Chapter IV

Things were getting much warmer than the temperature in the Research Vault.

MAVET WAS ENJOYING THIS little show, but it had gone on long enough. He decided that he needed to make his move very soon . . . but carefully. He knew that whatever evil force he was feeling would soon make its presence known, and most likely, the encounter would not be pleasant. So he sized up the room and weighed his options.

Deegan enjoyed every minute of this. He couldn’t be bothered about the silly monkey arguments that were being made.

He stole this, they sold that.

Bla, bla, bla.

He had come looking for an angel, again. And he had found one, again.

The Prophecies of Jesus were not all that important to him because it wouldn’t change things one way or another. The future would happen, whether the monkeys (humans) were ready for it or not. They were of no concern. So he let the soap opera go on. He would wait for Mavet to make the first move. He knew that he should have summoned Uriel, and the Angels that would surely follow, much earlier, but that wouldn’t be in his nature. This was his gig, and he would do it his way . . . sink or swim.

Pasquale continued, “Thomas changed them to test their validity. He wanted to see if it was all some hoax, or some propaganda device created by us . . . by the Vatican. Thomas was much smarter than we suspected. He changed the translations at various points that he knew we couldn’t verify through the other translators.

And he must have known that we weren’t getting results out of the others. The Prophecies of Jesus Christ were his own to twist and fold as he saw fit. And he did. I checked it myself. I have been following his work very closely for many years.”

“As have I,” Cardinal Delatorre said quickly. “And I would have noticed a change in ‘voice.’ I would have known.”

Ritti watched them go back and forth, rather anxious to start cleaning this whole affair up.

“You got duped,” Abbot said. “Apparently, we all did. And I haven’t even been here that long. My ex-wife was a more reliable host.”

“I can verify the translations,” Delatorre said, his speech rapid and nasally.

“I can have other experts brought in to finish the translations. The lost frames can be—”

“You have . . . nothing,” the Pope said, breaking his earlier silence. “You are a fool who knows not what he has done. And there is a hot seat waiting for you on the other side. You will fit in nicely in Hades . . . perhaps they’ll make you a Cardinal there, too.”

Ritti raised his arm, the front sights of the pistol hovering at the Pope’s upper chest. “I always liked you, sir. I will not enjoy this part.”

“You don’t have to,” Cardinal Delatorre said as he extended his hand in a gesture to give him the gun. “Please, Colonel Ritti,” he said as his eyes narrowed, “allow me to put an exclamation point on what I started. Keep your conscience. Let me put this old fool to sleep, as I did his predecessor.”

“You killed John Paul the second?” Pasquale said as if a bitter taste had spread throughout his mouth. He might have been shocked hours ago at this revelation, but certainly not now. The duplicity in these men was putrid.

“I had him dealt with,” Cardinal Delatorre explained as if he was discussing the ingredients to a baked pie. “It was nothing more than a little pin prick. Trust me, he didn’t suffer.”

Ritti smiled as he handed over the pistol, “By all means, you cold-hearted bastard. Better for my conscience anyway. Have your fun, but try and remember that we have to cover all of this up after it happens.”

They exchanged the pistol.

It looked heavy in the Cardinal’s thin hand. Slowly he raised it towards the Pope, as the guards on either side leaned their heads away. He took the Pope’s hand in his free hand, “Let us share this one last moment, your Holiness. Before the gunman ambushed you.”

“That’s not very creative,” Abbot said.

Delatorre shrugged, “Sometimes simple is better.”

“I think you’re a fucking asshole!” Abbot said. Everyone stared at him like he had stolen from the offering plate. “You’re obviously going to kill us anyway, so I just wanted you to know where I stand . . . just my opinion.” Abbot looked at the Pope. “Sorry, sir. I’m sure my repeated blasphemy will cost me some time in Purgatory. But I figure it’s worth a few hundred extra years to tell the dipshit puke bags where to go.” Abbot smiled, flipping both of the men off with both hands.

