Chapter Thirty-Four

Elizabeth sulked as she stared at the never-ending plane before her. Every so often, ripples would agitate the void, causing little waves of nothingness to brush against her ankles. It appeared as if she were sitting in front of a gigantic, blinding-white ocean. However, she couldn't feel, hear, smell, or touch anything. "What a shitty dream," she thought as she dunked one of her hands into the nothingness. For the past few months, these images had plagued her slumber, and they showed no signs of stopping.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" she heard a distant voice call out. "They're waiting for you at the crossroads! Hurry!" it cried again. Like hundreds of nights before, she sighed and got up to follow the voice. With every step, it got louder but also farther away.

"You're an Angel. You know that, right?" another said. This one belonged to an older man. Suddenly, she appeared inside a tattered tent filled to the brim with animal skin rugs and dirty bandages. Without saying a word, she bent down and picked up one of the red rags. The blood was dry and left a pungent aroma drifting in the air. It was the first thing she could smell since she arrived in this dream.

"Next, I'll walk outside and be greeted by a group of men I don't know." Like reciting a script, she got up and headed back out into the nothingness. As expected, several new people were there to greet her. Besides their eyes, they all had utterly featureless faces as smooth as marbles. "How's it going, gentlemen?" she asked the faceless figures as she proceeded to walk right past them—she already knew how this song and dance went. Like so many times before, they followed her like a colony of ants. As she walked, the white floor beneath her slowly changed color, growing warmer and darker until it became red like autumn leaves.

"Elizabeth," one of them muttered as he slowly sank into the void. "For our glory… fight on… reclaim what we lost." The girl in question groaned as she walked up to the faceless man and wrapped her arms around him.

"I know you're not real, but bear with me here," she started as she gently led him to one of the rugs. "It may not be a real bed, but you're going to have to deal with it," she continued as she tore off a piece of her shirt to use as a bandage. Once she was sure that the man's wound had been properly cleaned and covered, she got up and continued her aimless trek. She walked for what seemed like days until she finally arrived at her destination. In front of her lay a massive black crevice—the white void shimmering out of existence at its slightest touch. "Here we go," she thought as she journeyed to the edge with choir bells ringing in her head. After taking a deep breath, she jumped into the chasm, falling deeper and deeper until finally… she woke up.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" Kashif yelled as he noisily shook his partner from her stupor. The girl shot up immediately, instantly reaching for one of her weapons.

"What happened, Kashif?" she asked—he only ever did that when there was trouble. "Is Ms. Lombardi okay?! Where are they coming from?!" The questions came at a mile a minute.

"Whoa, slow down there, chief, nobody has been attacked," Zia told her as she handed the girl some actual clothes. Confused, the bodyguard looked around the room, trying to find a clue to surmise what was going on. It was almost midday, and the blinds were closed. Besides that, everything else was the same. Well, mostly the same. Resting upon one of the bedside tables was a newspaper, one that was dated for today.

"Did you really wake me up for the daily gossip?" she complained as she stretched and reached for the paper. "What? Is the world ending?"

"No, but it will soon if what that thing says is correct," she heard Aeron speak from his chair—he sounded tired. "This morning, I went out and got one of those magazines. After reading it, I've got to say that I'm not optimistic about this planet's chances." Her curiosity peaked, the girl opened the crumpled newspaper and started reading.

"Archduke Franz Ferdinand assassinated?" she read out loud. "The war to end all wars? What in God's name is this?" At first, she thought that Aeron was pulling her leg. However, after skimming through a few more excerpts, she realized it was all true. "Shit," she cursed. "This is bad."

"I couldn't have put it better myself," the Cherub exclaimed as he opened a window. Instantly, the sound of a roaring crowd shot through their ears. "The mortals have been like this since the announcement." Outside, the people were busy chatting about the news. Some sounded surprised, others scared, but all were uneasy.

