Chapter Eleven

The buxom ambassador strolled up to him with a smile on her face. "Well, hello, sir! Sitting alone, are we?" she said in an unbelievably casual tone. Typically, Aeron would be offended at such a rude introduction, but her lacking behavior was typical for mortals—developing such an abrasive personality was common after death. Unless, of course, they were one of the damned. Aeron was quick to snag a glance at the badge sewn into her gown's left shoulder. The symbol was simplistic in its design, which appeared to be two flaming swords skewering a small kelpie.

"I didn't know the bottom level had the resources to send an ambassador," Aeron started as he shook the woman's hand. "Are you new here?" Judging by the fact that she hadn't recognized him yet, she most certainly was. Still, it didn't hurt to ask. In response, the ambassador grinned and nodded.

"My name's Zia, Zia Lombardi, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." As she tossed some strands of red hair over her shoulder, Aeron caught a glimpse of a small iron handle hidden in her coat. This lass was carrying a weapon, which, considering her station, was highly suspicious. None of Heaven's typical residents would even think about brandishing a firearm, much less bring one to a summit! This woman was crazy.

After a moment of thought, a strange hypothesis popped into Aeron's head. "Are you one of the Ascended?" he asked. He saw Zia's eyes widen for a brief second—he must've been the first to figure that out. The Ascended were the souls who managed to claw their way through the Nine Circles and escape Hell. To say that they were rare would be an understatement. "No normal member of God's flock would be caught dead with a gun in their hand. Sorry, but you should hide that pistol more carefully; it's a dead giveaway." Aeron chuckled as he watched Zia frantically shove the weapon deep into her pockets. It was cute, in a twisted sort of way.

"I sure hope you can keep a secret," the woman whispered as she patted the wrinkles out of her pants. Once again, he laughed. If he couldn't keep a secret, what sort of Angel would he be? Well, scratch that; he wasn't a good Cherub, period. But he could at least do that. After all, there was no reason not to. It didn't take long before their conversation started to attract some unwanted attention. The politicians and bureaucrats from the upper echelons were especially curious. What business would the Templar, who was the only Angel present, have with scum from the gutters of Heaven?

As the night grew dark, the politicians' fervent whispers only intensified. "We need to keep an eye on her. If she gets the Templar on her side, it could spell disaster for us." Why was it that mortals insisted every little encounter had to have some ulterior motive? If there was a single aspect of the mortals' psychology that Aeron still didn't understand, that was it. Ms. Lombardi, who ignored their hateful words, had already moved on to greener pastures and conversed with a pack of high-ranking Demons. It was something about the number of damned souls relocating to Heaven's lower levels—or a sort of economic policy. Amidst this cloud of politics and boredom, Aeron grabbed himself a small glass of wine.

The wine itself used fermented grapes grown in Hell. If he looked close enough, Aeron could see the faces of the damned swirling around in the blood-like liquid. When he took a sip, a strong jolt of energy rushed through his body. However, this feeling quickly dispersed and was replaced by a pleasant metallic aftertaste. There was a saying in Heaven about the damned. It was that the reason the Ascended were so rare was that everyone stuck around for the food. And after having another glass of the Demonic brew, he understood why. "What circle were these grapes grown in?" he asked Dr. Leeson as the Demon walked by.

The fiend stopped for a minute to think before snapping his fingers. "I believe we harvested those in the Ninth Circle. They're a special breed of juniper berries. If I remember correctly, they were grown in the bellies of frozen damned and fed on water from the River Styx. The taste they carry is simply incredible. Don't you think?" Aeron nodded as he popped an olive into his mouth. Everything was positively mouthwatering. "Keep that up, and we may have to send you to the Third Circle." As the pair laughed, Aeron flew back into the central tower. The entire complex lit up like the night sky with candles of all shapes and sizes. A rainbow of light poured forth from the ceiling, illuminating the hall in a glorious fiery tinge. In a way, this hall reminded him of the Flying Wing—only with fewer drunks. "Did you know that it was the Drakes who built this place?" Dr. Leeson said as they slowly strolled down one of the hallways, the floor lined with luxurious marble patterns.

