Jim's Chapter 2

Jim describes his death.

Since I can remember, I’ve always been able to see spirits and ghosts. My first experience, I think, was when I was maybe five. First day in kindergarten, and I sat down at my desk to start coloring and what not. I look up, and see my teacher. Right before I screamed and fainted, I saw this green, semi-transparent man lumbering behind her. He was garbed in fire eaten clothes that looked like he was from a Northern State in the 1800’s. His eyes were hallow, and his “skin” was burned. His hands were outstretched, and he looked like he was reaching for my teacher’s neck. I awoke a minute later and he was gone. Every now and then, I’d see a ghost like the kindergarten one. Sometimes they’d be pleasant looking, others terrifying. The worst I’ve seen, was a decapitated priest with missing fingers and his bowels swinging by his feet. I saw that guy at a barbeque. For most of my life I thought I was insane. No one believed me, but I met a few mediums who told me they were real. Nothing like being told your delusions are both real and accurate.

But everything began around a year before the demon/diner thing. It was a Friday and I was in school like a normal teenager. English class was boring and I probably fell asleep. I ate lunch by myself, like usual, under a tree behind the bleachers. I watched kids walk around with their friends, talking, laughing, having fun. I ate my sandwhich quietly and was reading “The Catcher in the Rye.” Reading is something you can do by yourself. Therefore, I did it all the time. Football practice was okay. It was a bye week, so our coaches made us practice. I was going to have dinner with my parents at some fancy restaurant later on.  We were pretty well off. My dad bought me a nice suit that cost over three hundred dollars. I was standing in front of bathroom mirror after a shower. Sorry to give you the visual of me taking a shower. I wasn’t the best looking guy in the world. I was tying my tie, and I kept screwing up. Ties were not my forte. I looked at my reflection. I have a long face, like President Woodrow Wilson. My cheekbones are high on my face, and I had a narrow chin. That’s who I got compared to all the time. I look like a “young President Wilson.” So, my face was literally long, not that I was sad. It was a running gag for my grandparents to say “why the long face, Jim?” every time they see me. They’d laugh, I’d chuckle then roll my eyes. Great. Thanks for pointing out my worst insecurity. My hair is dark brown, almost black, and kind of long-ish. It wasn’t hippie-long, but long enough so that my mom was trying to make me get a haircut for the past month. My eyes are light blue. So blue, they are actually gray. No one in my family has gray eyes. I stood about five-eleven or six feet tall. I’m in shape, too. I was on the Junior Varsity football team, started at outside linebacker. So I was tying my tie, when all of a sudden, my deodorant flies off the counter. I was used to that. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

“Hilarious, Martin. Can I have that back?”

I recently befriended a poltergeist. I met him on the street one day, and he decided to live with me. The deodorant levitated up and was set back down on the counter. Martin materialized into a regular ghost. He was short, and kind of chubby. He laughed.

“I’m a poltergeist, it’s what I do,” he said. He had a strong New York accent.

“Oh, I already put deodorant on…” I mumbled. “Anyway, you need something, Martin?”

“Nope. Just thought I’d drop in to say hi. Where you going?”

“…Damn tie…Dinner with my parents.”

“Here buddy, I got it.” Martin tied my tie for me.

“Thanks. You wanna go with us? You can’t eat, but you cause mischief in the kitchen. You know, poltergeist stuff.”

“Nah, I never mess with people’s food. That’s not nice. When you go to an amusement park, then let me know.”

Martin was an anti-nuclear bomb activist back in the sixties. He and some of his hippie buddies broke into a nuclear facility sometime in 1968, and tried to sabotage the reactor or whatever. Anyway, he sounded an alarm and the guards came in. Instead of being taken alive, he, like a good far-left crazy ideological radical, took out a grenade and blew himself up. He took some guards part of the lab with him to the grave. He still hated the same stuff and would barge into my room while I saw doing homework to rant about some new plant being put up or whatever. Just to get on his nerves, I would defend nuclear power, or Republicans, or whatever he didn’t like.

I walked out of the bathroom, and put my jacket on. It was a black, dressy type of jacket that matched my pants. I wanted suspenders just for fun, but my mom wouldn’t let me. Martin went silently through the wall and into my room.

My mom knocked on the door.

“James, who are you talking to?”

I answered, “Martin, mom. You know the ghost that lives in my walls?”

“Oh. Tell him I said hi. Does…he want to go with us?”

Martin hit the floor laughing. Then went through it and probably was hovering somewhere downstairs. Probably in the living room.

