Michael: Last Angel of Earth

Thanks to Horus’ help, the journey from Zalavega to the Spanish-French borders went relatively quickly. The Egyptian god knew of secret routes that would easily allow them access over the border to avoid meeting the border guards. Once they crossed the snowy mountains of Northern Spain after many days of marching, the company was in France. Making their way down the snowy cliffs, they found themselves in a small french town. Despite the townsfolk’s friendly nature, Barjon told everyone to be on their guard just in case. As they walked through the cobblestone streets, Margret asked Barjon if they could rest. Taking a break in a nearby eatery, Barjon pulled out the journal and reviewed Ambrose’s notes about the stone guardian Ruzla.

“Based upon his notes, this Ruzla character is located at a place called la Cathédrale de Nuit,” said Barjon.

“The Night Cathedral,” said Colum. Barjon nodded his head. As they continued the rest, Horus kept a visual eye on their surroundings.

“We should not stay here too long,” stated Horus.

“Agreed. We should ask the locals if they know where this place is,” stated Barjon. Horus shook his head.

“I do not think that would be wise,” he said.

“Why is that?” asked Margret. Horus explained that in his experience as a bounty, he realized that the locals would easily exploit their actions to better their circumstances. The fewer people who know of their intentions, the better.

“Well, we have to find this place, or else we’ll never find her,” exclaimed Fiona. Barjon told everyone to eavesdrop on the locals in the town. Perhaps they will lead them to their person. The company spread throughout the city as they got up from the table. Barjon and Margret went to the local market grounds to see if they could find out anything. Wandering through the different stands and vendors, one particular stand caught their eye. It was a gem stand, and during Barjon’s former life as an angel, he knew the power of gems quite well. As he and Margret walked over to the podium, the stall owner approached them with an energetic personality.

“Welcome, friends, welcome. May I interest you in some of my fine selection of jewels? Perhaps the young lady would like a stone that matches her beauty,” he said. Margret raised an eyebrow and chuckled. Barjon asked the owner if these were all the gems he had.

“No, my friend. I have more, many more,” said the owners. “What types are you looking for?”

“Ones that deal with spell enhancements,” said Barjon. The owner’s smile grew wider, thinking he had found a wealthy buyer. Reaching into the back of his stand, he pulled out a large box with a lock. Grabbing the key from his pocket, he opened the lock and lifted the top. Inside were some of the rarest and most precious stones from around the globe. Margret was stunned by their beauty while Barjon studied them. He knew that some of these stones were real and others counterfeit. As an angel, he would quickly tell the difference between magical stones. Now mortal, he had to rely upon physical characteristics and traits solely. He studied each gem carefully and locked his eyes on the one he sought, Hematite. This Hematite with a cabochon cut and the size of a kumquat was in top condition. These gems were in reasonably high demand, but they’re a scarce gemstone species. These gems contained desirable properties, which made for a tremendous beneficial spell focus. This was the gem he needed. The next obstacle was the price.

“How much?” he asked.

“You have a fine eye for quality. This is one of my most sought-after pieces. And such beauty has a high price,” said the owner. “Five billion euros.” Margaret pulled Barjon aside.

“Are you crazy!? We don’t have the money for that?!” she whispered and yelled.

“We need that stone,” he replied.

“We don’t have the money,” he exclaimed.

“We won’t be paying. Just watch,” he said to her. Returning to the vendor, Barjon inspected the stones again and commented on some.

“These are quite lovely, I must say,” said Barjon. He then picked up one yellow topaz and raised it to the sky. As the sun’s rays passed through the stone, in an instant, he crushed the “priceless’ gem between his fingers. The act shocked the owner.

“What are you doing!?” he shouted. Barjon again grabbed another stone and crushed it in his hand. He glanced at the gem seller as he sprinkled the dust on the stand.

“Quite lovely, I must say, for fakes,” he stated. Before the owner yelled out for the guards, Barjon wrapped one hand around the back of the owner’s neck and pulled him close.

“I would not do that if I were you,” said Barjon. “I would hate to tell all your loyal customers that you have been selling them fakes. I wonder what their reaction might be?” The owner began sweating bullets. As he fumbled over his words, the man tried reaching for his gun under the table. Barjon quickly grabbed the man’s hand and pinned it. Terrified, the man gulped and started directly into Barjon’s eyes.

“Wh-what d-do you want?” he stuttered.

“All I want is the Hematite. Nothing else,” stated Barjon.

“But-but that-t’s my best’s seller,” exclaimed the man.

