Goetic Justice 2

"No more than usual, your worship," he replied as he rose to his feet. "I come bearing news, and to request your help concerning an urgent matter."

"This no doubt concerns your rogue summoner," the rightmost Architect added, adjusting the spectacles that were perched on the end of his hooked nose. "We have been made aware of the situation, and we are surprised that you have not been able to resolve the problem yourself, considering the...substantial resources and personnel that are at your disposal."

"I assure you that I do not come seeking your aid lightly," Carlisle said with a deferential bow, "but first there is urgent news that I must relay to you."

"Go on," the leftmost Architect said with a wave of his liver-spotted hand.

"Before arriving I communed with Gaap, and the entity foresaw what it described as a cataclysm on the horizon."

"A cataclysm?" the rightmost Architect asked, looking to his counterparts with a concerned frown. "Can you elaborate?"

"I was informed that all of our timelines are converging inexorably towards some manner of historic event, the details of which the demon could not foresee. It seems that its prescience was being intentionally clouded by greater powers. The rogue summoner too is set upon this path, as is Azazel."

"You dare to speak that fell beast's name here?" the leftmost Architect snapped, "before the thrones of the Architects no less?"

"My deepest apologies, worshipful Grand Architect, but it pertains to the problems that we're having neutralizing the summoner. This Ryan Cutter has a relationship with the beast, the exact nature of which we have been unable to discern. He freed the fallen Watcher, and the entity has come to his aid once already, dispatching Haures during his assassination attempt. Now Cutter is taking refuge in a grove along with his Seirim consorts, which is protected by the beast's magick. Though we know the location of this grove, we cannot penetrate it. No Goetic demon has that much power at its command."

"This news is...troubling," the centermost Architect muttered as he leaned back in his ornate throne, deep in thought. "As you well know, the order regularly summons demons in order to map the future as reliably as possible. It gives us a significant advantage in our dealings with the outside world. The whims of fate can never be known for certain, but we can make informed guesses and let it guide our choices. None of this was foreseen during the most recent session, three weeks ago I believe it was. There must have been a massive shift that completely changed the course of history, so improbable that nobody even considered it worth mentioning. The fallen Watcher running amok is no coincidence."

"If you will forgive my impertinence, Grand Architects," Carlisle said with a touch of hesitation. "When you were made aware of the beast's resurrection, how did you plan to deal with the threat?"

"Watchers are fickle creatures," the rightmost Architect replied in his croaking voice. "One never knows what actions they may take, if any. When dealing with such an entity, it is wise to wait for it to show its hand and then to react accordingly."

"Your worship has no doubt guessed why I have come," Grand Master Carlisle added. "This situation is beyond me, I have...lost control. I believe that divine intervention may be necessary."

"A Grand Master does not have the authority to make that assessment," one of them snapped, but another stayed his counterpart with a wave of his hand.

"Now now, the Grand Master's request may be presumptuous, but it does appear that the situation is currently beyond his means to contain. You have acted wisely in coming to us for help, Carlisle," he added as he turned his attention once again towards the Grand Master. "The most important thing right now is that we neutralize this threat. If the Watcher is indeed making its move, then we will need a champion of equal measure to act on our behalf."

"You mean..." the leftmost Architect's question tapered off as he gave his neighbor a quizzical look.

"Indeed. I propose that we proceed to the Sanctum, this matter should be escalated to a higher authority than ours. All in favor?" He raised his hand, as did one of the other Architects. "Two to one, the motion is carried."

The three Architects slid out of their thrones, walking in single file behind the podium. Carlisle could only see them from the chest up from his position on the ground below. He had never known them to descend from their seats, and he wondered how the admittedly aged men would find their way down from such a height. It was hard to imagine them climbing ladders in those flowing robes. They grouped up towards the left and then he heard the whir of an electric motor as they began to descend. It seemed that there was an automatic platform of some kind that would carry them up and down.

