Light And Shadow (Part 1 of 8)

by Erisian

Chapter 1 - Duty

 

The most annoying thing about hunting demons is the smell. The one in front of me naturally yielded no exception.

Green ichor of a most aromatic sort spurted generously from the stumps of the several tentacles I’d just managed to shorten, the foul mess splattering the walls of ice and rock around us as well as my best (and only) cloak. The vapors assaulting my sanity were, shall we say, worse than a raw sewage overflow from a center for the treatment of Crohn’s disease. FEMA would have posted signs declaring the bespoiled canyon a superfund site before themselves evacuating in a bureaucratic rush.

Yeah, it was that bad.

Frankly, if it wasn’t for my goggles the putridness would have driven me blind simply out of synesthesia-driven sympathy.

The beast from which this most amazing stench emanated tilted its heads back and roared, likely feeling a tad upset about the perforations inflicted upon its limbs. By upset, of course, I mean angry. And by angry I mean the insane rage of a creature standing taller than a house who looked like a massive octopus had gotten a smaller one forcibly fused into its upper torso. Toss some llama-spliced DNA in for good measure to gain the thick grey fur and tendency to spit and you’d possibly get something close to the abomination carving deep ruts into the ground with its flailing arms. Not to mention each protruding head had just a single eyeball, each glaring at me from above vertically tilted mouths shrieking with many rows of jagged teeth and spreading halitosis somehow even more pungent than the blood.

The strips of fabric trying to keep my face warm did little to help as I gagged and stumbled backwards. I had to plant the butt of my makeshift spear into the dirt just to regain some balance.

From quite a few feet behind came a grunt of disapproval. “Stop dilly-dallying. Finish it.” As if to emphasize her command a bowstring twanged, sending an arrow wetly into one of the creature’s eyes with a sound not unlike a knife plunging into rotting watermelon.

Finish it? Easily said by someone staying at a safe and conveniently upwind distance from all the freakishly fast tentacles oozing out its midsection. She hadn’t even bothered to charge the arrows with her usual extra mojo which likely could have splattered this thing’s brain with the shot.

Bitch.

This would have been a lot easier to handle if she hadn’t insisted on partnering with me today.

Peering upward at the frothing demon I flipped the spear back into a fighting stance. Potential paths through the many fur-clad yet leathery whips coalesced into streamers in my mind as I circled to one side, concentration focused on pruning the search tree of the possible futures I didn’t particularly like. Such as the ones where I’d get crushed, beaten, or devoured. Definitely didn’t want those.

Although the few where Captain Bitchface got eaten instead were admittedly tempting.

Sprinting forward with an Amazonian bellow of my own I bounded off a lower limb’s trunk and pulled the bladed staff close so I’d spin like a rifle round through the leap. The demon’s counterattack snapped through the air where I’d just been, missing by mere inches. By holding the spear tightly in one fist I freed the other arm to reach out and ensnare a bunch of the sucker-covered tentacles, trapping them against my side between armpit and elbow. But before the spin caused me to become all entangled like a ball of squidly twine, I passed through the gap between the two heads and used the pull from the tentacles to snap myself around and land squarely behind one of the heads. Its own limbs gave me the leverage to stay planted.

The remaining eye found the only view of its pesky attacker obstructed by its own spare noggin. The beast roared in confusion, charging into a canyon wall to try and dislodge the pest which stubbornly clung on and kept stabbing into the fleshy seam between the two necks.

Holding firm at my newfound perch, the impact into the sharp icy crags of the wall did a lot more damage to it than to me. The machete-sized blade at the end of the staff finally found an artery, the resulting geyser of goop spraying everywhere as the demon thrashed about in a final choreography of death.

Except I wasn’t finished yet.

As the beast collapsed into its own pool of effluence I snarled and dug the weapon deeper into its flesh. Finding what I was looking for I dropped the spear clear of the body before plunging a hand into its wet innards. My arm almost wasn’t long enough but I got them all out. Nine of them.

They looked like rocks, the largest no bigger than a baseball, each glowing with a soft whitish-blue. Tenderly I wiped them clean with the corner of my cloak before lifting the scruffy fabric to form a sling with which to carry them. Holding the makeshift bundle close, I slid down the demon’s side to face the other more humanoid one standing with an impatient scowl across her scaly face.

Temptation rose again as we regarded each other and I slowly knelt to pick up the spear with one hand.

Captain Erglyk, leaning against her tall crystal longbow, broke the tension with a shake of the curved horns protruding from her temples. Tall and built like a truck she made a formidable impression. Especially in a scene illuminated only by the soft glow of the crystals set across her belt, the dim light reflected only by patches of the pale ice creeping its way through the jagged stone of the terrain. A rune-encrusted and feathered cuirass of dark iron highlighted by copper covered her chest, but many muscles bunched along the thick arms. The matching armored skirt revealed solid tree-trunk-like legs as well.

She grunted while examining the corpse. “You made a right mess of its pelt. Though we ought to be able to salvage enough given the size. That hide is tough enough to deflect arrows, should be useful as armor.”

“Great.” I went to walk past but her talons closed on a shoulder.

“Be sure to turn those in at the outpost.”

Gripping the spear tighter, I pulled away and kept walking. “I know the rules.”

“Jordan.” Her voice snapped my name, making it a command.

I stopped but didn’t look back.

She growled. “We’re going to have words later, girl.”

“Fine. Shall I go straight to your office and smear some of these lovely newfound stains across all your furniture while breathlessly awaiting your return?”

She snorted. “Ha! You would too. No. Get cleaned up. You earned a portion of this kill’s flesh for your meal but as you’d refuse I’ll take your share for myself.”

“Knock yourself out. Am I dismissed, Captain?”

“Aye. Send Cookie along with his knives to dress this mess. I’ll guard it from any would-be scavengers.”

Grunting an acknowledgment, I continued on under the starless black sky, the stones clutched tightly to my chest. They glowed with the last embers of the lost souls stuck within. I wanted to weep over them but what good would that do? Who knew how many eons they’d been trapped inside that demon, it slowly leaching every last drop of energy from their once shining and divine sparks.

They were long past having any awareness yet all the same I felt their pull. Unfocused sadness, distress, and abandonment to terror was all that remained within their cores.

Even if I could again spread blazing wings and reach out to them, what could I truly offer? Here in this place of darkness the shine within my own spirit had also paled, the light beyond unreachable. I too was stuck here in Hell amongst the damned. Restoring such souls to consciousness wouldn’t change a thing, it would only alter the form of their servitude. Would they even forgive being returned to such a fate?

All the same, I cradled them in my arms for the long walk back to the outpost.

Despite the intense cold slowly crystallizing all the grime into frost from head to toe and the ever-persistent pain throbbing across my back, I didn’t hurry.

 

~o~O~o~

 

A set of caves wound their way under a large hill in an otherwise flat region and had been turned into one of the remotest outposts. The main (and as far as I knew only) entrance consisted of a formidable metal gate plastered with protective sigils, and it would slide aside in a way reminiscent of a certain movie’s rebel base on a rather snowy planet. The gate was guarded by a hulking demon who I called ‘Biff’ since his true name was rather unpronounceable without shoving a cheese-grater down your throat. There were a few other guards stationed at the post - some demon, some human - but Biff lived in the shack right outside like our very own guard dog. One with more teeth than a doberman but about the same intelligence.

“Yo Biff,” I said as he stepped out of the small building made out of grey slabs piled one upon the other. I had to crane my head to look at the guy, the top of his spiky head was at least twelve feet up.

“Mark,” he grunted past numerous fangs.

“How many times I gotta say it, the name’s Jordan. Now let me in.”

Four arms each ending in claws about a foot long each crossed a hairless but broadly muscled chest. Biff’s only nod to decency was the leathery kilt hanging down from under the large beer gut. The thought of what lurked under that kilt always made me cautious, although Biff had never tried anything inappropriate.

He was unlike most of the demons I’d dealt with in that regard.

“Mark,” he insisted again.

“Dammit, my hands are full. It’s me. With that big a nose I bet you can smell the truth of that, current ichor not withstanding.”

“Maybe is you. Maybe is not. Mark.” He leaned closer, massive nostrils flaring wide to blow clouds of foul mist right into my face.

I groaned, shifting the spear to lean against a shoulder before using teeth to tug the glove free from my right hand. Holding the back of a fist up to his face the middle finger must have stayed extended due to the cold. “Havvy?” I asked with glove still dangling past my chin.

He peered at the squiggly collection of circles and lines seared into the skin, and one of his own beefy meathooks reached out to hover over it.

Sparks flew between the matching sigil on his palm to the one they’d branded me with.

“Is you.” He nodded then stepped back to bellow at the top of his lungs, “OPEN GATE!”

The thundering of tons of metal scraping over rock shook the ground while I tried unsuccessfully to get the glove back on. When the gap was wide enough I gave up, shoving the glove into my belt and heading into the dimly lit and rather wide cavern that lay behind.

Sometimes the fallen souls we Reapers brought in would freak out at this point as if just going into the cave triggered the full realization of the dismal scope of their newfound reality. Quite a few would make a run for it back outside to the empty frozen wasteland. There really wasn’t anywhere else to go though. Out there was just miles and miles of the same blood red stone, scattered undrinkable ice, and perpetual darkness.

Well that and the occasional mindless and hungry ancient demon.

Next stop for me down a narrow corridor was the Vault. This was where all soul orbs were kept until shipped by train to the Hole and thus into the clutches of the local feudal demon lord whom we all served. A set of train tracks found their end on the back side of the outpost’s hill, and why they hadn’t laid the rails such that it came to the front was something I had often wondered. The cyclically arriving train - powered by coal-driven steam - was the lifeline for food and supplies to all the outposts out here and ours was its last stop. As for the vault, it was run by a short goblin-like demon by the name of, and I’m not making this up, Yipe.

Maybe he took the name because it was a natural reaction for a soul to shriek when first seeing his six ears and five eyes.

Good thing he didn’t need glasses, right? His green skin was still smooth and honestly he looked to be in his teens, though I’d been told he’d served here for ages. He’d apparently been assigned to this post before even the Captain ended up here.

He acknowledged me with a nod as I walked into the alcove that held the huge nineteen-fifties’ style bank safe behind his desk, combination wheel and all. It was heavily warded such that my senses couldn’t penetrate to the content. Not that I’d tried all that hard. You know, in case a ward would detect the scan and I’d then be stuck in an interrogation cave answering all kinds of unpleasant questions.

Spotting my awkward bundle Yipe asked, “How went today’s hunt?”

“Got nine.” Walking up to the desk, I carefully deposited the orbs, making sure they wouldn’t roll off the moment I let go.

“Mmm,” he said. “A good haul. Did their owners put up a good fight?” Already his greedy little hands were holding up an orb for closer examination.

“No. It didn’t.”

He paused, the larger eye in the center of the rest moving independently to regard me. “All nine from a single target?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive.”

I didn’t respond to the compliment while Yipe casually evaluated the worth of each soul according to its feel and brightness. I’d caught him looking at me in the same way too many times to ever be comfortable in his presence.

Reaching into a drawer behind the desk, he pulled out a stack of ten tarnished metal disks each about the size of a quarter and placed them on the counter between us. Everyone called the coinage denarii after the ones that had been used in Rome, but I’d been told they’d once had an even older name.

And while they weren’t actually pieces of silver they sure as heck felt like it.

Scooping up the coins I left without saying goodbye. Not that Yipe cared.

Trying not to think about it I made my way to fulfill the Captain’s other command. Walking down tunnels lit only by the low blue shine of an occasional crystal sconce I approached the kitchens door. It even had those small rectangular windows that are always there in movies and tv shows for the entrances to restaurant kitchens.

Cookie stepped out of the wide doorway and stopped me from going any further. “Non, ma cherie. You shall not be warmed by my ovens and drip melting goo across my freshly scrubbed floor.” Being almost a foot shorter than me, the slender little guy looked up from the edge marking the limit of his kitchen’s domain. His sparse excuse for a mustache lurked suspiciously over a wide and friendly grin, and his grey apron was slick with cooking grease stains. “Shoo! To the showers with you, dear lady!”

For a guy who in his mortal life had poisoned an entire court of medieval nobles, Cookie was alright. He also had a rare talent of being able to squeeze a modicum of flavor out of the thinnest of ingredients. “I’m headed there next,” I told him. “But the Captain is waiting for you about an hour’s walk to the West. Bring your skinning knives.”

“Ah, le hunt was a success! Excellence. Our stores are running low on meat.”

I grimaced. “How you can stomach that crap, I have no idea.”

Cookie shrugged. “Not all of us deal with starvation as easily as you, ma cherie. Being already dead we cannot die of it, but why suffer needlessly, neh?” He looked past my shoulder. “And where is Twitch? Did he also find success alongside the Duchess’ newly arrived spawn?”

“No clue. The Captain sent them after the smaller signal further out but I’m sure they’re fine. Twitch can handle himself.”

“Is odd to have such a strong pair of invaders from the Spires.” He frowned. “The fungus-munching demons lurking in those lava-warmed caves know better than to cross the plains.”

“Yeah well, this one didn’t seem all that smart. Big but dumb.”

Fingers twirled one end of the mustache. “How big?”

“You’ll want one of the larger carts. And harness two graxh to pull it, maybe three. Especially if the Captain deems the other target edible too.”

“Mmm, oui. I shall set out at once. Now please, either get yourself bathed or allow me to sprinkle my special seasonings over you to counteract the pungent aromas.”

It was my turn to grin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“It is unkind to tease a lost soul! For how could I not dream of the day when I discover the perfect combination of herbs and sauces by which you shall melt lovingly into my embrace?” He waved me off with a quick flip of a hand. “Away with you, go!”

Laughing in spite of myself, I made my way through the tunnel labyrinth to arrive at my quarters and its broad double doors. It had taken a considerable bite out of my earnings to get those custom installed. Most Reapers just hung cloth across the entrances to their rooms and called it good, but I valued privacy and the solid felwood planks were well worth it.

They also made a much better anchor for wards to keep undesirable others out.

Since my glove was already off I simply placed a hand into the swirling lines of power running across the wood. As the sigils aligned with the patterns of my essence a loud click could be heard and the doors swung open to reveal a simple chamber carved out of the same red rock as the rest of the base. A blanket covered the pallet of stone extending from the wall which served as a bed, and as fancy as that was the real prize of the room was the six foot square excavation in the corner that sank a good four feet into the floor.

This was the result of my prized privacy and sole indulgence. Other Reapers saved their coin for trips to the towns on the flip side of the Rock (one of the terms used to describe this smaller realm of Hell we were stuck on) or spent them on drugs, prostitutes, or whatever other pleasures the gypsy-like Lilim traders had to offer in their regular visits to the outpost. Vance, the leader of the local Lilim, had especially tried to lure me and my money away, even going so far as offering me a job.

I think he felt my refusal to join them was a professional challenge to overcome. But hey, at least he’d always been polite.

Instead I had saved up my coins to spend a small fortune getting the lumber delivered. Then I’d worked long hours warding the doors and the surrounding stones of the room to keep all prying eyes out as well as hiding any echoes of the magic I worked within. In here I was free to secretly tap into a deep line of pressure running through the center of the Rock and coax that force upwards, melting trapped ice on the way and sending hot steamy water to fill the small pool through side holes hallowed out of the stone only to drain down the larger hole at the bottom when I was done.

Sure it smelled a little weird and wasn’t anything someone would want to drink, but with the addition of some bath salts and flowery oils to mask the scent it was downright cozy.

Alright, I’ll admit it. It was also rather feminine. But I’d arrived with the same womanly body as I’d discovered myself having after the energy overload in a certain sorcerer’s storage unit flipped my ‘Y’s to ‘X’s. While the cold-weather gear kept everything literally under wraps and prevented anyone from seeing exactly what I looked like, there was no mistaking my voice. As a result I’d had to go out of my way to be perceived as a powerful bitch not worth hitting on. This had included a few broken elbows and a number of cheap shots to sensitive male anatomies. Plus one sleep-time unexpected encounter which I’d rather not talk about.

Basically, if you thought drunken frat boys could be jerks, demons made guys like them seem like true gentlemen and paragons of virtue. And having been offered unwelcome glimpses of the male ‘equipment’ some demons possessed, the idea of being taken by force by any of them was full-stop terrifying.

Stripping out of the many layers of cloth (woven from the hairs of a creature I’d only heard about but never personally seen) I left the demonic-blood soaked pile on the floor and stepped into what may have been the only jacuzzi on the dark side of the Rock.

After hiking through sub-zero temperatures, the initial shock from the heat was painfully sharp yet oh so welcome. I slid deeper into the water, letting spell-activated water-jets massage at some seriously sore muscles.

Picking up loofah and soap (okay, Vance had managed to sell me some bath supplies, so what), I got busy stripping all traces of goop from my skin. This included using a knife to shave my scalp which I’d been keeping free of the reddish-gold that kept sprouting up like spring weeds.

Whenever staring in the small hand-mirror to scrape the latest fuzz off my dome thoughts inevitably would run towards my friend Jenna. We would have been bald sisters together if she wasn’t stuck an eternity away. The poor girl would always lose her hair whenever using her power that turned skin to armored stone. While originally her stone covering had been this greyish rock, a power overload had transformed it to a rather beautiful and shiny obsidian. But that hadn’t changed her need to wear a wig. She would have totally kicked me for daring to shave my own locks and launched into a stern lecture about not appreciating what one had.

What I would have given to have her yelling at me again.

Problem was, when you’re an angel trying to hide out in Hell having waves of distinctively bright hair bouncing past one’s shoulders was way too risky. Especially when also considering the other dangers of being seen as pretty already mentioned. The goggles at least covered my eyes and any occasional flares of light they might emit - not that they’d been very bright since I’d arrived.

There had been video of me fighting in the skies over Syria plus whatever may have been captured by those tourists in Egypt. There was a possibility those images could have been transmitted to interested parties here in Hell. For all I knew Nick Wright - the demonologist who’d summoned the big nasty that almost toppled the Djoser pyramid - could well have put the word out down here for large nasties to keep an eye out for a young, attractive, and newly-arrived red-head.

Maybe to try to help, but maybe not. We hadn’t exactly left things on good terms.

Trying not to think about our last battle and how badly I had failed, I floated amidst the bubbles. Heat and water were the only things I’d found that could soothe the constant shooting pains from a wing stubbornly refusing to manifest. Even after all this time the wound inflicted by Gwydion’s evil sword hadn’t healed. I may have kicked his ass back to the astral before blowing myself all the way to Hell, but the cut from his cursed blade still festered where it couldn’t be tended to.

How exactly does one heal the insubstantial?

The burning in the phantom wing offered no solutions so I did my best to ignore it and enjoy my private spa.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Eventually I forced myself out in order to use the tub for my laundry, washing away the stains covering my robe, cloak, and even the bands of cloth I used as an improvised bra to keep certain things from bouncing around too much in combat. This required applying expensive cleanser and elbow grease in equal measure. With that done I cheated and repeated a bit of magic to get it all to dry instantly, a trick that I’d seen on my first day at Whateley Academy. A kindly girl had used magic to pull the soaking rain off this noobish and rather damp student who’d been sploshing about like an idiot.

Dang, that day seemed so very long ago.

As if on cue to remind of the differences of then versus now, a jerk pounded on my door. “Mortal! Captain Erglyk says to locate your ass to the briefing room!”

That was Charles, the youngest son of the Duchess Ruchinox. The Duchess was the current wife of Duke Valgor the Magnificant, the demon who was technically my lord and master. The Duke had of course never visited our outpost which lay on the outer edge of his domain here on the eternal night side of the Rock. This was about as far away from all the comforts his position could offer him as was possible.

“I’m coming!” I shouted, finishing the final part of my outfit - wrapping cloth over the black and gold bracers on my forearms. When Twitch had found me in the crater which my arrival had carved into the ground, I’d been naked for all but these. They were something else I didn’t want others getting a good look at in case they were recognized for what they were: part of the armor of a particularly bad-ass angel named Camael. He’d slaughtered mountains worth of rebel angels and demons alike during the unpleasantness at the start of everything - I could only imagine the reaction anything connected to him would get down here. Camael’s incarnate, Callas Soren, had gifted the bracers to me before I’d known what they were. Despite the protections on my room there was no way I’d ever let these out of my sight which is why I wore them all the time. Even taking them off for a bath felt risky. “Gimme a damn minute.”

Charles - whose given name was ‘Xargglxesh’ (as opposed to his True Name which likely only his mother knew) - pounded on the wood again. “You will obey immediately! Or you will pay the price for such insolence!”

Throwing the doors open I stepped directly past the jerk’s personal boundaries and got into his face, my goggles inches from the slits which formed his eyes. He was the same height due to the lifts in the ridiculous boots he was wearing.

“Listen up, Charles,” I growled in his native demonic tongue and not the language of human souls. “I’m only going to say this once. I don’t give a flying leap that your mother holds influence on the Duke. She tossed your butt all the way out here to be a Reaper and now you’re the most junior on our team. That means I outrank you, you little shit.”

Noticing his attire it was all I could do to not laugh right in his face. He was clad in a noble’s outfit straight out of the Renaissance: orange tights, matching billowing breeches, and a dark green doublet with gold embroidery. I’m sure it had likely cost more than I could earn in four Cycles. But it was the spikes protruding out of his spine all the way up culminating in that one particularly large horn atop his head that did it. Well that and the bowl-cut styled blue hair. He was this awful portrait of a demon as if painted by an artist tripping on some serious LSD.

Of course Charles wasn’t laughing. Instead sallow colored cheeks blubbered trying to contain impetuous fury (and possibly shock that I could actually speak fluent demonic). “My name is Xargglxesh!”

“At the moment I’ll call you whatever I damn well please. Got it, Charles? Unless you want to offer challenge by way of an Asmodian Duel, I’d suggest shutting up and getting out of my way.” I let fingers drift closer to the dagger sheathed at my waist. The Captain didn’t like us walking around with our larger weapons, but smaller ones she simply called ‘prudent’ to always have at hand.

Charles’ eyes nearly popped out of his oddly shaped skull. Being not entirely stupid he stepped aside. While a tribunal would never adjudicate this petty argument sufficient to merit a proper blood-feud, they’d at least allow a fight to first blood with all his peers watching. As a lowly one-soul demon he had very little chance against me in the dueling ring—heck, I’d handed him his ass on the practice mat quite a few times already. But that’s rather different from a formal bout with witnesses. He’d finally gain the repute he obviously sought except it would be as a laughing stock having been defeated by a mortal soul. A slender female one at that.

The hallway was a lot colder than my room. Pulling the hood of my cloak up as I moved past him, I kept my ears open in case the backstabber mistakenly believed he had a shot.

He may have thought about it. He hesitated but then followed me through the maze of tunnels to a much better illuminated room complete with a beaten felwood conference table and rickety matching chairs. A wide map labeled ‘Dark Side’ was pinned to the wall, something which only Twitch and I had found amusing.

You see, we were the only two Reapers assigned to this outpost who’d been alive recently enough to have watched Star Wars.

Not that the writing on the map was in English. Languages here were simplified as per the rules of the realm. Human souls all could speak and understand each other regardless of what language they had spoken back on Earth, and demons had their own tongue as well. Writing, however, was something everyone had to learn anew.

Well, almost everyone. That maxim didn’t apply to angels.

Captain Erglyk stood waiting at the head of the table, no longer in her armor but instead wearing a simple white shirt under a cargo vest with many pockets, the matching combat pants tucked into thick leather boots.

“Xargglxesh,” the Captain said as she gave Charles a slow look up and down, fangs splitting her grin. “This is not the court.”

I pulled a chair closer to a wall, leaning back on two of the legs as I did so. I gave a nod to Twitch who sat at the table besides a mountain of man named Barry. Twitch acknowledged me with only a small hand gesture. Every last part of him was wrapped in the same beige cloth that made up my own outfit, circular goggles just like my own the only other thing on a completely covered head. I’d once called our style ‘Sandpeople Chic’. He’d doubled over in silent laughter at the joke, though that may have been due to everyone else’s confusion since outside was a lot of rock and not sand.

Charles though was still standing ramrod straight and attempted a salute. “You summoned us, Captain. Is this not a formal event?”

“Look around, boy,” drawled the Captain. “This is a military outpost. And you Reapers are our elite scouts. Be ready to head out for combat at all times.”

I’d seen what Charles had worn when he’d gone out with Twitch that morning, and while he’d definitely been wearing expensive armor (of the soul-forged variety even!) I was distinctly unconvinced that he was ‘combat ready’ inside that suit. More like a turtle stuck inside a spiked shell two sizes too large hoping nothing would flip it onto its back where it would flail helplessly about.

He swallowed. “Yes, Captain.” Sheepishly he took a seat which caused the poofiness of those breeches to billow upward.

At the end of the table the huge bearded guy made of leather and scars coughed and put a hand to the hilt of the double-headed axe leaning against a tree-trunk of a leg. “Can we get oon with it? I mean to be first fer dinner.”

“This won’t take long now that everyone is finally here.” The Captain shot me a quick glare which I ignored. “You four are the only Reapers not out on patrol at the moment. We have two problems. First is the unusual number of incursions from the Spire. Second is that Hallgyx is late, he should have been back by now. Note that his route is the closest to the Spire.”

Barry snorted. “Like anythin’ up there could take a beast such as him,” he said in his usual brogue. “He’s a been grumblin’ into his cups about sneaking up them hills to ‘thin the herd’ and swallow more tasty souls for as long as I’ve known the dobber. If things be all stirred up in them mountains, he’s likely goin’ solo to keep the bounty all to himself.”

“If he is, he’s going against orders.” The Captain frowned, staring at the map and the lines delineating the various zones around the outpost for our assignments. Also marked was the next outpost to the East and the railway line that passed through it to reach the end of the line here at ours. “You all just finished sweeps and were due for further down-time. That’s canceled.”

Dammit. I’d just gotten back two sleeps ago.

I wasn’t the only one not happy about it. Barry scowled, letting the axe head thump against the floor. The metal glowed blue momentarily with his signature flash of enchantment. “Now just hold oon there, Captain! The Lilim are due any sleep now. And they skipped the last round from one of their crew goin’ missin’. I spent extra time on last shift jus’ to be here!”

Erglyk was unmoved. “Tough. You’ll get to play with the twins on their next circuit.” She looked at all of us, ignoring the surly pout forming behind Barry’s tangled beard. “Tomorrow Barry will take Xargglxesh to go check out the Spire. See if you can find Hallgyx and drag his ass back here. Twitch and Jordan, you two are to take Barry’s sector as well as your own. Together, mind you. No more solo sweeps until the itching paranoia in my tail is satisfied. Today’s was the fifth potent incursion we’ve had this cycle.” The lizard-like tail extending out behind her swished across the floor to emphasize the point.

Twitch and I looked at each other. He’d been my (albeit silent) mentor during my training period, and I had no objection to partnering up with him again. With a shrug I said, “Roger that, Captain. But we’ll need triple the supplies to cover that much ground and it’ll take just as long.”

The fresh grin that dawned on Erglyk’s face wasn’t pleasant. “You’ll get double time to cover the three sections. Similar on the rations. No stopping and keep the graxh pulling. Got it?”

I groaned. I hated trying to sleep on the creaky wagons while they moved. They were rugged but had absolutely no dampening in the suspension.

Barry stood, his head brushing the ceiling as he did so. He pointed a meaty gloved finger at Charles. “Be ready after breakfast, ya wee git. An’ leave that froofy fashion crap out yer pack.” Turning to Erglyk he hefted the axe in one hand. He was scowling but he’d do as ordered.

The Captain added one more command. “Update your way-finders with the latest scan before you go. You’re all dismissed. Except Jordan.” Her eyes caught mine as everyone else shuffled out.

Walking to the door Barry also looked over at me. “Come to tha practice area after darlin’. ‘Tis gettin’ old fightin’ someone without the common decency to shout back.” With a grin he clasped a meaty hand on Twitch’s shoulder.

Twitch shook his head before pulling the metal door shut behind them both.

I crossed my arms as Erglyk took a chair on the other side of the table, drumming her claws against its surface.

Neither of us said anything. I slowly rocked back and forth on my chair and her talons went click, click, click.

She broke the silence first because I sure as heck was not going to flinch under her glare.

“You know,” she said with a sigh, “I just can’t figure out what the fuck you’re doing here.” She reached up to rub her neck.

“Whatever do you mean, Captain?”

She threw me a disgusted yet weirdly open look. “Do you think I’m stupid? Honestly.”

I sat up straighter. “No.”

“When you first arrived, my tail jerked with warning, you know that? I’ve been in charge of this miserable shit-hole of an outpost for a long time. Never has a new soul triggered it so.”

Not sure how to react to that without revealing far more than I should, I kept my mouth shut.

She continued. “And then you practically begged to not be put on the train. With Twitch hovering protectively over you, the first signs of life I’d seen in the boy since Leila’s sacrifice.”

Leila had been the Reaper whose open slot I’d filled. “Is Twitch why you let me take her spot?”

Reaching into one of her vest’s pockets she produced a cigar. With a quick red flare from her eyes the thing lit and she took a deep drag of the smoke. It wasn’t tobacco, but the smell wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. “One of the reasons, sure. You know why I had you team up with me against the intruder today?”

“My sunny disposition?”

She laughed, smoke spilling out of nostrils and past fangs. “If I wanted that I’d have taken Cookie. No, I wanted to see you fight. For real.”

I slouched further back against the chair. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She pointed the burning cigar at me. “I’ve watched you spar with the others. Sure, you’ve improved a lot since you got here, but they still regularly hand you your ass.”

Shrugging, I tried to look embarrassed. “They’re just better than me.”

“Bullshit.”

I stayed quiet.

Through the smoke she studied me. “I’m a warrior. More than that I’m a survivor. I can tell when someone is holding back.”

Looking away I muttered, “We’re supposed to. They’re friendly matches.”

“Then despite me egging you on, why’d you pussy-foot about with the intruder?”

Fuck. “I killed it, didn’t I? It had nine souls, the damn thing was strong.”

She took another drag and shook her head. “You know what else marks you as different from every other fallen soul we’ve collected? You don’t fear us demons. Not a whit. Even Barry feared us when he first arrived. You showed up already sporting some full on hate. Upon seeing me those gold eyes of yours held a rage much too focused for a soul claiming to be all of sweet sixteen years of age. Any other girl would have shrieked and stepped behind her Reaper looking for protection. Happens every damn time. But you? You took a step forward with clenched fists. I’m gonna ask you again: what by the hairs on Samael’s lower goatee are you doing here?”

“I blew up. I woke to being lugged about on Twitch’s wagon.”

“So you say.” She pointed at me with the cigar. “You know, as a commander I pride myself on treating all fairly, be they demon or mortal. In fact most of us in charge of the outposts prefer mortals for our reapers to not immediately scare the crap out of the arrivals in those first encounters. Why all the hate, girl?”

How could I answer that? I could hardly tell my Captain that I hated her guts because I couldn’t help but always see the souls trapped under her skin. All dim and lost in their own private despairs while fueling the power of the beast which had consumed them. “I…I saw one once. A demon. It had possessed a friend of mine and turned her evil.”

A scaled eyebrow raised with interest. “What happened?”

“With help she got better. But not before she almost killed another friend.”

That earned a nod. “You had some training in magic as well as combat before dying.”

“Yes.”

She peered at me, eyes sharp. “Have I ever treated you unfairly?”

The seat of the chair felt really hard. “No.”

“What was that, I didn’t hear.”

Taking off the goggles, I met her eyes. “No, Captain. You’ve treated me and the other souls no different from any demon on the squad.”

“Have I given an indication that I ever would?”

My face flushed. “No, Captain.”

She flicked ash onto the blank stone floor. “And if I were to ask what you’re hiding from, would you tell?”

I blinked and examined her scaly face. All that I saw written there was a studied concern.

Could I trust her? She was a demon, but she was also right. She had always been fair and, in her own harsh way, kind. Sure she ordered us around, and the one time Clancy had really stepped out of line she’d kicked his ass from one end of the post to the other breaking bones in his leg and arm in the process. Honestly the idiot had deserved it. And after? She treated it as if it had never happened and that he’d somehow injured himself accidentally.

She was tougher than nails on us all, but if we slacked off we would either get swallowed or destroyed out in the dark on our own.

Clenching a fist the red brand of the Duke we all wore caught the light. Even the Captain had one. The damn thing had never stopped itching since I’d gotten it, the magic binding the mark a constant irritation. If I’d told her the truth, about what I really was and what had really happened back on Earth, she’d be duty bound to report it all the way up the food chain.

Whether she wanted to or not.

“No, Captain. I don’t think I would.”

She exhaled more smoke through her nostrils. “Hmph.”

I squirmed uncomfortably. “It would put you in a difficult position. It’s better for everyone if I don’t.”

“Plausible deniability?”

“Something like that.”

Standing, she looked down to where I sat. “That’s a load of crap. Your old life is over. You died and ended up here in the realms from which there is no return. I’ve seen souls not able to accept this, remaining permanently haunted by whatever lives they just couldn’t leave behind. Miserable creatures, tormenting themselves in perpetuity.”

“It’s not like that.” How could I explain? Yeah, living was finished. I was done and gone. That part was painfully clear. But if the wrong parties in Hell got wind of my existence it would just stir up a crap-ton of trouble.

The kind of trouble I was no longer equipped to deal with.

“Isn’t it?” She snorted. “The sooner you accept it’s over the better off you will be. All that remains of your time on Earth are your memories. Don’t end up as one of those sorry-ass souls who sacrifice them in order to move on and avoid the suicidal pull of the Abyss.”

“Sacrifice them?”

“There are ways to scrub a soul of its memories. For some it’s the only way they find peace.”

I frowned. “Like the waters of Lethe? Is that legend real?” Ovid spoke in his tales of the river Lethe that ran through Hades; shades of the dead had to drink from it before being allowed to reincarnate so they wouldn’t remember their previous lives. My friend Isaiah had even used the stuff as a plot point in one of our tabletop games.

She chuckled. “Legends usually contain parts of the truth, even if they get the names wrong. Potent magics of that kind exist. But they are rare and dangerous to own if not outright banned by authorities both demonic and angelic.”

“That just means they’d be more expensive.”

“Truth.” She gave a rather sharp-toothed grin before continuing. “I would prefer you to tell me what your deal is without it being forced. I won’t push it for now. Someday maybe, but not today. Just remember: you also fight for the entire squad. Not just me or the hapless souls you fetch. Don’t forget that. And in turn I fight for you. That’s what it means to be in command.”

As she turned to go I chewed a lip before throwing out a question of my own. “You asked what I’m doing here but what about you?”

That earned a pause, amusement creasing her lips. “Me?”

“Barry mentioned that you once led the Duke’s armies numbering in the tens of thousands if not more. This place is nowhere. How the heck did you end up here?”

Erglyk’s grin grew wider still. “Maybe I like the quiet. Or the perks.”

“Perks? There’s nothing but a bunch of empty caverns and miles of wasteland. You yourself just called it a shit-hole.”

She chuckled. “As outpost commander I get to check out all the gathered souls before sending them below. Should I see any that look particularly strong and tasty I’ve got first dibs to swallow them.”

I felt cold. “Why didn’t you try to take me?”

Grounding out the last bit of cigar on the floor, her expression grew unpleasant. “Because I make it a habit to never bite off more than I can chew. Get proper rest at your next sleep, girl. You’re going to need it.”

With that she opened the door and strode out.

Fair enough. I hadn’t answered her question and she hadn’t answered mine. I’d have said we both might take our secrets to our graves, but technically I was already there.

Come to think of it, I might even have two gravestones. One as Justin Thorne and another as Jordan Emrys. Which was funny because despite having only been Jordan for a matter of months more people probably showed up to services for her than had for Justin. After all, Justin had died saving only his niece, Danielle. Whereas Jordan got blown up saving practically everyone else but her.

Maybe that wasn’t so funny.

With the time differences between here and Earth services might not have even been held yet. I’d questioned each new soul for what date it had been when they’d died and even though it had felt like years down here (time perception being a bit wonky and imprecise) the truth was that only a few days had passed back where hot pizza delivery was still being taken for granted.

I hoped Isaiah was holding up alright. This would be the second time he would have to mourn the loss of the only brother he’d ever known.

Only this time a surprise return was simply not in the cards.

 

Chapter 2 - Tasks

 

A light snow covered the pavilion’s pale canvas, leaving a contrast of green and white at the edges of the grass demarking that which was covered and that which was not. The sky, uniformly gray and motionless, held itself still as if it too wished to honor the ceremony below. Isaiah sat at the front of a grid of folding chairs which hid under the tent, his immaculate suit and coat wrapping him in dark fabrics yet offering little warmth to the true cold within. Faculty and students one after the other approached the podium, standing behind photographs of two young girls to deliver their tales of how, even in such a short time, the girls had made a profound impact on their lives.

Many were the people whom each girl had saved. Many were the children needing escort back to seats by somber adults providing tissues. Many were the teachers and staff who required the same.

Isaiah was asked if he’d like to say a few words, but he demurred with a sharp shake of the head and the ceremony smoothly moved on to Rabbi Kirov reciting the Kaddish.

For how could he have spoken truthfully to this audience about his friend? Isaiah had known the girl Jordan first as Justin, in a life still classified by the government to preserve the cover story of Jordan’s transformed existence. While Danielle’s body had been returned from Egypt - after much heated negotiation with the Egyptian state - no such recovery had been possible for Jordan. Officially she was listed as ‘missing’, there being a fair amount of debate whether anyone - or anything - could have survived the explosion which Circe’s protective circle had thrown far beyond the purview of Earthly realms. The arguments regarding the events at the pyramids continued still, indeed two of the girls’ companions were still in Egypt embroiled at the heart of the unresolved politics of what had occurred.

Not that their physical absence had prevented those two from attending the memorial. Linked hand-in-hand with the teacher who traveled strictly via the astral, the truth of their presences were projected to be visible by all even as icy droplets swirled through the spaces where they stood beyond the tent’s protections. The young man wore a gleaming white tuxedo with a golden cummerbund matching the brightness of one of his eyes. His other matched the slender silver dress worn by his companion, a darker-haired beauty who silently examined each mourner in turn as if cataloging them one by one.

As for Isaiah, he sat in one of two chairs marked for ‘family’, a designation true not by blood but by heart. He had been Danielle’s legal guardian for too short a time, and Justin had been his brother in all ways except name.

How cruel was fate to force him to mourn his brother twice.

Beside him sat Mark, Justin’s former brother-in-law and government agent, a man hunched within a coat now a few sizes too large over a frame whose recovery from injury had left it more slender and gaunt.

With the conclusion of services the gathered mix of students and teachers along with various government agents filed past Isaiah and Mark, offering their condolences before placing a white rose onto the growing piles resting in front each portrait.

The sudden embrace by a tall girl of considerable strength startled Isaiah but after a moment’s hesitation he returned the gesture. Golden hoop earrings matched the simple cross at her neck dangling over a long black dress. She had forgone a coat and also any of the usual wigs used to hide her perpetual baldness. Unabashed tears quickly frosted upon her cheeks, though her eyes were fierce and reflecting the same rage within his own. No words were offered yet her need and demand of him was well understood.

For he too desired the same, and with a nod he accepted her unspoken charge before she moved on.

Snow continued to fall and eventually the procession completed and Isaiah found himself standing before the piles of ivory petals blending with the cold underneath. His gloved hand twitched within the coat pocket, clutching the folded envelope and the letter it contained which he had found himself reading and rereading ever since it had been placed into his hands.

 

Isaiah,

I never thought I’d need to write one of those ‘if something happens to me please deliver this’ letters, but here we are. I’m in Egypt of all places and a couple hours away from when Danielle, myself, and a select few other lunatics will head out to try and stop a fae queen from unleashing catastrophe.

What our odds of success actually are I have no idea, but when I look around at this crew I cannot help but wonder what invisible hands have guided us all to be here. The bounds of coincidence are stretched rather thin, don’t you think? As much as I want to blame Callas Soren for everything that has happened, that fateful day in the storage facility couldn’t have been the true inception of events. As powerful as he is, he too is likely walking a path carved unseen into the stones beneath our feet - put there long ago by the wings and will of those above. It was Gabriel who sent me back that day, as if she had been waiting on the other side just to be there to catch and release my wayward spirit. All while the Host frantically searched for traces of her passing. She must be the key to what’s been happening just as she was in the days of Aradia and Enoch.

But I doubt she acts alone.

Search inside for your own deeper memories as Azrael, painful and confusing as they may be. Find the truths therein and determine who to trust. If you are reading this then I will sadly not be at your side to help you, for which I am deeply sorry. I should be there for you, just as I should have let you be there for me when everything changed. In confusion, fear, and embarrassment over what had happened I let the agency convince me otherwise.

I was wrong and all I can do is apologize once more.

If you’ve read the emails your firm’s liaison should have forwarded on then you already know that Sariel has a device much worse than the one that assaulted the Academy. Bishop likely has one as well. Keep safe and hidden my friend and brother, for I wouldn’t put it past these fanatics to destroy millions just to get to you or to Danielle.

Which could well be why Kurohoshi had need to deliver this letter.

I don’t know what else to say, only that it has been my great privilege to be your friend. Stay strong, stay true. And try not to do anything stupid. And yes I know that probably sounds rather silly coming from me.

Just try.

- J

 

The breeze across his cheeks may have been cold but within was colder still, enough to freeze the world.

And many more beyond.

“Isaiah.” A hand rested on his shoulder. Mark stood at his side, leaning forward to peer concernedly at Isaiah’s harshly focused expression. “The service is over. We should get you to the secure location.”

Another voice came from behind them both. “This academy is more secure than any place you could have in mind, Agent Boone.”

Mark reacted first, spinning around and with a yelp of recognition a pistol was quickly in hand. “You!”

The dark-skinned man in an equally dark coat did not flinch. “I remind you, sir, that the academy is neutral ground. And I am here at the invitation of an old friend.”

Behind frosting lenses Isaiah’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Soren.” The name was spat more than spoken.

“Save your anger, Mr. Cohen. Righteous and well-deserved as it may be.” The man’s deep voice resonated slowly, each word crisp and measured. “For the day of my judgment is not this day. I assure you that when that moment finally arrives I will kneel and submit with arms cast wide in glorious welcome.”

The men stared at each other in silence. Mark’s hand held the weapon still, finger ready.

“Mark,” Isaiah finally said as if biting off each word. “Give us a minute.”

“We should arrest him,” Mark growled. “With everything he’s caused-”

Isaiah put a hand across Mark’s chest. “No. Do you really think you can take him even with the assistance of all the Whateley practitioners? Don’t be a fool. Put the gun away.”

Cursing, Mark lowered the gun. “Five minutes. And don’t think I won’t spend them trying to convince the headmistress to turn this jerk over. He should pay for what he’s done.” Shoulders taut with frustration, Mark marched towards the circle of instructors who had gathered at the back.

When the agent was out of earshot, Soren spoke. “I must first ask how much Jordan has told you.”

A gloved hand twitched against the pocketed letter. “Enough to know that no one here could match you should you choose to fight.”

“No one other than you.”

Isaiah considered then shook his head. “It took Jordan’s aid to contain that power. I don’t dare unleash it again. I lack the control.”

“For now.”

Making a fist, Isaiah took a half step forward in spite of himself. “All of this is your doing. All of it! Danielle’s kidnapping, Justin’s transformation, the fighting, the breaking of seals, all triggered by you. Countless millennia have passed since those seals were put in place. After all this time, why now?”

“Gabriel could wait no longer.”

“This was her bidding?”

“I serve the Light.”

Snarling, Isaiah thrust a finger towards Jordan’s portrait. “She was the Light. And where were you in her moment of need?”

The darker man bowed his head. “She should have been safe here.”

“Clearly the harsh whims of destiny had other ideas. If not for both of their sacrifices most of the world would have paid a horrendous price. You should have been there!”

“Sariel’s bargain with Bishop accelerated the Queen’s plans. By contract I could not interfere in Egypt.”

“By contract.”

“Yes.”

“With the Queen.”

“Yes.”

A chilled gust blew flecks of snow past the canopy’s protective boundaries, splattering against Isaiah’s glasses. Lowering his hand he said, “She sent me a letter, written in Egypt the night before she was lost. She worried that Sariel might deploy that damned device. She also claimed he was the one who sent the assassins against me and Danielle. Is this true?”

“Yes. Sariel wishes to prevent the breaking of the Fourth Seal.”

“Why?”

“The Host will not allow the Grigori to roam free away from this world. The Fourth Seal is what keeps them bound. Should it break the Host will mobilize and either send them to Hell or cast them to the Abyss beyond.”

“And Sariel believes I’m the one to break it.”

“He does.”

Isaiah shook his head. Removing glasses through which he could no longer see, he wiped them against the folds of his coat. “Then he won’t cease the attempts on my life. He’s already proven willing to wipe out millions - if not billions - to achieve his goal, just as she’d feared. Jordan being gone changes none of that.”

“Correct.”

“Can you stop him?”

“There is a more pressing task. One requiring your assistance.”

Isaiah gave a short laugh. “You want my help. You. To do what? What could be more important than tracking down that bastard?”

“To save and restore the Light.”

All humor fell away as in the following pause implications became clear. “You’re serious.”

“She exists. She has fallen to the places that your Mishnah call Gehenna.”

“Hell. You’re saying that Justin’s spirit is in Hell.” Isaiah’s jaw set, suspicion and anger plain to see. “And you can save him?”

Behind the dark eyes of the other man burned twin plumes of crimson fire. “There is a way. It is up to us to discover what it may be.”

Isaiah’s hand tightened about the cold metal frames. He wanted to hate this man, to grab him by the shoulders, to scream curses at his face and the fanaticism made apparent. But beneath the pain raging within Isaiah’s chest was a much older anguish and bitterly shared sorrow. “She spoke of paths in her letter, ones laid down ages ago. And of Gabriel. Who are you, sir, to walk upon them?”

“I believe you already know the answer if you but look.”

Those two stars flared brighter within Isaiah’s other sight and resolved into a single vision.

 

A burnished sword of flames hung in the air before stone etched with shining golden bindings. Azrael’s hand had set them into place below a mountain, preparing them to constrain the darkness threatening the world upon which they stood. The last of Aradia’s light swirled into the blood-stained wings gifting the angel with the power to anchor the Seal with his sacred blade, it having been infused with all his holy might.

Upon the sword’s release to its new task the angel flickered and disappeared, bound now unto the Wheel of mortality and incarnation. This was the price of Camael’s sacrifice. Azrael was left alone in the following darkness, holding Aradia close as sole witness while she paid her own price in full.

 

Fresh wisps of snow blew between the two men.

Isaiah, his eyes again clear and with facial muscles taut with ancient pain, spoke. “You didn’t need Raziel’s book to summon Camael. For you are him.”

“I needed the book to remember how to be what I once was.”

“Her falling to Hell - was this a part of Gabriel’s plan?”

“No.”

“Then you have failed when it counted most.” Returning the lenses to their perch, Isaiah glared through them. “Yet you truly believe you can make things right. That there is a path to tread.”

“By the Light and the Name through which it shines I swear to you I shall.”

Energy surged outward from between the two men-who-were-not-men, knocking folding chairs aside and causing bystanders to grasp furtively at hats and the many umbrellas attempting escape.

Vibrating with the sheer power of the other’s words, Isaiah had but one question. “What do you need?”

The other man gave answer. “For you to come with me.”

 

On a bench lining the walking path near the pavilion sat a young man, the first growths of manhood bristling upon his cheeks. Within his lap lay a rather fluffy cat, grey markings overlying the pure whiteness underneath. Both were rather nonplussed by the commotion resulting from the massive burst of wind which coincided with the sudden disappearance of the two men who had just been speaking together in front of the memorial display. DPA agents and faculty were not so calm in reaction, shouting and pointing while others quickly whipped out phones to report to their various superiors.

August nodded satisfactorily to himself, having seen what he had come there to see. As for Khan, he nudged August’s hand to continue scritching.

 

Chapter 3 - Shadows

 

A gleaming spire of white and gold stretched into the brilliance tenting the city from western gate to eastern wall with the purest illumination. Mighty doors whose tops were lost within that light adorned the tower’s entrance, inscribed with all of the holy names - each letter glowing fiercely with the same encompassing luminescence as the sky. The steps gleamed beneath her feet, pulsing with the mesh of unity binding all her siblings together, strands of power entwining their collective purposes through which the firmament supporting the city was forged and sang the glorious harmonies defining their shared existence.

Within that symphony she was an island of quietude, pensively reserved as an even sharper light emerged from between those doors, one with multiple wings of glimmering crystal bending under a burden perhaps only he truly understood. Golden eyes met hers and said nothing, the silence between them growing beyond what she could bear and thus with a whisper she broke its spell.

“Did He speak with you?”

“No. And thereby am I answered.”

“If I were to try-”

Arms and wings enfolded her in a warm embrace that yet offered no true comfort. “Gabriel, no. He clings so tightly to our hard-won stability that such has become an end unto itself.”

The folds of his robe were soft against her cheek. “You’re leaving.” Once spoken, the reality was undeniable.

“You know why. You are as torn within as I.”

“This does not have to be. You could ask Azrael for a Judgment. He will never forgive should you depart without his consult. Were he to issue an Edict even Elohim would be forced to listen.”

While his hands were gentle, his expression was of hard diamond. “To push for such now is tantamount to admitting failure of the whole.”

“How far can you see to know this?”

“Far enough. Some day you too shall bear witness and understand.”

Pushing back against his chest, she gazed upwards into eyes of gold. “What of your Seat? Without the Light, how will we go on?”

“Worry not,” he smiled. “For its structure shall remain. I will not do as Samael and betray my purpose. Instead let my Seat remain empty as a reminder. When the stored reserves bound within finally fail perhaps He will have no recourse but to reconsider.”

She stared at the fresh wetness dotting the cloth on his chest where her cheek had rested, seeing through those glittering tears the beginnings of the pattern of what was to come. “You’re going now, this very moment. Without talking to anyone.”

“Only with you, Gabriel. You must carry them through the coming darkness. As only you can.”

“And should I refuse? Would you stay?”

A kiss brushed the crimson hair atop her furrowed brow. “You can no more refuse to be who you are than I. You are the piece of my heart I leave behind. Goodbye, little one.” Wings filled with the purest of fires unfurled, catching at the threads between the worlds and letting them pull him away.

She found herself shouting as he faded from her sight. “Lucifer! When you go to speak with her, remember most that the truths she offers are partial! Her vision can never be complete!”

If he heard he gave no acknowledgment.

Anguish crushed her chest as the eternal brilliance above flickered and dimmed. Across glittering buildings the winged residents paused in their tasks to look about with blank astonishment, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing.

For the first time since their creation were the immaculate marble streets and perfectly gilded walls of Heaven painted with shadow.

 

Someone was shaking my feet. Visions of people with staggeringly beautiful wings flickered away and a canvas of utter black took their place.

Through thick goggle lenses I stared into the empty void that was the sky. Twitch let go of the boots which my feet had been trapped inside for too long, and with a groan I sat up. The thick blanket fell forward and allowed freezing air to brush one layer closer to my skin.

As I’d stopped shivering to such things a long time ago I simply yawned and tried to stretch. The left shoulder-blade spot complained with its usual sharp pain and loud pop but I ignored it. Crystal lanterns hanging from the poles at the front and back of the wagon I’d been sleeping on swung in response to the motion, their dim light sweeping small circles over the dirt and surrounding ice.

“We there yet?” I asked with a sleepy half-hearted grin, not that Twitch could see it what with my mouth and nose buried under cloth.

He held up a small leather sack, placing it atop the pile of similar bags which I’d shoved out of the way for a nap in the wagon bed.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “Another one? That makes what, seven stones this trip? Not a single awake soul in the lot. So much for getting a bonus this round.”

Shrugging, he climbed up to the front bench and picked up the reins to the pair of graxh which pulled our wagon. Standing six feet high at the shoulder, graxh were what you’d get if you crossed hippopotamus with an alligator and then thrown in a rhinoceros because why not. Okay, they actually weren’t as fat as that implied but they were indeed thick, powerful, and behaved like musty-smelling scaled puppies if you let them.

These two particularly liked to frolic and now that it’d been almost two cycles since they’d last eaten they were getting skinnier and a lot faster as a result. On a whim I’d named the left one Martha and the right naturally became Stewart.

Martha was my favorite, but don’t tell Stewart. He thought it was him.

“Was this the last?” I asked, climbing up to sit on the bench next to Twitch.

Reaching into the folds of his robe he withdrew the Wayfinder stone and placed it into the socket chipped into the front handrail. It took a couple taps before the thing lit up much like the lanterns and projected a two-dimensional map into the air before us.

It was a lot like the map on the wall back at the outpost, just done in thin lines of blues and greens. A pulsing yellow indicated where we were: way out towards the edge of the Rock at the limits of our assigned sector. Where’d we already been was marked with many red ‘X’s through white ‘O’s, each indicating a spot where we’d picked up the unconscious remains of souls who couldn’t handle the stress of falling to Hell and instead now slept inside whatever private torments their subconscious could conjure.

Their destinies now were up to the needs of the Dukedom once we’d turned them all in.

I picked up the waterskin sitting on the floorboards between us, taking a long drink of its clear liquid. I made sure to handle it with great care - I was the only person Twitch allowed to touch it as it was a final gift from Leila. On one of their rounds picking up souls they’d been attacked by a particularly strong demon and both Leila and Twitch got sliced up pretty bad. Their graxhs hadn’t survived and the wagon had been pulverized, its precious water barrels shredded and their contents quickly absorbed by the dirt before freezing solid within the rocks.

Given the depths of her own wounds Leila knew she’d fall into soul torpor - becoming yet another soul orb for pickup. She had possessed a talent in life of manipulating water, a gift that had followed her into death. Grabbing a waterskin she’d infused her soul into it, willing it to be the means to prevent Twitch from befalling the same fate.

The soul-forged skin had gained the ability to manifest an endless supply of preciously pure water and with that Twitch was able to make it back to the outpost.

While the terrain all around us had plenty of ice, the frozen mixture was toxic. The Captain hammered that notion into my head pretty seriously, and reapers all traveled with barrels under their wagons filled with the results of the outpost’s distillation process which made it safe to drink.

Whenever with Twitch and his waterskin it was never needed to tap into that supply. Still, Twitch always checked that they were full before each run nevertheless. Holding the skin was weird, it always felt both warm and cool to the touch. Leila’s final wish to take care of her partner filled it with much more than water.

Whether she and Twitch had been lovers I had never asked. Not my business. But it was absolutely clear that she had loved him. He must have loved her too, pretty strongly at that. According to the other reapers when he finally made it back he’d refused to talk. Not, they reported, that he had ever said much in the first place but after going through that he just never spoke again.

After I secured the cap and replaced the skin back near his feet Twitch tapped the Wayfinder and a fresh red ‘X’ appeared over the yellow of our current position. The stone went dark again and after a moment he looked meaningfully at me.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You’re probably right. The scan is pretty out of date by now.” Popping goggles up onto my forehead, I stood on the bench. Martha grunted and shifted position causing the wagon to wobble under my boots. “Hey, hold them steady, darnit. This isn’t easy.”

Twitch tugged more firmly on the reins and Martha, frost billowing from her three wide nostrils, quieted.

Taking a deeper frozen breath, I looked about.

And by ‘looked’ I opened my sight to the patterns which underlay everything around us. The harsh stone and ice, invisible past the last reaches of our meager lights, became clear in the patterns and sigils which defined their existence.

Honestly, there wasn’t much to the terrain. Nothing grew and nothing moved, being this far out on the edges of this realm was akin to being in a sparsely populated computer simulation or game.

It wasn’t even a particularly stable one. I’d been over the same terrain time and time again, yet on each traversal the details were different. A hill here moved to there, canyons disappeared entirely only to show up again on the next run, that kind of thing. It was as if the realm only generated portions of itself as it had to. If no one was looking, who knows, it might not even exist.

I was fairly certain that’s how the large radar-like dish atop the outpost’s hill worked to find where souls popped in upon arrival to the realm: it probably scanned outward for the most ‘solid’ areas. That’s the thing about souls: around them the reality became slightly more real. Hence the use by the denizens of Hell of soul-stones to create items of lasting power. When demons weren’t eating them as snacks anyway.

After a scan the likely locations were transfered into our Wayfinders which then acted as compasses to guide us to those who may need our help. The stones had some ability to re-scan within a very short distance, useful in case those distances had changed on the map between the time a Reaper left the base and they arrived nearby the original destinations.

This was also how the Captain could detect the movement of any intruding demons across our turf. The souls they’d swallowed showed up in the scans as well.

Twitch poked my side. I’d again gotten lost in examining the sigils and reading the intent behind the realm’s existence. There was something very old and sorrowful within the core of this place which pinged at the heart.

“Okay, okay, I’m on it.”

Turning about and likely looking like a human lighthouse from my eyes doing their shining thing, I slowly tried to find any evidence that we may have missed a newly arriving soul on our circuit. My range wasn’t as good as the Wayfinder as trying to look too far would cause the pain in the shoulder to spike. But for nearby sweeps it sufficed.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. And…wait a minute. There.

A flare.

The more I focused on it the brighter it seemed to get, forming a sharp contrast against the static that lay behind the end of the realm’s reality.

“Hey Twitch, uh, you’re not going to like this. I found one.”

His cloth-entwined and goggled head tilted to a side, nearly hitting the hilt of one of the two swords sheathed upon his back.

“It’s right at the Edge. You know, closer than we’re supposed to tread.”

A quick shake of his head gave his vote.

“Oh c’mon. We can’t just leave it out there!”

He waved a gloved finger back towards the outpost.

“Hey, don’t give me that. After being this long out here, what’s one more sleep? It’s a bright one! And you’re the guy who hauled my unconscious ass away from the Edge when you found me, remember. Why the protest?”

Arms crossed and he turned away.

“Are you serious? That hurts, dude. And here I thought we were friends.”

Picking up the reins he tossed them over to my side of the bench.

I grinned. “Thanks, bud!” Hopping down from my perch, I started guiding the graxh to turn the wagon towards the light now even clearer in my sight.

Twitch gave one more look of disapproval then climbed into the back of the wagon to try and get in his own uncomfortable nap.

Despite the dust stirred up by Martha and Stewart I kept the goggles out of the way.

I didn’t want to lose sight of the soul.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The Edge. That’s what folks called it, most without any real understanding of what it was.

As we approached I started to get a better idea.

It marked the limits of the extent of this weird upside-down bowl of a realm, where the void of the space between that which Was curved down to meet that which Was Not.

Otherwise known as the Abyss.

Naturally the boundary where the two met was not altogether a stable place to be. Go figure.

We drove our wagon out across the last of the plains under the void’s empty sky and the usual dead-still air began to stir. Frozen gusts of brittle dirt and ice whipped across our covered faces and the graxh bleated their discomfort. Each burst carried with it the strange scent of ozone, and even under the layers trying to keep out the cold the hairs on my arm tingled.

Twitch, trying his best to keep the graxh going forward, looked to me then tilted his head towards the cracked rocky outcropping rising up in front of us, barely visible as it was through the swirling dust by the weak lights provided by our wagon’s lanterns.

“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “It’s on the other side of that.” The soul was not just visible to my sight now, the emanations of profound loss and sorrow radiating from it were hitting me as hard as the wind.

Tugging on the reins, Twitch pulled in the graxh. Pointing at the graxh and then the hill he held up a questioning palm.

It didn’t take a genius to understand. “You’re right, there’s no path for them. Fine, I’ll climb it myself.”

Hopping down from the wagon, I stared at the cliff I’d have to climb trying to decide the best spot to start. I muttered a curse as the damn thing shifted even while I watched, stones rippling into ice and vice-versa as the realm itself fought to maintain its coherency this close to the Edge.

This was not going to be fun.

Twitch beat the end of my spear against the side of the wagon to get my attention, holding it out to me.

I shook my head. “Can’t climb and hold that at the same time. I’ve got my knife; it’ll have to do.”

With that I ran at the cliff wall which had to be at least forty stories tall. More or less anyway as its height too was changing after every glance.

Cursing with each breath, I clambered over the boulders at the base and began working my way upwards, a burning across my shoulder a reminder that wings would have made this a lot easier. But no, as much as internally I tugged at that dim spark within nothing would happen. Just the sensation as if someone was busy taking a blowtorch to the shoulder-blades. Dammit.

This would have to be done the hard way with hands and feet, one grip at a time.

I was about halfway up, navigating in the dark only by the pattern making up the substance while digging fingers and feet into jagged rock and sharp ice, and wondered if it’d have been better to travel below along what was effectively a fortified natural defense to search for a better spot to cross - especially as I wasn’t sure how I’d get someone back down this without resorting to throwing them off the top.

That’s when I heard the first ear-piercing shriek. Howlers.

Oh crap.

With more of a groan than a yell I double-timed it, ignoring the rips and tears opening across gloves which soon would no longer protect the hands within them. Howlers were spirits attracted to emotional pain but too ephemeral to manifest physically even here. I’d seen them flow through someone once, whipping right past their skin to dig into their heart and rip away at their spirit.

All that had been left of the guy when it was done was a rather dull soulstone.

More shrieks answered the first. Did I mention they traveled in packs? Pushing goggles to my forehead, I forced perception through the hill’s stones until I could find them.

At the top of the cliff was a flat plateau stretching along the wall on one side, and on the other was what could only be described as a beach. Except where normal beaches had water, this ocean was made of a black even darker somehow than the sky, yet somehow also appearing in my mind like the static old televisions would display when stations stopped their broadcasts for the night.

A headache-inducing static which cast no light upon the shore.

Kneeling before this static-infused darkness with head bowed was the soul: a man, physically fit and as expected totally naked with knees buried in the sand. And underneath that sand a swarm of howlers swam their way upwards through the stones like eels through cloudy water.

I wasn’t going to make it. Not without wings. I tried even harder to get them to come, begging and pleading to that which was just entirely too far away and not taking my call.

The smell of burnt cloth wafting over my shoulders was the only result. No glorious harmonies, no cosmic symphonies, and no brilliance of light.

I did the only thing I could, consequences be damned. Pun entirely intended.

Shoving a fist forward it plunged not into the rock but into the lines of energy which made up the cliff’s structure. Glyphs describing the fundamental makeup of this realm’s reality flowed before my eyes and with mind, fingers, and will I rearranged them. It was easier than it should have been, the presence of that static ocean was playing havoc with the realm’s stability causing each sigil in that ultimate angelic alphabet to bend and shifted like putty into the new configurations I demanded.

The rock face opened up as the ones supporting my feet shot upwards, carrying me with them. With another gesture of will I rotated the space underneath the soul much like spinning the middle section of a Rubik’s Cube, spinning the Howlers further away from their target so they’d breach twenty yards further up the beach.

Which they did, their translucent eel-like bodies slithering about in the air as they screamed with frustration and rage at finding themselves displaced from their target. But I could give them a new one.

Me.

The bomb which had blasted me to Hell (from wherever Circe’s protective circle had thrown me) had been forged by collecting the death-energies of millions of souls. All their pain and suffering condensed into that purplish-black crystal. The fae queen, Fionnabhair, had pulled that power from one such crystal into herself to use it against the Third Seal.

Whether I had wanted to or not, I too had absorbed a portion of the power as it had ripped through me. It sat as a persistent knot in my stomach, one I had to beat down daily to keep from pulling me into a quagmire of painful memories not my own.

Yeah, it was one heck of an appetite suppressant.

With gritted teeth I untied the mental knots holding that energy down and with a cry it spilled outward, flooding my skin with its off-purplish glow. Scenes from the last few moments of oh-so-many lives assaulted my awareness, but I managed to keep focus on the howlers. As the discolored light offered them a more potent meal they as one shrieked towards their new prey.

“Come and get it,” I growled, tossing battered gloves and cloak aside before stepping forward. Crossing wrists in front of my face I dug boots into the sand and braced for the impact.

The swarm rocketed across the beach, eager to consume all the hurt and loss now offered, desperate to dive under my skin and suck the marrow out of my spirit’s heart.

And that’s where they were mistaken. For as a good friend had once demonstrated, the line between my spirit and flesh didn’t seem to exist.

Besides, I intended to cheat.

The mouth of the fastest howler slammed teeth into the waiting bracer as I invoked its power, a power granted by one of the most bad-ass warriors in all of Heaven. The fighting skill of that angel merged into my muscles as crimson flames flashed and a nimbus of fire spiraled around hands and wrists as they danced through the air to grab and shove burning heat down the throats of each and every howler that dared get within reach.

They were too stupid to run, knowing only hunger. The rage within the bracers mixed its fire with the purple and black-lightning energies, and I screamed my own raw cries back at the shrieking howlers as we spun and struck at each other in a whirlwind, their teeth sinking past cloth to scrape skin as fingernails tore into their sides to hold them while they burned and crumbled into an ash swept away into that oceanside wind.

It didn’t take long and I found myself spinning about searching for more to destroy that weren’t there. For a moment the guy on the beach seemed like a possible new target, but with a shake of my head and a wordless shout I shoved the purple crud back into its box in my gut. It had been getting harder to hold down lately, and I had a feeling I’d just made it worse by letting it out even for a couple minutes.

Catching my breath I slowly walked towards the guy who had stayed kneeling while watching the show. He stared at me as I approached, glow from my eyes and wrists forming a small pocket of light upon the sand and the black waters beyond. Around his neck dangled a pair of dog-tags, resting against a once-muscled chest covered in various interesting scars. He had that emaciated look that most souls did after being lost without food or water for too many sleeps, cheeks sunken against the bones of his skull and waistline much narrower than it should be.

Maybe it was having someone finally arrive or even the small amount of light that came with me, but as I got close I heard him whisper, “I once was lost, but now am found.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

The ramp I’d cut through the hill to reach the top made the descent a lot easier than it’d have been otherwise and it didn’t take us long to get down. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to go with me, either.

Not like he’d had much choice.

The guy didn’t need any help on the climb, he was pretty sure footed. With how sharp the rocks and ice were I’d torn strips from the bottom of my cloak with which to wrap his feet and hands. Best I could do. My own gloves needed serious work with needle and thread and weren’t much use. Hopefully Twitch had brought his sewing kit. He was usually pretty good about packing so it was likely a given.

Speaking of, when we reached the bottom Twitch gave us both a good look over before shaking his head and flicking a thumb towards the wagon bed.

Gratefully I climbed in before giving the guy a lift up. Rummaging in our bundles of supplies for new souls, I popped up with a cloak which ought to fit and he quickly donned it before wrapping himself in the blanket I threw at him after.

With Twitch’s nod of permission I poured a cup of water from the waterskin and handed it to the guy.

“Drink it slow,” I told him. “Your body here isn’t used to anything yet.”

He took a sip. Most of our arrivals ignored the warning and drank deep anyway, but this guy heeded the warning despite obviously wanting to chug it all.

“Can you remember your name?” I asked while moving some sacks about until I found the one I wanted.

He frowned. “Hank? I believe that’s what folks called me.”

“Hank it is. And don’t worry about the memories, they’ll come back - which depending may or may not be a happy thing. The shock of arrival scrambles everyone’s minds for a few days.”

In the dim light from the crystal lamps he stared at me. “I reckon I died.”

“Yep.”

He stared out into the total darkness beyond the graxh. “How long was I out there?”

“Not sure. Long enough to not recommend it as a healthy diet plan though.”

A shudder made its way from his shoulders to hands slowly clenching into fists. “Never felt so alone. This must be Hell.”

I raised an eyebrow. “One of ‘em anyway. That where you were expecting to go?”

“Supposin’ so.”

“You hungry? Even if not, you should eat a small portion if you’re up for it. We’ve got, let’s see, some not-really-carrots, some kinda-potatoes, and a bunch of totally-not-broccoli. I’d wait a sleep or two before trying any of the meat. Ease into things.”

He looked at me dubiously. “’Not-really-carrots’?”

I shrugged. “There are farms on the other side of this Rock. The plants aren’t quite like anything from Earth. Here.” I tossed him a yellowish stick from the sack. “Try it.”

Hank turned the hard vegetable over in his hands before shrugging and biting off a piece with a loud crunch. “Dry,” he said while he chewed. “And rather flavorless.”

“Yeah they are, especially when frozen like this. You’ll find most things here are kinda washed out like that. Colors, taste, everything really. Like a half-baked dream or, to switch metaphors, like going from a sixty-four bit operating system down to eight where the optimizations required too much corner-cutting and all that was left was a round blob. Oh, I should probably introduce myself. I’m Jordan and our amazing driver is Twitch.”

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with thought. All in all the guy was taking this a lot better than most I’d picked up. After another bite of the sorta-carrot he asked, “We headed anywhere in particular?”

I shrugged. “Reaper outpost. A Reaper is what Twitch and I are called; we find the newly arrived. We finished our sweep and are heading back to our base, though we’re kinda far out so it’ll be awhile. A few sleeps maybe.”

“Sleeps?”

I pointed upwards. “No sun, no stars, and no digital clocks. But we have bodies enough to get tired and need to conk out.”

He pondered that and finished the stick before asking, “Right then. Am I your prisoner?”

“What?”

“Not to sound ungrateful and all for your showing up before those whatever-they-were got to me but,” he said and gestured towards the set of chains and clasps coiled up in the wagon bed, “Those raise a few concerns.”

I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Some souls freak out and try to run. Except there’s nothing out here and they’ll eventually meet one of two possible fates: either slow starvation from which they can’t die, or they get eaten by a wandering nasty. If the things out here eat you they get stronger. Which would put all other arrivals and us Reapers in further danger.”

“Ah.”

“Want another?” I asked, offering another veggie stick.

Pulling the blanket tighter around himself, he declined. “Thank you, ma’am, but no. If we can sleep then I do believe I’d best give it a try. Provided you don’t mind.” He closed his eyes.

“Go for it, plenty of time later for, well, everything.” Not that he’d heard me. The guy had already drifted off.

After munching on my own selections of alien produce I climbed over to sit next to Twitch, offering him a stick as I did. Shifting the reins to one hand he undid the cloth around his face so he could eat, the falling fabric revealing a chin covered in the scars from an old and terrible burn.

Whether those had happened before or after he’d arrived in Hell, I had no idea.

Rummaging in our supplies I found his sewing kit and, mindful of the wagon’s bumps and lurches across the landscape, I carefully threaded a needle to try and repair my poor gloves.

Twitch glanced at them and tsked.

“Yeah, I know,” I grumbled. “Something about being that close to the Edge caused everything to be sharper than usual. Or maybe they just tore easier.” I started to stitch a gash across the palm. “What do ya think of the guy we saved?”

Taking the reins in one hand, Twitch used the other to pantomime tugging at something around his neck.

“Dog-tags,” I agreed. “I haven’t had a chance to examine them, but they’re obviously a fetish of some kind to have followed him down. Not too often do folks show up with stuff.”

Looking over his shoulder at the sleeping Hank, Twitch tilted his head.

“No I’m not going to grab them while he’s asleep! That’s rude.” Playfully I went to punch Twitch in the shoulder, careful to hold the needle so it wouldn’t stab him.

I forgot how fast he can be when he wanted. Before I could blink he caught my wrist, gloved fingers wrapped strongly around my bracer. I started to laugh but he straightened and yanked my hand in front of his eyes, staring at it through his goggles.

“Hey!” I said and pulled free. “You almost made me drop the needle!”

He stiffened and pointed to the back of my hand. I looked and realized what was causing him alarm. The sigil of Duke Valgor - the mark labeling my soul as not just his property but also as being under the protection of his domain - was gone.

Camael’s bracer fire had entirely scorched away its magic. Ah heck.

How was I ever going to explain that to the Captain?

Twitch naturally didn’t offer any suggestions. He just stared wordlessly letting the unspoken question linger.

“I don’t know, dude,” I said with a groan. “We’ll just deal with it when we get back, I guess. Want to help me steal a sharpie from her desk?”

With a slow shake of his head indicating a firm ‘No’ he picked up the reins to continue driving the graxh and therefore all of us through the dark.

“Gee thanks. I’m so not sharing the next time I cadge an extra dessert from Cookie.”

He ignored the threat.

Wondering how much trouble I was going to be in for losing the mark, I went back to trying to patch the gloves and their many rips and tears. It would probably be easier to sew a new pair from larger leather scrap, but shine that.

These still had some life left in them.

The next few sleeps proceeded boringly, which was a good thing. For once the terrain remained mostly flat and empty, no sudden spires or peaks popping up with the latest shifts of the realm to get in our way.

The quiet appealed, really. It beat the heck out of dealing with demons every day like one had to at the outpost. Being in the middle of nowhere out here really felt like those moments between sleep and wakefulness, lost in the lazy lassitude between a fading dream and before the demands and worries of a new day were remembered. It was easy to just let all thoughts slip away into the muffled sounds of graxh feet and creaking wagon.

No demonic threats, no questions, no reminders of what was lost.

Thus I was holding the reins and allowing the graxh to take a more leisurely stroll towards the last slow rising hill leading to the outpost’s valley. Which they totally didn’t do as their instincts must have been telling them that they were almost home, the place where they could stuff themselves silly to re-plump up for the next trip out.

Both Martha and Stewart had become rather thin - we’d stretched our journey out a lot longer than normal. We’d even needed to tie blankets around their middles to help make up for their current lack of fatty insulation.

Twitch was in back asleep but Hank was sitting up front, huddled still only in blanket and cloak, hood covering the military haircut to keep it warm. Or at least not frozen. Normally I wouldn’t allow new arrivals to sit up here, but heck - he was the only one awake. The rest gathered on this entire sweep were stones thus there was no chance of arguments about who had sat there more often than others.

Don’t laugh. Some souls that fall down here really are that petty.

As for Hank, he hadn’t said much and we hadn’t bothered him so as to leave him alone with his thoughts. Best that he take things as slow as he needed, at least until we got to the outpost.

After that he’d be out of our hands.

Eventually he broke the comfortable silence. “Hate to sound like a youngster in the back seat, but we there yet?”

I pointed ahead. “Soon as we crest the top of this hill you should be able to see its beacon lights. They aren’t that bright, but they don’t need to be.”

“And then what?”

I wasn’t about to lie. “You get processed. We’re in territory owned by Duke Valgor - he’s a demon high-muckity-muck with a good chunk of land on the light side.”

“Processed. Don’t sound none too pleasant.”

I shrugged. “They’ll evaluate your skills to assign you to someplace appropriate. Of course, if you don’t tell them anything useful there’s always manual labor on the farms.”

“Huh. What do they do with retired worn-out soldiers?” He fingered the dog tags. Even in the dim light from our lamps I could see they contained no names, no ranks, no serial number. Just blank metal. Odd.

“You died, Hank. You aren’t in a worn out body anymore. Depending on what you did and can remember you could be assigned to the Duke’s army.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” I shot him a quizzical glance but he was still staring straight ahead. “I’m a Reaper. I’ve got my assignment.”

“And how’d you get that?”

“Asked for and got. There happened to be an opening and Twitch sponsored me. Been doing it since.”

He considered. “You fight things like them whatchamaccallits often?”

“Howlers specifically? No. Demons and other nasties? It happens. Not necessarily often, but it does.”

“Right. Combat skills are a plus.” He stretched and watched his exhale freeze in the air. “Sounds like I just need to figure out in the next couple hours how to convince you to sponsor this old fool too.”

“Say what?”

He coolly met my surprised stare.

“Geeze, you’re serious.”

“Ayup. Like I said, my ass is retired. Those other choices are sounding either excruciatingly exciting or mind-numbingly dull.”

“Driving a wagon sleep after sleep isn’t exactly thrilling either.”

“Ah, but think of all the nothing you’ve gotten to see!” He gestured expansively at the darkness around us.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure. If I might point out though, you haven’t met any demons yet. How do you know you can beat one if you had to?”

“Guessin’ I don’t. But if you got some at this post, I’ll take ‘em on if it’ll help my case. You have to do that when you applied?”

I blinked. “No. Twitch vouched for me.”

“He’d seen you fight?”

Frowning I thought back. “Nope.”

“Well heck. Why’d he sponsor you then?”

I gestured over my shoulder. “You’ll have to ask him. Good luck getting an answer.”

“Don’t underestimate my charming ways,” he said with a smile. “I might have the man spilling his life story by supper.”

“As if!”

“Speaking of food,” Hank added, “they big on outside barbecue at this post?”

I shook my head. “Too cold outside. Cookie uses the internal furnaces.”

His voice lost its casual tone. “Then I daresay you’ve got trouble.”

