A gentle breeze rustled the drapes as the morning dew settled on a half opened sash window. A man rested on an old worn armchair and stared out at the sun rise as he had done every morning. His weathered jeans and discoloured top showed he was not a man of good fortune. A large toe had fought itself free from the confines of one of his socks. The frayed and torn faded paisley carpet at his feet gave some comfort to cold bleached wooden floorboards. A cockroach appeared from the shadows scuttled along furtively and disappeared down a small crack in the floor.
The man sat there not noticing his little companion. The sun rose above the tower blocks of the London skyline sending light through the open window and intruding on his quiet discourse with the shadows that were his constant companions. A small tear descended down his creased and roughened cheek without altering his expression. In his hand was clutched a single piece of paper with one sentence scribbled on it. The scrawl was barely readable; in fact it looked like ancient Cuneiform.
Suddenly a man appeared at the window, staring down at the stoic figure in the chair, who merely stared blankly back at him. The figure moved a little closer to the man, and away from the window. He wore a long tunic and loose fitting trousers, tucked into boots. He was strangely unperturbed by the cold. Around his waist was a belt and from it hung a small dormant device - the multi-phase compensator and there also was the matter transfer stabiliser. On the other side of his belt was a minor photonic discharger.
‘Mortal man,’ said the figure sadly. ‘They call me Gabriel. Your work here is done.’
The man did not move. Gabriel leant close to the man’s ear.
‘I know you, the life you’ve led,” whispered Gabriel. “The struggle to seek out the truth. The realisation that you were different from the others. Not being able to understand until your final hours how different you were. As a child you lived a solitary restless life without knowing why; and as an adult you would travel from place to place, country to country, following where your Chakra would send you until you reached England; discovering in the British Museum, in the Archives, the Sacred Seal, that held that which you had so painfully looked for; if I had not sent word to the Watcher to guide you, perhaps you would not have found it. You have led a lonely life wandering all these years for such a message. Let us hope your sacrifice was worth it. That which was must be again.”
Gabriel adjusted the stabiliser attached to his belt then reached out and touched the man on the forehead. There was a bright flash as though a star blazed briefly in the room. The man no longer seated on the chair stood at Gabriel’s side. His clothes had transformed no longer frayed but clean, his aged face appeared youthful. The man’s eyes were distant at first then recognition showed as he realised where he was and who he was.
“Gabriel,” said the Man. “Is that you?”
“Welcome back Michael,” replied Gabriel. “It’s been a while.”
“How goes the War?” asked Michael slowly.
Gabriel breathed a long sad sigh, without wishing to, his face showed signs of the news he was about to give.
“That bad?” said Michael, recalling the struggles of the previous age.
“We lost Uziel,” begun Gabriel, “to Pestilence in the Middle age of man, around 1345, I think. The Dragon had unleashed the power from the Codex.”
“I see,” said Michael, “and I can see that is not the worse news you have for me.”
“It is that Abrahams Children,” replied Gabriel, “are once more under siege.”
Michael stared into the distance. The sun was now high in the sky and reflecting off the office block’s tinted ménage windows.
“Hasn’t it always been so,” said Michael, as if to himself. “Azazel is cunning, trying to lure us out and force our hand.”
“So,” said Gabriel knowing the expected answer, “we’re not going to intervene?”
“We can’t yet. Not the way we would like to. It would risk too much,” replied Michael.
“And your mission here?” asked Gabriel.
“The Dragon is here alright;” replied Michael. “His legions range throughout this world but you are aware of that what with the appearance of pestilence. Bit of a giveaway that one, he certainly doesn’t believe in being inconspicuous.” He paused a moment seeming to contemplate the fate that might await them. “So the war among the Angelos has now truly tragically moved to Earth, which means the battle for humanity’s soul has begun. If the message I found is right then at least we know where they intend striking next.”
He turned and made for the door.
“What are you doing?” asked Gabriel pulling the multiphase compensator from his belt and adjusting it for the time, place and dimension they were to travel to. “You are not in mortal form anymore; Angelos don’t need to use doors; you have been among humanity for far too long a time.”
Michael stopped with a wry smile on his face; his body’s frequency had been altered so that his Chakra was now fully functioning in what was its natural form for one of the Angelos, which meant unless he chose otherwise it was in an incorporeal state, a state of light and out of phase with humanity’s physical world.
“Umm,” murmured Michael, “we need to get back to Haven and from there open a portal to the time and place that the Seal of Prophecy speaks of, the message may be vague as to its outcome but at least it’s specific as to where and when we should go. It does after all mention a Watcher and I’ve managed to identify which people refer to the sea as the Great Lake.”
“Okay, then Haven first,” replied Gabriel. “How do you wish to proceed after that? Are we to use portals or the multiphase compensator?”
“Neither - we’re going to need to have a modicum of cover so it means using vessels.”
Gabriel smiled, pressed the screen and the two disappeared. Left on the floor was a solitary piece of paper, the one the man had held so tightly in his hand; the sentence read.
‘In the land beyond the great lake, before their time, Viking horde shall ravage. And if the Watcher be right, then darkness shall turn from light.’