The Metatron. The self-proclaimed Voice of God. A man of flesh running around pretending that he was an angel on a mission from God, had been creating little more than havoc around the city of New York. Such occurrences were not uncommon to the citizens of this fair city since there were vigilantes, criminals, and mutants all running about, but when mutants start taking lives under the guise of mainstream religion, that is enough to get people’s attention. The headlines were all over down that a religious nutjob had gathered followers and was roaming the dark corners, seeking his next victim.

It was a horrible case. The amount of bodies this man left behind, the trail seemed to extend nearly across the country but still no one had been able to catch him. All the police and FBI have ever been able to find are strange deaths, proclaimed as necessary sacrifices to hold back the apocalypse and nothing else. It was a real mystery but it was one that had everyone baffled.

And now he was in New York.

For a good two months now Metatron-styled deaths had been stumbled upon my innocent bystanders. The police were doing their best to keep the general populace from staying calm, but it wasn’t easy when knowledge of this deaths were beginning to spread like wildfire. Soon, people were actually beginning to believe that this man was[/b] the voice of God. After all, how could he keep evading capture so easily?

It was a mad world and there was little that the police could do other than pray. Pray and hope against hope that the Voice of God didn’t hear them.

Jorge Cervantes sighed. He didn’t like this case at all. He didn’t like it when he heard about it and he certainly didn’t like reading about it. But that was what he had to do, it was his job. Sitting behind his desk in the 18th precincts Mutant Related Crimes department, the detective shook his head as he read over the file in his hand. The Metatron had made his bloody path into New York and the detective was not at all pleased by announcement.

Shifting in his chair a bit, the gruff man pulled open the file again. The picture that glared back at him made him both fill sympathy and just a little bit of revulsion.

The man, Peter Gabe, was once a normal Joe. He worked in an auto-repair shop, father of two, wife passed away two years prior to him becoming the Metatron. Peter was described by witnesses as being a loving and caring man, who would have never harmed a fly if he were given the choice. Then something happened, something that even nobody could have predicted…he just snapped. It was small at first. People said the change in him was noticeable but they didn’t fear anything from it. Then, his two kids were butchered and Peter disappeared. Sightings of him and his witnesses of his preaching would continue across the state. Yet still he always evaded capture. People really began to think he did have God on his side.

Jorge shook his head. God wouldn’t endorse a man who committed such atrocities. Then again, there are a lot of people throughout history who have claimed the exact same thing.

He shook his head as he tossed the file back onto the desk. The latest killings still had New York reeling. A man and his wife were found, one burnt to a crisp and the other frozen solid. It was bizarre, to say the least, how both of them could have been exposed to such terrible elements. But that was the only clue that led to the police concluding that the man, or a follower of his, was a mutant. That was how the case ended up in the department. And that is how Jorge ended up reading about it.

Still, he had no idea what to do. Except to get some coffee and think about a possible next move.

The detective sighed. Of course the pot was empty. Wasn’t that just the way of life? Dangling what you need and want just out of your grasp and then pulling it away like some bratty child? Course he probably wouldn’t be thinking this if he didn’t have such a headache! Jorge didn’t know why but it seemed that ever since he woke up in the morning, he had been having his persistent, light (but nagging) headache. It even seemed to be throwing a wrench into his abilities since he was having a difficult time focusing on any water sources. Usually it was simple; so much so that it had become instinctual to him over the years.

These days, though, especially today, is water senses seemed to be so muddled. As if he were picking up far more bodies of water tan he should. The detective couldn’t place his finger on the issue so instead he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.

“You alright, Cervantes?” a voice mumbled next to him. He recognized it as belonging to a new officer by the name of Owens.

Jorge raised the empty pot. “Coffee?”

“Sorry, buddy. Last of the batch was made this morning. Cythnia went out to get some more.”

“Great,” Jorge grumbled as he set the empty pot back into the maker. He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Well, knowing her, she probably won’t be back for awhile. I’m going out to get from the Moon Penny, maybe a box of pastries or something. You want anything?”

Jorge was already collecting his coat. Owens shouted an order to the fleeing detective, a danish, and Jorge logged that into his memory. Though the detective wasn’t the type to not trust Cythnia to do her job, he needed a break from that file. He needed air after reading everything that the Metatron had done thus far.

