by Ryan Attard
“I attacked the aberration you refer to as the Knightmare,” she replied. “You just happened to be there.”
“And you just wanted to turn it into a threeway? Just like that?”
She shrugged.
“Erik,” Jehudiel said, “we are not your enemies.”
I raised my bound wrists. “Funny way of showing it.”
The archangel stepped back, sighing.
“Allow me to explain.”
“That would be swell.”
“We are a group of individual angels who feel that our mission has diverted from our main objective,” he explained.
I blinked at him several times. Then thunked my head against the wall behind me.
“Holy shit, you’re a splinter faction.”
“Language, please,” Jehudiel chided.
“Sorry. Holy crap, you’re a splinter faction.”
The angel lady giggled. It was a nice sound, I had to admit. Nice and familiar.
Almost too familiar.
She caught me staring at her.
And that’s when I saw her eyes. Eyes full of love and compassion, eyes full of understanding and empathy.
Eyes I had stared into every Tuesday at four thirty for the past few weeks.
“No,” I muttered incredulously. “No way.”
“Erik,” she began.
“Fuck you!” I snapped.
“If you could just let me explain-”
“FUCK! YOU!” I raged.
I tucked my legs in to get to my feet but my limbs were jelly and the world spun. I flopped back down.
“Fuck you,” I exhaled again.
“Are you quite done?” she snapped.
Bile rose to my throat and my stomach threatened to evacuate itself of its contents.
She sighed.
“I’m sorry for the deception,” she said. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Anael, Virtue of Love and Compassion. I am the Angel of Kindness.” She pursed her lips. “And up until today you knew me as Annalise Tompkins. Your therapist.”
“Fuck your guts,” I swore at her.
“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
“Oh yeah? Were you gonna send me a postcard? Does Hallmark have a ‘I’m an angelic bitch who’s tricking people into telling me their secrets’ section?”
“No, but that would be appropriate in this situation,” she said.
I turned my head to Jehudiel.
“You have five minutes to tell me everything. And I’m talking only to you,” I said, putting on my best mean face. “If anyone else opens their mouth, you can count me out of whatever this is. Am I clear?”
Jehudiel nodded.
Anael shut up and sulked to the side. Raquiel retreated, taking with him his strange weapon and shitty attitude.
“It all started with your death,” Jehudiel began. “The moment you were killed, we all felt it in Heaven. What killed you was a creature, an Abomination, so foul that we never thought it would cross over to this dimension.”
“Clearly you were wrong,” I interjected. I still had nightmares about that thing.
Jehudiel nodded. “This forced Heaven to react. The powers that be refused to see the connection between this Abomination’s appearance and the rest of the events occurring.”
“Hold up,” I said. “What is this Abomination?”
“We do not speak its name,” he said. “This I cannot do, for it risks drawing me into the darkness that consumed it.”
I nodded. Certain things were that powerful. Speak out their name, their true nature, and they take over your mind. For an angel that meant Falling.
And speaking from experience, you do not want angels to Fall. They tend to forgo the healer, emissary of Heaven crap and just skip to homicidal.
“Michael has sealed his position as the highest authority in Heaven,” Jehudiel continued. “He is the most powerful of us all. I believe you saw him during Raphael’s execution.”
“Yeah. Big guy with big wings and galactic powers,” I said. “Carry on.”
“Michael and the rest of the council think that the Abomination acts on its own. I do not.” Jehudiel shook his head. “I have seen this world, seen the strings being pulled. Your actions, Alan Greede, every Sin you’ve encountered since Lilith—everything is connected.
“Thus, a few of us decided to take action before it is too late. I assembled what few I trust, and decided to come to this plane to search for signs of the Abomination’s involvement.”
“A rag tag team of misfits saving the world,” I said. “Heard that one before. So who are the unfortunates?”
“Myself, as leader,” Jehudiel said. “Anael, you have already met. Then there are Raquiel.”
The tough guy grunted.
“Ithiel.”
