Prologue
Israel, Golan Heights, National Geographic Expedition Site, 25th December 1977There it is. There, almost three hundred feet beneath the hallowed ground of the Holy Land, was a place dedicated to Evil. A place where the relic of an era long vanished into misty legend survived.
Standing in the calm heart of a blazing inferno of the mountain's fiery heart was an enormous black-and-gold cross that gleamed with the light of the sea of fire that surrounded it. It stood impaled upon a block of stone and held in place by steel chains that lashed out from the earthen vault that surrounded me. One part of my mind not screaming from pain told me, ludicrously, that this was like the Sword in the Stone out of Britain's Arthurian legends. If it was so, then that sword sleeping chained in the heart of the sea of fire would probably be Excalibur.
I wish it were. I wish it had been anything save what I knew that gleaming black cross to be.
That enormous gleaming cross is the Dawn Breaker, the legendary sword that was once wielded by Lucifer in his rebellion against God. A relic that was older than time and with power equivalent to that of the Lance of Longinius. That same Lance had caused thousands of deaths in World War 2 when it fell into the hands of Nazi Germany.
The sacrifices made to reclaim that sacred relic had been horrendous. And now, over three decades later, history repeated itself. Only this time, the relic that we were sent to claim was not one blessed by God, but by His Adversary. The danger and the risks were no lesser than the ones my predecessors have made over thirty years ago. We did not want to risk the Dawn Breaker falling into the wrong hands.
The moment that an Israeli Army reconnaissance team had discovered the Black Cathedral hidden in a mountain behind an abandoned monastery, it set in motion a chain of events that had led to this. The moment Professor James Dover of National Geographic broke the chained and warded gates, the evil imprisoned within the Black Cathedral seeped out into Israel. Within a week, the Palestinian intifada, or uprising, re-ignited with the fury of a vengeful god.
Hate is an easier emotion to engender than love. Disagree with me as you wish – I'd seen it far too many times to say otherwise. It blinds any man or woman to the concept of mercy or compassion. It is that one emotion that had led to the turning of a man high in the Church hierarchy. I had never trusted him from the start but neither did I expect him to be the one that had been the mastermind behind it all. I had sorely underestimated the hatred that motivated him, and the malicious cunning of placing the blame sorely on our shoulders.
Because of him, the mission we undertook was one from which he expected us to never return. He was right. This suicide mission into Israel had taken only two months – and in the process annihilated the corps de' elite of the Vatican Inquisition. The Order of St. Michael had technically ceased to exist. In the sixty days that encompassed the mission, disaster followed us like a pestilence. Each disaster was a trial that tested the faith and courage of my compatriots to their breaking point. Strong as they are, they are but normal men and women. All of them had weaknesses.
I am no different. So, why is it that I am still alive? I possess a list of weaknesses that is longer than my damn arm and enough holes in my soul that it wouldn't be worth spit to the Creator. I should have been the first to perish, considering that I had broken a blood contract with a being who had been instrumental in the person I had become.
Instead, I would bear witness to the deaths of 10 of my 15 comrades before the decision was made to go straight to the eye of the storm to end it once and for all. In our robes and bearing our weapons, Inquisitor-Captain Wesley, the commander of the Order of St. Michael, would tell us the reason as to why we were sent to Israel. Anger would meet his revelations, but as he went on, we realised that we were all puppets. The weight of every death of comrades he had worked with for years was crushing.
One would have thought that the first reaction against all this opposition was to run. A man with common sense would have done that. We did not have that luxury – and even if we did, we would not have taken that road. Played for fools, betrayed and made pariahs, fleeing now would have made true every lie that our treacherous superior told the majority of the Vatican. It would take a miracle – or a sacrifice – of near Moses-like proportions to clear our names of the 'heresies' that Galford had piled on top of us.
What I am about to do is going to validate every lie that he had accused us of. He coveted the Dawn Breaker and wanted the Order of St. Michael to pave the way for him while his lapdogs whisked it away over our cold, dead corpses at the moment we managed to remove it from its sanctuary. Even now, Wesley and two others were blocking the way, ensuring that none of the parties that Galford had sent to eliminate us and claim the Dawn Breaker would break through the upper levels of the subterranean Black Cathedral.
