Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Across the barren desert now known as the ocean sand pits, where no mortal feet have stepped since the firestorms, an ominous structure stands in the middle and from its aesthetic features, it seemed out of place. The massive walls surrounding it was covered with ancient sigils that no human alive could decipher because it was from a language that hadn’t been spoken on Earth. Each individual sigil had an iridescent shimmer, like they were a part of the walls but not of this dimension. There were tendrils of vines made of gold and silver embedded in the walls which was erected from pure, uncut marble.
The main court yard as well as the palace were made of gold and didn’t have a speck of dust anywhere. People walked around here and there, but most of them were either training to fight with weapons or going to services to hear the sermons and teachings of Jesus. His message was simple and clear: All who worship Him are granted immortality so they can fight to cleanse the world of those He has deemed unworthy, full of sin, and wicked. Once the sinners who followed the ways of Lucifer were punished and purged from the Earth, then the whole world could be theirs as a reward for worshipping and giving their lives over to Him.
Jesus walked among his disciples, observing each one with a sense of pride swelling inside his chest. Both the men and women were fiercely training with swords and shields while another group was mastering the power to control their fallen warrior brothers and sisters, the ghouls. Each person was different in some way when it came to commanding the dead, either through verbal commands or in some cases telepathy. As with any kind of training and conditioning, the ghouls always needed a target so every day, a child was brought out of the palace’s dungeon and used as training fodder.
The children were reaped along with their parents during the days of the firestorm and it was proclaimed by Jesus that all children were to be removed from their shackles by their parents and be a part of what He called the fallen warriors of the Light training sessions as a way of showing true devotion to the Christ. Once a day, the children that weren’t sacrificed to the ghouls were forced to clean every inch of the palace and the main court yard. Today the sun shined brightly in the sky, despite the dark ominous clouds on the horizon. When any of the disciples noticed Jesus walking amongst them, they would fight harder and got more deadly with their strikes and blows.
Jesus smiled brightly and waved at everyone he saw, sucking up all of his warrior’s passionate love and devotion for Him. Overseeing His warriors was two of his personal angels and enforcing what laws and decrees Jesus proclaimed for His people. Both angels gave a respectful nod and bow as Jesus walked up to them.
“How are my sheep faring on this day, Xaphan?” Jesus asked.
“Same as every training goes,” Xaphan replied, his voice was melodious and gruff, “they fight and stab each other.” Xaphan was a large angel, who wore only gold plated boots and dark fur shorts that were made from a yak and had a massive sword strapped to his back, between his translucent tendril wings. He had thick, long flaming red hair and a muscular broad chest as big enough to obscure two people and his skin had a dark bronze tan and had Angelic symbol tattooed on various parts of his massive body. Xaphan gripped a staff in his beefy hand that was nearly as tall as he was and had angelic sigils and runes etched into it that would pulsate and glow.
“There are a few who do standout, but it’s your call as always as to whom you wish to promote for field work.” The other angel added as an afterthought, his voice sounding more like a sickly rasp. His body and attire when compared to Xaphan was a complete contrast. The angel was wearing several layers of tattered robes and fabrics while having a sickly green/brown cloak on his back. He was bald but had a dark complexion, like he was from the Middle East or some desert region and the boots he wore had the same sickly green/brown color. The angel was far from the picture of perfect health and looked emaciated and none could figure how he could have the strength to walk around, let alone help train the humans.
“Good to hear, Wormwood. I believe we will need someone to step in and fill the void that has opened up.”
Wormwood eyes glowed as he gazed at Jesus, “I see. Are you well, old friend? You appear to have lost some of your…vitality.”
Jesus glared as he growled, “I’m fine Wormwood! Don’t you dare question my health or I will tear your nasty wings from your back and feed them to you!”
Wormwood chuckled, “My apologies…”Jesus”. You may put on a brave front for everyone but know that I can see weakness in anyone’s body…including yours. You know it’s what I do. They don’t refer to me as the one who brings pestilence…speaking of which, may I spread some over the warriors? It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve used my powers.”
“Why would you do this?” Xaphan asked with disgust, “You could kill them!”
“Nonsense,” Wormwood replied with amusement, “When has an immortal ever died from poisoning? It would only make them sick for a few days and sweet little Purah would enjoy the sorrow it would cause.”
