I disobey.” Oche has resigned himself to die this day. He is also determined to make it glorious.
But before he can foolishly attack the boy, a soft hand touches him. The human Enoch is standing by his side. “Give me the sword.”
“What?”
“Let me fight this abomination. Should I fall—when I fall,” Enoch corrects himself, “I will meet you in Heaven.”
Oche looks down, astonished by this human’s bravery.
“Please, help your fallen friend. I will distract the boy.”
Oche hesitates before nodding. There is much wisdom in the human’s words. Much wisdom, and even greater sacrifice.
He hands Enoch the sword and goes to Miral. Cradling her like a father would his child, he only takes a moment to say, “Thank you, Enoch. Your sacrifice will be forever remembered.”
And with that, Oche takes to the sky, leaving the human Enoch to face off against a creature that killed a legion of angels.
↔
Enoch has never held a sword before, but it seems simple enough. Stab the enemy with the pointy end.
He charges at the boy, who does not move. The child just waits for Enoch to get close and as the mortal swings the Blade of God at him, the child simply lifts one hand.
The sword—the Blade of God—is instantly transformed into a thousand butterflies that float away in the wind.
“What? How?” Enoch says.
The child’s eyes hollow out as he summons his magic. Then, putting a hand on the crown of Enoch’s head, Enoch feels a sharp pain as his mind is dug into. “Why do you fight for them?” the child asks.
“I fight for the righteous. I fight for God.”
“You know not what you fight for,” the child says. “You simply follow an old script handed to you.”
“And what do you fight for?” Enoch falls to his knees. His head feels as though it will shatter like a clay pot.
“I fight for everything,” the child says. And with those words, he squeezes. Enoch knows that he is about to die.
He knows that soon he will be with his God.
But just as the sweet release of death is about to take him, the child stops. His eyes cease their maniacal glow, returning to their normal state. He looks at Enoch with confusion as a single, human tear that is not made of light rolls down his cheek.
“You are my brother’s keeper,” the child says. True bewilderment envelops the child as he speaks.
“I know not your brother,” Enoch responds.
The child stares at Enoch, his expression a mixture of love and fear. “You are his keeper. You are his—”
The boy’s words are interrupted by a blade thrusting out of his chest, and Enoch sees an angel of great stature standing behind him.
Lifting the skewered boy up, Enoch sees the child trying to summon more magic. But before he can, the angel uses his massive hand to crush his skull.
The child is dead.
“What did the Nephilim say to you?”
Enoch is so confused. What happened? Where did this angel come from? “Nothing. Nothing I … I understood.”
The angel nods. “More tricks. More lies, I am sure.” Then he smiles at Enoch. “Thank you, human, for distracting the creature. You allowed me to get close enough to end him. I am the archangel Michael, and I understand that it is because of you that both Miral and Oche live. You have done well. Come, there is someone who wishes to meet you.”
Michael outstretches his blood-soaked hand. Enoch hesitates before taking it in his.
As soon as he does, Michael takes to the sky, lifting Enoch with him as they ascend to Heaven.
End to Part 2
What A Romantic Getaway
“So that’s how you got your wings,” I said.
Enoch nodded. “I always admired your ability to quip during moments of intense emotion. It is both your greatest quality and your most grating quirk.”
“That’s me, a bundle of ‘what are we going to do with her?’ ” But the truth was, even I was surprised that I could joke at a moment like this. Not only had I seen Enoch’s creation—I’d felt it, too. As sure as I would have if I had been Enoch himself, I’d felt it.
And not only that moment, but all his moments. I knew everything this man had ever experienced. Not only experienced, but also felt, endured, thought … everything.
I was trying my best to not let the magnitude of that experience weaken me. Truth was, I didn’t know if I could. It was rare to experience something so intimate and then go right back to hero-nemesis banter.
Still, a girl’s gotta try.
“Looks like my stalker just got stalked,” I mused.
Enoch ignored me, still nostalgic. “Yes, that is exactly how I got my wings, as you put it. A living human cannot exist in Heaven for long. The mere magnitude of such a place weighs heavily, and the human mind … well, the human mind is not designed to be able to hold such things. So my reward for saving Oche was eternal life … up to a point. But I have long contemplated the events of that day and the days that came after. I suspect I was not being rewarded for saving the angel, but rather talking sense into him. Sense that ultimately led to the second of the two angel wars.”
“The second?”
