ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2013
- Posts
- 1,650
Much of the words in this building -spoken, written, or thought - were hurtful. A god can exist in the temple of another without even a blink, in fact that is where the best recruiting takes place, yet when the whole of one’s follower’s are based on the hatred and cover-up to the past one can not help but to grow anger. Mars was helped only by the objective of their purpose in the ‘Saints Methodist Church’, and distractions from deep inside his mind.
To manage himself in this temple, Marty knew it was in part presentation. Marty brought Chelsea. Of course, he lied to her, saying this was just a recruiting mission, but all gods are always allowed to lie to their followers --in fact lying to your followers was a liberty that bore out of necessity. They sat in a pew not quite in the back, but not the last row - equally as a way to be seen and not given full attention. The two made sure to not appear as a couple, down to orchestrating their body language for most the morning. He sat slightly overdressed for most in the room, choosing to wear a navy blue blazer over a blue dress shirt unbuttoned and without a tie, matching his khaki pants. Warmer than most sitting in here, but he needed the blazer for his own protection. The outfit also made him look older than the girl, who went for a much younger yet conservative look. He, of course, would be recognized as the new school football coach; but as they dressed she could be mistaken for a younger relative and not at all a lover. Yet, followers of a God of War are typically young men, and Chelsea appearing to be ‘just a friend’ would have the added benefit that she could use her schoolgirl charms and gain more followers afterall.
Most of it was easier for her than him though. As he sat at the modest ‘old world inspired’ chapel, images floated through his head of Ziva. The night before, her caramel colored skin spun under bath water as he floated above him. He did what he could to ignore it as the job of protecting her dreams was the utmost importance. Now that his guard was down, all those memories sloshed about as images of her naked body writhed in his head.
As the service began, something new came to his head. It wasn’t just her, it was the two of them. Laying on his side along a pond, their naked bodies touching each other lightly in the summer sun. He could taste her lips on his, sweet like candy. Feeling her body as smooth as silky chocolate. Hungry to pull her close and find the right way to make her melt.
The feeling was intoxicating, the punishment of the moment like sweet torture. Yet above all else, it was the final sign of what he wished could only be true. She was calling to him the way Ishtar did all those ages ago. She may do it now by simply letting her carnal needs grow more in control, but it was a true calling and a need that filtered in messages that he knew he would have answer.
What only held him back from finding her was this now his duty. She knew not what she was, and it would be different if he was the only one who knew. Yet the appearance of one of the seven archangels in this small town was likely no coincidence. Before Ziva could explore who she may be, she needs to be kept hidden.
Chelsea scratched something in her hymnal, bringing Marty back to the here-and-now. “Him.”
Looking up to the altar, there was an elderly man in robes and a black color. His liver spotted skin on his face and thinning white hair would make the suggestion of being no younger than late 60s. He was reading some of the minor verses, a side job for a visiting pastor surely. None of this congregation would mistake the man for someone who would be staying for a while; because they would be expecting him to not make it much longer in this career anyway before he sees his heavenly father. In a way, it made sense to Marty, someone guaranteed to have an out plan for his departure. Plus it made sense for Uriel, one who was prone to want to defeat the enemy with one arm tied behind his back. Yet there were so many followers to their God’s cause, sending an Archangel on temporary assignment screamed of trouble.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to listen to Ziva’s calling.
Once again, the message changed. Once again, it wasn’t what he expected. Not the visions of passionate lovers deep in embrace, not the madness of lust just beyond that of youth, but of something far simpler and far more subtle. They walked through green lawns, amongst trees, past simple structural gazebos. They were silent, happy, and their only touch fingers encircled in embrace. They weren’t moving like a new couple enjoying the cliche of long walk in the park; no, this was the simple gestures to remind a long time companion that they were still there, that they still were close, and that they were still loved.
Throughout the millennia, Mars had taken more lovers than one could even begin to count. He had felt the pleasure of hundreds of virgins, the softness of acres of flowers, and the passion of choruses of poets. He had spent centuries with some, days with others.
