Aerie

This is it, Aaron thought as Lehash pushed past him down the stairs, pistols of heavenly fire in each hand. Gabriel had come up the stairs to Aaron’s side, barking and baring his teeth in a display of savagery uncommon to the normally docile animal.

“I want you to go to Vilma,” Aaron told him.

“But I want to stay with—”

“Don’t argue, Gabriel,” he ordered the dog. The sounds of angels’ wings grew louder. “Protect Vilma.” He knew that his friend would have preferred to stay at his side, but Vilma needed a guardian, and he could think of no one that he trusted more.

With no further argument, the dog bounded down the stairs and up the street.

And then an army of angels, bloodthirsty screams upon their lips, weapons of war in their hands, spewed forth from the hole, like biblical locusts preparing to blight the land.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Aaron had begrudgingly accepted his inhumanity, and now attempted to wear it with pride. There was very little pain as the sigils appeared on his flesh and his powerful wings burst from his shoulder blades. A spectacular sword of fire ignited in his hand, and he welcomed the rush of power that engorged every fiber of his being.

The last of the Powers’ soldiers emerged from the tear in the fabric of space, and they began their assault, dropping down from the sky, their weapons of flame seeking to end the lives of Aerie’s citizens. He wanted to help them, but he could not take his eyes from Malak—his little brother—still standing before the fissure.

What are you waiting for? Aaron wondered. The report of Lehash’s pistols echoed like thunder through the normally still air, and then Malak knelt on one knee, bowing his helmeted head before the opening. Aaron tried to see into the rip, certain that the surprises from the other side were not yet over.

A sudden chill filled the air, and Aaron felt his presence before seeing him. Verchiel emerged into Aerie as if he were its savior, and not its destroyer. Wings of the purest white spread full, he glided from the darkness of the fissure, a look of contentment on his pale, aquiline features.

Just seeing the leader of the Powers there in the citizens’ place of solace filled Aaron with a barely controlled fury. It was all he could do not to launch himself at the villain, but caution was the victor, and he waited for his enemy to make the first move.

“And so it ends,” the Powers’ leader proclaimed, his voice booming over the cries of battle. Verchiel glanced at his soldiers in the midst of violence, at the citizens fighting for their lives, and then his dark, hawklike eyes fell upon Aaron. “You couldn’t possibly have believed it would end any other way!” Verchiel roared, smiling with anticipation.

Aaron leaped from the church’s steps and landed on the sidewalk, sword of fire at the ready. “It’s not over yet,” he said to the angel, beckoning to him with an outstretched hand.

Verchiel shook his head with great amusement. “No, Nephilim,” he said, touching his long, spidery fingertips to the top of the kneeling Malak’s helmet. “Another wants the honor of ending your life.”

Malak slowly stood to face Aaron; a lance of black metal clutched in his armored hands.

“I believe he wants to eat your heart,” the angel said, lovingly brushing imaginary dust from the shoulder of the warrior’s scarlet armor. “And I do not wish to deny my pet his desire.” Verchiel brought his hand to his mouth, kissed his fingertips, and placed them on Malak’s head. “Kill him,” the angel declared.

And with his master’s blessing, Malak attacked.

Lehash had known the angels that now attacked him and the citizens of Aerie. Once they had been soldiers of Heaven, protecting the sanctity of the Creator’s desires, but now they were something altogether different. These were not beings of purity and righteousness, but shadows of their former glory, twisted by the malignant beliefs of their leader.

He fired his weapon into the screaming face of one attacker, spi

But now there was a chance, a slim possibility, that he might see Heaven again, and somebody wanted to take that from him—from all of them who called Aerie their home. Lehash was not about to surrender that chance no matter how small. That was what fueled him.

He shot his bullets of fire, hoping that each enemy falling dead from the sky would bring him closer to forgiveness—closer to Heaven. But there were so many, and the air was soon filled with the stink of burning flesh and spilled blood.

What a terrible thing, the fallen angel thought as he unleashed the full fury of his terrible weapons, and watched as both friends and foes died around him.

What a terrible price to pay for forgiveness.

“Do you remember me, Stevie?” Aaron asked the creature before him. “Do you remember who I am?”

Malak thrust his spear forward with blinding speed, and Aaron reacted barely in time to angle his body away from its razor-sharp metal tip.

“I remember,” Malak said, his voice cold and menacing as it echoed from inside the horned helmet. “I remember the pain you caused, the misery you have brought to the world.”

He spun around gracefully, the spearhead slashing across the front of Aaron’s body with an ominous whisper. The Nephilim moved too slowly and the tip of the spear passed through his shirt to cut a fine line from his left shoulder down to the right side of his stomach. He leaped back, feeling warm blood seeping from the open wound. First blood was to Malak, and Aaron doubted it would be the last of it spilled in this battle.

“I’m your brother,” he tried again, preparing himself for the next assault. “Verchiel killed our parents. He took you, changed you, turned you into something—”

Like a rampaging bull Malak charged, the spear suddenly gone, replaced by a fearsome club, its surface studded with spikes. “He made me a hunter,” he growled. “A killer of Heaven’s criminals.”

Aaron dove beneath the club’s pass, discarding his own sword of fire and lunging forward to grab his attacker’s weapon. They struggled for control of the instrument of death, but then Malak slammed his armored face into the bridge of Aaron’s nose. Aaron heard a wet snap and blood exploded from his nostrils. It felt as though his head was about shatter, but he maintained his grip on the club.

Malak violently wrenched the weapon away, watching as Aaron stumbled backward, wiping the blood from his face. There was no pause in the creature’s reaction, not the slightest hint of mercy. The armored warrior came at him again, and Aaron called upon a sword of fire to defend himself. The club had become a two-handed ax, and it descended on him with incredible force. He brought his own blade up and the collision of heavenly fire with enchanted metal rang in Aaron’s ears like the crack of doom.

Both combatants leaped back, a brief respite before continuing their skirmish. Aaron became aware of the battles going on around him. The streets of Aerie echoed with the sounds of strife, and he wondered if it would have been the same if he had listened to Belphegor and not gone to Vilma’s aid.

Feelings of guilt fueling him, Aaron took the offensive, charging at Malak, the tip of his fiery sword tracing a sparking line across the enchanted chest armor. Malak stepped back, discarding his ax and reaching for another instrument of death from his seemingly endless magickal arsenal. Aaron did not wait to see what the warrior would choose. With the aid of his flapping wings, he propelled himself forward and relentlessly rained blows upon his enemy with his own sword of fire.