Morning-star dude gave me a crisp nod.
“And finally Samiriel.”
Sammy-boy was skinny and nervous-looking, wearing a dark trench coat over his silver armor, and with long black hair coming to his shoulders. A sword was strapped to either side of his hips. The guy looked like he’d be more at home at an Evanescence concert than on the front lines of an angelic rebel strike team.
I burst out laughing.
Jehudiel cocked his head.
“Sorry,” I said. “Must be concussion but all I can see is a trigger-happy asshole, some dude who states the obvious, the guy who’s about to piss himself but maybe he can pull through, a class-A bitch, and their reluctant leader.” More laughter. “Go Go, Power Rangers.”
Tears were now streaming down my eyes. I couldn’t stop laughing.
The joke wasn’t that funny, but I guess we all deal with stress in our own way.
I should ask my shrink about that—oh, wait!
“I am disturbed that you find this so amusing, Erik Ashendale,” Jehudiel said. “I have healed you of your injuries, which leads me to believe this reaction is psychotic.”
“You’re damn right it’s psychotic,” I said. “See, one minute I’m fighting the Knightmare, and then I get kidnapped by Rogue One, the angel version. Dude, I don’t have time for this. I gotta clear my name. Everyone thinks I am the Knightmare.”
“But you are,” Anael said.
I snapped my head in her direction. “I’m not talking to you, remember?”
“That is quite childish.”
“Take it up with my therapist.”
“I am your therapist.”
“You’re an angel spying on me.”
She scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. My mission was to find the Knightmare, as you call it. And I have.”
“Me?” I said. “You think it’s me too, don’t you?”
“I was there last night.”
“Then you saw it.”
She nodded. “Yes, I did. And I struck it down.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever floats your boat, Red. You said you’re a Virtue, right? Does this mean the Sin is the Knightmare?”
She nodded. “The Sin of Wrath. Anger incarnate.”
Her words echoed inside my head. Something about that phrase. I had heard it before, I’m sure. I just couldn’t place it.
“So if I’m the Knightmare,” I said, “why haven’t you killed me?”
“Because you are you. And Wrath is Wrath,” she said.
“Well, that clears it up,” I quipped. “Look, lady, I don’t know what kinda angel kush you people have been smoking but I’m not the Knightmare. Or the Sin of Wrath, or whatever the fuck you idiots think I am.” I raised my eyebrow at Anael. “And FYI, you didn’t take me down. Berphomet did. Though he wasn’t aiming for me, I just got in the way of his shot.”
“I sensed no demons,” she said.
“That’s because he’s that good.”
And right on cue, Ithiel suddenly snapped his head around.
“What is it?” Anael asked.
“Someone entered our barrier,” he replied, before turning to glare at me. “A demon.”
I blinke
d at Jehudiel. “You secured the perimeter, right?”
“Pardon?”
“Our location,” I snapped. “You made sure we were hidden, right?”
“Yes, Erik Ashendale,” he replied. “We set up a barrier.”
I scoffed. “Fucking amateurs.”
“What the blazes is coming our way?” Raquiel snapped.
“The aforementioned demon assassin,” I told him.
He gave Ithiel a look. Both of them nodded conspiratorially.
“We can handle one demon,” Ithiel said.
“You couldn’t handle wiping your own ass,” I said. “Do you even know where we are?”
No answer.
“Fuck. Me. Sideways.” I groaned. “I can hear the trucks from here. We’re two miles from the nearest highway. There’s an ocean breeze outside, and no one’s come to bother us on account of us squatting in their warehouse. Add to that the fact that you guys let slip your powers are limited since you started this whole thing, which means flying on a budget. My guess is we’re on the insensitively-named Indian Island. Which means everyone is weary of new faces, and I count six ones right here.”
I scoffed at them again.
“And tell me, if a random bunch of strangers figured out there’s new folk in town, did you really think word wouldn’t get out to the best assassin Hell’s ever spat out? He thinks I have a connection to the Knightmare and he’s gonna want me.”
