Waking up to a loud crash rarely means something good is happening.

I know, I know, not the best move. But when a giant, murderous quadruped is flying at you through the air, common sense kind of goes out the window.
I clenched my jaw, bracing myself for the worst.
A low thrum sounded behind me. The demon dog yelped almost pitifully and thudded to the floor. I opened my eyes to see it splayed on the carpet like a ragdoll, totally unresponsive. A golden arrow stuck out of its eye socket.
I turned toward the source of the arrow. In the doorway stood a guy who looked only a couple years older than me holding a bow. He wore tight fitting, white clothing that looked like it was reinforced and padded in some places. He was annoyingly handsome. If I saw him chatting up girls at a concert, rather than saving my life from a monster in my parents’ bedroom, I would be beyond jealous.
Barely acknowledging my presence, he walked over nonchalantly and pulled the arrow out of his target’s skull. When he wiped the tip on his shirt, I realized that it wasn’t your average, everyday golden arrow. Its surface shimmered and glittered, less the color of fine jewelry and more like a ray of sunlight. Just looking at it made me feel warm.
He finally turned around and met my gaze. His mouth crinkled, as if my very existence offended him. “You ought be here,” he said.
“What do you mean? This is my house,” I said. “You ‘ought not’ be here.” Looking at the red-eyed dog on the floor, though, I was happy he was.
“This should no longer be your home. Judgment has come and gone, yet you remain.”
“Judgment?” I asked. “Is that what you call hurling a Camry at my bedroom and siccing a demon dog on me?”
“Hellhound,” he corrected. “And these things were not my doing, nor were they part of the Judgment.”
Before I could verbalize any of the questions rattling around in my head, he said “Come” and walked out of the room.
I followed him through my house, too shocked to say anything. There were no other cars sticking out of walls, but it looked like an earthquake had hit. Paintings hung crooked or had fallen off their hooks, and one wall had a giant spiderweb of cracks running through it. Still not wearing shoes, I had to tiptoe carefully through the kitchen—glassware had tumbled out of cabinets and shattered on the ceramic tile.
Good thing my parents had homeowner’s insurance.
Seeing the damage throughout my house made me even more anxious about my family (as if my experiences since getting out of bed hadn’t already clued me in that something scary was happening). Had they gone to hide in the basement, hoping to wait out a natural disaster? Had another hellhound—I think that’s what my mysterious new friend called it—chased them off? Had a white-clad stranger, after criticizing them for being in their own house, led them somewhere else? And why hadn’t they taken me with them?

I had to ask this guy if he knew anything. “Hey, where’s my—” I began.
But I followed him out the front door, and what I saw rendered me speechless.
Of all the houses I could see, ours—car hole and all—was the most intact. A huge oak had fallen on the house to the right, splitting it down the middle. The entire second floor of the house to the left was nowhere in sight.
The worst, though, was the house across the street—or, well, what remained of it. Since we moved in, two elderly people, whose names I could never remember but always smiled and waved hello, had lived there. Now, there was no evidence a house had ever existed except for some blackened pieces of rubble scattered on the scorched ground.
“Stay behind me,” my laconic guide ordered, proceeding cautiously onto the lot.
After a few steps, I discovered the focus of his attention: a body lying where the living room used to be. He also looked to be nineteen or twenty, although the cuts covering his body prevented me from being too sure. A crater ringed around his body as if he were a meteor. At first, I thought he was dead. But after a few seconds, I saw his chest heaving, drawing a painful-looking breath.
He must have heard us approaching, because his eyes flickered open and locked on to my companion.
“You fool, Michael,” he spat. “You should have seen the Host becoming too rigid, too vindictive. Long ago they ceased cultivating goodness in favor of mongering their power over the sinners. And now, under your watch, they have ushered on the Judgment long before it should have come. Because you have failed to remind them of their purpose. ”
My companion—Michael—flinched like he had been slapped.
“I know I have erred, Raguel,” he said, “and it weighs heavily on me. But punishing me will not restore harmony, as you think, but create greater discord. We must stand together and quell the dissension within the Heavenly Host. Since the Last Judgment has taken place, we must ready ourselves for war.
“Now go, and heal. We will need your strength.”
A flash of light engulfed Raguel’s body, and when it dissipated, he was gone.
Michael sighed. He turned back towards me and looked surprised, like he had forgotten I was standing there.
I fumbled around for words. “You’re… an angel,” I said.
“An archangel, technically. You must be very confused. In these times, few people truly believe, and even the believers never expect to encounter divinity directly.
“As you have probably gathered by now, the Day of Judgment has occurred. That is where your family is,” he said, gesturing to the sky. “Or…” he trailed off, gesturing to the ground. My heart jumped down to my stomach and settled like a ball of lead.

Did you write Cirque du Freak?

Michael continued. “Somehow, you have been passed over. But while the earth is devoid of other mortals, you are not safe. This world has become a battleground, and invaders are already arriving.
“I am sure you have many questions, but presently I have few answers. Raguel’s words, although harsh, were true—my control over the angelic armies has slipped, and I do not fully understand what is unfolding. But now, I must go and rectify my mistakes.”
As he finished speaking, white-feathered wings unfolded out of his back, stretching out to twice his height. His feet pushed gently off the ground, and he floated a few feet in the air. But unlike all the other crazy, inexplicable things that had happened to me since I woke up, this made me feel oddly reassured. Hovering above me in his divine splendor, Michael looked truly angelic. Whatever “invaders” were coming, he seemed powerful enough to handle them.
“Oh my God,” I said, awed by his appearance.
“I would not use the Lord’s name in vain if I were you,” he chided half-whimsically. “Look around. He is all you have.”
His final words rang in my ears as I watched him shoot up into the sky.
My guardian angel wasn’t very reassuring.

> through the wall of my second-story bedroom wall,
Please don't tell me this is the guy's actual writing

This is how I wrote when I was like five. When I go home in a week I'll try and find the story I wrote, it's about time travel.

Holy... I want more...

>>8819035
>>8818981
How long until this guy becomes one of the most published and influential writers through memes?

>>8820385
never cause he can only be 2nd best to the other "two enemies, one if you count god" guy