Crilen and the War of False Prophets

By Donald I. Templeman

Lies.
Charlatans.
Greed.
War.

In the name of God, 200,000 Avarican civilians are savagely massacred. Therefore, the neighboring Gzadin homeworld is overrun by Avarican forces in the name of God. So the Gzadin enlist the aid of Crilen, the fiery interstellar champion of the living Lord, to liberate their planet in Gods name. Only he quickly discerns that the purported faiths of both worlds have been subverted by ungodly ulterior motives.

The sincerest soul Crilen encounters amidst a chaotic war mired in ruthless treachery is Captain Vicara Riks, an intrepid field officer whose thirst for righteousness runs concurrent with her struggle to trust Heaven. Her fearless leadership symbolizes the conundrum of the soldier who finds her sworn allegiance to duty opposed by the abandoned virtues of honor and truth. Every willing sacrifice Vicara makes painfully diminishes her odds for a loving reunion with her son. Crilen desperately wishes to save her, but war is fraught with crueltyand death.

To deliver interplanetary peace, sacrifices must be made.
What price for the atonement of two lost worlds shall ultimately be paid?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491734155

Donald I. Templeman

Donald Templemanis the author of the science fiction/fantasy novels The Last Champion of Earth, The Planet of Mortal Worship and Crilen and the War of False Prophets, powerful and imaginative literary works which delve deeply into the failures and triumphs of humanity’s relationship with God. He is a student of Christianity who enjoys science fiction, fantasy and horror. His writing incorporates all of these elements to challenge his readers to challenge themselves. He continues to write and reside in his hometown of Shaker Heights, Ohio.

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Copyright © 2014 Donald I. Templeman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3415-5 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3416-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3417-9 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014910428

iUniverse rev. date: 7/7/2014

CONTENTS

Feast of the Herald Angel

Where The Prophets Lie

Colludya

Tornado Moon

Everything We Want

Exculpation Thrice Eternal

Epilogue

For all of the soldiers who defend our freedom to worship God

To Dan Yacovella, my petrochemical ormium engineer

And to kind and lovely Cara Ricketts for Innogen’s beauty,

optimism and inspiration for me to finish this work!

Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

Ye shall know them by their fruits.

Matthew 7:15-16

But there were false prophets also among the people, even as there shall be false teachers among you, who privily shall bring in damnable heresies, even denying the Lord that bought them, and bring upon themselves swift destruction.

And many shall follow their pernicious ways; by reason of whom the way of truth shall be evil spoken of.

2 Peter 2:1-2

It is not our faith which leads us to war and cruelty, to hatred and oppression, but rather the malpractice of it. God loves and forgives all saints and sinners alike. Verily, there is scant difference betwixt the two. All He asks is that we repent our iniquitous nature and forgive others as we most assuredly need Him to forgive us. By so doing, each and every one of us will be saved by our loving Father for all eternity.

Crilen

Feast of the Herald Angel

I.

"Killing children is the worst of it.

When you see dead children, covered in dust…bled out over their toys, you know…you pray…it can’t get any worse…then somehow it still does.

The dry frigid dawn was crisp and still. It was an eerie interlude in the midst of a war where death’s indiscriminate harvest blistered and calloused the souls and consciences of the battle-scathed, sleep-deprived combatants who remained diligent.

Captain Vicara’s emerald eyes narrowed as she stared into the distance beyond the powder-blue horizon toward their Idamar Town target several kilometers away.

I never thought I could really take a life until the first time the enemy shot at me, she thought. "Then I realized the clock was ticking down. Me or them? Someone has to die right now and it’s either me or them. You want to live, so very suddenly you’re trying like hell to kill them. You want your mates to live so you’re trying like hell. It doesn’t matter if God loves the enemy. They don’t love you. And once you’ve had the smell of rotting corpses coat the taste in your mouth and kicked a dismembered torso or two or ten, you realize that’s the game. So what you once thought was inconceivable now becomes your new routine. The calendar doesn’t matter. The weather doesn’t matter. The reason you’re there doesn’t matter. You just want to live so you can finally go home and hug your little boy. You’re willing to kill anyone for that. Anyone. What’s victory anyway? I’m sure the archoligarch has a monetary figure in mind. But for me, it’s when the enemy finally stops shooting and I’m back in my garden with a smooth cool drink…where my biggest worry is keeping a happy smile on the face of my son."

