Michael: Last Angel of Earth

With the coming of the morning dawn, the ray from the sun seeped over the Vatican and through the drapes of one room and rested gently over the occupant’s eyes. As the man turned his bed, he could not escape the sun’s warmth upon his face. Opening one eye, he realized it was morning and knew the day had to begin. He heard a knock on his door as he rose from his bed.

“Yes?” he asked sleepily.

“Your holiness, it is time for your morning prayer in the chapel,” said a voice outside. The man got out of bed and told the man outside that he would be ready. Making his way over to his sink, he turned on the faucet and splashed cool water onto his face to wake him up. After a few water splashes, he reached for a nearby towel to dry his face. Moving the cloth across his face, he placed the towel away and saw his reflection in the mirror. Red, short hair with signs of grey slightly revealed a craggy, gloomy face. Set asymmetrically within their sockets; clear blue eyes stared back at the reflection in front of them. Fallen debris left a mark from just under the right eye, running toward his right nostril, and ending on his right cheekbone, leaving a pleasant memory of hidden talents.

This was the face of Grimaldo Carlino, formally known as Pope George. He was a faithful sentinel to those in Vatican City. He stood ordinary among others, despite his muscled frame and old age. There’s something enigmatic about him; perhaps his persistence or his reputation. Nonetheless, people tended to flock toward him while thinking of ways to become his friend.

But there was more than meets the eye, not surprising for somebody with his tormented past. He was born and grew up in a great family in Rome several decades before the events of the Last Night. He lived free of worries until he was about ten years old, but at that point, everything changed. He lost his family in a terrible accident and was neglected by everybody. Alone to fend for himself, he found solace and hope in the arms of the Vatican. With their help, he survived in a wicked world. During his time at the Vatican, he formed a close bond with the reigning Pontiff, Pope Alfred. The Pope became a mentor to young Grimaldo, and the boy entered monastic life. He began training as a monk, learning of all the various saints and figures of Catholicism. The one being he held the dearest was St George the Dragon Slayer. The mythology surrounding the dragon slayer captivated the young boy because he dressed up in old swiss guard uniforms and played knights and dragons.

By the time he reached his thirties, he was already a priest and making his way to a bishop. For a brief moment, he believed he had found peace. Sadly, tragedy struck the man once more as an army of demons ravaged Italy. They devastated the entire country, leaving Vatican City the last bastion of freedom in the peninsula for humanity. Knowing the army would come to Rome, he abandoned the priesthood and took up arms with the swiss guards. The fighting was intense, and many lives were lost, including the reigning Pontiff. Yet with his charm and eagerness, he, along with the others, overcame all odds and crushed all their enemies. This battle turned him into the man he was today.

Grimaldo and the survivors returned to the Vatican with the battle won to count their losses. After the death of Pope Alfred, the surviving cardinals met in the Vatican to discuss the next Pope. In a rather unexpected move, the cardinals summoned Grimaldo to the chapel, where they announced that he would be the next Pope. He refused at first, stating that he was still in his monastic training and was only a Priest. However, one Cardinal, a Frenchman, noted that Grimaldo’s quick thinking and dedication to the city’s sanctity alone made him the right choice to be the next Pope, especially now. Grimaldo reluctantly agreed and became the next Pope. The cloud signal filled the sky for the people, and when it came time for his new name, he remembered a saint close to his heart. Thus, Pope George was born. After stabilizing the Vatican city as the new Pope, he made preparations to remodel it and build up its defenses. By doing so, he hoped to start life over on a good note and finally find the stability and security he had never had.

Back then, a much older Grimaldo finished dressing in his casual attire of white cassock with matching Pellegrini and white fringed fascia, pectoral cross, and white zucchetto. Before leaving the room, he remembered the last item. Going back to his bed, he reached the frame and pulled out a cloth bundle. Unraveling the pile, he saw a shield, but this was not an ordinary shield. This was his shield.

