Light And Shadow (Part 6 of 8)

by Erisian

 

Chapter 27 - Justice

 

Isaiah’s head thrummed as if someone was using it instead of a kodo drum. As much as he wanted to blame the shifting pressure from the passing storm, he knew the pain wasn’t due to an external cause.

He sat in a small conference room, bare except for a large monitor on one wall sitting in front of a simple four-legged table. Around it were six of those plastic office chairs which usually last for maybe six months before the adjustment lift and tilt mechanisms snapped. Indeed one had already been shoved aside to a corner, its mesh backing listing at an odd angle. Staring at it he decided that whomever in finance was responsible for such cheapness should be cursed to use nothing but. Certainly not whatever luxury leather chair likely adorned their own office.

That would be justice.

He’d been taken to the room by Diego who had then asked him - as politely as possible - to wait there. Dark suited agents were posted outside the door, nervous and twitchy due to the unexpected power outage and more disturbingly the delay before generators came online to cover the gap.

The encounter with Iosef Kaminski kept replaying in his mind like an itch between the shoulder blades one couldn’t quite reach, his attempts to sort out which thoughts had been his and which had been Azrael kept failing. The more he examined each thought the more they felt natural and his own - even those which had been in conflict.

Hence the headache.

The ghost of his legal assistant faded in and out from view from her perch upon that askew chair. That she kept compassionately whispering “It’ll be okay, Boss” wasn’t helping the situation. Seeing that they were in a room full of numerous microphones both obvious and hidden all he could do was wordlessly glower in response.

Heavy feet marched down the hall and a thick slavic voice boomed at the men standing their post. “Sweep offices for personnel, this area is be cleared, yes? Then guard passage entrance, none to enter.”

“On whose authority, sir?” The questioning agent sounded awfully young, perhaps mid-twenties or early thirties.

Isaiah frowned. Since when had being in one’s thirties become ‘young’?

The wizard - whose lighter footsteps had been masked by those of his larger comrade - replied. “Director Goodman’s.”

With no further debate offered the two agents moved off and the conference room’s door opened to barely allow a giant of a man to enter. With grizzled salt-and-pepper beard covering not just his chin but most of his massive upper chest it was as if a balding and dirty lab-coated Santa Claus had stepped into the room.

“Hallo Mr. Cohen! Is again good see you.” A wide grin split the beard and a massive well-calloused hand reached across the table.

Isaiah clasped the hand firmly. “Professor Kirov.”

Closing the door behind, Diego took the seat across from the monitor and flipped the wireless keyboard over to turn its power on.

Gregor Kirov, the DPA’s metaphysical technologist, shot a guilty look at the broken chair and remained standing. “What,” he said to Diego, “is needed so urgent for dinner go cold, hmm? Director said you explain.”

Shoving the keyboard towards the giant the wizard then pulled out his smart phone, showing the scientist the picture he’d taken of the window glass from the floor above. “I’m going to make a call and share this image,” Diego said. “And you’re to monitor the entire network while I do so.”

Bushy eyebrows even more wild than Isaiah’s own puffed with surprise. “Cellular use not permitted in building.”

Diego smiled. “One time exception was granted. You don’t want me making this call using your networked phones. Though it may not make much of a difference.”

That raised Isaiah’s curiosity. “Who are you intending to call?”

After a deep breath the wizard exhaled. “My daughter.”

Gregor’s eyes widened. “Bozshe Moi,” he muttered and quickly grabbed the keyboard. “Need moment. Please!” The widescreen on the wall flickered to life and with large fingers the scientist logged in before launching a large number of apps whose unidentifiable purposes scrolled walls of text and various real-time graphs.

Finger hovering over the phone now resting on the table, Diego waited with amusement and, as Isaiah suspected, a certain measure of pride.

“Isn’t Erica still in Cairo?” Isaiah asked. “Both her and that boy, Zap.”

Diego nodded. “Sí señor. They remain barricaded inside the pyramid. Negotiations with the Egyptians over control of it have broken down. All their governmental mystics have failed to penetrate the shielding.”

“And she has a workable phone?” Isaiah’s eyes narrowed. Any connection would likely be heavily monitored by the Egyptians.

“Yes,” answered Diego. “But it’s not in Cairo. Ready, Gregor?”

“No, but yes.” The large man grunted. “Make call.”

The finger pressed ‘Dial’ and the small speakers rang twice.

A woman’s voice answered and not without a hefty share of hostility. “This better be important, Father. You have no conception of how busy I am right now.”

“Would I bother you otherwise?” Diego asked carefully.

“Hmph,” said Erica. “You’re not alone. The Russian bear is with you.” She paused. “Whoever else is with you is suspiciously avoiding being detected. Give.”

Hairs down Isaiah’s arms twitched against an unseen current which fizzled when it reached his gloved hand. “Hello Ms. Lain. We have not met before. My name is Isaiah Cohen.”

“Ah. That explains-” A terrible crash rattled the phone’s speakers then the sound went mute.

“Erica!” Diego shouted, half out of his seat.

After a loud screech from the device her exasperated voice returned. “The boys are making a freaking mess. Here, I hate being on speaker.”

The monitor with all of Gregor’s programs suddenly filled with brilliant hieroglyphs. Gregor emitted a cry and pounded the keyboard to no avail as those hieroglyphs spun outward from the monitor and proceeded to cover the entire adjacent wall, shimmering as they did until an image resolved itself. So clear and perfect was the display it was as if that wall had disappeared to open directly into a new room entirely.

An Egyptian throne-room to be precise.

Standing a good fifteen feet before the throne’s dais with arms crossed in impatience was a slender dark-haired young woman in skinny jeans and tight white t-shirt. The fact both of her eyes were full of those unending spinning hieroglyphs would have been remarkable enough except what was behind her made that seem almost ordinary.

Two Egyptian gods sat at a mighty golden table standing at least ten feet high where the throne should have been, hands to elbows locked in a fierce arm-wrestling contest. The god with the head of an anteater or maybe a coyote had froth spilling from the toothy grin running along its snout and the other with the head of a hawk whose eyes gleamed with the powers of Sun and Moon had silver and blue feathers spilling down bare human-muscled shoulders and arched back. Set wore only a pair of khaki shorts whereas Heru had on more of a traditional gold and sapphire Egyptian kilt, yet both gleamed as sweat dripped down their tanned and mighty muscles.

The shattered remnants of a nearby pillar was busily reassembling itself along with one side of the table as Set snarled in Ancient Egyptian at his ancient foe. To Isaiah’s surprise he understood what was said:

“Bah. Best two out of three! Go!”

Gregor’s eyes bulged as if trying to hop out of their sockets. Diego took in the scene and calmly said, “Should I call back?”

“No.” Erica looked over her shoulder and shouted at the gods behind her. “Will you two idiots quit that crap for a minute? I’m on the damned phone!”

Heru’s brilliant eyes turned towards her and insomuch as a hawk could look embarrassed he managed. Unfortunately the distraction was all that his opponent needed to slam Heru’s arm into the other side of the table. The entire golden-boughed assembly flipped upwards, tumbling into the wall at the very back and shattering into shiny splinters. Even the mighty stones cracked from the impact.

“Ha! Now we’re even!” Set yelled with tremendous glee, stepping away and doing a little-yet-large jig on massive clawed feet. The fragments of destruction began to fade as a new table formed in place of the old exactly as before.

“I Said Quit IT!” Erica’s voice rattled not only the stones holding up the throne room but also the walls in the conference room.

Isaiah wondered if the entire DPA building had just shook as well.

This time Erica had gotten Set’s attention. “Darlin’,” the god said in English with a shrug, “We was just havin’ some fun.”

Erica growled. “Quiet. Both of you. Or else I’ll be the one to stop the Egyptian military’s bombardments on our shield.” More hieroglyphs spilled outward from her eyes to flow under cheeks and skin, each flashing brightly as if barely containing the raw power bubbling beneath the surface.

Somehow Set’s snout managed to pout. “But I wanted to swallow all their tanks into the sand!”

Heru’s powerful arms crossed. “One tank only. Maybe two. Do all and they won’t have any left with which to deliver the food Erica needs. Or your beer.”

That got Set nodding. “Ah, right. Beer delivery!” The pout disappeared into a crazed toothy grin.

“SHUT UP!” Staring down the gods towering above her into silence, Erica finally turned back to her father. “See what I have to deal with? Now what the hell do you need?” Behind her Set stuck out an amazingly long tongue and blew a raspberry.

The three men in the conference room exchanged glances. Diego carefully asked, “Are you alright?”

His daughter waved a dismissive hand. “The gods are just seriously overloaded on energy. It’s fine.”

“What about you? If the gods themselves are drunk, how are you-”

She cut him off. “Feh. Keeping it together during fae revelries is something I learned early,” she said with a smirk before a hiccup escaped. Followed by a fairly modest belch. “’Scuse me.”

“You call that a burp?” Set snickered. After a deep inhale the god puffed out his chest and let rip a mightier expulsion of air akin to an entire orchestra filled with nothing but tubas being blown as hard as trained musician lungs could manage. This time the shockwave caused the conference room’s plaster to crack as fractal lines ran through the paint.

While everyone’s ears tried to recover Heru nodded approvingly. “Nice one.”

Diego, sensing that the conversation needed to be resolved before any more damaging antics could occur, lifted his phone to show the picture. “We need to find this man, or rather, this vampire. His name is Coatl and he works for Bishop. He is likely wherever his master can be found.”

All humor fled Erica’s expression which was easily seen as her face expanded to fill the entire wall. “Bishop!” she snarled with renewed focus. “That arms dealer has much to pay for.” More multi-colored symbols cascaded out of the monitor, heading for the small network drop to which it was connected. Two new windows popped up on the display, one with an enhanced copy of the picture from Diego’s phone and the other scrolling database commands faster than the eye could track.

Gregor, though, realized what she was doing and his jaw dropped. “She’s in the servers.”

This confused Diego. “The DPA has no records of him, what good is searching their archives?”