Because, frankly speaking, I can no longer fight. The wounds I have on me are nothing short of crippling. I spat a curse and bit back the pain, using my katana to help me to my feet. The scent of burning flesh that still wafted in the Vault of the Dawn Breaker was the final legacy of Aziel Helmraz. The wounds I suffered were his final parting gift to me and his last words were full of that effete self-righteousness that I find so disgusting. Nevertheless, Rabbi Aziel Helmraz had been a good man if not stiff-necked.
"You are a faithless man, Shateiel. How and why Inquisitor Captain Wesley has chosen you to be part of the Order of St. Michael is beyond me. His reasoning to have you claim the Dawn Breaker while our compatriots sacrifice their lives for you is one I do not agree with. To wield a weapon of Evil such as this, a man has to have faith in God. You do not have that quality, Shateiel. I will prove to you that faith in God can and will conquer the Darkness."
I staggered forward, the first step towards the black cross that stood in the distance, the rabbi's words echoing in my ears like the dull roar of the mountain's fiery heart.
"See! See!" and Aziel held the Dawn Breaker, his eyes alight with mad glee, "See the power of faith, faithless Shateiel! God has chosen me to wield the Dawn Breaker and keep it safe from the infidel Muslims and the egotistical Christians! At last, my people need not fear! With this, I can lead my people to the Promised Land that God has promised us!"
Aziel's eyes had been full of wild, mad joy as he looked at me, feeling none of the pain as the Sword immolated him, causing his skin to melt like wax, his blood to become vapour and his flesh and bones to become dust. He was laughing and mocking me even as he died.
"Yo, man! So, you're Shateiel, eh? I've heard some nifty things about you from Inquisitor-Captain Wesley. You don't mind if I find out the truth, do you?"
In my mind, the dark-haired and skinned Raphael Carleon was alive once more and I could see the long-sword that was his favourite weapon. Both of us were gunfighters, and thus, utilised heavy pistols along with bladed weapons as part of our arsenals. Raphael was a decade my senior and at thirty-five, he had the physique and reflexes of a veteran Ranger – or so most people thought.
"You're an okay man, Shateiel. I don't care jack-shit about what Aziel or anyone else says. Your heart's in the right place – and that's all that matters."
Wasn't his in the right place as well? Raphael was the easy-going sort, and wasn't the type to hold grudges against anyone. It took a lot to make him angry – and once he was, he is more than capable of taking down more than half-a-dozen brawlers in a straight fight. And to think it happened once before.
"Oh, hell – not again! Shateiel, you mind – oh, got started already, eh? Well then, boys, don't keep me waiting!"
Raphael was the closest friend and rival to Ezekiel Rage. Each time there was a tournament held amongst the paladin Orders, it was common sense not to get in between Ezekiel and Raphael. The two of them would be pounding each other silly without regard to anyone else. And those two would be laughing like lunatics when it was all done. I always believed they were into the rivalry for sheer mayhem than anything else. It gave them their younger years back.
"Ezekiel, don't do this. This is not right."
I took another step.
Those were Raphael's last words before the fateful fight that saw to Ezekiel Rage dying and Raphael taking his own life after the fight. He could not live with the fact that he had murdered his own friend – a sin, to his eyes, that was beyond forgiveness. The friendly rivalry that they held dear became the wedge that made them bitter enemies and saw their swords cross with the intention of killing the other.
"So, you're the new man. Welcome. My name is Ezekiel Rage. I'll be your instructor starting from today. And trust me, boy, you're not going to have it easy."
Ezekiel Rage was a golden-haired albino. He was Raphael's total opposite. Raphael was one of the instructors who saw to my training. Built like a quarterback in American football, the crimson-eyed giant was easily the biggest man in the entire Order of St. Michael and would have given Mike Tyson or Mohammed Ali a run for his money if he went into professional boxing. Ezekiel was capable of hefting his great hammer with no sign of strain and the force behind it when swung was more than capable of knocking an elephant straight into the sky. Simply put, unless you want a drastically shortened life, you didn't go about angering Ezekiel. Even I wasn't that stupid – though Raphael couldn't care less. Good thing that Ezekiel had an immortal's patience.
"No! No! Swing it in that fashion and you'll leave yourself open to an attack! Shinomori! Show him!"