Missile prepared for launch, Captain. A tense voice interrupted her introspection. Are we sure…?

We have our orders, Commander. Her ruefully pensive countenance remained fixed.

We should pray on this, sir, a raspy, unsteady voice implored. We should pray.

She reflected on the irony of praying to God upon this deed she regarded so ungodly.

There’ll be no absolution for this. Her steady voice belied the shards of regret screaming to her wearied conscience.

The muscles in her jaw worked tensely before decisively relinquishing the command: Fire!

Within seconds, a deadly midnight-metallic missile cut quietly through the wind currents. It dropped beneath the clouds and purposefully descended toward its target. The glistening copper warhead beeped, twisted, clicked and armed itself for a deadly obliterative strike.

Ten kilometers in its path, a school full of young children held the foreground. The missile descended lower and lower, homing in on its destination. The children recited the alphabet as the teacher looked up and saw a projectile rapidly approaching their second-story classroom. By the time she recognized what she saw, it was too late to evacuate. Too late to run for cover. Too late to order the children under their desks or to even cover their eyes. She mouthed the first three syllables of a breathless supplication and closed her eyes.

Meanwhile, galaxy away:

I am the Lord your God. The emperor rent his silken robe and thrust forth his bony pallid sternum. He extended his gnarled hands outward from the golden palace balcony, condescending to the fawning reverence of his deluded worshippers.

No one shall know eternal life but through me! his echoing declaration faded into the cheering din of his believers.

Three meters behind this self-anointed deity of aging spotted flesh, the woven fabric of Crilen’s black hood simmered and smoked from within as his peering crimson eyes flashed hot red. He forced the timeless, ever-haunting specter of his wife’s death—to recede. It was time to go to work.

I have loved you, the emperor continued, I have cared for you. I have shown you signs and wonders. I have paved the way to Heaven for you. Surrender all of your worldly treasures, and I will show you greater riches in eternity.

Tens of thousands of devoutly delusional subjects crammed the expansive cream marble courtyard. The walls and pathways were lined with large stones of gold. Water streamed and twirled from the white fountain sculptures of dancing naked children mirthfully playing their musical instruments. The ornately forged iron parapet spires soared heavenward from every gated entrance.

Yet their beauty paled in contrast to the glistening palace itself. The ten-story edifice overlooking the indolent dark green ocean waves shimmered like golden liquid. The planet’s entire history appeared to have been carved and crafted into its precious walls. Brightly colored flowers and violet-green foliage poured over its terraces with an absurdly resplendent beauty. In desperate unison the people roared their frightfully fervent allegiance, raising their palms and praising their leader’s name.

The emperor smiled.

My lord, Phant, his young advisor appeared at his shoulder and spoke into his bejeweled, cloven ear, should we commence the collection?

The emperor turned to his confidant with gleaming avarice in his eyes. He stroked his white pointed beard.

If not now, then when? he chuckled and petted the younger man on the shoulder.

But surely their surrender of these treasures can’t possibly guarantee them a place in Heaven. Phant looked out pitiably over the zealous throng.

No. The emperor shook his head, smirking confidently. Surely not. Yet should any of these misbegotten denizens return from the afterworld requesting a refund, I will certainly oblige them. But for now, let us seize upon the moment, shall we?

The young man signaled from the balcony. Hundreds of lavender-robed ushers bearing flashing red velvet satchels fanned out into the crowd. The people flocked to the pulsing lighted satchels in a manic frenzy. Wildly, they flung jewelry, art objects, and boxes of valuable coins into the miraculously bottomless containers. The containers would flash bright pink with every donation, then magically appear empty once more. In exchange, the patron believers received a ring of copper validating the assurance of their god’s favor and a yellow lozenge to seal their heavenly bond.

Guards in dark navy armor stalked through the mobbing zealots, thrusting their pronged electrically charged lances into the bedlam to clear narrow pathways for the robed ushers to pass through. An obese middle-aged female in a satin gown pushed forward, shifting an entire section of the crowd with her girth, and grabbed for one of the robed ushers. A guard electrocuted her with his lance and she collapsed in a semi-conscious heap of jiggling, flesh. Another guard stooped down and quickly yanked all the jewelry from her twitching fingers. He exchanged her valuables for a dull copper ring which he wedged crookedly onto her thick paw. Then he poked a lozenge into her open mouth and lightly smacked her on the cheek.

