Michael: Last Angel of Earth

The journey to Spain from Ireland was a dangerous one. After finding an abandoned fishing boat, Barjon and his friends commanded the vessel and began their trip to the Iberian peninsula coast. Following Amborss journal, they hoped to find one of his contacts in Zalavega, just a few miles from Malaga’s port in southern Spain. As they made the dangerous crossing, the group was wary of the numerous pirates and corsairs that dominated the waters. These men and women of the black flag served under the various demonic rulers of Europe. Everyone had to closely watch the water to ensure they were not spotted or found. The company was on edge for almost a day and a half, dreadfully anticipating a massive battleship firing upon them.

By the grace of the heavens, they arrived at their destination. From the outside, Malaga looked very similar to it was before. It was almost wishful thinking that perhaps the army of darkness had not taken over this lovely city. However, it wasn't brilliant to believe such things. Docking in the port, the company put on their cloaks and exited the vehicle. After setting foot on the dock, they headed to the city center. As they made their way through the city, Barjon, and the others were taken aback by the city’s beauty. To his surprise, the city still held onto its Moorish roots, as it was part of Granada’s Islamic Kingdom. Most of the architecture was still present, like most shops and districts. As they continued their journey, the atmosphere around them began to change. Instead, humans were creatures from all walks of life. Creatures include Spyinxs, trolls, Centaurs, Minotaurs, Harpies, Giants, Goblins, Harpies, Satyrs, Gorgons, Manticores, and the worst one of them all, bounty hunters.

“This area is giving me a lot of hostile vibes,” whispered Fiona.

“Keep calm. We’re nearly there,” Barjon whispered back. He accidentally bumped into somebody, taking his eyes off the road momentarily. That somebody happened to be a pissed-off troll. Before the former angel could react, he lifted off the ground and pinned against the wall. The troll reared its teeth at him. Barjon wanted to pull out his sword, but he knew the moment he did so, everyone hellspawn would get in on the fight.

“You should mind where you are going?” snarled the troll.

“Maybe don’t hog up all the road,” he replied. The troll then slammed Barjon against the wall even more.

“Maybe your ears don’t work?” growled the troll.

“Well, I know my nose works just fine.” Angered by his insults, the troll threw Barjon back on the ground. Quickly getting up, Barjon reached for his sword. As he did so, other hell spawn turned their attention to the four newcomers. Soon the company was surrounded. Fiona, Colum, and Margret each pulled out their rifles and formed a barrier. As the troll raised his massive arm to strike, it was blown apart in seconds. Blood and bone splattered everywhere. Clutching the severed arm in pain, the troll fell to his knees and bellowed. The Barjon, the others, and the other hell spawns were stunned at what had happened. Just then, there was a voice coming from behind.

“That will be enough of that.” Turning his head around, Barjon saw where the voice had come from. Standing just a few feet from them was a bounty hunter of a thin frame. A mask and hood inspired by eagles covered his whole face and head. The mask was designed to protect all the wearer’s facial features, giving it a feathered and fierce appearance. Underneath the mask, chestnut, short hair gently hung over a furrowed, anguished face. Red and blue eyes were set buried within their sockets. A gunshot left a mark reaching from the top of the right cheek, running toward his right nostril and ending on his right cheekbone, leaving a burning memory of his unfortunate past. Covering his body was a harness made to be incredibly light and flexible, giving the impression that it was meant to be worn in the skies. His arms were coerced in leather braces made from the same material as his belt. He wore wrappings favored by athletes and messengers for his legs due to their comfort and flexibility. On his person were two weapons.

Strapped to his back was a mace ax, a standard war mace with the addition of a curved blade design. In both hands was his favorite weapon of choice, Earth Shatterer. Earth Shatterer was a single-barreled shotgun of epic potential. The caliber used in this weapon was a 12 gauge and used a pump-action firing mechanism. The ammo used most commonly was slug rounds, but it also took flechette, shotshells, and screechers. This shotgun came with a straight English stock and was made from premium wood. On the wood were custom carvings on the stock, along with ivory decorations. As smoke emitted from the barrel, the demon crowd slowly faded away. Resting the gun on his shoulder, the stranger turned his attention to the four newcomers.