“You mean your impulse item. These stones are scarce and difficult to find. Last I check, the elite mage only uses these stones for magical purposes. No regular seller can have one of these unless they have a license. Do you have one?” The man’s eyes darted all over the place. Panting, the man forced a smile and cheerful attitude.

“I forgot, I am having a sale today. All quality times are a hundred percent off,” said the man. Smiling satisfied, Barjon patted the man’s face and walked away with the Hematite. Margret was impressed.

“That was ... something. How did you know they were fake?” Barjon smirked.

“I didn’t. They never were fakes.” Margret stared at him, shocked.

“Then those gems...”

“Were all real.”

“I guess I learned a valuable lesson today,” she said.

“Yeah, never barter with a former angel,” said Barjon. As the two finished in the market, not too far away, Fiona and Colum continued their espionage in the town square, where gossip was all the rage. Sitting on the water foundation, Fiona turned her head to the water while Colum grabbed a newspaper and began reading today’s news. The pair had no luck as they listened for any indication of their target. It seemed everybody was talking about random events from what they heard, making little to no sense.

“Damn, this is not working. We may need to go to another area,” said Colum. Fiona nodded her head in agreement. Before the pair left, Fiona stopped as she heard one townsfolk mentioning page five in the local news. Something about another bloody massacre in the woods. Grabbing the paper from Colum, Fiona sped through the pages until she arrived at a STONE GUARDIAN STRIKES AGAIN section. The section read:

Another five dead in the beast’s woods. Reports state that this is another reminder sent by the illusive STONE GUARDIAN. Police are ordering the people to stay away from the woods of Geavdaun, as now deemed by the head authority as a hostile zone. Please stay away.

“Does the paper list anything else?” asked Colum. Fiona skimmed the page and saw that one survivor of a previous attack gave authority not only a description of his attacker but a clear image too. The attacker was none other than a gargoyle.

“Well, this just became interesting,” said Fiona.

“We better show this to the others,” stated Colum. Taking the newspaper, the two returned to the others, leaving Horus as the last.

While everyone else went looking for answers amongst the people, Horus knew there was one palace with all the solutions, the local bounty hunters guild. Making his way to the building, he pushed open the doors and saw bounty hunters he knew. Just then, the leader of the guild welcomed the fellow hunter.

“Horus, what a surprise,” said the guild master. Hugging his old friend, he asked what had brought him into town.

“I’m looking for work. Any contracts around?” asked Horus. The guild master said that most contracts are already taken, except for one. The guild master showed him the one agreement no hunter had ever completed, taking him to the backroom. Grabbing the parchment off the wall, Horus studied the documents carefully.

“A gargoyle? You’re hunting a gargoyle,” said Horus.

“Not just any gargoyle. But a gargoyle of the Iron Wing clan,” said a voice. Looking to his right, he saw a bounty hunter sitting at the room’s far end. Just from the voice alone, he knew who it was, and soon a scowl emerged on his face.

At the room's far end, black, curly hair hung over a thin, menacing face. Clear black eyes were buried within their sockets. Tribal marks in the form of 1 stripe above and two lines below his right eye marked his upbringing but, more importantly, left a gracious memory of his unfortunate past. This was the face of Viper, a true opportunist among humans. He stood high among others, despite his delicate frame. Something was misleading about him, perhaps it was his hatred, or maybe it was simply his disposition.

Nonetheless, people tend to avoid Viper at all costs. As usual, Viper wore his usual attire. His preferred armor set had a squared helm with half a faceguard shaped like the eyes of a snake and reached just below the eyes. Attached to its side were layers of leather shaped like dragon scales.

The shoulders were somewhat squared, wide, and large. They’re decorated with a layer of exotic animal pelt covering every surface. The upper arms were protected by rounded, fully covering rerebraces that sat well under the shoulder plates. Vambraces wrapped the lower arms with layers of crafted leather mimicking dragon scales. The breastplate was made from many circular layers of leather with squared edges and decoration pieces. It covered almost everything from the neck down and ending at the groin, but the sides were only covered near the bottom. The upper legs were covered by a skirt of vertical layers of leather and fur reaching down to the knee. The front was open. The leather greaves protected the lower legs with a masterfully crafted leather snake curling around them. Thin fur pants were worn beneath this all.

Sitting beside the bounty hunter was his go-to weapon, the J-7 assault rifle with bayonet and scope, otherwise known as the Desert Cobra.

“I thought you were hunting in Istanbul?” asked Horus. Viper slumped forward in his chair and rested his head on his arms.