This simple vision Ziva sent now, this innocent hand in hand walk, this subtle touch between long time loves - this was something he never felt before. It made his heart rush like none had ever made it rush before.
When the congregation started to rise and pick up their belongings, he came back to the here and now, and readied himself as well. It was no small task as Ziva was leaving him overheated and aroused. They had wandered out to the warm sunny day standing on the chapel’s steps as they chatted and met some of the locals. Marty received the concern to many of the locals now that the team had dropped a couple of games, but had to deflect the rumors of him starting the back-up quarterback as well. The talk was something that energized him, like those readying for battle. It was energizing, but it was of course fleeting.
“Hello again my dear,” an elderly voice came behind them. “Is this the boyfriend you were telling me about?” The question wouldn’t be what everyone would be thinking, but this was Uriel and if it meant hurting through words, he would attempt it.
“Oh heavens,” Chelsea chirped, “Father Sunbury! Good to see you again,” she continued calming down. “No, Mr. Arthur isn’t my … that is, he is my neighbor and I wanted to check out your church after we met the other day, and he was interested as well after your note.” That’s when she rolled with the boyfriend comment in a way that was sure to get the heat off. “Besides, he’s too old for me.” She burped with laughter, “not that you are old, Mr. Arthur, I’m just saying.”
“Remind me to take you off my Christmas Card list, Chelsea,” Marty quipped back gaining laughter from the group. Chelsea and Marty were deep in a conversation with about seven other members of the congregation either who knew him or her when the old pastor arrived. The comment though wasn’t missed with it’s intent to embarrass the football coach. If Marty needed any more convincing this was Uriel, that was all he needed to hear. Formality enough he turned to the old man and offered it to shake. “I am Marty Arthur … Father Sunbury is it? Is that Angleican?”
“German,” he said taking Marty’s hand and palming with the other while he shook it. His face gave a bit of a sneer; the start of the Anglican church wasn’t all that welcome by his side - so he knew it was a shot, and confirmed I knew who I was talking to with his reaction. “You are the football coach, are you not my boy?”
“Yes, father, I am.”
“Good good,” he said still cupping Marty’s hands in both of his. “I have been meaning to speak with you, and I would like to know if you would support the church giving a benediction before each game.”
The comment came with much approval from voices around him, but Marty just had to hide gritting his teeth. “I appreciate the thought, but it would best for me to stay out of such a discussion,” he replied. “All due respect, Father, but I have only been on the job for a few weeks, and need to focus on things less controversial.” Marty shifted somewhat uncomfortably. The blazer hanging tightly on his shoulders as he tried to build his strength from those who still sided with him.
“Well, maybe, we can talk about it more,” he said as he started searching through his robes. “May I have your phone number so we can meet for coffee sometime.” He kept digging around where his pockets would be underneath and before Marty could respond he spoke up, “come with me. I seemed to left my phone in my office, come come.” The old man waddled off back inside the church.
It wasn’t the confrontation that he wanted, but he knew this would have to happen sooner or later. So he followed the old man. The way he muttered as he moved looked like something out of some troll fairytale, but in those the troll’s secret was it was luring a billy goat to the slaughter.
They arrived into the office, which was simple and filled with religious items. The old man slid off his robes and stood in an all black outfit complete with collar. The cloaks found a coat rack, and he turned with his eyes cast the ground. “Just let me close this door so we can have privacy,” he muttered still deep in the old man voice. Marty left his back half turned away from the man and half turned to the room interior. Just out of the corner of his eye, as the door closed, he saw the length of the weapon hung behind the door with it’s leather wrapped handle as old as time itself. As the door neared closed, the old man reached for the hilt.
The door clicked shut.
The room filled with the sharp sound of metal sliding out of leather.
A second quicker sound twinned the first.
Then the weapons crashing into each other.
