Chapter Nine
If there were a place in Heaven that would ever be called "magical," the bridge would be it. The bridge was—as its name suggested—a transporter that allowed the judges to traverse between the realms easily. With every new planet God created, the cobweblike complex grew progressively more massive. As Aeron walked atop one of the threads, his shoes would leave an imprint on the soft and gooey floor. As usual, Jeremy was following him. "Gah! What the hell?!" the head operator yelled as his foot got caught in one of the stickier sections. "Dammit, these were my new shoes," the man groaned as he tried to scrape the silken mesh off his feet. In response, Aeron sighed and practically jogged to the portal. The bridge to Hell was, as one might think, in the lowest section of the web. With every step, the web's colorization slowly changed from white to red. When they finally arrived at the gigantic pathway, a huge gust of hot wind came pouring out. "Whew!" Jeremy mumbled as he wiped some sweat off his brow. "Are you sure you want to wear that suit? You might give yourself heatstroke."
"That's a problem for mortals, not Angels," the Cherub responded as he flipped through the briefing file. "Do you have the key?" he asked. Immediately, Jeremy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. The card was embroidered in exquisite molten carvings and had numerous heretical scriptures engraved into its weaves. This was the pass that would send him to Hell.
"You know, I never did like these things," Jeremy said as he swiped the card through a small slot on the side of the portal. Of course, it didn't work. "Give me physical keys any day of the week over these pieces of shit." Aeron never did find out why the Bureau switched to, what Jeremy called, the digital age. He told him he got the idea from God himself, but everyone in the Bureau knew that was bullshit. In truth, what happened was that Jeremy invented something that he thought was cool, and in his insane stupor, the Bureau's top researcher wanted to share that vision with all of them. Sadly, that vision didn't work. And the man who created it was too much of a coward to admit fault.
"Just give it here!" Aeron yelled as he tore the card from Jeremy's hands. After that, he shoved the key into the socket; The Courthouse's jester looked like he was about to melt.
"Stop it! If you aren't careful, you'll break it!" Aeron just rolled his eyes and tossed the card back to the crazed inventor. "There, there…" Jeremy mumbled as he tried to unbend the keycard. The Templar sighed; there was no hope for this man.
"Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone," he hissed as he turned back to the portal. What used to be a pinprick of red light had grown into a gigantic doorway. This doorway appeared to be crafted from solid ivory and was covered in a cloak of black hellfire. Jeremy coughed as he tried to hack the smog out of his lungs. He, along with anybody who was nearby, instinctively took a step back from the portal. And for a good reason, as hellfire could burn anything—even souls—to ashes. Aeron shrugged as he walked right through the dark flames. Thankfully, as one of God's Cherubs, his body was immune to the burning heat. After that, he grabbed the portal's doorknob, which appeared to be a human bone, and swung the door open. One step later and he had arrived at Hell's doormat, the infamous Purgatory. "Oh man," he pulled at his collar. Had it gotten hotter? He couldn't tell. The soaring temperature aside, the afterlife's waiting room had undergone several significant changes. For one, during his last visit, the lines weren't nearly this long. The small cave that served as the entrance to Charon's ferry was full of souls. The damned poured out of the cavern's mouth like a river before sprawling out over the forests of Purgatory. In a way, the gigantic mass of moving bodies reminded him of a rapidly spreading infection.
However, even though the forest was overflowing with these shambling carcasses, he couldn't deny Purgatory's beauty; this place could be considered the sinners' last moment of bliss before their eternal punishment. Flowers covered the landscape, each one filled to the brim with sweet nectar, while the trees oozed delectable golden honey. Of course, if the damned consumed any of these delicacies, their punishment in Hell would be exponentially worse. As Aeron flew through this breathtaking world, he eventually came upon a large stone structure. The fortress jutted out of the canopy like a bent nail and was covered in torches. "So, where am I going?" he asked out loud as he activated his transmitter. An operator responded instantly. Like a true professional, she immediately procured the layout of the fortress, the location of the nearest landing pad, and some personnel files.
While she searched for more information, Aeron flew over the leaning tower and onto a giant square platform. Numerous lines of white paint stretched across the stone. They spiraled around and around in exquisite patterns before finally converging in the middle. At this point, a jagged staircase descended into the central part of the tower. "I've already notified the outpost of your arrival, Mr. Templar. You are free to enter," she told him.
"They've upgraded their security," he mumbled as he scratched his chin. Whatever curses the Demons added must've cost them a pretty penny. His wings felt like they were made of stone—which made flight an impossibility. "Notify our development team that the devils have stocked up on some anti-Angel cantrips in their Purgatory outposts." As the operator recorded the information he gave her, Aeron bent over and scraped some of the paint off the pavement—crushing it between his fingers. The dust disintegrated like dry leaves in a fire, an obvious sign of demonic tampering.
