Aerie

“Even with Aaron, we’re not strong enough,” she whispered, nearly overcome with hopelessness.

“So you believe,” Belphegor said. “Do you even understand the true nature of what you are?” he asked, straining upon every word. “The merging of God’s two most fabulous creations into one fantastic form of life.”

She felt another of the citizens die as she listened to Belphegor’s words.

“Do you think that the Powers kill you because they think you inferior?” he asked. “They hunt you because they fear you—fear what you have the potential to become.” Painfully he raised an arm to point a blackened finger at her. “You, all the Nephilim, are the next phase in our evolution … the next best thing. But to survive—to make the prophecy a reality—you must fight. It is the last of the trials we must face to achieve absolution.”

There was strength in the old angel’s words, and Lorelei felt the power of her birthright stir. The next best thing, she repeated to herself as she watched the Founder’s eyes begin to close.

“Show them what it means to be Nephilim…,” he said, his words trailing off in a weakening rattle.

Lorelei felt his life slip away, and the world suddenly seemed to be a much colder place. “Sleep well, old man,” she said, and leaned down to place a kiss upon his blackened brow.

Then she climbed to her feet upon the shifting rubble and gazed out over the streets made into a battleground, the citizens fighting to make their dreams of a prophecy come true. The next best thing, she heard the Founder of Aerie say again, and knew that it was now her place to prove him right.

“This is for you,” she said, reaching within herself to stir a power she had believed to be nearly depleted, and she gazed up into the cloudless sky, beckoning to the elements in the language of the messengers.

And the heavens answered.

With a vengeance.

The fear was gone.

Aaron climbed to his feet, crossbow shaft still protruding from his leg, the sword of fire he had just used to end his brother’s life still in his hand. He looked upon his enemy with disdain.

Verchiel hovered over the remains of the citizens’ church, his mighty wings fa

Verchiel gracefully set down upon the rubble-strewn sidewalk, his armor still glistening resplendently in the smoky, early morning sunshine. He too was holding a sword, a truly magnificent blade that Aaron had seen once before when they battled in the sky above his home, on the night his parents were murdered and Stevie was taken.

What was it Popeye always said? his addled brain tried to remember. And then it came to him, and he heard it echo through his head in the odd, gravelly voice of the popular cartoon character. I had all I can stands, I can’t stands no more. Aaron caught himself smiling, the words of the animated sailor summing up his emotions perfectly. He had been pushed beyond fear of the vengeful creatures of Heaven, and after all he had experienced in the last few hours, he did not have the ability to care.

Verchiel walked toward him slowly, a predator’s gait, full of graceful strength and self-assurance. It was obvious that he believed himself the victor. He can’t be more wrong, Aaron thought as he spread his wings wide and leaped at his foe, sword poised to strike. His body screamed, the numerous wounds recently inflicted upon it crying out in protest.

“I’ll show you a murderer,” he growled, his voice filled with the fury of the angelic essence that had become part of his nature.

“Look at what you’ve caused,” Verchiel taunted as he parried Aaron’s strike and pressed an assault of his own.

Aaron was driven back farther into the street. He had to be careful, as the angel’s savage blows rained down upon him, not to listen to Verchiel’s jibes, for they were there only to weaken his resolve and make him doubt his purpose. The heel of his shoe bumped up against something in the street and he chanced a look down to see that he’d almost tripped over Stevie’s headless corpse.

Verchiel used this moment of distraction to savagely hack through Aaron’s defenses, his sword cutting a deep swathe down the Nephilim’s cheek. Aaron cried out in pain and surprise. He had been lucky though, the wound numbed the left side of his face, but Verchiel’s blade could very easily have taken away an eye.

The Powers’ leader was laughing, toying with him like a cat playing with a mouse. Time for the mouse to give the cat a taste of his own medicine, Aaron thought. He unfurled his wings and sprang from the ground, ignoring the blaring pain of the crossbow bolt still imbedded in the thick muscle of his thigh. He flew into the Powers’ commander; his shoulder co

“The savior of them all,” Verchiel sneered through bared teeth as they wrestled. “They actually believed that you would be the one that brought them God’s forgiveness.”

Aaron bore down on him, rage and pain fueling his strength as he held Verchiel’s wrist in a steely grip, preventing the angel from using his sword. He looked into the monster’s black, bottomless eyes, searching for even the slightest hint that this creature once served a loving God. He saw nothing but his own look of revulsion reflected in the void of Verchiel’s stare.

“Look around you, Nephilim,” the Powers’ commander said, struggling to break Aaron’s grip. “It is not forgiveness that you bring, but death and destruction.”

“No!” Aaron shouted. He reached down and pulled the blood-caked metal shaft from his leg. “I’ll show you death and destruction, you son of a bitch,” he growled through gritted teeth.

A look of utter shock spread over Verchiel’s face as Aaron drove the body of the magickally imbued bolt down into the chest plate of the angel’s armor. The pointed head pierced the armor with ease, continuing on into the angelic flesh beneath. Verchiel wailed, his pain-filled thrashings so violent that Aaron was thrown away from him.

Aaron wasted no time in pressing the advantage. Though the wound in his leg throbbed, he scrambled toward his enemy, a scream of battle on his lips, a sword of heavenly fire ready to strike. He didn’t want to give the monster even the smallest chance to recover. But Verchiel moved quickly, ignoring the shaft of metal in his chest. He summoned his blade and blocked the arc of Aaron’s weapon.

“You’ve actually begun to believe what they say,” Verchiel said, his voice dripping with contempt.

He twisted his body to the side, one of his wings suddenly snapping out, swiping Aaron across the face and knocking him away. The Powers’ commander charged, his fiery blade slicing through the air in search of a kill. Aaron moved just as quickly and felt the heat of Verchiel’s sword as it narrowly missed him.

“You’re as delusional as the monstrosity that sired you,” Verchiel retorted, hissing, his blade melting its way into the blacktop of the street on which they battled. He soared up into the air, his wings spread to their full impressive span. Fluidly he spun around and angled down like a hawk descending upon unsuspecting prey.

Aaron did not shy away, swinging the blade of flame with all his might. “What do you know about my father?” he yelled as their blades co

The Nephilim’s sword exploded with the force of the blow and he was thrown back across the street, ears ringing. He scrambled to his feet to find the Powers’ leader untouched by the volatile contact. The black metal bolt still protruded from his chest, a trail of black blood staining his golden armor.