Coffee and doughnuts would go a long way to providing that air.

Across town, far different events were afoot. The Metatron, the man who inspired such horror and fear into the lives of New Yorkers, made ready for his congregation. Nobody understood his work or that he was doing it for their own good. He had heard the voice the God, the Almighty! He had heard the whispers that the world was being overrun with demons that only he and his faithful could stop them. He was doing this for the greater good, why couldn’t the world see that?

It didn’t matter. He had his flock and that was all he needed. He would stop the demons, one at a time if he had to, but in the end he would stop them.

Crossing the empty streets of the night, the Metatron walked with intent towards the abandoned district of town. It was there that he had set himself up. He found an old church, a house of God, fallen victim to the human sins of greed and sloth. It was such a horrible visage to see but the Metatron would make those walls strong with God’s power again. He promised that he would.

Slipping in through the door, the very average looking, gray haired man sighed a bit in relief. Though the interior of the church was dilapidated nearly beyond repair, he could feel it humming with the thoughts, prayers, and beliefs of his congregation. A twinkle of light on one of the back walls, near the doorway to the basement, let him now that his flock was already in attendance.

Zipping up his gray, beaten up jacket, the Metatron bowed his head respectfully to the glistening church windows and the scenes they depicted. Soft, unheard prayers fell from his lips as he walked through the empty church, stepping over debris, dust, and mold. It really did look as if the church could collapse at any minute. But he knew his faith in God was strong to keep both himself and his flock safe.

The Metatron crossed the distance fairly quick and came to a stop near the doorway that lead down. The flicked of yellow and orange light signaled to him that everything was ready. Starting a new prayer on his lips, he began his descent.

To most a descent into the darkness of the earth is symbolic of a descent into hell. But to the Metatron is was a sweet and awe-inspiring reminder of the strength, will, and creativity of God. To be within the bowels of the earth, to feel the pulse of the planet that the Almighty had made was always a delight for this servant of God. He was humbled and inspired by it at all times. That was why he held these rituals. That was why he believed so earnestly in this world and that it needed to be saved.

Trudging down the earthen steps that had been dug into the basement, the Metatron looked around and immediately spotted his flock. Ahead of him, the basement which had been chipped away to reveal the earth that surrounded them on all sides, was his gathering; men, women, children, all dressed in their tattered best and issuing the same soft prayers that he himself had given.

Joy lit up their faces, but they didn’t cease their ritual. All of them looked upon him with such reverence and peace that it brought joy to his head. He was thankful to have such a faithful group.

He stepped toward, down the parted line that his group had provided for him. They bustled on both sides, praying from their leather bound books and bowing their heads for sympathies and compassions. The Metatron graced some with a touch, and with others a simple smile and nod. There was not hierarchy here. No one received favors above the other. They all knew that. None were offended when not receiving his acknowledgement.

Instead they prayed as he walked by. With silently steps upon the dirt covered ground, the kindly, graying man, smiled as he stepped up to the altar at the head of his flock. There, his two most faithful followers stood on either side of a table. While most churches only allow the most holy upon such a place, here sat the most vile. A pair of demons passing off as humans. Wild-eyed, tightly bound people who screeched for sympathy from the crowd. But oh, they would receive none.

The Metatron came to a stop and tilted his head as he looked at the pair. They obviously knew him to be the leader since their gagged voices flew more fervently, begging him for release. Instead he only gave them a sympathetic smile.

Circling around behind them, the Metatron lifted his gaze and peered out at the gathered congregation. Instantly they quieted.

“Brothers, sisters,” he began. “As we sit upon the precipice of the apocalypse, I cannot thank you all enough for the sacrifices you all have made to wage this war. This war against the unclean who dare to set foot onto our world.” He placed his hands on both the bound people’s heads, causing them to flinch and struggle. “As you see here, these…demons…these…trespassers into the glory of God’s making have been captured. Though their numbers are many, their faith is weak. Where their savagery is strong, our faith is stronger.”

The Metatron closed his eyes and lifted his head. Fingers clenching into the scalp of his victims, the two began to panic as they felt their heads being pulled back. They flailed and fought against their bindings but it was of no use.