“You people seemed lost,” he stated.

“We are not lost. We are looking for some,” said Fiona.

“Have you found him?” he inquired.

“No, but we are told he is somewhere in Zalavega,” replied Colum.

“What a coincidence, I’m going to Zalavega myself. May I join you?” he then asked. Barjon was skeptical of the stranger, but it seemed his presence kept the demons at bay, and not wanting to have another encounter, he allowed the stranger to tag along. Now a company of five, they continued on their journey to Zalavega. Moving through Malaga’s city quickly, they finally exited the exotic city and were only a few short trips away from their destination.

“So, this person of yours, what do you want with him?” asked the stranger.

“That’s our business,” stated Barjon.

“Apologies, just trying to be friendly,” the stranger said sarcastically.

“What about you? What’s your business going to Zalavega?” asked Margret.

“I have a contract in the city. My target is an elusive killer. One that I have been hunting for many years now,” said the stranger. They soon reached the city of Zalavega, a far cry from the traditional city of Malaga.

The city of Zalavega was built at the border of a traitorous forest and was indeed a leading-edge curiosity. Its wonder was matched by the backdrop of a dormant volcano that helped shape the city into what it was today.

The riches these volcanoes brought were of great importance. Still, they were also influential in architectural designs as most buildings were built with volcanic rocks and similar-looking materials.

The skyline was littered with similar skyscrapers, and many seemed to have evolved throughout the ages. Recreation was impeccable in Zalavega, and it attracted a lot of attention. Many different cultures had left their mark not just on education but also on the city’s identity. Historically, a city of little diversity had grown into a fusion of everything, uniting the 14 million people today.

Marveling at the imposing skyscrapers, the company stopped at a local inn at the stranger’s request. Entering the establishment, they were met with glares from other bounty hunters from different parts of Spain and Europe. Taking a seat at the far end of the building, Barjon took out Ambross’s journal and reviewed the clues. He suddenly came across a name that piqued his interest.

“Well, just out of curiosity, what is the name of this inn?” asked Barjon.

“To us bounty hunters, we call it the Devil’s Cauldron. Why?” questioned the stranger.

“Just curious,” replied Barjon, realizing the name mentioned by the stranger and in the journal were the same. Suddenly a theory in Barjon’s mind begins to click.

“Tell me, stranger, what is your name? We never got to thank you properly for saving us from the trolls.”

“Names Max Falcon,” the stranger replied.

“Max Falcon? Nice name. Bet there’s a story to it?” inquired Fiona. Chuckling, Max explained his story. He was born and grew up in a royal family in a powerful kingdom in a land far away. He lived without worry or fear and even found love with a beautiful woman. All seemed perfect until he was about 20 years, but at that point, things changed. He lost his family, wife, and home to a power struggle between his uncle and aunt, with the aid of a tattooed man in a black cloak. He was then alone, miserable, and abandoned. But with his diligence and charm, he overcame expectations and crushed everything. This had turned him into the man he was today. While haunted by memories, he now works as a bounty hunter. By doing so, he hoped to leave the past behind and finally find the peace of mind he had never had. After telling his story, Margret, Fiona, and Colum noticed it sounded too familiar to another person’s account.

With everything Max said, Barjon’s theory was almost close to fruition. He just needed one thing.

“Tell me, this tattooed man, what did he look like?” asked Barjon.

“Quite an unusual question?” Barjon lifted his shirt and turned his back to the others, showing his eagle wing tattoos. Max’s eyes widen.

“Who are you people?” he asked.

“I think you know perfectly ... Horus.” Suddenly, the young Egyptian god lunged at Barjon and wrapped his hands around his throat, shouting at the tops of his lungs.