“I was for a time, then I got bored and returned here. Europe is where the money is,” replied Viper. “So, you’re thinking of taking the bounty on the Stone Guardian, correct? Words of advice, Egyptian, be on your guard.”

“Does anyone know where this gargoyle can be found?” The guild master said a gargoyle resided in an abandoned cathedral, but its location had been lost. Rumor has it, though, that a magical cloak the Cathedral in magic, thus hiding from the rest of the world. And Viper knew of where it was.

“So you know where this statue resides?”

“Yep,” said Viper, taking a sip of coffee. Moments passed as Hours was getting irritated.

“Well?!” said the Egyptian prince. Viper finished slurping down the last of his coffee before answering him.

“The statue is located at the entrance of a graveyard in Gevaudan. Built over a century ago, the old stone griffin is the gatekeeper that casts the illusion,” said Viper.

“And where is this Gryphon?” asked Hours.

“That is for you to find out,” replied Viper.

“But you said-”

“I said I knew of its location. I did not say where especially,” smirked Viper. Grumbling, Horus thanked the guild master and begrudgingly Viper as he left the building to meet up with his friends. Back outside, Hours regrouped with the others back at the eatery.

“Report Everyone,” said Barjon.

“Colum and I have a newspaper detailing a recent attack in the Gevaudan province of southern France. Five bodies dead, and look at this, a clear picture of a Gargoyle.

“Seems we have the same idea. At the bounty hunters guild, there is already a bounty on this elusive stone Guardian. From what I am told, the Cathedral is locked in an abandoned graveyard, hidden by magic by an old stone griffin statue. However, we do not know where,” replied Horus.

“Now we do,” said Barjon, presenting the Hematite stone to everyone. Horus’s eyes lit up like diamonds. His father Osiris used hematite stones to gaze over his kingdom, locate other gods, and uncover secrets shrouded in magic.”

“You know of these stones, I take it?” questioned Barjon. Horus shook his head and asked to see the stone. Handing the stone over, the Egyptian prince marveled at the quality and placed the stone in his pocket. After gathering all the information, the company exited the town and began the lock trek to their next destination. A familiar face had heard everything and got up from his seat back inside the city and followed the company close behind. However, unbeknownst to Javrumas, someone else had been watching him. One-armed with an assault rifle.

The colonial history of the former province of Gevaudan was riddled with gruesome murders and violent deaths. In the Margeride Mountains of south-central France between 1764 and 1767, a man-eating animal or animals terrorized the former province of Gévaudan. Most descriptions from the period identify the beast as a wolf, dog, or wolf-dog hybrid. Victims were often killed by having their throats torn out. The Kingdom of France used a considerable amount of money and manpower for hunting the animals responsible, including the resources of several nobles, soldiers, royal huntsmen, and civilians. The number of victims differs according to the source. Modern sources estimated 610 attacks, resulting in 500 deaths and 49 injuries; 98 killed victims were partly eaten. Other sources claim the animals killed between 60 and 100 adults and children and injured more than 30. The beast was reported killed several times before the attacks finally stopped.

Nearly 400 years later, it seemed another monster plagued the former province. The company’s journey took them further into southern France’s dense forests; it was becoming challenging to stay on the trail. After about an hour, the heroes had to stop as the forest had become too thick, and the trial they had followed had worn out. Now was the time to use the Hematite. Reaching into his pocket, Horus pulled out the stone and, somewhat unexpectedly, removed one of his eyes and placed the stone in its place. The sight was rather unsettling, but it soon passed. Then, Horus began uttering a mystical Egyptian phrase, and soon the Hematite started to glow brightly.

“Can you find anything?” asked Barjon. Hours searched the area to see if he could find any trace of magic. His stone eye then glowed brighter as he faced west of their position.

“This way,” said the prince. Horus followed the others through the secret path through the woods. The more they ventured, the brighter the gem glowed. Horus could feel the heat in his skull as the gem. They were getting close. After almost an hour or two, the group found themselves in a desolate part of the woods. Cobwebs, dead trees, and an eerie sense of death and disease were all around them.

“Alright, spread out and look for the griffin,” ordered Barjon. As the team looked around them for the entrance, Horus could not shake the feeling they were being watched. Walking cautiously, the prince looked high and low, hoping to find something. Unaware of his surroundings, he accidentally stepped on a twig, snapping it. The sound echoed around them, and a series of traps activated before anyone could react. The heroes ducked, jumped, and dogged these lethal traps. As they tried to avoid the pitfalls, Marget fell into a deadfall trap. She grabbed onto the edge at the last second to avoid being impaled.