This forceful triangular heater shield, made from ebon steel, offered a forceful safeguard against arrows, bolts, and coordinated attacks. This shield was forged by the best blacksmiths in all of Rome, not the work of a mere amateur. The shield’s edges were enhanced with a metal lining and decorated with wing-like metalwork. Its center was decorated with holy bones and a large gem. It was clear this shield never failed its master. Fissures and dents made by who knows what left clear indications: avoid its master’s path. One thing is for sure: this shield’s days are far from over. Placing the shield behind his back, the Pope left his bed and went outside his room. Waiting for him was Matteo Bleuer, Sergeant of the Swiss guards. Matteo was a young adult with an athletic frame with brown curly hair covering his robust and warm face. His powerful yet boyish features complement his glistening amber eyes. Known for his patience and sympathy, Matteo was one of many who served under the Pope as his guard. He was in a simpler solid blue version of the more colorful tricolor grand gala uniform, with a simple brown belt, a flat white collar, and a black beret.

“Apologies for keeping you, Matteo. Was in deep thought,” said the Pope. The young swiss brushed it off.

“No worries, your Holiness. Let us go to the chapel,” replied the young man. Walking down the marble hallways, their steps echoed throughout the Vatican. Throughout the Mausoleum and chapels, they pass by various cardinals, bishops, deacons, and other congregation members. Arriving at the chapel, they were greeted by two other swiss guards. Pushing open the door, the two guards allowed the Pope inside along with Matteo. Grimaldo saw two people inside the chapel, kneeling before the altar with the doors closing behind them.

“Well, you two are both early,” the Pope chuckled. The two turned around and smiled at their friend. They were Judoinus Maurice and Costanza de Cabmillas. Judonius Maurice was an elderly French Cardinal with white, oily hair pulled back, revealing a bony, lived-in face. Glittering green eyes, set elegantly within their sockets, glanced aimlessly over the majestic paintings he had come to appreciate for so long. A birthmark reaching from just under the right eyebrow, running towards his upper lip, and ending on his right nostril left a beautiful memory of his fortunate upbringing. He was a lean gentleman and reasonably fit for his age, covered under his Cardinal attire. He was the same man who pushed Grimaldo to become the new Pope many years ago. Since then, he has been one of many advisers, confidants, and mentors to his Holiness.

The woman next to him was Costanza de Cabmillas. She was a middle-aged Spaniard with blonde, long hair clumsily hanging over a full and radiant face. Expressive black eyes in their sockets stared devotedly at the man who saved her life. Scars reaching from just under the right eye, running towards thin lips and ending under her right eye, left a stinging burden of a former love. Constanza was many things at the Vatican. She was a school teacher, nun, minister of finances, and resident head doctor for the conclave. She was also known as Halcon due to her small stature and ability to see all in the Vatican. She was wearing her traditional nun outfit for today’s service. Walking down the aisle, the Pope knelt on his square stool and began today’s service. Matteo to a place in a nearby pew not too far from his Holiness. Making the sign of the cross, Pope George made the sign of the cross and began a prayer.

“Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome; venga il tuo Regno;

saranno fatti, sulla terra come in cielo. Dacci oggi il nostro pane quotidiano. e perdonaci i nostri debiti, come noi perdoniamo a coloro che ci offendono. E non ci indurre in tentazione, ma liberaci dal male. Perché tuo è il regno, il potere, e la gloria, Per sempre. Amen.” (Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, Forever and ever. Amen.) After reciting the Lord’s prayer, the morning service went as usual. An hour later, the chapel door opened once more. It was from one of the Swiss guards stationed outside.

“The representative from the Knights hospitallers is here, your Holiness. He is waiting in the chambers,” said the guard. Getting up from the pew, Judoinus and the others made their way out of the chapel when he noticed that the Pope was still kneeling.

“George?” asked Judonius. The Pope turned his head to his old friend with a smile and waved his hand.

