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Monday, April 9, 2012


Hello Everyone!

It's been so long since I've posted anything on here. However, in the attempt to make up for lost time, I decided to share an excerpt of my upcoming work, Part 3 of the Fate Books Collection, "Finding Death".

Please enjoy!

Spirit Realm
Current Day

Metatron sat on his throne, silent in thought. Leaning to one side chin posted on top of his fingers. Alone. “How can I do this?” he thought to himself, “I must find a way,” he felt his inner alarm go off. He needed to go collect – yet again! Rising to his feet, he huffed a small sigh of wryness and went on his way. Opening a portal he entered the abandoned ship.
The ship sank in the middle of the ocean, alone. Just the captain remained; if his ship went down – so would he. His crew abandoned him upon his own order, yet now he regretted having given it. He stared at his own body, which was still clung to the helm, as he refused to let go just before his life was lost. He glimpsed back, “Are you here for me?” then turned to stare at his vacant body once more.
“Yes,” was Metatron’s dry response.
“Hmm... I thought it would hurt,” he reached over trying to touch his empty shell and his hand went right through it, “It didn't... I still don't know how I left it... One minute I was there – fighting. The next – I'm here, looking at myself. How does it happen?”
“It's the natural order. It just happens.” Metatron replied. He despised trying to explain the inexplicable.
“Oh... So what now?”
“You follow me,”
The Captain turned around to fully face Metatron, then giving him a good once over, commented, “I thought you'd have a black robe and a scythe... Or at least that is what I was made to believe,”
Metatron was insulted, “I am not Death!”
“Oh...” the Captain huffed in soft surprise, “Then who are you?”
“I am Metatron. Arch of the Highest Order! Member of the Hierarchy... I am not Azriel!”
“My apologies.” the old Captain responded.
“Follow me,” Metatron instructed dryly, “Go into that light.” annoyance in his voice.
“Alright... Thank you.” and walking into the light, the Captain left Metatron in a agitated state of mind.
This is enough!” Metatron thought to himself. “Something must be done... NOW!”
With a blink a new portal was open and with a single step Metatron was in the Highest Ground, “My Majesty! Alpha, may I speak with You for a moment?” Metatron asked with silent annoyance in his voice and a slight bow forward.
There was nothing He hadn't seen. Nothing He didn't know. He was more than aware of what was happening and about to happen. Such was his nature, “Of course my friend,” Omega lingered in the background quietly. She also knew all too well what was going to transpire, yet in this particular situation, She would and should remain silent.
“My Majesty, I have endured enough! Something must be done. Immediately.” he quietly protested.
“I understand,”
“What then, shall be done, Highness?” Metatron demanded.
“You are well aware that destiny is in control. You are also well aware that, Travis can not run from death forever. He is Azriel...”
The obvious statement made the fire of anger grow hotter inside of Metatron. Gritting his teeth he replied, “I am aware,”
“Then nothing more must be done.”
“You Highness...!” the single statement was all he needed to say. The audacity was just too much to contain. Then unable to contain his anger any longer he blew up, “Majesty, You are were the last Azriel! Why do You not, then take the assignment?” he retorted with judgment and prejudiced.
“Metatron,” Alpha responded with subtly in His tone, soft yet powerful, “Many years ago, I confronted a similar situation... It was sad to endure, but when your heart goes blind from anger it becomes hard to see destiny's plan,” putting a hand on Metatron's shoulder, the Alpha took him for a trip.

Rome Italy

Gabriel, once mentioned that it was much easier to care for the dead than it was to care for the living. He no longer wanted to guard the living. He wanted to collect the dead. However, the Higher Sources decided that Amari would be chosen to be Azriel, in his stead. Yet, Gabriel wanted Azriel's job and since he could not have it he needed someone to blame.
“Gabriel, I never asked for this. This was never my wish.”
“Yet, the Higher Sources found you apt for the calling? Why not me? Am I too holy?” the evil fury of jealousy in his voice made Azriel flinch.
“I don't know why Gabriel. I still can't understand what persuaded them to call upon me for this. But, if it's war you want, it will be war that you'll get. I won't back down!” Azriel sternly affirmed. Making him sure that he was not going to give up.
“Well, my Dearest Azriel, here is a great idea. Why not simply kill all the living? It seems like a simple enough solution to our problem. Don't you think?” his conniving tone made Azriel's insides turn. “If we kill the living, then all that will be left, is the dead. Problem solved. Then everyone will be happy!”
“Gabriel, I will not let that happen!”
“It seems to me like you can't stop me. You only 'follow orders' remember?” he laughed, an almost silent evil laugh, deep in his throat. “I tend to think that religion is the perfect foundation for war. Tell you what; the winner get's a statue made of himself in the Cathedral. I'll make sure of it.” he continued.
“I don't want a statue and I won't let you do this!” was Azriel's last warning.
“We'll see.” Gabriel finalized his cynical speech.