“No, I asked him. I’ll be ready in a second.”

“Alright. Me and your dad will be waiting in the car. Don’t forget to lock the door.”

My parents knew about my ability to see ghosts. They thought I was crazy by the time I was twelve. At that time, I had a ghost friend named Roxanne. She was a regular thirteen year old from Medieval England. Like Martin, she was a poltergeist. She was almost invisible even to me when she wanted to effect the environment. Ever see that movie Predator? That’s what poltergeists look like to me when they want to touch things. They’re all blurry and everything behind them is all distorted. They can turn into normal ghosts and I can see them, but they aren’t solid. Normal people can’t see them either way. In Valkerie jargon, a solid ghost is called a Sol. A poltergeist is called a Pol. I know. Creative names, right? To convince my parents I can see ghosts, I had Roxanne turn Pol, and she knocked over a coat rack on the other side of the room. She pulled off my mom’s scarf, kept blowing out my dad’s cigarettes when he tried to light them, and made all the kitchen appliances turn on and off. My family, besides me, was Catholic at that time. When I proved the existence of ghosts, they became…what’s the word? Not Catholic? They didn’t have religion. My mom wanted to start practicing Wicca, since if there were ghosts, maybe magic, too? Whatever. I didn’t know about magic. Spirits? Yeah. Knew plenty about them. Anyway, I walked down the stairs grabbing cell phone, wallet, and something else, I forget what. Martin was next to the chandelier in the living room.

“See ya, Martin. Don’t wreck anything.”

“Later, Jim-bo.”

I got in the car with my family and we drove off. Along the city, I always could see spirits and apparitions. Dead hobos from the seventeen hundreds, murdered hookers, everything. By that time, the only things that scared me, were the demons. I saw them sometimes. All different shapes, colors, and sizes. They ranged from the size of insects, to blimp size. Most weren’t strong enough to affect the Livy world in a big way, though. Most were like Pols. They could move a light object, turn on a faucet, stuff like that. But I saw one that could affect the Livy world in a big way. You see, Livies can’t see demons. The weaker ones were like Pols and Sols. But some were strong enough to be a problem. In Valkerie talk, those are called Davys: “Danger to Livy’s.” Those can be seen by Livies. Only they’re disguised. Livy’s, especially nowadays, don’t seem to want to accept the possibility of demons. So, they grew a Blur Factor, which means they see what they want to see. Instead of a Davy, they’ll see a tree, a house, or in my case, a semi-truck. Since I was still alive, I had a little Blur-Factor. It looked like a huge semi, but when it got close, it was too late. The last thing I remember hearing was my father talking about my cousin Roger, who the family hadn’t seen in ten years as a result of his incarceration in a mental institution. The semi seemed to dematerialize its disguise as it neared. I saw a giant white monster that resembled a crazy spider. Its legs were like thick knives, a few feet thick. Its body was thirty feet in the air, and it had hundreds of eyes. It was the first Davy I’d seen, as far as I can remember. I was too scared to scream, and my parents didn’t notice it. It was scurrying down the street, then it stopped. It roared, and swung its leg. I was sitting in the backseat on the driver’s side. That was the side that was crushed as the whole car was launched in the air and smashed down to the street. Everything went black. Then I opened my eyes to see jagged and crushed metal binding my body. It didn’t hurt. In fact, I felt…free. I felt a hand grip my shirt collar and I rose up through the solid car. The scene scared me to death when I was out. I felt my feet stand on the roof of the car. There wasn’t a hole or anything to get me out of it. I looked on, and saw ambulances and cop cars. Vehicles were on their sides and upside down, at least ten of them. I heard cops talking, saying that a semi drove through and knocked cars around. I looked down, and saw a medic dragged a body out of the car. The body was mangled and lifeless. I gasped and my heart skipped a beat when I realized it was mine. I looked at my hands, and then at my body as a guy in a white uniform zipped two black bags over a couple bodies. Those were my parents.

“Sorry, kid,” said someone behind me.

He was looking behind him, and I saw what he was looking at. The monster that did it all was lying on its back, its head cut off. It blew away like dust. The man I was talking to was wearing a long coat, black jeans and cowboy boots. This guy was about average height, and kind of skinny looking. I mean, I couldn’t tell for sure, since he was wearing a coat, but his shoulders weren’t very broad or anything. He withdrew a short, Roman looking sword into his jacket.

“Um…What’s going on?” I asked.

“You’re dead,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” that’s all I could say.

