He never expected to lead a rebellion.
Metatron has been by God’s side for eons. A leader in battle. A loyal and unflinching servant until he finally sees the cruelty in some of his commander’s orders.
When he discovers a lost colony planet, his only thought is to help save its inhabitants from the threat Hell poses. Only, demons aren’t the only thing he must guard against.
His heart becomes involved when a vexing Templar Knight questions everything he’s ever stood for. Francesca isn’t about to let God—or anyone for that matter—dictate how she should live, or who should die. She’s ready to fight in the coming battle, not just against Hell but Heaven too, and the angels must choose a side.
Metatron can only hope humanity is right when it claims love conquers all.
A long time ago, God planted seeds on Earth and they grew to be humanity. This flock was tended and watched over by a choir of angels from their ark. Only, the inhabitants they herded weren’t very obedient. As a matter of fact, they questioned and even killed their shepherds.
Despite this, the surviving choir did their best to maintain order and to convince the flock to obey the commandments given to them by God. Perhaps, had the angels not been overrun by greed and warring forces, they might have remained in control.
Instead, the angels were eradicated by the humans and forgotten by God.
Eons passed and a new choir of angels rediscovered the lost colony, but so has Hell. The forces of darkness and chaos are coming to pillage Earth and will kill billions with their greed.
A good thing Angels aren’t only peacekeepers but fierce warriors full of righteous fury—and an ability to love.READ MORE
Attend me at once.
When God commanded, angels had no choice but to listen, hence why Metatron dropped his training duties and now stood before Elyon, who sat upon his mighty throne. Metatron waited.
A good thing patience happened to be a virtue he possessed in plenty, because Elyon did so enjoy playing games. Especially ones to showcase his power.
Metatron already had an idea of why he’d been called before God. He hadn’t been the most obedient of angels lately. Not that he’d done anything overt. Only visiting an angel being held prisoner in Dante’s Inferno and giving that captive a clue to escape. Not stripping the wings from insubordinates but rather banishing them to planets out of sight of a vengeful deity. But his most insidious crime? Not fawning at Elyon’s feet. He’d never been the type to fall prostate, but what little respect he’d once held for Heaven’s God had long since dissipated.
The deity in question sat ramrod straight on his throne, a frothy moving concoction of clouds that somehow held his weight. As appearances went, Elyon’s changed depending on his mood. Sometimes being that of a young fit male with muscled physique and square jaw. Other times, he chose an older façade, replete with long white beard and flowing robes. Only one thing never changed: the glowing eyes. Angels could sometimes project a soft brilliance with their orbs, but it never lasted long. Elyon, however, because of the power he wielded, could never truly hide amongst his flocks, hence why he had scions to do his bidding.
When Elyon finally deigned to acknowledge Metatron, his blank expression suddenly animating as he returned to his physical form, Metatron braced himself. Elyon could be temperamental and had been known to smite for small slights. Just in case, Metatron stayed ready to fling up a shield if necessary. Could he win in a direct fight with God? Not with the power Elyon commanded, but at the same time, Metatron wielded a sword better than anyone. He might prevail if he was fast enough, but he kept such mutinous thoughts veiled from Elyon. A trick he’d long ago learned to avoid the nosy mind-poking of a paranoid deity.
“You disappoint me, Metatron.” God’s voice, while low, still echoed in the vast chamber. The throne room spanned several stories and had a fluted shape, which Metatron had long suspected amplified Elyon’s metaphysical ability to speak across long distances.
“Apologies, Your Holiness.” He dipped his head in feigned contrition. Metatron had learned how to handle Elyon when he got in a mood. “I will pray for your forgiveness and strive to do better so that I might return to your good grace.”
Elyon snorted. “I see we can add lying to your many faults.”
“Angels can’t lie.” Not entirely false. Most really couldn’t. Their vows to Heaven and, more specifically, Elyon prevented it. But Metatron wasn’t like the others. Blame age and experience for the fact he could do and feel things others couldn’t.