“I will be with you shortly. Go on ahead,” he stated. Leaving the Pope alone, the smile on his face quickly disappeared, and his Holiness recited another prayer, this time a prayer for aid.

“Carissimo Padre, gloria a te, vengo a te nei miei momenti di difficoltà. Mostrami la via in modo che possa superare i miei ostacoli. Ti prego questo nel tuo nome santissimo, o portatore di vita. Potenziami con il tuo amore santificato.” (Dearest Father, glory be to you, I come to you in my times of trouble. Show me the way so I might overcome my obstacles. I beg this of you in your most holy name, o bringer of life. Empower me with your hallowed love.)

He turned his gaze toward the crucifixion with the last line and wondered if the Holy indeed heard him. Sacradilious thoughts, but for many years, he was beginning to lose faith. But he could afford to show that kind of weakness to others. After all, to the people of Vatican city, he was their source of faith and hope. He had to be strong, even if it was a farce. Getting up from his stool, the older man made the sign of the cross once more and left the chapel. Exiting the building, he was escorted by two more swiss guards to the chamber room. Passing a few corridors, they arrived at the chamber room where Judonius, Constanza, and Matteo talked to the Knights Hospitallers representatives.

The Knights Hospitallers were among the few surviving military monastic orders in the modern world. Ever since The Last Night, the Knights of the Hospital on Malta returned to their military heritage and re-established a presence on the small island. Due to their actions, the Knights of Malta protected its people for many years, but the times were changing for them. Today’s meeting had to go well for the representatives. Entering the room, the commotion settled, and everyone took their seats. The chamber was officially titled The Heavenly Convocation. It was where the Pope and his inner circle discussed non-religious matters. Standing at the table’s head, Pope George turned his attention to their guests.

“Thank you for coming from Malta. We greatly appreciate your assistance,” said the Pope. One of the knights smiled and removed his helmet. Blonde, oily hair hung over a long, menacing face. Bright blue eyes, set well within their sockets, showed signs of experience. A mustache and goatee elegantly complimented his eyes and mouth and left a beautiful memory of his reckless luck. This was the face of Lawrenz Pitre, a Marshal of the order. He stood average among others, despite his big frame. He wore his updated Hospitaller armor.

The shoulders were rounded, narrow, and large. They’re decorated with a giant bear claw on each side. The upper arms were protected by squared, fully covering rerebraces which sat perfectly under the shoulder plates. Vambraces wrapped the lower arms with ax heads on each outer side, sharp enough to be used as a weapon. The breastplate was made from several layers of metal sheets, which perfectly sat under the shoulder plates. It covered almost everything from the neck down and ending at the groin, but the sides were only covered near the bottom. The chest piece was dyed entirely black and was decorated with the white painting of the Maltese cross. The upper legs were covered by a skirt of many layers of metal sheets reaching down to the knee. Lastly, the lower legs were protected by greaves with a dragon tooth attached to the outer sides. Around him was his sword belt. On his left-hand side was his sword, which also dictated his status in the order.

In the sheath was a long, broad, warped blade made of folded steel held by a grip wrapped in low-cost, navy blue buffalo skin. The razor-sharp point made this weapon the best choice if one wanted to pierce, prick, puncture, and perforate your enemy. The blade had a large, straight crossguard, creating the ideal weight balance to allow for smooth and accurate swings with this blade. The crossguard had an elaborate tooth on each side, marking the house it belonged to. A wide pommel was decorated with a rare gem expected from such an elegant weapon. The blade itself was simple. No markings, no decorations, and engravings; the blade needed no embellishments; it only needed to be strong and sharp. Higher-ranked guards used this weapon. An exceptional weapon for exceptional fighters. Placed on the table was the knight’s shield.

This solid broad oval shield, made from adamantine, offered a stable barricade, especially against lunging attacks and arrows and bolts. Not the work of a mere amateur, as elvish blacksmiths forged this shield in a workshop. The shield’s edges were ornamented with thick metal plating and decorated with intricate paintings. Its center was adorned with small scrolls attached with wax and intertwining metalwork. It was clear this shield had been through hell and back. Nicks and cuts made by who knows what left warnings of the endurance of both shield and master, but one thing’s for sure: nothing will get past this shield.

