Chapter Twenty-Eight

After Aeron stormed into The Courthouse, he was immediately beset by a swarm of operators and judges. "How was Hell, Mr. Templar? Did you fight any Demons?" one curious soul asked as he hurried into the elevator.

"It was… interesting," Aeron commented as he repeatedly pressed one of the lift's buttons. Damn his fears. Taking the stairs wasn't an option with how flooded the halls were.

"Aeron Weber himself is voluntarily taking an elevator! I never thought I'd see the day!" he heard Jeremy joke from his transceiver as the elevator started to ascend.

"Do you mind telling me what's the cause of all this commotion, Jeremy?" he asked the operator as the elevator started to shake. "Are you hearing this, God?" he thought as he stared up at the ceiling. "I know you must be a little busy right now, but can you please show your hard-working soldier some mercy?"

"Be careful, my friend, if somebody sees you, they might think you were praying," the man said while the doors slowly opened. "Anyways, since you left, this place has gone straight to hell. You can thank the Minister and the Council for that."

"Dammit," the Cherub lamented as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did they do this time?" he sighed. "Is anyone in his office right now?" If he had to guess, they were probably holding an emergency meeting.

"Only a few of the older ambassadors and maybe one councilman. The rest have their hands tied with processing that renewal contract you dropped off. And speaking of the contract," Jeremy exclaimed as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "How're things going with you and that ambassador? You know the one I mean."

"I will never understand why you are so determined to get me damned," he scowled as he waltzed into the Minister's office. As Jeremy said—besides a few stragglers and the Minister himself—the room was practically empty.

"Ah! Well, if it isn't the man of the hour! Please, take a seat, Mr. Weber. I'll be with you shortly," the Minister told him from behind his desk. A transmitter was currently lodged in his ear, and it sounded like he was talking to one of the councilmen. "Yes, yes, he's just returned. Have you briefed him on the issue? If not, I probably can, but are you sure about this? He's a judge, after all, not a councilman. If this gets out, then—" the Minister stopped and nodded. "Ah… so that's how it is. Okay, I'll tell him."

"Was that one of your operators?" he wondered as the Minister sauntered down the marble steps to the conference table. The Angel didn't answer. "He's lost some weight," Aeron thought. It wasn't much, but the Minister had thinned down a bit since he last saw him. He could almost say that the man looked normal. "You look stressed," Aeron spoke. In this situation, he might as well break the ice. "Do you want me to go get you a drink?" Usually, such a request would've been immediately shot down. However, this time, there was no such rebuttal.

"If you're talking about that trash Malcolm drinks, I must decline. Although… that doesn't sound like such a bad idea." Aeron couldn't believe what he was hearing. Beurt was actually considering his offer!

"Damn," he cursed, "what happened to you?" Now he was getting worried. But, Beurt didn't respond. It seemed as if the Cherub was still on the fence about trusting him. "Well then, if it's like that," Aeron mumbled as he sat back down, "why don't you tell me what the hell's happening?" Yet again, the Minister kept his lips sealed. "Jeremy would have a stroke if he saw Beurt's state right now," he thought. Neither of them liked the Minister very much; that said, seeing such a drastic change in anyone was never enjoyable. The man looked like a husk of his former self—which was being generous—and barely seemed healthy enough to stand. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. So, after a few more minutes of waiting, the Minister got up, dusted himself off, and headed for the door.

"Templar, come along, I want to show you something," he said as a few scribes and secretaries rushed into his office. "Make sure this place is spotless upon my return," the Cherub told the workers as he yawned. It sounded like he was about to collapse.

"Why is Yahweh damning more souls?" Aeron opened the conversation with a question. He might as well start there. Almost on reflex, Beurt looked shocked and feigned ignorance. But it didn't take long before he caved.

"I'm assuming one of Satan's men told you?" he wondered as he lightly massaged the bags underneath his eyes. Aeron nodded. "Ah dammit, I really should have expected that. How much do you know?"