“Barjon, help!” shouted Margret. The former angel rushed to save his friend while avoiding the many wooden spikes falling from the trees. Sliding towards the pit, Barjon got on his stomach and grabbed the girl’s wrists. Hearing the spikes getting closer, Barjon pulled Marget out of the hole with all his strength and just in time. When he dragged her out of the pit and moved away, the spikes landed in the same spot where Barjon lay. Panting heavily, Barjon called out for the others.

“Is everyone alright?” shouted Barjon, but he got no answer. Noticing that all the traps were finished, he and Margret got up from the ground and looked for their friends. Venturing through the forests, the pair found themselves alone in the woods. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed, and the air became still. Just then, there was noise coming from the trees. As Margret and Barjon reached for their weapons, another trap went off. This time, it was a net trap that caught the heroes.

It surprised Margret and Barjon that the former angel accidentally dropped hellfire. Needing the sword to free them, he stretched out his arm through one of the holes in the net and tried to reach the sword. Just as his fingertips touched the blade, a stranger picked the sword up. Neither Barjon nor Marget could see who it was, only that the individual cut the net down from the rope and dragged the massive bundle away to an unknown location. The pair grunted and tried to break free, but their arms couldn’t do anything. Just then, from the glimpse of his eye, Barjon saw the outline of the griffin statue and realized where they were going.

As soon as they passed the griffin, a wave of mystical energy swept over Barjon and Margret, knocking them out.

“I’m impressed. No one has ever survived my traps,” said a voice. Slowly opening his eyes, Barjon was greeted by everything upside down. Tilting his head forward, he saw that his feet were chained up and held by one of the old church support beams. Also, as he looked to his left and right, he saw his friends were also in the same predicament. If that was not bad enough, the former Nagel could feel the blood rush to his head. Knowing he would only have a few minutes until he lost consciousness, he began to speak to their captor.

“Are your Ruzla?” he said. The being turned around and faced his prisoners. Short black hair with a side shave cut hung over dark brown eyes. Small horns decorated her forehead, and an earring hung on one ear along with a slight underbite. She was of average height with a slender, slightly muscular build. Her skin color was russet; the exterior color of her wings was black, while the interior was white. She had four talon-like digits on her hand and three on her feet. As for her choice of clothing, it had seen better days. What was once a shirt was now merely a dirt-stained piece of fabric hanging from one of her shoulders like a discarded old towel.

There were holes all over it. Big, small, and anything in between, leaving much of her exposure to the elements. She wore a ragged coat over her shirt. It was a nasty mess of stains and dirt, but it helped her stay relatively dry, even for a little while. Her pants were in terrible shape as well. Dirt stains, holes, and tears were scattered all over. She wore a scarf around her neck and wrapped it around her face in a way that covered the chin. It was torn and slightly stained but otherwise in a decent shape. Her head was covered by a beanie, which may be old and worn out, but it was still relatively good and clean.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, pointing her weapon at him. In her hand was a pole weapon with a curving single-edged blade with the cutting edge on the blade’s concave side. Known as a war scythe, the blade on these weapons had regularly proportioned flats, a thickness comparable to that of a spear or sword blade, and slightly curved along its edge as it taped to its point. The weapon’s tip touched Barjon’s nose, and the former angel gently moved it away from his face.

“If you let me down, I would happily answer your question,” replied Barjon. Ruzla hesitated for a moment but then cut him down with her scythe. Landing on his stomach, Barjon removed the chains around his legs. As he got up, Ruzla still had her weapon directly at him. Putting his hands up, he slowly went over to his belongings, reached into the bag, and pulled out the journal. Handing it to Ruzla, the female gargoyle grabbed the book and inspected its contents. Seeing the name on the cover, her mood softened, and she soon let everyone else down from their bindings. Back on the ground, the others removed the iron chains and shackles from their legs. Horus then removed the Hematite from his eye and returned his old one. As everyone got up from the ground, Ruzla opened the journal and read the notes. After a while, she closed the book and returned it to Barjon.

“You are a friend of Ambrose?” she asked.

“I am. Or rather was,” stated Barjon.

“Did he die well?” she questioned.

“He was killed, murdered actually,” said Colum. Ruzla sighed. She needed no more explanation.