Back with the Marshal, the knight cleared his throat before addressing the Pope. As he spoke, Everyone could hear his thick Maltese dialect.

“Il-Qdusija tiegħek, għal għadd ta’ sekli, il-Kavallieri Ospitali iddefendew il-fidi u n-nies tagħha. Issa, iktar minn qatt qabel, il-Vatikan għandu bżonn l-għajnuna tal-Kavallieri.” (Your Holiness, for countless centuries, the Knights Hospitallers have defended the faith and its people. Now, more than ever, the Vatican needs the aid of the Knights). The Pope nodded his head and thus began the meeting. The meeting for today revolved around the potential treaty between the Vatican and the Knights of Malta. The treaty, revised countless times, would allow the Knights of Malta to send men to the Vatican along with much-needed aid in return for the Vatican, allowing the Knights to establish a strong presence in the city and bestow them the title of Defenders of the Faith. The Pope and his inner circle looked over the treaty, and everything seemed to be in order.

“Your treaty is fair and just, Lawrenz. I look forward to our partnership together,” said the Pope. Everything seemed to be going well until a loud booming voice outside the chamber room. The commotion grew louder until the doors burst open and entered more armored knights, this time from a different order. Judonius erupted from his chair and scolded the knights for barging in uninvited. The lead knight said nothing and walked towards the Pope.

The knight’s armor had a squared helm, a squared, v-shaped opening that exposed the eyes and mouth, and a squared nose guard protecting the nose. A snake-shaped ornament was attached to the forehead area and ran toward the back. The shoulders were rounded, narrow, and massive. They’re decorated with a straight line of spikes reaching from side to side. The upper arms were protected by rounded, layered metal rerebraces, which sat perfectly under the shoulder plates. Vambraces covered the lower arms with several barb-like spikes on the outer sides. The breastplate was made from a couple of metal layers, mimicking dragon scales. The scales were dyed white and featured a black cross in the body’s center. It covered everything from the neck down and ended at the groin, but a reasonably wide neckline was somewhat exposed. Squared, half-covering cuisses covered the upper legs.

Finally, the lower legs were protected by greaves with a skull-shaped metal ornament piece on each outer side. As for the knight’s weapons, the warrior brandished them freely. The dominant hand held the sword. Unlike the Hospitaler’s sword, this knight’s sword had a small, broad, jagged blade made of Damascus steel held by a grip wrapped in luxurious, ivory crocodile leather. Because it only had a razor-sharp point, the weapon was the ideal choice to turn your enemies into Swiss cheese. The blade had a thin, slightly curved crossguard, just large enough to ensure the fingers were safe and the blade remained firmly in the user’s hands. The crossguard had a jeweled coil on each side. This was a weapon not meant to be wielded by a commoner.

A reasonably small pommel was marked with the symbol of the house the sword belonged to, a symbol one could be proud of. The blade itself was pretty straightforward. No decorations or engraved patterns. A sheathed sword had a hidden blade, and a sword would be dirty and bloody, so only the hilt needed decorations. The royal guard used this weapon—an exceptional weapon for exceptional fighters.

On the other hand, the knight, like the Hospitaller, wielded a shield again. This knight used a durable round shield made from ebon steel that offered a strenuous safeguard, especially against smaller ballistics and lunging attacks. Mastery and perfection came into play as enigma goblins forged this shield in an arcane workshop. The shield’s edges were enhanced with layered metal scales and decorated with inscribed runes. Its center was ornamented with seemingly magical runes and metalwork scales. It was clear this shield had not been through hell just yet. As if freshly forged and crafted, this shield served its master well. Altogether, the knight was an imposing figure. Taking a seat at the table, the knight garnered glares from everyone else. As for the Pope, he needed clarification as to who this knight was.