“We gathered under the glory of our God, nestled in his bosom as we offer ourselves, our sense of identity for the blessing to do his work. It is within these walls of stone that our voices ring out, that our work shall be acknowledged!” His fingers curled through the hair of his captives. Body shaking, the congregation watched in glory as a color shift split the man in half. The Metatron, now the left side of his red while the left turned blue, began to growl. “No longer shall we be meek! No longer shall we be victimized! No longer shall we fall to the sins of the demons that populate and poison the world around us!”

The victims screamed. In bloody horror they screamed as they felt the sharp temperature changes occur from their scalps, exactly where the Metatron had placed his hands. The woman to the left shivered and shook as a crusty layer of ice began to descend down her body, while the man to the right sweated and gasped as smoke from every burned off hair on his body wafted all around his features.

“We are the chosen! We are the faithful! We are the saviors of this world!” he shouted. Before long all he held onto was a body, pale, tinted blue and frozen stiff, and another both, blackened and charred down to the very core. Released them, they collapsed into piles upon the table, to which the Metatron lowered his gaze back to his blessed flock. “And we will not be stopped…”

Jorge blinked as he stood in the middle of line. He was surprised at there were so many people here at the Moon Penny coffee shop this late at night. To be honest he didn’t think that it would be a problem. After all, how many people actually drink coffee this late at night unless they are working the night shift? A glance around at the lines of teenagers ahead of him and doubted that this was the case. But still, the man said nothing as he shifted upon his two feet, peering ahead at the counter. He really didn’t know why he came here.

Over priced coffee…

Cheesy hipsters…

Lighting waaay too low…

Yeah, the detective liked to grumble about this place. But he still came here. Not because the coffee was exceptionally flavorful or anything silly like that, but merely for the fact that the boys and girls at the precinct loved it. So, why not bring them a treat once any awhile? Even if it was a blatant rip-off.

“Next?”

Finally! Jorge cheered to himself. The person ahead of him stepped forward to place his order and Jorge eagerly awaited his turn. He could have easily just flashed his badge and say it was an emergency but that was obviously not the right thing to do. So, he would condemn himself to the purgatory of coffee shops, awaiting his turn.

And here it came.

The order ahead of him was finishing, the receipt was being printed, the wallet was being removed! Almost…Almost…

Riiiiiiiiiiing!

An explicative fell from the detective’s mouth as he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved his cellphone. Holding it up to his ear, he grumbled…

“Cervantes…?”

The detective was floored. He simply couldn’t believe that this was the turn of events. He left Moon Penny almost as soon as the words were uttered on the other end of the line; the Metatron had been spotted. Jorge was in shock as dispatch told him that there was a sighting of a man matching the Metatron’s description in the abandoned district. Though it was hard to base anything on eyewitnesses, the fact of the matter was that the MRC needed every single lead that they could get.

While this sentiment would be true in any case, this happened to be different. The caller was in a panic. She witnessed as neighbors from across her street were taken away unwillingly. Moments later, someone matching the description of the Metatron was seen following. It was simply too many right details to be fake or misidentification.

Jorge had to try.

He was told to wait for backup, but the detective knew that time was of the essence. If there were people in danger, he had to act fast and hope that he arrived in time. The alternative, well, he didn’t want there to be any more blood on this psychopath’s hands. A stop needed to be put to all of this. Personal safety set aside for the moment, Jorge decided to investigate.

The first stop, of course, was to the eyewitness. Jorge did his best to speak to the frazzled woman but he was at least able to get a direction from her as to where the the Metatron had been seen. Assuring her that everything would be fine and for her to wait until the more officers arrived. In the meantime, he needed to check this out.

Back in his car, Jorge drove through the deserted streets of the abandoned district. All around him he saw nothing much shadows and the encroaching sense of darkness. If ever there was a creepier and more perfect scene for a self-righteous killer to hold up, it was here.

Jorge kept his eyes peeled as he shifted his gaze from left to right, trying to keep the engine on his car quiet as he slowed his pace. He had to find something. He just had to.