A boy, fighting against the elbows of the frantic adult mob, observed the guard toss the jewelry into a pulsing velvet pouch. The contents disintegrated into a flash of bright light.

Where does it go? the boy asked the helmeted guard.

Where is your mother, boy? the guard growled down at him.

The boy pointed to the fat quaking female lying on the ground with her eyes rolled back in her forehead and white foam spitting from her darkening lips.

Heaven, the guard blurted unconvincingly. It goes to Heaven. Now, out of the way.

With his heavy armored gauntlet, the guard swiped the boy aside. The youngster was drawn back into the rolling crush of clamoring adults who hurried after the robed ushers, pleading desperately to be permitted to part with their valuable belongings.

Above the mayhem, Crilen continued to observe from the balcony. He had arrived on this planet only hours ago. But the unfolding drama played to a painfully familiar script: Lost, longing souls lusting for secular salvation and a charlatan predator’s magic tricks primed to pirate their selfish temporal prayers.

He’d heard the rumored whereabouts of a large stolen cargo vessel traced to this planet. But he had no concerns for intergalactic larceny. Disputes born of territories and objects could transcend a billion lifetimes without a meaningful resolution. The ownership of dead things by living creatures remained one of the great irrational fallacies of the corporeal sentient. If the object outlives the possessor, then who is the owner of whom? Can a living creature whose lifespan is less than a flicker in the fire of eternity truly claim dominion over any object whose inanimate existence may endure unchanged for millennia?

And wherein lay the profit of temporal possessions for the temporally bound lives of sentient creatures imbued with everlasting souls? he’d concluded long ago. No departed immortal soul has ever carried anything from its life beyond this plane other than the intangible wisdom and nurture of the immeasurable experiences exercised upon its spirit.

The state of possessions was irrelevant. The destiny of spirits was an infinite imperative. God had not allowed Crilen’s pyrogenic fire experiment to claim the life of his wife and consume his worldly fixations so he could while away the burning power of a living star in the apprehension of mere thieves. It was true that the warrior purpose of his earliest years had been violently unfocused. But then God revealed to him the never-ending war permeating every curve and corner of the expanding cosmos: the battle for the eternal destiny of immortal souls. The flames of truth and Heaven transfigured his amoral pursuit of justice into a blazing broadsword of fiery righteousness.

When Crilen learned of the blasphemous ruse being played upon the people of this world, the necessity of his intervention became certain. The faith of the entire planet would need to be gutted, buried and rebirthed. Now standing two strides behind the perpetrator, only the timing of correction was problematic.

The emperor clasped his palms together and turned to his young advisor.

Any word from the ship? the elder man requested.

Phant flicked at his communication earpiece. The cargo hold is filling up faster than we could have imagined.

Not too fast, I hope. The emperor looked concerned. We aren’t going to leave anything behind, are we?

We took the largest cargo transport the Lynndite was willing to sell, Phant reminded him.

Yes. The emperor grimaced. Too bad he wasn’t willing to sell it for a fair price. I thought our generous offer would have made it worth him retaining his life. A pity. Interstellar commerce could be so much tidier if everyone weren’t so greedy.

The emperor’s ringed fingers touched the balcony and he gazed down upon his desperate subjects once more.

Look at them, he chuckled. They tried so hard to build their lives around their things. And worse yet, when that didn’t work, they tried even harder to build their lives around each other. Selfish creatures hopelessly building hope around their selfish brethren. We dare call them sentient? Once they finally tired of their instinctual betrayal of one another, they concluded that there must be something better than themselves to trust…or worship. There must be a cosmic promise of something better than what they’ve made of their world. Of course their ancient scrolls told them as much a hundred centuries ago. The truth is stored right under the glass in their own museums. But how could ancient scriptures have any relevance for such modern, complex creatures as they? The savior for these sophisticates couldn’t possibly emanate from something old and dusty and archaic. Their savior had to be someone new. Someone they hadn’t heard or seen before. Someone…like myself, it appears.

It’s horrible. Phant tried to mimic the emperor’s jocular contempt.

Yes. The elder man turned from the balcony and smiled. "And it’s going to get worse. Only no worse than anything their own merciless god would have wrought upon them for their treacherous unbelief. At least now, a few of us will profit from their miserable misguidedness.

