Page 36 of Metatron
“Why do I get the impression you’re not upset by their presence?”
“Because we can use them to our advantage. The pope refuses to believe we are sent here from God, but he might be more amenable if we were to save his life from actual demons.”
“It would be taking a huge risk. What if they get to him before we can?”
“Then he dies and we convince the next to take his place.” It seemed simple to Metatron. He even preferred that plan to saving the man causing so much trouble. The pope should have been the one person who just did as told by the choir.
“We don’t have time for the games the church plays when it comes to succession, not to mention the next one might be just as disinclined to side with us.”
He sighed. “This whole making people believe is much harder than it should be.”
Francesca patted his cheek. “Welcome to a world where thoughts are diverse.”
It led to him grimacing. “A bane and a boon all at once.”
“You’re starting to get us, I think,” was her laughed reply.
They hunkered to wait. At least she’d not suggested they infiltrate the apartments. That would have put them walking into an unknown situation, putting her in danger.
As they waited, he couldn’t help but fall into a memory of his most recent conversation with God.
Metatron had wanted to ignore the insistence buzzing from his HALO. A HALO that he alone still wore. The others in the choir, after hearing what the so-called blessing had been doing—spying on them, giving out their location, possibly even influencing—chose to have theirs removed.
Not Metatron, he’d kept his for one reason, to talk to God. It made sense at the time, but when that the reason signaled, he half wished he’d done like the others. Anything to not deal with the unpleasantness he would now face. However, ignoring the summons wouldn’t make Elyon go away, so he had answered.
“Hello.”
“Hello? That’s all you have to say?” asked the deceptively smooth voice, the reception clearer than it should be. Not a good sign. Heaven wasn’t supposed to be anywhere close to this galaxy. “You continue to disobey me.”
It could only mean Elyon knew Metatron had chosen not to abandon and destroy the planet as ordered. Metatron had hoped with Jesus Christ’s death—the scion being Elyon’s nosy eyes and ears—that his actions would evade detection a while longer. However, Elyon always did have his sneaky spying ways, some of which Metatron had yet to discover. “Yes, I disobeyed because your orders were unreasonable.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make. The Eden flock is corrupt. It needs cleansing.”
“It’s not corrupt. It just doesn’t want to be your vassal. And I can’t say I blame them. You’ve done nothing for this planet.”
“I gave them life!” God boomed, and Metatron held in a wince as the words reverberated in his skull.
The discomfort hadn’t stopped him from growling, “And now you would punish them for living as they see fit.”
“I banished you so you’d stop causing trouble.”
“You banished me because you knew if you tried to order me killed, I’d make sure Heaven saw you for what you really are.” And it wasn’t the genial God they worshipped.
The next statement was practically spat. “Your mutiny and that of the choir won’t go unpunished.”
“Really? And how do you plan to mete it? It would require you leaving your precious palace on Heaven. Which we both know won’t happen, not with Hell practically on Eden’s doorstep.”
“I’ve tolerated much from you, Metatron, but this time, you’ve gone too far.”
“I could say the same. I should have put a stop to your megalomania a millennia ago.” Before Elyon got so strong.
“You were weak then, and you are weak now.”
“Am I? I dare you to say that to my face.” A challenge tossed.
“As you wish,” the ominous reply.
The connection had severed, and Metatron had sighed with the realization there was no turning back now.