Both men stood at the ready. The old shell of a man with his overhead attack stopped in mid strike, blocked by the double bladed cross from his opponent the blue blazer now torn in half by the quick unsheathing of the weapons. Uriel’s old body oddly juxtapositioned against the agility it took to manage the broad sword; but Mars immediately changed, his golden mane and yellow eyes flashed with the strength of his power.
Uriel’s weapon glistened in the dull light as its blueish metal that released a light blue flame. It was the true sword of God, meant for his hands to swing on the behalf of Jehovah.
Mars was prepared with the black jade swords of the ancient Chinese Shu Dynasty; gifted as a means to fight that which is thought only to be the strongest. The two identical short, curved blades screamed like steel when struck but resisted attack like rock. They looked and swung like black stone polished to a razor finish.
“How dare you bring those weapons into the house of the Lord,” Uriel spat not being at all facetious. He could have said that about any weapon Mars wielded, but acted like these ancient weapons were of Satan himself. He pulled back and swung quickly, aiming to destroy his weapons before the fight has even began. But they stood fast and resisted the attack.
There was little room to maneuver, part of what Uriel and thought of likely. Mars just stepped back a few steps, his eyes golden in anger as his hair flushed golden like a lions. He grinned wide, ready for the next attack.
Uriel swung like a baseball bat, and Mars slapped it off like a pawing away a fly. Uriel forced out a stab, that perryed off the black sword, before Mars smacked the side of his antagonist's head with the other blade.
“Hadn’t I taught you nothing?” Mars shouted. “Quit trying to hit me and hit me.”
Uriel did a loop of sorts, faking a hard attack but shifting it to head around towards his neck. Mars captured the blade in the paring of his own and slid them down until he could hook the black shirt of the old priest and tore at it’s sleeve.
“You’re fault has always been when you don’t know when you are in the way,” Uriel spat.
“And your’s was that you assumed your opponent was always weaker and stupider than you,” Mars returned.
When Uriel released the attack to swing again, Mars spun, deflecting the bigger broadsword and striking the back of the leg of the pastor, spinning him to the ground, and slicing it enough to leave the limb falling crooked and grotesque.
Uriel didn’t seemed in pain through, only unable to get up. He felt pain, all gods felt pain, but Uriel was too proud to show it. Gods also could reconstruct, as long as they were still alive and their followers remained loyal they would return to their form. “That was stupid,” he responded, “I am in a church, I’ll be up in no time to finish you off.”
“Not that fast,” Mars replied as he wiped the blood onto Uriel’s pant leg. “You were the damned idiot who chose to come to a Methodist church. At least the Mormons would have practiced what you preached.”
“I didn’t need to,” he replied still arrogantly. “No one in the world prays to football.”
“You’d be surprised.” He walked over top of the old man, and placed both blades of swords on either side of his neck. “Now, tell me why you are here.”
“Cut my head off, go ahead and bring all the wrath of God down on you, you fool.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” Mars responded. “A little slit and there will be blood all over the carpet, and your weak body left behind. You’ll spend all your time trying to fake an injury and have no choice to get yourself locked up in a hospital.”
The old man, ridiculously left with no good choice, literally fired spittal up towards Mars.
“Alright,” Mars said sounding way too reasonable for a man who just finished a sword fight, “I’ll let you off easy. If your little master would have a message for me, what would it be.”
“Go coach somewhere else,” he responded too quickly. “Leave this town, leave this place, this is not where you are supposed to be.”
“I thought God didn’t care about football.”
He smiled in almost a sneer, “Haven’t you seen, my son? Who do you think all the great ones prey to after a touchdown? To you?”
Marty knitted his eyebrows. It bothered him, but only for what he had fought for as many of the last years as he could. “Why you, Uriel?” he asked. “I know you would kill me if you took your chance, but that’s not your boss’s style. Why this time? Why you?”
The lips of the old man’s mouth rose to a smile. “See,” he sneared, “you get now that you are so weak that He could send anyone to finish you off.”
