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In the year of our Lord, 2018, Gabriel visited the Throne of God. The archangel had seen the world descending into chaos. He had seen humanity take up weapons – brothers slaying brothers. He had witnessed the Seven-eyed Lamb, birthed from the bones of Great Flood, opening the seven seals. He had seen Death riding out of Hell and the Beast of the Sea writhing in the depths. And he had observed the birth of the Child.
For the first time on this exalted tome’s pages, Gabriel was unsure of the right path, and so he visited the Throne of God, interrupting the holy work of the Recording Angel...
The Heavenly Scribe lifted his bushy eyebrows and looked up from the massive book. His gnarly fingers hovered over the ink, the usually lightning-fast golden quill hanging silent and still.
“I come seeking guidance,” Gabriel said, taking a knee at the foot of the empty throne.
“Our forces are stretched so thinly,” Gabriel continued. “The denizens of Hell are scourging across the lands. The final battle draws nigh, and the Heavenly Host is outnumbered. The humans are ready to blow themselves up. Only the combined efforts of every guardian angel keep their fingers away from the doomsday devices.”
The scribe nodded, and for the first time since the dawn of time, he rose out of his chair next to the Throne of God and rounded the table. Despite his hunched posture, he stood taller than the archangel, and his heavy eyelids, wrinkled by the eons, closed for a brief moment.
“I am the keeper of the past, Gabriel,” Metatron said, the joints of his giant wings cracking as he stretched them over his back, “not a seer of the future.”
Soft light seeped through the white clouds, weaving them into pink cotton candy. A heavenly breeze kissed Gabriel’s cheeks. It was hard not to smile in a place where the sky embraced you so completely. He took a deep breath, listening to the birds and the careless laughter in the distance. It was so easy to be lulled into peaceful bliss here.
Finally, he licked his lips, his face tense. “Can I... look at the records?”
“You know that those are meant only for one pair of eyes apart from mine.”
“And you know he’s not coming back.” Gabriel phrased it like a statement, but it sounded like a question anyway. Perhaps, even after all this time, he still hoped.
“Not a seer of the future,” Metatron repeated.
“I’m not sure how to proceed. Everything’s already been written. The end’s been prophesied.”
“The Book of Revelation is not prophetic,” Metatron said after a while. “There’s still time to change the course…”
Gabriel nodded slowly. “How?”
“I don’t hold the answer to that question.” The old angel put his liver-spotted hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “But there is time. And when there’s time, there’s always hope.”
Gabriel glanced at the empty throne, its carved nacre blinding in the sunlight. He was supposed to be heaven’s regent in his father’s absence, but never before had leading been so hard.
“I wouldn’t say this in the presence of the others, but we were not ready for Hell’s Gates to open. We prepared for everything but this. We thought that they would remain locked for eternity.” His brown wings slouched in embarrassment. “Even if we defeat Lucifer’s forces, humanity will destroy itself.”
“Perhaps. And if that is His will, then so it shall be.” Metatron’s eyes were suddenly hard. “But until then you have a duty.”
“I know. I know. It’s just… this is so different from what I anticipated.”
“You thought that the final battle would be between good and evil,” Metatron said. “But war is never that simple.”
“It is a tangled web. I need a thread to follow.” Gabriel locked eyes with the ancient angel. “Please.”
Metatron held his gaze for the longest time before speaking. “There are other forces at play here – opportunities, decisions, sacrifices. This is a war of many facets and shades.”
Gabriel sighed. “I know what you’re suggesting, but just because the demons are fighting each other doesn’t mean they won’t stab us in the back if we leave our flank open. Michael would never agree to that kind of strategy.”
“Leading isn’t about pleasing everyone. It is about doing what’s right, whether they agree with you or not.”
“So, trusting a demon king is now... right?”
Metatron turned away and limped back to his chair by the massive tome. “As the Voice of God, that’s up to you to decide.”