Rise Golden Apollo

- 337 AD -

NICOMEDIA, ROMAN EMPIRE

Constantine appeared meek as he smothered himself in soft blankets. ‘The Great’ he was called; Constantine the Great, though that title wasn’t fitting now. He was a withered husk of the man he used to be. He looked weary, the kind of weary that no amount of sleep could fix. The cold air chilled him to his bones, dimming the internal fire that had carried him through his momentous life. How had it come to this?

Somehow, Constantine knew he was dying. And of all places he’d been rendered too weak to travel it was in Nicomedia, not his beloved jewel of a city, Constantinople. He’d made it his mission to build a city that eclipsed even Mother Rome, and he’d succeeded. Now Constantine faced death so far away from his home.

None of this was as it should be.

Constantine coughed violently. There was a flurry of movement as a man dressed in elaborate brown robes approached.

Eusebius, Constantine croaked.

Imperator, Eusebius answered politely, though there was an air of impatience in his voice.

Are they coming? Constantine asked.

Soon. The priests of Nicomedia assemble as we speak. Have you made your decision?

Constantine frowned. He knew what he wanted to do, but did not know if it was the right thing.

Eusebius’ relentless gaze pierced him. The man’s receding hairline and long brown beard did nothing to dull his imposing presence. He was a man of conviction, and Constantine respected that.

Out! Constantine ordered, pointing towards the closed door.

A procession of guardsmen and servants alike shambled from his presence.

Not you, Eusebius. I have matters to discuss with a man of God, Constantine stated.

Once the room was devoid of all others, Constantine spoke to the priest in a hushed voice.

You know what choice I must make now, for I fear my time to depart this world swiftly approaches.

The glow from a series of lamps on the far wall illuminated both men in a soft orange light as they cast long ominous shadows across the room.

Your choice was made long ago, great Emperor, Eusebius murmured. Leave the memory of Sol Invictus behind and embrace your legacy. God is with us, even now.

Constantine knew that Eusebius’ words were true. God had guided him through treachery and turmoil his whole life. The angels of Heaven had always been with him, directing him down the righteous path. He, Constantine, had reunited the fractured Roman Empire. He had returned the stolen belongings of the persecuted and allowed greater freedom of belief than there ever had been. Christianity was his faith and he had served it to the best of his ability. Yet, there was something that worried him… the memory of the past haunted him as he lay on that bed.

That moment, so long ago, concerns me Eusebius… Constantine coughed.

The priest frowned and looked to be contemplating how best to respond. Tell me again what you saw? he said after a long pause.

On the eve of battle, I looked into the sky and saw a cross of light bearing the inscription, ‘with this sign, you shall win’… I carved it on the shield of every soldier and we saw victory and a unified Rome that day.

A cross in the sky was most certainly a divine manifestation from Jesus of Nazareth. Our Lord ensured your victory, not some pagan god of the old world!

Constantine glared at the priest, who quickly fell silent.

I know the power of God too well. This was a blessing from Sol Invictus, from Apollo… the Golden God saw my army through that battle. I know it. Long have I forsaken the gods of old, because it was right to do so, yet Apollo aided me when it was needed most.

You are a Christian! Your life has been spent furthering the aims of the Church. It is hardly a secret, Imperator. Did Apollo slay your enemies for you? No. Did Apollo reunite your empire? No.

Still, to turn my back entirely on the gods of old…

A difficult question, to be sure, a new voice spoke.

The room was bathed in light as the door swung open to reveal a procession of new figures entering. They were all men wearing bizarrely bright ceremonial robes. Their clothes seemed to shine with an unworldly gleam as they moved.

Rage flooded Constantine as he wondered why his guards hadn’t stopped them. But there was something about these men that he knew, something he felt in his soul.

Constantine thought he could hear the faintest sound of music in the air, like a quiet hum on the breeze. The lead man had a pale angular face and long curly hair, on which sat a wreath of flowers. It had been a long time, but after a moment, the dying emperor recognised the leader’s face.

Selaphiel, he breathed. Finally…

Lord Constantine, Selaphiel replied formally.

Eusebius bowed low and backed away from Constantine’s bed.

Who are the others? Constantine asked.

They are tasked with delivering you to your glorious new home in the City of Heaven.

I do not wish to depart the mortal world, Constantine stated desperately, life briefly filling his dull eyes.

I know this, great Emperor. But to reap the rewards of what you have sewn means to pass from this world to the next, Selaphiel smiled.

