Chapter Forty-Seven

Aeron took in a deep breath of fresh air as he noisily landed in the middle of Poseidon's fortress. Piles of ash—which he assumed were the remnants of the false deity's guards—lay scattered across the floor. While appearing beautiful at a distance, the citadel itself was in a terrible state of disrepair. A thin layer of black tar was strewn onto every surface, and he could still feel the heat of sputtering flames wafting up out of the ground. "This must've been one pretty place." Even though it had been burnt to a crisp, he could still make out the compound's breathtaking designs and fantastic architecture. Currently, he was standing in front of the building's entrance on top of a massive marble stairwell. The stairwell itself continued up for what seemed like forever, steadily digging into the underwater mountain. The fortress' front door consisted of a gigantic gate made entirely of gold and rough sapphires. Even after he torched the city, the entrance remained utterly unharmed. "There must be a blessing of some sort attached to it, one that protects the interior from attacks," he surmised as he placed his hand upon its doorknob. As he expected, his arm was immediately pushed back by some sort of invisible force.

"Why have you stopped, Aeron?" he heard Zia call out from the bottom of the steps. The ambassador and her bodyguards had been busy searching for more ammunition, which meant that none of them got the chance to notice the barrier standing between them and their enemy. He was planning on having Elizabeth inspect the door for any possible loopholes. However, that wouldn't be necessary. As the second Zia's foot touched the landing, the giant gates slowly started to swing open—as if inviting them to come inside.

"Don't be shy. Go ahead and let yourselves in," an old voice said, its strong tone demanding the respect one would give a king.

"I can probably guess who that is," Zia commented as her expression contorted into a dark scowl.

"There's only one person in this damnable city that can speak condescendingly like that," Aeron added as he angrily spat onto the marble floor. He didn't know why, but just hearing that voice annoyed him to no end. It was a tone that practically dripped with a sense of superiority, almost as if Poseidon believed that he could take all of them on at once. That twisted sense of pride was likely why the fallen Angel opened the door in the first place. Which, in some sickening way, fit the false god of the sea perfectly. "Come on, let's put this bastard back in his cage." With that, Aeron drew his sword and headed into the compound. "The Pantheon must be fans of Angelic architecture," he pondered as he looked around. Gigantic pillars of marble and gold spiraled over most of the entrance hall—and the walls were made entirely of dull blue gemstones. He couldn't lie. The place was beautiful; however, it had this uncanny feeling that sent shivers up his spine.

"This looks like a carbon copy of some of the Bureau's buildings," Zia said as she got out her pistol. The ambassador was right. Poseidon's citadel was very similar—in both layout and design—to several recognizable structures in Heaven.

"He must've gotten homesick," Aeron surmised. For some strange reason, he found that idea very entertaining. It was almost as if it was plucked from a child's storybook.

"Be careful, Aeron. I get the feeling that this palace is swarming with kelpies," Zia told him, dragging the Angel back to reality.

"You're absolutely correct. This place does have quite a few unsavory inhabitants," he said as he watched several groups of shadows rapidly move between the marble pillars. "However," he continued, "I don't think we'll have to worry about them. Poseidon invited us in personally. If he wanted to throw his goons at us, he'd have done so already." As he spoke, Aeron turned to Zia and smiled.

"What's up? Do I have something on my face?"

"Oh, it's nothing," he said. "I just think that, after you got a chance to use my gavel, you look very professional. There's a certain level of tact to your movements that wasn't there before. I'd almost call it judgelike."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" Zia mumbled.

"Yes," he chuckled. "Hell, as you are right now, I'd say you'd make a pretty good coworker." Even though he didn't see Zia fight, he just knew that the ambassador was ready. Several tells tipped him off to this: her posture, critical gaze, and even the way she held her gun reminded him of a skilled judge. Using his gavel changed her; that much was certain. Zia—shocked at his words—stopped walking for a few seconds and pursed her lips.

"It's rare… to get honest praise from you," she exclaimed. Even though the ambassador didn't fully trust Aeron, she still saw him as a friend. Perhaps that was the reason why his compliment caught her off guard.

"Don't let that go to your head. It was just a random thought," he responded as he turned around and continued strolling through the gigantic entrance hall. Once she recovered from that little surprise, Zia did the same. They continued their journey through the rest of the gallery in silence, periodically checking to make sure that no kelpies would attack them. And then, when they finally reached the end of the hall, they saw him.