Enoch nodded. “The second war was for lust. The first was for pride, but that is another story.” Sighing, he closed his eyes as a single tear found its way down his cheek. “Now that you know me thus, do you see why I believe our union is inevitable? To know someone—to truly see their soul—is to love them. We are bound, you and me. Now and forever.”
He was right … I wanted to hate Enoch. I truly did. Had I not just seen everything—and I mean everything—about the man who became an archangel, I might have been able to. But when you knew someone, hatred just isn’t possible.
Enoch was right: we were bound, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I could see that bond growing into something more.
I shuddered at the thought and, if I was being truly honest with myself, that shudder wasn’t just because the thoughts of being with a man like him were bad. I also shuddered at how good it would be, too.
Enoch was crying, kneeling before me. I only needed to reach out and snap his neck and it would be done. I really wanted to, after all. Ending this here and now was the best thing for me, my friends, not to mention the Earth and everyone on it.
I’d seen enough in my three hundred years to know that an obsessed maniac like this guy wasn’t going to stop. Not ever. And as much as we idealize many of the Marvel superheroes
who never cross the line by actually killing their nemeses, they’re naïve.
In the game of monsters, solutions need to be final.
And here we were, two of the worst monsters I knew, face to face.
As much as I wanted to take advantage of his weakened state, I just couldn’t. I had seen too much. I understood too much. This man—for that is what he was, a human man—had seen and endured so much. It’s amazing he wasn’t a blubbering mess of flesh and drool.
“You have to stop,” I whispered. “Find a way to embrace your mortality. Find a way to be human.”
Enoch’s tears continued to pour down his face as he nodded—as in, he was agreeing with me.
“You … you knew that would happen, didn’t you?” I said. “You knew that touching you would result in … in whatever that was.”
“Aye.” The word came out as a whispered rasp. “I did. It is one of the perks of being a creature of Heaven. A former creature of Heaven,” he corrected. “Up there, when two souls meet, connect, they learn all there is about each other. So that the relationship, be it a simple friendship or more, starts from a moment of pure understanding. It was the only way that human souls could truly connect in harmony. Our souls have touched, Katrina—they have gone through the transformation. Just because we were not there to experience it directly does not negate what our souls already know. I knew that when we touched, you would see all there was to see about what I am. Who I am.”
Enoch closed his eyes, swept away by the sanctity of the moment. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud,” he rasped. “It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.”
“1 Corinthians 13,” I said. “It was my father’s favorite passage.”
“I know. In that, if nothing else, your father and I are alike. But do you know what it means? Truly means?”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, you’re about to mansplain it to me?”
If Enoch got the reference, he ignored me. “Love is often spoken about in the Bible. Most humans interpret it in the manner that their limited capacity allows. True love is the ability to know each other, just as we two do now. And once we have that knowledge, hate can never fill our hearts.”
I could see it, too. In a divisive world of nations, ethnicities and religions—hell, of Democrats and Republicans—the only way they could all get along up there and still retain a bit of who they were on Earth was to truly understand each other. That understanding would remove the strangeness between them. And once that was gone, so too would fear and hatred disappear, leaving behind only love.
“Brilliant,” I muttered.
Enoch chuckled. “It was my suggestion when I became Metatron. It was how we ensured humans could live in harmony, up there in Heaven. And it was the only piece of consultation that He thanked me for directly.” He spoke with a kind of humbled pride. “Being thanked by Him was the greatest achievement of my life.”
I wiped away an escaped tear. “And you?” I asked. “Have you seen me? Everything I’ve done over my own life? All the murders, killing, feedings?”
He shook his head. “My soul has yet to be returned to me.”
“That’s what I thought. Because if you had seen what a truly terrible monster I was, you wouldn’t—”
“No, you are wrong.” Enoch got to his feet. “I have seen who you are. Since before you were born, I have watched you and everything you have done.”
“But you haven’t felt it.”
“I do not need to.” He took my hand in his.
Thank the GoneGods that touching again didn’t send us on another trip down memory lane.
↔
We both looked at each other for a long, awkward moment before the silence was finally broken by a simple statement rasped by a man who would never abandon his mission. “Now do you see why I want my soul oh so desperately?”
“Oh yeah, that’s what got us into this mess.” I chuckled.
“Indeed.” He nodded.
“Yay,” I said. “Good to see that I’m still me, quirks and all.”
“My soul,” he repeated, putting out his other hand. “Please.” His eyes held a quiet desperation.
So, in his mesmerized state he had deeply wanted us to touch so we could know each other. But now that that was done, his motivations had shifted. And because I still wore the contact lens, they were being stirred.