Following his gaze I immediately realized what he meant. We’d crested the ridge and with the land sloping down away from us the sparkle from two out of the three always lit beacon lights had come into view. Between them the entrance to the outpost in the side of its hill could be seen with the Wayfinder radar dish smashed to the ground before the main gate. As for the metal gate itself, it was breached and smoke billowed out through the opening in huge black clouds obscuring completely the third light set above the tunnel.

My stomach sank to the floor and kept on going. “Oh shit.”

As I yelled for Twitch to wake the hell up, I heard Hank mutter.

“Guessin’ I won’t need to worry about any reassignments today.”

I had a horrible feeling his assessment was entirely correct.

 

Chapter 4 - Seed

 

A slow but steady rain blanketed London, grey clouds hiding the twilight hour as the day slipped directly into night. At the mouth of an alleyway a waiting hired car had been illegally parked for most of the past hour, much to the annoyance of the rest of the traffic. No less than three traffic wardens had approached to send it on its way, but each time as they drew closer they’d blink, look about in confusion, and turn to shuffle down the sidewalk huddling deeper within their slick yellows and blues.

Two men in thick coats and perfectly shined shoes eventually emerged from the alley and climbed into the unmarked black car.

The taller of the two got in second, taking the seat behind the driver and thus facing the other passenger. To the driver he said, “Cambridge. You have the address.”

With a silent nod from under a simple woolen cap, the driver checked his mirrors and pulled out into the road.

Isaiah peered through the rain past nearby buildings, spotting the river and a familiar two-towered bridge. “We’re in London.”

“Yes.”

“Long ride to Cambridge. Two hours, maybe less. Why not portal directly there?”

“Several reasons.” From a front pocket Soren retrieved a smart phone and rapidly scanned its scrolling text.

Settling deeper into the leather seat Isaiah said, “I’m listening.”

Windshield wipers squeaked across the glass as if to emphasize the silence otherwise found within the car which merged onto a larger road heading East.

Isaiah’s feet crossed at the ankles and he continued staring at the other man expectantly. After several minutes the phone was again pocketed and Soren replied.

“Using mortal magic requires preparations for the arrival point. I have not yet been precisely to our destination.”

“Mortal magic. Could you have moved us directly using angelic abilities?”

“Yes. And by doing such we’d cause ripples immediately noticeable to those whom we would prefer to avoid.”

Isaiah thought about it. “I see. Still, I’m surprised you wouldn’t have a designated spot at the university there.”

“Not one as clandestine as required,” Soren said bluntly. “You are a target and I wish to bring no troubles to the one we intend to visit.”

“If that truly was your wish then we would not be going there.” Isaiah smiled ruefully.

The larger man closed his eyes, circles somehow even darker than the cheeks curving beneath them. “Perhaps.”

Marking the signs of how exhausted the other man was Isaiah asked, “When was the last time you slept?”

“Two, maybe three days ago.”

The lawyer frowned. “I have many questions.”

“You may not like the answers.” Soren’s eyes remained closed.

“The war with the Nephelim. You were there.”

“I was.”

“We slaughtered them. On both sides of the battle.”

“It was necessary. Or else the Host would have purged the world.”

Isaiah clenched a gloved hand, staring at it as if it was no longer his own. “I…Azrael killed his own son.”

Soren spoke more quietly. “Not an easy thing to have done.”

“And shortly thereafter he held Aradia as she died. Her spirit dissolved before him.”

The sorcerer leaned forward. “She was not yet ready to channel the full measure of the Light. But through her sacrifice did we achieve victory.”

“Victory?” Isaiah scoffed bitterly. “Shoving problems into bottomless chests and locking them up is not victory.”

“We contained the threat.”

“At what cost!” Shaking his head, he forced the hand to open once more, fingers flexing slowly. “What I do not understand is how Justin could have Aradia’s soul. She should have been lost forever, like the other Nephelim lacking the spiritual strength to incarnate.”

“She was restored by the grace of Gabriel and your spirit.”

“I know nothing about that.”

Soren rubbed a palm across his tired face. “Three of the Seals are gone. The proscriptions against remembering have weakened. Should you try, you will. This will likely happen more often on its own than you’d like.”

“It’s not that easy,” Isaiah protested. “I’ve only gotten glimpses while asleep, it’s not like I-”

The sentence cut short. A chunk of unknown memory which was not his own had already ripped free.

 

Ira Saul Rubenstein had lived a good life.

Son to a talented silversmith, he had proudly answered his country’s call to arms to fight the Germans in the Great War, lamenting twenty-five years later that he’d become too old to again serve. Instead, using most of the wealth he’d accumulated from his family’s rather successful jewelry business, he did his best to smuggle as many of his fellow Jews out of Europe and across the sea. He took a small measure of pride in knowing that most of those he had saved would never know his name.

Even his wife Hannah never knew, attributing his tightening of their budget during the war years as simple prudence. His three sons, of course, had not waited to be drafted and volunteered.

Only two survived the conflict and together the family had carried on to expand the business into something far grander than their father had ever originally envisioned.

Thus he was at peace when closing his eyes for the last time, surrounded by photos of grand-children and great-grandchildren alike. To his surprise it wasn’t Hannah who met him on the other side, even though she had crossed over first only a couple years before.

No, instead a remarkably beautiful woman, hair the color of the freshest of strawberries, resolved within his spirit’s vision. Behind her stood another figure with crossed arms whose hooded cloak was as dark as the woman’s white dress was bright. While he could not make out the face behind the hood, the presence seemed oddly familiar. Though one would think the fact the figure had a stump instead of a hand would have allowed it to be more immediately remembered.

“Hello, Ira.” Peace flowed from the woman’s smile, the kind of peace only the most holy could possess.

Thus all was well and he knew that he’d passed on. “Hello.” As he relaxed into the inevitable a scene coalesced all around: bright blue skies above accompanied by the sound of nearby ocean playing against the bluffs upon which they stood.

“Before you move on,” the woman said. “I need you to do something for me.”

“You’re an angel.” Having said it, he could then see the soft wings of perfect ivory fluttering behind her back.

“Yes, I am. Ira, hold out your left hand.”

Lost in the serenity of her smile, he did so without question.

Except it wasn’t his hand that stretched outward. Not only was it too young and strong nor riddled with the arthritis which had plagued him for twenty-plus years, but the skin was blacker than moonless night.

She stepped closer. Green eyes captured his, and her words sank into him. “Hear me, oh Azrael. The time to release the child of light has come.”

Ira, much to his confusion, answered her in a voice unlike his throat had ever spoken. “All that remains are fragments.” His words echoed sharply, each syllable distinct and final.

“From those shards shall she be made whole.” She reached out, placing a white seed at the center of the dark and open palm. Around the seed was wrapped several threads of what must have been the woman’s own hair, shimmering within the light pouring down from a sky which had no sun.

Ira’s strange voice reacted with its own surprise. “Gabriel, what have you done?”

“I have taken two when ordered to take but one. Behold the seed from the Tree of Life - plucked forth from the fruit within Paradise. Dearest Azrael, I offer my own pattern to make hers whole. Please allow this seed to be the crucible of her renewal.”

The cloaked figure shifted its weight. But before it could take a step forward Gabriel held a hand out behind her. “Hold, brother. You cannot judge my actions in isolation. Only when the full tapestry of events has been revealed, which needs must include your own participations.”

The figure hesitated, then slowly nodded.

Within Ira’s strange hand the hair-wrapped seed began to vibrate. Light like the stars of a perfect night sky streamed under the palm’s skin, flowing with golden power around the seed and sending sparks coursing through the strands of hair.

Gabriel rested her own fingers, now shining with their own special light, over his. By their wills the lights merged in fiery brilliance, red and gold swirling and blending until forging a hue uniquely its own. To contain that light and keep it from scattering across the universe, they forced it within the safety and stability the seed provided.

With time and the right circumstances the seed would grow and perhaps become more than either could foresee.

Ira, before slipping away into his own next incarnation, heard himself whispering:

“Lord, I pray that this is good.”

 

Isaiah’s glasses had slipped down his nose and he blinked at a world gone blurry while his thoughts raced.

Azrael and Gabriel had reforged Aradia’s spirit. Gabriel, having herself been formed from the purest of light spilling out of Lucifer’s heart at the moment of Heaven’s creation, had woven her own similar pattern around the preserved pieces. The Azrael who had remained within the Seals and incarnated in life after life had held in stasis the unraveled remains of Aradia’s pattern for millennia.

The Azrael who was also himself.

And the seed with which the repaired spirit had bonded must have been planted into his friend Justin at birth, awaiting only for the right conditions to sprout brilliant leaves of holy fire. Conditions requiring the purest of grace and sacred necessity.

Such as the willingness to unhesitatingly sacrifice oneself for a child held dearest to his heart.

Returning lenses to their proper position, Isaiah stared at the sorcerer who had painstakingly arranged for such a moment to occur. The sorcerer however didn’t look back.

He’d fallen asleep.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The cab crept down a row of semi-detached council townhouses, each brick-lined unit displaying the individual care or lack thereof from their inhabitants. With night’s arrival the rain had picked up, battering with continual effort against the windows until the view was again obscured into streaks of the red and white lights daring to still be seen. Coming to a stop at the last unit in the row, the sound of setting the hand-brake caused the sorcerer’s eyes to open, full cognition and awareness returning in an instant.

Instructing the driver to wait, Soren extended an umbrella before stepping out, holding the door for Isaiah and allowing them to share what little protection from the wet the stretched cloth held overhead could offer.

Behind a short wooden fence lay a walk of concrete carving a path through thick greenery marked with patches of late-season flowers. Being an end unit it had a larger yard than the others, filled with bushes and a few towering evergreen trees. Vines lined the windows, anchored in place by several trellises valiantly holding up the heavy growth overdue for a trim. Set in the corner was the front door, white with a large window resting under an awning lined with shingles that matched the roof one story above.

Soren paused before the door. “Remember one thing: we need this man’s help.”

Isaiah considered and asked, “Do you expect that to be a problem?”

“Unknown.”

“Who is he?”

After a deep breath, Soren answered. “He is our venerable second.”

Before Isaiah could ask what he meant, Soren raised a hand to knock. The door opened the moment the knuckles touched the panel besides the glass.

A voice from within spoke calmly. “Best be getting in before you’re both well and truly drenched.”

Isaiah followed Soren into a small parlor, both removing their damp coats to hang on the rack by the door. The man who’d let them in had already bustled off to the kitchen, having called back with, “The kettle is nearly ready, have a seat and we’ll have ourselves a cuppa.”

With a glance at each other, the two men carefully avoided stepping on the numerous small dog and cat toys scattered across the floor and took seats on a rather patch-worn leather couch that mostly matched the blue carpet. The parlor was rather small with couch and armchair tucked in behind a six chair dining set filling the rest of the room. Between windows covered with silver curtains sat several bookshelves containing classics of literature as well as a decently sized collection of fantasy and science fiction novels.

What stood out to Isaiah was the number of books on the occult covering a wide assortment of topics: dreams, psychic phenomena, astral travel, druidism, and many more.

“Here.” A tall but thin man with ruffled short hair and freshly shaved cheeks walked in carrying a different colored mug in each hand. He had on only a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, in contrast to the suits and ties of his guests. “Now let’s see. Three sugars, lightly brewed, with a touch of cold water added must be yours,” he said in a mild English accent while offering a solid green mug to Isaiah. “And no sugar with the teabag left in for you.” A purple mug was handed off to Soren. “Careful, that one is still quite hot.”

As Isaiah took a sip the man looked towards the front door with a frown. “You’re missing someone. I’m entirely certain there were to be three guests. Four sugars, with cream.”

Soren blew calmly across the top of his mug. “She is unfortunately unable to sample your hospitality in her current state.”

A coldness crept up Isaiah’s spine despite the warmth from his cup. He knew someone who took - had taken - her tea in that way. “Tracy. She’s here?”

The sorcerer stared at him, eyes dark. “Naturally. The lady is bound to your service.”

“Where?”

“Focus,” said Soren. “And you should be able to see.”

Scratching at the palm of his hand in frustration, Isaiah scanned the room. “I can’t!”

Their host tilted his head. “Don’t look with just your eyes.”

Still seeing nothing, Isaiah’s frowned in irritation. Don’t look with one’s eyes? How else was one supposed to see?

Offering an encouraging smile, his host suggested, “Try to feel her presence and let a picture in your thoughts take shape.”

Brow furrowed with concentration Isaiah gave up on sight, closing his useless eyes and instead remembering what it was like to have Tracy nearby. He remembered the scent of her favorite perfume, applied ever so lightly. How she’d mumble to herself while reading through page after page of legal briefs and case histories. And most of all her sardonic smile when they’d share the most sarcastic of jokes.

With eyes closed he could see it, how she’d be grinning at watching him, the lawyer always in control and self-assured, struggling to do the seemingly impossible.

Open them peepers, Boss. I think you’ve got it.

Priding himself on not having flinched at suddenly hearing her voice loudly inside his head, he did as told.

And there she was. Leaning against a wall in front of a framed picture of a white tiger stalking through green underbrush stood his former assistant. She was dressed as if going to a trial in a formal white blouse and that navy skirt she had fretted over after dripping soy sauce on it during sushi celebration from winning an important case.

If it wasn’t for the fact that the tiger was peeking through the translucency of the blouse he would have sworn she was standing right there, amused grin and all.

“I see her.”

Good job. But I’m not the one you’re here to visit. We’ll talk more later, don’t mind me. I’m not goin’ anywhere.

Swallowing back the rise of sorrow, Isaiah nodded and returned his attention to Soren and their host.

Soren acknowledged him with a nod of approval before turning back to their host. “You were expecting us.”

“Yeah.”

“You know who we are.”

“I’ve got an idea.” The man smiled and picked up a half-filled mug from the dining table. “Business of Heaven, eh?”

Isaiah refocused on the task at hand and addressed the man into whose home he had been invited. “Firstly, thank you for the tea. Secondly, I am Isaiah Cohen. And that,” he said while pointing at the sorcerer, ”is Callas Soren. I must apologize but he never gave me your name.”

“Adam,” the man said as he settled into the old-yet-comfortable armchair. “Adam Williams. But that isn’t the name you’re interested in.”

“No,” agreed Soren. “It is not.”

Adam shrugged. “You do know that whatever is happening, I’ve got no involvement.”

“So you say,” said Soren. “Yet we need your help.”

Their host’s eyes narrowed. “And what makes you think you’ll succeed this time, Regent? No offense to Mr. Cohen, but Gabriel is much cuter and I believe I said no to you and her a long long time ago.”

Soren stared at Adam for a long moment. “People can change.”

“Have you?”

The two locked eyes in an uncomfortable silence which Isaiah finally broke.

“Pardon me,” Isaiah said with deliberate enunciation, “but I barely know what is actually going on. What I do understand is that my best friend needs our help. And he,” Isaiah said, pointing at Soren, “claimed such help was possible and has brought me here ostensibly towards that end. Will you, Adam, at least listen to what this cryptic and overly-frustrating individual asks before making any decision?”

Adam smiled, suppressing a chuckle. “I suppose I can do that.”

Isaiah turned expectantly to Soren. “Proceed.”

The sorcerer took another swallow of tea while regarding Isaiah before turning to address Adam directly. “After Michael cast the First down from the city, you followed that path and joined him within the realms of the rebels.”

Their host stiffened, losing the smile.

Soren leaned over to place the mug on the floor. “I know these memories aren’t pleasant but we need-”

“Not pleasant?” Adam sharply cut him off. “That’s a bloody understatement! You’ve never Fallen, you have no bleedin’ idea what that’s like.”

Isaiah was watching Adam. More precisely he used the same mental effort he’d held onto from bringing Tracy into focus to stare past the slender Englishman. He caught a glimpse instead of a shadowy presence looming behind the man, that of a towering armored warrior who once wielded a mace capable of smashing galaxies unto oblivion.

Or of defending the birth of Heaven itself.

“Beliel,” Isaiah whispered in sudden recognition.

Adam looked away, quick anger fading to a much more persistent sadness. “No. I am not him. Not anymore.”

Soren disagreed. “You will always be our Second. And I ask you to help us again defend the Light as you once did.”

“I tell you that I am not.” Adam shook his head, refusing to meet Soren’s direct attention. “And defend the Light? Why would I? Lucifer needs no one. His views on that were made perfectly clear.”

“Lucifer?” Isaiah said as his fingers tightened around its mug. “The sorcerer doesn’t mean him. He means the Light who became my brother in this life, yet another whom Lucifer abandoned long ago as a small child lost in snow. He means Lucifer’s daughter, Aradia.” The image of her death burned in Isaiah’s mind. Her hand in his, trembling as all light faded away…

“Aradia?” Adam blinked with surprise. “I know of the stories and by all accounts she was lost thanks to your meddling.”

Soren cleared his throat. “She has returned. She broke the First Seal last summer.”

Adam leaned further back in the chair and rubbed his forehead. “That’s who’s been making such a racket, eh? Still - this has got nothing to do with me.”

Soren’s tone hardened. “She can restore the Light to Heaven. Is that not worth your aid?”

“I’m no good to anyone. Not now. You know why.”

Soren ignored the statement. “By virtue of circumstance she has transported past the line of Elohim’s Decree into the realms of the Fallen. A place of no return, yet Gabriel and I later found you here on Earth. Not as a projection slipping past loopholes by dint of human wizardry but fully manifest. Only two have ever succeeded at such a feat: Lucifer,” Soren paused, “and you. Tell us how that was done. Tell us how you managed to escape the chains of Hell.”

Isaiah sat up straight, suddenly understanding why they were there. Hope surged but found itself crashing against the sorrow plainly written across Adam’s face.

“If she is there,” Adam said quietly, “then I am truly sorry but she is forever lost.”

Soren’s eyes flashed. “I cannot accept that. You managed an escape, so too can she.”

“But I didn’t.”

Isaiah gestured towards his host, saying, “Yet you’re here. You must have.”

Within Adam the old shadow warrior stirred. “This is how it was.”

In Isaiah’s inner vision, a terrible mailed fist swung outward and with a single blow delivered its ancient memory.

 

Inside a block of ice an armored figure sat ensconced within its frozen throne. Wings of darkened ash protruded beyond the block, frost hanging far from each feather as if trapped not just in cold but in time. The block itself grew out of the spired tip of a high mountain of icy rock rising upwards from the center of a widely curving bowl.

Above that singular mountain peak lay nothing but true void. Not the emptiness or absence of space but absolute Nothing, incomprehensible to senses designed instead to comprehend all that is.

And yet upon the surface of those darkest of waters as if hovering over the depths of unknowable oblivion, lay a film which stirred with the potentials of all things.

There was no light within this place, only pale afterimages of sorrows and regrets leaking into surrounding mists, seeping as ice into the rocks and stones below millimeter by millimeter over the course of eons uncountable. Within the flickering scenes lay countless immaculate angels, all crushed beneath the rising and falling might of a single mace eclipsing all light with its terrible swing.

It had been thus in this place for ages, and it was thus to be.

Except an unwelcome brightness eventually invaded and dared to speak where no words had ever before been spoken.

“So this is where you have been hiding.”

An angel with six iridescent wings, having pushed its way into the space between the Abyss and the frozen tableau below, hovered before the one encased behind the ice. Held aloft in one hand shone a globe of brilliance, but instead of emanating warmth its light reached out only to illuminate and by doing so made the surroundings more solid as if by its glow alone dreams would thereby become real.

“Go away.” The armored angel had not moved but his voice echoed as a subsonic whisper from the creaks and moans of each shard of frost and compressed stone.

“Oh I plan to, brother. Indeed I came to say goodbye.”

“When last you left you did not speak to us. Why the break with tradition?”

For the briefest of moments golden eyes winced before their usual prideful glint returned. “Perhaps a desire to avoid a repeat of your folly. I did not call for you to follow. Your own arrogance led to the mess of that day.”

“You knew what I would do just the same.”

The angel of light tossed the glowing ball from one hand to the other, watching the resulting trails stream across the air before slowly fading away. “I foresaw possibilities. Yet I deluded myself into believing you could not possibly be that stupid.”

“You knew.”

“I knew only that a game with unchanging rules leads directly to stasis and destruction. Something had to change. Alternate paths had to be explored.”

“And look how well that turned out.”

The ball grew brighter, held tightly between fingers which grew brighter still. “It needed to be done.”

“So you have said before. And now have said it yet again.”

“Of all our brothers I had thought you at least would understand.”

The angel in the ice laughed, a bitter sound flowing forth to coat the block with yet another layer of frost. “Your disappointment pales in comparison to His; do not think you can guilt me into accepting your premises.”

“Guilt you? I would not insult the both of us by trying.” Eyes of fire cast about, taking in the entire space of the realm and beyond. “You have built yourself quite the inverted tomb. Is that what you wish for? Do you stare into the Abyss and dream of oblivion’s kiss?”

“The quiet suits me.”

An intensity built within those bright eyes, and where they gazed ice began to melt. “I would still have you be convinced. But this grave of yours will never allow for a fresher perspective.” Holding forth the orb, the angel unleashed the power stored within to lash out at the permafrost surrounding his brother.

“Lucifer!” The dark warrior growled in alarm.

“I had intended to leave this bauble as a gift for you and your realm after my departure, much as I have gifted our other brothers caught within Elohim’s net. I have now decided otherwise.”

Anger became pain as ice flashed into steam. “Cease this! Now!”

“Your regrets weigh you down. I shall see you free.”

Like a surgeon directing a laser scalpel with sharp precision, Lucifer carved the ice around the warrior, slicing deeper into the ice-encrusted rocks which had absorbed and reflected all his inner anguish for over billions of years. When the ice was thin enough he shoved the orb of power directly into the frozen throne underneath his brother and cut him free.

Rock ground against rock, causing the realm to tremble and crack, forging a new inner volcanism whose heat began to melt the ice and form deep underground pools.

As the ice surrounding Beliel exploded, Lucifer caught his brother in his arms. Sharpened fragments evaporated instantly against the brilliance now surrounding them both.

Ashen wings flexed slowly to crack layers of frost that had held them still for eons past. From behind the ancient helmet came a hoarse cry. “Why?”

“To teach you that which you failed to grasp when foolishly following in my wake.” As the two rose towards the nothingness above, the Lightbringer poured more light into his aura. “You waded into the chaos determined to stand fast against its infinite possibilities. It beat you down and the corruption of the Abyss seeped into your pattern because you lacked two truths.”

With hands which had not moved in eons Beliel struggled in rising panic against the arm now wrapped tightly around his waist. “No! You cannot take me back into it! Not again!”

“How else would we slip past the limits which in his rage Elohim carved into the very nature of our fallen brethren’s realms? There is but one egress and I hold the only available ticket.”

As Lucifer’s hand reached towards the waters covering the Abyss beyond, ripples of unformed possibilities flowed like static outward over the surface.

Pausing with a finger only a hairs-breadth away from the infinite nothing-ness, the angel of light flared brighter still. “The two keys of such travel are simple. First, one does not fight against an infinite.”

Knowing he was still too weakened to break free, Beliel gripped tightly to the other’s arm. “And the second?”

“There exist infinities of different size. And the Light, dearest brother, is the greatest of them all.”

Lucifer dipped the finger into the outer layer of chaos and with that the angels were gone.

 

Adam made fresh tea for his guests to give them time to collect their thoughts. Footsteps from the floor above were heard going from one room into another and then back.

“Don’t mind about the missus,” Adam said as he handed back mugs refilled with steaming English flavor. “This time of evening, she’s deep in her soaps.”

Isaiah took a few sips, the brew helping to bring his thoughts back to the here and now. Turning to Soren he asked, “What now? Find Lucifer and convince him to go get her out too?”

Adam tried to laugh mid-swallow and coughed instead. “He hasn’t wanted to be found since dropping me off here on Earth. It’s likely easier to break the seal around Hell than to find that one. Let alone convince him to offer any assistance.”

The sorcerer looked past them both, perhaps to something only he could see. “No, there is no need. She needs not the Lightbringer’s aid.”

Wanting to shout, Isaiah fought to keep his voice calm. “Did you not see the same vision? Lucifer said he had the only ticket.”

“Had.” Soren held up a hand. “That was then. She too is a bringer of light; she too holds the key to such a passage for beings of this Creation. Though she is entirely unaware of it.”

Adam shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Traversing the chaos is beyond maddening. Lucifer got the two of us through, but for me it was a blur of confusion and pain. I found myself recovering a measure of sanity in a forest; he’d been long gone.”

“She can do it,” Soren said firmly, rising to his feet. “Adam, thank you for the tea and the information. Come, Mr. Cohen. It is time for us to depart.”

Isaiah remained seated. “I am not going anywhere until you explain what our next move should be.”

The two stared at each other but Isaiah’s glare was an equal stubborn match.

Soren spoke first. “We need a method to tell her of what we just learned.”

Lifting his cup, Isaiah said wryly, “Let me guess. There’s no spiritual phone service to Hell.”

The sorcerer either missed or ignored the attempt at humor. “The Seal which covers all the fallen domains prevents direct communication between us and our brethren.”

After a deliberately slow sip of his tea Isaiah asked, “Then what are our options?”

The edge of a smile glinted upon Soren’s face. “There are other channels which may be used. We shall insist on the services of someone who can assist with the delivery.”

An eyebrow raised above Isaiah’s glasses. “And whom might that be?”

“A demonologist of particular skill. Try not to kill him on sight.”

Isaiah lowered the cup, his jaw tightening. “You know where he is?”

Soren’s unfriendly smile grew. “Yes.”

Unlike Soren, Isaiah didn’t smile. “And if he refuses to help?”

“I will offer sufficient motivation to ensure Mr. Wright’s cooperation. But should he still somehow refuse then you may visit Azrael’s Judgment upon him as you see fit.”

Isaiah’s eyes flashed. “He deserves nothing less.”

“Don’t we all, Mr. Cohen. Don’t we all.”

 

Light And Shadow (Part 2 of 8)

by Erisian

 

Chapter 5 - Ransacked

 

We found what was left of the captain lying in the corridor leading from her quarters to the main cavern. The walls gave evidence to a fierce and moving battle, deep chunks of rock had been ripped from the walls with stony fragments scattered everywhere. Her caved-in head, spine, and most of her ribcage were all that remained. They had stripped her clean: armor and boots, soul orbs and meat, all had been taken. Only bloody bones and small scraps of muscle and tendon remained.

Just like they had done to Biff outside and all the other guards.

“We shouldn’t stay.” Hank was at my side, facing away to constantly scan both ends of the corridor. He’d picked up a chunk of two-by-four, holding it in a light but steady grip. By his practiced balance he’d clearly had military training; of course the dog-tags, regulation-cropped brown hair, and numerous scars had already given that much away. Twitch was at the entrance to the passage, his own twin blades unsheathed. When we’d arrived outside he had stared at the smoke still flowing outward and balked at entering; I had to practically shove him inside.

Almost felt guilty about doing that, but I really didn’t want to leave him outside alone.

“My room first,” I said, pushing down the wave of nausea threatening to add to the mess before us. Smoke still hung along the ceiling, fortunately the corridors in this part were high enough that we were under most of it. We had taken the lantern crystals from the wagon to find our way as all the interior lanterns were missing, plucked free from their mounted holders.

Whoever had attacked the base had done a darn good job of stripping away anything of value.

Steadying myself with a hand against a wall dented from the captain’s dying efforts, I turned to Hank. “Get Twitch to take you to the kitchens. See if there’s any food. They probably took everything but we still need to check. Tell him to take you to the vault after.”

Hank touched my shoulder. “Splitting up ain’t a good idea. In case they left skirmishers behind.”

I shook my head. “They didn’t. The only spirits here are us.” Before we’d gone in I’d already scanned the patterns for any sign of souls - be they free or trapped inside demons. “Inside the vault is the only spot I’m not entirely sure about. Don’t go in there until I catch up.”

He clearly didn’t approve but didn’t debate further. “Alright.” Moving quickly he and Twitch disappeared around the bend, leaving me alone with the captain’s remains.

Bending down I closed her eyes. “Sorry, Cap,” I whispered. Dammit. If we hadn’t detoured to pick up Hank, maybe we would have been back in time.

Once again I’d failed to be there for those I should.

Rising self-loathing got me moving again, running down the halls past room after room also ransacked by the invaders. Mine was at the end and it was with grim satisfaction that I noted some barbecued demons scattered in front of my doors amidst more rubble.

The felwood I’d spent a fortune on was still standing, their defensive magics having done their job. Quick examination revealed that the demons had worn rather expensive cloth and one had even died while clutching a book. All that was left of the volume was its leather-bound spine as the pages themselves were only so much ash on the floor. An axe handle with a shattered blade told the story that they’d tried brute force first but when that failed they must have resorted to fire magic which had rebounded right into their faces.

It’s rather difficult to open doors when the local reality had been programmed to keep them shut and untouched.

Even these bodies had been stripped of anything useful. In fact the smudged scorch marks on the floor indicated one had been removed entirely. But their cloaks had been too damaged by the flames to be worth trying to salvage. Picking up a scrap of the black cloth I blew off enough ash to make out a golden equilateral triangle that had each side pierced by a short line segment. It wasn’t a symbol I recognized.

Placing a palm against the dark planks clicked the locks immediately open, my own pattern being the only key which granted access not just through the doors but past all the stones which made up the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room behind.

When I ward a space I don’t mess around.

Stepping inside I worked quickly to get what I had come for: spare clothes and the sack of denarii I’d shoved into the rock for even safer keeping. Yipe had offered to hold my earnings in the vault, he acted as the local bank and kept ledgers for most of our crew, but call me old-fashioned as the mattress-full-of-cash technique had seemed wiser.

Case in point being today.

Mirroring the invaders I also then stripped all the lanterns in my quarters of their crystals, adding them to the sack. Other than those and a few alternate and unflattering outfits, that was it for all that I’d accumulated over many cycles.

Though I had a feeling I was going to seriously miss the tub.

With clothes, sack, and spear I bid farewell to my temporary sanctum and made my way down to the vault.

Twitch and Hank were waiting outside Yipe’s office entranceway. Hank was kneeling on the stone, running fingers over long scratches leading away from the office.

“What is it?” I asked.

Hank wiped dust from his hands and stood up. “Some heavy things got dragged out of there.” He pointed at the double doors to the office which were still closed. “We waited before goin’ in, like you said.”

“Good.” Dropping everything but the spear, I stood before the doors and scanned past them for any signs of spirit.

Nothing.

I couldn’t see anything, not even the wards that once had blocked my sight from delving deeper.

“Shit,” I said before kicking the doors open.

Yipe’s desk had been tossed to one side, landing in a crumpled pile of wood against a wall. As for the vault, the entire metal door had been ripped off its hinges and now leaned against the wall opposite what was left of the desk.

“That took serious muscle,” Hank marveled. “The demons around here usually that strong?”

“Old ones are.” Approaching the vault’s opening I shone some crystal light around its insides. Yipe’s pristinely organized shelves on the back wall had all been torn out, the many lockboxes which had once sat upon them were gone along with the other usual contents. He’d kept soul orbs sorted by intensity on different shelves and separate from his cash reserves. There they would wait for the next scheduled train to be shipped back to the Hole and on to Duke Valgor where the fat bastard probably cackled maniacally before using them as suppositories or something equally horrible. As for how I knew the Duke was fat, the pink blubbery demon’s portrait had held a permanent spot above the dining table in the mess hall.

“Well that’s new,” I commented while staring at the large hole in the rock where the back shelves had hung. The opening was about six feet tall and many feet wide with a larger space behind. Stepping further into the vault itself was easy, all the debris from the shelves and the rock that had been busted out to make the hole had been shoved to the sides just like Yipe’s desk had been. Thus there was a clear path from the hole all the way out to the corridors beyond.

Hank followed me in. “What they pulled out came from in there. Any ideas on what it was?”

Shining a light into the space behind the vault showed an empty ten by twelve area. “No clue. I thought only cash and souls were kept in here. Twitch, did you know about this?” I looked back over to him and he shook his head in the negative.

“Had to be seriously valuable,” Hank said. “The raiders must’ve known about the extra storage.”

The light from the crystal swung over the debris in the vault as I went to exit. “Dammit.” Under a broken board could be seen five dead eyes staring blankly upward. “They killed Yipe too.”

“Yipe?”

“The vaultkeeper.” Which reminded me. “Twitch, any sign of Cookie?”

Another negative head shake.

“What about the kitchen?”

Hank answered for him. “Cleared out. Shelves emptied, ice storage rooms and all. Oven doors ripped off without anyone bothering to douse the fires in ‘em; a few of the counters are still burning hence all the smoke.”

“That is going to be a problem,” I said, turning to march back to the main cavern. The two metal doors were ajar, the one on the left looking like it’d been kicked in by something whose foot was about the size of our wagon hitched outside. Staring at it all something felt wrong. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“How so you reckon?”

“Not sure. Just a feeling.”

Hank considered. “Try unpacking it piece by piece. List observations, don’t assume causes, and just see what you get.”

I looked at him. “You some sort of investigator?”

The newly arrived soul shrugged. “Tactical training. Give it a go.”

“Alright.” I pointed at the massive dent in the solid defensive door. “Something big enough to do that should never have made it all the way here. The soul scanner should have easily picked up on its approach and the lockdown wards activated.”

“What else?”

“They were inside before the Captain could get to her quarters. Her fight started in the corridor and she was forced to retreat. The damage shows a lot of close up fighting and slamming things about which meant she didn’t have her longbow. She must have been taken by surprise and didn’t have it with her. If she’d known they were outside she would have taken the fight to them first at range using the bow. Which means the whole place was taken by surprise too.”

“How does this ‘soul scanner’ thingamabob work?”

“The dish outside - you know, the one on the ground all messed up - sweeps the outlying area for signs of souls, spots where the reality is more ‘solid’ due to their presence and then hones in on traces of spiritual resonance. It’s how we know where to go to find newly arrived souls when they end up here.”

“It controlled from somewhere?”

“Operations room. This way.”

We hurried to find yet another room which had been thoroughly tossed. The lock was neatly punched out and inside the planning tables had been flipped over, chairs smashed up, and the maps ripped from the walls. Maybe they were looking for hidden safes. Even the wiring which ran up a couple walls and was bundled into a single conduit that ran out the room and down the hall had been stripped. The wide station where our Wayfinders would get their updates was completely destroyed. Crystal-embedded metal shards were all that was left of the delicate scanning equipment, its control panel and housing shattered into a pile of glittering pieces.

“Dang,” I muttered. That weird feeling was niggling at my thoughts again.

“Y’all were betrayed from within,” Hank announced matter-of-factly.

Twitch and I both whirled to face him.

“Say again?” I demanded.

He gestured to the station wreckage. “Think it through. Equipment like this has got to be worth a pretty penny more’n those lanterns which they’ve stripped from the walls. If that gizmo had been functional they would have taken it with them.”

It clicked. “You’re right.” I went back to the door and examined the small hole where the lock used to be. Something very sharp had cut it free. Doors to all the other rooms had been simply smashed in (mine being an exception, ha!), but for this one someone had taken the time to do it carefully. And quietly.

“If someone took out the scanner the rest could approach without being spotted, right?” Hank leaned against a wall and stroked his chin. “How far did its range extend and how quickly could that distance be covered?”

I frowned. “It reached pretty darn far. A force capable of taking down the Captain has to be formidable either in numbers or sheer power focused into a few. Either way would give a huge signal. I haven’t seen any fast-moving vehicles since getting here, though some demons can fly.”

Hank looked around, noting the handful of chairs and size. “This room used often?”

“Often enough,” I replied, catching the drift of his question. “Simple sabotage wouldn’t cut it, that’d get noticed.” Pulling pieces of the scanner free of each other I rummaged amidst the bits that were left. A few cycles ago the Captain had splurged for an upgrade to get better range out of it by replacing the central crystal: the part that would vibrate just so in response to the right spirit energies. To get to it required opening the entire unit up and carefully extracting the core from a gold mesh that was connected by wiring to the dish up top. I’d watched the whole thing because I’d been curious how the device worked, wondering about the mechanisms which could project its detections over a map on the opposite wall. The arcane rune-covered cabinet had been designed to make it easy to do the updates as apparently the crystals were only good for so long. Its old hunk of emerald with these spiky edges had been swapped for a new and smooth azure orb within a couple minutes.

An orb that wasn’t here.

“Bastards took the core. But why that and not the whole thing?”

“Ease of transport?” Hank asked.

I shook my head. “They must have had a lot of wagons or some other means to move all the supplies from the kitchens. This unit is what, four feet by two by one? Small potatoes.” Grateful for having sewn the gloves back together, I lifted the wire mesh free and examined it closely. The thin wires showed signs of overload, what was supposed to be a tiny grid of wiring had partially melted. “Someone hacked it.”

“Hacked? Like a computer?”

“Sort of. Random trivia for you: did you know that the term ‘hacking’ originated with MITs Model Railroad Club in the sixties and all the mods they kept making to their really complex track switchings? I bet these invader jerks used a hacked version of a core, probably with some kind of frequency filter on it. Something that would prevent their own presences from showing up.”

Hank was nodding. “Their inside guy - or demon - swapped it out with a ringer is what you’re saying.”

“Yeah. And who knows how long the device was running normally otherwise. But the filtering must have caused some backlash when the enemy got too close and fried the mesh. See? It’s toast. No longer worth taking.” I tossed the wires back into the pile.

“Any thoughts on who?”

I frowned. “One of the guards maybe? Though I don’t see how they’d get the opportunity to be suckered into such a thing. Of us reapers, Hallgyx was late getting back before Twitch and I took off, Barry and Charles were going to try and find him. Reapers are an odd group, loners really and all volunteers so I don’t see motive from us - well, except for Charles. His mother made him come.”

“His mom?” Hank chuckled. “Is Charles human or demon?”

“Demon. His mother is the Duke’s current paramour. If he did this, he’s signed her death warrant.”

“There are many kids with mommy issues.”

Hard to argue that. “True. Okay, yeah, he’s on the list.”

While Hank and I had been pondering the scanner situation, Twitch had been busy rummaging through the rest of the room. He stepped back over to us while shaking his head seriously.

“What is it?” I asked.

He mimed holding a phone to his ear then held up both empty hands before gesturing to the rest of the room.

“Seriously? They took the communicator too?”

Twitch nodded in disgust, crossing his arms.

“Radio?” Hank asked.

“No. Physics doesn’t work here the same as on Earth. At least that’s what I’ve been told. It was more like a hard-line phone; I think it used the train rails in lieu of telephone wires. Connected this outpost to the next one over and so on through the loop until reaching the Hole.”

Hank gave a weak grin. “There’s too much here I don’t know yet. What’s the ‘Hole’?”

“It’s an access tunnel that goes between the dark outer side of the bowl of this realm to the inner light side. There’s apparently this simulated sun on the other side, maintained and powered by souls. I’ve never been there though.”

“They got a backup phone?”

Twitch picked up a scrap of paper with most of the halls of the outpost diagrammed on it and pointed to the vault.

I cursed. “If it was in the vault then they took the spare too.”

Stepping over a broken chair, Hank picked up the remnants of a larger map and held it open for examination. “Next question of survival importance. How far to the nearest place of re-supply and will they try to bust up that place next?”

That’s when it hit home how bad our situation was.

We were three souls and two already about-to-starve graxh with no food and no means to call for help. We did have Twitch’s magic waterskin as a source of clean drinkable water which was at least one plus. As long is it didn’t run out for some reason. However the nearest outpost was at least thirty sleeps away by graxh, longer by foot.

An attacking force must have left this place and gone somewhere, and if we weren’t careful we might just run into their backsides and then meet the same fates as those who had been here.

Worst of all, someone had betrayed the Captain and could need a convenient patsy to blame it all on. And who better than the still-recently-arrived smart-mouthed reaper who kept mostly to herself and appeared to have a chip on her shoulder against demons?

“You know,” I said with a groan, “no matter how you look at it, this has been a really crappy day. C’mon Hank, we’ve a mountain to climb.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

A cold wind blew across the top of the outpost’s hill though I’d been through some much colder.

Doesn’t mean I liked it any better.

“See anything, ma’am?” Hank stood below at the pedestal’s base, shivering under one of the extra blankets I’d pulled from my room. He was holding up a glowstone which cast its pale light across the small peak where the Wayfinder Array had been mounted before getting knocked off its perch.

The illumination didn’t even reach the ground below where the wreckage lay and our two graxhs kept bleating their hungry confusion to Twitch wondering why there still was no welcome-home feast to gorge upon. As far as what could be visibly seen we stood within a rather small bubble enclosed on all sides by unvarying darkness.

“Not yet,” I grumbled. “Shut up and let me concentrate.”

With a sigh I took hold of a twisted metal strut to steady myself and again opened perceptions up to the patterns, this time on as wide a scan as I could manage.

The ever-present burning across my back intensified and I choked out a grunt, forcing that inner sight despite the pain.

If Hank had heard he didn’t say anything. Smart.

Twitch had pointed out the numerous tracks scuffed into the dirt outside the base but it was such a mess that it wasn’t clear which way the attackers had gone. And it wouldn’t be too hard to take a group a sleep’s worth distance and then change direction just to make it more challenging. We couldn’t trust just the tracks we could see here.

Considering how little we actually kept here at the reaper outpost, attacking it had to be part of some other plan. If they’d come out of the Spires as was suspected - driving some of the resident non-social demons ahead of them - then this had to be only their first stop. Maybe they’d keep going along the train tracks to knock off each outpost in turn before completing the horseshoe loop at the Hole. But when factoring in that they’d had someone on the inside betray us to let the assholes in, they were relying on surprise which such a circuitous route risked losing - something which Hank had pointed out. See? Smart!

Going with Hank’s well-reasoned thinking I focused my attention first to the South. Empty sigils of frozen ground flowed past, reaching towards the limits of our Wayfinder and the border of the Hole’s more powerful one.

Which is where I found them.

“Holy crud. Hey Hank? There’s a sizable force just outside the Hole’s scanning range.”

“And just what do you mean by ‘sizable’?”

“Uh, on the order of at least a thousand souls worth.” The sparks all flickered in clumps, which made it really hard to count the demons. “Even at an average of ten souls per beast, that’s on the order of a hundred demons. But to control that lot? Their leader likely has twice that if not more.”

“How does that shake out in terms of power? I weren’t fightin’ literal demons in Iraq. Throw me some reference pointers.”

I considered. “Put it this way: our captain - who they slaughtered - had eighteen souls. They caught her in the corridors below where she couldn’t really open up without risking burying herself in a cave collapse, a fact which likely worked to the attackers’ advantage. But the one time I saw her go at it full? She had not quite the punch of a modern Abrams, maybe equivalent to a World-War-Two Sherman.”

“Hmm. Group strength then akin to a pair of Armor Companies. You know, a force that size needs a fair amount of support and supplies. They walking or using vehicles?”

Frowning, I tried to get the patterns into better focus and despite the freezing air I began to sweat. “I think they’ve got graxh which means wagons, and a bunch of live souls as servants by which I mean slaves.”

“Can this Hole of yours defend against ‘em?”

“I’ve never been there. It’s likely a bunker like our outpost just larger. Probably has magical defenses, but honestly I’ve no clue as to how good.”

“You said they likely came from some ‘Spires’ out West. Take a look that way and see if you can spot if they’ve got any reinforcements coming.”

That made sense. It was also a scary thought.

Shifting ninety degrees the shoulder burn flared even more intense. I needed to make this quick.

“I don’t see anything,” I said as the empty plains code whisked past. “Wait. There are dots climbing into the Spires, though they’re moving away from here.”

Four demons, each likely on their own wagon with a single graxh, were making their way up the lower hills along a switchback-style trail. The one in front glowed with a light brighter than any in the invasive force.

As I narrowed in to get a proper count of souls, it flared brighter still - and then disappeared, taking the rest with it.

“What the hell?” Attempting a surge of power to get the vision back, I tried pulling more from that now-distant column of light hovering perpetually at the edges of my perceptions.

As I did, the wound across my insubstantial wing tore as if flesh and muscle had been ripped apart.

This time I couldn’t help it. I cried out, the grip on the metal support the only thing which kept me standing.

“Jordan!” Hank scrambled up the maintenance ladder and seeing me swaying on my feet the way I was, quickly got an arm around my back and under an armpit. “It’s alright, I got you. What happened?”

Determined not to pass out I concentrated on breathing, steady and slow. “Old wound,” I mumbled. “Powering up aggravates it.”

“You didn’t say nothing ‘bout being wounded. Let’s get you below.”

“It’s not physical. Give me a moment. I’ll be fine. I just need to sit.”

He eased me down onto the concrete pad. “Where you hurt? And how bad?” His voice was a blend of concern and tactical focus.

I chuckled weakly. “From right before I died, sliced across-” I hesitated. “Across a shoulder blade. It’s a spirit wound. Ran into a fae with a cursed magic sword that cut deep.”

“Sounds like quite a story there.”

“Not today, there isn’t.”

“Still, you were surprised right before the pain hit.” The soft lighting from the crystals made his eyes look as blue as an ocean. I hadn’t realized it before but he was rather handsome. He’d manifested as if he was in his mid-thirties but those eyes showed an older depth. They’d seen much, those twin oceans, of pain but also joy.

“I had them in sight,” I said. “Then they went poof. It’s like they activated a cloaking device. You know, like from Star Trek.”

He stiffened. “Did they notice you searching them out?”

I shifted my knees, trying to find a more comfortable arrangement on the hard surface. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Then we can’t stay here.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. Staying here means we starve; they took all the food. We’ll have to make for the closest outpost and hope the attackers didn’t divide their forces to send some that way too.”

“That’s to the East, right? You didn’t scan that way.”

“No, and I better recover for a few days before trying to do that again.”

“Risky.”

“Yeah well, if we tried to split the difference and aim for the middle of the horseshoe of outposts it would take too long. As it is the closest outpost is a good thirty sleeps away by graxh. Maybe more. The graxh aren’t likely to survive the entire distance, and the hungrier you and Twitch get the slower you’ll walk.”

“What about you? You have to eat too.”

“I’m weird. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

It was true. Many cycles ago there’d been a screwup with our supplies and severe rationing had been imposed on our outpost. It was then that I’d discovered I really didn’t need to eat, as any hunger I would start to feel would just dissipate if given time. Back on Earth I’d been able to shift back and forth between spirit and physical manifestation, and whenever I’d gone physical I’d never felt hungry right after. It would happen only hours later.

Whereas here in Hell there didn’t seem to be as much a separation between spirit and physical. As if the bodies everyone wore were more illusionary than solid, maintained by the realm’s design which happened to include the perception of hunger. Souls here suffered endlessly with all the effects of starvation until it simply got bad enough for the soul to collapse inward into a soul-ball and cease responding to anything external out of sheer despair.

I had a weird suspicion that while I appeared to be here physically, I wasn’t really. Like somehow my spirit just maintained its own illusion in order to interact with the realm. It was just a theory, the pain across my back had prevented any experiments. Cuts and bruises took awhile to heal all the same, maybe a bit faster than they did for other souls but not by that much.

Hank was staring at me dubiously but let it drop. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can arrive.” He offered a hand to help me up.

With a groan, I let him pull me to my feet. As I went to move past him to the ladder he stopped me.

“Your cloak. It’s wet.” Reaching out he brushed the aching shoulder blade with a pair of fingertips. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You’re bleeding.”

I sighed. “Not really.”

Holding out the fingers, his expression hardened. “This is blood.”

Shaking my head, I pulled an arm out of the cloak. “Take a closer look. You’ll find it’s only wet on the outside.”

Putting the glow crystal between his teeth, he peeled the thick cloak away from the lighter shirt I wore underneath.

Despite being wrapped up in the makeshift bra, the sudden cold hit my nipples like a pair of icepicks. I had to throw an arm over them in self-defense. “Gah!”

Oblivious to my discomforts both physical and emotional, Hank was busy examining both sides of the fabric and to his dismay realized that I was right.

I’d bled, but not from my skin. The wing had manifested its blood directly onto the outer layer of the cloak.

“How?” he asked, holding the evidence out at me accusingly.

“Like I told you,” I said with a shrug. “I’m weird. Let’s round up Twitch and the graxh. You sure picked a crappy time to die and end up here, dude. This trip is totally going to suck.” I pushed past to start my way back down.

Behind me I heard him mutter, “Like there’s ever a good time to be damned to Hell?”

I snickered.

 

Chapter 6 - Instruments

 

“What has he done?”

Ornate double doors guarding the council chamber of Heaven slammed open as Beliel, in black-armored angelic form, strode within. The two soldiers posted outside the high-ceilinged room peered past his shoulders with unsure glances to where Archangel Michael, Prince and Defender of the Throne, sat with wings of gleaming ivory folded calmly behind him.

Michael flicked sapphire eyes at his men who quickly lowered their spears and closed the doors.

Beliel marched forward to loom over the long council chamber, glaring from behind the battle-scarred helm at the six archangels seated upon their backless red-velvet ottomans. A sigil-carved table divided them into three and three, with a single cushioned seat remaining empty at the other end. Light streamed through tall arched windows on both sides of the otherwise empty space, but the illumination no longer held the intensity to banish all shadows.

With no immediate answer, Beliel pounded a mailed fist against the marble table, sending a crack along its center.

“Speak!”

It was Azrael who replied. From within the depths of a hooded cloak the usual booming voice of Judgment sounded strangely subdued - as if for the first time uncertain.

“The First has abandoned his duties.”

“And you let him?” Beliel roared. Immaculately stained glass shook in their frames, surviving only by virtue of the perfection of their crafting. “Yet here you all sit! Huddle not as scared rabbits and go knock sense into that most prideful of heads! Bring. Him. Home.”

Michael stood, his white sleeveless tunic a sharp contrast against Beliel’s obsidian metal. “He has traveled where we cannot follow. Into the chaos primeval.”

Twin orange fires lit within the helm as Beliel turned to point at Gabriel. “Then your sister’s poisonous concepts have finally hit the mark of their long-intended target.”

Gabriel’s hands remained clasped across her lap. Gossamer-covered shoulders squared themselves as she met the dark warrior’s gaze. “Elohim refused to answer his pleas. Lucifer sees things I cannot, how could I or anyone have persuaded him?”

Beliel’s accusing finger lowered and the fire of his gaze shifted instead to regard the others on the council. “Then I will do that which this council lacks the courage to attempt.”

Raphael, his earthy green and blue tunic embroidered with golden fish that shimmered as he too got to his feet, objected. “Such a path leads to madness!”

“A Heaven without the Light is already a madness.” Dismissing Raphael, Beliel turned to address Michael. “Shore up the outer reaches. The Rebels may be contained within their prisons but other Archons will hear of this. They will move to gather all who would rejoice in seeing us fail.”

“It is already so ordered.” Michael put a hand upon his brother’s pauldron and spoke in a quieter tone. “If you are bound to follow him, allow me to dispatch an escort to attend you.”

The warrior curtly shook his head. “No. Their safety would not be guaranteed. Even mine is uncertain. Best to risk but one to that threshold’s crossing. Prepare our city for assault as well. Guard the gates and let none unworthy pass.”

“It will be done.”

Again the doors were thrown open and metal boots marched beyond. A tremendous winged shadow swept past the windows to cover them all in momentary darkness, temporarily blotting out the sparkling spires comprising the heavenly skyline.

Beliel, second only to Lucifer himself, had taken flight in the shape of a dragon with which to speed his journey.

 

The wagon lurched over a rock, the bounce lifting me vertical and the hard slam back onto its slats scattering the vision of an angelic metropolis into sleep-deprived confusion. Dammit, that had been my first sleep after letting the boys have two each. The lack of food had been getting to them, sure, but couldn’t they at least pay attention to the terrain?

Moaning pitifully, I pulled the blanket tighter against the cold frosting each exhale.

Hank pulled on the reins and coaxed Martha to a stop. We’d lost Stewart only a few sleeps into the trek, our extended reaper sweep had taken too much out of the big guy’s reserves and with no refill at the outpost the poor thing had finally wailed and collapsed.

I’d led Martha ahead to leave Hank and Twitch the task of pulling what little meat was still available from the dead graxh. We’d salvaged enough planks of wood to build a small fire to cook with and that had helped the guys gain some strength, but me and Martha had gone without. Graxh were vegetarian, after all. Not to mention that feeding Martha scraps of her longtime companion and mate just seemed wrong.

“Why are we stopping?” I asked, forcing myself to sit up and stare groggily at Hank’s blanketed back. Within the narrow circle of our bluish lanterns Twitch stumbled forward alongside the twin rails of train-tracks we’d been following. He too halted once he realized the wagon was no longer moving.

Hank’s answer was rough with exhaustion. “Saw a flicker of light dead ahead.”

“Really? That’s either good or terribly bad.”

“You should look. The ol’ imagination could be playin’ wishful games.”

With the wagon now steady I dared to stand up, putting a hand on Hank’s shoulder for balance. Flipping the goggles up I peered out into that darkness. “Don’t see anything.” Rubbing crumbs out of my eyes I tried again.

And there they were. Just within the limits of where all light was swallowed flickered a set of dim sparks.

“Holy shit,” I said. “I think it’s a caravan of some kind.”

“Friendly?” he asked, fingering the knife at his belt.

The brighter light in front blinked then blinked again, pulsing out a specific sequence: some kind of demonic morse-code.

Hank figured it out too. “They’re signaling.”

Shaking the last cobwebs out of the brain I replayed the message in my thoughts and the contents became clear: Identify yourself!

“Yeah,” I said. “They want to know who we are.”

“Know how to respond? May as well go for truth.”

He had a point. If they were going to be hostile it wouldn’t matter who we said we were. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Stepping over the back of the driver’s bench I reached up to our front lantern and using my hand as a cover tried to send a response. Reapers from Outpost Epsilon, S.O.S.!

Save Our Souls - never had that emergency message ever been more appropriate. Okay, technically the demonic version translated to ‘Save Our Spirits’. Hush.

There was no immediate reply and my empty stomach lurched with heightened anxiety. From what I could see we’d be seriously outnumbered, not to mention that in our condition I wasn’t sure we could fight. But as I was about to tell the boys we’d better run for it, the light finally signaled again.

We are Lilim traders with supplies for Epsilon. Save your strength, stay put. Vance sends regards.

It was all I could do to respond with ‘will-comply’. Sinking to the bench with crazed relief I blurted out, “Guys! I think we’re being rescued!”

Twitch dropped to the dusty ground, head bowed over knees. Even with a covered face I was pretty sure he was weeping.

Hank’s response was a lot more subdued.

“Well. How ‘bout that.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

It took awhile for them to reach us and even then they approached with caution. Always a wise thing to do out here.

We stayed put as instructed within the light around our single wagon. I’d warned Hank and Twitch that Lilim scouts were moving out there in the dark as I could see them with spirit sight. The scouts were obviously wearing black clothing to be for all practical purposes invisible to normal eyes.

The lead coachman pulled a halt to his team of four graxh and the side door of a large coach decorated with carvings of flowers and vines opened. Stepping easily from that height to the ground was Vance, there was no mistaking his towering yet slender build.

Nor was there any mistaking his knee-high leather boots, slim pants with red waist-sash and matching vest, plus a fedora tilted rakishly above perfectly mischievous teeth and the ever-present handlebar mustache. At his side hung a long rapier with a fancy basket hilt, though the scratches across the decorations indicated the blade had seen real use. Thin fencer’s gloves covered his hands, ornate rings slipped over the fabric matching the jewel-encrusted stars and moons dangling from an earlobe.

He was a fancy one, was Vance. Style on the verge of parody, yet he somehow made it work.

“My my, what a sorry lot I see before me.” Vance’s circus barker voice boomed out over us. “Surely tales of struggle and valor await our eager ears, but first formalities must indeed be obeyed.”

I stepped forward. “Hi Vance.”

“Reaper Jordan! By your splendid voice do I know you, yet it is wrought with deep weariness. And thus I am both overjoyed to see you and also filled with sorrow.” With a flourish he removed his hat and bowed low.

Knowing it would please the rakish devil I curtsied as best I could manage. “Yeah, well, dreams keep ruining my beauty sleep.”

“Dreams? There are no dreams in Hell. Only memories by which the heart is wounded anew.” He straightened, reaching at least a good three to four feet taller than I was, and nodded towards the boys. “And your companions?”

“May I present Reaper Twitch, whom you already know, and a newly arrived soul who goes by Hank.”

“Gentlemen.” Vance acknowledged them both with a nod, lingering an extra moment to examine Hank who in turn nodded back.

The image of two lions checking each other out came to mind.

Vance broke the miniature staring contest to look back at me. “Now then, my dear. You are one graxh short of the usual complement and driving a wagon woefully under-supplied for having traveled this far from your home station. I sense a story ripe for the telling, if not an entire saga.”

I shrugged. “Would the short version suffice? We returned from our sweep to find the outpost betrayed, Captain Erglyk dead. The attackers stripped anything of value whether it was nailed down or not, and even now move against the Hole.”

All joviality slipped from Vance’s face, the fun-loving gypsy demeanor finding itself replaced with determined focus. “Come. Let us first get warm food into your bellies then you must share every last detail.” Pulling free the swordsman’s glove, he used two fingers to emit a sharp whistle before gesturing a quick circle over his head. Souls bound to his service appeared as if by magic from the following coaches and began preparing a campsite. Shovels broke into the dirt to start a firepit while torches were planted around the area waiting only to be lit.

From the darkness emerged his scouts, each carrying rather wicked-looking spears whose tips had been painted black. What caught me off-guard was that more appeared than even I had accounted for.

A few had even been able to hide traces of their spirits. Either that or I really was beyond exhausted and had just missed them.

Assuming my startled reaction to be at the mere presence of his ninja-like warriors, Vance stepped forward and extended a hand. “It pays to be prudent, would you not agree?”

“Hard to argue with,” I noted, placing my hand in his and allowing him to escort me towards the soon-to-be fire. Two velvet-lined high-back chairs were immediately rushed past us by several souls and placed carefully upon dirt which had been quickly swept free of any stones that could have caused them to wobble.

Vance waited for me to sit before taking the chair at my side. Considering how grubby I was, I felt guilty about sitting against such obviously expensive cushions but I wasn’t about to argue with our host and rescuer. Instead the realization of at least temporary safety washed over me, and before I knew it a roaring fire was warming my toes and a hot bowl of not-vegetable soup had not only been placed in my hands but somehow I’d already swallowed every last drop.

Twitch and Hank similarly sat on one of the many benches that now encircled the fire. They’d ended up sitting across from me and Vance, likely a deliberate move by that wily devil in order to talk to me alone. The other seats - some of which were just wooden boxes big enough for one person to sit upon - were taken by Vance’s people: a mix of devils and humans. A number of hulking demon guards wearing the livery of the Duke also stood at posts around the many simpler supply wagons.

One of the things I’d wondered when I first arrived to Hell was what exactly was the difference between a devil and a demon. The answer I received was complicated but the general rule was simple: demons without any swallowed souls were barely coherent and mostly powerless, whereas devils were beings who didn’t need to consume souls to gain power or the ability to think. Instead devils could channel other energies. The Lilim, for example, were considered devils. Indeed the luscious twins Yaria and Ruyia, scantily clad as belly dancers in their shining beads and expensive silk, could well be considered succubi. Large dark eyes simmered under lush lashes and creamy skin, with every athletic curve exuding a sensuality which all by itself would’ve caused entire NFL squads to adjust their jock-straps. The two swallowed the attention all the men could not help but give them, their devilish appetites eager for sustainment. Let’s just say that whenever Barry had visited with those two he had paid with a lot more than just coin for their attentions.

Not that he had minded one whit, of course. He’d just need to sleep twice as long as anyone else afterward.

The twins were currently admiring Hank who in turn was doing his best to keep his focus on his food, though when Yaria dipped a bejeweled finger into her own bowl and sucked it clean poor Hank coughed and needed to shift how he was sitting.

Declining a refill of the delicious soup, (sorry Cookie, but it was more tasty than yours - though that could have been the starvation talking), I sat back in the chair with a contented sigh. Vance leaned forward without a word but his interest was clear.

It was time to fill him in.

I gave it to him straight. Well almost. I may have fudged over the whole standing atop the outpost to scan the horizons bit, saying instead that we had examined the tracks in detail utilizing Hank’s tracking training from his former military service. Vance’s expression darkened when told how we believed an insider had betrayed the post, and he plucked at his mustache over the raiding of the vault and especially at its secret room behind.

At the description of the triangle symbol found on the interlopers’ cloaks he raised a bushy eyebrow.

“You recognize it?” I asked.

He nodded. “If I am not mistaken, it is a symbol used by a Colonel Dhalgrix. He leads a band of mercenaries, one with a certain reputation of thoroughness. Someone must have contracted him to this endeavor.”

“Thoroughness, huh,” I said. “Well they certainly lived up to that. The outpost was cleaned out even down to every last light crystal. We couldn’t contact Delta because they also swiped the phone.”

“And the betrayer had sabotaged the Wayfinder.”

“Yep. Instead of stealing the console they smashed it. A hacked orb must’ve been used on it. The circuits were left fried and useless.”

Vance frowned. “Could they try that again at the Hole? Sneak in the same insider a second time?”

“Considering the Hole won’t be forewarned? I don’t see why not. Which brings up a question.”

“Oh?” He leaned back, resting a pointed chin against the back of his hand.

“You signaled being on contract to deliver supplies and you’ve definitely got extra wagons for it. What gives? Supplies are sent by train.”

He waved a hand. “It was understood to be an accident, but I am not so convinced.”

“What was?”

“The boiler on the train for the usual supply run exploded quite dramatically after pulling away from Delta.”

Crap. “They really didn’t want anyone finding out about Epsilon any time soon.”

“That appears to be the case.”

My stomach fell as another realization clicked into place. “All the other reapers from my outpost must be dead or swallowed. Those mercs could have used the post’s Wayfinder to track down anyone out on sweeps.”

“Yet they didn’t attack you. That could raise suspicion for yourself you know.”

I winced. “You’re right, it could. Except we went outside the scanner’s range before heading back in. We were late getting back.”

He asked coolly, “And why would you go beyond the assigned route?”

It was my turn to squirm uncomfortably. “Uh, well, we went to the Edge. Where we found Hank.”

“My dear reaper, you know as well as I that doing such is forbidden out of consideration for safety. Nor do you strike me as one to disregard such concerns to fulfill the wishes of tourism.” The firelight flickered across his dark eyes as he regarded me.

I bit a lip and looked away into the flames of the firepit. “I have some abilities. Sensing spirits is one of them. I picked up on Hank’s, I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Ah, and there it is,” he said, his head nodding.

“What is?”

“An explanation whose validity I could scarcely deny. Your compassion, as much as you try to hide it, is unmistakable dear lady. Why do you think I have asked so fervently for you to join us instead of wasting such talents traveling alone across empty fields? What songs that melodic voice of yours could sing, what music! Your heart fills every breath and word you speak, crying out to share its passions with any willing to hear. And yet you strive to keep its treasure buried. What a poor musician I would be to fail to notice such potential.”

My face flushed, the fire was obviously getting too warm. I tried to get the conversation back on track. “We’ve got to get to Delta as quickly as possible. They need to pass word back to the Hole and warn them.”

“I can readily do better than that.”

“How?”

“We are mobilized as a stopgap until the train is repaired. As such I have in my possession that which the train itself usually carries.”

“Such as what?”

“My own communicator. And just past our fire lie the rails upon which the device depends.”

“Holy crap, you’ve got a phone? What are you waiting for! Call them!”

He stood. “If my lady shall excuse my temporary absence, I shall indeed have this information propagating its way to the Hole forthwith.”

I shooed him away. “Stop wasting time and go!”

With another flourished bow he went.

As Vance walked off Hank caught my attention. Being across the fire he could only tilt his head in obvious question of what was up. I pointed towards where Vance had gone then mimed holding an old-style phone to my head. It took Hank a moment but he got it and nodded. He leaned over to tell Twitch who seemed to be staring into the fire through his goggles.

Twitch didn’t respond. He’d fallen asleep with a bowl still in his lap.

I grinned at Hank and shook my head. No point in waking the poor guy up.

Meanwhile the Lilim had put away the deep cooking cauldron and its tasty soup. One came by with a large pitcher, offering to fill my ceramic cup with a clearly alcoholic beverage. It smelled sweet like a fruit punch but the first sip came with a kick.

If I had to guess it was mixed with some form of grain alcohol.

I took a larger swallow, closing my eyes as the warmth sank down my throat and to the tips of my toes. The sensation deserved another draught and soon my cup was empty.

That’s when the clapping began and it wasn’t from applause.

The cook, still wearing a thick apron which had obviously protected him from many a fire’s errant spark, stood at the edge of the flames with hands held forward, fingers from one hand tapping across the palm of the other. After a moment a wagon driver joined in, clapping an accompaniment to the growing beat.

When they added in stomps from their feet for yet another layer of sound I recognized the pattern.

It was a twelve beat rhythm, more specifically it was the Compás to a Fandango.

A scout, still clad in his black cloak and protective leathers, widened how he sat on the wooden box and began tapping a counter-rhythm. The resulting thumps against the wood sounded clear and crisp as the box was also something I knew: a cajón - an instrument which had originated in Peru used by slave musicians in the Spanish colonial Americas. But it had in the last century spread to other musical styles. It was Paco de Lucia who had brought one to Spain to use with his flamenco.

The twins grinned at each other and after downing the last drops from their own cups moved to a wider spot before the fire and began to dance, long slender fingers flowing through the air pulling hands and arms along for the ride. Their hips and shoulders resonated to the beat and their feet kicked their own emphasis into the dirt as they swayed.

It wasn’t the same style of dance I’d grown up watching while my father played the guitar accompaniment but it was similar, like a blend of belly-dancing, flamenco, and something new. Raven-silk hair fell free with each toss of their heads to bounce and brush across their lower backs, tight muscles across their stomachs flexing to vibrate hips at a soaring rate.

I couldn’t help it. Tuning into the beats my hands joined in, the warmth of the circle (and the booze) having given my fingers an excuse to forgo their gloves.

Another scout reached behind his bench. What he retrieved was not a guitar but similar, the roundness of its back and shorter neck without frets looked an awful lot like an oud - an ancient stringed instrument of the Middle East, North Africa, and Central Asia and a mainstay of Arabic music.

With a nod to those clapping palmas and the man on the cajón, the scout began to play with tones immediately haunting and soulful. As the oud player warmed up, the twins stepped back to add their own clapping to the mix.

One of the twins (Yaria as I figured out later, as it took me awhile to learn to tell them apart without cheating) turned their attention to me as I tried to keep up. Her eyes narrowed while staring at my clapping hands and a flush of self-consciousness knocked me out of rhythm. I had to stop, rub hands together, and refocus with eyes closed on the beat being driven now by the oud.

When I thought I had a feel for it again I opened my eyes only to find Yaria standing over me, the fire framing her svelte figure. She grabbed my wrist with unexpected speed and strength.

I tensed, preparing to break her grip. She laughed and let go. “Your nails,” she said, “are longer on one hand than the other.”

She was right. “Out of memory for my father,” I said. “He was a guitarist.”

“And you? Do you play?”

“Nowhere near as good as him.”

“But you do.”

I shrugged, flustered from the intensity of her stare. Okay, it was also the raw sensuality of her movements and the fact that she’d gotten really darn close. She leaned in closer still, the back of my chair preventing my escape as her chest brushed ever-so-lightly against mine. Ack!

“You know this music.”

I swallowed. “I know something similar.”

She straightened, then ran a fingertip down my nose. “You sit.” With another laugh she slipped past towards the ornate wagon Vance had stepped out of.

Good lord, if I had still possessed male equipment I could have pitched a tent for the night. Even the lingering scent of her, mixing with the smoke from the fire, remained tantalizing.

No wonder poor Barry had been so addicted.

Blinking to clear a spell that had nothing to do with magic, I spotted Hank leaning forward with concern. I waved him off and mouthed, I’m fine.

Not sure he believed it but he stayed seated. That was actually rather sweet, him being protective of me.

Finishing the current piece with an incredible burst of sound, the oud player put down the instrument in order to refill his mug and the others decided to follow his lead. I was still fairly buzzed from just one cup and figured I should stop there, refusing the offer of more.

I didn’t even hear Yaria’s return, she had crossed the icy dirt without so much as a crunch. Thus I nearly leaped out of my skin when she reappeared next to me.

“Here.”

Into my hands was shoved something familiar and yet utterly astounding: a guitar.

And more than that, it was a perfect copy of a flamenco guitar all the way to the rosette around the opening. Even the top was the proper German spruce with sides and back made out of cypress.

Which of course was impossible.

“How the heck?” In shock I looked up at Yaria.

She was keenly enjoying my reaction. “Look closer, reaper. Feel it.”

Running fingers along the fretboard I couldn’t help but open senses beyond the physical. Because I did feel it. Within the guitar’s wood, the strings, and even the pegs pulsed a familiar energy.

The instrument had been forged from someone’s soul.

Amazement transformed to horror. “Who was it?” I asked.

Yaria’s answering grin was not kind. “A talented guitarist whose troubles with love drove him unto our realms.”

“Did you do this to him?” I don’t think I could have hidden the threat in my tone even if I’d wanted.

Not that it bothered her any. “No, reaper, we did not. After many cycles his desire to again play his beloved music drove him mad until he collapsed and became the very item he had vainly sought. Ironic, don’t you think? Now others may play their songs upon him while he has no hands with which to offer his own.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yes. And also one of my father’s most prized possessions. Now play, reaper. I wish to see my father’s expression when he returns.”

I hesitated. To force my own limited skill upon a soul seemed wrong.

The Lilim guessed at the nature of my resistance. In a softer tone she added, “Ask yourself what is worse: to be stuck as this and never make a sound or to have at least a few moments of shared passion even if not directly your own?”

She had a point.

Plucking the strings to adjust the tuning I could feel it, a deep abiding sadness tinged with regret. There was only one piece that came to mind which could match such emotion.

I began to play a Granadinas solo, specifically one by Ioannis Anastassakis - not that I could equal such a master in skill. But right now the feeling was more important.

With the first few notes a hush fell over everyone and they all stopped to listen.

There’s only one way to play such a song properly. You have to disconnect the mind and let the heart guide the fingers. Maybe it was the alcohol I’d consumed or the relief of being rescued after too many stressful sleeps, but the drawstrings I’d kept pulled tight inside loosened.

Into the music I released my own sadness and loss, not only of failing to protect Danielle but of missing everyone I’d left behind. I wanted to watch Jenna’s eyes light up with her snark-filled laughter, I yearned to lean against Zap’s quiet strength even in the midst of uncertainty, I ached for Danielle’s unabashed astonishment and joyful yet mischievous grin at each new piece of magic she uncovered, and I felt hollow not having Khan being my fuzzy warm snuggle-buddy like he’d been each and every night for so many years.

And with all that had happened, I needed to talk about everything and nothing with my best friend Isaiah.

It all came out in a rush yet the music did not speed up, instead it flowed even slower and more measured letting each note linger in the ears of all who listened, whispering of the losses they too had suffered yet relishing the memories, knowing that the time they had shared was all the more precious now it was gone.

The pain was raw yet there was a measure of calm in the final tones which faded into a silence broken only by the snap and crackle of the fire’s still-burning flames.

Vance was standing besides his chair. I hadn’t noticed his return.

When the hush’s echo finally slipped away he spoke quietly, as if more to himself than to me. “This is why you are wasted as a reaper.”

I didn’t feel like arguing. Getting to my feet, I silently handed him the guitar.

He held it for a long moment as if wanting to say more but instead knelt to open the case and carefully return the instrument within its sanctuary. Once it was latched and sealed with a small spell of protection he said, “It will take time to get a response from the Hole. Each outpost in turn will need to relay the report after their Captains review the content.”

“Bureaucracy in Hell,” I muttered. “No surprise there.”

He shrugged. “As I’m given to understand, Heaven’s is worse. At least here the enterprising can usually find ways to grease the wheels in their favor when necessary.”

“If you say so.” I stifled a yawn. Playing the piece had left behind a feeling of sleepy lassitude.

Vance noticed. “You and your comrades must be exhausted. Whilst I would normally endeavor to regale you with music, dance, and wine - perhaps slumber while we wait is best.”

I looked over at Twitch who was still fast asleep where he sat. Hank himself was fighting to open his eyes every few moments and was slowly losing that battle.

“Yeah, I better get the boys to our wagon so they can knock off properly.”

Realizing I meant to take the first watch and thus delay my own rest, Vance stood tall and placed a hand over his heart (if he had one). “You and your men are my guests while we camp here. Me and mine shall protect you as if you all were part of our family.”

If there’s one thing I had learned both from the instructors at Whateley and from my own interactions with other-worldly beings, it’s this: guest rights are paramount. This was true for the fae, for gods, and yes, even for devils and demons. A violator of such would find their place within the societies ruined, and they’d be outcast and banned. He meant every word.

“Thank you, Vance.”

“For you, my dear, it is the least I could do. Now go. If my suspicions are correct there may be interesting decisions awaiting when you awaken.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by decisions. Oh well, for once I’d try to worry about something later rather than sooner. My eyes were losing the same struggle as Hank’s after all.

Rounding up the boys we returned to where Martha had been busily scarfing down bushels of hay mixed with vegetables. She bleated at us until Twitch scritched her ears for a few minutes while Hank and I laid out the blankets.

Finally the three of us were stretched out across the wagon bed, me in the middle. As odd as it felt to be pressed against by two men, I somehow didn’t mind.

The warmth was nice.

As slumber pulled me into its soft depths thoughts lingered on the beautiful guitar. Before my hands had let go of the instrument, a voice had spoken two words within my mind.

“Gracias, seniorita.”

 

Chapter 7 - Children

 

For once sleep was peaceful. No disturbing visions of troubled angels and heavenly conflict.

Which was nice.

We all stumbled out of the wagon and over to where the Lilim had kept the fire going and they offered us bread, cheese, and more wine. Gladly accepting the first two, the third I politely declined.

Keeping a clear head seemed like a better idea. Twitch’s waterskin would have to do.

After sitting and tearing off a good chunk of a hearty round loaf, Hank spoke through a mouthful. “What now? Next outpost?”

I thought about it. “Possibly. Vance will likely turn the caravan around and head back. No point in the delivery now.”

“So we go with him?” Hank’s blue eyes studied me. It felt a lot like being judged.

“You got a better idea?” I said, staring right back at him.

He realized what he was doing and looked away. “Hey, I’m just the new guy. What do I know?” he asked while taking a bite of cheese.

Twitch was unhappy about the concept of going with the Lilim, catching my attention by the shake of an upraised fist.

“Dude,” I said to him, “this Dhalgrix guy and his crew sound tough. If the Captain couldn’t take them, what chance do we have?”

The fist extended a finger and pointed it at me.

“Hey, don’t give me that,” I protested. “We don’t even know if the Hole will listen to our warning. Heck, they could already be overrun.”

From behind us out of the ever-present shadows Vance appeared. “The Hole is still intact, at least for now. We received their response.”

We all spun around to face him. Today he was dressed more like a cowboy in all leathers, chaps, and boots. Though I doubt cowboys wore rapiers at their hips. Hank offered him a piece of cheese.

“Ah, thank you.” Vance took it and made a point of chewing slowly.

“Spill it, Vance,” I growled. It’s not like the news was important or anything. Sheesh.

He swallowed and grinned. “They discovered their Wayfinder had also been altered. Upon restoration it immediately alerted them to the close proximity of the mercenaries. Defenses were activated.”

“Do they know who betrayed us?” I demanded.

Vance nodded, tugging on the freshly waxed strands of his mustache. “Yes. A reaper arrived with a similar story of having returned from a sweep and finding your outpost overrun, likely by excursions out of the Spire.” The tilt of his smile made it clear he was enjoying drawing this out.

“Well, who was it dammit!” I was on my feet, wanting to throttle the news out him.

“Xargglxesh, firstborn of the new Duchess Ruchinox.”

“Charles? That bastard!”

Vance raised an eyebrow. ”I do believe his parentage is clear.”

Twitch used a thumb to mime slicing the jerk’s neck.

I nodded at Twitch. “Duke Valgor can’t ignore this kind of betrayal. They’ll probably execute him.”

Vance regarded me for a moment. “His fate has yet to be determined. Despite vigorous questioning he has stuck to his story. As the Wayfinder’s original core was found amongst his possessions the evidence is against him.”

Vigorous questioning. In other words, torture. Chewing on a lip, I gave some thought to that. “He’s not the type to hold up to that kind of thing for long. Could he really not know what he’s done? Magic memory wipe or something?” I’d seen people - and angels - be possessed by a particularly nasty entity before. Such things were certainly possible.

“Perhaps,” Vance acknowledged. “Which is why the whelp is still alive.”

Hank asked, “Can the Hole defend against Dhalgrix’s force?”

