When Angels Rage
The prophet shook his head and blinked a few times. Raquel turned towards him, microphone extended expectantly. But, when the man looked at her and said, "Che?" the reporter's disappointment was enough to make even the most cold-hearted viewer sympathize with a woman who had just missed the story of her career. Crestfallen, she looked back to the camera and a look of opportunity spread across her face. She began speaking in very rapid and nearly unintelligible Italian, pointing first at the camera then to the prophet. The cameraman stopped filming at that point to show the tape to the confused prophet. When he did resume filming Raquel was again in front of the camera, her professional demeanor returned and she explained that despite having been showed the tape the man had no clue what had occurred or what was meant by the words that had come from his mouth.
Suddenly, the world was back on "Prophet Watch." Cameras were everywhere, and all the old tapes were reviewed. One was eventually found that contained something similar to what had been recorded in Italy. Again, the deeper voice was present, but the audio wasn't as clear and only a couple lines were recorded and the last one was incomplete. Despite the fragmented nature however, their impact would be just as significant.
"Eli's words shall prepare
But heed him not
And secure your..."
A name was given, Eli, nothing like this had been recorded. So now, there were two pieces of a puzzle out there. There were thousands of people named Eli in the world, so society focused on the piece from Italy, "where Time has four corners." The media, and the experts they brought in, agreed that the prophet's words were meant to represent Time's Square in New York City. It was immediately swarmed with cameramen and reporters eager to film the new prophet. They were surprised to find out though that even the "crazies" watched the news. One of the most famous plazas in the world was now crowded with sackcloth wearing speakers. Cries of "Repent!" "The world is doomed!" and "God's fury shall cleanse the Earth!" were now as common as the cries of "Taxi!" that were heard the day before. Now, it was like trying to find a needle within a stack of needles.
Three days passed, the crazies kept going, preaching twenty-four hours a day. By now, the crowd of cameras had dwindled. A few ingenious reporters convinced their crews to post stationary cameras in offices overlooking the Square. It was on that morning when a keen eyed camerawoman noticed that one of the crazies hadn't moved from where he had been the night before. Six hours and he hadn't budged an inch. When she backed the tape up it turned out that he hadn't moved in the two days since they'd had the tape running. Moments later they were out the door, bolting down to Time's Square while praying that they were the only crew to have spotted him. When they got to the Square they plowed into the crowd and pushed their way to the man they jokingly referred to as "the statue."
He looked up at them and regarded each of them with a nod, and then he looked back down at the ground, saying something that was too quiet for either the human or electronic ears to pick up in the din of yelling. The reporter thrust his microphone under the man's nose and asked the million dollar question, "Are you Eli?"
A small, but resonant voice answered him, "Now is my time." With that, something happened that those who had grown tired of the yelling would call a miracle, and skeptics would call a coincidence. The crazies all stopped talking at the exact same moment, as if someone had flipped a switch. Some of them looked at each other in alarm; others simply accepted it and wandered off. Within minutes the crowd of what had been some two hundred self-appointed prophets was down to twenty silenced crazies, three film crews, and one man who was dressed in, what had been at it's best, a tattered suit.
-Amanda’s Night-
Two weeks had passed since the Prophet known as Eli had begun his preaching in New York City. But, in the metropolis of St. Louis, his words were just echoes from television sets. To Amanda Kingston they were just background noise as she prepared herself for her evening shift at the Courtesy Diner on Kingshighway. With the window open while she scrambled together her last few things that would help her get through the next ten hours at work she barely registered anything that the man said, instead she noticed the lack of noise outside. An expectant hush had fallen over her neighborhood, while many would think of this as the sign of a quiet night; she knew it to hint at the exact opposite. Grabbing her purse she headed out the door and turned to check her lock on her apartment door. No matter how many times her landlord told her that their building's door was secure, she was almost more wary of the people that were already inside than anyone that didn't belong there. As she headed down the two flights of stairs she checked the clock on her cell phone, discovering she had nine minutes to get to the bus stop so she could catch the Ninety-Five to work. The Kingshighway line normally ran on time, give or take a minute or three. She wasn't due on shift at the Diner until Eight Thirty, which she wouldn't make if she did miss the bus, but would get there ten minutes early if she did. Realizing this drew Amanda's thoughts back to the last conversation she'd had with her boss, Greg, and suddenly her legs were carrying her at a much brisker pace.
