Zachariah shifts uncomfortably in his sleep. It's the dead of night, and his small room is filled with thick blackness.

In his dream, he's in a church. He's dressed in his full priest's outfit, long dark robes and white collar. The church isn't the one he recognises.

It's small, but intensely decorated, and the curved roof rises high over his head. The very top is shrouded in a dusty sort of dimness, hiding the details of its intricate carvings.

He is standing in front of a door at one end oof the church, as if he had just come in, but when he checks behind him the door is locked. Zachariah faces, at the other end of the church, a small altar in an arch-roofed alcove. At the very back wall of the alcove is a huge, disturbingly lifelike oaken statue of the crucifixion. He walks down the church, past the altar, fascinated by it. It's bigger then life-sized, the wood is dark and polished-looking. Carefully carved rivulets of sweat and blood run down Jesus' face, the crown of thorns leaves realistic scratches in his forehead. The nails hammered into his wrists are real, huge, long hunks of iron hammered in after the statue's completion; it's the same at his feet. From this splintered wound, a steady eternal trickle of wooden blood runs down the remainder of the cross, over the base of the statue, which seems to be a rocky mound. At the front of the base is a skull, also incredibly lifelike. The tiny river of blood runs over the rocks, onto the top of this skull, it runs down and seems to drip into its eye sockets. There is a drop attached to the main stream of blood by a thin sliver of blood. It can't be more than a millimeter thick, it's hard to believe this statue's just wood.

On either side of tee statue there is an old-looking icon with an uncarved, gilded frame. The one on the left side of the crucifix shows Mary Magdalene, in long white robes that end in hundreds of folds and crumples around her feet. She appears to be standing in front of an arch-shaped door. Some of the inside wall is visible at the top of the picture, and behind her there is a dark sky, shrouded in stormclouds. Mary is facing right, towards the statue, hands clasped together and sorrowful face lowered.

The icon on the right of the statue looks like the older of the pair. Parts of the paint are fading and chipped. It shows the Archangel Gabriel, wearing red and green robes. is wings are also green, dark, tipped with red feathers. Gabriel is standing upon a small cloud, against a part green, part gold background. In his left hand the angel holds a golden sceptre, and in his right, he holds a white lily.


Zachariah leaves the alcove again and looks around the rest of he church. In the shadows of the arches and pillars on the right side of the church, he notices a small door made of light-coloured wood. Walking over to it, he sees it's fastened with a huge, black padlock. There's a general air of dust and neglect about it. He wonders when it was last opened, and by whom. As he idly runs his fingers across the door, dirt comes away from the wood and reveals the shape of a cross has been etched into the door. It isn't aa complex carving, it looks more like it's been done by the scratching of a mail or a penknife. Without any particular reason, a shiver runs down his spine and spreads cold through his body. He has an inexplicable feeling that the door is keeping something shut in.


Turning away from the door, Zachariah explores the other side of the church. The walls are occasionally adorned with icons or murals of saints and angels. Near the end of the church where he first found himself standing, there's a short shadowy corridor leading off only about aa meter or so, to a confession box. He enters it, still feeling a little nervous, jumpy.
The walls in here are completely covered in complex murals. In one corner, a huge pillar candle flickers and casts unstable shadows through the dim room. The grille through to the priests' side of the box s made of gilt- covered wood, fashioned into long plant tendrils crossing over each other, dotted with the buds of flowers. He can't see anything through the grille, the other side is pitch black.

The jittering light from the candle flame flicks over to the little bench, and Zachariah sees a vague, tiny sparkle of metal. Lying in amongst the dancing blotches of darkness is a set of white rosary beads. Dangling from the rosary, a crucifix carved from some strange kind of gemstone shines blue.

Zachariah picks up the beads and watches the bizzare crucifix's swirling colour. It must just be the way the light's reflecting off it, but it looks as though the surface is moving. Mesmerised, he sits down on the bench as if he were about to confess, and dangles the rosary in front of his face,, watching the smooth movements of blue.


It's unnatural. . .

There's no denying now that he feels something strange about this church. He has a creeping worry never far from his thoughts that something less than holy is concealing itself in the shadows of the arches.

Legs suddenly feeling weak, Zachariah steps tentatively back out of the confession booth and along the corridor. When he turns to face the back of the church, he stops.

Is it. . . Can it be. . .


His first reaction was to feel icy cold and sick with nerves, then dizzy and faint with awe. Just in front of the alcove, a strange white creature, marked with red and blue lines, it had two small feeler-like protrusions where legs might be. . .