“Who are you to come here unannounced and barge in like this?” exclaimed the Pope. The knight removed her helmet and showed everyone her face. Chestnut, oily hair braided to one side revealed a pleasing, wild face. Deep red velvet eyes, set far within their sockets, surveyed the other members of the council. A birthmark stretching from the top of the right cheek, running across the nose and ending under her right eye, left a painful memory of lost friends.

This was the face of Cathrin Von Hardenberg, the Großkomtur (Magnus Commendator), or the Deputy of the Grandmaster of the Teutonic Order. She stood towering among others, despite her athletic frame. Lawrenz cast a hateful glare at the Teutonic.

“X’negozju għandek hawn, Teutonic?” (What business do you have here, Teutonic?) spat the Hospitaller. Cathrin turned a gaze toward the man. The woman smirked.

“Das Gleiche wie Ihr Hospitaliter, nur dass ich Seiner Heiligkeit die Mühe erspare und meine Männer hierher bringe, anstatt auf irgendeinen Vertrag zu warten.” (The same thing as you Hospitaller, only I’m saving his Holiness the trouble and bringing my men here, instead of waiting for some treaty). The rivalry between the Hospitallers and the Teutonics was legendary. Both were equal rivals to the Templars, one of the more famous military monastic orders. When the Templars were destroyed in the 1300s, both tried to fill the gap, but neither side could. Both sides were solely religious orders in the present day, but after judgment day, both orders returned to their military roots but had vastly different philosophies. While the knights of Malta occupied the small island, the Teutonics went on a military crusade to recapture their former states and territories from the army of darkness. After many battles and countless deaths, the Teutonics established a state in Poland and Russia the size of France. For them, they wanted the whole world to know who they were. However, too many surviving humans viewed them as nothing more than mercenaries running a police state. By coming to Rome, they hoped to change all that.

With a snap of her finger, the rest of the Teutonics entered the room. Their metal boots echoed through the room until they formed a small circle around the table. The Pope did not like this display of force. Regaining his composer, the Pope asked the Deputy why she and her men had come. The knight reached into her pouch and retrieved a scroll seal with the emblem of the Teutonics. Handing the people the scroll, the older man removed the wax seal and unraveled the small ledger. The wiring was too small for Pope George to read, so he then passed it off to the young swiss guard to read. Bringing the letter closer to his face, the young swiss read the continents to himself. After reading the last line, he crumpled up the scroll and threw it into the fire.

“How dare you!” yelled the swiss guard. Judonius claimed the young soldier, but it had no effect.

“You want us to pay you to protect us?!” he shouted again. The Pope, his advisers, and even the Hospitaller representative were shocked by this revelation. Yet to the Deputy, she shrugged her shoulders.

“Es ist ein fairer Deal, Eure Heiligkeit. Alles, was wir verlangen, ist eine kleine Gebühr und Sie müssen sich keine Sorgen mehr um die Armee der Dunkelheit machen.” (It’s a fair deal, your Holiness. We ask for a small fee, and you won’t have to worry about the army of darkness anymore.) Lawrenz slammed his fist on the table. His eyes were burning with anger.

“M’għandekx diċenza ?! Fejn hu l-unur tiegħek!“(Have you no decency?! Where is your honor!) Cathrin turned her head and let out a slight chuckle.

“Seien wir ehrlich, niemand wurde jemals aus Ehre reich.” (let’s be honest, no one ever got rich off of honor.)

“U tkun taf minn qalbek, hux, merċenarju!” (You would know by heart, don’t you, mercenary!) Cathrin jumped from the table and reached for her sword. The men behind her did the same. Soon the Hospitallers reached for their weapons. Hoping to prevent future bloodshed, Constanza gave out a loud whistle and called for any swiss guard to come. Suddenly the room was filled with the sounds of running footsteps. In a matter of minutes, twenty armed swiss guards entered the room. As the situation significantly changed, Pope George could do nothing except sigh and rest his head on his palm. Today was going to be a long day.

