Broken

by Ryan Attard

  “Hey, Erik,” she said, stealthily shutting the door behind her. “I see you got yourself in trouble again.”

  “No shit,” I said. “But it’s a misunderstanding.”

  “Seems serious,” she said.

  “It is.”

  She sighed. “I heard.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked her. “Did they bring you in because of me?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, no. Different case. For one of my other patients.”

  “I see.”

  She approached the bars.

  “Erik, I know you’re thinking of doing something about your situation,” she said. When I raised my eyebrows she smiled. “I am your therapist after all. And I’m quite good at my job. So I’m going to ask you to trust the system.”

  “Hah. System’s failed, Doc.”

  “It has failed you, right at this moment, yes,” she said, “but you have family working to help you. Trust in them.”

  Sure, Doc. The people who put me in here are gonna help me—let’s all keep drinking that Kool-Aid.

  Instead of saying any of that, I just nodded.

  She pursed her lips. “I have to go now, but… Take care of yourself,” she said. “And have hope. I know it’s hard to find in here, but you’re a brave man. Have hope.”

  I nodded again, more sincerely this time. Like I said, she was one of the good ones, my doctor.

  Chapter 18

  I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Instead I stared at the same spot in my cell floor, occasionally getting up to pace around when my legs and ass fell asleep. The single light tube on the ceiling flickered occasionally, jarring the hypnotic effect the low light was supposed to have.

  Moonlight beamed through the window resulting in a small pool of light.

  A shift to my side. I jerked my head. There was something in the darkness.

  A man emerged, wearing a crisp polo shirt and slacks, with a blazer on top, all dark and merging with the darkness he had left. His eyes glowed sulfuric yellow for a beat.

  “Mr. Ashendale.”

  I forced myself to breathe. “Greede.”

  Greede nodded from the other side of the jail cell. “This is not how I imagined our story to end.”

  I glared at him, a thousand different scenarios running through my mind.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Greede looked down, almost dejected.

  “Inside this accursed place we are both forced to act against our own self-interest,” he replied.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means he is delivering a message for me.”

  The new voice was smooth and deep, with a low rumble. From beside Greede emerged a short figure, coming up to Greede’s shoulders, and cloaked from head to toe in something dark that ended in tatters. When it raised its arms, a mangled and gnarled hand caught the reflection of the moon.

  The creature hissed, retracting its hand.

  Beneath the hood, I caught a glimpse of something glittering. A single eye shining like a polished silver penny.

  Don’t ask me how I knew, but I knew.

  Since the very beginning we had suspected that the Seven Deadly Sins were acting under the orders of a puppet-master—hell, my conversations with Greede’s clone practically confirmed it.

  “You’re the one,” I said. “The guy behind all this.”

  A series of staccato creaking sounds echoed, and I realized the creature was laughing.

  “I am the beginning,” he said, “and the end.”

  “Oh yeah? Open this door and I’ll give you an end real quick.”

  The creature laid a hand on Greede’s forearms, using as much pressure as one might when stroking a pet. And yet, Greede recoiled like he’d been electrocuted.

  Gritting his teeth, Greede snapped his fingers.

  Nothing happened.

  Greede sucked in a deep breath and steadied himself. He tried again. This time the jail door snapped open.

  I got out, cautiously keeping some distance between myself and Greede and his new pal.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The creature shifted, ragged cloak rippling in the darkness.

  “Who I am is of no importance. I am the Firstborn. I am both the Son, and the Father. Both Master and Slave. I am the Aberrant.”

  With every syllable I felt something rise within me. It wasn’t magic—at least not the kind of magic I was used to. This was something else.

  This was the sky falling down, the ocean swallowing me whole. This was time standing still and the world stopping.

  It wasn’t just power.

  It just was.

  “But,” he went on, “many call me Azazel.” His head tilted slightly, looking past me. “And you may call me Father.”

  The slightest of sounds made me turn around and I yelped, throwing myself aside.

  The Knightmare stood still and stalwart behind me, both hands on its sword as its tip rested on the ground. Slowly, he reached behind his back and tossed a bundle to the ground in front of my feet.

  I immediately recognized my coat and, as it unfurled, I saw Djinn’s sheath and the handle of my gun. The Knightmare exhaled once through the helmet, the breath echoing menacingly, like a wild beast huffing out a threat.

  Slowly, I crouched down, never taking my eyes off him, and put my gear back on. Having my weapons and my coat back gave me a sense of warmth. At least now I had a fighting chance.

  A very slim chance.

  Greede shuffled nervously.

  “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain,” he told the short creature next to him.

  The creature shifted too, turning to look at him. “Yes, you have. You shall get your seventy-two-hour head start. Hurry along now.”

  Greede looked at me, almost sorrowful. He had a look of fear I had never seen on him before. This was a powerful man, always in control. Now he looked like a lost child at the mercy of strangers.

  Greede backed away and disappeared.

  The creature looked at me one last time. It nodded and something rose from within me. I felt my dormant curse powers stir, itching to climb out.

  I let them, slowly, still maintaining control like I had taught myself. Living shadows coalesced over my body, covering me in darkness. I must have resembled the Knightmare in that regard, but with tendrils flaring out instead of spiky armor.