“YOU BASTARD! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME! HOW COULD YOU????!!!!! WHY!? WHY!? WHY!?????” The shouting then attracted everyone’s attention in the building, with many bounty hunters placing bets on who would win. While that happened, Margret and the others scrambled to get Horus off Barjon. Colum and Fiona took one of Horus’s arms and tugged at them. Suddenly the innkeeper fired off a shot, getting everyone’s attention.

“Alright, that is enough,” she said. Setting aside her gun, the commotion ended, and everyone returned to their tables. Getting off the ground, Barjon rubbed his neck and went back to his seat.

“I expected a reaction like that,” he said. Hours still had his eyes on him.

“Who the hell are you people, and what are you doing here?” he asked them.

“We were looking for you.” Fiona saw Horus inch for his weapon.

“Not for the reasons you are thinking of,” stated Colum.

“We traveled a long way from Ireland to find you,” said Margret.

“Ireland? Wait a minute. You would not happen to know an Irish abbot named Ambrose, correct?” Fiona and Colum nodded their heads.

“I thought you two looked familiar, yet the other two I don’t remember,” he said, pointing to Margret and Barjon. He turned to the former angel. “Let’s start with you. What is your name, your real name, that is?” Barjon gulped before answering.

“My real name was Michael, but I go by Barjon now.”

“Tell me, Michael, how is it that you know of this tattooed man?” questioned Horus.

“The man who aided your uncle was a fallen angel named Xathaniel. He was a former member of the Watchers, angels tasked by the Creator to safeguard and protect humanity from-”

“I’m sorry, what the hell is an angel?” asked Hours. The question took Barjon by surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“An Angel, what is that? Is that like a lesser god?”

“No, we are not gods; we are holy beings. We by the Creator. We served under Metatron, the Lord angel, who himself answers to the Holy Council and the Creator.”

“Interesting. Now back to the matter at hand. Who were you among these watchers.” Barjon explained that when he was Michael, he was one of many commanders of the Creator’s armies. He had his team of angels and was the youngest to reach the rank of Archangel.

“If you were this impressive figure, what happened?” Barjon then explained that long ago, before the apocalypse, he thought he was preventing a war from happening. Instead, he caused it, and with that came the watchers’ death and destruction and the earth’s total dominion under the heel of the army of darkness.

“So it’s because of you that I lost my home,” said Horus. Barjon nodded his head. Hours shook his head and got up from the table, full of anger.

“Hours wait,” said Margret. The company followed the Egyptian prince out of the inn and back onto the streets of Zalavega. Full of emotions, Horus turned around and glared at them.

“You stay the hell away from me!” he shouted.

“Horus let us explain,” said Fiona.

“No, I have heard enough!” he shouted, and before anyone could react, the Egyptian god vanished.

“Well crap, that happened. Now, what?” asked Fiona.

“We have to find him,” said Barjon.

“How? We don’t even know where he is going?” replied Fiona.

“We do,” said Margret. She handed them a flyer she pulled from the inn’s wanted section. It listed various demons, gods/goddesses, and other powerful entities. Each flyer also had the name of the bounty hunter tied to it. From the flyer she found, Horus was going after a being known as Ammit, The Devourer of Souls.

“Does the flyer say anything else?” asked Colum.

“Only that Ammit was last seen south of Zalavega, near some old roman Catacombs.”

“We need to find him,” stated Barjon. As the company maneuvered its way through the city, a trolling company planned a get-rich-quick scheme back in the inn.

“Did you hear that, boys? There’s an angel in Zalavega,” said one troll.

“Aye. They heft a heavy price that they do. Plus, an Egyptian god is a big bonus for us boys.,” said another. As the trolls began planning their scheme, seated at the bar was another hunter on the prowl. Dancing his fingers on the table, the innkeeper returned with his drink.

“Here you are, mister-”

“Javrumas,” he replied.