"You've finally arrived, Aeron Weber," that same deep voice said from a throne that stood at the palace's apex. "I'm glad you could make it." Even though Aeron had only laid eyes on Poseidon once before, he couldn't help but smirk when he saw the fallen Angel's body. The man was covered in chiseled muscle from top to bottom, and his hair—which was practically falling off his scalp back in Tartarus—was now bright and colorful like the ocean. Zia, Kashif, and Elizabeth instantly recognized the false god, even though they'd never seen him before. Maybe it was the faint scent of sea salt that covered the room, or perhaps it was the way the fallen Angel sat on his throne like a regal king, but, regardless of the reason, all of them couldn't help but tremble under his icy gaze.

"Are you afraid of me, Ms. Zia Lombardi?" he asked as he stood up and started to walk down the crystalline steps. The closer he got, the colder Zia felt, almost as if the sea was slowly swallowing her. Around then, she noticed the large trident dangling from the false god's waist, which glimmered and shone like a perfect diamond. Even from there, she could tell that it was a powerful weapon.

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty," Aeron chimed in as he rested his blade upon Poseidon's throat. The man didn't even try to step back. Instead, he just allowed Aeron to do as he pleased, which greatly annoyed the Templar. Before things got ugly, Poseidon reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar trinket—one that Aeron and Zia recognized. "That's… my gavel," she heard him mutter in shock.

"I believe this was yours, Ms. Lombardi?" Poseidon said as he flipped the gavel's handle towards her, stretching his arm out to allow her to grab it. Zia, who at this point was very confused, could only stammer as she stared at the weapon.

"You're giving it back, just like that?" she whispered—her tone so quiet that Aeron strained to hear her words. Moments later, Poseidon nodded and placed the artifact back in her hands.

"It's not like I can use it, and since Mr. Weber is currently damned, you're the only one that has access to its powers," he explained as Zia looked up and stared at the fallen Angel. It was then that she noticed something she hadn't before—namely, Poseidon's sullen gaze. Two dark circles were engraved under his eyes, and his entire demeanor was that of a tired older man.

"W-why?" She struggled to get the words out. This entire situation was simply bizarre. After all, Poseidon was their enemy. Why would he give his opponents back one of their most powerful assets? However, after a few seconds, the motive came to her. "It can't be," Zia thought. "Is he using the gavel as an olive branch?" Even though his imposing nature spoke otherwise, his kind smile told her all she needed to know. "You're… giving up?" The prospect of that happening was insane, but she couldn't think of any other explanation.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Aeron asked as he turned his attention and blade back to Poseidon. "And you, what gives? Don't you want to fight?" The sight of Poseidon—an Angel who crafted himself into a false deity—simply deciding to sit on the sidelines was inconceivable to him. But there he was, staring at him with the eyes of a thrashed warrior who was long past his prime. That depressing stare seemed to pierce straight through Aeron's heart, which infuriated him. "Come on! Stand up! You've got that trident, don't you?! Stop wasting my time, and let's get this over with!" he yelled as he glared at Poseidon like a hunter would a wounded fox. But the fallen Angel did not move. Instead, he simply frowned and gazed straight into his fellow Cherub's eyes.

"What's the point in fighting when there's nothing left for me to fight for?" the man asked in a quiet, subdued manner. After speaking, Poseidon lightly clapped his hands together, suddenly bringing the sapphires which adorned the walls to life. They twinkled like stars for a few seconds before turning transparent like glass. Just like that, Poseidon's citadel had transformed into a massive observatory, from which they could see all of Atlantis sprawled out before them like pieces on a game board. "Tell me, Aeron Weber, how did it feel to wipe out my people, my city? Did it bring you some twisted sense of joy? No, for someone like you—who put entire realms to the sword—I doubt that even qualified as an appetizer." As he spoke, Poseidon crouched down and grabbed a handful of dust. "The kelpies were a species that I created," he continued. "In a way, you could call them my children. However, none of that matters anymore. Look at what you did with only one swipe of that sword. I bet it must've been quite the rush."

"What in the world is going on?" Aeron thought as he bit his lip. After all this headache, the source of all his problems was standing right in front of him. However, instead of attacking him and his comrades when they entered his home, the false god opted to lecture them. It caught him so off guard that it nearly made him scoff. "If you want to blame anyone for this, you should blame yourself," he retorted on reflex. "After all, it's because of you and your kelpies that we're even in this mess!" When those words left Aeron's lips, Poseidon laughed.

"Hah! You know, Mr. Weber, in some ways, you remind me of myself when I was your age," the fallen Angel exclaimed as he let out a jolly chortle—which only made Aeron angrier. Before he could finish chuckling, Aeron rushed up and grabbed the fallen Angel by the scruff of his neck. He then proceeded to hoist Poseidon into the air before slamming the false deity back down to the ground.

"I don't care what you think!" he screeched. "All I know is that I have to stop you—and whatever it is you're planning—right here and now!"