Jesus rubbed his beard, “No! This is a holy place I won’t have you defiling it with your putrid sickness! Speaking of Purah, have either of you seen her today?”
Both Xaphan and Wormwood looked at each other nervously before Xaphan spoke, “No she wasn’t in her room or anywhere on the grounds.”
“Purah is a big girl and we aren’t her keeper. You knew the risk of bringing her into the fold.” Wormwood pointed at Jesus with a knowing look.
Jesus pushed pass the two angels, wanting to head back into his personal study. From behind him, Jesus heard Wormwood call out, “Oh by the way, Penemuel is waiting for you in your personal chamber. Maybe you can send him to find our wayward Purah. Give him something important to do instead of writing.” Jesus turned around and got in Wormwood’s sickly face, “We all had our parts to play in this world on which we live in. Xaphan cleansed the planet with his hell fire storm; you brought about death with your plagues and pestilence on the land. Purah gathered our warriors and raised the dead too while Penemuel wrote how this whole scenario of the end of days would play out and you both know my role and never forget it! I could easily cast you out and destroy you with just a mere thought so know that you’re treading on thin ice Wormwood!”
“That may be the case…”Jesus”. You may have the power but you can still be kill like the rest of us can and my sickness will affect you as it has in the past. Know this, brother.” Wormwood replied as he jutted out his gaunt chin in defiance. Jesus backed away from the two angels with rage in his eyes. He turned and stormed off towards his study. Xaphan grabbed Wormwood’s arm and growled under his breath so none of the other warriors could hear, “Why did you have to do that? He could kill you with all the power he has at his command now.”
“He has an ego that has grown ever since the days of old, when the end of days plan was concocted. Our brother needs to be reminded that he’s still one of us, despite his powers he has garnered over the years.”
Jesus fumed as he moved through the palace halls, wanting nothing more than to destroy Wormwood for his defiant attitude but that would make things more difficult and He would have to tend to the humans more than He would like but it may be worth the headache. He wondered what Penemuel wanted now. He wasn’t feeling well today as he felt not only the loss of a lot of His fallen warriors but also the elite master warrior he sent out. The loss of power hit His body hard and hurt worse than being stabbed by a thousand swords.
Jesus turned left and walked up a long flight of stairs. Once He got to the top, Jesus waved his hand and opened two huge double doors that lead him down a narrow corridor that had multiple printing of His visage or full body portraits. Each painting came from different time periods and each one had the same thing in common: They depicted Jesus as having perfect, porcelain skin and ageless youth. As He neared his study, one of the two guards stationed by the door opened it up for Him. Jesus smiled and said, “Thank you, you may go but do return in an hour. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yes my Lord!” Both of the guards replied with a look of awe and jubilation from being in the presence of Jesus. Jesus waved to dismiss the guards as he entered his study, but noticed that they watched Him go in. He slammed the door shut and waited by the door to make sure the men left. Jesus’ personal chamber was an expansive room with iron candle scones that helped to light up the room. The floor was covered with several large ornate rugs that were covered in angelic sigils. The walls also had paintings that depicted His crucifixion, His resurrection, several images of the end of days, and one where Jesus and his disciples sitting at a long table, feasting on food and wine while the floor beneath their feet was cut out to reveal it was supported by the slain bodies of the last sinners of the world. From across the room, a voice called out, “In the name of the Creator, must you look like that ALL the time, Sorath?”
“You know I must, Penemuel.” Jesus said as his body shimmered and shifted its form into an angel. “Remember, you penned this elaborate ruse for the humans and I must keep up appearances.” Sorath stood tall at six and a half feet tall and his body was now covered in a crimson armor with a massive sword strapped to his back. The fallen angel had perfect, porcelain skin and an air of regal nobility. Sorath had thick, long black hair and eyes to match his armor. He flexed his wings to their full span, glowing with his celestial energy and lighting up the room.
“Yes but you look better like this, brother.”
“Get to the point already, what do you want?” Sorath growled.
“I was curious to know if you felt a shift of power today…like a disturbance from somewhere?”
“No,” Sorath answered but added, “I only felt the loss of a lot of the undead as well as one of their handlers.”
