Joy to the World

“The sky parted, and the earth shook as he put Death to the sword.”

These are mere words, empty characters from some antique book if you don’t know of His grace. But Dave knew—now more than ever. Clouds and fog recoiled because her light was bold as a lion and gave chase. Wind blew their hair, and the world opened up to them like an invisible gate parting in two. A stage appeared beyond the gate, where so many actors had played their part; now it was their turn. The archangel’s hair rippled and streamed from her like a golden ribbon.

“You have been called here by fate, mere chance. Beyond your firmament, beyond your hell. This is a new world, and you are alive.”

Dave kept laughing.

“Beyond everything,” she proclaimed.

“Good-bye to all that!” he said.

Liberation. Though his scars still bled, and the lacerations on his soul were endless in their torment, an overwhelming sense of liberty overtook him. The pause of Death freed him, even if only for a moment. Any man would relish the feeling, and he was no different.

Elation. His family, his friends, all that he left behind. He might be stuck here for years or decades, but the act of being alive filled him with hope he would see them again. By any means necessary.

Infatuation. A new world. The promise of a new frontier with fresh beginnings, where they could write and experience the adventure stolen from them by generals and field marshals. Now, the two men thought, now was the time to claim that false promise and turn it into truth.

“I have opened the gates of this domain so that you may depart with your lives. Go. Venture forth, and enjoy the fruits of your creation.”

As commanded, the two men stood up, gear in tow. They walked past the Archangel in action, and she gave a knowing smile. Walking over the horizon and down the mount, Dave found the flowers an inviting crowd, swaying in silent applause as they entered the valley below. Abnormally tall redwoods lined the outer edges, and the sun’s corona turned to thin streams as the soldiers journeyed into the thicket.

Junelle made a swift movement, and the clouds and impenetrable fog returned around her. Darkness flooded the land, and the archangel returned to her post. She sat down and gathered her thoughts. These lost souls weren’t the only ones, but were certainly the most interesting in the past half-millennium. But that little detail that the man had brought to her attention. Once again, she tried to remember the name of that strange girl the officer had mentioned.

“I-I…”

Still, she drew a blank. But she persisted. It held no attachment to her, but she loved meeting new people.

“I…”

Elsewhere, a one-winged girl flew high above the ruins. An unimaginable evil became tangible as it materialized into existence. The culmination of despair and agony crawled its way across the ruins, bubbling like tar, grappling with many arms. One—two—three eyes burst from its body, seeping with pus and trace amounts of tears. Corpse wisps burst from the ground like foolish flames, drawn to the malice as it grew with each dark firefly. The girl held out her hand, and a sword likewise formed from motes of light. Another long day.

“Io…”

She smiled.