A Dying God (Book 2)

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Isis-Forgiveness

Isis

I sit in the vacant office of the Supreme Chancellor of Heaven, waiting for his humble return. My fingers play with the plumpness of my lips mindlessly. Fulton, Metatron’s newborn of an assistant, allowed me to hide away in this secluded place. Anywhere else and I would be constantly pestered. I couldn’t handle any further chatter on yesterday’s debacle. I’ve heard enough already getting here. Outrage spread faster than I could flee.

My gaze darts around Metatron’s rundown private nook. One would think that a place such as this would be glittering with elaborate and flamboyant extravagance but they would be greatly mistaken. Metatron has no need for such flashiness. He has an old rickety desk that barely withstands the amount of paper that encompasses the layer of the wooden counter. A ginormous oak cabinet to the left that has seven tiers stands lopsided. I would be too timid to reach into their shelves. One touch and the whole thing would cave in on itself.

The most he has of any descriptive quality are pictures. There are three remaining where there had been six at one time.

The main picture, hangs behind his desk, perfectly centered with his chair. It is a portrait of the first twenty Angels to arrive in Heaven. It was painted eleven thousand years ago and kept well protected since. Time does not age many things here. Without Mother Nature and her destructive powers and without humans and their carelessness, there is nothing to harm precious artifacts like this treasurable painting.

I used to know their names. As a Newborn, we are schooled in the ways of old. Heaven Hierarchy is a particularly boring course to any creature that desires fun and mayhem. The only two I can recall, is Metatron himself and his twin brother Sandalphon. I cannot tell them apart in this painting, they wear the same thin garment over their hips and identical grins, radiating happiness. It’s stimulating to see these two physically abused creatures, malnourished with their ribs poking through their twelve year old bodies, and yet so content with their lives.

The story of these two brothers is a harsh and brutal one. It begins the reign of Heaven and is the reason we parted ourselves from the human race. I wonder if Metatron knew when it was happening that he’d be an influential part on the entire race of humanity and the Undead.

I look upon the line of Angels. It’s disheartening knowing Metatron is the only one to survive. Why does he wish to remember them? I would have preferred to forget. There are hundreds of memories I would rather not recall ever again.

Yesterday was one of them.

Shame riddles in my stomach. Screams of terror echo in my ear and the distorted sounds of twisting metal reverberate as a building collapses. I walked away from the military base, as if it was inconsequential. I put the lives of so many at risk all because my ego had been bruised. What will I say to them when I return? How will they treat me?

I force bad thoughts to alter onto the other picture on the right. It depicts the original seven Arch members. Uriel, the eldest of them stands poised and rigid at its center. Positioned around him are his six brothers and sisters, portraying Uriel’s signifying mark as the Angel of Unity. Jophiel, who has since left the Arch reign, stands as his second. He joined the Seraphim, becoming a Prince in the Sixth level and I haven’t laid eyes on him again. His beauty was beyond any painting measurement and this fails to capture him. Zadkiel, still within the family today keeps her name as the Angel of Loss. She sits before Uriel, a motherly expression full of care and adoration on the splendor of her face. Sariel, the Angel of Law and the Supreme Judge of the Merci causes the curl of my lip when I catch sight of his audacious smirk on his fat jaw line. No doubt, he will have something to say about my tantrum. He will want a favor, I’m sure.

Remeil and Raphael, the Angels of Hope and Health are of two opposites. Where Remeil is short, Raphael is tall, where the other is handsome in face and personality, the other has neither looks nor character. Remeil and I have shared no past as I have with Uriel or Jophiel but that is only because he is wise to stay away. He is married and very faithful to his doting wife. Raphael, I would never approach least I damage my good name.

Lastly but certainly not least is Barachiel. As Jophiel left the family, so has he but where Jophiel’s decision was made with the Arch members’ awareness and with their full support, Barachiel left suddenly and heedlessly, abandoning them and all of his responsibilities.

Footsteps approach and my mind reverts.

What am I going to say about my actions? I’ve been sitting here and avoiding the situation. Now it’s upon me and I’ve got nothing upon my lips. My heart races. Shame is thick. If Metatron belittles me I shall not be able to step foot upon the Earth’s floor again.

