The Fallen 3 (30 page)

And she wasn’t about to let that happen.

The Abomination swiped at her. She felt the immensity of its hand as it moved through the air, and she managed to evade it. She summoned a spear of fire to her hands.

Energy leaked out from the wound beneath Wormwood’s helmet, reminding her of the way that blood hung in the water, often attracting predators.

She’d never looked at herself in that way before, but as she flew through the discharge on her way toward the angel’s face, she believed that it was right.

Vilma drew back her arm and, using all the strength she had left, let the spear fly. The projectile managed its way through the opening in the helmet’s visor, finding its target of angelic flesh.

Melissa didn’t want to die, which was why she fought.

She believed that was probably why the others did as well. This was it; if they failed, game over. The world was done, and they died.

It was hard enough finding out that she was a Nephilim, but having the safety of the world on her shoulders as well was a huge responsibility, and one that she never in a million years imagined that she would have, but here it was. It was as big as life, as big as the thing before them that they were attempting to stop …
to kill
.

Melissa had summoned the biggest sword she could envision, and swung it repeatedly at the ankle of the angelic Abomination, hoping to do some sort of damage, hoping to help save the world that she and her friends were now responsible for.

Melissa had never before wanted to hurt anything so badly.
She focused everything she had on one specific spot on the Abomination’s ankle, striking it repeatedly, over and over again, sending sparks of divine fire into the air with every violent blow.

And gradually, a dent in the angel’s armor began to form, and then a jagged chink appeared.

William paused in flight, his wings beating the air as Vilma threw her spear.

“Yes!” he exclaimed excitedly as the flaming weapon penetrated the darkness behind the visor. He relished the cries of pain that came from the being that was intent on destroying their lives.

He flew in low beneath the angel’s thrashing arms, aiming for a bend in the giant’s armor at the knee. If they could make it fall, they might have an easier chance at defeating it. The broadsword he summoned was a monstrous thing, created for maiming and murder, and as he flew past Wormwood’s knee, he swung out with all his strength, burying the burning blade in the opening just below the kneecap, where the armored shin brace began.

The angel lurched forward, the strike indeed having some effect upon the towering giant. William was ready to come around again, to take aim at the angel’s other leg, when he was snatched from the air.

Wormwood held the struggling William in hand, gazing down at him as if he were an annoying insect.

He struggled in the giant’s grasp, feeling the grip intensify—his bones starting to crack and his internal organs rupture. He tried to escape, using every ounce of strength he could muster, but it wasn’t enough. For a moment he experienced the crushing weight of disappointment found in failing his friends, in failing his world, but he managed to overcome it all when he felt the Abomination painfully lurch to one side when it attempted to put weight on the leg he had damaged.

Yes, William was dying, but at least he had left his mark.

And as he felt his life begin to ebb, in a final act of defiance, he flipped the angelic monstrosity the middle finger.

Take that, you son of a …

Aaron watched in horror as Wormwood crushed William and tossed aside his limp body.

“Damn it,” Aaron hissed, again taking flight, anger bubbling up inside of him—an anger that he could barely contain.

But he had to be cautious. This wasn’t some simple creature of darkness they were facing, this was a weapon of God, and it could very easily end them.

Flying closer, Aaron noticed that the angel lurched to one side as it moved.

As if its leg had been injured.

And that was when he noticed the divine energy seeping from where William’s broadsword had struck.

Maybe he didn’t die in vain
, Aaron thought.

He flew through the air with new purpose. He passed Vilma, who wielded her own special sword of fire.

“Distract it,” Aaron called out as he whizzed past her.

And she did just that. He could hear her behind him, rallying the others to continue the attack.

Aaron was fixated upon Wormwood’s knee, on the damaged section of armor, as he willed the equivalent of a medieval war hammer into his grasp.

“This is for William,” he said as he swung the heavy combat hammer toward where William had already weakened Wormwood.

