Gabriel’s Requiem
By
Zachary Louis Goldstein
And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.
-Revelation 13:1
I awakened to deafening silence. The land was cold beneath me. I could hear nothing living--neither creature nor human being, and a brisk morning dawn had just broken. I rose and saw before me a vast urban expanse, an endless cityscape of architects’ dreams entrenched within a symphony of crimson and lavender light. Structures of towering silver cascaded dark shadows upon me as I walked the surface of this strange new world. I promptly came to a particularly imposing construct closely resembling a large barn, though seemingly born of both metal and wood.
The modest gray single door rattled harmoniously in an eerie rhythm as I knocked, and then there was silence once again. The only thing audible was my own breath and I was cold, shivering and inexplicably in the nude. I tried the crude lock-latch on the door and it clicked open with little effort. I entered into a resounding concave chamber, a space just as chilling to my senses as the post-dawn morning air had been. Lining the northernmost wall were five massive, phantom black structures resembling liquid storage cylinders. My footsteps echoed methodically up against the bare, smooth ceiling and then back down. I stood in the center of the room.
“Hello!...” My voice echoed violently back at me, rumbling the floor beneath my feet. As I turned I saw the door I had entered through disintegrate in a red haze. All my senses were awakened in an instant. One second...two seconds. A projectile resembling a rocket missile blazed through the open passageway. The environment before me turned into a blazing, eclectic inferno as it struck one of the dark cylinders and exploded. A piercing tone could be heard in my ears as a dark, foreboding concerto that would not subside. Metal burned like wood and a frothy red liquid coated everything. I could feel my flesh begin to sizzle and my organs cook as if trapped in a giant, horrific cauldron.
I looked back toward the entrance and perceived several robed figures emerging from the mangled maze of wire and metal where the threshold of a door had existed moments earlier. The flames seemed not to harm them, and they walked amongst the fire and blood as if it were sand and water. The thick crimson substance was rising above my waist now. I could no longer breathe. I felt the grip of cold hands on my body as I blacked out.
I woke up lying on a padded rise in a warm, well-lit room with walls of yellow and white. I sat up abruptly and looked around. No longer without garment, I was clothed in a silver luminescent robe with black trim. There was but a man, sitting on a modest stool in the northwest corner of the room, staring intently into my eyes. He was tall and dark-skinned, and on his fingers there were many precious rings.
“Hello, Sentient. I would call you brother, but we are not so certain.” said the unidentified man.
I hesitated. “Where am I?”
“A safe zone. For the clan.” he responded in monotone.
“What clan?”
“It’s not important now. How do you feel?”
I stood on my feet. I felt ordinary. No pain—the unpleasant sizzling sensation gone, no wounds or cuts or bruises of any kind—and my body displayed none of the fresh wounds and harrowing internal injuries which it ought to bear following my ordeal. My skin also looked younger and fresher and seemed to emit a bright, healthy glow complimenting the air and mood of the room.
“Do not be alarmed.” said the man. “You do not know. You cannot know—nobody does in the beginning, though some are more aware than others at first. You must be made to learn.”
“Learn what? Where am I?” I felt perturbed yet hopeless. Perhaps it was because the mysterious man was right. I did not understand anything around me.
“There are two ways in which one learns. The first is through education, which of course requires a teacher. The second is by experience, which is far more perilous. For you, I think, it will be both. My name is Evander. You must come with me now.”
“Why? Where are you taking me?”
“To our capital. You cannot know the location yet.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“Then we kill you, as a matter of absolute necessity.”
“We? I should be dead already! How then should the prospect of death frighten me?”
“Dear Sentient, I do not speak these words to instill fear—I speak as from the mouth of the Prophet, for his word is our law. As to your mortality, do not seek to defy the most fundamental truths of organic existence during the infancy of your stay here. Make no mistake: you can die. In fact, you nearly did. The Prophet has chosen to save you, in feeling that you are of some value to our cause.”
“What of the inferno, then? Why do I not cease to live when I feel my skin burn and my organs ignite from within me? How do I continue to breathe now when everything around me was decimated in an orgy of flame?”
“I am not the one to tell you such things. All shall be made clear by Xilian, for he is the Prophet of our clan.”
I was escorted by a group of nine, four males (including Evander) and five females all wearing robes identical to my own in design, yet they radiated a golden yellow rather than my crude silver, which by comparison seemed bland. I was not bound and did not resist in any way—I understood so little that I reasoned there was no point.