"My plans?" Poseidon laughed. "Tell me, boy, what do you think I even want out of all of this?" he continued as he coughed up a pool of blood.

"What?" Aeron started as he angrily grabbed his forsaken kin's collar. "Don't try to play me for a fool, Poseidon. I already know that you're after the Scale. With its power, you'd finally be able to realize the holy rebellion that you and your family dreamt of." That much was obvious—painfully obvious—but, if that was the case, why did he look so smug?

"Really? Is that what I was planning? I had no idea," he whispered as he stared solemnly at the hard floor. After that, he got up, dusted his bruised knees off, and turned to Aeron and Zia. "Sorry, but my reasons for doing what I've done are far more trivial than you think. In fact, I believe you'd be able to empathize with my actions, Ms. Lombardi." When Poseidon saw their confused faces, his lips curled into a sad smile.

"I apologize, but I don't think I agree with you," Zia told him as she spat at the ground. What in God's name was he trying to insinuate? However, before she got the chance to say any more, Zia noticed the false god staring up at the citadel's ceiling. Since the sapphires were transparent, he could watch as a small storm pattered the roof with rain. In some small way, Poseidon's longing gaze reminded her of herself. She was sure that, once upon a time, she looked at the sky with those very same eyes. And it was then, at that moment, that she finally understood what Poseidon was trying to tell her.

"Ah, good, it seems like you finally got it," the fallen Angel said—his gaze still glued to the transparent roof. "It's beautiful, isn't it? The sky. I never thought how much I'd miss it until it was gone." For some reason, that line shook Zia down to her very core.

"He doesn't sound like a dethroned god. No… he's speaking like one of the damned." Back when she was trapped in Hell, she would've done anything to escape. She would've done anything, anything at all, just to see the sky again. And now, after spending thousands of years in Tartarus, it appeared that Poseidon was in a similar mindset.

"This old codger has gone completely insane," Aeron thought. Obviously, the Angel had no intention of fighting back, and when he realized that fact, a wave of dark emotions overtook him. "After all this bastard has put me through… after all that he has done… does he really think that he'll walk out of here unscathed?" No, that wasn't the case. In fact—if Poseidon's sullen demeanor was anything to go by—it seemed as if the man was ready for death. When Aeron looked at him, he saw no life in the false god's eyes. All he found was the gaze of a Cherub that had lost its wings.

"Aeron, what do you think we should do?" Zia asked, her eyes just as tired and lonely as the fallen Angel they were staring at. Honestly, if Poseidon's fate were up to her, she'd prefer to just quickly and painlessly send him back to his cell. On some primal level, she sympathized with him. However, Aeron did not share that belief.

"Sorry, you definitely aren't the sort of person I was expecting, but I still have questions. Questions that I'm sure you won't answer willingly!" Before any of them had the chance to realize what was happening, Aeron dashed towards Poseidon and brought his sword down upon him. "It's time for us to finish this dance, wouldn't you say?" And, with that final move, he had determined his fate. It may not have been obvious at first, but—at that moment—Aeron had laid the groundwork for his future. As his blade effortlessly sliced through Poseidon's flesh like a hot knife through butter, the last vestiges of Angelic reason left him, leaving behind something dark, morbid, and unholy.

From the desk of Beurt Albere...

If there's one blessing that I'm genuinely thankful for, it's my remarkable tenacity for acting. If I didn't have that talent, my true feelings about Aeron Weber would've been made public by now. Obviously, I can't let that happen. I chose to become the Bureau's minister for personal reasons, and to serve my God, even if that meant working in the same building as the man I most feared. You see—though it doesn't seem like it—Aeron Weber is integral to my organization. I figured that out on my first day here. The new judges revere him, and every person who's slightly familiar with our work knows him. He's also rehabilitated more realms than any other judge in recent memory. If he were to leave for any reason, there'd be hell to pay. And that's why I could never work up the courage to fire him. Instead, partially to convince myself, I made him my number one judge. For he was the one person I knew I could truly trust to finish any job—no matter how difficult.

This is yet another reason why he haunts my nightmares, as, even though his methods are… brutal… he has managed to make himself untouchable by conventional means. Back then—during that day at mass—I could sense it. I remember when he walked into the church. I could feel all my kin turn their heads towards him as if looking at some strange creature. And yet, even with all that pressure pushed upon him, Aeron Weber effortlessly shrugged it aside, almost as if those people didn't even exist. At that moment, I saw the horrid sight that would eventually lead me down my current path. And that was his eyes. Those cold, dark orbs seemed to pierce through my very being. It was then that I was overwhelmed by an unnerving sense of powerlessness. Almost as if I were standing before a violent supernova.