The hammer broke through the divine metal, crushing the angelic flesh and bone beneath, and the Abomination of Desolation cried out in surprise and agony, tipping to one side, its leg no longer able to support its massive weight.

The angel went down with a sound like thunder.

Aaron dove from the sky, ready to strike his foe again.

But Wormwood was ready for him. The giant shot out its gauntleted hand and hurled a ball of divine fire. Aaron spun out of its path, continuing on his course to the wounded angel.

He could see its injured eyes blazing from inside the heavy helmet as it readied to defend itself against his attack.

With a ferocious roar, Aaron brought forth a mighty sword and slammed it down upon the angel’s helmet. A rush of heavenly power exploded from the fissure. Aaron acted instinctively,
one of his wings coming across his body to shield him as he dropped toward the ground.

Just before he struck the earth, he opened his wings wide to capture the wind and break his fall.

Wormwood loomed above him, the helmet that once protected his head broken into pieces.

Aaron gazed upon the true face of his enemy, and it stopped him dead in his tracks. It was a face not hardened and monstrous but calm and peaceful. A face sculpted by the hand of God.

Its eyes touched his soul, and Aaron lowered his weapon. The angel’s expression told him not to be afraid of what was to come.

Wormwood turned its gaze to the others that flew above its head like angry gnats, and their acts of violence upon it ceased at once.

They returned to the ground to stand with their leader.

In its gaze, Aaron found meaning in the act the angel was trying to perform. The world had become diseased, the evil growing upon it poised to spread out into the universe itself, to the kingdom of Heaven.

It had to be stopped. For the greater good, it had to be stopped.

Aaron looked to Vilma. There were tears in her eyes.

“We have to let this happen,” Aaron said to her.

She nodded in acceptance.

The weapons they held were extinguished; they would perpetrate violence against the angelic entity no longer. They understood what Wormwood had come to do, and why the world needed to end.

Aaron watched as the giant began to crawl, hauling its armored form across the expanse of lawn, moving toward the body of the great sword that still protruded from the ground.

They were all watching Wormwood. The guilt they felt for hurting such a wonderful creature with a divine purpose made them want to bow their heads in shame, but they could not take their eyes from the amazing creature.

The sound of a dog’s incessant barking shattered the peaceful calm, and Aaron turned to look toward the Labrador retriever.

“Quiet,” he ordered the animal, slowly remembering that his name was Gabriel.

“Aaron, what are you doing?”
the dog asked.
“Why aren’t you trying to stop it?”

Aaron turned from the dog to look at the angel, who had almost reached the sword. He didn’t answer, knowing how difficult it would be for the animal to understand the immensity of Wormwood’s mission.

“Aaron!”
the dog barked, accompanied by a throaty growl as he surged forward to bite at the boy’s leg.

Aaron cried out in pain and anger, a blade of fire coming to life in his hand, a blade that he now raised and prepared to bring down upon the offending animal.

Gabriel cowered, ears flat against his blocky skull.

“Aaron, what is wrong with you?”
the dog asked with a sad whine.

And for a moment Aaron pondered that question as well.

What is wrong with me?

Aaron finally understood the validity of Wormwood’s mission, but why did that understanding suddenly feel so very wrong?

Gabriel jumped up on him, licking at his neck and face, even though Aaron still held the sword raised above his head.

And realization dawned on Aaron. Looking upon the face of the Abomination had clouded their minds, bending the Nephilim to the giant’s will.

Wormwood had reached the sword.

The angel’s hand moved through the air, its armored fingers extending to grip the giant sword’s hilt once more, and to finish what it had begun.

Aaron knew that as soon as those fingers closed upon the weapon, it would be done. He could feel it at his very core.

This was the end of the world, and he had managed to get himself a front row seat.

In the wink of an eye, the other Nephilim awoke to the reality of their situation … to the world’s situation.

“Oh my God,” Vilma said, her eyes fixed on Wormwood.

Aaron heard the gasps and sobs of sorrow from the others
as they all came to the same horrible realization: they had failed the world they were supposed to protect.