As demanding as Ezekiel was, he had good intentions. The responsibilities demanded of us required us to be strong of mind, body and spirit. He wanted to make sure I would be able to stand up against the might of the Adversary's servants. He more or less succeeded in his endeavour.
I took another step.
The only chink in his armour was the rivalry he had with Raphael. If Ezekiel had a flaw, it was that he couldn't stand losing. Especially not to Raphael – period. That set in motion the events that would lead to the fatal duel between the two friends. It came to a head when Raphael had managed to exorcise the demon possessing a Jewish girl and Ezekiel killed her, believing her to still be possessed.
Raphael's voice sounded in my mind, "Ezekiel, for the love of God, don't do it!"
The roar of the mountain's fiery heart was like the hammer-blow that ended an innocent's life and saw to two brothers crossing swords.
"Knowledge is a pure thing, Shateiel. It is how you use it that matters," came the voice of Michael Adel, one of the three scholar-sorcerers in the Order. His brown hair, green eyes and spectacles gave him the look of your average nerd in University. The problem was that this nerd knew how to fight, handle guns, and practices four different types of martial arts and take-downs that would put commandos to shame. You don't judge some books by the cover.
"Knowing God is perhaps the highest praise I know."
Adel was the Intelligence Branch of the Order who knew everything and anything that happened in the Vatican. He had access to places that even Inquisitor-Captain Wesley did not.
"There are some things that are best kept secret, Shateiel. I can tell you some – because I know you will keep it from Wesley anyway."
It was Adel's death that made us realise that there was an enemy behind us. Despite his formidable fighting skills, there were some adversaries that Adel could not defeat. During the quest, he brought up mention to me about the mystical Book of Enoch, the tome that had granted the Vatican's Paladins their holy powers, that was hidden in Jerusalem's catacombs.
"Shateiel, have you ever heard of the Book of Enoch? You have read some of the scripts that we have compiled, yes? You have sensed the enormity of the power, haven't you? A majority of our spells and wards use the same principles and backgrounds as the ones detailed in the Book. Even Inquisitor-General Galford and the highest ranking members of the Vatican cannot possibly have more than a quarter of the rituals within it."
In the catacombs, we faced down, for the first time, traitor paladins – more than three dozen of them. Outnumbered and overpowered, we had no choice but to retreat. Adel refused to go.
"Knowledge is a pure thing, Shateiel. It is how you use it that matters. I believe in that. I will not let the Vatican touch this – not even to seal it in the Vaults of our Immortal Saviour. The chance of such knowledge being misused is too high..."
I took another step forward.
"Complete the mission, Captain. This is one time where we will have to stand on our own. This will be our hardest trial yet but I know you'll win. Because, simply put, you won't let them."
And when he incinerated the Book of Enoch, he brought the catacombs down on him and Galford's lackeys. One entire part of Jerusalem collapsed under a massive explosion that was blamed upon a faulty pipeline. Those catacombs would be Adel's tomb-stone, his name remembered only by those who knew him.
The aged face of Hayami Inazuki, one of the three Japanese in the Order of St. Michael, super-imposed itself on my mind. Even at 56, Hayami was the oldest member of the Order and was by de-facto agreement, the second-in-command. He had fought in the Second World War and had distinguished himself at Iwo Jima. For all his 56 years of age, Hayami had the strength and constitution that would put a man half his age to shame.
"You cannot tell whether a person is good or bad by his vicissitudes in life. Good and bad fortunes are simply matters of fate. Good and bad actions are Man's Way. Retribution of both is simply taught as a moral lesson."
Hayami had undertaken the task to training me alongside Ezekiel and Raphael when I entered the Order of St. Michael. Of all the men in the Gladius Dei, or the Sword of God, Hayami was a warrior-priest in every sense of the word. He combined the samurai training and discipline of his homeland and the Church's teachings into one harmonious whole. He instilled such disciplines into his proteges. The end side-effect of it was that they became more Japanese than anything else.
"Make your decision, Reiha-kun, in the space of seven breaths. Keep your mind focused and decide swiftly. In battle, you may have only one or none at all."
Hayami had also been responsible for molding the man Wesley is now. The sole survivor of our predecessors in World War 2, Hayami was spared their doomed fate when he returned home to Japan to defend it from America. It was a heavy cross to bear but Hayami bore it with dignity. He could have taken his own life, yes, but he knew that there was more he could do alive than dead.
