Then they were slamming against her shield again, smashing through it. They were strong, far stronger than the Fallen Angels on the wall combined. Their strength rivalled Samael, they had to be Fallen Arch Angels. Once again they had the strong sense of Michael. Now, what was he hiding?
Strong powers assaulted her, driving her to her knees as her shields buckled and she hastily threw up more. Her magic flared out around her in defence, catching some on the wall, but the attacks only intensified. Her powers were draining away at an alarming rate, she hadn’t recovered from her fight with Samael or Leviathan. Now she had to face two Greater Demons together.
She felt her last shield waver under the onslaught. Then it collapsed.
Arrows plunged into her chest, she screamed in agony. Never had her skin been pierced before, only during her training with Nemesis had she ever been cut. These were twisted metals to kill a Divine, she could feel their poison spreading through her as a cold numbness. Her skin was on fire, spurred on by the Fallen Angels, but she ceased to feel it. She was dragged one way then another, whatever those two bodies had been were fighting over her. Surely they were tearing her apart, strange she could no longer feel pain. She could see claws tearing into her shoulder and wings, but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything anymore.
Her hearing faded away, her vision blurred, the sulphurous burn disappeared from her nose. She was losing her senses, she had lost all feeling in her body. Even her magic was sliding beyond her control.
Was she really dying? Was this really all her life had led to?
Chapter 32
“Yes, Ariadne?”
“All the mosques on the East Coast and southern states have been destroyed. Their demise is spreading quickly through the northern states and West Coast. They’ve also been completely destroyed in Alaska and Hawaii. The media storm is blaming Christian groups, and we’ve played our part in them getting the blame. We’ve also indicated racist groups. We’ve now started targeting churches and synagogues, but we’ve hit a problem.”
Hera turned away from the window and the grey skies beyond. It was spring in New York, the last week of March. The deep snows of February had begrudgingly given way to strong rains. As a consequence, New York was remarkably clean. It had been a strange winter, extreme and frigid. There had also been a spike in murders, and targeted attempts on religious groups. Most New Yorkers had mentioned there had never been a winter like it before.
Nor had there been, not since before America was even discovered had such plans for a rebellion been laid, or armies gathered. Nor had a Goddess permanently resided in a Human city since Atlantis had been destroyed.
Now it was spring, and just like the winter, it would be unlike anything New York had ever experienced.
“And what problem is that?”
“It is Good Friday, a holy holiday of Christianity. All Churches are under Divine protection until the weekend is over. The Vampires had planned to do something really dramatic, to really drive home a point to the Angels and their believers.”
“But it went horribly wrong?”
“They attempted to burn down Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, and the protections responded accordingly.”
“How many did we lose?”
“Twenty and the cathedral’s defences have gotten stronger.”
Twenty was nothing, Vampires could easily increase their numbers. Indeed, they had been doing so all winter. “Hmm, this calls for a more personal touch after their ineptitude. Really how could they have been so stupid?”
Ariadne said nothing, she didn’t know why they had been so stupid. Then again the Daemons were getting increasingly more reckless. They believed that with Hera around they had nothing to fear. How wrong they were, Hera was one, the Angels many. She was powerful but so were they.
People had died to do her will, and many more would. They were after all just pawns. Losses were expected even necessary, Christianity had flourished on martyrdom. The Vampires deaths would only encourage others to fight harder and smarter, Daemons would continue to flock to her. Hera knew how to manipulate and control.
Hera patted Ariadne on the shoulder, easily reading her thoughts “Their loss shall not be in vain. I will attend to the cathedral myself.”
With that said she turned and glided gracefully out of the apartments. Ariadne was right many more would die. It was a thought that troubled her slightly, her time among Humanity had humanised her, weakened her. True power was only seized by the ruthless. Death was a necessary part of life and the price of power. And the results were paying off, nearly every major city in the United States was suffering an anti-religion assault, or so the media called it.
She smiled as the elevator closed, she had worded her response well. Ariadne would continue to gather followers for her. She really was an exceptional High Priestess, her ability to inspire faith had impressed even her. Then again her reward for loyalty was her Divinity again. Most mortals would do anything for that, a Divine who had lost it would do everything and anything.
She called in a heavy raincoat and umbrella as she walked out into the downpour. It would not do well today to draw too much attention to herself. What a strange city to rain so much, it wasn’t so dissimilar to the northern provinces of the Roman Empire. She supposed that was why the Northern Europeans had felt so at home here.
As she cut through the crowds of the Rockefeller Plaza, her attention was grabbed by the glowing statue that stood pride of place behind the ice rink. A quick probe into people’s minds told her it was a statue of Prometheus. How strange that a Titan was immortalised in their consciousness. Then again he had always loved Humanity, suffering much to give them fire. It was likely they would always have a soft spot for their protector.
On a whim she gave the statue a more realistic fiery glow, drawing fascinated looks to the statue as she hurried out of the plaza.
