Armageddon (37 page)

Satan impaled the Cherubim’s stomach with his spiked armor.

The cry of pain was unmistakable, and he could not help but smile.

Retracting the spikes, he moved away, evading the bestial angel’s fury.

Satan Darkstar laughed aloud, flying above the Cherubim as it chased him. Then he shot down toward a ledge protruding from the crater wall and pretended he was going to hit it. At the last moment, Satan pulled his wings about himself, disappearing into shadow, only to reappear in another pool of darkness nearby. The pursuing Cherubim crashed into the wall of the crater, raining rock to the floor below.

The great animal fell, lying upon the ground, stunned.

Satan saw the great beasts’ flaws. Their size and ferocity worked against them. They were creatures of power and emotion, and that would be their downfall.

For he did not fear them.

Touching down not far from the Cherubim, Satan Darkstar watched as the creature struggled to its feet. Its belly was bleed-ing, and one of its wings was twisted unnaturally to one side. Its human face eyed him suspiciously. Suddenly, the monstrous Cherubim reared its head back, spewing a gout of angel fire at the Darkstar.

Satan reacted with the speed of a thought, a shield forged of shadow appearing on his arm. The liquid fire pelted its shiny black surface, eating away at the darkness. He knew that the shield would not hold for much longer, and in his other hand, he created the most lethal of spears. As the Cherubim ceased its spew, the Lord of Shadows pounced. He lunged at the divine beast and thrust the spear up under its chin, pinning its mouth shut before it could vomit more heavenly fire.

The Cherubim struggled, but the Darkstar pressed the attack, until the spear of darkness emerged through one of its eyes.

The fire it was preparing to release backed up inside its skull, and the Cherubim’s head detonated in a shower of bone and blood.

Satan tried to avoid the splash, but the corrosive gore covered his body. He dropped to his knees as the divine fluids ate away at the darkness that clothed his body.

He was so close now. He would not fail.

The Darkstar forced himself to his feet, his armor bubbling
and smoldering, as he turned his attention to the top of the temple steps—to the second Cherubim guard, who continued to watch from its post.

The Darkstar simply smiled.

*   *   *

Aaron and the Unforgiven stared at the static that filled the screen of the monitors.

They’d lost most of the visuals as soon as the dragons had taken to the sky.

Aaron stood perfectly still, concentrating on the various screens, hoping that the power within him would have some sort of effect on the signal.

But it wasn’t to be.

He looked around and saw the looks on the Unforgiven’s faces.

They were afraid.

Aaron turned to Vilma, his mother, and Gabriel. He wished he could spare them the fear of what they had seen.

“Can we get the signal back?” Levi asked. The leader of the Unforgiven stood close to the largest monitor, his back to them.

“We’re trying, sir, but . . .” The technician’s voice trailed off, overwhelmed by the sound of hissing static.

Aaron felt the power coursing through his changing body. He knew it was up to him now. Taking hold of the power, he made it his own and used it to fuel his courage.

“We all saw what’s happening out there,” he said, the change in his voice surprising him for a moment. “We don’t need to see any more.” The armor forged of fire crackled and sparked along his frame, and he felt their eyes upon him. “We know what has to be done.”

Levi turned toward Aaron and his own men.

“Yes,” the fallen angel agreed. “It’s what we have been wanting to do since our fall.”

The Unforgiven remained silent until one brave soul spoke up.

“But our numbers are so small,” he stated, looking around the room at his brothers. “You saw what we will be facing.”

Aaron knew that this was his moment, his opportunity to show that they could put their trust in him, that as the Metatron he could lead them to . . .

Power surged within him, writhing like some great beast at the end of a snare. Aaron doubled over in pain, wild fire leaping from his armor to burn on the floor.

He could feel the Unforgiven staring at him, knowing that they now saw him not as their leader—their savior—but as a risk.

He tried to control the power, as he had learned to control the Nephilim when it had first emerged within him.

But the power of God would have none of that.