1 mile from the Vatican

Just outside the walled city, not too far away, a small car was making its way to its final destination.

“How much farther?” shouted Fiona. Ruzla glided down to the driver’s side.

“Just under a mile away. Can’t believe we made it,” replied Ruzla.

“We haven’t arrived there yet. This is the last haul,” said Colum. The gargoyle then flapped her wings and went back up into the sky. As they reached their destination, Barjon remained silent throughout the whole trip.

“Nervous?” inquired Margret. The former angel looked at the young girl and chuckled.

“A little. I have never been to the Vatican,” he stated. Colum raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“You have never been to the Holy City?” questioned Colum. Barjon explained that when he was still an archangel, they were forbidden from going down to the surface world. Only the elites were given special clearance to go down to the human world for leisure duties.

“You know, the more you tell us about life in heaven. The more I realize it’s not that different from earth,” said Colum. Barjon had never thought of it in that regard. To his friends’ point, heaven did almost bear some resemblance to the mortal world.

“I have been to Rome a few times,” stated Horus.

“As have I,” Vanhildr.

“You both came to Italy? When?” quipped Margret. She was eager to know. Hours went first.

“I came to Rome when Cleopatra was brought from Egypt to Rome during the earliest reign of Augustus Caesar. I was sent over to be the queen’s adviser in human form, but alas ... you all know what happens next. That was the first time. The second time I came to Rome was during the Crisis of the third century AD when Egypt was under control by Queen Zenobia of the Palmyrene Empire. Rome was in a state of crisis. The whole western world, for that matter. I traveled city streets and noticed that not many things had changed. It was still the same.” he paused for a moment. Barjon then noticed a sadness had come over the prince.

“The last time I came to Rome was when Christianity entered my home. I saw your followers desecrating temples belonging to my family, friends, and the people I swore to protect in my human form. Your followers burn the library of Alexandria, destroy holy temples to make way for your churches, and kill innocent people deemed heretics and pagans for not following the true faith. In truth, I came to Rome that day to destroy it. I wanted to destroy every Catholic church, altar, and any ties to that faith and burn it to the ground. But...”

“But what?” asked Colum.

“When I arrived at one church, I had my weapon in hand, but I couldn’t bring myself to destroy such a place. Unlike your followers, I am not above appreciating another’s creed or way of life. So, I showed my respect and left. A lot more than what your followers did back in my home,” finished Horus. The mood then turned awkward after Horus’s tale. Barjon could not argue with the Egyptian prince. Hoping to change the attitude, Barjon turned to Vanhildr, hoping her experience was better.

“I came to Rome during the Viking expansion, and I must say, the papacy had not changed that much since the times of the Romans, except for their influence. During my travels, I saw the cross all over England, Ireland, France, Germany, and Italy. Of course, the Vatican had grown, and I was fascinated by the monuments and artwork, but I soon grew bored and left. However, I was rather intrigued when I went to Constantinople.” A smile crept onto her face as he reminisced of her time there. “That was a place I came to love. The mighty church in the heart of the city took my breath away. Its friendly and kind people showed me that coexistence of culture and creed could happen.”

“So I take it that your experience with the Vatican was pleasant?” inquired Barjon.

“I only wish that was true,” she replied. Her smile was then replaced with a frown.

“When I returned home,” she said, “I realized that our followers had become yours. Your missionaries converted them to your faith. Soon all of the north fell to the church. While you grew stronger, we grew weaker, and soon the people had no use for us.” she paused for a moment. “I agree with Horus that your faith destroyed our way of life. You made us obsolete. Beings who existed long before your kind showed up,” she finished. Barjon bit down on his lip. This conversion went from awkward to really uncomfortable quickly.

“Do you know what you are going to say to the Pope?” asked Fiona

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll think of something when we get there.”

“You may want to change that,” she replied.

“What for?” he asked.

