Obadiah Chronicles: The Pawn's Dilemma (Flash Fiction, Episode 9)

The Pawn's Dilemma

Alex gritted his teeth as he slammed his locker shut. The hall buzzed with after-school chatter, but he barely heard it. His hands still shook from what happened in the gym the day before.

He didn’t know why the stranger’s words echoed in his head.

"To make them see your worth."

He wanted it more than anything.

Laughter erupted behind him. Alex stiffened.

"Hey, Thompson!"

Alex turned just as a shoulder slammed into his side. His books hit the floor, papers flying. He clenched his fists, staring at the ground as laughter filled the hall.

"Oops." Jason, the ringleader, smirked as he walked past. "My bad, man."

Alex’s breath came in sharp bursts. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Not today. Not again.

A soft caw from the window made him look up.

A raven perched on the ledge, black feathers gleaming in the afternoon light. It tilted its head, watching him with unnatural stillness.

Alex swallowed hard. His anger, his humiliation—it burned, boiling under his skin.

Then, a whisper.

"You don’t have to take this anymore."

Alex’s breath caught. He turned sharply, searching for the voice.

Nothing.

Just students laughing and walking past as if they didn’t hear a woman’s voice curl through the air like smoke.

"I see you."

His fingers twitched. The raven let out another caw, then spread its wings and took flight.

Alex’s heart pounded. For the first time in a long time, he felt something other than helplessness.

Someone saw him.

Across the hall, Laric and Allen watched Alex storm away. Something felt... wrong.

"Man, he's getting worse," Allen muttered beside him.

Laric nodded slowly. Alex had always been quiet, always endured the bullying without fighting back. But today his energy was different—sharper, darker.

And then there was that raven.

Laric had seen it too, perched on the window, watching. The moment Alex looked at it, he changed.

A chill crawled up Laric’s spine.

"Allen," Laric said, eyes narrowing. "I think Alex is in trouble."

Allen sighed. "No kidding."

Laric shook his head. "No. I mean real trouble."

Later that night, Alex sat on his bed, unable to shake the feeling that something was watching him.

He stared at his reflection in the window.

Then, a shadow moved.

His breath caught. A shape perched on the tree outside his open window—the raven.

But this time, its eyes weren’t black.

They glowed.

A voice curled through the air, soft as silk.

"Come outside, Alex."

Alex’s pulse jumped. His head told him to ignore it—to shut the window, go to sleep, forget everything.

But his feet moved on their own.

He slipped on his shoes, heart racing, and stepped outside.

The raven swooped down, landing lightly on the sidewalk. It cocked its head.

"You're stronger than they know," the voice whispered again.

Alex swallowed. His fingers twitched. "Who... are you?"

The raven let out a soft caw—and suddenly, the shadows behind it shifted.

The night air hit like ice. The world was unnaturally still—no crickets, no distant hum of cars, only thick, stifling quiet.

The raven hopped closer, wings rustling softly.

The shadows behind it stirred.

Two figures emerged.

The man from the gym—tall, lean, and cloaked in shadow—stood at the center. His red eyes glowed faintly beneath his hood. Beside him stood a woman in a flowing black dress, her pale face twisted into a predatory smile.

Alex froze, throat dry.

The man smiled. "We meet again, Alex."

His voice was exactly the same as in the gym—smooth, familiar, and terrifying.

"Who... who are you?" Alex asked, voice cracking.

"I told you already," the man said, taking a step closer. The air around him grew colder. "I'm someone who sees your potential. Someone who knows you're meant for more than... this."

He gestured toward the Thompson house behind Alex—a modest, unassuming home.

"Bullies. Silence. Powerlessness. You were born for more."

The woman’s laugh was soft and sharp. Mocking.

"He doesn’t believe you," she whispered.

Antioch's eyes narrowed as he studied Alex.

"Do you?"

Alex tried to speak, but his chest was too tight. He thought of Jason’s smug grin as he knocked his books down. The laughter. The burning shame.

The woman stepped closer. Her eyes were a pale, icy gray, and they seemed to peel back the layers of his soul.

"You're tired of being invisible, aren’t you?" she said softly.

Alex’s breath caught in his throat.

"They don’t respect you," Antioch added. "But they will."

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a pendant. The metal caught no light; it seemed to absorb the darkness around it.

The charm was shaped like a raven, its wings outstretched. The chain swung hypnotically from his fingers.

"This is yours," Antioch said. "A gift. With it, you’ll no longer be powerless."

Alex stared at the pendant. Deep in his gut, he knew taking it was wrong.

But the weight of all his humiliations pressed on him. Jason’s laughter. The whispers. The constant feeling of being less.

His hand lifted. His fingers brushed the cold metal.

A jolt shot up his arm, like ice and fire mixed together.

Antioch’s smile deepened.

"Take it, Alex," the witch whispered. "Embrace your strength."

Alex’s heart pounded.

He clenched the pendant in his fist.

The raven on the charm seemed to shiver as if it were alive. The ground beneath his feet vibrated.

Antioch stepped back. The witch did the same, their faces triumphant.

"Good," Antioch said. "The first step is the hardest. But now... now we begin."

Alex’s vision blurred. Darkness wrapped around him, coiling into his veins.

And when he opened his eyes, they briefly glowed crimson.