“I’m Officer Grimm. I’m a Valkerie. That thing that just blew away, was a demon. It killed you, your family, and a whole bunch of other people. They all think it’s a car accident. Hang on.”

He jumped down off the car and told me to stay there. He strolled over to a body that was just being pulled out of its crushed minivan. Grimm drew his sword and slashed the body. At first I was horrified. But then, the body’s cut lit up and a white puffy thing rose out. It kept going, and I followed it up. Another dozen of the cloud things were floating up. Grimm was at my side again.

“Those are souls. They’re going up to the Great Court to be judged. Most will go to Heaven. Others might go to Purgatory. Maybe one or two will go to Hell.”

“Why aren’t I going?” I asked.

“Because you aren’t like them,” he replied again in that “duh” voice.

“How?”

“You’re like me. Like the other Spectrals. I sensed you across the city around the same time I sensed that demon. I’m what’s called a Valkerie. I’m kinda like a police officer of…Heaven. I’ll say that for now so you don’t get confused. Anyway, Valkeries fight demons and act as Grim Reapers. Like what I’ve been doing here. I magically cut open a dead person’s body to let their soul out so they can go on to the Afterlife. But, since I found a Spectral, I have to take you to H.Q.”

I’ve heard about the Valkerie thing from ghosts in the past. They would whisper about them to each other. I heard I would have the option to become one when I died, since I was different than the average person. Guess they were right. I always wondered what it would be like.

“H.Q.?”

He took my shoulder and we vanished. It felt like I weighed nothing. For a split second, I couldn’t breathe. I felt like there wasn’t anything around me, not even air. I wasn’t standing on anything, but I wasn’t falling. There wasn’t wind hitting me, like I was flying or something. No, Grimm was taking us somewhere, without moving. It was only a split second, but it was the most uncomfortable second of my life. My feet hit solid ground, and I hunched over. I felt like vomiting. Grimm seemed to think it was normal.

“Yeah, you shoulda taken a deep breath before we teleported. You get used to it.”

If I wasn’t so weak at that point, I’d of punched him in the gentlemen’s area. I stared at the ground to regain my composure, then I noticed I was standing on a cloud. I looked up, and saw that I was standing in front of a shopping center type thing, on clouds. The blue sky was above me, but no clouds up there. I looked around, and saw tall buildings that gleamed like gold.

“We’re at the Department of Spirit Justice,” Grimm informed. “Follow me.”

I followed him up a building that said “Main Department.” He lead me into a place that looked like an office building. People were in cubicles, people running around. Some wore the black leather jackets, some just had on the white dress shirt. I looked down, and saw that my clothes were unharmed. My dress pants, jacket, shirt, tie, shoes…all fine. Like I just bought them. But my cell phone and other things I brought wasn’t there. I shrugged. Hopefully AC/DC and the Rolling Stones music was in Heaven or wherever I was headed. Grimm walked me to a desk, where a pretty girl in the whole uniform started talking. I think she was speaking French. Grimm spoke it to her, and gestured to me. She smiled and nodded. Me and Grimm went to an elevator, and went up a bunch of floors. We hit what I think was the top floor, floor 56987, and we walked down a calm hallway. The floor was a red carpeting, and the doors were made of a nice, polished wood. Some guy dressed in the Valkerie uniform charged down the hall into the elevator. Before the doors closed I saw him slip a battle ax into his jacket. Finally, we got to the end of the hall, and the door said “Commander Ulysses Darien Harrickson Cromwell: Spirit Justice.”

“This is the boss,” Grimm said.

He knocked and a gruff voice said, “C’mon in.”

I expected the office to be full of weapons, pictures of criminals, and books of law enforcement. The office was almost empty. There was a desk, two chairs, and a book shelf with no books behind the Commander. But, he was interesting. He was thin, and dressed like a colorful Guy Fawkes. His wide brimmed hat had a long red feather that hung behind him. He looked like one of those Swedish Guards that patrol the Vatican. He had small reading glasses on as he read some papers. His eyes were small and beady. He had a long moustache, and a short beard that extended from his chin. He didn’t even look up as Grimm lead me into the room. Grimm saluted him, and Cromwell made no attempt to salute back, or even look at him. By Grimm’s expression, either that was normal rudeness or policy in the Valkeries.

“Sit down, Spectre,” Cromwell said to me. He still wasn’t looking up. “Grimm, status?” He had a heavy Scottish accent.