Erica snorted. “Those idiots don’t understand the data they already possess. Bishop has several identities, keeping them oh so carefully separate. Whereas I’ve been in his files. His security was child’s play to crack. As if computational complexity could compare to the magical protections the best fae and demons can weave. Prime numbers? Please. I crunch those for breakfast.”

Flickering text pixelated to resolve into an image of a tall building near a harbor waterway. Below that a capture from a security camera also formed, showing an airport exit where a man was getting into a black cab. He was bundled in a heavy jacket and wearing a brown fur-lined leather aviator’s hat, flaps pulled down to cover cheeks from the cold. The image zoomed in and due to overhead lights countering the night’s darkness the man’s face became clear.

It matched the one etched into the window on the floor above.

“Got him,” Erica said with sinister satisfaction. “Boston, in the Financial District, a nightclub named ‘Ostium’. That’s where your guy Coatl went. Bishop owns the entire building through various subsidiaries. It’s also where he recently forwarded some special cargo which arrived from Turkey to San Francisco. Something he was very keen to keep hidden from authorities, using standard black-market means of moving stolen archaeological artifacts through circuitous routes. Even his own files never said exactly what it was.”

Diego used his phone to take pictures of the display. “Thank you, we will get a team dispatched right away.”

Isaiah stood abruptly, speaking as he moved towards the wall-which-was-not-a-wall between the conference room and the heart of a pyramid. “If you can find this man so easily, where is Sariel? His incarnate is one Firuzeh Sardar, according to Nick Wright. But the DPA haven’t found her either.”

Erica’s massive eyes narrowed to stare at the lawyer. “That’s because as of yesterday she’s dead.”

“Dead?” A different kind of chill seeped through Isaiah’s bones. “How?”

“The body was found in a hotel room in Istanbul. No wounds, door and windows locked. Her company kept it all quiet and forbade an autopsy but I have my own theory as to cause of death.”

“Which is?” Diego asked.

“Suicide. Her death wasn’t faked. Firuzeh was a wealthy woman who inherited her fortune through her husband. He died a year after their marriage and despite having no formal education she then led his businesses with an iron grip, quadrupling their holdings. Before her husband’s death she had also cut off all ties to her own family.”

It was Isaiah who commented. “As if she was suddenly a new person and everything changed.”

Erica nodded, sharp eyes in agreement. “You’ve got it.”

Gregor and Diego looked at Isaiah questioningly and the lawyer expounded the idea. “Sariel has found a way to possess a new living incarnate. To bypass the random selections of the Wheel.” He turned back to the woman on the wall. “He now could be anyone.”

“And,” Erica added, “if he can select the target it’ll be someone with the resources he desires or ability to gain them quickly.” A different loud thud rattled both the pyramid’s throne room and through it the DPA. “Huh, the Egyptians are shelling us again. What pox bottles. Be wary of Bishop,” she warned. “He’s not just a vampire but a Nephelim!”

With that her face and the view of the room beyond disappeared, leaving once again the empty conference room wall. Only now it had many cracks throughout the white paint.

It was Isaiah who broke the stunned silence.

“Call the Director. I require a flight to Boston.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

As the DPA’s budget was already straining under the expenses of recent events the best that could be done was to book Diego and Isaiah on a red-eye flight to the opposite coast. Out of concerns regarding Sariel’s previous attempts on Isaiah’s life, Isaiah’s seat was booked under an assumed name and he’d been ushered past security’s ID and boarding pass checks by several agents and directly onto the plane prior to official boarding. To avoid scrutiny Diego entered the airport separately and would sit in a different row entirely.

Isaiah’s seat though was still in the Economy section. At least they’d gotten him one on the aisle instead of risking being trapped by other travelers against the window.

Soon enough the first-class and Premium ticket-holders shuffled on followed by general boarding, including a strikingly beautiful woman in a bright blue dress designed to show off a set of perfectly slender legs who took a seat in the row behind him. Her perfume however had announced her presence before her arrival and with a roll of his eyes Isaiah tried to be thankful she wasn’t sat directly next to him. Now if she’d had red hair maybe he’d have reconsidered such an assessment, but no - long strands of platinum had brushed his shoulder as she went by.

Not that he really minded blondes for that matter. But she’d ignored him as she was busily chattering away via a bluetooth earpiece.

“Yes I’m on a plane, I told you already. No, I won’t be at the luncheon. I only got the call this afternoon. Somehow that monster is up for parole tomorrow and the DA’s office has no-one to spare to argue against his release. Can you believe that? After what he did to my sister! Not to mention all those other women.”

More people came aboard, the aisle filling up with folks trying to wedge bulging carry-on bags into overhead compartments which had seemed to shrink with each flight he’d taken over the years.

“Yes, I know they never proved he was behind all those cases, but one look into that beast’s eyes and you knew. If it wasn’t for Helen’s bravery he would have gotten away with it. Who knows how many more would have suffered by now if that animal was loose! So of course I’m going. Someone has to speak for her and his victims, someone has to remind those bureaucrats of the true horror of what that bastard has done. No, Helen can’t travel, you know that. She is far too ill. Yes, someone is watching over her, don’t you worry.”

Being such a late flight there were mostly empty seats after everyone was aboard. Flight attendants shut the cabin door and moved down the aisle checking that all bins were properly secured, pausing to shove a few bags deeper just to get the latch to catch.

“I don’t understand why they even keep such men alive. I saw the video of the last hearing, him blathering on about remorse and finding religion. He finished his pretty little speech and when the board members looked away, the twat grinned! That same evil smirk he’d held throughout the whole trial. Especially while poor Helen had to sit on that stand to describe each and every vile thing he had done. There’s no way in hell he’s reformed, no way he won’t go back out and do it again to some other poor soul. They should just take care of it, like sane societies have done throughout history: string such men up and make absolutely sure they never did such horrible things again!”

The fasten-seat-belt sign illuminated and with a lurch the plane began to back away from the gate.

“Barbaric? Hardly. What future do they have even if released? No one will hire them, not that they’d deserve to be. As outcasts it’s a certainty that they’ll revert to evil. For everyone’s safety, I say end it. Better that than locking them up forever. Call it a mercy. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll ring you after the hearing.”

Another shudder and the plane moved forward, heading to the runway to launch itself over the Pacific Ocean before the long turn to align with the wind which would help push it past the Rocky Mountains. The woman behind him had fallen quiet, leaving Isaiah to his thoughts. He was a little surprised that Tracy’s ghost hadn’t appeared to debate the merits of the woman’s arguments. They’d spent many evenings having animated discussions regarding everything from capital punishment to the second amendment, indeed there were hardly any aspects of modern law they had not covered.

Those nights were part of why he had been so sure she’d have made a fantastic litigator. A future now forever denied.

He looked down at gloved fingers. Tracy’s attackers, unlike the man who had assaulted the sister of the woman behind him, had been dealt with. Permanently. His dark left hand had made sure of that.

It had delivered swift justice.

Halfway through the flight he got up to stretch and use the lavatory. When returning he’d almost taken the wrong seat because the pretty woman who’d been behind him was gone. Come to think of it she hadn’t been there when he’d stood up.

He wondered whether she’d moved to an empty seat with more room for those long legs of hers and paid it no more mind.

 

Chapter 28 - Shade

 

The next few days were a blur of marching and riding until we reached the nearest train stop. We loaded everything and everyone onto carriages and proceeded towards our destination aboard a smoke belching contraption of welded steel. The steam-driven trains were interesting mixes of sorcery and coal-fired locomotion, the magic containments yielding higher pressure than had been developed back on Earth before diesel had made steam obsolete.

From what I’d been told the engine and attached cars were manufactured on a different realm and brought in through one of the permanent portals within the Arch-duke’s main city of Kigal; these were the portals Yaria had mentioned. With the curve of the realm’s bowl when the fog surrounding the central mountain lifted you could just make out the city resting against the slope of the icy volcano towering behind. Compared to the view overlooking Los Angeles the town looked like a small suburb surrounded by farms and forest, its buildings capping out at maybe fifteen stories high with the palace towers reaching at most double that.

Needless to say I wasn’t impressed.

While originally our train had likely gleamed with industrial perfection, it had seen some serious hard use over who knows how many eons. The metal was tarnished and dented, the bulk transport containers pockmarked with holes, and the passenger areas had long ago lost any plush niceties as all cozy cushions had been stripped clear and replaced with hard wooden benches.

Still, it beat riding a graxh.

Getting the oversized demons on board was done old-school with much shoving and cursing. Quite a few fistfights had ensued as they wedged themselves into stock cars designed more for graxh than for squads of bulky and angry warriors.

Human souls were also piled in but kept segregated. The train master had initially tried to order me to join them (which would have been fine with me) but Major Praztus had strenuously objected and thus I was stuck in the officer’s car with its better quality felwood lounge seating, fully stocked bar, and adjacent kitchen module.

I was allowed only a single aide to accompany me even though the new rank should have qualified for more according to an annoyed Praztus. While I’d offered the spot to Maddalena, she had refused and thus Veronica got to sit uncomfortably at my side amongst the demonic officers, more of whom kept being picked up along the way. Yeah, that lot didn’t much care for me at all barring a few whose lust was uncomfortably obvious. Most avoided all interactions entirely, especially as technically I outranked them.

So I had that going for me, which was nice.

As a result though I’d been cut off from Twitch, Hank, Maddalena, and the rest of my crew. Maddalena had also avoided me during the march, awkwardly staring from a distance as if I were a sacred legend come to life and could at any moment start singing to get the local birds fluttering about and pooping flowers or something. I still needed to talk to her about it and just hadn’t had the chance to do so privately as every time I worked up the nerve something else interrupted. Like the argument about washing versus burning the blanket held with Veronica right after Maddalena had found out the truth.

At least that’s what I kept telling myself. From what I could tell she hadn’t told anyone.