Aaron screamed as the essence of God beat him down.

Gabriel was suddenly there, avoiding the small pyres of fire that burned around him. “Aaron.”

“So sorry, Gabe,” Aaron managed. He had never felt this level of failure before.

Vilma and his mother were beside him as well. Vilma braced herself under his heavy, armored arm and attempted to help him stand.

“What we saw on those screens is inconsequential,” Levi picked up, trying to distract his brothers from Aaron. “We swore allegiance to a cause,” he reminded them. “We said we would never allow ourselves a moment of peace, until we prevailed against the machinations of the Architects.”

He fixed them all with his goggled stare.

“And we have yet to do that.”

Aaron felt some of his strength returning and moved to stand on his own.

“You okay?” Vilma asked.

He nodded as he looked at the woman he loved. She looked so small next to his new height, but also so strong. “Yeah, I think I’ve got it.”

“We will gather our number across the globe,” Levi spoke. “And we will fight together.” Mechanical wings sprang from his back like a knife from a switchblade. “We will fight until the last of us is gone if need be.”

Levi’s words stirred something inside Aaron.

It was the voice of the power that now filled him.

The Metatron had something to say.

And it spoke with the voice of God.

*   *   *

It surprised Jeremy how much he didn’t like being alone.

He had always been a loner, but since discovering his birthright, and others with the same affliction, he’d realized that having people around wasn’t all that bad.

Never mind the fact that he’d just spent the last four weeks or so with a nasty toddler whose vocabulary was better than his.

On second thought, maybe being alone isn’t so horrible,
he thought as he padded down the rounded white corridor. There was still no sign of the ghostly Lorelei, and he wondered if she had vanished forever after surrendering her last body.

Putting that thought out of his mind, Jeremy focused on finding Enoch. He knew that the child was special. He’d known that deep inside his bones when he’d first heard his mother speak of him. He also knew the child was not safe in the possession of these Architects.

The twisting corridors seemed to go on forever. He reached yet another junction that could take him either to the left or the right, and his frustration grew. His face had begun to sweat and itch beneath the leather mask.

“C’mon, you bloody little monkey,” he muttered, as if Enoch could hear. “Where the hell are you?”

As if in answer to his question, two black-garbed Agents appeared at the far end of the hallway to his right. They did not see him, for he was using the function of the stealth suit he wore to blend with his surroundings. They passed him, and Jeremy began to follow at a safe distance.

One passage after the next, Jeremy saw no end in sight, but something told him not to give up. He wondered if it could have been Lorelei’s influence, or maybe even Enoch’s.

The two Agents came to an abrupt stop, cocking their heads as if hearing something that he could not. At once they changed their course, heading back toward him.

Jeremy pressed himself flat into the curve of the wall and waited for them to go by.

And pass they did. Jeremy was about to peel himself away from the wall and follow, when one of the Agents stopped suddenly, turning around to face in his direction.

The Agent tilted his head back, as if sniffing the air of the passage. Jeremy felt that twinge of panic; he and Enoch had been on the run for quite some time, and a hot shower wasn’t something that they’d had an opportunity to enjoy.

He hoped he didn’t smell bad enough to get caught.

The Agent then turned back to his partner, and the two started walking again.

Jeremy breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

And that was when the Agents chose to attack.

They came at him, bounding down the hallway, their ultrathin blades at the ready.

Jeremy called upon a large sword of fire.

The assassins were fast and moved in tandem, so Jeremy had to be faster. Allowing his wings to emerge, he took the battle briefly to the air, striking at the two of them from
above. The Agents were completely unfazed. One sprang off the side of the wall to grab him around the waist and drag him down, as the other’s knife strikes came dangerously close, slicing through the thick, leathery fabric to his skin beneath.
With a bit more practice they’ll skewer my internal organs for sure.
Jeremy knew that he needed to take at least one of them soon.

