Micah, on the other hand, knew precisely what he was looking at. Samael, he thought angrily. That fool Metatron has summoned the Destroyer prematurely. He glared at the ship he was following. It had been ten years. He didn’t want to lose them for one more minute.
But he knew he could.
They were headed towards the angel’s island. They would be there for a while. He could find them later. The matter with the Destroyer was more pressing. He needed to speak with Metatron. And Metatron had been sent to the ethereal plane. Fortunately, a suitable place for summoning the malak was nearby.
In Rome.
“What? I don’t believe this,” Jack shouted, relieved but worried.
“What is it? What’s happening now?” Ariel asked, still nervous.
“The Karellan just stopped following us.”
“What?”
“Well, either that or my navigation is still malfunctioning. But it all seems to be fine now. He just changed course. He’s going some other way.” No longer in fear of being caught, he steadied Quetzalcoatl’s course. Ariel was able to stand freely, and she ventured away from Zeke and into the cockpit. “Where is he going?”
He checked a few gauges. “I can’t be sure. He sped away pretty fast. But it doesn’t look like there’s much out that way other than Rome.”
“Rome . . .” she repeated nervously, trying to figure out why Micah would leave them. Why he would just give up.
Why he didn’t have the decency, after ten years, to capture her.
“Something wrong with that? We’re free!”
“No. No it’s fine,” she replied, not fully believing herself. “How much longer before we’re at Sandalphon’s island?”
“Just a moment. We’re almost there now.” At that moment, alarms started ringing in the ship. Gauges flashed red. The ship began to make a series of bizarre noises. “Just in time, too,” Jack added.
Moments later, Quetzalcoatl touched down on Isola Delangelo’s darkened landing pad. The trip had been done in only a few hours’ time. By all accounts, it should have been earlier in the day than when they left Nifelheim.
But instead, it was night.
They wasted no time. They carried Zeke up the path to the complex and burst into the commons. Elijah stood there with several of his monks. All of them snapped to attention at the sight of the unconscious fighter.
“What happened?”
“He was fighting with a malak,” Ariel tried to explain. “We don’t know the rest. We showed up just as he passed out.”
Elijah rushed to Zeke’s side as they set him down on a sofa. “Get the infirmary ready,” he ordered his monks, who ran off instantly. He began examining the body. “I’ve never seen this before. It’s very odd,” he said after a while.
“Will he live?” Ariel asked.
“As far as I can tell, there’s nothing wrong. He’s just not responding.”
“Will he live?” she repeated urgently.
“I believe so.” He paused. “Although I’m not sure what caused his condition. You say this was a malak attack?”
“Yeah. Damn strong bastard, too. Same one that knocked out Quetzalcoatl.”
“Metatron?” asked Elijah. His cool demeanor shook with fear.
“That’s the one. The guy who keeps harassing Zeke.”
Elijah stood. His monks came back from the infirmary with a stretcher and carefully loaded Zeke on top. “Then I’m afraid we are in for dire times. Your friend will live, but we must watch him closely. I’m not yet sure how to wake him up.”
Jack and Ariel both looked relieved, but not much. “That’s good to hear,” Jack said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ll go get our things from the ship.” He ran out, back toward the ship.
Elijah turned to Ariel and spoke urgently. “Something strange has happened between Zeke and Metatron. I’m afraid this could be very bad for the world.”
Her relief vanished. “Why? What’s going on? Who is Metatron and what does he have to do with the world?”
Elijah took a deep breath. “He is my brother,” he said. “Was my brother, rather. He was taken in by the power of the Destroyer, and for the past five thousand years he has sought to incite the Rapture.”
Ariel took a frightened step back. “Oh, my God . . .”
Jack burst in, even more frightened than the others. “There’s something you have to see.” The pilot motioned for them to come outside. They followed quickly, out into the night.
He pointed into the sky.
Instead of the sun, they found themselves staring directly at a large, six-winged dragon, glaring maliciously down at the earth. It glowed softly, shedding a light similar to the moon, only with a dark feel to it.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Jack said.
Act Three: The Fate of Gods
Chapter Twenty-Two: Revelation
Zeke stands in an army tent. His general sits at a small desk, scratching notes or drawing strategies. He isn’t near enough to see exactly. The general takes no notice of him. The man puts his pencil down when another man enters the tent.
Captain Micah Frostbane.
“General?”
“Where am I?” Zeke asks into the ether. He remembers this feeling from his other dreams, but this is different. He feels more aware. More awake.
The general stands. “We’ve gained intelligence that could end the war. Your sixth platoon has been selected to carry out a mission of utmost importance.”
“Rome? I’m in Rome again? But this isn’t right. I wasn’t here. Not with Micah during his briefing. How can I be dreaming about this?”
“The High Theocrat may be in possession of a certain book,” continues the general. “Our sources indicate that he may somehow be using this book to control the malak.” He paces slowly around Micah, who stands still at attention.
“You mean the malak are more than just randomly aggressive monsters?”
“This mission is being sponsored by a very secretive source, the Order of Sandalphon. They claim that the original High Theocrat used this book to summon the malak into the world for the sole purpose of creating his Unified Theocracy.”