Open the portal, the emperor commanded. It’s time for their ‘heavenly’ reward.

Phant turned and walked to the other end of the balcony. Crilen watched as the younger man tapped his earpiece and uttered a series of commands.

In the courtyard below, the robed ushers quietly withdrew into the lower palace entryways. The navy armored soldiers backpedaled closely behind them, weapons drawn on the witless crowd. The waves of people left behind ignored the silent departures and gleefully consumed their lozenges, proudly brandishing their copper rings to one another like the freshly minted members of an exclusive sacred sect.

A male in the crowd looked up at the palace and saw the golden domed roof silently swivel open. The people milling about the courtyard followed his gaze as their buoyant chatter dissolved.

Slowly, a large, densely mechanized cannon mounted on a hydraulically automated platform emerged from the open roof with a deep whirring drone. It bore the appearance of a dreadfully devastating weapon with its thick armored barrel and pulsing lights flickering along its intricately automated chassis.

The composition of a horrific scenario played through Crilen’s mind: A ghastly betrayal of the emperor’s subjects; a swift pulverizing extermination of every victim and witness of this charlatan’s ruse. The only variable which did not conform to this hypothetical plot was the cannon’s position. As a deep pressurized hum swelled in the canals of his pointed ears, he observed that the trajectory of the cannon’s barrel was aimed skyward away from the living targets along the oceanside landscape.

The energy inside the cannon continued to build. Its low hum evolved into a murmuring whine. The gradual elevation of its pitch was nearly imperceptible as the cannon’s darting lights pulsed more and more rapidly. Finally an incandescent glow of black refracting light illuminated the barrel’s mouth. The black light curled into glowing concentric circles of dark energy that symmetrically coiled skyward. The energy caused a warped distortion beyond the clouds which fractured the natural canvas of the darkening sky into broken shards of contorted reality.

Crilen recognized this pattern as folded dimensions converged upon a single corridor, commingled unnaturally where the normal laws of physics allow only one reality to reside.

With a crackling flash of bright lightning, the distortion in the sky undulated into a swirling funnel of rumbling black clouds inexorably drawn from every direction.

The patrons in the courtyard didn’t know whether to be frightened, anxious or joyful at the vision which appeared to be something miraculous unfolding overhead. There were shouts of faithful anticipation interspersed with cries of mounting fear. Ignorant or learned, no one could fully comprehend the reshaping of the very heavens.

Crilen had seen enough. He was not certain what would happen next, but his instincts assured him no good thing would follow hard upon these events.

The robe covering Crilen’s body smoldered and smoked. A golden flame from the crown of his head burned through the top of his hood. His hands burst into fire with the concussive roar of a blast furnace.

The emperor squirmed uncomfortably from a warmth radiating through the back of his thin white garment. He turned and fell backward at the sight of the fiery black alien with pointed ears and blazing crimson eyes glaring down at him.

Still holding his earpiece, Phant, the emperor’s young assistant, gasped in mid-sentence.

Shut it down, Crilen demanded as the charred remains of his robe flickered into fluttering embers.

The once eloquent emperor’s mouth hung open, his cunning mind unable to compose a coherent response.

Two soldiers in dark navy armor interceded and drew short mechanized lances from their leg holsters. They aimed their weapons at Crilen and pressed the triggers. But their beams of electrified energy were disintegrated by a field of intense flames rolling forth from Crilen’s body. Crilen then lifted his left arm and extended the bright hot flames over his armored assailants.

The soldiers hunched down in a futile attempt to protect their visors from the intense fire and heat which enveloped them. In seconds, the distressed squeal of cold metal violently smelting into molten liquid became audible. The sickening smell of searing flesh followed. One of the soldiers managed a choked, gurgling death wail before his liquefying metal helmet buckled and poured onto his face like a sizzling molten mask over a screaming skull of tortured agony. The two armored figures twisted and slumped in their places as their boots wilted into metallic platforms flecked with traces of blood, hair and charred skin. When Crilen’s fiery assault relented, the soldiers’ armored bodies hissed and steamed like the deformed metal castings of ill-conceived life forms birthed from the horrid hallucinations of a demented sculptor.

Crilen turned back upon the emperor who had risen to his feet. The suddenly less powerful old man quaked in fear at the hellishly surreal tableau his palace balcony had become.

Shut it down, Crilen’s hauntingly alien baritone reverberated.