"Do you notice anything else out of the ordinary? Like new troops or weapons?" the operator asked as Aeron scoffed. There was no way he would uncover anything like that; the Demons had invited him here. If he found something, that was because he was supposed to find it. Due to this, the Cherub chose to ignore the operator as he slowly walked to the staircase. As an Angel, he naturally didn't take a liking to the lesser devils. They were all too stupid, crude, and annoying for his tastes. However, he had to admit that their skill with stone was incredible. The silhouettes and designs they engraved into the rock were, among other things, simply phenomenal, leagues ahead of the crap they called "art" back in Heaven. It was opinions like this that set him apart from his kin. His brethren would never be able to appreciate this sort of expression. After all, these carvings were created by Demons. Tradition demanded that God's pure little doves should find nothing in their work besides disgust—that was where he disagreed. He adored the forbidden and the unknown; he craved it. So, whenever he had the chance to taste Demonic culture, he made sure to take it.
"Well, I'll be damned. I never thought I'd see the day where one of God's Angels was ogling our artwork," a ginormous Demon said as it walked up to him. "The name's Dr. M.L. Leeson." As it spoke, the beast reached out its hand, and Aeron, being their guest, gladly took it.
"It's a pleasure," he mumbled as his palm started to twitch. He couldn't believe how firm the fiend's grasp was. It felt as if he had placed his hand in a vice. However, that was a good thing; it showed that this devil had character. "I'm sure you already know why I'm here," Aeron responded as they walked down the steps, eventually arriving before a massive iron door. The Demon nodded and proceeded to push open the colossal barrier with ease before returning to their conversation.
"Of course! After all, I am the one that asked the Bureau to send a diplomat. However, I never thought they would choose you, Heaven's infamous Templar, to participate." His title rolled off the Demon's tongue like sweet venom. "As you can probably tell, I'm uncomfortable with allowing an Angel into our borders. Do you know why they didn't commit the usual ambassador?" Aeron had to applaud the creature for its honesty. There weren't many in the realms who would dare question his assignments—especially among Demons.
"Let's just say that our old ambassadors didn't appreciate the location," he exclaimed as he followed Dr. Leeson around a grand stone pillar. His gaze never left the exquisite architecture and paintings that adorned the ceiling. The devil noticed this, smiled, and chuckled.
"Well, you certainly are an interesting one. We haven't had many of your kin visit us, but the few that have all vomited when they saw our murals." When he heard that, Aeron couldn't help but laugh; his brethren were fools. After a while, the pair arrived at a large marble balcony packed with Demons, mortals, Giants, and Drakes of all sizes. "These fine people are diplomats from the other realms; all of them will be attending the summit in four days to discuss soul redistribution policy with our ruler," Dr. Leeson continued as he raised an arm to the crowd.
Aeron whistled as he tried to take in the impressive scene. "You guys went all out." Dotting the balcony was several tables—each one draped in only the most exquisite tablecloths and bouquets. The chairs were cast from gold, while the glasses appeared to be hollowed-out gems. "I'm assuming you got all of this from the Fourth Circle?" he asked. The Demon nodded; where else could they have procured such lavish goods?
"Indeed, the Circle of Greed is where we obtain most of our capital. However, why are you impressed? I thought you were an Angel, one of the blessed who spends their free time sucking on grapes in the Garden of Eden." Aeron rolled his eyes; just because he lived in Heaven didn't mean he lived in luxury. If he were back in God's kingdom, extravagant wealth like this would be considered sinful. The Demon laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure you're an Angel? You remind me more of one of my brothers than one of the Almighty's Cherubs."
Aeron shrugged and returned the man's goodwill. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Leeson." As he spoke, Aeron looked over the balcony as a flock of red seagulls flew out of the canopies up into the skies above. It appeared that—even in Hell—there were several beautiful sights worth seeing. "They never told me about this during the sermons," he thought as he breathed Purgatory's warm air. "How truly wonderful."
Seven hundred and eighty-three years ago...
If there's one thing about mortals that has always confused me, it's this bizarre belief that God created them first. Everyone knows the tale of the Almighty creating the Universe, everyone knows about Adam and Eve, but none of them ever stop to think of what came before. And there was a lot that came before men.
In total, there are five significant races that the Lord molded into existence. Most souls in Heaven know about the first three: the Angels, mortals, and Demons. Many people forget the remaining two. The Drakes were born from the unsullied union of Demons and man. However, unlike their hellish ancestors, these chaps are truthfully quite pleasant to be around. Granted, they all have tails and are half-beast, but many of them are inspiring conversationalists. Most of their population lies in Purgatory and are the realm's only permanent residents. Finally, there are the Giants. These massive oafs were God's first genuine attempt at creating life. With their mighty hands and craftmanship, they laid the foundation of Heaven and Hell alike. Some of the very first gavels were created by a Giant's hands. Once the Angels came along, however, these poor bastards were ousted from their homes in Heaven. So, they aren't huge fans of my species. Many of them now live in the outer rims of the Universe, building cities and spires so tall they can scrape the sky. Or, at least, that's what Jeremy told me.