Page 37 of Metatron
Earth was going to war. And Hell might not be its worst threat. How could he tell Francesca, though? Or anyone else for that matter?
“Are you okay? You seem bothered.” An intuitive Francesca noted his discomfort.
“Just pondering my next actions and thinking it’s time I removed my HALO,” he admitted. If only to stop Elyon’s intrusion into his head.
“I thought you want to keep an eye on your boss.”
“I do, and yet it goes two ways,” he muttered.
“Then ditch it.”
“Easy to say. It’s been a part of me for a long while.”
“If it helps, its removal doesn’t seem to have bothered the others.”
She referred to Zakai and Elija, the first two to get rid of theirs. Munna had recently followed, and Eoch had been talking about it too.
“It’s hard to give up something that’s been a part of your identity for a long time.” He still remembered his pride at being chosen as part of Elyon’s army. It took a long while for the novelty of it to wear off.
“Then keep it, but know so long as you do, he might be watching, listening, plotting, and tracking.”
He sighed. “I know it has to go. I’m just struggling with it. The breaking of vows should never be done lightly.”
She put her hand over his. “Then think about it a while longer if you must. I wouldn’t want you to regret it.”
He already did, so many things he’d done in the name of his God and Heaven’s laws. The words of a rebel from long ago came back to haunt him, more than ever before, Who decides what’s good or evil?
It used to be he trusted Elyon with that task. But doing good shouldn’t have left him feeling uncomfortable and full of regret.
In companionable silence, they sat and waited. As twilight fell, they gave each other a long embrace before readying themselves. Francesca lay on her stomach with her weaponry set up on a tripod. He perched on a humming metal machine, square in shape, with vents to draw in air.
Before the oranges and purples had faded from the sky, the door slammed open and the first imp emerged.
Pop.
With methodical precision, Francesca shot the imps, rarely missing. A gun jam led to her cursing and clicking as she sought to fix the issue. He swept in, sword at the ready, scything through the imps that hissed and snarled in his direction. More of them than expected.
It meant a few managed to escape, flapping off in the direction of the Vatican.
Pop.
An imp fell, and a glance showed Francesca switching to another weapon. “Go after the ones escaping. I’ve got the stragglers,” she announced as she began firing again.
He hesitated. Leave her alone to fight? Or trust she could handle herself?
The latter proved harder to accept but the right choice. Only two live imps remained on the roof, and he detected none coming through the door, so he took off, pushing hard with his legs to launch into the air. His rapid flaps quickly closed the gap between him and the fleeing imps but not fast enough to catch them as they aimed for a balcony allowing entrance into the Apostolic Palace where the pope lived.
The pair of imps flitted inside, and he was ready to follow them when a scream from behind had him swiveling his head to see a cloud of flapping wings heading for the palace. By now, the guards stationed had noticed the aerial invasion. They shouted as they took aim. However, the handful of snipers couldn’t keep up with the descending horde.
He diverted his path to attempt and save the soldier grappling with an imp. As he got close, the imp stared right at him, hissed, and tossed the man over the wall before throwing itself into the air. It didn’t get far before Metatron’s sword sliced it in half.
Metatron alit on the parapet and held his ground as some imps arrowed for him, throwing themselves on his blade, as if they wanted to die.
It hit him in that moment that they purposely caused a distraction. The imps weren’t here for Metatron.
He jumped back into the air, wings extending with a snap as he arrowed for the balcony where the imps kept entering. He heard shouting and then, more alarming, a cloud of the creatures emerged, and they weren’t empty-handed. He counted at least two cardinals with their red hats and robes, but of more concern, they also had the disbeliever in white.
He couldn’t let them kill the pope. To that end, he ignited his HALO and called on his shield. It encased him stronger than he’d ever managed before because of this suul-rich city. He drew on that power and funneled it to his sword, which gleamed with holy wrath.