I was promised immortality by your kind, Constantine pleaded to the newcomer.

And you will receive it. But to do so, you must first shake free the bonds of mortality that bind you. And before the golden thread of your life is cut short, you need to first fully commit yourself to God. You have known this moment was coming for a long time. Now that you stand at the precipice of destiny, do your feet dare move forward?

Constantine gulped, then coughed.

Eusebius stepped from the shadows of the room and addressed Selaphiel warily, My lord, begging your pardon, but with whom do I speak?

Selaphiel turned and faced the priest. The air seemed to radiate with power as Selaphiel stood proud before Eusebius. Six enormous white feathered wings sprung from his back in a glorious display, causing Eusebius to fall backwards in shock.

My Lord! Eusebius grovelled, crawling forward to kiss the feet of the archangel.

I reveal myself to you now, Eusebius of Nicomedia, as an agent of the Lord God. I am an archangel in his service and I have a very important task for you, one that will ripple through time, altering fates and destinies.

Constantine smiled as he observed the speechless Eusebius. To meet with an angel of Heaven was an impossible honour, let alone one of the six archangels.

The divine visage of Selaphiel spurred something in Constantine. All doubt in his mind dissipated in the archangel’s glow. He suddenly knew his purpose and would see it through.

I am ready, he breathed.

Two of the others who’d accompanied Selaphiel rushed over to help the old man to his feet.

Collect your instruments of baptism, priest. The time has come that Rome would unite with Heaven, Selaphiel ordered.

I will assemble the priests of Nicomedia for confession. Imperator, you will have to lay your soul bare before us to be embraced by the loving arms of God.

Constantine nodded.

Be hasty, Eusebius. Soon envoys of the old order will arrive here. Time is not our ally, Selaphiel commanded.

Eusebius looked temporarily confused as he observed the magnificence of the archangel. Fear and reverence were intermingled in his eyes, and yet, it was still clear that he wasn’t willing to question the divine being’s words.

Constantine again spoke directly to Selaphiel, painfully aware of the sound of bargaining in his own voice. Let me linger in the mortal world and I will never again wear the purple robes of an emperor, only the white robes of the neophyte.

Before all other things can be considered, first you must be baptised. We will prepare you now.

• • • • •

CONSTANTINE FELT THE DIRT between his toes as he was led towards the river. He was now adorned in a plain white robe with his guards helping him to walk, as he was dreadfully weak. The crisp air filled his nostrils and Constantine savoured every breath of it, as they could very well be his last on Earth.

The bank sloped gently into the water of a small river smothered by sparse trees. This was the place where Constantine would finally commit his soul to God, the true ruler of the world. The sins of his life would be washed clean and he would be pure before the divine.

The parade of priests, guardsmen and angels disguised as humans stopped before the river. Eusebius strode forward until he was waist-deep. He held what looked like a long wooden spoon with a deep bowl in his right hand and beckoned the emperor forward.

Selaphiel took Constantine under the arm. He gently guided the old man into the water.

Constantine could feel the current flowing around him. It was cold but bearable. The river ran as a torrent of change for the world. No longer would the mighty Roman Empire be bound to the multitudes of hedonistic pagan gods. Instead, there would only be one true path into the light. Of all Constantine’s deeds, he figured this baptism could be the most important.

Selaphiel brought Constantine before Eusebius and released him.

Constantine swayed as he tried to maintain his balance while the archangel moved out of his vision.

Do you renounce the false gods of your forebears, and on behalf of your empire, renounce all false idols? Eusebius asked.

Constantine frowned. This wasn’t a usual question asked during a baptism. Though, he figured things must be different for an emperor of Rome.

I do, Constantine murmured.

I baptise you in the name of the Father, the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Eusebius proclaimed, plunging his tool into the water.

Selaphiel assisted the old man to lean backwards.

Eusebius released the water he’d collected onto Constantine’s head. It fell in a trickle from his skin into the river. Each small drop was like a pounding drum as it splashed into the water below. To Constantine, it sounded like the distant drums of war…

There was a sudden burst of expanding air, like an invisible shockwave was rippling out from Constantine. Goosebumps rose on his skin and his hair stood tall on his arms. He felt like he was being embraced by the power of the Lord.

Then, everything changed.

Selaphiel returned Constantine to his upright position and screamed, Seize them!

Constantine spun his head wildly.

The archangel was pointing into a nearby bank of trees, where two hooded figures could be seen moving.

Wings spread wide from the angels’ backs as they took to the air, no longer hiding their true forms. At unfathomable speeds they flew into the forest, summoning ropes of golden light to bind the interlopers.