Five minutes later, Amanda found herself sitting on the metal bench at the bus stop in front of White Castle wishing that people would stop relieving themselves in the Bi-State's booth. The glass shelter provided no privacy, but she figured that the homeless people who did such things didn't have much in the way of shame to begin with. Her Christian upbringing immediately chided her for this thought, but quickly got shoved aside, like it so often did. There was too much pain in the world to believe in an "all-loving" God who looked at each child like his special creation. She knew that most of this had to do with losing two people whom she cared about at a young age, but it still bugged her, and since no priest/rabbi/minister had come forward with an answer as to why God would allow a woman who devoted her life to this "all-loving" God to die such a painful death, she figured that a lot of it was just made up as they went along, and that deserved no reverence or, in most cases, even a second thought. Again she checked her cell phone's clock, making sure that she hadn't missed the bus. There were times when she thought about buying a watch, but she had, like many other people of her generation, realized that carrying a phone that always told the time negated the need to pay fifty dollars for something that just told time was a little ludicrous. Her tips weren't that good. By the time that she looked up from her phone and stared down the street towards the fire house she caught the glare of the orange sign atop the Bi-State. 95: Kingshighway. She hadn't missed it; she would actually be on time for work. Early even, much better.
The bus screeched to a halt in front of her and when the doors opened with their powerful buffet of air she stepped back, allowing a large man to brush past her as he grumbled something unintelligible. Without missing a beat she strode up the three steps and dropped her buck fifty into the clear plastic canister. When it buzzed she trotted on back to a seat facing the front of the bus, past a young guy sitting there proudly blasting obnoxious over-bassed rap music. Shaking her head in amusement Amanda sat down and, even though only moments had past since her last glance, checked her cell phone again. There was something that was nagging at her, she didn't know what it was, but the relative calm of the city was unnerving her. On most nights like this the weirdos came out, either them or the rude ones, and on nights when she got the jerks she swore that the clock slowed down just to torment her. She closed her eyes and rubbed them, banishing the thoughts of bad customers to the recesses of her mind, too many times she'd walked into work with a bad attitude only to have it made worse through her own negative energy. Not tonight though. She wouldn't let that happen.
"What the..." The guy sitting up ahead of her looked down in confusion as the music stopped playing from his music player. Around Amanda sighs of relief could be heard, apparently he'd been on the bus for some time. Her fellow passenger's relief was short lived however as a new song began, this one unlike the other that had been thumping from his over-sized headphones. He snapped them off his head and looked at them in disbelief. Amanda found herself listening to the music, able to make out the words despite being ten feet away, and was almost immediately unnerved.
"Say goodbye, as we dance with the Devil tonight.
Don't you dare look at him in the eye,
As we dance with the Devil tonight."
Without warning the song died and went back to the obnoxious rap, much to the joy of the guy and the chagrin of the rest of the passengers. He put his headphones back on and went back to his imitation of television's late night gangsters, waving fingers in the air, head whipping back and forth with the beat that overrode the words. His music player's random song selection seemingly forgotten to him as he continued to sway, but for Amanda it wouldn't fade so easily. God she had a hard time believing in as being a powerful force for peace, but the Devil was something that she could wrap her head around. Obviously there was something that caused pain in this world, something that was more powerful than God otherwise it wouldn't be so prominent. Hearing something about dancing with the Devil was just a little too ominous on the already disturbing night. When she next peaked out the window she noticed that they were nearing the Home Depot that was right across the street from the Diner and in an almost panic she reached up to yank the cord for her stop. Even as the bell finished its chime she was out of her seat standing at the back door of the bus, ready to get off. Number Ninety-Five slowed to a halt and the door opened up into the cold November night and Amanda charged out into it. She glanced across Kingshighway and found that she could actually cross without waiting, which for anyone who had ever seen a major street in a large urban city knew, was very rare.