"If I'm completely honest, not that much. I'm aware that the big man has been damning many more souls than usual, and that's why the realm is under so much pressure." Beurt scoffed.

"Satan and his Demons don't deserve any mercy." Aeron grinned—it seemed as if the news of the Antichrist's true nature hadn't reached the Minister's ears. Honestly, he was tempted to tell him but now wasn't the time.

"I'm glad to see that you haven't changed, you fat bastard," Aeron thought as he stretched his wings. Thanks to Hell's hot climate, the tips of many of his feathers had been charred black. "How in the world do the normal diplomats stand it? Now I get why all those ambassadors quit!" he whined. "It's too hot down there!"

"Well, that should be expected—you were, quite literally, in Hell," the Minister commented as they hopped into his transport. "Have Jeremy meet us there," he told the pilot as the ship took off. It wasn't a very long trip—only about one or two minutes—but for Aeron, it seemed like ages. Their destination was a small building hovering just beneath The Courthouse. "Do you know what this place is, Templar?" Aeron shook his head. "What I'm about to tell you is information known only to the members of the Council and myself. You've built yourself up as a person who can get results—you're trustworthy. That's the only reason I'm taking you here today." Aeron was shocked. He had never seen Beurt so serious.

"My friend, I can't promise you I'll be able to fix anything." If this was another diplomatic issue, there wouldn't be much he could do. "However, I'll try my best." The Minister smiled, and why wouldn't he? It was nice to have people you could count on.

"That's all I ask," he said as he exited the transport and walked up to the small building. "The councilmembers are already here. Let's hurry." Beurt held his hand up to the door and whispered what Aeron assumed to be a passcode. Suddenly, a plain-looking gate shimmered into existence and swung open. "You might want to tell Jeremy to hurry over before we enter. Every inch of this place is insulated with communication-blocking blessings, it'll be impossible to use our transmitters once we're inside."

"He doesn't know about this area?" Aeron asked. The Minister usually told Jeremy everything. The man was, after all, his operator and lead researcher.

"I've briefed him on the matter in the past, but I withheld most of the important details. He doesn't know what lies inside," the Minister said as he ushered Aeron into the building. "This place is… well—in simple terms—it's God's toolbox."

"Toolbox?" Aeron thought as he raised an eyebrow. "What in the world are you talking—" he stopped suddenly, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates when he finally stepped through the entrance. The inside of the building was far more significant than the outside would suggest. It appeared to be larger than The Courthouse itself! But that wasn't what surprised him the most. What took his breath away were the tools. Gigantic, monolith-sized hammers, saws, nails, rope, and jars full of various materials had been scattered throughout the place. Each one was crafted from solid gold and had immaculate silver engravings adorning their sides.

"These are the Almighty's brushes. The ones he used to create entire realms," Beurt spoke as he led Aeron down a golden staircase.

"Wow! Now, this is a beauty!" Aeron sighed when he heard that voice. He had no idea how Jeremy possibly managed to get here—but the man had found a way.

"Ah, Mr. Knight, there you are. I'm assuming one of the councilmembers filled you in?" the Minister asked. The operator looked like a kid in a candy store.

"I'm already way ahead of you, chief!" he cried out as he followed them into the back of the gigantic hall. This place housed thousands of individual safes, each one with mechanisms so complex that they'd make even the most gifted lockpick blush.

"This is where we store the Almighty's more… dangerous appliances," the Minister explained as Aeron skimmed over a few labels. One of his favorites was titled, "Scourges and Afflictions."

"So, God actually uses tools—I thought that was just a crazy pipe dream you Angels came up with," Jeremy said as he fiddled with one of the locks, earning the ire of a few nearby guards. "Ow! Be careful, gentlemen! That's my writing hand!"

"That idiot's going to get himself kicked out," Aeron thought with a chuckle.

"Go ahead and let him look. It's not like he has the combination." Now it was Jeremy's turn to be shocked. "Mr. Knight—you may observe as much as you please—but kindly refrain from touching anything. These are the Almighty's personal possessions. They were never designed to be held with mortal hands. One wrong move, and your soul could be incinerated."

