Enclave

by Brandon Varnell

  The first hellhound to taste the Orichalcum of her sword was the one on the far left. Zaphkiel sliced right through the creature’s head, separated its entire muzzle from its body. The muzzle fell to the ground with a wet, meaty thud, crimson leaking from its severed end. The hellhound whimpered. It tripped over its own feet, causing to stumble and fall to the ground, where it began twitching in pain.

  While the first hellhound survived, the second wasn’t so lucky. Rather than slicing off the muzzle, Zaphkiel ended up cutting through its cranium. As the blade passed through its head like jello, the upper most part of its skull slid off along half of the pink, fleshy organ sitting inside. The hellhound didn’t seem to realize it was dead for a second, but once that second had passed it, too, tumbled to the ground, where it twitched once before going still.

  Both the third and fourth were taken out in a similar manner to each other. Zaphkiel, sharper than almost every sword in existence, cut through their torsos with ease, causing their hind ends to fly in one direction and their front end another. Blood sprayed from the wounds like broken fire hydrants, painting the parking lot in even more crimson colors.

  The sixth hellhound managed to reach her, but Samantha was already prepared for it. Ducking under the monster as it pounced, she went down on her shins, her thighs pressed against her calves and her back against the ground. From her prone position, she plunged Zaphkiel into the demons stomach all the way out its back.

  Rather than cause her to lose her sword, the blade slid right through flesh, bone, and muscle with simplistic ease. Like a fountain gone wrong, crimson mist shot from the nearly bifurcated body, coating Zaphkiel and Samantha in red. The hellhound barely made a whimper as it struck the ground, rolling along the pavement for several feet before coming to a rest.

  Standing up, Samantha grimaced as she looked down at her clothes. They were soaking wet, covered in blood, and smelled awful. Blood always smelled horrible, but the blood of hellhounds had an acidic quality to it that reminded her of burning ozone.

  “This is going to take forever to get out,” she clicked her tongue in agitation. “If only I had just been a little faster.”

  “I think you look good in red,” Tristin told her, only to be placed on the receiving end of her vitriolic glare. “Eek! I-I mean, if you want, I’ll be sure to wash them for you! I’ll scrub and scrub and scrub, until there isn’t a single spot of blood left. Sound good?”

  Samantha kept up her steely-eyed expression for a few more seconds, then sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

  Tristin’s shoulders slumped. “That’s a pretty rude thing to say, you know.”

  Just then, a howl went up. The howl was followed by several more hellhound cries. And not long after that, the sound of padded feet thundering along pavement reached their ears.

  “Oh crap! There’s more coming!”

  “Tch!”

  Samantha disregarded Tristin’s existence, pretending the idiot man wasn’t even there. She flicked her blade clean, the blood dripping from her sword now joining the puddles forming on the ground, then resheathed it in a brisk, polished motion. She bent her legs. Lowered her center of gravity. With her right hand on Zaphkiel’s hilt, left hand on the sheath, Samantha prepared for the coming storm.

  It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  With a shout of effort and power, Leon brought Sandalphon down on the charging hellhound, crushing its body and causing the pavement underneath it to dent. When he lifted his warhammer, it was to see that the demon was literally just a stain of blood and chunky looking pieces of oozing flesh.

  Two more hellhounds bounded towards him with a loud yowl, as if angered by how callously he had killed their brethren.

  Before they could reach him, Sif was there. The young woman rushed forward, her center of gravity low as she charged in. She wove her way in between the two hellhounds, her body twisting as she avoided their lunges. She then lashed out with her two claws, Daniel slicing through the torso of the left hellhound, spilling its blood and innards onto the street. Gadreel struck the hellhound on the left, tearing through its body with ease. Both creatures landed on the ground with wet, meaty thuds, tumbling along for several seconds before coming to an abrupt halt at Leon’s feet.

  “You’re stealing away my kills, Sif,” Leon said, complaining.

