Chapter Thirty-Two

At the sound of the alarm, mazari, charged toward the angels. Mazari.

They were the police officers of Hell. “Draw your weapons,” ordered the Angel

of Might. The angels all drew out their own, individual weapons. The two

potentates drew out their blasters. Their names were Raguel and Jerahmeel,

brothers of Archangel Raphael, the understudy of Archangel Uriel Kyrios, the

general’s younger brother. Technically, Raguel and Jerahmeel were archangels

themselves, but they enjoyed the lower position of potentate, because potentates

fight more often than the archangels. For this reason, people just refer to them

potentates.

The two potentates started firing. Keira drew out two sickle-swords

concealed in her breastplate. Michael pulls out his greatsword from the sheath

hung on his back. Virgil got his quiver filled with his specially designed “taser-

arrows.” Each them ready with exactly one trillion kilowatts of electricity to

deliver. Virgil was ready to kill. Gabriel already had one of his two favorite

weapons out. It was his pride and joy, his scythe.

“Where is the general,” asked Michael as the Mazari neared. “Here,”

answered an old, gruff voice as an angel with a middle-aged complexion landed

right beside Michael. “Dar, is that you,” asked Metatron, who was recovering

thanks to Keira’s aid before the Mazari arrived. “Catch,” the general said to him.

A scepter flew from his hand. The Angel of Wisdom caught it and was on his feet.

Even though he was wounded, he could still contribute to the upcoming battle. He
could still fight. “Get ready for the beat down,” shouted Virgil from the top of his

lungs. The angered vizier was ready to explode. All of this took place in a little

over three minutes.

General Dar Kyrios. He was Michael’s best soldier; second only to

Gabriel. He was much older than Michael. He was a close childhood friend of

Michael’s father. The veteran general was a good five inches passed six feet. He

had upward-spiked, muddy brown hair and possessed eyes the same color. He had

the appearance of a middle-aged man, which was young in his case. He always

appeared to have a lethargic appearance. He had a rugged beard, which badly

needed a shave. He was not exactly in shape, but he was working on it.

“Come on you spineless bastards,” yelled Virgil from the top of his lungs.

Dar drew his sword and yanked his pistol from his back pocket. A Mazari finally

attacked. It charged for Virgil. Instantly, an arrow pierced its forehead. Electricity

pulsed throughout its body. Cooked ashes were in its place. “Take that,” laughed

Virgil. “Rooftop,” ordered Michael. Angles’ wings spanned out. Upward they

flew. However, the Mazari followed them, crawling up the building (Mazari

lacked wings, but they can jump up high altitudes). Michael stabbed his sword at

eight of them, but only two or three of them actually fell dead. More of them

came. At the rooftop, Keira cut down a number of them, but more just kept taking

their place.

Virgil’s crossbow was constantly being reload. He wiped out at least

twenty. Unfortunately fifty took its place. He reached for more arrows. His quiver
was empty. “Damn it,” he mumbled. Gabriel quickly came to cover him, slicing

down about twenty of the fifty attacking his friend. The Vizier of Might dipped

his scythe under the rooftop. When the demons were inches away, he thrusted his

weapon skyward at the enemy, who, by the way, have managed to jump on to the

rooftop. The rooftop ripped as if it was made out of paper. Chunks of concrete

flew at the demonic creatures. Mazari were forced into the air. This process of his

continued for about ten minutes. To his dismay, however, his muscles had

surrendered. He tried desperately to make another attempt, forcing his body to its

limits, but only resulted in miserable failure.

Metatron limped to a corner of the roof. Wearily, he leaned against his

scepter. “God,” his mouth faintly said, unable to finish saying, “God help us all.”

He began to feel lightheaded. His vision blurred; his legs weakened. The force of

gravity over-powered him. He leaned toward the corner, about to fall off the edge.

His footing was lost, and his body hurtled to ground-zero. To his luck, however,

an arm shot out and grabbed his collar. Metatron stole a glance at the savoir. He

was wearing a vizier’s uniform with one extra component added to it. His rescuer

was wearing a theatrical mask as well. “You’ve lost too much blood. You’ll pass

out any second now,” informed the figure. Metatron began, “Jas—”

Unfortunately for him, he fell unconscious before he could finish.

Metatron was set in the corner. The figure walked forward, spinning his shathri.

He charged at the mazari who was heading in his direction. In a single slash that

only took a split-second, the head of the mazari split open like a watermelon,
along with thirty others. A mazari dived for Michael. The figure pulled out knife.

The very next second, that same knife had sunk inside the heart of that mazari.

“Who are you,” asked Michael, Gabriel, and Virgil. “Men,” sighed Keira,

“I hope all of you aren’t this hopeless. He’s a vizier. You can tell by the uniform.”

Gabriel laughed as he chopped two mazari in half. “Don’t be foolish. There are

only two vizier,” he told her, “Virgil and I.” Virgil expression was once again

serious as before. “You’re the fool, Gabe,” he said to his friend, “She’s right. He

the—” Suddenly a midget mazari jumped on his back. He wrestled it for some

time until Gabriel knocked it off, and Keira gunned it down with her M-16.

Virgil proceeded with his explanation, “He’s the third vizier. I mean the

third. He turned to face the figure. So wait, the monkey picked you? I can see why

he never told me. I would never let him live it down.” Virgil began to laugh.

Keira looked at him. Monkey, who is Virgil talking about, she thought. “Who are

you talking about, Virg,” asked Gabriel, who was wondering the exact thing as

Keira. No answer. Their friend was still laughing. Michael began to speak this

time, “Wait…so if he’s the third vizier that means that he was handpicked, like

Metatron handpicked Virgil to be his vizier and like I handpicked Gabriel to be

mine. Which means this monkey Virgil is referring to has to be—” Before he

could finish however, the rooftop exploded due to the collision of a tomahawk

missile. Everyone fell to the ground…except Keira. She lost her M-16. She

quickly searched for her sickle-sword. Nowhere to be found. “Damn it,” she

yelled. To make matters worse, mazari were closing in on her. She raced to find

her sword.