Leviathan

Leviathan continued to bellow, throwing its body against its stone prison, causing parts of walls and ceiling to crumble, raining rubble down onto the cave floor.

Aaron let himself fall. He had done his best, cutting away as many of the stomach prisons as possible, but there were just too many and he could not reach them all. Landing atop a pile of the fleshy sacks, he began to cut into the fluid-filled organs, attempting to free those trapped within before the beast overcame its fury.

Thick, milky liquids drained from opened casings, coating the ground in a layer of foul-smelling digestive juices. Leviathan moaned woefully, its great, serpentine mass leaning against the undersea cave’s wall, seemingly thrown into a kind of shock—perhaps as a result of being cut off from its food source, Aaron guessed wildly, but he knew deep down that the beast would not remain docile for long. It was only a matter of time before its anger would fuel it to strike back at the one who hurt it so.

“You have hurt the beast,” a voice said from behind him. Aaron turned to see the emaciated form of the angel Gabriel. His once glorious armor was now the color of a dirty pe

Aaron came toward him. “I … I can’t do that,” he said. He offered Gabriel the sword. “Here,” he said. “You do it.”

The angel fell to his knees upon the fluid-saturated ground. “That is not possible,” Gabriel wheezed. “To do battle with the monster would only quicken my inevitable demise.”

Aaron returned to the digestive sacks. “Maybe one of the others could help you,” he suggested, fitfully gazing down at the still forms of the other angelic beings that had been held captive in the bellies of the fearsome monster. Many had curled into the fetal position, trapped within a world of Leviathan’s making.

“Most are in as dire condition as I am,” Gabriel wheezed in response.

Aaron knelt down beside two sacks, which contained his dog and Camael. “Will they be all right?” he asked, laying a trembling hand upon the Labrador’s side, feeling for a heartbeat or any sign of life.

“They have not been prisoners of the beast for long,” the Archangel said. “They will survive—if Leviathan does not reclaim them.”

The monster stirred, a low, tremulous moan echoing throughout the underwater cavern.

Aaron stood, Bringer of Light still clutched tightly in his hand. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do—you want me to kill that?”

Gabriel tilted his head to one side. “Do you have any idea the extent of power within you?” the angel retorted.

“Nephilim!” the monster raged, its muscular body stretching as high as the ceiling would allow, its injured eye swollen closed and dripping. Its head moved from left to right as it searched for its prey. “I will find you—and all that you are shall belong to me!”

Aaron stood rooted, watching as the enormous, sluglike monstrosity began to undulate in his general direction, its tentacles writhing in the air, as if somehow replacing the sensory organ that had been violently stolen away.

“Even the monster knows what resides within you,” the angel Gabriel said. “And still you deny it.”

Leviathan shambled closer, its tentacles lashing out, snatching at the air as it attempted to find its quarry. “Where are you, Nephilim?” it spat.

“The power I had inside me … I think it’s gone,” Aaron stammered, eyes upon the sea beast. “I’ve tried to communicate with it, but it doesn’t answer. I think Leviathan might have done something and—”

“Is that what you wish happened?” the Archangel asked. “Or is that what actually occurred?”

At first, Aaron didn’t understand what the angel was suggesting, but the meaning was suddenly clear.

“I’ve been inside your mind, Nephilim,” Gabriel said, touching the side of his own head with a long, delicate index finger. “I’ve seen the fear that fills your thoughts.”

“I… I don’t think I’m strong enough to control it,” Aaron said flatly, watching with terror-filled eyes as Leviathan drew closer.

“And if it were gone,” suggested Gabriel, “you would no longer have to be afraid.”

Aaron nodded, ashamed of his fear and that it would allow him to put the lives of his loved ones—as well as the fate of humanity—at risk.

“The power of Heaven is your legacy,” the angel explained weakly. “It is this might that exists within you that will allow you to perform your sacred duties as messenger.” Gabriel again climbed unsteadily to his feet. “It belongs to you—you are its master.”

And Aaron came to the realization that his angelic power had not gone away, but had been there all along, hidden beneath the shroud of his uncertainty—waiting patiently to be unleashed.

“Own this power,” the angel said, turning his attention from the boy to the quickly approaching foe. “Show that you are an emissary of Heaven.”

Leviathan was almost upon them, and Aaron closed his eyes and looked upon what he had created to keep the power at bay. He imagined standing before a gigantic gate of his own construction, made from the logs of some mighty tree. It was like something he’d seen in the movies used to keep King Kong on his side of Skull Island. Within the face of the gate was lock, and in the center of the lock, a keyhole. He produced an old-fashioned skeleton key and tentatively brought it toward the keyhole. The gate rattled and shook, as if something of enormous size were waiting the other side, eager to be set free. He could hear it breathing; slow, steady breaths like a locomotive gradually building to speed.

Tentatively he brought the key to the lock. He knew that this was what had to be done—he could no longer be afraid of the force that shared his body; there was too much at stake for fear. With a deep breath, Aaron turned the key and listened to the sound of the lock as if came undone with a tumbling Clack.

The slow and steady breathing on the other side of the gate came to an abrupt stop. He could feel its anticipation grow as it suspected what he was about to do. Without further hesitation, Aaron threw open the great wooden gates and set his power free.

Aaron gasped as the archaic markings began to appear upon his flesh. They burned from the inside out, rising to the surface to erupt smoldering and black on the skin of his body. He had no idea what the strange sigils were for, or what they meant, but they were the first sign that the ancient i

The sensation was far less painful this time, and not entirely unpleasant. It’s like the world’s biggest head-rush, he thought as he was caught up in the transformation of his body. Muscles that he’d only recently become aware of contracted spasmodically, pushing the latent wings furled beneath the flesh of his back toward the surface. Aaron winced as the skin split and tore, the feathered appendages that would allow him flight emerging. He flexed the sinewy cluster beneath the skin of his back and felt the strength within the mighty wings as they began to flap.

The power was intoxicating, and Aaron felt himself caught up in the enormity of its strength. It wanted nothing more than to explode out into the world, to vanquish the enemy before it—and then to move on to the next. It was a power of battle that had become part of him, and it reveled in the art of war.

The transformation nearly complete, Aaron gazed with new eyes upon the weapon still clutched within his hand. “This isn’t mine,” he said, his voice like the purr of a jungle predator. He tossed the blade of light to its originator, the Archangel Gabriel—who caught the sword with ease, taking strength from contact with the radiant weapon.