![Angel Virus [ONC 2022]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/300557279-256-k110204.jpg)
Angel Virus [ONC 2022]
- LECTURAS 318
- Votos 78
- Partes 19
Rik couldn't afford college, so he took a janitor job at a virology lab. One night, he cleaned up a broken test tube. Soon, his beard stopped growing. His Cheetos-and-donut paunch disappeared. Suddenly, when he talked, people actually listened. Sure, he could see spirits, too, and a high-ranking devil may or may not be hunting him, but mostly this was great.
Then his sister caught the virus. And others. If the virus spread out of control, what would happen? An angel apocalypse?
The hordes of hell's minions could not afford to have the human race turn into angels. To stem the spread of the angel virus, they invaded.
Suddenly, it was up to Rik and Trixie to save the city, and themselves, and maybe the whole human race.
---
Complete. Still polishing.
As might be inferred from the title, this story deals in a loose way with Christianity, one of the five major world religions. It is not, however a "Christian story" in the sense of illustrating actual religious experience or practice. I just thought I'd be plain about that here, so readers can decide whether to turn the page or not. This story is an urban fantasy and it is entirely fictional.
Content rating: teen.
Winner! 2nd place, Punk Rock Awards 2022, paranormal category.
Copyright 2022, Guy Worthey, all rights reserved.
Todos los derechos reservados
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***Book Three of the Orson Goldbloom tetralogy*** "What?" she exclaims. "Trixie is captain?!" I nod firmly. "Yeah. Today's not April Fool's Day, and looks like the All-Father's brain is clouded as f😠😠😠." "Language, Orson!" I look at her puppy eyes, and decide I don't care. "Evangeline, I'd love to tell you that I've been yanking your tail, but I'm not. Trixie is our new head." "What the f-" she sounds as if she would start swearing herself. "Language, my sweet Angel," I say. "The gesture is cute, though." "Go f-" she seems to be unable to speak the word. I grin. Let's do this the fun way. "Read after me: duck." "Duck," she copies. "Luck." "Luck." "Buck." "Buck." "Tuck." "Tuck." "Muck." "Muck." "F😠😠😠." "Fff...uh..." I sigh and facepalm. "Evangeline Youngspire, you are officially hopeless." "I'll take that as a compliment," she says, all smiley. "Oh, of course, you little sh😤😤!" I cry. Puppy eyes, oh how I hate you. "Orson, that's mean!" she pouts. "B😣😣😣😣!" I cry. "Little sl😡😡!" "Orson, you're impossible." I smile, raising my voice a few hundred octaves higher. I brush back my hair exaggeratedly and say as Evangelinely as I can, "I'll take that as a compliment."
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