The Omega Room: Dark

 
 "No, please God, NO!"

The shout reached out from the mangled car that had spun out of control on the wet pavement, swerved around an oncoming car, rolled onto its side several times before wrapping itself around a tree that cut through the vehicle like a hot knife slicing through warm butter. The back of the car erupted in flames, licking at the falling  raindrops and hissing. Fuel poured from the gas tank spreading throughout the wreckage, along the roadside and into the front end of the twisted metal that once had been the family SUV. Amazingly, the two occupants inside the vehicle were still alive. Very much in distress, bleeding heavily from the shattered glass windshield, the airbags deploying and shards of debris, but alive. The driver, fading in and out of consciousness, unbuckled his seat beat, but found that his legs had been crushed by the steering column and could not move. His passenger moaned and muttered something from her lips, but then fell unresponsive to his calls. Adding to his disorientation was the fact the chunk of metal was laying in the middle of the road on its roof, fighting the urge to pass out, he reached for the latch of his passenger's seat belt to try and shore up the pressure of the belt around her neck, but his fingers came a half an inch short from freeing her, and being crushed by the steering column there was no wiggle room. 

     "No, please God, NO!" He shouted as he tried to stretch his arm, wishing he could dislocate his shoulder in some way to provide the needed length.
He could only watch as his fiancee was slowly strangled by the safety belt that initially saved her life, only to prolong her suffering and steal it from her later. 

The hissing grew louder in his ear, seeing that the rest of the car was beginning to catch fire. Not having long to make peace with himself and to ask hid God for forgiveness, he shut his eyes and began to pray. 

     "He can't hear you, John." A voice said outside the busted driver side window. 

John opened his eyes and turned his head. Outside, a figure stepped through a waist high wall of fire and sat down outside the burning car. The intense heat had already dried the blood on John's head and he could smell his own hair burning, as well as the flesh and clothing of not just himself, but also of his passenger. Curiously, he did not feel any pain, perhaps become the impact had numbed him or maybe shock had already set in from his crushed legs. The nightmare continued to unfold, knowing he would never wake from it, John spoke to his hallucination.
     "He hears all."

     "Trust me, Mister Goody-Goody has much more going on to worry about than to listen to the pleas of one meat bag and his-" the figure leaned down and looked beyond John to the woman whose flesh had started to bubble and peel back from the bone. "-increasingly ugly plaything." 

   
     "Go away and leave me to die!" 

   
     "John, you know as well as I that you do not want to die now or anytime in the near future. Which brings me to my point. I want to give you back your life. Turn the wheel of time back an hour or so, and let you make the right choices to avoid this...unfortunate scene. All I ask is that you forfeit a life of servitude. Which, I promise you, will be a lot longer than the current one you have."

   
     "You're a figment of my imagination. A result of my dying brain triggering visions to assist me as I burn alive. You're not even here..."

Suddenly John felt the burn against his skin, his scalp and face felt like someone slowly tore away the skin, stretching the nerves until each one snapped individually. It was the worse pain he had ever felt, and it shook him from his diluted frame of mind long enough to realize whoever it was that sat outside the vehicle was not only effected by the blaze, but seemed to enjoy it, even cupping a flame into his hand as he waited for a reply to his request. It was then that John knew God might have heard his prayer, but someone far more nefarious had answered it. 

   
     "Please, make it stop!" 

   
     "Would love to John, but I first need an answer from you."

   
     "Yes! Yes, goddamn it. Just make it stop!"

The being was pleased with this, but his pleasure would not last long one the rain ceased to pour and the flames stifled by an unseen presence. The being hissed like an angered Viper and faded into the darkness. The pain returned to John, cringing and writhing in uncontrollable fits of agony. The new being stood as he heard the pleas emit from the smoldering vehicle, "Why! We had a deal! We. Had. A. DEAL!" 