“We both know you’re more than a simple angel.” A disgruntled reply. “You should have long ago moved on from your archangel status if not for your constant need to vex me.”
Metatron held in a grimace at the thought of becoming part of Elyon’s sycophant inner circle. “I have no interest in being anything more than your loyal soldier.”
“You make that claim, and yet you’re undermining my authority.”
“In what way?” Metatron played innocent.
“Removing dissidents before they can be punished.”
“Banishing them, Your Holiness, that you might concentrate on more important things.” Metatron hated needless death. An angel shouldn’t have to die because they chafed at Elyon’s strict rules.
“Always with the quick replies. Do you think I’m blind to your plotting? I know you’re behind it.”
“Behind what?” He truly didn’t know what Elyon spoke of, but imagined it had to do with his growing paranoia that Heaven, and his flocks, conspired to take him down. Metatron had given the rebellion some thought, but never anything more because, without God, Heaven would crumble.
“Do you think me blind and stupid?” God boomed, rising from his chair and growing in stature to become twice Metatron’s size. “Your insubordination will not be tolerated.”
“Will you smite me, then?” Metatron couldn’t contain himself. He’d been taught since the creche to always be honest. And while a lie might keep him alive, he couldn’t hold his tongue. “If I’m defying some of your commands, then perhaps it is because they are at odds with the holy laws you enacted and have your warriors upholding.”
“My laws!” Elyon spat. “Which means I can change them if I wish. And if I give you a command, you are to obey it at once.”
Another angel might have been blubbering on the floor, promising to do better, begging for another chance. Metatron shook his head. “I am not a mindless puppet. I have a conscience guided by my faith, and I won’t do anything to tarnish it.” On this, Metatron wouldn’t back down. To think there used to be a time when he loved and respected God. Would have done anything for him. What happened to Elyon? Or had Metatron simply been too blinded by devotion before to see him as he truly was? A being with too much power who decided he was above his own laws.
“Blasphemer,” hissed Elyon, sitting back down.
“There was a time you valued my words and suggestions. What happened?”
“You have become weak. Influenced most likely by Hell’s insidious taint on the worlds you’ve visited.”
Elyon might have a point. Had Metatron changed? In some respects, yes, but at the same time, at his core, he remained a loyal servant to Heaven, just maybe not God anymore. “I am Heaven’s loyal servant.”
“A nice way of avoiding saying you are obedient to me.” Elyon zeroed in on his choice of words. “Your attitude poses a dilemma.”
“My attitude?” Once more, Metatron couldn’t hold his tongue. “Perhaps the question you should ask instead is, why have you strayed from the holy path? Where is the kind and compassionate God I once served?”
“You understand nothing!” God’s reply came with a tightening of Metatron’s throat, as if an invisible fist held it. “What I do, I do for Heaven.”
Metatron flexed his fists and broke the hold on him, not easily, and he knew very well Elyon could have tightened the grip and snapped his neck had he wanted to. “If you have a plan or a vision, then tell me that I might understand your commands.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else. I would smite you, but that might cause more issues than your death would merit. What am I to do with you?” Elyon drummed his fingers on his throne. “Take your wings?”
The idea horrified. “On what grounds?”
“Because I said so,” Elyon retorted. “But again, that might make you a martyr, and that won’t do. I need you out of sight, fading from people’s minds.” God leaned back on his throne, the clouds shifting to accommodate, and a smile touched his lips. “A mission, far from here, would accomplish that. And lucky for you, I have a cantorii ready for departure.”
“Going to banish me to a colony planet?” Metatron spat. He should have been rejoicing he’d live, but the rude reward for being a loyal warrior stung.
“The current planets are already taken care of. It’s time we expanded. Therefore, you will embark on a journey of exploration. It is time we probe and seed the far-flung reaches of the universe.”
In other words, permanent exile. God’s way of handling a messy situation. He couldn’t kill Metatron, not without just cause. Stripping him of his wings and HALO would also draw notice, as Metatron’s bravery and service to Heaven were well documented.
