The Fallen 4

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Interesting, Gabriel thought as he trotted across the cracked and uneven blacktop. The more he used this new traveling ability, the easier it seemed to become.

  And the closer he got to the factory, the stronger the disturbing smell became. It was a pungent chemical smell, and it seared the inside of his nostrils and throat.

  The dog paused for a moment to sneeze, and noticed for the first time the objects that littered the ground in front of the building. Cautiously Gabriel stepped closer to one. It was a dead bird. And not too far from that were a number of dead squirrels and a dead rabbit, its legs sticking out stiffly, its head twisted to one side. The expression on its face made it clear that its passing from life had not been pleasant.

  Gabriel could see dead animals all around the perimeter of the building. He wondered if the toxic stink had anything to do with it.

  No matter, he thought, approaching the seemingly abandoned building. He was sure that this was where he was supposed to go to find the Fear Engine.

  Climbing the broken concrete steps, noting the flattened bodies of long-dead sparrows, Gabriel approached the main entrance. Heavy pieces of plywood had been nailed over the doors. A NO TRESPASSING sign, written in a language he did not know but still could understand, was posted prominently.

  Gabriel sniffed at the bottom of the barricaded door, but could only smell heavy chemicals and the aroma of decay. The dog wondered how much death he would find inside.

  Trotting down the steps, and going around to the side, Gabriel searched for another entrance. At the side of the building, he found a heavy metal door, seemingly used for deliveries at one time, but it was locked with a padlock. There was a small window in the door, one that he could reach if he stood on his hind legs. It was as good as if he had a key, he thought.

  Standing up to peer through the window, Gabriel saw a dust-covered security desk and chair. Gabriel then closed his eyes and wished himself on the other side of the door.

  The noxious smell was even stronger inside the building, but he did not let it deter him from his search.

  He passed offices, not stopping to investigate, for he doubted a device that collected fear would be stored there. He soon came upon a security door that was hanging from its hinges. A walkway extended beyond, disappearing into total darkness.

  This is more like it.

  Gabriel allowed some of his angelic power to flow through his body, illuminating his fur so that he could see. Cautiously he proceeded down the walkway. From the shadows beyond the reach of his light, Gabriel heard the scrabbling of animal feet and was curious as to why these creatures in the factory’s shadows had not shared the same fate as the animals outside.

  At the end of the walkway, he found another heavy door, only this one was closed. Gabriel stood on his hind legs and peered through the cracked window. A metal stairway led down to the ground.

  After transporting himself to the other side of the door, Gabriel carefully made his way down the metal stairs to the floor of the factory. His fur still crackled with divine fire, casting eerie shadows upon the floor and walls. The place appeared to be deserted. Whatever equipment this factory used to house had been removed, and all that remained were the twisted, rusted pieces of whatever couldn’t be salvaged.

  Gabriel caught the sound of movement in the shadows.

  “Hello?” he barked.

  He knew that Aaron and the other Nephilim could speak in the language of all living things, and wondered if he might be able to do the same.

  “Hello, are you there?”

  There was some sort of response, but he couldn’t make it out. He stepped farther out onto the floor of the factory.

  “I don’t mean you any harm,” Gabriel said to whatever was hiding. “I just want to talk to you, if it wouldn’t be a bother.”

  Nothing wrong with being polite, he thought, his intense gaze trying to penetrate the shadows.

  Something skittered across the floor with a hiss.

  “Hello?” he called out again. “Will you speak with me?”

  “The light,” croaked an animal voice. “The light, it…”

  “Does it hurt your eyes?” Gabriel asked. “I’m sorry.” He pulled back upon his gifts, dimming the glow from his fur. “Is that better?” he asked. “Will you speak with me now?”

  “Speak,” said another voice, different from the first. “Speak now.”

  There seemed to be multiple voices, all whispering and muttering at the same time.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t understand you,” Gabriel said, eyes attempting to pierce the curtain of black around him. “Would you show yourself to me? I mean you no harm.”

  “No harm,” answered a whispering voice. It was indeed closer, and Gabriel stayed where he was so as not to frighten the speaker away.

  “That’s it,” Gabriel urged. “Come closer so we can talk.”

  He heard the sound of nails clicking on the concrete floor, and he waited patiently as the factory animals seemed to move closer. His nose was working, trying to sniff out his surroundings, but all he could smell were chemicals and rot. Then the voices grew louder, all talking at the same time, and he wondered how many beings might actually be there.

  Gabriel felt the thick hackles of fur around his neck rise at the potential for danger.

  “It sounds like there are a lot of you,” Gabriel said. “Do you live here in the factory?”

  There was a soft sound that could have been a chuckle.

  “Live here… ,” one voice said, followed by more sounds like laughing.

  The smell of decay was getting stronger, overpowering the chemical stench. Gabriel squinted into the shadows, but the factory residents stayed just beyond his field of vision.

  The room was suddenly quiet again, and Gabriel wondered if they were waiting for him to speak next.

  “Are you there?” he asked. “I’m looking for something. A strange machine. Have you seen it, perhaps?”