It’s too late. A nervous younger voice spoke from behind.

It was Phant.

The temporal feedback from a cold shutdown would reduce everything within five square kilometers to a veritable crater, the young male informed. It would be even worse than what’s about to happen if we don’t.

And what’s about to happen? Crilen’s brow furrowed.

At that moment, Crilen sensed movement over his left shoulder. He spun around just in time to witness the emperor swinging a small hatchet, head high.

Die, demon! he yelled.

With a simple parry Crilen caught the edge of the hatchet in the palm of his hand and melted the blade. His eyes flickered bright red as he snatched the handle from the emperor’s grasp and burned it down to a brittle black stick. With a flick of his forefinger, Crilen twirled a circle of flames toward the elderly man and severed his arms at the elbows.

The emperor collapsed to his knees and let loose the whimpering yelp of a small injured animal.

Crilen turned back to Phant, who was staring down at his maimed emperor.

What’s about to happen? Crilen repeated.

A shrill cry echoed over the rumble of the dark funnel swirling over the horizon. Then similar calls followed as if in answer to the first. Crilen tried to linguistically process the cries in his head, attempting to detect the pattern of a language.

At the mouth of the expanding funnel, a small bright birdlike creature jettisoned out into the open sky. Its white feathered wings spread upon the wind as it soared gracefully against the turbulent grey backdrop. It turned and circled toward the eye of the funnel, loosing another cry as if harkening to hallowed gods from ancient myth. Again there was an audible echo which sounded like a response. Crilen could not assess the level of sentience, but he was certain the song was a language.

From the courtyard, very few took notice of the violent commotion emanating from the palace balcony. Instead, all gazes were fixed upon the solitary winged figure circling overhead.

It’s beautiful, A stout middle-aged male loudly declared.

Buma, how can you be sure? a skeptical young female acquaintance questioned.

Kaana, it’s everything the emperor promised. Buma’s smile bowed his round cheeks as he followed the winged creature’s graceful, spiraling descent. Angels to the world. The world to the Angels. The Immaculate Copulation of the Holy Emperor’s world to our own. Eternal Peace. Eternal Joy. Eternal Love. Eternal Ecstasy. Just as he prophesied. How could this…miracle be anything else?

The soaring winged figure gliding overhead appeared more alien than divine.

Something doesn’t feel right. Kaana’s voice trembled. Something’s…missing.

Buma turned and reprimanded her with a scowl.

That’s because you haven’t studied the word of the emperor like I have. He quickly returned his eyes skyward. Assurance comes from knowledge of the emperor’s prophesy. Fear is born of ignorance. The more you know, the better you can understand what’s going on. Do you know how much of my fortune I’ve donated to get to Heaven? I‘ve given more than anyone. I don’t fear anything now.

Are you sure? Kaana asked. Just because you paid—

Paid? Buma held up a finger to silence her. I sacrificed. I sacrificed millions of coins, that’s how I know. You could be as certain as I am if you studied the signs and promises as I have. Now, you simply have to trust what unfolds before you and welcome the Emperor’s blessing upon us.

The winged creature slowly descended in a broad spiraling pattern toward the courtyard. Some people fell prayerfully to their knees in wonder, marveling at the beauty and grace of its flight. Others merely conversed excitedly amongst themselves, observing the bright figure’s approach.

Thank you, oh Lord, Buma muttered aloud. Thank you, my God. I haven’t been the most perfect person. When I wasn’t hitting my wife, I was cheating on her and that was wrong. I ignored the poor while I was trying to build my own fortune. I told lies to people who trusted me so I could increase a profit I didn’t even need. I denied having slept with the whores and mistresses who had my children. I hated people when it suited me; I pretended to like people when there was something to gain. I even made myself more important in my own mind than you, God. I know that was wrong and I’m sorry. I realize now that nothing in the world matters more than getting to Heaven. So I’ve given up everything I have to get there and spend my eternal lusts with you and your angels. Take me God. Please take me to your kingdom!

Kaana’s eyes moistened at her lover’s plea. Buma, I’ve never heard you—

Shut up! Buma pushed her away and slowly trotted toward the largest child statue fountain at the center of the courtyard. Kaana took two steps to follow him, but intuitive doubt robbed her legs of their energy.

Buma’s unconditioned lungs burned as he huffed and wheezed to the base of the statue. He observed the winged creature descending ever closer.