Vance pondered. “Budget cuts of late have stripped them of their usual number of defenders. However they do have solid wards in place which are currently holding. The outposts have also been commanded to recall their reapers and march on the Hole to break what is now a siege.”

I shook my head. “Without the train that will take way too damn long. Convenient. There’s definitely more collaborators within the Duke’s ranks.”

Vance’s smile broadened. “Which brings me to my newest - and quite lucrative I might add - contract.”

Another contract? “They want you and your Lilim to attack Dhalgrix? No offense, Vance, but I don’t think you have the numbers.”

He laughed. “Attack? Goodness, no. But the Hole is without eyes outside their fortress other than the coarse readings from their Wayfinder. To launch a flier for observations requires lowering the shield, a risk they won’t dare take.”

Hank rubbed his chin. “To arrive in time to be of any use you’ll have to cut your wagons loose and ride those graxh directly across the gap between here and the Hole. The map I saw showed it as being a rough path.”

Vance’s grin widened even further beyond the limits of human lips which was downright creepy. “Oh there will be no need for graxh. Myself and a select few of my family have an entirely different and much faster method of arrival. Furthermore, after weaving a marvelous tale of the bravery and strength of your mighty trio in striving across these deserted plains with the very message that preserved their base, we have been charged to bring you three with us.”

Hank and I exchanged uneasy glances. Twitch though gave the idea two thumbs up.

“You were able to convince them we weren’t involved that easily?” I asked dubiously. “Pretty sure demons are more suspicious than that. No offense to your oratory skills.”

Maintaining that sinister smile Vance said, “Well, I was also informed that all three of you were, as they put it, disposable. Should any of you step out of line.”

Weirdly enough that made me feel better. Less chance of it all being some kind of trap with that in play out in the open. “Ah. Got it.”

Hank must have felt the same as he nodded. “So how are you proposing we get there then? Walk?”

Vance executed a florid blow. “I shall show you.” Backing up by about twenty feet, he began murmuring under his breath words in a language I both knew and didn’t.

It was both angelic and not.

Imagine studying old English and having become used to hearing Shakespeare spoken with absolute eloquence. Such was my experience when applying my will to the fundamentals of reality: each angelic word flowing perfectly in rhyme, measure, and meaning. Nothing wasted, everything crisp and true, the intent manifested directly and clean.

Now turn that into someone taking those Shakespeare verses and translating them into the speech patterns of the residents of the less savory and lamentably less educated parts of any city. With every third word also converted to pig-Latin just for fun.

That’s what it was like hearing Vance cast the magic he invoked. Inefficient and sloppy, like (to switch metaphors) splashing tar across the works of da Vinci without obscuring the fact that the painting had originally been a beautiful woman. The rough content was there but all elegance was gone, the divine horribly muddied and diluted.

Yet it worked.

A (rather obviously) male harpy with brown wings the span of a small house and claws the width of tree trunks tossed back a feathery head still showing Vance’s face and bellowed a tremendous laugh at Hank. The stylishly curled mustache had survived the transformation, though it now was interleaved with black feathers as well as hair.

Still chuckling Vance-the-harpy said to Hank, “To answer your question oh you beautiful-eyed soul, why walk when one can fly?”

He made an excellent point.

 

~o~O~o~

 

We’d been airborne for hours and Vance wouldn’t shut up about proper singing techniques and practice. “And this is why controlling your breathing is so important!”

It was a good thing that he couldn’t see me rolling my eyes for the umpteenth time since I was strapped into a sitting position on his wide and feathery back. Not quite the same as being trapped next to an annoying passenger on an airliner but I was still a captive audience.

At least the ride was smoother than a wagon.

Yaria and Ruyia similarly had shifted into massive harpies with feather-covered bosoms and carried Twitch and Hank nearby through the total darkness. I’d already expressed concern about their flying blind, but I’d been reassured that in their harpy-like forms they could ‘see’ the air currents and thus knew exactly where they were in relation to the ground and terrain below. Given the impressive width of their wingspans they also kept their distance from each other, so whether I liked it or not I was stuck talking only with Vance who obviously relished the chance.

“Ah, Jordan,” his huge face shouted, “Between your sweet soprano and your skill with a guitar, you could fill the Concordia in Dis to the brim. Not only with all the Dukes and Lords of demonkind, but the Fallen would be, dare I say it, falling over themselves for tickets! Samael himself I am sure would descend from his lofty towers to witness the beauty you would bring to his domain. Your days of sleeping upon rickety wagons would be replaced with the finest luxuries all the realms of Hell could offer. Think of it!”

The idea, of course, terrified the bajeezus out of me. Good lord, the last thing I needed was that kind of attention to which the unease in my gut readily agreed.

Vance however was practically drooling at the prospect like a rock-star’s unsavory manager. “The best darkberry wine brewed by the abandoned elves of Nidavellir, the handsomest incubi - or succubi, should you prefer - would fawn at your feet, the most splendorous dresses and accommodations, why every pleasure or pain you could possibly desire would be yours for the taking.”

“Hey Vance? Mind if I ask you something?” I needed to knock the conversation onto a different track, and I had just the topic with which to redirect his ego.

“Hmm? Of course not!”

“When you transformed, that magic you used - what was it? It didn’t feel like the kind I’ve seen demons throw around. If anything it seemed stronger.” I wasn’t going to tell him how his casting was like someone trying to draw using chalk on a whiteboard. I wasn’t that stupid.

“Oh that? Why, that was just a taste of the power of the Lilim.”

I’d heard some stories about the Lilim from the other reapers but nothing concrete. “Can you tell me about your people? I’m curious.”

He paused to consider and responded with a question of his own. “How much celestial history are you aware of?”

“You mean like about angels? I, uh, I’ve had some exposure.” Hey, I wasn’t lying. All awkward amusement aside there was still a ton I didn’t know.

Vance cleared his throat. “Well then. Before the beginning of time as we understand it the first archangels manifested, and led by the Morningstar they pushed back the darkness. Our mother, Lilith, was amongst those first ones.” With reverence he added, “She held the title of The Victorious - leading the others against that dark as directed by Lucifer’s light to carve free each portion of the Source’s domain. In this role she was fearless, cunning, and beautiful.”

August’s words about such things came to mind. “When Samael rebelled, did she join him?” I asked. “As I understand it, Lucifer fell later - after the rebellion had failed.”

“You do indeed have knowledge! Not many mortal souls do. But no, Lilith did not join with Samael in his uprising. Neither, however, did she fight for Elohim - despite her love for Lucifer.”

That was surprising. “She stayed neutral?”

“It was her pronounced opinion that the arguments on both sides were flawed. Thus she withdrew from Heaven when the fighting began, and her Seat of Victory became instead the Seat of the Defender - occupied now by Archangel Michael.”

An image intruded on my thoughts. I was standing amongst other archangels within a high ceilinged cathedral of marble with windows made not of glass but gemstone. Kneeling before us was Michael in glorious golden armor and Azrael who wore only a simple white robe. Azrael’s wings were this soft white but onyx trimmed their edges.

Vance beat mighty wings to lift higher over hills poking up from the otherwise flat plains. The jarring motion pushed the vision aside and I didn’t fight to hold on to it. Now was so not the time to black out and be lost in ancient memory.

“Huh,” I said, regaining focus. “You say she’s your mother though? If she didn’t rebel, how’d she end up in Hell?”

“When the Morningstar was thrown by Michael from Heaven’s summit, she followed. It is said she tried to catch her first love before he crossed the threshold of Hell’s Seal, but instead the boundary swallowed them both. She won’t speak of it, indeed there are many things our beloved mother still keeps from us.”

I frowned. “Alright, now I’m confused.”

“How so?”

“I know that the Grigori bred with humans, but as far as I understood it they did so with human women only - as angels themselves cannot bear children.”

He chuckled. “I have heard of the stories of the Watchers and their attempt to breed an army against the Host. But they were not the originators of the notion. Have you not heard of the legend that speaks to Lilith having been Adam’s first wife?”

Truth is, I had but hadn’t put two and two together of Lilith also being one of the first archangels. “Uh, now that you mention it, yeah?”

“Our mother was the first angelic to experience incarnation as a mortal. Whether she had permission to enter Elohim’s Garden and do so is not revealed to us. But, being the conqueror that she is, their relationship had certain issues from the start. Thus she left. They both, shall we say, desired to be on top.”

I couldn’t help it. I snerked at the thought of a naked and ignorant Adam arguing about sex positions with one of the most powerful archangels.

“Upon impact upon one of the smaller spaces of Hell,” Vance continued, “our mother found herself rather alone. The other archangel rebels had fallen along with many members of their Houses: the lesser angels whom had formed around them and followed them to war. None of Lilith’s former house had gone with her to Hell - even many of Lucifer’s angels of Light had leapt from Heaven to follow his path. Not content to squat by herself on an otherwise empty rock like Beliel later did here, she formed a space wherein she could manifest an incarnation not unlike her time in the Garden and invited demons she found worthy to her bed.”

I finally got it. “The Lilim are like the nephelim. Instead of being part human you’re part demon!”

“Precisely. From our demonic fathers flow our many forms and admittedly our appetites. But from our beloved mother we touch, even if distantly, the divine. And by breeding only with other Lilim is our angelic bloodline preserved.”

That made sense, though I had a feeling that the direct offspring would be the most powerful. I was about to give comment to that effect when, despite being thoroughly wrapped in layers of blankets, all the hairs on arms and legs stood on end.

I didn’t have time to shout warning.

A loud thump against one of Vance’s wings accompanied by a horrible ripping sound sent us tumbling towards the ground.

 

Chapter 8 - Cleanse

 

In a mad tumble we fell.

Vance shrieked, his injured wing pulled inward causing us to spiral. If my legs hadn’t been so well bound by leather straps I’d surely have been tossed free.

And my own wings, being stuck as spiritual ephemera, would have done me no good.

“Vance! Pull out of it!”

A shudder ran through the beast under me and with an agonizing groan the muscles across his back pushed the wounded wing out into the rushing wind from our descent. Having shifted my sight spirit-side I could see two dimly glowing gashes across the wing’s top leaking a stream of diamonds in our wake.

The massive feathers caught the air and with a lurch the spinning stopped. Using tremendous strength Vance beat against the air to level out our flight, narrowly missing the tips of rather sharp ice-spires sticking up from the terrain. Unfortunately this effort caused his wounds to bleed faster.

Below us was nothing but jagged edges and at our forward speed there was no safe place to land.

Wrapping hands further into the leather straps I looked over a shoulder spotting the large glows of Yaria and Ruyia diving down towards their father, the smaller brightness of Twitch and Hank both hanging on for dear life.

But behind Yaria lunged a pair of other human souls, trapped and condemned within the outline of a bat-like demon. Said demon held two knives that had sparks of their own.

Dear god, it was armed with a pair of soul-forged daggers.

As it sped towards us like an F-18 racing a trio of crop dusters I shouted, “Yaria, look out!”

She didn’t hesitate. Snapping her own wings in she dropped and rolled to one side as the demon blasted past the air where she’d just been. Twitch, similarly strapped in, held tight with one hand, his other already having pulled free one of his katanas. His glove was no longer on that hand; he’d wedged it into his belt.

I knew what that meant. Yet how could they fight if they couldn’t see their attacker? If the demon was really like a bat it might be using echo-location or some other trick. Having leveled out, it sped its way into the space above likely setting up for another dive attack.

Ruyia called out. “What’s happening?”

Vance, struggling to keep his wing straight, was gurgling a stream of curses so I shouted back so Ruyia and Yaria could hear. “Demonic flyer! With soul-forged blades!”

Both echoed their father’s curses. Yaria shouted, “You can see it?”

“Yes!” Tracking the damned thing I saw it shift and plunge towards Ruyia and Hank. Speaking of Hank, he’d bound his feet more firmly and was now standing on Ruyia’s back, a borrowed short sword from one of Vance’s crew at the ready. “Dammit,” I muttered before yelling, “Ruyia! Here it comes!”

“What?”

Numerous possible actions streamed past my mind, some more solid than others indicating greater chances of success. Seizing one I shouted, “Hank! Strike upwards at two o’clock on my signal! Ruyia, bank right! Do it…NOW!”

To her credit Ruyia didn’t hesitate. The giant harpy tilted immediately, her right wing dipping just as the demon lanced towards it. This also shoved Hank closer and he too did as told. Using both hands he swung his blade up into the demon’s path, shouting as he did so.

His sword smacked into the demon with a loud thump, the creature’s own momentum working against it to open a thin line through the coarse hide. Unfortunately no blood flowed and the demon’s resulting shriek was echoed by another from above.

Good grief. There were two of them.

The one Hank just tagged rolled off and zoomed back above. At the speed of these things there was no way I could shout directions fast enough. Given the size differential they were like crows mobbing eagles, capable of using their greater maneuverability to continually harass.

Though given their armaments harassment wasn’t the goal.

“Where are they now?” shouted Yaria, anger and frustration overriding panic. “We should cast a light spell so we can target the bastards!”

“No!” Vance commanded, having regained his focus. “We are too close to the Hole! If you illuminate too much of the sky their forces will see and send more. We must kill these in the dark!”

“Father, how?” Ruyia asked.

“Sing, children! Disrupt their senses and let the mortals upon our backs strike!”

Vance’s plan clarified various potentials. “Yaria!” I screamed. “Pull up even with your father! Hank’s blade isn’t strong enough to do real damage, they’ll leave him and Ruyia for last. Ruyia, you need to back off and follow me and Yaria. Then be ready and when I shout do your thing!”

Ruyia was unconvinced. “If my rider’s blade can’t penetrate, how can either of yours? Your spear and swords will fare no better!”

In a low growl Vance spoke before I could. “Trust her, daughter.”

Any other objections Ruyia might have had she kept to herself. As I watched the demons form up for another strike in the nothingness above, Ruyia eased off and began breathing deep. Yaria glided closer to me and Vance while Twitch mimicked Hank’s feet binding preparation. Once firmly entwined his other glove came off.

With twin swords he stood ready, cloak and wrappings billowing in the wind of our passage. He scanned the sky from behind goggles, their close-range enchantment for dark-seeing triggered at full.

The bite of the air against my own eyes almost had me reconsidering using my goggles, but I saw better without them. Nor was there any time to second guess. “Here they come! Twitch, you’re up first!”

Yaria, glancing over a winged shoulder, almost balked as she shouted at me, “Where’s your spear, girl?!”

I ignored her.

By listening closely I could just make out the whistling of the first one’s descent and had to time it perfectly. “Ruyia…GO!”

If my feet hadn’t been lashed to Vance’s back, the resulting shockwave would have launched me straight off to a rocky doom. Ruyia’s harpy cry unleashed a bellowing ear-piercing shriek which slammed over our heads. Should she have aimed directly at us I’m sure my eardrums would have been shredded like a pinata attacked by a major league slugger.

Which is likely what happened to the first demon as it spiraled towards Twitch. Struck by the deafening sonic blast, any cry of its own was unheard. It certainly lost all focus on trying to stab weapons into Yaria’s back, falling as it did right in front of her passenger instead. A passenger whose crossed hands were already vibrating at such a speed that a soft iridescent glow escaped his swords, enough light to show exactly where his enemy was about to bounce.

With a double thrust of arms Twitch sliced the demon into three pieces, the top and bottom parts flung clear of Yaria. The center bits landed wetly against her feathers first before sliding their way back due to the inrush of wind from her flight.

The second demon, having followed the first and only catching the edge of Ruyia’s shout, slammed towards me with two knives held outward hoping to plunge into my chest.

Soul-forged or no, they were no match for angelic armor. From under my sleeves Camael’s bracers deflected the attacking metal with outward blocks which I shifted into wrist grabs. Letting myself fall backwards, I flipped the nasty-toothed beast over me to slam into Vance’s broad back.

That’s not what killed it though.

Heeding Vance’s warning about not blazing across the sky, I tried something different. The crimson flames wanting to pour out of the angel’s armor became focused by my will as tight snakes of fire. Snapping forwards from my wrists they burned and burrowed their way underneath the demon’s skin and into its chest.

By the fires of the battle angel’s rage the thing’s lungs cooked from the inside out. Smoke churned from its bat-like ears and fang-filled mouth, and its screams turned to choking and then silence. I let its wrists slide past my fingers, grabbing the hilts of its weapons as the charred remains tumbled freely off into the dark.

In the quiet that followed a chuckle could be heard.

“See?” Vance said, his amusement tinged with obvious pain. “Breathing. It’s absolutely vital.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Vance refused to land and allow us to dress the cuts across his wing, claiming that it would heal fine on its own. The trail of blood through the air behind us had indeed thinned but I was uneasy at being this high up dependent upon his sole judgment that it ‘twas only a flesh wound.

I itched to have my own wings back. It definitely gained me a deeper understanding as to why my grandfather - who had been a Colonel in the Air Force - was said to have been an absolute pain in the ass as a passenger when flying commercial, ranting to my poor grandmother in the seat next to him how the pilots were doing everything wrong.

Apparently he’d even once stormed the cockpit to yell at the crew after a particularly bumpy landing.

Me? Descended from ornery and stubborn perfectionists? Go figure.

Eventually the darkness before us gained a hazy glow and the harpies quickly veered along a tangent of that distance and descended to the now-smooth and empty plain. Unlike the ground near my outpost the dirt here was formed from a greyish rock, though patches of black ice still wended through the fractal cracks. As soon as we were down, the guys and I untied our own duffel bags worth of stuff and hopped off.

I’d had an argument before we left with Vance over supplies as the only baggage for him and his daughters was a small three-person tent, its poles and canvas folded tightly into a single duffel. Considering we had no idea how long we’d be stuck out here spying on the mercenary-led siege, that seemed like awfully light packing. But Vance insisted it was all they needed; in fact he’d laughed and said we wouldn’t need our own sacks of food and skins of water.

If I hadn’t spotted sigils twisting their way beneath the camouflaged canvas I would have argued more vehemently.

Once we were clear of their backs and got all the leather straps removed, Vance and his daughters murmured again in their weird corrupted-yet-divine tongue and shifted back to their more human-like forms. Except this time they wore black leather armor much like their scouts had, making them rather difficult to make out against the absolute-dark background behind us. They were tall, slender, and looked every inch like graceful ninjas.

Vance rubbed his arm a few times though, waving off a concerned Yaria as he began to unpack their small tent. The daughters moved to help, the task made more difficult as the only light we had to go by was the glow off in the distance where we could just make out the hill within which the Hole had been dug. A greenish spheroid surrounded the entire rise of rock, occasionally sparking small streamers much like a flint being struck.

Arrayed in front of the glowing green shield was more conventional lighting: the mercenaries had set up camp outside the mystically powered shield with poles likely topped with all the light crystals stolen from our outpost shining over the flags proudly waving their triangular symbol of gold.

While the Lilim worked on the tent I examined the two short swords I’d taken from the demon. Each had simple silver hilts and crosspieces, but the blades themselves were pure unadorned black with blood grooves down their middles. Just holding them felt awful as they radiated a singular desire to hurt, maim, and kill. The souls within had been beaten down until only this spiteful hate remained, trapped like that possibly forever. All traces of compassion or even individuality were simply gone.

They were horrible pieces of work. The more I held them the more I wanted to recoil and drop them to the ground then go spend an hour washing my hands.

But as nasty as they were, they could be useful. My own makeshift spear’s blade had encountered quite a few demons whose hide was like those fliers: too thick for regular metal to penetrate. These blades would harness what was left of their souls’ sparks to rip through just about anything - angelic armor fortunately not included.

I was kneeling to unwind the bindings which affixed the regular blade to my spear when Hank came over.

“You did well in that skirmish,” he said, taking hold of the spear’s staff to keep it steady so I could more easily use both hands to work free its old pointy bit.

I disagreed. “Nope. I was stupid.” One of the knots refused to loosen to fingers somewhat numb from the cold so I leaned over to pull on it with my teeth.

“Stupid? You reacted swiftly and gave excellent direction in a moment of crisis.”

Speaking between tugs I said, “It should never have reached that point. It was stupid to not continually scan the sky for flying scouts.” The knot finally gave up causing the rest of the leather string to unravel, allowing the removal of the knife I’d lashed there.

He shrugged. “Far scanning tires you. Could you have maintained vigilance for that many hours of flight? Here, give me that.” He took the now-freed knife.

I started to bind one of the soul-forged evil things to the staff. “Non-stop? Probably not. But I should have done it at intervals.”

Hank looked over to where the three Lilim were finishing the assembly of the tent. Twitch had gone over to assist. In a lower voice Hank asked, “You sure you want our new companions to know what you’re capable of?”

That stopped me. In the weak light I couldn’t make out his expression. “You’re pretty perceptive.”

“I have my moments.”

“If you are wondering whether I trust them, the answer to that is no. Not fully.” Winding the leather string tight, I tied a new knot. To keep it truly secure I’d need to do a few more. “I only know Vance from the few times his troupe swung by the outpost to peddle their wares, and I’d never stuck around for any of their revelries. But from that first visit on he’s been overly friendly.”

“Could he have a crush on you?”

That caught me and I had to think about it. “If so, he’s never made a move. Of course every demon or soul that’s tried has found themselves eating dirt. There, that should do it.” I’d finished the final knot, letting go of the weapon.

Lifting it up, Hank swung the spear around a few times. “The balance is off.”

I stood and held out a hand. He promptly gave it back and after a swing or two of my own I had to agree. “Damn. I wonder if I could get a smith to do this proper.”

“Is the tang even separate from the hilt of that thing? Or is it a unitary forging?”

“No idea.” Huh, that was a good question.

“Those bindings should hold for a combat or two, but you better re-tighten after each use.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I had to do that with the old one.”

“Why not use the dagger as is?”

“While I may be tall for a girl, most demons and fighting men are taller still. A spear gives me better reach.”

“You’re likely faster though.”

I laughed and clasped his shoulder. “You’d think that, but you’d be wrong. The more souls a demon has consumed, the faster and stronger they can become. For that matter, don’t underestimate souls - you’ve yet to see Twitch go all out. Though he hates doing it.”

“He was vibrating his swords, wasn’t he?”

“Yep. And he can do that all over. He’s frighteningly fast when he wants to be.”

“But he doesn’t like it.” Hank looked over to where Twitch, gloves back on, was trying to help with the tent.

“You’ve never chafed so badly that your skin and clothes caught fire. This is an awfully chilly place to be naked.”

“Is that what happened to him? He tell you that?”

“Nope. I’ve never heard him speak. But I’ve watched him start a campfire by rubbing two pieces of paper together. He’s also always careful to remove his gloves and usually rolls up his sleeves before fighting.”

Hank considered and his expression grew with perhaps a new measure of respect for Twitch. In the dimness it was hard to tell. “I think they’ve got the tent set up.”

“Good. I have some suspicions about that thing. Let’s go see if I’m right.”

As we walked over Vance was standing before the tent’s opening flap with hands outstretched and obviously casting a spell. While no normal light resulted, from my perspective the sigils woven into the fabric pulsed and shifted into a different alignment.

“There,” Vance said. “Now, why doesn’t everyone go on in.”

I grinned. Yep, definitely suspicious. “Everyone? Seems a bit small for that.”

“Take a look for yourself!” He shooed in his daughters, and then held the flap for Twitch and Hank who went right in. “My lady, if you would be so kind as to honor us with your presence?”

I laughed. “Let me guess, you’ve got some kind of Tardis there, don’t you. Bigger on the inside.”

“Please join us and find out.” He waved towards the entrance but instead of the motion being smooth and practiced the hand stuttered and stopped.

That gave me pause. “You okay?” I stepped closer to him, barely making out beads of sweat upon his forehead as they reflected the distant lights.

“Never better, my dear.” His other hand which had been holding the flap abruptly let go and fell to his side. We both stared at it and he muttered, “That’s not right.”

Of course that’s when his eyes rolled up and both knees collapsed.

“Vance!” Throwing forearms under his armpits I barely managed to catch him. “Guys! Help!”

From the darkness within the tent emerged Yaria’s head. Eyes widening at the scene she reacted instantly, easily pulling Vance off. “Get his legs!”

I did so and together we carried him into the tent much to the astonishment of everyone else.

The inside was almost exactly what I had imagined except for the color scheme. I’d pictured reds and purples, however the Lilim’s tastes ran more with blues and yellows. But indeed the inside was much larger, practically the size of a banquet hall complete with soft plush couches and thickly woven rugs plus stacks of wine barrels and a plethora of silver chalices. The dining table was magnificent hand carved felwood much like my doors had been, complete with matching high-backed chairs. Above were several crystal chandeliers, their glowing crystals instead of candles making everything very bright in contrast with the outside.

“Get him on the table,” Ruyia commanded as she shoved pewter platters and goblets aside which caused an incredible clatter as they bounced off the floor and each other.

Laying him out on his back the twins quickly pulled off the thick leather covering his hairless torso, exposing his left arm and chest. Two long scabs ran over the bicep, his olive-toned skin angry and red around the marks but clearly healing. In fact the wounds looked weeks old instead of being only a couple hours fresh.

The problem though weren’t the cuts. It was the blackness under the skin branching out like lightning through his veins with a few tendrils already creeping into his chest.

“That’s not good,” I said rather obviously, earning a disdainful glance from Ruyia.

Yaria let fly in the demonic tongue something about flies, zombie yaks, and barrels of acid simultaneously infesting every orifice. A translation could never truly do it justice. “The blades that did this, they aren’t the ones you recovered.”

Replaying the battle in my head, I had to agree. “You’re right. The first flier did this, the guy Twitch sliced to pieces.”

“Then we have a problem.” The twins locked eyes then grimly nodded at each other. “I’ll hold him,” Yaria said as she hopped onto the table to straddle her father, pressing one hand firmly to his chest and the other grabbing hold of the arm below the marks.

“What are you doing?”

That’s when I heard Ruyia draw her rapier, its blacked-out blade looking oddly ceramic under the brightness of the chandeliers.

“The wound is cursed,” Yaria hissed. “The old fool should have examined it immediately. Idiot! I shouldn’t have listened to him! With the source maybe we could have pulled it out of him, but without…he trained us to fight, not to heal!”

Certainty came over me as I peered at Vance’s chest, looking past the skin through layers of muscle into the pattern of which he was made. “It’s already seeped into his left heart. Lopping off his arm won’t stop it.”

Ruyia’s sword hesitated where it hovered above the arm. “Then what can we do?” Her voice cracked halfway between a whisper and a wail.

“Dammit,” I said. “Back off and give me a moment.” Hastily pulling off my gloves I tossed them over to Hank before shoving sleeves way up my arms, bunching them up by the shoulders. Yaria’s eyes widened as she noticed the gold and black bracers underneath but she didn’t say anything. Instead she removed her hands from Vance’s shoulders and shuffled knees down the table to give me more room.

Leaning over the cuts I traced a finger over them without touching to trace the curse’s infection. It had the same feel as holding the swords, pure lines of hatred seeping their way deeper into Vance’s flesh and spirit. It was both a spiritual and physical malice, the focused spite of a lost soul made manifest desiring nothing more than death and pain to all things.

If it reached Vance’s second heart or if the tendril already worming its way up his neck towards the brain succeeded it wouldn’t take long for it to be all over. Cleansing this mess would require a similar technique as Raphael had taught when we had healed Tamara’s soul of its demonic infestation. Though this wasn’t attacking memories so much as energetic conduits and arteries.

Unfortunately for Vance the light I used to touch still twinkled too damn far away as if just to tease me with a useless presence. I didn’t have the required mojo to shine bright enough.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t borrow some.

Looking up at the twins their distress was clear: Yaria’s furious expression defended her from a growing inner despair and Ruyia was trying hard to choke back tears.

“Twitch. We’re going to need you and your waterskin,” I said with forced calm but not for his benefit. The more the twins panicked the harder this was going to be.

To his credit Twitch didn’t hesitate and was immediately past the flap to where his sack of supplies lay outside.

I held out my hands to the twins. “You two, come stand at my sides.”

Ruyia moved closer, still holding her sword. But Yaria’s eyes above the ninja cloth otherwise covering her face only narrowed.

“What are you going to do?” Yaria asked, a sharpness on each word.

“You both love your father,” I said slowly. “If you let me, we can use that to save him.”

“You’re a healer?” Ruyia asked, frowning. “I thought you were a reaper.”

Twitch came back in and silently offered me the precious waterskin.

I shook my head at him. “You’ll need to be the one to pour. She loved you, not me.”

Yaria blinked as she finally got it. Rolling off the table in one smooth acrobatic motion, she landed beside me and put a hand on my upper arm. “Sister, you should do the same.”

Ruyia started to sheath her weapon but I stopped her. “I’m going to need that.” Still confused by what we were to do, it took Yaria’s nod for her to let go of the sword. She then joined her sister and her warm hand took hold on the other side.

Standing across the table, Hank caught my attention. “What can I do?”

Biting on a lip, I thought about it. “He could struggle. Hold him down.”

Yaria objected. “Father is strong. I should be the one to do that.”

Hank hopped up onto the table, albeit not as gracefully as Yaria had done. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He took a similar position as she had, holding Vance’s chest and arm using his weight to pin down the rest.

I placed the edge of the sword over one of the scabs on Vance’s bicep. To the twins I said, “I need you two to focus on your love for your father. In fact, you should remember all the moments in your lives when you’ve felt that the strongest. The more pure your focus, the better the chance this will work. Do you understand?”

Yaria nodded and after a moment’s hesitation her sister did the same.

“Once I feel it strongly enough, I’m going to reopen the wounds. Twitch, at that point I need you to pour the waters gifted to you by Leila’s heart into the openings. Got it?”

It was his turn to nod.

“Alright ladies,” I said. “Make your father proud.”

The twins bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Their hands began to warm against my skin but not with actual heat.

Keeping my own focus ready, with two quick strokes of Ruyia’s rapier Vance’s blood dripped onto the table and Twitch tilted the skin so its pure water could wash over the fresh gaps in the skin.

Stretching out a single finger into the water’s stream I completed the circuit.

 

~o~O~o~

 

If Vance and his daughters had been purely demons this would never have worked.

Barry had explained it once after quite a few pints of light-side beer and a huge bowl of Cookie’s finest stew.

“Ye have to understand that demons are no like us, lass,” he had said, wiping foam from a beard that looked more like a throw rug in the making. “The way they feel about things is jus’ different-like. Take, fer example, their families.”

“What about them?” I’d asked. While Barry had gulped pint after pint, I was still sipping my first. To be honest it tasted like piss but obviously Barry hadn’t minded.

“Why, there be no real love. Tis an arrangement with built-in extortion, see? When a demoness drops a bairn, the wee tyke is still mostly formless and jus’ a blob o’ hunger. She then names it true, and only then does the barra settle down and have a shot at growin’ ta be more. Even then the minger needs munching on some souls ta learn ta speak. And the ma, well she still knows that name, aye? With that an’ a bit o magic she can bind her spawn ta her will as she pleases.” He took another long pull on his pint to let it all sink in.

“Can they even feel love?”

“Aye, ‘tis possible,” he said, plonking his cup down and refilling from the pitcher sitting between us. “But only if the souls they’ve eaten are strong w’ it. Even then ‘tis a bit like comparing a toddler’s fingerpainting to one o’ them master painters. ‘Sides, most don’ go for that sort o’ soul anyways, just muddles ‘em up inside.”

Yaria and Ruyia weren’t full blooded demons. They were half angelic and, even if that angel had fallen, the fundamental pattern was one built out of love. The potential was there and those two loved their father something fierce.

I caught only flickers of what they focused on in order to hold strong to that feeling. Yaria replayed memories of Vance training his daughters how to move and fight and how to tap into the magical capabilities within their natures. Many scenes of his patient guidance and encouragement wove together into the strands of affection which I channeled into the water pouring out of Leila’s gift.

Ruyia’s were different. Her father had taught her music. Memory after memory of practicing techniques for various instruments each worth an individual fortune, cascaded into the stream. She eventually had settled on the same one that he himself had mastered, with uncounted fires flickering behind the pair of violinists playing duet after duet.

Those memories were simply beautiful. The ache of loss of not having been able to do that with my own father nearly as much as I’d have liked almost cost me my concentration. But with a sniff I shoved that feeling aside and made sure to let it only resonate with the joy from the precious few times Dad and I had done the same.

All of that flowed through the water and into the two wounds of Vance’s arm. Their love was a light which cut through the darkness of hate which the dark-souled blades had pressed into his skin. Careful to take it slow like Raphael had taught, I used the brightness like ocean waves on a beach during a rising tide, washing further and further up the shore with each pulse before pulling back only to spill forward yet again.

Vance’s body bucked mightily at first contact but Hank held firm. A few lurches later Vance quieted and in response to each withdrawal of the tides his veins pumped foul-smelling ichor out of the gashes on his arm, running like a rancid chocolate syrup.

Twitch let his skein pour faster and true to its nature the flowing freshwater never ceased.

Still, the curse had gone deep. While the veins in the arm were clearing - indeed the wounds themselves were already starting to knit themselves closed, getting the light further in to the chest proved difficult.

The tendrils of hate were already wrapping around his hearts.

I didn’t have time to ask permission, only hoping the twins wouldn’t immediately try to kill me as I reversed Ruyia’s rapier and stabbed downward into Vance’s sternum directly between the two hearts whose beats were coming too slow.

Ruyia shrieked and her fist flew towards my head at a speed which rivaled Twitch.

The blow didn’t land. Yaria had caught it inches from my temple. “Trust her!” Yaria demanded. “Keep the focus!”

Ignoring the strike which could have knocked my brain out through an ear, I pulled Twitch’s hand over so the water splashed into the new bloody gash across Vance’s chest.

Maybe it was the sudden spike of fear that did it, but Ruyia failed to hold back tears and in her panic her own heart opened true. As her hand returned to my shoulder it lit up on its own, casting a brilliance through my skin to ignite Yaria’s as well.

My eyes closed as the surge rushed through, willing it to spiral down through me into the crystal-clear water which then became a lance of light all its own, driving directly into Vance.

The ichor caught flame as fireworks burst from his every pore and each vein and artery lit up under the skin as if he’d swallowed thousands of tiny LEDs. For that moment he looked much as I had when the light used to deign me with the gift of its glory.

While everyone blinked their eyes clear I ran a hand through the water still spilling across Vance’s chest. My inflicted puncture was gone as was any sign of hateful corruption.

He didn’t even have a scar.

As Ruyia sharply inhaled and Yaria stared with wide-eyed surprise, I took hold of Twitch’s hands to tilt the waterskin upright so it’d stop pouring. He let me screw the cap back on and with goggles pushed up his hazel irises blinked back into mine, rapt with awe and something more which I couldn’t help but finally notice.

Twitch, in his absolutely quiet and reserved way, had fallen head-over-heels in love.

With me.

I very much wanted a stiff drink. Heck, make it two.

 

Chapter 9 - Deal

 

On the sands of the Black Sea was where the two men found him, an empty bottle of gin between his legs and all-too-distant stars hanging above. Grabbing an arm each over a shoulder, Soren and Isaiah more dragged than carried the limp magician back to his small hotel room and unceremoniously tossed him into the narrow shower, clothes and all.

Isaiah turned the cold tap on full causing the man to lurch with a groan, the mystic symbols across his palms vainly trying to block the spray deliberately aimed at his face.

“Alright, alright! Christ, I’m awake!” Bloodshot eyes peered blearily at their surroundings, focusing first on the battered and stained tiles of the shower and finally rising to the source of such a rude awakening. Recognition of the dour bespectacled man whose business jacket and conservative black and red tie were now rumpled sparked another outcry and a fast incantation in Latin directed by the outstretched hands.

When nothing happened Nick slumped against the shower’s wall. “Shit.”

Lit only by a bronze desk lamp further in the room, Soren spoke. “Your magics have been temporarily bound, Nicolas. We must talk.” He was sitting in the only chair, a low-profile arrangement of metal and fake leather.

Nick ran wet fingers up his face and into the buzzed haircut above. “Talk. Sure, yeah.” Shaking the water from the hand he held it up towards Isaiah. “Help a guy up?”

Isaiah stepped back. “No.”

It took a couple tries but Nick eventually found his feet and stumbled past out of the bathroom to the mini-fridge. Dropping to one knee, he opened it. Isaiah followed, standing against the wall and keeping the magician between himself and Soren.

Watching the magician rummage past the many to-go containers in the fridge, Soren commented, “I hardly believe another drink will be of much help at this moment.”

Nick held up a bottle of water. “Not booze. I’d offer you gents some but it’s the last one.” Closing the fridge he leaned his back to it, legs sprawling across the floor. Tossing the plastic bottlecap across the room he took a long drink. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he said to Soren. “You know that?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Shaking his head, Nick took another sip. “According to Sariel you used the book to awaken Camael and let him loose to take out Azazel. That kind of energy was more than even you could shield yourself from. Or so he thought.” Peering at the tall dark man in the chair, Nick’s eyes widened. “Unless.”

“Continue the thought, Nicolas. Unless what?”

Lifting the crinkling plastic with an unsteady hand, Nick went for another drink but it never reached his lips. Brow furrowing, his eyes shifted back and forth as his mind started putting piece after piece together.

He then laughed, albeit weakly and barely more than a sob. “This is like a bad joke, isn’t it? War and Death step into a hotel-”

With a snap of the wrist the water bottle flew towards Isaiah’s head and the magician made a mad dash towards the door. Batting the bottle aside, its contents splashing across the walls and floor, Isaiah kicked the slightly taller man’s feet out from under him and as the magician fell forward Isaiah pivoted to ride him to the floor, slamming Nick’s head sideways into the carpet while a knee pressed hard into his back.

Leaning further down Isaiah shoved an obsidian hand before Nick’s eyes. Spitting each word into the man’s ear he snarled, “I’ve not tapped into the power this hand represents out of concern for the world. But to take you down, you piece of shit, I’ll gladly accept the risk.” Nick tried to speak but Isaiah’s knee ground further into his spine, eliciting instead a grunt of pain. “Betrayer,” Isaiah growled. “They died because of you!”

Nick’s eyes flashed, his voice shifting tone to one from long ago. “You dare speak of betrayal? Who slaughtered the souls fighting under your banner? Clean up your own house before casting aspersions on mine, Lord of Death. That one there sliced off my wings to prevent me from saving my children, and what were you doing? Oh yes. You were busy murdering your own!”

With a roar Isaiah let go of Nick’s face, fingers clenching tight as they pulled away preparing to surge downward again with all the force he could muster.

“Enough!”

Power surged through the room as a crimson wave, knocking Isaiah sideways and shaking the entire hotel, dust from grinding mortar spilling from the many bricks.

Startled out of his rage, Isaiah rolled over to stare at Soren. The sorcerer stood now behind a sword nearly as tall as he was, red flames curling along the blade towards the sharp tip hovering an inch above the carpet. Lines of force danced throughout the room along with the sharp scent of ozone. With an outstretched finger Soren touched the golden pommel while his gaze looked beyond. The angel within him spoke.

“Upon mine wings lie the stains of more blood than either of you shall ever see. And what has such brought us?”

Neither of the other men replied. Slowly getting to his feet, Isaiah moved to stand between Nick and the exit, brushing pieces of brown carpet from his tie as he did so.

As for Nick, he groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. “If you haven’t come to add my blood to your collection, then why are you here?”

Pulling his touch away from the sword, Soren allowed its presence to fade away but all knew the flaming blade could return in a blink of the eye. “To offer you a deal, Barakiel.”

Nick flinched. “Don’t call me that.”

“It is your true name.”

“Maybe so, but still. Don’t. What mephistophelian deal could you possibly be offering now, Callas?”

“We need your services in getting a message to Jordan Emrys.”

Risking a confused glance over at Isaiah, Nick said, “She’s gone. The blast from that bomb would have scrambled her spirit across wherever she teleported it to. I warned her to flee but she didn’t listen.”

“Again you demonstrate insufficient faith.”

“No way,” Nick protested. “Aradia didn’t have the strength to withstand that kind of blast. Though you boosted her with celestial power in Los Angeles she’s still only a Nephelim, even if she is the Morningstar’s daughter!”

Isaiah spoke, anger still burning within. “She is Aradia no longer, Grigori.” His voice then boomed across the room with a force equaling that of the flaming sword. “For her name is Amariel, she who is promised by the Most High to be the Light again made manifest!”

This time no dust fell or bricks shook. Beyond the physical plane the declaration pulsed outward across the realms of spirit, the deafening truth sending shivers up the magician’s aching spine.

With the echoes still lingering, Soren crouched besides Nick. “She exists. She moved herself and the crystal to a prepared defense which cast her beyond the barrier forged by the Throne at the end of the First War. And now we must get a message to her.”

“You’re saying she’s an angel now. Fully. So why do you need my help? What can I possibly do to…” Nick blinked as understanding finally kicked in. “Shit. She’s in Hell.” He looked up at Soren. “Do you even know which of the realms she’s in?”

“She fell to Beliel’s rock.”

Nick grimaced. “That place is too small. I have no contacts there. Can you trace her location?”

“Only if we get close enough.”

Closing his eyes Nick did some mental math. “It’s been what, over a week? With the time differences, good grief Callas, she could be anywhere down in that pit by now and have gone through who knows what. From her perspective years could have passed. She may no longer be the shining princess you think she is.”

Isaiah twitched at that but stayed quiet.

“Then,” Soren stated calmly, “I require your services as a guide. You have studied their realms and their politics, you know the layout of the domains. And as a Grigori you will have easier access to knowledge there than I.”

Nick snorted. “You can’t be serious. Why don’t I arrange for you to make one of your famous deals with say a Marquis or even a Duke? Have them do the legwork to deliver your note or whatever.”

“Not acceptable.”

“You seriously mean to go to Hell just to deliver a message? Are you daft? There’s no coming back.”

Soren was resolute. “The Lightbringer discovered a path and returned. One she can employ if she but knows of it. And as he used it to free another, so can she.”

“Impossible.” Nick shook his head. “And before you talk again about faith, that point is moot. While he,” Nick flicked a thumb towards Isaiah, “is itching to throw my ass down there regardless, I’d be insane to help you of all angels. One whiff of being allied with the Host’s red-winged butcher and any odds of survival would vanish in a rain of Fallen blades. Not that I’m inclined to be helpful in any case, all things considered.”

Isaiah growled. “You owe it to her.”

“Do I?” Nick scowled. “As I recall the details, Aradia collaborated in the lie dangled before the rest of us when we all got recruited against Azazel’s madness. The blood of our children stains her hands as well as yours. Hell may be exactly where she belongs!”

Isaiah took a step towards the magician but a gloved hand from Soren stopped him.

“Aradia,” Soren said slowly to Nick, “did as was necessary, much as it pained her to do so. Her arguments to Gabriel convinced where mine did not. Without her sight guiding the path the spirits of your children would of a certainty have been destroyed instead of merely bound.” Soren paused then continued more gently, “Hate me if you must. But Aradia does not deserve such treatment.”

“She and Gabriel could have told us the truth.”

Soren’s hand lowered. “Would you and the other Grigori have believed them? That there was no other way?”

Glaring at the two angels Nick said nothing.

“Therein lies the crux of the current matter,” said Soren. “The messenger must be believed. That is why I wish to make a deal. Not with some demon. With you. Be my guide.”

Nick’s blood-shot eyes narrowed. “Just what exactly do you think you can bargain with in return? Dazzle me, oh legendary deal-maker. Let’s see your best godfather impression. Bring it.”

The dark sorcerer regarded the mage. “I offer two things, each of which alone would be worthy of my request.”

“That’s crap.” Nick crossed his arms. “But let’s hear ‘em anyway.”

“First is that Azrael will swear that he will make no attempt to break the fourth seal, thus preserving the souls of the Nephelim within the safety of incarnation as you so desire.”

Nick looked sharply to Isaiah and asked, “You’d do that?”

Unfriendly eyes regarded him from behind circular lenses. “I am willing to consider it.”

After staring at the lawyer for a long count Nick returned his attention to Soren. “And the other?”

This time Callas Soren - or more precisely, Camael - spoke solemnly:

“The second, Barakiel of the Lightning, is that I shall return unto you your long lost wings.”

Nick opened his mouth as if to speak but no words came out. Finally in a strained voice he said, “You unbelievable bastard.”

 

Light And Shadow (Part 3 of 8)

by Erisian

 

Chapter 10 - Trumpet

 

Outside the tent where Vance slept peacefully, Yaria was setting up a tall tripod-mounted bronze spyglass. Hank and Twitch were inside with Ruyia preparing lunch from the not-as-small-as-it-looks tent’s well-stocked larder. After I’d grabbed the wrong ingredients for a third time Twitch had pushed me gently aside and taken over as Ruyia’s assistant, much to Hank’s amusement.

Hey, I never claimed to be a chef and furthermore the spices and herbs available in Hell were completely different from anything on Earth. Having spent most of my time living off hard tack from the back of a wagon it’s not my fault I didn’t know the difference between a ‘kyrish root’ and a ‘draxo leaf’. My wife had done all the cooking in our house before cancer stole her away, after that there was a lot of frozen pizzas, tuna, and sloppy joes.

And tacos. Man, I missed tacos.

Yaria tightened the final screw affixing the spyglass to the mount. The contraption was something out of a cheesy fantasy movie with all these different colored lenses sticking out of the main tube which could be easily swapped in and out at different places along the viewing column.

It was a good thing Yaria knew what she was doing as she quickly selected a specific combination and slotted them in place. Swiveling it about, she aimed the scope towards the mercenary encampment parked outside the still-glowing shield protecting the Hole’s hill.

“You are a strange one,” she commented while sighting one eye through the viewport and adjusting the various focus knobs, her dark haired braid resting against a shoulder.

“Me?”

“Yes. I am beginning to understand my father’s interest.”

“Oh.”

“And now we Lilim owe you a great debt, Reaper Jordan of Outpost Epsilon.” She looked up from the scope to regard me seriously.

I tried to wave it off, uncomfortable under her stare. “We’re on a team. There’s no debt in helping a comrade-in-arms.”

“If you had saved my father in combat I would agree. But do not think we fail to recognize the risk you took in curing the curse from his blood.”

“Risk? There wasn’t any risk to me. Really. The curse was bound to him.”

She tsked. “You misunderstand. You possess power. No ordinary mortal soul could have done what you did. By curing my father you exposed this. Yet you could have done nothing. Our family will honor your sacrifice and your secrets—whatever they may be.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Uhm, thank you.”

She turned one last knob and stepped back from the scope. “Take a look.”

Eager to get the conversation changed I went over to peer into the device. The camp was in perfect focus: tents, wagons, and what looked to be a small horde of bored demons practicing fighting techniques. Either that or they were all drunk and having a brawl.

Hard to tell with demons.

In the center of the encampment was a tent far larger than the others and as I watched a pair of graxh pulled a covered wagon out of it. Soon as the wagon was clear another went in, driven not by a demon but a soul.

In fact there was a line of wagons waiting to go in along with a trail of them heading to the back of the camp away from any lights.

“That’s odd,” I muttered. The wagons were heading into a space being kept deliberately dark. Awhile later they came back out. I kept watching in case I could make heads or tails of what they were doing but the lack of light was complete.

Hank came out of our tent holding a bowl of steaming stew and announced, “Food is ready.”

“We will be done shortly,” Yaria said. Then to me she asked, “What do you see?”

“Wagons, many of ‘em,” I said. “They go into this big tent and later out, one at a time. Then to a spot they’ve got totally blacked out.”

Hank moved closer. “And they go back to that original tent after?”

“Looks that way, yeah.”

“They’re digging.”

I looked up from the scope. “What?”

He pointed at the powered shield surrounding the base. “Standard siege tactic. Go under the defense.”

Yaria disagreed. “Their wards also go underneath.”

“How far down?” Hank asked. “What’s the objective of that lot? They expected to get in all easy-peasy like at Epsilon without resistance. Y’all at some point said this Hole was a conduit to the ‘light side’. Anyone feel like explainin’ to this idiot what y’all meant exactly?”

Without warning Yaria pulled Hank’s stew from his fingers and held up the bowl. “See this? This is the Rock. The Hell we’re currently standing on.” Crouching, she pointed his spoon at the ground. “This here dirt, it’s the Abyss.” Slamming the wooden bowl upside down to the ground she immediately rapped a spot near the bowl’s rim with the spoon. “And this is where we stand, close to the Edge.”

“Hey!” Hank protested. “That’s my lunch!”

She smirked. “Should have eaten quicker, mortal.”

“Not nice, lady.” He stared longingly at his lost meal.

I glared at the amused warrior. “Was that really necessary?”

With a shrug she said, “He’ll get more.”

Instead of getting angry Hank simply sighed. “What a waste of good eats.” He then pointed at the spoon and - to his credit - got back to business. “So what’s the Edge?”

“It’s where we first met,” I said, still giving Yaria the stink-eye. “That beach was where the realm and nothingness meet, separated only by the thin layer of Chaos between on the surface of the waves.”

“Chaos? And if I’d gone for a swim?”

Yaria chortled and plinked the spoon against the bowl again. “Oblivion. You go in, that’s a final exit.”

The newly arrived soul’s eyes widened. “Well shit. Cut that kinda close, didn’t I?” He tilted his head. “Hmm. What’s under the bowl? Other than bits of dirty stew. More swamp o’ nothing?”

I shook my head. “No. That’s the Light Side of the Rock. Farms and forests mostly; it’s where our food comes from.”

In the dim lighting, Hank raised a dubious eyebrow. “Oh? It’s pretty dark on this side and we ain’t the ones facing the swamp.”

Yaria dropped a weak glow-crystal hidden up her sleeve into a hand and after tilting the bowl rolled the crystal underneath. She then let it fall back with a loud thud. Thick steam managed an escape as she did so, filling nostrils with the enticing aroma of Twitch’s cooking. My stomach gurgled hopes for imminent acquisition.

“Many eons ago,” Yaria explained while ignoring my stomach’s obvious noises, “the angels created the Spark and hung it in the middle. Every hundred cycles more souls are thrown in to keep it burning.”

I winced. I hadn’t known that.

Hank however was nodding. “Right then. Now yer makin’ sense. This Hole cuts through the bowl, and your Duke whats-his-name, he mainly based on that side? With his army?”

Yaria stood up, leaving the bowl where it was. “That’s the sum of it.”

Rubbing a stubbly cheek, Hank considered. “A small force like these mercs can’t be meant to attack anything on the other side, that’d be stupid. Maybe they could hold this post but why bother? From what you’re saying, the only value it’s got is that conduit and the logistical connection between the sides.” He paused to let that sink in.

Yaria must’ve understood something I didn’t. “Interesting line of thought,” she said, “They hit Epsilon because its wayfinder covered the route they needed to get here. Looting the outpost also gained them supplies. Even with those, if they take the Hole and sit they’d eventually starve.” She grinned at Hank. “Maybe you’re worth feeding after all.”

“So what are they doing?” I said, feeling confused.

Hank pointed below the glowing sphere. “Destroy the passage. Once that’s done I bet they’ll book it back to wherever they came from. Before they run out of stuff to shove into their stomachs.”

“Can they do that?” I asked Yaria. “I’ve never been through to the other side. What’s the setup?”

She considered. “There’s a single wide platform. Rails line the walls and guide the carriage to take it straight down. Brakes hold things in place until dropped. Momentum carries it most of the way and steam-power then drives it the rest.“

I tried to picture it. “Won’t everyone be upside down at that point?”

Yaria gestured in a loop. “Near the center gravity flips and the carriage is rotated about so passengers’ down becomes up.” She snorted. “Your mortal engineers complain endlessly about the physics. But each realm has its own rules.”

“Oh. Neat.”

Thinking about it more, Yaria said, “If they dig to the platform they could drop it close to the other side and then destroy the gearing and the rails above them in sections all the way back. Rebuilding would be a bitch.”

Hank nodded. “They could also dump enough rock and dirt to clog the center.”

“Who would want to do that?” I asked. “I thought the Duke was at peace with his neighbors.”

Yaria gave me a look like I was an idiot. “There is no permanent peace in Hell, girl. This would accomplish much. It cuts the Duke off from receiving fresh souls and makes him look weak.”

“Lemme guess,” Hank said, “there are plenty of other dukes who’d be more’n happy to pull this off.”

“Naturally,” the Lilim agreed. “Though conduits aren’t usually messed with. Destroying one may invite attention from the overlords.”

“Overlords?” I said. “You mean the fallen angels.” In other words the beings I most wanted to never be near. Great.

“Yes, those.”

I peered through the telescope again having had a thought of my own. “If they’re digging then those wagons are loaded with rocks and dirt from their excavations, right? And they’re dumping it all in the dark to keep the progress hidden.” I watched another wagon come out of the central tent, its graxh pulling hard against what must have been a rather heavy load kept hidden under the canvas covering the wagon bed.

“Makes sense,” Hank said. “Our mission is to report to the Hole, right? How’re we supposed to do that anyway?”

Yaria tapped the telescope, causing my view to wobble and shift. “This viewfinder’s many lenses. With these we have means to signal and receive securely.”

“Then we need to find out how deep they’ve gotten,” Hank said. “Getting inside that tent is gonna take a trick or two.”

Re-finding the driver of the latest wagon I had a better idea. “Hey, Yaria? Are you and your sister as stealthy as your scouts?”

“Better.”

I stepped back from the scope. “Check out the guy driving the wagon who just left the main tent. He’s the one with the silliest mustache ever.”

She took a look. “What about him?”

“Think you and Ruyia can sneak into that dark area and grab him on one of his circuits through? He’s been inside that bigger tent.”

Yaria pondered. “Interesting. He looks soft, should crack after only losing a few fingers.”

Gulp. “Uh, no need to torture him.”

“He’ll talk willingly?” Hank was cautiously concerned.

I snickered. “Offer the right job and I bet he’ll tell us anything we want to know.”

Yaria looked up at me with suspicion over the telescope. “You know this soul.”

“From Epsilon,” I said. “And he’s totally wasted as a wagoner. I doubt you’ll find a better chef anywhere else on this entire rock.”

That earned a grin from the woman. “Father would enjoy judging such a claim.” Crossing over to our tent she stuck her head past the flap. That canvas definitely had additional magics at work as no light escaped. “Ruyia! Food will wait. We have work!”

After a short burst of bickering between the two sisters about how one never lets the other finish a proper meal, Ruyia and Yaria bid us to watch over Vance before disappearing on foot into the deep shadows between our spot and the mercenary camp. In their non-reflective black ninja armor unless a searchlight was pointed right at them I doubted any guards would ever notice they’d been there.

At least until Cookie was discovered missing. One issue at a time.

Staring at the spot where they’d faded into the dark, my thoughts were interrupted by someone taking hold of a shoulder and pulling me towards the tent. Hank laughed and merely watched as Twitch dragged me away.

“Dangit! Hey!”

My protests did no good. Shoving me inside, Twitch placed a fresh bowl and wooden spoon into my hands. He mimed eating then crossed his arms stubbornly.

“Ok, ok! I’ll eat, sheesh.” I floomped (yes, that’s a real word which I totally just made up) onto a particularly plush cushion and pulled down the cloth keeping my face warm. As I took a bite he shuffled closer, anxiously wringing his hands.

“Seriously tasty, dude.” I smiled at him, taking another large spoonful. Honestly the stew was darn good. He’d managed to get the herbs and spices to blend together perfectly. After swallowing I said, “Ruyia and Yaria are off rescuing Cookie, maybe he should take you on as an apprentice!”

He blinked at the news, but also gave a wistful glance to the crockpot hovering over the small fire as if that was a future he’d never contemplated before.

Hank hadn’t followed me in, so much to Twitch’s instant annoyance I got up and stuck my head out the flap again. The cold assaulted exposed cheeks immediately. “Hank! You gonna refill your bowl?”

The soldier glanced up from the scope and shook his head. “Not yet. Gotta keep an eye on things in case those two are discovered. You both eat. Twitch can then take watch while you sleep.”

“Sleep? Now? Are you nuts?”

“You’re exhausted from that healing stunt you pulled.” He raised a finger at me. “Don’t argue, it’s true. Always take rest when you can. Somethin’ happens we’re gonna need you at your best.”

Damn. He was right. I’d been so keyed up after that and with scoping out (literally!) our next move I’d ignored how drained I actually was. And now that I’d thought about it the tiredness hit me all at once.

“Argh, fine.” Under Twitch’s mindful glare I sat back down to finish eating. While I did so he laid out some thick blankets and a pillow by the fire. He even fluffed the pillow twice before realizing what he was doing.

I pretended not to notice both that and the quick embarrassed expression he’d shot my way after.

Taking another savory bite, what Hank had said about Dhalgrix and his mercenary plans ran again through my head. If those demons succeeded then all the outposts up here would be sunk, eventually running out of food. Given the distances involved there was no way all the reapers could get here in time to fight off the demon assault. I wasn’t even sure they could. If the defenders of the Hole also decided they couldn’t take out Dhalgrix and just remained within their protective bubble, then the rest of us were hosed. Even if Vance hadn’t been hurt, the five of us weren’t capable of winning a straight up fight either.

What were we going to do?

Yawning, I barely noticed Twitch removing the empty bowl from slack fingers and guiding me over to the fire-warmed blankets. I may have murmured an objection as he unlaced and removed my boots but the softness of the blankets and their soothing warmth swept over me. Before I knew it I was out.

Except unlike Vance’s slumber mine was anything but peaceful.

 

Raphael found her walking the Garden of Dreams with wings folded and long feathers brushing the garden’s rich soil behind bare feet. A fringed white sarong matching her halter-top clung lightly to her waist and curled upon itself as she knelt before a rosebush, one thick with lush green vines and blooms whose every petal absorbed a distinct shade of rainbow and beyond. Each bulb different and each dream carried within the sweet scent unfolding from the center equally unique in its blend of ferried emotions and imagery. Toes curled into the soft ground to feel the slender roots coaxing forth from the firmament all the subconscious energies from which the intoxicating perfumes were distilled.

So lost in her reverie was she that Raphael needed to say her name twice to catch her attention.

“Gabriel. Gabriel!”

Pushing strawberry strands away from satin cheeks, her smile shifted to concern at seeing her brother’s agitation. “What is it? Has something happened?”

“We have a problem. Beliel has returned.”

Brushing the fresh dirt from her fingers she stood. “Since when has Beliel’s arrival ever been considered problematic?”

Raphael, in his own white toga and golden bracers, extended his wings. “The gatekeepers denied him entry.”

Alarm chased away all remnants of serenity. “Which gate?”

“The West. Come!”

In a rush of wind feathers carried them up and out of the Garden that lay in nestled seclusion at the base of her personal gleaming tower of gems and marble. Beyond its boundaries they found their passage blocked for it was as if everyone within the heavenly city had also taken to the air to stream towards the West. Lingering confusions and raw doubt from the First’s recent resignation acted as ready kindle upon which a spark had now been struck, and the spaces between the many towers clogged with wings and shouting.

Along with the sounds of combat, sword against spear against shield.

Above the din and confusion a voice urged many on.

“Beliel fights for Lucifer! Lucifer fights to restore the Light!”

In opposition other voices called out, “Beliel has gone mad! Defend the Throne!”

No order was to be found in the skies or on the ground as brothers and sisters, each lost within a side of the forming mobs, summoned forth weapons of glorious fire and light.

And both gathering sides, seeing the two airborne Archangels struggling to get past the throngs, laid claim to their support.

“Gabriel is for Lucifer! She and Raphael fight for the Light!”

“No! Gabriel is for the Throne! Oblivion to those who rebel!”

Beset on all sides the two spun, finding no clear path. Explosions erupted across the city, flames lighting spires which had until that moment survived the worst of war. For Samael’s rebellion had never breached the holy gates, but now terrible bloodshed had at last arrived within the walls.

“We must get to the Throne!” Raphael cried as they tried to force past those screaming for them to declare their allegiances. “The destruction is aimed straight for it!”

Seeing no way past, Gabriel knew what must be done. Reaching out she summoned to hand a golden shofar, the instrument’s simple curves belying the tremendous potential contained within. With a blast Gabriel blew a singular note, the shockwave ripping across the air sending angels tumbling from the sky as their ears, nay their essences, trembled within the disorienting power cast forth by the perfect and thundering sound. Tapestries of glass shattered throughout the city as the pulse sped outward past each gate and into the realms beyond.

Raphael too was stunned, but with tremulous dismay. Used only once before since it had manifested within her hand on the day the first angel’s blood had fallen to a brother’s sword, Gabriel’s Horn had announced to all the worlds Samael’s defeat giving mark with holy resonance the end of that terrible and unimaginable conflict. According to prophecy delivered thereafter by the sacred Servitors of Light whose eyes pierced the veils of all possible futures, the third sounding of Gabriel’s mighty shofar was destined to herald the arrival of the Day of Judgment.

And now, to clear their path to the Throne, the Horn had sounded a second time.

Gabriel lowered the trumpet to shout at her shocked companion. “There he is!”

Like two loosed arrows they darted past their dazed and stumbled brethren to reach the steps rising towards the gleaming tower containing Elohim’s Seat. Two immense doors, stretching taller than could be seen from the stairs before them, remained shut.

As they had since the day of Lucifer’s departure.

An angel in blackened armor, wielding a mace which had obliterated several structures in its march towards these steps, barely stood having been staggered by Gabriel’s mighty blast. Between him and the tower descended Michael with sword of blinding fire and shield of light, the archangel, armored in golden righteousness, taking his holy place as Defender of the Throne.

Behind Beliel swarmed thousands of angels chanting his name, and unto Michael’s sides rallied more.

Gabriel, heedless of the dangers of coming between such a gathering, sped to Beliel, Raphael but two breaths behind.

“Beliel!” Hovering before the dazed warrior, her ivory a portrait in contrast with his ebony, she stretched forth hands to clasp the dark helm despite the black and twisted lightning coursing through not only the armor but his spirit. “Beliel, what have you done!”

From behind the metal was heard a groan as eyes infected by the colorless depths of chaos flickered momentarily to brown. “Gabriel?” A mailed fist released and both weapon and angel fell.

“Most High protect us,” cried Raphael as he caught his brother, arms wrapping around the corrupted armor. “The Chaos has taken his pattern.” The mace smashed into the steps, its landing impact echoing mightily off the twin doors like an unheeded knock.

For the doors stayed closed.

“We must save him.” Gabriel pulled free the helm, tossing it aside so she could touch directly the gaunt and strained face of the Second of Heaven.

The battlefrenzy in the crowd wavered but again a voice shouted from behind the mob.

“Gabriel heals Beliel! Defend them! Defend Lucifer’s right hand or the Light shall fail!”

The same lightning which coursed through Beliel flickered amongst the crowd, and as one they surged towards the tower with wings and blades.

Michael, blazing with dreadful Purpose, beat flaming sword once upon his shield before stepping forward to meet them with eyes resolute yet filled with sorrow.

Such a clash was not to be.

Fire brighter than the cores of suns flashed between the lines, blinding all. Even Michael was forced to raise shield against the intense heat and overwhelming luminosity driving the two sides apart.

As all fell back from the searing flames, those who had taken up arms for Beliel in Lucifer’s name gave a thundering cheer.

Their champion had arrived. The Morningstar, the First and bringer of the most holy light, hovered high above upon six radiant wings spread wide across the sky.

His booming voice trembled arched passageways and towers alike as he called out to his warrior brother.

“MICHAEL! LET NO FURTHER BLOOD BUT OURS BE SPILLED THIS DAY!”

Gabriel, throwing herself into the effort to save her brother’s spirit, heard Michael’s calm reply.

“I accept.”

 

A hand tugged forcefully on the blanket I’d cocooned myself within and all visions of glorious towers and flashing fire fractured and fell away.

“Hey Jordan,” Hank said. “Wakey wakey. The twins are back. They’ve got your chef.”

I didn’t respond as the dream hit me with an undeniable truth. That voice in the crowd spurring the angels’ crazed frenzy, I recognized it. I’d heard it while on a plane to France and again under the pyramids at Giza.

The voice was Alal’s.

 

Chapter 11 - Loyalty

 

Alal. Archon of Chaos.

The fae queen’s champion Gwydion, in the middle of our spat outside the pyramid of Djoser, had expounded on how Alal had been the one in the first War of Heaven to arm the rebel angel army with blades of chaos.

Such as the one he’d used to make a mess of my wing.

That she had helped me escape notice from Sariel’s goons when I had arrived to Giza via unexpected teleport had confused the heck of out the old warrior. It was something he and I could agree on wondering. Why would a being of chaos help a newly-made angel of light?

What game was she truly playing?

Not that I had time to really worry about it now, what with Hank shaking my shoulder telling me to get up and go deal with more pressing matters. Groaning I slowly sat up, disentangling myself from the warm blanket, and looked around.

The twins had dropped Cookie by the fire inside the tent, hands bound with thick leather behind his back and a dark hood draped over his head. Twitch stood by the tent flap and the way he kept looking between Cookie and the twins standing guard with their weapons ready made it clear he wasn’t happy about their treatment of our friend.

Hank casually chose a chair between Twitch and the twins and sat ready at the edge of the seat.

What the heck?

Getting up and shoving thoughts of Alal aside I stepped over to kneel by Cookie’s sprawled form. Gone was his kitchen apron and usual brown doublet, instead he was clad in a threadbare grey tunic. Mud spattered toes and callouses testified to lack of shoes but what really caught my attention was the awkward way he lay on his side trembling in obvious fear of making any sound.

His right leg was clearly broken. Deep bruises already blossomed down the calf to peek out from under the tunic.

“Jesus,” I breathed. Glaring at Yaria I pointed at the leg. “Was that necessary?”

She shrugged, flipping the dagger in her hand into the air before smoothly catching it again. “He tried to run.”

Crap. This was my fault. I hadn’t told them explicitly not to harm him.

I leaned over the wounded chef, saying gently, “Hey Cookie? I’m going to remove the hood, okay?”

He flinched when I touched the fabric but then my words registered because he stilled and I was able to slip the cloth free of his head to reveal a sweaty forehead and a stringy drooped mustache in serious need of a trim or some of Vance’s wax. I also untied his hands despite Yaria’s disapproving glare at doing so.

Wincing at the brightness from the small cooking fire he blinked at me. “Mon dieu! Jordan, they have captured you too?”

I smiled as re-assuringly as I could. “Captured? No, nothing like that. In fact I asked them to rescue you.”

“Rescue?” He tried to shift positions to see me better but inhaled sharply as the broken leg moved, hand reaching down instinctively to his thigh. The back of it had a new symbol, the pierced triangle of the mercenaries.

Grabbing the hand I stared at the mark. “You joined these assholes?” Dark thoughts of betrayals crossed my mind, chasing away the friendly smile.

He swallowed. “Non, is not like that. I had no choice, you must believe! They got in, I know not how. They slaughtered everyone who resisted. I am no warrior, ma cherie!”

Ruyia, busy eating some of Twitch’s stew, spoke around a mouthful. “On that he tells the truth. This rabbit knows only flight, not fight.”

“Yes, yes!” Cookie’s head bobbed up and down quickly. “They took down the Captain; what else could I do but surrender?”

Hank spoke up. “We need to set that leg.”

Pointing her blade at the chef, Yaria disagreed. “Not until the rabbit tells us what we need.”

Cookie flinched from the dagger, wide eyes pleading. “I will tell you whatever you wish to know.”

“The dig under the large tent,” I said. “How soon until they reach the passage under the defenses?”

“I don’t know exactly. But I overheard the commander saying they were close.”

I let go of his hand. “Their commander, that’s Colonel Dhalgrix?”

“Yes, him. He is anxious to be done with this job.” Cookie blinked as something else occurred to him. “God be feared. Jordan - you must flee! Get away from here!”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “You think they can track you?” Ruyia and Yaria exchanged glances and Yaria came closer with the knife. Motioning at her to wait, I said, “Explain, Cookie. And fast.”

He vehemently shook his head despite the pain the movement caused his leg. “Non, I am worth nothing. But on you the commander has sworn revenge!”

Say what?

Hank stood up. “Why would he swear revenge against Jordan? I thought these two had never met.”

“Her room at the post,” Cookie said, the words spilling over themselves. “Their wards, they killed his second and his wizards. He has raged about this! Without them he cannot breach the shields. They were supposed to blow up the Hole and block the passage by now. I have overheard many of the demons complaining of this and wishing they were free of the contract.”

In my mind I saw again the scorched bodies upon the floor outside my quarters. I grinned. “Good.”

Cookie’s eyes went wider and he leaned further away from me. “Not good, non! The commander swallowed Barry and killed the other reapers, but you? He will take his time with torture first. You must run. Now! Get away while you can!”

Hank put a hand on my shoulder. “How strong is he?” he asked more to me than Cookie though the chef didn’t realize that and blurted his answer.

“He killed Captain Erglyk with nary a mark to show for it!”

I looked to Hank. “You know my thoughts on the Captain. Taking her down is impressive.”

He remembered. “The Abrams. Right.”

Yaria interjected. “We are not here for fighting but reconnaissance. If they are close to breaching the passage we must send word to the Hole. When father wakes up we leave.”

Someone made a strangled gurgle of frustration. It took us all a moment to realize it was Twitch who had made the sound. Glaring at me from under goggles pushed up his forehead, he gestured wildly about then slammed a fist into a cupped hand before reaching towards me with an obvious plea.

Well, obvious to me anyway.

“What did he say?” Hank asked, both twins also looking my way for explanation.

I pursed my lips. “He says we can’t just leave. We have to do something.” I looked to Hank. “Remember what happens when they take out the passage? All resupply to the outposts up here stops.”

“They’ll all starve.”

Ruyia scowled. “We do not have the numbers here to make a difference. Yaria is right. We leave.”

Twitch reemphasized his gestures. And then he pointed again at me.

I didn’t translate his meaning to the others but I understood. It wasn’t what I wanted and would totally make a mess out of trying to stay hidden.

But he was right.

We were reapers. And all the reapers in all the other outposts were, without even knowing it, counting on us to save them from collapsing in on themselves from starvation because souls don’t die. They just suffer.

Eternally.

I turned to Yaria. “If we knock out their commander, this Colonel Jerkface, does someone else just take his place?”

She looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “I would not have wanted to fight your Captain Erglyk. My sister and I are skilled but I do not think it possible for us to, as you put it, knock out this Colonel. Even our father would hesitate.”

“Say it was though. What happens?”

Yaria considered. “They accepted contract for this. Which means he made a binding deal. The mercenaries are only bound to that contract through him.”

“So if he dies?” I prodded.

She leaned against a table and crossed her arms. “Should he fall in battle or be removed by stealth then the rest are free to choose another leader and to renegotiate the contract.”

“Or abandon it since things have gone sideways on them,” I said. “No wizards. No easy access to the Hole.”

“True,” she agreed. “But his forces would protect him. We have no means to accomplish his death.”

Twitch still glared at me. No longer pleading either, the insistence in his eyes was clear.

With a sigh my shoulders slumped. “Yeah, we do.”

Everyone but Twitch looked at each other then back at me. Yaria raised dark eyebrows. “Explain.”

I shrugged. “This grand asshole commander made it clear he has a personal grudge against me. Just as I do against him for killing my captain.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t mean it.”

Giving her a rueful smile I tilted my head towards Twitch. “He won’t forgive me unless I try.”

Cookie’s face went even paler. He whispered, “Ma cherie, don’t do this.”

Casually raising a hand like a student in a classroom, Hank asked, “Would someone tell the new guy here just what the heck y’all are talking about?”

Yaria, warrior as she was, regarded me with perhaps an even greater respect than I’d earned from healing her father. She motioned for me to be the one to spell it out.

I did so. “It’s simple. I will challenge Colonel Dhalgrix to a Duelo Asmodai.”

 

Chapter 12 - Options

 

Many cycles ago and again after one too many tankards, Barry had decided to offer up another one of his lectures on demons.

Wiping some of the froth from his beard he had said, “The thing to remember, lass, is they dinnae have souls. When they die, thash it. No pullin’ up into a comatose orb, none o’ that - they ish gone forever-like.” With a grin he had let rip a loud belch which echoed mightily in the cavernous dining hall. “And like us woe-begotten mortals stuck in these realms they dinnae age neither. They be immortal long as no one slices ‘em to ribbons. Except for the few bloodthirsty dobbers addicted to the thrill o’ combat, they be risk averse plotters layering schemes one atop the other to get the only thing that matters to ‘em: survival at all costs.”

The Captain had in other conversations backed up Barry’s assessment whenever I’d probed her about the politics of the various realms. Places like our Rock with far more mortal souls in residence than demons were ruled by feudalism, demonic families having carved out entrenched strongholds by not causing too much challenge to those above while making sure those below in the hierarchy stayed put. Rare was direct violence between head-honchos as that was deemed altogether too dangerous and risky to their immortal hides.

Humans, in their mortal lives, know they have a limited number of years to live. Their priorities are to preserve their offspring and if possible - and even if it required sacrifice - improve the situation their children would inherit. For children were their legacy across time.

Demons, on the other hand, had children only to expand their own power. And any child who became a threat would also be put down.

Intrigue and subtle shifts of influence were the coins of the realms. From what the Captain had mentioned of the more populous ones, they sounded like terribly stratified bureaucracies which would have made Stalin red with envy.

I’d asked her about how the fallen angels fit into things, but with a shrug she said she didn’t really know. According to the lore they ruled from far above the fray of mortal souls and demons, intervening only if the realm’s fabric itself was in danger.

Or if a demon grew powerful enough to foolishly think themselves on equal footing.

Law and order was therefore imposed with iron scaly fists by the older demons in charge, as any chaos was naturally perceived as a possible personal threat. There was no tolerance for crime, getting caught by those in power with whom you had no influence meant almost always death.

Weeding out undisciplined young demons was harsh and final.

But occasionally, as is wont to happen, feuds developed between individual demons which would threaten to drag down entire power alliances and upset the carts of their more powerful superiors, possibly plunging the overly-important stability into a mess. Thus, after one realm nearly shattered under the weight of two factions hurling all their available energies at each other in something like a nuclear holocaust level exchange of force, the angels had intervened.

Specifically, a former general of the Maschitim named Asmodias sent his winged brothers to capture the two faction leaders that had let things get so out of hand. After erecting a mighty stadium he bid the two demon lords to duke it out in front of all the demons in the realm, winner take all. If they balked or if any other demon shed blood in that stadium Asmodias promised he would slaughter not just the specific offenders but every last demon within both factions.

Thus was the Duelo Asmodai born. Stories had been passed down that there were even instances of angels carrying out Asmodias’ threat when, after a Duel had been invoked, one side or another had attempted to cheat and interfere during the fight.

Only truly neutral parties had survived to tell the tale.

Hank, naturally, was opposed to the idea and immediately indicated his considered opinion. “That some kind of duel to the death? You’re crazy.”

I shrugged and slid a dagger into the sash at my waist. “Yeah, probably. But I don’t see any other alternatives.”

He grunted. “There are always possibilities.”

“Not in this case,” I disagreed. “We’re on our own little slice of the Rock’s top side. Beyond the outposts are either the Edge or the Spires, the rest is enclosed by the sweep of a large methane lake. Yeah, it gets that cold the further you go in. These jerks attacked us through the Spires, which most likely means they are working for the Duke who controls the territory on the other side.”

Ruyia lowered her bowl. “Not necessarily. There is a gate in the Spires.”

Spinning around to hiss at her sister, Yaria’s tight braid whipped about and almost smacked into Hank’s face. “Watch what you say!”

Glaring back, Ruyia crossed arms in a mirror of her twin’s pose. “Or else what? You know what we could offer them. Father would approve.”

Frowning, I looked between the two. “Gate? What sort of gate?”

Facing off with Yaria as if daring her to try and stop her, Ruyia answered. “The sort that can portal you to other domains if you know the rituals. Amongst those peaks are alignments which make such possible. Pledge yourselves to the Lilim, join our caravan, and you can escape this place.”

Hank said to Yaria, “This true? Y’all would offer us safe haven?”

Throwing a last look of disgust at her sister Yaria reluctantly nodded. “Father has wanted to recruit Jordan from the moment they first met. He’d take you and Twitch as long as she joined.”

To me Hank said, “That sounds a much safer plan.”

Twitch stomped a foot and gave another sweeping and more insistent gesture.

Dangit, he was still right. I asked the twins, “Is your gate large enough to resupply each and every outpost and keep them going?”

Ruyia made a sour face. “Only so much can be transported at a time. Gates need a lot of energy to recharge. We can get our people and you out, that is all.”

Well that sucked big time. More politely I said, “It’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept. Twitch and I are reapers. We can’t abandon the other outposts. I have to take that jerk down.”

I had expected Hank to argue further but instead a small smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “You really believe you can win?”

