Prologue  

I dedicate this second volume to all my friends, family, and of course all of you dear readers who have supported me and followed the 967-page chronicle about a crazy nerd and his lawyer-angel...

Thank you all and Happy Reading!

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Paladin of Old Gods: Beauty (Volume II)

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POV: A Desperate Angel

Abode of the Supreme Archon of the Underworld, Ninth Circle of Hell.

In an indefinite time...

Metatron waited more than two hours in the antechamber set up to entertain 'well-liked' guests. Although his arrogant brother Archangel Lucifer was certainly offending him on purpose, Metatron did not respond to provocation.

Not even when the attendant demons guided him to dozens of filthy, foul-smelling places filled with inappropriate lasciviousness did the Angel show the slightest hint of discontent.

The demons in charge of his escort and reception continually perjured themselves that their Sovereign was there ready to welcome him to the next destination, but that, 'by the sheer misfortune' of urgent matters requiring the presence of the Archon himself, it had to teleport to other points at opposite ends of the Infernal plane just moments before Metatron's arrival.

'The Voice of God', the second most powerful being in the heavens and Chief Attendant of the Great Father, had no power in Lucifer's domain.

The Superior Archangel could have easily held his own against three if not more Archons of the Underworld, even in their chosen domain, if he could have given vent to his divine powers.

However... Metatron showed up in Lucifer's abode as a messenger delegate.

And the few dictates imposed by the Great Father God were clear.

[Any messenger delegate between the Abyssal, Infernal, Celestial, Earthly and Dimensional planes will be granted total immunity and safe-conducts.

In return, the host will be guaranteed total safety over his person and all domains he exercises.

It will be the host's right to determine the conditions of safe conduct in the domains it controls].

Lucifer did not allow any Angel to have an iota of power above a duck. Metatron even had difficulty using the only pair of wings granted to him. Nevertheless, his fingers, hands, and legs flowed with the same strength as a decrepit two-hundred-year-old man afflicted with gout...

In addition, the voice of each guest was forcibly set in 'Female Lyric Contralto' mode ... 'The Voice of God' had to stoop to this humiliation of appearing as Eula Beal ... Lucifer adored all kinds of musical works.

But all this was bearable for Metatron ... In fact, much more than tolerable. The Archangel calmly savoured every sweet second of vacation from his 'challenging tasks'.

The Angel closed his eyes and deeply inhaled the air saturated with sulfur and ash, calmly hearing the sweet musical notes of pain, despair, and suffering coming from all the penitents of the last circle of Hell. Still, most of all... he enjoyed the most precious luxury he had longed for so... so long time...

SOLITUDE.

'Yes, all in all, it's not so bad ... I could get used to it. Enough. I've made up my mind!'

"Honorable Metatron Shaddai Jahoel Sefer Ha-Zohar, Higher Archangel, Messenger and Voice of God, His most holy sacredness, Asmodeus, Belial, Dagon ..." after another six hundred and sixty-two names, she finally touches on the last "... Lucifer, Supreme Archon of the Underworld and Lord Protector of the Ninth Circle, is looking forward to welcoming you, apologizing profusely for all the waiting and unforeseen inconveniences you have had to endure."

Said a succubus attendant and lobby manager.

"Never mind..." Cut Metatron short. The Angel had endured far longer rants in the last... he still had no idea how much time had passed since that nefarious event. But indeed, those two paltry pages of names and lofty titles were nothing more than a short grain of sand in the middle of an endless desert expanse.

The doors of the Solarium of the Arconte were opened. The room more or less remained as the Angel remembered the last time he visited.

How long had it been?

Well, it could have been guessed. Lucifer had a special attachment to Earth. In his opinion, the most imaginative, shameless, and deserving of the title 'Sinners' grew up there. The ninth round belonged to all penitents guilty of treason.

Judas Iscariot looked like an altar boy compared to many other notorious prisoners.

Lucifer collected a personal item from each deserving celebrity.

In the corridor chiselled with display cases, Metatron recognized the Spartan shield of 'Efialtes de Tesala.'

In another, Emperor Moctezuma gave the solid gold Aztec necklace to his 'trusted' wife 'La Malinche,' the mistress of Spanish conqueror Hernán Cortés.

The dagger that Julius Caesar gave to Brutus for his twelfth name-day. The same one, his son, later used to stain himself with the crime of Parricide during the Ides of March.