The Pope smiled and then slowly turned towards the pistol. “If you are going to kill me, then you will have to stare me in the face as you do so.”

“You are a nice old man,” the Cardinal said as his finger tightened on the trigger. He was still holding the Pope’s hand when suddenly he raised the pistol to his right temple. Confusion spread throughout the room like wildfire. What was going on?

“This may give you nightmares,” he said with a smile and then he pulled the trigger.

Pop!

As Mavet pulled the trigger he leaped into the Pope’s body. Everything seemed to freeze in this room full of history and violence. Mavet was already making his way through the Pope’s mind when the bullet passed through Cardinal Delatorre’s brain. Delatorre had been on Mavet’s original list, sanctioned by Michael from above. It had just taken longer than expected to carry out the cleansing.

As the lifeless arm dropped, the pistol was released, heading for the tile floor below their feet. The bullet passed the Cardinals skull on the left side and crossed in front of the Pope’s face. Blood mixed with bone and an oatmeal-like brain matter were caught in the bullet’s shock wave, travelling through the air behind the Teflon coated slug.

Abbot instinctively ducked, and all the power he had ever gained playing college football seemed to have been summoned for that one lunge towards the falling gun.

The bullet tore through the Pope’s white vestments and would have ripped through his shoulder had it not bounced of a rather uncharacteristic crucifix that hung on a length of silver chain.

Abbot sprang forward, his arms reaching to grab the pistol. He was fully extended in flight.

The bullet—bouncing off of the strange silver cross—redirected its trajectory and zipped past one of the guards, towards another. Ritti had not yet fully reacted to the initial blast when the slug entered his stomach, tumbling and turning, tearing up flesh and organs as it disintegrated. It jerked his hip suddenly back, forcing his upper body to bend forward as if he was going to bow.

Abbot’s body crashed past Ritti, smashing the dying colonel just below the knees as he fell. The pistol bounced just one time, like a wobbly football, before Abbot’s large hands wrapped around it and brought the weapon to his chest. He slid several feet across the floor as the Pope, Ritti, Cardinal Delatorre, and two guards all fell.

Mavet felt something he had never felt before. He couldn’t take control of the Pope’s body. He tried and tried, but something inside the Pope was flushing him out, purging him like a foreign entity. This doesn’t happen he thought to himself as he struggled.

He did everything in his power to gain control, but it was no use. He was being evicted. As the Pope rolled on the floor he coughed and wretched. Soon enough, a dark black liquid was being vomited out of him, falling to the floor in front of him and coalescing into a strange form.

Mavet felt himself being forced to take his own shape. It was like being reborn . . . only much more painful. Slowly he grew as the Pope continued to expel him. Larger and more dense he became until his form took shape. Unsteadily, he stood, his skin still liquid, undulating black, his eyes glowing bright blue. This colorless dark creature stood staring at the Pope.

The Pope, now on all fours, looked slowly up. “You taste like shit!” the old man said.

Abbot had rolled over and was now pointing the pistol towards Ritti’s fallen body. His mind was not taking in all the information. All he was considering was Ritti, and if he was still a threat. The fallen colonel coughed up some thick, blackish red blood as he curled up, holding his stomach with both hands. The blood covered his lips like bad clown makeup.

Mavet was surprised by the old man’s words. As his body took on more color he lowered himself to the Pope. “What did you say?”

Suddenly, the Pope’s face went blank. All of the bumps and curves slowly disappeared until it was liquidly silver, like melting metal. Within seconds Deegan’s face appeared in the Pope’s ripped vestment.

“You!” Mavet said as he backed up a couple paces.

“What the fuck is going on!?” Abbot yelled as he steadied the pistol at them both. He was still on his back.

Deegan slowly stood, stretching his neck side to side, rolling his shoulders.

“World, I would like to introduce Mavet . . . he will by your Angel of Death for this evening’s entertainment.”

“Who are you? What in the Hell is going on? Where is the Pope?” Pasquale yelled, finally getting his breath sufficient to speak.

