Was this man actually asking for his help? Jorge couldn’t believe his ears. He really didn’t know what was more ridiculous, the man asking for his help, or the man actually believing that he could convince Jorge to do so. But the detective guessed that with someone has far gone as Peter then there was little else that they would be hard pressed to believe.

Eyeing the man, Jorge shook his head.

“Peter Gabe. Put your hands up, now,” he said more sternly. It was obvious from his tone that this was the last warning he was going to give. No more firing a round off to the side, no more verbal threats, he was going to force the man to stop right here and right now.

But as the Metatron came to a slow stop, Jorge suddenly felt something ping. It was the usual feeling that he got whenever there was water nearby but a quick glance at his surrounds proved that there was none about. It was too blurry to be the sewers or the rushing water from pipes; Jorge could sense those with ease. No, this was different. Like something he had never felt before.

It moved up closer behind him, steps slow and deliberate. So distracting was it that Jorge nearly made the mistake of disregarding the water source. But then he felt the sudden lunge.

Spinning he collided with the soaking wet Giant who was now on top of him, ready to wring his head from his body.

Before Jorge knew it, the fight had begun. The sudden lunge from the Giant had disarmed him from his gun and he lost sight of the Metatron. Jorge growled and struggled against the massive beast of a man but he was quickly becoming outmatched. For as strong as Jorge was, this guy was a lot stronger. Despite that, though, the detective knew that he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t just let the Metatron and his goons escape justice. Not after all the atrocities they caused.

So he fought. And he fought hard.

Years of training kicked in as Jorge turned and dodged the behemoth of a man as best he could. He lashed out, driving in a punch wherever he could and did his best to keep behind or just out of reach of the man. It was quickly becoming apparent that this method of attempting to exhaust him wasn’t going to work out though. As wore out as the both of them looked, on glance at the younger man and Jorge knew that he was going to have energy to spare. No, he needed to dispatch him here and now.

His gun gone, and having no other chose, Jorge pressed in. He sidestepped and avoided the man’s grabs and punches as best he could until, finally, he managed to get in as close as possible. Just when the giant attempted a particularly over reaching lunge, did Jorge spin hard, grab the man by his shirt and use his momentum to bring him into a hard meeting with a nearby wall.

SLAM!![/b]

A final grunt of shock and pain flew from the man’s lips before his blackout over took him. Knees turning to jelly, he crumbled onto the ground with a dazed expression.

Jorge, breathing a sigh of relief, straightened up and turned back to where he last saw the Metatron. The man was gone but seeing as there was only one exit from the room, he knew that he must have been here somewhere.

He moved towards the pews. A glint of light showed him where his gun had fallen. Slowly he approached it, hand reaching out to take up the piece again.

“I’m sorry, detective.” Jorge looked up to see the Metatron kneeling before his altar, fingers caressing the very ground. “But I have to stop this, my way.”

Jorge could only marvel at what he saw. Though he was a good twenty to twenty-five feet away, Jorge watched as the skin color on the Metatron changed. Split down the middle, one side began a deep shade of blue, while the other turned a fiery red. Jorge knew the suspicion that mutants were involved but for it to be the Metatron himself made the situation all that much more worse. He wasn’t sure why this man’s powers were, but combine that with an unstable mind was not the best of circumstances.

Blinking the pause away, Jorge went for his gun. He was not about to see what this man could do without a weapon in his hand. But just as he reached for his gun, he felt a burst of a temperature change. Jorge actually gasped as he suddenly felt both extremely cold and very hot. It was such a confusing shock to his system that the officer had a hard time concentrating. Was the ground coating over with ice? No, it was steaming and boiling with heat wasn’t it? No…that can’t be right. Was it…was it both?

Jorge narrowed his eyes as e tried to look through the steam that was beginning to fill the room. A glance at the ground and he was shocked to see that it was split down the middle. One half was frozen solid and the other looked as if it bubbled and cracked with heat. The room was split in two. And the source of it, kneeling on the ground, was the Metatron himself.

Wiping sweat from his eyes and attempting to stop chattering, the detective once again reached for his gun. He felt the surface, frozen and cold. He attempted to lift the firearm but to no avail. No matter how hard he tugged or pulled, it wouldn’t move. Still, he gave it one more hard tug…

SNAP!![/b]

He blinked. His gun actually snapped in half? As if it were nothing more than a twig?

Finding it harder to breathe, Jorge attempted to straighten up. He knew he couldn’t shift into his water form since combination of heat and could would have snapped him into pieces. But try as he might, he couldn’t think of any other options. The vast temperature differences were so confusing and harsh that he soon found himself sinking onto his knees. Steam covered his eyes and flew in through his nostrils and mouth. He couldn’t touch the hot side of the ground without recoiling in pain and the icy side was quickly attempting to freeze him over.

With a pained cough and gasp, the detective keeled over to the icy side, struggling to remain conscious and move. But he was quickly failing.

