Armageddon

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  “That’s for hurting my dog,” he said, as the heavily robed figure collapsed to the ground.

  The air beside the Architect began to churn, and a very angry Gabriel appeared in a flash of orange fire. The dog bit into the angel’s neck and violently shook his prey.

  The Architect appeared stunned, but it didn’t last.

  A sphere of humming energy surrounded the being, repelling Gabriel. The golden fur around the dog’s face had burned away, revealing raw and glistening flesh beneath.

  “Gabriel!” Aaron cried out.

  “No worries,” the dog reassured him. “Just a scratch.”

  The Architect rose, the protective barrier humming around him like a hive of angry bees.

  “We are done here,” he announced with great finality, and Aaron had to agree.

  It was time for this to be over.

  Aaron caught movement around him. Vilma and the other Nephilim had gathered by his side; the surviving Unforgiven had risen to their feet.

  It was time for the final battle.

  This would be their Armageddon.

  * * *

  The Architect Overseer had never believed this would happen.

  His vision for this world was crashing down upon him.

  He had failed.

  And as he was surrounded by the creatures that he had made the cornerstone of his vision for a new Paradise, he felt a twinge of emotion uncommon to his kind.

  An emotion that churned and burned with a fire all its own.

  The Architect felt betrayed. He felt anger over the ingratitude that was being heaped upon him.

  If only the Nephilim could have seen what he had planned for them. He was sure they would have loved him as much as they loved God.

  God.

  Is that what this is all about? the first of God’s angels thought as he prepared to bring all that he had worked toward to an end. Do I really wish to be loved and worshipped as God?

  In a way he did, for he knew that if given the chance, he could show his Creator the error of His ways. And then the Architect would reign over Heaven and earth, and the universe beyond. And God would be wished away, as the Overseer had once been. God would be finished with His tasks, and the Architect would build a new reality.

  That was what the Overseer had always envisioned. Instead, he had only anger and sadness.

  Emotions strong enough to fuel what he would do next.

  The Architect knew that once he was brought before God, he would be eliminated, and that concept filled him with yet another emotion:

  Fear.

  Fear of ceasing to be, fear of having everything he had worked toward erased by a disapproving, godly hand.

  But fear and sadness were quickly consumed by his blazing anger, and the Architect knew what he would do. If the Lord God was going to ignore his efforts, dismiss his achievements as nothing more than mistakes, then he would make it easier for the Creator.

  The Architect would wipe the slate clean himself.

  He would make the earth a blank canvas again.

  The divine power that he had stolen built to critical mass within the Architect’s protective sphere.

  It will all be over soon, he wanted to tell the creatures that pummeled his shield with their pitiful weapons and what little remained of their own heavenly energies.

  The world wiped clean in the blink of an eye.

  * * *

  Aaron could sense that something was wrong. The Architect just stood in the center of his energy sphere. It was as if he’d given up, but what did that mean for a creature like this?

  Then the sphere began to expand, its energy eradicating everything it touched.

  Aaron called for everyone to get back, but some of the brave Nephilim either did not hear him, or chose to ignore his request, and were dissolved as the expanding sphere touched them.

  “The Architect has created some sort of negation field,” Levi said.

  “And that means what exactly?” Cameron asked, a sword of flame clutched in each hand.

  “It means we’re screwed,” Aaron said. “You can tell me I’m wrong, but I’m thinking that field is going to keep growing and growing until it wipes out everything.”

  “A simple description, but sufficient,” Levi acknowledged.

  “So that’s it then?” Vilma asked. “We just let the Architect destroy everything? I can’t believe we’ve come this far only to—”

  “We’ve done all we can do,” Aaron said flatly.

  He could feel their disappointment. They were expecting him to pull some sort of solution from the air as he would a sword of fire, but they were past that now.

  It was time to put their faith in someone other than himself.

  All of them had done their part, and now . . .

  The House of God rumbled as if besieged by a mighty storm. A searing light flashed from the temple, and they threw their hands before their faces so as not to be blinded.

  As the light dimmed before what they believed to be their inevitable end, they saw something that filled them with awe.

  And hope.

  The Metatron loomed at least a hundred feet over the expanding nullification field. He brought his armored hands down to embrace the sphere of annihilation.

  The bubble of dangerous energy became like glass, then started to crack.

  Aaron stared in silent wonder, as they all did.

  A part of him wanted to cheer, to raise his burning sword to the heavens in victory, but there was something extremely sad about what was happening, and all he could do was watch.

  The Architect tried to fight as pieces of his protective shield fell away. Tendrils of energy leaped from his outstretched hands to wrap about the golden, armored giant.

  But his efforts had little effect.

  The Metatron took hold of the Architect in an armored hand.

  “I am God,” the Architect wailed, as the Metatron pulled him closer to his golden chest plate.

  The metal became like fluid, and the Metatron hugged the struggling Architect tighter.

  “Return to Him,” the Metatron’s voice boomed, drowning out the screams of the Architect as he was absorbed into the armored giant.