“He was a good man. Foolish at times, but a good man nonetheless,” said Ruzla. “Come, follow me.” Flinging her weapon over her shoulder, the female gargoyle walked towards the stairs leading down into the Cathedral’s crypts. Following behind, the company began making the dark descent down into the underbelly of the church. Arriving at a door, Ruzla jammed her scythe into the lock and twisted the polearm until there was a slight click. The door unlocked, the entrance slowly creaked open, and Ruzla entered the dimly lit room. As Barjon and the others followed, they saw decorations along the stone walls with numerous maps, newspaper clippings, charts, and other parchments, each with strange markings, circles, and strings intertwining.

“What is all this?” asked Horus. Turning to face the group, Ruzla explained.

“The notes in Ambrose’s journal. They are part of something much larger. Something grandeur. Take a look at the maps and tell me what you see.” Barjon and the others inspected all the maps they saw on the walls. As they examined them, at first, they could not tell their significance. However, it was Margret who was able to figure it out.

“They are locations of other beings,” said Margret.

“Not just beings. These markings represent gods, goddesses, folk heroes, mythical creatures, and demigods who have refused to surrender to the army of Darkness. I have researched and cataloged their movements for the past several years.” The maps showed that small resistance activities spread worldwide from the tip of Russia to the south of Africa, to the far east as Japan, and the Pacific islands to the far west in the Americans. All were connected. Everyone was shocked by the news, especially Barjon. He was unaware that others were still fighting against the army of Darkness. And if what Ruzlsa is saying is correct, then some other angels may have survived the massacre at the Outpost.

“And you and Ambrose shared this information?” asked Fiona, still shocked by this revelation.

“Yes. He was the first to begin this search. That is how he found me, Horus, and Vanhildr.”

“Vanhildr?” asked Colum.

“She was a former Valkyrie from Asgard. From what I have found, she now fights as a gladiator for the spectacle of a local frost giant in Germany. I have tried several attempts to contact her, but no such luck.” Everyone had so many questions to ask. Fiona and Colum could not believe what their friend was doing without their knowing. It truly made them wonder if they knew him at all.

“So, if you have all these locations marked, why?” asked Margret. Ruzla then grabbed a document from one of the trunks and placed it on a table. As everyone gathered around, their eyes widened. On the table was a picture of an angel of old, clad in armor and leading the survivors against the army of Darkness in what seemed to be the end battle.

“I found this document hidden in an old abandoned templar temple in Paris. I told Ambrose what I had discovered, and since then, I have not heard from him until now.”

“If Amborss knew of this, then did he believe that-” said Fiona

“I was the angel in the picture?” finished Barjon. It seemed impossible, the document looked to be countries of years old, and the angel’s face was covered by his helmet, yet the sword seemed hellfire. Whoever this mysterious angel was, Ambrose believed this person to be Barjon.

“You were an angel?” asked Ruzla. Barjon nodded his head. The female gargoyle then began listing off names of famous archangels she had learned about through her research.

“My old name was Michael,” he said.

“Ah yes, Michael, the warrior angel. I have learned much about your exploits. Your reputation precedes you,” she replied. With everything that had been discussed, one last question still needed to be asked.

“How do you know all this? Who are you?” asked Margret. Setting aside her weapon, the female gargoyle told the others her story. In her story, she explained that she became angry, arrogant, and adventurous for a long time in isolation. She grew up in a powerful gargoyle clan, the Iron Wings. The Iron Wings were one of Europe’s most powerful and influential clans. Originally from Germany, the family immigrated to this Cathedral in southern France after a bloody war with the Ulfhedinn, a race of Norse berserker warriors who drew their powers from Fenrir. After settling in their new home, the Iron wings made a pact with local humans and lived in relative peace. She was brought into this world during that time and made friends with the local children, and up until the age of ten, life was good, but at that point, things changed.

When the army of Darkness began its conquest of Europe, many human cities and governments sided with them in hopes of protection. Those that refused were obliterated. When they moved further south in France, the Iron wings promised the people to protect and protect them. For almost two years, they held them back, killing numerous soldiers from Hela, Set, Akuma, and many more. However, despite the skill and reputation, the Iron Wings were limited by one decisive factor. Like most gargoyle clans, the Iron Wings were turned to stone at the coming of the first light every morning, and their enemies exploited it. One fateful day later, the army of Darkness came to their home and killed her parents, friends, clan, and the people. Everyone was butchered, yet she survived someone.

Later that night, she awoke to the carnage and found herself alone, miserable, and abandoned. Gathering what little supplies she had and with the help of a small group of strangers, she had to survive in a strange world alone. But with perseverance and vigor, she started a new life and found a new home. In her isolation, she found a spell that would nullify her genetic capabilities to turn to stone at first light, allowing her to survive and fight in the day and night. She made many foreign and domestic enemies in her quest to fight back. Still constantly on the move, she worked in the shadows, trying to fit in with society. By doing so, she hoped to forget about the past and finally find the stability and security she had never had.