“What do you suggest?” Jehudiel asked. “We are on the same side, Erik Ashendale.”
“No, we’re not,” I said. “Last I checked, Berphomet didn’t wanna kill me just yet. Whereas I cannot say the same for Red over there.”
Anael stayed silent.
I grinned at Jehudiel. “The way I see it, one of my existing problems is about to take out a new problem. That’s a win in my book.”
I raised my bound hands over my head. It was awkward and cumbersome but hey, that’s the price you pay for trying to look cool.
“So, good luck, Power Rangers,” I said. Then, in a high-pitched voice, “Aye-yay-yay-yay-yay!”
Chapter 20
“Ithiel and Raquiel,” Jehudiel ordered. “Cover the entrance.”
The two angels nodded and unsheathed their weapons, Ithiel with his shield and morning star, the other waving that lightning-bolt-shaped sword.
Raquiel exited the warehouse, and I heard his boots crunch outside. Ithiel stopped behind the door.
Jehudiel turned to the others. “We should-”
Berphomet never gave him a chance to finish his sentence. The blast of gunfire shook the entire building, and from a distance we heard Raquiel’s anguished scream.
Ithiel came blasting through the door, thrown backwards. His shield was riddled with two holes in it, each wide enough to plunge my fist through. The anti-magic in the bullets was eating up the shield like acid. The same anti-magic climbed up Ithiel’s arm.
Jehudiel swung his massive two-handed broadsword and literally disarmed the angel. Ithiel screamed, but to his credit still got to his feet, morning star in his remaining hand.
A bullet to the head ended his bravado.
Berphomet stepped in. His rifle was missing, but he held twin revolvers in each hand. Bullets flew, while Jehudiel and Anael zigzagged around. Meanwhile, Samiriel stepped over me protectively. That made me feel bad.
Here I was being an asshole to these guys and this kid literally put himself in front of me to take a bullet.
He pulled out two exotic-looking swords. I recognized them as twin-hook swords, the kind you see in kung fu flicks.
Nice, cool-looking, and absolutely useless in this kind of fight.
I watched as Berphomet spun horizontally in the air to avoid a jab from Anael’s spear. He fired at her as he careened. Two shots punched into her armor. She quickly removed it, revealing brown leather beneath and stumbled backwards.
Berphomet was pushed back by Jehudiel’s wide sword strikes. He leapt to a wall and used his hooves to kick off, soaring over Jehudiel and over to Anael.
First rule of assassination: always make sure the target is down.
Jehudiel intercepted the bullets with the flat of his blade and kept swinging. The blade batted Berphomet directly in the face and sent him flying like a baseball. His Ray-Bans fell to the ground in shards.
“Anael,” he said. “Leave. We cannot have our Virtue banished to Heaven. Leave and bide your time.”
She nodded, very reluctantly. Samiriel immediately stepped next to Jehudiel.
“Don’t do it, kid,” I said urgently.
Samiriel ignored me. But I saw his knees shaking. I heard the clatter of his swords and armor. The kid had no chance.
“Anael,” I called as she passed near me.
She stopped to look at me.
“Release me,” I said, holding up my bonds. “It’s me he’s after. If I can distract him and find a way to leave, then those two won’t have to die.”
“It’s our duty,” she replied.
“It fucking sucks,” I shot back, glaring at her intently. “Come on.”
She grimaced. Her lance fell, faster than the eye could see, and sliced through my magical bonds.
Her wings flared and she disappeared.
Berphomet kicked Samiriel in the face and focused on Jehudiel. Despite being shot, the latter would not go down. I suppose that spoke of the power that Jehudiel held. Even weakened, he was a formidable force.
But the battle was not turning. It reminded me of the fight between Maul and Qui-Gon Jin and Obi-Wan Kenobi, in the Phantom Menace. The bad guy singled out the tougher opponent and kept poking and prodding, tiring him out until he had him cornered.
This was the same story.
