Chapter 4 #2
“Foster,” Mags nearly whispered, knowing he would still hear. “This is the vision I saw the day he was born. The one I would never show you.”
Flinty grey eyes cut sharply to her, and disbelief was etched on his face. “No.”
“Yes.” Mags could feel tears welling anew as she found the will to lift her hands and freeze the scene in place.
She spun it so they faced the terrible sight head on—Foster, tall and handsome, killing and maiming with a gleeful expression, long fingers like his father’s dripping with thick red blood.
Michael’s face crumpled with sorrow, anger, and fear. It was such a mirror to Luce’s grief that she was taken aback for a moment.
She let the scene unfold, still as painful as the first time. Foster in a burning city of bloody rubble, grinning with cold wickedness as he slashed a massive broadsword at any figure that tried to strike him down. Gore splattered over his face, eyes alight at the carnage.
Then another figure entered the scene. Lucifer—grim-faced and looking more tired than Mags had ever seen him but radiating raw power as he approached his son.
As he did, Foster lunged. His sword glanced off Luce’s shimmering obsidian armor, leaving a harsh gash along his neck.
Lucifer roared and fell back, cupping his own throat as golden blood poured between his fingers.
Foster advanced on him, determined and furious, lifting his sword to strike again before the vision halted, their fates uncertain.
Michael fell to his knees and struck the ground with his fist once, twice, three times. His eyes flared with cold fire when he finally lifted his head.
“How?” he demanded. “Why does this happen, and when?”
“Soon,” she whispered sadly. “Within a year, I think. I had another vision this morning, but much more...vague.”
Unable to show him a second vision while they were inside the first, she did her best to describe the one from this morning that she had shared with Luce.
Michael grew more tense the longer she spoke.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and Mags felt a small tinge of relief to have that burning gaze off her even though she had done nothing wrong.
“What could have led him to this?”
“There may be one thing,” she began, hesitantly. “I’m not sure, but…I noticed something earlier.”
She moved her hands as if tugging a rope and the world shifted around them until they stood in the shadow of the distant building. What would have been a fuzzy but recognizable image in her seashell basin was an interactive, high-definition model in this elaborate chamber.
Michael’s gaze narrowed. “What is this, Mary?”
Mags swallowed hard. “There was a book in the vision I saw this morning. I only caught a glimpse, but... It was familiar to me, and it reminded me of something I saw here. With such a detailed scene, I think maybe I could check...”
She knelt slowly, testing the limits of the vision’s reality—loose asphalt crunched beneath her knees, but somewhere underneath she could feel the carpeted floor of the dais in the arena.
She reached for an object poking out from beneath a pile of broken bricks, and carefully pulled free a small, tattered black book.
Her fingers tightened on the worn leather cover when her worst fears were confirmed.
“The Gospel of Lazarus,” she informed Michael somberly. “We both know what happened to my brother, Michael. We both know what awaits the one who performs these rituals.”
“We must stop this from coming to pass.”
“Foster is Lucifer’s blood. We do nothing, because we couldn’t hope to hold a candle to his raw power—let alone whatever these rituals can give him.”
“Why are you here then, Mary? Surely it wasn’t just to show me this vision.”
“It’s not,” she admitted. “I need you to help me speak with Jehovah.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mags rose slowly, brushing dust from her knees even though she knew it was only part of the vision. The book faded from her hand, returning to its original position beneath the rubble.
“Christos once told me...about an artifact that could imbue its owner with unlimited strength. A suit of armor that could protect its wearer from any attack.”
“You refer to the Armor of God.”
“I do.”
“It isn’t meant to be wielded by any but Jehovah. And he would never relinquish the Gospel that would lead them to it.”
“I understand it wouldn’t be a simple request.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I would appreciate your support when I ask Him.”
“He will never accept this.”
“I need you to help me convince Him.”
Michael shook his head sadly. “I can’t.”
“You must!” She was beginning to feel that desperate fear again. If Michael wouldn’t help them, who could she depend on?