That was the question, wasn’t it. Could I beat this guy? I’d fought a lot of demons since getting stuck here, but none were close even to the Captain’s level. Camael’s bracers gave me an edge, sure, so maybe I could just burn the bastard. Barring that I’d have to cheat as perhaps only I could. Which was precisely what Twitch was counting on with those usually haunted eyes now overflowing with faith, adoration, and a hope I’d never seen in them before.

All because when he first found me lying in that smoking crater near the Edge I still wore wings. Bloody ones, sure, but I had them.

“Yeah,” I said, scooping up my spear and moving towards the tent flaps. “Besides, if this guy tries to swallow my soul I’m betting he’ll choke on it.”

Only Yaria laughed at that.

Pulling back the cloth and letting in the cold from outside I looked over a shoulder at everyone. “I’m choosing Yaria as my second and witness. Everyone else stay here. Use the telescope to observe the outcome.”

Left unsaid was should I lose they’d better hope Vance had woken up so they could take to the air and flee as fast as he and Ruyia could carry them.

Before I went out Twitch ran up and threw his arms around me in an uncharacteristic and fierce hug.

I squeezed him back just as hard. “Get Cookie’s leg set and splinted, okay?”

He nodded after letting go. Which took an extra second or three.

Hank offered me a salute. Ruyia’s eyes held uncertainty but she didn’t voice any further objections. Cookie just stared like I’d gone insane. As for Yaria, she checked her weapons were all still in place then motioned for me to march out first into the shadows that awaited.

I went.

Yaria and I proceeded to cross the dark open space between our tiny camp and the mercenaries’ rather more expansive one. Likely out of respect, one warrior to another, she kept quiet while we walked.

Was Cookie right? Had I lost my mind? And if I had would I even be able to tell?

The empty plain beneath my feet had no answers.

When we were about to step into the outer circle of light forming the perimeter of where we’d be spotted by their guards, Yaria threw an arm across my chest to stop me.

“You must make of him an example,” she said quietly so her voice wouldn’t carry. “Destroy him utterly. Leave no doubt that you could easily do the same to the rest. Otherwise your plan fails.”

Not giving time for a response she muttered a quick spell and tossed a fireball of reddish orange into the sky above, making our presence immediately obvious to the entire camp. Shouting in a clear and commanding voice her words rang out to anyone within a mile who had ears to hear.

“Behold! The Reaper known as Jordan of Outpost Epsilon gives challenge to Colonel Dhalgrix by right of honor! By her will a Duelo Asmodai is declared! Let her foe tremble in despair for she has come in righteousness and fire to deliver death and vengeance upon he whose wretched existence offends her!”

That was that. There was no turning back now. If the dream earlier had been a forewarning rather than inspiration I was in trouble. Thinking about it, I wondered if I was to be cast as the Michael or Lucifer in this scenario.

According to the legend I had better hope I got Michael’s slot.

 

Chapter 13 - Duelo

 

Ever been stupid enough to whack a wasp nest with a stick? Back in elementary school a kid named Kyle did just that when a handful of us saw a paper-mache hive sticking out from under the eaves of a gym equipment shed. We’d been playing four-square and Alice had missed her catch of the red ball due to a particularly good throw and the ball had skipped all the way over behind the shed. We gave immediate chase, Kyle taking the lead. Kyle wasn’t all that bright but as he was the tallest and fastest he believed leadership was his by natural right. After we’d all marveled at the nest, Kyle had bent down to pick up a long stick. With a rather stupid grin breaking out across cheeks which a few years later would sprout an acne harvest the envy of any botanist, he raised it up. Realizing his intentions I simply noped right on out of there.

Before I could reach the rest of the class still playing at the pavement squares an ear-piercing shriek was heard followed by Kyle and all who had stayed with him running full-tilt towards the rest of us. Naturally in pursuit were enraged squadrons of wasps hell-bent on pointy rear-end revenge.

The school nurse ran out of cortizone cream that day.

Yaria’s loud announcement had much the same effect on the mercenary camp as Kyle’s stick. Demons of all shapes and sizes dropped what they were doing and came running while those closest to us shouted and began arguing with each other.

“Mortals have no rights to a duel!”

“All in Hell can give challenge!”

“Hey, no pushing!”

“Ten denari to the first to take their heads!”

“RAAWR!”

That last was screamed by a blob made mostly of mouths and arms as it broke from the pack to bound towards us like a big-rig’s tire having broken free of its axle. As teeth and limbs spun across the dusty ground Yaria unsheathed her blackened sword and stepped forward, feet taking a wide yet balanced stance. I readied my spear while also preparing to dodge and strike but needn’t have worried.

An orb of blazing green lanced out from above the forming mob to slam into the charging demon, tossing it sideways a good fifty feet while driving a long rut in the pale dirt.

All eyes turned to the source of the blast.

Standing a good twenty feet tall and towering over the rest was a cyclopian figure straight from some crazed heavy-metal music video. A single burning verdant eyeball centered a face covered by this massive samurai helmet complete with sharp golden crescent moon curving upward and rust-colored plates hanging to the sides. The mask’s details included a particularly menacing metal grimace. Four tentacled arms also clad in the articulated reddish metal spread wide as the owner’s voice cracked over everyone’s heads.

“Foolishness cease! Decision for Commander to take.”

The growing crowd of demons parted to reveal the rest of the cyclops and its pair of oak-like and similarly armored legs.

One tentacle whipped out towards me and Yaria while another uncoiled to gesture at the large tent where the digging was being done. “Come. You shall now.”

Yaria nodded so we both followed the four-armed thing whose head probably destroyed ceilings wherever he went.

Unless demonic architects plan for sizes like that and make everything taller. The outpost had been built into caves so it’s not like I had seen any real buildings made for demons yet. But wouldn’t designing for such make the regular-sized demons feel even smaller? And at what height should the doorknobs go? Did they require two equally functional knobs set as different vertical spots? I idly contemplated the pros and cons of such considerations all while being led towards a fight that could end with either outright destruction or eternal pain.

Thoughts can be weird like that.

Wagons full of covered dirt and rock had paused on their way to dump their cargo, the souls holding the reins of the graxh staring at us as we went by. Most had the blank faces of those whose emotions had been crushed eons ago but one guy with a ratty grey beard and frizzy hair removed a hat of beaten cloth and held it over his heart with a bowed head. You know, like we were passing by on the way to my own funeral.

Yeah, that was not encouraging. Nor was the stench of all the unwashed demons standing there gawking.

As we approached the main tent a massive demon stepped out flanked by two smaller and horned flunkies. Not that I paid the other two much attention as the main guy was honestly too darned impressive.

Imagine if Dwayne Johnson somehow magically had a love child with Andre the Giant and that kid grew up with the best nutrition and training around. And then abused the heck out of all the steroids advanced science could provide.

The guy who emerged from the tent would have put that kid to shame.

Wearing only a pair of pants, his hairless chest was at least a mile wide under all the grey dirt which almost but not quite covered the reddish hue of his skin. Hands big enough to palm basketballs the size of overinflated beach-balls brushed dust off of biceps and forearms straight out of some twisted anime artist’s dream of what over-powered muscles should be. Of course what really caused a sharp inhale was sensing how many souls this demon was sucking power from. A quick estimate put him at at least triple what Captain Erglyk had swallowed.

Yikes.

Bowing its head, the cyclops spoke to its leader. “To Commander, challenge given. Honor right, mortal claims.” One tentacle flipped in my direction.

Commander Dhalgrix raised a bushy black eyebrow and looked me up and down. When he smiled I realized my choice of body-builders was mistaken. That toothy grin was pure Terminator.

“Interesting,” he said with a leer. “You must be the reaper called Jordan.” The tent flaps behind him totally didn’t shake from his booming voice. Really.

I coughed to find my own tongue, it having tried to hide within the safety of the throat. “Yep. That’s me. You the fiend who killed Captain Erglyk?”

“Oh yes.” The grin widened further to expose even more teeth. No molars as far as I could see, just incisors and canines all the way to the back. “The good Captain provided more entertainment than I’ve had in ages.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “As amusing as your wizards and sub-commander roasting themselves at my door? Too bad I didn’t get to watch.”

Anger stirred and the demon’s eyes burned like coals. But even as tendons across the ridiculously thick neck tightened the gaze returned to their previous cool black. “I do admit that the death of the wizards would indeed have provided a laugh given their hubris in underestimating your spellwork. As such all would almost be forgivable, except for one thing.”

Shit. This dude had his emotions under tight control. “Really? And that is?”

The grin disappeared into a snarl. “The death of my brother Krichgon to whom I owed a life-debt, now never to be repaid. So I offer you my gratitude for presenting yourself so easily to allow what little satisfaction remains possible to offer his memory. I accept your challenge under the aegis of the Duelo Asmodai. Your destruction shall be at my hands and no other.”

His brother. Uh, Cookie had failed to mention that little detail. So let’s recap: I just challenged a horribly overpowered demon, one who’d obviously mastered its passions, and was motivated by familial revenge to cause me as much suffering as possible.

I was feeling oh so smart with this plan.

Not.

Yaria stepped forward. “As the challenger she chooses the time and place. That choice is for the duel to be fought now upon the plains beyond your camp. Seconds present only, all other observers to remain within the camp’s bounds and no further.”

Dhalgrix grunted. “Acceptable. As the challenged I choose the method of fighting.” He paused, eyes narrowing with calculated thought before the sharp grin reappeared even more leering than before. “No armor, no weapons, no talismans. As we each are forged shall we fight.”

Uh oh. No armor meant no super-powered bracers of Camael badassery. And something about the curve of that smile was more bothersome still. I looked to Yaria for clarification. “That second part, it have any special meaning?”

Her lips pursed like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “It means you both fight naked.”

Ever just have one of those days?

 

~o~O~o~

 

Grey dirt and matching stone mixed with scattered ice stretched out for a good mile all around. There wasn’t much conversation as the four of us walked the distance until Yaria was satisfied with a spot maybe a hundred yards or so outside the camp. Riding wagons was out as graxh qualified as ‘observers’ according to Dhalgrix, who had done his demonic-slant to interpreting the conditions.

Maybe he thought a simple stroll like this would tire me out prematurely. As if.

Abiding by those damned conditions I sat on the hard ground to first remove my boots, then quickly piled the rest of my clothes into a clump for Yaria to guard. It took a bit of effort to get out of all the cold-reducing layers. Finally, I placed the bracers on top of the stack. Unspoken was the fact that should I lose Dhalgrix would lay claim to everything I own, including my share of the soulstones Twitch and I had gathered on our last run. He might have even been able to lay a claim for Hank as well. I hadn’t thought of that.

Erk.

At the edge of the camp the entire horde of mercenaries had lined up in haphazard rows, casting long and oddly shaped shadows across the plains between us. Those with good eyesight hooted and hollered as I got to my feet and turned to face the hulking demon I was about to fight with nothing keeping me warm except sheer chutzpah. A freezing wind rustled the inch-long hair covering my scalp which somehow made everything feel colder. It’d been too many sleeps since I’d last shaved the dome so I was sporting a punk-rock look due to the gold and red sprouting straight up. While his fiendish crew whistled and shouted a number of anatomically challenging suggestions, my opponent leered in obvious appreciation of everything I’d just revealed.

The guy stood proudly with burly hands on muscled hips showing off his own physique. Yeah, even his hips had thickly corded muscles. He’d already stripped off the pants and surprise surprise hadn’t been wearing any underwear. Let’s just say that everything under those pants was in frightening proportion to the rest of his bulk and it wasn’t just his facial expression that was approving of my nude appearance.

“You gonna stand there and gawk or are we doing this?” I growled, fighting down the urge to try and awkwardly cover myself with hands and arms. If it got any colder my poor nipples were gonna transform into ice-picks.

“To think such beauty lay under so much wrapping,” mused Dhalgrix, showing a hunger that had nothing to do with food. “No sorceress in my travels has ever been so comely. Had I known I might have offered you my bed instead.”

“Too late for that.” Not to mention the thought of sharing a bed with this jerk made all of Twitch’s earlier cooking turn unpleasantly within my stomach.

He nodded. “Quite true.”

The four-tentacled cyclops shouted, “State readiness.” Both he and Yaria had retreated a safe distance away. Given the cyclops’ size she looked like a child in comparison, albeit one with many sharp implements standing by. With the only light coming from the crystal-torches placed around the mercenary camp it was rather dark out here so the two of them were silhouetted against that glow. It was a good thing I didn’t need solid lighting to see my foe. All the souls within him flickered brightly enough, serving as a good reminder of why he needed to be taken down.

“Ready,” I said while sliding a foot back to take a balanced guard position.

He tilted his thick head to one side then the other, loud cracks coming from the massive neck. “Also ready.”

Without fanfare the cyclops declared, “BEGIN!”

Before the word had a chance to echo in my ears I realized I’d made a mistake.

The guy was fast. Twitch-level fast. And I hadn’t prepared for it. In a blink of an eye that incredible mass had crossed the distance and a fist punched upwards with the strength of a howitzer to slam towards my chest.

It was all I could do to shove forearms in the way.

The blow tossed me up and back at least twenty yards, all air bursting past teeth which couldn’t even muster a proper ‘oof’. Arms were still instinctively crossed to protect where he’d struck and thus didn’t slap outward to the ground to distribute the landing.

As a result the back of my head crashed into the dirt and the totally blank sky above filled with glowing sparks before becoming yet darker still.

 

Upon a churning purple-black sea of pain and horror bobbed a perfect sphere forged of glass. Trapped within an angel pressed slender hands against the curved walls while shouting words unheard beyond. A black corruption wove itself across the feathers of one of the elegant ivory wings, binding it much the same as the iron chains clasping her ankles and wrists. A tender face, burdened with sadness and worry, held eyes shining with a light sublime, an inner illumination offering peace and wisdom to any who would embrace their glory…

 

“Jordan! MOVE!”

A voice was shouting at me. Hank’s?

The darkness resolved into a giant shadow falling from above with a knee aiming straight for my chin. Without thought I rolled, shoving hands against the ground to launch the rest of me even further aside.

The knee and the giant behind it crushed a good three feet deep into the dirt, stones and ice bursting outward in all directions much like a meteor strike.

Knowing he wouldn’t stop to admire the artistry of his impact I tilted, lifted legs, and with a spine-arching thrust did a kip-up to get feet back under me. And perhaps more importantly, I threw my vision open to peer into the incoming possibilities, that weird lattice of immediate futures stretching across a part of my mind. This was something I’d spent a fair amount of effort training while sparring with Twitch whenever we’d be out on our rounds.

You know, when no one else could watch. Having seen me fight while using it was another reason he’d had such faith in me winning this duel.

I sincerely hoped that belief wasn’t horribly misplaced.

This time I hadn’t underestimated Dhalgrix as he came charging immediately after getting off that knee, aiming blow after blow with hands and feet, each getting either deflected or avoided as I danced around moving in tune to a song one note ahead of his. The lack of a sports-bra was an irritation but I did my best to ignore the reported complaints coming from the boobs bouncing so freely. I didn’t dare let that be a distraction. Given the power I’d just witnessed I really couldn’t afford another direct hit.

As it was forearms were already protesting that initial blow, the blossoming bruises twinging with each new swing and block.

At blinding speed we moved and counter-moved all while the crowd of demons went nuts with shouted cheers at the violence. Meanwhile that non-human awareness of mine searched deeper into the tree of possible events like a chess grand-master playing the ultimate blitz game where her next moves had to be recorded before the opponent had even made theirs.

The lack of Camael’s bracers hurt, but they had also shown me much when guiding my previous sparring. As there had been tons of idle time sitting on a wagon and crossing a whole lot of nothing I’d done a fair amount of detailed mental review of all such bouts. While I’m sure Camael himself would absolutely kick my ass, I’d managed to pick up on some of his techniques.

Applying that knowledge I was able to catch Dhalgrix’s arm with an Aikido-like maneuver and press my weight perfectly to snap his elbow. I followed up by dropping my own knee against his, except mine came down straight whereas his was stuck angled on its side.

Despite its thickness that crunched too.

I would have then sent a fist to his temple but a crackle in the air and a cautionary premonition warned me off. His good arm had extended and a sparking blue field spread outward.

It was a blue glow that I recognized. Dhalgrix was using Barry’s specialty, the ability Barry had wielded to power up his axe or do as the demon was now: using the summoned energy as a force field.

Barry’s soul was in there somewhere and the jerk had already stolen his power.

The last time I’d blindly punched such a defensive field my fist had been crushed rather rudely so this time I checked the strike and backed off to re-evaluate.

Behind the raised defenses Dhalgrix stood on his one good leg. Instead of wincing from the damage I’d inflicted the bastard simply laughed.

“Astounding!” he declared. “And here I thought you’d be just another sorceress dependent on pre-cast incantations and trinkets like all the rest.”

“You’ll find I’m full of surprises.” I couldn’t resist the quote. Not that this asshole would get the reference.

“Then let us discover more of them.” With an enjoyment seemingly out of place given his condition, a greenish hue flowed over his knee and an awful cracking could be heard.

It was the same sound my own bones and tendons had made against each other when I’d used the power of the light to fix equally nasty wounds from having been kicked through a wall. The light which was now utterly out of reach.

The massive demon’s emerald energies obviously weren’t.

His leg healed and straightened to take its full share of the weight yet again, and his skin…well, it rippled. Hardened spikes pushed outward past the flesh and between the blue glow still held between us and the distant lights from the camp, it was clear that the texture of the dust-covered reddish skin had shifted to now give off a shinier specular reflection from patches where my fervent blocks had brushed off the dirt.

As if his hide had become metal.

“I thought you said no armor!” I shouted. What the hell?

“’As we each are forged’,” he laughed again, clearly savoring the moment. “You are free to reforge your own skin should you wish.”

What the Hell indeed. I should have known.

He grunted as his eyes narrowed with more deadly seriousness. “Now then, little soul. Let’s see what other tricks you can bring to the fun.” With one hand wielding Barry’s stolen gift like a medieval shield and the other forming a mace out of the sparkling blue power, he bulldozed towards me again.

It was all I could do to dodge while frantically searching for counters. To the roaring crowd it probably looked like he was chasing me around in circles. Which wasn’t far from the truth.

But not entirely the case.

He was fast in wielding that shield, eager to shove it against any blow that came his way even with that hardened carapace now offering its own protection. But the various spikes sticking out of his arms, chest, legs, and even neck made some movements difficult as the metallic extrusions kept clicking and grinding against each other causing slight errors in his swings. If he was at all frustrated by my continually dancing out of reach he didn’t show it, nor did he slow down. If it was a battle of attrition I was after he was more than happy to oblige.

I knew eventually I’d tire and he’d get get one of those turbo-fueled strikes in. As it was my shins and arms were complaining mightily against the abuse they’d already suffered. At this rate they’d eventually break just from all the hairline fractures alone and I’d be toast. And if that mace hit I’d be naught but jelly spread on top.

I needed to take it up another notch.

My time sparring with Barry faking being less capable hadn’t been entirely a waste either. I’d studied the Scotsman’s energy and contemplated how he made it work. Better still I’d pondered how to defeat it. As Barry had been a friendly and stand-up kind of guy, one who hadn’t tried to hit on me, I’d never put those thoughts into practice. That and doing so would have revealed more abilities I hadn’t wanted exposed. Given the current situation though I didn’t have much choice. A secret held by a smear in the dirt wasn’t worth much.

It was time to put theory into practice.

Spinning, I slapped a hand at his stolen blue shield. Except I didn’t touch it exactly.

Instead I pulled free the primal spark energy provided by Barry’s trapped soul and wrapped that stolen power around my fingers before completing the spin and executing a pointed lunge at Dhalgrix’s windpipe.

The toughened hide splintered under the directed energy release which snapped against the weakest part of his armored pattern. Even as Dhalgrix choked from the impact he raised the blue sparkling mace to try and smack me away but I wasn’t done.

My other hand had already swept through the mace as well, pulling its energy free so I could slam all it could give right into Dhalgrix’s skull.

He went down, falling hard on his ass, but as I jumped in for more strikes he again glowed green. His legs coiled with tremendous speed and I had no choice but to abandon my attacks and ride out his following upward kick that sent me over his head and into a forward dive.

I’d like to think my landing was more graceful than his as I rolled through it and back to my feet. My vision shimmered for a moment though and I had to blink a few times to refocus.

Dammit, I was getting tired.

Dhalgrix may have been in similar condition as instead of rushing at me after getting back up he just stood there, massive chest heaving with large intakes of air through the now-healed windpipe. He was staring but no longer with amusement or any lust at what heaved freely upon my chest from each breath of my own. I stared back, noting that now both of us were smeared head to toe in the gray dirt sticking fast to our skin from all the frozen sweat and blood.

“You’re a channeler,” he said, the Neanderthal brow furrowed with thought and calculation. “And you move in anticipation of every attack.” Those dark eyes widened. “Could it be that you have precognition as well?”

“I’m just lucky.” I began to circle around him, keeping feet light but steady.

“No. This skill goes beyond luck.” He watched my movements with caution and, dare I say it, admiration. “I had planned to torment you for a thousand cycles as fitting punishment for all to witness. But now? Girl, you are a golden treasure amidst a sea of flotsam. He who absorbs your power would reign supreme!”

I snorted dismissively. “You don’t have what it takes to swallow this soul, you pathetic jerk. Now, are you done bloviating or what? I’ve still got a whole bag of tricks with your name all over them. You’ll be screaming just like your brother as he was cooked alive before I’m done with you!”

His control fractured, eyes glowing red in the darkness.

This time they stayed lit.

“Let me show you then, little soul, why your feeble Captain died so readily. And why no mere mortal should ever dare challenge my might!”

Multiple lines of crimson cut their way across the metallic chest. Not blood either, more like lava. With a shout the hide burst outward along those mismatched gashes, the multiple flaps spreading apart the entire torso. All the spikes folded around that gaping maw like horrible braces-needing teeth.

Behind what would give dentists nightmares for weeks wasn’t a tongue but a vortex. It was as if he’d opened a hatch to the void of space, the lack of an airlock sucking the freezing air and pulling in the loose dirt and stones knocked free from our fight. My bare feet also began to slide painfully across the ground towards him.

Much to his confusion I didn’t struggle against the pull.

I dove right on in.

 

Chapter 14 - Requests

 

In the legal profession it is not entirely uncommon for opposing councils, after the completion of downright ugly multi-year lawsuits with each side spilling ink-filled carnage across every filed brief, to find to their astonishment that in separate and new cases the interests of their respective clients had now aligned. Thus hardened opposition at times become allies. For in the world of business should a large company lose in a matter they may hire the very law firm who had recently kicked their legal posteriors in the arena of the courts to assist on the next issue of money and law under litigation. For Isaiah, however, never before had he found himself unexpectedly working with two individuals who had caused him so much personal pain.

It was a testament to his will that instead of calling the Director of the Department of Paranormal Affairs to coordinate the capture of the two men - nay, the two angels - he embarked to negotiate an entirely different course of action.

The Director’s secretary had wasted no time in transferring the call after receiving permission and the Director got right to the point when he immediately picked up.

“Mr. Cohen. Your sudden departure from the memorial services has had us all concerned. Are you safe?”

“Director Goodman, when you consider who wishes my demise it is likely that I am currently in the safest company one could find.”

A pause. “Soren is still with you.” It was a statement and not a question.

“Indeed. And he has agreed to not contest my providing you with further details of the situation of which you may be unaware, a precondition to my mediating on his behalf. For he desires to make a request of you and your agency.”

“That man is currently sharing the top of the global most-wanted lists with many terrorists. Therefore I do not foresee being inclined to fulfill any bequests from such an individual.”

“You may wish to reconsider, sir. What if I were to tell you that Callas Soren is in fact the archangel Camael, Regent of the Seat of Light, Commander of the angels of the Powers, Captain and Champion of the Host of Heaven, and with the breaking of the Second Seal has regained the full mantle thereof? Would this not change your calculus?”

Through the phone’s tinny speaker could be heard the creaking of a chair from someone sinking further into its leather. “Yet he is having you speak for him and not directly.”

“It is his declared wish to avoid the need for a demonstration of that statement’s truth and hopes that my vouching for him in this matter will suffice. Panic serves neither your interests nor his.”

“Tell that to Los Angeles with what he pulled off last summer.”

“I agree that he has much to answer for. His request is related to a course of action hoping to correct at least one of his failures, an attempt which will remove himself and another entirely from the world. Perhaps even permanently.”

“Another? Is he taking you off-world?”

“No. Not me. He has recruited Mr. Wright to assist. They plan a journey to Hell in order to free my best friend and brother. They mean to rescue the spirit of Justin Thorne.”

“Forgive me, Isaiah. This is a lot to take in. Jordan is in Hell?”

“According to Soren, yes. She fell to there after Circe’s spell tossed both her and the bomb beyond Earth’s reach. And we have learned of a way for her spirit to return home. Even if it means Soren and Wright will be stuck thereafter.”

“Everything I’ve been told says that once a soul is in Hell they can never leave.”

“My friend’s spirit is not that of just any angel. Soren is convinced it can escape.”

“Wait a moment. If Soren is Camael, won’t he fall from grace by going to Hell himself?”

It was Isaiah’s turn to pause. “I do not know. That does seem likely.”

“He’s willing to Fall in order to save Jordan.”

Isaiah considered, and the truth was obvious. “He is. It is my opinion that in his eyes Jordan is the only thing that currently matters in the universe.”

“And Wright agreed to go with him? That doesn’t sound at all like Nick.”

“Soren offered him that which could not easily be refused. And before you ask, no I cannot share those details.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“Those agreements are private affairs.”

“I see. What does Soren wish then from the DPA?”

“We will be visiting the storage facility in Los Angeles where all of this started. He requests all agents to vacate the building itself and only maintain the exterior perimeter to prevent intrusion during the visit.”

“The lockers? What does he need from there? All the relics have already been removed.”

“He has not said. He did indicate that you are free to leave your cameras on and observe, but for the safety of your men they must exit the facility.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this is not so much a request as a warning? He’s going to do whatever he wants regardless, isn’t he.”

“I believe that should even the entire Host of Heaven or the hordes of Hell array against him he would still march along the path he has chosen.”

“Would they want to?”

“Between you and me, I have no idea. The answer to that is far more complicated than I am able to comprehend at this moment.”

The Director exhaled. “We’re caught up in circumstances far beyond the likes of us mortal men, Mr. Cohen. Alright, if only to save my agents and the cops plus potentially acquire further intelligence, we will agree. We’ve traced this call to where you are in Turkey; how soon does he need the building evacuated? Is he with you?”

“He requests it be emptied within thirty minutes. Myself, Wright, and Soren will arrive presently.”

“Portals again I take it. Fine, I’ll get it done. Anything else?”

“Yes, though it is my own request and not his.”

“What is it?”

“Once they are gone I wish to visit the Grigori Zakiel. I understand he is in the custody of your agency.”

“He’s unconscious. Why would you want to see him?”

“Sariel still desires my death. Zakiel is the best lead towards finding Bishop—and through him Sariel. Unless you’ve found either one already?”

“We’re looking everywhere for both but so far no luck. Jordan told us that Bishop’s got a third bomb so he’s our top priority. While Zakiel may know something, none of our psychics have gotten through to him. Have you asked Wright if he knows how to find Sariel?”

“All he has is a possible name for Sariel’s incarnate. I will give it to you once Soren and Wright have departed this world.”

“Thank you. Still, I don’t see how your seeing Zakiel will help with anything. Not even Louis Geintz from Whateley could get his mind to respond.”

“Yet he spoke to Jordan and I have good reason to believe he will wish to speak with me.”

“Why? What aren’t you sharing, Mr. Cohen?”

“Get me to Zakiel and you may find out. Thirty minutes until our arrival, Director. The clock starts now.” Isaiah ended the call.

In the cramped hotel room the other two angels who had been listening in got to their feet.

Soren gestured towards the door. “Don’t forget your coats, gentlemen. And bring the umbrella.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

A rare autumn storm covered Los Angeles with roiling grey clouds. Steadily falling drops accumulated to slowly wash away the sins of previous summer heat and dry valley winds. Having used one of Soren’s many portals to appear in yet another alley, the three men - two in dark coats and one in beige - crossed the single block to reach the storage facility on foot. Only one stood under an umbrella’s protection.

The other two had waved hands at the falling water and ceased being targets from the sky’s deluge.

Isaiah was surprised to find a crowd braving such weather to press against hastily erected security fencing topped with barbed wire which now surrounded the facility. The crowd faced off against the police on the other side as all were becoming drenched from above.

The cops looked the more miserable for the crowd outside was singing.

In fact they sang a hymn.

 

For to his angels he’s given a command,

To guard you in all of your ways;

Upon their hands they will bear you up,

Lest you dash your foot against a stone.

 

“What’s going on?” Isaiah asked his drier companions. Several people in the crowd held aloft large signs but being behind them he couldn’t make out what was written. A priest in coat and collar stood before the throng guiding the hymn, a bad comb-over wetly clinging to the wrong side of his head.

Nick chuckled. “Haven’t you been watching the news? Pictures of Jordan in Egypt went even more viral than the ones from Syria. Someone also caught sight of her leaping off the top of this building which caused its own frenzy. Religious sensitives had already flocked here, drawn by the leftover resonances from Callas’ shenanigans. Plus her friend’s statements to the press didn’t help.”

“Resonances?” Isaiah frowned. His skin had started tingling as they approached, an electric tugging at things felt only in his dreams.

It was downright distracting.

“Transfiguration,” said Soren, “accomplished within the glory of the light. This shall be a holy site for generations. Now come.” He stepped off the sidewalk and approached the gate barring the parking lot as the crowd had politely left the road clear.

With the rain and the crowd’s rapturous singing focused around the priest the three managed to slip past the gate before being noticed. The guards, decked out in bulletproof vests, assault riot gear, and covering yellow ponchos, had seen them coming and after checking photo instructions on their phones quickly cracked the gate wide enough to usher the trio inside.

Seeing the gate move the crowd surged towards it but with a loud clunk the opening had slammed shut yet again. Disappointed, the odd mix of homeless and devout middle-class churchgoers returned their attention to the priest who encouraged them to finish the hymn.

 

And he will raise you up on eagle’s wings,

Bear you on the breath of dawn,

Make you to shine like the sun,

And hold you in the palm of his hand.

 

As singing went Isaiah had heard worse.

A sergeant with greying sideburns let them into the building despite being obviously disgusted with the orders to clear out and allow three civilians free access to the facility. The sliding glass doors closed behind, shutting out both rain and song.

“All personnel are outside getting soaked, sirs,” the sergeant said crustily. “How long is this gonna take, whatever the hell this is?”

Nick grinned but before he could respond Soren’s hand on his shoulder cut him off.

“It should not be long, Sergeant,” said the taller sorcerer. “We appreciate the cooperation.”

With a grunt the man handed Soren the keys to access the elevator then stepped back to re-trigger the doors. Before they closed a second time he muttered “the hell you do” loud enough to be heard.

Nick, still amused, shook his head. “I think a more important question is how long until the good policeman there realizes two of his most wanted criminals just waltzed on in here.”

“All the more reason,” Soren said, “to not delay.” He led them past the lobby’s collection of folding tables and portable computers which had turned it into a field outpost and reached the white-painted elevator. Using the key to get it to open, he stepped in and pushed one of the buttons.

Stepping in beside him, Nick asked, “Don’t you want the floor below that?”

“If I had, Nicolas, I would have pressed differently.”

“Hmph.”

As they rode up Isaiah admitted to himself that the entire situation had crossed way into the surreal. A master sorcerer who was actually the second horseman of the apocalypse was on his left, while on his right was the sorcerer’s wayward apprentice: a man whose efforts had come close to either killing or driving mad most of the people on the planet.

Thinking about it Isaiah decided that law school had definitely not prepared him for this sort of thing. And even if they had offered, who in their right mind would have ever taken such a course?

Well, alright. He might have been curious. But still.

The doors opened to more white hallway lined by orange single-car garage doors, most of which were open to empty storage spaces. Except they weren’t exactly empty, seeing as how their walls were covered in twisting lines of paint which still guided energies simply dizzying to behold. The longer Isaiah tried to follow the patterns, the more the rustling felt underneath his skin became obnoxious.

They stopped in front of unit number four-oh-five which had its own distinct energy lacing walls, floor, and ceiling. The itching between his shoulder blades reached levels distinctly uncomfortable yet also strangely intoxicating. The lawyer found himself swaying and he had to reach out to the doorway to steady himself.

Soren regarded Isaiah, expression warming from the usual hardness. “You can feel it. The hum of her holy choice, the echoes of her ascension which even now spreads outward across the cosmos with its declaration of sacred promise.”

It was all Isaiah could do to nod. The fire running through veins and nerves was growing hot with something other than heat. He felt confined and restricted in ways he had never before, as if an external pressure tightened its grip while desperately yearning to stretch beyond the skin. He wanted to revel in the energies bursting like novas across perceptions previously unknown to him. All the visions and dreams of heaven and its angels became suddenly real as he stood there, no longer constrained to the boundaries of sleep and therefore acceptable fantasy.

Here, in this place, those visions felt more real and solid than did the world outside the building. Within his heart leapt a desire to join a song far more powerful than the small reflection carried by the voices of those out in the rain.

Nick crossed his arms, hands rubbing over the sleeves of his coat. “Can we get on with it? Being in this place is like having an Olympic-class weightlifter pound nails through my skull with a sledgehammer.”

Isaiah caught the flash of pity across Soren’s face as the sorcerer stepped inside the unit, reaching a hand to its center. The lines of force twisted towards the fingers, and with that twisting the air emitted a small ‘pop’.

In Soren’s grasp now lay a softly glowing orb no larger than an apple. Sparks flashed through its glassy surface to dance through the clouds contained behind. Floating there, hanging in the midst of those small roiling clouds, were two broad-feathered and perfect grey wings each with lightning cascading through their veins.

Staring at the orb, Nick’s eyes became transfixed and echoed the storm perceived within. “Even should I take them from your hand,” Nick said quietly, “I can never use them. Once severed they cannot be rejoined.”

Soren held the orb out to the other man, nay, the other angel. “You must have faith once more, Barakiel. For within the light of lights will all such faith be rewarded.”

Fingers reached out but hesitated and Nick/Barakiel looked back to Isaiah who still hovered by the doorway. “Will you swear to not break the fourth seal? To preserve the souls we Grigori created?”

Unbidden words passed Isaiah’s lips. “I shall do as I have always done. Preserve that which should be. Where there is divine light you shall find my hand holding true to protect each and every spark from the ever-waiting darkness.”

The fallen angel looked again upon the tiny wings floating inside the orb’s containing matrix, so close to his touch. His wings. With every pulse of lightning they called to his core. “How did you get them, Camael? They were lost within the flood.”

At the saying of his truer name Soren’s visage shifted. Feathers of red fire billowed out into the room behind him and the winter coat transformed into glorious armor of black and gold. When he spoke the words filled the space with an undeniable power and underlying grace. “These were never lost. I was bidden retrieve them and so it was done.”

“Bidden by whom?”

“Aradia. Before the attack which cost her life.”

Barakiel held his hand still though his fingers stretched towards that which was his and whose lack had fueled an inner hurt through countless incarnations. “How far could she have seen, I wonder? Has everything been according to her plan?” The hand trembled as he whispered, “She asked if I could still believe.”

The fire-feathered angel released the orb and let it hover there on its own. “Only she can answer your question, just as only you can answer hers.”

To those within the room the storm inside the orb merged with the one in the sky above. The rune-covered ceiling faded away, leaving them standing below roiling thunderclouds rumbling with the potential of tremendous gathered energies.

Taking a deep breath Barakiel declared, “Then let us find her and in so doing perhaps gain answers to both.”

A bolt of lightning arced from that sky to strike the orb and the hand that took it. The echoing crescendo of thunder shook the building to its foundation and the blood-winged angel caught his fallen brother before his body could hit the floor.

Kneeling to gently lay it upon tiles quickly becoming slick with rain, the angel looked up to his older brother.

To the one who had borne witness.

“Azrael, you must pull forth his spirit. Free him from the bindings placed by you and Gabriel upon all our kind who walk this world. Free him from the grip of the Wheel that he may accompany me unto the realms below.”

Like in a dream Isaiah understood. Entering the room he went to one knee himself and placed a hand of obsidian over Nick’s chest. Fingers sank past the coat, the skin, the muscle, and even bone to touch spirit.

Pulling with the might of inevitability the ghostly visage of both the magician and the angel he once was rose from the body into the air, translucent arms unconsciously holding close the collection of feathers again forming full-sized and lightning-kissed wings. Lines of angelic script and ancient will spun brightly around the spirit, preparing to escort it to yet another lifetime within the mortal realm as had been done to it so many times before.

Standing, Isaiah stretched out the dark hand once more. With the stroke of a single finger the bindings placed upon the spirit recognized his authority and fell away in a shimmer of fading sparks.

Forearms bare and unarmored carefully lifted the spirit higher as Camael also stood, no longer physical but having already crossed over.

The two angels regarded each other. War and Death stood within a sacred space where the truths of spirit lay open to all those willing to see.

Azrael spoke, his words carrying beyond the walls. “Send her home, Camael. Send her home that her light may shine complete. Lest her spirit become tainted by shadow.”

As he took flight to carry their lost brother to where all their fallen brethren had been exiled so long ago, Camael replied.

“By the Light it shall be so.”

 

Chapter 15 - Bottled

 

Thought and vision fractured as the vortex swallowed all. Only scattered fragments resolved into coherency as they rushed past my awareness.

None were pleasant.

 

A green minivan pulls away from the curb, crying siblings strapped tightly into car-seats unable to turn and watch as their father sinks to his knees while his bruised and battered wife takes their children forever away. It was supposed to have been one drink, just one drink…

 

The Cardinal laughs as the dark-haired woman kneeling before him restores lost vigor to his loins. Outside the walls of her cell the pyres awaited any disobedience, the fresh scent of straw serving as reminder to the cost of defiance should she fail to use her healing arts upon his mottled flesh…

 

An exhausted and mud-covered sergeant holds the blood-soaked body of a fellow soldier. He curses god, himself, and then his friend for his disregarding orders and entering the rear of the village only to run into the rest of the platoon sweeping room to room. In the dark he was mistaken for the enemy who had already abandoned the area…

 

Strobe-light burns her retinas, the press shoving and shouting at her upon the courthouse steps. Behind emerges a man in a tan and well-pressed suit which sells for more than six months worth of her rent, laughing and waving at the multitude of cameras. A detective’s mishandling of evidence forced the judge to let him go free despite the pools of blood which had once stained each of those corrupt fingers. Her sister’s blood…

 

A setting sun clads a pyramid with crimson rays, the desert beyond still swirling with the disturbed dust of earlier battle. Bodies are carted away into waiting emergency vehicles, white cloths covering their still forms some of which were armored and others not. Hair slipping free of the shroud on one of the gurneys rustles in that wind, locks of purest snow swaying in a cool breeze one final time…

 

Wait.

That one I recognized.

“This is wrong.”

 

Bare feet felt gritty sand bunching between the toes while ears pulsed with the roar of helicopters overhead as eyes examined the wreckage forged of battle between technology, sorcery, and that which blended such together…

 

“I said it’s wrong!”

Eyelids closed with the focus of forcing real memories to the surface. I had not seen the aftermath of this battle. I’d teleported far away and exploded somewhere safe. The residual energies of that explosion still lurked within and the resultant ever-present headache of suppression helped return clarity.

“This isn’t real. You hear me you foul putz?”

The echoes of wind, people, and machines faded, replaced instead with each deliberate pull of breath into my lungs. Not that they were real at the moment either, nor was the solid ground now pressing into my heels’ callouses.

Another’s dark chuckle filled a smaller space. “You defy me even here. Remarkable, though irrelevant.”

Chains rattled and I opened eyes as a swarm of metal links flashed forward to wrap around my still naked body. Arms, legs, chest, and neck, all were caught tight by strand after strand of chain. I grunted as it all dug tightly into the skin and slammed me against the stone walls of a cave lit only by a pair of freestanding torches.

Dhalgrix stood there, no longer in his armored form but rather wearing dark slacks and a ruby velvet smoker’s jacket of all things.

“Nice outfit,” I croaked past the restrictions binding at my throat.

He smiled, fangs peeking past lips. “Such power. You may well be worth the combined mettle of over half of those I have swallowed.” Extending a palm outward he shuddered at what he sensed. “Maybe more. Surrendering now will be less unpleasant than if I need to break you first.” The smile became a sneer. “Though I shall take my pleasure of you regardless, mortal. We have eternity for me to savor ravaging such beauty.”

I couldn’t help it. Despite the choke-hold I laughed, emitting a sound more bitterly harsh than even his.

Which, of course, was not what he had been expecting and the sneer fell away into a snarl. “You lost, do you not understand? You and your foolish challenge! Now you shall suffer for my brother’s death and I shall savor every tear and cry of anguish. I won, you hear me? I WON!” He took a step forward and slapped me across the face with enough power to snap necks.

Well, most necks anyway.

“No,” I said, spitting blood onto his face. “You didn’t.”

Maybe I should have pitied the asshole. But I had none in my heart for such as him. He was a leech and a sadist, and deserved everything about to hit him where it hurts.

Because we weren’t anywhere real or solid. In actuality his demonic essence had wrapped itself around my spirit to begin the infernal process of sucking out all the despair and anguish it could force me to experience. Through that suffering he’d harness the power of a soul’s divine spark and steal it for his own.

He had the power of maybe forty such lost souls fueling his strength in this place. Quite formidable per his experience.

Not to mine.

That tower of light barely seen within my own inner vision still remained too distant to be of any use, its infinite promise as distant as the furthest stars only seen through telescopes atop god-forsaken mountaintops. Good thing I didn’t need it. For I held the energies of hundreds of thousands of victims still burning with all the released fury and terror which had accompanied their untimely demise.

And it ached to be free.

Metal links exploded outward, some searing through the jacket and into the demon’s make-believe flesh, a demon who still had no clue what exactly he’d eaten.

“How-” He never got to finish the thought. A purplish-energy clad uppercut launched his chin and the rest of him across the fake cave to crash into perceivably impenetrable walls. His jaw shattered under the blow and as he slid down the stone so did all traces of his arrogance.

Demonic-red eyes filled instead with fear.

The construct we stood in didn’t serve any further purpose. With a word spoken in the tongue of those who assisted the creation of all things I ripped the walls away, my will wrapping around the foul spirit stronger than his steel cables could ever have managed.

As I sent my perceptions through the fabric of his essence to sort out that which was demon versus his trapped victims’ souls, I found myself talking.

Not that he could respond. I didn’t let him.

“Your mistake,” I was saying, “the one I was waiting for, was for you to pull me in. Here, out of sight of the Fallen in your own blighted but private inner space, I have no need to hold back.”

Two souls still glowed brightly through the taint smothering their light. One was fresh but the other had been entwined for countless ages. Yet somehow it burned with a refusal to fully succumb.

Impressive.

“You know one of the hardest things to deal with since I fell to this cursed rock?” My voice started off strangely calm and distant. “Not following every screaming instinct and ripping each and every one of you demons apart. Because it’s all I feel while in your damned presence. The pain of all those souls you make suffer. Even the ones so far past consciousness they’re naught but pebbles pulsing with barely lit memories of their darkest moments, they too cry out to my heart for freedom.”

I didn’t possess the light to cleanse them. Only the rage to peel back the surrounding oozing blackness and separate each one in turn from that horrid external influence tilting them into repeatedly reliving their worst moments.

Like me they’d have to deal with the residual crud on their own.

“Yet I’ve held it all in check,” I continued. “Release would have brought attention from forces I know too well I’m in no shape to deal with. Me cutting loose would ripple through the realm, disturbing the powers that maintain it. Fate already chewed me up and spat me out, so that was fine. I was done! Finished! I’d found a remote existence, no bother to anyone. Then you showed up with your horrific crew and in your mercenary greed you wiped out the small semblance of peace I’d scraped together. Because of you I’ve had to take action, risking notice and getting involved in a demonic pissing contest that has nothing whatsoever to do with me.”

The demon’s spirit gurgled and with a mental snarl of my own I squeezed, forcing first the azure-tinted soul free and then the verdant green.

“I’ve been quiet and out of the way, don’t you see? I just wanted to be left alone. I’ve had enough! No more insanities! No more bullshit destinies! Those just screwed up my life and took away everything that I loved!”

Tightening that sickeningly purplish power further, I forced another soul free.

“I did all I could and Danielle still died! How was that right?! Hadn’t I suffered enough when the fucking cancer killed my wife?”

And another.

“Now Isaiah is stuck facing that continuing madness alone! Right when he needs me the most!”

With a shout I hammered against the demon’s spirit triggering a shower of escaping souls, all streaming past in colors once vibrant but now so awfully dim. One by one they ejected until all that was left was a dark fold of essence whose stolen power leaked into the ether. Just a scribble shoved onto a weak pattern at birth, all to anchor the spiritual cohesiveness long enough for the newborn leech to attach itself to its first hapless soul.

“And you know what else?” I screamed at that darkness. “I miss my friends and my kitty you demonic son of a bitch!”

With a final word I lashed out to burn away all traces of the bastard’s true name.

He shrieked then, a shrill note of terror as if his tonsils scraped along a chalkboard. Piece by piece, every bit of his essence supported by that underlying name peeled away, like a house finding itself without a foundation in the midst of a tornado strike. Roof tiles stripped skyward first, then the ceiling and its support beams, only to be followed by all the furniture, doors, and finally the walls themselves.

He howled to the last remnants of brick and mortar and was gone.

Unmade.

As was the spiritual space I’d entered when he foolishly swallowed me whole.

Agony welcomed me back as perceptions refocused upon the barren hellscape outside the mercenary camp. Finding myself on hands and knees against the hard and dusty ground I coughed and immediately wished I hadn’t. Arms and shins throbbed with countless deep bruises, ribs creaked with who knows how many fractures, and all the sweat and blood smeared solid grey as if I’d been dragged to some drug-addled beautician’s crazed mud therapy.

Yaria’s mighty whoop cut through the pain.

“Victory belongs to the Reaper Jordan!”

Lifting my head I regained my bearings. The menagerie of demons who had lined up at the edge of the camp to watch the fight stood in growing dismay, their minds unable to process that their mighty commander had just dissolved into the breeze. All that was left behind was a pile of dimly glowing stones, an unconscious and naked Barry, and a scraggly-haired brunette sitting on her own nude posterior peering about with muddled confusion.

Oh, and me.

The samurai-helmeted cyclops still standing next to Yaria was the first to react. I flinched expecting an attack as his bulk shifted, but instead the towering tentacled power-house dropped to one knee and bowed his one-eyed head.

“Hail Jordan. Hail Commander!”

As if knocked over by a slow-moving wind the other demons followed suit, each also taking a knee (or whatever available limb) in shocked silence.

There was an awkward pause before nerve-spiking pain tore across my palm as if a hot poker had shoved right through. I cried out as molten-metal crimson ripped across the skin, burning itself brighter into an eye-blindingly whitish gold. The scent of seared flesh assaulted my nose as matching flares and grunts of pain swept across the entire crowd. When it all faded we each stared at the shiny new brands now seared into our flesh. Some had it on hands or arms, others on chests or even foreheads. But all had been marked by the same symbol.

An elegant four-pointed star.

I hadn’t done it. The rules governing this realm must have accepted my victory and automatically imposed the required bindings upon all of Dhalgrix’s vassals. They were now bound to my service and will.

As the implications sank in I gave a strained giggle while leaning back to look up at the all-too-empty sky. I couldn’t help it. An over-stressed and exhausted brain decided to picture the demons as reporters complete with fedoras and trenchcoats ill-covering their varied bizarre physiques and they jostled forward in my imagination with microphones to shout the same question:

“Jordan Emrys! You’ve just inherited your very own band of hellish mercenaries! What do you plan to do next?”

Did Hell have its own equivalent to Disneyland? I was so ready to go.

Dibs on the purple tea-cup and the Mad-Hatter’s hat.

 

Light And Shadow (Part 4 of 8)

by Erisian

 

Chapter 16 - Goddess

 

The eyes of a hundred kneeling demons were upon me. The fight had chewed up a lot of terrain and we’d moved within field-goal distance of the crowd before it was done. As much as I wanted to just fall over and lie there in the dirt that was not an option. Instead I slowly forced myself up. Thighs, calves, and even pinky toes protested, sending agony up every available nerve to decry the idiocy of such an action.

I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now. By the rules of the duel I couldn’t be immediately challenged by anyone else but that didn’t matter.

The soul-sucking bastards needed to fear me. Or else they would never accept my commands.

Yaria hurried over with my items. Her wary expression gave voice to the unspoken question of how badly was I hurt. My only response was to wave her off towards Barry and the woman.

“See to them,” I said quietly, taking only the bracers and spear from the bundle. “Wrap them as best you can in the rest of those and get them warm.”

She nodded and stepped past.

As for me I called out to the cyclops while slipping on Camael’s gifts over a multitude of bruises. “You! One-eye! What do I call you?”

The eye blinked. “Balus.”

“Balus,” I repeated. “Good.” Taking a command stance with one fist on a hip and the butt of the spear planted against the ground, I faced off with the fiendish horde. Too many ribs made a nasty crunchy sound as I did so. Still practically naked and covered in crud I wondered if that would weirdly add to the effect.

“Alright you lot, listen up!” I shouted. “You’re probably wondering how in the nine - or however many there are - Hells could a soul have torched your leader to dust.” I paused to stare directly into quite a few eyes, meeting angry glares with equal ones of my own. “Because yeah he was strong. And he sure was fast. He was also an idiot! He had no friggen’ clue as to what he was dealing with! So let’s be clear on that from the start, shall we?”

I raised the marked palm so all could see. “He is gone! His true name unmade! By that Achilles Heel and weakness which every last one of you damned monsters share. Disobey my will and you will share his fate and be consigned to oblivion. For by the connections of fealty granted by this victory are each of your hidden names revealed to me!”

To ‘prove’ the point, I sent a flash of that purple rage into the lines of energy connecting my mark to theirs, willing it to burn. Some grunted and staggered a step but most stood deathly still and took it.

“Defy me and die!” I yelled. “Serve me and live. It’s that simple. Choose, and choose now! What say you!”

One hundred foul demons bellowed their response.

“Hail Jordan! Hail Commander!”

Not a single one had remained silent.

Right. With that established, what next? Despite the headache pounding with each subsequent heartbeat I forced the brain to focus.

“So be it! My first command is this: Balus is hereby my acting second. Whether he keeps that position will be judged later but for now his orders are as mine.”

If that shocked the armored tentacled-armed giant he gave no sign of it. His head bowed a little lower and he replied, “Is honor, Commander.”

“Damn right it is. The second command is that all digging under the Hole ceases immediately pending further review of the situation. Thirdly I want full reports prepared on our current logistical status: supplies, armaments, condition of each warrior and what their specialties are. These are to be delivered after I have inspected my quarters and taken refreshment. Maintain security patrols and vigilance. More of my party shall be granted entrance and brought to me. The Lilim Yaria, who is my guest and friend, shall retrieve them presently.”

“Concurrence.” Balus extended one sucker-covered appendage over the crowd. “Horatio. Forward.”

Like a hot knife through butter did the demons back away from where the giant had pointed, revealing in the back of the crowd a tall and lanky man. He was wrapped up in a thick brown fur coat with wispy grey hair and wearing rather familiar goggles and stepped through the emerging gap before bowing deeply, a practiced maneuver executed perfectly. “M’lady.” He stayed low, obviously waiting for me to acknowledge him.

I deliberately counted to five before waving an acknowledgment. It may have been bitchy, but I had my reasons. “And you are?”

“Horatio Greenwood, m’lady,” he said as he stepped further in front of the crowd, the Queen’s English offering its specific cadence to his speech. Several scars ran down the cheeks under the goggles. Most old, but a couple new. “I have served as the personal valet of Commander Dhalgrix. A role I can only hope you shall graciously allow me the honor to continue whilst in thy service.”

Call it a hunch, but I’d have bet good coin that a soul kicking the ass of his former master was not something he’d ever conceived possible.

Yet here we were.

“We’ll discuss it,” I told him.

Yaria moved to my side, a hefty lump of barely covered Scotsman draped across her shoulders. The sight of her slender figure easily managing Barry’s unconscious bulk was comically unbalanced, but as a girl with unusual strength myself who was I to comment. Behind her and wearing the coat I was already missing was the woman. Her face was kept turned towards the ground as if in subservience, but by the deliberateness of her otherwise cautious pose it was clear she was one hairs-breadth moment away from trying to run for it.

With the wall of hostile demons facing us being held in check only by fear of personal obliteration I couldn’t blame her. I could feel their fears, hatreds, and the surges of raw lust pouring off of the lot of them, the link between us amplifying my usual senses of such. Forcing an exhale I waved a casual hand at them all. “Dismissed!”

Most stared stupidly, unsure as to what to do or where to go. Balus solved that by wading into their midst, his massive four arms slapping them about as he shouted terse commands to motivate them to be elsewhere.

While he did so I thought for a moment then made a decision.

“Yaria,” I said in a quieter voice. “Can you go tell the others? And please get Hank here quick. I need him and his military experience. I’ll see that Barry is attended to.”

“I’m taking Barry back to our tent,” she said, shifting her hold on him rather protectively. “He should wake up in familiar surroundings.”

Oh, right. Barry and the Lilim twins were, uhmm, close. “Sure. That’s fine.”

“I’ll be swift.” So saying she laid the still-unconscious man on the ground before stepping away a few meters to shift to her massive harpy form. Then with a couple beats of wings as wide as a house she was airborne, scooping Barry ever-so-carefully up in deathly-sharp claws to carry him away.

Leaving me with Horatio, the woman freed from Dhalgrix’s innards, and the scarily-large Balus who was now standing nearby and awaiting further orders.

I hoped I hadn’t just made a fatal mistake letting Yaria leave. Crud.

Horatio cleared his throat and pointed at the departing harpy and Scotsman. “That soul doth belong to you now, m’lady,” he said cautiously. “The Lilim may attempt to abscond with him.”

“She won’t.” As he didn’t look at all convinced I added, “Seriously. It would besmirch her honor to even consider it.”

He raised a wiry eyebrow. “Indeed? A debt of some kind is owed?”

The freezing wind picked up and I shivered, something I hadn’t done in a long time. Take it from me, don’t do that with busted ribs. Ignoring his question I asked one far more important. “Dhalgrix had his own tent, right?”

“Yes, m’lady.” He was wise enough not to push any further. “Shall I fetch a wagon to convey us?”

Oh man, I so wanted to sit and get off my feet. “No. I’ll walk. Lead on.”

The guy paused, likely wondering how best to tell the crazy person who now technically owned his ass that she was an idiot.

I decided to confirm the first part but correct the second. “I may indeed be mad North-by-Northwest, Horatio. But let potential poisoners think twice for I am no hesitating Prince of Denmark. I’ll make it. I have to.”

He bowed his head and may have hidden a smile. “This way, my lady.”

As I followed and darn near froze both poor grungy nipples off, I was definitely feeling more akin to Elizabeth. You know, emerging from prison to take a throne beset on all sides by enemies. Except in my case I didn’t even have on any prisoner’s rags leaving me sincerely hoping Dhalgrix’s quarters came equipped with a bath so I could clean up before figuring out what the heck to wear. Given demonic hygiene though this sadly wasn’t likely.

I turned to the woman who still hadn’t said a word. “You should follow. I’d rather not send the armored giant here after you if you try to run.”

She hesitated and gave Balus a quick glance before nodding.

We therefore trudged together: a personal valet, a naked and muddy battle-damaged spear-wielding lunatic, a silent and hastily clothed brunette biding her time to figure out just where the heck she was, and a monstrously tall cyclopian horror all out for a casual stroll through the encampment. Under Balus’ piercing gaze everyone around tried to appear busy at something, be it sharpening nasty looking implements of war, fixing wagons (a task I was well familiar with), or sparring against each other while grunting and shouting with the effort. Some were gambling with rune-covered cards, both denari and soulstones comprising the pot.

Seeing the last made my skin crawl more than the cold.

With side glances or outright glares, all attention was naturally on me as we walked past, each demon broadcasting their own unique mix of reactions echoed across faces forged of fangs and spikes, fur and scales. I did my best to ignore them as if they were beneath contemplation all while on edge waiting for one to try something stupid and violent.

The mercs all had their own tents scattered around the campground. The stench of demonhood was overbearing and seemed to be spread out equally. If there was a hierarchy to the arrangement, I couldn’t make it out as the canvas-covered domiciles varied from being small spots useful only for sleeping to multi-person pavilions complete with enslaved soul retinues in various states of undress and abuse. None of their tents appeared to have the Tardis-like spellwork like Vance’s, so the sizes accurately displayed either the status of their pocketbooks or instead how little the owner gave a crap about such visual displays of wealth.

It fortunately didn’t take long to discover that Dhalgrix had belonged in the former category.

Guarding a two-story tall cloth structure of fashionably deeps blues and wild greens were two demons who must have scurried rapidly ahead of us to retake their assigned posts after Balus’ dismissal. More humanoid in form, they wore black armor stylized to be akin to Dhalgrix’s own armored skin aspect complete with similar spikes. Both held impressive soul-forged pole-arms radiating pure hatred and mindless blood-lust. As we approached they snapped to attention, helmets staring straight ahead with a sharp discipline akin to the Queen’s Guards in England.

I wondered if Horatio had influenced that.

“Balus,” I said to the big guy, “stay out here with the guards. You know, keep an eye on things.”

“Affirm.” If he got the joke he didn’t show it. Instead he crossed two sets of leathery arms and became a living lighthouse, sweeping his green-glowing and singular gaze slowly from side to side.

Horatio however did catch the humor and made a strangled sound - almost a whimper of fear - before forcing his composure back into place. “M’lady,” he choked out, “shall we get inside? Thy weariness must be heavy indeed.”

“Meh.” I took hold of the thick canvas covering the entrance and stepped inside to see how the leader of a band of evil lived it up when not slaughtering enemies and sucking on new souls.

It pretty much matched my mental expectations. Opulent drapery covered the inner tent canvas and more importantly three iron stoves (with pipes leading up and out of the roof) provided a welcome warmth bordering on painful due to the sharp transition in temperature between outside and in.

As for light, glowing demonic runes dangled from the high ceiling to illuminate everything within. That everything included racks of weapons and shields of various styles, a throne-like felwood chair in the center adorned with a disgusting amount of embedded skulls, thick woven rugs with designs pretending to be magical covering the ground, a pair of large rune-covered metal chests which weren’t pretending, and in the back an oversized four-poster bed with a mattress comprised of a blanket-covered straw pile which would have given my original human-self a major allergy fit. As for the frame itself, it had been designed in pieces to make it easier to load onto wagons and sported even more of those hollow skulls wedged seemingly at random into the wood.

Ugh.

Laying across one of the chests was Captain Erglyk’s crystal longbow, string unslung and the matching soulforged endless quiver resting at its side. My own chest tightened at the sight but a slight cough from further in the room snapped me out of any mournful memories.

Sitting on the bed’s edge was a thin woman huddled under a white thickly furred blanket who had - I kid you not - a silver tiara adorned with a ridiculous number of gems which sat upon well-brushed and flowing blonde hair totally not gunked up with dirt and grime unlike mine. In fact she looked like she’d just stepped directly out of a beauty salon and had casually wrapped herself with a blanket as if that was the current most fashionable thing to do.

Behind those immaculately coifed bangs sat a pair of pensive green eyes flecked with gold which tracked as I stepped further inside before darting to Horatio when he came in behind. Once he let the flap fall closed after the soul-freed woman wearing my coat had also crept within, the blonde was on blue-slippered feet striding across the room and dragging the blankets with her as she went.

“Horatio!” she hissed, brushing past me to get to him. “What the fuck!” Pulling the comforter down she revealed the golden star perched (rather elegantly, I thought) upon her upper chest just off the shoulder. “Did he sell me? How could you let that happen!” Those emerald irises quickly looked me up and down and did the same to the brunette.

The look wasn’t kindly.

Oh geeze. She was afraid we were her replacements.

“Chill woman,” I said before Horatio had the chance to answer. “You weren’t sold. Dhalgrix is dead.”

That got her attention. “Impossible.”

“Shit happens.” I shrugged. “Horatio, explain it to her.” Nearby was a metal stand holding a single silver chalice and jug. The jug was filled with water and while Horatio and the blonde exchanged heated whispers I filled the chalice.

Ignoring their discussion (though I did catch that the blonde’s name was Veronica) I offered the cup to the other woman whose curly brunette locks were threaded with a silver of their own. “You must be thirsty. Drink.”

Need overcame hesitation. Slowly as not to rush it she downed the contents. As she did so Horatio and the blonde fell quiet, watching.

The woman then refilled the goblet and offered it back to me.

“Thanks.” I took a sip of my own.

“You saved me.” Her voice was brittle and cautious.

“Yeah, guess I did. Got a name?”

“Maddalena.” Brown and intelligent eyes searched mine, full of questions she wasn’t sure were safe to ask.

“Nice to meet you, Maddalena,” I said as the tiredness sank deeper alongside the swallow. “I’m Jordan. You’re probably wondering what happens next.” I sent more of the clean water down my throat. “That makes two of us.”

“Are you a witch?”

“Of sorts.” There was only one chair in the entire room and unfortunately it was the ugly throne. Dhalgrix had obviously been a jerk, giving himself the only place to sit in here, and I certainly wasn’t going to perch on a throne covered with a bunch of freaking skulls. Instead I plonked tiredly down onto the rug having decided I didn’t care how much crud got rubbed into the carpet as a result.

Maddalena lowered herself onto knees a couple feet away. “Did the Goddess send you?” Her face was lean. Too lean. She’d been mostly starved before being swallowed.

Either that or being so long inside a demon does that to a soul.

I shook my head. “We’re in Hell. Don’t think that applies.”

Her next statement was also possibly a question. “How could it not.”

“Look,” I said while trying to shake off the persistent headache and failing. “I’m still figuring out how things work down here but from what I can see you aren’t marked as mine by contract. Not like Horatio and blondie over there. You never swore yourself to Dhalgrix’s service.”

An old strength flickered within her. “Never.”

“Then you’ll have to choose what you do next.” The chalice was empty. Dangit, now I’d have to stand again to get more.

As if reading my mind Horatio was instantly at my side with another jug, filling the cup. Apparently his conversation with Veronica had completed. “M’lady, by rights this one may be claimed as yours as well.”

My response was instant. “No.”

Horatio’s sudden tenseness made me realize I’d said that a lot more harshly than intended.

I exhaled and rubbed my face which only yielded an equal exchange of crud between forehead and fingers. “Sorry, but no. Maddalena needs to choose. She’s free to stay under my protection if she wishes or go do whatever else she may want to do. Petition the Hole maybe, or try to join the Lilim. It’s up to her, got it? And until she makes that choice she’s my guest and you will take care of her under the rules of hospitality. It’s not like I even know what the heck I’m going to do about all of this as it is.”

The woman stared at the floor, her forehead creasing with rapid but conflicting thoughts. “You would let me go?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“You’re hurt.” She slid those bony knees closer, reaching to touch the bare bruises on my skin with hands still cold from outside.

“I’ll heal. It’ll just take some time.” I flinched and started to pull away.

“Please. Allow me to help you.”

Not sure what she was doing, I held still.

Shrugging her shoulders the coat fell away so we both sat there naked as could be but for my bracers. I’d been right about her being unnaturally scrawny as her ribs were painfully visible under breasts which had been starved down almost to non-existence. Maddalena then closed her eyes and chanted under her breath:

 

“Dovete venire in luogo deserto,

In una selva tutte insieme,

E adorare lo spirito potente

Di mia madre Diana, e chi vorra

Imparare la stregonerie,

Che non la sopra,

Mia madre le insegnera,

Tutte cose…

Sarete liberi della schiavitù!

E cosi diverrete tutti liberi!

Pero uomini e donne

Sarete tutti nudi, per fino.

Che non sara morto l'ultimo

Degli oppressori e morto.”

 

The mantra, likely repeated many many times while she’d been alive, was spoken in her native Italian. Somehow her spirit had kept it from being transformed into the generic mortal tongue of this realm, the language we all spoke with only weird hints of our native accents. Maybe because this was part of a prayer.

A prayer to the goddess Diana.

 

Ye shall assemble in some desert place, or in a forest all together and join to adore the potent spirit of your queen, my mother, great Diana. She who fain would learn all sorcery, yet has not won its deepest secrets, then my mother will teach her, in truth all things as yet unknown. And ye shall all be freed from slavery, and so ye shall be free in everything. And as the sign that ye are truly free, ye shall be naked in your rites, both men and women also: this shall last until the last of your oppressors shall be dead.

 

Her hands grew warm and that heat seeped within my bones bringing a gasp past my lips. Like a swallow of the freshest hot tea sending warmth and comfort along with the herbal flavors, so did her power flow through my body. Where it reached all pain washed away as if by a river’s steady flow.

I couldn’t help but shudder with relief. First through thighs and calves, then the breaths I’d unconsciously kept shallow filled as the wave crested to restore rib after cracked rib. Battered arms and hands fell limp, the cup hitting the carpet and rolling away.

If her hands hadn’t kept me steady I too would have fallen over.

The soothing kept going and spread over shoulders and into my back. Where wings should have been the sensation hit a wall, the wounded missing limb flaring immediately with its own heat and anger. So sharp was the reaction that both I and Maddalena yelped loudly and she tore her healing hands away.

Out of sheer instinct she retreated a few feet away to stare in dismay as fresh blood pooled on the rug behind me having fallen out of the air to stain the fibers below.

Maddalena blinked to clear her sight of whatever it was she’d seen. “By the Goddess, what afflicts you?”

I grimaced, suppressing a groan. “Old wound. Really stubborn. Don’t worry about it.” As the wing’s ire dampened I was able to take in a deeper breath without issue. “Thank you. That was Italian, wasn’t it.”

“Yes. Did you speak it?”

I figured it’d be easier to claim I did then to try and explain the whole Gift of Tongues from being an angel thing. “Enough to get by, sure. And that’s some impressive healing power you’ve got.”

“The demons hunted me because of it.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I can see why. Made that asshole a bitch to fight. You’re a truly priceless soul with that talent, likely worth more than any other.”

Her face shut down hard and the woman’s shoulders tensed.

Ah geeze. I was such an idiot. “Don’t worry! This doesn’t change what I said. You’re free, okay? Free!”

“You still mean that?” She watched me close, examining every twinge on my exhausted cheeks. “Even after knowing what I can do?”

“Absolutely. It all stands.” I tried to sound as friendly and certain as I could. A suspicion was building that she may have healed me just to gauge my reaction, to test whether my words were just another con. How long ago Dhalgrix had swallowed her was a mystery, but if she had recognized any of the demons on the walk in - or even Horatio, for that matter - then her ability would’ve been revealed to me eventually. Of course, having seen Dhalgrix heal himself in the fight I already had known one of the souls must have had that kind of talent.

She nodded though she remained tensely focused. She wasn’t convinced.

“Look,” I said. “I’m not a demon. I can’t gain your power and sure as heck won’t try some cockamamie spell to try to anyway. As is I’m darned impressed with how coherent you are after what you’ve likely experienced.”

“The Goddess granted me protection.”

“Protection? How?” Had she had some kind of magic defending her soul? I hadn’t detected any.

“Demons conquer through pain or corruption using illusion and lies. To serve the Goddess one must have clarity of self, of all the holiness and sin within.” She gave me a weary half-smile. “This training was something I did not properly grasp in life.”

“But if you resisted him, how was he able to use your ability?”

“My oath to the Goddess was to heal without judgment. In failing that oath was I condemned to Hell. I will not fail so again.”

Good grief. Such an oath would mean healing even those who would keep doing evil. Like demons. But wasn’t that what ER surgeons did every day for all the shot up gang members who were ushered by paramedics past their doors? The doctors all knew such patients would just go out to shoot more people and cause more suffering. Yet they stitched them up anyway.

I guess I had never really thought about it before. Was healing someone while they were in a hospital any different than healing them while they were actively causing harm?

Not sure there was a good answer to that.

She was about to say more but a loud thump from outside shook the tent. Sharing a look of alarm we both hopped to our feet, but I shouldn’t have worried. Beyond the canvas I sensed one large aura accompanied by two smaller ones, more specifically Yaria had brought back both Hank and Twitch. Twitch was first through the flap. He’d even used his speed to zip past the guards before they could react, fast enough to risk fresh burns from the friction between skin and clothing.

Frantically he looked around the room until he saw me standing there as nude as I’d been when he’d first found me cratered out on the Edge. Flipping the goggles out of the way he took in all the dried grey mud covering me from head to toe and his pupils swam wide within vast fields of white. They’d reacted as if he’d seen a ghost.

Twitch, who’d been silent the entire time I’d known him, then did something which pulled an entire rug out from under my mental framework.

In a confused and broken voice he blurted:

“Jenna?”

 

Chapter 17 - Fate

 

In one’s life there are rare moments when everything shifts and old perceptions shatter and blow away. Sometimes this can be from experiences dramatic and obvious, say for example waking up to discover your choice of public restrooms had been irrevocably swapped and you needed an entirely new wardrobe. Or from finding out you’re not only an angel but also supposed to be the First Horseman of the Apocalypse.

You know, that kind of thing.

It can also happen from events much more subtle, when one piece of information falls out of nowhere to paint an entirely different picture across what you thought you knew. Many folks continue to deny the truth when that happens.

Others get pissed off.

Twitch and I were each frozen in double shock, stuck in an odd staring contest that neither dared nor even knew how to end. I couldn’t shake free but found the wherewithal to speak. “Everyone out. Now.” The words came out far angrier than I’d intended.

Despite Horatio’s confusion and Veronica’s befuddlement, Yaria and Hank herded them outside. Maddalena nodded once in acknowledgment and followed the rest.

Thus Twitch and I found ourselves in the massive tent alone with the sounds of crackling fires from the three stoves. His eyes, peeking above the cloth covering his mouth and nose, were utterly lost and uncertain, burdened with old sorrow and the pain of a harshly triggered memory.

As for me I pulsed with a deep-seated fury as a number of self-deceptions cracked.

“Hi Tommy,” I said with a spoonful of bitterness. Yet this wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t to blame for my destiny yet again being directly toyed with - or more truthfully, having been continuously manipulated this entire time. He was as much a victim of it as I.

With a forced sigh I added, “Nice to finally properly meet you.”

He didn’t say anything. He was stuck in place standing there like a scared rabbit preparing to bolt as if not sure whether they were trapped within some crazed dream. Or a night-terror.

And I figured it out. I knew why he had been the one to find me, why I’d landed where I had. With that understanding my selfish reaction melted away and I saw only my friend standing there in terrible pain.

Taking a step closer, I reached for the wrappings over his cheeks. Gloved hands instinctively came up to stop me but they paused, allowing my fingers to peel the cloth away and reveal the flame-scarred features he’d worked so hard to keep hidden. Despite the fierce ravages of ancient fire I could now see the resemblance: the sweep of the nose, the high cheekbones, and most of all the strength yet vulnerability contained therein. With the touch between us images from his past flickered by though in truth I had no need to see them.

“Your talent,” I said with his cheek trembling against my hand. “It came with the same seizures as hers, didn’t it. But your skill was of speed, making such a condition so much worse. The vibrational field must’ve set aflame your clothes along with your skin.”

 

A bedroom wall comes alive with hot reflected colors, a boy tumbles out of his bunk only to also set the carpet aflame as he thrashes upon it. Tremors so fierce that vocal cords lock and prevent the inner screams of agony and terror from their desired escape.

 

He whimpered but didn’t pull away and I kept on talking.
“I’ve also been consumed by fire. It’s awful beyond words. But you, at what, age of twelve? Thirteen? You awoke in the hospital with bandages over every last part of you. And worse, with this kind of damage you could no longer feel a thing. The nerves were gone.”

 

Doctors hover overhead whispering of skin grafts, all while nervously watching the monitors for any sign of yet another spontaneous conflagration of which there had already been several.

In some respect it was a mercy that only the first occurrence had been accompanied by pain.

 

“You adored her. Your older sister. She’d been so strong dealing with the shakes whenever they would strike, always getting back up. Bravely dealing with the loss of hair each time her talent spread that stone armor from stem to stern. But you couldn’t even feel her worried hand after what had happened to you, lost as you were within a perpetual numbness with a twisted horror made flesh staring back at you from the mirror. And so you said goodbye.”

 

The boy’s bandaged hands fumble with the phone his sister had smuggled in against hospital rules. Unfeeling clumsy fingers fight with the touchscreen to send a text to its only stored contact while the white cloth surrounding them soaked through with red.

A thumb hits send and first the cloth and then the entire room burn.

The message had been short.

“I’m sorry.”

 

As I embraced the man the boy had become he shuddered with a single sob.

“I’ve been such an idiot,” I said softly. “I’ve never told you anything, never shared who I was or spoke of those I left behind.” Staring over his shoulder, I saw past the tent to the empty plains beyond. “I thought that by falling here I was done. No more crazy fates and tossed aside forever. Best to just crawl into a quiet hole and stay there. But it was you who found me out on the Edge. You were meant to find me, broken wings and all. Because she sent me.”

He pulled back, confusion blinking past the tears.

“Jenna,” I said with a sad smile as his eyes widened yet again. “Your Rockslide, your sister, I knew her. With her loving heart she accepted me for who I was and became one of my dearest friends. She loves you, Tom. She forgives you and I know that she prays for you every day. And though I didn’t realize it while I was there, I believe she prayed that I would find a way to save you.”

Shocked sniffled wetness dripped across the unending scars.

“Instead,” I added while hugging him close again, “out on that Edge it was you who saved me.”

He let me hold him. Within the following silence I realized Twitch wasn’t the only one who’d been without a hug for too long.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Sadly the moment of tenderness couldn’t last forever. Horatio gave us a polite yet interrupting cough; he must have convinced Yaria to let him pass.

“My lady, the Hole has flagged a desire to parley.”

Pulling away from Twitch I left a large grey smear across his coat. “I need a bath, Horatio. Can’t they wait?”

Twitch quickly turned away, binding again the damaged skin and damaged heart once more under the winter mask.

Horatio considered. “It would appear the lady Yaria had her sister signal them regarding your victory. I believe with an acknowledgment from us they can be mollified for a short time. Do we have your permission to reply?”

“Yeah. Tell them I’ll gladly meet after I’ve washed the blood and dirt off my tired ass.”

“I shall send an appropriate response. As for bathing we can warm bowls of water on the stove and if you wish Veronica shall assist using her sponges.”

“Let me guess,” I grumbled. “Mercenary demons don’t use bathtubs.”

“Not while on campaign, my lady.”

“No wonder this camp stinks so badly. Oh god, please tell me they at least dug a latrine somewhere.”

“We souls have, my lady. And there are indeed some masters who allow us to clean up in their wake.”

Masters. A tension snapped across shoulders but a forced deep breath let it go. Now was not the time.

Someday, maybe. But not now.

“Alright. Let’s do the sponge bath. While Veronica scrubs my back I need to talk to everyone.” At this point my modesty was well and truly hosed so may as well get them all in here, right?

Of course what I wanted most was to curl up, maybe in Twitch’s arms just for closeness, and pass out. I was bone tired and wrung out. One proper sleep of rest between the long march and the flight out here had not been nearly enough. With the intrusion of long-past heavenly conflicts, the post-stew nap I’d managed after healing Vance had not exactly been restful either. The fight with Dhalgrix had seriously worn me out even further; Maddalena had healed the wounds but not the exhaustion.

Let’s face it, my reserves were seriously shot.

To quote a famous Star Trek villain who shared a name with my cat, time was a luxury I did not have. And yes, it didn’t matter that I was now trapped eternally in Hell. Khan was still my beloved kitty no matter what separated us.

Always.

“Everyone, my lady?” Horatio was uncertain as to whom that statement encompassed.

I waved a filthy hand. “Hank, Twitch, Yaria, you, and get Maddalena back out of the cold too. Plus Balus if he fits. Were there any other demons in Dhalgrix’s command crew who should be considered?”

Horatio rubbed the back of his neck. “His brother and the deceased wizards had fulfilled that function, my lady.”

“Right. Balus only then.”

Thus the crew gathered while a pretty woman pretending not to be terrified of what fate I might force upon her scrubbed me from head to toe in front of an iron stove. Rinsing a sponge in a bowl of cold water before dipping into hot and applying to the skin, she adeptly cleaned the grime one section at a time.

I’ll admit it actually felt pretty good.

However I had specific things I needed to know before dealing with the Hole. I prompted Hank to rely on his military experience and get him questioning Horatio - and as needed Balus - about the situational posture, force strength, and training of the demonic mob outside.