The next morning, Obadiah stood in the museum before an ancient manuscript, his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn’t looking at the artifact. He was listening.

Something was off. The city's energy had shifted. Darkness was moving.

The soft scuff of footsteps made him turn. Luk-el leaned against the nearby wall, arms crossed.

"You feel it too," Luk-el said.

Obadiah exhaled. "Antioch’s starting."

Luk-el's expression remained unreadable. "He’s not just here to cause chaos. He’s setting something in motion."

Obadiah turned fully to face him. "You were always good at reading the battlefield, Luk-el. Tell me—why do you think he's here?"

Luk-el hesitated. "He’s gathering pieces. Pawns."

Obadiah’s stomach twisted.

Luk-el nodded grimly. "If we don’t act soon, many will be lost."

Meanwhile, across town, Alex sat at his desk, staring at his reflection in the window.

The raven pendant Antioch had given him lay cool against his palm. The chain was sleek and black, the small insignia of the raven cold beneath his fingertips.

"Greatness is within your grasp," the voice had whispered the night before.

Alex’s breath trembled. His pulse quickened.

Slowly, he fastened the chain around his neck.

The moment the clasp clicked shut, the pendant pulsed with a faint, rhythmic glow—like a heartbeat sinking into his skin.

And Alex smiled.

Obadiah Chronicles: A Brothers Fate Chronicle (Flash Fiction, Episode 5)

 

A Brother's Fate

Obadiah—still carrying the memory of ancient winds, dusty hills, and King David’s parting words—stepped back into the Arklow Bible Museum’s basement corridor. The transition from the warmth of biblical times to the modern chill of fluorescent lights was always jarring, no matter how often he did it. Pausing, he exhaled to steady himself. Time-jumps were as exhilarating as they were draining.

“Uncle?” came a voice from the stairwell. “You back?”

Laric, Obadiah’s nephew, hurried down. Despite his youthful face, he had a quiet maturity that hinted at his angelic roots, though he easily passed for an ordinary young man to everyone else.

Obadiah—publicly Brian Sessions—managed a faint smile. “I’m back,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry if I worried you. That last visit with King David was… unexpectedly long.”

Laric studied him. “Everything okay? You look wiped out.”

“Just tired,” Obadiah admitted.

They climbed to the museum’s main floor, where morning sunlight illuminated replicas, artifacts, and biblical timelines. Staff bustled, preparing for the day. Laric kept his voice low.

“You’re sure you don’t want me tagging along on these trips?” he asked. “I could help if things get dicey.”

Obadiah shook his head. “Not yet. Your time will come—just not now. We need one of us firmly here in the present.” He tried a reassuring grin.

Laric sighed, nodding. “All right. I’ll keep watch, make sure no one wonders where you vanish to.” Then he hesitated. “At least you’re safe, Uncle.”

Before Obadiah could reply, the museum’s front door opened abruptly. Dr. Cassandra Gregory, one of his closest friends, hurried in. She wore her white clinic coat, her hair disheveled and her eyes brimming with tense hope. Obadiah felt a chill—he’d rarely seen her this rattled.

“Brian,” Cassandra said, striding forward. Laric stepped aside. “Got a minute?”

“Of course.” Obadiah noted the curious glances from staff. “Laric, can you excuse us?”

“Sure.” Laric, catching her urgency, headed into the exhibit hall.

Obadiah led Cassandra into a small side office lined with biblical commentaries. The moment he shut the door, she burst out, “My brother might be alive.”

He blinked. “Cassandra, I thought—”

“I thought the same thing,” she said, her voice trembling. “Daniel was declared killed in action months ago, but I received word—an email and a video clip—that he may still be alive, held captive somewhere. I’ve reached out to the State Department and tried every avenue, but nothing has worked. Brian, you have connections in that region. Please, I’m begging you for your help.”

His mind flashed to the frantic battles he’d experienced in past missions, both in biblical eras and modern times. He knew one slip could expose his secret. Yet Cassandra was near tears for her own family.

“Tell me everything,” Obadiah said gently.

She recounted the grainy footage: Daniel, alive but imprisoned by a militant group overseas. Officials offered no help, claiming the video was fake. Her hands shook as she clung to what little hope remained.

Obadiah carefully weighed his options, but ultimately, how could he refuse her? “You believe it’s real?”

Cassandra nodded and wiped away her tears. “I have a gut feeling Daniel is still alive.”

After a moment of reflection, he replied, “All right, I’ll give it a shot. But I can’t make guarantees; this might be beyond my capabilities. I want to see that video.”

She exhaled, tears welling. “Thank you. Even if it’s a long shot, I have to try.”

That evening, after Cassandra left, Obadiah wandered into the museum’s archive room. Soft overhead lights pooled over shelves of manuscripts. A tapestry depicting an angel shielding travelers reminded him of both his duty and his burden.

A glow spread across the far wall. Obadiah closed his eyes. “Michael,” he said.

The archangel stepped forward, radiating a calm light that lit the dusty manuscripts. His voice held gentle authority. “Cassandra’s brother is alive, Obadiah. You sense it; I confirm it.”

Obadiah inhaled shakily. “Is this the soldier you spoke about?”

Michael nodded. “It is.”

“I’m reluctant,” Obadiah admitted. “My last mission was so long ago.”