Mars noticed the broken leg shifting back to a more normal direction, time was running out. So, he played to Uriel’s weakness once more. “You make this too easy for yourself,” Mars gritted as he leaned over, pressing the blades into the old flesh. “Force me to cut your dick off and get run out of town before I even know why you needed me out of your way. Can’t help to think that you just want to hang out with mortals again.”
The archangel slitted his eyes, meaning it likely worked. “These pigeons don’t know how bad they got it. The only reason I am here is to make sure things go smoothly down here, and we don’t get some has been demon like yourself putting false ideas into people’s minds. You’re weak, you’re pathetic, and you are nothing more than a human with no balls who doesn’t know when to die.”
“Ohh,” Mars said with a bit of a laugh, “such kind words from a pigeon of my own. Remember when I used to say we were kindred spirits, Uriel? The two of us, fighting everyone who challenged us - because I was too stubborn to quit, and you were too stupid to quit.” He lifted a leg and slammed hard down onto the old man’s knee hearing a satisfying snap - even if he didn’t even wince in pain. The shell Uriel chose was weak, but like he said he would recover and return to full; like all the demons of old, even like Marty. This gave him time to move away, and to think what this all meant.
When he left the building, he did so out the back and quickly found a little huddle of brush and trees as he fell to his knees. Everything about this place, this time, this troubles started to churn in his gut like something wrong. He went through his mind thinking what he knew, what he truly believed.
He knew that there was a girl who carried with her the spirit of one that is of the ancients.
He knew that he alone was able to protect the girl in her dreams.
He knew that now this place had the attention of Jehovah.
He knew Uriel, one of the seven Archangels, one of the hardest for Mars to defeat, was so close that nothing could be hidden from him.
Most of all, he knew that Ziva needed his protection, and he needed hers as well.
On his knees, he prayed to the girl he only met a blink of an eye ago. Goddess or not, he closed his hands and hoped for her love. If there was something in her capable of giving him the strength to find the greatness needed to make her as great as she was capable of, he needed it now.
“Let me love you,” he called out. “Give me this, Ziva. Let .. Me … Love … You.”
To manage himself in this temple, Marty knew it was in part presentation. Marty brought Chelsea. Of course, he lied to her, saying this was just a recruiting mission, but all gods are always allowed to lie to their followers --in fact lying to your followers was a liberty that bore out of necessity. They sat in a pew not quite in the back, but not the last row - equally as a way to be seen and not given full attention. The two made sure to not appear as a couple, down to orchestrating their body language for most the morning. He sat slightly overdressed for most in the room, choosing to wear a navy blue blazer over a blue dress shirt unbuttoned and without a tie, matching his khaki pants. Warmer than most sitting in here, but he needed the blazer for his own protection. The outfit also made him look older than the girl, who went for a much younger yet conservative look. He, of course, would be recognized as the new school football coach; but as they dressed she could be mistaken for a younger relative and not at all a lover. Yet, followers of a God of War are typically young men, and Chelsea appearing to be ‘just a friend’ would have the added benefit that she could use her schoolgirl charms and gain more followers afterall.
Most of it was easier for her than him though. As he sat at the modest ‘old world inspired’ chapel, images floated through his head of Ziva. The night before, her caramel colored skin spun under bath water as he floated above him. He did what he could to ignore it as the job of protecting her dreams was the utmost importance. Now that his guard was down, all those memories sloshed about as images of her naked body writhed in his head.
As the service began, something new came to his head. It wasn’t just her, it was the two of them. Laying on his side along a pond, their naked bodies touching each other lightly in the summer sun. He could taste her lips on his, sweet like candy. Feeling her body as smooth as silky chocolate. Hungry to pull her close and find the right way to make her melt.
