“Ben!” Abigail shouted again as if he hadn’t heard her first call. Her padded footfalls announcing her approach from behind as he knelt before the cross above the fireplace. The group had returned to Andrew’s house after Ben’s liturgy over two weeks ago. He had tried to instil in them the belief and faith he had been renewed with. He knew the answers he had been blindly seeking for all this time would be found only through prayer.
Everyone had tried to remain positive around him however Ben could do nothing to slow their descent into hopelessness. The fires in their eyes were slowly suffocating under the constant fear of death without redemption. It was a horrible way to live. Having a sword dangling over their heads, hanging by a single thread of string that could break at any moment was tearing down their will.
“Ben!” Abigail yelled exasperatedly.
“What is it?” He replied as he stopped his prayers and twisted back to look at her. He noticed the sorrow in her eyes as she watched him and he wondered if her heart had been torn so deeply from learning she had never had a relationship with Jesus that it could never be repaired. Or rather, she didn’t want it repaired.
“I’m going,” she declared, a stubborn determination filling her voice.
“Going where? It’s too dangerous outside now, there are only monsters outside, and they’re just the people.” Ben replied.
Shaking her head, she continued on, “I’m going back to the H7 Bunker. I had Andrew visit, he said Marcus and some others are still there.” Andrew was warping around the world again? Ben had warned him against doing it too often. They had no idea what the repercussions would be or even if the place he wanted to go to still existed, or were safe to enter.
“There is nothing for you there,” he suggested.
“There is nothing for me here Ben,” she replied with a sigh, and Ben cringed at the pain in her voice.
“I’ll take the two girls with me, they will be safer there. You keep looking for this child king of yours.” Ben mulled it over in his mind, trying to ignore the pain in his chest, the pain of losing yet another friend. Separation, it had become something all too difficult to deal with. Despite this, he knew that Abigail was right. The girls would be safer distancing themselves from him for now. He would only attract more trouble from here on in, and he wasn’t sure if he could protect anyone, not them, not Andrew and not himself.
“You look after them Abigail. Protect them with your life.” It was all he could think of to say.
“I will Ben.” She said with steely resolve.
“And make sure to look after Sarah. She’s strong on the outside, but she’ll need all the help she can get, even if she won’t admit it.” Abigail nodded, tears welling in her eyes.
“You’re a good man Ben,” she answered, fighting back tears. Ben got up and moved to her, holding her at arm’s length as he looked into her eyes. Making the sign of the cross over her forehead and heart he prayed a silent prayer to the Lord God.
“Don’t give up on the Lord God, he is always there for you Abi,” he offered.
“It’s too late for that now wouldn’t you say?” She replied dejectedly.
“It’s never too late,” he countered.
“What’s not too late?” Andrew asked as he walked through the door to the living room.
“Life,” Ben replied.
“I disagree. We’re all screwed,” he said with a grin. Ben couldn’t tell if he were serious or joking. Abigail chuckled, unable to hold onto the despair she had clung to moments before, and suddenly, Ben didn’t care if he were serious. It had brought a smile to a wonderful person who deserved to find reasons to smile.
“So you’re going now?” Ben asked Andrew. He nodded as the other girls filled the room. Ben looked down at them carefully, wanting to engrave their faces in his mind forever lest it be the last time he saw them. Kyung, her mid-length straight black hair had begun to grow longer, and the bruises that covered her were now almost all gone. Her dark black eyes seemed to be filled with quiet determination as she held Sarah’s hand tightly.
Sarah the young, feisty red haired girl had begun to show slightly. Her eyes were no longer dead, but renewed with the resolve to survive for her unborn child. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, this child here, bore the truth of the human spirit. Never give up.
“You two look after each other, okay?” He requested.
“Of course,” Sarah replied, giving voice to Kyung’s soft nod.
“Time to go,” Andrew declared, “I’ll be right back,” he offered Ben.
Ben watched as the girls all held hands in a circle around Andrew, as if some strange witchcraft were being performed, and perhaps, Ben thought, there was. In the blink of an eye the group had vanished, leaving not even a trace that they had stood no more than two strides from him a second earlier.
Ben turned to gaze upon the cross sitting above the fireplace, the wooden sculpture of Jesus Christ nailed to the cross looked down at him, his face carved in excruciating pain.
“Lord, you gave me those words for a reason. I’m still here, for a reason. My life is in your hands now. Tell me what you want from me,” silence was his only reply. Ignoring his foolish disappointment Ben knelt once more before the cross and continued his prayers.
***
Aamon had been waiting patiently for weeks now. Surely his patience was matched by none of the other foolish demon princes. He was sure it was one of the qualities that had earned him the place as Astaroth’s favourite ‘assistant’.