Outside Zalavega, the treacherous woods surrounding the city provided another danger to this new world. One needed to be careful with thorny bushes and needle-like branches, yet Horus was not acting carefully. His blood was still red from the event of the inn. Aggressively pushing through the foliage, he arrived at his designation. The old Roman structure dated back to the age of the late roman empire, and beneath them were even older roman catacombs. Using his eyes, he located his target’s scent. Following the trail, he traveled down a flight of stairs into the belly of the earth, where he then maneuvered through old bones, rats, cobwebs, and much more. After a while, he found himself in the middle of catacombs, surrounded by water and a dozen tunnels. He knew one of these tunnels had Ammit, but which one?

Walking around in the water, he cautiously listened for any sounds that echoed through the tunnels. He knew Ammit was a skilled foe, and she would never allow herself to be caught in the open. As he continued walking, he realized the water was getting higher and higher. Nearly up to his thighs in water, the young prince stopped as he felt something brush against him. Stopping in place, he slowly reached for his weapon when suddenly, a massive pair of jaws clamped down on his shoulders. He was pulled under the water and struggled to break free from the creature’s jaw. He kicked and punched at the beast until it loosened its grip on him. The young prince gasped heavily and quickly grabbed his mace ax from behind. Looking all around, his eyes darted to locate the creature.

“Where are you!” he shouted. His yell echoed in every tunnel in the catacombs until a reply was given.

“Right here, your highness.” Emerging out of the waters was Ammit, The Devourer of Souls. She was a massive demoness with the head of a crocodile, the upper body of a lioness, and the lower half of a hippopotamus, three dangerous creatures from Egypt. Her imposing figure made hours feel small and insignificant. However, he could not show fear before her.

“You were not easy to find, Ammit. I had to track you from the Duat, then Alexandria, Carthage, and now, here. You are worth a lot.” Ammit snickered.

“So this is what you have become. A simple bounty hunter. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Horus went for his shotgun but felt a sharp pain in his shoulder again. Gold blood dripped down his body and into the cool water. Panting hard, the young god rushed at his enemy blindly, only to be swatted away by her paw. His armor absorbed most of the blow, but her sharp nails left scratch marks across his body. Grunting, he tried to attack her flanks, only to be kicked away by her powerful legs. Now Horus was getting angry, and then he remembered the inn, and suddenly, in a blind rage, he charged at Ammit again. However, he jumped high into the air and landed atop her head. With his ax in hand, he struck her head repeatedly. Over and over, he bashed her skull as blood spurted everywhere. Ammit tried bucking him off, but the young god would not budge. Horus believed he had her for a brief moment, but that time was short-lived as Ammit got up on her hind legs and slammed herself against the stone wall. The force from the impact caused Horus to lose his hold of her, to which the powerful demoness grabbed his weapon and threw him off her. The young god made a big splash in the water as he landed. Tossing the weapon aside, Ammit pounced on the young prince still in the water and proceeded to drown him. Hours scrambled to fight back.

His strength, however, was no match for the mighty foe, and soon things started fading to black. As he closed his eyes, believing his end, they were suddenly reopened by the sight of a scale in the center of the room and a voice calling to him. The prince then found himself in a dark room with light emanating from the center. Just then, he saw the glistening eyes of Ammit as the demoness sat next to the scales.

“Where are we? Am I in”

“The Duat, yes. You are to be judged by Maat.”

“Maat!? Why by her?” asked the young god. Before Ammit responded, a towering figure hovered over Hours. Both the goddess and personification of truth and justice, Maat represented truth, balance, order, harmony, law, morality, and above all, fairness. Her form was that of a young woman, with an ostrich feather in her head and wings on each arm. Usually, Anubis, his brother, oversaw the weighing of the hearts. This was unexpected.