“We are here.” Looking up, he saw that they had indeed arrived at their destination. They were directly in front of the gates. Up above, they saw faint images of soldiers looking down at them. One of the guards then shouted at them.

“What do you want?!” he bellowed.

“We seek an audience with the Pope!” Barjon yelled back. Laughter echoed over the walls.

“So does everyone these days. What makes your case so important?” the man replied. Barjon calmly got out of the vehicle and stood directly in front of the gates. He then removed his shirt, exposing his tattooed cover body. Turning his back towards the gate defenders, he flexed his back and showed them his angel wings. From the walls, the defenders gasped and covered their mouths in shock.

“Because Michael of the Watchers needs his help,” he said. Putting his shirt back on, he heard the gates open behind him. Turning around, he saw that the entrance to the Vatican was opened. Smiling, he glanced over his shoulder and told his friends to come in.

Back inside the Vatican, the Pope grew weary of the long and tiring debate between the Teutonics and Hospitallers. He wished this day would end. As he drifted off, he heard footsteps entering the chamber. It was a local priest from the church.

“Your Holiness, you are needed in the main hall. It is urgent,” said the priest. His voice had a sense of urgency. Getting up from his chair, he quickly followed the priest. Everyone else, seeing the pope leave, followed behind. Taking a quick jog, they arrived in the main hall, where Barjon and his friends were waiting. He sat on the holy throne and asked who these people were standing before him. Barjon stepped forward and bowed before his Holiness.

“Your Holiness, my friends and I have traveled a great deal to speak with you,” said Barjon.

“What is your name, my child?” asked the Pope softly.

“My name is Barjon, formerly known as Archangel Michael, commander of the Watchers.” Upon mentioning his name, whispers were said amongst all. However, one was skeptical.

“Do you take us for fools, boy? There are no angels left,” exclaimed Cathrin. Barjon knew there would be one. There always were. Removing his shirt again, he showed all his tattoos and the wings on his back. Everyone was shocked. Even members of the Teutonics were taken aback. Still, Cathrin was not convinced.

“Anyone can get those tattoos,” she retorted. Seeing her stubbornness, Barjon had one last test to prove who he was. He then called forth the leaders of the two monastic orders. As Cathrin and Lawrenz stepped forward, he removed his sword belt and presented them with his sword.

“This is hellfire, the flame of heaven. It is said that no mortal can touch the blade, or they will be burned if they have sin in their heart. But if one is just and follows the word of the Creator in his actions and deeds, then he shall feel no pain,” he said.

“How is it that you can hold it?” questioned Lawrenz.

“This sword was given to me by my fellow watcher and sister, Uriel, during the attack on our outpost. An attack that I caused because of my actions and my pride. For many years I have not used this sword. But when my home was threatened, I made a choice, which showed the sword that I was on the right path. Let us see if your actions bear the same results?” As expected, Cathrin made the first move. Reaching for the handle, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt. A smirk emerged across her face. Yet that quickly changed, a burning sensation unlike anything a mortal had ever felt. She uttered a loud and terrible shriek as she pulled away from the hilt. Her hand was smoking, and the skin of her palm had utterly burned away. Gripping her hand, she yelled for someone to grab her some water. While Cathrin focused on her hand, Barjon turned to Lawrenz, who was already terrified. Gulping, the Hospitaller cautiously reached for the sword and gently wrapped his fingers around the hilt. He winced in anticipation of the burning, but nothing came to pass. Firmly grasping the blade, he slowly drew the sword from its sheath.

When the sword was freed, all marveled at the level of detail and craftsmanship. Lawrenz gawked at the engravings that decorated the blade. Lawrenz could tell this was no ordinary sword forged by mortals from the eagle head pommel to the wing hilts. This sword was indeed from the heavens. What made the sword even more mesmerizing was the lack of weight to it. It was like holding a feather in one’s hand. After gazing at the blade, the Hospitaller returned to Barjon, who sheathed the powerful weapon away. Taking the sword around his waist, he turned his attention back to the Pope. Pope George, still in shock, stumbled over his words.

