"We are going to see the house!" Bethany announced with all the subtlety of a marching band in a library. At least Stacy knocked, he thought.
Ken, startled from his sleep, blinked at her in confusion. "Oh my god, why didn't I die in my sleep?" he mumbled, still half-asleep.
Bethany chuckled, undeterred by her son's groggy protest. "Because life has more adventures in store for you, sweetheart! Now, rise and shine! Today's the day we see our dream home!"
Ken peeked out from under his blanket, blinking against the sudden invasion of sunlight. "Can't we dream about it later?" he muttered, half-jokingly.
Bethany shook her head, her enthusiasm bubbling over. "No time for dreaming when reality is offering us a pool, a garden, and a kitchen big enough to cook Thanksgiving dinner for the whole neighborhood — plus a chocolate fountain!"
"Did that work with Dad or Mickey ?" He asked yawning.
"STACY!" Bethany's voice reverberated through the house, a testament to her unwavering determination.
"Yeah that one would definitely fall for it ?"
Ken descended the stairs to find the rest of the family looking worse for wear, except for his little brother and his mom, who was now bustling about making toast.
"We have time for toast?" Ken asked incredulously, as Bethany tossed him a slice.
"Always time for toast, my dear," she replied with a grin, her energy seemingly boundless.
Ken couldn't help but remark, "Aren't you two the representation of a happy family!" He playfully wedged the toast between his teeth and tapped Stacy and his dad, who were dozing on the kitchen table. Startled, they jolted awake, blinking in confusion.
Third heavens
"Metatron, step back," a voice commanded, his voice resonating with ancient authority. Clad in a pristine white tunic and adorned with a gleaming gold necklace, he stood at the edge of the celestial precipice, his presence radiating power. A crown of silver hair encircled a bald spot atop his head, a testament to the countless eons he had existed.
"Raphael, I must descend among them," Metatron pleaded, his gaze pleading with the figure of light before him. Raphael, with his curly locks and almond-shaped eyes, exuded a serenity that belied his profound understanding of the cosmos.
"You know the perils that await you below," Raphael reminded him, his voice gentle yet firm. "The entities that lurk in the shadows, hungry for a chance to assail one of our own."
"Then accompany me," Metatron implored, desperation creeping into his tone as he met Raphael's unwavering gaze.
"That task falls to Michael," Raphael replied, his assurance unwavering. "Our duty lies elsewhere. The Scribe of The One True awaits, and the iniquities of man must be recorded."
Metatron's shoulders sagged, a weight of centuries pressing down upon him. "Did you know," he began, his voice heavy with the burden of memory, "when I ascended, he looked upon me with disdain? A being of dirt aspiring to the realm of fire."
"That is a chapter best left in the annals of time," Raphael said softly, placing a comforting hand on Metatron's shoulder. "Michael has come to accept His will, as must we all."
"What convinces you he wants The Child alive?" Metatron asked. Michael was the archangel of war and his temper had seen cities fall and completely cease to exist.
As the debate unfolded, a third figure stepped forward, his presence both commanding and compassionate. Uriel, with his wings spanning wide and eyes ablaze with celestial fire, regarded Metatron with empathy.
"Metatron," Uriel spoke, his voice a soothing balm in the midst of turmoil, "if your heart yearns to descend, I will stand by your side. Together, we shall navigate the treacherous depths of mortal existence."
Metatron's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of hope igniting within him. Could it be that his wish would finally be granted, that he would not have to face the trials below alone?
Raphael, ever the voice of reason, interjected with caution. "Uriel, the risks are great. To descend among mortals is to forsake the safety of our celestial abode. Especially for one who ascended."
"This prophecy will not let his heart rest and hence who am I if I can not aid him ?"
"The Child's destiny is not to be trifled with. His path is shrouded in uncertainty, and to intervene may invite unforeseen consequences."
"Do not create excuses for our brother!" Uriel demanded.
And so, with the blessings of Uriel and the watchful gaze of Raphael, Metatron descended from the celestial heights, his heart filled with determination and hope. Together with Uriel, he would navigate the labyrinthine complexities of mortal existence, guided by a flicker of divine light amidst the darkness.
For in the end, it was not just the fate of one soul that hung in the balance, but the very fabric of creation itself. And in that moment, they knew that their journey had only just begun.
Raphael's gaze narrowed as he peered through the shadows at the figure before him. The smirk on Lucifer's lips was as irritating as ever, but beneath the playful banter, there lingered a tension that Raphael couldn't ignore.
"You missed me, didn't you?" Lucifer's voice dripped with mischief, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
Ignoring the jab, Raphael cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Morningstar, what brings you here?"
Lucifer chuckled, his demeanor shifting to something more serious. "No foreplay? Lilith, Sisera, and Asbeel walk the earth."
Raphael's mind raced, contemplating the implications of such an unholy alliance. The fallen angels and Adam's first wife joining forces could only spell chaos.
"And let's not forget about Gabriel," Lucifer continued, his words like a blade cutting through the air. "Declared an enemy of heaven by Michael himself. Quite the turn of events, wouldn't you say?"
Raphael bristled at the mention of Gabriel's name, his heart heavy with the weight of betrayal. How had it come to this? How had one of their own become a fugitive, hunted by those he once called brethren?