One of the hooded strangers appeared to be laughing, as if playing along with an elaborate ruse.

Selaphiel waved his right hand through the air, and every mortal present, except Constantine, fell into a trance.

What’s going on? Constantine wheezed, but even Eusebius had slumped forward, his head dangling in front of him.

The two heavily cloaked figures were dragged into the clearing before the river, though they didn’t seem to be offering any resistance.

Selaphiel flew towards them and pulled their hoods back, revealing two men that Constantine didn’t know. One was a young man with bright blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. The other had sullen features with sunken eyes and deathly white skin.

Is this the sort of greeting you’d offer us, archangel, the blue-eyed man jested with Selaphiel.

The archangel clicked his fingers and the glowing rope around the strangers vanished.

Apollo, he sighed. And your companion?

I am Thanatos, the God of Death, the sullen man introduced himself, though he looked at Selaphiel warily.

Apollo? Constantine spluttered.

Yes, Imperator, Apollo bowed. Word has reached the high clouds of Olympus that your journey across the mortal plain nears its end. As has been customary with your predecessors, an Olympian has come to accompany you on your journey to the Fields of Elysium.

Constantine grimaced. Other than his vision decades ago he’d never paid heed to the old gods. They were a relic of the past and didn’t offer his empire a way forward. The old gods weren’t interested in making a better world, like the one true God was.

I am not dead yet, Constantine spat, feeling anger well up within him.

The fates have assured me that the golden thread of your life is all but used up. But come now, Constantine, this is not a sombre occasion, Apollo answered his remark jovially.

I expected you earlier, Selaphiel stated.

I have been in Constantinople for many days now, Thanatos grumbled.

Yes, dear Thanatos here had some trouble locating the good emperor, Apollo laughed. Why are you here, Selaphiel?

The archangel gave the god a quizzical look and then said, How disconnected are you from the politics of modern Rome, Apollo?

Before his untimely disappearance, my father Zeus decreed an end to the god’s direct involvement with the empire. Though sometimes, when it is needed, we still act, Apollo winked at Constantine.

Sol Invictus… so it was Apollo, he thought. It didn’t matter now, he’d chosen his path.

Nevertheless, Apollo continued, I have seen your brothers in their attempts to win the hearts and minds of the people. To what end I can only begin to guess.

What has just happened here? Thanatos interjected. The God of Death was gazing at the unconscious form of Eusebius beside the half-submerged Constantine.

Something new, Selaphiel said quietly.

There is something in the air, Thanatos continued. Some unknown power gathers, I can feel it..

HHNNGGHH! Constantine gripped his chest. His body was coursing with sudden intense pain. It was blinding. Selaphiel caught the emperor before he collapsed into the water.

We will retire to the manor, Selaphiel informed his angels.

I will take the emperor, Apollo stated, gliding over the river towards him.

His time is short. I will begin preparations for his journey to the Underworld, Thanatos stated, apparently losing his interest in the odd scene before him.

Selaphiel said nothing, though this didn’t seem to bother either of the gods.

I want… the angels… Constantine wheezed.

I am the God Apollo. You would request the hands of lesser beings guide you? Apollo questioned.

Constantine was struggling to breathe, though the pain was diminishing as quickly as it had appeared.

Unable to speak, Constantine was lifted from the water and flown back to his bed chamber.

• • • • •

BACK IN THE COMFORT of his bed, all Constantine could do was listen to the conversation of the divine beings around him. Everything was hazy and blurred, yet he held out hope that the angels would grant him the immortality he so desired. There was still time. He was still alive.

Thanatos had departed, grumbling something about, Needing to speak to the nymphs.

The three angels in Selaphiel’s entourage had left shortly afterwards, and none had returned. Apollo and the archangel spoke as if they knew each other, though there was a distinct air of unease about them. Constantine had known the same feeling many times in his political life. It felt like there was a scheme afoot.

I am surprised, Selaphiel, that your brothers are not here. Where is fearsome Michael or dear old Lucifer, who thinks he is so beautiful? Apollo asked the archangel, who was standing beside Constantine’s bed.

All of my brothers are preparing, Selaphiel replied simply.

For what? Apollo asked.

You will know soon enough.

Is that so? Apollo rolled his eyes.

My father wishes to know about yours, Apollo, Selaphiel said, in an abrupt change to the topic.

He wishes to know about Zeus?

His disappearance, more accurately, Selaphiel added.

