Arithem frowned. “Still, he does not see.”
The son of Adam might have expected his friend to smile at him for his defense, but instead the beast stared at the four mighty angels, weapons drawn, surrounding him.
“Get away from him, Thomas,” Tori commanded.
“Why?”
But Tori was already speaking.
“In the name of Jesus, the Holy One of Israel, the true Messiah, the Son of the Living God, the Commander of Heaven’s Armies,” Tori began, and with each title, the facade cloaking the beast began to fade. Like old paint peeling off a wall, bit by bit his appearance transformed—skin into scales, gray hair to black, exposing the fallen one beneath. He rose to his full height, nearly as tall as Arithem. Massive muscles bulged on his arms and thighs. Long black strands of slimy hair hung to his waist. His dark eyes became pools of sludge. Bronze armor covered his chest and torso. His skin, which once reflected the glory of God, now sizzled and smoked like day old coals. Opening his mouth, he let out a growl so loud, Tori’s hair flew behind her.
“You will all die anyway!” he shouted.
Thomas leapt away from him.
Brianna began to pray in tongues.
Tori continued. “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus. You have no authority here. Be gone at once!”
“Now we fight!” Arithem gave the charge.
The mighty angels rushed the fallen one, slicing and hacking and pummeling him so hard, he could barely fight back. Arithem sliced the beast’s arm nearly in two, Zarall tossed his ax into the angel’s gut, Anahel struck him repeatedly with his mace, and Onafiel stabbed him with his long knife. Still the beast managed to cut Arithem’s leg and toss him aside before he slammed the hilt of his blade across Zarall’s skull, knocking him to the ground. All the while, he bragged of his superiority over them.
Quickly recovering, Arithem and Zarall joined Anahel and Onafiel and continued to fight, amazed at the beast’s power. Finally, limping and injured, and knowing he stood no chance if he continued, the mighty fallen one took flight, shouting blasphemies at them in a cackling tone before he disappeared into the clouds.
Breath heaving, the warrior angels nodded at each other in approval of the fight.
“He was one of our enemy’s strongest generals. We did well,” Zarall said.
“Aye.” Arithem glanced at his ward, who stood in shock at what he had seen. “Maybe now, he will open his eyes to the truth.”
But Zarall’s gaze was on Tori. “She has one last test to pass. And I fear ’twill be her biggest yet.”
???
Something wasn’t right. At his desk in his new plush office, Kyle flipped through the latest reports on his laptop—videos, photos, drone captures, and information Jura had given him from the spy he’d planted in Thomas's group. He’d never seen so many tragedies befall so small a band of Deviants. A drone strike, tsunami, a tornado, and most recently, a brush fire that seemed to hem them in. He’d add starvation to the list, but somehow Thomas and his friends found food every day. An impossible task without a good NWU Social Credit Score and Lord Aali’s new quantum mark. Regardless, over the past three weeks, Kyle had enjoyed watching Thomas, the once arrogant, sophisticated, wealthy snob transform into a filthy, bedraggled emaciated version of himself. Why, the man looked worse than some of the Deviants they had in lockup.
So what was bugging him? He sat back in his chair and stared at the screen where the latest satellite footage captured the group traipsing across a barren field, stopping suddenly, and then turning to see the field catch ablaze by lightning. His eyes focused on the old man Jura said was the spy. If his sole purpose was to get the group to this UnderHisWings hideout as quickly as possible, why did it seem every tragedy possible occurred to prevent just that? Jura had said the spy was a Neflams, even better, a father of the Neflams. Shouldn’t he then be powerful enough to either avoid or stop such tragedies altogether?
He clicked on the Update button. No new information. The same thing it had said an hour ago and an hour before that.
Unacceptable. Perhaps he should send in some drones for a closer look.
Wait.
Minimizing the current tab, he clicked on a search engine and hunted for the tsunami that had struck the coast ofGeorgia two weeks ago. Nothing came up.
He looked for the tornado outside of Atlanta. From all accounts, no such event had occurred.
Anger flared in his belly. Why? Who was trying to stop Thomas and his friends from reaching the Deviant hideout?
There was only one person…or rather, onebeing…who knew.
Two hours later, Kyle knocked on Jura’s chamber, located in the tunnels beneath the New World Faith Reformation Headquarters, angry that the Tall White would not see him before now.
His anger dissipated once he entered the room, or rooms. He’d been here once before when Jura had summoned him to convey the progress of his spy, but he hadn’t recalled how opulent it was. Everything was white, from the walls to the couches and tables, and even Jura’s desk. All except the floor, which was a checkerboard of white and black.
Turning from his desk, where he stood looking at something, Jura smiled at Kyle, that approving, yet seductive smile that seemed to erase all his misgivings.