Michael gave a sympathetic nod. “I know you hesitate. Still, Daniel Gregory’s survival matters more than you realize. You must intervene—discreetly. I will call upon those to help.”

Obadiah murmured, “Cassandra’s a good friend. I have to do this.”

Michael’s presence faded. “Go, Obadiah. Let your faith guide you.”

The next day, Obadiah pieced together a cover story for traveling overseas: a quest for rumored biblical artifacts in a war-torn region. Cassandra asked few questions, grateful for any hope.

Within a week, Obadiah stepped onto a dusty airstrip in a country scarred by conflict. Soldiers patrolled warily. Presenting his Arklow Bible Museum credentials, he cleared the initial checkpoints, claiming he needed to reach an archaeological site rumored to contain ancient scrolls.

Heart pounding, he left the airport for a makeshift aid station, silently praying for angelic allies to blend in among mortals. If all went well, no one would suspect a thing.

Inside the aid station, men and women in worn uniforms distributed supplies to displaced families. One, a slim man with kind eyes, approached him.

“Obadiah,” he said quietly. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Obadiah felt a faint aura of celestial energy—angels in disguise, sent by Michael. “Thank you for coming,” he said under his breath.

The disguised angel nodded. “We have intel on a militant group holding captives—Daniel Gregory among them, plus others. We act tonight, under darkness.”

That evening, Obadiah and his angelic companions approached a heavily guarded compound. Rather than violence or firearms, they relied on illusions, silent maneuvering, and well-timed distractions.

Whenever a guard patrol neared, angels whispered prayers that conjured faint mirages, sending guards chasing shadows. Obadiah’s heart pounded at each step. A single misstep could destroy everything.

Finally, they found a makeshift prison block. Inside cramped cells, people lay huddled on filthy mats. Obadiah scanned the dim hall.

“Daniel Gregory?” he called softly.

A weak voice answered from the far corner, raw with thirst and exhaustion. Obadiah crouched by the bars, shining a small flashlight. A man with familiar hazel eyes sat there, dazed.

“I’m a friend of your sister,” Obadiah whispered, placing a hand over the lock; it opened. “We’re getting you out.”

Footsteps approached—a guard. One of the angels murmured a prayer, a ripple of light disorienting him. Gently, they laid him aside, unconscious. No violence, just a quiet miracle.

Obadiah helped Daniel up. The man’s knees nearly buckled. Two other captives, a journalist and an aid worker, stood nearby, pleading.

“You’re coming too,” he said. “We’ll get everyone out.”

With illusions and divine nudges, they slipped past the militants’ perimeter to an old truck. Daniel collapsed into a seat, an angel disguised as a driver steadying him. Obadiah glanced at the starless sky, silently praying they’d make it out safely. Moments later, the truck rumbled into the desert, vanishing into the night.

Two days later, Daniel lay in a hospital bed back in Cassandra’s city. He was exhausted but alive. The other captives were also recovering, thanks to humanitarian groups who’d flown them home.

In a quiet hospital corridor, Cassandra paced, awaiting the doctor’s updates. She brightened when Obadiah rounded the corner.

“Brian!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “They got him out—he’s here!”

He returned the embrace, feeling her relief. “I’m glad he’s safe.”

“How did you manage this?” she asked, pulling back. “I know you have museum contacts, but this is beyond imagination.”

Obadiah offered a modest shrug. “I reached out to humanitarian folks overseas. Right place, right time.”

A nurse motioned Cassandra into Daniel’s room. Obadiah followed quietly. Daniel lay propped up by pillows, an IV in place. A faint grin spread across his gaunt face when he saw his sister.

“Sis,” he croaked. “I’m sorry you worried so long.”

Cassandra pressed a hand over her mouth, tears falling. She bent to hug him gently. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

Daniel’s gaze shifted to Obadiah. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t get how you did it, but… I owe you my life.”

Obadiah shook his head. “You owe your sister. She never stopped believing.”

Over the next few days, Daniel slowly regained his strength. With Cassandra focused on his recovery, there was little opportunity for her to question Obadiah’s role in the incident. The hospital buzzed with typical chaos, nurses hurrying about. For Cassandra, it felt like a haven—her brother was safe, and that was enough.

Government officials asked how Cassandra had managed to find Daniel. She shrugged, mentioning an anonymous tip and the help of a friend’s overseas contacts. They seemed doubtful but ultimately filed it away as a private rescue mission, their gratitude overshadowing lingering curiosity.

Later that evening, Obadiah slipped into the hospital’s small chapel. Stained-glass windows cast colored light over the pews. He sank into the last row, head bowed, until a warm glow signaled another presence.

“Michael,” Obadiah said, sitting up straighter.

Soft footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. “You did well, Obadiah,” the archangel said. “Many lives were saved.”

Obadiah exhaled, letting lingering tension slip away. “I know Cassandra’s relieved. Thank you for sending the angels.”

Michael’s smile held gentle encouragement. “All that matters is Daniel is safe, and Cassandra’s faith remains strong.”

Obadiah rose, meeting the archangel’s gaze. “So I stay ready for whatever comes next?”

“Yes,” Michael replied. “You have answered a call no one else could. Rest in that.”