Jorge barely felt the stop in temperature. He knew that he was not as frozen anymore, and the steam was steadily beginning to waft out of the room. Lying upon his back, he slowly opened his eyes to stare up at the carved ceiling. He could feel the shards of ice clinging to his skin but he didn’t have the strength to wipe any of it away. He could barely lie there without slipping into the blackness of his mind. That was the most important thing to do right now.

Footsteps were heard. They slowly advanced upon him from the front of the church, the place where the Metatron had just been. Jorge struggled to move but everything felt in pain and was exhausted. He barely could keep his eyes open. Soon, though, that vision was filled by the sympathetic face of the Metatron as he looked down at Jorge’s weakened face.

Softly he shook his head.

“Detective, it didn’t have to be like this,” he whispered. “If you had only opened your heart to God, you would have seen the evils all around us that I have seen. You would have done exactly as I have done.”

Jorge gasped as he struggled to get his body back under control. There was so much water, so close to him now that he could feel it! It was throbbing in the back of his head, giving him a migraine that definitely was not needed along with the rest of this mess he was currently in. But where was the water? It felt like it was right in front of him but all he saw was…the Metatron.

The killer simply sighed.

“But you are dug in too deep, aren’t you?” he whispered. “The demons which control your job, your training, they’ve made you look away from the truth far too long. I’m sorry detective, but, if you cannot open your mind to the glories of God and fight to defend them, then there is nothing I can do for you.”

Jorge struggled to lift his arm.

Casually the Metatron held out both of his arms. One hand turned that same shade of red while the other turned blue.

“Robert Frost once said that the world will end in fire, or in ice. He said he preferred ice,” the Metatron mumbled almost to himself rather than Jorge. “Ice seems like it would be a far more merciful end for you. I can grant you that peace at least.”

His icy blue hand raised, the Metatron frowned as he leaned down, his palm coming closer and closer to Jorge’s forehead. He could already feel the icy chill wafting off of his hand, it was like feeling the frozen mist of a freezer edging closer. Barely able to move, Jorge closed his eyes and wished, prayed, for a miracle. He couldn’t die like this.

Not like this…

“Fare thee well, detective,” the Metatron prayed. “May god have mercy upon your soul…”

Mom…Dad…

…Jayda…Lizzie…

…Chase…

…Gemma…

The darkness came out along with the cold. But just before the man could place his hand on him, Jorge’s eyes suddenly snapped open to alert. The thoughts that rebounded in his head, of all those faces that he would be living behind should he die here, of all the people that he loved can cared about so much screamed in his head. They pushed and shoved and forced him to awaken and realize that he was lying down and dying for this man. They reminded him that he was not happy about that fact.

A growl on his lips and the detective eyed the Metatron as he came within fractions of an inch in placing his hands upon him. Defiance rose up and suddenly he latched onto the man’s ankle pale, skin colored ankle. Jorge shook his head as he glared up at the surprised man.

“No…”

Suddenly the both of them gasped in unison. Jorge’s eyes flew open, wider, as he suddenly felt that new source of water become even more prevalent. He gasped and shook as the sensations coursed throughout his entire frame. He felt himself connected with new molecules of water, deluded water that he had never before tapped into. And he felt it all coming from the Metatron himself. In a few, blurry seconds, he began to understand, he was connected with the waters inside of the man’s body.

The Metatron himself was shocked and flailed as he suddenly felt a loss of control. The jumbled thoughts in Jorge’s mind made the Metatron himself flail without any idea as to why. Sudden he grasped onto a pew, his arms and legs shaking.

“W-What’s happening to me?” he growled.

Hands behind your back, the detective thought.

Shakily the Metatron felt his arms move, against his will, behind his back. He ground his teeth as he looked around in a panic, trying to stop whatever was happening to him. Finally, he rested his gaze upon Jorge and his eyes widened with disbelief.

“You?! Demon! YOU!” he spat. “I showed you mercy!! Vile creature!! I’ll—“

Close your mouth.

Instantly the Metatron closed his mouth, though his muffled shouts were getting through. He attempted to shake his head, but the connection with Jorge was causing the man to have spastic limbs, though he did manage to keep his hands behind his back and his mouth closed tight. Before long, he groaned as one of his legs kicked out and struck the pew involuntarily. This corresponded with the massive migraine that was descending upon Jorge.

Shakily, still holding onto the man’s ankle, Jorge struggled onto his knees. As he began to move onto his feet, he finally let go. Instantly the migraine washed away and the Metatron’s arms hung limply to his sides. His mouth slacked open, he turned to look at Jorge.

“D-Demon…” he whispered.

Jorge shook his head and suddenly lashed out with a hard right cross. The man gasped as fist connected with jaw and the Metatron slumped down onto the ground, unconscious. Staggering back, the detective propped himself up against the back wall and breathed heavily. He had no idea what all that was about…but he had a feeling that something in him had changed.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he turned to look at the remains of the Giant that he had fought earlier. Unfortunately the man was on the fiery ground that the Metatron was influencing earlier. There was little left of him.

A sigh fell from his lips. Dialing the precinct, Jorge called in the scene. The Metatron was done…