After telling her story, Ruzla then said that it was getting late. The others followed, leaving the crypt and heading back upstairs, except for Barjon. He was still below, looking at the picture of the armored angel.

“Nice likeness, don’t you think,” said a familiar voice.

“What do you want now?” asked Barjon begrudgingly. His manifested conscience circled the table.

“Nothing really, just wondering if you are buying that crap,” said the conscience. Barjon raised an eye.

“Excuse me?”

“You are not seriously buying all this nonsense surrounding an old photo? Look, why do you always need to get involved even more?!”

“You’ll never understand that it’s all my fault! They are here because of me!” Grabbing the document, he stormed out of the crypt, leaving the apparition behind.

“You’re gonna save their lives again, aren’t you?” the apparition groaned.

“I’ll try,” Barjon said softly. Back inside the church, the former angel approached the others, where Ruzla offered them some beers. Cracking the top off, the former angel guzzled the beer and placed the bottle beside him as everyone sat around a lamp in a circle.

“What about you and five dead bodies in the local paper?” asked Barjon. Ruzla placed her bottle down.

“Is that how you found me then?” she replied. Barjon nodded. She signed and brushed her fingers through her hair.

“They were five teenagers from a local town far from here. One got a copy of my wanted poster and hatched a scheme to collect the reward. I was making my usual rounds when I found them invading my home. I told them to return my property and leave. When I approached them, I was still covered in my rags, so they believed me to be a witch.” She paused for a moment. “However, one of them noticed my wings, and things went downhill fast. One of the teenagers tried to grab me from behind, but I kicked him out as another turned to slash at me with his father’s butcher’s knife. Then I saw one try to steal some of my clan’s artifacts. I pushed him away, but he dropped one of my clan’s most sacred items, which shattered into millions of pieces. Then--”

“Then what?” asked Margret.

“You know what happens next,” she said. Fiona and Colum each made the sign of the cross. Ruzla let out a deep breath before finishing her account.

“Afterwards, I dragged their bodies out of the Cathedral and left them near a local road. The rest is history.” After telling her story, the other noticed her hands were shaking the entire time.

“Out of all the lives I have been forced to take to survive, those five are the ones I regret the most. I’m sure you know how that feels, Michael.”

“So you know as well?” stated Barjon.

“It was not hard. After I brought you all unconscious, I looked at your weapons and recognized the sword from my research. Only one warrior was issued that sword, and she died with the Watchers Outpost, thus leaving one last suspect. You, Archangel Michael.” Just Margret shot up from the ground.

“What’s wrong?” asked Hours

“I hear something. Something faint and coming close.” As she rushed to the wall close to the graveyard entrance, the others got up and followed behind her. Ruzla could not believe her eyes with everyone present as she saw the outline of somebody piercing through the magical shield protecting her home. With a deep HUM, a being emerged.

Once through the barrier, four glowing eyes observed their surroundings from their broad sockets. A pointy nose rested below, but the enormous mouth below took all the attention. A gentle smile revealed rows upon rows of teeth and a giant tongue. Tiny pointy ears sat on each side of its small, squared head, covered in scar-like carvings, and had two broad horns protruding from the sides. Its small bulky body was slightly hunched over. Two short tentacle-like arms rested at its sides and ended in large hands with thick fingers, of which it had 8. Its legs were broad and slightly bent, each ending in wide feet. Its body was covered in thick skin, and its shoulders were about the same width as its pelvis, from which a fanned tail swayed back and forth.

On the outside, it looked relatively harmless, but beings such as Horus and Ruzla knew better. They knew what that creature was.

“What is that thing?” asked Colum.

“A ghoul,” said Horus and Ruzla.

“What the hell is a Ghoul?” asked Fiona.

“Nasty little suckers. Extremely dangerous, magically powerful, and damn near impossible to kill,” said Horus, loading his shotgun.

“Doesn’t seem to be that dangerous,” quipped Margret.

“Famous last words of many who underestimated Ghouls,” replied Ruzla. As the company gathered its weapons, the creature outside jerked its head all over the place until it locked eyes with those inside the church. Then, opening its mouth, it let a deafening high pierce shriek into the night sky. Barjon and the others covered their ears due to the sheer loudness of the creature. If that was not bad enough, the ground soon began to shake, and blueish-green smoke from the earth came from the cracks. Emerging from these came deceased and partially rotting warriors, gargoyles, and humans buried underneath the Cathedral’s ground. Their eyes glowed green, and their bodies reeked of filth. Once the shrieking subsided, the company surrounded itself by a host of undead warriors.

