Chapter Thirty-Four

“Ugh, and I thought looking at Gabe was more painful to my face,”

commented Virgil. “Ass,” replied Gabriel as he coughed away the dust. The two

of them pushed away pieces of what used to be the eastern side of the former roof

they were standing on.

“Shut up, the both of you,” grunted the general as he got on his two feet.

“Sorry Pops,” smirked Virgil. “You know, from my sources, you and Venesa

aren’t exactly on good terms,” chuckled Dar. “You can still be my father-in-law,”

Virgil answered back with a white-tooth smile. “You haven’t married my

daughter yet,” stated the general, “You haven’t even proposed to her yet. In fact,

when was the last time you told her you love her.”

“I didn’t think I’d have to,” the vizier answered back solemnly. Hearing

this, Dar sighed. “Virgil, you’re a good boy,” he said to the man who was madly

in love with his daughter, “I really mean it when I say I’m happy Venesa picked,

but you’re too held back, Son. Tell her how you feel. I know you hate to get

emotional, but you must if want to keep her.” He was done. Virgil was silent, then

he nodded his head. “Thanks Pops. I guess old people are good for something

after all. I mean you’re even better than Dr. Phil,” smirked the vizier. Gabriel,

who had been listening to them, began to laugh. The general began to chuckle.

“You know, most people tend to so respect to their future father-in-laws,” he

commented back.
 “I hate to cease this touching moment, but we’re still in enemy territory,”

informed the Angel of Wisdom, “Michael, Jerahmeel; Raguel, are all of you

alright?”

“Yeah,” grunted Michael, “we’re fine. How are you conscious? I thought

you blacked up on the roof.” “Prayer,” Metatron answered. He turned to the figure

and asked, “Jasper, what about you?” “I’ll be fine as soon as I find Nara,”

answered the masked vizier.

Michael quickly came and shook the vizier’s hand. “Jasper is it? I am

Michael,” he said to the vizier, “My rank is— ” “Supernal,” Virgil interjected,

“He’s a supernal. I am vizier, so is my pal, Gabe, here. You can probably figure

that out by our uniforms. Speaking of which, I noticed you have one very similar

to that of mine. I was wondering if you were a—”

“You assumed I was a vizier as well,” Jasper answered, “Your assumption

is correct.” “And let me guess, the monkey picked you, because I don’t see any

other way you could be one,” Virgil asked him. Jasper looked at him, puzzled,

“Monkey?” “He means Serael,” informed Metatron. He turned to Virgil and

chided him, “Stop calling him a monkey!” “He’s a monkey, and you’re like

adoptive uncle. Thus, you are a monkey’s uncle,” answered Virgil. Gabriel began

to laugh. Dar chuckled as well. “You should have been a comic instead of a

soldier,” he said to Virgil.

“Who is Serael,” asked Michael to the Angel of Wisdom. Metatron

replied, “He is the third supernal. Jasper is his vizier.” “So you knew about this,”
questioned the Angel of Might “Calm down, Michael. For months, he has been

under my hospitality. I wanted his existence kept out of light for my own reasons.

Virgil and I have been hiding him. His existence was to be covert.” “Yeah,”

pouted the upset Virgil as he pointed at Jasper, “but you never told me about

him!” “His existence was to be even more covert, due to his controversial

profile,” smiled Metatron.

“Wait! Where’s Keira,” exclaimed Michael, “Where is my sister?” He

began to stress out. Panic had crept its way into his bones. “Calm down, Supernal

Michael,” Virgil said to him. He meant it in pure mockery, however. “He’s right,”

said the comforting Gabriel, who had mistaken Virgil’s mockery as kindness. “I

saw the supposed third supernal take her safely away from the roof,” informed the

nervous supernal’s vizier.

“Which direction,” asked Dar. Virgil took the words right out of Gabriel’s

mouth, answering, “He doesn’t know.” “Please,” interjected Jasper, “my master is

fine. He always is. Your sister is safe, I assure you. Now please, help me find

Nara.”

“No need,” answered a voice from behind the group. The men turned to

see a blastshot (a shotgun-structured weapon that fires spherical capsules of

polonium 210) aimed in their direction. It’s holder was some halfway-crazed

female.