Penemuel steeple his fingers underneath his soft chin, looking at Sorath with deep contemplation. Sorath walked towards Penemuel and sat down next to him in his wingback chair. He didn’t like it when Penemuel was like this because it usually meant he was plotting something.
“Speak your mind Penemuel, I can see the wheels of thought are spinning as if you are writing another grand story.”
Penemuel smiled a toothy grin and stood up to pace around the room, an old habit he had for whenever he was in the mist of writing. As he looked down at the floor, Penemuel asked, “Did this loss occur an hour ago?”
Sorath thought for a moment, “Yes it did but what does it matter?”
“Hmmm, that would be roughly about the time I felt the disturbance and as you know there is no such thing as coincidences in the universe.”
“You believe there’s a connection to the two? Someone or something caused it?” Penemuel watched Penemuel with suspicion.
“The force that was unleashed today was as powerful enough to be considered a volcanic eruption but now that you say that some of our -”
“MY flock, you mean.”
“Of course,” Penemuel replied as he rolled his eyes, “some of your flock did perished, that would rule it out.”
“Because why would my flock be near a volcano in the first place? No one would be able to inhabit that kind of location for long now that the world’s environment has changed.”
“Precisely!” Penemuel shouted as he pointed at Sorath, “I suggest we dispatch a scout to check out the area where the disturbance occurred.”
“Why didn’t you go out there yourself…” Sorath narrowed his eye, “or have you already done that and know exactly who the murderer of my flock is.”
Penemuel stopped in the middle of the room and shot Sorath a surprised look but as he saw that Sorath was starting to grow angry, he replied, “Of course I did check on it myself but I had to confirm what I found was somehow link to you by asking if you felt anything.” Sorath’s anger didn’t fade but it was festering. When he felt the loss of his flock, whether it be the living or the fallen warriors, it was like pieces of energy were being violently ripped from his body. The pain never seemed to ebb and Sorath was constantly on edge. He used his disguise as Jesus to help mask his emotions but lately that hadn’t been working.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you for toying with me?” Sorath scowled.
“After seeing the site of the slaughter of your warriors, you may need my aid in taking this being down.”
Sorath raised one eyebrow and some of his anger seemed to ebb slightly. He eyed Penemuel closely, trying to read him in case he was lying. Penemuel clasped his hands behind his back and had a serious look on his face and said, “Who or whatever it was, it beheaded the elite master warrior named Sully and then vaporized a larger cluster of the fallen warriors.” Sorath shot up out of his chair.
“What? Vaporized?” Sorath grabbed Penemuel by his arm, “How is that possible? There’s none on this pitiful world that possess that kind of power. Are you certain of this?”
“As far as I can tell, but to be one hundred percent certain, I will require Purah’s assistance.”
“She’s not here.” Sorath said as he let go of Penemuel’s arm and walk over and opened the two door windows that lead out to the balcony. He walked outside and leaned against the gold railing with arms crossed. Sorath never feared anyone seeing him out here in his true form because he had a magical ward placed here to give the illusion that he was still “Jesus”. Sorath was a strong and powerful fallen angel but with his disciples worshipping him, he felt invincible but with Purah unaccounted for made him uneasy. Sorath felt pity for the petite fallen angel and had a soft spot for her due to her memory issues. As broken as she was from her fall from grace, Purah was a powerful female in her own right but in the wrong company, she could unravel everything Sorath and the other fallen angels had worked so hard to build.
“Not here?” Penemuel asked as he stepped out onto the balcony beside Sorath, “You mean, she’s off her leash and wandering the world? Pity, I was hoping she could help me figure out who destroyed her creation.”
“You must go and find her at once, Penemuel.”
Penemuel sneered - “Why me? Wormwood or Xaphan could easily do this so I’m guessing they’ve graciously declined babysitting duties for the day.”
Sorath turned and grabbed Penemuel by his neck. Sorath kicked his feet out from under him and then he slammed Penemuel down on the balcony floor. Penemuel struggled to get free but Sorath used his knee to pin one of his legs down while restraining Penemuel’s left arm. Sorath leaned close, his crimson eyes blazing brightly with his fury and coldly growled, “You will either find Purah now or I shall rip your wings off, break your arms and leg and then I will take flight with you and drop you to the Earth from the stratosphere. So choose wisely, brother.”