We do not speak of such things, Apollo mumbled quickly.

It is fascinating though, isn’t it? Mighty Zeus, head of the Olympic pantheon at the height of his power, just vanishes from all knowledge.

I see that rumour of this has reached the realm of Heaven.

My father grows ever more curious as to what exactly could interfere with a being of such magnitude.

Apollo sighed and said, I have nothing of value to share on this topic. We searched for a time, but he is gone. To even guess at what happened would be an exercise in foolishness.

You mentioned rumours, Apollo. Perhaps you could clarify some that have reached me?

Apollo gave the archangel an unconvinced nod, seemingly hesitant to pursue this line of conversation.

I heard that a foreign giant visited Olympus.

Olympus had many visitors from strange lands at that time. The giant of Jotunheim was no more peculiar than anything else, though Zeus seemed impressed enough to impart mighty gifts upon him.

And word reached us that the last son of Zeus was very unhappy with his father.

Do not play coy with me, Selaphiel, Apollo shook his head. I know of who you speak and that Dominus has spent time in the company of your kind. The man is small, meek and of no consequence to us, no matter what oaths of vengeance he has sworn.

He is your brother, Apollo, Selaphiel laughed in exasperation.

My true brothers are gods. If I were to count all the mortal children of Zeus as my kin then the list would be beyond counting.

Dominus, at least, is not strictly mortal. He has lived a life far longer than that of the average man.

To have some legacy of the divine is not uncommon, be it strength, speed or life. It does not change what he is.

Selaphiel frowned and rubbed his bare chin. There are many gods who have risen to prominence during the Roman Empire that are not part of your original order. Spirits who have ascended to true divinity. Would you deny them too? Would you discard the mighty Janus so easily? It seems like folly to do so.

Apollo just shrugged. It appeared to Constantine that the archangel’s opinions meant very little to the god.

And what of this so-called Sundered King? Selaphiel asked finally. Is he one of your order who is hiding in the dark and performing unusual magic?

I have never heard of such a being, Apollo answered.

Hmmm, Selaphiel frowned. A wildcard in all this then. He appears to be connected to dark primeval powers that are so abstract even God doesn’t understand them.

To call your father ‘God’ is a great insult. There are many gods. He should not try to claim this as his personal title. It is lucky that his arrogance has been permitted this long.

Selaphiel shook his head. Soon my father will be greater than Zeus ever was. For my father to carry such a title is appropriate.

Apollo laughed in earnest.

There has been a change. You have been blind to the ways things are going for a long time, Apollo. Even now it flows like the rising tide across Rome, Selaphiel grinned.

I am the God of Knowledge and Prophecy, and I know not of what you speak. Don’t be offended if I put little stock in your words.

Selaphiel shrugged.

Selaphiel, please…

Constantine’s quiet voice cut through the casual conversation. He was reaching towards the archangel.

Where is Thanatos? Apollo looked to the door in alarm. He needs to be here for the passing of Constantine!

Selaphiel, I don’t want to die… I did as you asked… Constantine groaned weakly.

Rest well, Constantine. A new world wakes as you begin your slumber, the archangel placed his hand on Constantine’s forehead.

Constantine watched as Apollo opened the only door to the room. The entire atmosphere changed in an instant.

Just behind Apollo, the dying emperor could see the God Thanatos bound in heavy chains, looking bloody and beaten. Ichor, the blood of the gods, was leaking from a myriad of wounds across his body and his black robe lay in tatters around him. The room itself was all but blasted apart. A spectacular, but silent battle must’ve taken place.

Apollo, Thanatos began in a hoarse voice, he has renounced us. All of Rome has renounced us and embraced the angels. The balance of power has already shifted. I have spoken to the nymphs who will be now alerting Olympus. Flee this place and get to the Underworld! Hades must know! The Palace of Dawn will send one of their steeds for you.

Thanatos gasped as if suddenly gagged by some invisible power.

From out of nowhere, Apollo manifested a magnificent golden sword and moved to cut Thanatos free of his bindings.

He was stopped by the appearance of the three angels who’d followed Thanatos. They were no longer dressed in ornate ceremonial robes but instead had donned golden armour. They all held swords at the ready.

You dare to think you can challenge me? Apollo boasted.

We will not see you reach the Underworld, Selaphiel whispered from beside Constantine.

Apollo turned from the menacing faces of the angels back to the archangel.

Selaphiel had summoned a weapon from thin air. He held a magnificent spear, of a craftsmanship Constantine had never seen, that was wreathed in a deadly translucent flame.

