Of Traps and Temples
The Emperor of Atlantis leaned back in his throne, holding up a parchment in one hand detailing the list of attendees to his reception, and a cooled Atlantian alcoholic beverage in the other. It was a mixture of pulped fresh fruit, a spice not wholly unlike cloves, a dash of fish oil, and fermented grapes, topped with a lemon wedge. It was considered a delicacy, being extremely difficult to mix, and a perfect balance to the senses. He took a sip and screwed up his mouth in disgust. Horrid stuff. He would have to see to it sometime in the near future that these Atlantians learned the finer points of aging and alcohol fermentation.
But not tonight. Tonight he had a much grander agenda. He continued to scan the list when his eyes suddenly widened in surprise. He leaned forward in his throne attentively as he re-read one of the names of the guests. His mouth started to curl up in a one-sided, twisted smile as he set down his golden-chalice with a hollow, echoing clank on the stone table next to him and grabbed the red-tinted chalk laying there among various other writing implements, charts, reports and two partially drunken flagons of other Atlantian 'delicacies'. He circled the name he had come across and leaned back, cocking his head.
Now this is indeed an interesting and unexpected development, he thought, letting the paper fall slowly to his lap, his mind racing with the possibilities of how he could use this to his advantage. Very, very interesting indeed.
His fist curled around the parchment, rolling it tightly in his hand and stood up quickly, striding into his throne room, his boots sending out sounds like thunder into the grand hall.
"Chamberlain!", he shouted, his voice carrying in the empty, golden marble hall. A medium sized man with a long face shuffled out of one of the side chambers quickly, his feet muffled by silken slippers. He wore a multi-colored, elaborate long vest over Atlantian soft leather pants and a white , high-necked shirt, neatly pressed and crisp. His head was covered in a knitted cap of concentric Blue and White circles, ending in a symbol depicting the city. He kept his head bowed and hands together, not daring to look up at the Emperor.
"My Lord," the Chamberlain said in a voice that was not quite a whisper.
"Are the guards all in place, per my instructions? Fully briefed?"
The Chamberlain nodded once, a small, gentle motion. "Yes, My Lord. Would you care to review them?"
The Emperor shook his head. "No, but I do have some new instructions for them." He opened the parchment he was holding and shoved it under the Chamberlains nose, pointing at the name he circled there. "Do you know this Angel?"
The Chamberlain read the name and nodded again quickly. "Yes, my Lord. But, he is an angel of little consequence...surely not worthy of your..."
The Emperor straightened up, placing a hand on the Chamberlain's shoulder, cutting him off. "It doesn't matter. Just...instruct the guards that he is to be spared."
The Chamberlain gave a barely perceptible start. "Spared, my Lord...? Is that...alltogether...wise? Considering...?"
The Emperor nodded. "I understand. And agree. It will be dangerous. Extremely so. But it is of the utmost importance. This Angel is to be not only spared, but captured, subdued, and brought to me."
The Chamberlain paled. "M...my Lord, that will be...", he began, than frowned. He shook his head, then nodded once again in his short, precise way. "Yes, My Lord. I will see to it,"
"One other thing," the Emperor said, his voice lowering menacingly. "If anyone does happen to harm him, they will answer to me. Personally."
The Chamberlain looked up briefly, his dark-brown eyes full of fear. He lowered them swiftly, gave a small shudder, nodded, and shuffled away quickly.
The Emperor watched him go, feeling a bit of uneasiness himself. There was something about the Chamberlain that put him off...He was not from the city itself. Alantians, as a rule, were born with sea-green eyes. An effect of the energy. Long-time residents developed them as well. This man was relatively new to the city, and had apparently risen high in the court in that short time. He shrugged. He was efficient and obedient. That was all that mattered. He walked slowly back to his throne and put the list back down on the table. He eyed his drink and sighed in regret. Alcohol distillation. An important topic to address.
All in due time, all in due time, he whispered in his mind, his eyes slowly narrowing, thinking over the plan for the night's meeting with the Angels. He looked over to the table and the parchment, the name circled in red – 'Castiel' – beckoning to him like a beacon. He smiled and leaned back in the throne, all sorts of possibilities running through his mind.
