On Astral Tides: From Humble Freelancer To Astral Emperor

“You can’t do this to me! Don’t you know who I am, you crazy piece of shit?” The man in front of him, overweight and wearing an ill-fitting silk shirt, the buttons straining, stained with sweat, cried out. “Carlos, Luiz, where the fuck are you? I… argh!” the man cried out in pain as Uriel reached out, his arm wrapped in a strange grey armour, and twisted the man’s pudgy limb painfully, the joints creaking.

“Oh, I know very well who you are. Why else would I be here, you fucking Arrombado.” Uriel said coldly. “As for those two pieces of shit, don’t worry, you won’t be seeing them again.” He pulled harder, and seconds later the pudgy garbage in front of him was crying as his shoulder was dislocated, flesh bruising like an over-ripe, rotten peach. A stinking rotten fruit. This human excrement only wishes he could smell as sweet as that. “Didn’t you get the warnings? All the crime, the prostitution, the drug dealing, it stops. I said I’d be here to dispense justice on those who failed to listen.”

“You… you’re truly a madman! Even… even if you kill me, you think that you can just wipe out crime in the Favelas? Just you and your band of fools? I heard that you already lost some, gunned down in the street. This is a war you can’t… ahh!” Bone splintered, Uriel’s grip tightening up savagely.

“I can’t? You better not mention those heroes with your filthy mouth. Merda, even talking to you disgusts me.” Uriel let out a bitter sigh. “Money, power. All of that doesn’t matter. What happened to humanity, decency?”

“Hah, they say you are named after an angel of judgement, an angry stone ghost.” The corpulent man was laughing now, giggling disgustingly, perhaps having lost his mind from the pain. “Nobody knows your surname, or where you come from. But you aren’t a ghost. You must have family, friends.” He laughed, dribbling saliva as he gibbered. “Sure, you can kill me, but I’m still a small fish. Yes, I run the gear around here, but you think I’m the big boss, the Chefão? One man can’t clean up the slums, the Favelas! You think the UPP, the police sent to clean up the streets, isn’t corrupt? They’ll send people to…”

“Enough.” Uriel struck, and with one last giggle the fat crime boss died, neck broken. Uriel let the body fall, wiping the sweat from his palms. As he did so, a sound rang out, a gunshot.

“Hah, you fool. You think the boss only had two… huh?” The wiry would-be assassin gaped open-mouthed as Uriel’s arm moved automatically, somehow catching the bullet in the grey-clad palm. As Uriel turned, eyes blazing, the man backed off, fearfully.

I was careless. But I learn. “I should have expected you. Anyway, here, you piece of shit. Have it back.” He flicked the now-squashed bullet away, and it struck the man in the temple. There was a dull crunch, and the man fell, never to move again. Reaching under his own clothes, Uriel held the crucifix he wore around his neck, a gift from his eldest sister, to commemorate his Confirmation, many years ago. Taking deep breaths, he calmed himself. It’s fine. There aren’t any problems left.

“Well, now to have a look around. But…” there was a large indoor plant in the corner, in a massive pot. It was a vanity object, to display status, but that didn’t matter to Uriel. Walking over, he kicked it over, and as the soil spilt out, he bent down, heedless of getting mud on his pants. Forming the clay into some small, rough, humanoid shapes, he then closed his eyes, feeling the power he had been given within him. “Come to life, puppets of earth.” With those words, the small figures, each the size of dolls, began to move, following his will.

It never ceases to move me, seeing the statues of clay, soil and stone walk. I see the breath of God within such miracles. Yet I can’t help but wonder, God, is this blasphemy, what I do? “Search, destroy any drugs and firearms. If there is money, bring it.” Surely God is willing to forgive? Killing is a sin, definitely, but is killing such evil men, who prey on the poor and the helpless, who you wish to inherit the earth, really wrong? I gave them chances, chances to repent, to do the right thing, but they never do. Not without force.