“Seventeen, including the kid, dead in a demon attack. I’d rank the Davy as a Class 6.”

Then, Cromwell looked up. I saw his eyes mysteriously calm.

“6? What’s a demon like that doing there? Nobody sensed it?”

Grimm shrugged. “I was across town, sir. It must have been hiding its power or something.”

Cromwell shook his head. “No. The Holes are getting worse. That thing must’ve popped out of one and began to have its fun right away. Grimm, who else is in Boston?”

“Myself, Dreglin, Setre, and Carvest.”

Cromwell nodded. “Albany hasn’t had any serious problems in twenty years. How many are stationed there?

“Two. Hecks and Pettit.”

“Get Pettit to patrol New York until I send leave. Expect leave in five to seven months if nothing else arises. Anything else?”

Grimm thought for a second. “No, sir. As you wish.”

Cromwell nodded. “Dismissed, Officer.”

Grimm saluted again and closed the door behind him. Cromwell looked back down and pulled out a file from his desk. He opened it and looked up at me.

“Hang on, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Cromwell read some papers from that file, then closed it.

“I’m Commander Cromwell, head of the Spirit Justice Department of the Great Court. That was your file, Spectre.”

“What file?” I intelligently asked.

“On your life. Talents, I.Q., characteristics, personality defects, mental state, everything about you. Including, your ability to see ghosts.”

I nodded.

“Jim, you are what’s called a Spectral. As a human, you have the ability to see ghosts, apparitions, and possibly strong demons. I’m sure you’re aware of this?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Since I was five years old. I was told by ghosts before there were others like me. That I would be able to become a Valkerie one day when I died. You guys are like cops?”

Cromwell grinned slightly and stood up. He’s about five foot seven and had a saber hanging from his belt.

“You are a Spectral because of one of a bunch of reasons. Someone in your past genealogy was either a demon or an angel. Or you were blessed by an angel or demon. But we’re going to run a gene scan on you to find out.”

I immediately thought my Aunt, who I was sure was a demon. No one could act that horrible and be a natural person.

Cromwell looked at me deeply.

“Well, I’m here to offer you a choice, as you seem to already know. When a Spectral is alive, they’re pretty much useless. Some weak minded ones are driven insane from the sights they see. But when they die, that’s where it get’s interesting. When you’re dead, your demon or angel power comes into the open. You have the gift of Full Sight. That means you can see everything that has to do with the Afterlife. You’ll see plenty more soon enough. But better than that, you have the gift of Magic. The angel or demon heritage within you gives you a direct line into the Astral Realm. You’ll be able to perform spells, curses, charms, and all kinds of abilities. You’re physical speed, strength, senses, and reflexes will increase. Right now, Jim, you’re a soldier.”

I looked at my hands. It was hard to believe I was a “soldier.”

“What’s the choice?” I asked.

“Either way, you go to the Great Court. Once there, you be given clearance to be either sent to Heaven, Purgatory, or Hell. Or you’ll be granted the Magic Rite and start training to be a Valkerie.”

I nodded slowly.

“You’ll be a Spiritual Law Enforcement Officer. After the Court clears you, you’ll go to Lord Mephistos for training. He was the universe’s first Archangel. He’s the master of Magic, and trains every new Valkerie in the basics of combat, and Magic casting. After six months, you’ll be given a city, and a veteran Valkerie will train you for another six months. After that, you’ll be a fully fledged Valkerie. A proper jurisdiction in a city will be drawn up for you. You’ll be given your own sanctuary to stay in. And you’ll get a schedule of when you’ll be on patrol and on Reaper duties.”

I sat back down. That was pretty heavy.

“What if I don’t wanna be a Valkerie?”

Cromwell shrugged.

“Then you go to Heaven or wherever. But, the thing is, there isn’t any…action in Heaven. No one starts fights, no wars, no crime…It’s great for most people. But for us, it’s boring. Valkeries are a unique type of people. As Livies, Valkerie jargon for living humans, we like action. Most join sports like football, boxing, martial arts, rugby. You play football, right? We also have a sense of justice. Some Spectrals join the police or military. The point is, Heaven isn’t really a place for Spectrals. I’m not gonna stop you, if you want to just go to the Afterlife to be with your family. You walk out right now. Take the elevator to the 406^th floor, and you’ll see the Court. But if you want to be a Valkerie, I need to know now.”

I took a minute.

“What’s it like? Being a Valkerie?”

