Paladin of Old Gods

My name is Matthew, and I would like to tell you the story of how I became The Paladin of the Old Gods.

I had just stepped into a not-too-full subway car, just a few stops and I would finally be home. I was carrying a bag with the logo of a comic bookstore on it. I was eager to get back home because I wanted to study the new D&D expansion (the 5th edition) well.

'Hehe!', I thought. We're starting the new campaign next Saturday and I can hardly wait! The wizard, I'm going for the wizard this time! For crying out loud, it was still cool to move the Paladin, but it's time for a change!'

Suddenly, I noticed the little girl sitting across from me, she must have been twelve at most, and I wondered what she was doing out so late, but I soon decided to mind my own business.

One last stop and the carriage was almost completely empty. However, before the doors closed, a rather tall man, wearing a black leather jacket and a hood that covered most of his face, managed to squeeze in. I shuddered.

The hooded figure approached the young girl in a hurry. Surprisingly, she did not show the faintest signs of distress; on the contrary, I could almost see a hint of a smile on her innocent face.

"Come with me now. Hell is your home. Don't force my hand," the shady figure ordered.

I wasn't sure I had heard that correctly.

"Pff!" the little girl exclaimed, scornfully. "It took you over an hour to find me? Michael, you're losing it. Either way...the answer is still no!"

The little girl's voice had something sinister about it, despite the childish tone, and it made me shudder again.

I was going to get up, I was practically at my stop, and that bizarre exchange was starting to make me uncomfortable. Maybe they were two sorts of extras in a live role-playing game? It wouldn't have surprised me too much.

But something wasn't right.

And I, for that matter, had always had a fondness for fantasy stories about heroes saving maidens damsels in distress.

I knew enough about martial arts, but I didn't excel at fighting and had never needed to test the moves I had learned. Something that day, however, prompted me to respond.

"Excuse me," I said, stepping between the two. "I don't know if the young lady knows you, but could you..."

"Get as far away as you can, boy! It's for your own good!" the man interrupted me with lightning speed, drawing a sword.

A sword, mind you!

I stood frozen, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights, as if the world had stopped.

But my numbness didn't last long, a stabbing pain in my back reached my ribs immediately.

I screamed.

I looked down and saw a small hand sticking out of my chest, bloody and with very long claws.

"Still worried about these useless insects, Michael..." said the little girl's inhuman voice.

"Damn you Lilith!", this is the last thing I heard as my vision darkened and a sense of exhaustion swept over me.

Aaah!

I plummeted into the void for what seemed like an endless time and suddenly landed on a chair made of clouds.

"Forgive the transition, I am Archangel Metatron. No, this is not a dream. Yes, you are truly dead. And, yes, this is what you humans call Heaven. Shall we proceed?" The madman who claimed to be called Metatron spoke in a mechanical voice as if it bored him to repeat what he must have probably repeated many times.

"Pardon the transition?!", I shouted, out of breath. "I'm pre..."

"Precipitating for about three hours, I know. The time between earth and this dimension is different, you're about the ninth billionth newly transitioned soul to tell me that," he interrupted, laconic.

Newly departed soul?

Was I really dead?!

He didn't even look at me, he was rather busy consulting a big book, in fact.

He reminded me of Alan Rickman, to be honest, and I was tempted to tell him so without a reason, as my despair at the loss of my sanity became conscious.

"Before you tell me who I look like, you should know that you humans see us angels in the form you are most familiar with and feel most comfortable with. So please do not describe me, it is quite irritating. Rather, let's see what we have here..."

On the fine desk, made of what I presumed to be ivory, a gray scroll appeared.

Metatron held it out and frowned.

"Oh, no...," he sighed. "Another DDI."

"An DDI?! What the hell does that mean? And by the way, could we dwell on the fact that I just died for a moment?!" I admit I panicked. "Yeah, alright! Alright! I've been letting myself go a little bit, lately, but... I swear: I quit smoking two years ago, and lately I've been getting back into exercising and eating healthy! I've already confessed to my parents that I was the one who stole the money from the drawer and that it was not the cleaning lady! I've already paid back every penny with interest and I had to go all the way to that remote village in Peru to find Miss Carmen and apologize to her!"

"Spare me this pitying scene à la Chunck from The Goonies. Class DDI stands for Dimensional Diplomatic Incident. Oh, my dear...it seems you are entitled to an attorney," Metatron admitted with affliction.