Twilight had settled over Atlantis as Crowley, Castiel, Ramiel and the small party consisting of a handful of Crowley's Demons and Ramiel's Angels walked along the streets, the blue lights in the stones blinking just ahead of their intended path. Castiel frowned at the lights.
"How do they work?", he asked, turning slightly to Ramiel.
"Hmm?", Ramiel answered, turning his head to Castiel, losing his reverie. "What was that?"
"The lights", Castiel repeated, gesturing at them. "How are they able to read your intended direction like that?"
Ramiel shrugged. "I never really thought of that."
Castiel's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing. "Never really asked? I thought that you were...?"
"A Watcher, Castiel, not a scientist. Or a mystic, in this case," Ramiel answered swiftly. "My duty is to observe the events on the Earth, and act only if His Plan is being deviated from." He looked at the stones and the lights. "These magical rocks represent nothing for me to consider."
Castiel nodded "Even when, technically, they're employing divination and prophecy?", he asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
Ramiel gave a little start, question appearing on his face. "What are you talking about, Castiel?"
Castiel smiled. "Prophecy, Ramiel. They are predicting the future. Granted, only in a small portions, but still."
Ramiel frowned deeply. "I never actually considered that, Castiel. If what you are implying is..."
Castiel cut him off, his tone turning serious. "I'm not implying anything, Ramiel. It's a fact. These energy infused stones need to be investigated. They are highly dangerous to Angels, but not Demons, they employ prophecy, which you and I both are aware is the scope of God's Plan. Add to that the fact that you told us that they have increased their activity ever since the Emperor arrived."
Ramiel let out a small chuckle. "You are wasted as a soldier, Castiel. You should have been a Grigori..."
Castiel shook his head. "Ramiel, all levity aside..."
Ramiel waved his hand in the air. "No, you are correct Castiel. I will consider it." He sighed heavily. "Anything effecting the Plan, even in small amounts, is tantamount to disaster. As if I didn't have enough to worry about..."
"The Emperor," Castiel said grimly.
"That, plus the disappearances and murders around the city in the past week, and now this Atlantian energy puzzle..."
"Disappearances and murders? What disappearances and murders?", Castiel asked. Crowley turned his head back as well.
Ramiel stopped, the group stopping with him "You haven't heard, then?"
Castiel and Crowley shook their heads.
"Look around you," Ramiel said in way of reply. "Look at the streets."
They followed his sweeping arm and regarded the empty streets of Atlantis, lit by the blue lights, saw nothing special, and shrugged.
"The people," Ramiel said. "Where are the people? The bars are empty. Every window – shuttered tight. The people are scared out of their minds. Atlantis is usually alive with life, night or day"
"What's been happening?", Crowley asked.
"Once again, this is something that started with the ascension of the new Emperor. People started disappearing around the city. Their corpses, rather mangled, I might add, showed up shortly after."
"How many?", Castiel asked, his voice low.
"More than I'd care to mention," Ramiel replied. "And frequent. Not only that, precise."
"Precise, what do you mean by 'precise', exactly?", Crowley asked, looking about in the dark shadows of the alleys, suddenly more alert.
Ramiel nodded. "Precise. The attacks occur exactly every ten hours."
"Ten hours?", Crowley answered, puzzled. "That's pretty specific. Why every ten hours?"
Ramiel shrugged. "I haven't a clue. I only noticed the pattern."
Castiel had stopped, stock still. He turned slowly to Ramiel, grave concern written all over his face.
"Where are they keeping the bodies?", he asked, his voice hoarse.
"What? The bodies?", Ramiel asked in return, his frown deepening.
Castiel moved forward swiftly, grabbing Ramiel around his tunic. "Yes. The bodies! Where are they? I need to see them!"
"Castiel, we don't have time for this..." Crowley protested.
Castiel whipped his head towards him. "Intervals of ten, Crowley. Intervals of ten! Think! Does that sound familiar to you now?"
Crowley cocked his head frowning. Then his eyes opened in realization. All of the blood drained out of his face.
"Ramiel...where are they keeping the bodies?" he asked, his voice low and cracking.