Specifically I was more concerned about our logistics. This was a sizable force of demons and souls and as it’s said an army runs on its stomach. I’d read enough history to have learned that much. Or maybe had just been stuck listening to Isaiah lecture on and on about such things whenever the topic had come up.

As it turned out the food supply was indeed problematic. Their original plan (much as we’d already figured) was to take the Hole right away and gain access to all its stores. While the plunder from my lost outpost was keeping them going for now, stores were running low. The recently departed Commander Buttmunch had expected to break through under the Hole within a few more hours and from there somehow get in under the shield protecting the base to ravage it for new supplies. Maybe he hadn’t known like Yaria had about their shield going underground too, but happily he was no longer around to question.

Of course, maybe he had known but had just lied to his own crew about it.

Neither Horatio nor Balus knew what he had planned after that, whether that was all he’d agreed to when hired or whether there was more. Horatio, to my surprise, knew who had hired Dhalgrix - or at least who had made the arrangement: the vizier of one Duke Juxtyle whom I’d never heard of before. According to Yaria this Duke was an erstwhile ally of Duke Valgor. So much for that I guess. Payment had been up front, the coins contained in a small chest in a corner which Horatio admitted was reaching its limits even with the reinforcements from Epsilon’s vault.

“To be honest, my lady,” Horatio said, “Former Commander Dhalgrix’s funds are running out. Within another two sleeps without fresh resources there won’t be enough to pay the soldiers. This could be contentiously difficult.”

I blinked. “Wait. He has to pay these guys?” I gestured past the tent’s walls towards all the demons outside.

“To fight, require payment,” Balus grunted. He was crouched just inside the entrance, missing only the striped sweatpants and sneakers to look like a multi-tentacled Russian mobster lurking within a daughter’s small play tent.

“Uh,” I said not liking the sound of this. “What happens if the money runs out?”

Yaria and Horatio exchanged glances before Yaria said bluntly, “Free for all. The split of proceeds earned so far consolidates to those left standing.”

It was suddenly a lot colder. And not just because Veronica had run out of hot water and was waiting for more to heat up.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Wouldn’t they just team up to take me out with the assumption that Dhalgrix had a larger stash than anyone else?”

Everyone stared at me in silence. Horatio in a more hushed voice said, “You could turn control over to someone else. Forsake Dhalgrix’s share from the job. You were a reaper at Epsilon, correct? The Hole should be willing to return you to such a role under Duke Valgor.”

“Tempting,” I admitted. I looked over them all while trying to sort out my thoughts. Twitch had left his goggles off and perked up at the mention of going back to the life of a reaper. Hank though was heavily studying all my reactions from behind a neutral expression.

Oh. If I went back to being a reaper then he’d be turned over to the Duke and to an uncertain fate. If I somehow kept the mercs, then he’d remain one of mine. The poor guy had a rather invested interest in whatever I decided. Actually all of them except for Yaria did. Which likely explained her amused expression at the entire situation.

Well either that or she was finding it funny that I was still naked and being bathed in front of everyone while having such discussions. If I hadn’t been so freaking tired and stressed I might have laughed myself.

“Hey Horatio?” I asked instead, eyes having found a potential distraction from that line of thought. “You said Dhalgrix’s funds were in that lockbox by the bed, right?”

“Correct, my lady.”

“Then what’s in those large chests sitting in the middle there?” I pointed to the two massive rune-covered metal boxes that had first drawn my curiosity when I’d come in.

Horatio moved to stand behind them, hands clasped behind his back. “We know not. These were taken from the late Captain Erglyk’s quarters. Dhalgrix forbade their opening as he feared their wards could be similar in devastation to the doors which took his brother’s life.”

The magic was clearly defensive, but it certainly wasn’t mine. “Nope. I didn’t ward these. When I get a chance I’ll see what can be done.” Catching Maddalena’s interested examination of the hunks of metal I added, “Maybe Maddalena here can help get them open.”

Huddled within a thick blanket the woman nodded. “The spell seems simple enough. Do you wish for me to try?”

“Only if you’re darned sure it’s safe,” I said. “Erglyk wouldn’t rely on simple. Which reminds me of yet another mystery: inside the vault at Epsilon was a secret second vault behind the wall. Something - or maybe multiple somethings - got dragged out of it. What did it contain?”

To my surprise Balus answered. “Barrels. Many. Heavy.”

“Barrels? Did Dhalgrix keep any?”

Horatio shook his head. “All were loaded onto wagons driven by separate contractors. We parted ways at Epsilon.”

A different team, eh? One with skills enough to shield them from my sight when I’d scanned from the top of Epsilon no less. “What was in them?”

He didn’t know. Nor did Balus.

“Great,” I grumbled. “Just great. So they took them back to the Spires. Let me guess, the whole motley crew outside was brought here using a gate somewhere up there?”

Horatio nodded. “Master Krichgon, Dhalgrix’s brother, was the only one of us able to work such magics. Vizier Ithx awaited for us there.”

Huh. “Wait, you’re telling me that not only was Dhalgrix running out of funds but he also had no way to get his team back to wherever your home base is?”

“I believe he negotiated with Ithx for one of their sorcerers to open the portal when the job was done.”

Yaria abruptly stepped forward to interrupt. “I need to return to my father. Ruyia thought he might awaken soon.”

I blinked. “We haven’t even talked to the commander of the Hole yet. Don’t you want to be there for that?”

She shrugged. “They contracted for us to observe their attackers and report. We have done so. My father will settle the account.”

Thinking quickly I chewed on a lip. “You sure? If you aren’t there to confirm the duel was done properly, they’re gonna think I’m in cahoots with the mercs on the attack.”

Yaria tilted her head. “How do you figure?”

“Because Charles tried to betray them and he’s also a reaper. Even though I gave the warning about him, they’ll think it’s some deeper play. Most of all though, there’s no way they’ll accept that a mortal could have taken down Dhalgrix. They’ll believe it all a ruse, that the whole fight was an illusion and a new ploy to get agents inside. I need you to tell them I’m legit.”

“Then we go now.” She crossed arms, leaning to one side impatiently. “Once they are convinced I go to Father immediately.” Having stood there casually during my entire bath, the shift of mood seemed odd.

Well, maybe not. “You want to chase after the guy, don’t you,” I said. “This Ithx character.”

She grinned, sharp fangs extending as if she was a movie vampire. “Duke Valgor would pay a hefty bounty for his capture.”

A rush of cold went down my spine as if someone had slid ice cubes across each vertebrae. But Veronica was still standing by the stove and the sensation had nothing to do with the actual temperature of the room. It did however have everything to do with a vision which slammed into my head. “I can’t let you and Ruyia do that.”

The grin slipped. “We are not your vassals.”

“No, that’s not it,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “The thought of you and her going there alone, I have a…a bad feeling about it.”

“A feeling?” Yaria took an angry step forward. “What ruse is this? Have you decided to be competition, Reaper?”

“Not a feeling,” Maddalena said, much to everyone’s surprise. “A premonition. She,” the woman said while pointing at me, “flared with power. She is a seeress.”

All focus snapped back to me.

“Is this true?” Yaria demanded. “What did you see?”

Dangit. Dhalgrix had been out of earshot of everyone when he’d realized how I’d been managing to fight him off. I really hadn’t wanted this cat out of the bag.

Except I couldn’t let Yaria and Ruyia suffer to keep it secret.

“It was just a quick flash,” I said and for some reason kept staring at Maddalena while doing so. “Ruyia was screaming as both she and Yaria got torn apart by a terrible darkness. I didn’t see its source.” The more I thought about it though, the more my stomach sank with recognizable fear.

“You’ve had such foresight before?” Yaria asked. “Is it reliable?”

I thought of the vision of my black-winged Grigori attacking Danielle by the lake and how that had come true. I’d had other visions too after slipping between the physical and spirit. I’d seen the pyramids before going to Egypt, seen Cassius and the fight against his own spirit nearly leading to his suicide, seen assassins slip into Isaiah’s home.

Holy crap. I’d even watched Twitch, scars and all, tracking a falling light across an empty night sky.

A falling light. Me.

I met Yaria’s eyes. “So far, it seems so. I don’t have control of it. But many have turned out to be painfully true.”

She tsked. “If I hadn’t already witnessed you pull a miracle victory out from certain defeat I would pay you no mind. Very well, we will wait and not go alone. We’ll first assist in dealing with Captain Tuthos of the Hole.”

Exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding I managed a smile. “Thanks.”

“Who else besides Yaria gets to go?” Hank asked. It was clear he wanted to be there too yet I felt the party should be kept small.

I pointed out the first lucky winner. “Balus comes so the unwashed mayhem distributors out there don’t get antsy that I might be betraying their interests somehow.”

“Anyone else?” Hank leaned forward, raising a meaningful eyebrow.

“Just one more. And sorry Hank but it’s not you. I need someone more familiar with the going rates of high-powered mercs these days. Horatio, you’re up.”

Twitch also wasn’t happy about not being invited but he needed time to himself to recover from the earlier emotional overload. Heck, I needed the time too but yeah, that wasn’t going to happen just yet.

A hot sponge slapped against a thigh. Veronica, moving far more stealthily than I’d have expected her capable of, had knelt back behind me with sponge, bowl, and towel. “You need to finish washing, my lady.”

The gunk still coating my legs was hard to argue with. “Right, but let’s hurry it along. Where are my clothes?”

Yaria shrugged. “You’ll need new ones. Barry was wrapped in your jerkin and leggings, and the woman there,” she gestured at Maddalena, “has on what was over them.”

A sound of rattling metal came from a corner of the tent. Twitch held up Erglyk’s demonic copper-runed chestpiece. It had some new dents but otherwise was in one piece. The curves of the black and feathered steel had obviously been designed for a female form, albeit a large one.

“C’mon, Twitch. Be serious. That’ll be too big on me.”

He shook the armor as he readjusted for a one-handed grip allowing him to point at the runes with the other.

“He’s right,” Yaria said. “That armor is enchanted. You should wear it. Erglyk was only a hand taller than you.”

I frowned, not really liking the idea. “Whatever magic it has didn’t protect her much, did it.”

“It’s still intact,” she chuckled. “You think any normal armor could hold its shape after getting beat on by Dhalgrix?”

Okay, she had a point. “I don’t have anything to wear under it.”

Veronica dumped the sponge into the bowl which she then picked up before standing. “I can find you something that should suffice, my lady.”

That was the second time the blonde had addressed me formally. Unsure of the proper protocol I said, “Uh thanks, Veronica. That’d be a help.”

The woman scampered off to rummage through a bundle of clothes which lay behind the bed, presumably her own. Some of the outfits she pulled out were rather skimpy if not downright scandalous. It didn’t take her long to find a deep burgundy tunic which on me would be long enough to reach just below the metal skirt and thick enough to act as padding. She also, joy of joys, brought out a bra which amazingly fit after only a few adjustments and wiggles of its intended cargo.

Once into the tunic, her experienced fingers placed the armor over it all, tightening the straps to try and get that to fit too. But I’d been correct in that Erglyk was just, well, bigger. Her torso had been thicker, even if my cup-size may have rivaled her own.

In other words the armor hung too loosely upon my frame.

“This is not going to work,” I complained, looking down at how mismatched the armor’s skirt was to my waist and hips.

Maddalena, hovering nearby in case she could be of assistance, murmured under her breath and put a finger on the center of the breastplate where copper swirled with demonic power to blend with the stylized feathers of the thicker metal underneath.

The copper hummed in response, the vibrations making specific parts of my anatomy jiggle in spite of the bra. A certain area underneath the skirt also felt, uhm, interesting enough that I gasped in spite of myself.

“It likes you,” Maddalena commented wryly.

“Uhmm, gooood?” was all I could manage get out. The metal had grown warm, and oh my, the different pieces rippled as they pressed against me. Or more honestly, as they did their best to massage and yes, tease.

Dangit, it seemed to know just exactly where to squeeze too.

When my knees were about to give out and my face was likely as red as a fresh tomato, it finally calmed and let me catch my breath. “What,” I stammered, “the heck?”

Maddalena smiled mischievously. “This armor, while not soul-forged, is ancient. Treat it like a favored fetish and it will serve you well. She really likes you.”

“She?”

With a shrug the woman picked up a nearby polished shield and held it up as a mirror for me to see. “She is too elegant to be male, would you not agree?”

Whereas on Erglyk the armor had been thick and blocky, the shape it held now had shifted to something else entirely. The copper runes which formed a wide necklace against the obsidian in their slashing demonic style had also changed into this golden hue which better matched the bracers upon my wrists. The feathered steel now hugged my body, offering continuous protection while still making one thing quite clear: I was not only female, but decidedly so. There’d be no mistaking that fact while in this thing, unlike when under all the layers of cloth I’d gotten so used to hiding beneath.

Mind you, the curves of the chestpiece didn’t show off each boob individually and thus strikes wouldn’t be instantly guided towards the center, unlike what’s typically seen in male-fantasy RPG armor. Thank goodness for that at least.

Granted fighting to the death in the nude had just happened. Yet, in that weird way how some clothes can be sexier than sheer nakedness, the armor managed to accentuate everything. I’d still have been mistaken for a pin-up cosplay girl at any fantasy convention if it wasn’t for the buzzed red and gold atop my dome and the haunted seriousness of expression.

Hank whistled appreciation and Maddalena handed him the shield to hold while I continued to stare in shock.

“Quality gear,” mused Yaria. “Worth a small fortune. Wear it in pride earned by avenging its previous mistress. Which is likely why it has so clearly accepted you.”

Running a finger across the front the armor responded as if I’d been petting a cat, its purring vibrations spreading out from the contact promising to again reach sensitive spots.

I quickly yanked the finger away. Whoof. Demonic armor indeed.

Balus, still crouching quietly from where he’d been observing everything, rumbled a phrase of approval.

“Worthy is Commander.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Maddalena stepped again into view which startled me, this time she held out Erglyk’s translucent crystal longbow and the quiver filled with matching arrows. “The Goddess has blessed you. As her chosen seeress you should wield her favored weapon.”

The smooth curve of the bow looked like it had been forged by Tolkien’s elves, albeit not out of wood but some mystical crystal composite. I hesitated before taking it. “I’ve not used a bow since I was…little.” I’d almost said ‘since I was a boy’. Probably the last thing I wanted to explain to an obviously rather feminist witch. Yipes.

“Then I shall instruct you in its sacred ways.” The woman was obviously not going to take no for an answer, as if daring me to snub the goddess by refusing.

Fine. I took the weapon, noting that she’d already strung it.

Veronica strapped the quiver to my back and a leather cintus at my waist to hold the second soul-forged blade I’d won off the flier. Horatio and the others also affixed their warmer clothing into place.

“My lady,” Horatio said as he adjusted the thick furs around himself, “what are thy goals for this meeting with the Hole’s authorities? With such matters made clear we may better serve your interests.”

I stared at him. He was more likely wondering what the heck I was going to do with regards to the demon company, but honestly I’d not yet decided.

Not that I was going to tell him that. Clearing my throat I said, “Well, we have information they want regarding this attack which we should leverage to get more supplies. That’ll buy us time to figure out our next move. But there is one thing I absolutely do want.”

“Which is, my lady?”

I chewed an uncertain lip which was already swelling from the harsh attentions. “Something I’ll negotiate for. Just follow my lead.”

He bowed. “Of course, my lady.” He was smart enough not to push it.

So equipped, I went forth to play politics. Riding the tea cups would’ve been a lot more fun.

Heck, I’d have been happy just to have some tea.

 

Chapter 18 - Confirmation

 

I’d been right about the captain of the Hole. The demon initially had refused to believe a mortal (let alone a female one) could have defeated Dhalgrix. If I hadn’t taken Yaria and Balus along to the boundary of their powered shield where Captain Tuthos had come out to meet us the whole discussion would have gone nowhere. The eight-foot tall and broccoli-skinned praying mantis-like demon lost the scoffing attitude when the even taller Balus spoke up and proudly showed off the new symbol adorning his shoulder. His deep baritone actually made the ground shake.

“Mark like Holy Lightbringer’s. Resumed service to star is honor.”

Well that was disturbing news. I hadn’t consciously decided on the sigil’s shape, it just sorta happened. But I’d need to worry about the implications later. Including the one about Balus having once served Lucifer himself. Interesting.

Tuthos stared at Balus’ shoulder and at my hand for a long count before his mandibles twittered acceptance. Wearing Erglyk’s armor while holding her famed weapon may have helped too. Honestly it did make me feel more like a bad-ass when confronting yet another towering demon.

Nothing quite like dressing for success.

Solid grey bug-eyes then met mine across the glowing smear hanging in the air between us. “As their new leader,” said the mantis, his jaw clicking as it wasn’t really designed for coherent speech. “What are your intentions?”

Here we go. Negotiation time.

“Depends on you, Captain,” I said casually, totally pretending like I didn’t care about the outcome of our discussions. “As I understand it I am free to ignore the current contract as it led directly to the honor feud with Dhalgrix. What are you willing to offer in exchange for me putting it aside?”

“Ah hmm. You are reaper for Epsilon, by rights you still serve Duke Valgor.”

I was expecting this and had my counter ready. “Not hardly. When I gained the mark as a reaper for Erglyk I swore only to serve her. With her death that mark disappeared.”

Okay, I couldn’t really confirm that. Although the mark had indeed disappeared and it could have been at the same time as Erglyk’s demise. But just like with the star I had a sneaking suspicion my subconscious was influencing a lot more than I realized. Being out at the Edge and risking the use of angelic abilities in order to save Hank may have given it an out to wipe that itchy crud off the back of my hand.

Of course this guy didn’t need to know about that.

Tuthos clicked again. “Unprecedented. Still, our shield holds. Reinforcements arrive soon. Why should we offer anything?”

I grinned. “The crew out behind me is within hours of breaching the tube. Initial plan included damaging the passage to make it inoperable. That would cut off any reinforcements for you. Not proceeding with that plan has a lot of value to the Duke, does it not?”

“You dueled Dhalgrix out of loyalty to Erglyk but would still attack her - and your - former comrades?”

“New responsibilities, Tuthos. My preference however is to work something out and avoid that entirely. In fact, the Duke may want to contract for our services before this is done. If I’m not mistaken he’s going to need all the muscle he can muster.”

More clacking and the forelegs scraped against each other. Tuthos was in a bind and he knew it. It was time to push another piece on the board. Not waiting for his response I said, “We can discuss that at length later. You’ve captured Charles, right? Sorry, Xargglxesh. I’ve always called him Charles. He still alive?”

Tuthos took a suspicious step back despite being behind the shield. “You worry about the traitor?”

“Not hardly,” I said. “I worry about the whole setup here. That fresh demon-spawn professes innocence, right? Doesn’t remember what the heck he actually did as if under a spell?”

“My sorcerer adjunct found no such traces of compulsion upon him. He lies and the modified scanning core found in his possession is proof. He shall be tortured for information before execution upon arrival of official documents.”

Guess it wasn’t so easy to torment and then kill the son of the Duke’s current concubine. That must have required signatures from further up the food chain. Which meant I still had an opportunity. “Your sorcerer may not know what to look for.”

“And you do?” His credulity regarding me was obviously stretching thin.

I had to sweeten the pot. “How’s this for an intermediate proposal. You get me in to see Xargglxesh and I’ll tell you who hired Dhalgrix. That is something your Duke absolutely wants to know.”

Yaria shifted her weight and threw me an unhappy look. She still wanted to be first to act on that information. Fortunately she stayed quiet and didn’t try to sell the info herself.

Mandibles swept back and forth as a clear negative. Becoming more agitated Tuthos snapped, “If you are involved you could wish to assassinate him to protect your conspirators! Or pass him instructions. Or even kill him out of revenge. Not acceptable.”

“Blindfold him,” I countered. “And fill his ears with cotton. I don’t need to speak with the little turd, I just want to inspect him. Because if I’m right? You need me to. Let me and Yaria in. She can hold my weapons while I take a look. Surround the jerk with as many guards as you want, I don’t care.”

“What good would guards be against one who destroyed such as Dhalgrix? Too risky!”

Crap. “Hey Yaria,” I said. “Is Tuthos here trustworthy? Will he keep his end of a bargain if paid upfront?”

Somehow Tuthos’ bug eyes got bigger. I didn’t know insectoid eyeballs could do that.

Yaria though was considering. “He’s a cheapskate for sure,” she drawled. “But he sticks to his word. Especially if witnessed.”

Before Tuthos could object to us daring to question his honor I plowed ahead. “Good. Captain Tuthos, agree to letting me see Xargglxesh and I’ll tell you who hired Dhalgrix right here and now. If you don’t agree the information was more than worth such an exchange we’ll just get back to negotiating regarding my boys back there itching to do what they do best. That work for you?”

There. Carrot meet stick.

Tuthos glared, forelegs rubbing faster. But Yaria’s grumbling mutter of “It’s worth a lot more than that” got a nod out of him. “No communication between you and the prisoner as stated.”

“That’s the idea.”

The mantis stared up at Balus whose single eye glared right back from behind his grimacing helm. I’m sure Tuthos was playing through his head just what it would look like should Balus alone were to get loose inside the keep.

Tuthos was outclassed and knew it.

“Agreed,” he finally said.

“Great!” I smiled. Hey, it was a friendly smile, I swear! “Now remember - and this is important - you cannot tell Xargglxesh someone is inspecting him. Don’t let him know I’m even alive. Make it look like you’re moving him from one cell to another or something. He can’t suspect a damn thing.”

“Very well. Now tell me who is behind these attacks!”

Horatio caught my eye, he was silently shaking his head like I hadn’t gotten a good enough deal.

Little did he know that I’d gotten exactly what I wanted.

“Dhalgrix,” I said slowly to make sure Tuthos heard me correctly, “was hired by a demon named Ithx, Vizier to Duke Juxtyle.”

Tuthos darn near choked. “Juxtyle! Impossible! He and our beloved Duke have been staunch allies for thousands of cycles!”

Beloved? Seriously? I suppressed a guffaw. “Then either that has changed,” I said, “or Ithx is playing his own game. Horatio and Balus here were witness and can confirm. Now what say you, Captain? I bet Duke Valgor would highly value what you were just told.”

Tuthos was still reeling as he ran through the consequences. “If Juxtyle has betrayed us then our farms on the border are under threat!”

“Tuthos!” I shouted to get his attention again. “Time is of the essence! We good here? If so, take me and Yaria to see Xargglxesh and do it now!”

One slender foreleg gestured at a guard. “Give them keys.”

The guard - imagine a bear with a velociraptor’s head - opened a pouch on its belt and pulled out a pair of golden stones. They weren’t souls but were definitely enchanted. With a toss the stones landed at my and Yaria’s feet having passed right through the multi-colored forcefield.

Tuthos clicked. “Pick those up and follow me.”

Yaria grabbed hers and waited on me to get mine. Pretty sure she wanted me to be the first through to test if it was safe and not some kind of double-cross.

“Balus, Horatio - stay here,” I told them as I picked up the small stone no larger than a fingertip. “If you guys don’t hear from me within an hour, proceed to take the base.”

“Compliance.”

Horatio opened his mouth to say something but reconsidered and just nodded.

Going through the barrier was indeed safe though my new armor tingled oddly as I did so. Not unpleasantly mind you. Quite the opposite actually.

A girl could get used to that. Certainly beat having issues with chaffing.

Once we both were in they led us past their steel barricade and into a large cavern which served as the main entrance into the base. The walls and corridors featured the all-too-recognizable sconces of crystal light. If it wasn’t for the differences in layout I could have sworn we were back at Outpost Epsilon with being only a visit with Yipe away from tucking into whatever concoction Cookie had crafted for the day’s meal.

Damn. At least Cookie was secure back at the tent with Ruyia. The Lilim would likely keep him as their rightful capture so he should be safe for now. Even if I screwed this up.

Reaching a wide corridor Tuthos halted our little party. “Your weapons. Give them to the Lilim.”

I did so. Bow, quiver, and the short sword with its oh-so-nasty aura. Yaria took a couple steps back, making it clear she wouldn’t return them until the conclusion of the negotiated sequence.

Tuthos nodded and turned to the liveried demon who had done its best to be like the overgrown insect’s shadow. Though unlike a shadow the guy scurried off to do Tuthos’ bidding.

It didn’t take long for the sound of many booted feet and the shuffling steps of ankles restricted by shackles to echo down the corridor. Tuthos motioned for me to hug one wall and then took a position within striking distance at my side.

Charles (yeah, yeah - Xargglxesh) came into view, blue bowl cut and singular horn doing their best parody of a demonic Alfalfa. All his expensive fashion had been stripped away leaving him only in a pair of white breeches under a protruding stomach. Thick strips of cloth also bound eyes and ears, and from his blubbering sobs it was clear Charles thought he was being led to his execution.

“I’ve told you all I know!” he whimpered. “They killed everyone at Epsilon and I fled to here - you have to believe me!”

I mentally cursed. I’d left behind my goggles out of tiredness or just plain stupidity. Probably the latter but there was nothing for it now. Taking a deep breath I flipped the mental switch to peer directly into spirit knowing my eyes were about to light up. Not as high-beams like they used to do, mind you, but they still would emit a noticeable brightness when pushed.

As Charles pathetically shuffled by their glow washed over him. If he hadn’t been blindfolded I’m sure he would have stared like the hapless deer he truly was.

But I saw it. What I’d been most scared to see after that brief blip of danger-sense regarding Yaria and Ruyia earlier.

I must have gone pale because Yaria started to move forward before catching herself, the motion having been caught by the guards and Tuthos whose spike-lined leg twitched with a readiness to sweep my head from the attached shoulders.

Or at the very least impale and mash the brain within to a pulp.

I didn’t exhale or dare move until the entire prisoner party had rounded the corner out of view. At which point my back slid down the wall until I hit the floor with a loud metal clunk from my armored buttcheeks.

Tuthos stood over me. “What magic was that?” he demanded. “What did you see?”

I looked up at the fierce mantis demon realizing he barely registered as a threat in comparison. “Send the guards away, Tuthos. You can’t have them hearing this.”

“Are you insane?”

“DO IT!” My nerves must’ve been shot because with the shout flares poured out of Camael’s bracers to envelope wrists with their reddish flames.

In my defense it had been a really really long day.

As Tuthos reared back to strike Yaria moved faster, shoving the longbow between his razor leg and my neck. “Tuthos! Listen to her! If she wanted you dead it’d have already happened.”

For an insectoid face it still held a lot of expression. Scared now, Tuthos backed up but also commanded his men to get out of there. They hesitated to abandon their Captain (or more likely didn’t want to let Tuthos know that truthfully they very much wanted to get away from the crazy woman whose arms were on fire) but with a second shout from him they took off.

Kneeling down, Yaria met my panicked stare with a steely one of her own. “What is it, Jordan? What’s spooked you?”

“We’re screwed,” I said in a small voice. “He’s here. The bastard is here.”

“Who?”

I didn’t want to say his name, as if saying it would make it true. But it was. The spidersilk-thin line of corrupted inky blackness that trailed off behind poor Charles to his unknown master made it painfully obvious. I’d seen it in full power within my hunter, my Tsáyidiel, before cleansing him of its horrid blight with a strength of light I could no longer achieve. I’d seen it within Private Orlando Jenson before the monster had reached through Whateley’s wards to snuff out the private’s life as easy as pinching a candleflame just to make a point.

It was undeniable. With a whisper I gave name to my fear.

“Azazel.”

 

Chapter 19 - Test

 

Tuthos pulled us both to a conference room with the intention to grill me further, but one of his soldiers interrupted with an announcement that the lift had arrived as soon as we got there. The mantis-demon scurried off to inspect his reinforcements, leaving me and Yaria alone in a small side-cave with a plain wooden table and matching chairs.

After being guided by Yaria into the room I’d collapsed into one of the crude chairs and Yaria pulled another closer.

“Talk to me, woman. Who is Azazel?”

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Who was he? Only the terror who’d spread dark chaos through the Nephelim as part of his plan to defeat the Heavenly Host. Only the abomination who had sent his corrupted and mind-controlled minions - both angelic and mortal - to assassinate first me and later my niece, with our survival more a matter of luck than anything.

I had Aradia’s memories of her and Camael’s heavenly warriors assaulting Azazel’s stronghold. It was in that battle that Aradia had burned out her own spirit by shining enough light to counter the fallen Grigori’s shadow. I - as Aradia - had sacrificed myself to defeat the evil, but Azrael, Camael, and his Powers had fought at my side.

Even then - as powerful as they were - they couldn’t destroy the twisted Grigori. Instead Azazel had been sealed away, bound and chained under the Earth for thousands of years. With me here in Hell, having fallen so far from the light and without Aradia’s heavenly allies, what chance could I possibly have against such corruption?

Though he had fallen here too. Soren, who must have again manifested as Camael, had shattered the second seal and defeated Azazel deep within the mountains of Syria, triggering an earthquake which had demolished buildings across the Middle East. Soren’s note to me stated that Azazel had been neutralized and wouldn’t cause me any more grief. I’d thought the menace dead, but Camael hadn’t slain the fallen angel. Apparently he’d only banished him to Hell.

Little did Soren know that I’d soon be tossed down the same road.

That brought up an important point, one which when latched onto at least stopped my panicked breathing. Unless Azazel had been severely weakened somehow - maybe just from being locked up all those years - there’s no way Camael could have tossed him to Hell without assistance. It hadn’t been possible during the Grigori and Nephelim war even with the squad of Powers and Aradia’s final gift of light. Which meant that just like I was weakened, so was Azazel.

The twenty-million denarii question was by how much.

Yaria, disgusted by the lack of response, pulled back a hand as if to slap me silly.

“No, wait!” I threw an arm up to block. “There’s no need.”

She regarded me with suspicion. “Even when marching out to fight Dhalgrix did you not show such fear.” Her hand lowered.

I exhaled slowly. “That’s because Dhalgrix was just a demon. Azazel’s not. He’s a Grigori, co-leader and prince of their number who once raised a force with which to corrupt the Earth and challenge Heaven.”

Frowning, she crossed her arms, the leather of her outfit giving a barely audible creak. “I’ve not heard of him.”

“That’s because he was trapped on Earth and only recently punted to Hell.”

“And you know this how?”

Here I needed to tread carefully. “Three of the Seals of Revelations - you know, from the Bible - had been broken before I died. I was part of a group trying to deal with the repercussions. Azazel’s prison was the second of the Seals. It was shattered by Camael who must’ve then kicked Azazel down the well to here.”

“Camael. Heaven’s butcher.” Dark eyebrows raised dubiously.

“Yeah, him. Look, dealing with that crap is what got me killed. It’s a mess. There are those that want the seals to break and those who will do anything to stop them.”

“You should tell this to my father. He’d know what you’re talking about.”

Tuthos strode in before I could respond and just stared at us without saying anything, forelegs twitching with clear agitation.

“What gives, Captain?” I asked. “Something happen?”

He clicked a couple times. “Tell me of this ‘Azazel’ you spoke of in the corridor. An agent of Ithx?”

I did my best not to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the idea. Tuthos wouldn’t have appreciated the humor. “No. Azazel is much worse and is likely using Ithx just like he used your prisoner. He’s a fallen angel, a corrupted Grigori only recently cast into the Pit.”

That confused the poor captain. “The Fallen do not interfere in demonic affairs.”

“According to my father,” Yaria interjected, “that is not always the case.”

I rubbed at exhausted eyes. “The angels rule over these domains but at a distance, right? With a former archangel calling the shots for each one. Pretty much everyone since I’ve gotten here agrees to that much. But Azazel’s ambitions know no limits, he’ll want his own place to rule. He’s not a joiner, rather he’s a manipulator who uses others at a distance to do his bidding. In that respect he’s a lot like most demons.” Of course that was the only way he could operate when imprisoned. However it also matched with how he operated during the war according to my memories as Aradia. “Whoever runs this Rock needs to be told.”

“Then I shall get a confession from Xargglxesh which shall be brought to the Duke.”

“You can’t do that. Charles will die first.”

The mantis-demon flexed his spiked limbs. “Our torturer is skilled. This will not happen.”

“You don’t get it,” I told him. “Azazel has a line on him. You start questioning Charles about Azazel’s existence and Azazel will realize that you know he’s behind this. First thing he’ll do is terminate Charles to cut the link. You’ll learn nothing and that bastard will make it his mission to find out how much else you know and also how. Charles won’t know anything of value anyway, he’s a minor pawn. His memories are already wiped.”

“Her analysis would be correct,” Yaria said. “If what she says is true.”

I gawked at her. “You don’t believe me?”

The cold and calculating master fighter regarded me. “I like you. And I owe you a debt of honor. But you want us to accept something without any proof that we can see. Neither Tuthos’ sorcerer nor myself saw this link you claim connects a simpering demonling to a fallen angel. How are you able to see what we cannot? From what have you derived such power, mortal?”

It is said that the best lies are cloaked with incomplete truths, and while the fae are masters of this sort of deception there’s one other whose ability with such obfuscation was legendary.

Lucifer.

With my reply I may have proved myself a worthy successor. He was Aradia’s father after all. And I had inherited her spirit.

Though doing so left me feeling horribly dirty inside.

“Maddalena is right,” I told her. “I’m like a seer. Perception of spirit is a main talent. It’s what let me see Dhalgrix’s true name and use it against him, and what let me see the danger of the bomb which stole my life away. It wasn’t a normal explosive. That thing detonated with a massive amount of necromantic energy which would have wiped out countless innocents. Somehow in the moment of death I absorbed a good chunk of that power before falling to here. Since then I’ve learned how to use it.”

Whether cowardice or wisdom, I wasn’t ready yet to reveal my true nature - even to erstwhile allies.

Yaria was not yet satisfied. “You also warned me from going directly after Ithx after learning he was the contractor of Dhalgrix’s force. Would Ithx suffer the same fate as Xargglxesh if questioned?”

I worried at the protesting lip. “How strong is Ithx? He might be harder to kill depending on how deep Azazel’s gotten into his head. And he’d know a lot more of the details of Azazel’s plans, including if whether Duke Juxtyle is also compromised.”

“As vizier to a Duke,” Tuthos said, “Ithx would not be a weakling.”

I tried to think it through. “In the premonition I only saw you and Ruyia, you two were alone. We should send a force with you and do it quickly to change that equation. Take the best fliers from the mercs and get Tuthos to send along his own just not in Valgor’s colors. If Ithx is still in the Spires he’ll be watching remotely somehow and if he realizes Dhalgrix isn’t taking the Hole like was planned he’ll vanish.” Looking to Tuthos I added, “Actually the best way to pull this off is to make it look like the mercs did take the Hole. If you dropped the shield and they all ran inside then, after say a few more minutes with smoke coming out of a few places, a bunch of fliers rushing to Ithx’s position would seem more like a report of success and demand for completion of payment. With backup to help guarantee delivery.”

The mantis-demon stiffened. “Absurd. This could all be a ruse to get us to drop our defenses.”

I shrugged. “You’ve got your reinforcements now, right? So lock us into that warehouse area we walked through. And then keep me as a hostage or something up here.”

Yaria was startled. “You don’t want to go after Ithx yourself?”

Leaning back in the chair I let the tiredness wash over my face. “Of course I do. But I’ve got to face reality here. I’m spent. It took a lot out of me to take down Dhalgrix and I’m freaking exhausted. Me going would just put the rest at risk. If time wasn’t of the essence I’d have the Captain here wait until I’d had a long nap. Maybe two.”

Folded insect wings twitched against Tuthos’ back. “I could only agree to this if we establish a contract with your mercenaries. What are your terms for support in capturing Ithx?”

I could see where he was going with this. If we were under contract then my demons would be obliged to do as I said - at least until I had been knocked off. And if Tuthos kept me as a ‘guest’ like I’d suggested all isolated from the mercs, there’d be less chance of that happening. “For this one engagement, considering I’d be bringing my force into your halls, how about this: feed the stinky buggers. If they’re busy eating then they’ll be too distracted to look for other trouble.”

“And they are to depart as soon as the mission is complete,” insisted Tuthos. “Unless we agree to a new contract for their continued services.”

That sounded promising. “Deal.”

Yaria was on her feet. “Let me be clear on this: myself and Ruyia lead. And we’ll expect a full third share of the reward from Duke Valgor for Ithx’s capture.”

“Fine with me.” I still didn’t like the idea of anyone going after Ithx but we had to try. With the ruse they had a chance to take him by surprise if they were fast enough.

Her eagerness collided with more intelligent caution. “What are the odds that this fallen could be there as well?”

I thought about it. “I would have to say low. It’s too exposed. If he takes any direct action himself the ones running this realm would notice. He’ll be playing puppet-master only is my bet. But don’t underestimate his ability to work through those puppets.”

That satisfied her. Turning to Tuthos, she said, “Are the terms acceptable?”

Tuthos hesitated, but after clicking his mandibles a few more times agreed. “They are. We will be honored to fight alongside the legendary Lilim Twins.”

That earned him Yaria’s sinisterly sharp-toothed smile. “Excellent. C’mon Jordan, let’s go tell your whelps the good news and feed them.”

Nodding, I got up to follow Tuthos out with Yaria guarding my behind.

I hadn’t been entirely honest about why I wouldn’t go with them for the hunt for Ithx. Yes I was shredded, that was certainly true. The thought of a hot meal and a moment’s peace sounded amazing. The real concern was if I was in on the confrontation with Ithx then Azazel would get a direct look at me and know who I was. Keeping my existence here a secret from him sounded like the wiser plan.

I mean, surely I wasn’t just being a chicken.

Right?

Speaking of trying to keep secrets, I paused at the barricade.

“Hey Tuthos? I just thought of something.”

The mantis-demon turned its insect head to look back at me. “What now?”

“We can’t just have these guys walk in here all casual. To maintain the cover we’ll need to charge in.” I looked around the open cavern we were standing in, noting that all the passages had doors. “How about you close it off and get your folks out of this space. I’ll tell the troops to run in but to not even try to open any doors as they’re warded and to wait for me to clear them.”

“You believe there could be a spy for Ithx amongst your fighters?”

“Either that or they’re watching from a distance and ready to signal back to him, just like you hired the Lilim to do for you.”

He considered. “Your company may attempt to bash down the doors regardless. Fighters are not known to heed warnings once in a battle-frenzy.”

I grinned. “I’m going to tell ‘em your doors are all warded like mine was back at Epsilon. It blew apart all their sorcerers. They’ll listen.”

“Impressive.”

“In fact, why don’t we put on a little show.”

When I told him what I had in mind he was initially skeptical but Yaria laughed. “Dramatic flair much, woman?”

I shrugged. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll have all the doors be magically convincing to this lot. Won’t do much more than sparkle if opened though.”

Tuthos reluctantly agreed and I got busy.

Operation Fake Assault was born.

 

~o~O~o~

 

It took a bit longer than I’d thought to get everything set up, and even longer still to get the troops prepped and in position. In the meantime I had to reassure Hank and Horatio that I was fine. No really, peachy-keen. Yep.

Not that either believed me. I guess practically falling asleep on one’s feet is worrisome to folks who think you’re about to lead an actual battle. Go figure. Twitch hadn’t said anything (of course) but he’d taken up a spot off one shoulder like an overly-protective guardian.

Which was oddly comforting.

After telling him the plan Balus had gotten the troops lined up in front of the energy shield protecting the Hole. The best warriors who could fly and a few selected others were to remain outside and guard our supplies but the bulk were armored up and eager for a fight.

Hopefully not too eager. Watching the maliced frothing at their various ill-shaped mouths Tuthos may have had a point regarding them losing control and running amok. Guess we were going to find out who was right really soon.

At my request Horatio had dug up an old bronze Spartan-style helmet for me to wear which would at least keep my face covered. It was only a tad too snug on my head due to the goggles underneath, but with those on I’d been able to covertly scan the troops for traces of black webbing like seen on Charles. I was being paranoid. However either everyone was clean or I was too tired to see clearly.

Thus I found myself in front of a horde of demons broadcasting not just their rising bloodlust but also a stench I feared would never get out of my sinuses.

“Alright you jerkwads!” I yelled, trying to channel all the rude army sergeants I’d seen in the movies. “As you may - or may not - be aware, I just visited the idiots behind this shield. They foolishly refused my demands and frankly they’ve pissed me off!”

A lot of the demons gave each other side glances. Yeah I got it, I was new. They’d seen me take down their Commander and threaten them through our shared link, but what else could I do?

It was time to show them. Raising Erglyk’s bow over my head I let the purplish-black necromantic energies envelop the weapon. The power pulsed outward across the throng, the kind of resonance which if used differently could probably nourish a demon for cycles. The headache instantly got a lot worse from the concentration required to keep that power from exploding but it proved worth the effort.

I now had their full attention.

Taking a breath to steady myself I again tossed my voice at the throng. “I learned a few things while in there so listen up! The digging operation Dhalgrix commanded was a fool’s errand! Their shield extends down the tube as well.”

No one likes digging a hole for no good reason.

I continued shouting at them, throat becoming raw from the day’s abuse. “On the inside they’ve also warded every damn door with the same kind of protection I used to take out Dhalgrix’s sorcerers back at Epsilon!” That yielded some grumbling. To head off any doubt I added, “I was one of their reapers. Where do you think I learned how to do it?”

So far so good. Enough of them bought it that there was a fair amount of nervous glances back and forth in the ranks by those now wondering whether attacking the Hole was ever a good idea. Charging into explosive traps is never fun.

“But fear not!” I pulsed the energies again, letting them feel it. “Just as I know how to put such things up, I will take them down one by one!”

That actually earned a few cheers, taking me by surprise. Twitch had to nudge me to keep going.

I lowered the bow. “What this means is when we get in there - which we’re about to do! - for all closed doors you damn well wait for me to clear them before even thinking of trying to turn their knobs. Don’t touch, whether you think it’s warded or not! The first demon who touches a door without my permission is going to wish to be unmade before I’m done with them. In fact, this applies to anyone who damages anything unnecessarily and ruins potential loot! Got it?”

A hundred demonic stares blinked at me.

“I said, GOT IT? Or shall I pick one of you lot to demonstrate upon first!”

That worked. The horde snarled and shouted, “Yes, Commander!”

“I can’t hear you!” Yelling that in such situations is obligatory even if cliche, right?

“YES COMMANDER!”

That’ll do.

“Stand ready!” Slotting a crystal arrow into the bow, I sent the manifested power across the shaft and turned to face the shield still glowing like a Northern aurora had flowed down from the sky. It really was quite pretty when you stopped to look at it. Here in a place with no stars or sun the shifting bright colors were downright hypnotic. While the troops had been forming up I’d spent most of the time studying it and had to smack my cheeks a couple times to regain focus. Then Horatio had handed me the helm and with that on I had to resort instead to biting fingers. Not hard enough to break the skin, dangit, I’m not that much of a masochist.

As I didn’t fully trust Tuthos I aimed the arrow at a weakpoint in the shield’s pattern and, once I thought tired hands were steady enough, I let it fly.

Now I’d seen Erglyk use the bow before. Her shots always went true and had far more punch than the pull strength should account for, hitting targets as if she’d fired a Browning .50 caliber. But I wasn’t expecting what it’d do when supercharged.

Instead of a bowstring twang the whole area echoed with the cracking doom of a tank firing its main gun. The already glowing arrow launched at supersonic speed to punch directly on target like a depleted uranium round, the necromantic power exploding and cascading outward from the impact to tear a hole big enough for even Balus to march on through.

Either Tuthos had reconsidered our deal or the arrow’s speed had caught his casters by surprise. There was a full second delay before the entire shield shut down.

I didn’t hesitate and notched a second arrow. Filling it with yet more power while ignoring the drum circle playing against the insides of my head, the arrow blew the barricade door right off its thick steel hinges.

As well as part of the wall to which it’d been attached.

Okay, so that wasn’t in the plan. I’d owe Tuthos a new door. But this, fake as it may be, was the first battle with me in charge of this monstrous lot.

I needed to make a solid impression.

“CHARGE!” I screamed and ran at the breached wall full tilt like a lunatic valkyrie eager to get to the kegs before the rest of the Asgardians could drink it all.

I managed to stay in front but the stampede from Hell followed right behind my booted heels. As we burst through the opening and into the cavern I pulled up, another arrow notched and ready in case Tuthos had any ideas of double-crossing us. His guards however were not present as we’d agreed.

“Take positions around the hall!” I commanded. “Guard the doors but DO NOT TOUCH THEM!”

Minding my previous threats regarding damage, the horde fanned out past the rows of tables and benches which lined the great hall in wait for them. Each table was laden with platters covered with grilled hunks of meat, freshly baked rolls, and pots of steaming vegetables. Wooden plates were piled at each end ready to be grabbed and filled. Tuthos’ cooks had obviously gotten busy even while I was going door to door and wiggling fingers at them.

Ignoring the bounty, Balus strode to the middle of the room, tentacles wielding a towering sword, a massive mace, and a pair of throwing axes which would’ve been normal size to anyone else.

He was just that big.

“Commander Test. Success!” Balus proclaimed. “Sit!” He then dropped his weapons to the floor and plonked himself onto an entire bench, removing his helmet so he could eat.

Balus had been the only demon I’d let in on the real plan.

As his elucidation merely served to baffle the mob I hopped onto a table to stand as tall as possible.

“Good! Well done!” I called out to them. “You all passed. I don’t need to destroy anyone today. Everyone take a seat! Truth is that the Hole has entered into a short contract with us against those that hired Dhalgrix for the screwed up mis-adventure that brought you all here. More contracts are likely to follow. While those details are worked out, they’re feeding us! Enjoy!”

To say that this confused the heck of them would be an understatement. Before any could get angry about it and do something stupid Balus’s voice boomed across the hall again.

“Down weapons! Eat! NOW!”

His directness was clearly more effective than my explanations. They too put down their weapons and prepared to eat. Which is when an unforeseen difficulty kicked in.

Demons, amped for battle, do not make for elegant customers at a buffet.

Shoving, snarling, grabbing, and biting ensued. One table knocked over, spilling the precious foodstuffs all over the floor and also the feet of the demons at the next row who naturally took offense.

At least they’d already dropped all their sharp pointy things. Though that did give those with claws and fangs an advantage, at least until enough blood was drawn that all the swords and axes would find themselves wielded once again.

Balus, sitting at his own table and monopolizing the entire selection thereon, ignored the rising mayhem to tuck in to his waiting meal.

God dammit.

How the heck was I supposed to corral a whole room full of blithering idiot demons acting like junior high kids all jacked up on steroids?

Only one idea came to mind. After digging fingernails into the mark upon my palm I gave it to them.

Pain.

Reaching out through the connection which had bound them all I cheated and whispered into their spirits a word in a language they would never understand. Tendrils of fiery intent slipped through the web between us - not to burn their skin but instead to excite the pain receptors in each and every nerve they possessed.

The effect was instantaneous.

An entire room of rowdy demons collapsed to the floor, jaws slack and eyes bugging out. Balus was the only demon spared.

Still standing on the table by a far wall I raised my fist which again burned with Camael’s flames.

“It is impolite,” I growled across the enforced silence, “to treat our host’s hospitality with such a lack of manners.” Sending another pulsed command the pain stimulus ceased, leaving their skin tingling as their central nervous systems slowly regained control. Gurgles and moans flooded the room.

“I will say this only once, so listen well.” I failed to hold back the snarl edging out each and every syllable. “Eating a meal with one’s comrades is sacred. These are your brothers-in-arms. They fight beside you on the field of battle, guarding you as you guard them. If you cannot curb your own greed and hunger to offer the respect such a bond deserves then you are not worthy of being under my command. I will not witness such a cowardly display again.”

While the hardier ones tried to sit up, most stayed still and stared about. With fear.

“Now clean up this mess,” I ordered. “Eat your meal. And quietly await my return.”

Balus’ singular eye met my gaze and he nodded once. The huge beast of a demon looked thoughtful.

Jumping off the table I motioned for Twitch to follow to the door Tuthos should be behind. If Twitch had been shocked by what I’d just done he wasn’t showing it. But he always did have a great (and silent) poker face.

I rapped on the door twice. With a creak it opened, triggering only a few sparks to dance over the wood.

Behind the door Tuthos indeed was standing. Staring over my head at the room full of warriors slowly rising to their feet and rubbing limbs, Tuthos asked, “Are things alright?”

Pushing past him I spoke with forced lightness. “Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” As the door shut behind us I noticed that he had only the original set of guards who had escorted me and Yaria earlier at his side. “Where’s your reinforcements?” I asked. He was supposed to have posted more soldiers at every exit.

Spiked legs twitched against each other. “There aren’t any,” Tuthos admitted, his large head bowing low. “Duke Juxtyle’s forces have invaded Valgor’s lands. We were commanded to hold position or retreat down the Tube and scuttle it as we go.”

I stopped walking to stare open jawed at him. If he had done that he would have doomed the other outposts to starvation and destruction.

“Come, Commander,” he said with a lot more respect than earlier. “The fires are lit above to create smoke, it is time to signal your fliers to head to the Spires. Dhalgrix already took down those amongst us here who enjoyed the freedom of the air, excepting only myself. The Lilim and your forces will need to be enough.”

I didn’t like that but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. As we followed Tuthos down the corridor the implications hit me. Without reinforcements and with my ability to punch through their shield, my troop could have taken this place any time we had wanted. And Tuthos knew it.

Our prices for service just doubled. Heck, maybe tripled.

Horatio would be pleased.

We climbed up a couple stories and from a balcony overlooking all the tents encamped outside I waved a flag with Dhalgrix’s triangle symbol. This was the agreed upon signal to Yaria to take the fliers and go pick up her sister before heading to the Spires where, with any luck, we might capture a more meaningful chess-piece than poor Charles.

The designated squad launched with Yaria in front of the flock as her humongous harpy self. She swooped over the balcony, eyes looking for the additional units from the Hole.

“They haven’t got any!” I called up to her. “You’ll have to take just those! Means a two-way split!”

With a disgusted (and yet mighty) screech she turned and led the aerial squad into the darkness beyond the fort and camp’s circle of dim illumination.

After they’d disappeared Tuthos guided Twitch and I further back down to a smaller and cozier room where a pair of luxurious arm chairs sat across from each other with a small table set in between.

A table laden with steaming soup, bread, and fine porcelain bowls in which to hold the spice-adorned almost-feast.

How Tuthos with his insect-like body managed to sit comfortably in his chair is still a mystery. I took the other one (after removing helmet and goggles), while Twitch sat on the carpeted floor.

After a few spoonfuls of not-carrots, kinda-onions, and chunks of meat whose origin I suspected rhymed with ‘traxh’, I handed the soup to Twitch so he could have some too. I never did get the bowl back from him. Exhaustion had caught up in full and the ol’ eyelids, stubborn as they were, failed to stay open.

Unfortunately peaceful slumber again decided to hide under an entirely different rock.

 

Chapter 20 - Decision

 

All of Heaven’s attention was fixated upon the roaring conflict streaking past high above the gleaming city. Many winged inhabitants wept crystalline tears at the terrible majesty and horrific beauty as two of their mightiest waged battle across the sky.

The Light against the Defender, unstoppable intent clashing against immovable will.

Most were unable to perceive the full measure of the struggle, catching only glimpses of Lucifer and Michael as fragments of time caught by a strobe light of infinite proportions. Six wings of burning fire scorched the fabric of Heaven itself in its wake, lances of power lashing out to strike the unyielding gold of the shield of shields wielded by an arm clad in the armor of purest faith. Shining sword deflected brilliant spear to set all space above afire with their unfathomable passion and resolve.

Concussion after concussion rolled over towers swaying like reeds in a tempest, only their divine construction granting them the capacity to bend without snapping into shards by the blasts deafening all below. Clouds of ions solidified, flashed, and boiled away, stars were birthed, burned, and shattered with each clash, as the reality of the home of the Bene Elohim twisted and tore.

Gabriel held tightly still to the collapsed Beliel. At her side Raphael busily ignored the madness without to focus on that which tried to destroy his brother from within. Gabriel, reeling from the city’s agonized groan felt through knees touching its faultless marble, cried out at sensing an even greater danger.

“Raphael! Stay with Beliel!” So saying, feathers of the purest of whites launched her away.

Full intent bent towards saving his brother’s existence, Raphael gave no answer for he had neither heard nor noticed her departure.

With wings striving hard through the typhoon lashing outward from the battle’s center, Gabriel flew towards the nexus of the conflagration hanging as a sword of doom over the city and all those she so loved.

The two warriors’ conflict strained at the pattern from which the city had been forged. To her horror faultlines fractured through the base structure as rumblings below the fundament echoed the cracking thunder from above.

To Gabriel, she who came into existence when the vision of Heaven itself was born, the damage stretched across her chest like a thousand needles threatening to tear her apart piece by piece.

She tried to reach her fighting brothers, tried to shout at them to stop, but neither combatant responded to her pleading.

And so she tumbled from the sky, wings and body bouncing from thunderhead to thunderhead within the growing cataclysm, a lost kite struggling against the grip of a hurricane.

An angel with wings of night caught her as she fell, one strong arm wrapping around her waist to hold her fixed against his robe. A long slender blade affixed to a black staff swept through each rolling wave cascading forth from that center, the scythe splitting the shockwaves that they may pass safely between them.

“Azrael,” she cried, ruby tears spilling down across transcendent beauty. “You have to stop them. They rip apart the unity - our beloved dream is dying and I cannot hold against their fury!”

The Archangel of Judgment remained silent. Within he screamed to the Most High, shouting the need for intervention and a Judgment to settle this debate once and for all. Yet no answer had come.

Until words then escaped his lips, passing through from the Source of All.

“This Is Not The Hour.”

Hearing this Gabriel gaped at he who held her. “How can that be? Is our home, defended at the cost of so many, to now end? Are we to be cast askew into incoherence amongst the stray winds of random chance?”

Stunned into silence himself by the channeled proclamation, Azrael could voice no reply.

With a shudder of resolution she placed a hand over her heart. “Even should it take my last heartbeat, this dream must not die.” A small dagger of emerald and gold appeared within her fingers, plunged once into her chest, and ripped outward to cast her heartsblood across the city. The crimson fountain that followed spread forth as a net with which to pull the fraying tapestry of Heaven together, to reinforce the words from which its reality had been forged.

Azrael, stoic in all matters since taking on the mantle of Judgment, beheld Gabriel’s offered sacrifice.

This was not one his own heart could abide.

Dark wings snapped outward to smother horizon to horizon as the scythe cleaved the sky, slicing the gathered tempest itself in twain.

“ENOUGH!” Azrael shouted as the two combatants flickered into view opposite the other, momentarily separated by the surge of will flowing forth from the black robed angel. “Look what your conflict has wrought! Look upon the price!”

Michael, his once immaculate shield now dented and torn alongside armor cleaved and burned, had eyes only for his opponent. No distractions allowed or his enemy’s advantage would be complete, for they fought within the realms of all splintered possibilities. To battle the Light and the perception of all which its harmony granted required a totality of attention to provide no exploitable weakness. Already too many wounds bled free from behind armor whose protection was no longer entirely intact due to mere hints of imprecision.

Whereas his opponent, shining with a brightness deadly to any lesser angel, hovered in the sky unmarked. No armor worn nor needed, only the spear of blazing fire wielded with utmost perfection held aloft by wings arcing with a summoned power greater than that of a trillion galaxies.

He was Helel, unrivaled focus of the Prime Intent and perceiver of All upheld by the glory of the Most High.

He was the First. He was the Morning Star who heralded all Creation.

He was the Lightbringer.

Eyes of shining golden beauty could not help but see Gabriel’s heart beat forth its last few drops of precious treasure as it tried to preserve that which it loved most.

She who was the manifestation of his own most sacred dream was dying.

A howl of agony ripped across the sky and those burning eyes closed to blot out such a sight.

In that instant Michael struck. Faster than lightning he blinked across the distance and past, torn feathered wings fluttering behind with head bowed low.

For his hand was empty.

Buried in the First’s stomach was Michael’s blade, its fires burning strong while the light filling the Morningstar’s wings failed.

Archangel Lucifer, with eyes still closed and arms outstretched, dimmed and fell from Heaven into the waiting Darkness below.

 

My own shout woke me up.

“NO!”

Clutching at the armor covering my own chest I bent over with the remembered lingering agony of Gabriel’s self-inflicted wound. The residual pain of that strike however was nothing in comparison to the heartache the sight of Lucifer streaking downward had ripped from her spirit.

An agony of terrible loss which hit rather close to home.

Twitch’s covered face hovered into view as the painful images finally receded. I was slumped halfway out of the armchair, the small table knocked sideways. A couple goblets were still rolling on the floor with golden meade-like contents trailing behind.

Oh. I’d kicked it over.

“I’m alright,” I said, waving Twitch off. He was leaning over with that awkwardness of not knowing whether to help the crazy person who might be having a seizure or give them a hug. Taking a deep breath I pulled myself back into the plush chair out of reach of either. “Just need a minute”

A voice from the opposite chair spoke. “Bad dream?” Hank held a steaming spoon waiting to enter his mouth. A thick tan coat lay rumpled beside him, leaving him wearing only a simple grey tunic.

“Yeah,” I said. Twitch wasn’t moving so I put a hand on his arm. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

Reluctantly Twitch took a step back and crossed his arms, disbelief clear by the posture.

Wiping at the sides of my eyes I continued to pretend what I’d just said was the truth. “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours maybe. I just got here.” Hank munched on the spoonful but spoke past it anyway. “The base captain says he’s still waiting for word on some raid to the Spires.”

“Weren’t you were supposed to stay at the camp?” I moved to clean up the mess I’d made of the table and goblets, but Twitch tsked at me and got to it himself.

“Yeah. But that lady you popped out of the demon insisted someone get you a message.”

“Maddalena?”

“Yup. Here.” Leaning forward Hank placed a rolled up parchment on the table Twitch had just set back into place. The roll was held together by strands of brown hair and a small spell. “She gave warning if anyone but you opened it they’d burn their fingers.”

“Huh.” As I picked it up the hair crackled and fell away. Unrolling the scroll revealed a message written in a precise hand despite using charcoal as the medium. It was also in Italian:

I forzieri contengono abbastanza tesori per acquistare un Ducato. Nessun altro lo sa.

The note sparked and turned to ash like it was made of flash paper once read. But the meaning had been clear: Chests contain enough treasures to purchase a Duchy. Nobody else knows.

Huh. I was rich.

Hank pointed an empty spoon at my dumbfounded face. “Good news or bad?”

“Uh, good I think.” Though it raised an uncomfortable question. Namely, what the heck? Why did Captain Erglyk, living as she did like a hermit in an out of the way outpost, have a fortune like that stashed away?

Just what else had she been into?

“Don’t sound so certain there, Commander.” Hank grinned.

“Hey, cut the rank crap. I don’t remember you signing up. Come to think of it, we’re at the Hole. You could go through the usual intake processing.”

He shrugged. “Still weighing the options. How ‘bout you? You know your next move?”

Twitch handed me a refilled goblet. I was right, the stuff tasted like mead. Mead that had sat out for too long and dulled all its flavor, but still. Though I really hoped the honey used in it hadn’t come out of some insect-like demon’s gut.

“Uh, this is as far as we’d planned,” I admitted. “Kill dumbass, preserve the Hole and save the reapers.”

“And now you’ve got a troupe of demon mercenaries at your beck and call. You gonna keep ‘em?”

I stared into my cup. “I don’t know.”

“Had a chat with that Horatio fella. Those mercs out in the hall are contract killers. What you planning to do with that lot? Or have you a blood-thirsty streak I ain’t noticed yet.”

It was a good question. “The one behind this entire mess, the attack on Epsilon and all of it, you don’t know him but I do. He’s evil. Whatever plans he has, they can’t be good. He’s corrupted one of Duke Valgor’s allies into attacking the Duke but I bet that’s just the surface of his schemes.”

“This is Hell. Aren’t most leaders here evil in one way or another? Insufficient reason to get involved, if’n you ask me.”

“Maybe. But if Azazel realizes I’m here, he’ll come after me again. He won’t stop.”

“You two got history?”

The gold liquid swirled around below the rim. “You could say that. He tried to kill me.”

“You’re after revenge then.”

I shook my head. “No. You don’t get it. He badly hurt those I loved just to get at me. He’ll do it again, I’m sure of it. No one near me would be safe. If Ithx has been taken over by Azazel then it’s probably too late. But if not and they stop Ithx from getting away, maybe I can hide.” I sighed. “This evil’s no demon, Hank. He’s a fallen angel.”

The old soldier placed the empty bowl on the table and whistled. “You picked a fight back on Earth with an angel? That’s nuts.”

“Wasn’t by choice.”

“Sounds like you may actually need all the muscle you can muster. Keeping them mercs could be the way to go.”

“That’s just it.” I shook my head. “I’d have to lead them. Not sure I can.”

“Why not?”

“How can you lead that which you hate?” I closed my eyes for a moment, seeing the horde fighting over food even though there was plenty for everyone. “They’re soul-sucking demons, they stink of it. When I look at them all I can see are the hapless souls locked inside being raped for power. I want to rip each of those bastards open and free those souls!” Mead spilled over the brim. It was cold.

Hank was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, slower than before while staring at sights only he had seen.

“I got stationed in the Middle East a few years back. Had orders to make nice with this local chief because his tribe controlled a narrow path of scrub brush right through these pair of hills the enemy used to smuggle their heroin. Gave this chief bundles of cash and toys to make his gloating beard happy. One night as a guest under his tent they brought three boys in, couldn’t have been more than seven maybe eight years old. Faces bruised and wrists burned by ropes. Chief told me I could pick one to take back to my tent. The other two were going to his brother-in-law, a gap-toothed sonuvabitch standing there salivating at the thought.” He paused, picking up the spoon from the bowl and tapping its edge with it. “The boys were told to sit but they kept their behinds off the ground anyway, hovering there painfully by the fire.”

“What did you do?”

His gaze returned, haunted yet clear and focused. “I wanted nothin’ more then to pull my sidearm and put holes in the faces of those sodomizing bastards. But I didn’t. Instead I took the boy who seemed to be in the most pain back to my tent, fed the kid chocolate, and handed him a couple comic books. He liked the pictures. Once he realized that was all that was gonna happen he passed out for the rest of the night. Best sleep he’d probably gotten in over a month. The next day my unit and the chief’s tribesmen secured that passage.”

I swallowed, but it wasn’t from more mead. “I don’t know if I could do that.” My cup returned to the table. I’d had enough.

“And yet with that chief’s help we caught twenty terrorists who had bombed local schools full of kids for daring to teach girls to read and write.”

“That’s a horrible choice.”

“War is a horrible choice. With horrible consequences. But the alternative is to lay down and die.”

I couldn’t sit anymore. Still in armor I clanked as I stood and paced the room. “I’m no war-leader. Need me to re-architect a database? No problem. But military tactics?” I shook my head.

Hank chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

“Maybe I should turn it over to you. You said you were a soldier, what rank?”

“Ha! Not gonna happen. Think that lot would follow anyone they didn’t believe could kick their ass?”

“You’d know how to lead though.”

“So do you.” He sat forward and stretched arms out and back which yielded an audible crack from his spine. “I’ve been watching. You’re good in a crisis, clear headed. You listen to others yet still are decisive. Those are leadership traits. Twitch follows you. And if you’d paid attention, even old hands at violence like Yaria and Ruyia have come to respect you. You’ve got the right instincts, girl. You’re cute as a damn button, but there’s a strength of will behind the pretty packaging that folks respond to.”

My feet stopped walking. Had it gotten hot in here? My face had flushed.

“As for tactics,” he added, “I saw that mob’s rush into this fortress. They know jack squat.”

“Could you teach them? Teach me?”

The ex-soldier grinned. “I’m a merciless slave-driver. Sure you want to unleash that?”

“If you can help whip them into better fighting shape, I’d be grateful. And I need all the instruction I can get or else I could get them all killed.”

His blue eyes twinkled even in the dim lighting. “See? That right there shows the heart of a true leader.”

Before I could process the conflicting duality of wanting them dead but not due to my own commands, the door opened. A pissed off Yaria marched right past Twitch, who in turn had to pull the door further open to allow her father to enter as he was using a knotty felwood staff to aid his own slower pace. Not breaking stride Yaria went straight to my cup and downed the rest of its mead.

Vance leaned against the staff and waved off Twitch’s offered hand of assistance. “I am alright, due entirely to Jordan’s aid according to the telling.” Looking to me he gave a short bow. “I find myself greatly in your debt.”

“It’s just good to see you awake,” I said with a smile. “But I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.” With a glance to Yaria I asked the obvious question. “What happened?”

“Ithx escaped,” she said, flashing fangs. “Somehow they knew it was a ruse and fled. The guards left behind made a suicide run at us and exploded. Ruyia shouted a warning in time.”

“Worse still,” Vance added, “they destroyed the portal with their exit.”

“Any idea where it led?”

“But of course. Originally it went to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city of Dis. However they must have redirected it to a different locus in that city for their own use.”

I frowned. “That’s not in this realm.”

Yaria refilled my goblet but kept it. “It’s the main city of Samael’s domain. The only other direct portal to it is at the base of the central mountain on the Light side of this rock. Outside of the Arch-Duke’s city where the official inter-domain trade is funneled and regulated.”

That certainly didn’t sound convenient to use for secret purposes. “How hard is it to make a portal to another realm?”

Vance sighed. “The spell itself is of only moderate difficulty if the connecting locations are naturally conducive to such. Collecting the required elements for success is a far more expensive and time-consuming endeavor.”

“I’m guessing your caravan doesn’t have the needed ingredients on hand.”

“No,” said Yaria bluntly, wiping mead from the corners of her mouth with my napkin.

“Well crap,” I said. “So we can’t chase after them. What is Tuthos going to do about it?”

Moving one careful foot at a time, Vance made his way to the chair I’d been using and gave a polite lift of eyebrows.

“Go ahead,” I told him. It’s not like I could manage to sit still right now anyway.

He sank into the chair, leaning the staff against a shoulder and momentarily closing his eyes. We may have burned the infecting crud out of his system, but the process had definitely taken a toll. “Tuthos is exchanging messages with his commander on the flip side. What Duke Valgor does shall remain to be seen, but Tuthos himself can do little. His charge is to maintain the outposts. The portal’s removal also alleviates the threat here - provided you do not command your recently acquired force to take this post.” He winked at me. “Well done, by the way.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“The better question,” he said, “is what you intend to do.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Yaria tells me an ancient enemy of yours is potentially behind this attack. And that this is likely only part of a much larger scheme. What is your will? Shall you return to being a reaper at the furthest outpost aiding in its re-establishment? With your accomplishments you could even inherit the position of your armor’s predecessor. Or will you take advantage of the situation and gain additional contracts for the mercenaries currently under your command.”

I didn’t say anything.

“There is a third option,” Yaria said, offering the refilled cup to Vance after drinking half of it. “You could join us.”

That triggered a wry smirk. “Still trying?” I asked.

Vance shrugged and raised the goblet in salute. “You have impressive skills. And your music would lift all our hearts.”

It was tempting. Really tempting.

Except it was just another form of hiding which could get them all killed.

As I tried to find a polite way to refuse the doorway filled yet again. Tuthos came in flanked by two of his guards. Waving a foreleg he announced, “I have been notified that Xargglxesh collapsed in his cell. No visible wounds were found yet he is deceased.”

I closed my eyes. Dammit, another one lost. Charles was not an innocent like the Whateley guard I had watched die from Azazel’s remote access, but still.

I’d managed to fail again.

A surge of uncertainty swirled through my guts as if I was standing over a bottomless pit. If Azazel could reach Charles then he likely had a possessed agent in range still with Ithx - if it wasn’t Ithx himself.

Who’d gotten away.

My cover could already be blown. New wealth alone wouldn’t protect me or anyone else from a fallen angel’s dedicated search. He’d torture anyone and everyone to get to me, I just knew it.

Or just bind them to his dreadful will.

“Fuck!” I said, eyes snapping open to fix upon the leafy-greens-colored captain. “You have to tell the Duke about Azazel. Convince Valgor how much danger he and everyone is in.”

The mantis twitched uncomfortably. “There is no incontrovertible proof of this. Without it the Duke has nothing with which he can approach the Fallen. The testimony of a single mortal soul is insufficient.”

I boggled at him. “And how are we to find proof now? Ithx escaped and Charles is dead!”

“Commander Jordan,” Tuthos said, straightening to his full insectoid height. “My Duchy is under attack. Even now Duke Juxtyle’s forces move to besiege our cities. I have been authorized to secure aid in its defense. Therefore I must ask: will you accept contract to lend the might of the warriors under your command to our defense? Perhaps in fighting these foes you will discover the evidence you seek.”

I looked over at Hank. A compassionate understanding touched his eyes, but the face and its corresponding nod were stern.

With a long exhale I made the decision.

“Hank, inform the troops. We’re going to war.”

 

Chapter 21 - Amends

 

Thick drops pelted exposed head and shoulders, smearing across glasses through which Isaiah came to realize he hadn’t been looking.

He had no memory of taking the elevator down nor of walking out of the storage facility into the driving rain.

“Mr. Cohen! This way, señor!”

Two figures stood unresolved in the parking lot’s darkness, one a mottled blend of grey over a core determined to hold onto its small portion of light.

The other was brighter and darker both, patches of marked intensity refusing integration with the inner shadows but instead struggling for a dominance neither side could achieve. The tension within them hummed with terrible potential.

He was the one who had called to him. With such understanding came recognition of the dark brown ponytail and carefully trimmed goatee.

“Mr. Diego.” Isaiah blinked eyes free of the wet slipping behind his lenses and his sight cleared somewhat. The sergeant who had let them in to the storage building stood next to Martin Diego, the former DPA wizard. Both stood under deployed umbrellas, the perimeter lights making the rain appear as cascading diamonds bouncing off the dark cloth. Behind them a black towncar idled, its driver staring out from behind a windshield barely swept clear by the rapid wipers.

“Are you alright, señor?” Diego stepped forward.

The question was odd. No, not the question. It was the answer that avoided clarity.

“I forgot to use the umbrella,” Isaiah said, noting the one from Soren still folded and held within his gloved grip.

Putting his own over them both, Diego leaned in so only Isaiah could hear. “I do not know exactly what just happened, but a pulse of tremendous power was released a few minutes ago. If you were at its center, you could be in shock. Come, I am to escort you to HQ. You should feel better if we move away from this place.”

A hand took his arm, pulling him towards the car. A third person stood at its side, dressed in a cloak of white and watching him with great concern.

The rain failed to touch a single strand of her curly red hair nor did her cloak or person keep the water from striking the ground under her feet.

Diego bustled him into the car’s back seat, quickly running around to get in from the other side. With coordination from the sergeant the parking lot gate opened, guards ready to repel any from the crowd still gathered outside. The throng was no longer singing. They had all fallen to their knees with hands pressed together in prayer.

As they drove past they seemed to Isaiah to be holding small flashlights between their palms, the glows flickering between their fingers.

With a push of a button the glass barrier between passengers and driver rose and locked into place. Diego removed a piece of chalk from a coat pocket and marked the sidewall under the glass with three symbols, muttering under his breath as he did so.

Isaiah found his ears needing to clear as if the pressure within the car had shifted.

“There,” Diego said. “We should now be able to speak with privacy. But first, please allow me to extend my condolences on your losses.”

Isaiah nodded an acknowledgment but spoke to his own question. “Why are we going to your headquarters?”

“The Director only said that you wished to see Zakiel’s incarnate, Iosef Kaminski. I will admit that Goodman’s other information is hard to believe.”

“Which is?” Fingers executed old habit as Isaiah removed the circular glasses and cleaned them with a cloth from his business jacket’s pocket intended for such purpose.

“Only that Callas Soren and Nick Wright are trying to save Jordan. They were with you when you went in. Did they portal elsewhere and leave you behind?”

Lenses were placed back across his nose, and with their return came additional focus. “Yes. They went to Hell. That is where she is.” Isaiah had almost used the male pronoun again, but he needed to face the truth. Justin was gone. His spirit was now what mattered, regardless in which gender it manifested. Everyone else knew her only as Jordan for they had never met him as Justin.

Somehow that made him sad.

Diego had rocked back in his seat as the implications of what had been said hit home. “They intend to save her from Hell?”

“Correct.”

The wizard’s face scrunched with befuddlement. “Impossible.”

“Is it?” Isaiah scrutinized the magic user. “And yet did you not have a demonic-possessed charm with its own connection to Hell? One with which your daughter corrupted another student who then almost killed many others.”

Diego’s shoulders slumped. “That was my fault, yes.”

“If it is impossible for anything to leave Hell then how was that demon set loose?”

The wizard’s tug on his goatee failed to chase away the look of haunted guilt. “It wasn’t, not truly. The charm opened a gate through which its spirit could act, the demon was still physically bound below. Think of it as a means by which the demon’s evil was projected beyond the seal binding all within Hell’s domains.”

“I’ve seen footage of the battle in Egypt. The demon attacking the pyramid was solid. It left massive footprints in its wake.”

“A result of the summoning spell only. With enough energy a physical form may be manifested which a demon may possess and utilize. That Nick had the skill to channel such power is simply astonishing. I could not have done it.”

“Still. That sounds like a breach to those realms.”

Diego shook his head. “We believe it was Solomon the Wise who figured out how to do so. In fact he may have created the very channels which are still being used today. It requires a human practitioner’s intent and a pact to be forged and accepted. The act of that choice provides the loophole through which a bridge may be generated.”

“Choice.”

The wizard nodded. “Free will, the gift bestowed upon humanity about which theorists debate endlessly. The proper exercise of choice is an act of creation, equal to God’s. ‘So God created man in his own image.’ Demons and angels alike lack it in full.”

“Could a soul then simply choose to leave Hell?”

“In theory. It would take a soul transcendent to pit their choice against God’s. And should they fail, I know not what would become of them. I have never heard tale of such success. As it is, Soren and Wright have embarked on a fool’s errand regardless for Jordan is an angel. Being such she cannot go against the set will of God. To do so would be tantamount to opposing herself.”

To this Isaiah said nothing. How much did he believe in what Adam had showed them from within his quaint Cambridge home? Even if Isaiah granted that all to be true, that indeed Lucifer had once escaped Hell by circumventing the Seal placed upon those realms via a path through Chaos itself, it was a much larger leap of belief to claim that Jordan had the same potential.

Being an angel was one thing. Even being a Horseman of the Apocalypse. But matching the power of the First?

That thought was unsettling at a level he was still trying to understand.

Due to the weather the car made slow progress through the city. While passing yet another avoidable accident, Isaiah again decided that the citizens of Los Angeles had absolutely no clue how to drive in the rain. Eventually they arrived at the DPA western headquarters having slogged bumper-to-bumper over the Sepulveda Pass and along the 101 Freeway, as the DPA building had been built against the hills north of the city.

Entering the lobby beyond the dark glass covering the offices revealed it as full of wet and impatient agents standing within queuing ropes. The long meandering line led to a single scanner granting access to the complex beyond. At first glance it raised the question of why the DPA was limited to just one metal-detector and not possessing more to mitigate any delays at the entrance, but further inspection made the answer clear.

This was not a normal detector.

Instead of the standard doorframe posts or even the small pods as found at airports where passengers were told to lift their hands above their heads while robotic arms waved at them, this was something else. A pod, yes, but one covered with magic symbols and many tubes all protruding in many directions and connecting to various nearby behemoths of machinery.

“Come, Zakiel is upstairs,” Diego said, shaking water off his umbrella before closing it and taking a step towards the scene. “I was told we could skip to the front of the line and avoid the wait.”

Isaiah didn’t move. “What does that machine do exactly?”

Diego paused. “It scans for the unholy taint upon those afflicted by the Grigori Azazel, amongst other things.”

“What other things?”

“We know Jordan believed the Grigori Sariel attempted to have you and others assassinated. And that the Grigori are incarnated as regular humans. For our protection this device is also designed to detect any non-human spirits.”

“And if I refuse to submit to such an invasion of privacy?”

The wizard regarded the lawyer. “Then you would not be allowed in. Given the threat to the world as seen in Egypt, National Security is paramount. Courts will uphold the validity of such a search prior to entering a government facility if challenged.”

To Diego’s surprise, Isaiah chuckled. “That certainly explains a few things.”

“Pardon?”

“Why the Director was allowing this visit to Zakiel so easily,” Isaiah said. “And why you specifically are assigned as my escort. He wishes to put me in that box.” Soren’s umbrella was long and Isaiah rested both hands upon the curved handle as he ground its metal tip into the floor.