"Objection!" thundered a voice, which made both of us wince. "My client is entitled to compensation for the injustice done to him by Archangel Michael and Demon Princess Lilith! I similarly cite soul case number 895694679, soul case number 1012394583, soul case number 1590909341..."

A ruckus broke out. I didn't understand who the newcomer was and honestly didn't even care. There was an awful commotion, various numbers and anecdotes were being lavishly dished out, and all I could do was tell myself that, yes, damn it, I must be crazy.

Or dead.

Several quotes later, Metatron resumed speaking.

"Figures… bingo!" He rubbed his temples.

The Archangel snapped his fingers. The one posing as a Better Call Saul lawyer muttered.

"First, he's not your client yet, and second, you don't even know how or with what he wants to be compensated...calm down, Brother Seraphinus."

"Ah, fair observations, mighty brother Metatron. I request a moment to communicate with my potential client alone!" replied Seraphinus, professionally.

"Granted."

Clap clap.

Two claps and four marble walls surrounded Seraphinus-Saul and me.

"Mr. Matthew, if you would allow, I should understand what you desire the most," the lawyer began.

He touched my forehead gently with his index finger for a few seconds while closing his eyes.

"I guarantee that I can represent you to get the best possible outcome," he continued. "I will fight tooth and nail, I will pour sweat and blood, I will fight with all the weapons at my disposal. I will be its vanguard, the light that will cleave its darkest darkness, the ship that will ply its stormy oceans, its oasis in the midst of a sandy desert..."

... and countless metaphors later.

"I accept, I accept!", I shouted. "You are hired!"

'One more metaphor and I'd be sent to hell for Attempted Murder against a Servant of God,' I thought with my hands in my hair.

Seraphinus seemed satisfied. "Well, then I thank you, but you should at least know my fee before accepting. I charge one prayer per hour of service, but I could round it up as well."

"A prayer an hour will do just fine, just tell me where to sign!", I interrupted him, before suffering yet another monologue with lofty rhetoric.

"Oh splendid, then here it is."

A scroll appeared and a pen floated in the heavenly air.

"If he were to be reborn in another world, he would only have to pray by quoting the words listed below, repeating the verses for ten minutes in any sacred place. He could pay the amount within ten years without interest. Should he be unable to pray for health reasons such as coma, dementia, irreversible brain damage, premature death..."

I signed without waiting any longer.

Seraphinus was slightly baffled by my sudden decision, I believe that later he interpreted the act as a declaration of infinite esteem. Perhaps not to hurt his own ego.

I only wanted this agony to end.

His chest swelled, his face expressed pride and determination, he exuded a fighting spirit that would have put Leonidas and the Three Hundred Spartans to shame.

"We're ready," he announced.

In the blink of an eye, I was teleported inside a glass cabin and made to sit in a plush armchair. I was breathless: I saw an earthen arena with a radius of at least a couple of miles in front of me, with two tiny figures in the middle, floating with their wings outstretched.

Metatron wore an ebony plate armor flecked with silver engravings, a fire whip was in his left hand and a shining sword wielded in his right.

Seraphinus, on the other hand, flaunted platinum armor, his arms and calves clad in leather harnesses, and he wielded a hammer thick with doodles in both hands.

"Are you serious! You unsheathe The Hammer of Eternal Judgment for a simple DDI case?" Metatron thundered indignantly.

"I don't think the Sword of the Cosmos is any less, and besides, how can I repay the trust and respect shown to me by my client if I don't give my all to represent his interests? Also, I'd like to remind you how much..."

"Ahh! Let's get this over with!" Metatron cut short.

Seraphinus softened me up. I promised myself that in the future I would never, ever interrupt my defense attorney's sermons again.

'Even if they were to last eons', I thought, not knowing what awaited me.

"Here and now I, Metatron, pursuant to decree No. 86 of the year 10,023 after the Creation, as proposed by our brother Gabriel and approved by the Great Father, call to order this meeting for the Negotiation Procedure." As soon as he had finished speaking, Metatron positioned himself on guard.

Seraphinus did not hesitate a single second, he emitted a battle roar comparable to that of a hundred thousand bloodthirsty soldiers and charged towards his opponent.

And thus the 'negotiations' of my compensation began...