“If you are in-indeed Archangel M-Michael, what could a...former angel need with us?” he asked.

“Your Holiness, we need your aid,” said Barjon.

“My dear child, I’m afraid we are struggling ourselves. I don’t think we can assist you or your friends,” replied the Pope.

“I am aware of your predicament. It is because of me that humanity is in this state,” Barjon replied. Everyone was puzzled by the response.

“What do you mean this is your fault?” inquired the Pope.

“I am the reason humidity fell. I caused the end of the world.” There was a loud gasp in the room. Barjon continued. “In my previous life, I was arrogant and prideful. When I heard of potential harm to humanity, my fellow angels and I, disobeying orders, descended upon them and slaughtered them. I thought I had prevented a war, but I started one. The army we slew that night were humans who were forcefully turned into demons. I broke my vows and brought about the final wars. Because of me, the watchers fell, the darkness consumed the world, and humanity paid the price for my actions.”

“Bastard!” shouted Cathrin as she drew her sword. Hours and the others brandished their weapons just as the rest of the Teutonics grabbed theirs. Catherine pointed her sword directly at Barjon. The former angel turned his head slightly to meet hers.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” stated Barjon.

“We should just execute him now!” barked Cathrin.

“You do not give the orders here, knight,” stated Judonius.

“Did you not hear what he said!? He is the cause of everything! We don’t need his kind anymore! We need faith, religion, and righteous warriors to win this war. This war needs to be won by humans, not them!!!!” she yelled. As the men made their move, Barjon began to laugh. But this laugh felt different. The laughter hid a darker, more sinister presence. It stopped the soldier in their tracks.

“What is so funny?” she asked. The former stepped toward her and danced his fingers across the tip of her sword.

“All this talk of religion. Hm. I put no stock in religion. By the word religion, I have seen the lunacy of fanatics of every denomination be called the will of God for countless eons. The Inquisitions, Reconquista, and Crusades preached in the Creator’s name, but it wasn’t for his will, only for yours. And in those lunacies, I’ve seen too much religion in the eyes of many murderers. Murderers calling themselves holy warriors and men of the cloth like the Templars, Hospitallers, Teutonic, and every other militant order that emerged from the chaos!” Barjon paused for a moment to collect himself. Gathering his thoughts, he continued but spoke in a more seldom tone.

“Holiness is in right action and courage for those who cannot defend themselves. And goodness - what the Creator desires - is in our minds and hearts. Most importantly, it is by what we decide to do every day to be a good man.” His words stuck a core to everyone in the one room. The knights backed away and hung their heads in shame, Cathrin especially. Even a few deacons and cardinals lowered their heads. The Pope massaged the sides of his head.

“That was quite a passionate speech, Barjon,” replied the Pope.

“Thank you, your Holiness.” The Pope told Barjon and his friends that they could make themselves home in the city. However, he would need a day to reflect on all that had been said. By the next day, he would listen to Barjon’s request. Thanking his excellency, everyone left the chamber hall, and Barjon’s friends were escorted to their new living arrangements. Before he joined them, he remembered he had one last thing to do.

“Your Holiness, a word,” he asked. Pope George descended from his throne and walked on the tile floor.

“Yes?” the older man asked.

“Would...would you be willing to...to hear a confession,” stuttered Barjon. The Pope smiled and nodded his head. The pair then walked to two empty confession halls and sat in their seats. Getting inside the small space, Barjons felt his heart race just as fast as the first time. Hearing the Pope on the other side, he saw the small window open up.

“Are you ready?” asked the Pope.

“I am,” replied Barjon.

“You know, I have heard many confessions from many different people. But this is the first time I will take an angel’s confession.”

“Former angel,” corrected Barjon.

“An angel nonetheless. Now let us proceed.” Both men made the cross sign, and Bajorn was the first to speak.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”