As swiftly as he’d arrived, Michael vanished, leaving a hush behind him. Obadiah lingered, reflecting on Cassandra’s joy and Daniel’s second chance. The quiet miracles that had paved the way reminded him why, no matter the risk, he would always answer when someone cried out for help.

Obadiah: The Return of Hubert Bannion III (Flash Fiction)

 

Obadiah

In Manhattan, New York, Hubert Bannion III, the powerful CEO of Bannion Corp, had sacrificed everything in pursuit of success. But one night, the weight of his corporate duties became too much to bear. Without a single word or explanation, he abandoned his office and his former life behind.

Six months passed with no trace of him. His sister, Delia, tirelessly searched, enlisting the help of the police and private investigators, but Hubert seemed to have vanished into thin air.

One day, Delia found herself among the VIPs in Baylor City, attending a tour at the Arklow Museum led by Obadiah, also known as Director Brian Sessions. She had traveled from New York, where her efforts to get assistance from the police department had hit a dead end. Desperate for answers and driven by relentless determination, she had maneuvered her way into the exclusive event, hoping to seek the help of the enigmatic museum director. As Brian recounted the story of Jeremiah, the prophet who endured tremendous trials but found strength in faith and perseverance, Delia's resolve strengthened. She knew she had to speak to him, convinced that he held the key to the justice she sought.

“Jeremiah’s story reminds us that even in the darkest times, hope and purpose can be found,” Brian concluded, his eyes lingering on the audience before settling on Delia Bannion.

“Your story about Jeremiah touches something deep within me,” Delia said in his office after the tour, her voice tinged with desperation. “My brother, Hubert Bannion III, disappeared six months ago.” She took a seat across from him.

“I heard about Hubert,” Brian said. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing as well as can be expected,” Delia sighed, her gaze searching Brian's face for reassurance. “The police have given up, but I haven’t. I’ve scoured the city and even hired private investigators, but Hubert remained a ghost. I’m at my wit's end.”

Delia's eyes bore a tired, determined look from months of fruitless searching. Her fingers twitched with anxiety, the only visible sign of her desperation. “Can you help me?”

Brian's eyebrows shot up as he leaned back in his oversized chair, surprise etched across his face. “How can I help?”

Delia hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to explain her friend's suggestion without revealing too much. “I don’t know if you can. A friend mentioned you have a unique way of helping people when the police can’t.”

Brian straightened in his chair and met Delia’s gaze. Her plea tugged at something deep within him. “I may have a way to assist you," Brian began slowly, carefully choosing his words.

Delia leaned forward, her eyes wide with hope. "Whatever it is, I'm willing to try. Please, anything that could lead me to my brother."

Brian regarded her with gentle understanding. “Let's start with what Hubert was like before he disappeared.”

Delia sighed, her voice softening as she recalled her brother's demeanor. “He was the epitome of success—driven, ambitious. But underneath it all, he was kind and caring. Lately, though, he seemed overwhelmed, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I tried to help, but…” she trailed off, her voice choked with emotion.

Brian nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes, those who seem the strongest are also the most burdened. Delia, let me see what I can find out, and I'll get back to you.”

Delia's shoulders slumped, her posture defeated as she lowered her head. Her eyes, usually full of determination, now held a glimmer of desperation and sadness. She jumped to her feet. “I've heard those words before. They mean you can't help me.”

“It doesn't mean that,” Brian assured her. “I will have news on your brother shortly.”

Several hours later, utilizing his divine abilities, Brian walked through the picturesque village of Saddlebrook in Vermont, feeling a sense of familiarity that surrounded him. The quaint cottages and winding lanes reminded him of a simpler time, a life far removed from the chaos of the city. It was in this tranquil setting that he finally caught a glimpse of Hubert Bannion III.

Hubert was dressed in worn-out clothes, his once impeccable appearance now faded and weathered. Brian watched from a distance as Hubert interacted with the villagers, his smile genuine and his eyes reflecting a newfound peace.

Approaching Hubert cautiously, Brian cleared his throat to announce his presence. Hubert turned, surprise flickering across his face before recognition set in.

"Brian Sessions? What are you doing here?" Hubert's voice held a mix of emotions - relief, apprehension, and a hint of resignation.

Brian said gently. "Your sister Delia has been searching tirelessly for you. She's worried sick.”

“How did you find me?” Hubert said. “I thought I had covered my tracks well.”

Brian smiled kindly. "Fate has a way of guiding us where we need to be." He studied Hubert's worn features, noting the lines of stress that had melted away into a sense of peace. "Your sister loves you deeply, Hubert. She just wants to know that you're safe.”

Hubert's gaze drifted to the ground, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. "I never meant to cause her pain. I just needed to escape... everything.”

Brian nodded understandingly. "We all carry burdens that can become too heavy to bear. But running away doesn't always solve our problems; sometimes, we need to confront them head-on.”

Hubert sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his actions. "I didn't know how to face it all. The pressure, the expectations... I felt like I was suffocating.”

Brian placed a comforting hand on Hubert's shoulder. "You don't have to face it alone. Delia needs you, and there’s something else you must consider. There’s a woman here who has captured your heart, but she doesn’t know who you truly are. It’s time to be honest with her.”

Hubert's mouth gaped. "How do you know all of this?”

Brian's eyes held a glint of knowing wisdom as he replied, “Sometimes, the answers we seek are intertwined with the people who cross our paths. As for the woman in question, she deserves to know the truth. It's time to let go of the facades and embrace your true self.”