  Perhaps this was why Gil and the others had mistaken the Knightmare for me?

  Save it for another time, Erik.

  The creature let out another chuckle.

  “Soon,” he said. “Very soon.”

  A beat later he was gone, and the Knightmare stepped into view. Its red eyes glowed in challenge and I heard the creaking of its armor as it tightened its grip around the hilt of its sword.

  I extracted Djinn. The blade flared azure. Every ounce of pain, anger, fear, and a myriad of other emotions poured into the blade, amplifying my magic.

  “You know,” I said, “everyone thinks you and I are the same.”

  We paced around each other in a circle, weapons at the ready.

  “So I’ve been waiting for this,” I said. “I don’t know if you’re possessed, or something else altogether, but I’m gonna bring you down and clear my name.”

  The Knightmare huffed out a breath, sounding like a bull about to charge.

  “Bring it on, bitch.”

  The Knightmare lunged, charging at me with a stab. I parried and ducked low. With an opponent this big, you went for the weak point.

  Unfortunately the Knightmare knew that, and altered his strike. The blade caught my shadows and I rolled, coming up behind him. He caught my blade. I smashed my fist into his throat, sinking it into the gap between his armor. The Knightmare backed away, throwing a wild slash. I deflected, letting his heavy blade do the work for me, and yelled as I slashed at his chest.

  His armor tore open and the force of the blow sent the Knightmare flying backwards.

/>   Okay, Erik, think. The officers, Gil’s men. Get them.

  I rushed outside, expecting to see a fraction of the usual hustle and bustle of a police station. I expected to see a few people concerned about the noise, and a few of Gil’s undercover men prepping their weapons.

  Instead I emerged on a battleground.

  No. A battleground would have been different. At least there would have been someone alive.

  This was a massacre.

  Bodies lay everywhere, some bent over their desks bleeding heavily, while others lay in pieces strewn around with lackluster care. Thick grooves on the walls were identical to those I had seen in the alleyway where the Knightmare had struck down the first victim, along with several craters on the ground—some with headless corpses still inside them and brain matter splattered all over them.

  A series of bloodied footsteps led to me, and kept on going towards the holding cells.

  “No,” I gasped.

  Agony went through me like a wave. I found myself arching my back, as the Knightmare struck me from behind. He kicked me, sending me forwards. I slammed into a wall, and found myself pinned to it. The Knightmare punched me several times in the head, each time with enough force to crack my skull against the gore-splattered walls.

  Then with a grunt, he thrust his sword into my stomach and left me pinned there.

  Shadows flared from my person, slamming into the Knightmare. I grabbed his wrist and twisted, ripping off his hand. It flopped on the ground with a heavy thud.

  The Knightmare stumbled backwards. I reached back and pulled the broadsword out of me and threw it at him like a javelin. The Knightmare leaned to the side at the last moment and caught it.

  And then I was on top of him, Djinn’s blade engorged to three times its usual size, energy flaring off it, and I slammed the sword down. The Knightmare was buried beneath the spell. Blood splattered all over the place. Desks, chairs and corpses were thrown aside. Windows shattered.

  And still the Knightmare was on his feet, swaying, broken—but alive.

  I grabbed him and threw.

  The Knightmare flew upwards, through the ceiling and into the starry sky. Roaring, I jumped up and my shadows caught the wind and air, defying gravity.

  The Knightmare flew off and I followed after him.

  We bashed into each other in mid-air, flying at a million miles an hour and swinging swords, one black, one blue. Each blow flashed into the night sky, making it seem like a thunderstorm was brewing. Heat and fire, light and power, reacted with the clouds around us, making them swirl and spiral. In protest, lightning flashed, thunder rumbled.

  The storm was a backdrop to the battle raging in the heavens as I fought the creature that was literally a nightmare incarnate.

  And I was winning.

  I was stronger, faster, more powerful. I was the master of my magic, lord of my domain, and this little motherfucker was nothing compared to-

  “NO!”

  She shot into us from behind the illumination of a lighthouse. It took me a second to see the edges of Humboldt Bay and seas raging beneath us. A lighthouse flashed, and from the light emerged a female angel in full battle armor.

  The same angel that had disabled Greede on the Cassiopeia.

  Now that I could see her up close, I noticed the flowing river of silky smooth red hair, the elfin facial features, and the jade-green eyes tinged with angelic gold. The gold of her armor caught the flash of lightning and seemed to hold onto the luminescence for longer.

  Her spear was simple and functional, with a blade that was long enough to be considered a glaive.

  She intercepted my strike. The Knightmare struck at her. She deflected and struck him with the butt of her weapon, then sliced at his legs. The armor gave away under her weapon.

  Her leg smashed into my head, steel boots making me reel. I swept up, shadows slicing at her. She spun but I caught one of her snowflake-white wings. The angel careened in the air.

  The Knightmare and I crossed swords again. She slammed her spear down on our weapons, unleashing a burst of magic.

  I was sent reeling backwards but my shadows flared into makeshift wings and I shot straight back at the Knightmare.