Her surprise only increased when she stepped out into Fifth Avenue next to the statue of Atlas. How strange that there were two Titans in the Rockefeller Centre. She made a mental note to look up who this Rockefeller was. Who was he to have allowed two Titans to be constructed? Prometheus she understood, Humanity had always had a fondness for him. He had helped shape many of the cultures that had flourished around the Mediterranean. The progeny of those ancients had spread through Europe and beyond, carrying within their racial memory the love for him.
Atlas was different, though, he was a Titan through and through. Prometheus along with his brother and Hecate had given their loyalties to the Olympians, but Atlas had personally led the assault against them. When the Olympians had won the war and imprisoned them in Tartarus, they had pulled Atlas aside and given him the special punishment of holding up the Heavens. He had later been killed by Heracles, or Hercules, as most modern Humans knew him as. That had sent tremors through the Gods, a Titan killed by a demigod. It had been unfeasible.
But she supposed to Man it symbolised their ability to overcome even the greatest of odds. Though she supposed it could represent power, strength and discovery. Books of maps had been named after Atlas. She found European development and expansion a very fascinating thing.
She stopped next the statue, looking across Fifth Avenue at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. It was a beautiful building, a true testament to Human skill in construction. That had always been a remarkable talent of theirs. They were like ants and termites, working away all the time to build remarkable constructions.
As she crossed the street the rings of the globe that Atlas carried started to slowly spin. Tomorrow the news would be ablaze with the loss of the Cathedral, but there would be side notes about the two statues. They might be dead, but interest in the two Titans would undermine the Angels’ strength and faith.
She walked straight through the closed doors, barely noticing the faintest assault on her shields by the building’s defences. She snapped her fingers disappearing her raingear and adjusting her hair and attire. She stood resplendent in a stunning black ball
gown rising only to her breasts, her pale cleavage adorned with a black opal cut into a starburst. She wore black gloves to her elbow, leaving her upper arms, shoulders and neck bare. Her intricate brown curls fell lightly across her bare shoulders. Her violet eyes shining like lanterns in the candlelit gloom of the cathedral.
It was only then that she turned her attention to her surroundings. It was truly stunning, her attention drawn to the Gothic structures, the windows down the back and to the high vaulted ceilings. This was a beautiful and important building. It was power and strength, covered with beauty but she saw through it to its true nature. It was an impressive and imposing building designed to unconsciously scare followers into line. Of course to their perception, they would feel pride, but then they were ignorant of the Angels’ powers.
Her attention skipped over the gaudy Easter decorations and worshippers. What did she care for them? Their attention though was naturally drawn to her, mortals were always drawn to the Divine. For better or worse.
She walked down the central aisle, the altar would be the source of power that needed to be overcome. Not that it would take much at all. From the altar would bloom beautiful fire, bringing with it purifying destruction. Eyes followed her as she passed the pews. Many had the vague look of a mortal intoxicated by a Divine’s presence.
By the time she was climbing onto the altar all eyes were on her. The priest bustled over to stop her, foolish mortal. With an offhand wave, she sent him sailing through the air to smack into one of the columns. Voices raised in concern or protest. What did she care, her spells had locked them in. They would burn in the purifying flames.
Easter worshippers looked about in fear, many started moving about. This woman had sent the priest flying through the air without touching him. The cathedral now echoed with the sounds of slamming doors and the distinctive sound of locks.
She started to glow with white light as she climbed the last few steps of the altar, her powers easily overwhelming its pitiful amount of sacred power. She smiled in satisfaction as the whole altar burst into roaring violet flames.
Light flared behind the flames then they died. She narrowed her eyes in irritation “Show yourself, Angel.” She started covering herself in the most complex shields and protective spells she could imagine.
“Just like a Goddess to make demands. Seems your freedom has only led you back to your old habits” Michael said as he walked down the aisle. As usual, he was dressed in his Roman Centurion attire, blazing like a miniature sun. Even his wings despite being black somehow managed to express light.
“Just like an Angel to lie in ambush.”
“I stand before you, do I not?”
“And how many others are still hiding Michael? I know your games.”
“You speak of other Angels Hera, I am renowned for my truth.”
“So then stealing Sariel’s powers to supplement your and Gabriel’s own was not a deception? Then again I am no Angel, such practices may be common amongst your kind. However I know Sariel would not consider you to be truthful.”
“What would you know of Sariel” she had unnerved him and taken him by surprise.
“I know everything Michael, I probed her shockingly undefended mind. Imagine leaving an Arch Angel so weak and vulnerable. You call us cold and cruel, but you inherited it undiluted from us.
“We are not like you” he spat.
“No, you are weaker.”
“We won the War.”
“By deception and trickery, as well as our own pride. You played off our rules very well, then you left the world to rot. You are fools, the world was yours, now look at it.”
“I did not come here to be lectured about your out-dated practices, the Age of Gods is over Hera. Accept it. Now it is the Age of Angels, we are now the masters.”
“And yet I sent your sister to Hell. Who is the master now?” her eyes flashed with pure malice.