Scare the people. Drive them to the Church. Promise them safety.
Deliver them from evil. Almost.
The General stops pacing and stands very close to Micah. “Do you understand the significance of this mission?”
“If we capture the book, not only can we end the rule by the Unified Theocracy, but we can also rid the world of the malak.”
“Correct.”
Everything goes black. “Hey! What’s happening? Where am I? Is this a dream?” Zeke pleads frantically.
The voice comes to him again. This time, clearer. And not in his head. “This is the ethereal plane. It is the world of dreams, but you are not dreaming.”
“Who said that?” Zeke is startled by the difference in the voice.
“You are very unusual. Most humans can only project their unconscious selves here. They can only visit the ethereal plane when they’re asleep, or when they die. But you’re different. After you were synchronized with the Destroyer, you could gain moments of consciousness here. Then your contact with Metatron gave you more power. You can now exist here completely: body, mind and soul.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Shhh, there is much on your mind. Much you must learn. And you can only do that here. Now watch.”
Zeke stands in the middle of a battle. He watches as he—his other self—races by with Micah and Ariel.
The Roman Conflict.
They follow their captain, but fall behind. The astral projection of Zeke seems to keep up without any effort. He follows Micah’s chain of events, not his own.
Behind Micah and his lieutenants, something explodes. Ariel and Zeke are thrown forward. Micah barely breaks stride. He flips in the air and lands on his feet, still running.
A handful of dying Dragons lay in the street. Their comrades call for a medic, but they unde
rstand the mission. They let the others run ahead, praying for success.
Ahead in the street, Micah spies a soldier reloading a rocket launcher. With a vengeful spirit, he launches himself at the enemy.
The man is felled in a single stroke, cut clean in half mid-torso.
Micah keeps running.
“I remember this.”
“Of course you do,” the voice answers. “You have visited this part of the ethereal plane recently.”
His dream in the jail cell.
“Why did we stop?” asks one Dragon. The thinning platoon hides in an alley. “It’s quiet. We’re home free!”
“No,” says Micah. “We broke through their outer defenses, but they’ll soon catch up with us.” He creeps to the edge of the alley and waves at them to follow. “Look.”
They peer around the corner. Zeke remembers the frightfully powerful guards.
“Nataraja’s Arms. They’re the Theocrat’s personal guard. They live and breathe training. They won’t be easy to get by, but you can be sure the Theocrat’s on the other side of that door.”
“How are we going to get past them?” Zeke asks.
“We don’t have to. I do.”
Ariel protests. “You’re going in alone? You don’t know what’s inside!”
“No, but I need this door secured, and there are only five of you. I think I can handle the old man.” The platoon looks nervous.
“It’s too dangerous,” Ariel protests.
“I know. So cover me.” He breaks away from his troops and speeds through the guards. The astral Zeke follows. Micah ignores the first three guards. He slashes his sword, taking out the guard directly in front of the door.
He throws his weight into the door. It opens. Bullets rain behind him, preventing the guards from pursuing. He slams the door closed behind him.
He is alone in the tower. It rises high above him. It is tall. Dark.
A stairway winds uo to unseen heights. He climbs. Demonstrating his immense power, he takes huge leaps, skipping large groups of steps at a time.
“But I didn’t go inside with him. How can I be dreaming this?”
“This is not just the world of your dreams. The ethereal plane remembers Micah’s past as well. It would do you much good to remember it as well.”
“Remember it?” laughs Zeke. “How can I remember someone else’s past?”
“Humans have not yet reached an evolved state. Their memories are still poor tools. They can only remember things that have already happened, and then only things that have happened to themselves. You are evolving. Through your contact with Metatron. Through the knowledge you gleaned from the Book of Razael. Through your synchronization with the Destroyer.”
“The Destroyer?”
“Shh. He’s almost there.”
Micah, barely winded, leaps over the top of the stairs. The top of the tower is shabby. Old world. Like a remnant from the dark ages. A splintered wooden door is the only thing in front of him. The Flower of Life is carved into the wood.
Below him is a long fall into the dark tower.
He goes through the door. The room he finds could easily be a mad scientist’s laboratory. Pipes and tubes run through odd contraptions. Beakers of colored liquids boil on burners.
There is a man in the room. He doesn’t turn. His head is buried in a book.
The High Theocrat. The Book of Razael.
“I suspected the infidels would send an assassin,” the Theocrat snarls.
Micah stands tall. “I am no assassin, and we are not infidels.”
“All religions are now united, and yet you rebellious atheists wish to destroy the peace we’ve attained?”
“Peace? How can you call this peace? Did you consider those who believe in God, but don’t wish to be governed by a church? There are those who don’t wish to force beliefs on others, or have beliefs forced upon them.”
“He never could resist the urge to talk philosophy,” Zeke said into the ether.
“And the malak . . . did you summon them to create this peace, too? Frightening people into submission is hardly a noble quality. You’ve created nothing. People are still dying, just as they were thousands of years ago, and they still do so in the name of God.”
The Theocrat turns. His eyes show interest. “It’s true. You are no mere assassin. Tell me, thief, how did the infidels learn of the book?”