And many, many other souvenirs. There were even the weapons of some famous penitents from other circles who had already served their sentences and obtained the right of reincarnation.

Eighteenth-century guns belonging to the famous pirate 'Edward Teach';

The Mongol bow of the celebrated 'Khutulun' daughter of the leader Kaidu;

The two-handed Hammer of The Flame, the former Carthaginian blacksmith, turned Gladiator who refused freedom, won in the field four times;

And six other weapons that Metatron did not have time to remember, as his brother had just come to meet him.

"Great Brother Metatron, long time no see." Lucifer assumed his usual Fallen Angel guise with three pairs of black raven wings.

"Great Brother, Lucifer. Thank you for welcoming me into your shining abode. Glad to receive your warm and kind welcome." Metatron crossed his fists to his chest and bowed.

Lucifer smiled affably, showing a hint of surprise in his gaze. He reciprocated the gesture promptly. It was the ancient gesture of greeting and respect that only Archangels used among themselves.

There was no need to imply how many Ages Lucifer had not received such an honour from his beloved Brothers.

"Come, Brother Metatron. Allow me to offer you a ride to the penthouse. That is usually where I hold meetings with my faithful Archons and Lords of the Floor."

"A ride would be appreciated, dear Brother. I didn't even remember how high your keep was anymore." Metatron.

"Ahahah! Credit to the Glottotist, Writer J.R.R. Tolkien.

Great Father and I have long developed a hobby in common. I am a great fan of stories and he, as you well know, of costumes and new races. So we found this little recreational hobby that shared our interests and allowed us to reconnect.

I felt like restoring this place a little bit. I don't need to tell you how passionate I was about the figure of Sauron. Ahah." Lucifer took pride in many things; his collection and the library were among the most glittering highlights.

A few minutes of pleasantries later...

"So, Great Brother... May I ask why you came to me in person to deliver that message you hold in your hands rather than assign one of your usual heralds?" Lucifer asked, voluntarily maintaining a false and hypocritical look from [What motive could possibly be behind it, oh, Great Guardian of the Scourge of Heaven?]

"Here...Urgh, umm..." Metatron cleared his throat. Lucifer snapped his fingers and appeared a crystalline chalice filled with juice fruits of Even woods.

The host appreciated the kind courtesy offered. But, of course, everyone in heaven knew what the 'Voice of God's' favourite drink was.

"Yes, that's it. I promised to my... my beloved Trainee Apprentice...," "You mean, Brother Seraphinus?" asked Lucifer on the fly, sprinkling salt on the open wound.

"Yes... Brother Seraphinus." confirmed Metatron arming himself with much patience. Patience that had significantly been tempered over the past decade.

"Forgive me; it was just to better understand who you were referring to. It was not my intention to break the thread of the conversation. So please go ahead, Great Brother..." Lucifer.

"Yes... As I was saying. 'Seraphinus' torm... 'insistently begged' me to come here in person to ask you to formally discontinue your 'persuasions' on soul No. 2,331,870,463,575,483." Metatron.

"Soul No. 2,331,870,463,575,483?...um, let me check. No. I'm not aware of anything. I don't think it's one of mine, Great Brother. Could you please be a little more specific?" Lucifer.

"... You know who I'm talking about." Metatron did not want to play this game anymore.

"Brother Metatron, I can assure you that I cannot 100% guarantee who that ID number belongs to." And Lucifer was not lying. He was probably only 99.999999...% certain.

"The soul who in his last earthly existence took the name Matthew Songwill. Son of Bill Songwill and Jennifer Redcould..." Metatron was not going to give him a pass. Not this time. He wasn't going to call that devil advocate of all his woes that...

"Matthew... Matthew... mmm... Gosh! So many Matthews have existed that it will take me forever, Brother! Just give me a moment to find him in the archives." Lucifer was about to get up when Metatron stopped him.

"Matthew 'The Unbeatable'! 'The Archangel-Maker'! Happy now?!" Metatron exploded.

"Aaaah... You meant 'That Matthew.' But why didn't you say it right away, Great Brother? If you had mentioned the name of Duncan Tallhart or Bloody Snow, I would have caught on quickly. You know I'm a big fan of the ASOIAF world. Ahahah

Ah, speaking of nicknames, a little bird whispered in my ear that you gave that poor soul a new nickname...I remember 'Scourge of the Voice,' if I'm not mistaken?" Lucifer asked.

