The Creation: Chaos Rising

The
Creation

Chaos Rising

By

Art Gulley Jr.

Copyright 2014 by Art Gulley Jr.

All rights reserved.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental or an act of Divinity!

Several chapters of this book appear in the novella The Creation: Emergence, Copyright 2011 by Art Gulley Jr.

Author's Note

My education in religion started when I was very young. My mother was Episcopalian, my grandmother a devout Catholic, and my father a Baptist. I spent grades five through seven in a Lutheran school and grade eight in a Catholic. I myself eventually became a member of a non-denominational church and, just to add a little more confusion to the mix, spent several years working at a Non-Orthodox Synagogue.

This extreme exposure to such varying religious doctrines left me with one burning question: What if God, the Angels, and everything in between is nothing like we think it is?

The following story is my imagination's attempt to answer that question. It is a work of fiction drawn from a philosophical "What if…" point of view and should in no way be taken as a criticism or denouncement of any particular faith or religious doctrine.

That being said…Enjoy!

The Starting Time

In the Beginning of all Beginnings there was the Event, a molecular cataclysm that spawned all that exists
including the infinite expanse of Celestial Energy known as The Void.

It was from The Void that
The Almighty drew forth the raw matter to fashion The Creation; a system of three intertwining dimensional Realms to contain and nurture the myriad forms of lesser, sentient life developing around Him.

The first Realm He named Celestia for it w
as home to all beings with the innate ability to manipulate The Creation’s Celestial essence thus granting great power and immortality. The second Realm He christened Sublimia, for it was a fluctuating expanse of sublime energy siphoned from The Void that served as bridge and buffer between the Real and the Ephemeral. The third Realm He named Mortalia for within its dimensional boundaries dwelled all the beings and creatures whose lifespan, abilities, and intellects were finite thus limiting their Creational stature.

To govern his Creation
and maintain the delicate Balance He had achieved between the eternal forces of Order and Chaos, The Almighty set in place a system of rules known as the Divine Tenets. These Tenets were enforced by a select group of Celestials within the Ruling Hierarchy known as the Divine Watch.

As the various Mortal Races matured so did their push toward moral and spiritual disobedience as many sought to supplant the Tenets with their own self-serving doctrines and decrees
thus threatening the Balance.

To
combat these periodic Risings, The Watch would initiate specific Protocols to return the transgressing Race to the path of the righteous. During these times of Spiritual Reclamation, Members of the Watch would often call upon select Mortals to carry out specific Tasks within Mortalia in support of the Divine Effort.

For the most part those selected, willingly served. But occasionally a Mortal would resist the call. When this happened, Members of The Watch would be forced to use alternative measures to ensure cooperation.

An excerpt from The Journals of the Archangel Michael

Chapter 1

The first bullet hit with the force of a sledgehammer smashing bones and cartilage to bits as it tore its way through her shoulder. The second bullet impacted against her chest fracturing the breastbone. Curiously enough there was no pain. Only a dull ache and an overwhelming fatigue sweeping through her body as her life's blood seeped from the wounds.

"Why are you doing this?"

The answer to her anguished cry was the flash of the gun's muzzle and a resounding thunder as the third bullet found its mark through her carotid artery…

Nina Delcielo woke with a start, her silken gown drenched with sweat, her breath tumbling from her mouth in ragged gasps. She blinked several times trying to discern her surroundings then exhaled in relief when the bedroom's familiar furnishings filled sleep blurred eyes.

Nina pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead hoping to relieve some of its knotted tension. She tried once again to make sense of the bizarre scene that had plagued her sleep for the past week.

The dream's setting remained unchanged: A hospital reception area, its classic architecture and graphic posters identifying it as Henry Ford's main campus in Detroit, Michigan; the large, digital clock hanging behind the service desk marking the time at twelve-twenty p.m.

Several staff members were huddled in terror by the vending machines while Nina's dream self tried to reason with the haggard Caucasian male dressed in tan fatigues waving around a large gun. The reasons behind his rampage remained unknown for his voice was consistently drowned out by the gun's thunderous rapport, though tonight was the first time she actually saw herself being shot.