I have to be the one, he muttered to himself. I gave up everything. More than anyone else here. I have to be the first.

He jammed his thick fingers into the chiseled lettering at the base of the statue and clumsily hoisted himself up. When others noticed his intent, a small crowd rushed toward him.

I have to be the first. Sweat beaded Buma’s forehead.

With greater exertion than his soft burning muscles had ever known, he pulled himself upward, scuffling his feet over the statue’s engraved lettering. His weakening legs nearly gave out completely as he felt the toe of his shoe catch a deep impression. He rolled himself up onto the base just as the gathering arrived.

A younger, leaner male quickly attempted to follow Buma’s climb, but Buma glared down at him and buried the heel of his foot into the man’s face, sending him tumbling back into the crowd.

I gave up a fortune! Buma shouted with the intonation of an apology. I have to be the first one! I’ve earned it!

As the worshipers below recovered the fallen male and set him upright, an anxious hush silenced the entire courtyard.

Buma looked down at them and smiled. They heard him, he thought. They understood. He’d given up so much to stand where he now stood. How could they begin to deny him his right to be the first to join with the emperor’s angels?

He felt a presence over his shoulder, and it was not the statue of the frolicking child playing its stringed instrument. Buma saw the tens of thousands of awestruck gazes fixed upon him from all over the courtyard. Their sudden reverence made no sense until he turned slowly, looked upward and felt the air rush from his lungs.

The winged white figure of a beautiful golden-maned male hovered only a few meters above his head. Its ivory feathered wingspan fluttered fifteen meters wide, suspending its handsomely lean muscular physique weightlessly in the air. Its penetrating eyes were deep pools of liquid lapis, inferring an intellect far exceeding its adolescent appearance. Its boyish face was cream white, bearing a blankly serene expression which was both inscrutable and unnerving.

I…I… Buma stammered as tears came to his eyes. I’ve been waiting for you my entire life. You are so…beautiful, sweet angel. I haven’t always been the person I should have been. But I’ve changed all of that now. I’ve given everything away…so that I could be with you. So I could love you…just as you love me.

The winged figure descended closer to Buma. A smattering of shouts percolated from the crowd below. Some were shouts of encouragement. Others were pleas for the angelic creature to take them instead. Meanwhile, Buma felt the caressing breeze sweeping from its wings as it drew nearer. The smell was like fresh flowers at the height of spring. He smiled and spread his arms open, welcoming this heavenly herald to his bosom.

It hovered directly in front of Buma and gazed deeply into his eyes. Buma’s heart pounded with delirious anticipation.

Slowly, the angelic being extended a gold-taloned hand to Buma’s round cheek and touched him. Its delicate fingers were like unto the caress of the emperor himself as Buma was overwhelmed by a transforming spiritual ecstasy.

Yes. Buma quivered as tears streamed down his round cheeks and saliva spilled from his lips. He turned his face slowly to kiss the palm of its soft hand as it warmed against his skin.

The alien cherub’s eyes carefully inspected Buma from the crown of his head to the toes of his sandals. A gentle comforting smile formed on the creature’s lips. Then a sharp agonizing penetration ripped into the underside of Buma’s groin.

Buma shrieked a soul rattling scream.

From the foot of the statue the worshippers witnessed the creature’s hooked tail whip down from beneath its broad wings, slash up between Buma’s legs and violently latch into the underside of his rectum. It clutched Buma by the throat, stabbing its sharp glistening talons behind his jawbone. Buma struggled feebly as a thick stream of blood gushed from the side of his open neck wound. The creature’s hooked tail proceeded to tear through Buma’s bowels with the sound of ragged ripping butchery cleaving up into his intestines. Buma gurgled an unbearably sorrowful moan of deathly betrayal.

Kaana dropped to her knees, fighting to catch her breath between dry sobs of hyperventilating shock. Ironically, the man Buma kicked from the base of the statue hurled a stone at the creature in a futile attempt to drive it from its prey.

The winged angelic creature loosed a chilling alien wail, revealing a mouth of golden fangs. Then it took flight, yanking Buma’s bloodied flailing corpse in tow, impaled by its sharp hooked tail.