"I will die, eventually, Aoshi-kun, Reiha-kun. That has been written in the stars and whispered in the wind. I can but choose my own death. I will not dishonour the memory of my country or my friends."
Of all the paladins who went for the Israel mission, Hayami was the only one who died a natural death. Old age and heartbreak had finally caught up with him and we found his body on the rooftop of the rented house we made as our base of operations. He had passed on under the stars he so loved to watch, his body wrapped by a warm cloak and a quiet smile on his face.
"Only by living can you change something…so don't go about thinking that dying is the best solution. It's the coward's way out. And I know you are no coward."
I take another heavy step forward…I dare not fall now. I know that if I did, I would not have the strength to get back up again. But, it is not easy, considering the amount of blood I've lost…
"Can't you do anything right? Must the captain and I baby-sit you?"
The stern, admonishing voice of Lisa Randolph entered my mind with the force of a thrown lance. Emerald-haired and violet-eyed, the tempestuous and beautiful Valkyrie of the Order was not a woman to be taken lightly. Even amongst the other Paladin Orders, it is of constant debate of who was the real Captain of the St. Michael paladins. Lisa carried herself with the authority that is rarely ever present in Wesley.
"I hope Hayami has been training you properly, Shateiel. I'm not going to hold back."
As though she ever did. That was Lisa's strongest point. Her determination to win. Her refusal to back down despite overwhelming odds. Telling Lisa that it was a losing situation was only going to make her try even harder. She wanted to prove herself Wesley's superior. It had been Lisa's long-standing dream to become the St. Michael's Paladins commander. She had worked hard for it only to discover that Wesley had gotten there before her.
"Will you turn over command to me, Wesley? I have more experience in dealing with situations like this than you ever will in your lifetime."
But, like me, we shared one flaw. Pride. It was that pride that made her challenge Wesley's authority time and time again. In Israel, her ambition deepened into obsession. Why had she been passed over for a mere novice? Why had she, a Paladin of the 4th Circle, been passed over for captaincy of the St. Michael Paladins and a 7th Circle Paladin chosen?
And finally, unable to withstand the outrage that had long smouldered in her breast, Lisa chose to take direct action. On the 15th night, she went forth to do away with Wesley as he went into Jerusalem's market quarter to get last-minute supplies for our trip to Nablus and take the captaincy. The Lisa we all knew would never have stooped that low as to commit murder – but her ambition and the seriousness of the situation made it seem – to her at least – the right choice.
She had committed the one sin that I would commit soon enough – betrayal.
And for that, Wesley killed a friend he could no longer recognise.
"I have dreams like everyone else, you know. What about you?"
I do have dreams, Lisa, but when this betrayal is done, I will not have even that anymore.
Six steps taken…
"Ni hao, Sha Ziya. My name is Huimin Chen. I shall be your team-mate here on out."
If Hayami had given me my Japanese name, then Huimin had given me my Chinese one. She was one of my team-mates in the Order and had come from a Chinese family of renowned exorcists who had close ties with the Inquisition of the Vatican. When Hell broke loose on any side of the globe involving the supernatural, long-standing oaths would see to either side sending several members to aid the other.
"My position within the Order of St. Michael is an honorary one, Sha Ziya. While I hold power equal to Captain Wesley or Lisa, I am no Christian. But my family has devoted itself to fighting Evil – and so we shall."
Huimin Chen was a cute girl – make no mistake about that – but young. With her large sapphire eyes and black hair, perky nature and somewhat carefree attitude, she looked more like a high-school student than a Paladin of the Order. But, when it came down to a fight, she was a formidable fighter and more clear-headed than most. Even when Wesley lost control of a situation, Huimin always had a back-up plan in her sleeve.
"Why do the Children of God do such things to themselves, Shateiel?"
If Huimin had one flaw, it was perhaps her gentle heart. Though her hard exterior crashed down like a brick wall during her fights with the supernatural, nothing had prepared Huimin for the intifada in the Middle East. It never occurred to her that she would view first-hand the brutality and hate that Man can do to itself out of blind hate and rage.
"Tell me truthfully, Sha Ziya. Are there things you regret?"