  “I’m sure there will be plenty more demons to fight.” Sif rolled her eyes. “Now, come on.”

  The two moved quickly. True to Sif’s words, there were plenty more hellhounds coming their way. They poured in from side streets, the main roads, and other buildings. There was no telling how many of them there were.

  The two of them made short work of the beasts, dispatching them with ease. They proceeded ever forward, heading toward the undying red flames of energy. The closer they got to the source of the barrier, the more hellhounds they found themselves battling. Swarms of the demonic dogs rushed them. It was like a never-ending stream.

  Leon, his blood boiling for battle, rushed forward with a war cry. Following in his wake was Sif, the ever-calm expression on her face not giving away any of her emotions. The larger of the duo crashed into the demons with the fury of a storm. He swung his warhammer around his body at speeds that were barely perceivable by human eyes. Hellhounds were struck and sent flying through the air, their bodies broken beyond repair as they crashed into lampposts and walls.

  As they drove forward, pushing through the horde of demonic hounds, Leon laughed. “Come on, you weaklings! Come and fight me! Just try and take me on! See where it gets you! Ah hahahaha!”

  Sif would have rolled her eyes at the overly exuberant man, but she was a little busy killing. She dashed toward the nearest hellhound, leaning forward in order to increase her speed. The ugly creature didn’t even notice her full-on sprint until it was too late.

  When it did turn its head to look at her, Sif had already launched herself into an acrobatic flip that had her body twisting around. While at the apex of her jump, Sif’s body was turned so that her head was pointed towards the ground and her feet the sky. She extended her left gauntlet, Daniel, during this time. The four sharp Orichalcum claws tore through the beast’s head like a machete cutting through ice cream. No contest.

  As blood from the four deep wounds arced out in an almost graceful manner, Sif continued her flip, twisting her body, and landed on the ground. She then threw herself into a forward shoulder roll, skipped up to her feet, and launched herself at the next hellhound in her path.

  The bodies of hellhounds dropped like flies. Despite the number of beasts they killed, more kept coming. At some point, their forward progress was halted, as the number of enemies pouring into the street became too great. And some time after they were forced to stop moving, the two found themselves surrounded.

  “Didn’t think there would be this many of them,” Leon grunted, his eyes taking in all the hellhounds that had surrounded them. He tightened his grip on his axe, his back pressing into Sif’s. Hellhounds growled and barked and howled, their jaws snapping, drool escaping their mouths where it fell to the floor began burning a hole in that earth. “Got any ideas? Cuz I’m fresh out of those.”

  “There are too many here for us to take on by ourselves,” Sif informed him. Her back muscles tightened as she lifted her gauntlet covered hands. “Perhaps one us should stay behind to keep these creatures off the others back as they continue toward the source of the barrier?”

  “I’m not sure I like that idea,” Leon admitted.

  “Do you have a better one?”

  “Not really.”

  The two got ready to open a path through the mob of monsters. While neither of them were too keen on being separated, especially since they had no clue what sort of monster was up ahead, they also realized there wasn’t much of a choice.

  However, just before the two could rush forward, the hellhounds quieted down. They stopped barking, the growls ceased, and the fierce expressions on their visages seemed almost calm. Leon w
ould have wondered what happened, but he only had a moment to contemplate this new variable before something else happened, something that shocked the two former Executioners.

  The hellhounds off to their left parted as a figure walked through them. This figure looked like man, almost human, with handsome features. His dark hair had a spiky fringe that rustled and swayed as he walked, hovering over two luminescent purple eyes. He was tall, and the clothing he wore emphasized his athletic physique. Boots clacked against pavement, the dull thud reverberating across the street. His pants, dark and slightly baggy, ruffled as he walked. He wore no shirt, allowing his defined chest and lean abs to be seen beneath a long black trench coat that flapped out behind him. On his back were two large black wings made up of thousands of feathers.