It didn’t fly very far, however. It slammed Buma’s body onto the keyboard instrument of a neighboring statue and alighted next to the corpse. The creature’s tail ripped up the front of Buma’s gut until the body became a split bleeding cavity of ghastly slaughter. It gouged Buma’s throat with its sharp talons once more until his head was completely severed. Finally the blonde creature slashed wide the torso cavity, opened its jaws…and fed.

Kaana fainted.

Thousands broke for the courtyard exits, wildly stampeding over one another to make their escape. Others were frozen where they stood, transfixed upon the merciless savagery they’d witnessed. Oddly, many closed their eyes, lifted their hands and prayed reverent homage to the revolting dismemberment.

Up above, the swirling dark funnel in the sky thundered once more. A bright light emerged amidst the sound of a swelling whistle. A second winged creature jetted forth into the darkened sky. Then a pair. Then several more. And finally an unending stream which numbered hundreds.

Crilen had experienced many horrific events throughout his journeys across space and time. Yet what unfolded before him now ranked among the vilest treacheries he’d ever witnessed. Enslaving a planet of sentient beings under false religious teaching was commonplace. But few were the false deities who sought to exterminate their worshippers en masse.

His charry grey body burst into flames as he turned his scarlet eyes on Phant.

What have you done? Crilen’s voice was more accusatory than inquisitive.

We were supposed to be gone by now, Phant muttered, dropping his head.

That was not the question. Crilen’s anger escalated. Who are these creatures and why are they attacking?

The lozenges, Phant regretfully quaked his confession. the sacraments that everyone took. It’s their food. Nourishment from the creatures’ home world. They wait for simple primates to consume them…and then they…devour the host for the additional…protein.

Crilen’s blazing eyes glared through Phant with contempt. The young man tensed for a fiery retribution.

The ground beneath Crilen’s feet exploded into a propulsion of yellow fire and black smoke. Phant toppled backward unharmed. Crilen’s fiery glowing figure rocketed from the palace balcony into the grey skies.

His mind raced through resolutions that would prevent the slaughter of thousands of witless worshippers who had been duped into making themselves living sustenance for the alien creatures pouring out of the dark sky funnel overhead.

Years ago, the solution would not have been complicated: Defend the innocent victims in the courtyard and kill the alien aggressors. But experience and illumination now unveiled the inconvenient shades of grey where once his young mind perceived only the surface hues of black and white.

The worshippers in the courtyard were unquestionably innocent victims of their charlatan emperor and his unscrupulous platoon of murderous thieves. Yet these angelic carnivores hurtling down upon them had been equally misused. Their purpose was morally neutral. They had come to feed. Just as God designed their species to consume the hosts of their nourishment, they were guilty of nothing other than becoming a murderous implement in an evil deception. He could not arbitrarily take one group of lives to preserve another. Therefore, he would have to devise an aggregate means to save as many lives as he could—in the next several seconds!

Crilen’s fiery form arced over the palace courtyard while his mind riffled through calculations and stratagems which would minimize the loss of life. He spread his arms out wide as he blazed over the statue where the first angelic creature feasted upon Buma’s dead carcass. Then he burst into a ball of fire which illuminated the sky against the darkening back drop.

Crilen circled several hundred meters over the courtyard increasing his speed and body temperature with each pass, creating a temporary shield over the courtyard with an impenetrable dome of invisible heat energy.

The first flying formation of creatures, numbering no more than thirty, descended upon the courtyard to satiate their hunger. Their leader broke away from the formation, gracefully twisting and swooping down toward the crowd of worshippers who were fleeing for the exits like a panicked herd of frightened cattle. Its blonde mane flowed behind it as it bared its sharp teeth and unsheathed its glistening talons. But, just as its descending momentum peaked, it slammed blindly into Crilen’s broiling heat shield. Its wings broke apart. The flesh from its body burned from its bones. Its powerful descent was aborted, and he disintegrated into fluttering particles of blackened ash.

The other creatures veered away sensing the intense rippling waves of heat beneath them. A new leader immediately flew to the front of the formation. He led them past the courtyard and over the ocean, appearing to marshal a momentary retreat. But then the formation took a wide 180-degree turn, gained speed and bore down on the fleeing worshippers who had already exited the gates.

Crilen grimaced, watching the creatures savagely smash through the living wall of defenseless patrons. The wails of victims and predators commingled amid the fresh slaughter. Some of the creatures pushed their prey into the sandy beach tearing into their helpless bodies. Others snatched up their meals with the hooks of their retractable tails and carried them off for a more intimate feast.