But this, sending him off on a futile search, far from Heaven… Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. In fact, it could be the perfect solution to get him away from Elyon and finally forge a life for himself, free of the constant wars and conflicts.
The expulsion was how Metatron ended up principality of a cantorii that ventured into a spiral galaxy, where they found the lost colony of Eden.
It was also where he’d most likely die because Hell was on its doorstep.
Sometime before Aziel got caught on camera, Zakai found Atlantis, and Elija destroyed Astaroth’s castle…
The day I met an angel I happened to be drunk. In my defense, I’d had a terrible week. My boss fired me from my receptionist job at a car dealership so he could give my spot to his mistress. My car died on the way home and the tow truck wouldn’t give me a lift, so I had to walk a few miles in the pouring rain only to get to my place—an attic apartment that overlooked a parking lot—and find the ceiling leaking. Not just drips of water, but a torrent that led to my landlord telling me to leave for my own safety.
I barely managed to pack a bag before I got shoved out of my place. With no paycheck coming in and little savings, I couldn’t exactly afford a hotel, and I hated mooching off friends. Not having many alternatives, I turned to the only place I could access and not have to pay: the church basement we used to host our Templar Knights meetings.
Yes, I said Templar Knights, a secretive society whose stated purpose was fighting Hell’s minions, but in reality, it was more an excuse to meet up, have drinks, and chat about how the world sucked and had strayed from God’s path. The weird part about me being a member? I wasn’t very religious. I inherited my spot because of my father and his father before him. A whole line of sons stretching way back and ending in me.
Luckily, being an only daughter led to my dad not being a misogynistic ass. My father fought to have me present at the meetings. Standing against those who tried to keep the Templars a sausage fest.
He taught me how to fight and took me demon hunting from an early age. Turned out I was skilled at it, a good thing since I had to prove myself to the old-school knights who thought women belonged in the kitchen or in bed on their backs, legs spread. It took time and effort, but I finally reached a point in the organization where I demanded and received respect.
My induction was just the start. At the last major Templar event—a convention held in Italy that gathered all 304 knights scattered around the world—I’d been pleased to see how many female members now belonged to the various Templar cells. In an even more astonishing stroke, when my dad died unexpectedly last year from a heart attack, my own sect voted me in to replace him. Me, the nonreligious but willing-to-fight evil chick, now in charge of the group that the world assumed LARPed at being heroes. Little did they know, we did actually fight monsters; we just didn’t advertise it.
Anyhow back to the angel. Given my shit day, I’d chosen to bunk down in the church basement with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s—the only best friend a girl really had until the spins hit. I wasn’t what you’d call the sociable type. Me and other girls? We didn’t get along. I’d always understood guys so much better. Problem being, at one point, guy friends made a move that led to you having to not so gently rebuff them. I hated it when that happened. It spelled an end to hanging out because things always got awkward after the rejection.
Currently, I was taking a break from people because they tired me. Non-Templars didn’t understand the secrets I kept. Templars wouldn’t respect a leader fucking their members. It left me with few choices when it came to friendships. Thankfully Jack, that dear old bottle of soothing warmth, gave me exactly what I needed. Relaxation.
Since I didn’t have a bed, I lay atop the table where I’d spread my blanket and pillow, some of the few things I’d managed to grab before being ushered out. Since the ceiling insisted on spinning, I had my eyes closed, one leg flopped over the side of the table, my toes dangling but not quite reaching the floor to steady me. I really hoped I could avoid puking. I’d forgotten to grab an elastic for my hair.
Bang. Bang. Bang. I was startled at the brisk knock at the side door, situated in the alley and giving direct access into the basement so you could avoid the church overhead. At the Templar meetings, we often joked about our underground meeting room being our version of a lair, hidden and secret. The irony being the church rented it to us thinking we were an anonymous addiction group. They ignored the odd hours we sometimes met. In return, we kept pesky demons out of the belfry and did it so well that the pastor and his many volunteers never saw a thing.