I’d been watching sprawling farms and oddly shaped trees with dangerously beautiful flowers slip past the window when Praztus came by again with a plate fresh from the cooking car. My attention had again been noting that with the Spark fixed in position the shadow sliding over the land was all or nothing. Either the Shroud had swiveled about to cut you off from the bright center or it hadn’t: one moment you’d be illuminated and the next the shadow stretching behind you would vanish into the covering dark. Solar clocks would be completely useless.

Praztus broke the introspective reverie. “Colonel, might I join you?” He stood stiffly in the train aisle no longer wearing his full plate but a fashionable red jerkin and matching pants.

“Of course, Major.” I gestured to the empty bench opposite the one Veronica and I occupied in our compartment. She pulled her feet back, tucking pointy heels under a flower-embroidered skirt.

My own skirt was still that of my armor, shining with magicked cleanliness despite having been slept in for almost a week. To make better time we’d skipped setting up everyone’s tents and any luxuries, sharing instead what larger tents we had - including mine. Something about being surrounded by snoring demons made taking the armor off seem like a bad idea. I don’t think I could have gotten any sleep otherwise, and as it was any slumber I had gotten had been restless.

The bench creaked as Praztus settled upon it. “We should be arriving this afternoon,” he said before picking up the cooked leg of a creature I didn’t recognize and tearing a large chunk of meat with his many pointy teeth.

“About time,” I said instead of asking how the heck those daggers within his mouth didn’t constantly impale the gums. Seriously though, how?

“Yes, indeed,” he agreed around the mouthful. “Our arrival is cutting it rather close. We expect the enemy to attack the position come morning.”

“That soon?” I offered him a leather skin filled with a rather bitter wine. I didn’t care for it but the quartermaster had taken offense at my request for water and so I’d been stuck.

He took a swallow and wiped under that nose of his with a stained sleeve. “Latest estimates number them at eight-hundred demons and seven-thousand souls. A fraction of what besieges the border cities, yet still formidable.”

“What about us?” I took back the skin and plugged it. I wasn’t thirsty enough yet to deal with that aftertaste.

“With our unit and the others we’ve picked up, we should have a thousand demons and five thousand souls.”

I thought about that and asked what came to mind. “How strong are our demons? Strong enough to balance things out?”

He shook his head. “No. Your mercenaries are likely to be the most powerful fighters among them. Those on the battlefield are suffering punishments by their respective masters and are considered expendable.”

“Great, just great.”

He grinned widely, bits of whatever-it-was stuck between the pointy triangles. “The same goes for those on the other side. And we’ll have the advantage of General Negroth’s prepared defense.”

“What of the Vizier? Is it confirmed that Ithx is actually with their forces?”

“According to the Lilim hired to track him, yes.”

The Lilim? That was news. We hadn’t seen Vance nor his daughters since splitting up after traversing the hole. Last I’d heard Vance was heading to the central city, claiming he had business there to attend to. “And they didn’t move on him?”

“The Duchess declared she requires the Vizier captured and not assassinated. His guards make the former rather challenging.” Biting off another meaty chunk, he grew thoughtful while he chewed. “Tell me, have you ever fought in an engagement like this before?”

“No.”

“Hmm. With your permission, Colonel, I wish to recommend to the General that you stay with the command post overlooking the field. If you would allow it, I or Ugart will lead your mercenaries save for those whom should serve as your honor-guard. I can dispatch a flyer with the request forthwith.”

Say what? “You know darn well I can hold my own in a fight, Major. Shouldn’t I be in the thick of it leading my guys?”

He held up a freshly trimmed and buffed claw. “I mean no insult. But you have proven your perceptional abilities to be greater than that of our best wizards. If you are engaged on the field we will lose that potential advantage.”

I stared at the devil for a long moment. While I’d never want to play poker against the guy, I still had the feeling he was holding something back. “That’s not all of it though, is it.”

He glanced at Veronica then looked away from us both and remained silent.

“Hey Veronica,” I said with totally fake casualness. “Refill this for me, would you?” I handed her the wineskin which was still three-quarters full.

To her credit she didn’t hesitate. “Of course, my lady. Should I also check on Horatio?”

“Yes, please.” We all knew that there was no way she’d be able to get to the car Horatio was aboard, but the fiction would give her an excuse to tarry.

She rose and after executing a perfect curtsy set out towards the cooking car.

To Praztus I said quietly, “Alright Major. What gives?”

He scratched at his nose then turned back from the window. “Forgive me, Colonel. Perhaps I’m just an old and foolish devil.”

“You’ve never struck me as such.”

“Yet I find myself to be so. We have traveled together now for what, two cycles? Three? Such a short time and yet…” He trailed off.

“And yet what?”

Serpent eyes met mine. “And yet when compared to all the rest I have lived these have seemed the most real. I do not pretend to understand, maybe it is your refreshing innocence and naive selflessness which has gotten to this ancient soldier. For you are an enigma, a beauty who pretends she is not and ignores the power such can bring. And even stranger, the memories gained in your company are more solid, the food - even this very plate - filled with more flavor, the joys more genuine, and most surprisingly of all the heart less burdened. It is as if I have been granted a taste of that forbidden tincture without the losses such would entail.”

“Forbidden tincture?”

He somehow made a smile filled with such teeth be gentle. “Beliel’s Tears, which wash away all stains of time and memory. Not that I could ever afford such.”

I remembered the conversation with Captain Erglyk regarding the waters of Lethe. She’d been talking about souls, but what of devils and demons? If they were truly immortal, the crush of all that time - especially here in Hell - would be massive. Staring at Praztus I began to understand the fundamental struggle to be had within these realms: a fight waged against eternity itself.

How long until the burden of passing eons wore a person down beyond what could be borne?

His smile faded to seriousness. “Whatever quality of yours it is, you affect everyone around you. Whether they realize it or not. I fear that in your absence this will fade. And I, I am but a fool hoping perhaps to hold on to it for just a little longer. So I ask you, please lend your perceptions to the General and do not let yourself be a target upon the battlefield. That role is for those like me, those who may find death more relief than sorrow.”

Not knowing what to say I sat there quiet while chewing a lip.

He shook his head. “By Abaddon’s many mirrors I have said too much.” Lifting a plate now empty but for a bone he stood, taking a step to leave.

“Major,” I said abruptly, causing him to stop. “I’ll do it. Make the suggestion. If the General agrees I’ll try to stay with the rear command.”

“Try?” He raised a bushy eyebrow as he looked back.

I shrugged. “We both know there are no promises in a fight.”

“That is true, Colonel. Very true.” Using his free hand he issued a salute and walked off.

The engineer blew the train whistle, a shrill note overpowering the clacking of wheels across the steel beams below. Black and grey engine smoke billowed past the window and obscured any sight of the countryside, the belching fumes having likely been redirected downward by afternoon winds.

Not that I was paying attention to the view. My own flippant comment haunted my thoughts, reminding of a promise I had failed to uphold on a different and sand-filled battlefield. In so doing memories of other failures took hold - including one not my own.

 

The Hall of Healing stretched out before her. Bed after white-blanketed bed sat in rows beneath the open-air columned pavilion, filled with many an angel whose holy words lay smeared at the hearts of their essence, a lingering testimony to the Second’s wrath and power.

Having decided she could no longer remain idle in her own bed while so many suffered, she walked from patient to patient touching each in turn, offering comforting phrase and gentle smile. Her natural empathy and warm aura tended to them one by one, all while knowing that any relief would be but temporary.

For there were only two who could fully tend to these wounds. One sat behind mighty closed doors within a deafening silence and the other, with blood trailing behind as sparkling ruby stars, had fallen far beyond her reach.

Making her way between the beds she approached Raphael who in turn was doing all his wisdom could provide for those within his care. He leaned over a moaning Principality, fingers brushing hair away from unfocused eyes while he spoke reinforcing easements into a semi-conscious ear. Sensing his sister’s presence he moved aside so she too could offer her aid.

After a kneeling caress to the suffering angel’s cheek, she stood again only to note the drawn face of Heaven’s beloved Healer, for a great weariness weighed upon the grace of his timeless features. Long mousy-brown hair normally styled and bouncing free was instead tangled and held back by a green bow matching the fabric of his simple tunic.

“When did you last rest?” Her voice, soft and hushed, was also melodic and clear.

“Rest, Gabriel? There is no rest from such need. If there were you would still be abed.”

“One can only do so much-”

“I know precisely how much I can or cannot do.” Turning abruptly he stepped past to the next blanketed angel and began the process of re-dressing the bandages on this one’s arm and head.

She followed, relieving her physician brother’s hands of the used fabrics as they came free. As the pile grew their red colors ran wetly across her palms. “Haniel visited to say he is not at his cottage within the gardens beyond the gates. I do not see him here, but has he returned for more aid?”

“He left against all advice.”

“We cleansed the blight, his word is intact. Is he not healed?”

Shoulders and the ivory feathers behind lowered. “An intact pattern is not the same as a healed spirit. Many were those who passed by his berth, many were the murmurs spoken within reach of his perception.”

“Murmurs?”

“Long has he stood in his ebony armor as dark contrast behind the First. With what he has caused to be is there any wonder to their remarks?”

“Tell me what was said.”

The fresh wrappings complete Raphael gestured beyond his patient to the Hall and all within. “He brought the madness and destruction inside our gates. And now the hopes for Light’s return have vanished. Many who arrayed against Michael have already departed for the realms below, half of the Servitors of Light have also taken the plunge to follow he whom they serve. And those whom his mace has so wounded did openly wonder why Lucifer’s Shadow had not gone to join them.”

Gabriel trembled as realization came not as the dawn but a sunset. “No. Oh no. You could not stop him?”

Gathering his smaller sister within an embrace of arms and wings, Raphael kissed the soft reddish hair upon her head. “Even Beliel’s famed armor could not hold out against their thoughts as well as his own.”

Despite the pain of her own injuries, she reached out to the city of holy sanctuary which her darker sibling had by his power help forge. Tender connections yielded only sad confirmation.

Beliel was gone.

To one who could no longer hear she gave whisper.

“You are no shadow, brother. Only the beloved shade for when the Light burns too bright.”