Stepping outside, Uriel tried not to notice the bloodstains on the porch area. Taking a deep breath, he realised that the usually busy streets of this part of the slums were empty. Good. People are alert to trouble. A few minutes later, his little golems returned, carrying wraps of Brazilian reals, as well as some American dollars. Uriel quickly thanked his creations, accepting the money. “Was there drugs?” he asked, and the little creatures nodded.

As expected. Drugs are the shame of the Morros. Uriel once more grasped his crucifix. His eldest sister had always told him to stay out of trouble, avoid the gangs, not to get involved in violence. She would be rather disappointed in me if she could see me now, I fear. Gabriela was alwaysseeing the best in people, despite where we lived.

“Well, you can rest now.” He released his power, and the little puppets crumbled to dust. It always amazed him how well they could follow orders, so destroying drugs and guns was simple for them, though any drug Uriel was unable to recognise, they would fail to dispose of as well. They also respond poorly to circumstances outside their original creation. That’s why I was almost killed… was it foreign gangs, or did the local bosses bring in hired muscle?

It didn’t really matter. Uriel was going to bring some salvation to those that needed it, the poor and disenfranchised of Rio De Janeiro. The crime bosses, the corrupt police, foreign troublemakers… why else would a little street-rat like me be given this gift, if not to use it? With that he slipped out of the silent street, and headed for his hideout…

********

“Hey amigo, you’re back safe!” one of his companions, a young man with his long hair dyed a lurid green, smiled in relief. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t worry, considering, but that guy, he had a bad reputation.”

“It’s fine. He can talk about his reputation with the Devil in Hell. Where are the others?” Uriel asked, sitting down, more mentally tired than physically.

“Out, gathering leads. Marcos heard some rumours about illegal prize-fighting and worse. He should be back soon. Carla is out too. With friends I think. She’ll be fine.”

“I see. Well, I trust Marcos to be careful, and he has the stone arm.” Uriel flourished his own, as his friend passed him a drink. Taking a sip, he felt the sweet flavour of the juice restoring his spirits. “Carla… well, I worry. The streets aren’t safe.”

“Safer now than ever before.” His friend, Samuel disagreed. “Seriously, you’re too hard on yourself. Even the angels themselves can’t solve everything, no?”

“Amen to that.” Uriel agreed. “Even so, God wants us to handle matters ourselves. There’s no sin quite like that of choosing not to help when you can. Speaking of, here.” He tossed over the bundles of notes he had retrieved. “Make sure to pass this out to the needy, and make sure we stockpile food and medicine.”

Seeing the large amount of reals and dollars, Samuel let out a low whistle. “Porra mermāo!” he exclaimed. “The fuck, was that son of a bitch a bigger catch than we thought? This is a lot of money!”

“It’s the dollars that worry me.” Uriel sighed. Having finished his juice, he went to look out of the window, out into the surrounding Favela. In the cracked, old glass, he could see a blurry reflection. Short dark hair, brown eyes, skin on the darker side, and handsome features, which reminded him of his elder sister and his mother. Apparently I’m rather handsome, at least that’s what the senhoras say. In his younger days, he had run with a hot crowd, and he was hardly inexperienced with women, having had plenty of fun. After all, making love is cheap entertainment. Cheaper than drink, or worse. Thinking that, he once more remembered his sister, warning him off some of the other pleasures of the slums.

“The fat sack of shit, he mentioned the UPP, saying they wouldn’t let this slide.” He flexed his stone-covered arm without thinking. On seeing that, Samuel’s eyes softened.

“Relax, man. No point worrying about it. Sure…” he waved the wedge of dollars. “This is big cash to us, but to those guys, they probably won’t miss it. Besides, I know people talk a lot of shit about the Pacifiers, but a lot of the Morros were cleaned up, at least a little, right? I don’t doubt there are a few rotten shits within, there always are, hey?” he grinned. “But they probably won’t come after us. Not after last time.”