Seven steps…
Yes. I cannot protect the people I love. I cannot even stand there and take the blow for them. Huimin Chen died trying to rescue school children from a burning schoolhouse when a Hamas militant fired an RPG into it.
"I cannot believe I'm going to be led by a green recruit, captain!"
The annoying voice of Randall Masters, the gun specialist of the Order and a long-time veteran of the Inquisition, echoed in my head. Strange on how memories flash back before you so crystal clear when your end is about to come. It gives me comfort and strength, their voices and their faces. No matter how they died, I remember the people they were before. They may have failed, but Wesley, Tsubaki, Aoshi and I have failed right along with them.
"I see it but I don't believe it. Tsubaki has the hots for you, Shateiel. What did you do? Pour love potion into her tea?"
Randall had always been the roguish sort. If anyone stood up like a sore thumb in the Order, it was Randall. You would never believe that this man was actually an elite Paladin. Just when I thought I saw everything, Randall would go ahead and prove me wrong. How in the holy name of God he remained within the Order is a miracle in itself.
"You're steel outside but feathers inside, Shateiel."
Randall had always liked Tsubaki, another member in the Order of St. Michael, but the Japanese shrine-girl clearly disliked him on more than just professional reasons. Or maybe, it was something else…Tsubaki's intuition was sharper than Huimin's ability to sense evil. She told me that because of my relationship with Cameela, I was familiar with evil in its various guises, and thus, could withstand temptation. She, however, questioned Randall's strength of will to do so.
How I wished Tsubaki had been wrong about Randall.
And how I wished she was so very wrong about me.
Envy and lust had been Randall's greatest weakness. In Israel where the air itself held an evil taint that seeped into the souls of all in the Holy Land, it had strengthened Randall's darker side. It was a slow corruption and I've long known that the path of damnation need not be instant. Its cancerous seed can be planted long before it can bear fruit. The hunger to possess Tsubaki reached a fever pitch and when he tried to rape her and the Beast I had fought so hard to chain tore itself free.
I heard Cameela's soft, mocking laugh at the back of my mind.
My damnation began from there. Before Wesley committed the sin of murder – the Sin of Caine – I preceded him by slaying my own comrade to protect another.
"This mission may well be our last, Shateiel. I am proud that I strode with you."
Eight steps taken…
"Ah, Shateiel! Good to see you! You're in time for dinner. I've managed to save an extra-large portion for you. Ah-ah…not a word, boy. With Hayami and all the rest driving you like a slave, you even look hungry."
The cheery voice of Richard Sanders entered my mind. He was a big man, but unlike Ezekiel, Richard was fat. He acted as the caretaker of the orphanages in Rome. Many a time I have seen Richard, it was always with a menagerie of children crowding around him, listening to his stories.
"…And then he rushed forward, his sword sparkling with the fury of the Sky God to meet his adversary. For he knew that while he could not prevail, he was determined that neither shall his adversary. How alike they were, cut from the same cloth, these birds of a feather."
I do not have the courage to tell those children that the man they loved and looked up to as a parent would no longer be there to tell them stories, comfort them or tuck them in. I cannot stand in Richard Sanders's place.
"Each child is special, Shateiel. Each of them can change the world in a way that we cannot."
I dare not tell the children in the orphanage he watches over of how their favourite 'uncle' died.
We had been inspecting an old museum in the southern city of Gaza where one of Wesley's contacts had suspected that the late proprietor had kept hidden pages from the fabled Book of Judgement that the Vatican kept under lock and key. A priority order came down from the top, indicating that Wesley's contact had also informed our superiors, and they wanted us to find it. The museum was enormous and we had to split up to search for a possible place where the proprietor had hidden it. Richard had chosen to search one of the exhibitions on the upper levels. When he didn't return, we searched for him and found him.
Or more accurately, what was left of him. His body looked like as though someone had been using it for a chew toy. Upon closer inspection, we realised, to our horror, that Richard had eaten himself alive. It was at the scene of his masticated corpse that Tsubaki found the manuscripts that we had been searching for hidden behind the portrait of the Last Supper. On one of the manuscripts was a scene like the one we were facing.
"I bless you, Shateiel, in the name of the Sky God. May thou be the aegis against the Darkness and may you one day be Tsubaki's husband. God knows she needs someone like you."