Maybe this is a sign of a quiet night, Amanda thought as she strolled across Kingshighway. Almost immediately her brain returned that thought as too naive and deserving of a sound knock on wood, a foreign object in the middle of the street. Then and there she knew that her fate was sealed for the night. When she reached the other side of the street she jogged up the four stairs and opened the door to a near-deafening din, smells pungent enough to test her gag reflex, and the most disturbing; an approving gaze from her boss. That alone was almost enough to make her turn around and run. Never before in her three years had Greg looked at her with genuine warmth, yet there it was. Something had to be wrong.
"Oh have I been waiting for you!" Were the first words out of Greg's mouth as she made her way behind the counter. When he got a half-wary smile back his own grin just grew larger. "Shelly called in sick. I've had to wait tables and cook for the past hour."
Amanda knew that she wasn't going to be asked to cook, having demonstrated that her culinary skills stopped at making a badly burned grilled cheese sandwich in her first interview. That was also the only time she'd seen her bosses sense of humor as well. When she had finished burning the sandwich he asked her how she had managed to feed herself, her reply of "TV dinners" prompted the only joke she had ever heard out of him, "Ah, so you got your degree from Marie Calender University. Got it. So, waitress it is, huh?"
Now, as he stood in front of her smiling she knew it was going to be a long night. The usually overcrowded and understaffed diner was even more shorthanded. Shelly was one of two other waitresses, and Selma, a seventy-two year old retiree should have been called a "sittress" instead. Often Amanda had compared her to the village crone the way she sat perched on her stool behind the cash register, peering out at customers as if she was trying to read their souls instead of their credit card information. Tonight, the Courtesy Diner was all Amanda's.
"Well, I better get started then." was all that came out instead of the replies that were full of enough expletives to make a movie censor have a coronary. Greg just smiled even wider, took off his apron, and turned to the grill. As Amanda tied her apron on she glanced around the restaurant and noticed that no regulars were in, and that so far everyone seemed to be rather well set on relaxing and enjoying their time and food.
The next time that Amanda glanced at the clock on the wall three and a half hours had passed and it was quickly approaching midnight. Nothing had gone awry, and Amanda had been able to handle everything that had been thrown at her. Still, this only served to heighten her sense of anxiety about what the rest of the night would bring. Quickly wrapping up a table of two college-age guys she made sure to give the one who had handled the check a bit longer glance and then turned around, praying she had bought herself at least an extra dollar with the look. Her focus slid to the front door where the next customer walked in. Warning bells went off in her head immediately, and she knew that this was what had been building in her stomach all night. He was tall, solidly built, and wrapped up tighter than a Swiss watch. It wasn't just the way he was dressed, but the way that he took in the place. He didn't want anyone to interfere, and it seemed that Amanda would be pushing too much by asking him what he wanted to eat.
Nevertheless, she offered him the most genuine smile she could and told him that she'd be right with him if he wanted to seat himself. Trying to shake off the feeling of impending doom she looked at Selma who, still sitting on her stool, was now sitting straight up, as if someone had put a steel rod up her usually curved spine. "Selma? You know him?"
"No." The elderly woman's eyes never left the new customer, and Amanda could have sworn she saw a shiver run down her body. Amanda had seen Selma look drug dealers straight in the face and call them "Honeychild" without flinching. For this guy to rattle her, it was enough to shake Amanda.
Glancing around, the man selected a seat off the main wall, facing the back of the diner, with room for one more person at his table. Great, another creep is going to join him later. She closed her eyes, took three deep breaths and grabbed her order pad from her apron's biggest pocket. Walking up to the man felt like she was walking into a dragon's lair, just waiting for the jaws to snap out and devour her. "What can I get for you sir?" It was never sir it was always; my dear, hun, or sweetie. Never did she call a customer sir.
He looked up at her with eyes that betrayed no emotion, and a stare that bored into her as he said, “Coffee, black." and looked away again. Amanda nodded curtly, turned around and walked away, her mind racing to think of things that she could do instead of serving that man anymore. Tips didn't matter off this table; the guy probably wasn't going to spend anything worth tipping more than ten cents on. She grabbed a mug, filled it with the Diner’s “Premium,” and placed it on the table without even a, “There ya go.”