We exited the room on the right, moving through a long, dark corridor to which my eyes had not fully adjusted before emerging into an environment unlike any even the wildest of human imaginations could conceive of. Vast skyscrapers of impossible dimensions lined the streets as far as the eye could see. Light projected fiercely out of all windows, cascading amber and crimson on the streets below, which held a great multitude of like-dressed individuals so that the surface of the land appeared as a wash of rich shades of yellow interspersed with black and crimson illumination. Great metallic causeways carried people between adjacent buildings like broad celestial bridges in the sky, one stacked atop the next in serene, impeccable architectural harmony.
The sky alternated unnatural shades of burnt orange and teal. Strange circular objects dotted the skyway, darting low and dodging through the tangled urban mass at velocities too fast to estimate.
“Beautiful.” I mouthed the words but emitted no sound.
The tall man called Evander spoke to me: “This is the world you must come to know. Everything around you, everything you see here is ours. But to the north, and to the south, and in the east and in the west our enemies gather at our doorstep, seeking our destruction just as we endeavor to theirs. Look around and before you and you shall see our brethren, the Sentients of clan Jericho. The colors we wear are symbols of our affinity to the clan and loyalty to the Prophet of our kind.”
Despite the magnificence of the environment before me, I could not help but feel a sense of longing for the life I had lost—the memories were still there. All of them, flashing before my consciousness like a fleeting shadow. But everything was hazy, and I felt strongly that each passing moment erased another glimpse of my past, as if to make room for something else, something far more vital. I remembered Evander’s words about learning, about my education.
Evander, seemingly privy to my train of thought, spoke deliberately: “Whatever you feel, you must find it within yourself to dismiss all sentimental notions of your prior existence—lay both the loving and the damning memories of your past to rest for all time. It does not matter who you were or how you arrived here. Consider all that you know, and then forsake all of it. The only knowledge is acquired, the only instinct is survival.”
I was being led towards one of the strange spherical objects. On approach it opened like a cocoon and the black shell parted to reveal a spacious white interior which comfortably fitted all ten of us. Once inside, the cocoon reformed just as it had opened.
Evander took note of my bemusement at this development, and spoke plainly: “In time, you will become familiar with such devices. There are many technological acuities of the land to which you must become accustomed, affording you survive that long. We are going to a place called Xain, wherein dwells the Prophet Xilian, our leader. He is the reason your heart still beats.”
I had no idea how long it took to arrive at our destination or in which direction we were traveling, though the windowless capsule seemed to move of its own volition, or else the controller was nowhere to be seen. The pod came to an abrupt halt in midair before dropping altitude dramatically. My stomach lurched, but one of the females had a firm grasp on the robe sleeve covering my right arm and her touch was reassuring in the most sublime way I could fathom. The strange vehicle touched down. “You get used to that.” said Evander, referring to the sudden altitude drop which my stomach likened to an elevator effect multiplied a few thousand times over.
When I emerged I raised my eyes to reveal a grand structure of granite and marble, with royal yellow banners cascading from the rooftops to the silver staircase below.
Evander spoke to me: “Welcome to Xain, the capital city of the realm of Jericho. You shall not be harmed, so long as you agree to the terms of the Prophet. Follow me.”
The entire group ascended the marble staircase, taking care always to place me in the center of them all. After the ascension we were confronted at the top by great colossal gates of ivory and steel, which if nothing else certainly appeared an image of the celestial. Evander held up his left palm and the troop stopped a few meters from the gate. There was a moment’s pause, and then the gate opened quickly and inexplicably with no sound.
Moving briskly, we entered a long, lavishly-decorated oversized hallway of sorts. Lining the walls on either side were men and women, forgoing the modestly elegant robes I had become accustomed to seeing in favor of full body armor of some unknown make and design. The sharp reflective yellow of the battlesuits seemed to create a miniature aura around each of them which I sensed may have been kinetically generated or artificial in some way. These warriors were armed with strange weapons and blades of various shapes and sizes, each seemingly unique and no doubt suited to a deliberate, grisly purpose. The ceiling rose up fifty meters from the shimmering marble floor beneath our feet and our footsteps echoed in fashion spookily similar to the rhythmic rattle of the metallic barn prior to my near-death incineration.
Graphic, representational images covered the surrounding walls, depicting bizarre acts of violence and terror which struck me as symbolic, though to what ascription I knew not. Evander walked alongside me.
“Who are these people?” I asked, referring to the war-equipped individuals on either side of our party.
“They are not ‘people.’ They are Yuri-Zen— warrior elites, protectors of the realm and Guardians of the Mantle of Gabriel; the last remnants of Michael’s army.”
“Michael the arch-angel?
“When Gabriel fell, the Yuri-Zen made a final pact with Michael’s forces to carry on the Mantle of the last remaining arch-angel.”