The platform reached the ground, and they emerged from behind the carved wood, Carlisle waiting for them to pass before following after them as they made their way towards the large double doors. There were many entrances to the magma chamber where the molten rock had cut channels through the mountain, but they had all been sealed off besides for the main one. With only one way in and out of the room, it made ensuring the safety of the Architects a far easier prospect in the unlikely event that someone somehow breached the facility.

The guards opened the doors for them then flanked the party as they made their way down the winding corridors. Carlisle knew where they were headed, the Sanctum Sanctorum, Holiest of Holies. It was the vault where the Ark of the Covenant was hidden. Without a temple, the Ark itself was the organization's one lifeline to God.

They traveled deeper into the bowels of the volcano, Masons of lesser grades bowing their heads in deference as they passed them in the labyrinthian hallways, the Architects silent and solemn as they marched. They were no doubt preparing themselves mentally for what was about to occur, steeling themselves for an intense religious experience.

One of the ancient lava tubes sloped downwards too steeply for a ramp or stairs, and so a cargo lift had been built into the rock, the four men standing patiently as one of the guards operated the controls. It was large enough that one could have parked a couple of SUVs side by side on it, the Masons standing in a rough circle in the center, warning tape dissuading the passengers from moving to the edge and leaning over the metal railings. There was a grinding of gears as the platform began to move on its tracks, descending into the very lowest caverns of the mountain.

"Have you seen the Ark before, Grand Master?" one of the Architects asked. He was hunched over, a little unsteady on his feet, and age had shrunk him down to a rather unimposing stature.

"I have, once," Carlisle replied.

"In nearly fifty years as a Grand Architect I have visited the Sanctum only a handful of times," the old man mused as he watched the rock walls of the tunnel pass them by. The only illumination here came from floodlights on the lift itself, reflecting off the volcanic rock like it was made from shards of broken glass. "To my knowledge, this situation is unprecedented. The fallen Watchers have slumbered since before the founding of our order. What do you know of them?"

"Only what I've read in the Book of Enoch and the Grimoires."

"Do you know why they are so reviled by the faithful?"

"They led humanity astray, they rebelled against God," Carlisle said.

"Indeed, but the circumstances of that rebellion are mired in metaphor and mystery. It is written that in the antediluvian period, the time before the great flood, God had a much closer relationship with his creation. He interfered in their daily lives, made his presence known, sent his Angels to interact directly with humanity."

The Architect sighed, shaking his head solemnly.

"Oh, to have lived in those days. How glorious it must have been. The Watchers, or the Guardians depending on the translation of the original Aramaic, were Angels tasked with watching over humanity. They carried out God's will on Earth, interacted with the people, guided them and protected them. Over time it seems that their appreciation for humanity outgrew their love for their father. They took human wives and birthed aberrations known as Nephilim, hybrids that were outside of God's design. They began to teach their wards forbidden knowledge, and like Adam taking a bite from the metaphorical apple, it corrupted their hearts. They learned the ways of sin and war. The Watchers believed that what they were doing was a kindness, that the children of God must grow and become independent, that they should free themselves from God's rule."

Carlisle was somewhat shocked to hear the Architect frame their rebellion in such a way, it sounded almost sympathetic. It was borderline blasphemous. The Architect noticed his expression and laughed.

"Don't worry yourself, Grand Master, my story has a point. With all light there must be shadow, with pleasure pain, and with freedom comes responsibility. Look around you. Has humanity been responsible? What have they done with their freedom? God was right from the offset, he was wise to keep his people in check, and with a little luck we might one day return to that wondrous state of existence."

"And what of Azazel?" Carlisle asked, "why is he such a pivotal figure in all this?"

"Some refer to him as Lumiel, or the Lightbringer. Along with the Watcher Semyaza, he instigated the rebellion. Like Prometheus stealing fire from the Gods, he was one of the chief proponents of passing their occult knowledge on to humanity. Some would say that he did it for love, or for freedom, but in doing so, he rejected the greatest love of all and committed the most dire of sins. Two hundred of the Watchers joined his rebellion, as did their Nephilim offspring, along with many humans who they had convinced to fight for their cause. The final result of that struggle was the deluge, the great flood. It was God's nuclear option in a sense. He saved what few people were still righteous and then used his power to wipe the slate clean. The vast majority of the humans who had been led astray, of the Watchers and the Nephilim, were destroyed. Some slipped through the cracks of course. The forbidden knowledge still endures, Azazel walks among us once again, and some Nephilim even managed to escape. In that sense, the damage that Azazel did to God's creation was permanent."