The feeling was intoxicating, the punishment of the moment like sweet torture. Yet above all else, it was the final sign of what he wished could only be true. She was calling to him the way Ishtar did all those ages ago. She may do it now by simply letting her carnal needs grow more in control, but it was a true calling and a need that filtered in messages that he knew he would have answer.
What only held him back from finding her was this now his duty. She knew not what she was, and it would be different if he was the only one who knew. Yet the appearance of one of the seven archangels in this small town was likely no coincidence. Before Ziva could explore who she may be, she needs to be kept hidden.
Chelsea scratched something in her hymnal, bringing Marty back to the here-and-now. “Him.”
Looking up to the altar, there was an elderly man in robes and a black color. His liver spotted skin on his face and thinning white hair would make the suggestion of being no younger than late 60s. He was reading some of the minor verses, a side job for a visiting pastor surely. None of this congregation would mistake the man for someone who would be staying for a while; because they would be expecting him to not make it much longer in this career anyway before he sees his heavenly father. In a way, it made sense to Marty, someone guaranteed to have an out plan for his departure. Plus it made sense for Uriel, one who was prone to want to defeat the enemy with one arm tied behind his back. Yet there were so many followers to their God’s cause, sending an Archangel on temporary assignment screamed of trouble.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to listen to Ziva’s calling.
Once again, the message changed. Once again, it wasn’t what he expected. Not the visions of passionate lovers deep in embrace, not the madness of lust just beyond that of youth, but of something far simpler and far more subtle. They walked through green lawns, amongst trees, past simple structural gazebos. They were silent, happy, and their only touch fingers encircled in embrace. They weren’t moving like a new couple enjoying the cliche of long walk in the park; no, this was the simple gestures to remind a long time companion that they were still there, that they still were close, and that they were still loved.
Throughout the millennia, Mars had taken more lovers than one could even begin to count. He had felt the pleasure of hundreds of virgins, the softness of acres of flowers, and the passion of choruses of poets. He had spent centuries with some, days with others.
This simple vision Ziva sent now, this innocent hand in hand walk, this subtle touch between long time loves - this was something he never felt before. It made his heart rush like none had ever made it rush before.
When the congregation started to rise and pick up their belongings, he came back to the here and now, and readied himself as well. It was no small task as Ziva was leaving him overheated and aroused. They had wandered out to the warm sunny day standing on the chapel’s steps as they chatted and met some of the locals. Marty received the concern to many of the locals now that the team had dropped a couple of games, but had to deflect the rumors of him starting the back-up quarterback as well. The talk was something that energized him, like those readying for battle. It was energizing, but it was of course fleeting.
“Hello again my dear,” an elderly voice came behind them. “Is this the boyfriend you were telling me about?” The question wouldn’t be what everyone would be thinking, but this was Uriel and if it meant hurting through words, he would attempt it.
“Oh heavens,” Chelsea chirped, “Father Sunbury! Good to see you again,” she continued calming down. “No, Mr. Arthur isn’t my … that is, he is my neighbor and I wanted to check out your church after we met the other day, and he was interested as well after your note.” That’s when she rolled with the boyfriend comment in a way that was sure to get the heat off. “Besides, he’s too old for me.” She burped with laughter, “not that you are old, Mr. Arthur, I’m just saying.”
“Remind me to take you off my Christmas Card list, Chelsea,” Marty quipped back gaining laughter from the group. Chelsea and Marty were deep in a conversation with about seven other members of the congregation either who knew him or her when the old pastor arrived. The comment though wasn’t missed with it’s intent to embarrass the football coach. If Marty needed any more convincing this was Uriel, that was all he needed to hear. Formality enough he turned to the old man and offered it to shake. “I am Marty Arthur … Father Sunbury is it? Is that Angleican?”
“German,” he said taking Marty’s hand and palming with the other while he shook it. His face gave a bit of a sneer; the start of the Anglican church wasn’t all that welcome by his side - so he knew it was a shot, and confirmed I knew who I was talking to with his reaction. “You are the football coach, are you not my boy?”
