Hope's Light (Chapter 1 of 35)
by Erisian
Book 6
Part One
Prologue - Bargain
“Are you certain this is the right path?”
Two figures crept down a narrow underground passageway, shoes slipping across shallow puddles lining the curved concrete floor. Their coats, one jet black and the other a lighter brown, flickered in the weak light offered only by a white crystal held forward by the taller and much darker-skinned man.
“They didn’t provide a map, Callas. I told you the same instructions they told me, and your memory is as perfect as mine. If you think we’ve misapplied the sequence, you should’ve spoken up.”
“Hmm.”
“There: twenty more paces and hang a left at that junction.”
A loud yet distant thud resonated through the tall pipe they walked down, vibrations disturbing dust from its walls. This was followed by another, and then a third.
Pausing to listen, the shorter man ran fingers through hair buzzed to equally short lengths. “They’ve started shelling again. Great.”
“You said this was neutral territory.”
“More like no-demon’s-land. None of the factions have been able to take permanent hold of this part of the city. Maybe one of them is trying again.”
“This is not reassuring, Nicolas.”
“Hey - you came to me, remember? It’s not like I wanted to be down here.”
“It could be a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap! We’re poking around under the biggest city in Hell! And I bet the fighting pits are right outside these waterways.”
“And this contact of yours indeed has means to provide what I require?”
“Yeah, he’s got several patsies up top he can get messages to.”
“You are certain.”
“I’m sure. I used to be one of them. From what I understand, the jerk’s just holing up for now - likely waiting to see which way the fire-winds blow before declaring any allegiances. Let’s get a move on, or we’re gonna be late.”
The pair proceeded on, wading through the artificial streams and wending their way through the maze of concrete pipes and maintenance passages until reaching a wider juncture where multiple water sources converged below the metal grating currently upholding their feet.
From the absolute darkness ahead a rasping voice spoke.
“That’s far enough.”
“Pruflas, that you?”
The voice gave a sound like coughing, but both recognized it as laughter. “It is I, in the flesh just as you are, Nick Wright…or shall I call you Barakiel?”
“Whatever floats your boat.” Nick shrugged, a hand slipping into one of his coat’s many pockets.
“And your companion, is this truly he who the overlords of Hell so fear? The mighty Butcher of the Fallen who piled their corpses so high as to make even Michael and the Throne tremble?”
The small crystal held by dark-skinned fingers glowed brighter. “That is neither my name nor title. Yet I have been called such by the enemies of the Light.”
From the surrounding darkness pushing against that light a different voice slithered, as if coming from all the sides of the room. “The Light which has abandoned you, Prince Camael. Twice.”
It all happened within the smallest fraction of a second.
A sharpened shaft of gleaming marble launched at incredible speed from a corner, the shockwave of its hypersonic travel trailing behind as a tunnel through the air. Batting the missile aside with a palm, the one called Camael flared with fire as crimson wings stretched from his back while gold-lined obsidian armor including helm shimmered into existence in place of coat and trousers. Simultaneously, chains burst upward from the waters below his feet, tossing aside metal grates as they punched through, their links wrapping around the manifested angel’s forearms. Forearms that had remained bare - a gap in the otherwise complete armored ensemble.
And the links were coated with a blue ice now melting against the unprotected skin.
Numbness spread from that contact to swallow perception. Pain immediately flared from two sources: the first intensely ripping across a wing, and the second through an eye as a golden dagger darted between the slit of the helm to rip away vision already struggling to recover. As Camael’s knee fell to clank against a grate, a two-handed sword - billowing with the same fire as the wings - appeared in his hand.
A hand struggling to find the strength to rise.
“Asmodeus! Enough!” shouted Barakiel, for the features of Nicolas Wright had shifted to ones more tan and younger yet simultaneously much older.
And in his hands were held both a dark blade and a single fire-spewing wing the color of freshly spilled blood.