The delegation of Angels entered the throne room and looked around. Several of the court members had been assembled. The Emperor himself was seated at the throne, one arm hung lazily over the side. The Angel in the front, Barnabus, had been put in charge while Ramiel was off on his investigation. He narrowed his eyes at the Emperor, glanced briefly at the nearly one-hundred Angels around him, and strode forward.
"You asked to see us?", he said, standing in front of the throne, the annoyance in his voice poorly hidden.
The Emperor stirred, not looking in Barnabus' direction. "How incredibly rude of you," he said slowly, his strange accent like a soothing melody. "Not even using my title."
Barnabus bristled. "We are the guardians of this city, Emperor, not you. Despite what you may think. Our mission..."
The Emperor waved a hand lazily in the air, cutting him off. "Your...services are no longer required in my city...", he replied, turning slowly, menacingly to Barnabus. His eyes narrowed, scanning the Angels. "Where's your master? Where's the Grigori?"
Barnabus smiled mockingly. "He had better things to do, Emperor. That, plus he doesn't fully trust you."
The Emperor stared at the Angel for a long time, the silence stretching. "How very wise of him," he said slowly. "But, tell me, what could be more important than meeting with the ruler of the city of Atlantis?"
Barnabus shook his head. "That is his business. And, as I said, the affairs and politics of you humans," he spit out the word,"is of little concern to us. Our mission here is appointed by God Himself, and is not subject to your whims."
The Emperor smiled, amused.
"As I said before, your services are no longer required."
Barnabus shook his head. "This meeting is pointless. You are a pitiful mortal. You have no idea of our purpose here, let alone have the authority to dismiss us. We are leaving."
The Angels turned and began to leave the throne room.
"The Portal", the Emperor said simply, loud enough for his voice to be heard throughout the room.
Barnabus stopped, paling. He spun around quickly, his lips curling into a vicious snarl.
"What did you just say?"
"Oh, I think you heard me just fine," the Emperor said, his voice calm and soothing. "I know exactly what you're here to protect. And, I am here to inform you, I will be assuming full responsibility for it's care and protection."
Barnabus's face turned to stone determination. He drew his blade, the other Angels doing so as well. The rasp of metal echoed through the marble stone room. The court members gasped and stepped back. Some of them ran for cover.
"You are hereby removed from the throne of Atlantis!" Barnabus shouted. "You are to be brought before the Grigori Ramiel for questioning. The throne is put under our safe-keeping in the interim. Step down from your throne!"
The Emperor cocked his head, amused.
"You Angels," he sighed. "Always so arrogant. It doesn't matter which century I'm in."
Something moved like slow moving tar, oozing from the shadows all over the court. They began to take on menacing, hulking form. The Angels whipped their heads around, confused, suddenly finding themselves surrounded by...
"What...what are these creatures...?!", Barnabus screamed, taking a defensive posture as the creatures advanced, their jaws open and slavering onto the floor of the throne room. He saw Atlantian guards as well, positioning themselves around the doors and exits, effectively blocking them in. There was nowhere to run.
The Emperor regarded him coolly. "Why, they are the true guardians of the Portal, Angel. They are your Masters."
Castiel and Crowley burst into the small stone cell and whipped the white sheet away from the body. Castiel stepped back and gave a low groan.
""Bugger", Crowley whispered.
"What is going on?", Ramiel asked from behind them. He had led them to the warehouse where they had been keeping the victims. It was not far from the Temple of the Deep, it turned out.
Castiel rubbed his hand over his eyes and over his face. "We've seen corpses like this before," he said, falling back against one of the stone walls of the room. "Our first mission together. We were investigating a creature that killed on ten year cycles. We were never able to determine the significance of the time, other that it had something to do with a summoning spell. A spell that was dependent on the factor of ten."
Crowley nodded. "We decided to keep an eye out for anything following a similar pattern, for caution's sake." He rubbed his chin and exhaled loudly. "Never figured on finding it here."
Castiel moved away from the wall and indicated the victim's stomach. "They were all female, I take it?", he asked, looking up at Ramiel.
Ramiel nodded.
"What does that look like to you?", he said holding his finger over her stomach.
Ramiel squinted. "It's...as if something clawed it's way out of her stomach...not in...Castiel, what...?"