  “Machine,” whispered a voice, closer now.

  “Yes, a machine,” Gabriel urged. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “Machine. Yes,” said the multiple voices.

  “Can you tell me about this machine?” Gabriel asked with growing optimism. “Or perhaps you can take me to it?”

  There was a scrabbling in the darkness before him, something sounding much larger than rats, maybe squirrels or raccoons.

  “Protect,” said the voices.

  “Protect?” Gabriel asked. “Protect what?”

  “We protect the machine.”

  Suddenly Gabriel knew that he was in grave danger. He quickly tapped into his angelic ability, his body glowing brightly with the light of Heaven.

  He yelped in terror at what he saw before him.

  It was huge and terrible, a body of not a single thing but many things—the twisted bodies of raccoons, feral cats, squirrels, rabbits, rats, and other animals that Gabriel would have to get closer to identify. They were all somehow linked together into one massive body—one powerful, horrible life-form with one singular purpose.

  To protect the Fear Engine.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mallus pulled a plastic chair from a stack in the corner of the television room and dragged it over.

  “Mind if I sit?” he asked Tarshish.

  The Malakim didn’t answer right away, slipping another puzzle piece into place.

  “Go ahead,” the ancient being finally said. “It’s a free country. For now.”

  As he sat, Mallus noticed that the image on the puzzle was now of a picturesque town with the quintessential white steepled church in the foreground.

  “It’s been a very long time,” Mallus said.

  “It certainly has,” Tarshish agreed without looking up from his puzzle.

  “How have you been?” Mallus asked.

  Tarshish raised his ancient eyes for a moment. “Livin’ the dream,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes dropped back to the puzzle. “You?”
r />   “If this were any other day, I would have said the same,” Mallus said. “I would have said something about keeping out of sight and trying to enjoy what little time this world has left.”

  Tarshish stared at him again, his eyes dark, like polished stones. “But today?” he asked.

  “Today… ,” Mallus began. “Today I have hope.”

  The ancient figure laughed as he leaned back in his wheelchair. “And where would you have gotten a thing like that?” he asked. “Have you looked outside?” Tarshish gestured to a window on the far side of the TV room. “The clock is most definitely ticking.”

  “I know,” Mallus agreed. “But I’ve seen some things… met some people…”

  “What, did you find Jesus or something?” the old being asked, and then laughed again. He laughed so hard that he started to cough. It sounded as though his lungs were about to land in his lap.

  “Do you need some water?” Mallus asked.

  Tarshish continued to cough and gag and cough some more, gesturing with his long-fingered hand that he would be fine.

  Mallus waited for him to regain control, then spoke. “I’ve seen what’s going on out there, and it makes me sick to think that I was once part of it.”

  Tarshish breathed raggedly as he stared at Mallus. “That we were part of it,” the old soul added.

  Mallus acknowledged that with a nod. “It’s been a long time since I thought I could help,” he said. “A long time since I thought I might be able to stop them.”

  “You can’t stop the Architects,” Tarshish said gravely. “We made sure of that, if you recall.”

  “I know,” Mallus said, the memory of what they had done rising up like some huge behemoth from the deepest depths of the sea. “And we were pretty damn proud of ourselves too.”

  Tarshish looked around the room, gazing at the old folks sitting in their chairs watching the blank television screen.

  “And why wouldn’t we be?” he asked, his voice tinged with sadness. “How many folks get to say that they killed a part of God?”

  * * *

  Tarshish remembered the war in Heaven, and the bitter taste that it had left in his mouth, and the mouths of all God’s divine creations.

  The Lord God desired to set the world of His man on the right path, to stem the discordance seeded by the Morningstar.

  This new creation—this Metatron—was to be His solution.

  The Almighty chose one of His beloved pets to wield this power of change. The human’s name was Enoch, and the Lord of Lords told the devout but frightened human that he had been chosen for a very special purpose.

  Tarshish recalled how Enoch averted his eyes from the sight of his Creator, begging to know why he had been selected, and what he was to do with this frightening honor.

  God explained that He had seen something within Enoch, something that had rekindled the Creator’s faith in humanity. Tarshish laughed inwardly at that, recalling how disappointed the Almighty had been by the actions of the first humans in the Garden.

  As far as the Malakim was concerned, humanity was a failure, and no matter how much time and effort the Lord put into His precious little apes, they would always disappoint Him. But that was an opinion Tarshish chose to keep secret from his Malakim brothers, for they could not imagine their Creator as fallible.

  The Almighty then bestowed upon Enoch a gift unlike any other, taking all that was good about His angels and merging it with all that He loved of humanity. Then He added a piece of His own godliness. This new being, the Metatron, was above all other creations, except, of course, God Himself.

  The Metatron would be an aspect of God, residing upon the earth, guiding humanity toward the zenith of its potential.

  God sent Tarshish and his fellow Malakim to the world of humanity to watch the Metatron, to record for Him the sensations and wonders of an emerging paradise. It was then that Tarshish finally shared his doubt with his brothers. They were outraged by Tarshish’s lack of faith and disavowed him, using powerful angel magicks to wipe away their memories of his existence.