Aeron nodded as he stole a glance out of one of the nearby windows. "You know, I have some comrades up in Heaven who would drool over this stuff." The night sky was complemented beautifully by several species of glowing insects. Among the swarms, there was one type of bug that he found particularly interesting. It was a small beetle with a bright red thorax. Every time the insect flapped its wings, a breathtaking array of colors would light up its shell. When Dr. Leeson noticed his fascination with the beetle, he raised his hand and allowed one of the insects to land upon his outstretched finger.

"We call these little beauties tunnellers," the Demon told him as he placed the beetle in a small glass bottle. Before he closed the lid, the devil tossed a few iron and copper chips into the container. The second the insect's mandibles touched the metal, a strange orange liquid oozed out of its mouth. In a matter of seconds, the acid had dissolved the chips into a fine red slurry. A meal fit for a king.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Aeron whistled as he watched the beetle devour the metallic slush. As he did this, Dr. Leeson cloaked the small bottle in a silken purple blanket. And, when he finished, the Demon tossed it to him. "Thank you," he said, eagerly accepting the gift. For a brief second, the Templar's eyes lit up like the stars.

"I never thought you would be so interested in bugs," Dr. Leeson chuckled as he watched Aeron gently shake the jar, the beetle's ironlike carapace clinking against the bottle's glass walls with every slight jostle. "Those little bastards are quite the formidable pests. Just yesterday, they tore a hole right through one of the upper walls and then munched on three of the foundation blocks. There is almost nothing their acid can't eat through. If you aren't careful, the pricks might even try to devour your gavel." Dr. Leeson's warnings just went in one ear and right out the other. All Aeron focused on at that moment was the tunneller; the way it scurried around in its new prison was almost heartbreaking. However, it was also undeniably cute.

Sadly, Aeron wasn't there to inspect the wildlife. "Next time I'm in Heaven, I'll be sure to grab you one of our birds. Some of the eagles are simply majestic," he offered as he slipped the Demon's gift into his coat pocket. Dr. Leeson smiled and nodded his horned head; an item like that would be invaluable to any devil, especially the more intellectually inclined ones like himself. After all, no Demon had direct access to Heaven or its knowledge. There were, obviously, reasons for these restrictions, but this trade embargo mostly did more harm than good. "Heh, I got him on the ropes now. Just look at that eager spark in his eyes," Aeron thought as he followed Satan's representative. Gaining allies—either via emotional or materialistic means—was crucial in these sorts of situations. Thankfully, when it came to wrapping people around his finger, he was highly skilled. All he needed was the right carrot.

Nine hundred years ago...

Ever since I was a fledgling, I always had this strange fascination with bugs. Insects are, in my opinion, some of God's most beautiful creations. When I was much younger, my house in the upper echelons was infested with this strange type of spider. One of the priests told me that they were remnants from the Almighty's garden and that their venom was excellent for curing diseases. He also informed me that the arachnids' webbing could be refined into delicious honey. I'm not sure why God decided to stop making insects. Nowadays, most of the worlds I visit all have similar wildlife. Of course, the geography and cultures are different, but the little things remain the same. For example, no matter what realm I journey to, I can always find some species of deer. Cockroaches are another common recurrence, and several species of flora are recycled constantly. Maybe God is just running out of ideas? Hell, if I were in his shoes, I know I certainly would be.

But still, none of that affects me; my job is to judge souls, not Jehovah's failed artworks. It sucks, then, that God seems to be making it harder and harder to do my job. It seems that with every mission comes another stack of paperwork. Every soul needs a documented reason for their damnation or ascension. And, of course, I'm the woeful wretch that has to approve them all. Usually, this wouldn't be a problem. After all, I do love my work. However, Beurt has a passion for making me suffer. The uptight prick wants me to document how my rehabilitations may affect Heaven's social structure! That isn't even in my jurisdiction! It's just another example of how paranoid he, and the councilmen, are about losing their jobs.