  “Hmm...” The man hummed, his countenance amused. Bright eyes glinted beneath thick bangs, surveying to two former Executioners with a keen look. “I see now why the fifty-sixth purgatory penitentiary was so easily broken into. You two are Sif and Leon, if I am not mistaken. Two members of the XIII, the elite among Executioners.”

  “Who the hell are you?” asked Leon, readying his warhammer.

  “Me?” The amused quirk to the man’s lips grew larger. Placing his left hand at his waist, the man with black angel wings gave a very formal bow to the pair. “My name is Azazel.” He straightened up, his smile growing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Sif and Leon stiffened as they heard the name. Azazel was the name of a fallen angel, one of the rebellious Grigori leaders in the time that proceeded the great flood. It was he who taught men the art of warfare, of making swords and knives and shields and coats of mail. He was also responsible for teaching the women how to deceive by ornamenting their body, dying their hair and painting their face. It was even said that he was the one who had introduced witchcraft to humanity and corrupted them. According to the bible, Azazel was defeated by Archangel Raphael and was chained to the jagged rocks of Duduael until the Day of Judgement. Azazel was considered to be a threat on par with Abaddon The Destroyer.

  This was so not good.

  “Sif,” Leon leaned down to whisper in Sif’s ear. Azazel quirked an eyebrow as he stopped several meters in front of them but did not use the distraction to attack. “Got any ideas?”

  “Not really,” Sif admitted.

  “Damn.”

  “At least there’s a silver lining to all this.”

  “And that is?”

  “You get your challenge.”

  Leon stared at Sif for a moment before grinning like a loon. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am going to get my challenge, aren’t I?”

  They both turned to look at Azazel, who appeared calm and cool, imperturbable. “Are you two done strategizing or whatever? Cuz if so, I would like to get this battle started.”

  “Oh, you would, would you?” Leon readied his warhammer, hefting Sandalphon over his head before charging forward. “In that case, let’s see you take this!”

  “No, wait! Leon!”

  Leon dashed forward with a loud battle cry. He swung the giant hammer down on Azazel’s head, intent on crushing the fallen angel’s skull.

  That didn’t happen.

  Because Azazel stopped the warhammer with a single hand.

  “What!?”

  “Is this the strength of the much-vaunted Lionheart?” Azazel sounded most disappointed. “How pathetic.” With an incredible burst of strength, the fallen angel shoved at the warhammer, causing Sandalphon and Leon to go flying backwards, skidding and stumbling along the ground, kicking up dust. “I had been told that you people were two of the strongest Warriors the Executioners had to offer, but if this is the strength of its top members, it’s no wonder you people were destroyed so easily.”

  Leon growled. “You wanna see weak! I’ll show you weak!”

  He rushed in again, unleashing a furious yell that echoed across the vast cityscape. He brought his great warhammer, Sandalphon, down on Azazel again. And it was blocked, again. And again. And again. And again. Over and over Leon tried to smash the dark-haired fallen angel, and over and over the warhammer was stopped by nothing more than a hand.

  The ground underneath Azazel’s feet cracked as the incredible power behind each swing was unleashed. The air howled with the sounds of movement as the mighty warhammer was swung with impossible speed. Each attack sounded like thunder as it struck the hand, a booming earthquake, a natural disaster. Yet no matter how many times Sandalphon was smashed down onto Azazel’s form, nothing changed. The man just stood there, taking each attack head on.

  And then Azazel moved his right hand.

  Sif did not know what happened. One minute Leon was getting ready to swing down on the man again, the next he was being sent flying backwards, a loud shout of pain escaping his mouth. The muscled human struck a wall on the opposite side of the street, causing it to cave in and crumble around him.

  “Leon!” Sif shouted. She started to move toward him, worried that he might be dead. She was stopped, however, by Azazel appearing in front of her, his form flickering with the kind of speed no human could possibly hope to match.

  The young woman jumped back, her claws coming up to defend herself. Azazel did not attack, though, and what happened next came as a surprise.