"Is that what these Seirim are?" Carlisle asked, "the product of a human and a Watcher? Is that why they're so difficult to contain?"

"They are Azazel's children, yes."

"The team that I sent to capture Cutter's familiar thought that they were going up against a simple lesser demon. No wonder they didn't succeed..."

"The moral of my story is that while many people desire freedom and autonomy, the majority cannot handle the responsibility that comes with it. What may seem like a kindness at first will, in fact, bring about doom for all those involved. Well-meaning revolutionaries have been responsible for more death and horror than many who set out with the intention to do evil. Everything that we do here is an attempt to rectify the problems that Azazel created."

There was a loud clunk as the platform reached the bottom of the tunnel and came to a stop. The group stepped off it, the two guards taking position as they made their way down the corridor. This one had no branching pathways, no side doors, it was merely a perfectly straight hallway that almost seemed to extend into infinity. Only the fluorescent lights spaced at intervals along the ceiling gave Carlisle any sense that they were progressing, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the empty space.

After what felt like ten or fifteen minutes straight of walking, they came to the end, and the party stopped before a gigantic door. It looked like something that might have been used to seal a bank vault, or perhaps a pressure door on a submarine. The matte white material that made up the walls and floor gave way to silver steel, the circular block of metal held in place with massive bolts. The hinges were as thick around as his thigh, sturdy steel rods serving to anchor the door shut, the locking mechanism resembling a large wheel.

The three Architects lined up in front of the door, each one of them reaching inside his robes and withdrawing a key that was hanging from his neck by a golden chain. They inserted them into keyholes on the vault door and then the sound of mechanical clicking and rumbling reverberated through the corridor. They stepped clear, and one of the two guards walked forward, taking the wheel in his hands and beginning to turn it. The massive rods that locked the door to the wall slowly drew back until it finally swung outward on its reinforced hinges. Carlisle could see that the metal was about a foot thick, more of the locking rods visible on the inside.

The Architects stepped over the threshold, and he followed after them, the two soldiers taking up position outside the door as they closed it behind them. The room was plunged into darkness, and a musty, ancient smell filled Carlisle's nose. It smelled like a museum or a library, the scent of dust and age. He waited in darkness, hearing nothing but his own breathing, unsure of what was going to happen. Why were there no lights in the vault?

Gradually there appeared a glow in front of him. It started off as little more than a reflection, like a golden sunrise on the surface of a lake, yet there was no light to be reflected. As he watched, it increased in intensity until he could make out what looked like two golden statues. They were angels, their wings extended in front of them, the feathered tips touching one another as the figures kneeled.

In a flash the vault was bathed in golden light, Carlisle covering his eyes in alarm. It was as if a floodlight had been turned on in the room, yet it was completely bare save for the wooden chest that sat in the center.

It was about the size of a steamer trunk, made from wooden paneling that Carlisle knew to be sourced from acacia trees. There were bands of gold securing it together in a lattice, and the chest was perched upon four feet that raised it perhaps an inch off the floor. There were two golden bars attached to each side that would have allowed it to be carried easily. It was oddly unassuming, certainly ornate, but it didn't seem nearly lavish enough to have been the repository for the very word of God. Upon the top was a lid sculpted from what looked like solid gold with the two kneeling angels adorning it.

The light seemed to be emanating from the Ark itself, the gold glowing as if it was under the harsh glare of the midday sun, the reflections from the metal cast on the walls. Now that the room was lit Carlisle could see that it was rather large, with a ceiling that was maybe twice as high as a man was tall. It was bare and empty save for this shining artifact.