 

Chapter 29 - Assault

 

I’d been wrong about all the smoke. It hadn’t been from our train.

The opposing army had burned all the farmhouses in its path along with all the fields of crops which surrounded them, leaving nothing but smoldering ruins behind its march. Our train had approached at a wider angle and had finally crossed into air filled with the choking ash which due to the wind spread outward before the arriving enemy as a herald of woes to come.

The scene at the last stop in the town which surrounded the Hole was a chaotic mess. Earlier reports had also been wrong, the enemy was quickly closing in and everyone was in a rush trying to get as much as they could behind the tall wooden wall which wrapped only around the center of the town and not the whole. The train line terminated a few hundred yards past the many buildings built outside that defensive perimeter. Warehouses and shops had sprung up beyond that safety as the town had since developed into the focal shipping point for all the farming running along this section of the inverted bowl’s final mountainous edge.

As such our immediate orders were to get our battle-ready butts to the Spark-side of the town. I put Horatio in charge of getting all our supplies off the train and into whatever shelter he could arrange, set Maddalena to watch over Victoria and get her safely behind that wall on my authority, while Twitch and Hank ran at my side alongside our demonic horde towards a fight which may have already begun. Twitch had his swords, Hank a broad-headed axe, and as for me I felt like a running arsenal: Erglyk’s bow across my back, spear with soul-forged dagger at its tip clenched in a fist, and the assassin’s enchanted sword sheathed in a new scabbard at the waist. Praztus’ many knights stayed behind with his foot-soldiers to unload both lances and their graxh and all would join us as soon as they could mount and ride as a unit. The Major himself kept pace with us as he too was required to report forthwith.

We passed demons and souls alike hastily filling wagons of everything they could get their hands on out of the various buildings. They certainly got the heck out of the way when they saw us coming, ducking inside to hide as our heavily armed force of mayhem-distributors plowed past. The whole area was filled with the din of frantic yelling: either soldiers rushing like we were or regular people desperately trying to get behind the inner walls, and failing that hoping to board the train which would likely be departing as soon as the boilers were refilled. Through the slits of my helmet I saw them all while other senses felt their rising despair and panic.

Praztus grabbed my arm while pointing to pennants visible atop tall poles which rose above the buildings and fluttered in the thick smoky wind already coating our lungs. “The command post is this way. Come!”

Following his lead we funneled onto a main road to join the other fighters rushing out of the town. A burly black-armored demon almost as tall as Balus stood athwart that mob, shouting and pointing where the various units should already have gotten to. The pair of six feet long curved horns sprouting from his forehead made me feel rather small.

Good god, what was I getting myself into?

“General Negroth!” Praztus called out to this demon, pulling me closer. “May I present Colonel Jordan. We have arrived as directed by the esteemed Duchess Ruchinox.”

Yellow-stained eyes swiveled in my direction, flooding senses with an aura of pure war focus. My feet of their own volition shifted into a battle-ready stance and the spear in my grip thrust forward in case of an attack. Whoever he was, he matched Dhalgrix in the power department - and I’d learned the hard way not to disregard that.

He nodded as if my combat positioning was a form of a salute. Which I guess in its way it was. “You are the soul who defeated the mercenary Commander.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“Major Praztus says you have penetrating eyes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Prove it.”

“You have swallowed exactly three-hundred and thirty-seven souls.” I bit back the additional comment that half of them still cried out for release.

The other half had given up long ago.

The General didn’t react to the precise count. “How many demons are on the other side of the field?”

I had to lean to one side to look past him. The parapet from which the pennants were flying and its large gate below which would soon shut access to this road faded from view, as did the spike-lined trenches that spread out before the town.

It took a moment to get past all the demons and souls on our side who were busy lining up behind the nearest dug out traps of earth and getting ready to stab anyone charging over them. Across even more ditches filled with nasty spiky bits ruining this once-verdant farmland an opposing army also formed up. Souls were in front, some with decent armor and weapons and others holding nothing more than the farming implements they had on hand when pressed into service.

Behind them were the better equipped demons.

“Eight-hundred and seventy-three. I think.” I frowned as I said it. There were shadows flickering amongst them, making it hard to be sure.

“You think?” Negroth leaned forward and actual smoke snorted out of his wide nostrils to join the equally noxious air above.

“Something or someone is trying to remain hidden. Sir.”

The general considered for a moment, ignoring the shouts of sub-commanders from the parapet. “Major Praztus’ request is granted. Join me above.”

He didn’t bother dismissing anyone. His bulk simply turned around and with the bending of huge knees he jumped the sixty feet required to clear the parapet’s own defensive walls.

I was really surprised the whole thing didn’t collapse from the impact. Solid engineering and sturdy wood.

“Balus,” I said to my own big guy who lurked behind us. “Follow the Major on the field. If he goes down take command of our combined forces.” I held up the star blazing across my palm. “If I need you, you’ll know.”

“Comply.”

Turning to Praztus I threw him a salute which he returned. “Good hunting, Major.” I wanted to say ‘be safe’, but given the circumstances that would’ve been asinine.

“Watch over us, Colonel. We will leave one platoon here to be your guard should it be necessary.” With a following nod to Hank and Twitch he turned to look back the way we came. With a momentary shift of wind I could smell that his graxh were on their way.

“C’mon,” I said to my two guys, “Let’s get our butts up there.” When I looked above to the parapet one of the sub-commanders dropped a rope which we had to shimmy up. What good would a defensive position above a fight be if there were easy ladders leading up to it?

After making like we were still in gym class we pulled ourselves onto the platform which really was nothing more than that. Negroth stood at the center gazing over the field while three sub-commanders of slightly lesser height and bulk hovered near him, each with suspiciously matching, albeit smaller, horns. Five more robe-wearing demons of varied types huddled to one side murmuring to themselves in the ancient tongue of demonic magic. Included in their number was a huge red crab draped with a very custom robe with a felwood staff clasped between a claw.

Not that I had any time to stare.

“It begins,” announced Negroth as I felt a pulse of power from the other side. Massive balls of brightly glowing lava the size of tanks conjured themselves into existence above the field and launched towards our side like meteors, one heading directly at the platform.

“Oh crap,” I muttered. Twitch grabbed one arm and was reaching for Hank with his other hand when our wizards’ chanting intensified. Their answering flow of energy warped the space between the two armies and with a mighty crack several bolts of lightning flashed out of the smoke to strike the lava-balls and cause them to explode harmlessly over the remains of the hastily harvested field.

The next few minutes was like the craziest Fourth of July show I’d ever seen. Not to mention far deadlier. Wizards on both sides launched everything one could think of at the opposing army: more steaming balls of molten earth, pure globs of hissing yellow fire, brilliant lightning, green poisonous gasses, raw shimmering waves of some kind of flux that dissolved anything it touched, all that kind of thing. Heck, they even conjured a tornado or three. All while busily dispelling the other side’s counter-attacks. Negroth had spaced his wizards out amongst the troops as had the enemy - these were the locations all the battle-magic focused upon.

Mostly.

With that much crap flying back and forth some of it was bound to be deflected off target and still impact haplesss soldiers below. Wretched howls of agony resulted, and with hands gripping the wooden balustrade I thought screw it and began to gather my will to aid in the defense. I knew I could rip the primal energy of those spells apart if I but focused.

Before I could do so Hank squeezed an armored shoulder. “Not yet. Wait.” His voice was calm. Sad, but calm.

“Why?” I hissed. “I can help!”

He leaned close, those blue eyes clear. “You’ll just paint a target on your head.”

Gritting teeth I did as bid and let our wizards’ shield once again defend the platform and almost - but not quite - all of our forces.

White-clad souls ran to and from the lines, carrying away those who had been burned, boiled, electrified, suffocated, or simply had dropped. Stretchers originally clean became slick with the stains of carried away fallen demons. And sacks were filled with the bloody stones left behind by any unfortunate souls.

I felt sick.

As the mayhem of magic above dwindled a trumpet sounded from the other side. Their troops - equally pummeled by the exchange of death magics - reformed their lines and began to march forward, spears and swords held forward.

With a shout from the General our own horns blew their reply. The officers on the ground quickly shouted and shoved their troops into formations behind the dug defenses, shoring up any gaps and preparing for the assault. To one side I saw Praztus and his graxh-mounted knights with their long lances preparing to charge as needed across pre-designated empty curved rows that lay between the trenches. Balus and my mercenaries had been placed near the center directly before the command parapet. Their weapons were held ready as they shrieked their defiance at the enemy, their voices joining all those around them.

Battle-lust filled the air, stronger than the smoke and residues of death from the wizard’s magics. With it the nature of the demons I’d spent so much time with became clear.

Through the mark burning my skin I could feel it. Their rage, their hatred, their need to fight and kill. They gloried in it, letting it fill their lungs and livers for their hearts were cold and closed lumps within their chests.

They had no need of them.

Internally were whipped all the trapped souls to squeeze every last ounce of power they could muster, sparks of menace flashing underneath the demons’ skin as they gathered themselves to commence their slaughter. In so doing they exulted, for with each surge they felt ever more alive, throwing off the cotton numbness of their day-to-day lives.

The General was doing the same. As were his sub-commanders, and the wizards.

It all crashed over me, and a cold that had nothing to do with the weather drove me to my knees.

Because I too had done the same.

I had raged against Dhalgrix. I had ripped the assassin from the sky with channeled fury. I had even held a hatred for Captain Erglyk, despite how fairly she had actually treated me, just for being a demon.

How many had I slaughtered with my hatred for what they were? How many had I killed using that hate to believe it was always deserved?

Was I any different than those below as they too tapped into such powerful emotion in preparation to fight for their lives? Nay, for their very existence as should they fall nothing would be left behind. No small glowing rocks would ever preserve who they’d once been.

Hank knelt besides me, hand still on a shoulder. I had to force my stomach down to keep its contents from spilling out over hands which had felt too much blood.

He understood. Within those calm Mediterranean blues, he understood.