A spiritual person might take the dream as some sort of omen. Such notions had never played much of a part in Nina's life, despite the best efforts of a parochial minded mother. A more logical assumption would be that the nightmares were a by-product of stress, brought about by her latest business venture; the transformation of one of Downtown Detroit's numerous abandoned buildings into a Youth Recreational Center.

An innate understanding of the stock market, coupled with several lucrative investments had netted the young woman a considerable fortune, and allowed her an early exit from the corporate sector. Unlike so many of her wealthy contemporaries, Nina was a firm believer in the concept of "giving back to the community". A good portion of her wealth funded various philanthropic efforts in and around the Metro Detroit area.

The alarm clock released its six a.m. chime. Nina promptly hit the off switch shielding her eyes from the digital display's green glow which seemed unusually bright. She gave her body a brief stretch then hopped out of bed to prepare her self for what promised to be another busy day.

An hour later she was giving her appearance a final check in the free-standing oak mirror positioned by the apartment's front door. Nina felt that her new black linen pant-suit tastefully accentuated her tall, athletic figure; striking the perfect balance of authority and sensuality.

Nina had never considered herself a raving beauty. Prominent cheekbones set in an oval face, coupled with a slightly offset nose and wide lips, were far off the mark of what she considered "pretty" features. Though she had to admit the hazel color of her eyes, a gift from the father she had never met, combined with her mocha skin, a product of her Latino heritage, did give her face an exotic quality that most men found appealing. There was certainly no shortage of potential suitors jockeying for position. It was just a shame that quantity didn't always signify quality when it came to finding a good man.

"Alright, girl, enough preening," she chided her self after giving her backside a final glimpse. "Let's go bully some contractors."

Nina left her apartment and made her way to the elevator frowning at the pungent smell of the cleaning chemicals that assailed her nose. The Jeffersonian Apartments located on Detroit's East Jefferson Avenue was considered one of the city's historical landmarks. The building's maintenance staff was committed to keeping the aging high-rise in pristine order but today they seemed to have gone a bit overboard.

The elevator arrived and she hopped aboard, grateful that she didn't have to share the ride with Misses Watson, her elderly neighbor from the floor above who felt it her duty to attach the single Nina to one of the numerous bachelors that lived in the building.

The elevator came to a gentle stop on the first floor and the doors slid open bringing Nina face to face with the match-maker herself, accompanied as always by her Chihuahua, Angel.

"Good morning, Misses Watson, Angel." Not wanting the woman to engage her in a lengthy discussion, Nina put a note of urgency into her voice as she quickly stepped forward into the Jeffersonian's elegantly furnished lobby.

"Hello, Nina dear. You're off to an early start."

"Yes, well you know what they say about the early bird and the worms."

Misses Watson's smile was so wide that her eyes turned into narrow slits on her lined face. "Indeed I do! In fact I was just having a similar conversation with that handsome young man who lives in apartment 12 C; Jeremy's his name. You really should meet him, dear. He's a doctor you know, and he was telling me…"

"I'm sorry Misses Watson, but I really must be going," Nina interrupted giving the other's bowed shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps you and I can finish this conversation over tea one morning."

"Oh that would be great, dear." The elderly woman gave Nina's hand a squeeze then stepped into the waiting elevator. "Just let me know when. You know I'm always available."

The elevator doors slid shut and Nina exhaled sharply. "Indeed I do."

"I see old Madame Cupid's trying to hook you up again, Miss D," Carl the gray-haired security guard chuckled as Nina made her way past the lobby's front desk. His stocky body was framed by the row of monitors showing various views of the apartment's four entrances and adjoining lot. "That woman needs to seriously get a life."

"Be nice, Carl. We have to respect our senior citizens."

Carl made a rude noise with his lips. "Hell
I'm
a senior too, but that don't give me the right to butt into everybody's private life the way she does."

Nina chuckled. "Yeah, she can be overbearing at times. I think it's because she's lonely. The old girl's been by herself since her husband died, and could probably use a little company." Nina gave Carl a saucy wink. "Some male company, if you catch my drift."

