Armageddon (22 page)

“I was truly something back then, but so filled with arrogance that I couldn’t see the big picture.”

The Sisters extended their arms as one, casting a spell that screamed as it flew toward the Malakim.

“Do you get it now, Sisters?” Tarshish asked as he tossed
off his yeti captors. His energy flowed to engulf their spell and consume it. “I—we killed the Metatron. We set God’s power, which ended up in your possession, free.”

There was an explosion of force, light, and sound from Tarshish’s body, and Mallus and his yeti captors were thrown back violently.

The Sisters of Umbra attempted to escape, but Tarshish would not have any of that.

The Malakim’s human form was gone now. Tendrils of humming, divine energy reached out, ensnaring the three. The Sisters struggled in the Malakim’s grasp, defenses of their own erupting from their ancient bodies.

Mallus managed to crawl over the wounded bodies of his primitive captors to make his way toward the struggle. There had to be something he could do to help Tarshish.

An awesome sight was suddenly before him, and Mallus threw his hands up to protect his vision. Through squinting eyes and splayed fingers, the fallen angel watched as the two conflicting powers battled, the light consuming the darkness, only to have the darkness expand outward to destroy the light from within.

For an instant, Mallus saw the Sisters emerge from within their shroud of protection. He saw the opportunity and took it. Removing from his pocket a knife that he had acquired from one of the Architects’ Agents, who had tried unsuccessfully to kill him, Mallus stared into the miasma, imagining where his
foes were, and threw the knife with every ounce of strength available to him.

At first Mallus believed that he had failed to hit his target, but then there came the most horrible cry. The maelstrom of light and darkness parted with a rush of air to reveal their opponents. Tarshish’s barely recognizable form floated back and away, as two of the Sisters hovered over the fallen form of the third—the hilt of the Agent’s knife protruding from the front of her robe.

“Sister!” one screamed, as she dropped to kneel beside her.

The other did the same, reaching out to scoop the limp body into her arms. “You will be well,” she said.

“That’s what I was waiting for,” came a familiar voice from somewhere within the writhing mass of divine energy that was Tarshish. “Now don’t screw it up,” the voice told him.

Before Mallus could question the statement, a wall of energy propelled itself at the Sisters, engulfing them within its embrace. Above their plaintive shrieks, a rumble began that shook the enormity of the Metatron’s shell.

The surviving yetis howled in fear, many of them fleeing the chamber, as pieces of the ceiling rained down upon them. The floor beneath his feet bucked wildly, and Mallus dropped to all fours. There then came a searing flash of the whitest light, its purity marred with branching capillaries of darkness, before it collapsed in upon itself with an earsplitting report.

Suddenly, it was silent within the confines of the shell.
Mallus rose, his eyes fixed on a sphere containing the power of God floating above the ground, where what remained of the Sisters writhed, their bodies having somehow been fused together in a writhing mass of flesh and limbs.

Mallus darted toward the sphere as a limb reached for it from the heap that used to be the Sisters.

“Give it back!” the twisted thing cried, multiple voices emanating from a cavernous maw in the lump of flesh that had once been three separate heads.

Mallus held the sphere in both hands, feeling the lingering presence of his friend. Tarshish had sacrificed himself to form a shell of supernatural energy that could contain the power of God for transport in order to re-create the Metatron.

“Please,” the voice of the three Sisters begged. Six eyes in a sea of melted skin stared pleadingly at him.

Mallus turned from the misbegotten thing and headed down a passage he believed would lead him to the surface. The Sisters wailed behind him, and Tarshish’s final words echoed in his mind.

Don’t screw it up.

Mallus hoped that he wouldn’t—but couldn’t offer any guarantees.

*   *   *

Jeremy felt helpless.

He stood in the hardware aisle, watching as Enoch trembled and shook.

“What’s the bloody problem?” he asked, irritation born of frustration in his tone.

All Enoch could do was cry and scream, then cry some more.

Jeremy knew that he had to do something for the child, but what?