Last time. Uriel let out a long, mournful breath. The attackers had come swarming out of the slums, surprisingly well-armed and numerous, with foreign muscle too, mercenaries probably. Uriel had been gathering the poor and disenfranchised, to share wealth confiscated from criminal gangs, and there were numerous old people, women, children… That was the day I realised I had to stop being recklessly kind…

Once more he grasped his crucifix, imagining he could hear his elder sister complaining, telling him he was making a mistake. Well I’m sorry, sister. Even you would have found it hard to hold in your anger, seeing what happened that day. Teargas first, and as the screaming started, the weak fell to the ground, only to be trampled beneath the fleeing crowd, red staining the dusty ground. Then came gunfire. Rubber bullets to start, but even those could kill the weak.

“Surrender, so-called ‘King of the Morros!” They had started to call out, mockingly, the gangs and their hired goons surrounding the crowd, battering those who tried to escape the encirclement with the butts of their guns, baseball bats or even their own fists. “You shouldn’t have made enemies of us, Comando Rubro!” the leader was laughing, firing wildly. “The only true kings of the poor here are us!”

Blood was streaming down his arm, a real bullet from somewhere piercing his skin, though the damage was modest. In the chaos, he saw one of his good brothers perish, a bullet catching him in the throat, and several attractive, if malnourished women were being dragged off by gang members, hauled screaming by their hair towards the back alleys. It was then Uriel had snapped. Several golems had been placed within the crowd. Those made from base dirt and mud lacked strength and speed, but were hard to bring down. He had dressed them in long pants and shirts, their faces behind carnival masks. But there was one other, as well. Maria, Mãe de Deus, forgive me, this sinner.

The statue of white marble had come from an abandoned church, and Uriel had placed most of his power within it. The smiling visage of the virgin mother was now covered by a real veil, and the white marble-like stone had been touched up with paint, giving it a vaguely skin-like tone. One arm was gone, broken off. But even so… “Protect the innocent, kill the scum who would crush the poor beneath their tyranny!” he cried, power surging. Sorry, Gabriela. Your brother, he’ll stain his hands for what’s right.

Rewriting the commands his stone and earth creations had, he rushed into the fray, his superior strength and speed that was only growing stronger as he ventured into the other world day after day, expanding his reach, more than enough to allow him to deal with the thugs around him. A broken neck, crushed skull, fatal strike to the chest, soon the members of the slum gang Comando Rubro, the crimson were receiving their just deserts. The thugs dragging off the women were attacked by the statue of the Holy Mother, the white arm shattering bone effortlessly. A baseball bat struck her, only for the thug to cry out in pain, the impact of wood on solid stone jarring his bat free, numbing his hands. “Son of a…” he shouted, only for a strike to end his life, blood splattering the hysterical women.

The battle quickly became a rout, the gang fleeing, only for a sudden impact to rock Uriel. Lying face down, tasting dirt, he shuddered as his whole body ached. It was then a net was tossed over him, the wires made of some sort of strong fibres, perhaps some sort of alloy. Struggling against it, even with his strength, all that he achieved was cutting his skin in numerous places, his blood mingling with the shed blood of other innocents. As the square emptied, Uriel could see other friends he had made, people he trusted, lying dead. Yes, many criminals had died too against his golems, but could their lives ever be balanced against those of the downtrodden, innocent poor of the slums?

Someone said something. He recognised it as English, but Uriel was barely able to speak a few words. Seeing that, the man, a foreigner, grinned. “Hey, slum-rat. Looks like you pissed off the wrong people. Now, come quietly and we’ll take you to the people that paid good money to have you.” He said in passable Portuguese. “I think they’ll want to make you pay for this mess. Try not to scream too much though, they’ll want you to talk as well.” The blonde foreigner grinned evilly.