One Agent thrust his dagger toward Jeremy’s heart. Jeremy avoided the strike, stepping in close and pinning the Agent’s arm under his own. He conjured a short sword and brought it swiftly around, chopping off the top of the Agent’s head.

Releasing his foe, Jeremy watched him stumble about for a moment, his head bubbling over with blood and gray matter, before he fell sideways to the floor.

The other Agent wasted no time, lunging at Jeremy. The two tumbled backward, grappling for the upper hand. Jeremy flapped his wings powerfully, attempting to throw the knife-wielding killer off of him, but the assassin held tight, slashing and jabbing.

Their fight carried them down the hallway, rebounding off walls from one side of the corridor to the other.

Suddenly they were in an open space, and in that space, there was a large door.

Jeremy sensed something deep in the pit of his stomach, something that was calling to him. He intensified his fight,
managing to get one of his legs beneath the assassin and kick him away. The Agent flew backward, bouncing off the door. Thinking quickly, Jeremy created throwing stars—he’d always loved kung fu movies as a kid—and let the weapons fly. The killer tried to leap from the path of the flaming stars but was too late. They penetrated the Agent’s leather suit and pinned him against the door, where his body burst into flames.

Jeremy cautiously approached the door but was interrupted by the sound of footfalls from the corridor behind him. He turned to meet a gaggle of at least ten masked Agents, running toward him with murder in their intent.

There’s no peace for the wicked,
his mother had always said.

He was beginning to understand what she’d meant.

*   *   *

Lucifer Morningstar sat in the eye of the maelstrom, calmly stroking the soft gray fur of the mouse.

Hell raged about him; a simple name really, to describe the magnitude of what he had done so very long ago.

It had taken him many millennia to understand and accept his curse. It had been God’s will to saddle him with this burden, to make him carry it with him wherever he might go.

The Morningstar recognized the destructive capacity of the ultimate sadness and misery within him, and he guarded it well.

But now there was another in possession of his form, another who wished to unleash this power.

Lucifer would not stand for it.

Hell raged about the Morningstar’s psyche, but he exuded a sense of calm. Eventually, he would wrangle control, but for now, the cumulative effect of his crimes against Heaven raged unabated.

If there was one thing that the Morningstar had—

It was patience.

T
he voice of God cried out to the world.

Aaron Corbet, wearing the guise of the Metatron, stood in the control center of the Unforgiven’s base, armored head tilted back as the message flowed from his mouth in all the languages spoken on the planet.

“Hear me, citizens of the world. Let all who oppose the darkness come forth. Climb out from your hiding places and take back what has been stolen from you. Join the fight against the evil that has grown like a cancer across the land. Drive back the darkness from whence it came, and take light into your heart.”

The words reverberated throughout the room.

And the Unforgiven dropped to their knees, the Metatron’s message the first balm to their tortured beings since their fall from Heaven.

*   *   *

Vilma Santiago was mesmerized by the sight of the man she loved, and what he had become. The Metatron’s words brought her great comfort. Finally, she felt as though they had not been forsaken.

But what of her love? What of Aaron Corbet?

Was he still in there somewhere, overcome by the power of God, or had his usefulness been proven, and his individual light extinguished?

*   *   *

Taylor Corbet dropped to one knee and bowed her head before the Metatron.

She knew that it was her son, but at the same time knew that it wasn’t. Aaron’s body was being used as an instrument of a higher power. She didn’t know exactly how she felt about that, having waited for so very long to have her boy back in her life again. But this purpose that he now served . . .

Taylor could not help but be proud.

*   *   *

The message was nothing short of inspirational.

Levi had known that their chances of surviving against the forces of darkness and the plans of the Architects were rather slim, but he had accepted their fate. He and his brothers had chosen this as their penance. They had sworn to protect God’s world from any and all otherworldly threats, without hesitation.

No matter the outcome.

If they were to die in their endeavors, then so be it.

But now . . .

The words of God, as spoken by the Metatron, gave him hope. Their seemingly never-ending battle against God’s foes was not for naught.