Given this wasn’t a meeting night—I should know, I’m the one who calls them—I ignored the tap. If this were a Templar emergency—AKA demon sighting—they would have used the secret knock or, most likely given we’d gone modern at my urging, texted.
The person in the alley didn’t bang a second time, and I expelled a breath as I opened my eyes. The view proved disconcerting seeing as how I’d left a light on. The covered windows made this place too dark and creepy otherwise. It didn’t help it could have used a renovation starting with the ceiling. I stared at the drop tiles, more dingy gray than white, many of which sported yellow circles of mouse pee.
My half-lidded eyes flew open. I turned my head to see the knob on the door turning. Holy shit. Someone was coming inside.
I was understandably perturbed seeing as how only two other people had a key. Tony, who’d been trying to convince us to switch to Zoom permanently after Covid, seeing as he owned a super nice house in the burbs and hated coming to meetings. And Antonia, who currently vacationed in the Bahamas.
Despite the spinning of my brain, I rolled to my side and shoved my other leg off the table. Unfortunately, my body began to follow. My feet hit, and I crumpled, hitting the floor as the door opened. My hands barely stopped my fall. My nose almost kissed the tile floor. Hair flopped over my cheeks to form a veil, blocking my view. Worst of all, my gun was in my duffel bag on a chair opposite me.
Over the thumping of my heart, I heard a strange rustling and almost a scraping as if something shoved its way through the doorframe. Something big. Like a demon!
Shit. I went to push myself up, only to get the spins and a lurch in my tummy that didn’t bode well. I paused and took a deep breath.
Thump, thump, thump. Steps approached. From a tiny part in my hair, I noted the boots that stopped not far from my face. I hotly blew on a hank of hair—Pfffft—that did nothing to improve my line of sight.
“Are you injured?” asked a deep male voice with a gravelly undertone.
“Nope, just a little bit tipsy,” I slurred as I shoved to my hands and knees, head still hanging. Ugh, why did gravity have to be such a jerk? I managed to get upright but only because a firm grip steadied me enough that I could lift my face and gape for a few reasons.
One, what a pretty man. You know that term “cheekbones sharp enough to cut”? I stared at them framed by the kind of layered hair men usually paid a fortune to achieve. A stern gaze met mine, which matched the thinly pressed lips. But what caused me to blink? The jutting wings at the intruder’s back. Had to be a costume. A good one, too, given I’d have sworn I saw the feathers on them ruffle.
“Who are you?” I managed to ask despite my thick tongue.
“Sounds like a good name for a Transformer. Only, usually, they don’t have wings.” My reply drew his brows together.
“I don’t know what this transformer is that you speak of. I am an archangel here on a mission from God.”
I’m afraid I laughed. “Sure you are, buddy.” Because the thing was, yes, as a Templar Knight, I fought the forces of evil, AKA nuisance demons that popped up every so often, but while my order might be based on religion and, supposedly, we followed the word of God, I actually didn’t really believe in it. I mean, if angels were real, why hadn’t I ever seen any? I’d encountered enough demons to satisfy me they existed, but no burning bushes, no celestial beings, no voices out of nowhere, until now. And given my level of drunkenness, there existed a strong possibility the man cosplaying wasn’t real. Never mind the fact I’d never hallucinated before. There was always a first time.
“You are alone?” he asked, glancing around.
The question managed a cold slap to my drunken fuzz. I stepped away from the guy called Metatron, and my back hit the table, preventing me from moving farther and still too far from my gun. With my tipsy state, what were the chances I could throw myself over the table, grab it from my bag and aim it—without falling over or puking?
Probably not good odds, so I remained still and cautious. Curious too. As some of my senses returned, I noted, despite his claim, the wings at his back weren’t white but a strange teal. So, not an angel. At the same time, he wasn’t like any demon I’d ever seen. He didn’t have horns or any of the disfiguration I’d become used to. Twisted limbs, leathery appearance, and slavering grunts tended to be the norm.