"Yeah, yeah," the man waved him off. They had utterly lost him.

"Why did you invite Jeremy anyway?" Aeron asked. He knew the man was the head operator and researcher, but he wasn't anywhere near a rank like his own.

"I thought he would get a kick out of seeing Yahweh's toolbox. Plus, I want his professional opinion on a few things that you're about to see." Yet again, Beurt showed a side of himself that was entirely unexpected. "But I didn't bring you here to gawk. So, hurry up. We have urgent matters to attend to." Aeron nodded as he followed the Minister to the last room in the building. This one was covered in guards, lookouts, and an uncountable number of wards. "This is where we keep the most powerful of God's tools," Beurt explained as his eyes darted to the humongous door. "This gate requires the blood of the current serving minister—and another Angel—to open," the man said as he bit his lip.

"Blood?" Aeron mumbled as a small basin slowly rose out of the ground in front of them.

"Yeah… that's the part I've been dreading," Beurt grimaced as he took out a small knife. "But you know our God; he just loves his sacrifices." With that, the Minister cut his hand, pouring the blood into the container. After bandaging his wound, he took out a fresh blade and handed it to Aeron. "I'm hoping that I don't have to explain to you how a knife works." Aeron smiled. He was starting to like this new minister. Once he found a good vein, he carved open his flesh and offered his payment to the void. Immediately, the barrier which obstructed their path started to give way. "Now then," the Minister stated, "what I'm about to tell you is for your ears only. Understand?" Aeron nodded as he walked into the room. However, a wave of nausea washed over him the second he did.

"A defensive blessing?" he thought as he scanned over the doorframe. As he had guessed, several runes had been engraved into the stone. These runes were slightly vibrating and glowed a putrid shade of green—signs that a spell had been activated.

"Sorry about that. I forgot about the barrier," the Minister apologized as he pressed his palm against one of the sigils, causing the ward to dim and vanish. "That wasn't the only blessing installed in this room; I recommend that you watch your step, Templar. Unless, for some reason, you want to end up fried."

"Got it," Aeron responded as he followed Beurt to the area's center—where sat a small, unassuming repository. "This thing looks just like Pandora's Box," he thought. Barring the burn marks and a noticeable change in color scheme, it was practically the same device. "What do you keep in here?" Whatever it was, it must've been unimaginable.

"This is the storage unit for the Almighty's Holy Scale, a device that determines sin's definition—what separates us from the Demons. With this one item, Yahweh created the building blocks of our universe," the Minister explained as he started the arduous task of unlocking the container. "The Scale—in mortal terms—is a construct that evaluates souls. It is what God used to determine what originally constituted a sin. Think of it as your predecessor."

"Something tells me that you aren't showing me this on a whim," Aeron commented as the safe finally clicked open.

"You're right," Beurt chuckled. "I simply have no other options—this is a gamble, my last resort," he finished, taking a step back so Aeron could get a gander at the mythical scale. It took the Angel only a moment to discover that something was amiss.

"So… um…" he started as he scratched his nose. "Where's the Scale?" The safe was empty, save for a few specks of dust. A small break in the muck lay carved in the container's bottom—where Aeron assumed the treasure was kept. "Wait, did somebody—"

"Steal it?" Beurt cut him off. "I hate to say this, but your suspicions are correct. The artifact disappeared around the time you returned from your last assignment. And we have no idea how or why."

"There are more guards here than stars in the sky. Don't you think they would have noticed a thief or somebody suspicious?" Aeron asked, but the Minister shook his head.

"As I told you before, getting into this room is impossible unless the standing minister is present. Plus—even if a burglar managed to break through—I'm the only one who knows the combination."

"What you're saying is that we're stuck with no leads," Aeron mumbled as he bit his lip. You didn't have to be a genius to realize how serious this was.

"Why isn't Yahweh getting involved? Can't he just, you know, zap whoever is responsible and get the Scale back?" Aeron's question was a logical one, but sadly, the Minister didn't have an answer.