"No! That's not true! This is outright slander and backbiting! I never used those terms!!!" The Angel snapped to his feet with apparent disdain, loudly debunking the gossip. But, unfortunately for him, the batter missed the curveball he had just thrown...

Metatron's shriek was deflected by the vocal restriction of the host in chief. Instead, a suave lyrical contralto voice charged with feeling and pure angry emotions pervaded the room.

"Ahaaa... What sweet poetry! What an interpretation, Brother! This is sweet Nectar for my ears! Ahahahah!" Lucifer gave vent to the hilarity, and the laughter held like compressed gas inside a pressure cooker.

Metatron was livid with anger and embarrassment, but he could not scream or express any sign of punishing displeasure. He was a nobody in the Underworld, and in front of him sat the undisputed ruler of the Nine Girons.

Another minute of laughter passed. Finally, Lucifer seemed to have regained control and a self-respecting host's semblance of decency.

"Forgive me. A little joke, nothing more. Here. A small gesture of apology to make up for my rudeness." *Snap* the fallen Angel snapped his fingers, and blue flames enveloped Metatron. Flames are capable of purifying and bestowing vigour on souls.

The archangel's voice became the original again, and a good dose of strength pervaded his entire body. He was now back to at least the level of an Inferior Angel.

"Ermm... Apology accepted. So, Great Brother..." Metatron was interrupted.

"Yes. I know what you want to talk to me about. The curse of the Berserker, am I right?" But then, Lucifer got to the point.

"That's right. Although it was technically permissible for that time to aggravate the curse that by a whisker failed to collapse the boy, I have a petition for official restriction to prevent any other involvement not openly stated and approved by the supervising council." Metatron lavished the official document in front of the Archon.

Lucifer opened it listlessly, glancing to see if everything was in order.

"Yes, yes, I understand. No more tricks. Come on, Great Brother. 'Curse' is an outright magnification. At most, a 'little push' and nothing more." Lucifer.

"Nearly pulling off an allied massacre and collapsing in the process, Lucifer...

Orlando's Madness is a curse and one of the most dangerous of Love's evils to boot." Metatron.

"Or, Come on! It was only a tiny test and nothing more!

The boy passed it with flying colours, it seems to me. And I'd like to remind you that 'Orlando's Madness' also gives the beneficiary enormous enhancements.

Enhancements that could determine life and death in critical situations!

If well harnessed, that power could make him stronger than Heracles!

Instead of thanking me for contributing, you come down here to throw stones and poisoned words at me! Who am I, the basket of the misfortune of the heavens, perhaps?!

'Oh, no! Today my soul was cursed, and I caught a cold! Curse you, Lucifer!'" Recited boldly in an indignant tone Lucifer.

"No, Great Brother! You are wrong. I had no intention of insinuating-" Metatron was interrupted by another solo complaint.

"Still, I thought I was doing you a favour! I also wanted to contribute to the Hero of the North in Love!

'The Gate Locks' is a martial art form born of pure Love!

And the Guardian had even appointed him as his heir! Sooner or later, that boy would still have to pass a Love test!

And what test could have been the most suitable, the most tuneful, the most symbiotic in these songs of feats and honours than Orlando's Madness?! So tell me, Great Brother!

What other proof?" Lucifer asked, cornering a struggling Metatron.

"Well, I- I don't know at the moment..."

"Exactly! You wouldn't know how to answer that!

Then why? Why, Metatron?!

Why come down here to show nothing but disdain and discontent toward me?!

What has poor Lucifer done to you?!" Asked the Archon, almost on the verge of bursting into tears.

"I..." The song was sung so well that Metatron even forgot that, in fact, there was still no Medorus in Westeros who stole an Angelica and that, therefore, Orlando's jealousy and fury had nothing to do with Bloody Snow. But it would have taken his full mental faculties to shake off all of Lucifer's persuasive charisma.

"Enough! No more rancour between us!

I can't take any more of all this unwarranted hatred and resentment!

...I forgive you, Metatron." Concluded Lucifer bestowing an affectionate hug on the stunned Archangel.

"..."

"In any case. An amazing stunt to grant the boy the opportunity to have The Watcher as his master. Really nice touch on your part." Lucifer returned to his usual behaviour, pretending that nothing serious had just happened.