--The Diner--
Ten minutes later she addressed the man for the first time by saying, "Refill sir?" in a voice coated with more sugar than the man was going to put in his mug.
He said nothing, just glanced at her, nodded, and went back to staring out the window. Smiling a smile he would only catch a reflection of, she poured him a new cup. Without a word she turned back and walked back behind the counter, put the pot back on the warmer. Thinking about it, the man had hardly moved at all since he’d picked his spot when he had come in half an hour earlier. Maybe he got stood up. Suddenly a gust of cold wind burst into the diner as the door was opened. Amanda turned towards the door, a bright, welcoming smile on her face. As soon as she saw the new customer though, it vanished. She knew that this was the man who the creepy guy had been waiting for. Sure enough, his eyes quickly scanned the diner and locked onto the man.
The new guy, dressed in a bulky winter coat with a black ski cap on, looked away from his friend, and looked at Amanda. Her breath left her; it felt as if he was dissecting her. Not in the sexual way that some of the late nighters had done, this was actually more personal.
"May I?" His voice also caught her off guard. It was deeper than she expected.
"Uh, yeah. I'll uh...I'll get you some of the, the uh, silverware."
"Thank you." With that he walked to the booth with his friend. She wasn't sure what the relationship was between the two of them, but they were not just friends, these guys were a lot more than acquaintances. Grabbing the utensils she slid around the counter and walked to the table, scrutinizing them the whole way. If they didn't have the mysterious, creepy vibe coming off of them, they would've been pretty attractive. The guy on the left, "Creepy Guy," was probably about thirty-five, had medium length brown hair, and rather intense eyes. She couldn't tell what color exactly since she only saw them for a second, but they were a lot like the other guy's. "Coat guy" had hazel eyes that seemed to take in everything. Amanda couldn't tell what color his hair was because of the cap, but given the five o'clock shadow he was sporting, it was probably brown too. They both had really strong jaws, well defined noses. They were probably brothers. Looking again, she was sure of it.
As she put the fork and knife down for "Coat Guy" she looked at him one more time. Again, she was met with that penetrating gaze. Fortunately she was able to look away by fumbling with her apron while trying to find her notepad.
"What can I get for you tonight hun?"
He continued to look at her, and she continued to stare at the notepad. "I think I'll have some coffee."
Great, she thought to herself, another cheapskate. They had to be brothers.
"And some scrambled eggs too, please. If it’s not too much trouble this late."
She scratched it all down onto their ticket and smiled. "Nope, none at all. I'll get your coffee too you in just a minute."
Maybe I was wrong, she thought as she walked back behind the counter.
He watched as the waitress walked away and turning to the first man he started to apologize, but a raised hand quickly silenced him.
"Father?"
Michael nodded, "Isn't that the reason I'm always late?"
"Yes it is. You think He would understand the importance of punctuality." He paused to take a drink of his coffee, "He does love to chat though. How is He? I haven't been by in a while."
"He does miss you, and has told me several times to tell you to stop buy. You should, it would mean a lot."
"I know. I've tried, but things have come up lately that I have needed to prepare for."
Lucifer nodded, looking around for the waitress who was supposed to be coming with his coffee.
"You know," said the fallen angel, "the funny thing is that no one knows entirely how this is going to turn out. Well, He does, but He isn't talking."
"Does he ever?" Scratching his head, the archangel tried to change topics for a bit, holding off on the serious conversation for later. There was no need to get into such heavy topics right off the bat. "How is the coffee?"
"Eh, it isn't as good as the last time we were here, but, that was about a hundred years ago."
"True, but I don't think Donald is still around to brew us a fresh pot."
"Well, we could fix that." The first man said with a grin.
"Yeah, we could, but think of the commotion it would cause. Remember Baltimore? It nearly rioted over it. I had forgotten how strong of a media presence Jacob had."
The first man put down his cup and stared across the table, "So, enough dancing around the topic. Shall we get down to the matter at hand?"
At that point Amanda walked back over with a fresh cup of the diner's brew. "Here you go hun."
A sincere smile spread across Michael’s face as he took the cup from her, "Thanks." He took a drink from it as she walked away. Mulling the taste over, he looked across at his brother, "Donald's was better, but this isn't that bad."