My lips curled in a sad smile as I remembered the children laughing and poking fun at me at the end of the story-telling session. No more of that now.
Nine steps….
"I praise thee, oh Holy Father. May thy grace bless your children and may thy hand protect them against Evil."
A prayer rose in my mind. I sank to my knees again, gritting my teeth against the tidal wave of agony that washed over me. And yet, the prayer and the voice was crystal clear amidst the agony. I've heard the prayer many times that I can almost recall the entire verse that is spoken at every Sunday Mass. I've never attended it – period. No matter what threats my superiors came up with. Why? I could not stand the hypocrisy.
But, the voice that spoke it was one that can make anyone believe in God again – regardless of religion.
"God's Word is not a lie, Shateiel. But what Man does with it can sometimes be disappointing. Does it ever make you wonder why Man is perhaps the only race capable of creating weapons for the sole purpose of destroying his brothers? Does it make you wonder where the hate came from?"
Silvana's warm, quiet face appeared in my mind. Red-gold hair framed her face like a halo and her lean form was due to a near Spartan regime of discipline and training. She was the younger sister of Richard Sanders by almost 15 years, putting her at 23 years old – the same age as Huimin Chen. Though she and Richard were siblings, they were as different as night was from day. Richards was an extrovert whom everyone found easy to get along; his sister was the direct opposite. She found it difficult to mix with people outside the cloth. The young American girl was Wesley's lover – a fact that was frowned on by a good majority of the Inquisition who had very strict rules about celibacy.
"Faith is akin to light. Truth is the road in which Faith lights the way. That is the basic truth of God's Word. It is a sad thing when people start valuing the light more than the road…and far too often, it leads to great tragedies."
I did not disapprove of the relationship. With her around, Wesley became steadier and more confident. She was his guardian angel – right up to the very end. It was not the Enemy who killed her but common thugs. When Wesley and I found her, it had already been too late.
"Wesley-chan…I'm sorry…I…"
I still remember her dying whisper, the pain and emotion that was heart-breaking. That was the first time Wesley got angry – period. The wrath of God is as nothing compared to the fury that rose in Wesley's crimson eyes. Burdened by so many of his friends slain, the death of Silvana was perhaps his breaking point. I felt the rage in my soul explode into a conflagration when my amber eyes gazed upon Silvana's broken body lying on the dusty cobblestones and back at the sneering faces of the thugs. What they had done to her made me blind to any thought of mercy. The devil in me was howling pissed.
"Have faith, Shateiel, and God will have mercy."
Her voice echoed in my mind of better days long gone. I will not hear Silvana's warm voice telling me that it will be all right. I would miss the way she would blush when Huimin Chen teased her about her relationship with Wesley. I will no longer see her cooking for the orphans at the orphanages her brother watched over. I will not see the children she could have given a good man.
All of that crumbled to dust in a moment of misfortune. Gone – all gone. Silvana may have understood the concept of mercy – but there are those in this world that do not deserve it. I know this better than most – because I am one of them.
I got up and took the tenth step.
We left the corpses of 15 armed thugs in that alley. The Israeli police and troopers who cleared that scene would suffer nightmares for a long time to come. For if God cannot protect the innocent, then I shall punish the guilty in a fashion that would make His wrath seem insignificant in comparison.
"I will lead the traitors away from here, Captain. You and all the rest go to the Golan Heights. Too many of us have died, Wesley. We must prevent the Dawn Breaker from falling into Galford's hands. I would never have believed that he would fall this far."
Neither did I. I knew that Galford hated Wesley, but I would never have imagined the extent at which he would have gone in order to not only defeat but utterly humiliate, his hated rival. The first sin had been jealousy – not pride. And so it was that jealousy that led to us fighting our own brothers from the Vatican who believed that we were the ones that fell. Rolf Galahad would be the final sacrifice before Aziel.
"Hatred is a poisonous cancer that can eat away one's soul, Shateiel. The one reason why Wesley chose you amongst all the rest was so that we could make you come to terms with it – and let it go. Even the damned are not undeserving of repentance. And you are not that far gone…not yet."