“Listen, I don’t know who you are, or how you got a key, but I know for a fact you shouldn’t be here and need to leave.” Had I been sober, I wouldn’t have been so worried. I’d faced down monsters, gone and cleared out nests when they cropped up, and put myself numerous times in danger with the scars to prove it. But I knew my instincts were off. Hand-to-hand against a guy his size would be tricky if I couldn’t count on my usual speed.
I inched sideways, keeping my eyes on him as I made my way to my bag.
“I came because your door bore the symbol.” To my surprise, he sketched the Templar sign in the air, a cross that then lit up bright red before fading from sight.
Okay, that was kind of cool and more proof I probably dreamed this. “What do you want with the Templars?”
“You know of them?” he countered.
No point in lying given the symbol lightly etched on the top left corner of the door. “Yeah, I know of them.”
“Where can I find their leader?”
“Depends on why you want them.” I cocked my head. “How did you even find this location?” It wasn’t as if we advertised our presence.
“On the door is tiny and barely noticeable. In other words, unless you know where to find it, it’s not something you just come across,” I countered. “So let’s try again. Why did you come to this church in particular?” It was one of dozens in the city, but the only Templar one in the state.
“It wasn’t the symbol on your door that alerted me to your presence but the design on the roof.”
My turn to purse my lips. “What design?”
Once more he did a sketch in the air, the cross somehow having ornate flairs to the ends, the red of it more muted, a burgundy to match the clay tile used on the roof. The symbol faded. “I happened to be flying overhead when I saw it. I’d begun to think the previous choir failed to establish the Templars or that they’d disappeared along with the shepherds.”
“The Templars are still around, but the only shepherds in this world usually tend to sheep.”
“How many knights serve?” he asked.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because this planet is in grave danger.”
A grand declaration. I crossed my arms. “Oh. From what, pray tell?”
Maybe it was because I remained drunk, but I laughed. “Of course it has to be Hell. Nice.” I clapped. “You are good. I mean the wings, the earnest expressions. Who put you up to this? Was it Edward? Or Leopold? Is there a camera taping this?” I glanced around, looking for a hidden lens or person holding up a phone.
“Woman, you are testing my patience. I do not have time for your mockery. Where is the Templar leader? I need to speak with him at once.”
No surprise he’d assume a male was in charge. It soured my mirth. “Listen, pal. Fun’s over. You and your fake-ass wings need to go before I call the cops.” Or shot him. The more the alcoholic buzz wore off, the more my trigger finger itched. If this guy wasn’t cosplaying, then I faced a next-level demon.
He drew himself straighter, which made his already impressive height daunting. His eyes began to glow but not as much as the halo that suddenly circled his head, and when he spoke again, his voice reverberated. “Enough of your blathering, woman. Take me to the Templar leader at once!” His wings extended, and I still couldn’t help myself.
“You can take your demands and shove them, demon.”
He uttered a sound as he reached for me, but I darted away, or meant to. My drunken butt lacked coordination, meaning he managed to grab hold of my arm and swing me back to face him.
He uttered a growly noise I didn’t understand. His halo brightened, and through the still-open door, a light beamed and bathed us in its brilliance.
I blinked, and when I could see again, we weren’t in that church basement anymore. A disjointed sensation hit me hard. My stomach heaved. And by heaved, I mean it decided to evacuate through my mouth.
And that was how I barfed all over my first angel.
Metatron held on to his annoyance lest he smite the human who’d fouled all over him. Frustrating creature that she was, he should have probably left her when she proved so contrary. However, seeing the Templar symbol when flying overhead, the sigil used to identify those doing work for the shepherds guiding the flock, excited him. Perhaps this planet hadn’t forgotten everything if the Templars still existed. They could be of great aid in navigating this strange planet.
Having visited many flocks in his life, he’d never met one that had evolved in such a fashion. Blame the fact they’d lost their shepherds—AKA the ark and angels sent to guide them.