“Horus, you are to be judged. Please recite the 42 Negative confessions,” she said. Hours gulped. He knew that if he failed the 42, his heart would be eaten by Ammit, and he would wander restlessly for all time. Taking a deep breath, he recited the 42 negative confessions. As he did so, he saw the scale wobble back and forth between lighter and heavier. He needed to be at least equal to the feather. After reciting the last consequences, he was afraid to look at the scale. Closing his eyes, he peeked open one and saw that his heart and the feather were even. With the results, Maat said for hours that he had been judged and lived a virtuous life. However, she told him he was denied Aaru or The Field of Reeds. Horus protested, but Maat quickly vanished, taking the scales as well. Suddenly Horus woke up in the present and burst through the water, coughing violently.

Taking in many deep breaths, he noticed Ammit staring at him.

“Seems the gods have given you another chance,” she replied. She then turned around and began making her way out of the tunnel. Before she left, she left Hours with words of wisdom.

“Become a stronger god Horus,” she said.

“I am a stronger God,” he rebutted. She chuckled.

“No, you’re not. Have you become so lazy that you have forgotten that every god’s life is a journey?”

“What are you saying?” he questioned.

“It’s a rather simple explanation, young one. When you stray from the path, you become weak. Years ago, you could have taken me with ease. Now, you lost and died only for the gods to grant you another chance at life. If I were you, I would rather not waste such a gift,” said Ammit. Hours looked down at the water and saw his reflection in the ripples.

“Then what must I do, great one,” he asked.

“I cannot tell you what to do. Only our lives and actions matter; what we do with them is eternal.” With that, the devourer of souls walked through one of the tunnels and out of sight, leaving Horus alone in the dark.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Fiona. On the surface, Barjon and the others had arrived at the old roman ruins. As they looked for the entrance, Margret shouted at the group.

“I see him,” she yelled. Heeding her call, the others rushed to her at the hidden stairway entrance. There, they saw Horus dripping wet and still bleeding from his shoulder. Fiona reached into her supply kit and went for the bandages. Before she would administer them, Horus stopped her.

“There is no need for that; my wounds will heal soon,” he said. Putting the bandages away, the company asked the young god what had happened. After the explanation, Hours apologized for his actions and outburst at the inn. However, it was Barjon who apologized instead. He was sorry for the mess he caused and for not realizing the ripple effects on everyone else. After the apologies were said, Hours then asked the company their real reasons for coming here. They then told the young god about what happened in the village, Ambross’s death, and a quest to reclaim a lost holy relic.

“You were the first name on the list he mentioned. How did you and Ambrose meet?” asked Colum.

“We never met in person, per se. Rather, we communicated through a series of letters. We discussed things ranging from activity movement to other survivors.” He paused for a moment. “I take it you are going to recruit the others?”

“Yes, we need every help we can get,” said Margret.

“If you’re going into France, you’re going to need someone to help you slip past the border guards,” he said.

“Someone like you?” stated Fiona. Horus smiled.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” questioned Colum.

“Let us say I have strayed from the path all gods must take. A wise one once said, ” Every god’s life is a journey.” Barjon and the company smiled and gladly accepted Horus into their expedition. Back in the forests, the inn’s trolls began planning their surprise attack on the unsuspecting heroes.

“I can’t wait to get the reward and spend the money on grog and whores,” said one troll.

“Not to mention all the meat we could have, save for the young one. She is nothing but skin and bones,” said the other. While the trolls debated their plan, they were unaware someone was listening to their conversation.

“And here I thought dwarves were the greedy ones,” said a voice. The trolls turned around and saw a cloaked man leaning against a tree.

“Who the hell are you?!” shouted one troll.

“Call me an opportunist,” said the figure. The trolls then unsheathed their weapons. One brandished a long knife at the being.

“Piss off. The reward is ours.” The being chucked.

“I don’t care about the bounty, but I cannot let you kill them,” he replied. He then removed his cloak and relieved his presence to the eager trolls. Suddenly their fearsome presence shriveled to fear.

“Y-you’re a maneater,” one stuttered. Javruamas cracked his knuckles and licked his lips.

“I hear you trolls like the taste of blood because I’m gonna make you choke on yours,” said the Maneater.