His words were quiet compared to the roar of the crowd below yet spoken clear. “There’s a difference,” he said, “between righteous fury and hatred. Those who cannot hold to the former will forever be lost within the latter.”

I stared blankly at him while horns all around blasted with greater urgency.

Hank rose and held out a hand. “Stand.” It was more a command than an offer.

I let him lift me back to my feet. Twitch, who had been standing protectively holding his twin swords, gave me space again and continued to watch my back. Knowing he was guarding behind I turned to fully face the battlefield where a mob of souls and demons howling with fury ran full tilt over uneven dirt. Any who tripped and stumbled found themselves trampled by the ones who followed.

The wave of bodies formed three triangles swarming forward with their points aimed at our lines. At first I wondered why use such a formation, as such an attack would just smooth itself out when those points slammed into the trenches and prepared defenders.

Then their horns blew a different tone and the entire enemy army skidded to a halt, mud flying as their feet dug in. Metal and wooden shields went up and while most were mismatched in size those front sections turtled as our bowmen unleashed their volleys of death. Shields and wizardry deflected most of those arrows, yet some still found their marks and tore into exposed flesh.

Despite the enemy’s ceased advance, our soldiers waiting but a few yards before the tips of those three opposing salients began to die anyway, limbs and heads slipping free of their bodies in cascades of blood and gore. One after the other their helmets and armor offered no protection to that which was sweeping unseen into our ranks.

My eyes tore away but not to avoid witness. No, instead they rapidly sought past the smoke which lay even thicker above the field after being fueled further by the fires spreading from the earlier duel of magics.

Despite the density of that cover I found them.

As the General shouted at his wizards to counter a magic they had no capacity to detect, the crystal bow came free of its holder and a glowing arrow of twisted violet-black fire shimmered against the string pulled to a cheek.

Much as I wanted to rush I forced myself to pause and focus, filling that shaft with all the deadly pain and power that could be mustered yet still contained.

A shrill tone emitted from the crystalline structure of the bow, piercing the ears of all nearby. Twitch winced, trying to block his ears with the pommels of his swords. Wizards and sub-commanders also cried out, backing away while throwing hands over their own.

Only the crab-demon and the General stood steady. As did Hank.

The bow vibrated dangerously, its bonds of pattern reaching their limits. I knew it couldn’t take much more.

So I let fly.

One arrow became three as if a giga-watt laser had hit a perfectly polished beam-splitter, the arrow-led beams separating and slicing through that smoke to simultaneously strike multiple targets high in the sky.

They didn’t even have time to scream as their flesh boiled to ash and steam from the unleashed heat. Scorched lumps fell from those clouds as three gleaming Grigori-enchanted swords tumbled into the mud amidst the carnage they’d been delivering upon the field.

Unfortunately they hadn’t stopped glowing, the angelic script shifting as the swords began to pull primal energy from the ground upon which they lay.

Oh crap.

“The blades! They’re going to blow!” I yelled. “General, get everyone away from them!”

Negroth’s yellow eyes regarded me without comprehension. It was a harsh reminder that I was the only one who could even see the danger, a threat I realized we ourselves weren’t safe from either as a tug of energy pulsed at my side.

With a yelp I yanked the trophy blade from its scabbard, causing the sub-commanders to splutter in alarm and draw their own swords, moving between me and the General.

Instead of attacking like they feared I spun and flung my sword out across the battlements. It arced through the air leaving behind a trail of beautiful script to slam point first into the shield of a crouched front-line attacker.

Before the demon could react the blade exploded along with its brethren, throwing bodies, mud, and weaponry outward in multiple maelstroms of devastation. The shockwaves from the detonations blasted outward as pulsing electrical spheres which ripped the earth and pushed soldiers aside like so many bowling pins. The explosions didn’t care whose army their victims belonged to, the damage shredded both our forces and the enemy’s three triangles.

Their raised shields did nothing to protect them.

As the devastation settled we beheld four new trenches, each fifteen to twenty feet deep and double that across. And for many feet more all around were the prone forms of soldiers who would not be getting back up.

The horns on both sides blew again.

With shouts, kicks, and threats of who-knows-what, demon sergeants reformed the ranks and even while our wizards and theirs renewed their bombardments the two armies clashed across the trenches, spikes and metal on hide, fangs and claws through flesh.

The real battle had begun.

 

Chapter 30 - Comrades

 

The mayhem of combat had already lasted for over an hour. The shadow from the Shroud approached like a giant lid about to cover a pot of shrieking, boiling, and dying lobsters.

Not that its arrival would do anything to stop the fighting.

From the parapet I had a front-row balcony view like a beach tourist watching wave after towering wave of demons launching at demons while souls hacked and slashed at souls. Each could only fight for so long before succumbing to exhaustion so those on the front lines kept rotating to the back where non-fighting souls would offer water and dress their gaping wounds as best as possible. Horns and battle-drums kept trying to drown out the din of slaughter and rally the soldiers stepping up to that front row for their turn at the grinding melee.

The resulting stench of effluence and flame suffocated us all.

Trenches piled up with bodies of the wounded, the dead, and the barely-glowing stones of fallen souls. Yet our defensive line held.

Their wizards and ours wore themselves out, half of the master-level ones who had been standing with the General were carried away as they collapsed from spending the last shreds of their precious mana and eyes rolled up into their skulls.

Hank kept pulling me back from taking bowshot after bowshot whenever my crew found itself taking a beating. As mighty as Balus and my top sergeants were in their ability to tackle entire cohorts single-handed (or tentacled as the case may be), they too could only fight for so long before needing a break. Which is when a few blasts of purple bowfire from above covered their exits without weakening the line’s loss of their strength.

Whenever one of my demons fell to join the other slashed and burnt corpses, the mark on my palm burned with the agony of their death, slamming through me the raw sensations of their final moments. I also felt the relief of the consumed souls whose constant torment had finally gained reprieve. Any worry about long-term effects to my sanity from experiencing all this would of course have to wait.

The immediate trick was to survive the day.

Major Praztus’ lancers were also losing many a graxh and knight. Yet they rallied for sally after sally as a horizontal slash of pennants and steel as they charged back and forth whenever the ground between the rows of trenches filled with the enemy and another blast of trumpets signaled for our troops to clear their path.

Indeed he was forming up for another run when the horns across the field shifted their tune and the enemy drums went silent. With this change, all of our foes who were not immediately engaged began backing up. Letting the front of their lines take the brunt of holding back our brutes, the rest turned to slog it across the ripped up earth back to their own lines.

As the last of those they left behind were cut down a cheer went up from our side.

“Is that it? Did we win?” I asked, dumbfounded by the action. Both armies were still seemingly well-matched, having suffered casualties in numbers only slightly favoring the defenders. I lowered the bow, Balus’ crew once again reaching the back lines near my perch for a much needed break.

Twitch pulled on a shoulder, shaking his head with concern. He clearly didn’t like this.

Nor did Hank, still standing at my side. Behind all the dark soot covering his face was a frown as he dropped to a knee. Placing a palm against the platform he asked, “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” I reached down as well and at first didn’t notice anything more unusual than the General and his sub-commanders moving their considerable weight around while barking orders to the various squadrons on the field.

Then I felt it. A thrumming. Then another.

And another.

These weren’t from a drum or from the squad of Praztus’ graxh who began madly bleating in alarm, some of them rearing up while their riders fought desperately to keep control.

General Negroth threw a command in my direction, his thundering voice cutting through the rising sound. “Colonel Jordan! Find that disturbance!”

Ripping aside goggles (which had earlier replaced the helmet to keep the air’s choking ash from burning at my eyes), I peered downward past the surface.

Into a sea of script flowing and writhing through the earth itself.

Holy crap. “Twitch!” I shrieked, sounding rather like another panicked graxh. “Get Hank out of here!”

Hank didn’t have time to object. Twitch simply became a blur, grabbing Hank and in a flicker had wrapped a rope around them both before leaping from the parapet’s edge.

The ground below us erupted.

Thick wooden struts holding up one side of the platform shattered like toothpicks as a stone fist larger than a truck smashed up from the ground to crush those supports completely. The world tilted as the impact launched me airborne at an angle along with the rest of the general staff. Still clinging to the bow, senses went into battle-mode on instinct. Immediate future timelines sprang into view and gave the first glimpse into what was even now climbing out of the dirt as if solid ground were naught but watery shore.

Stone in the shape of a man. Correction: stone in the shape of a man seventy feet tall. All empowered by glyphs warping at the reality of the realm itself.

In other words, the biggest damn golem this place had probably ever seen.

As a massive and eyeless head of stone and earth cleared the insane hole its body was creating by absorbing all the mud around it, the thing bellowed. The resulting blast of air caught the flooring of the parapet which had been falling along with the rest of us. The whole platform reversed direction and slammed upward like a kite shoved over a vertically-aimed turbo jet.

If I hadn’t foreseen it the sudden shift would have crushed my brain-pan. Instead I’d already rolled in the air to execute a maneuver practiced in the dojo to deal with a fall, arms snapping out to slap the wood as if I’d fallen onto it instead of it being blown into me, chin tucked in to prevent a hit to the head.

The impact still hurt, even through the armor. I should have kept the helmet on.

Hurtling through the air amidst all the wooden shrapnel along with General Negroth and his crew offered a new concern: there was no way the landing of this mess was going to be pretty.

Rolling towards the side, the platform’s immediate acceleration slowed and as we all resumed a free-fall trajectory I got first knees then feet under me.

I leapt as if my life depended on it. Which it did as the Golem was intent on swiping through the mess with its massive hand.

Clearing the thick felwood wasn’t the only important part of what was needed. The trajectory itself mattered.

Precise timing lead to falling into Balus’ waiting tentacles which snatched me right out of the air, the sudden impact causing a loss of grip on the bow which tumbled away.

The big guy hugged me to his chest, bending over as chunks of parapet debris rained down around and against his armored back. Balus, still holding me protectively, turned so we both got a good look at the golem as the ground gave birth to the rest of its body.

