Abraham’s Blade


The sanctuary was quiet as Mike sat talking to God and studying the broken man affixed to the large cross hanging on the wall above the alter. And though it was quiet, he never heard him enter and take the seat right behind him.

“I have been sent to answer your prayers,” came the voice.

It was so sudden, that Mike jumped and spun around. He watched as a glowing figure slowly manifest before him.

The fear must have been easy to see in his eyes, as this figure said, “Do not fear for I am an Angel.”

The homeless man froze as wings spread from the shining body, casting a shadow over Mike’s unshaven face.

“Why do you wish to die?” the Angel asked.

Ashamed, Mike answered, “My life has no purpose and I’m simply a waste of humanity, space and breathe.”

“Would it not be better if you were to ask for purpose in your life?”

“Perhaps, but I can’t seem to get an answer.”

“Then allow me to give you that answer…if you’re willing?”

“Yes.”

Without another word, the Angel gently wrapped his wings around Mike, pulling him so tightly against it’s body that Mike couldn’t breath. Then he saw the flash of the blade, but too late, as it penetrated his rib cage.

There was no pain as the Angel released him and allowed the mortally wounded man to slip to the cool stone tile. Mike opened his eyes to look at the murderous Angel, knowing he’d been tricked.

In its place stood the dark red features of a dragon, bony outspread wings, covered in a thin, scaly and oily membrane and short, thick horns affixed to its forehead. Mike gasped for words, but nothing came.

“You wanted purpose,” it laughed, “and now – you have it.”

Mike felt for the blade, still hilted in his chest, and slowly drew it from his failing lung.

“That’s the blade Abraham was supposed to use on his son, Issac. When that failed, I stole it from him.”

Again the beast laughed, only longer and more guttural, bellowing “And now it is yours – use it wisely my little fool – go forth and slaughter!”

Before Mike could get to his feet, the thing that stood over him, vanished, leaving behind only the foul stench of burnt sulfur and brimstone. With renewed strength and desire, Mike crawled to his knees, then staggered to his feet.

He stood there, holding the blade. Mike quickly looked at his blood soaked shirt and checked the wound beneath it; it was already healed jus’ as he supposed it would be.

His strength having fully returned, Mike walked over to the large fount and dropped the blade into the holy water. He stood there, watching as the blade bubbled and fizzed, before reaching into the water to retrieve it.

As he grabbed, Mike felt an over-sized clawed hand grab him by his left shoulder and yank him back, spinning him about.

“What have you done, my little fool?” roared the beast.

The beast picked Mike off the floor by his head. And though surprised at the sudden onset of violence, he plunged the still wet blade into the beast’s midsection.

The beast stepped back in surprise, howling long and low before vaporizing into a dark and putrid smelling mist then into nothingness. On the floor, lay Abraham’s blade.

Mike picked it up, withdrew a piece of leather from his back pocket, and gently wrapped the blade in it. Then he removed his blood stained shirt and shook his wings free of their confinement before gliding towards the heavens.

Archangel Michael had won another round with evil and finally, after several millennia had even recovered Abraham’s missing blade. The boss would be happy.

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