A mixture of fear and longing danced in Hubert's eyes as he processed Brian's words. The weight of his decisions bore down on him, but a glimmer of hope sparked within his heart. "I've been living a lie for so long, I don't know where to begin.”

Brian squeezed Hubert's shoulder reassuringly. "Start by being honest with yourself. The rest will follow.” He paused, watching the turmoil play out on Hubert's face before continuing, "Delia is waiting for you, Hubert. It's time to return home and face your fears.”

Hubert took a deep breath, the cool village air filling his lungs as he made a silent resolve to confront his past and embrace his true self. With newfound determination, he turned to Brian with a grateful smile. “Thank you for guiding me back on the right path. I will go back with you to see my sister.”

Brian returned the smile, a sense of peace settling over him. Together, they made their way back to the city, each step bringing Hubert closer to reconciliation with his past and a hopeful reunion with Delia.

As they approached Delia's doorstep, Hubert's heart raced with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. He had been gone for so long, lost in his own struggles, that facing his sister felt like stepping into the unknown. But he knew it was a necessary step towards healing and moving forward.

Delia opened the door, her eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of her brother standing before her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she rushed forward, enveloping Hubert in a tight embrace. She wept tears of joy at her brother’s return.

In a surprising move, Hubert announced his plan to donate a significant portion of his wealth to the small village that had given him so much.

At a press conference, he spoke openly about his disappearance and newfound perspective. “I found happiness not in wealth or power, but in community and simplicity. I’m giving back to those who showed me true kindness and humility. Let this be a lesson that success is not measured by what we have, but by the impact we make on the lives of others.”

The village received Hubert’s generous gift with gratitude, using it to improve their infrastructure, education, and healthcare. Hubert, now a changed man, balanced his life between the corporate world and the village, ensuring that both thrived under his care.

Hubert's transformation was profound. He became a bridge between two worlds, using his resources and influence to foster a spirit of giving and community. Brian continued to guide him, helping him navigate his dual responsibilities with grace and wisdom.

In the end, Hubert found a sense of fulfillment he had never known. He realized that true happiness lay not in the pursuit of wealth, but in the connections he forged and the lives he touched. His journey had come full circle, bringing him back to the people who loved him and the community that embraced him, forever changed by his experience.

Obadiah Chronicles: Mount Nebo (Flash Fiction, Episode 3)

 

Mount Nebo

Joshua supported Obadiah as they left the tent under cover of darkness.  As Obadiah gazed upward, the twinkling stars painted the sky in shades of midnight blue. With each step, the guiding star seemed to grow brighter and more determined, leading him toward his destination.

 They climbed for an hour until reaching a plateau. Obadiah directed Joshua and Caleb to wait while he ascended further alone.

"Are you sure you're well enough to climb alone, Obadiah?" Joshua asked with concern. "The path is steep. Caleb and I can accompany you further."

Obadiah placed a reassuring hand on Joshua's shoulder. "No, Joshua. I will manage. Wait here for my return. It won't take long."

He continued his ascent until the Archangel Michael appeared from the bright light.
"Michael," Obadiah began urgently. "Where is the child? Is he safe?"

"There's no need to ask," Michael assured him. "Joshuel is safe."

Obadiah blinked. He hadn't known his nephew's name; Kristiel hadn't had the chance to tell him. "Why was he taken from me? I don't understand."

"The child was taken to ensure his safety," Michael explained, his voice resonating with a deep sense of purpose. "His destiny is intertwined with the fate of the world, and he must be protected at all costs.”

Obadiah's heart clenched with a mixture of fear and determination. "But I made a promise to my sister, to protect him with my life. How can I fulfill that oath if he is taken away from me?”

Michael placed a comforting hand on Obadiah's shoulder, his touch both grounding and ethereal. "Your bond with Joshuel runs deeper than you know. Trust in the divine plan, Obadiah. The threads of fate are intricate and far-reaching, weaving a tapestry beyond mortal comprehension.”

Obadiah bowed his head, struggling to accept this new reality. "I will do whatever it takes to ensure his safety, even if it means facing unimaginable challenges."

"You carry a heavy burden, but you do not walk this path alone."

A mix of emotions surged through him, a tumult of anger and sorrow over his sister's passing. He knew the risks when Kristiel chose to bear a Jumper, but coming to terms with her absence was a different struggle altogether. They were twins, the only brother and sister Nephilim, jumping hand in hand for thousand of years. The thought of facing life without her by his side was daunting, but finding comfort in his nephew meant that Kristiel's essence continued on. He didn't want to raise Joshuel as a Nephilim; demons, death, and destruction had already taken their toll on his family.

"It's better for the child to remain here," Michael said.

"No. Clip my wings. Give me my sister's child," Obadiah pleaded, his voice raw. “Let me leave."

"The child stays," Michael insisted.

Obadiah implored. "He's all I have left of Kristiel."

After a moment's consideration, Michael spoke again. "As you requested, your wings are clipped. Joshuel will be return to you. For the last time, you may Jump wherever you wish. Choose wisely, Obadiah. Where you go is where you will remain."

Obadiah's heart pounded in his chest as he processed Michael's words. The weight of the decision ahead of him felt like a mountain pressing down on his shoulders. He glanced back at the figures waiting below, knowing that this choice would determine not only his own fate but also that of his nephew.