Blue eyes and blue hair and a build not so different from Silvana, Rolf had been a professional police officer before he joined the Vatican Inquisition. He was a competent and thoughtful man, given over to thinking, and had been part of the blue boys' Special Victims Unit. He and Michael Adel were a pair, always found with noses poked in one book or another.
"Would you look at this book, Wesley? Come on…it's a change from all that stuff you read!"
Rolf loved alcohol. I've lost count of how many times he was caught smuggling it into the Vatican for our late-night binges. He had the Discipline Masters of the Orders looking for some excuse to bring to bear the nearest shotgun on him. On those nights, Rolf and I would talk about our pasts. Tsubaki would join in provided that sake was available – and Rolf always made sure it was. There was nothing pleasant about our pasts – ex-SVU cop and former Special Forces man – but it allowed us to come to terms with it.
"Promise me that you will not let Galford get away with this."
The promise you ask of me is not needed, Rolf. Because of this traitor, I've lost enough friends – and like before, I could do nothing to save them. I'm not letting him get away with this – not until I send his sorry excuse of a soul shrieking straight to Lucifer's throne room.
Eleven steps taken…eleven lives lost. Four steps till a decision is made and it all comes to an end…
"I would never have believed that he would have gone this far, Shateiel. He was my friend…once. Where did it all go wrong? Was it because he was jealous of me? Jealous because I took a place he coveted? Isn't becoming Inquisitor-General enough to prove that he is better than me?"
Warm, naïve and courageous Wesley. If the One Above had sent a Herald, you would have been the most likely candidate. Although your position commanded great respect and power, you never did care about it. It is a thing that never ceases to amaze me. Unlike Galford, it did not go to your head – but it most certainly caused you a headache. I've seen you drunk – and heard you sing. Professional comedians would be hard-pressed to win.
But, as such you were, what you are inside was your own weakness. You could not comprehend the fact that you would be betrayed by your own. Your own gullibility nearly killed you – nearly. You barely escaped the Reaper's scythe by a hair's breadth.
"Rolf is right. We must end this – one way or the other. Tonight, we go to the Golan Heights. Nowhere else or it will be too late to stop Galford's lackeys from claiming the blade. If we don't…Galford will pave the way to the Adversary's victory during the turn of the millennium."
What makes you think that the person who would do so would be Galford? It may well be me. Will you regret the decision of sending me to claim the Sword instead of doing it yourself? Whatever it was that Cameela said to you that led to this decision does not matter. I would have chosen to go.
"No matter how deep in Hell you are, everyone in the Order will come for you. Yes, Lisa included, though she would never admit it. You are worth that much – even if you say otherwise."
Thank you, old friend, for being one of the few people on this Earth to believe in me. I see now. We stand at the opposite end of the spectrum where belief is concerned, but it does not change the fact that we still want to protect others. Even the blood pact I made all those years ago had been to that end.
"If this is the best you can do, I'd better have Ezekiel train you harder!"
The mountain roared again, this time bringing to memory our crossed blades and our grinning faces. My voice, that time full of joy, echoed within my mind, "Do your worst!"
Again the mountain roared, the echo of our blades crashing in a shower of sparks
The 12th step…
"I trust you find this more to your tastes, Reiha-san? Better than those European long swords and rapiers, do you not agree? But first…we'll have to train you to use it."
Blue-eyed, cool and calm Aoshi Shinomori. Even now, he and Tsubaki were fighting off the traitors that Galford had sent and were preparing for the onslaught of the traitors and zealots that had descended upon the ruins of the National Geographic Expedition like a tsunami. I could almost picture the icy refrain in his expression as he cut through them with his twin katanas like a winter storm.
"A man with courage knows what is right – and can choose that choice even if the rest are against him."
Aoshi was the master of the nittoryu fighting technique – the Japanese sword-art of using two swords in combat. In close combat, he was a veritable storm of blades capable of reducing a full-grown man – or Kindred - to sashimi in mere seconds. Of all of us, the japanese sword-master was, thankfully, the hardest to anger – and few things could move the ice-man to fury. He was the one that taught me to harness my Beast and bring to bear the strength and precision its fire could bring. Things only a master twice his age should know. And he was only 26, a year my senior.
"A star-filled night. The warmth of the autumn season. To celebrate a day that went well – all of these reasons is good for sake. Don't try to say no – it's rude to refuse in my homeland. And, after that debacle, I think you need a drink."