No. it doesn’t end like this. Why else was I given these powers, if not to make things better? No, this isn’t how it ENDS! His power could control statues and beings made of stone, but that was it. He had tried to make it do other things, always failing. “Why do you do this? Surely you know in your hearts this is evil.” Uriel said, just to buy time, as an idea he had considered yet never tried came to him once more. Under his hand he scooped up the dry dirt below, forming it into the shape of a glove. “Is the money worth the sin on your soul? The end times are coming, Armagedom. Armageddon. Will your money keep you cool in Hell? Look around. Women, children, the elderly.” Despite his dry mouth Uriel spat. Please, God, just a little longer. Almost done.

To his surprise, the foreigners had looked around. “To be honest, it does hurt a bit.” The lead man said, his tone in stark contrast to before. “But at the end of the day, this was a job. I take no pleasure in it, despite what I might have said. Just doing what’s expected of me. All right then, time for you to go to sleep. When you wake up…”

The statue of Maria barrelled into the hired muscle from behind, and several went down, white stone legs trampling the fallen with fatal effect. “The fuck?” the man cried, English Uriel did understand, before pulling out a powerful handgun. “Die, bitch!” he fired, the recoil rocking him, and the bullet hammered into the veiled face, shattering stone below.

That won’t stop her… indeed, the men froze in shock as the statue tilted, preventing a fall through sheer strength. Curses rang out, and for a moment Uriel was forgotten. “Hand of dirt, I command you. Strengthen my grip, tear through what binds me!” sliding his hand into the glove he had crudely forged, he unleashed power, and the net tore, his bleeding hands stanched by the blessed earth.

The leader didn’t even see him, so busy he was with Maria, and with a single blow he ended the life of his assailant, his strength more than enough…

Bad memories. Bad memories indeed. Uriel brought his thoughts back to the present. That day blood had been shed, both righteous and evil. And from then on Uriel had not hesitated to deal judgement to the evil, just as his namesake did. And of course, I mastered the partial golems. It wasn’t possible to run too many golems at once, the broken, now faceless Maria taking up most of his power, as well as a couple of crudely made stone warriors to guard the base, and his lieutenants and himself with a golem arm to increase their defences. That leaves enough for a few smaller golems when I need them.

“Lost in your thoughts?” Samuel asked, and Uriel nodded.

“Yes, just in my regrets.”

“Well hey.” Samuel slapped him on the back heartily. “We all have regrets. Ain’t anyone alive that doesn’t. Hell, I bet Jesus, up on that cross, he wished he just ran away, right?”

“Don’t be blasphemous.” Uriel chastised him. My older sister hated profanity and blasphemy.

“Sorry, but at least that snapped you out your gloom, right?” Samuel chuckled. “Anyway, tonight we are meeting the other cells, right? Splitting up, it seems a risky move, if you ask me.”

“No.” Uriel shook his head. ”There’s too much risk staying together. I learned that day. If we are together, they can take us all at once. Evil comes like a storm, to destroy. Well, at the meeting you’ll hear more about my plans, and the upcoming battle for the earth. The Devil is coming, Samuel. The Devil is coming. But do you think the world cares? No, the rich will wait in their mansions and palaces, and send the poor and the downtrodden to fight their battles.” His expression was cold. “Well, not anymore. In the world that is coming, their money will be worthless.” He flexed his golem-arm. “But until then, we have to look after our brothers and sisters.”

“Right, I get it. Fuck the Capitalist pigs, right?” Samuel laughed. “Well, since you are the bearer of miracles, the King of the Morros, with Maria at your side…” He nodded at the silent statue in the corner. “… how can we lose?”

Uriel only smiled at that. How can we lose? Just being righteous is no guarantee of victory, and… well, my hands are red with blood. The blood of evil men, yes, but… as Samuel chattered away, his thoughts back on the other world he had revealed to him. There are many creatures, many evil beings there that need to be destroyed. Showing mercy to evil only breeds greater evil. I need strength. More strength, more power. So I can control more golems, protect more people. And if my power grows enough…

He looked at Maria, a slight smile on his face. Maria, perhaps one day your son will walk alongside you…