“Yes, father, I am.”
“Good good,” he said still cupping Marty’s hands in both of his. “I have been meaning to speak with you, and I would like to know if you would support the church giving a benediction before each game.”
The comment came with much approval from voices around him, but Marty just had to hide gritting his teeth. “I appreciate the thought, but it would best for me to stay out of such a discussion,” he replied. “All due respect, Father, but I have only been on the job for a few weeks, and need to focus on things less controversial.” Marty shifted somewhat uncomfortably. The blazer hanging tightly on his shoulders as he tried to build his strength from those who still sided with him.
“Well, maybe, we can talk about it more,” he said as he started searching through his robes. “May I have your phone number so we can meet for coffee sometime.” He kept digging around where his pockets would be underneath and before Marty could respond he spoke up, “come with me. I seemed to left my phone in my office, come come.” The old man waddled off back inside the church.
It wasn’t the confrontation that he wanted, but he knew this would have to happen sooner or later. So he followed the old man. The way he muttered as he moved looked like something out of some troll fairytale, but in those the troll’s secret was it was luring a billy goat to the slaughter.
They arrived into the office, which was simple and filled with religious items. The old man slid off his robes and stood in an all black outfit complete with collar. The cloaks found a coat rack, and he turned with his eyes cast the ground. “Just let me close this door so we can have privacy,” he muttered still deep in the old man voice. Marty left his back half turned away from the man and half turned to the room interior. Just out of the corner of his eye, as the door closed, he saw the length of the weapon hung behind the door with it’s leather wrapped handle as old as time itself. As the door neared closed, the old man reached for the hilt.
The door clicked shut.
The room filled with the sharp sound of metal sliding out of leather.
A second quicker sound twinned the first.
Then the weapons crashing into each other.
Both men stood at the ready. The old shell of a man with his overhead attack stopped in mid strike, blocked by the double bladed cross from his opponent the blue blazer now torn in half by the quick unsheathing of the weapons. Uriel’s old body oddly juxtapositioned against the agility it took to manage the broad sword; but Mars immediately changed, his golden mane and yellow eyes flashed with the strength of his power.
Uriel’s weapon glistened in the dull light as its blueish metal that released a light blue flame. It was the true sword of God, meant for his hands to swing on the behalf of Jehovah.
Mars was prepared with the black jade swords of the ancient Chinese Shu Dynasty; gifted as a means to fight that which is thought only to be the strongest. The two identical short, curved blades screamed like steel when struck but resisted attack like rock. They looked and swung like black stone polished to a razor finish.
“How dare you bring those weapons into the house of the Lord,” Uriel spat not being at all facetious. He could have said that about any weapon Mars wielded, but acted like these ancient weapons were of Satan himself. He pulled back and swung quickly, aiming to destroy his weapons before the fight has even began. But they stood fast and resisted the attack.
There was little room to maneuver, part of what Uriel and thought of likely. Mars just stepped back a few steps, his eyes golden in anger as his hair flushed golden like a lions. He grinned wide, ready for the next attack.
Uriel swung like a baseball bat, and Mars slapped it off like a pawing away a fly. Uriel forced out a stab, that perryed off the black sword, before Mars smacked the side of his antagonist's head with the other blade.
“Hadn’t I taught you nothing?” Mars shouted. “Quit trying to hit me and hit me.”
Uriel did a loop of sorts, faking a hard attack but shifting it to head around towards his neck. Mars captured the blade in the paring of his own and slid them down until he could hook the black shirt of the old priest and tore at it’s sleeve.
“You’re fault has always been when you don’t know when you are in the way,” Uriel spat.
“And your’s was that you assumed your opponent was always weaker and stupider than you,” Mars returned.
When Uriel released the attack to swing again, Mars spun, deflecting the bigger broadsword and striking the back of the leg of the pastor, spinning him to the ground, and slicing it enough to leave the limb falling crooked and grotesque.