“What is this mantle? Is it something physical?”
“You are not prepared for this knowledge, and even thus it would not be my place to tell you. I can only say that when the time comes, you will know what it means and what is required of you.”
The spacious, elongated corridor seemed to stretch into oblivion before Evander directed the party left down a path slightly smaller but no less ornate or populated than the main hall. We made a quick left again after passing a grand stone statue of a being with wings, sword and shield in hand, visage emblazoned permanently with a look of terrible ferocity. The shield-face bore the letter “J” carved in a cryptic bold font.
We finally came to approach a particularly guarded north-facing wall deep within the interior of the capitol building. A congregation of Yuri-Zen fighters bowed and parted into lines as Evander saluted, using a hand gesture which I did not recognize. I noticed that many of them were staring intently into my eyes. Built into the wall at their backs was what equated to a large elevator, plain and gray compared to everything around it. Evander stepped forward and beckoned me to follow him. None of the other escorts moved. A simple push of the adjacent button summoned the carriage, and the doors opened. Evander and I entered. I sensed many pairs of eyes upon me as the doors closed shut.
There was a pause. Suddenly the elevator plummeted downward, and although I could feel the great speed at which we descended, the ride down felt smooth and completely unlike the unpleasant sensation of the strange cocoon’s abrupt descent earlier. The doors opened and a decorated interior of many magnificent hues was revealed.
“The Prophet awaits you.” said Evander. “Go. We have been so long in waiting.” The doors closed almost the instant I stepped into the room. Twenty feet in front of me a man sat complacently in a white satin chair trimmed with shades of yellow and gold, fingers together at the tips, head slightly cocked to the right with an curious blank expression on his face. The entirety of the chamber’s southern wall was made up of overlaying layers of window glass resembling tint, and it appeared that one could see out, but not in. The monumental window-wall looked out over the urban monstrosity below, towering over and above it as a city upon a hill. I thought perhaps the entire complex was built into a giant cliffside.
The man Evander had called ‘leader’ stood up to face me. He spoke clearly and with a reverent air of serenity: “Hello, my brother. It is fortunate that you still live. Knowing this, it is preferable that you were tested from the beginning. Many Sentients react more positively if exposed to the violence right away. I am Xilian, Prophet of the clan Jericho. Those you have seen thus far—the ones who saved you and escorted you here to me are my brothers and sisters. If you so choose, they shall be your brothers and your sisters as well. They will shelter you, protect you, teach you their ways and pass unto you all the knowledge necessary for survival. You must bee forewarned that there are others, a great many others who would seek to turn you to their cause or else pursue and destroy you with every fiber of their being, for you may be their gravest threat.” I stared astonished at him. He was wearing robes of silk colored dark yellow, trimmed with white collar and cuffs and a lavender crown upon his head. His skin was light brown and his voice musical and soothing. He must have stood nearly seven feet high and he wore golden jewels and rings upon his fingers and arms. Finally, I spoke to him. “Why am I a threat to anyone? I shouldn’t even be here! I am dead...I remember dying. This cannot be Heaven. So it must be...in Hell where I now reside.”
“As your teacher, I instruct you not to think in absolutes evermore.” Said the Prophet quaintly.
“You are not my teacher!”
“Human beings enjoy perceiving in absolutes, because there is always a resolution. But you cannot allow yourself to remiss into such primitive intellectual barbarism. You must from this point forward dismiss all concepts dealing in absolute terms. This is the most integral process in the initiation of your education. When you come to understand this lesson, you will comprehend also that power which you now possess: the innate abilities of your kind manifest in you which you did not have in your previous life.”
“You speak of absolutes. Heaven is an absolute. So is Hell.”
“Very good, Gabriel.”
“So neither have I risen unto Heaven, nor fallen unto Hell. So tell me—what is this tormented urban paradise which now claims me?”
“Heaven is but a whisper in a shadow that will never again be illuminated. The great Kingdom of God is gone from the land, forevermore. The Gates crumbled to dust long ago.”
“And what of the antithesis?”
“The Pillars of Hell no longer stand tall. This place you see before you, this is all that remains—so that all may share in the suffering and ecstasy of mortal whims and perversions.”
“But what of God in all this madness? How could He allow this?”
“Allow it? One could ask why he should have it any other way! What is He but a tyrant? The greatest of all the lords of hypocrisy, the master of the enslavement of the minds of men and women in body, will and purpose?” I began to sense that the serene tone in Xilian’s melodic voice did not betray the true emotion behind his words.
