Malachai: Book One

By J.R. Medlin

"When demons and angels go to war on Earth, it is humanity that must battle for survival."

The world has been practically destroyed by demonic rage when a rogue angel escapes his prison. Malachai, a newly appointed archangel, must combat demonic forces while trying to protect humanity and hopefully find God, who has been missing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798892210164

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

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Malachai

Book One

J.R. Medlin

Copyright © 2024 J.R. Medlin

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2024

ISBN 979-8-89221-014-0 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89221-016-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

For my wife, Cori

My angel

Introduction

The Book of Enoch

Chapter 7

It happened after the sons of men had multiplied in those days, that daughters were born to them, elegant and beautiful.

And when the angels, the sons of heaven, beheld them, they became enamored of them, saying to each other, Come, let us select for ourselves wives from the progeny of men, and let us beget children. (vv. 1–2)

Chapter 10

Again the Lord said to Raphael, Bind Azazel hand and foot; cast him into darkness; and opening the desert which is in Dudael, cast him in there.

Throw upon him hurled and pointed stones, covering him with darkness;

There shall he remain forever; cover his face, that he may not see the light.

And in the great Day of Judgment let him be cast into the fire. (vv. 6–9)

Chapter 1

The scorching desert winds bore down on the crew members of Makendrix Excavation, forcing many of the workers to hide their faces from the flying debris and blistering sands or to take cover behind some of the larger pieces of equipment. The arid environment had been beating down on these men for weeks now, and the cracking skin and ruddy complexions of the workers showed every minute of it.

The Judean desert was not known to be a very hospitable location to the visitors that explored it and was taxing, at best, to its usual inhabitants. Even the scorpions and snakes knew when to call it a day and stay out of nature's path. Between the heat, the wind, and the downright desolation of the landscape, the desert was as foreboding a place as any of these men had ever seen.

Despite the conditions, the men of Makendrix Excavation had a job to do, and the owner, Anthony Makendrix, had flown in earlier that morning to see to it that it was done.

Makendrix, a billionaire by inheritance and brutal business tactics, had recently received a reputation as an art collector and history aficionado. Much of his research into archaic artifacts had brought him fame and fortune all over the world. That research and a very strong hunch had brought his crews here to work in such an unforgiving piece of desert.

Just twelve short miles outside the walls of Jerusalem, the terrain and climate of Jabel Muntar made the work treacherous. It was a location Makendrix had become positive that they were to dig in what was once known as Beth Hadudu, Dudael. The expression God's green earth had no place in a location like this. The only thing green here was the money he was dumping into a project that seemed to be going nowhere.

Now at over eighty feet down, straining both equipment and their operators, the teeth of the Bucyrus Dragline crane struck yet another layer of hardened limestone and compressed granite, scraping the work to a halt. This type of geological anomaly was not known in this region but seemed to be all the more prevalent on this dig site. The crews had expected sandstone and even some granite but nothing like what they were coming across here in Israel. It was as if the desert was biting back at the blades of the crane with every bite it tried to take out of the ground.

This made the third time that they had come across such a roadblock, chewing up expensive equipment and time with every stop they had to make, to refit the gear and allow hydration breaks and rest for sore muscles from those that drew manual work. It was becoming apparent to all that neither the men nor the machinery could handle much more.

Pulling out his charts and the ancient texts that he had procured through much effort, Makendrix sat in the construction trailer and poured over them once more, scouring page after page for confirmation that they were indeed digging in the right place. Cross-referencing everything and looking at his private journal, he was sure that that this must be the location of the Ark of the Covenant; the greatest prize of all archeologists.

Built according to the specification of God, it was a chest that measured three feet, nine inches long and was just over two feet high, made from acacia wood and overlaid with the purest of gold. The Ark had two acacia wood poles, also covered in gold, which supposedly ran through ringlets that allowed the Ark to be carried into whatever battle or temple it was needed.

The history of the Ark said that it was filled with holy relics that even by themselves would fetch a handsome price to any museum. Some said that the ark contained the original stone tablets that God wrote the Ten Commandments on as well as Aaron's rod and possibly some of the manna that had nourished the people of Israel during their forty-year journey through the desert.

He had been calculating the wind patterns and sand drifts that have swept this region for over a thousand years since the last time, the Ark had been stolen by the Babylonians under King Nebuchadnezzar and then lost again to the sands of time. It had been difficult, not to mention expensive, but it all pointed to this site. The Ark had to be here. There was no other option. His men had to continue on. He was not leaving without that prize.

Twenty feet more, his mind told him, you're almost there.

Makendrix knew from previous occasions that these premonitions were rarely wrong and almost always prosperous. He felt as if the hand of God was moving him in the right direction. Several times throughout his career as an archeologist, he had felt that familiar voice cross his ear, leading him toward treasures that had built him an empire. His home office in New York had multiple pieces that he had procured through similar occurrences. His intuition was never wrong, and it had made him a fortune. He wasn't about to start doubting it now, on the precipice of the greatest discovery in mankind's history.

Twenty more feet, Jim, he told his head engineer. If we don't find something by then, we won't have a choice but to pull out and call it a loss. The words soured as they crossed his tongue, but he was also a realist, and he couldn't ignore the financial strain that this trip was taking.