With eyes that barely held back the anger inside the apostate angel looked at his sibling, "Does He really mean to go through with this?"
"He does. His mind is made up. You know how stubborn Father can be."
"Does he not realize what this can do? What about His followers? We won't hide this from them. If he wants a war, we're going to blow it wide open."
"I know, I've told Him as much."
“There is a scene from a movie I’ve seen recently that is stuck in my head.”
Michael looked puzzled at the new stream of his brother’s thoughts. “What’s that?”
“It’s an older movie, something with Sam Jackson and this blonde. That isn’t the important point, this scene, well it’s puzzled me. Jackson and this woman, Davis, something Davis, are riding in a truck. She’s a killer or somethin’ and he makes a comment about wondering if she really needs him and she says “I really don’t” or close too it. Geena! Geena Davis, that’s who it is. Anyway, she slams on the brakes, opens his door and pushes him out.”
“I’m missing where you’re going with this.”
The Lightbringer waved his hand, “Hold on. I’m getting there. Well, he falls into the street but he doesn’t get up. Sam just lays there. In the middle of the road! Doesn’t roll out of the way or anything, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, and lights up. He’s waiting, waiting on something we can’t see but we all kind of know what it is. Sure enough, she pulls back up. Without a word he gets in.”
Wheels were turning in Michael’s head and he was catching a glimpse of where his brother was going with it. “Okay…”
“He knew that she needed him. She knew that she needed him. Regardless of what either of them said or did, they both knew.” He took a drink of his coffee. “And you know what? I don’t know which one of those two that I am.”
"Tell me," Lucifer said, taking another drink and bringing the conversation back to the original topic, "He knows that the Book says nothing about this right?"
"He is well aware of that. He also knows that you've been gathering your army for the past two centuries. We're more prepared than you might think."
No emotion was betrayed on the face of his brother, the one who had fallen from their Father's grace. "Is that supposed to scare me? I do not fear Father's wrath, you of all people should know that. You were there on the day that He threw me out. I have yet to forgive Him, but I do realize that in casting me out, he has given me the tools to straighten this world out."
"What do you mean?"
"The people today have me all wrong. They think that I would let this world descend into chaos, and they could not be further from the truth. Father has the right idea, but he waits too long for the judgment. Those that seek to do good in life shall be rewarded in life, and those that cause others to suffer shall pay dearly for their sins."
"Have you ever mentioned this to Him?"
"That idea is what got me thrown out."
The highest angel nodded, he had feared this day's coming for some time. "You know that next time I see you, I will not be so amicable."
"Trust that I will extend you the same courtesy."
They stood up from the table, and the first man reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Without even looking, he tossed them onto the table.
"Farewell brother," he said, an odd glint in his eye, "I shall see you soon."
They embraced and as the second man leaned in he whispered, "The last thing you shall see is my blade, demon."
"We shall see." With that Hell’s ruler disappeared, leaving the “man” in the cap standing there, hugging the air. He took his hat off and sat down, waiting for his eggs to come. He sat there in silence, drinking his coffee, thinking of the days to come. When Amanda returned with his food he took them from her, and when he looked at her he was surprised that there was an intense feeling of pity in his heart. He did not envy the world that she would wake to the next day.
Michael set his cup down, left enough money to settle the bill and stood up from the booth. He looked around the small diner to find Amanda; she was at the opposite end of the counter talking with a couple of the patrons. Zipping his coat up Michael walked down to her. As she caught a glimpse of him he saw her visibly stiffen. It was something he didn't really like, but it was how most humans dealt with an angel's presence. He motioned for her to move a little bit further down the counter where there were less people that could overhear. She did so, but it was with a noticeable amount of reluctance.
"Yes?" She looked at him with deep green eyes that barely hid her fright.
He smiled at her, trying his best to assuage her fear, but it did nothing. "Take tonight off. Go out with your boyfriend; see the sun come up together. Just, please, don't stay here all night."
Amanda's fright boiled over and turned into anger, "Look, I don't know who you are, but get out of here." Her tone started to go up which drew some looks from the closer patrons, "If I ever see you..."