"Do you think the Scale did this?" Elizabeth asked. It was a good question. After all—given that they were dealing with one of God's tools—it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that it could've caused this chaos. Aeron shook his head. He knew that that wasn't the case.

"None of this is the Scale's fault. This is probably happening because I'm here," he admitted as he hurried towards the door, grabbing his coat along the way. "I'm a judge—my mere presence can affect world events—and when you consider the fact that this realm is still recovering from my last visit, it should be obvious that I'm the cause. Plus, world wars like this are one of my favorite methods." He bit his lip. They should've had at least a month before this started happening. "I guess this world is more fragile than I thought."

"What should we do? Finding the Scale is going to be difficult if we have to search in the middle of a war," Elizabeth said as she tightened her leather holsters. Aeron sighed. At this point, he would've recommended that they head back to the Bureau. At least in that scenario, he could've convinced Beurt to get somebody who wasn't a judge to find the artifact. However, for obvious reasons, that wasn't possible.

"I never thought I'd miss hearing Jeremy's voice," the Cherub pondered as he headed out into the hotel's main lobby, where a crowd of anxious customers sat. Some of them looked as pale as a sheet. "Right now, our main focus should be getting back to Heaven." Zia, Kashif, and Elizabeth—now fully dressed—walked up next to him and nodded. "It's time for you three to earn your keep," he told them. "We've got to come up with a way to contact the Bureau, or else this world is as good as dead." Finding the Almighty's scale would be the least of everyone's worries if that happened.

"If this place goes under, you can bet that Hell will be next. There will be so many souls being shoved through the gates that the Nine Circles will overflow," Zia added, her tone as sharp as a dagger. "If Satan closes the gates, you know where they'll head next." Aeron nodded. With the Universe's dumpster barred, the lost souls would haunt all creation, farming more anxiety and dread until all the realms lay in ruin.

"Never underestimate the animosity and anger of the dead," Elizabeth muttered, which made Aeron smirk. In his line of business, those were words to live by.

"If you're ready, follow me," he announced as he pushed through the crowd and into the streets. The change in atmosphere was jarring. What was once a relatively happy town had transformed into a festering nest of panic. Newspapers were practically flying off the vendors' shelves, and cries of anger and frustration filled the air.

"Finally! It's about time we taught those ingrates their place!" he heard a wealthy man say from one of the shops, his curly mustache quivering in joy.

"That man's probably a weapons dealer," he thought. War was a business for some people. For such cretins, such a global conflict was practically a dream come true. There were always ingrates like that in every realm. However, they were usually only a tiny minority. To figure that out, all a person would have to do was look in the gutters. They stuck to the shadows, but he saw them—the people living on society's scraps. When it came to providing bodies for a war machine, no group was a better fit than the lower class. The way they glared at that arms dealer was simply demonic. So much so that even Zia took notice. "Are you scared?" he asked the shivering woman.

"I guess you could say that," she answered. "After all this time, I forgot what life was like living in a place like this."

"Does this atmosphere remind you of your past?" he wondered as their group entered an empty alleyway. When they passed a dumpster, a raccoon the size of a small dog leaped out, scurrying away into the twisting streets.

"In some ways," she mumbled as her eyes followed the escaping animal. A mouse was currently stuck between its jaws—a fresh kill. "Even though this place is far more advanced than where I grew up, it still smells like garbage." So long as mortal men governed cities, these towns would never be free of this filth. "After being rebuilt and remade so many times, nothing has changed." She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little depressed. "Just a few more drunken brawls and this place will be exactly like home," she whispered to herself as she absentmindedly wrapped her hand around her pistol.

"Ms. Lombardi, you're reaching for your gun. Is it an enemy?" Kashif asked as he also drew his weapon. However, once Zia realized what she was doing, she cackled and quickly returned her arm to her side.

"Don't worry about it, Kashif—it's only instincts." She could still remember the days when she heard screams from alleys just like this. People would rob, beat, and murder each other in these tiny corridors. "How many people were sent to their judgment in this very spot?" she thought. "Wait a minute," she gasped, her eyes wide. "Judgement… it's crazy, but it just might work." Instantly, she strove forward and grabbed Aeron's shoulder. "Templar, I think I know how we can escape this place."