Uriel didn’t seemed in pain through, only unable to get up. He felt pain, all gods felt pain, but Uriel was too proud to show it. Gods also could reconstruct, as long as they were still alive and their followers remained loyal they would return to their form. “That was stupid,” he responded, “I am in a church, I’ll be up in no time to finish you off.”
“Not that fast,” Mars replied as he wiped the blood onto Uriel’s pant leg. “You were the damned idiot who chose to come to a Methodist church. At least the Mormons would have practiced what you preached.”
“I didn’t need to,” he replied still arrogantly. “No one in the world prays to football.”
“You’d be surprised.” He walked over top of the old man, and placed both blades of swords on either side of his neck. “Now, tell me why you are here.”
“Cut my head off, go ahead and bring all the wrath of God down on you, you fool.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” Mars responded. “A little slit and there will be blood all over the carpet, and your weak body left behind. You’ll spend all your time trying to fake an injury and have no choice to get yourself locked up in a hospital.”
The old man, ridiculously left with no good choice, literally fired spittal up towards Mars.
“Alright,” Mars said sounding way too reasonable for a man who just finished a sword fight, “I’ll let you off easy. If your little master would have a message for me, what would it be.”
“Go coach somewhere else,” he responded too quickly. “Leave this town, leave this place, this is not where you are supposed to be.”
“I thought God didn’t care about football.”
He smiled in almost a sneer, “Haven’t you seen, my son? Who do you think all the great ones prey to after a touchdown? To you?”
Marty knitted his eyebrows. It bothered him, but only for what he had fought for as many of the last years as he could. “Why you, Uriel?” he asked. “I know you would kill me if you took your chance, but that’s not your boss’s style. Why this time? Why you?”
The lips of the old man’s mouth rose to a smile. “See,” he sneared, “you get now that you are so weak that He could send anyone to finish you off.”
Mars noticed the broken leg shifting back to a more normal direction, time was running out. So, he played to Uriel’s weakness once more. “You make this too easy for yourself,” Mars gritted as he leaned over, pressing the blades into the old flesh. “Force me to cut your dick off and get run out of town before I even know why you needed me out of your way. Can’t help to think that you just want to hang out with mortals again.”
The archangel slitted his eyes, meaning it likely worked. “These pigeons don’t know how bad they got it. The only reason I am here is to make sure things go smoothly down here, and we don’t get some has been demon like yourself putting false ideas into people’s minds. You’re weak, you’re pathetic, and you are nothing more than a human with no balls who doesn’t know when to die.”
“Ohh,” Mars said with a bit of a laugh, “such kind words from a pigeon of my own. Remember when I used to say we were kindred spirits, Uriel? The two of us, fighting everyone who challenged us - because I was too stubborn to quit, and you were too stupid to quit.” He lifted a leg and slammed hard down onto the old man’s knee hearing a satisfying snap - even if he didn’t even wince in pain. The shell Uriel chose was weak, but like he said he would recover and return to full; like all the demons of old, even like Marty. This gave him time to move away, and to think what this all meant.
When he left the building, he did so out the back and quickly found a little huddle of brush and trees as he fell to his knees. Everything about this place, this time, this troubles started to churn in his gut like something wrong. He went through his mind thinking what he knew, what he truly believed.
He knew that there was a girl who carried with her the spirit of one that is of the ancients.
He knew that he alone was able to protect the girl in her dreams.
He knew that now this place had the attention of Jehovah.
He knew Uriel, one of the seven Archangels, one of the hardest for Mars to defeat, was so close that nothing could be hidden from him.
Most of all, he knew that Ziva needed his protection, and he needed hers as well.
On his knees, he prayed to the girl he only met a blink of an eye ago. Goddess or not, he closed his hands and hoped for her love. If there was something in her capable of giving him the strength to find the greatness needed to make her as great as she was capable of, he needed it now.
“Let me love you,” he called out. “Give me this, Ziva. Let .. Me … Love … You.”