Like a translucent tarp sliced in twain, the air ripped to reveal the one holding the gold dagger: an angel whose white wings contained no feathers but solid leather as of a brightly painted bat. With hair a brilliant shade of silver held in check by a ribbon of gold, features of incredible beauty turned to focus on Barakiel - thereby revealing an eye socket scorched free of its orb by ancient flame and a trail of burnt and twisted flesh covering that side’s cheek.
“Enough?!” The snarl across a pale mouth flattened. “Yes, enough. Though artistic temptation does present itself, does it not?”
Moving between them, Barakiel held out the collection of long feathers whose flames slowly dimmed like incense charcoal about to go out. “We agreed on a single wing only, that’s all!”
Asmodeus went still, a marble statue forever holding forth offered dagger. “An eye taken, a debt owed one artiste to another. The wing…ahh the wing. That is but payment for this opportunity, a token which may provide for far more in the future. But here and now is your chance, Grigori. By the collective agreement am I bound against directly slaying another Bene-Elohim, but you…you’ve taken no such oath. Not yet! You may achieve your revenge in full - or have you forgotten what you too are owed?!”
Tossing the wing of fire-blooded feathers at Asmodeus’s feet, a sphere of lightning crackled with thunderous arrival within Barakiel’s palm. “I know well what the Butcher stole from me and my family! Now pick up what was agreed and fulfill your part of this bargain!”
“So be it. Though I will admit disappointment: this could have been your masterpiece, your DaVinci or Bach, but alas the inspiring muse rests not upon your shoulders. Pity.” The golden dagger shifted to point at the dimming crimson feathers, willing them to lift into eager fingers. Stepping back into shadows, Asmodeus barked his command. “Pruflas! Give the Grigori his oh-so-searched-for prize. A bargain made, a bargain kept.”
From behind, Camael pushed slowly upwards, chains clinking while blood flowed from below the helm and also across an armored back now carrying but one unmatched wing. With a groan he breathed, “What have you done?”
With attention locked towards the fallen angel slipping from view, the grey of Barakiel’s irises hardened unto steel. “I made a deal.”
Out of the darkness came the sound of choking, or more precisely the wet hacks and gurgles of a great beast vomiting a formerly consumed and rather large meal.
With skin resuming its former pallor, Nick moved forward, his glowing lance pushing against the dark. From the shadows at his feet emerged a figure curled wetly upon the metal grating. “Catherine!”
The young woman, blonde hair and green velvet robe slick with demonic gastric juices, gagged. “Fuck, the smell…”
“It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.” With features returned to his most recent incarnation, Nick shook the lance which collapsed to an electric orb instead and knelt beside her. “Cathy - do you remember me?”
Silver-blue irises blinked and stared up. “Nick?”
Relief flooded him. Letting go of the orb so it hovered in the air, he reached out to help her rise. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“You…you came for me.”
Nodding, he took her hand and lifted the woman to her feet. “C’mon, we need to get out of here - I’ll explain everything. But later. You’re safe now, you’re free.”
“Free? We’re in Hell.” She staggered, leaning a shoulder into his chest for support before crying, “How can that ever be free?!”
Concealed by her palm, a small soul-forged knife plunged between two of his ribs.
The blight-filled weapon ripped strength from his legs, and blinking astonishment he toppled more than collapsed.
Hateful satisfaction curled edges of darkly painted lips. “For more years than I can count have I cursed the day we met - and now, by this blade, I curse you direct!!”
From the ground he stared up in pain-filled confusion. “But…I came…to save you…”
She spat upon the wet redness pooling through his shirt and snorted - a quick and bitter sound. “Centuries late! And face it, you arrogant bastard, you’re not here to save me - you’re here to assuage a pathetic conscience! May you forever rot with it!!”
Lashing out, her boot caught his face. She then grimaced from an agony of her own as a demonic sigil re-carved itself across the side of her neck, just over the jugular. Once complete the burning faded into a smoldering glow, and resolute she marched back into the shadows to rejoin her demonic master.
The angelic lord to whom that demon himself bent knee laughed from the many shadows. “As agreed, Grigori. And such a soul, I applaud you! Vengeance, betrayal, what wondrous tapestries of color and verve do they weave! Marvelous!”