“How does it come to this?” I asked. “After all I’ve been taught...led to believe...”
“All that you believe is a function of what you have been taught, and all you have been taught is a lie.” said Xilian. His words echoed like a great hollow thunder of awakening inside my mind.
“But it is written in the Scriptures—.”
“The Scriptures were written by men, brother, not God. It is because of Man that all you see before you has come to pass. Long ago, so long that no accurate timeline can be referenced, the blood of Michael’s Angels became contaminate, mixed with the human Sentients and lesser breeds of men. The great Army of Heaven, once thought invincible and forever united, was broken, shattered and splintered into multitudes of tribes and factions all vying for the last Mantle of the Angels: that of the fallen Gabriel, which we of the clan Jericho now possess. Over countless ages, Heaven and Hell came to resemble the realm of Earth, and she brought all her greed and vice and decadent excesses along with her.”
“Why didn’t God intervene?”
“Your God is the master of puppets and illusions—by these devices He hath ruled over all life—but never again. You do not know the true God. You do not wish to know such things.”
“How many of these tribes exist?”
“We know it was once so many that the land could not claim them all.”
“And what happened then?”
“Purification and consolidation. Where once there was a multitude, seven now remain. But the cleansing is not complete. Only one will survive. If I could only offer you one thing, heed this: Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.”
“Corinthians chapter five, verse three.” I replied.
“It was said that you would bear foreknowledge of the Scriptures.”
“I was raised to be a minister until the age of seventeen. Then I realized that God did not harbor the answers to the questions I sought. So I turned to literature and science and away from holy writ.”
“Did you forsake Him?”
“No. But many...a great many around me did so.” I answered. At this, Xilian actually laughed, though even in amusement his voice carried a surreal aura which my senses seemed to associate with tranquility.
“They abandon that which they cannot see with their eyes and feel with their flesh.” Xilian said. “This is the conflict that defines human sense of reality—between what is and what seems to be.”
“What is your meaning?” I inquired.
“Take this world—this place. You see, yet you do not comprehend. Not yet. You know things only as they appear, not as they actually are.”
“Like death?”
“Are you wondering why you still live?”
“I am wondering how I still live.”
“Hear me, Sentient—I speak with the force of such knowledge as to topple the mountains and empty the rivers and seas. You must understand, brother, we are in the middle of a war, one that has been going on for millennia, because time passes not here as it does on Earth. Your presence had been monitored by our enemies since your arrival. Many are aware of your coming.”
“What do they want with me?”
“They seek to destroy you. They almost succeeded.”
“But I have nothing to show of it, not even scars or remnants of torn tissue or loss of blood! Who is the true worker of miracles, then—if not God, then who? You?”
Xilian laughed calmly again, identical in tone and manner to his previous outburst. “Miracles are relative to whatever is considered to be miraculous. Perhaps you have noticed that your body is able to heal much faster than you once thought possible. Maybe you feel pain dull to your senses as your threshold increases with each passing moment. This is only the beginning, the first steps on a path paved long before you in blood and tribulation.”
“Why then? Why not let me burn...let me die if this is the afterlife I must face?”
“No, Gabriel. It is not your time to die. You are much too valuable. I am the sacred Keeper of my people. As Prophet I have seen that which would blind the Children of Men. I can see through the soldiers of our cause, into their very hearts and souls—and never, never before has there been one such as you.”
“What makes me so special?”
“You have become the focus of a situation of the most delicate nature. You must swear allegiance to clan Jericho—swear allegiance to me, the Prophet, and all my brothers and sisters.”
I paused for a few moments. “And what if I say no?”
“Then you shall die a true death, one you cannot come back from. There is no other option, for you are a grave threat to us all. Within you, Gabriel, lays an ancient power, one this world has not seen since the fall of the angels. Only you may choose: unity for the seven factions of Michael’s Army or death to all but one. Once it is done, the Mantle of the last arch-angel must be returned from whence it came.”
I sensed the powerful flow of events within me. It felt as if I was feeding on something in the air, or perhaps it was purely within me. I felt stronger than I had ever been.
“What am I?” I asked.
“You...are nothing. But you can become everything—the past, present, and future of your race. The path is clear now—join or die, make your choice.”
The choice was made, and it was not my own. It was like an obscene, unanimous force compelling me to stay in this strange land. I spoke to the Prophet once more: “If not Heaven, and if not Hell, what call you this land—this reality?”
Xilian walked with me to the south wall of layered glass, and together we looked out upon the beautiful, terrible horizon stretching off into surreal amber infinity. “Welcome...” he said...“to the Valley of Babylon.”
And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.