  A lightning bolt descended on me, making my body seize up. I twisted and fired a streak of energy at the angel, while still keeping my onslaught towards the Knightmare.

  He descended, shooting towards the ocean below.

  I followed.

  BANG!

  The bullet tore through the back of my skull and exited from my forehead. In the microsecond of consciousness I had left, I felt its anti-magic properties tearing through my shadowy defenses, but also my healing magic instantly take effect.

  It didn’t matter.

  I was suddenly weightless as I plummeted down, and the last thing I remember was the distant crash as I fell into the raging waters below.

  Chapter 19

  “Bringing him here was a mistake. We should…”

  “…no time. I had to act fast…”

  “This is not… we were taught…”

  “Time… change… Heaven’s forces against us…”

  “Quiet. The mortal stirs.”

  The voices in my head settled into blissful quiet. I cracked my eyelids open, allowing a sliver of light to meet my eyes and immediately regretted it.

  Sensation came back like a flood. A thousand sounds, mostly coming from the figures in front of me. The taste of copper and salt in my mouth, making me gag. My skin felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper. Aches and pains started in a slow dull throb that then escalated into a crescendo of suck.

  Sight was the worst. Light felt like tiny little spears digging into my brain. Shapes were hazy at first, then slowly they became more solid, clearer.

  Someone was kneeling beside me. Comfortable warmth washed over me. I recognized him after a few tries. Jehudiel, an archangel I had once worked with.

  And by that I mean we fought the Sin of Lust, destroyed a cruise liner (long story), then I punched him in the face, and we became fast friends.

  There was something comforting about his face, and then I realized what it was.

  A lack of divinity.

  His long golden mane of hair held its luster, enough to put every shampoo advert to shame, while his skin and eyes glowed softly, like a corona around a sun.

  But there was no majestic power, no otherworldly feeling to his presence.

  The heat coming from his hands ceased.

  “You should not have done that,” said someone behind him. “Our powers are limited as it is.”

  “Hush, Raquiel,” Jehudiel said. “We are healers and envoys of peace, before all else. Never forget that.”

  Even half-concussed, I heard the disapproving tut coming from the other angel.

  Jehudiel ignored him.

  “Easy, Erik Ashendale,” he said. “Do not struggle. Let yourself come to gently.”

  I blinked several more times. The fog in my head lifted somewhat, enough to make clear my situation.

  Five angels surrounded me in some fashion. Jehudiel was kneeling next to me, while the other four stood in the background.

  My hands were bound in front of me with some kind of rough hemp rope. I felt a slight tingle from it—along with the coarseness of the material—which told me it was enchanted somehow.

  Swell.

  The place looked like an old warehouse, used but infrequently, with moss starting to crawl all over the walls. Despite all that, the place managed to give off a bright and warm feeling. The angels’ influence, no doubt.

  Either that, or the concussion was making me see things.

  A tall angelic warrior stood behind Jehudiel, with flowing red hair and wings of snow white, carrying a lance and wearing pale gold armor.

  “You,” I said. “I know you.”

  The woman cocked her head at me.

  “It seems the mortal remembers,” said one of the others. He had short cropped hair, military-style, and carrie
d with him a tall shield. His weapon, a morning star, was tucked in his belt.

  Another angel stepped up, tall and tough-looking, puffing out his chest. He thrust a strange weapon at me. Half of it was a three foot staff, while the other half was a large, sharply undulated blade resembling a lightning bolt.

  “Then he has drawn his last breath,” this new angel said.

  The tip of his weapon quivered at my throat. Not that it mattered. I could barely feel the sharp edge digging at my trachea.

  That, and I had just about had it with being a prisoner.

  “Raquiel, right?” I said, looking at the angel.

  The angel cocked his head.

  “I heard Jehudiel call your name earlier,” I said. “Raquiel. What does that mean? Oh, who cares, I’m just gonna call you Rachel on account of you being just as prissy and annoying as she was. Not that I’d expect anyone here to get a Friends reference.”

  See there are two things you can do to piss angels off:

  One, tell them that god is bullshit.

  Two, shorten the suffix in their name, or otherwise give them nicknames.

  Bonus points if it’s a pop culture reference.

  Raquiel’s eyes flashed with anger and I grinned. Even half-concussed, I still had it.

  “Here’s the thing, Rachel,” I went on. “You talk a big game but I’m still alive. Which tells me you’re all bark and no bite, the mark of a rank amateur. Did Jehudiel share some war stories? Did he tell you how I defeated Lilith?” I leaned forward and felt the blade at my throat draw blood. “Did he tell you about Raphael and how I put him down?”

  I leaned back.

  “See, unlike you, kid, I got no problem finishing what I started. So either get that thing away from me, or kill me already. Because if I have to look at your dumb face for one more second, I’m gonna take that weapon and shove it in a place that will fluff your feathers. Got it?”

  The red-headed angel woman burst out laughing. Everyone turned to look at her.

  “What?” she said. “I just got the Friends reference. Very funny.”

  Wow, color me impressed. An angel with a sense of humor. Maybe the world was indeed coming to an end.

  “Why did you attack me?” I asked her.