“You of all people should understand my reservations,” he retorted. “The last time I went to beseech Him for help, it resulted in an attempted coup and a betrayal I still atone for. I curry much less favor with my King than I once did. You waste your time asking me this.”
“Michael, we have to try.” She dropped her voice, wary even when they were alone of someone overhearing what she was about to say.
“You know that Lucifer has been weakened, Michael. Without his wings, without the power he gifted to the Deadly Sins, you know he can’t stand against someone imbued with the strength of this grimoire. ”
“Enough!” Michael spun on his heel and stalked back to the original point they had entered the vision.
His robes fluttered as he paced in circles, eyes darting around the ruined landscape all the while.
“You have to give up on this delusion, Mary. I won’t stake my name against your impulsive ideas, especially for Lucifer’s benefit. ”
She blinked back frustrated tears. Michael had never been so curt with her.
But he had a point, as much as she hated to accept it.
His motives would always be questioned where Lucifer was concerned, not to mention the complicated emotions that clearly still simmered between the two men.
She thought of Luce’s short temper whenever she would try and discuss Michael, or the day of the Fall.
Michael made a distressed sound when he paused his pacing and saw her expression. “I’m sorry. As much as I’m loath to admit it, you might have better luck taking your request to Gabriel.”
Mags laughed, waving away the vision impatiently.
She was discomfited to find that rather than dissolving into mist as she was used to, this one seemed to slide from the skin like oil.
She rubbed her arms uncomfortably, shivering.
“You have more faith in my acting skills than I do, if you expect me to pretend that I like that cockroach long enough to ask him for help.”
“If you don’t want to speak with Gabe, we can take a stroll down the beach instead.” Michael gestured to the door, smiling despite the mild reprimand in his eyes. “Come. It’s a beautiful day, and your visions are not set in stone. Perhaps our meddling would even be the catalyst of this disaster.”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll have to take a rain check.
” She smiled faintly. “You’re right, of course.
Just because I saw it doesn’t mean it will come to pass.
I think I’ll just enjoy the library for a while to take my mind off things and visit Raphael.
Maybe he knows of some books we could search for another option. ”
“Yes.” He smiled warmly. “That’s an excellent idea. Please, seek me out if you change your mind about the walk.”
She nodded absently and they parted ways.
Michael headed towards the sparring fields, and after a moment, Mags turned down the hall leading to the grandiose library that spanned an entire building to itself.
The gentle nudge in her mind was telling her not to ignore this.
Michael was right that sometimes her visions never came to pass, but this didn’t feel like one of those possible futures.
Immersing herself in that chamber had only solidified the persistent suggestion that Armageddon was coming fast. Without Michael she had no hope of convincing Jehovah to hear her out, and Michael had proven himself nothing if not consistent over these long eons.
If he didn’t change his own mind, it would not be swayed.
Michael didn’t believe in her vision. Luce didn’t believe that they could obtain this resource. But Mags knew the key to averting this crisis waited at the end of this hallway, and it was time to take matters into her own hands.
Michael often lost himself in sparring, in the rhythm of his breathing, the steady thunk as he struck out at the targets and found a mark.
It helped him focus his mind and recenter when the racing of his heart replaced the racing of his thoughts.
But today, Michael knocked down target after target and did not reach the calm he sought.
Today there was only the rush of blood in his ears and the lingering discomfort over what he had seen; over what it would mean if he was wrong.
He refused any attempts for someone to partner him, choosing instead to abuse the inanimate targets, to allow himself to lose control and use his full strength.
He had seen the look on Mags’s face; there was genuine panic there.
She knew her gift better than anyone, and she seemed utterly convinced that this future was not only certain, but coming quickly.
Michael grunted as he put his fist clean through the leather bag.
Finely ground sand poured out onto the packed dirt ground of the arena.
Yanking his hand free and whirling back towards the armory to find something more durable to vent his frustrations upon, Michael could feel the tension rising in him again.
He forced himself to stop, to take several deep breaths, and to not take a swing at the new object in the arena—the angel stepping silently towards him.