Chapter 103: The Arcane Magnate (1/2)
Chapter 103: The Arcane Magnate
“Ten minutes, or this place is rubble. I suggest you encourage your disciples to make for the exits.” The old man stood unmoved before the doors. As earlier, his hard voice reverberated throughout the Cathedral of the Holy Spirit.
A few minutes of silence ensued. It was broken when the interior of the grand cathedral devolved in to chaos.
Swarms of angry worshipers, clerics, priests and Inquisitors descended upon the man’s location, looking for the source of the disturbance.
He made no efforts to hide himself, and was not difficult to spot standing conspicuously before the doors. The hunters raced towards him at break-neck speed. However, as each figure drew within ten meters of the man they suffered the same fate as the first priest; frozen solid like granite, locked in the corona of light that surrounded him.
“Visitors please clear the area. The Cathedral is now closing.” The sound was clear, dignified and unhurried. The scores of worshipers flinging themselves at the old man slowed to a trickle, and stopped. All became silent once more within the Cathedral.
In the sudden stillness two figures appeared, flanking the man from two opposite directions. As they slowly walked closer, the doors behind the visitor opened to reveal a third. Three people, from three different directions. Their pace was slow, and exactly mirrored one another’s.
The elderly gentlemen calmly turned to face the figure from behind the doors. His face bore no expression.
“Magnate, I pray you’re doing well.” The man who addressed him was strikingly handsome, with long blonde hair falling loosely down his shoulders. From the back one might think he was a girl. Pretty as a picture, almost like he himself was painted but retained a sense of masculinity. He was clad in a pure white, spotlessly clean cassock, but it was the eyes that stood out. Gold, and as they shone a saintly aura surrounding the newcomer.
“Metatron. Still not good enough. Where’s the Pontiff?” The old man addressed him dismissively.
The golden-haired youth smiled amicably. “He’s praying. He’ll be with you momentarily, if you would care to wait.” He spoke with the old man as though addressing an old friend visiting from afar, ignoring his crass manner.
“I said ten minutes. Now it’s seven.” He clasped his hands behind his back, returning his gaze to the murals set within the vaulted dome ceiling of the Cathedral. His expression was one of appreciation, not violence.
Aside from Metatron, the other two approaching figures also arrived at the old man’s location, revealing themselves as two young women The girl on the left was clad in a long white dress, beautiful like an elf. Her skin was fair and soft, almost like milk. Even her long hair was a pure snow white.
The second woman had short blue hair – at least, from this angle. Strangely she seemed like an illusion or hologram, changing color as the time and angles changed. Her features were normal enough, but for that strange discoloration that made her hard to pinpoint with the eyes.
Metatron continue. “Arcane Magnet, sir, we know why you’ve come. This entire situation really is regrettable.”
The old man snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Your regrets can’t change what happened. Am I right? Let’s see if your regrets can stop me today, shall we? I’ve lived long enough anyway, I’m starting to grow impatient for what comes next. And who can ask for a better coffin than this beautiful cathedral? I’ll have more things buried with me than the kings of old.”
Metatron’s amicable smile began to slip. “Magnate, please be cautious. We don’t tolerate blasphemy of the Father or his home here.”
This earned a scornful snort. “The only god I know is Mathematics. Your god, is bullshit.”
“The audacity!” The girl on his left gasped in a tender, finicky voice. Her mane of white hair began to float around her head, and silvery moonlight emanated from her. The light beckoned six silvery wings which stretched from her back and splayed wide. A suffocating aura of sanctity filled the air.
“And now this, half-assed ‘moon angel’ daring to puff up like a peacock before me.” The old man waved his hand at the young woman as though he were shooing away a fly. The motion elicited strange lights from reality before him. It was a peculiar illumination, that fanned out before him. The instant it touched the moon angel’s aura, the silvery light melted away like ice before an inferno. The speed with which is enveloped her was staggering.
It was like the air was sucked away, stealing it from her lips and pulling it from her lungs. The silvery girl’s eye’s grew wide in fear.
“Please, be lenient Master Magnate.” Metatron had stepped before the old man, cutting his line of sight to the beleaguered young girl. His hands were raised as if to ward the frail man off, matched at his back by the unfurling of his great golden wings. They were so large, so full that determining just how many Metatron possessed was a difficult endeavor.