  It was a punishment meant to make him realize the severity of his doubts, but it only strengthened Tarshish’s resolve. As he lived amidst man during the earliest days, watching as things were secretly guided by the Metatron, he had to wonder when it would all come crashing down.

  He never realized the role he would play in that downfall.

  The power of his doubt brought Tarshish to the attention of the Architects. He stood before them, in awe of these first angels that he had never truly believed existed.

  The Architects had been amongst God’s first creations. They were beings so powerful and headstrong that He had willed them away in favor of the more obedient creations that would be His messengers.

  But the Architects had managed to survive, hiding themselves in the shadows of the new world, continuing the purpose for which they had been made—to create.

  That is, until the Metatron appeared, stifling their plans, their creativity. Now the Architects sought someone, or something, to remove this hindrance to their plans.

  And Tarshish, still feeling the sting of his brothers’ abandonment, was more than happy to oblige.

  To help him the Architects gave him a partner of great cunning and power, an associate to share the burden of this monumental task. Tarshish’s ally had served as second in command of the Morningstar’s legions during the Great War. His name was Mallus.

  The disdain these two beings had for humanity was their only bond, fueling their drive to succeed—to remove the Metatron from the world and set humanity upon its downward spiral to failure.

  * * *

  “Did you hear me, Tarshish?” Mallus asked.

  Tarshish had not, for the wails of the Metatron echoed inside his mind as he had heard them that fateful day when he and Mallus had carried out the Architects’ chore.

  “I heard nothing but an echo of the past, Mallus,” the old being said, staring at his puzzle.

  “I said that I believe there might be a way to undo what we have done,” the fallen angel repeated.

  Tarshish studied his former partner in crime, looking for signs of madness. It would not be the first time that one of God’s messengers, fallen or not, had succumbed to the crippling affliction.

  “Why do you say such things?” the last of the Malakim finally asked. “Why do you torture me with redemption that can never be?”

  “Listen carefully, Tarshish,” Mallus said, reaching across the card table to grasp the Malakim’s hand. “There is truth—just a glimmer, I know—in what I am saying to you.”

  Tarshish pulled his withered hand from the fallen angel’s. “Impossible,” he said with finality. “There is no turning back from what we did. The awful act was done, and we have been left to bear witness to the repercussions.”

  “I agree,” Mallus said with a nod. “But what if there is a way to fix things?”

  “How is it possible to fix what we did?”

  “I didn’t think it was possible either,” Mallus explained. “But that was before I met them… before I met him.”

  “Who?” Tarshish asked, impatience in his tone. “Who did you meet that could make you believe in the impossible?”

  As if on cue, there was a sudden commotion from somewhere outside the activity room, the sounds of battle escalating as the stink of burning human flesh permeated the air. Mallus was about to investigate, when a section of wall exploded inward and ancient bodies crackling with arcane energies and burning with divine fire tumbled into the room, collapsing into dust as they struck the floor.

  And through the broken hole in the wall, a lone figure appeared. He had wings of black, flesh adorned with the names of warriors who had fallen in the war with Heaven, and in his hand he held a sword of Heaven’s fire.

  Tarshish had never seen such a sight. He turned to Mallus.

  “Speak of the proverbial Devil, and he appears,” Mallus said, and shrugged. “Or should I say, ‘Speak of the Devil
’s son.’”

  * * *

  “I found him, Dusty,” Lorelei said, heading down the corridor as fast as her cane would allow her. Milton sank his claws into her shoulder, holding on for dear life.

  “But where?” Dusty asked as he hurried along beside her.

  “I told you, I don’t know, which is why we have to get to the library.”

  The library had been left to her by one of the original fallen angels who had believed in the prophecy of the Nephilim, believed in Aaron and his destiny. The library existed in its own space, its own universe, and its contents were practically endless. Lorelei knew that if any book existed that could tell her how to find Lucifer, it would be in the library.

  She pushed open the door with great ferocity, and lurched inside, her brain afire as she skirted the jagged edges of the enormous hole in the floor where Verchiel had come crashing back into their lives. She made her way to the special alcove reserved for Archon magick. She was sure she’d find the answers with the ancient angel sorcerers.

  If only the price weren’t so damned high.

  “I’m sure you’ve already been through these books and scrolls,” Dusty said, trying to join her but stopping near the hole, afraid to proceed.

  Noticing his distress, Lorelei gently moved Milton from her shoulder to the table in the center of the alcove and went to guide Dusty.

  “Maybe I missed something,” she said, sitting him at the table and scanning the rows of old leather-bound texts.

  “Do you even know what you’re looking for?” Dusty asked.

  She pulled a large book down from a shelf, the weight of it sending her cane clattering to the floor and nearly causing her to lose her balance. She glared at him as she turned and stumbled to the table.

  “I know exactly what I’m looking for,” she said. “I’m looking for my friend who is in some sort of danger.”