-Revelation 18:2
By
Zachary Louis Goldstein
And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.
-Revelation 13:1
I awakened to deafening silence. The land was cold beneath me. I could hear nothing living--neither creature nor human being, and a brisk morning dawn had just broken. I rose and saw before me a vast urban expanse, an endless cityscape of architects’ dreams entrenched within a symphony of crimson and lavender light. Structures of towering silver cascaded dark shadows upon me as I walked the surface of this strange new world. I promptly came to a particularly imposing construct closely resembling a large barn, though seemingly born of both metal and wood.
The modest gray single door rattled harmoniously in an eerie rhythm as I knocked, and then there was silence once again. The only thing audible was my own breath and I was cold, shivering and inexplicably in the nude. I tried the crude lock-latch on the door and it clicked open with little effort. I entered into a resounding concave chamber, a space just as chilling to my senses as the post-dawn morning air had been. Lining the northernmost wall were five massive, phantom black structures resembling liquid storage cylinders. My footsteps echoed methodically up against the bare, smooth ceiling and then back down. I stood in the center of the room.
“Hello!...” My voice echoed violently back at me, rumbling the floor beneath my feet. As I turned I saw the door I had entered through disintegrate in a red haze. All my senses were awakened in an instant. One second...two seconds. A projectile resembling a rocket missile blazed through the open passageway. The environment before me turned into a blazing, eclectic inferno as it struck one of the dark cylinders and exploded. A piercing tone could be heard in my ears as a dark, foreboding concerto that would not subside. Metal burned like wood and a frothy red liquid coated everything. I could feel my flesh begin to sizzle and my organs cook as if trapped in a giant, horrific cauldron.
I looked back toward the entrance and perceived several robed figures emerging from the mangled maze of wire and metal where the threshold of a door had existed moments earlier. The flames seemed not to harm them, and they walked amongst the fire and blood as if it were sand and water. The thick crimson substance was rising above my waist now. I could no longer breathe. I felt the grip of cold hands on my body as I blacked out.
I woke up lying on a padded rise in a warm, well-lit room with walls of yellow and white. I sat up abruptly and looked around. No longer without garment, I was clothed in a silver luminescent robe with black trim. There was but a man, sitting on a modest stool in the northwest corner of the room, staring intently into my eyes. He was tall and dark-skinned, and on his fingers there were many precious rings.
“Hello, Sentient. I would call you brother, but we are not so certain.” said the unidentified man.
I hesitated. “Where am I?”
“A safe zone. For the clan.” he responded in monotone.
“What clan?”
“It’s not important now. How do you feel?”
I stood on my feet. I felt ordinary. No pain—the unpleasant sizzling sensation gone, no wounds or cuts or bruises of any kind—and my body displayed none of the fresh wounds and harrowing internal injuries which it ought to bear following my ordeal. My skin also looked younger and fresher and seemed to emit a bright, healthy glow complimenting the air and mood of the room.
“Do not be alarmed.” said the man. “You do not know. You cannot know—nobody does in the beginning, though some are more aware than others at first. You must be made to learn.”
“Learn what? Where am I?” I felt perturbed yet hopeless. Perhaps it was because the mysterious man was right. I did not understand anything around me.
“There are two ways in which one learns. The first is through education, which of course requires a teacher. The second is by experience, which is far more perilous. For you, I think, it will be both. My name is Evander. You must come with me now.”
“Why? Where are you taking me?”
“To our capital. You cannot know the location yet.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“Then we kill you, as a matter of absolute necessity.”
“We? I should be dead already! How then should the prospect of death frighten me?”
“Dear Sentient, I do not speak these words to instill fear—I speak as from the mouth of the Prophet, for his word is our law. As to your mortality, do not seek to defy the most fundamental truths of organic existence during the infancy of your stay here. Make no mistake: you can die. In fact, you nearly did. The Prophet has chosen to save you, in feeling that you are of some value to our cause.”
“What of the inferno, then? Why do I not cease to live when I feel my skin burn and my organs ignite from within me? How do I continue to breathe now when everything around me was decimated in an orgy of flame?”
“I am not the one to tell you such things. All shall be made clear by Xilian, for he is the Prophet of our clan.”
I was escorted by a group of nine, four males (including Evander) and five females all wearing robes identical to my own in design, yet they radiated a golden yellow rather than my crude silver, which by comparison seemed bland. I was not bound and did not resist in any way—I understood so little that I reasoned there was no point.
