Page 11 of Metatron

With that, he left, and I might have lost my shot, only the room suddenly turned into a giant video. It showed me a massive shape coming into view of a planet, the underside of it a series of fluted holes. From them emerged demons. Hundreds of them, but not the ugly ones seen on Earth. Men and women, muscled and clad in armor, bearing swords as well as guns, flew on dark leathery wings. Some wore helms, and those with horns had them growing back over their skulls. A few had nubs, as if they’d been sheared. They descended upon a planet with swaying yellow stalks under an intense violet sky.

There were people on the ground but not entirely human. They had two arms and legs, eyes and a mouth, even hair and fingers that could grasp their farming tools. But their skin was olive green, and their lack of noses and their tails were very much alien.

Some ran in panic. Others watched as the demons swooped, some of them to steal those fleeing. Swords scythed into the few who dared to wave a makeshift weapon.

The capture of the village took minutes, the people rounded up, even the little ones. A demon walked among those kneeling and pulled some out at random, sending them sobbing to a cage lowered from the ship.

The chosen were taken away, and the demons soon followed. Not long after, the suction began, the funnels in the bottom of the ship sucking and pulling, drawing up everything on the surface, plant, animal, those left behind. By the time the ship finished its pillaging, only a bare rock remained.

Horrifying if true. And the menace was coming here to do the same to Earth.

When Metatron returned, I gave him my answer.

“How can the Templars help?”

Chapter 4

Francesca finally agreed to pledge the Templars to help, which should have been automatic, but anyhow. Rather than be done with the interrogation, Metatron then got stuck with a litany of questions.

“How long until the threat arrives? What kind of defense do they have? How do we fight against flying demons? What kind of weapons will they wield?”

Then she had the ones he had no replies for. “Have you contacted the various governments to enlist their aid? Are you aware of how many missiles we can launch? Where do you think Hell will launch its army first?”

Only the last question did he have an answer for. “What kind of offense system does your spaceship have?” None. Because God wouldn’t allow it.

She’d eyed him and whistled. “Wow must suck to know you’re expendable.”

The comment stung because it was true. Metatron knew of angels on board who would have argued God loved them. He knew better. Elyon had stopped caring about those he governed. Metatron just couldn’t figure out exactly when it happened or why.

Given Francesca made him uncomfortable, not just with her pointed truths but her actual presence—causing a surge of lust he’d long thought over and done with—he avoided her as much as possible. He set her back in that horrible room underground and offered her a token she could use to contact him. But he did warn, “Use it sparingly as it might attract unwanted attention.”

She didn’t use it at all the first day. The second, he kept having the cantorii peek in on her, zeroing in on her location because she at least had the good sense to keep his tracking device with her. He just couldn’t actually see inside the basement where she resided. No windows to peek through and a door that she kept shut. The only time it opened? When she allowed people entry, mostly males, who arrived at the door marked with the Templar symbol and knocked in the same pattern each time.

Only once did she depart, and Metatron found himself distracted keeping track of her as she walked rapidly to a different set of stairs that descended into the ground. She used what the humans called a subway to travel. The cantorii lost her until she emerged from the underground and entered a shop. She eventually left with an armful of books that appeared quite heavy. He almost swooped in to give her a hand because he’d not been able to help himself from beaming close by. He’d done so above the clouds to avoid being seen and draped himself in an invisibility cloak that he might better skulk atop a rooftop.

What did she want with the heavy tomes? He couldn’t see their titles, but she apparently valued them enough that she hailed a conveyance marked “Taxi” and used it to return to the church basement. A church that Elyon would be displeased with, given its previous grandeur had faded.

Not humanity’s fault. Once the choir sent to Eden failed to keep the flock in order, they would have had no one left to guide them. According to Elyon, who’d been the one to identify the lost colony as Eden, its shepherd, Noah, had only himself to blame. By not culling as Elyon commanded, he allowed the humans autonomy, which led to them eventually killing off the choir, including Jesus Christ.

Unheard of, and yet, because of their actions, the colony formerly known as Eden might just have what it took to repel Hell, perhaps even become a sovereign power of its own, but only with some help. Help that Metatron meted out cautiously. After all, humanity appeared to have eliminated the last choir that got involved with their affairs.

A second day passed with Francesca not contacting him. She left the basement only once to fetch some food. The fleeting glimpse proved a temptation, and an annoyance. Why hadn’t she reached out? Surely by now she had more annoying questions.

When night fell, Metatron couldn’t help but return to pay her a visit. This time he knew the proper tapping sequence. When she opened the door, her lips curved in a smile. “I wondered when you’d be back. We have much to talk about.”

“You didn’t contact me.” He failed to completely erase the whine from the statement.

She shrugged. “I figured you’d come around again.” Meaning she’d been playing a game of waiting—and won.

It led to him being stiff in his reply. “How goes the preparation with the knights? Are they readying for war?”

“Not exactly.” She ushered him inside and shut the door before adding, “Remember how I was skeptical about you?”

“You accused me of being a demon.” His lip curled at the reminder.

“With good reason, given what I’ve been taught. And this goes to the point that it took me a bit to believe you actually were who you claimed. I’ve been telling my sect about you, and Hell and everything, but…” She rolled her shoulders. “A few of them think I need to see a doctor seeing as how I’m talking about alien angels. Can’t say as I blame them. It’s a hard sell trying to convince the knights we need to get ready for a war with a space demon when there’s nothing in the sky yet.”

“They require proof.” Irritating, but easily rectified. “What do you suggest?”

---