Looking up at the Archangel Michael, Obadiah steeled himself and made his decision. "I choose to go where the child is destined to be," he said with unwavering determination.

A knowing smile played on Michael's lips as he nodded in approval. "So be it," he declared, and with a wave of his hand, a dazzling light enveloped Obadiah, lifting him off the ground. In an instant, they were gone from Mount Nebo, leaving behind only a faint echo of their presence.

When Obadiah opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in a lush meadow bathed in golden sunlight. Before him stood a magnificent tree with shimmering leaves that whispered in the gentle breeze. The air felt charged with an otherworldly energy, and Obadiah knew in his heart that this was a place of great significance.

As he took in his surroundings, he heard the sound of laughter and playful chatter nearby. Walking towards the source of the joyful commotion, Obadiah saw a group of children playing under the shade of the majestic tree. Their faces lit up with delight as they chased each other around, their laughter echoing through the meadow.

Among them, Obadiah spotted a familiar face - a young boy with eyes that sparkled like sapphires, his dark hair tousled by the wind. It was Joshuel, his nephew, playing without a care in the world.

Obadiah's heart swelled with love and relief at the sight of the child he had sworn to protect. Kneeling down beside Joshuel, he enveloped him in a tight embrace, feeling the warmth of their bond as uncle and nephew. Joshuel looked up at him with a smile that mirrored the pure joy and innocence of childhood.

"Uncle Obadiah, you found me!" Joshuel exclaimed, his voice filled with happiness.

Obadiah brushed a stray lock of hair from Joshuel's forehead, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I promised your mother I would always keep you safe. And I intend to keep that promise, no matter what challenges may come our way.”

Joshuel nodded solemnly, as if understanding the weight of his uncle's words. "I know you will protect me, Uncle Obadiah. You're the bravest Nephilim I know.”

A sense of pride swelled in Obadiah's chest at his nephew's unwavering trust in him. As he stood up, a realization dawned upon him - this meadow was more than just a sanctuary for Joshuel. It was a place where they could start anew, free from the burdens of their past and the shadows of fear that had haunted them for so long. Together, uncle and nephew would forge a new path, guided by love, trust, and the unbreakable bond between them.

As they watched the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink, Obadiah knew that their journey was far from over. There would be challenges ahead, dangers to face, and sacrifices to make. But he also knew that as long as they were together, they could overcome anything.

With a renewed sense of purpose burning in his heart, Obadiah took Joshuel's hand in his own, the warmth of their touch grounding him in the present moment. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear - they would face it together, as family.

And as they walked hand in hand into the twilight, a feeling of peace settled over Obadiah's soul. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope for a better tomorrow.

Obadiah Chronicles: Angel In Flight (Flash Fiction, Episode 2)

 

Angel in Flight

Obadiah clutched the crying baby to his heart as he sprinted through Serenity Forest. The infant's screams echoed in his ears as he ran faster and faster, desperate to reach safety.

"Just a little further," he muttered to himself. His foot caught on a fallen tree, and the infant slipped out of his grasp. Panicked, Obadiah rushed to pick up the baby, checking for any injuries. Aside from a bit of dirt on its face, the child was unharmed. The angel let out a sigh of relief.

Obadiah heard one of the Reapers yell, "There they are!" He quickly snatched up the child and hurried towards their destination. As he ran past a towering Oak tree, he saw the face of the Archangel Michael etched into the bark, a symbol of protection. Obadiah ducked behind the tree with the child in his arms, gazing down at its peaceful face. The baby's bright eyes met his, oblivious to the turmoil its arrival had caused.

"I'll guide them in the opposite direction," Michael's voice resonated from within the tree.

Soon after, the noise of hurried feet and a bawling infant could be heard heading in the opposite direction.

Obadiah carefully peeped from around the tree. The plan worked. The Reapers were searching away from him.

"Go now," Michael instructed.

Obadiah sprinted towards the Jump site with all his might. Suddenly, a searing sensation shot through his back. An angel arrow had pierced him. Being half-human, he knew he only had ten minutes to seek medical treatment before bleeding out.

Fighting through the agony, Obadiah fell to his knees but clutched onto the infant in his arms. He was determined to protect the baby even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

Antioch loomed over Obadiah, a fierce look in his eyes. "I've got you now," he growled, reaching for the child in Obadiah's arms. "Give me the infant!"

Obadiah shifted his position to get a better view, only to realize that he was completely surrounded by Reapers. Their glowing red eyes and ashen forms didn't scare him; after all, they had been engaged in battle for centuries. He was aware of his ability to disintegrate them with a single thought, but his injuries made that option less feasible. Instead, he would have to use his cunning to outsmart them if he wanted to survive this encounter.

The Reapers inched forward, their menacing presence looming over him. He shifted his gaze towards the blindingly white door - the only escape route. "You'll have to pry this child from my dying grasp," Obadiah declared defiantly.

Antioch replied, "That's fine. I'll give you five minutes, if even that." With determination in his eyes, he declared, "I will take the child from you. But I must commend your honor in sacrificing yourself. After a thousand years, I have finally emerged victorious over you. And when you fall, I will ensure that the rest of the chosen ones meet the same fate.”

