Countermeasures

On The First Day

Metatron scanned the emptiness, looking for movement.

Not life, necessarily, simply movement, because what they had been fighting was nothing like life, nothing like it at all.

He saw the crumpled, ruined forms of Angels spreading out in the vastness before him. They lay entangled with monstrous forms, mockeries of life that the Darkness had spewed out in legion with pure hatred at God and His armies. He felt a sense of sickness welling up in him, and turned his wandering gaze back out into the Void.

Nothing.

Had they truly won?

"Metatron."

The voice that spoke to him was deep and resonant. Unmistakable.

"Yes, Lord?" Metatron answered, turning and bowing deeply. He raised his head to find God standing there behind him, flanked by all seven of the Archangels, powerful and bright Michael standing at God's right side, great, flaming sword held in a firm grip, and beautiful, arrogant Lucifer standing on his left, a distant, thoughtful look on his perfect features. He glanced for a second at Metatron, and turned quickly away with a half-sneer of contempt. Metatron felt no shame. He was, after all, only a scribe. But still, a sense of anger sparked in him. Just a little spark...nothing to really speak of...

"We have won. It is time to Create."

Metatron felt of sense of wonder and relief. How long had they battled the Darkness? How long had the battle raged since God had spoken His first words 'Let There Be Light'? The Darkness had fought back so violently when that had happened. They had manifested as the Elder Gods, the Old Ones, creatures born of pure hatred and evil, and had swarmed at God and his Angels with relentless, unbridled fury. Universes compressed into an unmeasurable quantity exploded outward with a force that had surprised even him. He'd have to write about that at some point, he knew, smiling to himself. The words to describe it simply failed him. 'A Big Bang' seemed woefully inadequate...

"What would you have me do, My Lord?"

"In the witness of all of my Sons, I need you to create something – something to keep this Light from falling into the Chaos and Destruction that the Old Ones covet."

Metatron frowned. "Create something, Lord? I...I am but a writer...a scribe..."

"Too complicated for you, eh? I told you Father, you should leave this to more capable beings," Lucifer smirked. Metatron shot him a hot glare, but quickly suppressed it before, he hoped, anyone had noticed. Lucifer caught his eye and raised an eyebrow.

"That's enough, Lucifer," God interjected. He smiled, turning back to Metatron. "That, Metatron, is actually a very astute question that you have inadvertently posed. For, what is writing, if not pure Creation?" His eyes twinkled. "I will dictate to you my Word. And in it, shall I pour my entire Being. My Essence. Every secret, every strength. Every weakness. And in the Creation, it shall have the very power to unmake Me."

Metatron blinked in surprise. "Unma...my Lord? Wh...why would you do this?"

"First good question this morning," Lucifer muttered. Michael shot him a withering glance, and Lucifer rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, looking bored.

God ignored them, instead holding Metatron's gaze, eyes still twinkling with the virgin light of a newly born sun. "They will never stop, Metatron." His eyes wandered to the blackness of the Void, silent and quiet now. "They will never stop because I have wronged them. To have this Creation, I have forcibly struck a Balance and started a War. On this side is Order, on the other is Chaos. In the middle, where the Balance exists, is Life. And something new..." He turned to look out into space. "It's been here all along, actually. Waiting. Timeless. Now existing because there is now...time. I find myself also surprised by this concept of 'time'. And Beginnings. And now, Endings."

A figure strode across the stars, manifesting as a gaunt, aged being, with dark eyes and wearing a long, flowing robe made of darkness. Metatron felt himself shudder as it's gaze passed over him.

"What...is he?"

"Death," God spoke, smiling tightly. "An unconquerable enemy. And also a cherished friend. He must also be in this Tablet that I shall have you write."

Metatron felt...cold. Also a new concept. The indifference that this 'Death' regarded him with...regarded them all with...

"My Lord, are you saying...that this Tablet would destroy You? Is that even possible?Wouldn't that...undo everything?"

God shook his head. "Not destroy. I shall die." He met Death's cold, emotionless eyes. "There is, ironically, Life in Death, in fact, Life depends upon it, that the conflict always continues. If it stops, it all ends and goes back to two balanced, stagnant sides, and nothing lives." He looked back at Metatron. "That is the very heart of the battle, Metatron, where Chaos meets Order. I will have to die to keep that going, because they will never stop. They will seek to change me, define me as Chaos, and then all is lost." He shook His head. "I will not allow it. This Creation..." He looked around Himself, his wise eyes tearing. "It is good. And I will sacrifice anything to keep it." He frowned and stepped up in front of Death. "Does that make me the monster?"

The pale man regarded God for a moment, seemingly pensive. "Life is an act of will, Lightbringer. It is neither Good nor Evil. In creating it, you will create many, many horrors, and at the same time, many, many beautiful memories and Souls. All I can tell you is the price of inaction is for nothing to exist. It is not my place to say...but, I would say that the price that You have paid, isn't all for naught. It must be done. Some things simply must be. And I shall be there, at Your End, when you surely must pay for it."

"Who do you think that you are, speaking to your Lord like that?" Lucifer fumed, storming forward. "You too, owe your very existence to Him! We are the Founders of this Universe. You are but a tool of it."

Death looked down at the glowing Angel. "What would you have of me, Morningstar?"

"Respect, for one," Lucifer hissed, meeting his gaze. "Our Father might be willingly submitting to your cold touch, but don't expect that from all of us."

Death smiled.

"Do you think yourself immune from my touch, Lucifer?"

"I..." Lucifer began angrily, but God waved His hand.