Forget about getting Aoshi to surrender. The only way you would make him break an oath was if you sent him into his grave. And doing that was even harder. Tsubaki and Hayami did not call Aoshi 'kuro-aisu' for nothing – the man had ice-water for blood. He was hardly ever terrified. That perpetual emotionless look was there regardless of whether he faced an angry ghost or a furious daemon prince.
"Should you know that you are going to die, ensure that your enemy knows that he will share in the cost of paying the ferryman to take you to Hell."
The 13th step…It is all about to come full circle now.
Tsubaki's face entered my mind, then. Her stern, beautiful face framed by her long silver hair and starlight eyes made her stand out in any crowd. Tsubaki Katsuragi was a traditional Japanese shrine-girl and even when she came to the Vatican, she did not abandon the traditional garments of her homeland. Many were the censorious looks that were cast her way and many were those that called her 'infidel'. No one, however, dared to say those words in Tsubaki's face – and for good reason. Tsubaki unarmed was just as deadly as when she was.
I remembered her smile when we first met. The slender hand that had gripped mine was both callused and firm. That smile had held the hint of a challenge that will not be refused. If Ezekiel had been a hard taskmaster for me, Tsubaki was far worse. I remembered her starlight-colored eyes flashing like her katana and her teeth glinting like pearls as she swooped in like an avenging spirit.
I smiled at that sweet memory
"One day, I would like you to come to my country. We can refine your skills there – and my family have expressed interest in wanting to meet you.".
Of all the Paladins and Inquisitors in the Vatican, she was the only one who showed me the way out. What I will do now is going to be poor thanks in repayment for her faith in me. She knows what must be done and the burden that is to be laid upon my shoulders. I've met few women who were as firm of heart and soul as Tsubaki but I knew she was crying inside.
"We can never escape destiny. If it is written in the stars and upon the wind, nothing save an act of God can change that."
I took that final step…
"You can make your own destiny, my beloved Angel of Silence. You can stride on your own two feet and choose with your eyes wide open. I am glad I have strode with you – even if it is but for a moment. Cameela was right about one thing…"
…And raised my bloodied hand to the Dawn Breaker, stopping mere inches from gripping the hilt. Crimson rivulets streamed down the length of the blade. Would I meet the same fate as Aziel? Or was there a worse fate in store for me? I do not deny the fact that terror now gripped me. I am afraid. Only a madman wouldn't be. The moment I take hold of that blade, all the dreams I have sweated and bled to build will crumble again.
"…Like freedom, the price of redemption is high. Tonight is the night you pay for walking back into the Light."
"What is at the end of the sky?" Wesley.
"To live is to learn. No man is without his flaws. No man is without his strengths. As we live, so do we learn to accept the former while strengthening the later." Hayami.
"Blood can always be washed away." Lisa.
"You have a redeeming quality that may yet see you forgiven. You want to be forgiven, don't you?" Huimin Chen.
My fingers came closer and my eyes closed.
"As long as you live, there's always a good chance something good will happen." Randall Masters.
"We can build a future where our children will be blessed beneath God's eye. That blessing is our own to make." Silvana.
"To not know fear is foolishness. To act despite your fear is courage." Aoshi.
"Do not die for nothing, man. The Big Guy Upstairs will be givin' ya the eye." Raphael.
Almost…
"Dark power invested in a man does not necessarily make him evil. You are living proof of that." Cameela.
"I am willing to be your shield, Shateiel, and give power to you, the blade. If you ask me to die for you, you have but to ask." Tsubaki.
My eyes flashed open as the image of Tsubaki lying on the cold stone floor of the upper levels of the Black Cathedral, her lean body bloodied, her robes rent and torn, her eyes lifeless. Tears spilt from my eyes. Yes, there are worse fates. Damnation is a fate far more bearable.
My hands closed upon the Dawn Breaker.
The chains that bound it loosened and lashed back before splashing into the sea of lava. As I removed the broken Sword of Lucifer from its prison, the mountain shook with a force approaching an earthquake. It seemed, in that moment, that the whole world did as well, as though screaming in outrage at the sacrilege I have committed.
The gears have started turning. Now, we play the endgame.
For good or for evil.
Amen.