He whirled from the woman who stared around wide-eyed and non-apologetic about the mess she’d made. He stalked a few paces before spreading his arms and commanding the cantorii to cleanse him. It removed the vile fluids and chunks from him but could do nothing for his mood. That remained dark.
To think he’d been banished to this.
“I don’t feel so good,” she slurred.
He whirled to see the human had collapsed on his narrow bed. He didn’t use it often, preferring to perch when he slept. While only slightly wider than his frame, it should have been big enough for the slight female if she’d used it properly, but she lay sprawled at an angle that dangled her head over one edge and legs over another while she snored something terrible.
He pursed his lips. She wasn’t ill, but drunk, which God condemned along with the use of drugs and other debaucheries.
Not that Elyon abstained. Metatron might not have partaken, but he was aware of Elyon’s vices, usually hidden from all but those closest to him. Do as I say, not as I do, what Elyon had once declared when Metatron had dared to question God about his choices.
Metatron poked at the female. “Wake up.”
Snort. Snuffle. The woman didn’t rouse.
He sighed; he didn’t have time for this. He contacted Jesus, God’s scion—and spy. Each cantorii and ark travelled with one, an extension of Elyon himself, a Jesus who had some of God’s powers, enough to keep a mission healthy and impress the flocks on the colonized planets. Most were annoying and pompous with an inflated sense of worth despite being the lowest ranked when on a mission. This Jesus in particular irritated Metatron to the point he’d thought about having him expelled into space.
“What?” Jesus replied via the HALO.
Metatron fought the urge to snap. The constant disrespect grated. Not to mention this particular Jesus Christ’s reputation proceeded him. Angels had a tendency of dying on missions with this one. It led to Metatron taking a few precautions to ensure he didn’t also become a casualty.
“I have a human in need of healing,” Metatron explained.
“Why not just kill it and grab another? There’s billions of them on this filthy planet.” The biggest colony Metatron had ever encountered and the one person he needed sleeping off their overindulgence.
“Now.” His final growled word on the matter.
Jesus chose to not further argue and appeared at the door to his room a short moment after. The male entered, his hair long and unruly, his frame gaunt, unlike the last Jesus Metatron worked with. This one had already adopted the clothing from the surface and could have fit right in with his sulky expression.
“What’s wrong with her?” Jesus groused as he headed for the bed.
Jesus halted and whirled. “That’s not an injury.”
“She is incapacitated, and I need her coherent.”
Jesus huffed. “How will she learn her lesson on over-imbibing if I heal her?”
Metatron simply stared. Long and hard.
Jesus sighed and sulked his way to the woman’s side. He knelt and placed his hands on her. A glow immediately encased them both.
While Jesus worked, Metatron did a check-in via his HALO to see what had happened while he’d been out. The ship eagerly let him sift its surveillance records. There were times he thought he felt a glimmer of emotion. Could it be the cantorii peaked early and would soon be achieving ark sentience status? The floor vibrated under his feet as if the cantorii heard him and replied.
Jesus stated, “It’s done. She should wake any moment.”
Jesus rose and tucked his hands into his pockets as he stared down at the woman. “Who is she?”
“Someone with information.”
Jesus glanced at him. “You know I could have just rifled her memories to find it.”
Rather than shudder in distaste at the offer to dig inside her mind—and leave it scrambled—Metatron dismissed Jesus. “I have the situation in wing. You can return to your previous activity.”
Jesus cast one last glance at the woman before slinking out. Metatron really should do something about God’s scion before anything happened. Jesus might appear benign, but he had too much power—and a cruel streak.
The woman stirred, yawning and stretching, rolling to her back, her clothes filthy. He grimaced as he ordered the ship to cleanse her. It led to the female sitting suddenly upright, eyes wide, wiggling and shaking.
“Eep. What’s that tickle? Stop.” She squirmed as the ship removed all traces of foulness from her skin and clothes. When it finished, and she stopped jiggling, she looked around, taking a moment to notice her surroundings. Craning her head, she passed a glance over him a few times before narrowing her gaze.
“Where am I?”