Berphomet ducked under Jehudiel’s sword, and threw something into the air. Two revolver six-shot stacks spun towards Samiriel, making the angel swing wildly but missing both.
Meanwhile Berphomet raised his leg high over his head, catching Jehudiel’s sword and cartwheeling over it. He spun over the empty cartridges, scooped them with the open cylinders of his revolvers and snapped them shut as he landed.
The first bullet caught Jehudiel’s knee, the second Samiriel’s right hand. The latter dropped his sword and it disintegrated in a shower of light. The demon kicked his knee out and as the angel fell, Berphomet shot him under the chin.
“No!”
Jehudiel flared his wings, calling onto more power. Berphomet kept firing at him, chipping away at that power, until Jehudiel could barely hold onto his weapon.
He still swung, forcing Berphomet to leap and belt out a cry of surprise.
And that was my moment to strike.
I rushed in, shouldering Berphomet so that his shot grazed Jehudiel’s shoulder, while I took the third portion of the angel’s blade to my side. It dug and cut, and it hurt like nothing else, bit I was too giddy to react to it.
The two watched in amazement at my sudden appearance, and that gave me my window.
I grabbed onto the cylindrical device Berphomet had on his belt—the portal generator Amaymon warned me not to touch—and grinned as Berphomet looked down and figured out my plan.
“What does this button do?” I said.
Djinn pulsed, throwing Jehudiel across the room, while I barreled into Berphomet, upsetting his attempts to aim his guns at me, and pressed the button.
The device whirred and whined. Air shimmered in a sudden eruption of steam and Anima Particles.
A portal to Hell appeared beneath our feet, and both me and the demonic assassin fell through it.
Chapter 21
Berphomet and I tumbled through sand and rock. The two of us were thrown in opposite directions upon impact. A very inconsiderate rock slammed into the small of my back. An audible pop reverberated throughout my spine. I spat out sand and dirt and blood. The whiplash made my head spin and I took a moment to heave out the contents of my stomach.
Berphomet groaned and grunted. He gingerly stood up.
“What have
you done?” he brayed.
I tried to grin at him and lift my sword. I only managed one of those things.
“I put myself on the bench for a minute,” I told him. “You know us mortals, all fragile and shit.”
Berphomet checked his teleporter. The cylindrical device was smoking. I sensed no magic in it—the thing was a husk.
The demon raised one of his revolvers at me.
“I should kill you where you stand,” he said.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Still won’t solve your problem.”
Berphomet kept the gun on me but said nothing. If goat-men could grimace, I guess he would have.
At this point most would question my logic. Why did I escape to Hell with a demonic assassin?
Because, as twisted as this may sound, Hell was the only safe place for me.
I sure as shit wasn’t going to Heaven—provided I had access to that dimension to begin with—and everyone on Earth thought I was a monstrous serial killer.
I needed to regroup, maybe even conscript someone else to my fight. Berphomet had as much to lose in this fight as I did, and I had just leveled the playing field. He also must have figured that out for himself because I was still alive and not dying on a sandy hellscape with an anti-magic bullet in my head.
Berphomet lowered the gun.
“I will find the Knightmare,” he said.
“I never had any doubt,” I said. “I just wish you would stop finding me.”
“My sources, both magical and otherwise, led me towards you, Erik Ashendale,” he replied. “You are connected to my quarry.”
“Yeah yeah,” I said. “Tell me something I don’t know.” I looked around. “And where the hell are we?”
I’d been to Hell before but Hell wasn’t just one place. It’s not a pit of fire and screaming souls getting tormented by pitchfork-wielding devils.
Hell, just like Earth, had different locations. Dante spoke of at least seven layers, Warlocks recorded no less than thirteen (because they liked feeding on superstition) and the Lesser Key of Solomon numbered over seventy.
This particular section of Hell had seen better days. Ruins were mostly buried by grey ashen sands. Bleached rocks jutted out at random. Upon closer inspection I found them to be hardened sand, crystallized over time into rock-like formations.