We exited the room on the right, moving through a long, dark corridor to which my eyes had not fully adjusted before emerging into an environment unlike any even the wildest of human imaginations could conceive of. Vast skyscrapers of impossible dimensions lined the streets as far as the eye could see. Light projected fiercely out of all windows, cascading amber and crimson on the streets below, which held a great multitude of like-dressed individuals so that the surface of the land appeared as a wash of rich shades of yellow interspersed with black and crimson illumination. Great metallic causeways carried people between adjacent buildings like broad celestial bridges in the sky, one stacked atop the next in serene, impeccable architectural harmony.
The sky alternated unnatural shades of burnt orange and teal. Strange circular objects dotted the skyway, darting low and dodging through the tangled urban mass at velocities too fast to estimate.
“Beautiful.” I mouthed the words but emitted no sound.
The tall man called Evander spoke to me: “This is the world you must come to know. Everything around you, everything you see here is ours. But to the north, and to the south, and in the east and in the west our enemies gather at our doorstep, seeking our destruction just as we endeavor to theirs. Look around and before you and you shall see our brethren, the Sentients of clan Jericho. The colors we wear are symbols of our affinity to the clan and loyalty to the Prophet of our kind.”
Despite the magnificence of the environment before me, I could not help but feel a sense of longing for the life I had lost—the memories were still there. All of them, flashing before my consciousness like a fleeting shadow. But everything was hazy, and I felt strongly that each passing moment erased another glimpse of my past, as if to make room for something else, something far more vital. I remembered Evander’s words about learning, about my education.
Evander, seemingly privy to my train of thought, spoke deliberately: “Whatever you feel, you must find it within yourself to dismiss all sentimental notions of your prior existence—lay both the loving and the damning memories of your past to rest for all time. It does not matter who you were or how you arrived here. Consider all that you know, and then forsake all of it. The only knowledge is acquired, the only instinct is survival.”
I was being led towards one of the strange spherical objects. On approach it opened like a cocoon and the black shell parted to reveal a spacious white interior which comfortably fitted all ten of us. Once inside, the cocoon reformed just as it had opened.
Evander took note of my bemusement at this development, and spoke plainly: “In time, you will become familiar with such devices. There are many technological acuities of the land to which you must become accustomed, affording you survive that long. We are going to a place called Xain, wherein dwells the Prophet Xilian, our leader. He is the reason your heart still beats.”
I had no idea how long it took to arrive at our destination or in which direction we were traveling, though the windowless capsule seemed to move of its own volition, or else the controller was nowhere to be seen. The pod came to an abrupt halt in midair before dropping altitude dramatically. My stomach lurched, but one of the females had a firm grasp on the robe sleeve covering my right arm and her touch was reassuring in the most sublime way I could fathom. The strange vehicle touched down. “You get used to that.” said Evander, referring to the sudden altitude drop which my stomach likened to an elevator effect multiplied a few thousand times over.
When I emerged I raised my eyes to reveal a grand structure of granite and marble, with royal yellow banners cascading from the rooftops to the silver staircase below.
Evander spoke to me: “Welcome to Xain, the capital city of the realm of Jericho. You shall not be harmed, so long as you agree to the terms of the Prophet. Follow me.”
The entire group ascended the marble staircase, taking care always to place me in the center of them all. After the ascension we were confronted at the top by great colossal gates of ivory and steel, which if nothing else certainly appeared an image of the celestial. Evander held up his left palm and the troop stopped a few meters from the gate. There was a moment’s pause, and then the gate opened quickly and inexplicably with no sound.
Moving briskly, we entered a long, lavishly-decorated oversized hallway of sorts. Lining the walls on either side were men and women, forgoing the modestly elegant robes I had become accustomed to seeing in favor of full body armor of some unknown make and design. The sharp reflective yellow of the battlesuits seemed to create a miniature aura around each of them which I sensed may have been kinetically generated or artificial in some way. These warriors were armed with strange weapons and blades of various shapes and sizes, each seemingly unique and no doubt suited to a deliberate, grisly purpose. The ceiling rose up fifty meters from the shimmering marble floor beneath our feet and our footsteps echoed in fashion spookily similar to the rhythmic rattle of the metallic barn prior to my near-death incineration.
Graphic, representational images covered the surrounding walls, depicting bizarre acts of violence and terror which struck me as symbolic, though to what ascription I knew not. Evander walked alongside me.
“Who are these people?” I asked, referring to the war-equipped individuals on either side of our party.
“They are not ‘people.’ They are Yuri-Zen— warrior elites, protectors of the realm and Guardians of the Mantle of Gabriel; the last remnants of Michael’s army.”
“Michael the arch-angel?
“When Gabriel fell, the Yuri-Zen made a final pact with Michael’s forces to carry on the Mantle of the last remaining arch-angel.”