"Look." He held up his hand, stopping her through his own will. She looked dumbfounded, she wanted to talk, was still trying to talk, but couldn't. He placed his hand on top of hers, and in doing so established a connection between the two of them in which he could show her and only her, what he really looked like.
She saw him transform from the plain man who was bundled up against the cold into something, more. He became bigger, not just in size, it was his persona. His presence grew, he became awe inspiring, had he not been holding her hand she would have shrank back out of fear. Looking him over she noticed that he did indeed have brown hair, and it was much longer and curlier. His eyes caught her attention; they flashed and roiled with a life of their own. No real color, just activity. But it was what was behind him that took her breath away. Wings. Magnificent wings.
--Michael and The Horsemen--
Michael removed his hand and Amanda stared at him, her mouth open and her eyes swimming in the vision that he had given her. There were not many people that he had ever willingly let see through his facade, but he had seen what was coming for the girl, and what had happened in her past. She needed hope, no matter how fleeting it would turn out to be.
"Greg," she was saying as she shook her head, physically trying to force the vision away, "I, uh, I gotta go." Without even bothering to take her apron off she walked to the door. Her mind was spinning. Angel. He was...an angel. If he was an angel, there had to be a God. If there was a God...there had to be a plan. As she opened the door to the blistering cold she grabbed her coat off the rack and stole one more glance back at her customer. He looked just like a normal guy bundled up against the cold. A new customer bumped past her to get into the Diner and the jolt broke her stare. Amanda turned away from him then, heading out into the cold night.
When the door closed behind her Michael withdrew his mind from hers. He didn't like to peer into a humans mind, but sometimes it was necessary. As he did this he looked skyward, There is a plan...right? Letting out a very human sigh, the Archangel headed for the door and out into the night. Rounding the building his question was answered. Three cars sat side by side in the parking lot, their placement and color catching immediately and showing that his Father was aware that three horses tied to a bike rack in the middle of a busy city might draw quite a bit of attention.
The first car in line was a white Mustang, its driver sitting against the hood with a reserved look on his face. Next to him sat a green Cavalier whose driver had just stepped out as Michael had reached the parking lot. Last in line, a fading gray Pinto, its driver still inside listening to a blaring radio.
"So, He does have a plan."
"You of all beings should know that, Archon."
Michael chuckled quietly and quickly stifled it. The angels before him had not walked the Earth as he had. Having been in constant communion with the Creator, they had never been exposed to the gray state of the future for those who interacted with Humanity. The trip that Michael had delayed his arrival tonight marked the first time in which he'd returned to his Father's chamber in two centuries. It was quite a long assignment, but it had been necessary. When Heaven's commander had last met with the Godhead he had been tasked to walk the Earth, much like his wayward brother had millennia before. The Creator had expressed to Michael that the plan He had set in motion was finally drawing to a close, and someone that could be trusted needed to keep an eye on Creation. So, Michael had been sent down, and in some ways, he had gone native. The Horsemen would not understand that.
"You would think." Michael's eyes wandered to the driver of the third car. He had not moved, in fact, Michael was not even sure if the driver knew he was standing outside the car.
The second angel addressed Michael regarding their brother, "He does not like this assignment. He knows it is necessary, but that does not assuage him."
"I see." Maybe he would understand. "Does Father intend to begin soon?"
Shaking his head the second Horseman conveyed doubt, something that Michael did not think they were capable of. "We are not operating by the Creator's plan."
Disbelief filled Michael's gaze. "Then by whose?"
With a look that conveyed supreme hatred and loathing the driver of the Mustang answered him, "The Apostate's. The Lord has commanded that we are not to move until the Fallen One acts. Which, He has conferred to us will indeed be soon."
They stood before him, three of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: the Herald, Famine, and Death. His intuition told him why they were shy one, but he had to be sure, "Where is War?"
Death answered him while absentmindedly checking his Pinto's hood, "He began riding shortly after the Prophet appeared. Per Divine order."
"Sewing the seeds, I see." Michael could feel the expectation in the air. The only reason that they had gathered was because something was about to happen that had been deemed pivotal. If the Horsemen knew, they weren't saying anything. While Michael pondered if they had been ordered to keep silent on the issue a large red Bronco thundered over the pothole riddled entrance and pulled into the fourth spot.