Though only maybe a minute or two had passed, to Jorge it felt like hours. He really felt as if maybe he had been in the wrong to jump into the search by himself. He should have waited for backup. Then again, if he had, the search would have been delayed anyways. No, he needed to do this. When it came to the Metatron, every second counted. That was the only thing that kept him going, the possibility and the want to get there in time.

No more people had to die. Not on his watch.

He turned a corner and seemed like maybe he was finally ready to admit his own defeat. But as he did, he had to come to a stop. Nestled into the corner was a dilapidated looking building. It looked as if it had not seen the light of day in ages and he could have only wondered what happened to it. After all, many of the buildings around this area looked very worse for the wear. What made this one any different?

But even as the detective looked ready to turn away, he found himself staring intently at the structure. It was missing pieces, glass, and all the dirt and graffiti were far from appropriate. Still, it made him wonder. What was it? He pulled to a step a few feet away, climbed out of his car and slowly began to approach. At first he had no clue what he was staring at but slowly it dawned on him…

…a church.

It didn’t hurt to look, did it? As a matter of fact, however farfetched and on the nose it may have seen, he also knew that it wouldn’t hurt. Besides. It was safe to assume that he should look absolutely everywhere for this man and his victim.

And find them he would.

The church looked as if it were on its last legs. Jorge could only wonder how it could still be standing with every step closer he took towards it. It just seemed as if it were some behemoth structure leaning on a twigs and branches. The detective was almost afraid to breathe as he feared at any moment it would collapse within itself. But as he strolled onward, he knew that he was going to have to investigate the interior. There were hundreds of buildings in this vicinity, most of which were completely abandoned anyway so why bother with this one?

In the simplest terms…his head hurt. Jorge had been having difficulty with his water senses these last few weeks, catching pings everywhere of sources of water. The same was happening now. Which was odd considering that most of this district was dry and void of massive water sources unless they were in the sewers. Here though…he picked up several blurry ones inside of the church.

A rundown church like this wouldn’t have running water. Sure, maybe puddles from rainfall but it hadn’t rained lately, as far as he could tell. No, there was something about this huddled mass of liquid that drawing his attention.

It couldn’t hurt to look.

Moving around to the doorway, Jorge gave the rotting wood a gentle push, drew his gun, and slowly stepped inside. His training immediately took over as he began to assess the scene. Gun raised, Jorge moved slowly and carefully, peering around to the dark corners, checking his blind spots, and hiding around pillars and other debris he came across. So far it seemed like there was nothing around. But his water sense was telling him otherwise.

Another glance into the darkness and he paused when he caught that twinkle of light. In a far corner, he could have sworn that he saw the flicker of something like candle light. It may have been nothing, just a squatter, or other homeless person. But as he made ready to move in that direction, he skidded to a halt.

Voices.

Jorge barely had time to scramble behind and down a dilapidated pew. He heard the footsteps of two individuals, talking in low and gruff voices. These were soon followed by the cacophony of several more people, all of which were muttering prayers and praises to God and his work. Jorge cursed to himself. This had to be it. He must have stumbled upon the Metatron and his congregation. And he was by himself…definitely not a good situation.

“Brothers, Sisters,” came one of the voices. Jorge peeked through a crack in the pew and saw a large, muscular Asian man talking. “The Voice of God thanks you for your continued faith. Please, for now, you may disperse. Seek out new holdings so that we may continue God’s work.”

Another voice, a smaller, darker skinned man spoke. “The Metatron blesses you all.”

The footsteps began to move in his direction. Jorge knew that within moments they would be here and all it would take was one casual glance behind the pew to notice the crouched police officer. He doubted he would do well against an entire congregation. And as much as he wanted to bring all of them in for taking part in this madness, he needed to choose his battles.

Closing his eyes, sharpening his focus away from the blots of water he felt everywhere, Jorge ground his teeth and forced his shift. Collapsing into a puddle of water, Jorge moved himself away and underneath the pew just as the first pair of skinny, child-like legs strolled by. His coat was still partially hanging out from under the pew but in the darkness of the church, it was easily overlooked.