He was showing his truest desire.
I nodded. “OK, but first: will you abandon your plans to destroy this world?”
He shook his head with a vehement honesty I hadn’t expected.
“Why not? Surely there are other ways to follow the gods that don’t require everyone to die. I’ve seen who you are—what you know. If anyone can find a path, it’s you.”
“Perhaps, but such a path will take centuries. Human technology needs to advance considerably. Research will take decades of effort. Sadly, this mortal coil will not provide us with the time needed.”
“So they all have to die.” I gestured to the people around us with my free hand.
“They all have to be freed from a life of pain and suffering,” Enoch said.
I let out a deep breath as I closed my eyes, a tear releasing from within me. “That’s what all fanatics say. ‘The infidels must die, but we do not see that as murder, for really, we are freeing them.’ Such final words from the very ones who need to be freed from this life.”
Enoch’s arm stiffened as he saw where this conversation was going.
So I did the only thing I could.
I punched him. Square in the nose.
↔
My punch sent him flying back. And although my attack was meant to hurt him, it was also meant to free me. That’s the thing about surprise hits right in the kisser: both hands tend to let go of whatever they’re holding and fly straight up to the face to protect against the next blow.
Enoch took several steps back; my blow wasn’t strong enough to knock him on his ass. As he staggered, I stepped back until I felt the edge of the sidewalk. One more step and I’d be on the road. Good.
As soon as Enoch got a hold of himself, he gave me a look that reminded me of hurt puppies. As in, multiple puppies. (The guy was really good at looking pitiable.) But there was also confusion mixed in there, like he didn’t really understand why I’d done that.
That’s the trouble with fanatics: they never understand why someone else just doesn’t see it their way.
“I’m not going to let you end the world just so you can get more kudos from the Big Guy. Sorry.”
“You fool.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I misunderstood you. Perhaps I saw in you something that never was there.”
“If you’re referring to a mass murderer who’s OK with genocide, yeah, I think you probably were projecting there.”
Enoch fumbled for something in his pocket, which meant that he had another magical item in his pocket. Not good.
And given that I had no idea what it did, I wasn’t sure if I should run, divert my gaze, or start singing really loudly so I couldn’t hear any incantations.
He pulled out an earring of all things, and taking the hook end of it, put it in his ear.
Thing was, his ears weren’t pierced, so he really needed to dig the thing in. Something he did with brutal efficiency and way faster than I could put my own earrings in … and I had several piercings (and not only in my ears, ahem).
“I offered you the world, Katrina,” he said. “More than the world. I offered you universes, life eternal, and you rejected it. And for what? Stupid talking monkeys.”
“Yeah. What are you going to do?”
I really wished I hadn�
�t asked that question.
He lifted both his hands and spoke in the manner that I imagined an Aztec priest did just before plunging an obsidian blade in the sacrificial belly of some poor soul. “Come to me. Now.”
In the airport, though the glass windows and sliding doors, I saw dozens of people and Others stop what they were doing. Conversations, hugging, walking—they all just stopped and turned their heads in our direction.
Then they began filing outside.
Within a minute there must have been over fifty people standing behind him, many of them still dragging their luggage behind.
The zombie army of would-be travelers stared at me with hollow eyes, and all I could think about was how these guys would all miss their flights because this asshole had cast a spell on them. I also wondered if travel insurance now covered enchantments and other acts of Other-related activity.
In this new GoneGod World, it should. It really should.
Enoch smirked. “One last chance.”
I considered it. I really did. I thought about how easy it would be to give in, return his soul to him and, hell, to go on the ultimate road trip. But then an image of my father flashed through my mind. What would he do? The right thing, of course. Without hesitation.
That was who I wanted to be.
“Thanks Dad,” I murmured as the wicked smile of resolve crept along my face.
Enoch tilted his head in confusion, and I de-confused him by giving him my final answer in the form of my middle finger.
Way to be mature, Kat.
Mob Mentality and Magical Synergy
Have you ever fought an angry mob? Sadly, I have. And I can say with full confidence that it sucks. Royally.
Well, that’s not entirely true. When I was a soulless creature of the night, fighting a mob was the only time I could really let loose. The beast of the vampire would come out in a no-holds-barred, Hulk-Hogan-meets-Wolverine kind of way.
It was the only time I truly connected with the real demon within. The berserker who only cared for the kill. Allowing so much power to be unleased, testing the full potential of my vampiric body and knowing that the battle could only end in death—either theirs or mine—was intoxicating.