Deegan’s expression was cold, his eyes grey and icy. “Your holy man is safe, sitting in his chamber, where he’s been all night. He’ll have some nasty rope burns, but he should be fine otherwise. Not that I really care. I just needed a shape.”

“They sent you . . .” Mavet said angrily, “For me? What business does Lucifer have in all of this?”

“Lucifer didn’t send me, Mavet.” Deegan glanced down at the robe he was wearing, shaking his head frustratedly. “No. Uriel did . . . as a favor for Michael.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing?” Mavet spat.

“Well, we’re breaking new ground here tovarish (comrade). This will all be a nice story to tell,” Deegan said as he walked toward a case that had several swords pristinely mounted with the blades pointing downward in it. He eyed them quickly, noticing the one he most wanted.

Mavet saw that Deegan was going for a weapon and he headed toward the same cabinet. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I want a souvenir,” Deegan said as he smashed his hand through the glass.

“I don’t think anyone will mind.”

“Both of you stay put,” Abbot said as he stood. “I don’t have any idea what is going on, but everybody stop where you are. Since I don’t believe in monsters, I have no problem pumping rounds into either of you.”

Deegan and Mavet both turned toward Abbot with bored looks on their face.

“Silly little monkey,” Deegan said. “Save that thing for your own kind. I doubt you’re out of the woods yet.”

Abbot fired the shot without thinking. The Teflon slug raced across the room, passed right through Deegan, and broke some glass in a cabinet behind him.

Deegan snorted as he turned back to the swords in the case, “Give a loaded gun to a monkey and see what happens.” As he reached for the sword of his choosing Mavet kicked him square in the chest, sending him back several meters where he crashed into another cabinet.

Deegan quickly picked himself up, brushing off glass and broken artifacts.

“You going to be a hard-ass about this, Mavet? Fine.” He walked forward, meeting Mavet’s gaze. “You want to fight until they get here, let’s have some fun. I haven’t punched on an Angel in a long time. It will be good for the soul. But we have to hurry,” Deegan said as his eyes circled the large Vault. “They’ll be here soon.”

Abbot looked over at Pasquale, lifting the gun as if to say, what now? Pasquale didn’t have any answers. Only questions.

“Who are you?” Abbot yelled.

Mavet turned to him as he fabricated a cloak from some material in one of the broken cases. “I . . . am Mavet. I am an Angel sent to kill a handful of humans who broke the wrong rules.” He tore at the brown fabric, “He, is a tracker . . . sent from Hell to deliver me on a platter. You haven’t heard of me because it’s one of those little details the Catholics don’t like to talk about. But very soon you will all know my name.”

Deegan ripped off the sleeves on his robe so that his arms—thick and muscled—could fit through more easily. “My name is Deegan Prost. Please get my name right. I was the tracker who hunted and caught the three angels that were crucified outside the gates of Hades. When you die, you’ll hear stories about what I did. I’m kind of a big deal. I enjoy long walks in the snow, and have an overdeveloped taste for human flesh.” Deegan ran his tongue along his teeth slowly. “I have been called here by my masters to collect one rogue Archangel and deliver it to Uriel. Oh, yeah . . . and I’m a shape-shifter so your silly little monkey toy won’t hurt me. We’re not made of the same matter you are. Long story. Just remember Deegan Prost. Dee-gan Prost.”

Just then they all felt a rumbling around them. The earth was shaking, things started to shatter and break. Dust and loose particles of paint started to fall like snow from the ceiling. Everyone glanced around nervously at each other.

Abbot shook his head, sighing as he clumsily tried to get to his knees, “Seriously?”

“They like churches,” Deegan said with a shrug as he sized-up Mavet. Everyone else in the Vault was shaken down to the ground trying to find support with the help of their hands.

“This is a bad time for an earthquake,” Pasquale said.

“This is no earthquake, Monkey,” Mavet said as he reached in the vibrating cabinet and pulled out two swords. “We might have survived an earthquake.”