Apocalypse, Kindness and Pretzels. Short Story-A finish the story entry

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Apocalypse and Pretzels
by @f3nix
Early in the morning, in the bitey air of an unripe April, fine pearls of rain drew averted trajectories, trying to prolong their run towards the ground. The morning sunlight slipped through them, caressing their lopsided dances.
A freshly baked pretzel perfume mingled with the acrid, yet familiar note of wet tarmac. Similar to the inviting singing of a mermaid, that fragrant smelling trail traveled for blocks coming from who knows where, bringing the illusion of a tasty breakfast at hand.
On Madison, the sound of a distant pneumatic hammer, disinterested in that diaphanous moment of peace, reminded the city of its daily duties. The need to renew the infinite interweaving of order and chaos, the human sap of a monotonous and, at the same time, diferent becoming.
An old beggar was taking shelter from the drizzle under the entrance of the Met Breuer.
He seemed to come out of nowhere and, in a sense, gave the idea of ​​having been there forever. The shabby headgear with ear-muffs could barely contain the explosion of white hair, gathered in damp, frayed cords due to the persistent drops of aerosol. The festive and bizarre trichological chaos reigning on his head only sharpened the contrast with the fixedness of his gaze, veiled by a cataract under the crusty eyelashes. Forearms and hands rested parallel, laying on a small and unusual pink plastic banquet that seemed to have been recovered from an abandoned nursery.

In front of him, carefully lying on the small pink table, he placed a typical cardboard square. Strangely enough, where a message of help was supposed to be found, not even a "everything helps" decorated the miserable panel which, laconic and brash together, was left naked to look at the sidewalk.
None of the hasty passers-by would have ever bothered to look down at the bizarre old man but, if someone had stopped for a while, perhaps he would have noticed that his open lips uttered a constant chant, a whisper of elusive and continuous vibrations.

"Now the distortion around him has become almost visible, how much do you think it could go on?". In truth, for several hours what had happened under the gray shed had captured the growing interest of two luminescent figures, on the other side of the road. From time to time, they exchanged positions to steal each other the best view. Their feet seemed to slip soft like fog on the cold sidewalk.

"Learn about silence once and for all, Duth. Would it make sense to even just hazard a guess in front of this.. thing?".

"But how is it possible for a human to perform the Chant, or to just gather.."

"And instead, if you bothered to listen, you would have noticed that this supposed human has just added the sixth voice," the archangel interrupted him, punctuating the words as he tried to separate red pomegranate grains from their peel.

"I think we've observed enough, we do not want him to start opening a seal, do we?", he continued, trying to resume his usually compassionate tone, "We have to report about it to Metatron. Stop stalling, let's move".

The old man's eyes suddenly gnawed them, like a blacksmith's hot pincer. Duth did not even have time to finish wondering how a simple homeless had been able to identify them on the subtle plane from which they were watching him.

An Auntie Anne's Pretzels van sped in the direction of East Harlem, sprinkling the city with its fragrant trail. For an instant, the driver seemed to have heard a curious song, but he didn't pay too much attention.

Anaiz reacted even before Duth had noticed the malignant beam hurtling towards them. The Archangel's base notes had not yet fully sounded when the beam hit. While on Madison a wild gust of air swept across the street throwing papers, dust, and scrap in all directions, the old beggar and his pink "bunker" were untouched.

"Run to the 4th ! Report that it is Jericho. I will contain him as best as I can. " commanded Anaiz . In the few seconds it took Duth to fade away to the Monadic Plane he saw what no one had seen in the last 500 years, archangel Anaiz retreating defensively.

On Madison, Martinez was driving away after loading his food truck with fresh pretzels when he was captivated by a pulsing light which seemed to engulf the beggar like a luminous bubble. This distraction made Martinez crash the truck into the fire hydrant. A jet of brownish water immediately plumed from under the truck's tire while Martinez scrambled to get his face away from the air bag.

Duth stumbled into the receiving hall and focused his thoughts at Metatron. A blink of an eye saw Metatron materialize along with a host of the menacing grey hulks of the guardian angels. Then with a nod Duth was dismissed and the host left the Monadic plane.

On Madison pipelines burst and road cracked open on both sides isolating the crashed food truck and the old beggar temporarily while a mist surrounded the scene; 7 men in dark suits materialized in the middle of the road. Six of them spread out while one approached the beggar ignoring the dazed Martinez. Martinez did not see it but felt the shockwave; a gesture from the approaching man and the beggar's "pink bunker" was blasted into dust.

On the 4th plane two immensely powerful entities squared off. Metatron sent a thought. "Jericho, Anaiz is not the one you want." and with a word and gesture Anaiz faded away leaving Jericho- now seething with latent power. The glowing nimbus of raw energy continued to build around him as Jericho continued his chant, now a distinctive build up to climax.

"Jericho you don't have to do this again. I can kill you a third time."
A tight smile of appeared on Jericho's face as he thought at Metatron. "Oh but I do. I have learned not only my limits but yours as well." Now Jericho's tune approached a climax.
"Jericho, you fool. Still the same- life is joy! Give. Share. Values. Paradise. Look around you, I have changed the course of mankind. All Angels follow me now."
"Not Gabriel.Not Israfel!"
Metatron gathered power in guttural chant. "They are powerless now in the purgatory."

That is when he realized in a shocking instant- Jericho was directing power to the gates of purgatory. Blinding rage engulfed the once Djinn as he threw his might at Jericho. The plane was aglow with power as the gaurdian angels joined to attack Jericho.

On Madison the beggar staggered to the pavement as if pushed away from the building by a giant hand. His feet stumbled and splashed in the gathering water from the still spewing fire hydrant. On all fours and trembling and twitching like a current was running through his body the beggar was now swinging his head from side to side in a perpetual NO while his chanting continued. Martinez saw the beggar fall into the growing puddle, his face splashed down into the water; instinctively he rushed to help.

Martinez heaved the beggar away from the water still chanting and twitching, his nose was red and flaring and his eyes had turned over- full whites showing. He was hot, so hot that the water clinging to his clothes was steaming. Even Martinez felt like he was standing directly under a full noon Texas sun. A fit Martinez decided as he started to rub the beggars stained and dirty hands to get some blood running. Suddenly the beggar went taught, straight as a board, than he doubled up with a moan, falling into Martinez who himself felt so weak that they both landed in a heap on the wet pavement. "Thank yu..." the beggar whispered at him. The chanting had stopped, so had his heartbeat. But surprisingly he had not let go of Matinez's hand. The last thing Martinez saw before he slipped into unconsciousness was a ghost of a smile lingering on a now peaceful face.

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