The door swings wide and Metatron struts in with Fulton upon his heel. His hair, greying, mixing with a tint of brown, sways with his step. He wears a white suit, outlined in gold, a powerful and dignified outfit that dispels his age. He is a masterpiece and I am unworthy of his attention. I stand only to bow to my knee.

“No, Isis. Come now.” He helps me to my feet and wraps his arms around me. I would never allow anyone to treat me as a child. No one but him or God. Stiff and unresponsive I lean, grateful for such a touch. How did he know I needed this?

“You burden yourself with all the woes of Earth. I can only expect your pain to bleed through every so often.” He kisses my cheek and smiles gently. “No one was seriously wounded. It is a blessing.” He directs me to sit before taking his own chair behind the desk. “Fallen broke in, I hear.” I nod absently. “There must be a way to fortify your grounds. If they did it once, they will do it again, if only to play with you. Were they supporters of Lucius?”

How can I reveal that the blame is mine? I am searching for a girl that might or might not save God who does not want to be saved and I brought them to my secured location, allowing them into my base. It was my fault.

I shake my head.

“Dane tells me I am ignorant of the world. I am learning unfortunately. I assume they were after your Soul then?”

Clenching my teeth, unwilling to admit to anything, I nod.

He leans back in his chair, saddened. “That’s a shame. In this time of darkness, we must protect ourselves.” He thinks upon it, “You are powerful. I went to the base and saw your destruction.” He chuckles as if it is a delightful thought. “They upset you greatly it seemed.”

I stare at him for a moment blankly before a smile spreads upon my lips. Giggles thus produce and I hide them behind a hand. His laughter only escalates.

He talks mindlessly for a half an hour and I listen. I know he’s doing it to ease my worries. It’s successful. Metatron’s stresses are far worse than my own.

Metatron is waking the Prophets. It is proving to be a struggle to ensure their safety. He employed Heinrich Von Wagner, a Hikmah Angel, to keep after them. It was an odd choice. The Ruling, the Gloria Patri, nor any of the Angel clans, such as mine, came into his thought process. He instead went with an individual person to secure six human saviors.

Heinrich is not included in Angel society. He’s broken the largest law there is in our world and has only gotten away with it because Metatron allows him. Heinrich lives and owns the same property as his ancestors. He ages as a normal human, living and dying, passing on his will to a made up son, and thus taking on that life in the next generation. He is on paper Heinrich Von Wagner the 23rd, despite being Heinrich Von Wagner the first. He has a generous inheritance that matches my own and more connections than I. He is seven thousand years old and a collector of fine art. I believe he has something stored away in his cellar that keeps the Ruling from dismantling his home. There have been several robbery attempts, all pitiable failures.

Then there is the ever present Lucius.

His army keeps in the Third Level of Sheol simply sitting there. Lucius gathered a mass of unrefined, temperamental Demons, devils, Pishachas, Wekufe, and Alu and is currently making them wait. How long can that continue? How many hours will the Four Princes hold out until they get tired of Lucius’ delay?

“This is good then.” I interrupt. “The armies just might turn on him.”

Metatron wonders for a moment. “You take away a docile beast and you replace him with a rabid one.” He shakes his head. “No good can come of this. Lucius delays because he questions his own motive. If I could speak to him--”

“You still think so purely. He sets out to destroy the world and you still find him lovable.”

“Are you and I so different, Isis?” He smiles warmly.

Though I know he means no harm, I reply with bitterness, “My love for Dion is forced by the fact that he is my Soul Mate. But I do not lie to myself, pretending he is innocent when I know he is not. Lucius is not innocent, Metatron. He built an army so large they will annihilate us in one hit.” My eyes widen at my words. “That’s it.” I whisper. “That’s why he waits.”

Metatron’s thick eyebrows crease.

I lean up. “His army is too massive. To bring such a fleet to Earth will require sacrifice.”

His blue eyes sparkle in understanding, “Is this what the Vetalas are after? There have been many reports of their presence.”

It’s the girl. Lucius is after the girl. If he knows, who else does?

I hasten to my feet, “Do not worry, Metatron. I will seek out his key and conceal it.”

“Whatever you need, Fulton will procure it. I plan to remain on Earth from now on. If the Darkness gets ahold of the Prophets, the results will be tragic.”

“And if they get ahold of you?”

He chuckles, “Poor things.”


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