One tremendous foot stomped what was again solid earth, striking a blow which could have destroyed eardrums for anyone within a few feet. The resulting earthquake rippled outward, defensive walls and trenches tilting and heaving in response. As did the buildings in the town where stone scraped against stone, losing the mortar holding them all together as some collapsed into ruins of choking dust and shattered bricks.

Balus ever so carefully placed me back on my own two feet. Together we watched the golem eclipse what little light from the Spark was bravely filtering through the smoke and ash. Sticking out of stone-filled flesh were the sharpened poles of our prepared defenses, absorbed and re-purposed like nails added to a gigantic baseball bat. Clenched in the giant’s hand was its initial target, as General Negroth was struggling mightily against the constantly reforming dirt but despite his strength couldn’t twist himself free.

Of course being impaled by dozens of those shards wasn’t helping much. Especially whichever one which had ripped through the General’s throat to expose his spine. While Negroth gurgled his rage the golem flicked its wrist like a tennis-pro executing a perfect backhand and sent Negroth flying, spraying blood over all our heads in a perfect arc as he went by.

I didn’t get to see where he landed as the golem’s head had turned mechanically to affix its eyeless attention upon its next target.

Which just so happened to be me.

Giving another roar past teeth that would have made Stonehenge proud, a yacht sized foot, lifting faster than should have been possible, took fresh aim, preparing to drive downward with the full tonnage of its magically acquired weight and trigger an earthquake even larger than the previous.

With myself as ground zero.

There was no way we were going to get out of the way in time. Vision after vision spiked past of him and me getting sandwiched and becoming only so much paste upon the bottom of that insane foot.

Perception slowed to a crawl as the inevitability became understood. Balus' tentacle, rank with the scent of all the blood and ichor acquired from fighting, swept into my stomach as it launched me beyond the range of that descent. Crusty residue lined the suckers running up those limbs where they met the armor which could not protect against the inevitable death plunging towards him.

His eye burned with that green fire, preparing to try and carve a hole through the descending stone. I knew - as he knew - it wouldn’t be enough.

Flying backwards as slow-motion witness I had a surprising thought.

I didn’t want him to die.

He was a demon. Trapped souls were even now granting him his power.

Still. I didn’t want him to die.

Emitting a strangled cry I watched as his power shot upward to do naught more than tickle the incoming doom. The souls within him, tapped out as they were, couldn’t provide enough power to penetrate the magics holding the golem together. It just wasn’t possible. They didn’t have enough.

But I did.

From my palm to the mark on his chest lay a channel, wavering in the air like a delicate spider’s strand bobbing in the breeze. Into that connection I shoved the churning purple energy still lingering from Sariel’s bomb. Like launching a lightning-bolt at a firefly it burst within Balus, far more than his pattern could handle. Out of instinct I threw open all the channels, filling the entire web with the excess power and slamming it into the entire company before bracing myself for another rough landing.

Balus’ eye flared brighter than the Spark on a clear day, sending a pulse of emerald death barreling into the sole of the foot to slice right through like a surgeon’s laser run amok. The foot exploded into a shower of uncountable clods, while the now empty ankle plowed into the dirt only a few precious feet away from Balus himself.

The demon, fully empowered by the raw essences of fear, pain, and hopelessness upon which they truly fed, stayed standing. All the horrors harvested by Zakiel’s gifts were as the rarest of nectar to his spirit and he thrummed with unmatched might.

Yet the golem’s magic itself was untouched. Balus jumped backwards, getting away from the reforming limb as it absorbed fresh earth and stone to land between the crater in the dirt my butt had just created and the rock giant. Again the single eye gathered its focus preparing another blast.

Wincing from yet another cracked rib I scrambled to my feet. “Balus, hang on! That thing is still out of your weight class! Get everyone else out of here!”

Without looking back the big guy responded with the longest statement I’d ever heard him say.

“No. We fight as one. We guard you. As you guard us.”

“You can’t win against that!”

“Commander will find way.” His eye lanced out again, this time blowing chunks out of a femur and checking the giant’s attempt to lift a foot for another stomp.

Amidst the other demons and soldiers scattered about my crew stood out, glowing with that purplish-black haze and mad intensity. Ugart, dagger-like teeth gleaming along his snout, shouted “For the Commander!” and launched himself at the other foot’s towering toes, his claws digging in to pull himself up and over. The rest echoed the cry, and while all other units scrambled to run away my violet-enshrouded team of lunatics did the opposite.

They attacked.

The golem staggered as its two supports came under continual assault. Leaning forward to try and knock the crazed demons off its foot before they could do more damage, it lurched as Balus’ beam destabilized it further. With a roar it stumbled backwards to fall onto its butt, crashing through more of the defensive wall and crushing anyone unfortunate to have not gotten clear.

Plunging blades and claws into its earthy skin for purchase demons began to swarm up the legs, enraging the thing further. Huge hands swiped at the attackers, knocking them in all directions and sending them flying. To those were sent even more energy, wrapping them within cocoons of force which absorbed the multiple impacts of their eventual landings.

Twin mighty shrieks split the air and a cheer went up from the fighting demons as two larger-than-myth harpies dove at the golem’s face, talons big enough to slice cars into pieces gouging huge tracks out of the cheeks. Boulders and clods of dirt fell away in a shower of debris to rain upon the cheering throngs below.

I knew those harpies. Yaria and Ruyia had joined the fight.

The golem lashed out with one hand, trying to catch a wide wing with a pole-encrusted palm that swung through the air like a blurred bad special effect. Yaria barely dodged out of range as she and her sister gathered altitude to prepare another run. What the giant did with its other hand though was more interesting.

It clamped the palm over its mouth and jaw.

Someone yanked none-too-gently at my wrist. Twitch, eyes wide and covered head to toe with mud, was standing at my side and trying to pull me away from the fight. He’d gained a long scratch across his forehead, blood mixing with the grime.

Instead of moving I grabbed his upper arm instead. “It’s got a weakness!” Like an asylum escapee I waved fingers at the mouth hiding behind sequoia-sized fingers. “In the mouth! The source of its power is written across something in its mouth!”

I could see it. Burning below the tongue was the locus of the script which kept pulling earth into its giant body. Like the swords the working had been inscribed upon metal, a plaque no larger than a computer keyboard.

“I’ve got to touch it!” I yelled at him, starting to move towards the golem instead of the direction he was urging me to go. “It’s the only way to stop it!”

He let go of my wrist. But before I could finish my step he was already a blur of dirty-white streaking towards the giant, running at the speeds only he could.

Oh god, he was going to try and get it for me.

“Balus!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Expose the mouth! Get it open!”

The big guy either heard me or the order was simply carried via the mark of command. Because the focus of his eye immediately shifted to the back of the golem’s hand, pulsing like a jack-hammer to send chunk after chunk flying away from the fingers as the beam chipped away.

All while Twitch sped past violet-glowing demons doing their own mining impressions to the golem’s knees and legs, his own twin vibrating blades plunging in and out of the stone-skin when reaching the torso as he rapidly began to climb the stomach like it was a peg-board in an old-fashioned gym.

The arm with the hand covering the mouth began to wither as more and more of its material was shoved into the hand to regenerate the damage from Balus’ attack. I poured even more of that purple reserve into the one-eyed laser platform, watching as it cut deeper still until the first glimpse of a tooth could be seen.

Which promptly disappeared as the golem ceased trying to deflect the two harpies and clamped its still-solid other hand atop the wreckage of the first, head bowing forward to tuck the chin down and change the angle of incidence to weaken the focus of the energy pummeling it.

Worse still, the golem began losing height - it was now using up the material in its neck and torso to supplement its jaw and teeth. As Twitch reached the top of the chest, I realized what its ultimate backup plan was going to be.

It could swallow and send the plaque back down into the ground and thus reforge a brand new golem. Except its precious cargo would then be relocated into the chest.

There was only one way to stop that. I had to cheat yet again. From my lips to Yaria’s ear I spoke first a word then a message. She wasn’t under my command - I had no mark to use to reach her - but with a hack of the realm’s rules the air between us became a perfect propagator of sound. It was nowhere near as subtle as I’d have wanted considering we weren’t near the Edge or on the darker side of the rock. Here the realm was solid with thousands of souls and demons around us all locking it into place with their own expectations and observations.

My friend didn’t have time for such careful calculation and it was as small a change as possible to get the job done.

She received the message. The harpy broke off its attack against the top of the head and instead dove to use those mighty claws to dig frantically at the back of the exposed neck, her wings beating wide to maintain position. Her sister saw this shift of target and swooped down to join in until the connection between torso and head became naught but loose dirt rapidly trying to fill in holes continuously ripped free talon by talon.

Without being ordered Balus also re-oriented his attack, slicing down to hammer the chest below the chin, weakening the head’s connection to the torso even further.

This allowed Twitch to jump sideways past the remains of the fingers. Arms swinging both blades like a digging weed-whacker he plunged past the teeth and into the giant’s mouth. My breath caught in my own throat, all attention locked on tracking Twitch’s spirit versus the words maintaining the golem.

One by one the golem’s words of power running throughout its body began to fade and a painfully long moment later one severely abused blade plunged out of the weakened stone at the base of the golem’s neck.

Even as Twitch emerged like a zombie struggling out of its own grave, the giant’s head exploded and the body below began to fold into itself. Stone and earth collapsed, pounding the demons trying to inflict damage on an entity now inert.

Holding a metal slab tucked under an armpit Twitch scrambled free, only to realize the precariousness of his perch as everything below him dissolved.

“Twitch!” My voice broke, choking from dust and smoke. I was too far away to do anything but still my feet moved forward even as a tentacle swept me off them, carrying me away from the incoming downpour of raw material.

Wrapping himself around the inscribed magic to prevent its reconnection to the debris Twitch jumped and began to free-fall.

Until a harpy, with wings ignoring the impacts crushing feathers, caught the downward plunging man between her talons and pulled him away.