“You fucking kidnapped me!” she yelled, rising from the bed.
“You refused to give me the information I requested.”
She advanced on him, cheeks bright with fury, matching her sparking gaze. He’d not noticed before the beauty she presented. Now alert, her expression fierce, he couldn’t help but see not only her striking features framed by dark hair but her shapely figure.
“You made a big mistake,” she snarled as she neared enough to swing a fist.
He caught it, slightly surprised. In Elyon’s army, only male angels ever fought. The rare females, wingless and beautiful, remained on Heaven. On Eden, a place the humans had renamed Earth, the two sexes comingled, the females in positions of power usually unheard of in most colonies. Very few ever established matriarchal dominance. None ever showed such parity of position like Earth.
A foot followed the fist and hit him in the ribs. He could have shielded but didn’t. Instead, he blocked her blows, his bracers harder than her little fists.
Soon she blew hotly and glared but, recognizing she wouldn’t prevail, showed intelligence at last and held her hands by her sides.
“Done?” he asked.
“Only until I find something sharp.”
Her threat rolled right off his wingtip. “Now that you are coherent, you will tell me where to find the Templar leader. I need to speak with him at once.”
“Why?” she countered.
“It is a matter of urgency.”
She must be simple-minded, as he’d told her earlier. “Hell is coming.”
“Some would say it’s already here.” She moved from him and went to inspect the walls, running her hands over them.
“Not yet, but it’s approaching. I fear this planet has little time.”
“Little time for what?”
“To attempt evacuation and mount a defense.”
She paused and half turned. “A defense against an attack? From whom? And don’t say Hell again. I want an actual country or organization.”
“I am tired of explaining to you, woman. I need the Templar leader. He’ll understand what I’m speaking of.”
“Oh really?” she drawled. “Is that because he’s a man?”
“Because he will be versed in the Templar role as protectors against Hell.”
“They don’t need you to tell them how to do their job. Templars have already been protecting the world for thousands of years. Without them, we’d live in a much more demon-infested place.”
“Minor skirmishes compared to what is coming. If Hell makes it to your planet, they will strip it of everything and kill almost everyone.”
“You really should get some ominous music to go with that threat.” She tapped the wall, walked a few paces, tapped again.
“I am very much regretting having you healed,” he grumbled. Maybe she required a little suffering to humble her haughty attitude.
“Oh, so now you perform miracles too?” she taunted.
“I wasn’t the one to heal you. That would be Jesus.”
“Of course,” she snorted. “Who else would be hanging around a supposed angel?”
“I’m not a supposed anything. I am an archangel in Elyon’s army of light.”
“And I’m the queen of Candy Land. What are you really? Demon? Something else?”
“How can you not believe I’m an angel?” It baffled him.
“Your wings are blue.”
“Angel's wings are white, duh.” She rolled her eyes. “And you’re like wearing dark clothing, very much not soldier of light.”
“The white uniform is only for ceremonial events, and I don’t understand what my appearance has to do with me being an archangel.”
“Oh stop it already. Angels aren’t real,” she blurted out.
“You are standing in front of one,” his dry reply.
“All right then, prove it.” A request he’d never before encountered. It left him at a loss.
“Let me meet God.”
“God’s on Heaven.”
“Duh. Take me there to meet him and I’ll believe you’re an angel.”
“Heaven’s not close enough for us to beam.”
“Is that some weird way of saying I’m too alive to visit? Because if so, that’s a good thing. I kind of worried I was dead seeing as how this room doesn’t have a door, or windows for that matter.”
“Are you always this contrary?” he countered.
“I should have known you’d be the type who can’t stand a woman who can speak her mind.”
“I’d like it better if you spoke of the Templar leader’s location.”
“Right in front of you.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? How is that an address?”
“No address needed because you’re talking to her. Yes, a dumb woman is the one in charge of your precious Templars.”
“You?” He stared at her in shock.
He shook his head in disbelief. “If you’re what the Templars have to offer, then I fear your world is doomed.”COLLAPSE