  Returned to the power that had created him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Lorelei wanted nothing more than to be with her friends.

  Standing there, watching as victory was snatched from what appeared to be the jaws of defeat, she cried tears of joy.

  “What now?” Lorelei asked, turning to A’Dorial, who stood beside her, the remaining spirits of those who had died while the earth was cut off from Heaven gathered around them.

  “Something wonderful,” the ghost angel replied.

  “I meant for me,” she said.

  “I know.” A’Dorial raised a ghostly arm and pointed toward the Metatron, who had retrieved something from inside the temple after defeating the Architect.

  The heavenly giant held an enormous key before him. It began to shift and change into the form of a huge sword.

  A sword of light.

  The Metatron caressed the blade, making its light shine all the brighter.

  Even though a ghost, Lorelei raised a protective arm to shield her eyes, but A’Dorial reached out to push it down.

  “This is something you should see,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

  And when the sword was glowing brighter than the light of a thousand suns, the Metatron raised the blade toward the heavens. The sky above the Megiddo desert began to swirl, whisking away the remaining dark clouds.

  It was like the entire planet’s revolution had increased tenfold, and Lorelei wondered foolishly, if they didn’t hold on to something, would they fly off into space?

  “What’s happening?” she asked, wonder in her voice.

  Without a word, A’Dorial directed her attention to the great stone temple. The glowing spiral extended from its roof into the sky, spinning ever so gently as it twisted up into the sky and beyond.
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  The Ladder.

  Lorelei thought of her father, wondering if he could see what she had helped to accomplish.

  “They should be here any minute,” A’Dorial said.

  “Who?”

  “He’s told them that it’s safe now,” the spirit of the angel said, gesturing to the Metatron, who stood statuelike, arm raised, the light from his mighty sword glowing like a beacon.

  Something began to appear in the sky above their heads, from one end of the horizon to the other. It gradually filled her entire view.

  “Oh my God,” Lorelei gasped, as the image became more distinct.

  She’d always imagined Heaven as a magickal place, its lights twinkling in the night like priceless jewels. But as the Golden City drew closer, she realized it was more beautiful than she could ever have believed. Countless hosts of angels stood upon the city’s parapets, their armor flecked with gold. And one by one they spread their awesome wings, flying down to the world below them.

  One such angel appeared in front of her.

  “Hello, Lorelei.”

  There was no mistaking that Southern twang, and Lorelei smiled widely as the angel’s form shifted to one that was most familiar to her. Lehash, her father, stood before her in his faded blue jeans and worn cowboy boots. He wore a flannel shirt, and a Stetson on his head, and around his waist was a gun belt, two golden Peacemakers hanging in their leather holsters.

  “Dad,” she said, flowing into his arms.

  She was surprised and so very glad that she could feel him.

  “You done good,” the angel Lehash said, hugging her back.

  She pulled away from him, her eyes drawn to the city above them. “Is that the Golden City?” she asked, watching what must have been a hundred angels flying about it.

  “It is.” Lehash adjusted the hat on his head. “You want a closer look?”

  Her gaze dropped. “What about them?” Lorelei asked of the spirits that gathered beside her.

  “What about ’em?” Lehash asked, as those who had died when the world was cut off from the glory of Heaven dissipated like smoke, flowing up toward the kingdom of Heaven.

  “Is that where I’m going?”

  “Eventually,” the angel said, hooking his arm around his daughter’s. “But fer right now, we got some catchin’ up to do.”

  “I love you, Dad,” Lorelei said, as they walked arm in arm into the sun.

  * * *

  Jeremy gazed at the enormous, glowing city that filled the sky above him.

  He knew what it was, but to admit it out loud would probably drive him mad.

  Jeremy, Verchiel, and a strange assortment of warrior monsters that had sworn their allegiance to the angel had been fighting their way across the desert, moving toward what looked to be the scene of some major happening.

  Perhaps a defining moment in the battle.

  He’d been thinking of Enoch, somehow knowing that the child was part of whatever battle raged in the distance, and that had just made Jeremy want to get there all the quicker.

  But then the sky had started to swirl, as if the revolution of the planet had miraculously increased, and it had appeared above them to fill the sky.

  Heaven.

  Jeremy didn’t want to even think of what it meant for their cause. He looked over at Verchiel, and saw that the angel had fallen to his knees in reverence.

  “Is it what I think it is?” Jeremy asked, still clutching a battle-ax of fire, just in case. “Is that . . . is it possible?”

  Verchiel turned his blood-flecked face to the glow that now blotted out the blue sky, replacing the sun with a light even more brilliant.

  “It is possible, Nephilim,” Verchiel said, his normally booming voice little more than a quavering whisper.

  “We bask in the glory of Heaven.”

  * * *

  Verchiel wanted to avert his gaze from the sight of the Golden City, for he believed himself unworthy, but he could not.

  He’d never believed he would see its wonder or bask in the radiance of its splendor again, and he took in the vision of it, gorging his senses upon the miraculous sight.

