Armageddon

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  The Nephilim screamed as they cut through his jeans to the flesh beneath.

  “It was all a lie—all of it,” Russell spat.

  A sword sparked to life, and Cameron slashed at Russell to drive him back. The Void Angel just swatted it away, reducing the blade to sparks.

  “We weren’t a family. We were just fodder for God. Poor, pathetic creatures who had no real understanding of our place, or what we were even supposed to do.”

  “You’re wrong,” Cameron said. He created a shield of fire as Russell’s claws descended upon him again.

  “I died afraid . . . praying for God to save me,” Russell growled. “And what did I get?”

  The claws came again and again, slashing at the shield of fire.

  “I think you know the answer.”

  Cameron couldn’t remember the good times anymore, that sense of family that all the Nephilim had shared.

  All he felt was an awful cold.

  “Will you pray to God, Cam?” Russell asked. “Will you beg for Him to save you, even though you know He isn’t listening?”

  Overwhelmed by fear and depression, Cameron felt himself succumbing to Russell. He knew he was going to die, and for the briefest of moments, he welcomed it.

  But then he changed his mind.

  Cameron’s internal fire sparked, shining through the cloud of shadow that wished to take him down. And it was all he needed to rekindle his yearning for life.

  The darkness still pressed upon him, and through that thick, liquid black, he sensed Russell’s claws. They were descending on him, ready to rip his flesh from the bone, to open him wide and let the darkness in.

  But Cameron had other plans.

  He thought of a knife with a blade sharp enough to cut through the shadow, thicker than night.

  With a point keen enough to reach the core.

  Cameron surged up.

  Plunging the blade into a heart of darkness.

  * * *

  Samantha screamed, but Melissa did not let go, continuing to will the fire of God into her hand, which clutched the blackened piece of the Void Angel’s soul.

  And as she cried and begged, and thrashed her arms, legs, and wings, Melissa held on until the soul began to glow.

  Melissa released the soul fragment, repelled by the thrashing of the dark angel.

  “What is this?” Samantha wailed, looking down at herself.

  The armor that she wore began to disintegrate, rays of divine light breaking through cracks that had formed in metal forged of shadow. Pieces began to fall away, clattering to the floor.

  Samantha tried to fly away, to join with her brethren, but as she unfurled her wings, they immediately started to disintegrate. She fell to the ground as the light in her body intensified. She was crying now, sobbing pitifully as the last fragments of shadow that had clung to her dissolved away.

  “I’m so sorry,” Samantha said, raising her head to look at Melissa. “I never wanted to do this. . . .”

  Melissa took her friend in her arms. The girl’s body glowed hotly, but she shivered as if freezing. “Don’t be afraid. It’s all right now.”

  “Yes,” Samantha agreed as the light grew even more intense. “It is.”

  There came a searing flash, and then the girl was no longer in Melissa’s arms, but she was far from gone.

  Melissa felt Samantha inside her. The fallen Nephilim’s inner fire joined with hers.

  There was another flash of blinding brilliance, and Melissa saw Cameron kneeling amid wisps of fleeting shadow, as his own foe returned to the light.

  From across the expanse they shared a look of understanding.

  It had become so much more now than just defeating their enemies.

  They owed their friends another chance for peace.

  The warmth of Samantha’s presence inside Melissa gave her a whole new level of confidence and strength. She could see the same in Cameron as he approached, and they both turned toward the battle that still raged between the Nephilim and the surviving Angels of the Void.

  “Enough!” Melissa screamed, her voice echoing through the stone chamber.

  The creatures that had once been Kirk and William looked to them, cruel smiles forming at the corners of their pale, twisted mouths. But those looks of perverse pleasure were short-lived, as they recognized traces of Samantha and Russell within Melissa and Cameron.

  The darkness exploded from the surviving Void Angels in waves, propelling both across the room, but Melissa and Cameron were ready. They allowed the glow from their bodies to expand—the light driving back the Void Angels.

  “What have you done?” William cried out, his face twisted in rage.

  “You’re not leaving here either,” Melissa told the two dark angels.

  “At least not in the way you came in,” Cameron finished.

  Kirk laughed evilly. With a roar, the Void Angels sprang as one, their wings of darkness propelling them into the air, darkness masking their retreat like squids squirting clouds of ink.

  It only took a moment for Melissa and Cameron to realize what was happening.

  “They’re going to escape,” Melissa said.

  The other Nephilim dropped from the air to pin the Void Angels to the floor. William raged, his claws finding flesh and bone, but the surviving Nephilim were not deterred.

  Melissa drew closer to the struggle, Cameron at her side. William and Kirk continued their horrible taunts, as the darkness from their awful bodies created a heavy pall in the atmosphere of the chamber, which now reeked of despair.

  One of the Nephilim turned to look at them, and a message was passed with a glance.

  “They understand,” Melissa said. “The Nephilim understand that it has to be us.”

  She took Cameron’s hand, joining her inner light with his. Each summoned a weapon of divine fire—a short sword for Melissa, the knife for Cameron.

  At the sight of these burning weapons, the Void Angels began to fight all the harder, but the Nephilim redoubled their efforts, holding the murderous pair in place as Melissa and Cameron advanced.

  “You can’t do this!” William yelled. “We’re his children. Do you know what he’ll do to you if—”

  Melissa drove the point of her sword into the center of William’s armored chest.

  The results were immediate. The dark angel twitched and sputtered as his armor began to break down, allowing the rekindled light from within to escape.

  Kirk knew that it was his end as well, but still he begged for mercy. Ignoring the dark angel’s pleas, Cameron leaned in, sliding his knife into his former friend just beneath his breast plate, reigniting what remained of Kirk’s soul.

  The Nephilim leaped back as the light intensified. There was a searing flash, and the light was gone, as were Kirk’s and William’s bodies.

  We did it, Melissa thought, experiencing an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. They had not only vanquished their enemies, but they had also restored their fallen friends’ peace.

  Cameron still held her hand tightly. She was tempted to tell him that he could let go, but she thought better of it. She liked the way her hand felt in his.

  Like it’s supposed to be this way.

  The Nephilim, no longer fighting for their lives, gazed about the vast mountain chamber.

  “Where are we?” one of them asked. “What happened to us?”

  Melissa was about to explain when she heard coughing.

  “What happened?” the Custodian asked, struggling to sit. “You have been chosen.” His dark eyes glistened.

  “You are the Inheritors of the world.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Satan Darkstar felt the eyes of his legions upon him as they amassed above him along the lip of the crater.

  The Cherubim waited, the muscles beneath their golden fur rippling as they paced, catlike, before the entrance to the House of God.

  Satan watched the Lord God’s guardians. What unusual beasts they are, he thought. So much more bestial i
n their design, as if He wanted them to be feared.

  To keep away those who did not belong in His house.

  There was a commotion above as Satan’s armies attempted to come to his aid, but the Darkstar would have none of it.

  “No!” he cried out. He pointed his blade of darkness toward them, and flames of shadow picked off those eager enough to brave the dangers of the crater. “This is my fight!” the Darkstar proclaimed. “And mine alone!”

  He wanted them to bear witness to his might.

  Satan spread his wings and launched himself toward the House of God. One of the great beasts leaped from its perch, its two sets of wings flapping powerfully as it charged at him with incredible speed.

  It slashed at him, claws trailing fire. Satan narrowly evaded the attack by ducking below its forward momentum. Then he surged up toward the Cherubim’s underside, willing his armor to change. Long spikes grew up from his back and shoulders.

  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.