Zachariah swallows air, staring in silence at this creature, until his vision goes grainy, and hi eyes sting and begin to water.

finally, he manages to ask Who are you. . . ?'

My name,' it says, is Heaven's Fiend.' It speaks as though it holds great distaste for its own name. Zachariah, though, is left in no doubt what this creature is. . .


Are you. . . an angel?'

An angel?!' it replies scornfully. I have better things to do than hang around sucking God's cock.'

Zachariah takes a step backwards, pushed by the blasphemous venom of the thing's words. Eyes now narrowed, he still stares at it, but now with fear and hate. He can only bring himself to utter one stunned word.

. . . Satan. . .'

Heaven's Fiend,' it says sarcastically. Not Heaven's Reject.'


Zachariah is truly confused now, This thing shows no respect for either the forces of good or evil. But it cannot be good, not after the heretical, heathen things it had dared to utter.

It is some unknown evil, perhaps. A fallen angel, a demon contending for the throne of Hell?


He feels worried, terrified, through the muffled feeling

. . . this is all a dream. . .


The Lord has ways of communication. Dreams can be divine revelations. Dreams can herald damnation.


. . . divine revelations, divine light.

. . . He is a light-class himself. . .


. . . White-gold, divine, blinding light floods into his eyes, soaks through his head, into the shadowy corners at the back of his mind. In an automatic reflex, he shuts his eyes against it.

That makes almost no difference. It's like the light bores into his eyelids, it burns a hole through them.

Zachariah forces his eyes open, his eyelids flicker, dragging themselves down shut against his will. It takes all his conscious effort to hold them open. Now he can feel his bed beneath him again, he's awake. Stepping into the light from behind it, is the . . . Angel. . . The Archangel Gabriel.

At first he is just a darker, eye-soothing centre to the light. But he comes gradually into focus, red and green robes, folded feathered wings. His arms are bent at the elbow, hands hold up a shimmering white flower and a sparkling sceptre.

Now Zachariah is left completely unable to speak. What does this visit signify, along with the things he saw in his dream? All he can do is bring hiss hands together, incline his head, and whisper an awed, reverent prayer.

Gabriel speaks to him. His voice sounds like a million all speaking in melodious unity.

Zachariah. . . . You have been chosen. For you do not simply believe in the same way others do. You know. You know, deep inside you, you know of God''s supreme power and glory. It is an innate holiness that you possess. Go, on your Mission, and you must defeat the . . . false Revelation. . . Go Eastwards, and you shall receive guidance from God on what you must do next.


He stares at the angel, not understanding its words, memorising them all the same. it feels like the light is spreading through his body, sinking down from his head. He feels tense with fear and wonder.
Asking what the angel means in more detail is out of the question. He doesn't know what the message means, but he must follow His instructions. And he must not fail Him.

As the Archangel Gabriel's light fades, so does his consciousness, and by the time the room is back to its natural blackness he is lying back on the bed, somewhere just beyond asleep.













It's my one- year anniversary of being on fanfiction.net today. Sheeeesh. I was even worse when I first started. . . . Ah memories. Not good ones. But memories. Of flyiing romantic bricks and drunk Zhuzhens. Some things are just better left in the safely deleted past, hmm?

I have to apologise forr the godawful state of the spelling last chapter. I was just changing words to any random old thing the spellchecker said. Never trust a spellchecekr. I must have had some godsdamned random spelling though. It changed to .


It was *meant* to say Death Emperor spoke again. O.o Sorry for any confusion. . .



Thanks for reviewing, Nights Mistress (Sorry. I really didn't mean to say toyou were paranoid or anything. Just trying to be on the safe side. . .) , Aegis (Not sure if Lovecraft invented Elder Sign, but people used in his stories. . . It ws a sign that I don't think he ever described fully, done with the right hand to protect against nameless unimaginable horrors' n' such. There'll be explanations for malice later. They may or may not make sense. ) , MikoNoNyte (The only dictionary that has is some big random huge one that was at the book festival, that had it as a time between sleeping and waking. Not sure where I found the word, my spellchecker didn't complain but then we all know how much one can trust this spellchecker. ) and Leels (he's not a Mary Sue. He's just misunderstood. And the Mackenzie Poltergeist has a LOT less to do with this than it looks like it does. Honest. )

I'm not gonna be updating anything or onlone att all for ages, cos I have to go up a hill and die of frostbite in a tent.

Oh joy. It's raining. A lot. It had better stop by tomorrow morning. . . O.o I'm too young to die!