“What is this mantle? Is it something physical?”
“You are not prepared for this knowledge, and even thus it would not be my place to tell you. I can only say that when the time comes, you will know what it means and what is required of you.”
The spacious, elongated corridor seemed to stretch into oblivion before Evander directed the party left down a path slightly smaller but no less ornate or populated than the main hall. We made a quick left again after passing a grand stone statue of a being with wings, sword and shield in hand, visage emblazoned permanently with a look of terrible ferocity. The shield-face bore the letter “J” carved in a cryptic bold font.
We finally came to approach a particularly guarded north-facing wall deep within the interior of the capitol building. A congregation of Yuri-Zen fighters bowed and parted into lines as Evander saluted, using a hand gesture which I did not recognize. I noticed that many of them were staring intently into my eyes. Built into the wall at their backs was what equated to a large elevator, plain and gray compared to everything around it. Evander stepped forward and beckoned me to follow him. None of the other escorts moved. A simple push of the adjacent button summoned the carriage, and the doors opened. Evander and I entered. I sensed many pairs of eyes upon me as the doors closed shut.
There was a pause. Suddenly the elevator plummeted downward, and although I could feel the great speed at which we descended, the ride down felt smooth and completely unlike the unpleasant sensation of the strange cocoon’s abrupt descent earlier. The doors opened and a decorated interior of many magnificent hues was revealed.
“The Prophet awaits you.” said Evander. “Go. We have been so long in waiting.” The doors closed almost the instant I stepped into the room. Twenty feet in front of me a man sat complacently in a white satin chair trimmed with shades of yellow and gold, fingers together at the tips, head slightly cocked to the right with an curious blank expression on his face. The entirety of the chamber’s southern wall was made up of overlaying layers of window glass resembling tint, and it appeared that one could see out, but not in. The monumental window-wall looked out over the urban monstrosity below, towering over and above it as a city upon a hill. I thought perhaps the entire complex was built into a giant cliffside.
The man Evander had called ‘leader’ stood up to face me. He spoke clearly and with a reverent air of serenity: “Hello, my brother. It is fortunate that you still live. Knowing this, it is preferable that you were tested from the beginning. Many Sentients react more positively if exposed to the violence right away. I am Xilian, Prophet of the clan Jericho. Those you have seen thus far—the ones who saved you and escorted you here to me are my brothers and sisters. If you so choose, they shall be your brothers and your sisters as well. They will shelter you, protect you, teach you their ways and pass unto you all the knowledge necessary for survival. You must bee forewarned that there are others, a great many others who would seek to turn you to their cause or else pursue and destroy you with every fiber of their being, for you may be their gravest threat.” I stared astonished at him. He was wearing robes of silk colored dark yellow, trimmed with white collar and cuffs and a lavender crown upon his head. His skin was light brown and his voice musical and soothing. He must have stood nearly seven feet high and he wore golden jewels and rings upon his fingers and arms. Finally, I spoke to him. “Why am I a threat to anyone? I shouldn’t even be here! I am dead...I remember dying. This cannot be Heaven. So it must be...in Hell where I now reside.”
“As your teacher, I instruct you not to think in absolutes evermore.” Said the Prophet quaintly.
“You are not my teacher!”
“Human beings enjoy perceiving in absolutes, because there is always a resolution. But you cannot allow yourself to remiss into such primitive intellectual barbarism. You must from this point forward dismiss all concepts dealing in absolute terms. This is the most integral process in the initiation of your education. When you come to understand this lesson, you will comprehend also that power which you now possess: the innate abilities of your kind manifest in you which you did not have in your previous life.”
“You speak of absolutes. Heaven is an absolute. So is Hell.”
“Very good, Gabriel.”
“So neither have I risen unto Heaven, nor fallen unto Hell. So tell me—what is this tormented urban paradise which now claims me?”
“Heaven is but a whisper in a shadow that will never again be illuminated. The great Kingdom of God is gone from the land, forevermore. The Gates crumbled to dust long ago.”
“And what of the antithesis?”
“The Pillars of Hell no longer stand tall. This place you see before you, this is all that remains—so that all may share in the suffering and ecstasy of mortal whims and perversions.”
“But what of God in all this madness? How could He allow this?”
“Allow it? One could ask why he should have it any other way! What is He but a tyrant? The greatest of all the lords of hypocrisy, the master of the enslavement of the minds of men and women in body, will and purpose?” I began to sense that the serene tone in Xilian’s melodic voice did not betray the true emotion behind his words.
“How does it come to this?” I asked. “After all I’ve been taught...led to believe...”
