“Michael! I sensed you were here. Did God expel you from his feeble cocoon, or did you flee, knowing His time is at an end?”
From inside the wretched vessel of a deceased human, Michael stares up at Crimolok without fear or awe. “Brother, you are an offence to creation. You were born to build, and yet you destroy.”
“Destruction is the essence of creation, Michael. How can I create unless given a canvas? God surely forgives me, for he made me what I am.”
“God’s forgiveness is forever beyond you, vile one. I came here to stop you. Your atrocities must end.”
That God’s forgiveness is forever out of reach causes a deep sorrow inside Crimolok, but it serves only to stoke the blazing fury inside his soul. “You should have remained in safety and enjoyed Heaven a while longer. How did you come to be here?”
“Our forsaken cousin Daniel gave his power to the human who owned this body. This vessel is the only one in existence able to hold an angel’s essence. It was the only way I could come here and face you. I left the warmth of Heaven because of your arrogant crusade.”
“Now you will know only oblivion.” Crimolok lashes out, trying to crush his brother’s vessel with a swipe of his giant hand. Michael leaps aside and throws out an arm. A bolt of heavenly light slices the air and hits Crimolok’s shoulder.
Crimolok stumbles backwards, feeling pain for the first time in his long existence. It is exquisite. His legions surround Michael, intending to tear his vessel apart, but he quickly dispatches them with the purifying flames of Heaven. They are no match for an angel.
“Is Lucifer with you too?” Crimolok demands. “I do not sense his presence.”
“Lucifer is somewhere else, seeking atonement for his crimes. It is not too late for you to do the same. God’s forgiveness is beyond your reach, but mine is not, brother. Stop your slaughter and embrace me.”
“Embrace you? Where? In the depths of the abyss where our father sent me? Do you know what it is like for a creative being to be trapped in an endless nothingness? I spent an eternity in complete darkness with nothing but my own nightmares.” Crimolok sneers in disgust. “You think our father to be a just and merciful ruler? He is a scared tyrant, hiding away while his children burn. I would never abandon my garden as He has done His.”
Michael sneered back. “It is because of avaricious fiends like you that he was forced to do so. He chose humanity’s suffering over humanity’s end. A choice with terrible consequences that could not be avoided, but a pained life is better than no life.”
Crimolok sneers again. “It depends on the amount of pain. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Michael dodges another attack, an irritating wasp. Once more, he releases a white-hot stream of heavenly light, singeing Crimolok’s torso and drawing more of that exquisite agony. It is a feeling like no other – an explosion of the senses.
Michael throws more light, burns more flesh. “Give up, brother, or be extinguished.”
“Extinction is the only kindness left to me, Michael. I will prevail or I will not, but I will never again be a prisoner. Enough talk! Let us fight as brothers must.”
More of Crimolok’s legions surround Michael, closing in on all sides and forcing him to deal with them. Crimolok takes his chance, lunging forward and scooping Michael up in his hand. The fight is over.
Michael squirms in Crimolok’s hands, but with his arms trapped, he can summon no more of that heavenly light. Crimolok looks down at his brother and is surprised to feel something other than hatred. “You and Lucifer were my brothers. I loved you, yet you abandoned me to Father’s wrath. That sin is greater than all else. That sin is the reason this world, and so many others, burn. I am the Red Lord, the painter of blood, the new father of creation.”
“You are lost, brother, as you have always been. Your gift is too much to bear. It puts you closer to God than any of us, but you sear in the heat of his glory.”
“Then I shall burn.” Crimolok clenches his fist, crushing the weak, blood-filled vessel his brother inhabits. Liquids explode from the orifices and Crimolok tosses the quivering meat to the ground.
Tony could hold on no longer. He’d rode day and night to get here, and there was no doubt that he’d arrived, but his body was done. The trees deep into the forest had all been chopped down, and the uneven ground tossed Tony’s scrambler back and forth until he was no longer able to hold on. His wrists were weak and his hands could no longer grip, so he simply let go of the handlebars and tumbled from the seat. The scrambler continued on until it hit a stump and toppled onto its side. For a while, Tony lay there on his back, staring up at the early morning sun. It was a cold sun, more lukewarm yellow than blazing orange. Winter was on its way, and soon the dead world would frost over.
There’s no one left. This place is abandoned.
Tony turned his head and saw a field of flesh. Bodies, not people. A crumbling wall lined a nearby hill, a castle hiding behind it. This was the place he’d been looking for. It was a dead place.
Soon my body will join all the rest.
Tony lay on his back, tired, panting, and waiting to die. The war wounded knew when their time was up. They would find a place to rest and close their eyes, knowing they would never again wake up. He had thought to do the same.
But he wasn’t dead. Not yet.
His constant shivering and blurred vision told him there could not have been much blood left in him to lose, and he assumed it