He remembered one of the first times he’d tried to comfort the little monster during one of his tantrums. Jeremy had wound up with a tiny foot stuck in his bollocks. It wasn’t the least bit pleasant. He considered leaving the child to work out his problem on his own, but he sensed that he shouldn’t leave the boy alone.

“Enoch,” he said again. The toddler had curled his body into a tight ball, and for a moment, Jeremy thought that he might’ve fallen asleep.

Squatting down, he reached out to touch him. Enoch let out an ear-piercing shriek, his entire body going rigid as a plank. The child continued carrying on, and Jeremy began to panic.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Enoch writhed on the department store floor, his face scarlet from his continued outburst.

And that was when Jeremy noticed that the baby looked bigger.

At first he just believed it to be a trick of the light and
shadows, but as he looked more carefully, he saw that he was right. Enoch’s clothes had become too small, the sleeves of his heavy sweater hiked halfway up his arm, his bare legs exposed below the cuffs of his heavy pants.

“Bloody hell, you’re growing!” Jeremy exclaimed.

A noise from somewhere in the store captured his attention over Enoch’s commotion.

“We have to go,” Jeremy said, reaching out to touch the child.

Enoch yelled as if he was being murdered, and Jeremy quickly withdrew his hand. The child continued to moan and grow larger before Jeremy’s eyes. He wished he had more of a chance to marvel at the transformation, but he heard more noise and knew they were no longer alone in the store.

Jeremy grabbed the child and started to run toward the shopping cart and their things. Enoch wailed.

“Quiet,” Jeremy hissed.
It’s like trying to hold on to a greased pig,
he thought as he reached the cart at the end of the aisle where he’d left it.

He unceremoniously dropped the toddler into the cart and began to stuff the supplies he’d collected into his backpack.

Jeremy realized that the boy had gone silent.

“Better?” he asked, arranging the items in the pack so that he could fit more.

Enoch was staring behind him, and Jeremy turned to see four shapes emerging from the darkness. Four masked killers
like the others who’d been hunting them . . . like the one who’d killed his mother.

Enoch looked at Jeremy with fear in his tear-filled eyes.

“I’ve got this,” Jeremy said, calling upon a sword of fire as he faced his enemies. More masked figures poured from the shadows behind the first, and Jeremy had a change of heart.

“On second thought,” he said, shrugging his shoulder to release his wings.

Jeremy reached into the cart to haul Enoch out and transport them both away, when he felt a sudden sting. A puff of feathers suddenly filled the air, and an excruciating pain raced down the Nephilim’s back.

Something had injured his wing. He dropped Enoch back into the cart.

The killers stalked carefully closer, the glint of knives in their hands.

Jeremy had no choice. “Hold on,” he told Enoch, grabbing the handle of the shopping cart and spinning it away from their would-be attackers. The pain in his wing was incredible, but he tried to focus. Legs pumping with all his might, Jeremy propelled them to the front of the store.

More hunters emerged from the concealment of nooks and crannies around them.

“I did this,” Enoch said. “I allowed them to find us.”

“Shut it,” Jeremy ordered, evading an attacker who sprang from the toy department, his knife slashing.

With one hand, Jeremy tossed a ball of divine fire into the face of his foe.

The killer sank to his knees, clawing at his face, which had become a raging inferno.

Jeremy was running with the cart again, taking a sharp left corner and smashing into two more attackers. They fell back in a tumble but quickly recovered, springing to their feet, brandishing their knives.

Jeremy reluctantly left Enoch alone in the cart, attacking swiftly with two swords of fire, killing both of the Agents before they could do any harm.

He heard a cry from behind him and gasped as he saw one of the masked assassins attempting to remove Enoch from the cart. The child had grabbed hold of its side, pulling the cart awkwardly along as the figure attempted to extract the little boy.

It gave Jeremy just enough time.

He used his wings to launch himself, though the pain was blinding. Landing just in front of the attacker, Jeremy summoned twin knives of fire, jabbing them into one of the eyeholes of the assailant’s black mask, ending his life.

The killer slumped dead to the floor, the knives of fire protruding from his skull disappearing in a flash.