Jorge remained a puddle, remaining as still as possible in the darkness underneath the bench. Pretty soon he could hear the last, muffled footstep of the congregation leaving the church. Jorge now just had to wait until the last two goons lef—

“Hey…what’s this?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuu—

His coat was pulled out from underneath the pew. Luckily Jorge had managed to slide away the rest of his clothes and gun in the nick of time, but his coat was hanging out far too much for him to stop and catch it. The dark skinned man had grabbed the part of it that was sticking out, removed it and held it up for his friend to look at. Jorge could only mentally shake his head at the turn of events. He didn’t want to face down these two, and maybe the Metatron, without back up. But he was quickly running out of options.

“What is it?”

“It’s a coat,” the shorter man said as he grinned and held it up to the light. A few quick pats and it was free of dust. Casually he slipped it on. “How do I look?”

“Like a moron. It’s too big for you,” the giant said. He thought for a second and then held his hand out. “Hand it over.”

“Nah, man, I like it,” was the shorter man’s response. “Just needs to be taken in a little.” The giant shook his head and turned his back to him, heading back towards the door which led to the basement. As he did so, the short man padded the pockets to remove more dust when he felt a tiny bit of weight. Curiously he fished into the pocket and wrapped his fingers around whatever was inside. “What is this…?” He started to ask.

His question never fully formed though. As he was distracted by the wallet and badge he just found, Jorge moved fast, out from under the pew. Dragging his clothes with him, the detective reformed within his garments as he came up behind the man and quickly wrapped his arms around his neck. The short man flailed in panic but Jorge held him fast, cutting off his arm and dragging him back behind the pew. His foot stomped one time too many but when he finally passed out, the detective breathed a sigh of relief. Carefully he hid him behind the pew as he took his coat back.

“Reggie? Reggie, where’d you go?” the giant asked from the other side of the room.

Jorge slipped away, doing his best to slink into the shadows.

The giant, with narrowed eyes, returned back to the spot where he had just seen Reggie a second ago. There was obviously no one there now and the situation was striking the gargantuan man just a little odd. What could have happened to his comrade that was there a mere few moments ago? Something strange must have happened. His urge to go and check on the Metatron was quickly beginning to take over his mind and he knew that he needed o do something fast. The overall darkness of the church was beginning to encroach upon his already deep seated fears that maybe they were not here alone anymore.

He was a faithful servant but one that was still just a tad bit fearful of whatever it was that was in this church. Part of him knew that what they were doing was wrong but his want to be faithful was quickly beginning to overtake that. Maybe God really was angry with them and he was descending upon this church? Maybe that was why Reggie was gone?

“Reggie!” the man shouted with a slight tinge of panic. “I’m done ****ing around, man! Get your bony as…”

A sudden paused mid word. The sensation of being watched had steadily crept over him and the Giant spun on his heel. He was not going to show cowardice now. Even if it was in the face of God!

But upon turning, all he found was a detective, a police officer in a trenchcoat. His visage relaxed a little but it was obvious that now he had a much more lawful problem to deal with. But he knew how to deal with problems.

“You chose the wrong church to snoop around in, fuzz!”

Jorge tilted his head and shook it. As the man advanced, the detective smirked and suddenly shot out one of his arms. In doing so, the Giant went wide-eyed as he watched the police officer’s arm dissolve into water. A second later, it flooded towards him like a jet of water from a fire hose. The Giant gasped and attempted to scream but Jorge kept the water pressure on, pushing the man back and burning his skin with the sheer force of it. With a final push, Jorge gave the possessed water another hard shove and sent the man gasping and sailing through the broken doors of the church. Jorge slumped down and sighed as he reformed his arm.

He was getting too old for this. But…he still had one more person to deal with. He turned towards the flicker of candlelight and aimed himself for the basement.

The air was moist, yet warm. It didn’t have the smell of a moldy and forgotten basement, instead there was the scent of freshly turned earth and the sweet spice of incense. Jorge knew that he was close now. Similar scenarios were created at other crime scenes across the country. If there was any doubt before that he was dealing with the Metatron, it had completely evaporated now.