Checking side to side to be sure they were out of earshot of any others, Diego spoke in a hushed tone. “These are strange days, señor. There are mysteries regarding Sariel’s attempt on your life which defy analysis. There are patterns at play here which are also undeniable. Patterns which aligned themselves in close proximity around your lost friend. Perhaps you are like the rest of us, a mortal lost at sea amidst the titans. But we have questions.”

“Such as?”

Diego gestured at one of the gloves holding Isaiah’s umbrella. “What happened to your left hand, señor, to have given it such discolor that you now strive to keep it hidden? And why do you believe Zakiel would speak with you when so many others have failed?”

Isaiah looked down at the glove and then back to the wizard.

While waiting for reply Diego found himself anxiously holding his breath.

“The answer is simple,” Isaiah finally said. “He seeks Death.” Behind the circular frames Isaiah’s eyes hardened. “And I have arrived.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

In the end Isaiah agreed to enter the pod provided all records of the scan were immediately deleted after Diego’s sole analysis.

The Director had needed clearance from above but confirmation was quick, delivered along with a firm directive: the United States would not interfere with the agents of Heaven. Jordan’s sacrifice to save most of the Middle East if not the world from an existential threat carried a lot of weight at the highest of circles. The Security Council was fain to aggravate any further sources of such assistance. And if Angels of the Lord were indeed again walking the Earth, what President in their right mind would dare stand in their way?

Thereby it was declared that knowledge of Isaiah’s true identity was classified as Top Secret and additionally marked as Sensitive Compartmented Information. In other words, even the top brass were not to be filled in unless they had a direct ‘need to know’.

Diego, face still pale from the machine’s confirming report regarding the potentials within the lawyer’s spirit, had hastily escorted Isaiah up to the top floor and to a pair of secure double doors guarded by two agents wearing fully-loaded and powered armor.

With keycard, retina scan, and voice authentication, the wizard let Isaiah into a wide open space of cream-colored tile flooring, one side lined with windows clattering loudly from the watery barrage of the continuing storm. The rest of the room was empty except for a single hospital-style bed surrounded by various life-preserving devices which beeped and hummed to maintain the breathing and heartbeat of a comatose bearded old man.

The unmoving figure was not what Isaiah had focused on after entering. Instead his eyes had fixated on a spot by the windows.

“I will require privacy,” Isaiah said without turning to Diego who had followed in behind.

The wizard hesitated. “The room is monitored. I’m not sure I have the authority to turn that off, señor.”

“I see. So be it.”

Stepping towards those windows Isaiah removed a glove and reached out with the discolored hand as if trying to shake hands with the rain beyond.

Diego, powerful wizard as he was, barely caught the shimmering outline of other hands clasping the one which had been offered.

 

Two figures faced each other on a vast plane of grey stone, one clad solely in black and the other in white.

The one in white smiled and with two hands shook another with skin matching the sleeves of its dark cloak.

“Lord Azrael,” said the one whose smile split well-trimmed facial hair. “Has the shining light sent you to free me at last from the burdens of this lifetime? It was her promise to aid in such.”

From within the shadowed hood a voice could be heard both immediate and distant.

“Such time is long past due, Iosef Kaminski.”

A shudder of relief passed through the questioner and his head lowered, salt-and-pepper beard pressing against his chest. “I am ready, Lord.”

“But first, Iosef, where may be found the one known as Bishop?” The grip of the obsidian hand tightened.

Iosef winced, but not from pain. “I know not. At the end I was but a tool for fueling his ambition. Though in truth perhaps I was always such, as per the sorcerer’s bargain.”

“By that bargain you lived well. While ignoring the purposes for which the power you collected was intended. And this bargain binds you still by the perversion of spells prolonging this incarnation. Explain then how justice would not be served in leaving you locked within their chains?”

Fear gripped stronger than the hand. “Lord! Please!”

“You were offered the chance to stand once more within the grace of the Light yet you refused, Zakiel of the Grigori.”

Tears gathered along eyes much older than the wrinkled face which wore them. “My sins are too great, Lord. They cannot be cleansed in fires of insufficient purity. The shining light had not yet reached her potential.” He swallowed. “I dared not try and fail.”

“As in the past you again lacked faith. Are you so certain you are deserving of a third testing?”

Dropping to one knee, Iosef-who-was-Zakiel deeply bowed his head. “No, Lord.”

The hooded angel paused. In a voice less overwhelming he said, “Think, Iosef! Surely there is something with which you may offer amends.”

Plaintive eyes searched within the shadowed hood. “My spirit fulfills still its function. It strives to cleanse what souls it can of the despair and pain of untimely passings. Its true purpose has never been abandoned, Lord. What more can I offer?”

“A purpose ill-formed if not performed within the Light which you abandoned!” roared the angel, wings flaring out to cover the grey landscape with their feathers of twilight. “A purpose whose deployment resulted in her being cast down like the First - to witness such twice is agony beyond all measure!” Pulling the being in white to his feet, the hood leaned forward and hissed into the face of the incarnate Grigori. “Give me reason not to hurl you along the wake of her passage.”

The starless and final night residing within that hood filled Iosef’s eyes as he blurted the only thing which came to mind. “Coatl! Have they caught the one called Coatl?”

“There has been no mention of any such person.”

“He is Bishop’s most trusted servant! A vampire of old. He was there in El Paso. Find him and you will find his master!”

“Show me.”

The dark angel ripped the knowledge from the spirit held within its grip. Iosef cried out for the experience was not without pain. Here in this place blood dripped from his nose and ears in manifestation of what was endured.

Releasing the trapped hand, Azrael nodded in satisfaction. “I see also the truth of the light’s promise made unto you. In honor of her sacred name, it shall be so. One more lifetime upon the Wheel, Zakiel of the Grigori. This shall be granted though you deserve it not. Prove your worth in that time or you too shall journey to the realms below forevermore.”

With this spoken, the shadowy outline of wings pulled Azrael away. The resonance of his declaration rippled through Creation’s fabric, only to find an oddly matching echo within the pattern’s potential whose source he could not yet see. He marked the occurrence as yet one more item amongst so many others pending resolution.

As with those, he would wait. He would watch.

And in the fullness of time, he would Judge.

 

To Diego it was all over within a blink of the eye. Isaiah held out his hand and the lights went out. Power to the building failed, and backup generators did not trigger instantly as they should.

The wizard hadn’t even felt a spell go off.

As the comatose man in the bed wheezed past tubes no longer pumping, Isaiah pointed at the windows now offering the only dim light within the room.

A blinding burst of lightning outlined a face within the storm. In the darkness that followed the generators finally kicked in to restore the room’s overhead lights, but the life-preserving machines within the room remained offline.

The face however could still be seen in full detail as if etched directly onto the glass.

“Find this man,” said Isaiah. “Find him and thereby locate Bishop and his third device of uncleansed horror.”

Behind Diego the only machine in the room which had clicked back on emitted a singular ear-piercing tone.

 

Light And Shadow (Part 5 of 8)

by Erisian

 

Chapter 22 - Power

We were wet.

We were tired.

We were hungry.

In other words, we were soldiers.

A soggy mist had followed the night’s downpour and the road had become less a path and more a muddy stream wending its way through the felwood forest. Black and knotty bark shrouded by twisted leaves hung sullenly low with their watery weight, and any who brushed against them would experience a fresh deluge.

For those of us mounted upon riding Graxh that was a common occurrence. The local Count responsible for the upkeep of the roads had obviously not bothered to clear the hanging snarls of branches for uncounted cycles. The road itself needed attention as well, too many stones were loose, dislodged, or simply swallowed by the mud. It was a topic I intended to grouse about in detail when we arrived at the Count’s fortified town.

“We any closer, Praztus?” I grumbled, wiping moisture off of my helmet with a leather sleeve. The stuff kept dripping down across the eye slot where it’d splatter and, you guessed it, get into the very eyes the danged helm was supposed to protect. “Or are we just wandering in circles within this damned fog.”

The silver-armored devil riding a graxh alongside me snorted. “Have we received some word from the Duke of which I am unaware, Captain? Last I checked I still held superior rank and thus deserve to be addressed accordingly.” If it weren’t for the pointy teeth, slitted eyes, and an amazingly exaggerated pointy nose, Praztus could have been mistaken for human. A stylish one at that what with his blue cloak and pennant-bearing lance setting him up as a proper knightly figure.

Under the helm my eyes rolled. “Oh come on, Major. It’s not like they can hear us back there.” I gestured with a thumb over my shoulder at our escort which had again slipped further behind. Twelve empty wagons were accompanied by ten of my mismatched shuffling crew along with an additional fifteen of Praztus’ mortal souled spearmen who somehow continued to march with precision despite the mud. His lancers and their graxh were back with the rest of our company setting up camp a ‘safe’ distance behind.

Apparently showing up to a town with enough muscle to conquer it caused remote lords to be overly paranoid. Praztus had advised taking only enough of our lunatics to defend the resupply and thereby lessen the chance of an ‘incident’. I hadn’t liked it, but Horatio had concurred.

“Such is beside the point, Captain,” Praztus commented, still stuck on being all formal. “Propriety is important to maintain discipline. I suggest you have your military inclined assistant explain this to you in detail, lest you unwittingly offend those far less tolerant than I. Given your unusual circumstances I would have thought this as obvious.” A set of gleaming canines grinned from within Praztus’ knightly helmet, his faceplate having been pushed up so he could see better through the blanket of obscuring fog.

Despite the wet it was still a fantastic change from having wandered around in total darkness for so long on the flip side of the realm. It had taken several transits of the Hole’s lift to get all the demon mercenaries and our supplies across to the other side of the Rock, each trip taking about an hour end-to-end. If we hadn’t been so tightly packed into the circular transit pod for my own passage the whole free-fall of the transition could have been fun. Except with no windows and having my face shoved tight into the armpit of a creature best left undescribed the word ‘fun’ was about the last way I’d describe the experience.

But we got it done and were able to emerge into what was for all practical purposes an entirely different realm. Lit by its own small sun hovering low at the center of this carved out semi-sphere, its initial warmth was both painful and wondrous. I’d overheard some folks call it ‘Lucifer’s Kiss’ once. Cute. Most just referred to it as the Spark and left it at that. Directly below its glow lay an impressive volcano whose caldera filled not with lava but water which was continuously boiling into steam by the proximity and focus of that burning orb.

All that generated steam kept gushing up and outward to form the perpetual thick clouds which spread out along the limits of the sky just above the altitude of the Spark itself. Yep, it could be raining buckets and you’d still wish you were wearing sunglasses against that glare. Having the ‘sun’ be below the clouds took a lot of getting used to.

Today however the fog had settled near the ground and made it darn near impossible to see past your own nose - especially if it was as long and sharp as the Major’s.

“Sheesh, fine!” I said, giving in. “Major Praztus, would you so kindly inform this lowly Captain whether we’re any closer to the town and this Count’s keep?”

The devil huffed. “The Major would remind the Captain that she has demonstrated on numerous occasions superior abilities in perceiving the proximity of spirits and souls and thus she is better equipped to answer her own question. Or is she now claiming that all those successes in ferreting out enemy forces were simply flukes? If so, I daresay her luck has been amazingly uncanny.”

“Why Major, are you teasing this poor Captain?”

With an exaggerated sniff the Major sat taller in his saddle. “I assure you, Captain, I would do no such thing.”

It was my turn to grin under a helmet. Praztus had initially been dubious and entirely unhappy upon his assignment to lead the combined forces of the Duke’s regular army and my group of literal Hell-raisers. We’d been charged with hunting down the opposing army’s irregulars who’d been sent out into the Duke’s countryside to disrupt supply lines and cause general mayhem. As a result we had spent the last several cycles meandering all over the damned map like a child trying to paint a picture with syrup across their pancakes.

Mmm pancakes. Oh what I’d do for some real maple syrup. The stomach rumbled its sad agreement.

To give the Major credit he’d treated me with a modicum of respect at the start despite his personal opinions. Unlike almost all other high-ranking demons who’d simply refused to believe I’d killed Dhalgrix in a fair duel and who had been downright insulting when issuing us our orders. Horatio and Hank had needed to talk me down from throwing out more formal challenges, claiming that it would be unwise to start slaughtering Duke Valgor’s chain of command.

Meh.

But yeah, Praztus was okay. Especially since as a devil he didn’t need to munch on hapless souls to exist. And after seeing me and mine fight I think he was actually pleased to be working with us.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

Of course having Maddalena around to heal not just our team but his soldiers as well was a huge bonus. One which he had deliberately left out of his regular reports back to command lest we be reassigned to baby-sit a general in case he stubbed his toe. Her talent really was remarkable. And once I’d made it crystal clear to the demons that none of them would survive trying to swallow her, they had kept her well guarded instead. Not that the woman liked that, but it beat the alternatives.

Keeping firm grasp of the reins in one hand I pulled off the helm and tucked it under an arm. The grey padding covering my head was going to get damp, but as Maddalena had given the brain-protecting bucket an enchantment to aid in such defense I always got a weird tint splashed across everything when peering across to the mystical side of things. Which was annoying. From under the cloth a few tufts of reddish-gold poked out from the front, having dislodged from the piece of armor’s removal. These tickled at the eyelids and earned a hasty shove back under the pad. After wearing the helm for awhile I’d decided adding some natural padding would help the dang thing to fit better so had stopped shaving my head.

And yeah, it had itched like crazy when the hairs first came in.

Taking a moment to focus - ignoring the stomach’s continued gurgled requests for things best forgotten - I scanned a slow one-eighty sweep in front of us.

“Well?” Praztus asked. “If the maps are any good we should be close.”

“Hang on,” I said. “Huh, well that explains a few things.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I think the Count must have pulled all the farmers to the town. That would be why all the lots looked hastily abandoned and stripped as we went past. There’s nary a soul across the whole area. Instead they’re all clumped up ahead. Two leagues, maybe three.”

“I see.” The Major looked towards the Spark. “As the Shroud’s edge is not yet visible it’s already midday. It shall be a tight schedule to arrive, load wagons, and get back to our camp before dark.” The ‘Shroud’ was a construction of the Fallen, a huge metal bowl of sorts rotating around the Spark to block the light for half the time, causing a ‘night’ versus ‘day’ effect. The thing also slowly precessed every sixty days which moved the edges of the simulated sunrise and sunset around the horizon so dawn each day shifted a littler further around the created circle. Each complete spin was called a ‘Cycle’.

Terms and measurements of time differed dramatically from realm to realm, anchored to any features available usable for such. For example, I’d overheard demons who’d lived in Dis refer to things as having been ‘many Hellstorms ago’. Apparently that place gets covered end to end in hellfire on a regular schedule, leading all its buildings to be constructed from fireproof materials wherein all the flammable folks ride out the storms.

Sounded absolutely lovely, didn’t it? Clearly a vacation paradise. Might even make this damp realm and its swarms of steroid-infused mosquitoes seem quite palatable in comparison. Though I wasn’t too eager to get a Hell-tan.

Plonking the helm atop my noggin such that it was tilted back with the metal cheekguards level much like the brim of a hat, I spurred my graxh (why yes, my boots DID have actual spurs) to pick up the pace. I might have looked ridiculous but my face needed a few more minutes of fresh air. “Let’s get a move on, Major. If it rains on the return trip with the wagons all heavy with supplies my boys are going to get really grumpy lifting them out of the mud every acre or two.” Not hearing an objection from my nominal superior officer I whistled to the crew lagging behind us. “C’mon lazy bones! No one eats until we get to the town, got it? That includes me. Don’t make me single you out as being the reason why my stomach is filling this valley with the sounds of its displeasure!”

From the rear of the wagon train Balus’ booming voice put a finer point on it. “MOVE! GO!”

With a few (albeit forgivable) groans the lot stopped lollygagging and picked up speed. Having a two-story tall monstrosity shouting at one’s behind was excellent motivation. After all, Balus had a stomach much scarier than mine. If he’d wanted I’d bet the big guy could bite most of us in half.

Our armor might even yield a nifty crunch to the texture.

 

~o~O~o~

 

By the time the rampart surrounding the town finally came into view we were all quite a bit soggier and hungrier. The erected felwood palisade offered limited protection to any attackers who could wield serious sorcery but it was better than nothing. It may even have been built more to stop potential thieves from easily escaping the interior, who knew.

Yet to me it looked rather flimsy and the wooden parapet with arrow slits set over the closed main gate should have been rebuilt hundreds of cycles ago. Felwood was fairly hardy stuff - our camp tree-cullers spent as much time whining about having to continuously resharpen their axes as doing the actual work - but the boards used to build this defense had warped horribly and too many of its rusted nails were popping free. Not to mention the layers of dark brown mold growing across all the corners due to the encouraging weather.

Of course for anyone trying to be polite the ridiculous gate was as good as solid stone.

Praztus called a halt about twenty yards short of the structure, stared at it for a moment, then motioned for me to accompany him closer.

“Something up, Major?” I asked, nudging my graxh. After spitting its annoyance at having to walk again after finally being allowed a moment’s peace the scaly beast reluctantly moved alongside its comrade. While I missed Martha and Stewart (rest in pieces, big guy), Gilbert here had proved a reliable if grumpy companion.

“It’s too quiet.” Praztus lifted the lance so its butt again rested upon his mailed boot, allowing the pennant to wave at about the same height as the top of the wall. Cupping a mailed hand to his mouth he shouted, “Hail to those within the wall! Is anyone there?”

He was right. Behind us were the sounds of all the graxh and equally grumpy demons and humans, some taking swigs from waterskins and sneaking bites of the hard-tack they’d hidden in various pockets under their cloaks. My fingers were itching to retrieve similar from the folds of my own garment which had again tried and failed to keep water from sinking through to the armor underneath.

From the wall - which should have been manned by the Count’s soldiers - there was nary a peep.

Despite the Major’s free hand falling to the pommel of his sword, he asked casually, “See anything Captain?”

I knew what he meant. This time I pulled the helm all the way down to better hide any glow while I took a deeper look.

Huh.

I spoke quietly so only he could hear. “One demon only, hiding up on top. Weaker one at that.”

Praztus grunted acknowledgment. “I say again,” he called up to the parapet, “Anyone there? Or has Count Tzaghesh abandoned his post? Respond now or we shall assume forced entry is required!”

After a startled squeak a boar-headed demon popped up, tusks and all splitting its wide lips. “Apologies, good Lord! But our town is closed today!” The guy wore battered pauldrons atop chainmail and was otherwise wrapped in a damp blanket.

I had to keep myself from laughing and it wasn’t easy. The dude reminded me of Jabba The Hut’s ridiculous keep guards. Seriously, the resemblance was uncanny. Two details stood out anyway however: first was that the guy was unarmed despite the expectation of at least having an axe of some sort.

Secondly, fresh blood dripped down the jowl of his left cheek.

“Closed?” Praztus scoffed. “I assure you, sir, that it is not closed to me! Inform Count Tzaghesh that the Marquis of Rha-Ze-Gorn, Major Ixustian Praztus, has arrived. I am chartered with military command by Duke Valgor and your Count’s assistance is required.”

Pig-dude flinched. “A…a Marquis? But I have strict orders-”

“Which I hereby countermand!” barked the Major. “Open this gate soldier. Now. Or you shall find yourself reassigned to cleaning our encampment’s latrines with your tongue for the rest of this war!”

Oh wow. Gross.

“But I c..c..can’t!” Spittle joined the blood pooling in the clefts of his face. Something had cut a short line under his eye.

“Enough of this,” Praztus snapped. “Captain, get me inside.”

I retrieved my bow from where it was slung across my back and reached for an arrow. But thinking about it I’d had a better idea. “Hey Balus! This gate offends the Major. Do something about it, will ya?”

The over-sized demon didn’t hesitate. A thick brilliant beam of green power immediately lanced forth from his singular oculus to punch right through the ancient felwood and blow a fiery opening wide enough to grant passage. Black smoke belched upward as along the edges of the hole the old wood and all its covering mildew caught flame.

The guard had tried to shout an objection but that proved an impossibility. Mouth open his neck sliced neatly from side to side and as the head began to tumble blood rushed free like a red waterfall cascading down a cliff.

I never saw where the head landed as my arms were instantly in motion, wrists crossing in front of my helm to block what felt like a heavy blade with enough momentum to knock me clear off the graxh. I hadn’t seen the attack coming even with my sight still open.

Only a flash of premonition and the speed of Camael’s gifts had saved me.

I rolled when I hit the ground, keeping a wrist held up defensively as I scrambled back to my feet. Good thing too as whatever was attacking hadn’t stopped. Praztus’ too-much-silence found itself filled with the ringing of metal against metal as I barely kept ahead to block each invisible strike. Unable to see the source, my vision unfolded instead to show all the ways in which I was close to being split in two, with me desperately pruning the search tree to find exactly where those bracers needed to be to avoid losing precious things like arms, legs, and head.

Scarily in every image where I got hit my enchanted armor was as useful as if I’d been wearing tissue paper. The attacking weapon would slice through metal and limbs like butter, the only armor holding its own were the heaven-forged bracers. There’s nothing quite as motivating in keeping focus as watching yourself be disemboweled and dismembered a thousand different ways.

“Captain!” The Major had swung his graxh around, stabbing his lance in front of me.

He hit only air.

Deflecting punishing blow after blow triggered the red flames of Camael’s power to engulf forearms as I was forced to rely on its skill over my own. With arms moving essentially on automatic I studied the attack and the pattern became more clear. My unseen opponent stood taller than me by at least a foot and likely was much wider as well. Whoever it was wielded a hand-and-a-half bastard sword, swinging for maximum strength with complete disregard towards any return counterstrike.

Well duh, he obviously couldn’t be hit so why worry about it? Truly disturbing was other than feeling every powerful impact ringing through my arms I couldn’t sense his presence.

At all.

A second blast of green flashed past my nose as Balus tried to scorch a wide space where the invisible assassin should be.

No effect. This was beyond demonic sorcery.

“Everyone back the heck off!” I shouted as Praztus’ spearmen began forming a circle around me. “You’ll just get killed!” Still holding the bow in one hand I must’ve looked like a crazed martial artist on meth doing a funky block-only techno dance, feet shifting madly about as burning red sparks showered the air from each contact of bracer and unseen blade.

As good as I was if all I had was defense eventually I was going to fall apart. Literally. Strikes not blocked entirely in time were already slipping a sharp tip through my armor - and into the skin underneath. That the magic armor immediately closed the holes in its metal was small comfort to the cuts below. Trying to change that calculus I jumped forward on the attacker’s next swing, flinging one arm into the line the sword had to be passing through while I plunged a fiery fist into the space where the bastard’s body should be.

The burning bracer didn’t clobber the attacker the way I’d hoped, but it did look real interesting from a different perspective. Beyond the spirit I narrowed focus to the structure of the realm itself. More specifically on the rules underlying its reality.

Those rules were being messed with, though not overwritten or broken. As Camael’s wristguards swept across, the script and intent maintaining our physicality warped like a distended trampoline. The hand tingled with a quick sensation of passing through jello.

My opponent must have felt it too because they paused. And the forward images of possibilities filled instead with images of Praztus’ spearmen getting cleaved as if run through a Cuisinart instead. The jerk was going to shift targets.

Not good.

“C’mon you coward!” Pulling off the useless helm I tossed it aside. “Or are you afraid of a girl?”

The gory pictures in my head immediately returned to again showing variations of my own bloody corpse. Uhm, yay?

Keeping the attacker’s attention didn’t solve the real problem of course and the next block almost knocked me off my feet, shoulders and back ringing like a giant bell pounded by a hammer as the impact rippled painfully through muscle and tendon.

“How do we stop it?” Praztus shouted.

“You can’t!” I huffed back, sucking in gasps of air between strikes. “He’s hacking the damn Matrix!”

“Then we should retreat!”

Hmm. Actually that wasn’t a bad idea. It might give me time to come up with better ones.

“Bet you can’t catch me, asshole!” I yelled. Reversing direction I ran opposite from where the attacker expected.

Instead of heading back to the forest I booked it straight on through the gate Balus had so kindly opened for me, the visions clearly showing the attacker’s bloody pursuit.

Past the scorched and broken wooden defense lay more muddy road leading past merchant houses all clad with garish signs advertising their goods. Not that the sellers were still in residence. The populace had obviously been forced into a single warehouse by the docks lining the back end of town along the river, a glance had shown their soul-lights as being all bunched up in that one distant building.

Geeze, they must’ve been packed in there like sardines.

Not that I had time to focus on that, a fact that the many bodies of the Count’s Guard strewn all about the street made clear. Their armor had done them no good either.

It had been an entirely one-sided slaughter.

The count’s mortal-souled soldiers had retreated to the town center to form up around a tall marble fountain, one which depicted various demonic figures standing in poses of victory. From their chiseled goblets held high a strawberry fruit punch burbled to the pool below.

Except it wasn’t punch. The water ran with the stains of the soldiers’ destruction. Their soulstones had also been harvested from gaping holes carved into the wreckage of their torsos.

The fresh stench of their viscera flooded nostrils as I ran closer. I was reminded yet again of a fundamental truth of Hell: pleasant sensations were dulled but the horrific was always experienced in full.

Disgust and rage merged with Camael’s flames. Feet dug into the ground and I spun around. The assassin, close on my heels, struck instantly with a forward lunge.

As I’d foreseen.

Catching the blade between the two bracers I sidestepped to avoid the intended evisceration, using all my strength to lock the sword in place for a full three second count before a massive yank by the unseen antagonist managed to pull it free. I had to either let it go or get skewered by the next shove attempt.

Yet that was time enough: the script running through the sword had coalesced clearly into view. Parsing the hack, it was displacing interactions with other physically-clad spirits such that to their perceptions (like touch or sight) the sword and its owner would be manifest in a different place entirely. Specifically a couple kilometers overhead.

Erglyk’s soul-forged bow was still clenched within a fist.

Boots shoved mud aside for a broader stance as I grabbed an arrow from the quiver, slapping it into place against the string and filling the crystalline shaft with that violet maelstrom constantly pushing for release. With a snarl I sent the shaft into the thickening clouds hovering over the town.

Less an arrow and more a laser straight out of some sci-fi movie it pierced the sky as a tight purple ray, clouds fleeing its passage to leave an expanding circular gap through which the colorless Abyss lurking further above could be glimpsed.

A loud thump came from behind. Engraved with emerald angelic writing and still gripped by two gloved hands, a long and gleaming sword had fallen to the mud.

The arms along with the rest of the body took over fifteen seconds to wetly rejoin those missing hands.

It yielded a much more satisfying splat.

 

Chapter 23 - Fuel

 

Emerging from the town past its smoldering gate I tossed the head of the assassin into the mud before Praztus’s graxh. Under an arm was held the enchanted sword, now carefully bundled within what was left of my shredded cloak.

“Major,” I said with a forced calm I didn’t feel. Post-fight jitters and adrenaline still had every nerve vibrating and on edge. “Seven demons of the enemy are by the docks loading rafts with soulstones and probably as much food as they can fit from the town’s storage. They scan as being between five souled to at most eight each. I sense no further assassins. Shall I dispatch my squad?”

Praztus was smart and didn’t argue. “Proceed, Captain.”

“Balus!” I shouted. “Kick their asses! Rescue those villagers!”

“Confirmed. Formation!”

My ten mercs with weapons ready in their hands (or tentacles) gathered up in a straight line before Balus. As one they turned and gave me a longer salute than usual. While I’d done my own share of fighting alongside the rest over the past few cycles, they knew I’d just taken down an opponent which would have waded through them with ease and left none alive.

I returned the salute as sharply as I could.

“Out. Roll!”

The squad rapid-marched towards the town with Balus taking up the rear, knocking a few burnt planks aside to fit through the gateway. While they weren’t as in sync as Praztus’ troops and certainly didn’t have fancy matching armor (or in a few cases any armor at all), they really did look like a team. Hank’s efforts to whip them into shape was paying off, especially with the big guy enforcing discipline. Any objectors had found themselves set afire by Balus’ eye, harsh but immediately effective. Those that lived got healed by Maddelena, and thereafter followed orders to the letter.

Those who hadn’t, well, they died. And the souls within them freed. Win-win as far as I was concerned.

Praztus and I watched them go, though I kept checking the sky just in case I’d been wrong about any more of the enemy having similarly enchanted weapons.

Never can be too careful.

After the wrecking crew had disappeared into the town Praztus finally asked the question written upon his face ever since I’d waltzed back out. “How did you pierce the illusion?”

I moved over to Gilbert, patting the side of his broad face in reassurance. “Not an illusion. This wasn’t magic, at least not really. It was a hack of perception and interaction.” Taking a waterskin from the graxh’s pack, I poured some across a palm before splashing my face. “Look, the realm’s reality is a construct, right? And the rules specify that if object A smacks into object B, then in turn object B can smack into object A. Because they each perceive the other as being close or touching. You follow?”

The devil frowned but nodded. “I believe so.”

“Good. The sword’s enchantment messes that up. Object A sees B as normal and therefore can affect object B, but the sword displaces object B’s perceived position of A to somewhere else. So as far as object B is concerned object A is far away and out of reach. To see it you have to look in the right place.” I pointed into the sky. “And only at that position can your stuff touch it. The symmetry of spacial interaction is warped. It’s clever and complicated, what with the restrictions of separating the ground from the things it wants to mess with and that kind of thing.” It was also subtle, only bending the rules without overtly breaking them and thus likely lessening the chance of fallen attention.

“And you overcame such a powerful spell?”

“Heck no. I shot the bastard where he’d been perceptually displaced. Right outta the clouds.”

The fog down by the docks flickered green once then twice, quickly followed by agonized screams.

Balus had obviously reached the enemy.

I put a hand against the wrapped blade. “This trick was crafted by an angel, Major. Your Duke demands proof that one is behind all this crap with the invasion of his realm, right? Well here it is. They must have had this or a few of these in the Spires when they disappeared from my sight back at Epsilon. I was just too stupid to look far enough up.”

Praztus considered but then slowly shook his head. “That alone is insufficient.”

“Bullshit!” I growled and pointed at the head I’d thrown to the feet of Praztus’ graxh. “A five-souled demon like this asshole would never have gotten his hands on something as powerful as this on his own. And you know it!”

“Duke Juxtyle is an ancient. Unless you can prove that the sword is newly enchanted, it could have been put aside by the Duke for countless cycles.”

Pulling back the cloth I pointed an accusing finger at the blade. “Look! Woven into the script is the name of the one who enchanted it: Turiel. That’s the name of a Grigori - one straight out of the Book of Enoch. Which also means Azazel has pulled old allies into whatever he’s up to!”

The Major stared at the sword then at me, snake-like eyes watching all cautiously. “Well versed am I in the mystic arts, Captain. But to my vision that weapon is unadorned.”

“Then find someone else who can read it, dammit. It’s right there!”

He emitted a slow sigh. “None can other than one of the Fallen themselves. While I believe you are speaking truth, a mortal soul like yourself should not have the ability to see such things. Duke Valgor can hardly present that weapon to a representative of the Fallen and have it turn out to be but a normal blade due to the imaginings of a single soul. The political embarrassment and damage to his honor would be considerable. Tell me, how did you come to have such an ability?”

“I’ve told you before.” Slinging the bow over my back so the string crossed tightly against the armor protecting my chest, I lashed the bundled sword to the back of the graxh’s saddle. Fortunately poor Gilbert hadn’t taken damage from the attack that had knocked me free of its back. He’d only been startled by it all. “I’m a seer.”

“You are far more than that, Captain.”

“It’s damned simple, alright?” I said before scooping up my discarded helm and plonking it back onto my head. “Due to crap outside my control my third eye got ripped open. The long term effects weren’t my choice.”

The devil regarded me oddly. “There are many who would envy such ability.”

“The whole frellen thing made a bloody mess of my life!” With a boot shoved into a stirrup I swung onto the saddle. “It caused a shit-ton of troubles - not just for me but for everyone I cared about. Eventually the whole thing led to a too-close encounter with a super-charged explosive and my ass got blown apart. And I wasn’t the only one killed in that madness. So they can take their envy and shove it where the Spark don’t shine.”

“And yet it clearly has saved your existence on many an occasion. Always is power a two-edged blade. It cuts one’s foes but equally cuts the wielder.” Praztus tugged on the reins and his graxh began moving into the town.

I did the same, pulling alongside.

“Speaking for myself,” the Major continued, “I much prefer the capacity to effect my own attacks and defense than be weak. Even if such comes with undesired burdens. If you were honest with yourself you would realize you prefer it as well.” The devil gathered his thoughts before continuing. “In these past few cycles I’ve observed you to be a rare soul, Captain. I daresay that you are one who even if powerless can hardly step aside and do nothing, even should the cost to yourself be high. Without those gifts your natural recklessness would likely have destroyed you by now, and I suspect your death on Earth was due to such a disposition. Only the paranoid and cautious survive these realms, you would be wise to consider this. I say this with wry acknowledgment that your tendency may indeed have just saved my life, yet the truth of it still holds.”

To that I had no reply. We rode without further conversation through the empty town ahead of the clatter of wagons and the march of Praztus’ spearmen.

By the time we reached the docks and the many rafts lashed to wooden beams to keep from drifting down the river, my boys had already completed their dirty work. The bodies of six demons were laid out in a row upon the dirt and the seventh was on its knees. Its claws were bound behind a head which would have been human except for having additional eyes blinking out of its forehead, looking like five black dots on a six-sided Vegas die. With utterly androgynous features it wore what was obviously enchanted armor as despite the weather the metal surfaces gleamed free of mud and detritus.

Behind it loomed Balus, tentacles wielding implements of instant decapitation should the idiot try anything stupid. The rest of my squad had formed a line in front of one of the large warehouses and they threw another salute as we approached.

I ignored the blood and other bits splattered across their faces and armor. “Good job, boys.”

Balus nodded his Japanese-like ogre helm in acknowledgment then laid the side of an axe blade atop the kneeling demon’s scraggly hair. “Surrendered. Ransom promised.”

Praztus pulled his graxh to a halt in front of the prisoner. “Ransom? State your name and title, soldier.”

The five-eyed head lowered respectfully. Either that or was trying to duck away from the axe. Past fangs worthy of a vampire they said, “I am known as Rithgal, Lord. I have the honor of being Baron of the mining town of Dagon within the county of Iglargh.”

The major ran a finger over the long sweep of his nose. “Dagon? I’ve heard of it. Iron and gold aplenty.”

“Yes, Lord. Return me and five thousand denari are yours.”

A wide grin broke out below Praztus’ mighty nostrils. Similar expressions of greed were also reflected across my squad’s faces for they would be due a cut of the payment.

Not giving a crap about that I called out. “Where are the townsfolk? Are they safe?”

The demon smiles around me faltered and my stomach felt uneasy from more than just hunger.

I looked to the giant. “Balus?”

“Show.”

Several of the squad shot uncertain glances at each other and none moved.

“Now!” Balus’s voice cracked out causing many to flinch. Two turned and hurriedly pulled the tall wooden doors of the warehouse open. Again the stench of death assaulted sinuses.

Except this time so much worse.

Piled floor to ceiling were the bodies of every merchant, farmer, and boatsman who had gathered within the town for safety. To maintain the integrity of the stack the body parts had been placed like a grotesque game of Tetris with severed limbs and portions of torsos having been carefully wedged to keep the whole from collapsing.

In front of it all sat massive red sacks. But unlike the Christmas colors covering Santa’s sled these sacks had turned crimson from their unwashed contents. I didn’t have to open them to know what lay within.

Soulstones. Hundreds of them. Ripped from each and every body in the stack.

I don’t remember dismounting. Nor crossing the distance.

Pressing a soul-forged dagger against its throat I snarled into the demon’s five eyed face. “WHY?!”

Utter incomprehension blinked back. “Easier to move,” it breathed. “Why else?”

“Captain!” shouted Praztus. “He has surrendered for ransom. Back away. That is an order!”

The cries of the wrongful deaths of hundreds of thousands swelled within, the purplish-black energy I’d kept contained resonating the outrage and pain of too many who’d met equally tragic fates. I couldn’t hold the resulting surge back.

Not that I wanted to.

Demons scattered away like dominoes as a font of that energy roared forth to envelop me and the prisoner within its twisting madness. Only Balus stood his ground, breathing in those flames his eye glowed bright with an ecstatic joy.

To him the fires were but raw fuel. The very essences from which he could harness even greater power.

Just like Sariel had. Like the mad Queen had.

Like I had.

The dagger fell with a soft thump to the mud below. I stared at that horrible glow as it streamed and twisted between my fingers.

Did it matter how such terrible energies were used? Would it be any solace to those who’d suffered its creation were it to be used to help others?

Would they even care?

I cared.

Praztus struggled to get his graxh under control despite the beast’s desperate attempt to flee. “Captain! Kill this prisoner and you will have dishonored the Duke. Remember your contract! All of those in your command shall suffer the consequences should he die!”

Five dilated eyes stared upwards in terror and awe. Behind each blackened orb lay a soul whose suffering lent this creature its existence.

“Fear not,” I announced, feeling a strong pull from within and without to action. “For he shall live.” Rithgal the demon held perfectly still as a hand slid into the thick hair behind its head, the grip tightening upon its greasy strands. The other palm pressed itself over those eyes, fingers curling over the forehead. “But no longer by the suffering of others shall he draw breath.”

Purplish flames burned through those many orbs to reach the pattern within, tracing along its structure until I saw it complete.

As the demon shrieked and thrashed, smoke from the freshly burnt flesh added to the air’s already tainted scent. I leaned closer through that smoke to whisper into its ear.

“I curse you, Rithgargaxith. By your true name shall you never again harness sustenance from an unwilling soul.”

Receptors wired into the essence of its demonic structure sparked and withered, connections to the souls within severed and torched beyond repair.

“I also leave you with a gift whose flames shall support you for a hundred cycles and no more.”

That terrible violet-black energy coalesced into a solid core, its tendrils feeding a trickle of its power which would fuel the demon’s pattern and sentience.

“Once those flames are depleted only by that which is freely given shall you remain.”

Into that gemlike core I whispered the seed of a single word. The tiny spark of golden light sank into the violet gem and faded entirely from view.

But it was there.

Only then did I rip the trapped souls free, holding up all five softly glowing stones in my hand for all to see. As for Rithgal, the now eyeless demon collapsed to howl its newfound agonies into the dust at our feet.

Major Praztus stared at the stones pale-faced and speechless in horror. It was his turn to have no response to voice.

Under the armor the gambeson clung wetly against my skin. The burning pain from wings having again refused manifestation was oddly comforting.

 

Chapter 24 - Temptation

 

The Shroud had eclipsed the Spark before we made it back to our camp. And by "we" I meant myself and a handful of soldiers along with a couple wagons filled with only enough supplies for a solid dinner and breakfast.

Praztus, Balus, and the rest had stayed behind in the town to guard the various stockpiles which the Count and his folks had been charged to oversee. The plans to resupply and move on to our next assignment had burnt up alongside the flames of the warehouse full of corpses I’d ordered put to the torch.

The usual downpour was kind enough to wait until we were only a couple leagues out from the camp so there was plenty of smoke rising up behind us as we marched until rain and fog blotted it all out.

Despite the weather the flying scouts from the camp spotted our approach, one of the three darting ahead to relay news of our imminent arrival. Hank had changed the usual two-demon scouting pair to three to allow for one to act as a courier of messages and not leave those at the perimeter’s edge all alone. In fact a lot of his focus had been on how to improve communication links between fighters and command, having lamented the lack of radio equipment. Back at Epsilon I’d once asked Erglyk why such things weren’t available considering surely some souls who had ended up in Hell would have known how to build them. She had explained that each realm had its own physical properties and electronics only worked properly within a few of them. Hence the adaptation of steam-power and sorcery here on the Rock because electricity would, as she had put it, "run wild".

Along our marching tour we’d certainly gone past enough evidence of such, passing by entire chunks of forest laid waste by a single lightning strike. It had chained from tree to tree to exploded tree leaving massive swaths of destruction. Impressive to look at after-the-fact, but not something you’d want happening when, say, trying to make a phone call.

Riding into the camp we could see that Hank had kept the others busy as two platoons were engaged in training exercises within the larger tents set up for that purpose. Hank had been teaching them how to safely "clear" buildings in an urban environment, the former soldier having also loudly grumbled about how medieval tactics only applied to structured battlefields. The platoon sergeants were overseeing the activity, standing there just as soaked as the demon fighters they were shouting at.

I too had spent many a morning or afternoon participating in such activities. Hank was a firm believer in the mantra that "everybody works, everybody fights". I’d teased him about having read Starship Troopers one too many times but instead of laughing he’d only asked, “If men are not potatoes, what are demons?”

That response was still unsettling.

When the graxh finally got to my tent, Horatio, Hank, and a demon named Ugart were waiting outside of it. Ugart was a demon Lieutenant who belonged to Major Praztus, one who spoke even less than Balus did unless necessary. Of course having the head of a crocodile probably made clear speech difficult.

Roaring though had not so far been a problem.

“Welcome back, Captain,” Horatio said, holding aloft a wide umbrella and offering me a hand down from the saddle.

“Thanks.” After I’d dismounted he tried to shift his umbrella’s protection to cover me instead of himself and I snorted. “Don’t bother. I’m already soaked. In fact, here. Hold this.” I removed the helmet and handed it to him.

He took it, giving it a quick check-over for any new dents and tutting over all the mud caked into its decorative plume. “Veronica is preparing a hot bath as we speak, my lady.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

Hank however was frowning after sizing up the group and coming up short. “Where’s everyone else? Trouble?”

“Yeah,” I said. “The Major and the rest are still at the town. It was wiped out. To the last soul.”

Horatio stiffened. “What of the food? Those supplies are vital to the Duke’s defense!”

If my arms weren’t heavy with exhaustion I might have taken a swing at him. “Is that all you care about?” I snarled. “Well I can report that the food is just peachy-keen! Happy?”

He took a step back. Smart.

A gentle hand touched a shoulder. It was Hank’s. “He cares about those who would otherwise starve.”

I shrugged him off, pulling the bow and bundled sword free of where they’d been secured to the saddle. “We break camp in the morning to rejoin the Major. We’ll need to stand guard in the town until messages can get to the Duke and relief arrives. Horatio, get the cooks busy with what we brought back. Hank and Ugart, I want everyone fed, rested, and ready to break camp at dawn.”

So saying I pushed the tent flap aside with the tip of the bow and stepped inside.

Heat hit my exposed face like a slap. I still wasn’t used to how hot Veronica let the stoves heat the space.

Although in this case the sauna effect was due more to the prepared buckets of steaming water standing by to fill my new prized possession: a makeshift bathtub. Horatio had commandeered a large standing barrel, got it sawed in half top to bottom, and added supports so it wouldn’t roll when on its side.

It may not have been entirely practical to lug around from campsite to campsite, but rank hath its privileges dammit. Besides, I’d freed up space by ditching that ugly skull throne. I’d considered getting rid of the bed as well but Veronica had been apoplectic over the idea. She hadn’t verbally objected but the veins on her forehead had looked fit to burst from the effort of staying silent. She’d therefore been given the task of chiseling out each and every skull embedded in its wood and burying them. It had taken her awhile but she got it done.

Instead of encountering a vision of the holy tub however I found myself standing face to face with Twitch. He’d uncharacteristically unwound the cloth from his face revealing the burn scars covering cheeks and forehead. He stared and was obviously uncomfortable about something.

He also didn’t move and was blocking my path to steaming sanctuary.

“What,” I finally said to break the awkward silence, “Have I sprouted horns or something?”

His lips moved as if to speak but he silently shook his head and took a step back.

Not sure what was going on I pushed the bow and sword into his hands. “I’m fine. Put these by one of the chests, will you? Then unless you’re going to help Veronica wash my back, see if Maddalena could use a hand with making sure the camp cooks don’t turn dinner into mush. Oh, and make sure she eats. I sensed her warding the camp as we rode in, she’ll need the refill.”

Awkwardly holding the weapons Twitch stumbled towards a chest that set next to a small table where one of Maddalena’s stones sat glowing softly in response to all her warding efforts outside. With a clang he steadied the bundle against a chest before pulling his mask back into place and quickly disappearing outside.

Veronica, who was busy pouring a bucket into the tub, muttered under her breath.

“Something wrong?” I asked as I sat on a small stool resting before a stove so I could get the squishy boots off blistered toes.

With a grunt she lifted the now-empty bucket clear of the tub and let it thunk to the ground. “No, my lady.” Her tone clearly said otherwise as she rerolled the sleeves of her peasant’s dress up her arms.

Holding the second boot in a hand and extending feet towards the fire behind the iron grill I sighed contently as frozen digits began to thaw. “Spill it, woman. If you don’t get it out you’re going to rub my back raw from holding it in. I’ve had a bad enough day as is and would like to avoid a sandpapering.”

She came over to assist with removing the rest of the armor. Curt movements to loosen the ties ceased as she gave a sharp intake of breath. She’d seen the red-soaked cloth waiting underneath. “My lady!”

I pulled the chestpiece free, carefully setting it aside. “That wasn’t from anything to worry about.”

“We should fetch Madelena!”

“No need. Just help me get this mess off.” Standing again I unbuckled the belt and with her help dropped the armored skirt. After sliding Camael’s bracers free I tugged on the sticky gambeson’s fabric, feeling the resistance as it peeled away from skin. Veronica also took hold and together we managed to slip it over my head and onto the floor. I cursed as the blood had soaked through into my only properly fitting bra. And dammit, the padded undershorts had been stained across my butt too.

Veronica meanwhile was running a finger over my back looking for a large gash that wasn’t there. She found instead only the numerous minor cuts which had already scabbed over. “This is way too much blood. Was it someone else’s?”

“Nope. All mine. Just not from a wound you’d be able to see.” I reached behind to release the bra.

She pushed my hand out of the way and managed to free the sticky ties. “I don’t understand.”

“Long story.” Once fully naked I climbed into the tub. Holy crud it was almost boiling hot. Back when I’d been a guy a sauna bath like this would’ve left me feeling sick from overheating. While I knew I’d have no problem now, instincts still tried to shout a warning which was promptly ignored as I sank chin deep to soak.

Heck yeah, that was good.

After a minute I sat up so she could sponge any stubborn spots. The water had already turned red even in the soft illumination from the various rune-stones, an unpleasant reminder of earlier. “Right then,” I said as she knelt behind to scrub between the shoulder blades where the worst of it was. “What was it you said under your breath earlier? Tell me.”

She paused. “It’s not my place to say, my lady.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

After yet another hesitation she stated, “It wasn’t fair to him.”

Wait, what? “Fair? To whom?”

“To Twitch. And then teasing him so - he deserves better. My lady. Uhm, rinse please.”

As the barrel wasn’t anywhere near long enough, I had to stick legs up over the far side to be able to dunk under the waterline properly. The maneuvering required was certainly not lady-like, but whatever. Not that she’d ever comment on that.

“Okay,” I said after wiping water away from my face having come back up for air, “I’m clearly missing something.”

She had fetched a freshly steaming pail while I’d rinsed. Wringing out the sponge she dipped it into the hot clean water to use on my scruffy hair. We’d run out of her shampoo a cycle ago, much to her chagrin and lamentation. “He adores you. And while he psychs himself up to make a move, he’s too shy to carry through. Like just now.”

“Just now?”

With an exasperated sigh she said, “He was hoping to kiss you.”

Holy biscuits. Uncomfortable stance, check. Face free of impediments, check. Horrible shy anxiety freaking out, checkmate. “Well crap.”

“And then, my lady - and I say this meaning no offense - you were cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You teased him with the prospect of being the one to wash your back.”

I had, hadn’t I. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, my lady. But the puppy is besotted with you. Innocent love such as his is special and extremely rare.”

“I’m not sure I’d classify him as an ‘innocent’. He’s suffered too much loss.”

“Oh?” She continued trying to get the road ick off my scalp, which was akin to trying to sponge an over-grown chia-pet.

“They’re not my stories to tell. But every time I’ve tried to talk to him about what he’s gone through, hoping to maybe help him work through what’s happened, he withdraws again. Then out of the blue he does things like this.” Splashing more water onto my face, I rubbed hard to get off what grime I could.

“He’s a man. Of course he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings. Rinse again please, my lady.”

Holding my breath I slipped down under the surface, head and wild hair included. Resurfacing, her sponge squished behind an ear.

“I stand by my statement,” she said as the sponge switched sides to leave no ear untended. “He is terrified he will do something wrong and drive you off - all while believing you to be the most perfect thing he has ever beheld. Only someone still innocent in the ways of love could be this besotted.”

Sadly I had a feeling she was right. I just had no idea what to do about it.

“Which is why,” she added, “I think you two are a perfect match.”

“Excuse me?” Water sloshed over the side as I turned sharply to face her, making a splash against the tarp covering the dirt below.

Hard emerald eyes stared back, ones which had experienced centuries of abuse - if not more. “I may be out of line in saying this, my lady, but please hear me out.” There was a deep weariness behind that gaze, beyond the years of endured pain and far past any remnants of pride.

It hurt to see. I wanted to weep at witnessing such within a soul and my face must have shown it.

“There,” she said with the smallest of smiles. “Right there is why. You too are an innocent with a heart brandished openly upon her sleeve.”

Images from the day’s bloody events flashed past and closing eyes did nothing to stop them. “I am no innocent.”

“Forgive me, but you are. If not I would have already been beaten senseless for daring to speak to my master so.”

“You have the right to say what you think.”

“No. I do not. Here the rule is simple: the mighty own the weak. And I am weak.”

“That’s hardly true. If you were you wouldn’t have survived.”

She laughed, not bitterly or at me, but rather with genuine humor. The sound brought to mind windchimes dangling within a surprisingly gusty breeze. “I survive because I recognize my weakness. If I had to guess, you have not been in Hell for very long and you have managed so far due to your extraordinary strength and powers.”

I wanted to argue but realized I couldn’t. Praztus’ lecture was too freshly in my thoughts to disagree.

“Tell me,” she continued. “And if I go too far in asking I will of course shut up - but have they ever taken you by force? A girl as beautiful as you, there must have been attempts.”

She obviously meant sexually. Crossing arms over my exposed soft chest I huddled deeper below the water, chin dipping past the surface. “When I first got here there were a few who tried to gang up on me. It didn’t go well for them.”

“You fought them off?”

“Yes.” I’d woken up to three demons trying to secure shackles to my arms and legs. In a panic that dark energy had lashed out, melting one attacker entirely. I’d then shattered my favorite chair against the others and used the snapped off pieces to impale the very parts of their anatomies they’d intended to weaponize. The two survivors scampered off at that point, leaving me panting in terror and holding two chair leg shards stained with their blood. At the next squad meeting no one mentioned it. Apparently finding the scorched remains of a guard in a random cupboard and having two others in the infirmary was not worth any particular commentary by our Captain.

So no, the harshly powered wards I’d later placed upon my doors had not been overkill. Nor the ones I’d placed on the tent we currently were in. As for the two who lived, funny story but they apparently wandered off alone beyond the outpost and were never heard from again. I can neither confirm nor deny any knowledge of where they might have buried themselves.

“You see?” Veronica was saying. “Strength. Which you seem determined to use for the rest of us, like with this business of you paying a wage to us human slaves. Noble to be sure, but ultimately foolhardy.”

“You deserve compensation for your work.” This was something I’d instituted immediately, making use of the cash hidden in Erglyk’s chests.

Again that laugh chimed as the sponge splashed against the back of my neck. “Our compensation is to avoid being torn apart and turned into stones. What do you think will happen when you’re gone? Do you really believe we’ll be able to keep the coins you’ve paid out?”

“What do you mean when I’m gone?”

“The demons are using you. I don’t mean these mercenaries for they will serve as long as you can provide them battles to fight. Some even are beginning to like being under your command. But the bigger ones like the Duke, he’ll use you now because he’s at war yet at some point he will be forced to deal with you. A human soul in charge of demons cannot be allowed to stand. You may be strong, but I don’t think you’ve ever faced the truly powerful.”

I wanted to point out that I’d stood next to an archangel, but uh yeah. Couldn’t exactly say that. The real truth however was that with the withdrawal of the light I’d been running on empty except for the absorbed energy I kept bottled up. What would happen when it ran out was a constant worry. I had the bracers as backup, but those could more easily catch the attention of the fallen. The situation was nuts: I needed the fallen to recognize the threat Azazel posed, but at the same time wanted them to not know about me.

That would be a hornet’s nest of an entirely different scale. Once that got disturbed there was no way I could go back to a quiet out-of-the-way existence, one which every passing day seemed more and more unlikely to ever happen.

She squeezed the sponge over my head. “The demons will find a way to crush you or they’ll force you into solitary exile somehow. Either way, we will be taken by new masters and they will strip us of all that we have. For we and all we carry belong to them. Just like at the moment I and all that is mine belong to you.”

“That’s just wrong.”

Leaning in, her hand slid down an arm where it perched on the tub’s edge, fingers curling around mine. “You see? Innocent.” Her nose softly nuzzled an ear as she breathed across it. “He could easily be yours, though perhaps you’d prefer a woman’s touch?” Teeth nipped at the earlobe, tugging with a heat that had nothing to do with the steam from the bath.

Water splashed all over as I jumped out of the tub and spun around to face her. She kept an arm lazily against the lip of the bath, resting her face against it. She was smiling, conveying wickedness mixed with amusement. “Forgive, my lady. As you said, I am a survivor. One willing to offer much to ensure I remain one. You’ll find I possess some excellent skills.”

Being nude I felt terribly exposed. “Uh, no thanks.”

She stood, running hands slowly up the front of her own gorgeous body. “Are you sure? You’re a hard one to read, but I think you’d enjoy a dalliance with either sex.” Taking a step closer she reached out towards the front of my own ample curves.

My hands caught hers before they got there. “I said no.”

After a moment’s futile struggle against the grip she dropped to her knees, blonde hair falling alongside her face and reaching the ground. Her arms were still aloft and held firm within my hands. She shivered, saying quietly, “If you won’t take me to your bed, then what am I to you?”

There was no fear in her voice, only ancient resignation. I let go and took a step backwards. “I need a lady-in-waiting, as if that wasn’t obvious enough. And maybe a friend.”

Standing she picked up two clean towels, holding them out like an offering. “I can do the former. But we shall never be equals, my lady, and I will always do what I must to survive.”

Accepting one I draped its cloth around my chest, tucking it in so it wouldn’t fall. “That shouldn’t prevent a friendship.”

She moved behind to professionally pat at the spiky wet hair with the other towel, rubbing firmly yet with care to not tug too hard. “How can it not?” Leaving it there she walked towards the wardrobe. “We should get you dressed for dinner.”

My stomach growled. Food sounded like a wonderful idea. I hadn’t wanted to eat much after what had happened at the town but that was hours ago. “Works for me.”

As she sorted through possible outfits she did say one last thing. “You should embrace that boy to your bosom and bed him, my lady. You are in desperate need of tenderness and relief. If you won’t accept such from me, find it from somewhere before you pop.”

I didn’t argue. Instead I donned the clean bra and panties she set out and wondered whether I should re-don the armor. Not for dinner, mind you, but for when I went to bed later while she slept on the blankets on the floor nearby.

Because it had been so darn tempting to let her close that distance.

 

Chapter 25 - Camping

 

I’d eaten too much.

Using the fresher ingredients, Maddalena - with Twitch’s assistance - had prepared a stew fortified with chunks of salted meat and a blend of not-vegetables which almost, but not quite, tasted like a proper Shepherd’s Pie. Baked crust and crunchy side biscuits included. She’d been recruited as the new head chef because the souls pressed into such service by the demons were clueless and - as I’d suspected would happen - the Lilim twins had claimed Cookie as rightfully theirs. I blame him making them a batch of his special souffles. I knew though that Vance was likely keeping the little chef happy with better supplies of luxury spices and whatever tools he could ever ask for. That magic tent of theirs had probably been turned into a professional kitchen to spoil the palates of Vance and his merry band of Lilim.

Heck, by now Vance might even have taught Cookie how to grow a proper mustache.

Whereas here we ate as best we could depending on the circumstance and logistics of war. Crouched upon a wide canvas ground cover under a large open-air tent were several rows of demons all slurping and swallowing bowls laden with what should have been regarded as a special treat which instead was just getting inhaled, burped, and forgotten. At least the human servants lined up along the edge were smiling, despite the occasional wind drenching them all. Regularly spaced charcoal heaters also kept things mostly comfortable.

For us this was downright festive.

As for me, I was at the far end with back against the one protective (admittedly canvas) wall. Sitting cross-legged and holding empty bowl and spoon, I had Twitch to the left and Hank on the right. Normally Praztus would be at the head of the ‘table’ but with him gone I was stuck with that duty. Veronica had remained in my tent; I’d sent Horatio in with her dinner and he must’ve elected to eat with her.

“More?” Madelena was standing over us carrying yet another pot of the hot mixture.

“Good grief, I’d love to but no.” Groaning, I looked at my coat-covered stomach. After some argument with Veronica I’d put on a long-sleeved blue jerkin with thick wool-like grey tights tied around the tops of boots, all bundled under a long fuzzy coat. I’d also included a belt with one of those nasty daggers tucked into its sheath and despite disapproving looks regarding the lack of fashion taste Camael’s bracers were fastened into place behind leather gloves.

No matter how long I’ve had and used them, they were still Camael’s. I couldn’t shake the feeling of having only ‘borrowed’ them. After all his Name was inscribed within the folds of their pattern - it was a literal case of ‘his name’s on it, it’s his’.

Madelena nodded, offering more grub first to Twitch then Hank. Twitch also refused, but Hank enthusiastically took a third helping and dug in.

How he still had room I had no idea.

“You get any yourself, Maddalena?” I asked before she could walk down the line for more takers.

She grinned over a shoulder. “As top chefs, myself and Twitch are required to verify its worthiness before we can offer any to your ladyship.”

I smiled back. “Then I appreciate your efforts at quality control and offer my thanks. But if you are still hungry, please take a break and have some.”

“I shall, but out of the last batch. It will be ready in a few more minutes.” She proceeded to make her way past the uncouth creatures of unending appetite, spooning out reinforcements as she went.

Each demon remained perfectly polite and not just from her growing special status. My warning at the Hole had penetrated their thick skulls, indeed the smarter ones had taken up policing the more forgetful ones to shut down any brewing conflict at our dining tables before things ever got out of hand. One sharp look from me and they’d take instant action to restore a perfectly peaceful mealtime.

As it damn well should be.

If there had been any mutterings of rebellion against their crazed-commander I hadn’t heard of it. Especially after the first assassin who one night had tried to slice their way into my tent and met the same fate as Dhalgrix’s brother. You know, becoming ward-assisted barbecue.

Not that I dared to ever relax my vigilance. The demons were truly only content to follow as long as I kept delivering two key things: opportunities to fight and payment in coin. The contract with the Duke paid well enough, but other than a few skirmishes they hadn’t really had a chance to go all out on a battlefield.

This was becoming a concern.

But we had our orders from the Duke to patrol for pockets of intruders and we’d been diligently carrying that out. There just weren’t enough invaders to satisfy our more eager blood-thirsty warriors. The ones at the town had barely gotten warmed up when they’d run out of targets, something which had been a common occurrence.

Resting covered hands over a happily bloated stomach, the mind wandered to a different concern entirely, namely what Veronica had brought up. Surreptitiously I eyed Twitch and nervously looked away before he could notice. Was she right? I’d not taken anyone to my bed since cancer had laid its claim to Caroline, my wife. But that had been two lifetimes and an entirely different body ago.

‘Til death do we part. And now we both were dead.

Sure, I hadn’t talked about her since arriving in Hell, always pretending as best as possible that the ‘old’ life was done and over. Except when I shut my eyes I could still see her soft smile, still smell the lavender shampoo in her hair, still feel her gentle touch against my cheek.

I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want another to take that place in my heart.

Twitch was a good man, kind and loyal. If my new female self needed such a partner he’d be an excellent choice.

I just wasn’t ready to let go. The thought still hurt too much.

With a rueful sigh I shook my head, putting aside the bowl. In its place I picked up the other item I’d carried out and laid it across my lap.

The sword itself was nothing special: an unadorned cross-piece and round pommel formed the hilt while a standard blood groove ran the length of the blade. No jewels, no inscriptions etched into the metal, plain and boring.

Except for all the intricate programming embedded within its underlying structure. Running a finger along the blade I idly traced some of the hidden symbols within its pattern, marveling at the simple elegance of what was effectively a program standing by to execute its payload upon the fabric of our local reality.

“That’s new,” Hank commented between bites. “Thought you liked spears and bows.”

“Battle trophy,” I said as I flipped it over to examine the other side. “Took it off an invisible assassin.”

“Invisible?” Hank’s brow arched. “Neat trick. You saw through it anyway?”

“No and yes. I figured out the secret and used that to take the bastard down.”

Hank was smart and had a good memory. “That how they escaped your sight back at Epsilon?” He popped a fully laden spoonful into his mouth.

“Probably. But it does me no good.”

“Mmph.” He hastily chewed the too-large bite and finally swallowed. “No good?” he finally asked. “How so?”

I gestured to the demons around us. “No one else can see the enchantment. They can’t read the hard proof that our enemy has angelic support.”

He took a deep draught from a mug to chase the stew and shrugged. “So what if they could? What’d you expect them to do?”

“Alert the fallen in charge of this realm that a Grigori asshole is messing with their turf.”

“And if’n they don’t care?” He tilted his head. “You gonna force ‘em to? You sure you want that kind of attention?”

I froze. “What do you mean?” Fingers curled around the hilt.

“Just sayin’. I’ve not seen much of this place but let’s face it, you stand out. The lost souls in this camp are divided on the topic. Half of ‘em are like Maddalena and think you’re a savior-in-waiting; the other half are terrified you’re some sort of demonic illusion and the other shoe is gonna drop on their balls. To the demons - the few with a brain - the former is freaking ‘em out. Yet they all agree on one thing: you’re somethin’ the likes of which they’ve never seen. These angel overlords you’ve mentioned could figure you’re the greater threat to their cushy system.”

The weapon’s inner writings tickled at my palm. Hank didn’t know it but he’d hit uncomfortably close to the truth. “What else can I do?” I asked quietly. “I’ve touched the enemy’s mind. He won’t be content until he’s made everyone slaves to his will, mere puppets with which he can go grab more.”

“And you’re the one to stop him?” Hank was watching me carefully, spoon idle in his hand. “Like I’ve said before, so what if he conquers some demonic duchies and gets them stirred up. You can go elsewhere and stay away. Let the fallen eventually wake up and deal with it. Or not. This is Hell, after all. Crap like this likely happens all the time.”

Ancient memories of Aradia’s battles came to mind. “You don’t know what he was, what he can do. He threatened all of Earth and it took a coalition of gods, angels, and fae to take him down. He’s gathered old allies, this is proof of that.” I lifted the blade and held it sideways towards him. “This was made by another Grigori. He’s not doing this alone.”

The old soldier didn’t back down. “We’ve been marching about for cycles. That enemy of yours hasn’t sent a single thing after you specifically like you’d feared back at the Hole. It’s doubtful he even knows you’re here. Meanwhile I keep watching you bleed out of thin air when overdoing your mojo. You’re wounded. And you don’t want folks to know how or why. You’re in no shape to fight in their arena. ”

I traced a finger along the cold metal and knew deep down he was right.

Horatio, bundled under an old patchwork coat whose original furs were likely replaced long ago, hurried over to us through the rain. Twitch scooted over to make room and poured him a drink.

“Veronica eat?” I asked the valet-turned-logistical-officer.

“Yes, my lady.” Sitting cross-legged, he threw a wistful gaze back towards my tent. Interesting. Veronica apparently had admirers of her own.

“How about you? Did you get enough?”

“More than plenty, a rare luxury.” Patting his belly he gave a rueful smile. “When I was alive I firmly believed that upon death I would never starve again. How foolish such an assumption turned out to be. Hell’s torments were well advertised by the church, after all. I should have expected it.”

Hank waved his spoon. “More like a side-effect, if’n you ask me.”

We all looked blankly at him.

He plinked the back of his spoon against his forehead. “Been ponderin’. This whole place acts like it’s solid, but really is more like a dream that just won’t quit. Y’all know what I’m talking about. Feels like if you turn away and look back again things may be different the second time.”

I did know what he meant. On the dark side the terrain itself was inconsistent between circuits of our reaper routes.

Horatio was nodding. “This realm has more of a fuzziness to it than others I’ve been to. Yet in all of them I have had moments as if I was about to wake up and everything around would slip away.”

Hank leaned forward on an elbow. “Maybe it comes down to perception. We’ve still got the same ol’ set of senses tryin’ to perceive this place. And not just the ones everyone thinks about like sight and hearing. I mean all of ‘em. Balance, pain, pleasure, the lot. It’s what we know, right? Including hunger and its lack.” He pointed the spoon at me. “You’re the one who warned that starving for too long wouldn’t kill. Just lead to despair and collapse into one o’ them soul balls. Maybe we starve because we believe we still need outside sustenance. Or maybe we do need to eat, and the food serves to keep our focus on this place instead of hells of our own internal making. I dunno, just been thinkin’ is all.”

“You’re quite the philosopher, sir,” Horatio said, raising his cup.

Hank shrugged. “Passes the time.”

I smiled at him. “I think I’ve heard it said that if you scratch an old soldier you’ll find a philosopher hiding underneath.”

He shook his head. “Just been starin’ too much at that Spark thing on the march whenever them clouds clear out. Beats lookin’ at the nothingness beyond it and gives the mind somethin’ to chew on, especially knowin’ they keep tossing fresh souls into it.” His cheeks scrunched up to his eyes in thought. “Could be they’re related.”

Sipping from the cup, Horatio asked, “How so?”

The spoon shifted to point up towards the Shroud and the Spark hidden behind. “That whole business of trees fallin’ without sound. Maybe they’re forcing them souls’ to watch the entire bowl. Maybe that keeps it steady and also gives the real energy for the crazy plants we been slogging through to grow.” Serious eyes met mine. “Demons swallow souls to keep on goin’, right? Using a soul’s focus just to exist and be able to think.”

A capability which I’d just blocked within the demon Rithgal. Once again I’d done something without fully understanding how, weird instinct having taken over. Trying to focus on the memory to better understand exactly how caused the wing to twinge. Not wanting another bath I backed away from that thought and instead found myself remembering words which someone had said to me so long ago. August, who had once been the angel Tamiel, had tried to explain that everything existed because the Source - i.e God at the highest level - watched everything. And that Lucifer’s power as the channel of the light meant seeing it all in the fullest. I’d touched that channel, brushed the scope of that awesome perception, and had darn near lost myself within it.

Here in Hell, as in the Fae dream I’d almost destroyed, the perceived reality of each realm had to be sourced from a more localized core of power. Though that local reservoir ultimately still must have come from the All if traced back far enough. And Hank was implying that souls, at their core, held that same power. If so, just imagine what billions of souls could accomplish if they all focused on a single goal.

I wondered if such a thought terrified the angels in Heaven. And if Nephelim somehow had that capacity too - perhaps even stronger! - that could explain why Heaven had been so determined to wipe them out or at the very least bind them. Maybe they had the potential to upset the entire apple-cart of the universe.

Thinking along those lines I realized that could also apply to me and wondered if it had been to the benefit of everyone that I’d been effectively shut down by being sent to Hell. Who knows what kind of damage I’d have caused otherwise.

One less thing for Michael to worry about.

Hank scooped up another large spoonful. “Just some literal food for thought.” He popped more stew into his mouth, chewing and grinning while waiting for everyone to realize the pun.

Twitch offered a golf clap. I groaned and said, “Seriously, Hank? Was all that just a setup?”

He dropped a hand over the contents of his side plate. “What can I say, I’m on a roll.”

I laughed. “You’re gonna bowl us all over if you keep going.”

He offered quick retort. “Just don’t make me eat my words.”

“That’d be more than you can swallow.”

“Nah, I’d be savorin’ the sweet taste o’ victory!”

It had to have been the weirdest pun war I’d ever experienced. We weren’t speaking English, but having both spoken (and thought in) that language the strange translation somehow managed to carry the intent of the puns across. For a moment I worried that it was a by-product of my own universal ability, but Twitch and Horatio were equally facepalming as our attempts stretched further and further due to, dare I say it, running out of stock.

The demons however were looking over at us like we’d lost our damned minds.

A commotion at the other end of the tent saved everyone from Hank and me escalating the silliness even further. One of our bat-like fliers was shoving his way towards me and beyond him Maddalena had emerged from the cook tent to stride quickly after him. This time without a refilled pot.

Ignoring Hank’s latest verbal volley I got to my feet, sword still in hand and its tip resting against the ground-cover. “What’s going on? Report!”

The scout went to one knee and bowed its pointy-eared head. The guy looked like how Batman should if his DNA had properly reflected his name.

“A coach is coming, Commander. At speed. Flag of the Duke and another I know not.”

“Just one coach? Alone?”

“Yes, Commander.”

Horatio obviously wanted to speak so I gestured for him to go ahead.

He looked at the scout. “Describe the other flag.”

The bat-guy flicked an ear and snarled, obviously not liking being interrogated by a lowly human.

I leaned on the sword. “Answer him as you would me.” Okay, some violet fire may have sparked at my fingertips. I also may have growled.

The scout’s eyes doubled in size and he fell to his other knee. “Gold spiderweb on black under a crown!”

Horatio startled in recognition. “That’s the personal symbol of the Duchess.”

Maddalena stepped closer, also going to one knee. “My wards sense great and terrible power, my lady.”

Uh oh. I let senses sweep beyond the camp and found that the witch was right. Two mighty flares of soul-energy were approaching, making it difficult to distinguish the stand-alone souls bracketing them. One was huge, possibly four times as powerful as Dhalgrix had been.

The other was even scarier.

It contained more souls than the sum total possessed by every demon in my camp, all concentrated into a small yet terrifying package.

With a steadfastness I didn’t feel I called out. “Ugart! Double the watch on the perimeter and prepare an honor guard to welcome our guests! Everyone else is to stand ready for battle!”

As Ugart heaved himself onto wide crocodile feet and began shouting (and kicking) at the crew, I turned to Twitch who’d gotten up when I had. “I need my armor,” I told him. “Get yours as well.”

Worried eyes peered over the cloth covering nose and mouth. I forced a smile and gave him an impromptu hug. “It’ll be fine,” I whispered.

He tensed at the embrace, hands unsure and staying at his side. When I let go he raced off to my tent as a moving blur, mud splashing behind.

“Alright,” I said to everyone else. “Other than Horatio I want all souls out of sight. I need his advice regarding etiquette. Hank, get these demon idiots into formations to welcome our visitors as well as defend the camp in case that coach is being chased by nasties. They’re driving their graxh hard and that’s concerning.”

Hank got to his feet. “And if it’s the ones in the coach we should be worryin’ about?”

“Then I hold them off while everyone runs for it.”

“Can you?” Hank’s question startled Maddalena - and also Horatio. Huh, Horatio must’ve joined the savior camp at some point and I hadn’t noticed. Lovely.

Flipping my grip, I lifted the sword into a guard position. “Oh, I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll even pun-ish them too.”

That got a genuine laugh out of the soldier.

We got to work.

 

Chapter 26 - Reveals

 

Standing in front of my tent I watched the largest coach I’d ever seen be escorted through the camp. It was flanked by two rows of demons, one led by a standard bearer holding Duke Valgor’s flag, the other by a demon waving a golden four-pointed star shining against the darkness.

They’d stitched that one up for me.

The coach was pulled by a team of ten mighty graxh, the finest I’d ever seen. Taller than any others in our camp, they grunted and spat like they knew they were better than anything around. Considering they were surrounded by demons I’d have agreed to their point.

Ugart, clad in the full-plate of Praztus’ forces, stepped forward as the coach came to a halt. With a gesture our demon escort spun ninety degrees to form a line, stomping in unison as they did so. They almost seemed professional - except that too many of my mercs had mismatched armor. And by that I don’t just mean they didn’t match each other, several demons had greaves and bracers of different lengths and styles or wore helmets yet had nothing on their chests. Like I’ve said before, they were a motley crew.

Just don’t ask them to sing. Seriously, don’t.

A coachman hopped down and placed a golden stepstool ladder besides the fancy door which took up a good portion of the coach’s side. He had on a long coat which formed almost a skirt below the waist, complete with silver buttons going up his chest in two neat rows. He also wore a top hat of all things.

Fashion in court had obviously changed from when Charles had last been there as that hat was definitely straight out of the 19th century.

After rapping on the door twice with a riding whip the coachmen proceeded to open the door, swinging it wide as he stepped to the side to make room for a passenger to emerge into the rain. A man stepped out and donned a black top hat of his own to go with the off-brown narrow and high waist pants, paisley vest and necktie of muted greens, plus tailcoat and boots.

Yup, called it. And the style totally went with the theme of the night’s rainy gloominess. Though the Victorian handlebar mustache on the gentleman climbing down from the coach clashed a bit against the scaly and reflective demonic skin.

Demon cosplay must have only gone so far. Given the waves of power flowing off the guy I didn’t think anyone would challenge or poke fun at the attempt.

He cleared his throat and spoke in a mild-mannered tone totally at odds with the potential for violence his very presence conjured to mind. “I am Major-General Nalphris, companion and guard to the Duchess Ruchinox who graces you all with her presence this night. Where can be found our Major Praztus?”

Ugart, who if he could sweat would have been beating the rain at its own game, attempted a salute. “Major-General, I am Ugart, Lieutenant to Major Praztus. The Major stands guard at the remains of Tzaghesh.” Ugart’s words were slow, the crocodile mouth doing its best to keep the speech clear and understandable.

“Remains? Has Tzaghesh fallen?”

“Yes, sir. All his court slain. A flyer was dispatched with the news this very night.”

“And he placed you in command in his absence?”

Poor Ugart shifted a foot in embarrassment. “No, sir. He placed Captain Jordan in charge.”

The Major-General’s eyes narrowed. “The one who defeated Dhalgrix.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where is this soul whose victory has caused such a buzz at court? Where is this Captain?”

That was my cue.

Stepping forward I released my hold on the hilt of the sword. It was slung over a shoulder where it rested within a back sheath we’d rustled up. Letting go released its location translation effect and so to the eyes of the Major-General I simply appeared out of thin air in full armor and helm.

Therefore doing so without any energy signature of canceled magic.

“Right here, Major General,” I announced, even giving him a salute. Hey, I was now in the military and stuff too, right? Praztus would be proud.

To the guy’s credit he didn’t jump. Instead he stiffened and held in check a reactionary blast of power whose potential could have incinerated everything where I stood if he hadn’t. Though I’d been ready to try and counter or dodge just in case.

The coach itself did react, as if a great weight had just shifted from the far side to the door.

Fingers reached out, each with a ring affixed to the black lace which stretched up the rest of the slender arm. Its appearance did seem to startle the Major General who spun around far more smartly than my guys had a few moments ago. Instantly he took hold of that hand and thus did the Duchess descend the few steps to the ground wearing a deep red velvet gown accentuated with more of that black lace, complete with hoop skirt and all. Somehow the coachman was ready with a matching umbrella to hold over her head.

Three things struck me upon seeing her.

Firstly was that she was short, maybe four-foot eight even in those ridiculous heels, and her features were rather reminiscent of the fae: high cheekbones, pale skin, braided raven locks, and penetrating violet eyes making a sharp contrast with the flowing scarlet of the dress.

Second was that she was amazingly pregnant. Like ‘holy crud are you going to have your baby this very moment’ pregnant, her extended belly practically doubling her small size.

But thirdly, and more disturbingly, her entire appearance was an illusion which covered the truth.

She wasn’t fae-like at all. Underneath the glamour perched a giant spider, eight red eyes sweeping through the rain like a scythe as half the legs braced against the coach while the others found purchase upon the ground.

That spider though had one shared truth with the illusion. She too was terribly pregnant, distended and enlarged belly ready to lay its sac full of hundreds of demonspawn.

Good grief. What the hell was she doing here. Pun this time totally not intended.

Everyone bowed, myself included. Technically I think I was supposed to have curtsied, but I was wearing battle armor and I definitely wasn’t feeling ‘lady-like’.

The Duchess completed her scan of the camp and our minuscule escort before settling its gaze - all eight ruby orbs worth - upon me.

“Remove the helmet, Captain.” The illusory woman’s voice was soft as silk but it was like a bad anime dub over her actual words which rasped like claws over pebbles and glass. “I would see the face of the legendary reaper who avenged her commander’s demise.”

Doing as bid I lifted the helm and cradled it between arm and chest. Raindrops immediately pelted my cheeks as I was standing into the wind but I didn’t dare wipe them away. That would have left me momentarily blind.

Okay, I may have been somewhat intimidated by our guests and feeling extra cautious.

The fae-who-was-spider examined me for a long count of silence broken only by the slight clinks of armor as demons unused to parade rest adjusted their feet. I met that gaze with my best poker face, aiming for neither defiance nor concern.