“I’ve got you,” Jeremy said, taking the child protectively into his arms.

“You always have, haven’t you,” the little boy said, holding him tightly about the neck.

Jeremy experienced a strange pang of emotion for the child but pushed it aside to deal with more of the assassins.

He held Enoch tightly in his arms, swinging a sword of fire as he used his wings to leap across the aisles of the store, making his way toward freedom.

Jeremy charged toward the automatic door, calling forth a blazing battle-ax and cleaving the door in two.

He raced across the parking lot, flapping his wings, attempting to take flight, but the pain was still too much. Jeremy tripped, falling to his knees, and Enoch tumbled from his arms.

“Sorry,” Jeremy said, gritting his teeth against the pain as he rested on all fours. Enoch grabbed his arm and tugged.

“We have to go,” the child said frantically.

The black-suited assassins were coming from everywhere, converging on them.

This is it,
Jeremy thought, centering himself for death.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly so that the child would listen. “I want you to run.” Jeremy was briefly taken aback that the child was no longer a toddler.

They grow up so fast,
he thought, and wanted to laugh, but it really wasn’t the time.

“No,” Enoch said, pulling on his arm. “We can make it to the woods across the lot and—”

“Run!” Jeremy screamed at the boy, yanking his arm away, as he started to stand, creating two impressive swords of fire.

He watched to be sure that Enoch was getting away, before turning to confront his advancing foes.

“So,” he said to them, a twinkle of danger in his eye. “Who wants to be first?”

T
he Angel of the Void that had once been the Nephilim Janice, dropped from the turbulent sky, unable to keep aloft.

She landed on the hood of a car, the glass of the side windows exploding outward as the roof buckled beneath her weight. For a moment the stimulation of the fall helped to clear her thoughts of the unwanted memories since her mind had touched the Nephilim female’s.

Melissa.

The dark angel moaned, rolling from the car roof to the glass-strewn street.

What had the Nephilim done to her?

She furled her large leathern wings and awkwardly climbed to her feet, swaying ever so slightly.

The images came fast and furiously, reinvigorating sections of her brain that had previously been shrouded in shadow.

“What did you do to me?” Janice wailed, reaching out to her fellow dark angels in a cry for help.

She attempted to focus, but it was so very hard. Janice saw images of what life had been like as burning flashes. She saw her end. She’d been wrapped in a net and pulled from the air, clubbed, then stabbed by two trolls, one wielding a three-pronged spear.

She gasped at the memory of the trident’s points piercing her flesh.

Janice glanced at her midsection. Her shiny black armor became as if liquid, flowing away to reveal the pale flesh of her stomach.

And the puncture wounds where she’d been stabbed.

Remembering the fear and horror of her death, she gently touched the puckered scars.

That horror had brought her back from the cold oblivion. Her Dark Father had used it to give her life once more. But now, something else existed within her. Something from when her mind had touched the Nephilim’s.

Janice saw a life before death, an existence that only truly began when the Nephilim came alive inside her, transforming her into an angelic being of Heaven and earth.

Crying as her mind became painfully crowded, the dark angel lashed out at her surroundings, razor-sharp claws extending from the ends of her fingers, allowing her to rip huge furrows in the door of the car before her. A part of her wished that it had been a thing of flesh and blood, something that would have cried out as its skin was torn.

But that desire was overwhelmed by the memories of valiant actions, the camaraderie that she’d shared with the others of her kind.

Nephilim.

They were her family, and she remembered how much she had grown to love them.

It felt as though burning-hot knives had been jammed into her skull, and the Angel of the Void savagely attacked another of the vehicles close to her. The rage was like a thing alive, and she took hold of the car, lifting it up from the street in a show of preternatural strength and hurling it through a nearby storefront.

Janice studied her handiwork, feeling a small satisfaction from her violent act—which quickly turned to surprise as a small group of people streamed out from the store in a panic, their hiding place revealed.

She was tempted to follow them, when she realized that they were already being hunted. A giant serpent slithered out from beneath the wreckage of a collapsed tenement, winding across the ground with incredible speed as it pursued its prey.