  The gentle sound of weeping distracted him from his adoration, and he looked to see the monstrous warriors that had sworn their loyalty to him cower in fear. Many of them cried at what they perceived to be their end.

  The goblin, Ergo, had dropped his weapons and curled into a tight ball, trembling and shaking in the light of the Heaven’s city.

  “Why do you cower?” Verchiel asked the foul creature that had somehow come to earn his respect.

  “I have never seen such a sight,” the goblin spoke, his voice muffled, for he refused to raise his misshapen head.

  “And I believed I never would again,” Verchiel told the goblin.

  “Does it not scare you?” the goblin asked, peeking out from between splayed fingers.

  “Perhaps it once did,” Verchiel said, looking back to the enormity of it all. “But now it just fills me with awe.”

  Verchiel’s words must have given the creature courage, for Ergo cautiously looked to the sky above, the other monsters slowly following his lead.

  “Its beauty . . . ,” the goblin spoke. “It could most assuredly kill us.”

  “That it could,” Verchiel agreed. “That it could.”

  And then figures, like falling stars, flew down from the columns and corridors of the floating city, emissaries of light coming to greet them.

  Verchiel rose to his feet.

  And they came.

  The angels of Heaven came.

  “Bloody hell,” he heard the Nephilim boy say behind him as the flock of Heaven approached.

  “Hell has nothing to do with this,” Verchiel said, as the first of the angels touched down before the enraptured and terrified gaze of a troll, who presented the divine being with his spiked war club as an offer of peace.

  The angel brought forth a sword of flame and struck him down.

  The troll wailed in pain, his rocky body burning as he collapsed.

  “No!” Verchiel cried out, leaping with wings spread to place himself between the sword of fire and the injured troll.

  Multiple blades of divine fire connected with a blinding explosion, as they dropped upon Verchiel’s.

  “What madness is this?” the angelic soldier shouted, enraged by Verchiel’s actions. “Remove yourself, creature of Heaven, or suffer this foul thing’s fate.”

  “I will not,” Verchiel stated defiantly, protecting the rock troll from harm, as the other beasts in his army came to the injured creature’s aid.

  Verchiel held a crackling sword of fire by his side, but at the ready, while other angels dropped down from Heaven above, curious as to what was happening.

  “He refuses to let me eradicate this dark blight upon God’s chosen world,” the angel said to his brethren. More weapons of divine fire immediately appeared in each of their hands.

  “These creatures, no matter how foul they may appear, served my cause—our cause. They fought with me in battle, and for that they will receive my protection.”

  The Nephilim boy came to stand beside Verchiel, his burning ax clutched tightly in his hand.

  “I think I can get behind that as well,” he said, eyes scrutinizing Heaven’s emissaries.

  Verchiel chanced a quick look at the Nephilim and felt a certain admiration. When this was over, if they survived, he would have to ask his name.

  The angels were agitated by their defiance, and Verchiel considered how many of these fine angelic specimens he could take down, before falling to death himself.

  Suddenly, there was a murmuring from the back of the angelic gathering, and they parted as a tall, armored figure made his way toward them.

  “What seems to be the problem here?” the great angelic warrior Camael asked.

  Verchiel dropped to one knee, his head bowed in reverence and respect to the one who had once led the angelic host Powers. “Forgive my insolence,” he said, slowly raising
his eyes to look upon his former commander. “But I cannot allow these creatures to be harmed.”

  Camael considered the monsters with a scrutinizing eye. “You would defend these creatures against your own kind?”

  “I would,” Verchiel told him.

  And then the angelic warrior did the most unexpected thing, a wide and beaming smile appearing upon his bearded face.

  “You do me proud, Verchiel,” Camael said. “It’s gratifying to see that you have learned from your past mistakes.” He reached down to haul Verchiel up from where he knelt. “You now see the potential for good in all forms of life, no matter their place of origin.”

  The angelic warriors gathered round Verchiel, and one by one, they each raised their burning swords.

  And finally it was Camael’s turn.

  “Welcome back, my brother,” he said, joining the salute.

  “You have been gone too long.”

  * * *

  Aaron turned his face to the light of Heaven and gave thanks for what had been done this day.

  He felt Vilma’s arms slide about his waist and squeeze, and he leaned back into her embrace.

  “I thought I would never hold you again,” Vilma whispered in his ear.

  He turned and gently took her face in his hands, the armored gloves that he’d been wearing dissolving in a flash so he could feel the warmth of her skin. “See, that’s the difference between you and me. I couldn’t bear the thought, so I never even considered it.” With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that ran down her cheek. “Guess that makes me a true optimist, or just incredibly unrealistic.”

  Aaron kissed her then, and as always, it was like the very first time all over again.

  “All I know now is there’s nothing more real than this,” he said, looking deeply into the eyes of the woman he loved, feeling that same depth of emotion returned to him.

  “I love you, Aaron Corbet,” Vilma said, holding the back of his head as she now kissed him.

  “I love you, too, Vilma Santiago.”

  And no truer words were ever spoken.