Groaning, Nick clutched at his side trying to staunch the outpouring of blood seeping past desperate and tattooed palms.
“Duke Pruflas!” Asmodeus called out again. “One last item before we depart: open these pipes to the pit. Me and mine may not be allowed to finish off this tragic pair - but the unbonded hordes outside labor under no such restriction. Let the starved demon-spawn offer our warrior brothers fresh canvas upon which to splatter the magnificence of vitae - be it their foes or their own!”
The thundering grind of metal-on-metal resounded across the chamber, coming from multiple directions even as the surrounding darkness lost its sense of malevolent presence, leaving the two wounded angels behind.
With a grunt, Camael’s wrist pulled taut a chain and sword’s fire cut across ice and metal to send both clattering to the ground. Maintaining hard-fought focus, he swung the sword about to free the other arm, and with one foot slowly after the other he came to stand over the prone form of the one who had guided him here.
“Nicolas.”
Nick blinked through the shredding pain and gaped at the half-blinded angel above him. “Those chains, the ice from Beliel’s Tears, how are you even upright?!”
“You forget. My strength lies not in rage-filled memories of what is done and gone, but solely in the glorious future found within her blessed Light.” From the various conduits and pipes came echoes of raw howling: primal and hungry. “Can you fight?”
“Ha, doubt I can even stand. Kill me or leave me behind - it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
Squatting first, the armored angel lifted the fallen, arm wrapped around to hold him by an armpit. “I will do neither.”
“After what I just did?!” Astonishment filled Nick’s voice yet again, even as awareness wavered. “Good grief, Callas. Why save me?! Just let me die!” The last was but a pained whisper as his face, pale with agony, fell slack as darkness finally covered all awareness.
Crimson flame flared across the slit of the battle angel’s helm, the heat cauterizing the slash which had cut through. With a broken angel held by one arm and burning sword gripped in the other, Camael prepared to face the onslaught to come.
But before the hordes of howling demons scampering down the passageway arrived, he spoke - though his companion no longer listened.
“Because should I not, the weight of her additional sorrow would be more than I could bear.”
Chapter 1 - Search
The book is heavier than it appears. Even accounting for the immaculately gilded leather and width of the golden-thread-lined spine, the weight is far more than gravity’s pull upon the elegantly bound manuscript.
For laying heaviest in my grasp is the blood shed by the countless souls and spirits who both had rallied to my war banner and also fought against it. Alongside precious pools spilled by those beloved through whose ultimate sacrifice I now held the collected wisdom of the Holy Angel Raziel - he who embodies the Secrets of the Most High. And in exhausted ears ring incessant bells of repeated warnings and witnessed folly on how such Secrets brought not peace but terrible madness.
I had flown past the locked Gate of Elohim, dove to the furthest depths of the Bounded Realms, all to recover these very pages. And here they lay: the answers to questions unfathomable - yet trembling fingers hesitate, unsure if they dare lift the imposing cover.
Except in tear-streaked remembrance of those recently lost, and for all those hoping to transcend such inevitable fates, there can be no other choice.
The spine creaks as it opens, swirling angelic script within immediately taking firm hold of all perception to spell out a burning message in letters of purest blue fire - a message written but also heard as if from echoes coming from near and far.
“That which is hidden, that which is profound, that which is sacred and held in mystery from the unready, therein encompasses my domain. Quester of secrets, you who stand between Order and Chaos, state that which you seek.”
So many questions swirl past, a cavalcade of mysteries external and internal, each enticing and deadly. Desires, however, too easily lead one astray. And so, taking the hint so kindly offered, I declare an alternate reply:
“Show not of what I wish to know, oh Sepher Raziel. Show only that which my spirit needs. Reveal the knowledge leading only to the fulfillment of my Name.”
Words of azure flame flicker and shift, and the voice reverberates in synchronicity as all becomes bright - indeed, brighter than anything even I have ever witnessed.