Obadiah struggled to catch his breath. "Your plan won't succeed. It's far from over." He held onto the baby even tighter.

“But it is,” Antioch said confidently. “I have the names. Death will come for them, starting with you and the child.”

Obadiah took a deep breath before asking, “How did you come by the names of the Chosen Ones?”

"Don’t tell him, nothing," Bolofar, the second in command retorted. "Let him die like the dog that he is. Let me finish him off."

Antioch knelt down next to Obadiah, his voice filled with pride as he spoke. “You see, we Reapers have evolved. We are not the mindless beings you perceive us to be,” he boasted, gesturing towards his ash form that briefly took on a human appearance before returning to its natural state. “Before I end your life, I want you to understand that I will eliminate anyone who stands in my path, starting with the abomination you hold in your arms.”

With what little energy he had left, Obadiah covered the child protectively with one of his wings.

"Finish him off and take the child," Antioch commanded.

The Reapers approached with menacing intent. Obadiah quickly shuffled backwards, pressing his back against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Bolofar sneered and lifted his sword, ready to strike him down. "I have been waiting for this moment.”

Bolofar barely finished speaking when a pair of gigantic, glowing hands emerged from the tree and snatched Obadiah. In an instant, both he and the child disappeared without a trace.

Antioch's voice echoed through the empty forest as he bellowed, "Obadiah! I will find you!"

Obadiah let out a groan, struggling to clear his blurred vision as he looked up at the figures looming over him. Among them were Moses, the man chosen by God to lead the Hebrews, standing alongside Aaron, Joshua, and Caleb.

"How many days was I out of it?" Obadiah asked weakly.

"You were unconscious for three nights," Moses replied. "We took turns watching over you."

"I am grateful," Obadiah said, attempting to sit up but falling back onto the straw mat, his body still weak.

"The Lord sent angels to heal your wounds," Joshua added. "You must rest."

Obadiah's mind was flooded with memories from the past seventy-two hours: the tragic deaths of his beloved brother-in-law and sister, and the near fatal attack on his young nephew by the Reapers. With each memory, his determination grew stronger. He demanded to know, "Where is my sister's child?”

Moses frowned, his thick, white eyebrows arched. "You were near death. Miriam looked after him until the angels came for him.

Moses and the others were aware of the Jumpers and their divine purpose. They had provided refuge when needed most.

Obadiah recalled the moment Bolofar raised his sword to strike, only to be thwarted by God's hands rescuing him and his nephew. The child should be here with him. Safe from Antioch and the Reapers in this sanctuary of time.

Obadiah struggled to rise. "I need to see the child with my own eyes. His parents were killed by Reapers—my sister was his mother. Before she died, she entrusted him to my care. I gave her my word I would protect him, even with my life."

"You speak rightly," Moses affirmed. 

"You have seen him?"

Moses nodded in agreement. "Miriam watched over him until the angels arrived  and took him away."

Obadiah gestured to Joshua. "Help me up. I must speak with Michael."

Obadiah Chronicles: Birth of An Angel (Flash Fiction, Episode 1)

 Birth of An Angel

 Baylor City, SC

“Keep pushing, Kristiel,” Alexander Felton urged his wife. The baby was coming two weeks earlier than expected while they were on the run from members of Satan's Army. These Reapers, as they were known, hunted and killed Nephilim - the offspring of Humans and Angels chosen by God to protect and guide the struggling Chosen Ones in their faith. Due to their sudden departure from New York, they were forced to find a safe location for the birth.

According to legend, the union between humans and angels was considered a horrific abomination, and God is said to have lifted the curse by creating special angels known as Nephilims. These beings serve as messengers for God and possess the ability to travel through time, allowing them to transport people back in time before and after his son's crucifixion.

They managed to find an abandoned house on the church ground in Baylor City, South Carolina. Alexander didn't know the first thing about delivering babies. Going to a hospital was out of the question, and there was no one to deliver the baby.

Kristiel fell back on the bed and gave a hard push. The birth was taking a lot out of her. Her face was glistening with sweat. She was moaning in pain.

As Kristiel let out a strangled cry, Alexander felt panic rising within him. He had never felt so helpless before. The walls of the abandoned house seemed to close in on him, and the distant howls of the Reapers only added to his sense of urgency.

But then, as if a sudden calm descended upon the room, Kristiel's expression shifted. Her eyes met Alexander's, and in that moment, he saw a strength and determination that took his breath away. "We can do this," she said, her voice steady despite the pain wracking her body.

Drawing on reserves of courage he never knew he had, Alexander knelt beside his wife and took her hand in his. Together, they faced the impending birth with a unity that transcended their fear and uncertainty. As Kristiel pushed with all her might, a sense of peace settled over them, as if they were being watched over by unseen forces.

And then, in a miraculous rush of joy and relief, their baby boy entered the world with a cry that pierced the tense atmosphere of the room. Alexander's heart swelled with love and awe as he beheld the tiny, squirming new life in Kristiel's arms. Tears welled up in his eyes as he gently touched the soft skin of his newborn son.

Kristiel held their baby close, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she gazed at the miracle they had created together. The baby had a tuft of dark hair and delicate features that already bore a striking resemblance to both parents. A sense of wonder washed over the couple as they marveled at the new addition to their family.