Jim Walters, a profoundly robust man in his mid-thirties, looked down at his clipboard and gave a scowl. He lifted up his hard hat and scratched through what little hair he had left on the top of his head. He had run the numbers and knew the overwhelming exertion that the men and equipment were having put on them. His figures disagreed with what his boss was asking.

Having never argued with his employer before, Jim Walters felt uneasy starting now. Makendrix had given him a job when no one else was willing to even look at the resume that he had carried around for weeks after his release from the ASPC prison system in Florence, Arizona. He had completed his four years for involuntary manslaughter and, as far as he was concerned, had paid his debt to society. In fact, he hadn't touched a drop of liquor since despite the consistent offers from his men to take him out for a cold one after long days on the job. He had learned to always keep some paperwork unfinished or a chart to be reviewed so that he wouldn't make the same mistake again. Whiskey brought out the devil, and he was done shaking hands with that bastard.

Not sure the gear can punch through this last twenty, Mr. Makendrix. We're tearing up our last bucket as it is, and the men are running on fumes. You should know, sir, that it may not go.

The owner had already done the math—six hundred thousand dollars invested so far in man-hours, accommodations in Jerusalem, and gear, not to mention the seventy-five-million-dollar crane they had brought in just for this dig. And only twenty feet to go. Weighed against the almost two-billion-dollar prize at the end of it all, they couldn't stop now.

Makendrix turned and looked at his man.

Get it done, Jim.

The engineer nodded. Walters put his hard hat back on his head, opened the door to the makeshift office, and trudged back to the dig site. Upon making eye contact with the crane operator, he lifted his index finger in the air and twirled it 1in circles, signifying his man to commence digging.

Shaking his own head in disbelief, the crane operator gave Walters the thumbs-up and set the crane in gear. William Steiger, or Big Willie to his friends, had been sweating himself for hours in the cockpit of the crane. When the last bucket struck hardened rock, he saw it as an opportunity to finally get some air. While Jim Walters was inside talking to the boss, Willie lit himself up a home-rolled cigarette with a little something extra to help take the edge off. When Jim came back out, he knew that his break was over even though he still had half a smoke left. He crushed it out on the sole of his boot and stuck the rest of the cigarette in his pocket for later. Back to work. Despite his knowledge that the crane wasn't going to be capable of handling this job, he was paid to dig, not ask questions.

Just as he was about to hit the gas and drive the bucket in for another go, the ground began to tremble. Everyone stopped what they were doing and braced themselves for what was sure to be a collapse or an earthquake. They watched as the earth began to open up beneath the site, dust pluming and rocks giving way, forming a giant fissure through the middle of the bedrock below. The ground split in half just inches below the bucket and separated into a chasm twenty feet long and several feet across as large pieces of jagged rock fell free.

Makendrix came bolting out of his office to see the commotion and to assess the potential damages that he may be facing. His mind had immediately raced towards damaged equipment, industrial espionage, and potential lawsuits due to the injury of an employee by something that was undoubtedly their fault anyway. What he saw did not measure up to his initial assessments at all.

He looked down into the hole in awe, realizing how close he was to his dream.

Jim Walters rushed to the edge of the quarry and looked down as well. His boots slid to a stop, mere inches from allowing him to tumble headlong into the chasm below. It seemed that the problem of the stone floor had been resolved by Mother Nature. What astonished him more was as the dust settled beneath the rubble, there appeared to be a chamber.

Walters and Makendrix looked up at each other, and a smile crossed their respective faces. Shining up from the chamber was the glint of gold.

Chapter 2

Although it was only a routine deviation, Azrael took his duties seriously and always worked out the smallest of details before acting in any fashion. Today's work didn't appear to be any different at first.

He had been tasked by his father to move some things around so that a motorcycle gang would stop harassing a small church off of Interstate 5, near the town of Red Bluff, California.

The church itself was nothing impressive and would usually be overlooked by people that sped by, too occupied with the daily details of their own petty lives. The building was ramshackled with paint peeling along the white edges of the boards that made up its front. It was what was held within that contained the need for protection ordered by above. The people were pure of heart, devout, and deserving of heaven's protection.

He preferred these small jobs. Quieter. Less likely to cause long-term ramifications.

Azrael was the most gifted of his brothers, at least in his mind. Of course, they all were talented, but only he was charged with the manipulation of time to adjust the elements of fate.

He knew that by simply moving a piece of roadkill, a racoon, a mere six inches to the right, it would cause the lead bike to lose traction and slam into the motorcycle beside it. This one act would cause the crew to lay down half the motorcycles on that run, ending the current assault on the church and delaying future annoyances by at least six months while the riders healed from their wounds.

Looking into the future, he counted three fractured legs, two arms, fourteen fingers and significant amounts of road rash. It was going to take five ambulances and a string of tow trucks to clear that road, along with hours of highway closure.

His boot was scraping the former raccoon the required distance when he first felt the tingle on the back of his neck.

Azrael recognized the sensation as a warning, a sudden shift in the order of the cosmos of something terrible.

He closed his eyes and flashes of the future flooded in. The next year in all its details flashed frame by frame in a spectacular speed across his mind. He opened