[b]20th year of the Reign of Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus 
Mikha'el 
[/b]
Standing guard at the foot of the Cross The Roman soldier stared blankly ahead. His thoughts his own as he watched the crowd. The scowl on his face kept people back, but he wasn’t mad at them, he didn’t want to be here, guarding HIM. Why was he being punished?

At five he’d been taken into slavery for the Roman legions. Before he was ten he’d started training as a soldier. The brainwashing was good, but not for him. He’d maintained his mind and loyalties to YHWH, avoiding all but the required subservience to the false ones. Even then he managed to take extra duties to avoid prayers to false gods.

Twenty years he’d serves, at 21 years he was done, freed from service and a citizen of the Empire. Less than six months togo.Six months later n it would have been another soldier here on this day. He didn’t even have to be here today but he’d shifted duties with another weeks ago so he could go pray to his gods, and Mikha'el wouldn’t be required to attend.

“I know your name,” he heard from behind him. Turning to look he saw HIM, the light from the Sun blinding his as he looked up.

“Mikha'el,” He said. “It is time, It must be done.”

Thrusting his spear upwards he pierced the side of He Who Had Come! The ground shook as if a hudred elephants were stomping as one, the sky turned to night and the men and women wailed.

Looking upon HIS face he realized he was gone. An empty form was there now.

He was there when the stone rolled back, the two luminous beings watching him as it moed. Neither touhed it but he knew they were doing it. Magic, their minds, the will of god. It mattered not, the ropes tore themselves in twain and HE stepped forth.

The light was beyond measure, and he couldn’t see for several days after, “Please Lord,” he Mikha'el said, expecting and awaiting Judgment.

“Not yet,” HE had said. “You’ll go home soon, but not today.  Your duty I give, to fight evil and slay the fallen where you find them. Until the end of your days.”

And so he had done. If the Order counted his kills the way pilots in WW II had, they’d have given up. Many had been weak, so many had been weak. Some harder and more skilled tha others. Some had even had foul magics, powers gifted from the dark one to advance their dark cause.

But he’d survived, fighting on. Moving as needed to avoid accusations of dark magic and Youthful appearance. Not that he looked young. He’d stopped aging at around Twenty-five. Technically he’d stopped aging the Day Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist and had come into HIS power.