Whatever she saw must have passed muster as she announced, “The Captain and I shall share conversation.” She then walked regally while scampering on eight legs towards my tent, the coachman matching pace to keep the umbrella over the illusion.

I opened the flap wider than needed for a small slender woman and she passed within. As I continued to hold it so the Major-General and Horatio could also enter, Major-General Nalphris put a hand in front of Horatio.

“The Duchess requires a private audience.”

Oh great. It was going to be like that.

The fact that Horatio was at first personally relieved before giving me a guilty look of worry wasn’t encouraging.

I stepped inside anyway.

The Duchess had moved to the center of the tent, again examining everything and likely noting every last detail. Veronica, following sharp instincts, was already on the floor with forehead touching the backs of hands pressed against the ground.

Being uncertain if I should tell Veronica to leave or not, the Duchess did it for me. “Your servant is dismissed.” She didn’t even look over as she said it.

Veronica immediately fled. Though she was careful to do so backwards with head bowed the entire time as she slipped past me in her escape.

Considering this was still my tent, I figured I should play hostess. “May I offer the Duchess refreshment?” I moved further into the space, placing the helm atop one of the chests next to the small table with goblets and a decanter of mild not-berry wine plus Maddalena’s alarm-stone ready to wake my ass up should her wards fail or in this case if anything rude should happen outside.

Every last bit of security helped, right?

A hand / spider leg brushed the blanket atop my bed before her many legs hauled her bulk onto the straw mattress. Thin trails of wispy webbing stuck to the poor comforter as her overly-large rear slid across it. The image of the fae lady however simply seemed to float backwards to settle in its center.

Ugh. How hard was it going to be to wash out the demonic spider-web butt residue? Dangit, I liked that blanket.

She ignored my question regarding a beverage and announced, “My son is dead.” She said this without emotion but the statement still slammed every nerve with constrained fury.

So much for pleasantries. “My condolences on your loss.”

The Duchess gave a disparaging glare. Apparently my sympathy was utterly irrelevant. “Despite my husband’s lack of concern, I have ordered the death be investigated.”

I swallowed. When she said ‘investigated’ my mind instantly imagined torture chambers and sharp pointy implements being visited upon whomever she wanted ‘questioned’. “I’m sure Captain Tuthos was as forthcoming as possible.”

“He was. Eventually.”

That did not sound good. At all. “How may I be of assistance, Your Grace?”

“They believe my son a traitor,” she snarled, even the fake pleasant features twisting into something decidedly less. “If I was not already pregnant with this upcoming parasitic brood that gluttonous fool would have had me killed. Only this has kept me alive on the chance that at least one of them won’t flee howling into the ground but instead shall latch to a soul and become potentially useful.”

Gluttonous fool? Oh heck, she meant the Duke. “Your son wasn’t a traitor, Your Grace.”

“So said Tuthos at the end, despite the official reports.”

I paled. Despite what I’d told him Tuthos had chickened out and kept quiet about Azazel, an omission which had cost him. Maybe even his life.

“Now,” she said, hands and spiderlegs gripping the ruined comforter, “you will tell me what you know. You will explain how my son would dare be stupid enough to betray his mother who owned his name. You will enthrall me with the tale of how a newly arrived soul crushed a demon warrior of particular skill. And you will also detail why you stand there pulsing with a power beyond the reach of any normal soul, one which wraps and hides your inner core.”

Left unsaid was that if I didn’t, I’d have a really bad day. A torturous one, you could say.

No pressure.

It was tempting to just grab the sword hilt over my shoulder and trigger the Grigori’s enchantment, hopefully before she’d turn me into a smear from here to the next Duchy. Unfortunately I didn’t like the odds. With that kind of power she might have been perceptive enough to see through it like I had.

I just didn’t know.

“Your Grace, my story is complicated,” I said slowly. “Much has happened in the world of the living; I was caught in those tempestuous winds before falling to here.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. She’d never believe a normal soul could contain the purple violence I held within. While I hadn’t tried to check possible futures due to her potentially noticing the ability, instinct was screaming that this demon probably perceived too much to fall for any bullshit. I was cornered like a rat in a maze with no exit.

A cheesecake-worthy reply here was going to get my ass torn apart. Dammit, dammit, and also dammit.

“Allow me to start with the last question.” I waved a hand at myself. “My soul is of the Nephelim, for I am a daughter of one of the Bene-Elohim.”

The spider-lady rose up, giving me complete - and unnerving - attention. “Continue.”

I did so. I told her my spirit had been involved in the ancient battle against Azazel before he’d been locked under the mountain. I told her that several Seals had broken, and that Azazel had struck at me and mine in vengeance before he himself was cast down to Hell. I explained how Azazel worked, how he conquered others’ will - including angels - much as demons do, using them as pawns in his designs. I added that due to the chaos of recent events on Earth and all the various factions fighting each other I had ended up on the receiving end of a necromantic bomb thus ending my tenure on Earth.

Then I told her that Azazel was the one who had used her son to betray my comrades.

“And you know this how?” Her question was said without emotion.

She was still weighing judgment.

I plowed ahead. “I once saw someone - a human guard - be possessed by the Grigori. Xargglxesh had the same thin energetic connection leading off into the ether. I warned Tuthos to be careful, that Azazel could use that to kill him whenever desired. As had been done to the guard despite the best wards our mystics had available.”

“Tuthos and his sorcerer both swore they saw no such magic.”

“They couldn’t see it, Your Grace. Just like no one else seems capable of perceiving the enchantment within the sword upon my back.”

“Show me.”

Carefully, oh so carefully, I pulled the blade free and held it out, letting her examine both sides. “I took this from an assassin earlier today, the one who killed your Count. It can make the wielder for all practical purposes invisible and immune from counter-attack. It wasn’t a fight so much as a one-sided slaughter when it was used to take out the Count and all his guards.”

She regarded it with suspicion. To my surprise she said, “I see no workings. Demonstrate its power.”

I hesitated. She couldn’t see the working after all. If I were to trigger it she’d have no defense if I’d wanted to strike. “I already have, outside when you arrived.”

Misinterpreting my reluctance, her bulk leaned forward menacingly. “Use it now. Do so or all in this camp shall be consigned to the battle-pits of Dis. There they can prove their warrior’s mettle until only one among them remains.”

Wrong thing to say.

Gripping the hilt my intent tripped the waiting programming and to her I vanished instantly without a single pulse of power.

She reared back, having expected to track me by energy signature much like I would have. Except as far as this realm was concerned my pattern was now a couple thousand kilometers above hanging out in the clouds. The freezing wind was even blasting against my face.

What she felt however was the cold edge of steel not against her illusion’s neck but against the folds at the throat of her true spider self.

It would have been too easy to plunge the blade past the skin, sending Camael’s crimson rage within to free the hundreds of lost souls trapped forever beneath her hide. She couldn’t penetrate the Grigori’s spell, she was as helpless as all the terrified victims in the town had been.

I wanted to do it. God, I wanted to.

But could I have protected everyone else from the Duke’s vengeance if I had? The only way would be to immediately march on the Duke’s palace and slaughter him and his entire family as well. That though could very well hand to Azazel everything he had hoped to accomplish with this whole attack on the duchy. Alternatively I’d have to kill every demon and silence every soul within our camp, lest they reveal that she and I had gone into the tent and only I had emerged.

That so wasn’t going to happen.

From the side of the bed - and outside the reach of her hairy spiderlegs - I reappeared, ready to immediately re-trigger the sword if need be.

The pregnant demon swiveled faster than something of her bulk had any right to, yet did not attack. Instead many eyes regarded me with a fresh appraisal. Those rubies burned with an acknowledgment that the balance of power within the tent had changed.

“Well, well, well,” she said, those many eyes gleaming with ancient and terrible cunning. “Fascinating. It appears we share a powerful enemy, Captain. One who should pay for their audacities.”

“On that we agree.”

“Tuthos’ story seemed too outlandish to be true, yet even so it was my duty to relay it to the true rulers of this realm. The disgraced Captain claimed you believed the fallen overlords would act.”

Hope swelled. If she’d gotten them a message, hopefully they’d deal with the entire mess. Maybe I could leave it all in the hands of the fallen and take Erglyk’s money as well as those souls I’d gathered somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere safe.

Her next words crushed that dream like a military boot stomping an orchid. “Such is not to be. Prince Abagor of the Emerald Court is not currently in residence at his palace of ice upon the Mount’s peak. The Sarim of Hell have called a Grand Conclave at Dis, the first such convocation so issued since the Morningstar and Beliel abandoned us all. Petitions to the Emerald Court shall pend unread until his return. The petty disagreements between minor demons of this provincial realm are of no import.”

My gut dropped deep below ground as the implications sank in. “We’re on our own then. And Azazel likely knows it. Heck, he’s probably counting on it.”

“Can you defeat this angel?”

The blunt question caught me off guard. Unfortunately the conversation with Hank had bared the uncomfortable truth whether I liked it or not.

“No, madam,” I admitted. “Not directly. Not as I am now.”

If I thought she’d be disappointed I was mistaken, for the illusionary fae woman smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, rather it was filled only with harsh approval. “It is good to know one’s limitations. So then, what would you suggest be done?” The spider-fae’s tone had shifted, sounding more like a high-school teacher nudging a wayward and under-performing student towards an obvious solution.

“Honestly? I still don’t know what Azazel is after here, not really. But I do know that he prefers to work through patsies. Take those out and he’s likely to withdraw and regroup, maybe even aim his evil somewhere else entirely.”

“Patsies. Like Duke Juxtyle. And my son.”

I winced. “Yes.” Also like poor Tsáyidiel and Kokabiel.

“Could this angel have infiltrated my Court?”

“It is entirely possible.”

“And you can see who has or hasn’t been compromised?”

“If I look closely, madam.” I’d already checked her out while invisible and the spider-demon was clean.

She studied me. “Tuthos stated that the Lilim were also unable to see this. They too are of angelic descent. Why then are you capable when they are not?”

My hand tightened its grip on the sword as I stared at the floor. I hadn’t wanted to reveal more. I really hadn’t. But the fallen weren’t going to act. If I cut and run, if I threw hands over ears and pretended it wasn’t my problem, Azazel would win. Whatever he was up to, he was going to succeed. And I knew painfully well where his successes led: to needing an army of the most powerful beings ever to come to Earth just to stop him before he could turn everything into a place worse than Hell.

Sure he must have grown weak over all those years if Camael alone had been able to punt him to here, but still. A tornado was as much a threat to a trailer park as a Category Five hurricane. If I was going to really act against him, I needed help.

I needed allies.

And the duchess needed a reason to believe I was capable of being such to her, far beyond proving I could kick the ass of some minor demon mercenary or make use of a Grigori’s gift to an assassin.

Whether I willed or no, fate had kept placing me exactly where it wanted. The Duchess being here was no less a coincidence than Twitch having been the one to find me on that empty shore. I hated it, I wanted to fight against it and shout at the sky how badly I didn’t want to lose any more loved ones to its cruel machinations. But I was its rat and the only exit I could see that didn’t end up even worse was the one it had shoved in front of me. Fate knew I couldn’t sit idle and simply let Azazel win. I just couldn’t.

It was time to put the cards on the table.

“Because, Your Grace,” I said more quietly as I was about to cross a line which could never be undone. “My spirit was sired not by a Grigori but an Archangel. I was known in that life as Aradia, daughter to the goddess Diana and Lucifer, the First of Heaven and the Morningstar.” Transferring the sword to my offhand I held up the palm now freed.

The single star blazed golden across the skin.

In her shocked silence you could have heard a pin fall upon the soft comforter.

 

~o~O~o~

 

After that small revelation the Duchess wasted no time in getting the heck out of Dodge, instantly declining all offers of hospitality for the night. One hasty conversation and resulting plan later her coach was away and speeding into the on-going storm.

The Major-General had noted the change in her attitude as she had scurried aboard, doing his best to not appear befuddled by it. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected out of our one-on-one encounter.

Not hardly.

As Ugart, Horatio, and I watched the coach disappear back into the foggy rain, Hank walked around from the side of the tent. He must’ve been standing out of sight behind it this whole time because the soldier was drenched from head to toe.

It was Horatio who spoke first, forgetting the etiquette of our relative ranks. “What just happened?”

Hank chuckled. “I’d say our Jordan here just scared the skirt off the little lady.”

That earned a stare from me - had he been eavesdropping through the fabric?

He met my gaze with an innocent smile.

Crud. He just might have.

“Why did she come here?” Horatio blurted before remembering to add the requisite, “My lady.”

I placed a reassuring hand on Horatio’s shoulder. “She needed to verify who the true enemy is.”

“That all?” Hank raised a wet eyebrow.

“Yep,” I said. “As a result we’ve been reassigned. Including Major Praztus.”

They all looked to me awaiting further explanation.

I gave it to them. “A force has broken away from Duke Juxtyle’s main army. They’re heading for this side’s Hole entrance. You know, the place where we all popped out a few cycles ago.”

That earned a tilt of the head from Hank. “Odd. The whole portal-thing to elsewhere in them Spires was wiped out. The Hole ain’t anythin’ strategic now. No slipping more attackers to the rear of the Duke’s territory, that sort of thing. Heck, on this side it’s stuck close to the mountain rim away from the main populations so there’s also no real value to the real estate its on. Quite a march for little obvious gain.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And weirder still is the Duchess has intelligence that Ithx is leading those troops personally.”

Hank nodded in growing comprehension. “We catch him and maybe we find out what’s really going on, like why the Hole is such a target.”

“Exactly.” I looked at Praztus’ demon and threw him a wicked grin. “Lieutenant Ugart, dispatch a flier to Major Praztus immediately. We’ll be joining him as scheduled but then we are to immediately load up as much food as we can haul. All of us are moving out, your men included. Give the Major this.” I pulled out a magically signed scroll and offered it to the crocodile guy. “Tell him that Colonel Jordan looks forward to discussing the change in plans with him upon arrival.”

Hank whistled at my sudden promotion, whereas Ugart simply took the scroll between clawed fingers. With a sharp salute that almost collided with the long toothy snout, he scurried off to carry out his orders.

Horatio however was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“What?” I asked with disingenuous nonchalance.

“She made you a colonel? You. A human soul.” The poor man was having serious difficulties wrapping his head around the concept.

“Sure did,” I said with a shrug. “Deal with it. Get these lunks to bed or have Ugart do it. And send Veronica back to my tent to help me get out of this tin can so I too can sleep. Also I’m gonna need a fresh blanket. Burn the old one. And remember, I want us packed up and moving early. Got it?”

Hank’s eyes twinkled. “Got it, your worshipfulness.”

I groaned. “I am no princess of Alderaan you dork! Just move!” With a laugh I shoved him forward.

Not getting the reference, Horatio decided we’d gone insane and walked off muttering to himself. Hank followed, putting an arm around the other man’s shoulders.

As I turned back to my tent to finally get out of the danged weather I caught sight of Maddalena standing just under the dining area’s canopy. She was clutching one of the runestones to her chest and staring at me with raw and profound adulation.

The stone emitted a soft glow. A quick scan showed a connection to the matching rock she’d left in my tent. The pattern was new spellwork, which meant she must’ve added to it after my initial inspection back when she’d told me about her wards.

She was chanting in Italian to herself and I caught every nuanced meaning:

 

Aradia, Aradia mia!

Tu che siei figlia del più peggiore

Che si trova nell Inferno,

Che dal Paradiso fu discacciata.

 

Aradia, my Aradia!

Thou who art daughter unto him who was

Most evil of all spirits, who of old

Once reigned in hell when driven away from heaven.

 

The witchy spy had set up the stone to surreptitiously record conversations in my tent and had just played back the entire private conversation with the Duchess.

I’d screwed up. And now she’d heard from my own lips that I was the daughter of her Goddess, the very daughter to whom she had prayed for time unending whilst trapped within a demon’s torturous and soul-sucking grip.

In other words I had just confirmed that I was indeed the exact and literal answer to all her prayers, the female Messiah precisely as described within the sacred liturgy of her entire faith.

Fuck.

 

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.

 

Light And Shadow (Part 7 of 8)

by Erisian

 

Chapter 32 - Plan

 

Boston police were waiting for them at the gate when they landed. There had been an awkward stand-off while Diego called the DPA to confirm that the detectives were actually on assignment as opposed to being there due to possible unseen influence from mind-controlling angels.

Assurances were received and soon Isaiah and the wizard were delivered to a brick police precinct sitting alongside a narrow Boston street. Being Californian all Isaiah could think of as they were ushered past the windowed doors facing the rear parking lot was that a single earthquake could level the entire structure. Given the number of brick buildings they’d passed on the drive there, the entire city had better hope against such seismic events.

Or, say, powerful geo-magic.

The halls of the station that morning were crowded with agents all wearing blue and black blazers emblazoned with a wide variety of three-letter acronyms, along with more men wearing slightly over-sized business jackets who eyed the rest suspiciously. As for the cops whose home-base had been so invaded, they were doing their best to go about their business but clearly resented such a presence.

Especially as no one would tell them just what the hell was going on.

“This way.” A marked DPA agent led the newly arrived pair across a squad-room with desks stacked high with casefiles, each with a computer sitting amidst stacks of paperwork piled there as testaments to the failure of the quaint notion of a ‘paperless’ office. Walls were covered with print-outs spelling out the city’s current pressing sins, the ancient cork-boards underneath having bravely borne their pinned weight for many decades.

Within a conference room were pressed still more agents, many with dour expressions and crossed arms. At the head of the table stood Director Goodman, his short gray hair and sheriff-style mustache looking as tussled and tired as the bags underlining his eyes. He was in mid-argument with a red-faced man whose own gray hair had long ago given up its fight against baldness, the short ringed haircut echoing that of historical monks due to the wide face and broad stature of its owner.

“El Paso was a clusterfuck,” Goodman was stating, voice heated but controlled. “That’s why I am here. Your men have no idea what they are dealing with.”

A tall man in police dress-blues whose many ribbons told impressive stories of the past interrupted them both. “We’ve dealt with vampires before, Director. Our team is equipped which is how we caught the one you were after. We’re wasting daylight, established plan says we go in hot with fire and sun-lamps. Burn ‘em right out.”

The large flush-faced man glared angrily at the Director. “The reports my agency received were so blacked-out the damned printers ran out of ink! All that was readable was the target, this club by the harbor. I heard that the El Paso operation went smooth, no struggles or injuries. If that was such a mess then there’s too goddamn much they aren’t telling us. My god man, fill us in! We all got emergency orders to get our respective butts out here in force, but for what? If it’s a vampire nest like the one in oh-four, why deviate from protocol?”

Goodman, having caught sight of Diego and Isaiah, ran a tired hand across his forehead. “Clear the room. You and Superintendent MacDougall stay, along with those two.” He pointed at the fresh arrivals.

“All my agents here have clearances.” Thick arms crossed an even thicker chest bulging under the suit jacket.

“Just do it, Gerald. I’m going to get an earful about this from above as is.”

The two stared at each other. The man named Gerald finally cracked a faint smile. “Alright, Elliot. You win.” A broad hand with a naval academy ring gestured to the room. “You heard the man. Everyone out.”

It took a couple minutes for the mass of governmental agents to exit. The last one out closed the door.

“This room secure?” Goodman asked the taller police captain.

“As much as budget allows,” the Boston cop replied wryly.

Pulling out a chair, the DPA Director sat then motioned for the rest to join him. After they had done so, he spoke. “Our real target is a being who has many aliases, known to most as Bishop. Yes, he is by all reports vampiric. He is also something more.” Goodman pointed at Diego. “This is Special Agent Martin Diego of the DPA, wizard class five. He is my team’s expert on these matters. Diego, please elaborate on Bishop’s nature to FBI Deputy Director Gerald Wilmington and Superintendent Thomas MacDougall of the Boston PD.”

The wizard blinked with shock while Goodman stared meaningfully at him. Isaiah hid a smile behind a hand. That was an amusing way to restore someone’s job without giving them any chance to refuse. Isaiah also caught that Goodman had just explicitly authorized the revelation of classified information to the two gentleman in attendance.

“Ah, si,” Diego stammered before collecting himself. “Pardon. Bishop was not originally a man, rather he was - or in truth still is - a Nephelim.”

“A what?” asked the superintendent. Irish Catholic skepticism and distrust of magic had deepened the lines on his face at hearing Diego was a wizard.

Gerald raised an eyebrow at the police captain. “Means he was born of a woman and an angel.” Goodman looked at him in surprise and Gerald simply shrugged. “I did research after that footage of angels fighting in the skies over Aleppo. Figured that was your team covering things up when the vids disappeared.”

“Wasn’t us,” Goodman admitted.

Gerald’s other eyebrow joined the first.

“Señors,” Diego continued, “Bishop has been alive since before the history of civilization. His skills in the mystic arts reflect the knowledge gained across the ages of man. And yet…” The wizard trailed off, regarding Goodman with hesitation. “How much can be told, Director?”

Goodman drummed fingertips against the conference table. “Focus on the immediate potential threat. They have a need to know.”

The wizard nodded. “We believe Bishop has in his possession a mana-storage device of a scale never before imagined. Detonation of a similar device with a thousandth of the power was recently experienced at the Whateley Academy. A fully powered one was triggered at a pyramid in Giza. Quick thinking by…by a talented magic user managed to teleport that device to a prepared location which sent the explosion off-world.”

MacDougall, his dislike of magic being reinforced by every passing minute, scowled. “Is such a thing in my city?”

“It is possible,” Diego admitted. “We do not know for sure.”

“The nightclub,” Gerald said to Goodman. “You think it could be inside.”

“If Bishop is there then it most likely is too.”

“If?” sputtered MacDougall. “You don’t know where this monster is?”

Isaiah decided it was time to speak up. “If the vampire you have captured is Coatl, then Bishop will not be far.”

“And you are?” asked Gerald of Isaiah.

“Isaiah Cohen.”

“Not an agent, then. You’re here why exactly?”

“I’m sorry, Gerald,” Goodman interrupted. “That’s not something I’m authorized to tell. Not even to the FBI.”

Gerald was nonplussed. “You know I’ll try to find out anyway.”

“Naturally.”

MacDougall glanced back and forth between the various men. “I heard about the attack on the Academy. If this magic bomb thing is nearby, can it be detected?”

Goodman shook his head. “El Paso proved we can’t. Only luck prevented that raid from triggering a potentially catastrophic disaster.”

The Superintendent didn’t like the sound of that. “And how much of the city will we need to evacuate if such a device is here?”

Diego was solemn. “Señors: based on the data of the one which was spirited away, evacuation will do no good.”

The top cop frowned. “There’s got to be a safe distance. Just lay it out - what’s the radius?”

Goodman’s fingers stopped drumming. “One thousand miles. The impact will cover the eastern half of the United States and Canada.”

The room went silent. The last hint of red from earlier irritation drained from Gerald’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

Isaiah leaned forward, his expression hard. “The entirety of the Middle East owes its continued existence to the one who teleported the device out of Egypt.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” MacDougall sputtered. “What in God’s blessed name are we supposed to do against that?”

“A similar fail-safe as was employed is under construction,” Goodman told them. “We’re working on alternate ways to transport a device to it if need be.”

“You can’t just get the person who teleported the other one?” Gerald asked.

“She,” Isaiah said forcefully, “gave her life doing so. She’s gone.” As much as Isaiah wanted to believe that Soren and Nick could succeed, he knew it was beyond even the longest of shots that she’d ever return. It hurt to say it, as if doing so diminished hope’s chances. But reality was reality.

Wishing for something with all your heart would not make it so.

Gerald studied the lawyer and asked, “You knew her?”

“Yes.” Isaiah inhaled. “She was a good friend. The best I’ve ever known.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

Isaiah nodded acknowledgment of the sentiment as words had temporarily failed.

The top cop returned his attention to Goodman. “If there is a bomb, can it be defused?”

The Director tilted his head to Diego inquiringly. “Well?”

Diego held up clasped hands then spread them quickly apart. “If the crystal storage matrices are damaged, irreversible collapse would cause detonation. If she couldn’t stop it, I don’t see how we can.”

Gerald tugged nervously at a cheek. “Right. So what’s the plan, Elliot?”

Director Elliot Goodman locked eyes with Isaiah as he replied.

“We send in our best candidate to negotiate.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

A dark-skinned youth lay on a reinforced table wearing only underwear and manacles. The attached chains strapped him firmly down and held the well-toned arms taut above his head. Tattoos of brilliant Aztec artwork colorfully covered his chest and extended over arms and legs, depicting ancient gods and glories, each line and fill clear upon a canvas devoid of all hair. Eyes much older than the face stared into the fluorescent lights above. Wires ran from the chains to a series of additional unlit lamps mounted across the ceiling and walls, their reflective dishes ready to fill the entire room with the sun’s complete spectrum at maximum brightness should any wire pop free.

Even an accidental sneeze could be deadly to the trapped vampire.

Isaiah had been standing over the prisoner for a full five minutes after being allowed in by reluctant authorities. At Director Goodman’s command all video and audio feeds of the room had also been disabled.

Neither the man on the table nor Isaiah had yet to speak.

Walking around the bound figure, Isaiah studied the markings before finally stepping back.

Unexpectedly Coatl spoke first.

“A ghost follows you.” Syllables carried a hiss due to a tongue whose tip had been forcibly split.

“Yes.”

“You are not a cop.”

“I am not.”

“Who are you then?”

Isaiah moved closer to the bound man, entering the field of his vision. “You tell me.”

Brown eyes squinted then went wide first with panic before settling in resignation - if not peace. The words that followed were not in English. “Are you here to ferry me to Mictlan, Lord? Is it my time at last?”

Isaiah paused, stilling surprise that the foreign meaning was clear. Pushing that shock aside, he found himself answering in the same ancient tongue. “That remains to be seen.”

“I am a faithful servant of the gods. My life belongs to the Master, my life belongs to the Yoalteuctin.”

“The Master. Where is he?”

“Near, yet far. He prepares.”

“For what does he prepare?”

“Fulfillment of his greatest purpose, Lord. The Master shares not the details with the servant.”

“You will take me to him.”

Coatl flinched, the chains rattling in response. “The Master wishes to not be disturbed.”

Fingers of night gripped the bound man by the throat and more. “Be reminded, priest of the Yoalteuctin. Not all deaths are equal.”

A cold beyond that of temperature seeped past skin already in equilibrium with the room. “Forgive, Lord! The servant will comply!”

“Yes.” Isaiah, his hand feeling not as flesh but as the blackest of bone, leaned closer still. “You will.”

 

Chapter 33 - Cards

 

Someone screams.

 

Desiccated fingers whose soft touch once was bliss itself reach across a bed’s metal railing.

“Listen to me. I have to go, and you have to stay. Find someone, have a family. For me, love. Promise me. Swear it.”

 

Vistas of memory stretch to their limits, areas of strength desperately binding the threads together against a force hammering at the structure and demanding a release from all pattern, all order, and all coherence.

 

Standing before a gravestone, a man comforts a lost child.

“Don’t worry, hon. We’ll face whatever comes together. Always and forever.”

 

Pain beyond rationality, beyond all ability to bear, beyond all agony conceived by physical form.

 

Two girls embrace, one youthful-yet-old holding close the younger chewing a lip in a reflected gesture.

“I swear I will always be there for you.”

 

Where weakened the tapestry cracks, splintering with sorrow. Foreign energy - colorless yet past the blackest of black - twists and strains against the fractures to undo that which was, that which is, and that which could be.

 

Within a car crossing a desert they huddle close as they prepare to face what dangers may come.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll be right there with you.”

 

Each scenes repeats, playing out over and over as the fidelity begins to fragment and still someone screams.

 

A cat of fluffed gray and white watches with sad emerald eyes as an explosion of trapped horror rips across an instant of sorrowed realization where two sacred vows reach their end.

 

Once more. Colors fade as static swallows sound. And again.

 

“Promise me.”

“I swear.”

“Always and forever.”

 

A hand trapped behind glass swings the very chain that binds it, cracking a small opening in the spherical prison. Jagged edges scrape skin as fingers reach through to grab hold of that which has locked her away before it’s too late.

An ocean wave crashes overhead to cover all, the sphere splashing deep into dark and cold. Within the tide’s chilling embrace the weaving of memory and self freezes, each sliver of the past becoming numb and distant.

Fingers close around mine and I wonder whether it was her or I who screamed.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“She wakes!”

“Impossible. Father dosed her with more than any soul or devil has ever-”

“Have you heard nothing I have said? Hers is no ordinary spirit.”

“She’s spasming. Move aside! She’ll shatter the coach if not held down!”

“No. Drink, my Queen. Drink and sleep! Below the curse’s touch you must slumber still.”

“You are crazed, witch. You’d better know what you’re doing.”

“This is not a moment of knowing. This is a test of faith. Tu sarai - sempre - la prima strega. La prima strega divenuta nel mondo…”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Soft fibers pressed against a cheek. Fleeting disorientation as recognition of gravity’s arrow realigned perception.

I was on a couch.

More specifically I was laid out on a couch covered with a thick crocheted blanket, its wispy loops tickling nose and eyelids while firm cushions pressed into back and side. Scent of incense, reminding of a girlfriend I once had. She’d kept her apartment filled with clouds of smoky nag-champa and dragon’s blood resin.

Confusion. How long ago had that been? A year? A decade. More?

Sound, quiet exhales against the blanket and the riff of playing cards being shuffled by a practiced hand. A woman’s voice, nonchalant yet amused. “Easy does it. My boy was right. You’re a mess.”

A single candle illuminated the shiny blue-cloth draped over a round pillar-style table. Behind the circle sat the woman, broad face with full cheeks peering past horn-rimmed glasses. Thinning bangs whose red dye had badly faded flickered in the scant light as she tapped the cards together to reform a deck. A patternless and pale t-shirt lay above faded jeans, the fabric stretching for she was not of small stature.

Sitting up it was not the bookshelf-filled room that swam but myself, yielding a groan which itself sounded odd. The hand which pushed upright was also weird, stubby knuckles brushed with thick hairs whose many cousins occupied the thicker wrist and arm.

Foreign yet familiar.

“Where am I?” Voice deep but not too deep. Mine?

The woman shuffled the cards again. Next to the candle sat a closed mason jar containing still-swirling tarry goop. Flashes of darker lightning within pulled at things underneath my skin forcing an aversion of eyes to regain stability.

“Nasty stuff,” the woman said with a nod at the jar. Practiced broad fingers adorned with rings of silver and gold moved with their own grace to again separate and merge the split deck into a coherent whole. “Chaos-infused spellwork. Not the worst I’ve seen. Though it still took some doing to pull away from all that prior contamination. As to your question, you’re between.”

“Between?” An instinct to look deeper caused the room to waver. Leather book bindings upon the shelves glossed over, blending together into glass. Windows? A sharp thwack to the forehead by the cards interrupted and restored the scribed volumes with their candle-lit clarity.

“Quit that.” She was still on the other side of the table, well out of reach. As she leaned over, her knees spread to each side of the small table and bare feet poked out of the jeans. The toenails weren’t flat, rather they were thick and sharpened to curved claw-like points. “Yes, between. You are caught betwixt past, present, and future. Here, look.”

Tapping the edge of the deck against the table three times she then drew from the top, flipping a single card over. It showed a white marble lighthouse rising above a rocky and stormy seashore, a bolt of lightning striking its top only to cascade down the walls to shatter the stones underneath.

“The Tower,” said the woman. “Unexpected events which uproot one’s very foundations. Your past.”

As she spoke the image on the card shifted, the lighthouse twisting into a hospital whose windowed doors and many rooms grew clearer in memory. So many days and nights spent there, as the concrete path through those doors became harder and harder to tread as my wife Caroline had grown physically weaker - yet somehow stronger in spirit. For her had I taken each step, her strength carrying me through. The scene, sensing recognition and remembrance, twisted anew into something else.

Transformed, instead of the hospital upon that strange shore now sat a chair. Wood carved with ancient symbols flashed in the illumination from the sky’s brilliant multi-forked assault upon it, splinters bursting as the wood shattered into the chaos of the surrounding maelstrom.

Unlike the actual chair it resembled, this one had been empty.

I looked away. Crossing arms they become smooth, resting against a chest that had gained softer curves.

Familiar yet foreign.

She drew a second card, placing it next to the first. “The Hermit, reversed.”

Against better judgment I gazed at the upside-down picture. Upon a barren landscape sat a wagon, its blue crystal lamp dimly illuminating a fur-and-cloth-wrapped driver whose goggled eyes stared out into the nothingness.

The woman tapped a long red-painted nail against the card. “Hmph. The present. You’re afraid.”

“I am?” Voice higher, melodic but weary. “What am I afraid of?”

“Only you can answer. But you’ve got to be willing to listen.” Scooping the two cards up she returned them to the deck. “Well then. That does it.”

“Wait, what about the future? Aren’t you supposed to show three?”

Waving the deck she flashed a coffee-stained grin. “That card you’ll have to pull yourself.” The many books blended again, reddish light streaming through covers turning to glass and washing out everything else. Table, couch, and the woman herself faded, bleached away by a harsh sunset.

As the candle itself flickered out I heard her say one last thing.

“When the moment comes, remember this: which future you pull is entirely up to you.”

 

Chapter 34 - Rolling

 

The room was much like the ones in all the other hospitals I’ve unfortunately experienced. It had the usual bed, portable table, nurse’s sink station and what I hoped was a private bathroom. In other ways it stood out with features all its own. The walls were the opposite of the standard white I’d been accustomed to and instead were panels of shiny stone akin to hematite. Also the wide windows showed a city of tall skyscrapers huddled beneath an ocean of fire, the flowing sky-flames painting everything in the room in bright crimsons, yellows, and flashes of orange. A mix of flying vehicles and large winged creatures formed lines of regulated traffic which wended to and fro between the buildings like some deranged science-fiction and fantasy crossover.

The I.V. bag and plastic drip-line running to a wrist was much more standard fare. Rune-enforced leather straps pinning said wrist with matching versions holding hips and ankles firmly below blankets were not.

However the main difference from the usual medical care was the seven-foot tall tomato-paste devil wearing a doctor’s white coat and navy-blue dress slacks which totally complemented the pair of remarkably recurved horns sprouting from his head. His bulk didn’t so much as stand as loom over the foot of the bed as if it were a line of scrimmage. Seriously, he looked like he was waiting to pound some hapless quarterback into a smear of grass and shattered hopes of ever seeing the end-zone.

I’d have joked about him needing to play for the Rams but with the restraints holding me down I wasn’t in a laughing state of mind.

“It appears you have woken up. Welcome back.” The devil flashed what could have been an attempt at a disarming smile which utterly failed. Instead the teeth gleamed white with more of an unnerving sneer.

“Uh, hi,” I croaked, fighting down internal panic. My bracers were gone and I had no more reserve of power. I was trapped.

“Do you remember your name?”

Too many possibilities came to mind. “Yeah.”

“I’m afraid I must insist on hearing what it is.” Meaty hands with immaculately trimmed nails a darker red than the skin raised a clipboard which seemed awfully tiny within that grip. The smile tilted to a leer. Or maybe that was just the paranoid interpretation.

But what if it wasn’t?

I swallowed, trying not to fight the bindings and squirm even further away from the guy. “You can call me Jordan.”

“Jordan, yes. Excellent.” With a pen he checked a box on his board. “And how do you feel?”

“Tied down.”

“Let us continue our evaluation and perhaps the restraints will no longer be necessary.”

“I’d like them off now.”

“Not until the evaluation is complete. They are there for your protection as well as that of the staff. Physically, how are you feeling?” The smile slipped and eyes of rust watched my every twitch.

“Like I was hit by a truck. An all over bruise and ache. Maybe a bit fuzzy-headed.” That wasn’t quite right. I actually felt clear, in a way I hadn’t in a long time. It was the world around me which was foggy. Like it was out of focus.

Or like I was missing perceptions that I’d gotten used to. Uh oh.

“Do you remember what happened?” the looming devil asked. “Why you are here?”

“Uh, I got slammed by a seriously awful spell. Don’t remember much after that. Nor do I remember the sky ever being on fire, that’s usually reserved for the ground. Where exactly is ‘here’?”

“You are a patient at the Penultimate Hope hospital, located within the city of Dis upon the Plains of Gehru. Given the nature of the ‘seriously awful spell’ you suffered, you should not have survived with either physical form or mental acuity intact. From the attack nor the treatments administered I might add. I am hoping you may offer insight where those who brought you into our care have so far refused.”

“You’re my doctor?”

“Chief Resident Jeghash at your service.” He stepped closer and the nod of those massive horns caused me to flinch. Okay, it wasn’t so much a flinch as a full-force jerk against the straps.

The damn things glowed and refused to tear, causing instead the entire bed to lurch and clonk against the wall behind.

He paused as the situation registered. Instead of a patient who might have an epileptic fit he finally saw a vulnerable woman stuck to a bed facing a ten-foot tall monster. Taking a deliberate step back he gestured a single claw at the bed and the restraints loosened and fell away.

It wasn’t done out of mercy. There’d been a moment of measured thought behind those eyes that considered I might reveal more if ‘freed’. Of course the door to the room could also be locked and reinforced for all I knew.

Still, I instantly yanked legs up under the blanket and huddled with my back against the headboard. The hospital gown felt thinner than the sheets and I pulled the blanket up higher.

“When you were brought in you were experiencing seizures,” he said. “Those truly were necessary given your physical strength.”

“I see.”

The claw tapped against the clipboard and he attempted the non-reassuring smile again. “We are here for your care, Jordan. To do that better it would help to know everything about your…situation.”

“Does this place have doctor-patient privilege?”

“Insomuch as you can afford, yes there is a strict confidentiality. Though in this case specifically there are, I must admit, additional legal complications.”

Why oh why did that not surprise. “Such as?”

Doctor Horny-Head lost the overly-large smile. “Realm security regulations. You are the victim of nothing less than an assault by what appears to be the work of an Archon of Chaos or similarly attuned practitioner. I am required as a matter of law to report such to the authorities.”

Huh. Even Hell had rules regarding patients getting gunshot. Or in this case, chaos-blasted. “You call the cops already?”

He feigned a smug look of false innocence. “I am quite sure the proper forms are being filled out and are in process. The requisite staff are diligently working on this in addition to properly accounting for the sizable donation recently received by our hospital. The tax paperwork for reception of such is stringent, you understand, and requires rather timely filings.”

“Sizable donation?”

“Why yes. It would seem that upon the day of your arrival our top-rated hospital was graced by a generous anonymous benefactor with a gift of valid currency from another realm. A veritable treasure-chest’s worth I am told. To be sure, cash has additional reporting requirements and our clerks are dedicated to filling out each box and line item thereof with immeasurable care.”

Good grief. I had a feeling I was only half as rich as before. One chest’s worth, eh? Good thing Erglyk had had two of them. And here I thought healthcare back home was expensive.

Though as this was Hell what else could one expect. And if they’d already been paid, I guessed Maddalena or Yaria had made the deal - which would have included terms such as no molesting the naked patient. The flutter in my chest eased, if only a little bit.

Speaking of Hell, this raised a question of loopholes. Too many years listening to Isaiah go on and on about contracts had left me jaded. “And what of my care itself? How large is that bill running up?”

“No need to concern yourself. Our facility is satisfied with the publicity contract arranged and already executed.”

Say what? “Publicity? What happened to confidentiality!”

He smirked. “Fear not. It was not to publish your stay that was arranged, but rather the specialist your people brought in to assist with your treatment. It is always our privilege here at Penultimate Hope to work closely with such esteemed personages. Her time is obviously quite valuable and she understandably departed once your condition stabilized.”

I was lost. “Who?”

“She who was once the First Wife to Adam and the Conquerer of the Outer Realms. You have the great honor to be saved by none other than the former Archangel Lilith.”

Holy - or should I say unholy? - crap.

The doctor put both hands behind his waist, clipboard included. “As you may imagine our curiosities are piqued. We have needed to work directly with your spirit energy and therefore have more questions than answers. Any mortal soul administered such quantities of what has to be the purest vintage of the Waters of Lethe I have ever encountered would have slipped unto permanent mental oblivion.” He looked at me meaningfully. “And any normal Nephelim would require the turning of an age before recovering even the slightest of their memories. Yet you have awoken clearly still in possession of your faculties. Granted further testing should be performed to make such a determination more clinically sound.”

Waters of Lethe? Wait, was that what Maddalena had given me? How the heck had she gotten her hands on that? No, that wasn’t right. Yaria had said her father had done it. Vance. Oh man, he’d also gotten his mother to heal me.

As I’d healed him. Talk about a debt being paid in full.

In fact I probably now owed him.

I shrugged as best I could while keeping the blankets covering as much as possible. “Maybe Lilith had something to do with it.”

The doctor looked down his nose at me. “Perhaps.” Nope, he wasn’t buying that. “Before you worry yourself, you will find your artifacts in the closet opposite the bed.”

“Artifacts?”

“Two bracers of obvious angelic origin, one set of demonic armor, and a chain bearing Earth military-style dog-tags embedded with a highly-skilled obfuscation spell. Plus some boots and garments which I am told required extensive effort to clean.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I was surprised that Erglyk’s armor had survived until I remembered (somewhat painfully) that the blast from Ithx had ignored everything physical to directly attack the spirit. Camael’s bracers might have helped but the armor not so much. To that spell the armor and the entire realm we’d been on may as well have not existed. Which meant the fallen had probably been unable to detect its release. Nathanael/Hank included.

“Now, as your doctor, I must ask you: what happened? And who - or what - are you?”

“Just a soldier who jumped on the wrong goddamn grenade.”

He sighed wistfully though his expression made it obvious that he hadn’t expected a real answer. “You reek of an incredible story, Miss Jordan. Are you sure you do not wish to share? It could shed light upon your circumstances and aid us in completely healing your pattern, one which still shows signs of distress I might add. There are aspects to it, frankly, the likes of which I have never before seen.”

I choked at the mention of ‘shedding light’ and tried to pass it off as a simple coughing fit. “Gah. Sorry, throat is awfully dry. Any chance at some water?”

“I will send a nurse in to provide you a beverage.” His polite demeanor fought against frustrated curiosity. “Without full details we cannot aid you properly, you understand?”

“I think I’d like to talk with my…with the people who brought me here. It’s tricky, okay?”

The devil wanted to push it but decided not to. “Perhaps after a meal visitors can be allowed. Also once the referral paperwork is complete a psychologist will be by to properly evaluate your mental well-being. In the meantime we shall continue to monitor your condition for any potential relapses.”

Shoulder blades twitched at the thought. But whereas I’d been feeling the wrongness embedded in the phantom wing ever since I’d arrived in Hell, now I felt nothing.

Not even the wing itself.

The doctor saw the nervous chomp against a lip and tried to offer reassurance. “Do not worry, you are in the best of hands. Now, I will return later in the day on my next rounds. Until then, rest up and do eat something. If you remember anything pertinent to your treatment that you wish to share,” he said giving another one of those insinuating glares, “simply tell the nurse and they will summon me immediately.” The way he said ‘immediately’ made it clear that such attention was far from usual treatment practices.

“Thank you. There’s still a lot to process, you know?”

“Of course. Until later then, Miss Jordan.” He strode out, needing to turn sideways in order to fit through the door. After he was gone I breathed out slow, putting my face in my palms.

Jesus, I was shaking. I caught myself wishing Balus had been here to out-tower the doc and hoping the big one-eyed guy was okay. The fact that I did so made me realize I really did have a lot to think about.

Not that I had anything else scheduled in the suddenly empty day-planner.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The curtain of fire covering the sky outside rolled on, the interplay of colors bouncing off the polished stone of the walls and floor. Other than the three-eyed matronly nurse who’d come in and served a lump of hot mystery meat on a red ceramic platter I’d been left alone. She hadn’t liked me much, likely due to getting grilled on what exactly had been used in the meatloaf. There were certain things I most definitely was not going to eat, even if they had been no one I knew.

When she walked out a fourth eye set in the back of her head still flashed with annoyance at having to explain a critter obviously well-known to the citizens of Dis but not to a remote-realm hick such as myself.

I’d like to say the meat tasted like chicken but it totally didn’t. It was more like a gristle-filled wedge of bland tofu.

All of which was a distraction from the whirlpool of thoughts trying to sort themselves out and failing. Chief of which was about Hank.

Why hadn’t he told me?

He’d known who I really was, probably all along. He was strong too. What had Drek called him? ‘Nathanael, Captain of the Powers’. From Aradia’s memories I knew him. At Camael’s command he’d led the squad of warriors in that final push against Azazel, reinforced by the light consuming Aradia as they dove towards that madness.

Had I found him on the Edge or had he found me?

Knowing Fate’s heavy hand and sense of irony, the answer to that was likely a mix of both.

He’d been hurting, huddled on that shore. That had been no act. Having now seen the damage to his pattern he likely had just fallen past the boundaries, and had been suffering the loss of being torn from the holy symphonies, cast alone into the dark.

Camael must have asked him to find and help me. And in so doing Nathanael had made the ultimate sacrifice and tossed himself Below.

Still. Why didn’t he tell me?

I pushed uneaten flavorless chunks around the plate.

Several logical-sounding answers came to mind, but none of them addressed the feeling that I’d somehow been betrayed by a friend. Much like I’d done to Isaiah by letting him believe that I was dead.

Karma was indeed a bitch.

That’s how Maddalena and Twitch found me when they came in: still on the bed in a paper-thin gown and staring out the window while a halfway eaten meal lurked suspiciously upon the wheeled tray. Twitch was in his reaper outfit complete with goggles pushed up his forehead, the robes having been given a serious washing. I’d have bet good coin they hadn’t been that white in ages. Maddalena wore a slender sea-green dress that hung to her ankles and did nothing to hide how skinny she was.

Not that I had any room to talk. A mirror set on the bathroom door opposite the bed was showing a similarly scrawny woman with a rather haunted expression huddling under a clumped-up blanket.

Maddalena strode over and blocked that view, placing cool hands against forehead and cheeks.

“Good,” she said with professionalism. “No fever. Physically you are whole.” Glancing at the plate she tsked. “You should finish that.”

“And hello to you too,” I said before looking past to Twitch with remembered concern. “Hey bud. Last I saw you, you were being carried off. Everything okay?”

He stepped closer and nodded, a finger gesturing at Maddalena.

She’d been able to heal him. Thank goodness. A burst of air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding escaped a relieved chest. “You nutter! Charging the golem like that? That was crazy! You should have let me do it.”

Shaking his head that finger moved first to himself then with an angry flip was suddenly directed fully at me.

Dammit, he literally had a point. Sinking back against the pillows a few toes poked out from under the blanket. “Yeah, okay, I didn’t do much better did I?”

“You did much worse,” Maddalena said. “Which we need to talk about.”

I glanced around the room then at her. “Maybe, but not sure this is the best place for that.”

She shook her head. “Conditions of the donation required secure quartering. This room has been warded against all manner of surveillance.”

“Even against recording stones sneakily placed for later playback?” That came out with more reproach than I’d intended.

Blanching, she looked to the floor. “I apologize, my Queen. If I had known-”

My snort interrupted her. “Queen? Unless my memory really is messed up I don’t recall receiving a coronation.”

This time she met my gaze with an inner resolve of a kind I’d seen before within the eyes of Callas Soren. And, come to think of it, in the expression of Twitch’s sister, Jenna. Standing straighter she said, “By your own admission you are Aradia, daughter of the Goddess, sent to Earth to teach and protect. You shall always be a queen.”

“Earth?” I scoffed. “And yet here I am. In Hell.”

“Just because you are divine does not make you infallible, my Queen. Which is why many of us are concerned. And not just about your recovery from this assault.”

I resisted the urge to roll onto my side away from them both. “I know damned well I’m not infallible. Puns fully intended.”

“Twitch worries that you are too much like how he once was.”

“Huh?” Umm, he was a guy and I was once a guy. Had he figured that out? To quote Charlie Brown, ‘Augh!’

Twitch tugged on Maddalena’s shoulder, giving a nervous shake of his head.

“No,” Maddalena said, brushing him off. “She needs to hear this. We put it off and look what happened.” She then touched my hand. “I’ve spoken with Yaria and Ruyia, and they concur with Twitch’s assessment.”

“Which is what exactly?” I asked, becoming irritated at how clearly uncomfortable this was making Twitch.

“That you have been trying to find a way to die.”

I blinked. Say what? I gaped over at Twitch in shock. “You think I’m suicidal? Me?”

The pain in his eyes as he slowly nodded made me want to cry.

“How many times,” Maddalena asked as she squeezed my fingers, “have you attempted martyrdom? To throw yourself away if only it would rescue others from harm?”

“But I don’t-”

“Want to die? Think, my Queen. Think of your actions, as painful as this may be. You risk your existence without hesitation. You saved me from eternal torment as a result but I beg you, try to look at this clearly. Is there no truth to his fear?”

My mouth opened to tell her no, that of course there wasn’t.

No words came out.

Outside fire reflected across a ceiling tall and distant. How many times had I risked it all?

Dear god. Too many.

In the storage unit with Danielle, into the blackness surrounding Evie, in the skies above Aleppo against a fallen angel, and with the bomb at the pyramids - and those were just the instances back on Earth. Here in Hell I’d faced numerous bloody-minded demons and plunged fists and indeed my entire self into their flesh and spirit, heedless of any personal cost. Time and time again. Evil chaos magic included, I’d taken it all on. Each done in the name of saving others.

Was that really all there was to it?

I’d even thought in jest at the absurdity of it all and that I needed to quit doing that kind of thing. Sarcastic humor sure, but part of me knew.

That part had always known.

Because of what I’d lost once within the hospital room shown in the woman’s card, bright where this room was dark. We’d sworn to be together until the end of our days, she and I. Without forewarning of how short her days would turn out to be.

Danielle’s death had added to it. As did the loss of my sister, whose happenstance accident still lurked in my gut as meaningless and capricious despite my having touched the all-loving light hiding behind the fabric of the universe.

But those two had not been the source. It all went back to her.

My Caroline.

There was nothing I could have done to save her. No way to throw myself into a pyre and pull my wife free. No miracle cure developed at the last minute, no magical healer found to restore a body whose own cells choked out the last strands of her life.

She died and only the still-embodied wreckage of dreams answering to my original name had remained.

As stupid as it was there was a slice within my heart holding on to the belief that my end could - just possibly - have me waking up not to yet another hospital but instead within her arms. I’d never been able to explain why attempts by Isaiah to set me up on dates had caused only anger and resentment. How could it have been right to enjoy such things again? I had sworn to try but she was gone, and that corner of pain believed I should have gone with her.

Except I was too stubborn to die without having the right reasons. Despair and sadness alone were nowhere near enough, something Azazel had never understood in all his attempts to crush my will.

Even falling to Hell hadn’t stopped the impulse. The lack of reality within these realms felt more like a bad simulation than anything true. Yet every leap into the grinding gears of ridiculous danger on behalf of others caused that tiny inner voice to rejoice that maybe, just maybe, its buried hope would finally be realized. Requiring only to fight in those moments against the end as hard as possible - teeth, nails, and fists - so the excuses could never be examined. Would never be examined.

Like they were now.

I yanked my hand away from Maddalena. “I’ll consider it. You’ve made your point.”

“Have we?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

Twitch again touched her shoulder and she took a step back though she clearly wanted to keep pushing the issue.

Arms folded across the skimpy hospital gown. “Where are my weapons? The doc only mentioned my armor.”

“With the Lilim. We could not bring them into the hospital.”

“How long have I been out?”

Maddalena leaned against the wall, clasping hands neutrally in front. “We got you through the Hole immediately, but it’s been many sleeps since.”

“Through the Hole?”

“Yes. Before the battle Vance had received word from the reaper named Barry that two individuals had visited the outpost and inquired about you. By name and description. Tuthos - who’s been reassigned to Epsilon - believed one of them a fallen, possibly even a Grigori. The visitors were told nothing and they walked off into the dark with no supplies just like they’d arrived. Ruyia and Yaria had heard reports of a similar pair searching for you on the light side as well.”

Shit. “Was it Azazel himself? Or another Grigori working for him?”

“They didn’t know.”

“What about Hank and the fallen? Wouldn’t the spell that hit me have been proof enough to get their aid?”

“According to Vance the angels set over the Rock would have indeed been convinced. And killed you at once for having become tainted lest it spread. It was thought that in your condition it was best to get you off realm immediately and to better specialists more willing to help.”

“How? I thought the portal in the Spire was destroyed.”

“The Lilim repaired it. The reforged rift opens into a warehouse within this city. One under the Lilim’s control.”

That bothered me. Peddling needed items and trinkets to reaper outposts would never generate enough revenue to justify the cost of such a portal, especially given how difficult they were to make according to Vance’s description and how annoyed he was about losing the first one. “Where are Yaria and Ruyia? Can they come visit me here? Or Vance for that matter.”

She gave a small shake of the head. “They’re still in the city, but no they cannot come see you.”

“Why not?”

“Because of the potions.”

“You mean the Waters of Lethe.”

This time she nodded. “Yes. They are forbidden by direct order of the Holy Originalists.”

“The who?”

“The fallen angels. The ones who rule Dis dislike such terminology.”

Oh. Okay. That kinda made sense, them not wanting to be called ‘fallen’. But the ‘Holy Originalists’? Huh. That was a new one. “I keep getting told how rare and expensive that stuff is. But it being that highly illegal? Why would the angels care?”

“I’ve heard it said that to the angels it acts as a poison, one whereby physical contact alone with the purest of solutions will drain them of their power.”

“But not their memories? I thought it washed those away.” Saying it aloud put two and two together. The spell unleashed by Ithx had attacked memories, especially ones filled with painful instances of weakness and vulnerability. Vance must have dosed me with the stuff to suppress the memories and thereby create a buffer so the spell couldn’t reach them until Lilith could pull the chaos mess out. Many poisons can be used carefully to cure, this must have been much the same. In a flash of insight I arrived at the sum of five and began to understand.

“The fallen,” I said. “Their centers, their words - they’ve got massive holes there. I’ve seen the gaps. Their memories must be a good chunk of what keeps them going. Their sense of selves holding on as buttressed by all their experiences since the moment of their creations. Pure ego and will forged by their history. Weaken those, and good grief. They’d wither. They’ve got nothing else.” There was something more there, something about the nature of angelic memory which felt important but the details eluded me.

“I wouldn’t know, my Queen.”

“Wait.” I held up a hand as thoughts picked up speed in a different and more immediate direction. “Huh. I think I’m getting it.”

“Getting what?”

“The real picture. Major Praztus once called the stuff ‘Beliel’s Tears’. And Vance said Beliel came to squat on the Rock, that the realm was once Beliel’s own. One with a core of ice that keeps pushing up from the center until the Spark melts it. That’s got to be the real River of Lethe. The purest stuff is probably at its source underground.”

Twitch’s eyes went wide. He’d figured it out too. Locking gazes we both boggled as the pieces fell into place.

“The Lilim,” I said to Maddalena though I was still staring at Twitch. “They’re drug smugglers. And they’ve paid off the Reaper Captains for access to the supply.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s the Hole. It goes right through the Rock. People and supplies traverse it all the time. It’s a natural place to tunnel horizontally once halfway down to get to the source of the Waters without being observed. It’d need to be a long-ass tunnel, but so what? When you’ve got eternity to dig that’s not a problem. Who knows how far out the stuff pools down there either. Maybe that’s why we were warned so heavily not to drink any melted ice unless it was distilled first.”

Maddalena nodded and I continued the thought. “Erglyk’s chests full of cash - she must’ve made a fortune working for the Lilim. Tuthos too. She’d let Vance load their wagons with fresh ‘water’ for their rounds between the outposts. Instead I bet Vance would go straight to the Spires with the goods and shove ‘em through his private gate. No inspections and no fuss, directly into this city from the remotest of remote areas away from all attention.”

Twitch gestured wildly, making squares in the air. Then flicked his fingers away as if from an explosion.

“Oh god, you’re right,” I said. “The vault. Ithx stole stuff from behind the wall and dragged it out of Epsilon. I bet it was filled with casks containing the purest stuff Erglyk and Vance had ever stashed away.”

Maddalena caught on. “But if Ithx took that-”

I finished the thought for her. “Then Azazel has it. And the assaults on the Hole could have been attempts to discretely reach the source directly for more.”

Jumping up and down Twitch furiously pointed at a chalkboard by the door which had a ten by ten grid of squares on it, many of which had been crossed out with X’s starting at the top left and working across then down.

It was a calendar.

“The Grand Conclave!” I blurted, catching his meaning. “The fallen princes are all here. In Dis. Together and probably meeting in the same room. This is what Azazel meant when he taunted me about capturing a King!”

Maddalena’s eyes grew wide. “You think he’ll attack one of the Sarim?”

“Worse than that. He’ll likely to try to take out as many of them as possible, hoping to conquer most of Hell in one clean strike. We have to warn them!” Sitting higher in the bed I took in a deep breath and shouted at the top of my lungs.

“NURSE!”

Twitch rolled his eyes and pointed to the call button attached to the bed’s rails.

I pushed the silly thing twice. And then again for good measure.

 

Chapter 35 - Resignation

 

Doctor Jeghash was good to his word. The linebacker-sized physician showed up within minutes of the nurse finally bothering to give him a call. Anyone who’s spent time in hospitals knows full well how backwards that was, usually nurses are responsive and the docs are never to be found.

Not wanting to waste time explaining things twice I told him simply to get that paperwork filed immediately and to do whatever he could to rush someone in authority out so I could give my statement. I hinted heavily that time may be of the essence. Even if I knew where the Conclave was being held (which I didn’t), I sure as heck couldn’t just show up at its gates like any other crazed and damned soul ranting about the end of realms or whatever.

Somehow I didn’t think nutjobs with doomsday proclamations would be tolerated all that well here in Hell. There was probably a specific demonic feeding pit for them so they could babble about apocalypses while slipping past eager sets of devouring teeth.

Appearing somewhat dubious that any threat I could report was truly that time-sensitive, Jeghash nevertheless followed through. There may have been another cold determination regarding risk versus reward involved. After all, procedure demanded a swift investigation and if such inquiry revealed me to be one of the aforementioned sign-holding prophets with a screw loose none of that would be on him.

That and this possibly being the only way to satisfy his natural curiosity regarding who the heck I was and how I’d shown up with primal chaos crud wreaking havoc on my uniquely configured spirit. Considering he hung around with us while we waited on the investigator - even ordering the nurse to bring us all tea - I heavily suspected the latter.

We’d only managed to drink about half our cups when a three-foot tall winged devil waltzed in on bat-like clawed feet. He still managed to dress the part of a cop as he was wearing a custom-tailored miniature trenchcoat over a white shirt and red tie, said shirt and coat having slots for the brown leathery wings to stick out the back. He may have been wearing shorts under the coat, but I never got a good look.

At least I hoped he was wearing shorts.

Stone-like eyes quickly darted about the room to evaluate all the individuals within as well as all the potential exits before they settled upon the towering doctor. “You Jeghash?” he demanded, unfazed by the height differential.

“I am,” replied the doctor politely. “And you are?”

“Special Agent Class Three of Realm Security. Name’s Krux. What’s the rush, doc?”

“Our patient was attacked by chaos-empowered spellwork. I believe she is ready to give her statement.” He nodded in my direction.

The beady intelligent eyes shifted their attention and the cop pulled what looked like a simple electronic recorder out of a pocket. One thumb-flick and a tiny red LED started flashing. “Right. Let’s start with the basics. Name and realm of arrival?”

Maddalena and I had debated about this while waiting for the doctor and she hadn’t agreed with my decision.

But the witch stood quietly as I spilled the beans.

“I’ve been using the name Jordan and I crash-landed on Beliel’s Rock only so many cycles ago,” I said, still propped up on the bed. “But I’ve had other names. The one you’ll be most interested in is Aradia, daughter of Lucifer and the Goddess Artemis.”

The argument with Maddalena had been quick. Twitch had remained neutral, he’d known I was angelic but not the specifics. If the details had shocked him, he hadn’t shown it. Frankly - much like with the Duchess - I didn’t see any other way to lend enough credence to my story for anyone in authority to take it seriously. At some point the fallen were going to be involved, and the word of a damned soul alone was never going to cut it. The Duchess also already knew, how long she’d keep it a secret would depend on whatever advantage she needed in the moment.

What I hadn’t expected was the agent’s reaction. He’d frozen in place staring at me like I was radioactive and he was wondering if he’d already been overexposed. “You for real?”

“I wouldn’t make that up. The doc can confirm my pattern is rather unique.”

Jeghash, who had responded by raising immaculately trimmed eyebrows in controlled astonishment, nodded quick agreement. “The base structure of a Nephelim is entirely consistent with the findings, though we would never have guessed such an esteemed progenitor. It does not explain all that has been observed but it fits the gathered data.”

Krux whistled and re-thumbed the recorder to kill the red light. Then pushed another button before returning it to his pocket. “Shit.”

“That a problem?” I asked.

“Girl, you have no idea.” To the doctor Krux said, “Make no record of this. Understood? And tell no one. If I hear you’ve breathed one word I will rain all kinds of fire - literal and metaphoric - upon that tall head of yours.” Krux looked around the room again. “This space secured?”

“To the best of our ability, yes,” answered Jeghash, clearly not liking being threatened. “What precisely is the issue?”

“You all know of the Grand Conclave, I assume?” Krux said, looking at us all again - and this time lingering on Twitch as if reevaluating whether or not he was a threat. “It’s the biggest news item of the moment being blasted across all the channels, so if you haven’t you’ve been living in a hole.”

I decided not to make a joke about having actually gone through a Hole twice and instead just said, “We know about it, which is why I need to tell you what the hell has happened. The bastard who did this to me is going to attack the Conclave.”

That got his attention back. “Hold up. Attack the Conclave? Who?”

“A Grigori named Azazel. Recently punted off Earth by the angel Camael after being locked under a mountain for thousands of years. Which was due to being a chaos-wielding jerkwad that nearly got the Earth destroyed by the Host after his infection of it.”

If thick brown hide could pale, Krux’s would have tried. “You willing to tell me everything? If the feathered assholes - no offense to your family - are up to something on Earth, it could explain some of the mess going on around here.”

I bit my lip and he noticed the hesitation.

“Listen, girl,” he growled, “there’s something you gotta understand. Whatever nonsense got shoved into your head back on Earth about how awful we are down here - and yeah, okay, a lot of that is true - we’re also still the front line standing against the Abyss. Got it? So I need to know it all regarding any incursion from the Chaos. And I need to know it now.” Behind those brown pinpricks lay eons of experience of which much had obviously been unpleasant. There was also underlying fear there, and not from what I’d just told him. Something else was worrying him greatly which I’d somehow just made worse.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “My story in exchange for what’s got you so panicked. Because you’re right, you do need to know. But so do I.”

The small wings on his back twitched then settled. “Just you and me?”

“Yeah.”

“Done.”

There was a pregnant silence in the room until Doctor Jeghash coughed. “I suppose this is our cue to depart.” He crossed the room and held the door expectantly for Maddalena and Twitch.

Maddalena hovered by the bed. “My queen-”

I patted her arm. “I’ll be fine. Go on.” Looking past at Twitch I gave him a weak smile and nodded.

He didn’t return the nod, but he did pull Maddalena to follow him out. The door closed behind them with a solid chuff.

The devil agent gave the palm up and fingers curled universal gesture of ‘bring it’. As if that wasn’t clear enough he also said, “Hit me.”

So I did. Metaphorically, of course.

I didn’t tell him everything. He had no need to know I’d gone from an outie to an innie nor the exact details of events on Earth. Instead he got a summary about me discovering myself as a nephelim-turned-angel by accidentally breaking the First Seal, how Camael had broken the Second by tossing Azazel off the metaphorical cliff, and that I’d been blown up by another Grigori who’d been stupidly trying to prevent the breaking of the Third. I did tell him about the attack on Epsilon, the war between the dukes, and how Azazel kept infecting people and turning them into unwilling pawns - angels included. I also noted for good measure about seemingly being the only one around who could see the signs of his invasions into their patterns.

This led to describing how Ithx was booby-trapped by Azazel with the nasty-on-nasty spell designed to take out an entire battlefield and the subsequent mad rush to a hospital. Here it got a little tricky. Fibbing a bit about there having been vials of Lethe waters in the chests inherited from Erglyk via Dhalgrix along with the discovered fortune, the Lilim were painted as heroes for recognizing that the tinctures could be used to save my sorry ass. This placed the blame for drug-smuggling squarely on Erglyk and was an easy segue into describing the hidden stash of potentially hundreds of gallons of the stuff hiding behind the vault as well as Azazel’s possible desire for more with all the assaults on the Hole he’d tried from either side.

The agent stood there and listened to the whole thing without interrupting. I wound it all up by telling him about Azazel’s words spoken through the hapless Ithx regarding capturing a King.

“That,” I said, “is why I think he’s going to go after the Conclave. This Abagor guy will be there, right? Along with all the other ‘Kings’.”

“How much did they get from the vault?” Krux asked without skipping a beat.

“They had four wagons that I could see. If each wagon held more than one large cask? Maybe two to three thousand gallons worth of the stuff.”

“Shit,” he said for the second time since coming into the room.

“Your turn,” I prodded. “Tell me what the heck spooked you so badly the moment I mentioned Lucifer being my dear old spiritual dad.”

He eyed me and clearly was considering keeping his mouth shut.

“A deal’s a deal,” I said angrily. “I told you mine, you tell me yours. I took a risk telling you who I am because you need to believe me about the threat Azazel poses. Pay up.”

The wings flexed again. “It’s the first Grand Conclave in ages, you know that?”

“Yeah. Something about the last one happening when Lucifer left.” I frowned as the implications of that began to finally dawn. The various dreams (and nightmares) of Heaven filtered past. They only made sense if Lucifer had somehow made it to Earth long after losing his duel with Michael. And Beliel, he’d been visited by Gabriel on Earth when she had arrived to deal with the Grigori. Which meant they both had left Hell for Earth.

Holy moley, they’d found a way to escape. If they could do it, could someone else?

Could I?

Krux nodded and kept talking. I had to refocus and push aside those thoughts for now. “Exactly,” he was saying. “Lucifer disappeared, as did Beliel at the same time. This left a terrible power vacuum amongst the factions and the available real estate.”

“That doesn’t sound pretty.”

“It wasn’t. The war to re-balance was a friggen’ mess. Lost a lot of comrades in that disaster.”

“Sorry to hear that. Alright, I’ll bite at the obvious question. Why the heck was another Grand Conclave called now?”

“There’s been no official announcement, but I’ve got sources.” He paused again, a habit that was definitely getting annoying.

“And?”

“Rumor has it that Samael the Destroyer, Chief of the Holy Originalists and Warleader of the Sarim, announced his resignation as King of this realm and his other protectorates along with all other titles. He’s quit.”

I sank back against the bed, trying to wrap my head around that. Rubbing my face I said, “That’s uh, that’s pretty serious.”

“Yes it fucking is,” Krux agreed. “Which makes things tricky for both of us.”

My eyes refocused to find Krux standing there with a small pistol held in one clawed hand pointed directly at my chest.

I froze. “What the hell, dude?” Ever so slowly I raised unarmed hands.

The guy didn’t look happy, in fact he looked terribly resigned. “Tell me, Aradia. What do you think will happen when all of those angelic followers abandoned by Samael discover that Lucifer’s daughter just so happens to be in this specific city here at the heart of all the Destroyer’s realms?”

“I don’t know, Krux. I just got here. You tell me.”

He pointed the gun at the star clearly visible across my palm. “Isn’t it obvious? At least half of them will flock to your banner and plunge this whole place - and many realms beyond - into what could be the worst civil war we’ve seen since the original shitshow in Heaven. Which leaves me wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“Whether I should kill you now to prevent at least that much of the catastrophes to come.”

And here I thought our conversation had actually been going fairly well. Shows what I knew, eh?

 

Chapter 36 - Farewells

 

With a hand much too steady for my liking the bat-winged agent shifted his aim to point the weapon squarely between my eyes. The gun shouldn’t have held much more than a .22 but even in my weird post-Lethe state the dang thing radiated concentrated energy. Whatever it shot wasn’t going to be limited to just a metal slug - not that my head currently had any protection against that either.

As uncomfortable as it had been, I was really missing my helmet.

“Krux, don’t do anything hasty,” I said, keeping hands up. “Shooting me would be a mistake.”

His finger twitched closer to the trigger. “Really? Way I figure it, now may be the only time you’re vulnerable.”

Gulp. “Me, sure. But you’re forgetting who brought me here.”

“The two damned souls outside? Dealing with them shouldn’t be a problem.”

Arguing that Twitch could likely disarm and shove that gun up his ass in an instant if only my friend was in here didn’t seem like it’d help or convince. Unfortunately the room didn’t have windows through which Twitch could notice what was going on. Besides, Krux was so short he probably would have been out of view even if there had been.

I kept talking. “They aren’t the ones who got me to Dis and this hospital.” Maintaining eye contact I wondered if I could dive off the other side of the bed fast enough to avoid whatever that thing spewed. The way the guy held the weapon though was downright professional; he knew exactly how to stand and exactly how to stay focused on target. Not good.

“Oh, and who would that have been?”

“The Lilim. Lilith herself lent a hand with my treatment.”

That caught him off-guard. “Lilith? You’re who she came to visit after bailing on the Conclave?”

“Yep.”

“No shit.” The small jaw shifted while his mind chewed on that tidbit of information.

“Her son owed me a life debt,” I added. “I saved his, he saved mine. Now how do you think they’re going to take hearing about a cop ruining that payback?”

“The Lilim won’t retaliate. They have no authority in Dis, this ain’t their realm.”

“You’re the one who just said Samael quit. How long will it take for your superiors to toss you under a bus to avoid the Lilim carving out a portion of the city for themselves? They could use this insult as easy justification.” I had no idea if I was bluffing or not, but I wasn’t the one who was so worried about civil war. “Killing me could cause the exact opposite of what you want.”

“Maybe so,” he said. Cool calculation gave way to a deeper anger behind his aim as the devil’s expression hardened further. “But I may never again get the chance to take one of you out.”

Oh joy. He hated angels. That so didn’t help. “Dammit agent, you’re wasting valuable time!” I snapped, matching his anger with some of my own. “The real threat is out there right now. Azazel is going to make his move and you’re drawing a bead on the one person who can help shut that jerk down.”

“Help?” he growled. “You’re squirming from having a single firearm aimed at your face. Don’t bullshit me that you’re up to taking out a chaos-allied fallen.”

“What good will your weapon be if you don’t know where to aim? Can you detect who’s been infected and taken over? Because I bet you can’t and you’re going to take a knife in the back from your best friend without ever seeing it coming.”

“You saying you can?”

“Yeah. And I may be the only one you’ve got who knows what the hell to look for. Azazel takes over angels and souls alike - most seem to not have any idea it’s even happened. For all we know your entire department or all the guards at the Conclave could already be contaminated. You need me, Krux.”

The finger inched off but not entirely. “How do I know you aren’t infected?”

“Because I’m the only patient given the all-clear by Lilith herself. You can ask the doc.”

He considered and after a painfully long moment lowered the gun. “I will. In the meantime, get dressed.”

I did my best not to explosively exhale. That totally would’ve ruined the cool-as-a-cucumber vibe I’d been faking. “Get dressed?”

Pocketing the weapon he moved towards the door. “That’s what I said. You and I are heading to the Citadel, whether it be against doctor’s orders or not.” He let the door slam behind him.

Relief at danger’s passing was short as the shakes returned worse than before. With arms crossing over super-chilled feminine assets busy trying to poke their way through thin fabric, the sound of chattering teeth echoed through the silence the agent had left behind.

Maybe it was residual effects from the poison-as-cure, but even having faced demons and behemoths of stone somehow this little guy had gotten to me. He could have blown my brains out and there would’ve been nothing I could have done to stop him. Normally energy such as was contained in that gun felt manipulatable but the brain’s handle on that sort of activity was presently wadded in mental sheets of thick woolly padding.

In other words I was, maybe for the first time since waking up in Hell, totally helpless.

I shivered on the bed for a minute trying to wrap my head around it. Worse still because of my own mouth Krux was going to drag me into what could easily turn into a war-zone. And here I was without even my squad of demon skull-wreckers to watch my back.

Never had going back to sleep sounded so appealing.

Being stupid my feet hit the floor and after removing the intravenous drip hands rummaged for clothes. At least I had the armor, though it looked ridiculously medieval compared to the modern-like surroundings. Not that I cared much. Protection was protection.

God help me, right now I needed as much of that as I could get. Hank’s dog-tags and Camael’s bracers especially included. And even if Erglyk’s outfit wouldn’t do anything against direct chaos-fueled mayhem, it’d still help against things like short-but-jumpy members of the local trenchcoat brigade.

Before exiting I caught sight of the girl in the mirror. With a couple of inches worth of unbrushed red-gold hair sticking out in wayward directions she looked like one of those anime-armored heroines except for a few key details. Shadows hung like bruises under eyes no longer as bright as they’d once been, yielding a gauntly tired appearance of youthful features betrayed by haunted experience. All in all she looked scared, chewed up, and spat out.

A moment of guilt washed through me but it didn’t change anything.

She and I still walked out of the room.

The agent was down the hallway arguing with the doctor. On one side was the authority of an agent of the state, and the other was of responsibility for patient care. Neither were going to back down without a fight. Twitch and Maddalena stood right by the door, and as I came out Twitch tried to push me back into the room.

“I have to go,” I told him, refusing to budge. “And you need to stay with Maddalena.”

That earned another angry gesture from him which became a sudden and fierce hug.

Returning the embrace I squeezed him back even harder. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you go with me, not this time. With this guy it won’t be a physical fight. Not really.” Pulling the cloth down from his face I gently touched the scar-covered cheek. “I can’t risk him corrupting you. I just can’t.” Saying it made me realize how true that was. The thought of such darkness flooding through my friend brought a lump to my throat. Twitch was too sweet, too pure a soul - he deserved so much more than he had ever received.

I could only offer him a kiss which held wordless communications all its own.

It startled him, and at first he froze before returning a sad-yet-passionate response. As our lips finally separated he still held on to me. I didn’t really want to let go either.

Maddalena, standing past Twitch’s shoulder, stared at us both with growing concern. “Why do I feel that this is goodbye?”

At this he let go, allowing me to pull the shorter woman close in turn. “Because,” I said with a cheek resting atop her brown curls, “I don’t know what will happen. And I’m tired of making the mistake of not bidding those I love a proper farewell. Thank you both, I owe you each so much. More than I currently have time to say.”

She clasped arms around my waist and with face resting against my chest she whispered, “The Goddess is with you, Aradia. As she is in my prayers, so are you in hers.” With that said she squeezed one more time before separating. “The Lilim have given us sanctuary; you can find us at their embassy. I will hold your funds in your honor until your return.”

I was about to thank her again but the agent marched over to us with the doctor more than doubling his height behind.

“Let’s go,” said Krux.

“I advise against this,” Jeghash said more as a formality, his slumped shoulders showing that he knew full well that the fight had already been lost.

“I hear ya, doc,” I told him. “But Agent Krux isn’t giving a lot of choice.”

“No, I’m not,” Krux said. “We’re taking the elevator, keep up.” He brushed past us to march towards the end of the hall.

With one last smile to Twitch and Maddalena I did as bid. The elevator didn’t keep us waiting long and opened like either a small portal or a large gaping maw depending on how you looked at it. Granted it was a maw with mounted rows of buttons resting above safety-mandated placards describing in boringly standard demonic font what to do in case of fire or emergency. There were even helpful diagrams of various demonic silhouettes obeying the proper procedures.

Given the circumstances that seemed awfully mundane.

Turning around I caught one last glimpse of the two souls watching my departure. Twitch had removed a glove to hold up the back of his hand where the star symbol still burned.

I returned a matching star-marked wave. After the doors had closed I could still feel the ties between us.

Despite the scars his lips had been incredibly soft.

 

Light And Shadow (Part 8 of 8)

by Erisian

 

Chapter 37 - Citadel

 

Krux led me through hospital corridors full of a mix of demons, devils, and souls - some were patients, some staff, and all very organized. Other than the eclectic collection of body-types, skin tones, and random number of limbs, the place had that same frenetic-yet-focused feel of most busy hospitals I’d been in. Bureaucracy blended with function all mixed together as white lab coats, suits and ties, and professional skirts.

I stood out like a sore thumb or an outcast from one of those medieval historical re-enactment groups as I pushed past them all. The armored breastplate and feathered kilt felt all the more primitive as compared to the security stationed at the glass doors which exited to a landing platform. They stood there complete with modern body armor and elegant-yet-nasty rifle-sized blasters packing a punch orders of magnitude higher than the agent’s pistol. While the demons among them only had five to six souls suffering at their cores, their equipment likely made up for the lack of raw potential and then some.