Carl balked at the idea. "I'm not
that
dedicated to my job!"

Nina laughed at the look of dismay on his weathered face. "I don't know Carl; a handsome, debonair fellow like your self? A little romance might bring the old bird new life."

Carl released a disgusted snort. "I'd rather cozy up to Angel."

Nina burst out laughing. "And on that note I'd better get going. I'll see you later Carl." She waved as she made her way toward the lobby's rear entrance.

"Take care, Miss D," Carl hollered back then sighed.
Man, if I were thirty years younger.
His eyes followed her out the door then picked up her image on the monitor overlooking the back parking lot where he watched her get into her custom, black Jeep Grand Cherokee and drive off the lot.

*

Nina merged onto the Lodge freeway, weaving in and out of the morning traffic with the precision of a NASCAR driver. She reached her first destination, Traci's Cookie Emporium, at the same time as the shop's vivacious owner. Nina had quickly learned that fresh pastries tended to motivate construction workers, and Traci's was a local favorite.

The two ladies chatted amiably while Traci prepared the order, and Nina found herself in good spirits when she pulled into the Center's parking lot fifteen minutes later.

Her contractor's daily list of problems was shorter than she'd expected, and Nina was able to get the majority of the issues resolved by one p.m. Rather than go home and cook she decided to stop by Tony's Pizza and Sandwich Shop for a quick bite. It was there that her day took a turn for the worse.

She had just stepped through the shop's leaded-glass doors when the nightmarish vision flashed before her eyes. Its searing clarity caused her to cry out in alarm, and she staggered against the door jamb. Luckily the Shop's owner was standing by the front counter.

Moving with a speed and grace that belied his considerable bulk, he snaked an arm around Nina's waist to steady her.

"You okay, Nina?"

The shaken woman blinked hard several times trying to clear the image from her mind. "Yeah, Tony, I'm alright. That trick ankle of mine gave out and it caught me off guard," she lied, not wanting to alarm Tony or the numerous patrons scattered about the dining area.

Tony's wide lips curved into a smile. "Yeah that happens a lot with my shoulder." He flexed his muscular right arm for emphasis as he led her to the table closest to the counter. "Here, have a seat and give the thing a rest while I get you a bowl of Maria's Minestrone soup. That way we can talk over some lunch."

Nina's spirits lifted instantly. Minestrone was her favorite, and Tony's wife Maria made the best.

The Scavelli's were good people, and the food at the
Sandwich shop was top notch. Nina made it a point to stop by whenever she could but not just for the cuisine. She had met the winsome couple during a luncheon celebrating the reopening of Detroit's famed Fox Theatre after a lengthy renovation. The Sandwich Shop had catered the event, and Nina spent the majority of her time there chatting with the shop's jovial owners. The three had shared a close bond ever since. That same year their support had also sustained Nina following the tragic death of her mother in an auto accident.

Tony returned to the table with two steaming bowls and a small basket of warm French bread, and Nina's mouth watered. "You must've read my mind."

Tony flashed a toothy grin. "What, you think I don't know your appetite; oatmeal before nine, soup and bread before two, and the Shop's Deep Dish Delight any day after six."

Nina burst out laughing. "You've got me pegged to a tee!" She reached for the bread basket and noticed the peculiar way Tony was looking at her. "Is something wrong?"

A slight frown furrowed Tony's wide brow. "You seem a bit on edge today; any particular reason?"

Nina's reply was cut off by the sudden expletive uttered by one of the patrons sitting at the counter, his outburst drawing everyone's attention to the shop's television. A special news report was being broadcast about a shooting incident that had just taken place at
Henry Ford Hospital.

A recently discharged employee had attacked the hospital's central reception area. Details were sketchy but so far there were two confirmed deaths: one of the residents and the gunman.

Nina's spoon fell from her fingers, its contents spilling, but the horrified woman barely noticed the mess or Tony's concerned plea. Her eyes were riveted to the television as the gunman's picture appeared on the screen. It was the same gunman from her dream.