He pulled out his sword, a line of magic slicing through the air and pews before faltering against Hera’s shields. “Such anger for one who claims it is a Deadly Sin, and such waste of your worshipper.” She indicated the severed corpses sliding out of the sliced pews.
“Mortals lives are insignificant.”
She smiled “A point we both agree on” she flicked her hand and fire shot out in a graceful curve, burning through several rows of worshippers before smacking against his shield.
He responded in kind, fire blazing towards her. It didn’t take long for fire, lightning and ice shards to be hurtling through the air between them. Their shields were ablaze with light as they cast aside attack after attack. Underneath each of them started to grow blackened craters, growing faster as their magical onslaught increased.
The once-grand interior of the cathedral was now a ruin, craters and huge gashes rent deep in the ground. Cracks and burns spread ever outwards from them. The columns nearest them buckled and collapsed. The stained glass window behind Hera shattered as an attack was deflected.
Not a single mortal remained alive. Their shredded and burned bodies littered the battleground, occasionally lifted up by an explosion or raging wind. Those that had tried to flee had fared no better, their bodies lay crushed underneath collapsing walls and columns or blown to pieces by a deflected attack. Neither Divine has spared a moment’s thought for the mortals caught up in their conflict.
Hera ceased her attacks, smirking as Michael continued to attack her. Slowly he ceased his assaults. He was surprised she had held up for so long, by his approximation more than an hour had passed with them exchanging attacks. He was starting to feel the effects in his magical reservoirs. He had no idea if she had started to notice if she was starting to run dry. She was far more powerful than he had accounted for, damn Demons flocking to her. All of the Demons in America must have flocked to her call, and there had to be more than they thought.
He cast a quick glance around the ruined cathedral, mildly surprised that the outer walls and roof were still standing. Usually, battles between the Divine devastated entire cities and deeply scarred the land. Then again Hera was not at her full strength and he was but one Angel. The fight would have been far more savage if other Angels had been present, then she really would have been fighting for her life. Or if she had been at full power, then he would have been fighting for his.
Hera floated up higher, the ruins of the window behind her starting to glow. She pointed to the ground, a thin line of lava separated them. Small orange flames licked across the ground, setting ablaze any remaining pews nearby. “A familiar scene Michael?”
“What do you care of Hell Hera? You’ve sent enough to the deepest bowels of Hades, you even locked away your own father in Tartarus.”
“Yes, but Hell is your own creation, Michael, Tartarus is a natural entity, but I digress. I wanted you to see my special addition to your creation.” The crack grew wider and within the flames rose an image of Sariel. She lay in chains, her body halfway through the transition to Demon. She was naked and had clearly been raped many times then drained off all her life. She wasn’t Desiccated but on the verge of death. As he watched, he saw the last spark extinguish as a clawed hand drew the last of her Lifeforce out of her.
She smiled in victory at her illusion, in reality, she had no idea how Sariel was faring. She didn’t have the power to pry into Hell. Not that Michael knew that.
She stepped backwards at his unnatural roar. He collapsed to his knees, flames and pure power surging around him. This was no longer a controlled attack, this was driven by pure emotion. Uncontrolled powers left to emotions’ control were unpredictable and the most powerful magic. She was surprised he still had so much pure power left in him, for this could only be his own powers. But then it appeared rage and guilt had robbed him of his wits.
The ground shook violently sending the roof crashing down on them. It smashed against her shields, sliding down their sides. But it buried Michael. She did not move, she was curious but not foolish. He was still alive underneath the wreckage.
She was not surprised when flames erupted up out of the wreckage. Michael stood at the lips of a great fiery hole in the ground. What was surprisingly was the shaft of sunlight shining up out of the hole and disappearing into the smoke above. The smoke was trapped by both their containment spells.
Divine symbols flared across the floor and up the shaft of light as the image of a man began to appear. Though he appeared to be half man, half Demon. If she assumed right, Michael had summoned a Greater Demon to the Surface. It was the Angels’ trump card. The Demons they had created had pure, undiluted powers granted to them by mortals’ fear. They did not have the complex network the Angels did to defend themselves from faith and yet reap the power. They were wholly empowered and controlled by mortals’ beliefs.
But to her surprise and especially Michael’s he was not wholly Demon. His face was the face of a black haired, pale skinned Angel, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Michael. He glared at Michael with unadulterated hatred before his face was consumed by the Demon Curse. All traces of beauty were lost beneath his reptilian cocoon.
Hera gasped in surprise, he had turned his own father into a Greater Demon.
“Now you shall taste Hell for what you have done” he roared at her. Then the creature let out an unearthly scream before launching himself at Hera.
Amid the confusion Michael flew out of the cathedral, cutting through her containment spells with pure power. He landed on the Rockefeller Centre opposite watching the scene below. Emergency services, the media, and ordinary citizens stood watching the historic landmark burn. Firemen directed their hoses through the windows at the blaze to no avail. Flames continued to grow higher and higher into the night sky. Amid blasts of lightning, earth shudders, and all manner of elements flaring within the cathedral.
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