Page 1 of Metatron

Prologue

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.

And 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?”

---