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“Fire with fire,” the fallen angel said, turning slightly toward another tu
A succession of loud, nearly deafening pounding sounds drifted out from the tu
“We need to go in there,” Madach said, pointing with the tip of the samurai sword he held.
Remy saw that the fallen were becoming brave again, the pathetic creatures coming out from hiding, their hands extended toward him like they were beggars on a street.
“Then, let’s go,” he said, being the first to move toward the cavern entrance. “But I’m going to need a weapon.”
They stood at the opening, Remy waiting to see if Madach would share his arsenal. If not, I suppose I can always use a heavy rock, Remy thought.
Madach hesitated, but then handed the Pitiless Colt over, turning the pistol around to hand it to Remy butt first.
The gun felt hot in his hand, and Remy let the images of past violence wash over him unhindered.
The earsplitting noise at the end of the tu
“Don’t want to jinx it, but we might not be too late,” he said, leading the way into the cavern.
“With the way my luck runs, we might want to hurry, then,” Madach said, tight at his back.
The cavern passage dipped down in a precarious slope, deeper and deeper into the i
In the distance there was a flash of light, the sharpness of the flare nearly blinding in the darkness of the cavern. Before each spark there came the distinctive clanging sound of metal striking something even harder.
They moved toward the flash, toward what they sensed to be their ultimate destination. The Seraphim was content in its natural state, eager for the conflict that it would soon be facing. Remy wasn’t sure if it would even be possible to repress the angelic nature again—to put it back inside its box. But that was a worry for another time, a worry that he would be lucky to have, because it would mean that he had managed to survive the impending confrontation.
Cautiously he and Madach emerged from the cavern passage out into the larger chamber, their eyes fixed upon the vision before them. The chamber was vast, its walls made from the same miles-thick icy substance found throughout the prison of Tartarus.
Only here it was melting.
It was like coming out into a torrential rainstorm, water from the melting ice raining down upon them from miles above. In the center of the vast water-soaked chamber there stood what could best be described as a sarcophagus. Remy had seen things similar in his extensive lifetime upon the planet, as well as in his many visits to Boston’s museums of science and fine arts. Only this had been built not to house the dead, but to imprison and punish the still living.
Remy couldn’t believe what he was looking at. He’d heard whispers of Lucifer’s pall but had never expected to see it. It was strangely beautiful to behold, the front of Lucifer’s place of confinement adorned with the intricate sculpture of a beautiful winged warrior clutching a flaming sword to its breast. Carved above the sculpture, written in the language of the Messengers, it read, HERE IS THE SON OF THE MORNING, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL OF THEM All, WHOSE BETRAYAL HAS SHAKEN THE PILLARS OF HEAVEN. MAY HE SOMEDAY LEARN THE ERROR OF HIS ACT.
The stone case shuddered violently, a flash of bluish light filling the chamber as it was struck from somewhere behind.
Slowly a figure emerged from behind the standing coffin of the Morningstar, dragging an enormous battle-axe crackling with the power of Heaven behind him. He was looking for damage in the surface of the stone case, not paying attention to anything else in the chamber.
Remy knew the figure at once, despite the Nomad’s haggard appearance. Suroth continued to walk around the case, unaware that he was no longer alone. The Nomad leader moved in closer to the sarcophagus, reaching out to run his hand over the surface, searching for any flaws that could be taken advantage of.
With a roar, he raised the Pitiless axe up over his head and brought it down upon the pall’s front. Again there was an explosion of sizzling blue, and the Nomad scrutinized where the weapon had struck.
It might have been a trick of the light, but Remy thought that he might have seen the begi
“Suroth, stop!” he bellowed, scrambling across the slippery surface, Pitiless pistol in hand. “This has to end now.”
The Nomad had raised the axe to strike at the coffin again but stopped, turning toward the angel.
At first Suroth appeared enraged, gripping the hilt of the battle-axe tighter, prepared to deal with the interloper, but his features softened as he recognized who approached.
“Remiel?” he asked, a smile forming on his haggard, blood-flecked features. “Can it be true?”
Remy stopped beyond the reach of the axe.
“It’s true, Suroth,” he said. “You have to stop this.”
The angel looked around, his wide, insane eyes taking in every bleak detail of the chamber in which they stood.
“Yes, you’re right. I have to stop this.”
With incredible speed and a roar of indignation, Suroth lashed out with the axe again, this time the wide blade causing visible damage in the surface of the great stone burial case.
Remy saw the wound appear as the blade struck, and reacted instinctively. This couldn’t be allowed to happen, no matter the cost, and he found himself raising the gun that he held tightly in his grasp. He listened to the chattering of the weapon, its promises to stop his enemy—all his enemies—forever and ever.
Remy fired the gun, hoping to injure the Nomad enough so that he would drop the axe and step away from the sarcophagus. The Colt Peacemaker roared like a lion, the muzzle flash illuminating the chamber in its celebration of violence.
But the unthinkable occurred.
As he fired, eyes squinting down the barrel of the weapon, Suroth moved, the arm holding the mighty axe placing the blade in the pathway of the bullet, deflecting the shot.
It was as if the Nomad leader had pla
The bullet ricocheted off the axe blade with a petulant whine, the shot then striking Lucifer’s pall close to where the previous blow had made its wound.
Suroth smiled.
“Thank you for the assistance, brother,” he said. “I’ll be sure to tell the Morningstar of your efforts.”
Tendrils of angel magick erupted from the Nomad’s free hand. The force lifted Remy from the ground and threw him backward against the nearby wall of ice.
The world exploded colorfully, and a curtain of black fell. Remy forced himself back to consciousness, listening as the gun begged him to fire again, to blast the smile off Suroth’s smug features, but he held back, hesitating to inflict any more unwanted damage.
“For mille
The Nomad leader turned the axe in his hand, deciding where he would strike next.
“He understood that we would not stand with him, but he told us that there would come a time when we would know who was right and who was wrong. And then it would become our job… our sacred duty to act on the side of right.”
Suroth’s eyes were suddenly upon Remy, holding him in place with their intensity.
“It’s time, Remiel.”
As if sensing Remy’s quandary, Madach launched his own attack, charging across the slick surface, sword poised, ready to strike.
The Nomad leader barely acknowledged the fallen angel’s presence, swinging the axe toward the damage already wrought in the surface of the coffin.