"Look, you are wrong! Seraphinus nor I intervened in the slightest for that event. It was merely a case." Metatron.

"The Case Does Not Exist, Brother..." It was only an instant. An imperceptible moment as fleeting and ephemeral as the passage of a particle of light ... but Metatron sensed it.

A slight glow of sadness, longing, love, and regret sparkled from Lucifer's eyes as if the Fallen Angel knew something that Metatron missed.

But it couldn't be that, could it?

What could Lucifer know that the Higher Archangel, The Voice of God, The Right Hand of the Great Father, and Grand Marshal of all the forces of Heaven could not know?

Then why that answer?

{The Case Does Not Exist}

Metatron was on the verge of asking when Lucifer, with all his grace and charm, deftly deflected the possible annoying question.

"We were saying... How is it that you came here in person to deliver a message that you could easily delegate to any herald?" The Devil asked.

" Emm... Yes, besides wanting to take the opportunity to visit you, my dear Brother, I also wanted to propose to you mmm... 'an exchange.' In fact, it would be better to say an opportunity!" Metatron.

"Mmm... I love 'opportunities.' I'm all ears, my beloved Brother." Lucifer.

"As you well know... A recent new assignment has been given to me. And at present, I would still be lacking..."

"Eighty-four years, eleven months, sixteen days, four hours, twenty-nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Yes, I know very well what assignment you are talking about, Metatron.

I had staked quite a bit of credit on your enduring at least twenty years before you came here to me. I don't need to tell you what a tragic end those credits came to, Brother..." Lucifer.

"Ah... So you also already know..." Metatron was anticipated.

"Yes, I do. Let's go straight to the core.

How much are you offering, Brother?" Lucifer widened his ravenous hunter-business eyes.

It had been millennia since Lucifer had begged the Archangels for a substitute leave of absence in the role of Supreme Archon of the Underworld. Instead, the Devil yearned for a vacation in the candied and far less busy Kingdom of Heaven.

"One-minute role exchange for every second of patronage with Seraphinus.

You will temporarily replace me in the role of 'Voice of God' and Right Hand of the Great Father. You will even be Grand Marshal of the Heavenly Forces in case of War.

In addition, I will compensate for your loss of credits from my pocket." Metatron fired off the millennium offer without hesitation.

"More than five thousand years in the Underworld, Metatron? Have you carefully considered this burden you wish to shoulder? Time flows differently here among the flames, screams and misery..." Warned Lucifer sneeringly.

"All the more reason to accept, isn't it?" Metatron.

"What about our Father and poor Seraphinus? Wouldn't they be hurt, Brother?" Lucifer.

The Archangel hesitated with a slightly hesitant and embarrassed look, but firm conviction returned after recalling the last few hells he had just gone through.

"It is our right to decide. We are not violating any regulations. I will go in person to explain to both of you ... 'the situation.' "

"Mmm... Come with me, Brother. I will give you my answer at the top of the Tower."

A few moments later...

Metatron was at his brother's side at the top of the open tower. From that height the whole of the bewildered circle could be seen. Black mountains, lakes in crimson reds, bone-white deserts, and tinting it all a continuous and unceasing gray snowfall.

"Just a moment, Brother. There was a reason, other than mere spite, that I kept you waiting so long." Lucifer touched his temple, activating long-range telepathic communication.

"Is everyone ready, General?... Good, stay in position and wait.

On my signal... Unleash Hell." Metatron did not understand what Lucifer had in mind.

'Why was he summoning demonic troops? What, was he going to attempt a second invasion in front of him?' Thought the angel.

"Brother... I knew in my heart that this moment would come sooner or later.

I was prepared for such a proposal. Although I must admit that yours is more inviting than I could ever hope for.

And that is why you deserve a worthy, clear and definitive answer..." Lucifer summoned the flames to the center of the two pillars.

A living eye of shadows and flames, eyelidless lit up, casting the signal.

And soon after...clouds rose from the lands of the ninth underworld. No...not clouds, they were swarms! Swarms of insects?... Demons-every one of those dots was a demon!

But how many were there? Billions? Tens of billions?

All the swarms concentrated into a single cloud more than twenty thousand feet above the ground.

The condensed cloud began to take shape. That was certainly an exclamation point!

And finally, pure despair came. The last faint hope was extinguished.

Three gargantuan black symbols stained the red sky, forming the exclamation:

{NO!}

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End Chapter.