The truck's engine turned off and the car door opened to let the last remnants of a song come out,
"The wrath of the Lamb.
The Martyr's cry,
'Break the Seven Seals!
Let the Horsemen ride!'"
War strode around to join his brothers. "Long time no see Commander." He said as he saluted Michael, who quickly snapped a return. It had actually caught him off guard, never in their time in the Court had there been such a practice, it was strictly a human action. War had spent a large amount of time on Earth. It was said that he had seen every conflict in the history of creation, even if he didn't have a direct hand in them.
"So, no word on what brings us together?” War looked at each face expectantly, and when he got no answer he just shrugged. "Didn't expect so."
Famine shot him a warning glare, "Watch your tongue."
Apparently War's semi-nativist attitude was not seen as such a good thing by the other Horsemen. Michael wanted to openly agree with him, but knew that it was best if he kept his thoughts to himself and played the stoic commander that he was known to be.
Without warning they all felt something change within their bodies, a nudge urging them to turn East. They willed themselves to the point that they were called to and found the Mississippi river where the Kingshighway had been. When they turned around the angels stared up at the Gateway Arch, knowing that this was their destination.
The Angel of Famine's voice broke the pregnant silence, "I watched Satan fall from Heaven like a flash of lightning." No sooner had he finished quoting Scripture than lightning struck the Arch and in its wake stood an angel with wings unfurled and its body glowing.
Michael looked at his brother and then realized that there was something slightly odd about his appearance. Death voiced Michael's troubles, "Father allowed him to keep his glory."
Their eyes locked upon Lucifer as he stood upon the Arch while same sense of the Lord's plan coming to a pivotal moment struck them all. Looking at him, Lucifer seemed to be the brother that they had all known, not the fallen beast that he had become.
"Sons and daughters of the Lord, I address you all directly for the first time in history." Lucifer's voice boomed out, but the five angels heard it as if he was only steps away from them. "So that there is no mistake, I will tell you that I am the angel known as Lucifer, Satan, the Tempter, the Adversary, or whatever you have named me. The ultimate enemy of God if you will. Standing before you today, I tell you that this has not been the case. I have not led you to your destruction; I have not been goading you on. Instead, I have remained in the background, watching as you run yourselves into the ground. Let me repeat myself, you ran yourselves into the ground. Humanity has reached an interesting point. A Prophet, a true Prophet has arisen. Yet, already things are moving that will bring about his death.
"This is my warning to you Humanity. Regardless of race, faith, culture, language or any other foolish thing that you can think of to divide yourself by; if he is murdered, it is a sin that shall rest on each and every one of you. No penance shall cleanse you. There will be no Savior to wash you clean in His blood. The wheat will not be separated, it will become the chaff. You are probably asking yourself why at this point. I will tell you."
The world felt him take his breath, readying itself for his revelation.
"Scripture is correct when it said that I was cast out of Heaven. However, you have read been reading it under the wrong impression. I was not removed from the Heavenly Host for anything that I had done, instead it was for something that I would do. Something that was in the future for myself and the rest of Creation, but not for the Lord. All time is the present to the Creator and with knowledge that I would not veer from my path I was cast out and condemned to the shadows. Now, I shall harvest what you have sewn, the seeds of your own death.
"I do this without malice, simply because it is something that must be done. This is an act of necessity. You have been forgiven twice in your history, no more. I will not stand by any longer and watch as you reject the love that your Maker was willing to give you. Among you now is a new Abel, harm him and I assure you, you shall know firsthand the curse that Cain bore, and what it means to be forsaken in the eyes of the Lord. Bear this in mind Humanity, I shall not waiver."
With that Lucifer disappeared and Michael, along with the Four Horsemen, stood in silence, wondering what lengths their fallen brother would go to.
I'll be dividing it up into sections again later, but LJ has been giving me some issues tonight after having added in a significant portion the latest section. So, as of right now, if you've been keeping up just scroll down until you reach the -Michael and The Horsemen- section, that is where the major addition is.