“We’ve known for some time. How we learned of it is not my knowledge.”
“Can’t he talk like a normal person?” Zeke wonders. “Not my knowledge? Why the hell can’t you just say ‘I don’t know’?”
The ethereal Micah doesn’t hear him.
He lifts his sword, ready to attack. “I am simply here to take it back.”
The Theocrat laughs, shrill and unpleasant. “Fool! You don’t know the power this book has given me! It contains the knowledge of God himself! With it, the strength of the divine is at my fingertips. I will not allow such power to pass into the hands of the wretched infidels, and God himself will stop you if you try.”
“You believe you are righteous enough to determine the fate of the world?”
“Do you, Micah?”
“I am the appointed Theocrat. I was chosen by God. I am the expression of His will on earth. And now that I have all the heathens gathered below me, He can destroy the faithless.”
“You’re a foolish old man, and your reign is over.” Micah raises his sword, ready to strike down the pontiff where he stands.
The Theocrat places a hand on the book.
The scene cuts. The astral Zeke finds himself once again looking into the sky above Rome.
The night sky lights up, bright as day. The ethereal Zeke and Ariel look up. The Metatron’s cube fills the sky. The light blasts down. The plate explodes.
The vision goes dark.
The voice speaks. “If you were wondering how the Karellan obtained Razael’s Book . . .”
“. . . he had it all along.” Zeke was quiet. Their mission hadn’t failed. They destroyed the Theocracy and reclaimed the book. But only Micah ever knew.
“Now here is a part of your own past. A part you do not visit so often.”
The battle is over. Zeke is alone. Lost. Micah was in the tower when the plate fell. Ariel was thrown into the chaos.
The rubble of the city burns around him. Haunting screams drift through the air. Bursts of gunshots sound in the distance.
Up ahead, several men tug at a pile of rubble. A woman paces, screaming hysterically. Zeke rushes to help. He and the others grab a heavy sheet of metal. One man counts. “On three. One, two, three.”
They pull. The pile of rubble shakes. Bits of stone tumble. The sheet moves.
Zeke holds it up while the others look beneath it. They shake their heads, sadly. The woman’s screams grow more hysterical. She runs, bursting into tears.
None follow her.
The men disperse. Zeke hears a sound. It is faint, but stands out. A child. Crying in the distance. He follows the sound across a field of wreckage. A young boy sits besides a mass of blood and entrails.
“Do you need help?” Zeke asks.
The child stops crying and stands up. He is no older than five years old. Staring nervously, he shouts, “Go away! You’re bad!”
“No, I’m not. I can help you.” He stretches out his hands, hoping it will be seen as a friendly gesture.
The boy backs away. “You’re a soldier. You want to kill me.”
“I’m not here to kill anyone.”
“Go away!” The hysterical child turns and runs. But after a few steps, he trips and falls out of sight, tumbling down a hill of twisted metal and broken buildings.
“Incoming!” yells a voice from below. An automatic weapon spits out a hail of bullets.
Then silence.
Then the voice is much quieter. “Holy shit,” says the soldier in a panic. “Holy shit! It’s a kid! I killed a kid! Holy shit, what did I do?”
Another voice, stronge
r, more calm, answers, “Nothing. You didn’t do anything. The boy probably didn’t have any family left. It . . . it doesn’t matter. We can’t do anything for him now.”
Zeke turns and keeps walking.
He walks endlessly, trying to find something. Anything. Micah, Ariel, a resistance fighter, even a Theocratic soldier. But most of what he sees is empty. Fires burning in the ruins. There are only a handful of survivors. They’re all the same. Frightened people, faced with the loss of their families, their homes, their health, their lives. Confused soldiers, unsure of what to do or who their enemy is.
Some people can’t be helped. Some people don’t want it. Some people pray for it and don’t get it. The handful of survivors will all live these hours in horror, unable to find relief.
And most of them will die soon.
But there aren’t many. Mostly he finds ruins and corpses—the only ones left with a sense of completion. The only ones at rest.
Zeke wanders through the fires.
Something rustles on one side. Nervous, he raises his gun. It’s empty, but it’s his only option. He backs up as a pile of burning rubble tumbles over. A man steps through, carrying a limp figure.
Micah and Ariel.
“Zeke!” he yells. His voice betrays his worry. Even Micah Frostbane is not above fear and despair. “She’s unconscious. Help me get her to the camp.”
The image darkens. The astral Zeke watches in a grim silence.
The next scene begins hours later. Sunrise. Light creeps over the sea, warm and yellow. Micah stands on a hill, under an oak tree, staring off at the distant beach.
Zeke is behind him, approaching softly. Quietly.
But Micah knows he’s there. “Everyone is dead.”
Silence. He stands in place, a few steps behind his captain.
“Everyone,” Micah continues. “Soldiers, civilians. The leaders of both armies. Everyone died. And the world is in chaos.”
“But we survived.” He isn’t sure if that’s good or bad.
“Just a handful of us. There aren’t many. Not even enough to call it a victory. No. This was a slaughter. An act of God.” He spit out the last word with contempt.
There is a pause.
Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods Page 27