Hmm. At least my senses were recovering now that I was away from that room. Whatever wards had been in place likely had contributed to feeling so cotton-smothered. While things weren’t completely clear yet, it was more like opening eyes underwater at a sandy beach: hazy and silt-covered but functional.

I was about to ask Krux if those guards were standard security or a special detail, but emerging into the outside air blindsided all other thoughts as smoke and sulfur invaded sinuses, triggering a coughing fit.

“C’mon, over here,” said Krux, reaching up and pushing the small of my back towards one of the black vehicles parked along the wall where the platform met the building. Each had their own clearly painted spot - not that the delineations were the same size though, as the air-cars were a menagerie of styles: some clearly influenced by designs from Earth with the usual four doors and boring automotive aerodynamics but others were blobs of spiked metal in all kinds of formations. They also all seemed made out of the same reflective dark material as was the building itself and were clearly built for function and not style.

Krux’s vehicle had a sharp pointy nose and two seats back-to-back for the cockpit with four fins spreading out behind not unlike a dart. The front seat was sized appropriately for his stature and he ushered me into the other which not only faced backwards but also could have fit someone twice my size, leaving me like a child who had just graduated from a kid’s booster seat and now relied solely on the seatbelt to not slide all over the place.

My seat therefore had a great view of the engine thrusters quad-clustered between the body and the fins. They kicked us forward with a roar of yellow flames as soon as I’d managed to get the confusingly six-point straps hooked in. With a quick boost Krux had the craft off the pad and into a stream of air-borne traffic. Krux had donned a headset which included what must have had VR-style screens in it, and as there were no visible markers in the air around us to indicate things like lanes so I figured it must all be handled via the displays as the traffic pattern was clearly organized. Spotting some larger winged demons weaving through the sky alongside the vehicles, I noted they too had goggles strapped to their faces and snouts.

Man, Neil Stephenson had termed mobile VR-wearing folks ‘gargoyles’ but this was ridiculous. Cyberpunk 666 style.

“Hey Krux,” I said over a shoulder. “You’ve got your own wings, so why the ship?”

He snorted. “I ain’t got a death wish, that’s why.” Something between the size of a Mack truck and a Boeing airliner overtook us and cut us off with inches to spare as if to emphasize his point. “I’d end up a splat on some asshole’s windshield.”

“Is this whole place just these office buildings?”

“Nah. They’re all built over the fighting pits.”

“Uh dare I ask what those are?”

“To earn a place in the Above you gotta be strong, fast, or clever. Best be two out three. The weak stay below and rot. Now shut it and let me drive.”

Stuck in the back I watched as he flew past vehicles like he was a crazed taxi driver from Rome, but in turn others madly zipped in front of us while everyone weaved in that pre-rush-hour madness before the bumper-to-bumper deadlocks occur. All around were the various traffic streams, airborne ant trails criss-crossing everywhere between the endless and regularly spaced vertical buildings. With just the right angle of view the difference between walls and windows of those structures could be made out. I suspected the windows were actually all the same material just thin enough to let through the glow from the sky-fire above spamming everything with their rather hypnotic light. Up close as we sped around corners the buildings showed the passage of time: pockmarked and dented with spots smudged and no longer reflective. Every now and then there’d be an area of wall that looked like it had been patched with lava left to drip down and cool in place.

Within the high-rises the sparks of spirits and souls could be seen going to and fro, bustling amidst offices or perhaps home-spaces, some much larger than others. All contained behind those walls without balconies and without any personal exterior touches, just the occasional landing pads of that same stone extruding from the walls with freshly painted parking lines. There weren’t even any advertisements or decorations anywhere to be seen, just row after row of equally tall monoliths, regimented and oppressive in conformity and continuity.

I had a disturbing thought that the fiery aurora hanging overhead occasionally dipped down to engulf the entire grid.

What also bothered me was the scale. On the Rock all towns I’d seen rarely went over three stories. The landscape remained mostly stable where folks had gathered but it wasn’t always guaranteed. Just like riding wagons across ever-shifting terrain, so too could entire farms morph into new configurations seemingly at the whim of the realm’s pattern. Oh the crops would be the same type of plants and the buildings usually would be quite similar - but dimensions of things could shift and alter which was problematic if your bottom floor shrank while the top grew larger and the supports weren’t up to the increased load. Granted this was a different realm entirely, but it too had the same not-quite-real feel to it while also feeling sharper and much more on-edge. Though that could have been just me.

Still, how could they have built structures that stretched downward for hundreds of stories without suffering cataclysmic occasional collapse?

I was about to ask Krux when the horrible answer became obvious.

Souls.

Lots of souls.

Each building had its set of sparks, sure - but about half were squatting in equally regimented locations. Unmoving and upon closer inspection weirdly smeared. They’d been soul-forged into the support beams holding everything up, fixating the pattern at regular intervals.

Floor after floor, soul after soul, each divine spark reduced to nothing more than anchors for architecture. Forever. Dis was literally built on the souls of the damned.

I wanted to throw up and not from Krux’s wild driving.

Suppressing a heave I caught view of an oblong spheroid ship about three times the size of Krux’s doing its best to cut its way through traffic. That by itself was nothing unusual from the flow, but the pattern-analysis part of my awareness kicked in and flagged the motions as unusual. It took a few more lane changes (both horizontal and vertical) to understand why.

The ship was following us. An attempt to scan the inhabitants caused the stomach to lurch further, this time from actual vertigo.

Good grief, they were blocking my sight.

“Flipping wonderful,” I muttered to myself before yelling again over the shoulder. “Krux!”

“Zip it till we get there!” he snapped. “This requires focus.”

“Yeah well, we’ve got a tail.”

“You shittin’ me?”

“Five back and one up. And I can’t scan them - they’re shutting me down just like the crew who stole the barrels.”

“They can do that?”

“At a distance, yep.” Of course I wasn’t sure they couldn’t do it with me standing nostril-to-nostril but didn’t want to admit that.

“That’s freakin’ fantastic!” The agent actually sounded gleeful.

“How the heck is that a good thing?”

“Because I hate traffic.” He flipped a switch. “Control, this is Special Agent Class Three Rizhog Krux, daily pass-phrase is ‘Yeshua Wore Dreadlocks’. I am declaring a security event, keywords Archon and Lethe. Repeat: I am declaring a security event of Archon and Lethe.”

There was a brief pause then speakers in the cabin crackled in response. “Pass-phrase confirmed. Event recognized and registered. Special Agent Krux is hereby granted temporary Class Five authority; Control is standing by for orders.”

“Orders are need-to-know broadcast only. Dispatch five teams from external divisions to the Citadel immediately: two heavy, three light. Contamination protocols in effect, spirit and flesh. Threat to the Sarim, understood? All squads dispatched are not to be from any currently in Citadel duty rotations.”

The operator spluttered their reply. “Uh, the Grand Conclave is the target? You serious?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying you idiot! Follow the protocols and get on the damn radios! I want those teams moving yesterday!”

Over the speakers the operator’s gulp was clearly heard. “Yes, sir! On it, sir!”

“One more thing,” the agent continued. “Contact local traffic patrol at my location. Vehicle X-Y-Four-Three-G-H-Two-Niner is to be pulled over and occupants detained.”

“Any specified reason, sir?”

“Tell ‘em only to be creative. Lethal force authorized. Krux out.” Killing the radio comm, Krux hit another switch and a set of lights right above my head burst to life sending red and blue in all directions to accompany the painfully loud klaxon siren. The nose of our ship flung upwards and we burst free of the traffic to the non-craft designated space between the lanes, zipping past everyone and spiraling our way towards the tops of the high-rises.

“Yeeeha!” shouted Krux as the engines of his craft roared in unrestrained glory. “Hey, were they stupid enough to jump the lines?”

I didn’t respond right away as I was busy being thankful for the armor preventing the safety belts from digging into my chest as the ship tried to accelerate out from under my seat. “Unph, no, I don’t think so.”

“Too bad. I’ve been wanting to test out the rear missiles. Paid enough for ‘em.”

We flew just above the tops of the buildings, sandwiched there between the dish and wire antenna-strewn rooftops and the roaring inferno directly over us radiating its light and intense heat through the canopy’s glass. While Krux’s ship had air conditioning it obviously couldn’t keep up. I was in the middle of reconsidering my earlier joy of being stuck inside metal and padded clothing when from my reverse perspective the fires simply fell away from us along a hard edge and we found ourselves under dark and empty sky. The flames behind were being diverted around a spherical force, the towering river of fire flowing along its circular boundary that revealed just how tall the mountainous flames really were.

As Krux maneuvered higher still into the clearly artificial bubble I wondered what would happen if it burst. Would we even have time to curse before the hypnotic yet deadly hellfire reduced us to ash?

I hoped to not find out.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Having faced backwards as we flew in it wasn’t until Krux landed that I got a good look at where he’d been taking us. Climbing out of the ship onto another black-stone platform I paused to try and make sense of what I was seeing.

Set against a backdrop of surrounding hellfire was the Citadel. The structure was a cross of massive medieval castle and function-driven spaceship. Walls rose upwards to form layer upon layer of battlements, each with huge emplaced weaponry of various types all aimed outward. Each turret could easily have been the size of an entire WWII battleship, and the entire structure was covered with them. Yet the whole construction had an elegance to it, the curves and lines simple and functional but also somehow graceful. Platinum and gold plated sections merged utility and beauty, even while antenna spires and focused scanning dishes emerged from tower upon tower like quills from a porcupine. The overall shape formed this crenelated sphere crowned at the top with a brightly-reflective golden dome. Beyond the physical manifestation, the edifice’s spiritual pattern was forged of the densest and most secure weaving I had ever beheld.

The Citadel radiated purpose, majesty, and overwhelming destructive power.

And we were standing on it.

While I was stuck staring about like a gob-smacked tourist, Krux had flashed identification to two security officers who had come trotting out of the local access hatch. One immediately ran back in while the other stood between Krux and the entrance, legs spread and a mean-looking blaster held easy but ready.

The whine of additional engines diverted my attention as ships the shape of bricks looking a lot like floating SWAT vans swarmed in for a landing alongside Krux’s own much smaller vessel.

Walking back over to me, Krux dropped a white ear-piece and throat microphone into my hand. “Know what these are?”

“Comms,” I said, trying not to sound like a rube. “They always on or do you need to activate them?”

“They’re live and these go only to my own private channel. Get ‘em on. In a few minutes Citadel security is going to stream out that hatch. You happen to spot any who’ve been compromised by your Grigori pal, tell me which asap. Got it?”

“He’s not my pal. But yeah, understood.” I popped the ear bit in place and peeled plastic film off the throat bead before sticking it against my skin.

Krux grunted with approval before turning to face the newly arrived ships.

The rear doors of the transports opened up and row after row of grey armored devils and demons disembarked, each fully covered by full-body hazmat suits with self-contained breathing apparatus, and wielding a variety of soul-forged weapons: swords, axes, and guns of all sizes that made most sci-fi movie weapons look primitive in comparison. They moved with such crispness and focus that I cringed in realization - even with all of Hank’s help and guidance my crew had never reached such levels of professionalism.

One large hulk of a demon broke off from the rest and hustled over to us, a skinnier one following after it.

“Krux you old barghast!” A deep voice boomed out through speakers set on the guy’s shoulders. “What’s this emergency sit-crap we had to rush out here for?”

“Major Quorg!” Krux grinned. “Need some PPE for myself and the lady here. Got spares?”

“Sure.” Quorg waved at the demon stepping up behind him who in turn nodded and hurried off to another ship. “Now what by Asmodius’ facial scars is going on? We get breached? You know the Majordomo ain’t gonna like us crashing this party.”

“If we don’t end up shooting him I’ll apologize later.”

Quorg paused. “That don’t sound good.”

The demon who had run off hustled back, tossing me and Krux square-folded suits to be worn over our clothes. These weren’t fully self-contained, but they did have serious-looking air scrubber masks.

Krux deftly caught his suit and shook it out. “Assume everyone inside the Citadel is hostile until I say otherwise. Let me suit up and I’ll explain on channel thirty-seven.”

To the Major’s credit he didn’t scoff. Instead through the faceplate of his helmet the red eyes narrowed. Tapping the controls embedded in the armor against his wrist, he began speaking but not through the speakers. The disembarked soldiers proceeded to set up a defensive perimeter including some serious-looking heavy weaponry they lugged out of the ships.

The suit in my hands wasn’t designed for someone wearing skirted battle armor. As I was about to admit I had a problem, the metal around my waist shimmered and changed shape yet again until to all appearances I was wearing a suit of armor complete with greaves over the shins. The sleeves smartly only came down to mid-bicep to trust the forearms to the protection granted by Camael’s bracers.

We won’t mention the ecstatic caresses provided as the armor did so, nor the flushed gasps of breath I tried (and likely failed) to hide.

So yeah, I quickly hopped into the hazmat get-up. So did Krux, who also belted a holster around his waist which held his nasty little pistol. It was good we’d hurried as the hatch to the Citadel opened again and about twenty armed security demons bustled out along with a three-horned white-bearded demon wearing a purple and gold robe long enough to trail several yards behind his hooves.

With the long beard swaying in the hot breeze the guy in the fancy getup looked with clear disdain upon the forces assembling. “Agent! This is unacceptable. You insult the Grand Conclave with your presence!”

Krux’s eyes shot me a look from behind his own mask before turning to face the robed demon. Staring up at the taller figure Krux held up a now-gloved hand. “Majordomo, by authority vested in Realm Security I hereby take operational control of the Citadel under emergency code Two-thousand three hundred and fifty-four as the Class Five agent on site.”

“Preposterous. Conclaves are neutral, the Citadel has no requirement to answer to agents of Dis!”

Quorg stepped up behind Krux and the size differential was not unlike a giant guard dog protecting a kitten, though I suspected Krux didn’t really need any help. Clearing his throat Quorg said, “The emergency code is clear in certain matters. If you examine sub-section twenty-three, paragraph five you’ll find…”

Tuning out the legalese I focused instead on each of the members of Citadel security. Demon, demon, devil, wait…those two in the back.

I relayed the info to Krux who in turn interrupted the Majordomo’s rebuttal to Quorg’s chapter and verse. “I believe, Majordomo, that this will answer your concerns.” The hand he’d held up to placate the official then instead clenched to a fist and in that moment several blasters discharged simultaneously. The two Azazel-corrupted guards immediately crumpled wetly to the ground having lost most of their heads and the contents of their chests. Citadel security flinched and thought about raising their own guns but Quorg’s team already had them dead to rights.

Heck, five of Quorg’s team had literally teleported behind the line of Citadel security and were already pressing guns against the backs of the skulls of those guards who seemed the most formidable.

Without any change in tone towards the Majordomo, Krux continued speaking. “Chaos corruption has infiltrated your Citadel. You will turn control over to us.”

The Majordomo blinked. To my amazement all pompous officiousness fell away as the horned demon’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. Turning towards the two fallen guards he tugged a gold pendent out from under the collar of his robe. The ruby within the pendant bathed the smoking guards with its reddish glowing light.

Where the light fell on the guards the color shifted from red to fogged-over black.

Enraged but holding it under tight control, the Majordomo simply nodded. “So be it. How widespread and do you have enough soldiers?” He then used the ruby to scan the rest of his guards but this time the light remained red and clear.

“Remains to be seen.“ Krux watched the Majordomo confirm my own report. “Are the Bene-Elohim still locked within the upper floor?”

“As per Conclave protocol, yes. The Kings for the most part have already departed but their captains and cohorts remain for further discussions. Their own Kerubim guard the sealed entrances and we are not allowed inside.”

“We need to get a message to them.”

An uneasy feeling built up in my gut and it took a moment to understand why. “Dammit, Krux!”

Everyone swiveled to look at me. I’d forgotten to use the comm.

If Krux was annoyed by that I couldn’t see due to the gas-mask covering his face. “What?” he snapped. Yeah okay, he was annoyed.

I pointed at the bodies. “You just alerted the asshole that you know about him. He uses guys like this for remote viewing, not just as marionettes!”

Krux raised a finger to retort but whatever he was going to say got cut off by the muffled thumps of several distant but obviously substantial explosions. We all scanned the walls of the Citadel for sources but the thick stone armor hadn’t changed.

The Majordomo swung to one of his guards. “What was that! Report!”

Listening intently to the radio-bead in his own pointy ear, the guard stammered, “Detonations on many levels, sir! Reports of several fires coming in!”

“Were any from the Aerie under the dome?” Krux demanded of the guy.

The guard hesitated but a glare from the Majordomo made it clear he’d better answer. “No, sir!”

My mind raced. This realm had technology, heck it had tech beyond that of Earth. But being in the hospital had been like sitting in any ordinary high-rise. Including all the safety standards as mandated by an entrenched and widespread bureaucracy.

“Holy crud,” I said rather loudly while restraining the desire to throttle Krux. “The Citadel, it’s built like all the buildings in the city, right?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Then it’s got fire suppression systems.” I glared at him through my mask.

The short agent wasn’t stupid, recent actions not withstanding. His eyes went wide behind his faceplate. “Oh shit.”

Quorg looked down at him. “What’s the issue, boss?”

I stared up at the very top of the Citadel, the part that Krux had called the Aerie perched like a cap on top of the tallest tower. “Well Major,” I said with a calm I totally didn’t feel, “if you had a few thousand gallons of the Waters of Lethe and wanted to weaken as many angels as possible so you could work your corrupt chaos mojo on them, how would you go about doing so?”

As if to punctuate my statement a beam of dark chaos energy blasted out of the dome and lanced the sky, many warped and scorched panels from the dome crumbling into further pieces as they fell to impact the structure below.

Seriously, did they not get vampire and demon hunter movies down here in Hell? For shame.

 

Chapter 38 - Strength

 

Krux reacted first. “Quorg! Call your fliers. Get me and the lady up there. Majordomo, kill the sprinklers in the dome.”

Quorg and the Majordomo exchanged glances as Quorg said, “You sure about that, boss? You know what that blast means: this clusterfuck is now in the hands of the angels. What good would we be against an Archon?”

“We can buy time for the feathered idiots to recover and fight back,” Krux said through gritted teeth. “While the Majordomo here does everything in his damned power to get help.”

“Help?” The Majordomo looked at Krux like he’d gone mad. “From where?”

“You said the Kings had already left. Get them back!” The agent pulled his pistol from the holster, thumbing off the safety. “Contact Samael, do whatever you have to do!”

“Boss,” Quorg said solemnly. “Going in there ain’t gonna end well. For you or this lady you’ve brought with you.”

Krux gestured with the gun. “She goes or I shoot her here and now.”

I shivered. “You know I’m not up to facing Azazel.”

The agent stared at the weapon in his hand before looking towards the ripped hole in the highest tower. His neck and what I could see of his face through the mask had stretched taut. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here and you’re who you are. I’ve lived too long to ignore such coincidence. While everyone outside our cage may wish to forget that Hell exists, we still do. We’re the bulwark against oblivion and the Universe knows it. Her whims keep sacrificing us to win, but sometimes that’s just what it takes. You’re going.”

Six of the winged demons formed up around the two of us. Four had the biggest and meanest looking rifles I’d ever laid eyes on, the other two had shouldered their weapons and moved behind me and Krux.

I didn’t want to go in there. I didn’t want to be torn apart by more chaos or have my will battered to smithereens by a mad and fully empowered angel.

I didn’t want to die.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s go.”

With a nod from Krux we were grabbed by our waists and lifted into the air. It wasn’t until we were almost to the hole in the dome that I realized I should have asked for a weapon of my own.

Dammit.

As we approached the hole Krux ordered the smallest (and therefore possibly the fastest) of our escort to do a recon fly-by. On a set of dragonfly wings she swooped lower to skim the surface of the dome and zip right across the opening before banking and returning to where we hovered.

“Energy duel across the middle of the Aerie, sir,” she reported. “Hard to see who’s involved. The Sarim and retainers appear knocked out in their seats. The doors at the far side are blown apart.”

Krux considered. “We go in. Land in front of what’s left of the doors. If need be retreat through the opening. Move.”

We went. Not like I had any say of course, what with being carried like a wingless sack of not-potatoes.

As we cleared the shattered opening my vision went screwy as it tried to make sense of things. The whole space inside was a circular auditorium like one would see at the U.N. with curved rows of skinny tables and benches all facing each other. Except most of the tables were all akimbo and many bodies - winged and otherwise - lay strewn about large puddles of iridescently glowing water. Gritting through the sensations I braced against the emotional broadcasts of angel after angel radiating their internal battles as they struggled to maintain their precious memories and therefore their sense of self. Wave after wave smashed against a multitude of winged figures chained to metaphorical rocks as they fought to breathe through each brief pause of engulfment. Not all resisted though - throughout the room there were many who had embraced oblivion’s kiss to fall into utter silence and solitary unconsciousness. Against all that I had to forcibly focus on myself and not slip within each individual spirit’s need and pain, despite a heart crying out with the echoes of their plight.

To say this was disorienting would be an understatement.

At the center tables and chairs were smashed to pieces and amidst that rubble two beings faced off against each other. Waves of insanity spewed forth from the intent of a black-robed angel with spread what weren’t really wings but rather scrawled torturous script which kept oozing from its back, all of it incomprehensible as the language was one that should not be. The eyes of the angel were that black on black and I knew who truly looked out of them.

For within the core of that angel its once sacred Name had also been smothered by that horrible writing, and an entirely different signature was forcibly scrawled upon their fabric.

Against that reality-shredding madness stood another. Wearing a white suit gone grey with dampness, a man planted feet with hands extended, bracing against insanity’s onslaught with sheer will. Beads of sweat poured down a tanned and beardless face, but he somehow held on.

What was within this man confused me. He was a soul but also not. Behind his gaze burned an expanded focus, and in attempting to see it clearly I gasped for billions of such eyes all looked back. Each contained the same Name and it was through that collective that the chaos was, albeit barely, held in check.

Unfortunately this man, this individual vessel for that Name, could not handle the true combined power of the whole to which he belonged. Already his pattern had begun to fray from the internal pressures, blisters forming across the skin as manifestations of the incredible strain. Around both combatants the air - or more precisely the realm itself - warped and twisted, threatening to unravel.

Beyond them two mighty and tall doors had been blown off their iron hinges and that’s where we landed, splashing into the puddles as we did. The five escorts immediately took cover positions and aimed their now-seemingly puny guns at the maelstrom growing in between the two combatants. With the way the space was convulsing they had no clear shots, and a couple of the soldiers cursed.

“Do we fire anyway, sir?” one asked.

Krux took it all in and shook his head. “Spread out, find the Sarim and get them out of the water. Strip the wet clothes off. Get them to wake up! Go!”

They scattered, eerie armor-under-hazmat figures moving through the strobe-like illuminations emanating from the struggle at the center.

I was looking around to see if I could spot which of the knocked-out angels were the strongest when Krux grabbed my arm. “Is that him? Is that Azazel?”

It was my turn to shake a head. “No. I think it’s another Grigori, but Azazel is puppeteering him.”

“This Beelzebub ain’t lookin’ too good.” He pointed to the guy in white.

Beelzebub? I swallowed. “Uh, he’s trying to hold the realm together and contain what Azazel is channeling through. But it’s too much.”

“Can you help him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try! I think I see Abagor.” With that Krux scrambled away over tossed chairs and all the unconscious or moaning angels.

Try? Try what? A madness beyond comprehension, beyond the structure of the creation of all things, spewed forth from the dark angel to slam into a collective focus pouring from a being who had once aided in forging the origins of everything. What could I possibly do to help? Their interaction twisted and spun infinities about pinheads that I had no means to deal with. Without the power of the light I had no counter, while I could speak the language underlying the fabric and thereby manipulate it I had no clue how to reinforce it. Beelzebub was utilizing the sheer application of overwhelming intent, his willpower orders of magnitude greater than my own mind could grasp.

Yet the body through which he worked was unraveling at the edges, and if it went - so too would the presence of the greater being of which it was a part. This was a race between the two of them as to who could first undo the other’s local channel.

Taking a step forward I reached out with both hands, trying to connect with the realm, to feel and navigate its pattern and programming. The nature of this place burned with a driving force far different from that of the Rock. Etched into the words from which its existence depended was a singular intention:

Strength.

A strength without weakness, one born of fire and pain and hardened into the purest of essences. The light which lay behind the existence of Earth and the physical realm was comprised of uncountable aspects, but what supported this realm was distilled to a single frequency. Uncompromising and ready to strike down any flaw, the base nature of this reality was working against Beelzebub and Azazel both, lashing out to destroy each and every flaw induced by the streaking chaos.

There was no redirecting that intention, it was integral to the core of the Citadel, of this realm, and of this Hell.

Feeling that intent I had an idea. I could reinforce that directive within Beelzebub’s body, reroute the overriding impulse to fortify instead of tear down. Harsh but focused words flowed past lips that strained with the effort, the sounds guttural and primal as I shouted them across the space between us. Shockwaves burst forward sending a tornado of focus about Beelzebub. Where those words and his will met the realm rang out like a gong a hundred meters wide. Azazel’s agent staggered back as Beelzebub hammered past the chaos to strike blow after blow directly against the darker angel, seeking to sever the connection between puppet and master. This Grigori’s corrupted wings curled forward, trying to shield against the onslaught. With an incoherent cry the scripted feathers lashed out to send a spike of chaos spiraling across the room.

Not at Beelzebub. At me.

The crimson fires of Camael’s bracers burst forth, burning away the hazmat gloves and sleeves as I crossed arms with all the raw intent within this realm I could muster. The lancing tear in the reality slammed itself into fire and will, shoving ankles backwards through bits of the broken table behind me. With another scream I tried to hold on, leaning into that spike with all that I’d tapped into.

Except it wasn’t enough.

This realm, this place forged of strength, was missing its anchor. As I dug deeper in desperation to find something to brace against I found instead an absence where a great presence had once been. The heart of the realm lay empty for - just as Krux had said - Samael had quit and severed connection with that which was his. The center was hollow and offered no purchase upon which to stand.

The attack consumed my vision, the madness spiraling about a shrinking coherency chipped and whittled down to a central dot of fading blood-red flame.

 

From within the spherical cage the chained angel remained at its center. Bowing her head she began to hum, the deep vibration filling her chest to grow louder and louder until the prison cavity shook with the intensity of the building resonance. Reflective shards broke free from the small crack marring the glass surface, the gap widening as the fissures spread wider still.

Reaching a crescendo, she pulled tight against chains binding limbs and wings as she shouted their shared Name, sending through the opening all its resolve and power to one who out of pain had tried so hard to forget.

 

No.

Camael’s fire had never yielded. Against Abyss and Heaven both, right or wrong this realm and those within had never yielded.

Neither would I.

Rallying at the razor’s edge of consciousness I felt a surge of inner certainty and with its underpinning poured into the fabric all the defiance I could conjure. Infused into the weaving was every demon I’d cut down and every devil I’d destroyed, along with every moment I had stood against a larger foe and refused to buckle. To that was added every pain I’d endured in watching those I loved suffer, every outrage against the injustices I’d witnessed, and every desire to stand against such wrongness flooded into that last flickering ember.

It burst again into a fire even fiercer than before, enveloping not just my wrists with its brightness but filling the entire chamber with its intensity.

Against those reinforced flames the attack from Azazel’s puppet shattered and burned away.

Beelzebub took the opportunity to redouble his efforts against the Grigori. “Servitor! Keep using Samael’s realm. Shield us and we shall sever the abomination’s connection!”

Sweat dripped down the inside of my hazmat hood as that red fire redirected to scorch a path towards Beelzebub, flames infused with a continual stream of the realm’s primal energies and that inner certainty. Reaching further and further outward I tapped as much of the realm’s intent as I could, visions of the buildings and the pits below filled with struggling demons and souls ripping through my mind as I did. The figure of Beelzebub became wrapped within a burning sphere that began to cross the distance towards the channeling Grigori, pushing past all the insanities placed in its way.

Black-lightning infused chaos coalesced to form a long and wicked blade within the Grigori’s grip. Beelzebub ignored it. Throwing out his arms, his will caught hold of my own to toss our entire mix over the dark angel as a flaming blanket which carried the weight of the entire realm along with it. The breach of energies coursing free from the Grigori bounced back upon itself as the net smothered all, eliciting a ear-splitting screech as the sword swung wide to try and cut a way through.

The swing never landed as Beelzebub blinked forward, plunging a fist through the dark angel’s shielding feathers and past its ribcage to grip its blackened heart. Charcoal blood spilled like tar from the wound, gushing over Beelzebub’s forearm to splatter and hiss, skin dissolving from the contact.

As he clenched fingers around the physical heart and the spiritual one, Beelzebub spoke calmly. “Bold was your attack, but against our unity parlor tricks such as Beliel’s lost tears have no effect.”

“And yet without assistance your defense was inadequate,” answered Azazel even as his vessel’s pattern began to unravel. Lightless eyes regarded me, recognizing the armor gleaming past the melted coverings of the hazmat suit. “Ah General, again you have surprised. Impressive that you survived. But the work is near complete and the King is checkmated. We see no defeat but victory.”

With those words still echoing in the chamber those eyes lost their depths and went dull. The dead angel slid off Beelzebub’s arm, falling to the cracked marble floor with an echoing wet thud.

As the flames around us faded away, Beelzebub turned to regard me with a penetrating gaze.

“All the Servitors of the House of Light are known to us, yet you are not,” he said entirely without emotion despite the struggle we had just survived. “Nor do you manifest properly as one. Explain.”

“I’m new to Hell.” Wariness tensed muscles already strained by what they’d just been through. “That going to be a problem?”

Eyes with countless more behind them fell upon the bracers. “You bear the Butcher’s armaments yet utilized them in our defense. Quite remarkable. Thus do our brothers remain secure that they may yet join our holy singularity, preserved from the foulness of that which is not. Be assured, Servitor, you have nothing to fear from Beelzebub this day.” He lifted arms covered with the multitude of blisters and sores. “This vessel bears the taint of the beyond. Corruption must be purified. Until again we meet young one, we bid you farewell.”

It happened within a fraction of a nanosecond. One moment he stood there talking and the next he was engulfed in hot white flames. There was no time to react, no time to try and counter, it just was.

The eerie thing is those many eyes steadily met mine from within the fire even as the body was quickly consumed. They never blinked nor did he utter a single sound of pain. A human-sized torch flared until muscles and bones collapsed, and they burned on until not even ash remained.

Too stunned to move all I could do was watch.

Krux’s shout from across the room snapped attention away from what was now the only dry spot on the floor. “Jordan!” He was kneeling over a slender yet muscular angel with wings the shade of an all-covering fog during the final rays of daylight. Krux had propped him up against a marble column and had gotten the guy out of a soaked tuxedo, stripping him down to nothing more than a pair of tidy-whities.

Around the arena-like chamber only a couple of the soldiers were still moving, though not all that well. The rest were unconscious and scattered amidst the angels they’d been trying to help.

“What happened to your team?” I called out to the agent.

“Are you kidding?” He waved a hand towards where all the fun had just ended. “Most minds can’t take that kind of shit.”

“Yours apparently can.”

“I’m already insane. Goes with the job. But my crew aren’t the issue - we’ve got a different problem.”

“We do?” I frowned. The bad guy was gone, along with the creepy million-bug-eyed powerhouse. Other than Azazel’s cryptic threat at the end, what the heck could be bothering the agent now?

Krux struggled to keep the guy upright and not sink back into waters still glowing with Beliel’s desire to forget all things. “Traffic control radioed. They couldn’t hold the two in the car following us. You were right, they’re angelic. Last sighting had them flying straight for here.”

A groan escaped my throat. “You serious?”

“Can you see how close they are?” Krux asked. “Maybe we can run for it.”

“You giving up?”

“Without Beelzebub, we can’t hack this. The angels here are useless.”

He was right. If Azazel had another puppet Grigori on the way, all of us were beyond hosed now that Beelzebub was gone. Sucking in air through the hazmat mask I tried to scan beyond the Citadel. Unfortunately the fallen angels all around us still radiated too much static from their continuing inner struggles for me to make sense of anything. A throbbing headache was the instant result instead.

Then again it was probably already there and I only then noticed.

“I can’t see squat,” I told him with a grimace, flipping off the hood and mask to try and get fresher air. “We running?”

There was a pause. Krux then replied, his voice strangely calm. “There’s no point.”

I followed his look of defeat to the crack in the ceiling. “Oh.”

Beyond the dome burned six wings of brilliant fire. Wielding an equally flaming two-handed sword hovered a being of power clad head to toe in the finest obsidian and gold ever produced by Heaven’s armorsmiths.

Except for the dark skin of forearms remaining bare.

I blurted the first words that came to mind. “You’re late to the party, you asshole!”

Archangel Camael, Regent of the Seat of Light, Champion of the Powers and Butcher of the Fallen spoke from behind his gleaming helm.

“I offer my sincerest apologies.”

 

Chapter 39 - Watch

 

Within a tall tower overlooking the Boston waterfront Isaiah climbed the last few service-only steps leading to the roof. Coatl’s information had been clear: yes, Bishop had been at his nightclub, but had ensconced himself upon the roof. Even Coatl didn’t know exactly what Bishop was doing up there, as again the ancient vampire had employed his phasing magic to shift the area outside of normal space.

All Coatl could report was that the crystals holding enough deathly energies to level New England had been carefully moved up to that roof. When pressed about how a vampire could lurk atop a building exposed directly to the sun, Coatl only replied that his Master could make spaces where no sunlight would ever dare shine.

While Diego had wanted to go with Isaiah, Director Goodman had ordered the wizard to stay behind. Once already had Diego fallen under Bishop’s spell and they had no idea what other undue influence could linger from experiencing such.

In the interest of diplomacy Isaiah was therefore sent up by himself. No cops, no super-agents, and due to the numerous wards all over the building, no ghostly assistant to shout warnings or even final words of ‘I-told-you-so’s. Just himself and an emergency transmitter to summon the helicopters standing by to swarm the rooftop - likely to arrive after it was too late to be of actual help. Coatl had taken them to the highest floor and by his blood granted access to the service stairs, but that was as far as he had been allowed to go.

The rest was up to Isaiah alone.

There was a certain irony to it, Isaiah decided. After so many years at the gaming table and tossing his best friend into made-up no-win-scenarios, here he was about to face his own. The report from the Academy was that Circe’s preparation of a second circle was still not complete, not to mention the DPA had yet to find anyone with the capability to teleport something that size without potentially triggering an explosive energy release prematurely.

Not unless Isaiah himself could figure out how Jordan had pulled that off. Somehow he didn’t think divine inspiration of that kind was going to strike.

Although these days one never knew.

To his surprise the door at the top of the stairs was unlocked. Pocketing the small magic-tech gizmo he’d been provided to summon delayed assistance, Isaiah stepped out into the harsh glare of the mid-day sun. Whereas the nearby harbor had filled nostrils with salt-spray and brine during the walk from the cab into the building, here thirty stories up the air was fresh and clear as the wind was blowing from the east out into the bay. As for the roof itself, slightly sloped concrete filled the circular space between several idle industrial air-conditioning units. It was otherwise empty: no sign of apocalyptic weaponry nor crazed vampiric masterminds.

As to be expected.

When asked whether he was sure he could phase-align himself and gain access to the hidden-in-plain-sight secrets, he had expressed confidence. With the crisp fall breeze tugging at his coat he found himself no longer as sure. Thought and memory slipped back and forth between his humanity and the ancient mindset of a being whose wings had darkened long ago when the full burden of his holy purpose had finally descended upon him. As the luxury watch upon his wrist clicked its seconds forward he found himself hesitating.

The wrong move here could devastate millions. Stepping further could risk unleashing a backlash beyond horror.

Yet going back would leave all those lives to the mercy of the ageless vampire’s unknown grand designs.

Tick with doubt. Tock with certainty. Tick with heart-racing panic. Tock with the steadfastness of eternity.

With him caught somewhere in between.

On the way up he had removed the leather glove covering the hand whose skin was both alien and yet more his own than the other. Reaching forward with it his will coalesced and the next gust of wind swept the sun away as one scene replaced another. Dark was the sky, air heavy and tinted to allow only the least fraction of light to pass through. Purple and blue-black crystals akin to the photos shown him of El Paso’s setup dotted the rooftop - connected not just by their immense energies but by circles and script laid out with painstaking precision in freshly painted blood. Outside the lines lay a pile of plastic blood-bank packets, each squeezed empty to their last drops.

At the center sat a man appearing more caricature than real, his naked olive-brown lengths stretching more like toothpicks than limbs. All shared the same bloody script slowly drying upon a leathery hide which had more than its share of scars. The man hummed a tune as he worked, harmonics beyond a mortal’s voice lending eerie resonance. Meanwhile the paintbrush held between extended fingertips slid across the roof’s surface, guided by the other supporting hand with movements efficient and pure.

A final circle closed around a shard of a blade, the jagged metal reflecting green like tarnished copper in the odd light cast by the towering crystals. With a cross-section indicating a weapon larger than any man could swing, the broad fragment was ten inches across with dual blood-grooves running parallel along the width.

What caught Isaiah’s attention was not the blood-painted sigils nor the artifact placed so carefully before the naked vampire. No, what gripped his awareness was the barrier spiraling though the air around the outer circle and pulsing with the power of seven sacred names each beautiful and distinct.

Elohim. Raphael. Uriel. Jophiel. Gabriel. Camael.

And Azrael.

The painter paused his artistry with a low-rumbling laugh. “The world still provides surprises even to bygone relics such as ourselves. The auguries spoke of unexpected guests but if I had known it would be you - why, I would have put out a proper offering. Perhaps a Macallan Nineteen Twenty-Six.”

Isaiah’s hand hovered before the space warded against by the holy names. “What have you done?”

Bishop’s laugh cut short. “Is it not obvious? I have slipped behind your great Seal and with this shard of sword, forged as it was from the extraordinary metals of my brother’s lost body, I shall pierce the boundaries of Limbo. With this I will rip open the pocket into which he was imprisoned along with the rest of my condemned Nephelim kin, all of whom failed your criteria for incarnation.” The blood-painted sigils across the vampire’s skin began to pulse, preparing the immense power required to warp space, time, and spirit.

Standing to take his place within the ritual’s center focus, Bishop gestured and in response the fragment of sword-metal rose until it floated at chest height of the taller man. Eyes sharp with concentration Bishop spoke again. “Sariel believes you to be the one who will break this Seal, now that the first three have gone. He acts out of fear more than reason, but as we both know fear is a powerful motivator.”

Isaiah felt a tingling against his fingers. The Fourth Seal. That which prevented angels and demons from walking freely upon the Earth. It hung there in the air between himself and the Nephelim. The loss of the first three Seals had weakened its anchors yet it remained fixed with ancient purpose. “And you do not fear?”

“Oh I do, I most certainly do. But mine is constrained to a single item: failure in the task I set for myself. One decided upon millennia ago after Gabriel first arrived in all her glory to deal with the existences of myself and my cousins. To pursue that end I searched far and wide, finding the means to sidestep your imminent mandate of forced rebirth in which all knowledge would be lost and locked away. Thus did I die and yet still live.”

The razor-edge of the sword’s fragment gleamed, streams of violet electricity streaking from its surface to pull at the prismatic lines linking crystals, Nephelim, and now the blade itself. “The question for today,” Bishop continued over the growing harmonic hum building now in the air itself instead of from lips, “is whether you fulfill Sariel’s nightmare and break that Seal - one bound by your own Word and holy Judgment - in order to stop me. He refused to believe that the other seals had not been lifted at the direct bequest of Heaven. You and I however know the truth: Heaven has not rescinded their mandate and even now is likely swarming with feathers all atwitter to debate what they shall do regarding the breach of the three. Therefore I inquire: will you yourself perform such a transgression and accept the consequence? Or will you stand as witness when brother once again meets brother as per the story of old.”

Palm of darkest night pressed against those Names and the powers behind them.

Tick, an angel’s fingers touch the timeless will of the Most High. Tock, a man envisions the destructive release of an angel-borne army which had once carried terrible chaos across the world.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the broken blade began to pierce beyond. Blood-soaked sweat beaded upon the vampire’s shaved head as he strained against the prison bars locked in place by celestial forces. “Decide with care, Archangel.”

Tick.

Tock.

 

Chapter 40 - Purpose

 

Relief burned alongside an anger equal to the flames of Camael’s blade as his wings lowered him to the center of the room. Reaching the ground the angel went down upon a knee protected by metal greaves against the lingering water’s magic, and with gauntleted fingers removed his helmet. A single raven braid fell past wide shoulders to dangle past cheekbones somehow darker than the obsidian of the armor.

I wanted to weep. I wanted to rage. I wanted to shriek obscenities at his face and pound fists through that sacred armor. Instead I stood there shaking and with a hoarse voice hissed, “This is your fault!”

The warrior whose sword and wings had tasted the blood of entire regiments silently bowed his head.

“Danielle died because of you! You started all this!” Strained words came out as stammered shrieks. “You weren’t there when I - when SHE - needed you!”

“She fulfilled her destiny. As you are fulfilling yours.”

I choked out a bitter laugh. “Really? For all your talk of light and fate look where we stand. There is no light in Hell!”

“Yet I behold one even now.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat came from above. Another figure had descended through the missing piece of ceiling, though not by wings but rather had floated down while sitting cross-legged upon a maroon carpet. He wasn’t wearing the usual brown trenchcoat but by the buzzcut haircut and sardonic expression I knew him. “As much as reunions are fun and all,” he said, “maybe we should focus on the situation here.” A tattooed hand gestured towards the scattered unconscious angels, guards, and Krux who was openly gaping at the new arrivals.

More specifically the Agent of Dis was staring in shock at the visage of the legendary Butcher of Heaven kneeling before me.

“Barakiel,” Camael said as red wings folded upon his back while he again stood. “Tend to Abagor please.”

“Sure, sure.” Nick-who-was-Barakiel pointed at a table near Krux which promptly flipped itself upright in a gust of wind that also dried it clear of the waters. “Get him up on that for now.”

Krux grunted. “He’s a lot heavier than he looks.”

Nick gestured again and Abagor popped airborne to land with a solid thunk on the table, grey wings pinned between wood and bare skin. Leaning over him, Nick placed a glowing palm against Abagor’s forehead. “Someone want to explain what’s going on?”

Dammit. As usual whenever Camael (Soren) showed up there were immediate pressing matters to deal with which made kicking him no longer seem appropriate. Come to think of it, I owed Nick a lot more than just a kick.

Except they were both in Hell. “You two. You came for me.”

“Of course,” Camael said.

“I’m only here because he blackmailed me,” Nick muttered while continuing to prod the unconscious fallen.

Looking around at the destruction of the circular room, Camael took it all in. “This is Azazel’s doing.” Returning focus to me he asked, “You defeated him?”

I glared. “Hardly. Beelzebub was the one who punted his butt.”

Krux recovered his wits and interjected. “She assisted. Azazel knocked out the Conclave and from what she’s told me he was going to try and take them over. Both Beelzebub and Azazel were working through proxies, neither survived.”

“Then the situation is handled.” Camael nodded and addressed me. “Leave this to the local authorities; we have much to discuss.”

Ice flooded through my veins. “No, this isn’t over. Azazel believes he’s won. He didn’t get to eat these guys but there’s something else.”

Coughing came from the table. Abagor, with help from Nick, sat up before spitting out a chunk of glowing phlegm. “Butcher,” he breathed, “Was this your doing? Do you bring slaughter to us all this day?”

Camael lowered the burning sword. “No.”

Abagor nodded and not without relief. “You never were one to attack the defenseless,” he rasped. “Yet you are here. Why? Has the final trumpet sounded at last?”

“I come only for her, brother.”

“Brother?” Abagor coughed again. “The Butcher calls me brother.” Eyes the same grey shade as his wings regarded Camael flatly. “Then perhaps all is not lost.”

“We will depart and leave you to your recovery.” Camael moved a step closer to me.

“Would you then shirk our most sacred duty?”

“I have no duties in Hell but one.”

A raw chuckle escaped Abagor’s throat. “Think. Feel the resonance of this battle.” Watching Camael’s lack of reaction Abagor’s eyes hardened. “You knew already.”

“Knew what?” I asked.

Abagor answered. “The Grigori is one of us no more. Chaos has claimed his spirit.”

“And thus he was banished to Hell,” stated Camael calmly. “Though he has demonstrated the capacity to reach past the edge and harness the energies, Azazel hasn’t the inner might to survive immersion and thus become a full Archon.”

The angel lying on the table exhaled. “He believes he has won. I am disabled here alongside my strongest, and Samael - like Lucifer before him - has left us. Beliel’s realm lies defenseless and any plea to the others for assistance will be seen only as a trap.”

“But what is Azazel after?” I asked, things still not making sense. “More waters? So he can try this crap again?”

It was Camael who answered while still staring fixedly at Abagor. “No, it is not the Tears Azazel desires but the source which infuses the waters with the need and power to forget. He seeks what Beliel left behind when Lucifer cut him free.”

I growled, throwing hands up in frustration. “Dammit, just spit it out directly. I’m sick of the cryptic-phrased bullshit and today I’m all out of cheesecake.”

Nick snickered and gave a straight answer. “Azazel seeks the raw power anchoring that realm’s existence. He desires the hammer of Creation’s forging. In other words, he wants Beliel’s mace.”

Abagor continued to lock eyes with his ancient blood-soaked enemy. “With that in hand Azazel will gain the might to stand within the Chaos and Beliel’s realm shall be its first prize. Tell me, brother, will you fulfill your purpose to defend Creation? Or does Hell no longer qualify. The leader of your House abandoned us long ago, will you now do the same?”

Camael did not reply to the fallen angel but instead turned to me.

“The Light is within all things. Come, we must hurry.”

He held out a hand and like an idiot I took it.

 

~o~O~o~

 

As in Aradia’s memory I was again held carefully within Camael’s arms as we sped towards Azazel’s shadows. This time however it was only us two: Azrael was not with us and no cohort of Powers paved the path ahead. Just a blood-stained warrior now cut off from the strength of his Host carrying the remnants of an angel who no longer could reach the Light.

His wings pulled us through the space between spaces, guided by will and resonance. Despite eyes clenched tight the patterns to the realms of Hell flickered through my mind with all their spirals of time and energy. Each was a pocket of stability within a static vacuum that pushed against a void of an entirely different caliber, one pressing inward with the mindless yearning to swallow all.

Towards a convergence we flew, manifesting upon a beach I knew well: waters of the deepest of deeps cast wave after wave against a sandy shore too stubborn to erode, standing resolute within that darkness against eternity.

He’d brought us to the Edge. Though with how the terrain here constantly shifted and morphed I could not say if it was the same stretch where Twitch had found me, or whether it was near where we’d found Hank.

Such distinctions may not have mattered at such a place.

Air sucked into lungs which had not precisely existed a moment before and I gasped while a physical sensorium reasserted itself.

Strong arms that held me close never flinched. “Take a moment to reorient. We will need your vision.”

Blinking at the absolute darkness, the mind could focus only on the swirl of energies and the spray of chaos scattering from the surface of the waters. “I’d imagine yours works better than mine at the moment.”

“That may not necessarily be the case.” It was simply spoken but a wash of controlled sadness permeated the words.

I bit a lip. “How bad is it?”

“I maintain.”

“You sent Nathanael, didn’t you? Why him first and you only now?”

“To protect you while we prepared. Where is Nathanael now?”

“You don’t know? He’s here. As a guest of Abagor’s soldiers.”

“Then he may yet aid us.”

A wind blew past, scraping skin with its oddly charged spray. The sound of this ocean’s crashing echoed through my bones, as if each decibel twisted at things within. “There’s no going back, why even come?”

“It is my sacred duty to carry a message. The most important message I have ever been graced with the task of delivering.”

“It’s for me, isn’t it.”

“Yes.” He turned us around to face the waters upon whose surface spun incomprehensible infinities. “Therein lies your path out of Hell.”

“Into the Abyss? Are you mad?” Even standing this close I could taste oblivion’s need.

“Through the chaos that lies between. The physical planes of mortality lie betwixt pure order and the chaos, one layered across the other. Archons of Chaos traverse its spans, exerting subtle influence past the barriers preventing the exercise of their full strengths.”

“I’m no Archon. Not even sure I’m still an angel.”

Camael’s eyes burned behind his helm, casting the first visible light upon our surroundings. “You are what you are. As he was what he was.”

“Who?”

“The Bringer of Light, the Morning Star. He who was and always shall be the First. For this is the road by which he slipped past Elohim’s Edict. In this manner did he and this realm’s progenitor escape eternal banishment.”

I shivered and not from the cold. “That’s how they did it? That’s insane. There’s no way I can do that.”

“You will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you must.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.” He paused, giving great consideration to his words. “Hear me, Amariel. For you are the manifested Promise sent as a gift to all that is. Not because I say and believe it to be so, but because Creation itself bends to place the stones beneath your feet. Her need is yours as yours is hers. Therein shall always be found a ready path.”

A thousand questions followed but none had the chance to be given voice. The beach tilted sideways with a thundering and terrible groan and if I hadn’t still been held against Camael’s chest I would have been tossed right into the waves now made even more sinister by his crazy pronouncements. Crimson wings kept us steady and ignored the local gravitic confusion causing sand and rock to tumble and splash into those waters. Only his burning feathers preserved our orientation against the ensuing madness.

Together we bore witness as cracks appeared throughout the patterns maintaining the Rock’s substance.

Camael’s arms tightened. “Azazel has reached Beliel’s anchor. We are out of time.” No sooner had he spoken were we launched across the sky like a ruby-streaked comet flashing across an otherwise empty heaven.

Frozen terrain I’d ridden across so many times spun past in the glow from our passage but instead of the remembered quiet solitude the ground split and rumbled, crevices and fissures spilling across the landscape while heated lava burst from below to clash with the ice-filled surface. Outpost Epsilon was a barely registered blip from the blue lights upon its peak, a dot amidst valleys and hills rolling into each other as waves of instability pulsed outward from within the realm’s center.

I both heard and felt the entire Rock shriek its protest.

To this side’s Hole we flew, ignoring the glowing shield surrounding a hill which demon mercenaries had once besieged. Instead we plunged through the excavation those demons had left behind. We weren’t the first to traverse such a path for a gap in the patched terrain lay open - stone scorched unnaturally black by forces which had shoved the underlying patterns aside to shred equally both the rock and all the souls still laboring to fill the dig site. Sparks fizzled from soulstones unable to form due to the damage ripping through their spirits by the raw chaos unleashed to tear into the caverns below. Their destitute cries of agony as they suffered absolute destruction echoed those of the realm.

And I could do nothing for them.

Transforming from comet to arrow we dove, through the Hole and into buried passages of stone, ice, and lava - all hissing and spitting with the contusions rupturing the sigil-forged sentences comprising their reality. Weaving our way towards the center I spotted other lights which were broken and flickering much like the souls, all scattered amidst the damage inflicted by the being which had carved its way directly through all the caverns under the surface.

One such light spluttered with a familiar sapphire glow.

“Hank!” I shouted before remembering that wasn’t his true name. With the hand not pinned by Camael’s embrace I fervently pointed. “Nathanael!”

Camael’s trajectory slowed instantly, his will and wings stretching out to prop up the corner of the cave where Nathanael lay.

My friend didn’t look good.

Three of those beautiful blue wings lay crumpled and burned by the unleashed chaos, blackness warping feathers and spreading as fractals into the rest of his essence. One eye swelled shut and hands clasped a gash across his midsection where even the might of heaven’s armory had failed. Forcing myself out of the crimson warrior’s grip I dropped to the unsteady ground and rushed to the wounded angel’s side, my brain not wanting to admit to the horror of what that infecting darkness implied.

Nathanael coughed, blood spilling from the side of his mouth as he did. Staring up at the warrior hovering behind me he said hoarsely, “We were holding him off, chief. But Abagor’s lads lost the fortitude lent by their leaders, I couldn’t cut it solo.”

Hands which had just released me now gripped a flaming sword of war. “You did well.”

The responding tired laugh was all Hank’s. “Not well enough. If I hadn’t been cut off by Hell’s Seal, I could’ve taken him. But now he’s tapped the Chaos and he’s got the mace. It bucks him like a wild stallion, but he’s got it.”

Camael’s eyes flashed with the red fire and fury I’d channeled so many times.

But behind those flames lay a brighter spark still. Spoken as both command and comfort he said only two words:

“Have faith.”

I didn’t see him move. One moment he was there and the next only trails of fire remained. The ground heaved and spun as Camael, Third Horseman of the Apocalypse known as War, engaged the shadow lurking in the next cavern over at the very center of the realm.

Nathanael used two of his remaining wings to protect us both as we tumbled about like hapless deckhands in the midst of a typhoon. The roaring sound was deafening, and whether I wished to perceive the clash or no the impact to the patterns between the immense forces could not be denied.

Flaming Sword versus Mace versus Darkness scraped across my vision like claws through a chalkboard.

As we bounced across the rocks, I heard Nathanael mutter, “Kick his ass, chief.”

How I even heard him over the extraordinary din remains a mystery. All I could do was cling to Nathanael as the realm shook, as if the blows raining down upon Camael were also hammerstrikes to this reality. Each swing of Beliel’s mace impacted the foundation underlying the solidity of the mountain and gaps began to open as if the unending maw over which the entire realm hung stretched wide in anticipation of swallowing whole the entirety.

Over the terrible sound of the realm’s fragmentation rang Azazel’s voice, taunting his adversary.

“As we once warned your precious little spark, the Light is but a lie. Accept this. Embrace it! Your misguided loyalty has led you to the same fate in store for all, forgotten and banished to where the Light refuses to touch. It has turned its back upon you as it did us. Admit the truth, we were but toys to be cast aside at entertainment’s ending.”

Camael responded only with sword and fire, but how could he prevail against such a shadow? His blade and flames carved at a nothingness quickly becoming more an extension of the emptiness hanging over us.

“What happens if he loses?” I shouted to Nathanael, staring at his bruised face as the fight moved further away amidst explosions of steam. The towering ice which the mace had frozen and shoved skyward for eons cracked and boiled as the combatants hurled might and will against their opposite.

The seraph gave a kind yet terribly sad smile and a hand sticky with blood touched my face. “Should Camael fail, we and all the souls on this forgotten rock shall embrace the nothingness.” His breathing was labored and shallow, each intake more difficult than the last.

More explosions and the caverns rocked again, the fissures in the fabric growing wider still as gravity screamed a final defeat and let go. The debris around us began to float only to accelerate into further destructive collisions. Grabbing tighter to Nathanael lest we be cast apart, I asked, “Can he win?”

My friend had breath enough only to whisper, “Not alone.”

Fingers left a wet trail across a cheek and as they fell free his sapphire light began to fade.

Camael had been right. We were out of time. Closing my eyes I went within to do that which I should have done cycles ago.

 

The translucent cage sat tilted at the center of a shallow crater, the sphere intact except for the one jagged hole. Its occupant knelt with wings folded behind her, each feather as pure and white as untouched snow yet bound by the same steel chains which manacled ankle and wrist. No depths of ocean surrounded the prison now, only sunless sand stretching out in endless and featureless dunes. Before the prison stood a man whose unsteady image kept flickering as if cast by an unsteady projector.

“I didn’t want any of this,” said the man. “Then things just kept happening, one after another.” Placing a palm against scratched glass, he studied the angel within as well as his own uncertain reflection.

The prisoner nodded silently, brushing a reddish gold strand away from saddened eyes.

“And I’m scared,” the man admitted. “Not only of a responsibility larger than I can even comprehend but also of what it means for me specifically. I do this and all inner hope of a peaceful afterlife for us dies. There’d be no going back. Nor would I ever find any kind of quiet life like she had wished for me at the end.”

He sighed, watching as the hand against the surface transformed into slender elegance.

“I’m not suicidal either, not really,” she continued. “I never knew whether that dream of reunion was certain or fantasy; it was just a glimmering possibility should the worst happen. Maybe clinging to it nudged the willingness along, easing each sacrificial decision with its teased hope. Who knows. But in the end all those choices were made for one overriding reason only: I’d have never forgiven myself if I hadn’t tried.”

Looking up, she peered past a reflection exactly matching the prisoner within. “Shoving you in there was an attempt to remain myself, to stop the changes and fight against the non-stop madness. And yes, to run away and hide. All the while lying to myself that you and the light were beyond reach, that I too had been abandoned. I wanted to blame you - and through you, God - for all the pain even while blaming myself.”

Resting forehead against the chilled surface her eyes clenched tight. “I’ve been stupid, angry, and blind. And because of that things are about to go horribly wrong.”

Inhaling deep she steadied and lifted her head. Extending a hand through the gap in the prison’s shell, a single card appeared between thumb and forefinger. “Regardless of blame, we are needed and I won’t run from that any longer. But I too can’t do it alone.”

The prisoner stood, taking a restricted step closer to the barrier between them. Looking at the image upon the card she smiled.

Mirrored hands clasped and the resulting flash of brilliance set an angel free.

 

The symphony. That glorious symphony.

The music of the All, transcendent and pure with the harmonies fueling all love and life filled my ears and spirit. Even here, within the realm of Beliel’s broken heart, it rang true behind every speck of manifestation and behind the spark of every soul within its domain. Obscured, hidden, ignored, but there. It had been so long since I’d touched that song that I wanted to jump for joy and shout in exultation with every last fiber of my being.

Except there was work to be done.

Below me lay beloved Nathanael, struggling still against the blight eroding a name once beautiful but no longer buttressed by a connection to the throne, a throne which had cut this part of creation away from its mercies.

Mine however were right here.

Brushing lips against his forehead, I breathed two names into his pattern. First was his own refreshed and filled with enough light to push aside the darkness trying to smother it. The second was mine, written as a promise that no matter where he was within creation the light would never again fail him for as long as he remained true.

Those Mediterranean blues snapped open as he gasped, breathing in deep as the two names worked in tandem to purge the chaos tearing at his spirit.

“Rest now,” I sang more than spoke before arrays of feathers shining with untrammeled glory unfurled to stretch into the space above us.

On six wings of iridescent fire I rose towards the clash still happening above. Darting through the broken caverns I reached out even as I flew, shining light into Beliel’s realm and granting it strength to resist the fractures trying to tear it apart.

In so doing I touched the souls - and yes the demons and devils - who had made this realm their home.

All were given the support to hold against the shadowy pull of the Abyss, the same shadow lurking as a cloud to obscure the Spark in the sky above where Beliel’s icy perch had once stood. The Archangel’s dark mace, the Second’s counterpoint to the First’s unrestrained brilliance, lay within the shadow’s grip to hammer against the red-flamed weapon of a defender deflecting blow after blow.

The ice-volcano’s caldera lay in ruins, fragments of frozen cliffs cascading outward in all directions for gravity within the realm no longer functioned according to design. Its anchor gripped by a darkness more chaos now than angel, the rules of manifestation had ceased to appropriately apply.

A blur of crimson fire, Camael launched countless attacks at the core of the dark cloud spreading over the realm, but each assault had less penetration than the one before. Azazel, one hand on the mace and one hand reaching towards the Abyss, had tapped the layer of Chaos lying between, its twisted non-language spiraling down to fuel the dark cloud’s growth.

With a snap of a wrist more concept now than substance, the long and spiked mace caught the red-flamed warrior across the chest sending him crashing into a floating chunk of mountain. In a rasping voice booming across the forests and hills stretching out below the shadow gloated.

“Admit defeat, Archangel. With this realm and weapon we have gained the means to finish what was started. Your beloved Light has failed.”

Camael, weary and battered, steadied himself with sword again held at the ready and spoke his reply. “No. She succeeds.”

Like an arrow fired from Erglyk’s bow I shot out of the remains of the volcano and burned through the cloud, an inverted meteor tracking a specific target. With hands glowing bright I grabbed hold of Beliel’s mace to try and wrest it free. Azazel’s grip however was strong and we spun around each other, swirling ever closer to the boundary between the realm and the un-being that lay beyond as the light and chaos streamed behind us in growing circles. To the faceless shadow of the once-angel I shouted, “This is not yours to take!”

“It is already ours!”

As we struggled to yank the physical item away another battle transpired on a different level entirely.

One inside the mace itself.

For within the weapon Beliel had over ages upon ages poured out the full measure of his pain. All the regrets from having become infected and attacking his beloved Heaven, the agonies of being lost within the madness and having struck down the very siblings whose manifestations he had helped make possible. Raphael had with great effort purged him of the taint, but not the guilt. Never the guilt.

Thus he had fallen, sentencing himself to the furthest reaches whereupon he had built this tomb from which to stare into the Abyss, to spend the eons desperately trying to forget while also pondering in each passing moment whether the time had finally come to plunge beyond and be no more.

Now, with the taint of the Chaos again funneling through this ancient piece of himself, that paralyzing frozen guilt screamed its pain.

A pain I understood.

Into the mace I poured my own heart and guilt. But along with it I poured the truths I had discovered since, that there were always those who needed help. Sadly we couldn’t save them all.

But we could try.

Through me the mace felt the spirits of every soul and entity within its domain. How through the light of the Spark which Lucifer had left behind which was refueled by souls otherwise abandoned this realm had become a garden unto itself: trees and crops watered by its melting ice bringing sustainment not just to this once-tomb but to many of the other realms placed beyond the reach of Heaven.

Even here, awash with all that anger and sorrow, the weapon - nay, the tool - had brought growth and succor to where there had been none. Even here, Beliel’s original purpose still was fulfilled.

This was its true legacy.

The reaction from the mighty implement surprised me and Azazel both. Ripping free from our hands the mace swung at the shadow’s core with a force not seen since the Beginning, striking across all layers of meaning to hammer Azazel and his cloud of darkness back beyond the threshold and into the depths of waters which were not water.

Before the blow landed the fallen shadow managed one final act: with a multitude of tentacled arms he had grabbed hold of my waist with all the strength the chaos flowing through him could wield. Though my wings set those arms aflame, he held on. As he slipped beyond those boundaries those arms pulled me with him.

The last thing I saw was Camael holding burning sword before him in a farewell salute. His eyes, no longer boiling with the blood-red fires of his rage, blazed instead with a clear and brilliant reflection of the light shining forth from my restored wings.

He didn’t have time to say it again yet his message was clear:

Have faith.

 

Chapter 41 - Verdict

 

The sky was clear yet the mid-day sun did not shine. Within the shifted pocket darkness had fallen except for the unearthly glow of the ritual woven between empowering crystals and the greenish metal fragment receiving their bounty. Behind the curtain forged by Heaven the vampire urged the shard of blade to seek between the layers of reality, to reach the spirit to which so long ago its material had once been connected. Streams of power coalesced before the shard, the raw dirty-violet mixing with verdant tarnish to spin in the air and at its center take shape.

And also grow.

Even from behind the Great Seal Isaiah could feel the tremendous forces being focused as the crystals discharged power sufficient to level the city. As Isaiah watched the energy’s target became first a blob then pulsed into a towering muscular copper-green torso from which a gigantic head emerged. Long strands of that odd metal stretched downward past the forming shoulders to fill in the chest and abdomen. Features upon the face were similar to the vampire’s own, twisting as it pushed against the separation between its prison and the earthly plane.

Like a metal statue brought to life the eyes opened and flared with violent promise. Lips split with a sharp-toothed grimace but as the eyes locked onto the vampire standing a few feet behind the floating shard a harsh smile spread wide.

“Brother,” said the head, its voice muted as if carried across chasms of separation.

“Ohya,” Bishop acknowledged, shoulders and body tense with the strain of guiding levels of power beyond which any mortal could bear.

“Our chains, they shake and bend. Have you grown strong enough to break the oppressor’s will? Our father would be so proud.”

“Proud? Shemyaza never cared for such emotion. Tools to his ends we were, nothing more.” Grunting, Bishop pulled more energy from the stores of deathly pain and sent it forth.

“Is he ready then to continue the struggle? Has he decided it is time at last for our revenge against the lackeys of Heaven?” Flat eyes examined the ritual space. “You use borrowed power, is it his?”

The shard brightened as additional lines of energy crossed the space to infuse the breach further. “Do you really think father would deign to work with the likes of me? If so madness has rotted your mind.”

The one called Ohya frowned. “Blame not me for father’s wroth at your weakness, little Hahyah.”

“That is not what I blame you for.” More lines connected to the shard until it burned like a small purple sun.

A dangerous focus hardened upon Ohya’s metal features. “Fool! The connection is already forged, harness the power to twist the chains asunder. Set me free!”

“You spoke of revenge,” Bishop said, taking a step back. Blood-smeared sweat poured freely down his neck and chest but the burning runes turned it to a thick and smoky steam. Raising hands as if in a benediction, his voice echoed the pain of many thousands of years. “Here is mine.”

The piece of sword darted forward, warping space and the spiritual fabric with its passage as it plunged across to bury itself within the giant’s metal chest before exploding. The shockwave ripped across the layers, shredding the roof’s tar-covered boards in a wide circle tossing debris-ridden dust across the surface.

As Isaiah blinked his eyes clear, Bishop sank to knees exhausted by far more than magical strain. “Mother, it is done,” he whispered as bloody hands fell limply to his sides.

The dust began to settle. In the center where before Ohya’s top half had floated now only a head could be seen. In addition however two arms floated, fingers digging into the folds of reality to continue the pull against the bindings keeping the planes of limbo and the roof separate.

Booming laughter echoed across the darkened rooftop.

“Clever, Hahyah. Quite clever.”

Bishop stared aghast at what hovered before him. “Not possible.”

Metal lips snarled. “Did you think the eons would pass in idleness? I have examined every strand of my spirit, worked tirelessly to harden and remediate any discovered flaws. Room enough was there in this trap to test our might against each other, to bind the useful portions of the weak into our own patterns. You have cracked open the door. I shall step across, free our cousins, and see just how weak you truly are.”

Faces pushed themselves forward into the quivering rip beside the giant’s own rage-filled visage. Hand after hand joined his to strain against the connection’s impulse to close.

Slowly the gap widened.

“No!” Throwing tired arms out once more, Bishop forced more energy from the crystals in an attempt to counter. Sparks flew as violet crystal after violet crystal went dark, their reserves run empty.

His brother laughed again, a dark and hateful sound. “Time to witness one last time father’s chief lesson: in the end, only your own power matters.”

Bishop in desperation looked past the forming portal to the angel incarnate standing beyond the outer circle. Yanking the last of all the crystal’s energies he directed it not at the escaping Nephelim but into the symbols writ large at the corners of his ritual. The rooftop’s shifted space pulsed and reconfigured itself a couple feet wider than before.

Isaiah, who had watched from behind the Great Seal he dared not break, now found himself standing upon its other side.

Unlike the song heard upon a different rooftop this time there was only a mighty note summoning his spirit to action. Moving towards the growing rift the air behind him filled with the shimmering image of raven-feathered wings whose size could never be measured. The pigmentation coating his hand flowed up the wrist and arm as the outline of another figure coalesced about him: coat, tie, and glasses superimposed with a dark cloaked figure of endless night and finality. Before the strained and many shouting faces of the Nephelim no longer stood just the visage of a man but also that of another.

And the Lord of Judgment ignored their howled cries and pleas.

With left hand and will he reached out, lending strength to the ancient wards struggling against prisoners desperate for escape. In so doing he felt their spirits, felt the malevolence, the raw hatred and anger, along with their burning need to rampage once more across the world.

In all this time these had grown worse. No contrition, no remorse, and no understanding. All thoughts bent only on satiating desires for power, glory, and the pleasures believed to come with them. Corrupt to the core, throwing themselves at the barrier as a shrieking mob eager to spread the stain of their existences upon the world and beyond, now mewling and begging for him to cut them free. These unworthy spirits whose existence had caused Aradia’s end, whose legacy had ripped his best friend from the world, now had the temerity to ask for his aid.

The words of the woman on the plane flashed through his mind.

I say end it. Better that than locking them up forever. Call it a mercy.

He could do it. He could summon his ancient weapon, take hold of the scythe forged from staff and blade to cut the last bindings of this prison from all of Creation. He could toss all within into the embrace of the Abyss, their evil destroyed forevermore. They, all of them, deserved so much worse.

It would be so easy.

All he had to do was reach for it.

His other arm extended out to the side, sliding between the layers of Is and Isn’t as a deep burning anger rampaged free within to call that part of himself into manifestation. The part which claimed the harvest so that the wheat may be separated from the chaff. The part which had yearned across the ages to settle all debate once and for all.

The part which Judged in the absolute of absolutes.

Expecting a weapon of separation and finality he instead found himself grasping another’s hand, one slender yet tightly clinging to each of his fingers as if terrified he might slip away.

In a burst of comprehension he knew that unlike his own, this was a hand which he could never let go.

Anchoring himself firmly to the world upon which he stood he pulled with all that he was. Brilliance blossomed across the rooftop as at first glowing fingers and wrist appeared, then an arm, until complete she stumbled free. Only then did he release her grip in order to catch her against his chest as her legs started to fold. He sank to a knee simply to keep her supported that she not fall.

Astounded beyond measure he stared at her and the six burning wings of pure light which were quickly fading into the air behind. The gold rings of her eyes - still filled with remnants of that glow - beheld the rift and all those who desperately yearned for its escape.

“Such pain.” Her words were hardly more than a whisper, at first he mistook them as applying solely to herself. Tattered and scorched portions of formerly elegant armor clung to a body gaunt and worn, once long hair now spiking in short tufts. But it was the immense weariness behind her eyes that struck him most of all. To see her in such a hollowed state hardened his heart and with a furious cry he reached past her to again summon the tool by which to enact irreversible verdict.

She winced at the sound, pulling back from robe and jacket to stare into the shared face hidden within the hood. “What are you doing?”

“These spirits deserve not existence.”

“Please, no…I’ve seen the loss of too many souls.”

The trembling in her words ripped through him, stirring that rage further still. “They are forever a threat to that which is and especially to you.”

“Isaiah.” Fingers both soft and calloused touched the outstretched arm. “Is it by your will or the Most High’s that you judge?”

He froze, the length of the scythe a smooth surface against his palm.

Tension twisted across body and face, terrible to behold. After a scream of raw and unending frustration, Isaiah-who-was-Azrael slowly bowed his head. In the silence that followed he withdrew an empty hand and with a gesture the rift collapsed, resealing the denizens within to their original sentence and giving end to their resumed cries. Taking her into his arms he carried her out of the now-defunct circle of drained crystals and past the Great Seal already reclaiming Bishop’s shifted space. Holding her in a strong yet tender grip, his angelic nature again condensed itself within the mortal shell as he lifted her into the bright daylight beyond.

It took over twenty seconds for the helicopters to arrive once summoned.

As for the vampiric Nephelim, Bishop had already disappeared.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The helicopter was loud. Way too loud. The seat was hard and uncomfortable as were the many straps into which I’d been buckled. Past the windows a sun flared with painful brightness above a coastal city I didn’t recognize.

Across from me sat Director Goodman who stared as if I was an apparition who might at any moment slip into the ether. They’d shoved a headset over my ears through whose speakers they had asked question after question which I’d ignored. I had no answers to give them. All I knew was that Isaiah was next to me with coat and arm wrapped around my shoulders, throwing repeated looks of worry crossed with relief.

Within him however still smoldered a spirit whose gaze tore to the center of one’s own.

To that presence I spoke my guilt directly. “I’m sorry.”

Dark eyes behind Isaiah’s regarded mine and replied. “For what would you apologize?”

“I lost her.”

Azrael weighed my thoughts and Isaiah gave reply through the headset, voice clear despite the deafening roar of the rotors above.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Something inside gave way and into my friend’s arms I wept for the first time since having fallen to the realms below. Long choke-filled sobs soaked his shirt and he held me close for the rest of the flight without needing to say another word.

 

Chapter 42 - Muster

 

They met up at the Lilim’s wagon-camp halfway between the portal in the Spires and the re-staffed Outpost Epsilon. Vance and his twin daughters had, after some effort, arranged to host the gathering of demons, souls, and angels.

Having completed a hefty round of Cookie’s finest stew and Vance’s varied barrels of alcohol, they sat around the campfire. Some gazed at the flames which gave the brightest light around while others stared at the now-duller yet still burning sigils set against their skin.

It was Vance who broached the subject.

“So she escaped.” With a sigh he took another sip from a bejeweled goblet belonging more to a rich demon’s table than a vagabond’s camp. “For us, a pity.”

Barry, fur-lined cloak tightly wrapping his bulk, grumbled as he put an arm around Ruyia’s shoulders. “Ach, I dinnae even get to thank her fer savin’ this sad-sack of a soul.”

Ruyia leaned into the Scotsman’s embrace. “I wonder if you’ll ever get the chance.”

Twitch gestured widely towards the empty sky with both hands before pointing at the ground before them all.

Soren - as Camael and the other angels had chosen more mundane visages for this conference - agreed with him. “Yes. She will indeed return.”

To this there were many heads shaken in disbelief whereas others nodded fervently.

Veronica frowned as she huddled under a pile of furs. “How can you be so sure?”

It was Maddalena who answered after throwing a quick smile towards Twitch. “She can no more abandon those she cares for than an ocean may cease being wet. It is only a matter of time.”

Yaria crossed arms over well-patched assassin’s leather. “And what would she be returning to? The realms of Hell are a mess. Samael has forsaken his throne. Abagor recovers. The rest argue and Beelzebub stirs. Question is what to do about it.”

The largest amongst them, taking up an entire bench all to himself, grunted. “Train,” announced Balus, his one eye fixed upon the darkness past the fire. “Recruit. Wait.”

They considered the giant’s words and it was Horatio who then cleared his throat to speak. “That raises a different issue.” The weight of all the powerful gazes upon him caused the soul to hesitate before he rallied to finish the thought. “We lost almost half our team in that last battle. Major Praztus still serves Duke Valgor. Even the Lilim here, and I mean no offense, never fully joined. If we are to work together, who leads?”

Most swung their attention to Soren while others to Balus, but from a seat spaced slightly further away from the group came a sharp laugh. “That’s obvious,” Nick said with a grin. “It’s got to be him.” So saying he pointed not at Soren but at Hank.

The soldier, who’d been leaning back with wine glass held loose in post-meal contentment, startled into a more upright position. “Me? What in tarnation makes you say that?”

The Lilim all nodded agreement as did Soren.

“Because,” Soren told his former captain, “you carry her Name within and it burns bright for all who can see.” More warmly he added, “You may outrank me now, old friend.”

“Well ain’t that a kick in the head.” Hank downed the rest of his drink before getting to his feet for a refill from a nearby pitcher. “Y’all agree to this?”

Nick waved a tattooed palm. “Not me, I’m out. I’ve got other things need doing.” Surprised by the unfriendly glares and outright growls from the crowd, the Grigori ran fingers through his short hair. “Hey, it’s just some personal business. I’m not like the last guy. Nothing for you folks to get your panties in a bunch over. When it’s done maybe I’ll think about signing up.” He shrugged. “Never know.”

Hank gestured at the circle. “What about the rest of you? If,” he said before catching himself and giving a nod to Twitch, “I mean when she comes back she’s gonna need us.”

Soren rose and held up his own glass. “I have and always shall serve the Light.”

Twitch jumped to his feet, beer sloshing from a mug to match the other’s gesture.

Balus’s voice boomed over the barren plain as a long tentacle also held forth a frothing bucket of grog. “To Jordan! To Commander!” Except for the one dissent the rest stood and echoed the demon’s toast before drinking their portions dry.

After wiping his face with a sleeve, Hank threw Soren a rueful look. “When this goes sideways I’m gonna blame you. Just so ya know.”

Soren considered the comment in all seriousness. “Nothing to which I am not accustomed.”

Hank chuckled. “True enough.” Turning his attention to the empty sky, he paused before nodding to himself and placing the glass upon his seat. “Okay then.” Taking a step away from the circle, his many wings again released their sapphire splendor.

With raised eyebrows below the otherwise bald forehead, Soren asked, “What are you thinking?”

“Well chief,” the angel said while looking far above, “we’ve been stuck for ages as incarnates back on Earth, but I ain’t forgotten my true calling. And with what I witnessed as she granted me her gift I do believe I’m feelin’ inspired.”

Without waiting for a response Nathanael took to the air, the glow of his passage clearly visible across the unending darkness until finally dimming as he flew higher and then higher still.

There was no sound, no explosion, no drums of thunder. Only a flash of white covering horizon to horizon, and when the afterimage faded they all beheld what the angel had caused to be.

The dark tapestry of the sky was now lit by a single yet brilliant star.

 

Continued in Book 5, The Light Between

 

 

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- Erisian