The field was congested with an enormous multitude. Two colossal crowds on either side of each other. Weapons in hand; bibles, lit flames, torches and crosses. Robes of red and of black. Shields, swords and soldiers in armor. The Presbyterian militia on one side and the Catholic armada, on the other. Their full intent was to destroy one and other completely. Until there was nothing left of the other side. Either side believed that their “god” would save them and set them free, and that “truth” would prevail.
Gabriel was in utter elation with all the occurrences. You see, his goal was to destroy life. Nothing more and nothing less. This was his revenge for not having had his way. For not being the one chosen as the Collector. He wanted this. He thrived for it. And he made it his ultimate goal to obtain it.
He floated around in the background, whispering into the ears of the soldier and guards. It was hard to determine what he was saying, but what ever it was made them even angrier. They could not see him, but his influences were tangible. Their faces hardened with pure hatred and disgust for the opposite side.
Suddenly, a yell in the distance, “Attack!!”, then the crowds thrust together mercilessly then everything appeared to slow down. Excitement, but also numbness filled the air. Various emotions lit the atmosphere yet, it was violence, defiance and decision that drove them.
The crowds flowed together swiftly and smoothly. Screams and cries floated adrift every passing wind. Clinging of metal against metal sounded in the air, and the smell fire and smoke filled the stiff environment. The worst of it all, was the death. The dead believers and soldiers that gathered in the crowd seemed to believe that they were still alive. Floating along, with savage violence lingering in their eyes. Azriel found himself in a mad rush to collect them all.
Gabriel, by this point was crouched over, squatting, on the top of the Cathedral seemingly pleased with himself. He Smiled as though the knowledge that he was winning the battle was settling in. What could be done? Azriel had no idea how he could stop it. He was a merely a slave to his own existence. Not meant for anything of purpose except to collect passing souls. The fury of his incapacity seeped in and burned him to the core.
At that moment, he decided to do then only thing he could think of. Go after Gabriel! Azriel refused to let him sit there and bask in whatever pleasure he obtained out of this catastrophe.
He flew to Gabriel's side with anger, righteousness and pain taking control of his emotions. Swiftly flying up behind him and grabbing him, Azriel wrapping his arms around his torso, making his wings useless. He could feel his body tense as Gabriel stood to his feet trying his best to lift his arms to loosen Azriel's grip. With all the strength Azriel could muster he lifted his other arm while still holding Gabriel firmly with the other, then grabbed a hold of a wing he tore at it; dislodging it from Gabriel's back. Azriel heard him screech and felt him double over in pain.
A split second later, Gabriel grabbed one of Azriel's arms and flipped him over. Azriel refused didn't let him go so they both fell from the roof top to the war ground below. When they hit the ground Azriel was pinned beneath him, but his zeal was ever present. Kicking a leg up with all his might, Azriel made Gabriel fly from on top of him to behind him. Then he summoned his scythe and it came in a blink of an eye, filling his empty hand. Gabriel saw him and summoned his sword, which also came to him as fast as his thought would allow.
Both of them leaped to their feet and crouched over into a battle stance, readying themselves for the immanent war that was about to take place between the two of them. Azriel leaped, scythe in hand and swung with knowledgeable swiftness at Gabriel. He knew that if I caught him, he would quite literally slice off his head.
Azriel's weapon made a whistling sound when it sliced through the air and went for his nemesis. Gabriel was barely able to dodge it with a jumped back, in order to then almost immediately lunge forward with his sword to swing for Azriel. “Azriel, I'm enjoying this dance. Thank you.” he said breathing heavily as they danced around, in a warriors waltz.
Maliciousness had become Gabriel's second nature. “I might not be able to stop the war you started, but I will do my best to stop you.” Azriel promised.
Their dance continued for a while longer then a horn blew in the distance. The battle horn blew with a sound of triumph about it. Glancing over to see what had happened Azriel noticed that one of the teams on the vast field had won this battle. In the very split second that he turned to look over at the crowd, Gabriel disappeared.
Decades later, a statue was built in his honor at that Cathedral. The thought curled a small wicked smile of anger on Azriel's mouth and a minimal shrug of contempt.


Drifting back to the present, Metatron, almost tipped and toppled from the velocity of the return. The he shook his head, “Majesty, what are you trying to tell me?” he demanded in flabbergasted despise.
“I am merely suggesting, that it is best to allow fate to do it's own works, before infatuation takes over and destroys a soul,” taking a single soft step back, Alpha, turned and walked away, but not before concluding his statement, “My friend, it would hurt more than words could say, should I see you in that predicament.”

 “I can feel it... I can feel his pain... his anger... his anguish. It's affecting me. He needs not tell me anything. I just feel it.” Sandalphon explained, “What can you do? How can you help? You are the Patron of the Broken Hearted...”
There was no denying Chamuel's gift. Being the Patron of broken hearts was nothing to be taken lightly. Of course, he was a little new at this particular assignment. He'd only been doing it for about a decade. He and Israphel, both. She, the patron of music and song; and he, the arch of broken hearts. Music and heart, were always meant to be together. Such was their function, and the Higher Sources saw this to be good, and so it was.
“Yes, but...”
“Please... No but's... I don't think I can deal with another foul up or more excuses. I don't think hecan deal with them!” she dropped her head in despair, then opening her mouth for one more attempt at a plea of help, “Please Chamuel!” then turning her head added in a sound of need “Israphel,” then barely whispering, “He's my brother...”
Israphel intervened, “We'll do whatever we can Sandalphon. We promise.”
Sandalphon merely nodded her head and curled her lips subtly in appreciation, then turned to disappear into a portal.