Ruyia shrieked victoriously but I watched as many tons of rock continued to fall towards the demons I’d called my own. Larger ones were tossing clear their smaller comrades, spending precious seconds which could have been spent leaping clear themselves.

Too many weren’t going to make it.

I knew I was almost empty. I knew I’d be far weaker from not having any more of that maddening energy at my command.

I didn’t care.

Ripping at the last shreds of power which had imposed upon my spirit, I sent it all to them. Every final ounce.

Those with the skills to do so made quick use of the boost, spinning shields of energy above their heads. And the heads of those nearby. The stone and earth impacted around them and with a tremendous thud a cloud of dust burst up and out which obscured all.

I didn’t have time to watch the aftermath. “Balus, get me to Twitch! Before that thing reattaches to the ground and a new one rises!”

Monstrous legs more powerful than the locomotive we’d ridden here contracted then exploded with a mighty leap, carrying us a good twenty feet into the air as he vaulted over the devastated earth around us. Ruyia had landed at the street behind the preparations where she carefully lay Twitch onto the paved stones. Twitch was on his back still clutching his trophy.

Even now glowing script was reaching out to find fresh purchase with which to raise another golem starting with the dirt smeared across my friend.

Squirming free of Balus’ tentacles I rushed to Twitch’s side and called upon my last ace-in-the-hole. Grabbing hold of the plaque I held it away from everyone as crimson flame pulled from Camael’s protective bracers flashed upon it. Sigil by sigil, word by word, I didn’t so much burn as melt the enchantment until only forge-glowing metal remained.

Leather gloves smoked from the heat but I held on until all traces of the enchantment had been removed. Only after I’d tossed it aside did the fingers protest, a throbbing pain from blisters forming below the ruined protection. I gasped, but not for myself. Turning back to Twitch I stared as remembered horror dawned.

He’d gone maximum speed while fully clothed.

Below the formerly white linen of his jerkin and trousers slowly spread a deep red stain. The friction had shredded the skin entirely, leaving naught but bloody tissue behind.

I screamed his name, falling to knees while hands trembled with uselessness. His were equally a mess from carving through the golem. Twitch’s eyes had rolled up into his head, the strain having finally driven him unconscious. Frantically searching around in a panic I shouted, “Maddalena! Where is Maddalena?”

When no one moved I started to shove fingers under my friend, preparing to pick him up. I had to get him to her. Someone was at my side, wrapping their arms around to prevent me from getting a good hold.

“We’ll get him there,” a man said. “But you need to be elsewhere.” The tone was somehow both gentle and firm. When I didn’t react the man barked into an ear. “Colonel Jordan!”

My head jerked away from Twitch to meet the man’s eyes instead. Beautiful Mediterranean blues.

Hank.

“You are in command, Colonel,” he said intently, those eyes boring into mine. “And this battle ain’t over. Get up. Get these forces organized. Someone else will carry Twitch to Maddalena. Not you.”

Everyone around was staring at me. Balus, Ugart, Yaria and Ruyia who were still in harpy form, and all the surviving demons and souls nearby. And behind them could be heard trumpets and drums.

The enemy was preparing to attack.

Hands throbbed from the blisters but formed fists just the same and I stood.

“Ugart!” I called out to the alligator-faced lieutenant, “Carry Twitch to Maddalena. Ask her on my behalf to help him. Do not order her, you understand? I am asking. Then leave him in her care and return here.”

He nodded and that would have to do.

As Ugart knelt down to grab Twitch I turned away, hating myself for doing so. But Hank was right. The General had been grievously wounded. With that many enslaved souls he’d probably live, but I’d caught a glimpse of his staff hustling him away in the mayhem. His crew had been rather eager to flee the golem, the cowards.

That left me in charge.

“What do I do now?” I asked Hank quietly so only he could hear.

Moving to my side he replied in an equally hushed tone. “Get ‘em to reform the line. Put your squad in front. Let their win anchor the morale of the rest.”

Together we marched back towards the sound of the enemy’s preparations. Only one building at the edge of the town was still upright. In the demonic language I shouted my order to whichever of our own trumpeters may have remained up there.

One lone horn took up the command, its shrill note resounding over the field. As I climbed the debris covering the street and became visible to all the soldiers who had fled the golem’s attack I picked up a fallen pennant, lifting its flag high.

By chance it happened to be the one for me and mine, and a single golden star waved above the field.

A shout went up. First from my squad, howling their victory as they dug each other out from the wreckage, then more voices joined to carry it down the line.

They chanted my name.

Drums started up, then more trumpets, and their resounding command was obeyed. Major Praztus, bloody but still astride his graxh, shouted to his calvary to get ready. Through the mark my team gathered itself at my orders as well, those who had lost their own weapons picking up discarded ones or simply flexing claws with an eagerness burning still within.

I may have been out of mojo but they now had plenty to spare.

Thus did our two armies face off yet again across the torn up field. The Shroud’s shadow cut across the earth between us, putting their side in darkness and ours within the remains of the dwindling light.

The irony was not lost on me.

“This ain’t right,” Hank muttered, still at my side.

“What is it?” I asked, nerves fluttering behind broken ribs.

“They’re not moving.”

He was right. The enemy had formed up but they were just standing there. Plus their trumpets and drums still hadn’t sounded.

I chomped at a lip, scanning their ranks for what they were up to now. “Could they be waiting for darkfall?” That didn’t make sense either, as the darkness likely favored the defenders. Charging across uneven ground full of sharp pointy things without light would be a lot harder than waiting to just stab at any faces which dared to appear.

He snorted. “Doubtful.”

Wondering if they had even more of those invisibility swords I scanned the sky. What I found there was worse.

Much worse.

I exhaled with tired resignation. “Hank. In the sky.”

His gaze followed mine. Hovering below the smoke were four armored and hooded figures facing towards our army, their grey wings slowly beating against the upper winds. Descending further the one in front pulled back his hood to reveal a face striking with its beauty. Masculine yet tempered with feminine lines, the high cheekbones lay elegantly against the strength of the chin. Bluish-black hair swayed to brush against perfectly framed shoulders protected by silver armor forged by neither demon nor man. Each of their breastplates sparkled with gleaming reflections of the fires burning behind us, and all were armed with exquisite rapiers, the basket hilts and sharp blades radiating pure angelic power.

We were so hosed.

 

Chapter 31 - Gift

 

Angels. Fallen.

There was no way I could fight one, let alone four.

The last time I’d faced off against an angel I’d gone up against one under evil remote-control and therefore not at full strength. Yet even with the light flowing within at full it had taken the help of a second projected angel to hold her off.

Now after the day’s fighting I was already battered, bruised, and bloody. No wings. No light within reach. All the last embers of borrowed energy had been spent leaving only a horrible ache wreaking havoc across my back.

Heck, I’d even lost my bow which lay somewhere amongst the shattered debris the golem had spawned.

As if to emphasize the ridiculousness of the situation a fifth flickered into view to balance out their formation. Held in her hands was the remnants of the golem plaque.

I hadn’t even sensed her coming down to pick that up from where I’d tossed it.

The leader regarded the return of their fifth and examined the item she carried before sweeping his gaze along our hastily restored battle-lines. When he spoke it was like listening to the low thrum of an expertly-wielded cello warming up the audience before a particularly somber yet wondrous symphony.

“The use of our sacred artifacts in conflicts between the rabble is rare,” he sang out in the language I knew only by instinct. “But that alone is not what has summoned our presence.”

Realization smacked me in the face. These weren’t with Azazel. As I stared at their patterns it became clear they weren’t Grigori at all.

They were of a different Order entirely.

“One amongst you comprehends the tongue of the holy of holies. One amongst you has spoken the true speech upon this field, directly violating the pattern of our realm. We invite them now to step forward lest we needs ferret them out directly.” The last carried with it mental images of the five slaughtering all until achieving their objective.

They’d do it. No mercy. No hesitation.

I wanted to weep. I’d screwed up again. I’d thought it subtle enough, but I had done it. I’d made sure Yaria could hear my call to help Twitch. I’d weighed the odds and taken the chance anyway.

There was nothing for it now. Hiding was no longer an option.

Planting the pennant into the ground I took a step forward.

Hank stopped me with a grip to my shoulder far stronger than it should have been. With incredible ease he pulled me around to face him.

Scowling and failing to shrug free I said, “They’re after me, Hank. They’ll kill everyone unless I go.”

He smiled then, a beaming warmth genuine and proud. “Brave yet foolhardy, as always. You’re in no shape to deal with that crew. Here.” Reaching under his jerkin he plucked free the dog-tags he’d arrived with, pressing them firmly into my confused hands.

“What are these supposed to do?” I asked, becoming more baffled by the moment.

“Protect you.” Before I could ask how he wrapped me in a hug and whispered into an ear. “Win this battle, Amariel. Find your proof.” As I watched, wings of his own blossomed from his back, sapphire feathers unfolding with a glow matching the depths of his eyes. He let go and air buffeted my face as he rose to meet the five.

All I could do was gape in astonishment and grip tightly the gift he’d placed in my hand.

The leader of the Fallen’s eyes went wide as the new angel rose to meet them. Azure fire spilled from the newcomer’s skin as six astounding gem-like wings carried him aloft. Gilded armor shimmering with the blues of the purest of coastal waters flickered into view to replace Hank’s beaten coat.

Thus did a seraph address the leader of the five. “Been a long time, Duchiel.”

Their leader bowed his head with surprising respect. “I am now known only as Drek. We bid you greetings Nathanael, Captain of the Powers.”

“Not a captain, not anymore.” Nathanael shook his head, long hair of spun gold flowing free instead of Hank’s military buzz. “Got forsaken when I crossed into this mess. You know the drill. You still with Abagor?”

“We are. Have you come to join his banner? Is this why you are here?” Drek spared a glance for the rest of us on the ground. “Rather an odd manner of approach, if I may say so.”

The seraph laughed. He no longer looked like Hank, the ruggedness of features having smoothed into more classical ideals, yet he sounded exactly the same. “I ain’t here to sign up with you. But there’s a lot to discuss with your old die-hard if he’s willing to hear. More than just shootin’ the breeze and reminiscing about who killed whom back in the day. There’s stuff Above he be needin’ to hear about.”