“Draugrs,” said Barjon. He remembered these beings many years ago when the Watchers Outpost came under siege.

“Great, what now?” asked Colum, loading a magazine into his weapon.

“Does this place have a secret passageway?” questioned Margret.

“The is one passage. The crypt has a secret door behind one of the walls. A secret combination locks it,” said Ruzla.

“How long will it take to open?” asked Fiona.

“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen,” stated Ruzla.

“Alright, get downstairs and wait for our call.” Ruzla refused.

“I am not leaving this fight. This is my home, after all,” stated the female gargoyle. Not wanting to argue, Barjon then told Ruzla to stand guard behind one of the broken wall pieces. With everyone in place, it was now a waiting game. As the ghouls faced Barjon and his company, a shot ran out, hitting the Ghoul in the shoulder. Barjon’s eyes widened.

“Who fired!?” he yelled. Everyone checked the ammo, but before they could answer, the Ghoul let out another ear-screeching roar causing the draugrs to charge at the desolate Cathedral.

“Open fire!” yelled Fiona. She, Colum, Margret, and Horus fired their weapons at the assaulting undead. Round after round, they dropped the zombies. Bullet casings soon littered the stone floor. As the bodies began to fall, only more came up from the ground. It was only a matter of time before they would be overrun.

“I’m running on ammo here,” stated Colum, already going for his third magazine change.

“Same here,” said Marget and Fiona. Time was running out for his friend. Thinking quickly, Barjon asked Ruzla to go down to the crypt and unlock the door.

“Take Magret with you. Colum and Fiona fall back to the entrance of the crypt. Kill any that get past Horus and me.” Nodding their heads, everyone went to their positions, giving Horus and Barjon more than enough room. As the two moved away from the wall, the Draugrs poured inside the Cathedral. Unseating their weapons, the former angel and the Egyptian prince defend themselves and their friends from the army of the undead. Another figure emerged through the barrier just outside the church with the Ghoul. It was Javrumas, hoping now would be the time to strike. Yet just on the opposite side of the Cathedral, another appeared with plans of his own.

Inside the church, Horus and Barjon soon started competing about how many draugrs the other person could kill.

“Hey angel, twelve already,” sneered Horus. Barjon smirked.

“That’s cute. I’m on twenty-seven!” smirked Barjon, slicing the head off of one.

“Ah, hell no. No wingless bastard is going to out-score me!” yelled Horus. The Egyptian prince then charged into a horde of undead warriors and swung his mace ax viciously, lopping off heads and smashing bodies left and right. After a while, the onslaught began to simmer until no enemies came through. Horus struck the last one with the blunt end of his weapon.

“Ha, we did it,” he said confidently. Colum and Fiona were almost amazed they survived. However, Barjon felt uneasy. Something seemed off. He quickly ran to the wall where the zombies came from and realized someone was missing.

“Where’s the Ghoul?” he said. Just then, they heard scuffling coming from the rafters above. Fiona and Colum slowly moved away from their position as Horus and Barjon did the same. Slowly forming a circle in the center, the group was unaware that the Ghoul was just above them, waiting to strike like a wild animal. Seeing its prey where it wanted them, it loosened its claws and fell upon them. Barjon's ears were the first to pick up the tiny noises and yelled at everyone to move. The Ghoul landed hard on the stone floor just as they did so, casting a cloud of dust and rubble. Recovering, the company surrounded the beast, a fatal error. Suddenly, the Ghoul lashed out at the heroes. Its speed was far beyond Barjons and that of Horus. It bounced off the walls like a bouncy ball, except with savage claws and rows of teeth. With every bounce, it slashed at them left and right. Trying to hit the creature, Fiona and Colum fired their weapons in all directions. Not a single bullet scratched the beast. Giggling wickedly, the Ghoul used its magic and made mirror copies of itself. Now the situation became dire as there were now several dozen of them.

“Ruzla!” yelled Barjon.

“Just a few more minutes,” she yelled back.

“We’re going to be dead in a few minutes,” Horus yelled.

“Look out!” shouted Fiona at Horus. In a flash, the prince turned his head and saw a ghoul copy slam itself onto him, digging his claws into his armor. Horus grunted in pain as the nails dug deep into his chest.