"Say hi to Dad for me, unless you two aren't talking," Lucifer added with a wink, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Go to hell," Raphael shot back, his voice laced with frustration. As Lucifer vanished into the shadows, Raphael was left to ponder the uncertain future that lay ahead, knowing that the fate of creation hung in the balance.
GRAVE OF HOPE
Atop the tower, silhouetted against the vast expanse of the ocean, stood a figure whose presence seemed to command the very elements. Their gaze, sharp as a falcon's, pierced through the horizon, searching, calculating.
"Where are the Grimes?" The voice, authoritative and tinged with menace, sliced through the air, demanding obedience.
"At the cusp of their new abode, soon to arrive," the report came, delivered with the reverence of a devotee to their deity.
"Ensure Kennedy Grime meets his demise. And our agent?"
Before the sentence could find completion, a creature descended from the heavens, its shriek a discordant melody in the stillness of the moment. The figure extended a hand, and the creature obeyed, perching with an eerie grace.
"Our agent, she—" The words hung in the air, anticipation thickening as silence enveloped the tower.
"I don't care!" The interruption, sharp and unwavering, cut through the tension like a knife through silk.
Thus, the stage was set, shadows dancing in anticipation of the impending drama, where secrets whispered on the wind and loyalty was but a fragile thread in the web of deception.
Ken's serene morning slumber was abruptly shattered by Stacy's piercing yell. With a grumble, he peeled his eyes open, squinting against the onslaught of light pouring in through his bedroom window.
"Who let the bloody seagulls in?" Ken muttered groggily, rubbing his eyes. His sister seemed to have little regard for his need for rest.
Surveying his surroundings, Ken couldn't help but notice the peculiar normalcy of their house. "Next time, we're getting a smart house for my YouTube," he mumbled to himself, already plotting his next content upgrade.
As he made his way to the balcony, the shimmering reflection of sunlight on the pool's surface caught his attention. Yet, his gaze was soon drawn to a wall that seemed to bear the weight of time. Intent on eavesdropping, Ken overheard his parents discussing something about Sulphur on his window. His mother's concerned tone pricked his ears.
"I'll perform a protection spell," she declared, her words tinged with worry.
Startled, Ken accidentally knocked over a vase, momentarily diverting his parents' attention. Hastily retreating from the railing, he caught sight of them downstairs engaging with a realtor. This was the work of Stacy another prank to put him out of the game.
"What's up, kid?" his father's voice cut through Ken's reverie.
Ken briefly debated whether to share what he overheard but ultimately remained silent. "Heard about that," he remarked, gesturing toward a nearby house. Its charred walls and desolate garden stood as grim testimony to some unknown tragedy.
"Who would torch a whole garden unless they were an arsonist?" Ken pondered aloud.
His father chuckled. "Perhaps you should run for mayor and bring the services closer."
"But where are the people in this God-forsaken place? Is this a residential area or some sort of government cloning project?" Ken's voice carried into the expanse, filled with a mix of frustration and curiosity.
Their laughter echoed, dissipating into the ether, until a sudden voice shattered the tranquility.
"Hello," it said behind them.
Startled, Ken spun around, only to watch his father lose his balance and tumble over the railing into the pool. Heart pounding, Ken's eyes locked onto the stranger who had intruded upon their morning. His scarred visage sent shivers down Ken's spine, his bandaged hand and face adding an air of mystery and menace to his presence.
"Howdy there? Didn't mean to scare you," the man said apologetically. "I came to paint the basement and your rooms. Could you lead me there?"
"Sure thing," Ken replied, though his gaze lingered on the man with a hint of sadness. Leading him through the hallway, Ken tried to shake off the unease settling in his stomach.
"What happened to your face?" Ken asked tentatively, unsure if he was venturing into sensitive territory. The silence that followed their footsteps was deafening, until the man seemed to snap back to reality.
"An accident," he replied tersely.
Ken waited, sensing there was more to the story. "Well, what happened exactly?"
"The fire next door," the man explained, his tone distant. "We tried to stop it, but it was bad. Most of us got burned. Risking my life is something I'm used to. I served in the war," he added, his eyes as cold as ice, devoid of emotion.
"Thank you for your service," Ken said sincerely, feeling a surge of respect for the man's bravery, despite the unsettling aura that surrounded him. he still wasn't sure why he did that. He wasn't sure why he chose to mention the particular detail of his service in the war. Seeing that he was no longer needed Ken went upstairs to find his mom frantically looking outside the window.
"What happened to your dad ?" She asked Ken who would have easily gone past her had she not noticed him.
"He went to sleep with the fishes," he told her doing a godfather's imitation. Her furrowed eyebrows told him he wasn't funny, "I'll check on dad."
"Seen Stacy?" She asked.
"Probably making out with a ghost!" He said rushing out.
"Wow, glad to know we are safe as a family." His dad wasn't going to do this.
"Kid, I lost balance. I could say you pushed me!"
"Lets see how that goes for Christmas stories! Seen Stace ?" His dad shrugged and that was an answer enough. He decided maybe he should explore a bit. Walking through the streets sent chills and goosebumps down his spine. The streets were deserted, the suburban never made sense to him.
He how ever couldn't shake the strange feeling that he was being followed. He looked behind him and true to his instinct there were people!