"That's an excellent query—but when it comes to this matter—God's been silent. Right now, he's busy building another solar system and refuses to listen," he complained as he cursed under his breath. "You'd think this would be more important, but I digress."

"Wow, Beurt himself is cursing the Almighty," Aeron thought, "Talk about rare." For someone like the Minister to be dragged this close to the edge… it was a refreshing sight. "Do you mind if I take a look?"

"I don't see why not. That is why I brought you here, after all." Immediately, Aeron got to work and started to inspect every inch of the empty lockbox.

"Whoever took the Scale knew what they were doing," he pondered as he pressed one of his fingers into the dust resting on the safe's bottom. "Besides the Scale's original spot, no other part has been touched." He wasn't sure how that was possible without first opening the container—but someone must've found a way.

"Could it have been a Demon?" the Minister asked. Aeron shook his head. Such a thing just wasn't possible, not with the literal thousands of blessings plastered all over the perimeter. Plus, Heaven was specifically designed to burn any invading fiends on the spot. Even if a devil managed to slip through, their soul would instantly be dismantled and tossed into the ether.

"Perhaps there's a turncoat?" Aeron thought as he scratched his chin. It was rare, but a Cherub could've helped a thief in, though that theory had its issues. "Hmm… on the culprit side of things, there's not much in the way of evidence." He frowned. Right now, his biggest priority should be locating the stolen artifact. Catching the person responsible for this crime would have to wait. "If only I had a—" he stopped. "What's this?" Near the back of the safe was a tiny brown speck, barely more significant than a pebble. "Hey, Beurt, has this box ever spent any time outside Heaven? Like Earth, for example?"

"Of course not! That vessel has been here since creation's inception! It has never left these walls in its entire lifetime, much less visited other realms."

"Then what is this?" Aeron asked, raising the dust particle for everyone to see. "This looks like dirt," he continued, taking in a deep breath. "Smells like it too."

"That shouldn't be possible," the Minister mumbled as Aeron reached into his pocket for his glass vial—he had to store the evidence somewhere.

"Huh? Where did it go?" he thought. The container—which was supposed to be housing his pet tunneller—had vanished. "I guess I must have dropped it somewhere," Aeron sighed. That wasn't something he could easily get back. "Do you know where Jeremy went?" If all else failed, there was always the contingency plan.

"Yes, he should still be in the main storehouse. Why?" Aeron pursed his lips. It pained him to involve that walking headache more than necessary, but he was out of options.

"I have a hunch that this clump of mud might be our first lead. I need him to analyze it." Once he told him that, Beurt leaped into action. As the Minister rushed off to get the operator, Aeron returned the piece of earth to its original resting spot. "What secrets do you hold?" he thought as the Minister's footsteps reverberated throughout the hall. With every echo, Aeron felt his body tense up. There was no doubt in his mind that he was standing at the precipice of history.

Forty-two years ago...

With every day that passes, the line between Angels and mortals seems to blur more and more. I've seen my fair share of lowlifes and criminals, but that doesn't mean I haven't come across any decent human beings during this assignment. Every few months or so, I'd come to a village and be offered shelter by one of the townsfolk. Of course—like most mortals—these people all had skeletons in their closets. Once offered refuge, I would use that opportunity to evaluate them. Most times, my benefactors were using me to improve their public image. That said, I can't complain. I got free meals and a place to sleep out of these arrangements. Plus, it wasn't like these people were doing anything inherently sinful. That's why—when I came across those types—I'd usually let them be. Their judgment day would come soon enough.

On the other hand, I've discovered that sin—actual sin—is far more common in churches than anywhere else. Many hold auctions in broad daylight, claiming to sell free passes to paradise. And, unsurprisingly, the priests then funnel the funds gained from such ventures directly into their own pockets. Like everyone else that I've met, they're dripping with hypocrisy. Granted, it'd be wrong to blame them. I can name more than a few moments where my mind wandered off to… less than Angelic topics. Jeremy and Malcolm must be rubbing off on me.