Penemuel choked and had difficultly gasping for air as Sorath squeezed tighter. Sorath yanked him up slightly by his neck and started hammering Penemuel’s head into floor. Penemuel could feel warm liquid running down his neck as he saw black spots. Sorath let go of Penemuel’s throat and then he flipped him onto his stomach. As he grabbed Penemuel by his tendril wings, Penemuel croaked out, “Stop! Don’t…do this! I will…find…her…for you…brother…”
“Maybe I should so at least one of you will know the pain I’m in right now!”
“But…it would take…me forever…to find her…without my wings.”
“True,” Sorath replied as he shredded the inner tendrils of Penemuel’s wings, “but I believe you need this to remind you of what your task is as you fly during your search for Purah.” Penemuel screamed as he felt the energy from his wings suddenly extinguish out like someone blowing out a candle. He would be able to fly but it would take a lot more effort to keep him in the air and with each stroke from his wings would be accompanied with pain.
Sorath stood up and walked back over to the balcony rail and slowly felt all the tension and anger fade away. Hmmm, maybe I would be better off without any of them, he mused. Sorath looked down at Penemuel as he groaned while lifting himself up. He winced each time he flexed his wings as he glared at Sorath.
“Leave now and don’t return without Purah.”
Penemuel sneered – “With pleasure, my brother! One day, my blade will be your downfall, know this if you get it in your head to kill me.”
“If you fail this task,” Sorath called out as Penemuel clumsily flew up, “I won’t be so generous and I will follow through with my earlier threat.” As Penemuel flew away from the golden palace, Sorath kept on dwelling on how his fallen brothers have been behaving lately. First Wormwood was challenging and defying him and now Penemuel was hiding information from him, which meant he was plotting something. Xaphan appeared to be aligning with him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t help the others stage a coup. The only one Sorath felt he could trust was Purah because even if they tried to have her conspire against him, she would forget the whole thing and be useless to them.
Sorath now wondered if that was why Purah was missing. Did they kill her or did she set out on a quest for them, knowing she would forget and lose her way. That would explain why Xaphan and Wormwood flinched when he inquired about her. I am more powerful with all of my blind immortal followers praying and giving me tribute daily. I’m a God, Sorath thought, and my fallen brothers are jealous of me and wish to take my thorny crown.
A loud knocking on his door snapped Sorath back into reality. He knew it was one of the fallen angels because all the humans had a timid knock, like they were afraid to disturb him. How could his immortal warriors be so vicious and brutal and yet not have the courage to face him in his own study? Even if it was one of his warriors, Sorath’s enchantment covered the study as well so he wouldn’t be seen in his true form unexpectedly. Sorath called out from over his shoulder, “You may enter.”
As the door opened, Sorath could sense that it was one of his fallen brothers but didn’t bother looking to see which one it was. He knew it wasn’t Purah because she had a habit of entering without knocking and her response was that she was exploring. She was the one bright light in this world that Sorath actually cared about above all else which is why he wanted her found.
“Penemuel is on his way to find our wayward sister?” Xaphan asked as he approached the balcony.
“Yes he is…” Sorath trailed off as his thoughts brought him back to his earlier musing. As Xaphan stepped out on the balcony, he noticed the fading energy tendrils at his feet and aptly kicked them aside and out of the way.
“Must you do that to our brother?” Xaphan asked as he leaned his back against the railing, “It will make it more difficult to find Purah for him, especially since it’s been eons since he’s been injured like that. He isn’t a fighter like the rest of us.”
Sorath glanced at Xaphan but didn’t say a word to him, just kept staring down at the courtyard. Maybe it’s time to cut all ties with my fallen brothers, he thought. Sorath knew that both Xaphan and Wormwood had a psychic connection stemming back to the days when they created the apocalypse so that they could coordinate their assault so if he attacked Xaphan now, he would call out to Wormwood for aid. They could be trusted to do that much but Sorath felt that was as far as it went. They did their jobs and served their purpose and now their services were no longer required. As for Penemuel, he chuckled to himself, he will die too for there were no more stories to be written and he was useless in a fight, as Xaphan just confirmed. If he dies, then I may go unchecked and not feel his idle threats to his powers any more. Sorath ignored Xaphan as he turned around to look blankly into his study with his hands cupping the back of his neck.