Selaphiel, please. You are but minor spirits compared to a god. If I wished to, I could click my fingers and obliterate you all. Do not force such a fate upon yourselves.

You have lived too long a life unchallenged Apollo. The world has changed. Allow me to illuminate this new truth for you.

Selaphiel lunged for Apollo, directing his spear at the god’s chest. Apollo blocked the attack with his sword, a look of shock etched on his face. It was evident that the archangel was far stronger than he’d anticipated.

Selaphiel struck Apollo again, this time with a flurry of attacks, causing the god to have to dodge and weave into the other room, where he was quickly surrounded by the three other angels.

Apollo’s eyes blazed with light as he shot a fireball at Selaphiel, who summoned a golden shield of energy around himself. The archangel responded in kind by shooting a jet of his own energy at Apollo, which sent him careening through the wall.

What is this devilry? Apollo cried.

The future, Selaphiel grinned maliciously. The other angels laughed.

Kill him, the archangel ordered.

The three subordinate angels spread their wings and flew at Apollo. The god braced and released a searing explosion of fire in an orb around himself, like a small star was being formed with Apollo inside.

When the fire cleared, Apollo was gone.

Through the charred and sizzling hole in the roof, Constantine could see a horse with a bright red mane carrying the god into the sky.

Go on Apollo, go to your Underworld! Warn them that the doom of the old order is coming! Every domain of your realm will soon be ours! Selaphiel called to the retreating figure.

A frustrated-looking Selaphiel returned to Constantine’s bedside.

Soon God’s glory will encompass the world. Our war begins, but yours is ended, Emperor.

Constantine exhaled. Suddenly, the great games of cosmic beings meant very little to him. He’d done his part to build a better world, and now the angels would do theirs.

Everything went dark. Constantine the Great took his final breath, right as the war for the spiritual heart of the world began.

- 2017 -

lebanon

The wind whipped over the ocean as two sleek black zodiacs skipped across the waves towards the shore. Onboard were the members of the Australian 2nd Commando Regiment. They sat expressionless in the cold as their boat battled with the turbulent waters of the Lebanese coast. Hail plummeted from above, belting the soldiers with freezing precision.

Among them was a woman dressed in full military attire and goggles, though she was no soldier. She resisted the urge to shiver or show any weakness to the stone-faced commandos, despite being terribly cold.

Her name was Melissa Pythia, a first-year agent of the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation. She was a rookie spy, and this was her mission.

The shoreline ahead was dark, save for a small chemical glow on the beach.

Not far inland was the town of Cheik Zennad. It seemed like a sleepy place, full of farmers and merchants. However, being so close to the Syrian border during the prolonged civil war meant that swathes of unsavoury characters had been noticed passing through.

The town itself, however, wasn’t the destination of the commando team.

No one is outside, the storm is keeping them in, a voice from the nearby HMAS Arunta called through the signaler’s backpack. It was barely audible above the crashing waves and thundering storm.

The outline of the ANZAC class helicopter frigate was barely visible against the swirling storm clouds. Only the occasional flash of lightning revealed its presence.

Melissa wiped the salty sea-spray from her goggles as the boat bounced off another wave. She looked at the heavily armed men around her. Her bland life in Sydney felt like a distant dream right now.

Two months ago, local police had thwarted a terrorist plot in Melbourne, Australia.

Members of a Jihadist group, Almalayikat Alsabea, a Syrian splinter of ISIS, had been able to send their ardent followers into Australia. They had laid out a plan to perform a terror attack like the world had never seen, the specifics of which Melissa didn’t like to think about. While the public hailed the foiling of the terrorist operation as a great victory, to those in government it was too much of a close call.

ASIO was tasked with determining the source of the attack. Melissa was one of the agents told to sit at a desk and figure out who was responsible and where they had come from.

After her recent deployment to Afghanistan, this was a welcome relief. Melissa had been part of an experimental year-long training program in which she’d generally excelled. It had seen her almost immediately deployed to the Middle East for in-the-field intelligence work, though that deployment had come with life-threatening events and near misses. The idea of spending some time at desk in Australia was to be warmly embraced.

That feeling was short-lived, as through circumstances she couldn’t explain, she kept having dreams about a particular brown panel van, only identifiable by a crudely drawn image of an angel on the top, driving through the ruins of a city.

Every night, this van would speed through her mind.

Then, one day, as she was casually monitoring satellite feeds, she saw it. The angel, with its pin-prick