Father Bation.

The name felt familiar, like he had heard about it before in the news. But as he searched for it, all he got were a few local newspaper clippings from his hometown talking about a troubled teenager named “Marcus Bation” and one about that same troubled teen years later, leaving town to serve the church in a third-world country no one had heard of, with no reference to it in the clipping.

Searching for “Magnolia” wasn’t any better; the only thing that came up was a white flower that normally grows in the South.

The longer he searched, the less it seemed like he had. Every variation of searches came up with nothing that he was looking for. Not until he gave up and switched back to the disappearances, hoping that he had been wrong about another one happening that night.

He had been, but that didn’t do much to quell his fears.

Colton leaned back in his chair to think. He’d already been through everything directly connected to the disappearances and most things that seemed plausibly connected. He could recite the victims' names in his sleep, he could summarize every report given, and he knew the life stories of the four who seemed gone for good.

Willow Taylor had been a dock worker on the weekends and during her school breaks to save up for her dream college, Syracuse University, where she wanted to study marine biology and already had scholarships lined up to go the next year after she disappeared. She had been described as the go-to for anything that was happening in her small town, doing anything that was asked of her, no matter what her experience was in it. She disappeared after an attack on her small town that killed ten and injured several more. Survivors recalled several people calling for her to help, and her running past them, toward the attacking beast. There were reports of an unexplained helicopter immediately after the attack, and before she was discovered missing six years ago.

Evan King was the odd one out as both the only man and the only one not to have been reported missing. As his best friend, Colton was obviously biased when he thought of him as the best person of the four, even when on paper, he stood out as a sore thumb against the other three. An odd choice by anyone who had enough to see the pattern.

Lillian Pierce had been a street rat in Chicago, addicted to several substances that impaired her senses, who had done everything in her power to help the other kids in her same situation. She had never been enrolled in schools, but she had been in underground fighting rings, where she got the money she used to keep “her kids” safe and fed. The owner of her favorite was the one to report her missing after weeks, as she had no family of her own. There weren’t many reports from anyone that she knew personally, and even when there was one, it was a short “she was a pillar” or “I can’t believe she’s gone.” She went missing five months after Evan died.

Abigail Smith was an ordinary girl from Georgia. Her family owned an old plantation that they had converted into a museum that told the stories of their ancestors and what they did to escape their enslavement. By all accounts, she had been proud of her family’s work and regularly did anything she could to market the museum and highlight the firsthand stories she could find about what their lives were like, and what they chose to do after they were freed, or what their family had done beforehand. She was reported missing within hours, and had a memorial that revealed that she was on her way to being valedictorian when she disappeared a year and a half after Lillian, two years ago.

Colton ran through the four through his head, their missing person pictures flashing through his head. The age range of the four struck him as curious. The youngest, Lillian, had her own range that put her around twelve to fifteen at the time of her disappearance, with no one being able to agree on her actual age. While the oldest, Willow, was still only seventeen at the time, putting her at around twenty-three now.

This “Father” had a two-year hiatus. Why start back up now? What changed? Why five months, then a year and a half, then two?

The next moment gave him two questions he could answer with some research: How long was he taking people for questioning in each area before taking the four? What does a priest dress like?

Father Bation was the answer to the second question; it was almost like he had been the subject of every reference photo.

The first varied, with the set in Chicago taking the least amount of time, with only two weeks, but it also had the most injured victims. It worried Colton; thoughts of what could have happened to Lillian before becoming the princess flashed in his mind. While in Houston, it was several months before Evan was taken.

The man he met at the gala had set off alarm bells, just like the Princess had. It was almost certain to Colton that he was the same “Father” who had been taking people, questioning, and torturing them.

What he didn’t know was why, and it gnawed at him.

Why the questioning? Why the torture? Why only keep four? Why come back after five years if Evan had died that night, after he had taken two others?

Suddenly, the power cut, and Colton was pulled from his seat by two giant arms wrapped around his shoulders from his armpits. A second, taller person, whom he could not see, wrapped a cloth tightly around his head as he kicked at the shins and knees of the person holding him off the ground from behind, before going after the one in front of him.

The one behind seemed unfazed as they moved from his rickety office with the ease of someone who had spent years there, or like someone who had studied the floor plan restlessly. But the one in front grunted and audibly collapsed for a brief moment before announcing annoyance as they scrambled after the captor, whom he still fought against as best he could.

It was like trying to fight a mountain. No matter where he hit, and he knew he was landing more than a few, nothing seemed to hurt his captor. It was like his captor wasn’t human. The warmth that radiated from the chest that his back was pressed against as he was carried inches from the ground was enough to convince him that it wasn’t just some robot, but that was it.

He was carried to his basement like that, his arms trapped between thick biceps and forearms strong enough to bend metal as he tried everything to throw off his captor off balance, even when they were on the stairs, and he would likely have been injured more than the captor would have been.