The Angel spread his wings and pushed frigid air across the wreckage. The air burned his face and arms and ragged legs for a moment, and then he was numb once more. Pain free and able to clear his mind from the wreck, the being he spoke to, the anguish and regret he felt for all of it happening in the first place. John felt himself lift out from the seat fade through the underbelly of the overturned vehicle. He floated above the crash site, looking down at a bright ball of light with the faintest outline of a being inside its luminous aura. He watched as the being of light knelt down on the passenger side and looked inside. He could hear the air escape in the form of a gasp from its lips, along with the words, "Ava Miracula".

John felt whole again. He was surprised to find that he was no longer trapped inside the car. In fact, he was no longer as the scene of the accident or even in the same area where the accident had taken place. His body had been transported and was now encased within a cast mold inside a room that, as far as he could tell, was surrounded by mirrors. Mirrors on the ceiling, mirrors on the floor, mirrors on the walls and other devices made with reflective surfaces like the bedside table and the wardrobe closet. Seeing himself laid up in a hospice bed in various angles of the room made him uncomfortable, but it was something his eight month stay would eventually get used to over time. 

The first month was the hardest. No one came into the room. His food and water were provided intravenously and his bandages and bedpan were changed while he slept, sometimes against his will but fighting a constant morphine drip was always going to go against any attempts made to stay awake. Twice a week, his cast was filled with an ice cold heavy liquid that covered his entire body and face, never to the point of not being able to breathe but, when wrapped in bandages and trapped inside a hardened body cast, one could easily feel a little claustrophobic and begin to panic. John chose to remain silent, it felt better and in a sense provided him with a kind of cryptic living coffin of melancholy that he thought was more than deserved. 

Inside this four week personal journey, he found solace in the events that lead to his current debilitated state. He forgave himself, to an extent, for what he had done on that night, how he and he alone had murdered his fiancee and unborn child. He had already promised himself that he would never again drink another drop of alcohol and, provided his body did not become addicted to the morphine, lead a life of the straight and narrow. He had also decided to live a life of celibacy, falsely labeling himself as too immature and insecure to hold a meaningful relationship as a way to cope with the loss of Delaina and too further punish himself. He looked up to the cast shell of his body in the mirror above and decided then that John Writhe was dead. He had died alongside the woman he so loved and the child they were to share together, and when he was able to move freely on his own again, he would be someone else. Like the mirrors that surrounded him, he would become a reflection of his former self.

Late one evening, John woke to a vibrating hum in the room. He could see from above a being rise up from the mirrored floor around his bed and approach him. He was not afraid, because he instantly recognized the Angel and his beautiful wings. It was also the first visitor he had had since the accident and could use the company, regardless of who or what it was.  The Angel stepped up to the bed and placed his hand onto the cast. 

   
     "Hello again, John." The Angel said. 

The Angel's wings spread out as it sat on a cushion of air, hovering with each powerful thrust of his wings. 

     "You no doubt have many questions and I am afraid that I can not answer any of them, at least not to your liking. If I may speak the truth, even now I am breaking my oath by appearing to you. And I want you to know that, had you been anyone else, I would have remained hidden from you and allow your life to play out as He intended. However, I can not stand idly by and watch what is coming and not try to aid you."

John listened and allowed enough silence to pass to properly relay his confusion to the Angel. 

     "Aid me...with...what." John struggled. He had almost forgotten the sound of his own voice. 

     "With finding God, John...before it's too late."

The Omega Room: Darkness falls
In the conference room sat a long table that stretched from one side, all the way to the other side of the room with two chairs at either end. A red satin tablecloth ran the length of the tabletop, filled with a variety of orderves; kebabs; a dozen kinds of meats; soups; souffles; salads; breads; rolls; fruits; desserts and a main course dished at each end of the table of a full roasted boar spread out among a gold platter with a slightly charred apple in its mouth. On the end closest to the door was the honored guest, dressed in robes stained with a thousand years worth of bloodshed, and at the other end the host who kept to the shadows as much as he could, wearing a vested tuxedo complete with diamond encrusted cufflinks that provided a spark of light at his scaly wrist when none was available. The two were very powerful and motivational beings in human history, although often misquoted or poorly portrayed by some of the most inspirational hands in modern art. One figure, who spoke with a slight lisp, even considered selling the soul of Raphael to one of Lucifer's Doppelgangers in exchange for two gold coins; but even the devil knew better than to trust the soul of a man who could capture another spirit inside the walls of a deep cavern, such as Raphael.

