Mabel couldn't help but feel a foreboding sense of dread as they ran through the forest. The last time she'd been in this kind of scenario, she'd had a demigod chasing her. Through the vague spattering of trees to her right, she could see the skirmish between the archangels and the son's followers. Michael and Jésús hadn't been lying when they'd shared their remarks of being outnumbered. Still, Michael and his impressively skilled team of archangels, were providing more than enough cover while they raced through the woodland; tuning every sense to the sound of hoof fall and conflict ahead.
As they hopped over fallen branches and rocks, Kristoph suddenly skidded to halt with confusion etched across his face, "I'm sorry, but there are some things I am really struggling to understand."
"Like what?" Thet asked, impatiently. He looked around him, anxiously, as the sounds of war cries echoed around them.
"Well, think about it. Gestas and Azrael. They were the masterminds behind the trip to Heaven. If they didn't want us to get involved, why did they tell you about the plot?" He panted, bending double with his hands on his knees. "Not to mention, Mab and I have powers that can both destroy and heal, apparently. What's that all about?"
Mabel shook her head, "Kris, those are both very valid questions, but can we hash out the reasonings of mad men when we're not in the middle of a war zone?"
"Gestas?" Cain asked. Even his cheeks were flushed with the exertion. "The impenitent thief? He's involved in this?"
Kristoph and Mabel nodded at Cain's stunned response.
"That makes no sense!" Cain shook his head. "Gestas is, for all intents and purposes, a friend of mine. He hates the Son of the Lord. His feelings never changed, hence his condemnation to Purgatory. He's a neighbour if you will."
At the look of confusion on Mabel's face, Cain hastily explained: "there are multiple recesses in each realm. Hell has its echelons; Heaven has its collection of halls. Purgatory has, well, neighbourhoods. Homes for the homeless. Purgatory isn't a place of unending suffering... well, it was, before we added some semblance of order to it. Now, it's a place where we can take our time to decide whether to make peace with our actions, accept our fate, or repent for our crimes."
"No offence mate," Pete said, as beads of sweat shimmered across his brow. "But with the amount of time you've been there, I'd have thought you'd have made a decision by now, either way?"
"I did," Cain said. "Lilim and I chose to accept our fate but agreed to a life outside of politics between heaven and hell. Neither of us can stand the constant bickering between the two forces. So, we created a home. Gestas followed suit. Although, he's far from repentant, he isn't altogether keen on spending eternity in Hell, so he opted for Purgatory. Life in darkness. He was once a thief after all, he's no stranger to the dark."
"But..." Mabel's voice trailed off uncertainly as over Thet's shoulder she spotted something that made her blood run cold.
Walking toward the group was the son. His smile was cruel, and he looked exhausted, but victorious.
"Who's that he's dragging?" Kristoph grimaced, turning around to follow Mabel's mortified gaze.
As if in answer to his question, with a display of venomous hatred, the son hurled the figure he'd been pulling along the ground, toward the group.
There was a moment of terror as the limp form of Eric landed heavily, like a rag doll, at Thet's feet.
"I believe," the almighty's son cried out, "that disgrace belongs to you!" He spat angrily and stayed his ground, his eyes looked deranged and wild.
Mabel crouched by the rhythm guitarist and tried to shake him, but it was no use. Eric lay on the ground, white as a sheet and unresponsive.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?" She screeched, her voice drowning out the battle behind them.
The figure simply cackled, "I have done what I intend to do with all the useless flesh sacks that overpopulate this world. I will create husks from their bodies, fill them with the souls of my brethren, my kin. Not to mention all the powerful deities who clamour for the graces of the Lord and who are owed recognition, honour, respect. That is but one casualty of war Eve," he sneered wickedly, as Mabel clung to Eric's frozen hand. "Get used to seeing billions more!"
YOU ARE READING
After-Life
FantasyGone but not at rest. Granted a new lease of life, but unable to live it freely. Mabel Weaver quickly learns that death does not always mean the end. Who says the after-life doesn't have a sense of humour?