“Then, Archangel and Archon Amariel, we start at the Beginning.”
Dis, the largest city and realm in all of Hell. It had only been an hour since losing sight of the falling (and likely fireproof) book as it streaked through the surrounding sulfuric flames covering the vast city’s sky, and things were proceeding much as one would expect upon arrival to the banished realms of the damned. The specific landmark I had thought safest to approach first sat abandoned and ransacked, and its elevators weren’t working.
Of course.
Using a hand with skin glowing with only as much light as I dared, we crept our way down a black-walled staircase - running shoes somehow still managing to clank against metal steps while my companion’s four dark paws glided perfectly silent one after the other. He paused at a turn, sleek black tail flicking side to side as the panther’s nose scanned the next set of stairs and beyond for technomagical traps. We’d dealt with a few already on our way in.
As quiet as he was, within my mind his voice rang loud and clear.
“Are you sure this is wise, my Queen? The warding of this place thickens across the floors below.”
Grunting, I kept going while replying to Tsáyidiel out loud. “Yeah, I noticed that when I was here before. Some serious blockage to extrasensory perceptions. Which,” I said, dimming the light on the fingers as they reached for the push-bar across this floor’s door, “means there could be folks holed up somewhere.”
“And you believe they would be friendly?”
“Believe? Nah. Hope? Sure. If they’re medical staff then they could be honor bound to treat this as my follow-up visit. They certainly got paid enough for one. It’s worth a shot.”
The panther snorted, but offered no additional commentary. We slipped out to another dark-walled corridor, lit only by flickering and unreliable emergency lighting wherever wiring hadn’t been stripped free by looters. I was pretty sure he thought going in here was stupid, but honestly I didn’t have any other bright ideas. I’d only been to this realm briefly, and had visited all of two locations: this hospital where I’d woken after being blown up on a distant battlefield, and the over-armored military fortress which hung high above within a forcefield pushing aside the flames filling the sky.
Showing up at the latter would only cause political headaches if not an outright fight, so here we were.
The hospital though was a dusty mess, anything of value had been ripped clear - leaving station desks covered only by scattered folders and the inevitable sticky notes with various billing codes and instructions for countless forms all scribbled in hasty demonic script. The computers I remembered were gone, as were the phones.
When it came to looting, demons certainly followed the creed of “Waste not, want not”.
The floor we found ourselves on was comprised of administrator offices, at least as far as I could tell. Which was a nice break from having to creep past the wreckage of patient rooms filled with empty beds and triggered memories. Closed doors down the hall each were stenciled with appropriately bureaucratic overblown titles such as “Third Sector Manager Class II Of Radiological Safety Enforcement Oversight And Maintenance” or “Fifth Executive Assistant to the Director of Non-contaminated Bodily Waste Removal, Classification, and Distribution.”
There were a lot of offices.
After wandering the maze for the better part of an hour I groaned as we exited yet another useless corridor. “This is pointless! There’s no one here. We may as well go land on a random building - when the denizens naturally attack we could beat some intel out of them.”
Tsáyidiel paused as nose and long whiskers twitched. “Wait. A soul has been through here. Follow.” He then bounded down the hallway, raven-black coloring blending with the dark stone walls. Almost but not quite perfectly, as the walls did not share the lovely specular shine of the fur.
Hurrying after, senses stretched outward and yep, he was right. Several hallways over a spark glimmered through the suppression enchantments smothering everything.
The door at the back of a dead-end hallway was kicked in, the label on the cheap wood proudly displaying its purpose: “Office of Compartmentalization and Storage of Records Which Do Not Exist.”
Good grief. Seriously?
Pushing the door further open, I took a look inside. Row after row of metal filing cabinets from floor to chest height filled a shadowed space a good fifteen feet by twenty. Unfortunately the hinges squeaked in protest of being further disturbed (earning a disapproving glare from Tsáyidiel for my totally failing yet another stealth skill check), and a man’s voice called out from deeper behind the cabinets.
“Hello?! Kelly, is that you??”