“Are you alright, brother?” Xaphan asked as he reached over and touched Sorath’s elbow. As swift as lightning, Sorath snatched Xaphan’s arm and unsheathed his sword and slashed down his back, removing his sword and severing his wings. Xaphan howled in pain as he dropped to his knees, trying to reach around for his sword. Sorath hoisted Xaphan by his arm and flung him into the study. He crashed into the far wall with a bone shattering thud, leaving him dazed, his staff rolled out of his hand and out of reach. Sorath took to the air and flew head on at Xaphan. As he closed the gap between them, Sorath could sense Xaphan calling out to Wormwood and it made him smile like a madman.
Sorath took Xaphan by his neck and lifted him up off the floor like he weighed next to nothing. As he gasped and wiggled his body to get free of Sorath’s vise grip, he choked out, “W-Why…Why this…betrayal?”
“You are of no use to me.” Sorath answered as he plunged his sword into Xaphan’s heart. He gasped as blood bubbled out of his mouth. Sorath removed his sword and let go of Xaphan, letting him drop to his knees. He raised his sword high and added, “Rest well my brother.” Sorath brought his sword down and cleaved off Xaphan’s head just as his study door was flung open by Wormwood. He watched as Xaphan’s massive body turned into ash as it burned away by an unseen fire.
“Looks like the would-be king of Mankind has decided not to share in his spoils after all?” Wormwood spat on the floor, “Unlike poor Xaphan, I won’t be so easily dispatched.”
Sorath eyed Wormwood intently as he twirled his sword around. Wormwood slowly walked around the room, circling Sorath never taking his sickly green eyes off Sorath. From behind his back, Wormwood pulled out a weathered double-edged axe, its edges was covered with sickly green ooze that emanating from it. Sorath charged at Wormwood at full speed, bringing his massive sword down hard aiming for his head but Wormwood was able to fend off each blow that he swung.
“You are good Wormwood, but you will not be leaving from here alive.”
Wormwood chuckled – “Stop boasting and let’s see if you have what it takes to make that fantasy a reality.”
Wormwood swung his axe at Sorath and as it missed, the sickly green ooze flung off the blade and splattered on Sorath’s cheek. Searing pain coursed from Sorath’s cheek as it ate away at his flawless skin like a putrid acid. Through bleary eyes, Sorath could see Wormwood, grinning those rotting teeth of his as he stalked closer.
“I see you plan on using your disgusting fluids on me, brother.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Wormwood snarled as he swung his axe, sending more of the sickly green ooze at Sorath, “I’m fairly certain you didn’t give poor Xaphan much of a fighting chance! You will suffer before you die!”
“Now who’s the one boasting?” Sorath taunted as he shielded his face with his armored forearm, “I’m still waiting for you to make good on your threat but you have yet to make contact. I believe you’re scared.”
“Nonsense, it is you who fears me, dear brother.” Wormwood cleaved his axe with a bone-jarring strike that made Sorath drop his sword. Wormwood seized the opportunity and reached out and grabbed Sorath and held him tightly. He dug his boney fingers under Sorath’s armor and released his plague pollen directly on his skin.
“Feel the burn, brother!” Wormwood mocked as he struggled to get free, “Now you will suffer!”
Sorath grimaced and then let out a blood curdling scream as the plague pollen ate away at his skin. Wormwood placed his hands on each side of Sorath’s face and smeared more of the pollen over every inch of uncovered skin. Flesh and muscles melted away like ice under hot water. Sorath dropped down to the ground clenching his body as there was nothing he could do to stop the burn. Wormwood watched with joy as the other fallen angel reeling in agony on the floor. He grabbed his axe up off the floor and let it lean against his shoulder as he casually strolled over to Sorath.
“As I said earlier, my sickness does still affect you and your suffering shall be tenfold before I let you die.”
Wormwood brought his leg back and started kicking Sorath in the chest and abdomen. Even though he wore his armor, each kick felt like he was naked and having most of his body eaten away made the metal seem like salt on a wound, only worse. Pink liquid seeped from Sorath’s armor, pooling on the floor beneath him and it made it difficult for his get up, let alone sit up on his own. Wormwood sent another kick under Sorath’s chin and it sent him skidding towards his favorite chair.