Twice he had approached the house and been seen by that young girl. Twice he had feared that they would escape him, but it seemed she saw only a dog as she watched him from the window on the second floor of the old house. If she had looked closer, she would have seen the dog was a muscled wolf’s, eyes filled with cloudy darkness with a thick, long tail that matched a python’s more than any canine.
Finally, his patience had paid off as he felt the Angel shimmer away with everyone except the priest. The smell of fear that filled the house had left along with most of its inhabitants. He hadn’t believed it when he had felt an angel shimmer into the church all those weeks ago; however, the familiar burn of walking on hallowed ground as he approached the church afterwards had confirmed his suspicions. He had thought an attempt to find him would be pointless, but when his pathetic ravens returned bearing news of an angel nearby, shimmering in and out of an old house mere blocks away from the church, well he just had to find out more.
Astaroth would be pleased. In fact, Satanael would be immensely pleased. Not only had he tracked down an angel on earth, he had also found the priest that Satanael had been searching for. Perhaps Satanael would be so pleased he would reward Aamon with his own kingdom to rule over on this pathetic little rock of a planet. His own kingdom, yes, then he would have his own souls to command rather than the flocks of starved ravens that followed his every beck and call.
Aamon knew he had to be quick, the angel was never gone for very long, and he still had no idea what the angel was capable of. The thought was more than a little worrying considering all beings of the Heavenly plane were prohibited to enter this plane. In the end though, it was but another snippet of information that would buy him favour with Satanael.
Aamon shimmered inside the building after carefully double checking the priest was truly the only person left in the house. The old brick house was covered with wooden panels inside. Aamon’s large paws padded lightly up the creaky old stair case. He stuck as close to the wall as possible to avoid any obvious noise that would warn the Priest of his presence.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he looked up at a grandiose picture of a young man brandishing a large glass of red wine whilst leaning against a monumental building which towered beyond the focus of the painting. The man’s bright green eyes were alarmingly different to the dark skin that covered him.
Aamon shaped his blight filled soul and quickly mutated to his humanoid form. His wolf like head twisting in on itself as it merged to his humanoid form. Fur grew and stretched into feathers as his head changed to mimic the black ravens that were so intent on haunting his every move. From his head down, Aamon stood naked, his pale skin seeming vivid and bright against his dark feathered skull and sharp black beak.
He snuck through the hallway and towards the glowering flames that blazed in the distant fireplace. Creeping silently he took a deep breath, cherishing the power he held right now as he stood over the man. His head bowed in what should have been worship of Aamon. His eyes gleamed as a dark cloud began to emerge beside him, a window to his nest, where hundreds of thousands of ravens waited to do his bidding.
“Andrew?” The priest asked as he finally sensed his presence. The man turned his head his in time to see a conspiracy of Ravens tear through the dark cloud, surrounding him, clawing at him with unholy strength granted by the power of Aamon’s blackened soul.
“Hello priest,” Aamon greeted, flicking his head to the left so he could better soak in the man’s fear.
“Lord God in Heaven, grant me the strength to drive this demon back in your name,” he prayed. Aamon cawed in amusement as hundreds of ravens mimicked him.
“It’s too late for that priest,” he taunted as the ravens’ raucous filled the room. Stupid birds, they should be concentrating on keeping him held as their claws dug into the man’s skin, tearing flesh as they lifted him just above the floor.
“It’s never too late,” the priest growled.
“So what is an angel and a priest doing here still?” He asked.
“What angel?” The priest replied. So, he wanted to play dumb. Aamon smiled to himself as his beak opened wide, revealing rows of fangs otherwise hidden inside his beak.
“Never mind, I believe I know someone who would love to talk to you.” He declared.
“I’ll give you my number, get him to call me.” Aamon smiled once more, this priest was amusing, he had backbone.
“I think it best you meet him face to face. Reception has become somewhat unreliable these days.” Aamon replied, motioning for his little pets to carry him back through the dark cloud.
“Hey! That’s my priest!” A voice bellowed from the doorway, Aamon turned around to see the man from the painting standing before him. The same unsettling green eyes glowed with a faint luminescence.
“Not anymore,” Aamon replied commanding one of his children to attack the man just before he stepped through the dark cloud, making sure to close it quickly behind him. He stepped out on the other side just in time to see the portal wink into inexistence.
He looked around at the forest of dead, leafless trees that towered over them and blotted out all sight from above.
“Ahhhh, home sweet home,” Aamon declared and joined the cawing laughter of hundreds of thousands of ravens as he watched the priest fell to his knees, praying desperate pleas for salvation.