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God’s soldiers. While I was certain He wouldn’t be
leading them Himself, our stumbling onto them was us knocking over the first
domino in line. It wouldn’t be long before they tumbled all the way to His
door. And then what?
    “What do we do now?”
    “We wait.” He sheathed his sword with a
little extra oomph , making it clear
he wasn’t pleased.
    I nodded and put my guns away. We’d already
been spotted and identified—at least our general make and model—so it didn’t
pay to come off looking aggressive. A couple billion miles from home, far from
where we should be, it wouldn’t take
much provocation for these angels to light us up. And however good Longinus
might be feeling, I sure as shit wasn’t up for duking it out with the Choir.
    Every muscle in my body throbbed, and my
head felt like Gene Hoglan’s kick drums. The
double-bass thump was rattling my teeth. My hands trembled and nothing I did
could get them to stop. I wasn’t afraid, at least not any more than usual, but
our jaunt across worlds had kicked my rectum in a few feet and there was no
telling how long it would take to reset. Fortunately, though it might be
unfortunately—I hadn’t decided yet—the battle came to an abrupt halt. The last
of the aliens, those who hadn’t already beat feet and vanished into the wild of
wherever the hell we were, fell beneath the grinding wave of the angels’
assault. The group that crushed their flank was joined by the flying angels.
All combined, there were probably thirty of the Choir, and they tromped over to
where we stood en masse . I heard what
I could have sworn was a groan slip out of Longinus. My gaze drifted to him but
his eyes were locked on the approaching angels. Well, one in particular.
    Tallish and handsome in a non-traditional movie
star kind of way, more middle-aged Clint Eastwood than Brad Pitt, the leader of
the group stood out amongst the rest. His long hair flowed over his shoulders
in black waves, piercing brown eyes staring out from above his bronzed and
defined cheeks. He didn’t carry any weapons and wore little more than what
looked like black khakis and a loose fitting, long T-shirt. A smile broke the
curious mask of his face. Longinus stiffened beside me.
    “Well, well, well,” the new arrival said.
His voice propelled the words with both force and clarity; a natural orator
despite the obvious sarcasm attached. “Look who we have here.” He bowed
shallow, his gaze steady on us the whole time.
    “ Jesus .”
Longinus didn’t bother to feign respect as he spoke, the weight of the man’s
name sinking into my brain.
    This was the Jesus Christ, the Son of God Himself. Our running into him
couldn’t have been more serendipitous in the worst way possible. The very last
thing I wanted was for Longinus to figure out how I was really related to
Lucifer and here was Jesus, the karmic opposite of me, popping up out of the
blue. There was no telling if he knew anything, but there was no way his Dad
didn’t. Things were about to get real crappy, real soon.
    “It’s been a long time, Maximus, or do you
prefer Longinus?”
    “Either is fine with me,” the
ex-Anti-Christ answered, a subtle shift in his demeanor pushing aside his
apparent discomfort. “Maximus is what my mother called me, but Longinus carries
a comfortable stigma I’ve grown to appreciate. I’ve such fond memories of that
era of my life.”
    The angels shuffled uncomfortably around
Jesus, likely waiting on the order to attack. It was clear the animosity
between the two foes hadn’t dimmed in all the years since Longinus stuck his
spear into Jesus’ side and stole the earthly essence of his power. It had been
a bold move, a demon evoking a soul transfer in the midst of a crowd of humans.
    When he dropped to his knees in the throes
of the transfer, claiming the truth of Christ’s parentage, he’d earned a place
in the history of man and demon-kind.
He’d even been sainted in certain circles, a sinner who had