“Is it time, brother?” Wormwood mocked as he closed in, “Shall I grant you mercy?”
Sorath pulled himself up using the chair, despite his body screaming out not to stand. He turned to face Wormwood and saw he held his axe in both hand, ready to give his death blow. Sorath nodded his head slowly and then he slightly bent forward so Wormwood could get a clean cut.
“As you wish, Sorath.” Wormwood moved himself into position, “Any last words, that is if you can still speak?”
Sorath put his arms out to help balance his unsteady body and then he saw Xaphan’s staff five feet away from him. He silently willed for it to come to him as he croaked out, “Make…your…blow…now…or you…may die…”
“Die? I think my pollen has eaten away at your brain.” Wormwood chuckled, “If that’s the case, then I have no choice but to grant you mercy.”
As the axe came down, Sorath had Xaphan’s staff in his hands so he turned and blocked Wormwood’s killing blow. Wormwood had an astonished look on his gaunt face and Sorath used this small distraction to push the axe away and then he aim the tip of the staff at Wormwood’s chest and cast a fireball at him. The blast sent Wormwood tumbling across the room where he landed hard on the floor.
When Wormwood rolled over, he was clutching his chest and saw a sight he never seen before or thought could be possible. Sorath was standing before him wielding not only Xaphan’s staff but his axe as well, plus he was glowing brightly, his skin was regenerating rapidly. Sorath’s crimson eyes were blazing with power and he was hovering slightly off the floor without the aid of his wings. Wormwood felt the need to flee but he couldn’t stand nor could he move at all, even his wings didn’t respond. It was like he was paralyzed and he felt it had to be Sorath doing this to him.
“That’s not possible!” Wormwood squeaked out in terror, “None of us can wield another angel’s primary weapon let alone use them! How are you regenerating so damn quickly?”
Sorath point the staff at Wormwood again and he would have braced himself for another impact, except he was still paralyzed. He noticed that his body lifted itself off the floor and was now levitating and now he knew his time was up because Sorath had complete control over his body. Sorath floated methodically over to him, reveling in his newfound powers and abilities. Once he got within arm’s reach, Sorath stopped and glared at Wormwood with distain, like he was gazing at a human.
“All this is possible because I’m no longer a fallen angel like you or Xaphan, I’m better and stronger. With the prayers and tribute I get from my immortal followers, I am more like a god and now I shall grant you the mercy you wanted to grant me.”
With one swift stroke, Sorath cut off Wormwood’s head with his own axe. He let the head stay frozen with the body as the unseen flame consumed it, turning Wormwood into a sickly green ash. Sorath lowered the staff and let Wormwood’s remains fall to the floor. Sorath lowered himself back down to the floor. This was the first time he had ever tapped into this energy and it made him feel invincible. Wormwood was right; he shouldn’t have been able to regenerate so fast after having the plague pollen covering most of his body. To look at Sorath, you would never know that just five minutes ago, he had no skin on his face and nearly no muscle either.
He walked over to where most of his skin/blood mixture had pooled on the floor and he pointed Xaphan’s staff at it. The tip glowed with energy as he focused on the bloody mess and made it turn into ash. Sorath smiled as he walked back to his balcony to gaze down at his devoted warriors. The rushing patter of footsteps alerted him that his guards were returning to their post but when they saw the door was wide open, they rushed inside. They looked frantic at first, but then they saw Sorath in the guise of Jesus and dropped down onto their knees.
“My Lord, are you all right? This place looks like a fight happened in here! Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, as you can see, but I do need some servants to come in here and tidy up this room for me. Can one of you arrange that for me?” “Jesus” asked with a loving smile.
“Of course, right away my Lord!” shouted one of the guards as he got up and ran for the door.
“Jesus” motioned for the other guard to rise and to resume his position as He walked out the door. It was time to appoint a new leader to take Sully’s place and also figure out who killed him and vaporized his fallen warriors. He also wondered why he didn’t interrogate the two fallen angels to find out if they had something to do with Purah’s absence. “Jesus” half shrugged as he opened the double door to go down stairs. She will show up soon enough even if Penemuel doesn’t find her. But if any have harmed her in any way, “Jesus” would make their death more painful and excruciating then what Wormwood and Xaphan went through.