Jorge kept his steps quiet, held his gun high and pointed at any corners he came across. When he finally reached the bottom, even the detective found himself at a loss for words. He stepped into another room of worship, not unlike the pew lined church above him. Only this one seemed like a far perversion when compared to the one above: where a church would normally be open and airy, this was tight and closed off; where the above was open to the sunlight or the glow of the silvery moon, this was surrounded in the darkness of earth. The flaming candles that lit the walls flickered dimly, but enough to still cast an ominous light over the entire church.

He didn’t like the looks of this at all. The chiseled walls, the makeshift pews, even the altar at the very front of it all. Slowly he maneuvered his way inside and was immediately assaulted by a stench. Not of the incense or the candles, but instead of the death. He knew the smell of death by fire and instantly his panic rose up. He was too late.

Gaze moving over to the altar table, he felt his knees go weak. There, bound and gagged, were the remains of two individuals. One male, the other female, both of them locked in death; burned or frozen to death. It was a truly horrendous sight to see.

Jorge shook his head. He was too late. The Metatron had killed again and he couldn’t save them.

“You shouldn’t weep for the damned, detective,” a soft voice issued from the darkness behind the altar. Two footsteps echoed in the underground chapel as the Metatron stepped into the low light. “They don’t deserve such tears.”

Jorge narrowed his eyes. Ahead of him he could see the form of Peter Gabe stepping out of the very shadows of his church. The man had the most peaceful and serene look on his face, as if he had just come back from reading an inspirational book or seeing the perfect movie. The man looked so at peace at the world that it was eerie to know that he had just taken the lives of two innocent bystanders. The detective could only mentally shake his head, gun trained on the man as he kept his distance.

“It’s over, Peter.” he announced. “I’m bringing you in. You’re not going to harm any more innocent people!”

The Metatron merely smirked as he came to a stop, showing absolutely no fear as he looked past the gun that was pointed directly at his chest. It was obvious that he had no fear of the detective or whatever weapons he possessed.

“I am not Peter Gabe,” he said calmly. “Peter is merely the vessel which I have chosen. I am the Voice of God. I am only doing His will.”

“No,” Jorge announced as he kept his gun trained on the man. “You are a murderer and religious nutjob that killed his own children and slaughtered many more innocent people. You’re delusional, Peter. This has to stop.”

“It will, detective,” Peter said with all the trust and honesty of a man next door. Even as he said the next words, his tone never deviated. “Once every demon is dead.”

Just staring at the man’s eyes and Jorge knew that the Metatron meant business. This was not just a simple delusion, a power trip, or trying to convince people that he believed this stuff. For all purposes, Peter Gabe truly believed himself to be the Voice of God and no longer a human of any kind. There was going to be no reasoning with him, no matter how much Jorge wanted to try and bring him in peacefully, he knew the option was quickly disappearing.

“Peter, I’m bringing you in one way or another. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

The Metatron just tilted his head in a curious manner as he eyed the detective. He seemed to be studying man, as if trying to make sense of anything and everything that Jorge had said. With every passing second it just became more and more apparent that he was far too gone to be reached with reason.

“Detective do you know why I do what I do?” he asked casually.

“Hands up, Peter! Now!” the detective growled.

“I do this because I was chosen to,” he continued. Slowly he continued his stroll towards Jorge. “God came to me. He showed me the world for what it really is: corrupted, twisted, sadistic, infested with the sins of the underworld made flesh.”

“Stop right there or I will open fire! STOP!!”

“For too long the demons have been feasting upon the souls of the lost and faithless,” the Metatron urged. He then gestured back to the altar that had to remains of his latest victims. “Can’t you see them for what they are? The faithful can, Detective. You just need to look hard enough. You need to be willing to see.”

“Last warning, Peter,” Jorge turned his gun slightly to the side. He squeezed the trigger and unleashed a round into a nearby wall. It was only a warning shot but he had hoped that it would prove his intent to shoot the pan. “Stop!”

But still the Metatron advanced.

“You claim I kill ‘innocents’, detective,” he muttered with a sad shake of his head. “They perverse such a word. Thieves, murderers, drug dealers, pedophiles, abusers, addicts, monsters! I purify those who have allowed the demons in. Who’ve made the pact to let them live within so that they may continue their blight. I see a good soul in you, detective. You make God proud. But…don’t be blinded. I beg you. Help me finish His work. Please?”