Free Last of the Mighty by Phineas Foxx

nodded. “I, too, am such a one. And am certain our loving Father feels the same.”
    He took a slow sip of wine, savoring it. Studying me.
    â€œYou Mighty Ones are a curious breed. Exceptional. The pinnacle of human existence. Physically and morally. Beings as close to angels as God ever created.”
    Man, he could talk.
    I sighed, gazed around the room, impatient.
    â€œDid you know, Og, that many of my kind believe it impossible for a Mighty One to place himself on the wrong side of a battle?”
    So that’s why they wanted me to join them. To prove to God that He had made a mistake when condemning the Watchers.
    â€œDearest Augustine, with you on our side, it would be implausible that Vero and his Court could ever find us guilty. He would be forced to restore our innocence...” His eyes glazed over at the thought of it. “God would invite us back to Heaven… How I have waited for it!” His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “He would apologize for His error…” He brushed a tear from his eye. “And request that we once again take our rightful thrones beside—”
    â€œSo why do ya need me?”
    Chool had mentioned how a few Mighty had already accepted the offer to sign up with the Watchers.
    â€œRegretfully,” Shemja sighed, “your brothers have recanted. You alone, Og, have the power to clear the names of two hundred pure and innocent...”
    Blah, blah, blah. I tuned him out and stared out the window.
    â€œFriend.” He sat down beside me. “I would not mislead you. I was designed to love and protect humanity.”
    I was aware of his history. And mine. My ancestors were created to clean up the mess left by Shemja-za and his like. Growing antsy, I stood.
    Chool shoved me back down.
    â€œWe strive to be more like you, Augustine. Human. We married—”
    â€œAnd when you did, you fell!” A righteous anger stirred in me. “You’re never goin’ back to Heaven, Shemmie. Ever. Get it?”
    His face hardened, and it was a miracle his wineglass didn’t shatter in his tightening fist.
    â€œYou are young, Augustine, and your words rash. One day you will—”
    â€œGet to the point, Shem-bozo.”
    Chool grunted and stepped toward me, aggressive.
    Shemja lifted a hand to stop him.
    â€œBefore answering this next question, Og, I recommend against haste.” He glanced at Chool and smiled. “For one reply shortens your time here on earth, while another extends it.”
    I shook my head, answering the question before Shemja-za even asked it.
    â€œBut even your precious Bible suggests it is better to be a live dog than a dead lion.”
    Chool snorted. Rolled his bull neck, bones popping like Orville Redenbacher’s.
    I stood and drew a deep breath, prepared myself to act with the honor my religious convictions required.
    â€œLast chance, Augustine. Please, I beg you, reconsider.”
    My expression said it all.
    The Watcher looked to his son, and with a flick of his head, sent in Chool.
    I told my mom I’d see her in a few minutes.
    Then launched Plan A—the shinobi weapon.

Chapter Twenty-one
    Ka-ton jisu is the shinobi—or ninja—art of using fire and smoke for purposes of distraction, offense, defense, and escape. Merryn and I had made our small shinobi firebomb in order to distract the murderer who we had expected to break into my room while I was recovering. The bomb would not only give me a few seconds to mount a defensive, but would also set off the fire alarm. We constructed our egg-sized explosive to detonate on impact, no matches required. There were hundreds of online vids that showed you how to mix up the combustibles, add some match heads, and wrap it all in a soft cloth. I’d been carrying the firework with me everywhere since the day we made it.
    Chool approached, chest out, his boiled face smirking.
    I squared off, making sure to hide the small black ball in my