  “Hello there, gorgeous,” Azazel said, his voice modulated into a smooth overtone that actually had Sif’s spine tingling. “My name is Azazel, leader of the Grigori, fallen angel, currently a self-employed agent trying make his way in the world.” The fallen angel’s body flickered again, and suddenly, the powerful entity was right in front of her, standing on bended knee. He grabbed one of Sif’s clawed gauntlets and kissed it.

  Sif’s brain short circuited. “W-what?”

  Azazel looked up at her, his eyes brimming with... something. Sif didn’t know what that something was, but she was also positive that she didn’t want to know.

  “I enjoy going to the movies, traveling through parks, and taking long walks on the beach.”

  “Um...”

  “I also like having sex. Lots and lots of sex.”

  “Eh?”

  “Would you be interested in coupling with me sometime? I’ve been told that I’m a demon in the sack.” The man’s teeth sparkled as he flashed her a smile.

  Sif stood there for several seconds, her mind in shambles. What was going on? Was he... was Azazel hitting on her? She stared at the man, still looking just as handsome and young as he had when he rebelled against God. His amethyst eyes sparkled with an unusual sheen, a burnished sort of luminosity that caused her loins to grow hot. There was a smile on his face, dazzling and radiant in a way she had only ever seen on Tristin when he was hitting on a girl. He wanted her, and, for that single moment, Sif wanted him, too.

  “You... you...”

  The smile widened. “Yes?”

  “You damn pervert!”

  Sif lashed out with Gadreel. The four-clawed gauntlet moved like greased lightning, her anger fueling the speed of her strike. It still didn’t hit, as Azazel’s body flickered again, and he appeared several yards back.

  “I guess you’re not interested,” Azazel said. He looked almost sad. “Perhaps some other time.” Sif just glared at him, causing the fallen angel to sigh. “Well, I guess I’m done here for now.”

  Azazel’s wings gave a great flap, lifting him into the air. As he began to fly away, Sif snapped out of her stupor.

  “Wai—hold on! Where do you think you’re going!?”

  “I’ve seen all I need to,” Azazel answered. Sif was surprised he actually bothered to answer. “So I’m not interested in this battle anymore. Tell your friend that if he wants to have any hope of defeating the enemies that lie in your path, he is going to need to get much stronger. You are going want to start training again as well. You’re fast, but you lack the kind of speed necessary to fight against opponents on the same level as I am.”

  Sif watched in silent shock as Azazel flew up towards the barrier’s domed ceiling. T
here was a strange sound, like glass shattering, and then the barrier was gone, and Sif was no longer standing in limbo, but at the cross streets of West Center Street and North Main Street. She frowned as the people around her became distinct. Several people had noticed the hole that Leon had made when he was blown through the store. They pointed and whispered, but Sif couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  She was still confused.

  What the heck had just happened?

  ***

  Samantha’s sword sung as she swung it through the air. She danced left and right, her body twirling as her sword flashed out. Every time it did, blood flew out of freshly made cuts, soaring through the air in almost graceful arcs before splattering on the ground.

  She was no longer using Iaidō, the art of drawing and sheathing the blade to increase the speed of her attacks. Since the number of hellhounds attacking them had increased, she’d been unable to even conceive the notion of sheathing her blade. Instead she relied on a more basic sword-style, the first one she had learned. A common kendo stance used by Japanese practitioners of the sword.

  Her sword flashed out, slower than before, but still too fast for any of the hellhounds to avoid. One of the beasts that had gotten a little too eager ended up getting its head sliced off. Another tried to pounce on her, but she twirled out of the way, to the left, her sword extending as she swung it at the demonic dog. When the blade passed through the beast like water, the hellhound fell to the ground, its two halves cut lengthwise.

  “Heee!”

  A strange squealing, sort of reminiscent of a dying pig, reminded Samantha to the fact that she was not alone. She turned to see Tristin, standing on the top of the truck, his leg clamped in the jaws of a hellhound, which he was trying to shove off with some vigorous shaking.