Once there, he was unceremoniously dumped on a metal chair before being strapped in by what was likely his own equipment.

The lights flickered on as none other than Father Bation waltzed down the stairs, drawing his eyes to him as he tried to free himself. A second, less tall man, leaned against the nearest wall with his arms folded in front of his chest as though he wished to be anywhere else.

Father Bation was dressed the same as he had been at the gala, in what he now knew was a priest's uniform, with a similar limp to the one that the Princess had as he made his way in front of the chair.

The second man, against the wall, looked more like he had been pulled straight out of a graphic novel with fiery red hair that reminded him effortlessly of Evan’s and a mask covering most of his face with cuffs just like the princess’s with an extra around his neck. He was dressed head to toe in sleeveless tactical gear and an archer’s guard on his left arm and heavy boots in matching black that likely gave him an extra two inches.

“This is Auriel,” Father Bation introduced. When Colton didn’t react, he added, “The archangel.”

Auriel shook his head, unamused, as he watched them.

“You intrigue me, Mr. White, and that has only happened four times before you.” He took a briefcase from beside a small table they had clearly set up specially for him. Colton watched his movements as he pulled a seemingly empty syringe from the case, eyeing it with wonder. “I don’t even need to test you to be sure of who you really are, but I’m sure you do.”

Colton struggled against the bindings as he brought the syringe to his arm. Auriel turned his head, unable to watch his struggling, stiffening in Colton’s peripheral vision.

“Do not worry,” Father Bation cooed as he inserted the needle and drew unnaturally dark blood, “All will be made right, in time.”

He studied the blood in the syringe, his face contorting into grief as his blood rushed from his arm, down his fists, and dripped onto the concrete floor beneath him. A cold pad pressed against the wound as Colton’s focus left Bation’s insane focus on how his blood moved around the syringe that he wouldn’t hold still.

Colton watched Auriel clean the small wound and the thin trail before holding gauze to it, his focused blue eyes never meeting Colton’s as he grumbled his annoyance words in a gravelly voice he couldn’t understand.

“You have many sins, my dear angel, that is clear.” Bation finally started after agonizing minutes with the pressure of Auriel’s unwaivering hand pressed into his arm, “The only question left is which one are you?”

With the speed a man his age shouldn’t possess, Father Bation was suddenly in his face, studying him with the eyes of a crazed madman for long minutes. His breath was awful, smelling like he had been eating garbage seasoned with too much garlic.

“Remove his gag.” He ordered, unmoving.

Auriel tugged at the back of Colton’s head, loosening the white cloth binding his mouth. He took an involuntary gasp as though he had been holding his breath.

“Tell me, angel. What are your powers?”

Colton looked at the insane man, biting his tongue to hold back the retort that was sure to escape him, words that would certainly anger the ancient man standing before him.

“Silence, huh?” He backed his face up, rising to his full height. “You had so much to say to the princess earlier, what happened?”

He saw Auriel’s head snap to Father Bation’s, though he wished he could see the look on his face. He desperately needed to know how fucked he was if he said anything now.

“I know you’ve already put together enough to know you’re my fifth Saint. I know you know who my other Saints are.” Colton looked more at Auriel, studying every similarity to his old friend he could find, but the “Saint” refused to meet his gaze. “I know more of you than you do, Chamuel.”

“Chamuel?” Colton racked his head for any reference to an angel with that name and came up empty.

Father Bation grinned, waving the syringe, “You’ve committed many sins during your time here, learning about the humans just like your brothers and sisters have, but you are called now to return to your true earthly home.”

“And that would be Magnolia?”

Bation nodded, carefully placing the syringe in the briefcase. “I hoped it would be this easy, having Auriel here to guide you to your true purpose without much fight.”

With every sentence the man said, he sounded more insane to Colton, until he kept going with what he hoped would be his only monologue.

“The fifth of my seven Arcangels is finally coming home.” He said breathlessly, pulling a second syringe filled with a clear liquid from the case, “Finally coming to aid his sibling in the war against the sin plaguing the world. My warriors of times before time. My elite soldiers are soon to be ready for anything that is thrown their way. All because I sought them out and freed them from their human torture inflicted upon them by themselves for their empathy.” Bation sank the needle into his other arm, slowly sending the clear liquid into his bloodstream as he continued, “Soon the world will be cleansed and those still living will be allowed the sanctuary they were promised for their free will to be used however the humans wish to use it. Sin or not.”

Bation continued his speech, but Colton’s head grew too blurred to follow him as the restraints were loosened. Auriel, now seeming more and more like Evan as his mind escaped him, picked him up from the chair just before he finally blacked out, and the sound of the ocean filled his mind as Auriel’s steady arms carried him off to the island.