“Uh, nope!” I said cheerily. “But hi there.”
There was a loud thump from large volumes of folders being dropped, and at the back of the room the flicker of a flashlight illuminated the ceiling for a brief moment. “Who are you?! Stay back! I’ve got a gun!”
The panther crouched, tail flicking with a prepared pounce, but I mentally waved him off. “Don’t attack anything without my say so first.”
A pair of emeralds peered upwards. “As you wish, my Queen.”
Stepping into the room, I started talking. “Hey now, we’re not looking for any trouble. If anything we’re looking for help!”
A head peeked up over a cabinet, scraggly mess of brown hair pulled into a ponytail. Dark wild eyes took in my casual running attire of blue shorts and loose white t-shirt, and blinked in confusion. “Are you security?” One hand aimed a small flashlight in my direction as he stood up more, while the other held an energy pistol - think of a medium-sized handgun but with the barrel being more like a bloated pickle, strange external contours included. Unlike my ‘I’m out for a morning jog’ apparel, he wore a grimy beige robe which had certainly seen better days: fraying ends of the sleeves and several rips across the chest cried out for some serious needlework repair.
“Me? Not hardly. Just a former patient. How about you?” Edging closer, it was clear the guy had pulled a ton of files from various cabinets, spilling them across the cheap uniform carpet. “Guessing you’re looking for something too.”
Hysteria filled his voice and face, and the flashlight lanced across the scattered papers. “The proof! It’s not here!”
“The proof? Of what?”
“Our coming redemption!” Dropping out of sight again, the light rolled as another drawer was hurriedly yanked open.
I froze in place, certain suspicions disturbing thoughts. Could he…? No, that was ridiculous.
Reaching his row and about to ask him another question, the static squawk of a radio from inside a satchel laying on the floor cut me off.
“Citadel forces! Pierre! Get out! Get-” A burst of static and it went quiet. The echo of a blaster shot followed behind, coming from somewhere else on this floor.
“Kelly!” The guy stared at the satchel and then at me, horror dawning. “Oh no.”
Tsáyidiel was instantly in the shadows and out the door. “Armored soldiers approaching. Demonic enchantments have them cloaked. Shall I-”
“Dammit, no! Not unless I signal!”
On knees, the man held the gun in his lap. With a shudder, he exhaled and a terrible resignation filled his eyes.
“Pierre!” I said, and not without a sense of urgency as I ducked beside him, muted senses finally registered the many unholy sparks converging on this room. “Maybe there’s another way out of here?”
Looking up, he had this sad, sad smile. But behind it lay something else.
“Your hair, it’s a sign,” he said, oddly calm while fondling the gun. “Such a brilliant crimson kissed by gold. Just like how he described hers to be. Worry not. For in the end - the star shines for us all.”
The weapon went off, painting cabinets with a different red entirely. With most of the chest abruptly missing, Pierre’s eyes went dull and what was left of him slumped forward.
When finally allowing myself to stand up, the soft bluish-white glow of the stone of Pierre’s soul pulsed wetly between my fingers.
Soldiers clad in the best body armor the blend of demonic science and magic could muster had already spread out along the walls. Their weapons hummed with barely constrained power, as the various lights mounted to shoulders (or other appendages) swiveled brightly about the room.
All points converged on my position.
At the doorway stood a much shorter figure than the others, one with two small bat-like wings protruding from the back and two skinny clawed feet sticking out from below the armored torso. The figure also carried something with a long nasty barrel, but in distinction from the others the devil wasn’t wearing a helmet.
“Freeze!” he shouted in a voice used to command. “Hold it right there!”
Turning to face him, I let out a long and tired sigh. “Hello, Krux. Fancy meeting you here.”
Recognition didn’t take long. “You!!”
Unlike when last he’d pointed a blaster at me - in this very hospital, no less - this time there was no hesitation.
He opened fire, and the entire squad immediately followed his example.
And we're off once again! New chapters to be posted every Monday and Friday! Thanks for reading...and also for commenting!
- Erisian