He carefully flipped the baby over and gently tapped his bottom. Joshuel's cries pierced the air, just as he had seen in those childbirth videos. After cutting and clamping the umbilical cord, he placed the newborn on the warm blanket next to Kristiel. He couldn't help but notice a radiant aura surrounding the little one's body.

Kristiel turned Joshuel over onto his stomach. She looked at the small pouch in the middle of his back, where his wings will develop. God will determine when they will be assigned. He was perfect. She flipped him back onto his back. A moment later, the light around his face became more intense. The room began to shake.

Fear coursed through Alexander's veins as he quickly moved to the opposite side of the room. He looked over at Kristiel, who seemed unfazed by the sudden movement.

“The Angels in heaven are celebrating Joshuel's arrival.” Kristiel said.

The room became quiet again. She picked up the baby and held him close to her chest. She looked over at Alexander. He was still in cowered in the corner. He looked nervous.

Alexander slowly came to his feet. “We have to get moving. We can't stay here.”

“We have time," Kristiel said, looking down in the face of their son. “Don't you want to hold your son?”

“Of course, I do,” Alexander said. Stepping forward with a huge smile on his face. “I don't want to break him.”

As they basked in the joy of their son’s arrival, a sudden noise outside shattered the tranquility of the moment. The unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching on leaves drew closer to the abandoned house, sending a jolt of fear through Alexander and Kristiel.

Without exchanging a word, they knew what they had to do. With practiced efficiency, Alexander cautiously moved to the window and peered outside. Through the overgrown branches, he spotted a group of dark figures making their way towards the house. The Reapers had found them.

"We have to go now," Alexander whispered urgently, his heart pounding in his chest. Kristiel nodded, her gaze never leaving their newborn son cradled in her arms. With swift movements, they gathered what little belongings they had and prepared to flee into the night.

As they made their way to the back door, a sudden crash echoed through the room as the front door burst open, revealing the hooded figures of the Reapers. Without hesitation, Alexander grabbed Kristiel's hand and led her out into the darkness, their baby boy held close to her chest.

They ran through the dense forest, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they dodged trees and bushes in their path. The Reapers were relentless in their pursuit, their unearthly speed gaining on the desperate family.

Alexander came to a halt and abruptly pivoted towards Kristiel. “You and the baby go,” he urged, determination flashing in his eyes. "I'll hold them off.”

Kristiel's eyes widened in fear and determination as she clutched their newborn son tighter against her chest. She could see the resolve in Alexander's eyes, a silent promise to protect them at all costs. "No, we stay together," she insisted, her voice firm despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

But Alexander shook his head, a grim expression on his face. “I won't let them harm you or Joshuel. Go, I'll buy you time.” Without waiting for her response, he turned and faced the approaching Reapers. He quickly searched for a sturdy object to use as a weapon in defense.

With tears streaming down her face, Kristiel pressed a kiss to Alexander's cheek before whispering a fervent prayer for his safety. Then, with a final look of love and gratitude, she turned and ran into the depths of the forest, the echoes of her footsteps mingling with the sounds of the ongoing struggle behind her.

As Alexander sprinted in the opposite direction, a fiery hand of red ash suddenly emerged from the ground and snatched hold of his thin, slender legs. He crumpled to the ground, wailing in agony. In an instant, a gaping hole appeared beneath him and he was forcefully pulled halfway inside. Despite his desperate attempts to resist, the Reapers were too strong for him. Soon, Alexander was buried up to his neck in dirt, desperately clawing and scratching at the suffocating mound. But it was a futile effort; he was completely overpowered by the Reaper's grasp.

Suddenly, silence enveloped everything. It was an unsettling kind of quiet, reminiscent of the stillness before a storm. He glanced around, trying to make sense of it all. Then, he looked up at the sky and saw a dark cloud gathering over the forest. Thunder rumbled in the distance and bolts of lightning lit up the sky. A powerful gust of cold wind followed, bringing with it a thick fog that made it impossible to see just inches in front of him. Alexander struggled even more, his only thought hoping his wife and son were safe.

Alexander was frightened. He knew that he would not escape but no matter the outcome, their son, Joshuel must live. He and Kristiel were prepared for what may happened. His only regret is that he would not live to see his son grow up. But his life destiny was set in motion. It was the only thing that mattered.

He lifted his gaze towards the sky and began to pray. “Dear Lord, you have blessed me with this family for a reason. I have fulfilled all of your requests. My son, Joshuel, is extraordinary and has a purpose in life.” His thoughts were scattered as he continued, “Please keep him safe under your protective care.”

As Alexander finished reciting the prayer, the wind suddenly died down and the fog dispersed. The ground next to him cracked open, revealing a towering twenty-foot-tall demon figure made of ash known as Antioch. Its piercing red eyes glowed from beneath a black cloak as it emerged from the hole, one leg at a time. In its hand was a massive sword, dwarfing Alexander in comparison. It regarded him with disdain, as if he were nothing more than a blade of grass.

Alexander cast a pleading look towards the sky. "Please, God, intervene.”

The demon’s gaze fixated on him, his words dripping with malice. “What can he possibly do? I am Antioch. I will end your life, Kristiel, and then your son's.” With a swift motion, he swung his sword and removed Alexander's head from his body in one clean strike. The severed head was tossed into the depths of the well.