Prologue

The sky began to dim as the clouds rolled in. The gale started slowly, opening with a few droplets before quickly evolving into a full-blown hurricane. The rain came down in sheets and flooded the landscape. Puddles turned into lakes and lakes into oceans. The flood grew and grew until it engulfed the world, changing it into an endless sea. The vast majority of the world's populace had perished, consumed by the waves. However, there was one last glimmer of hope; a handful had survived the flood. Those precious few had managed to build a ship—the most magnificent vessel humanity had ever seen—before the waves crushed them. They had survived the test.

Floating high above the clouds, a man smiled as he watched the ark drift off towards the horizon. He had a silver halo hovering above his head and a pair of white wings. "Well, I'll be damned," he said while giving the survivors a quiet round of applause. "They survived." He let out a bored yawn as he leaned back into the mist before clicking a small button on an earring dangling from his left earlobe. It didn't take long for him to get a connection. "Hey, it's me. The job's done," he mumbled as he watched the sun peak over the waves. He felt his earring vibrate before hearing a familiar voice talk to him through its tiny speaker.

"I'm assuming this is Aeron Weber?" the voice asked him as he cracked his knuckles. The cold, damp air was starting to get to him. Aeron grinned as he retracted his wings, causing him to plummet down towards the ocean.

"Last I checked, that was my name," he laughed as he unfurled his feathers for a pleasant landing—standing upon the water's surface like some specter. Once he was nice and comfortable, Aeron returned his focus to his earring. "Sorry about that," he apologized to the operator as he watched the ocean toil and churn. "Now then, can we continue?"

"Of course," the man said as he let out a tired sigh. Aeron couldn't help but grin. What could he say? He loved giving operators a hard time. "Let's see," the man mumbled as Aeron heard him flip through the pages of some old tome. "You were assigned to assess Earth for a period of one hundred years. What was the result? Was rehabilitation necessary?"

"You could say that," he added as he watched a semi-rotten corpse drift by his feet. He heard the operator type a few lines into his console before moving on to the next question.

"And your chosen modus operandi?" the operator asked. Aeron answered him in one word.

"Flood," he said as he stared at the ark, which was now nothing more than a tiny brown dot in the distance. "The result was positive. A small family survived, along with a few hundred animals." Once again, he heard the operator begin to type. "The patriarch of the family, I think his name was Noah, built a large boat and managed to ride out the bulk of the storm. The rest of the population drowned."

"I'm amazed. Survivors are quite rare for your line of work," the operator mumbled as he finished his report. While he talked, Aeron sighed and stretched out his arms—his black hair wafting in the ocean breeze.

"What can I say? We judges are thorough," he replied as he looked up and stared at the sky. Aeron heard the operator chuckle when he checked his watch.

"Poor bastards must've been quite the sinners. After all, it's not every day the Minister decides to send you out, Templar." Aeron sighed; he hated when people called him by his title.

"And here I thought you hadn't heard of me," he mumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Luckily, this operator was a professional and kept the banter to a minimum.

"There isn't an operator up here who hasn't heard of the Templar," the man said as Aeron, once again, glanced down at his watch. It was almost time. "I've notified the Council that you're on your way back. Please be careful on the steps; they might be a bit slippery." Aeron nodded and turned the speaker off.

"Thanks for the warning," he said as he watched a gigantic golden staircase materialize. The bottom of the stairs dipped halfway into the water and from there climbed up into the heavens. Aeron yawned as he began his way up the steps, as he had done many times before. The staircase collapsed behind him with each step, falling to be swallowed by the ocean's dark depths.

One hundred years ago...

After a few centuries of personal debate, I've decided to keep a journal. My name is Aeron Weber, a judge working under the Holy Minister with The Bureau of Judgmental Affairs. My job is to go to worlds wrought with sin and decide if they require rehabilitation. I am responsible for determining their fate. I enjoy my work, but some of the other judges say they hate the job. They say the guilt crushes them, which I understand. After all, sometimes we must wipe out whole civilizations, but I don't mind.

In all honesty, I think my comrades are cowards. I had the pleasure of watching one of the recruits, who was just two hundred years old at the time, vomit all over the Minister after his first assignment.

It isn't like we're destroying their souls. The majority of those who perish end up here in Heaven. If you think about it, all we judges do is relocate mortals. However, most of my comrades don't seem to understand this. They act as if they were still alive. Which, to me, makes no sense.

Then again, that's probably because my fellow judges were, at some point, among the living. I, on the other hand, have known no other life besides the one I have now. I was born into this world as an Angel. One of God's peace-loving Cherubs, but I am far from a peaceful soul. Unlike others of my kind, I did not shun the judges. I found them and their duties interesting. Far more so than my idyllic life as a Cherub. I can't remember what my first assignment was, but I can remember the excitement. The sheer adrenaline rush that came to me after a job well done.

Sadly, very few share this sentiment. There is a reason, after all, that I'm the only judge with wings. Most Angels hate judges and refuse to even look at them, while my previously mortal coworkers flee from their duties like children. I guess it should come as no surprise that I have been chosen to become the Templar—a title granted to the strongest and most reliable of the judges. It's a great honor, and I thank the Council for the promotion. That said, I fear to see what responsibilities my new position will bring. Hopefully, they won't be boring.

In a few hours, I will have to return to the Minister. He has a new assignment for me, this one with a predicted period of one hundred and fifty years. He told me that he wants my last assignment to be an easy one before officially taking office, but I'm not so sure about that. In my line of work, where I need to observe and record every tiny detail for a verdict, nothing is ever easy.