Castiel covered the body carefully with the sheet, his eyes closing for a few seconds before opening, burning intensely with focus. "This just confirms it. The wounds are consistent to the birthing. Every ten hours, you said?"
Ramiel nodded again. "About twenty victims alltogether. Castiel,...'birthing'? What did they give birth to?"
"Twenty...", Crowley whispered from the corner. He looked up to Castiel. "Just one of those things is enough to..."
"We have to get to that Temple," Castiel replied, ignoring the implication. "And Ramiel, call back your Angels from that meeting. They are in more danger than you think."
Ramiel frowned. "They've been warned about the Atlantian guards, Castiel. And yes, while their weapons are formidable, they are more than capable of..."
Castiel shook his head. "No, Ramiel, that's what the Emperor wanted you to think."
"Wanted us to...? Are you saying that he has deceived us even further?"
Castiel nodded grimly. "To be blunt, yes."
"How?"
Castiel's steely blue eyes met Ramiel's. "He wanted you to think that you could have won."
The Angel Castiel stumbled against a pillar, the blow from the beast knocking him hard into the glowing Atlantian marble. He felt his back burn with the touch of the energy and took and step forward, gasping and falling to a knee. He looked around, the scene spinning in front of his eyes. Massive dark shapes moved around, ripping into the fallen corpses of the vessels of his Brothers. A few Angels still fought, but they were quickly overwhelmed, the ripping sounds echoing horrifically in the air. The creatures picked up fallen Angel Blades and snapped them like twigs. He groaned and tried to stand, failing. His Atlantian armor was shredded by a hundred different slashes from the monster's claws, but, luckily it seemed, none of the wounds were mortal.
"Now that's the proper stance required for servitude," the Emperor's voice came from somewhere in front of him. He tried to focus his blurry eyes on the figure striding forward. He was blond, thin, and a vicious scar ran over his face.
"I...I will never bow to you," Castiel growled, his fingers attempting to tighten around his Angel Blade. It slipped from his hand. He was too weak to hold it. He looked up in defiance at the Emperor, who was smiling down at him.
"I never said anything about bowing, Castiel. I just said that I needed you to serve."
The group approached the Temple at a run. The blue light was like a beacon here. The energy was pulsing with a level of intensity that Ramiel had never seen before. It ripped through the surrounding air like lightning, the air itself seemingly burning. He stared in panic. He knew what the Temple of the Deep contained, and what the Angels watched over here. Ramiel had sent back one of his Angels to warn the delegates of the Emperor's trap, but he was beginning to believe that it was now too late. It had become clear that the Portal most likely had already been breached. Ramiel shuddered, looking up at the Temple. If that were true...
"What exactly is in there?", Crowley shouted over the crackling noise of the pulsing energy.
"The Portal!", Ramiel shouted back, not taking his eyes off of the Temple. "What the Angels are here to protect, at all costs!"
Crowley frowned. "What's it a portal to?"
Ramiel turned to him. "Haven't you ever wondered, Demon, why God and his Angels chose to stay and watch over Earth, among all of the other myriad planets and life in the universe? Why is Heaven and Hell here? What makes Earth so special that it is here that God has stationed his entire bastion of Angels?"
Crowley shrugged. "I figured that it was just his favorite..."
Ramiel shook his head. "No, Demon. It is where He sealed them away."
"Sealed who? Sealed who away!?"
Ramiel looked back at the Temple, he drew his sword and started up the steps . He stopped about halfway up, turning back, fear and determination etched all over his face. The blue energy of Atlantis crackled around him like a hurricane. His cape billowed out behind him.
"The Old Ones," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the fury of unleashed energy. He turned his head back to the Temple, looking up at it's tall towers. "It's where Father locked the monsters away."
Without another word, he sprinted up the remaining steps and disappeared into the Temple's front doors.
"Ramiel, wait!", Crowley shouted. He looked to his right just in time to see Castiel, a similar determined expression on his face, Angel Blade in hand, run up after him. The other Angels followed close behind.
Crowley stood there with his Demon guards on the steps, mouth open. He looked them over and set his jaw.
"Well then, let's go where Angels fear to tread. What do you say?"
They ran up the Temple's steps through the cascading blue light, the darkness inside swallowing them up.