“You’ll become something called sub-passed. You’ll become something halfway between a ghost and a person. You’ll have a body, obey the laws of Earthly physics. But, no one will be able to see you if you don’t get their attention first. If you don’t walk up and say something, or call for them across the street, something like that. Even then, they’ll forget about you and move on. But you’ll have Magic powers and Full Sight. You will protect them from dangerous demons and keep the balance between the demons and the forces of justice.”

I leaned back against my chair. Like I said before, it was heavy.

“Well…What’s the job like?” I asked. I must have sounded like a frightened little kid.

“Well, about twelve hours a day, you’ll be on patrol. Your physical body is gone, now, so you won’t need sleep anymore. You’ll kill demons, learn Magic, take dead souls to the Afterlife… A lot of responsibilities.”

“Will I…have a social life? Can I talk to people?”

Cromwell hesitated.

“I guess that’s the only drawback. I mean, you can talk to other Valkeries, spirits, apparitions…But as far as other humans go, you’ll never be able to maintain a relationship with anybody lasting more than ten seconds. At the most.”

I never had a social life anyway.

“Would I be able to see my parents?”

He nodded.

“If they went to Heaven or Purgatory, then yes. You’ll have three days a month to visit the Afterlife, other places, do whatever you want.”

Didn’t sound so bad.

“Can I…like…Die again?”

Cromwell stared at me, then took his glasses off. He sat back down.

“Right now, you’re only Spirit. When the physical body is killed, this is what you become afterwards. Your soul is immortal. But it can be damaged. If you are injured, like in your human body, such as being decapitated, being stabbed in a fatal spot, whatever, then you’ll  ‘double die.’ What that means, is that you’ll fade away into Limbo. It’ll take a little while, but eventually, you’ll regain ‘life’ again.”

“How long is ‘a little while?’” I asked.

Cromwell rubbed the back of his head in discomfort.

“Um…a thousand years. At the most. You won’t be conscious for any of it, though.” He nervously laughed.

I nodded.

“Okay. Can I have a few minutes?”

Cromwell smiled and nodded. He stood up to leave. I didn’t really mean for him to do that, I thought I was going to step out into the hall. But Cromwell began to walk out. As he opened the door, I asked him one last question.

“Is is worth it?” I asked.

He looked at intensely.

“I think it is. Son, I was born in a London gutter, some five hundred and fourteen years ago. I died in 1525 at the age of thirty. I was a general in the English army and was killed by French mercenaries. I became a Valkerie when I died. In 1597, I was made a Second Class Officer. That’s a good thing. In 1689, I was made Third Class. Another really good thing. Most Valkeries haven’t gotten that high. In 1824, I became a Captain, which is a rank in Fourth Class. In 1915, I was made Commander of Spirit Justice. I’m at the highest rank in Fifth class. I don’t regret any of the past four hundred years I’ve served.”

He gave me an assuring smile and left the room. I looked around the room. What he said was true. What he said about me. I played football since I was in elementary school, also boxed at a local gym a few days a week. I did want to join the Marine Corps after I finished high school. I put my head on my knees and thought for a minute. I shrugged and stood up. I glanced to my hands. I didn’t feel Magical. I strolled over to the door and opened it. I expected Cromwell to be there, but he wasn’t.

“Over here, Spectre.”

I turned and saw Cromwell at his desk. I gave a double take and just shrugged again. Magic, I supposed. Cromwell was shuffling through papers, not looking at me again.

“Made a decision?”

“Yeah. I…Yeah. I’ll be a Valkerie.”

Cromwell nodded, not even looking up.

“Grimm!” He shouted.

I looked to my left, and saw that Grimm was standing beside me. I guess he used Magic to teleport or something.

“He’s gonna do it?” Grimm asked.

“Yes. Take him to be judged. Spectre, I’ll see you in six months.”

Grimm lead me down the corridor and we went down the elevator. I looked around the elevator.

“Where are we exactly?”

“An elevator.”

“No, I mean, where where.”

“Oh,” he started chuckling. “We’re in Purgatory. You see, there’s Midgard. That’s Earth. Below it, out is the Circles of Hell. In between Midgard and Hell, is the Outer Region. That’s like where demons hide when they’re not in Midgard. Above Midgard is Purgatory. After that it’s Limbo. Well, Limbo isn’t really a tangible place, it’s more metaphysical. But above that is Heaven. Purgatory where the departments are…”

“There are other departments?” I interjected.

“Oh yeah. Time, Science, you name it. Also have the Great Court, and the Waiting Room. The Waiting Room is all the dead souls that can’t go to Heaven or Hell yet.”