“Get off of him!” shouted Barjon, kicking the creature in the head. With the Ghoul off, Horus scrambled to his feet and grabbed his weapon. As the Ghoul hissed defiantly, Horus raised his mace ax above his head and slammed it down onto the creature’s skull. With a resounding thud, bits of skull and brain splattered everywhere. The Ghoul copy twitched for a moment and then died. Its blood covered the prince’s face. He spat at the creature and pulled his weapon from its dead carcass.

“Die finally,” he said. Suddenly the commotion stopped, and all eyes were on the remaining ghouls.

“I don’t like this,” said Colum. True to his statement, the remaining Ghouls hissed and soon began to cluster up until their bodies began to morph and change into a massive mass of flesh, nail, and skin. Suddenly the form started to take a more noticeable shape, a much larger version of the Ghoul Horus had killed.

“Bloody Hell,” said Fiona. The creature then let out a massive roar, shaking the very foundation of the Cathedral.

“Ruzla,” yelled Barjon once more.

“We’re good; get down here!” she yelled back. Barjon did not need to be told twice.

“Colum. Fiona. Downstairs now. We’ll cover you!” shouted Barjon. As the two humans ran downstairs into the crypt, Hours and Barjon made their assault on the behemoth. Both warriors attack the monster’s ankles, hoping to cripple it. Unfortunately, the beast’s skin was as tough as worn leather, rendering their attacks useless. Growing irritated, the massive monstrosity kicked Horus into a nearby pillar, knocking the wind out of him. Barjon was pinned to the ground by the Ghoul’s large hand. He tried to squire his way out but to no avail. Making matters worse, his sword was also pinned. The Ghoul then brought his head close to the former angel’s face, its hot breath making him nearly gag. Fearing this to be his end, Barjon closed his eyes and braced himself. Suddenly, Barjon heard shots fired, causing the creature to rear away. Barjon rose quickly from the ground with the massive hand off him and turned to see who was firing the shots. To his surprise and confusion, it was a bounty hunter.

“Viper!?” yelled Horus, recovering from the blow.

“You can thank me later, bird brains. Get out of here,” yelled Viper, firing his weapon again. Rushing over to Barjon, the Egyptian helped the former angel up, and the pair met the others down in the crypt. Reunited with their friends, the company went through the secret passageway when Barjon stopped them.

“We can’t leave,” said Barjon.

“What!?′ everyone yelled.

“We need to take some of these maps with us. Any chart, document, or old piece of parchment we can carry. The rest we burn,” he stated.

“Dammit Barjon,” said Margret. Returning to the room, the company scrambled to grab any form of information or clue they could get. Outside, they heard the battle raging between Viper and the Uber Ghoul.

“Barjon, we need to leave now!” yelled Fiona, stuffing Ruzla’s notes into her supply bag. Realizing they were out of time, Barjon and his friends quickly left the crypt room, but not before throwing a torch down on the floor. The flame soon caught fire to one massive picture, and soon it traveled up the wall and slowly engulfed the room. As they traveled through the tunnel, there was a loud boom above them, shaking the room.

“Viper must have used his special bombs. He always said those were handy,” said Horus.

“How the hell did he find us?” asked Barjon. Hours really could not say. He was just glad he came along the way he did.

Back up top in the Cathedral, Viper stood over the charred corpse of the Ghoul. He then heard footsteps coming from behind. Turning around, he saw Javrumas with a scowl on his face. Viper smirked.

“What the actual hell, Mordred,” shouted Javrumas.

“You had your shot, Javrumas, but you’re not the only assassin in town. And the day is still young,” he said. Just as Javruams pointed out, Viper, in reality, was Mordred, son of Morgana Pendragon and loyal servant to Lucifer Brightstar. The Maneater lunged out a hand to grab the sorcerer’s son, but Modred backed away and pulled out his high-caliber pistol. He wagged a finger at him.

“Uh uh, we would not want this to leak out now, do we? After all, you gave your word to your master that this would be done with discretion, right?” Javruams snarled and turned away. Knowing the scent was fresh, the Maneater picked up the trail and continued his hunt. All alone in the Cathedral, Mordred again turned to the Ghoul’s corpse.

“You played your part well, my friend,” he said. Uttering a few simple spells, the sorcerer’s son brought the dead Ghoul back to life and in its original form. Alive once more, the Ghoul bowed before his master. Kneeling to the creature, Mordred placed a hand on its shoulder.

“I need you to deliver a message to my mother, Morgana. Tell her that Lucifer’s suspicions were correct and that Barjon has the journal and is going towards Germany and eventually the Vatican.”