"Enough of this. We have work to do. My Sons and Daughters, this Tablet must be kept safe until the Old Ones come...and they will come...at that point, it must be used. This, I charge you with. My own sacrifice shall ensure that the cycle of Life continues. That my Power is not split apart from the cycle of Life and Death and turned into Chaos. It must not ever fall into the wrong hands, for if it does, all that we have accomplished here in our efforts, will cease to be." He met all of the Archangels' eyes and they all nodded to Him in turn. Satisfied, God turned back to Metatron.

"This shall be the First Day. Let us begin."

Castiel sat in his room, caressing the stone Tablet, wanting desperately to read from it.

The Darkness that controlled him wouldn't allow him to do it.

Tears of frustration ran down his face.

Why Father? Why would you cripple me like this? He thought, furious.

It was supposed to have been simple. If the Old Ones had ever returned, then the duty of the Archangels was clear. Read from the Tablet. God would die. Life and Death, the eternal Balance would be preserved, and the Old Ones would lose their grip on reality, faced with such an enormous sacrifice to the power of Order. They would be trapped again, forced to return to their own realm.

But Judah had burdened him with the Souls of Hell, beings tainted with that very Chaos that they fought against, and now those creatures controlled him.

And the Tablet.

Why?

He shoved the Tablet angrily back into it's case, then shoved that under his folding cot, covering it with a pile of clothes. As far as he could tell, Aleister didn't realize that Castiel had it, but he couldn't be sure of that. The Creature that inhabited him, Nyarlathotep, was vastly intelligent and cunning. If he wanted to keep Castiel in the dark about what it knew, it could do it.

But if it had known, Castiel pondered, it would have destroyed the thing, keeping the Angels from ever using it.

It couldn't know. It must never know.

Castiel stood up, exhaling loudly. The Universe hung on such a thin thread. Not just the lives of this last bastion of life, but the very existence of the entire Universe. They were barely hanging on.

And he was helpless.

He left his room to find his Master, feeling his call.

"You are doing it already, you foolish man."

Cartaphilus grimaced, replaying the words that Death had told him when he asked how he could destroy God. He glanced over at the intersection, watching the paths of destiny play out, seizing the correct one that would cause the five-car pile-up, killing the family of four and the pedestrian...

There was an agonizing crash and wrenching sound of twisting metal accompanied with the smell of burning rubber,. This was followed shortly by the stale stench of fear and the salty tang of blood.

Cartaphilus walked over nonchalantly, casting the pitiful human souls into Void, watching with a sense of diminishing satisfaction at the horror on their faces as they came face-to-face the Old Gods that dwelt within the Dark and were consumed.

"You are troubled," came the soft, cold, emotionless voice from over his shoulder. Cartaphilus turned and frowned at Death.

"I feel as if I am doing nothing. I was hunting Judah one moment, then turned into a Reaper the next. All at your insistence that this would bring me my revenge." He clenched his teeth in anger. "I am no closer to my goal, and I am growing weary of this alliance..."

Death held up a hand. "You are no mere Reaper, Roman. Tell me, do you think a Reaper has the power to select a path of Fate for those they are tasked to collect? You are doing something beyond even my purview."

Cartaphilus sighed and shook his head. "It's not enough, damn you! What worth does creating paths of Fate have for..."

He stopped, realization flooding him. He felt the blood drain out of him, filling him instead with white-hot fury at the deception.

His gladius was out in a blink. He slammed into Death's tall figure, driving him back against a window. The mortals all around, not able to perceive them, continued down the pavement, oblivious, eating ice-cream, looking at the wares on display. Cartaphilus drove his sword point under Death's chin.

"Atropos united all of the realms into one, trapping mankind here," he growled. "This was their last bastion, life's last stand."

Death looked amused. "Figuring it out at last, are we?"

"There should be no new paths...no new Fates, this is the last...you used me..."

"To create new paths of Fate, yes," Death replied, still smiling. "I told you, God and I needed a way to let Him die while letting life continue."

With a roar, Cartaphilus slammed the sword through Death's head up to it's hilt. His eyes blazing, he scanned Death's cold eyes, looking for the pain that must inevitably come.

Instead, Death sighed and stepped forward, through the sword and Cartaphilus as if they were made of mist, shaking his head slowly.

"I'm surprised that you thought that would work," Death said calmly as Cartaphilus watched his back, still fuming. "Did you think that filling yourself with the power of the Old Ones would render you as unto some kind of God?"

"That was the idea...", Cartaphilus hissed, gripping his sword, white-knuckled.

"Oh, it granted you power, to be sure. So, we used that. What Atropos did was simply a first step to preserving the Universe. We needed a way for the Darkness to once again provide a means to sustaining it."

"So you used my power..."

"...to create new lines of Fate, yes. You see, this is the power of Life. With every Soul, with every Fate, there are created more dimensions, more possibilities , ripples, waves of power. It builds, reinforcing each other, creating more and more, until it is unstoppable. Physics 101, actually. Science is a wonderful thing."

Cartaphilus gritted his teeth. "But the paths that I create lead to oblivion."

Death smiled. "Here yes. But by observing and discarding the other numerous branches, you have been, unknowingly, admittedly, creating multitudes and multiverses and other possibilities. Fuelling Life. Fuelling Creation."

"Through Death."

Death nodded. "Ironically, yes, so has it always been. Life cannot exist without me."

Cartaphilus nodded, still angry. He sheathed his sword. "We're done here."

Death tilted his head. "Are we?"

"Oh yes."

"Then, what are you going to do next?"

"I'm going to find Judah, and I'm going to finish Him." He stalked a few paces away then stopped, hesitating. "But that's what you were counting on as well, weren't you?"

When he received no answer, he continued along the street, his pace quickening.

"Of course it was," Death whispered at his retreating form. "Thank you, Roman."