“What happens there is no concern of ours.”

“Don’t be so certain. All things eventually change.”

Drek frowned. “Be that as it may, our Prince is unavailable. He attends the Grand Conclave.” He stared at the seraph radiating the blue of the hottest of flames. “But you are welcome as our…guest…until his return.”

Nathanael paused to consider. The four flanking Drek tensed, rapiers twitching within their grips.

After having gazed their patterns, I honestly wasn’t sure the five could take on this angel version of Hank. Nathanael burned with such a pure inner fire, even though within his spirit lay a gash and hole matching the ones seen in the others. Having fallen to Hell he’d lost his connection to the Host and to God, and I couldn’t help but wince with heartache at the sight of such a fresh blight on an otherwise gorgeously beautiful spirit. The inner words within those opposite him however had become dim ages ago.

Still, despite the damage, Nathanael’s pattern remained bright in a way the others had not.

“That,” the seraph said with a nod, “will do. I accept.”

Rapiers lowered, though Drek narrowed his eyes. “Do you perhaps already serve another here in Hell?”

Nathanael grinned. “I serve the Light. Shall we get goin’? Been a long day.”

With a hesitant gesture from the one who had once been Duchiel the sky cleared itself of angels, leaving only winds of ash and the Shroud’s deepening shadow. I stood there, a large army at my back, and yet felt oddly alone. Like one’s family had just packed up the car and left their youngest behind.

Which in a way I guess they had though they knew it not.

As tired as I was there was still bloody-minded work left to be done. Sorting out what the heck had just happened would have to wait. There was an army behind me and all of their eyes now cast themselves in my direction.

Besides, Hank had told me to go win this thing.

While studying the layout of the enemy I tucked the dog-tags under a bracer, the safest spot I could think of. Picking up the pennant I waved it once, then again while turning to face the horde awaiting my commands.

I called out to the big guy. “Balus! Get our grubby-ass squad over here! Everyone else form up behind them!” I looked around and pointed to a nearby demon, a squat and rather hairy five-armed guy who apparently liked knives. Lots of knives. “You there! I have a message for Ruyia and Yaria, the Lilim harpies. You’re gonna deliver it verbatim, got it?”

He hurried over and I spelled it out, making him repeat it several times to be sure he got it right. His knives may have been sharp but that was likely the extent of it. Eventually he recited the message correctly.

As the little guy ran off Balus stomped over with more of our crew falling in behind him. The bottom of his ogre-grinning helm had been sheared off, leaving him with this odd impression of having a serious overbite.

“Orders?”

I gave the titan a wry smile. “You and the boys still feeling super-charged?”

Purple electricity danced along his skin and a single snort was his entire reply.

“Good. Because here is what we’re going to do.”

As I told him the one-eyed giant flashed dagger-sized fangs in a grin of his own.

It was time to kick some ass.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The plan was simple.

Having withstood everything the invaders could throw at us - including their nasty tricks of angelic-scripted weaponry - it was their turn to fear us.

Or more specifically to fear the star-marked company of demons currently feeling invincible and whose success had sparked similar emotion amongst the rest of our forces. To drive that home required utilizing our best piece, namely our M1-Abrams-like Balus and his green beams of death and destruction.

And behind the enemy army stood their officer demons who had remained safely behind the field the entire day. That was about to change.

I’d seen how the demons needed a leader, needed someone to either inspire or force them to rally or else the desire to preserve their own hides would kick in and they’d simply flee. The sorcerers and wizards who could scare them into shape were spent. The enemy had watched us take out their ace cards, heck they’d even witnessed an angel come out of our ranks and go off with those who ruled this realm. They had to be worried about the possibility ours could convince the ruling fallen to take action against them. Not that I could count on Hank being that persuasive, especially with the fallens’ own leader being off realm.

But no demon would have understood that conversation.

Maybe I had gone insane after the day’s events, but with a crazed glee I formed up our forces with my mercenaries at the vanguard. One of my horn-sprouting guys had even found my bow and battered helm, squished dirty plume and all. For that he was promised extra dessert.

No really. He deserved it.

He also was told to hold high the pennant and be our banner bearer. I think that made him even happier than the promise of additional pie.

Thus I perched myself upon Balus’ broad shoulder between the spikes protruding from his now-dented armor. With the helm and my own demonic metal coverings I felt like a crazed amazon goddess, bow and all.

Once everyone was in position I gave the order to charge.

Soldiers surged forward, not as a wedge but as a column. Our goal was to punch as deeply past their lines as possible, hit the intended targets, and if need be ram our way back while the bulk of our army held the passage open.

It worked even better than I’d hoped.

My power-infused wrecking crew waded into an enemy made of cardboard, slicing through their armor as easily as flesh. Keeping a protective buffer of bodies around Balus, he and I were free to lay down fire as we saw fit. The enemy rolled out unused-until-now catapults to toss flaming mounds of pitch upon our ranks, but to my squad all those flames were simply an annoyance against their purple-charged skin and left naught but minor welts easily ignored. Instead of simply glowing with power they then became proper flaming demons unleashing their instincts for destruction and enjoying every last bloody moment of it.

Balus, of course, simply blasted all our enemy’s contraptions to splinters.

Any opposing demonic officer who tried to martial up their own ranged abilities quickly found themselves perforated by crystal arrows, all of which shattered after impact to drive sharp fragments even deeper through muscle and bone.

I didn’t dare tap Camael’s fire in case those Fallen were still keeping watch, but Erglyk’s soul-forged weapon was no slouch on its own.

More important still were the bonds forged through the company’s marks, for even while unleashing arrow after arrow a portion of my vision was split amongst the fighters, seeing what they saw and catching glimpses of their possible futures - even if only a second or two ahead.

It was enough. Instant communication gave them warning. Time and time again they avoided deadly blows with perfect counters allowing them to continue the business of slaughter.

I became a mad-woman riding a titan, shouting orders and directing bloody mayhem even as manifested red spilled across my back. With attention split across so many, the hidden wing’s complaints were but background noise. Consequences of such extended abuse would happen later. In the moment as conductor of a symphony of carnage it was entirely irrelevant.

One by one we took out their officers as we pounded past their ranks. Once we were in range of their command tents Balus set them all aflame, those fleeing the balefires found no mercy after rushing outside to falsely-perceived safety. Our waiting horde cut them all down as fresh dark clouds spilled into the pitch-black sky.

It was horrific. It was insane. It was glorious.

It was war.

The lopsided fighting continued until I found myself snarling because we had run out of good targets. All that was left were demons and souls who had thrown down weapons in surrender or were running away as fast as their varied limbs could carry them. Fire consumed the enemy camp, their wagons and tents now only so much torched wood and cloth which would likely burn through the night.

As would the many bodies.

I was muttering to myself and it took a moment to realize what I was saying.

“Enough. No more. THAT’S ENOUGH!”

My shout caught even me by surprise, but the order flashed out and to my amazement it was obeyed: killing blows were checked, surrenders and offers of ransom accepted. With a howling cheer spilling from the throats of our victorious crew, that was that.

The battle was over.

I spoke and my voice was raw and parched. “I’m tired, Balus. Put me down.”

A mighty tentacle carefully did just that.

Legs wobbled but held. Even while the continued shouts of victory rang out all around I found myself studying the glowing star across my palm.

There were many connections which I could no longer feel.

Knees gave out as comprehension kicked in and an empty stomach’s acid threatened escape.

Over a third of those who’d sworn themselves to my service weren’t going to sit at any meals with the rest of us ever again. Major Praztus’ knights and foot-soldiers who had also joined the vanguard had lost an even greater percentage, and the Major himself was nowhere to be seen.

He served the Duke and not me, with no mark to bind us I had no idea if he still lived.

Loud flaps of wings came from above, and for a moment I wondered if Nathanael and the fallen had somehow returned. Instead a large object fell from the sky to shatter into boards and beams, wheels and axles.

The Lilim had just dropped an entire carriage, its cabin lay crumpled but intact in the center of the wreckage.

Forcing myself back up I approached the mess as Ruyia landed. Upon her back, Yaria’s slender-but-equally-deadly human-like form wielded a blackened sword matching her leather outfit.

“He in there?” I asked her as she slipped down besides me.

Yaria nodded. “He tried to flee, just like you said he would. He attempted sorcery but we countered. A device from my father was used to knock him senseless. He’ll likely not wake for days.”

I stared past the slits in the helm at the carriage door which was barely hanging on by a single hinge. “Open it.”

She obliged by ripping the door completely free, revealing a velvet-lined interior now damaged beyond repair. Sprawled within with a broken plank plunged through his side was a chubby demon covered in luxurious furs. A platinum locket bearing the seal of his office dangled from his neck.

Vizier Ithx.

Stepping closer, I leaned over him. “So this is the guy who got away. The one who negotiated with Dhalgrix and started this whole damn mess.”

“It’s him.”

I was about to say that we’d better make sure the jerk didn’t die of that wound before we could interrogate him when the demon’s eyes snapped open to reveal pools of solid black.

My blood ran cold.

“Well played, General,” whispered a voice I had hoped to never hear again. “Yet true victory arrives only when the King is captured. The rest are but pawns to be sacrificed.”

Below the expensive blood-smeared cloak came the sound of snapping ribs. Ithx’s pattern twisted as something implanted underneath the mounds of fat flesh also opened, and opened wide. Dark script scrawled across an even darker medium billowed upward incomprehensible and alien, its substance forged of that which should not be nor ever have been. So entirely foreign was the working that there was nothing upon which to grasp, no primal light that could be pulled free to diffuse a structure which hurt to even try to perceive.

There wasn’t time to warn Yaria. I did the only thing I could think of.

Falling onto the body I hugged it tight as a fountain of maddening-yet-crafted chaos surged forth with enough power to infect everyone still standing on the battlefield.

My last thought was that I really needed to stop doing things like this.