“Why can’t they?”

Grimm shrugged. “Maybe they weren’t good enough in their lives. Or bad enough. Usually they get assigned a job in one of the departments to prove their worth. But getting into Heaven, which is obviously above, isn’t difficult. Really not hard at all. As long you didn’t hurt anybody or cause any serious mischief, you’re okay. I mean, Jimi Hendrix and George Carlin made it.”

I nodded. The Afterlife was crazy. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. I could see a huge wooden door with “The Great Court of Heaven” written in gold letters. Grimm walked down the hall and I followed close behind. He got to the door, and put his palm against the wood.

“You sure you wanna do this, Jim?” He asked.

I paused. “Well…No. Let me ask you: Do you regret joining?”

He grinned. “Nah. I like it. See you later, Jim. Maybe I’ll end up training you.”

He turned and left. I faced the door and pushed it open. It was surprisingly a simple set up. It looked like a regular court room, except that half the place was surround by benches. The benches were filled by dozens and dozens of men and women. They all wore white cloaks and glowed a pearly silver. A few I recognized from my history books. Some of them were United States Supreme Court justices. I saw John Marshall, Earl Warren, and William Howard Taft. Others, I could tell, were from English Parliaments, other parliaments, and other courts from around the world. They looked relatively glad to see me. Taft stood up to speak to me. I guess since I’m American and it would be the most comforting to have a recognizable figure judge me.

“Greetings, James W. Spectre. I’m Justice Taft of the High Heaven Court. I see by the report sent by Commander Cromwell, you’re applying to be a Valkerie?”

 “Yes, sir. Uh…Did I make it?”

Taft smiled and most of the judges laughed. Taft put his palms out in front of him. He closed his eyes and saw his hands glow. One of his hands began to dip down, and the other rose. He opened his eyes and his hands stopped illuminating.

He grinned. “James W. Spectre, I approve of your Valkeriehood.” He casually tossed his hand toward the wall, and a door grew out. “You may go through that door, and speak to the Archangel Michael.”

The judges applauded me, and I must have blushed. Either that or they turned off the air conditioner. I grabbed the door handle, and pulled it open. All I saw was a bright light. Trusting my feelings, I walked through it. I stepped into a temple the next instant. It was all rock and steel. Weapons were mounted on the wall, of all different sizes and kinds. Swords, guns, cannons, you name it. I waited in my tracks like an idiot. I had no idea what to do next. All of a sudden, I felt a rush of wind. I launched myself to the right and rolled toward the wall. My instincts took over. I saw that by the spit second I moved, a figure’s javelin sank into the boulder floor. I whipped a samurai style katana off the wall and prepared to fight. I had no experience with swords in my life. Saw them in movies, never touched one before. The figure stood up and laughed heartedly. He pulled the javelin out of the floor and spun it in his hand. He was eight feet tall, at least. His skin was tan and he long black hair. He wore a white, sleeveless shirt that exposed his muscular and lean arms. His black gauntlets were made of leather. He wore white, baggy pants with black leather boots. He looked like a warrior. He puffed out his chest a little, and huge, eagle looking wings popped out. He smiled.

“Hello, you must be James.” I could not fit his accent anywhere.

I lowered my sword. “Yeah. I’m gonna go ahead and take a shot in the dark. You’re Michael? The Archangel?”

“Right. I’m the top general over God’s army of Heaven. And you chose the katana.”

I looked to my sword.

“Yeah. Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Yes. This was a test I do with all the new Valkeries. All the weapons on the walls are symbolic. When a Spectral dies, he gains the supernatural reflexes, speed, and strength. You reacted and was drawn to your perfect weapon. That katana describes you.”

I looked at it. It was nice. The blade was three feet long, shiny. It felt great in my hand. It was perfectly balanced, and not a bit awkward.

“It does?”

“You’re quick, James. Katana is a fast weapon. Precise. Accurate. Use it well, James. I brought you here to get your weapon, and to take you to see Archangel Mephistos. He’ll teach you to fight and use Magic. And I’ll drop in every now and then to help. Are you ready?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer, and I was teleported again.

Reviews

[Sean Cairns]

It's still going strong! I like the humorous approach to the narration, with James not really taking things all that seriously. The context and setting has developed well and I now have a strong understanding of this world. I will say it feels like the pilot to a action show, where they hurriedly explain the entire setting and backstory to bring people up to speed, but I'm sure that once you've finished explaining everything, this will be an absolutely killer read!