“All that you believe is a function of what you have been taught, and all you have been taught is a lie.” said Xilian. His words echoed like a great hollow thunder of awakening inside my mind.
“But it is written in the Scriptures—.”
“The Scriptures were written by men, brother, not God. It is because of Man that all you see before you has come to pass. Long ago, so long that no accurate timeline can be referenced, the blood of Michael’s Angels became contaminate, mixed with the human Sentients and lesser breeds of men. The great Army of Heaven, once thought invincible and forever united, was broken, shattered and splintered into multitudes of tribes and factions all vying for the last Mantle of the Angels: that of the fallen Gabriel, which we of the clan Jericho now possess. Over countless ages, Heaven and Hell came to resemble the realm of Earth, and she brought all her greed and vice and decadent excesses along with her.”
“Why didn’t God intervene?”
“Your God is the master of puppets and illusions—by these devices He hath ruled over all life—but never again. You do not know the true God. You do not wish to know such things.”
“How many of these tribes exist?”
“We know it was once so many that the land could not claim them all.”
“And what happened then?”
“Purification and consolidation. Where once there was a multitude, seven now remain. But the cleansing is not complete. Only one will survive. If I could only offer you one thing, heed this: Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.”
“Corinthians chapter five, verse three.” I replied.
“It was said that you would bear foreknowledge of the Scriptures.”
“I was raised to be a minister until the age of seventeen. Then I realized that God did not harbor the answers to the questions I sought. So I turned to literature and science and away from holy writ.”
“Did you forsake Him?”
“No. But many...a great many around me did so.” I answered. At this, Xilian actually laughed, though even in amusement his voice carried a surreal aura which my senses seemed to associate with tranquility.
“They abandon that which they cannot see with their eyes and feel with their flesh.” Xilian said. “This is the conflict that defines human sense of reality—between what is and what seems to be.”
“What is your meaning?” I inquired.
“Take this world—this place. You see, yet you do not comprehend. Not yet. You know things only as they appear, not as they actually are.”
“Like death?”
“Are you wondering why you still live?”
“I am wondering how I still live.”
“Hear me, Sentient—I speak with the force of such knowledge as to topple the mountains and empty the rivers and seas. You must understand, brother, we are in the middle of a war, one that has been going on for millennia, because time passes not here as it does on Earth. Your presence had been monitored by our enemies since your arrival. Many are aware of your coming.”
“What do they want with me?”
“They seek to destroy you. They almost succeeded.”
“But I have nothing to show of it, not even scars or remnants of torn tissue or loss of blood! Who is the true worker of miracles, then—if not God, then who? You?”
Xilian laughed calmly again, identical in tone and manner to his previous outburst. “Miracles are relative to whatever is considered to be miraculous. Perhaps you have noticed that your body is able to heal much faster than you once thought possible. Maybe you feel pain dull to your senses as your threshold increases with each passing moment. This is only the beginning, the first steps on a path paved long before you in blood and tribulation.”
“Why then? Why not let me burn...let me die if this is the afterlife I must face?”
“No, Gabriel. It is not your time to die. You are much too valuable. I am the sacred Keeper of my people. As Prophet I have seen that which would blind the Children of Men. I can see through the soldiers of our cause, into their very hearts and souls—and never, never before has there been one such as you.”
“What makes me so special?”
“You have become the focus of a situation of the most delicate nature. You must swear allegiance to clan Jericho—swear allegiance to me, the Prophet, and all my brothers and sisters.”
I paused for a few moments. “And what if I say no?”
“Then you shall die a true death, one you cannot come back from. There is no other option, for you are a grave threat to us all. Within you, Gabriel, lays an ancient power, one this world has not seen since the fall of the angels. Only you may choose: unity for the seven factions of Michael’s Army or death to all but one. Once it is done, the Mantle of the last arch-angel must be returned from whence it came.”
I sensed the powerful flow of events within me. It felt as if I was feeding on something in the air, or perhaps it was purely within me. I felt stronger than I had ever been.
“What am I?” I asked.
“You...are nothing. But you can become everything—the past, present, and future of your race. The path is clear now—join or die, make your choice.”
The choice was made, and it was not my own. It was like an obscene, unanimous force compelling me to stay in this strange land. I spoke to the Prophet once more: “If not Heaven, and if not Hell, what call you this land—this reality?”
Xilian walked with me to the south wall of layered glass, and together we looked out upon the beautiful, terrible horizon stretching off into surreal amber infinity. “Welcome...” he said...“to the Valley of Babylon.”
And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.
-Revelation 18:2
No comments:
Post a Comment