Crilen’s first plan had failed. The heat shield was already beginning to dissipate and hundreds more of the winged angelic creatures were descending rapidly.

I could kill them all, Crilen reconsidered. "I could save these people from dying horribly violent deaths by causing horribly violent deaths in equal measure.

Here I am again: ‘the soldier on a world which requires a surgeon’. Crilen lamented the recurring irony.

This notion revisited his conscience more and more since the encounter with the devilish facilitator in the asteroid belt and the Godly sacrifice of Panla Jen. Panla rescued an entire world through her willing sacrifice for the redemption for her sins. A faithless act of violence condemned her, but her surrender to God’s will paved the path to salvation for countless generations of immortal souls. This divine resolution quickened Crilen’s own spiritual revelation. There was a time for the sword. But there was also a time for something more difficult: A time for empathy and compassion for those who shed the blood of innocents.

"Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." The ancient prayer whisked through his thoughts.

At that moment, an observation struck him.

These creatures, all males, Crilen pondered. Where are the females?

He immediately recalled the cries of the first creature which had emerged from the whirling funnel in the sky. Crilen determined it was a sentient language rather than a primal impulse. The creature heralded its arrival to this fresh feeding ground and harkened to its brethren to follow. The language was not complex, but it would be difficult to replicate without more time to study and the proper equipment to conjugate the accurate linguistic sequences which these beings would recognize and respond to.

Crilen turned from the mounting carnage below and soared a fiery path toward the swirling grey funnel of clouds. During his skyward climb he passed several hundred angelic creatures making their descent toward the courtyard. They all ignored him as they flew past.

Crilen released several bursts of fiery energy in the direction of the creatures to distract them. But the angelic aliens swerved evasively and resumed their single-minded rampage. Time grew short.

Crilen arrived at the mouth of the dark, whirling funnel. The interdimensional portal thundered and crackled with all the immeasurable energy required to sustain a time-bending gateway between worlds separated by thousands of light years across the universe. More of the winged cherub creatures continued to exit as he charged his body with an orange incandescent glow. Slowly he extended his arms. Fine shards of fire concentrically poured out from his body and illuminated the portal opening. With his right arm, Crilen twirled a section of the shards into a rotating wheel of fiery orange specks. With his left arm, he charged the remaining shards into a glowing yellowish white wheel which spun counter-clockwise. Gradually, he maneuvered the pair of wheels together until their paths intersected. The spectacular result was a fiery rotating generator of ionized energy suspended at the mouth of the giant funnel.

As the burning object spun fiercely, heating the molecules of the air around it, Crilen opened his hands with the tensed precision of an orchestra conductor and filtered compressed beams of energy through the intersecting wheels, causing the rotating apparatus to vibrate. He slowly manipulated the vibrations until it produced an audible whine. He hastily but carefully ran through a series of harmonic vibrations until he found the pitch he was searching for. Once he discovered the correct pitch, he successfully recreated the cry of the first angelic creature.

A few of the winged aliens momentarily ceased their descent in midflight, appearing confused. But they shrugged off the message’s nonsensical context and resumed their attack on the fleeing worshippers.

Time to find out what’s important to these lads, Crilen resolved.

He meticulously manipulated the new voice he created, gambling heavily on his prior knowledge of sentient cultures and civilizations throughout the universe. It was trial and error at its worst…until, finally, he struck the proper chords.

The winged angelic creatures halted their downward journey and turned their gazes back toward the funnel. Crilen repeated the series of sounds again until he saw hundreds of the creatures abandoning their assaults and returning to the dark spinning funnel in the sky.

The creatures chirped as they whisked past Crilen and re-entered the swirling dimensional portal. Crilen played the chord over and over again until a dense wave of the creatures flew past, crying a new song in unison. The sound was joyous if not triumphant as they abandoned their predatory feast and mirthfully embarked upon their new journey home.

The vibrating chords of Crilen’s rotating apparatus died down until it flickered and dispersed into the air. Still, the remaining creatures followed their brethren into the portal, contentedly exiting this foreign world for good.

Crilen turned his attention to the giant cannon on the roof of the palace that created the dimensional portal. Now it was his turn for a predatory descent. His fiery figure roared downward like a blazing missile homed in on a hostile target. He rocketed straight into the cannon’s open barrel.