They each engaged the other in small talk as they sampled one dish after another, sizing each other up as they waited for the remaining panel of deities to join them. Slowly, a new face would materialize at the table and patiently await the right opportunity to join in the conversation, until the entire table had been lined with Demons, except for one. This Guest was unlike the others. He was not a Demon nor a God, but very powerful and often storied throughout many books in human history as the general to one of the greatest armies in the known cosmos. He wore a rusted iron chest plate, a clothed shirt beneath it and chain mail leggings that ended at tipped steel toed boots. He took a handful of grapes and ate them as he listened.

     "What of the Genesis Seed?" The Host asked.
Someone answered: "He will rise as planned."
     "And of the Priest?"
Someone said: "The Bishop has initiated a response."
     "Did he not do that already and fail?"
Someone said: "The Assassin was sent in."
     "Really?" the Host said with surprised interest. "Is he really that much of a presence that a Demon is needed?"
Another raspy voice answered: "Hesss been chosssen by The Lamb persssonally. He isss more than a sssimple man."
     "So I have heard. Very well then, eat, drink and devour in our approaching victory. In less than a week, the Genesis Seed will rise and bring with it a new beginning. We will finally take back what should have been ours from the start, and there shall be no offensive from Him this time around."
One of the guest who blended in with the others, without appearing as one of them, made a faint motion with his hand that brought the attention of the table solely upon him, even that of the Host who was not surprised by his visitation.
     "Because He is not among you, doesn't make him any less a presence nor foe against your unholy transgressions."
     "Ah, Michael." the Host said standing and bowing respectfully. "How nice of you to join. I am afraid, however, this matter does not fall within your jurisdiction. The meatbags have forsaken you and your God for a more familiar one whom they can all relate. A fleshy leader of men, with godlike grace and modern appeal. This realm no longer requires the likes of your kind."
Michael smiled and drank from his cup.
    "Haima Oinos, is it? Do you still procure it from the lips of virgins or just extract it from any animal you can place your claws on, Hades."
The God of the Underworld sprung forward from his chair, erupting into vicious flames that extended out from each side of him. Hades spat hellfire from his lips as he reprimanded his uninvited guest.
    "You shall show respect while in my presence Archangel!"

Michael jumped back from the table, his wings opening behind him, sweeping him from the ground in a great rush of wind.

    "You're more of a myth than your replacement, Hades. I fear not this place or anyone within this room. The LORD is my Shepperd, and my weapon which can not be defeated by the likes of demigods and demons."

    "Lucifer is a pawn with a chip on his shoulder! The Genesis Seed will correct that and return my throne...as well as the throne of your King. Speaking of which, Where is your God now Michael?"

    "Listening." He said lifting higher into the air, absorbing through the ceiling, hoping like hell that his faith was stronger than his beliefs.

    "We shall see."

The table became a haven of chatter. Demons consorted with other Demons as their masters spoke with Hades who listened from his shadowy place among the table. But it was the words of one that whispered louder than all the rest, echoing inside his mind and controlling his thoughts as though he were a puppet to its will. It was the true threat, the actual God, the King of Kings...the Alpha God.

"None of them know. Not even the Archangel. What will befall the heavens and the earth will come as a thief in the night. Let them have their hero, for when the Genesis Seed sprouts, all will kneel before their one true God."

The voice faded as if it were part of a dream in which Hades could not quite remember, but knew had happened because the emotions, the fear and the worry, remained heavy on his black heart. The rule of rumor had dominated mortals and immortals and when the rapture of the Genesis Seed was finally upon them, the slate of time would be wiped clean...of everything.