Then suddenly there came a bloodcurdling scream as something flew through the air above their heads. With wings blackened and charred, Verchiel rocketed across the sky, his sword glowing as if it had been plunged into the heart of the sun.

The former leader of the Powers descended as the Abomination’s fingers began to close upon the hilt of its weapon. With a blow so swift that the act was seen as only a blur, Verchiel brought his blade down, severing the armored hand of the Angel of Destruction from its wrist.

Wormwood reared back, the life stuff of angels streaming from the stump of its wrist. It gazed in shock at the sight of its hand momentarily twitching, before going still on the ground.

Verchiel did not stop there. Wings pounding furiously, he leaped into the air, hovering before the face of the giant. Verchiel’s burning blade descended once more, this time burying itself deep within Wormwood’s skull, and bifurcating the angel’s face.

From the open skull of the angelic entity that had been summoned to destroy the world, there came an explosion of fire and light, followed by an eerie silence.

The Nephilim looked at the sight before them. Verchiel was kneeling upon the ground, his body smoldering. Much of his hair and the first layer of flesh had been burned away. His armor was filthy with char and soot.

“Must I do everything?” he snapped as he forced himself to stand.

The body of the Abomination of Desolation lay still upon its side, decomposing swiftly in the sun. It would be no time at all before there was nothing left of the apocalyptic giant. But its sword was still in the ground, still radiating a sense of menace.

Verchiel looked as though he might fall over at any moment. “I need time to heal,” he said, marching across the lawn turned battlefield.

As he passed a body lying in the grass, it lifted its blackened head.

“What … have … you done?” Geburah asked.

Aaron watched as Verchiel stopped. The charred form grabbed hold of Verchiel’s ankle with its blackened skeletal hand.

“This … this was yours … this was your plan.…”

“Times have changed, Geburah,” Verchiel responded. “This was not the answer.”

Geburah turned his disfigured features up to his former leader.

“Traitor!” he cried, extending a bony finger to point at Verchiel. “Traitor to the cause of the heavenly host Powers. Traitor to—”

Verchiel’s movement was swift, his sword silencing the accusing angel by separating his head from his body.

Aaron was shocked.

“We’re done here,” Verchiel said, not looking at any of them as he passed.

But Aaron disagreed.

Standing there at the dawn of a new day, he could feel that things were different now.

They were far from done.

In fact, he sensed that this was only the beginning.

A F
EW
D
AYS
L
ATER

D
amn it
.

She had failed again.

The newest attempt at finding him had given her only a deep, cold nothing.

Lorelei tried for more, digging deeper, searching, stretching the spell as far as she was able.…

But Lucifer was nowhere to be found; it was as if he had somehow left the earth.

The Nephilim magick user opened her eyes with a gasp, returning from the freezing void to her weakened body.

“You okay?” Aaron asked, kneeling beside the old wheelchair where she sat.

She was still clutching the metal urn in her lap, where she had burned the ingredients of her Archon spell, including that of a black feather from one of Lucifer’s wings. The thick,
strange-smelling smoke still wafted up from the bowl to gently stroke her face, forming an undulating ring of gray about her head.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Since communicating with Heaven, she’d never felt worse. Lorelei could barely stand on her own, which was why she needed the wheelchair.

Milton perched on her shoulder, close to her ear. It seemed as if the little mouse had adopted her since Lucifer had gone missing. She felt his whiskers tickle her neck, and reached up to rub the soft fur on Milton’s tiny head.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” Aaron told her. He took the smoking urn from her lap and placed it on one of the lab tables.

From beside her chair, Kraus reached down to grasp her wrist and check her pulse. “Her heart is racing,” the healer said. “She’s overdoing it.”

Aaron seemed upset, but these days when didn’t he? Things were bad, and getting worse. Staying alive wasn’t going to be easy in the days to come.

“I don’t want you doing any more magick until you’re feeling stronger,” he instructed her.