"Wait in the corner of the room, Grand Master," one of the Architects said as they began to move towards the Ark. "Do not speak, if you are to observe these proceedings, then you must do so in silence."

He nodded his understanding, moving towards one of the corners and waiting quietly as the three men took up positions around the object. He noted that rather than encircling the chest they were lining up on the near side, facing the far wall as they raised their hands to the ceiling.

They began to chant, low and rhythmic at first then gradually rising in volume and tempo. They almost seemed to be falling into a kind of religious trance, perfectly in sync as they recited prayers or perhaps incantations in what sounded like Aramaic. It was not dissimilar from a standard summing in that respect, but there were no visible wards here, no circles or protective pentagrams. If this had been a Goetic ceremony it would have been incredibly dangerous, the three Architects were putting themselves completely at the mercy of whatever entity they were attempting to invoke. All of their focus was concentrated on the Ark.

As their chanting intensified, so too did the light emitted by the chest. Like the rays of the rising sun spilling over the horizon, the golden glow flooded the room, the three Architects now little more than dark silhouettes. Carlisle had to turn his head away and cover his eyes, the light so intense that it burned straight through his eyelids.

The chanting stopped abruptly, and the glow receded, Carlisle blinking as his vision adapted. The scent of incense rose to his nose, myrrh, it smelled like. An odd calm had come over the room, and he was unsure if it was merely because the chanting had stopped, or because of some supernatural force.

As his eyes came back into focus, he saw a figure standing near the far wall beyond the Ark. It was a man, human in every respect save for his immense size. The golden locks of his wavy hair scraped the ceiling, putting him at maybe eleven or twelve feet tall, the blonde mane cascading over his shoulders like a gilded waterfall. His skin was as white as snow, but there was a healthy glow in his cheeks, his youthful facial features chiseled and handsome. His body was that of a Greek sculpture, magnificently muscled where it wasn't obscured by a sparse toga, the white garment tied around his waist with a golden sash. Tucked behind his back were a pair of beautiful wings, each one as long as he was tall, the feathers colored the same golden blonde as his hair.

It was an Angel, there was no mistaking it. He smiled warmly as he looked down at the humans, scanning them with eyes the color of amber. The Architects were kneeling with their heads bowed, and as those shining eyes found Carlisle, he couldn't help but join them. His heart was melting, filled with such warmth and love, as if liquid joy was running through his veins. He had always believed, he could not have achieved such a high rank in the order if he had not, but to bask in the radiance of such a holy creature was a religious experience unlike any other. He would kill for this entity, die for it, he knew as much from the merest glance.

"Friends," the Angel began, gesturing to them with his massive hand. "Rise and tell me thy troubles. Why hast thou called upon me?"

"Oh great Cherubim, messenger of God," one of the Architects began. "Thank you for heeding our call."

Carlisle was surprised to learn that this entity was a Cherubim and not a Seraphim as he had assumed. The Angels that served God were separated into orders, organized by their power much as the demons of the Ars Goetia were. At the very top were the Seraphim, otherwise known as the Archangels, entities of great power who presided over the throne of God. The Cherubim were of a lesser rank, serving the roles of guardians and messengers. Much like the Goetic demons, the Seraphim had legions of spirits under their command, Angels of varying ranks and abilities. If they were going to counter Azazel, then they needed the help of a Seraphim at least, a being of equal or greater power to the venerable Watcher.

"We humbly request your assistance in a matter of utmost urgency," the Architect continued. "The fallen Watcher Azazel has been freed, and his power is beyond our means to contain."

The Cherubim's smile faltered for a moment, the entity seeming disgusted by the utterance of the beast's name.

"A Watcher? This is dire news indeed," the Cherubim said. His voice was musical, beautiful, almost like the strumming of a celestial harp.

"This is the doing of a mortal man, one Ryan Cutter, who has taken refuge amongst the beast's Nephilim offspring in a grove that is protected by powerful magick. We know its location, but we are unable to breach the barrier. We humbly ask that you grant us aid so that we might destroy the rogue summoner and the unholy Nephilim along with him."