by Ramy Vance
“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.
But fighting a spellbound mob of innocents as a human? Not so much.
For one thing, I had to hold back, doing my best not to inflict any permanent damage on any of these guys.
For another, getting punched in this human body hurt.
“Ow!” I screamed as a manananggal demon swung her carry-on at me. From the thud her bag made, I took it she had one of those old-school laptops in there. Ever heard of a MacBook Air, lady?
I managed to duck under the wild swing of a human yacha bozu as a chain-filled leather jacket rattled overhead. The only boon to fighting this crowd was that none of them were warriors.
Well, maybe the demon with her indestructible laptop.
A security guard pulled out his baton and charged. Waiting for him to get close enough, I dropped to my knees and punched him square in his … well, you know. He crumbled, dropping his baton like a cat presenting a dead bird. But even keeled over, he still reached for me, the spell in direct conflict with his natural reaction to pain.
Can’t we give this poor guy a break? I thought as I easily swatted his hand away.
Picking up the baton, I knocked two nixes in their chins. Stepping on the back of the still-keeled-over security guard, I launched into the air, kicking another human in the face while knocking a kijimuna on his laurel-crowned head with the baton.
Then five more charged at me, and in the flurry of twists, punches and kicks, I couldn’t even see what they were.
Most people think fighting multiple opponents is harder than just taking on one at a time. That might be true if the multiple opponents knew what they were doing and coordinated their attacks. Such an onslaught would quickly tire you and eventually you’d drop from exhaustion, making you easy pickings.
But when the mob wasn’t trained and didn’t know how to work together … well, that was a whole different kind of battle. The two best ways to beat that kind of attack were to use their uncoordinated attacks against each other … and to not hold back.
I’d let loose as a vampire in the past, and I’d have to let loose as human now. Summoning all my training in aikido, judo and Krav Maga, I let it all out, going for the most effective moves to put my attackers out of commission. So much for not doing any permanent damage. I’d like to say that I felt guilt over hurting these innocents. But my bigger ‘yes’ at this moment was surviving, and the truth was, the feral part of me enjoyed pushing this body to its limits.
I poked the human on my left with a finger to his eye, and using the momentum of a Chinese tulou, I guided the horned creature to batter the Korean Dokkaebi in the chest. That was four of them down, leaving only the mul guishin standing.
The terrifying, ghost-like girl just stood there, not attacking. But from the way her hand went up before going down again, I could sense an inner conflict. She didn’t want to fight me, but was still being compelled to do so.
Seeing me defeat the others must have allowed some kind of survival instinct to kick in … a survival instinct that countered Enoch’s spell.
Which meant his magic had limits.
I assessed my options. So far, only eight members of the mob had attacked me. The rest held back, as if in reserve. But then again, maybe not. Enoch might have been holding back … or there were serious limits to his power.
After all, he wasn’t burning time—he was using magical items imbued with power. Perhaps there were limits. Like, he could only send a couple charmed travelers at me at one time. Or maybe he was conserving his charges. I’d heard of some items only being able to produce a handful of fireballs before becoming perfectly ordinary trinkets again. Maybe this magic worked the same way.
I knew that the smart thing was to get out of here. Run away. But if his magic could be drained, then that was my best bet for defeating him. So looking Enoch straight in the eyes, I said, “Even you have limits.”
Standing, I turned my gaze on the ambling crowd and cried out in my best Brad-Pitt-as-Achilles voice, “Is there no one else?” (A great scene in an otherwise meh movie, and part of me brimmed with pride that I could use the iconic line here.)
Enoch laughed. But given his total lack of interest in human culture, I doubted he’d seen the movie. Which meant he was amused by something else. He wagged an admonishing finger at me. “Very clever.”
I gave him a curtsey.
“Yes, you are right. Many of the magics I can employ do have limits and must be used in tandem to get the desired re
sults. For example, I summoned this crowd with the lump of dough.”
“Dough? Seriously, how is uncooked bread magical?”
“It belonged to Moses and—”
“These travelers are your Israelites?” I was going to have to be a Biblical scholar to defeat this guy.
“Very good. And yes, that is exactly what the dough does. Summons travelers, and since we are in an airport …”
“You decided to use it to hijack them.”
“But the dough can only summon.” He dropped it on the ground. “And only once.” As soon as the impossibly-old-and-yet-not-moldy dough hit the ground, he stepped on it. The travelers behind him started to sway, as if anxious to move.
“Then I used this little item to charm them to do my bidding.” He took off one of his rings.
“Let me guess … it’s the one ring to bind them all.”
He tilted his head. “Indeed. How would you know such a thing?” From his intonation, I gathered he had never read Tolkien, but that Tolkien had read and been inspired by whatever grimoire or ancient tome had that item in it.
Enoch rotated the ring between his fingers. “Silvinus’s Ring is said to curse those nearby into doing its wearer’s bidding. But only for a time. And the more dangerous the request, the less likely they are to do my bidding.”
He pocketed the ring. I guessed it could be used more than once. “Your prowess in battle has made these people less inclined to attack you. To that end, I must say I am impressed. Few could dispatch so many at once. You are a formidable warrior.”
I cracked my neck from side to side before dropping into my best kung fu pose. Then flipping over my extended hand, I gestured for Enoch to approach. “A warrior who’s going to kick your ass all the way to Tuesday.”