"Are you serious?" he asked her in disbelief.

"In situations like this, you have to think like a mortal," the woman told him, looking over her shoulder to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping. When the coast was clear, she leaned in and whispered into his ear, "What if we send ourselves back to Heaven?"

"Send ourselves?" he mumbled as he scratched his chin. "It sounds like an interesting proposition. What do you have in mind?" Zia smiled as she patted her holster.

"I'm amazed that you didn't think of this first, considering what you told us on the staircase," she started as she turned to her bodyguards. "The Bureau may not be able to bring us back, but we still have the old-fashioned method."

"Old-fashioned method?" Aeron muttered as his jaw dropped to the ground. "Are you seriously suggesting that we—" Zia cut him off.

"Kill ourselves? Yes, yes I am." For a moment, the Cherub thought that she was speaking a different language.

"No offense," he responded, "but are you okay?"

"Hold on to that thought, would you? At least allow me to explain," the ambassador said, leaving him hanging as she hurried through the streets. "We can't rightfully test what I have in mind in a public place like this, so follow me."

"This woman has lost her mind," Aeron mused with a sigh as he chased after his deranged partner. "I hope you aren't taking us on some wild goose chase!" he yelled as she grinned. It wasn't much, but there was something in that toothy smile that convinced him to trust her. "The charisma of a diplomat, huh?" he thought as his bootheels clinked against the cobblestone road.

"Ms. Lombardi! Wait up! Stop charging ahead of the group!" Elizabeth called out to her, but the bodyguard's words fell on deaf ears. Aeron knew that Zia wouldn't stop for anybody. It was subtle, but the Cherub saw a fire in her eyes. The same flame he'd noticed back in Hell. Something that only she could muster. An unwavering, unyielding sense of determination and pride that rivaled even his own. She would march forward towards her goal, even if the path that led her there was strewn with sadness and blood.

Two years ago...

I haven't told Ms. Lombardi or Elizabeth about this, but I'm starting to see strange visions in my dreams. Every night it's something new, like an image of a town or some small village. However, one thing is constant: the heat, the unrelenting heat, and sand as far as the eye could see. In my dreams, I find myself wandering through never-ending deserts, my throat as dry as the ground I walk upon. The oddly soothing scent of blood filled my nostrils with every step, making me feel as if I were going mad.

I had such a vision tonight, but this last one was… different… than the others. It felt natural—less dreamlike—and death's stench was all but absent. I remember walking into a rundown shack built on nothing but shoddy cobblestones and twigs, seeing a kind group of people crowding around a bed. It didn't take me long to figure out that these strangers were probably my family. Essential personalities from a life I've long since left behind. The oldest woman there—I assume she was my mother—smiled as she placed a small sword upon my sheets. The hay-filled mattress crumpled under its weight, sending specks of dust and debris soaring into the air. "You fought well, my little boy," I remember the woman saying as she left the room. After that, the other people took turns placing their hands upon the blade before following my mother. It didn't take me long to figure out what I was witnessing. As funerals go, mine seemed to be quite the happy little gathering—they even had a toast with fine wine!

After this party, everyone in the village got together for a fantastic feast. In the dream, I just sat there and watched as they dined. Some cried, some laughed, but hanging over everyone's heads was a soothing feeling of acceptance and love. At the end of the dream—when the party finally started to wind down—my view changed to one of a bird overlooking the village. I'd spend minutes hanging up there, just watching the people go about their daily lives. It felt and looked like a place I wanted to live. And then, right before I'd awaken, they would arrive.

A brigade of strange soldiers wearing foreign armor rushed into the town, slaughtering everyone and everything in their wake. Things get hazy at that point, so I never remember much. However, one memory remains seared into my mind long into my waking hours—a red cross, cold and heartless like a wilting rose.