Mortals gaped in awed horror at an event they could not, or would not comprehend. Magic had been dead in societies since the Middle Ages, and now their minds were now firmly given to science. The paranormal events in front of them only confused them, in time they would deny them or rationalise what they had witnessed.
“She is still alive?” Raphael asked as he and Uriel dropped their glamour.
“Not for long, Samael will finish her off.”
They gaped at him “You summoned a Greater Demon? Have you gone mad? The Council will kill you. Have you forgotten the devastation they cause? There will be nothing left of New York.”
“It is well overdue that we made our mark on Humanity again. She must be killed, and we do not have the Seven to kill her. She is far too strong, the Demons have flocked to her in numbers greater than we feared. As for the Council, I will deal with them myself. She sent Sariel to Hell, the least she can do is have a taste of what they did to her.”
They fell silent as they noticed the tears on his cheek. They didn’t want to know what he had seen of Sariel, they doubted there had been much left of her. The poor girl, a victim to powers far greater than herself.
Raphael grasped Michael’s shoulder, offering the only support he knew how to give and drawing Michael into the Angel Weave containing the battle within the Cathedral. All over New York Angels had descended to contain the Goddess. The other Arch Angels descended to stand with them, adding their power to the weave.
Gabriel automatically sensed Michael’s pain, coming to stand with her husband, drawing him towards her. He remained watching the cathedral burn. If all New York had to burn to kill her then so be it. It was a price he was more than willing to pay.
Hera regarded the Demon with the interest a Vampire regards a Human, of no real threat but potentially dangerous if not watched. She knew Michael had fled after summoning the Demon, just as she knew he and his brethren now covered the city with their spells to contain her. They were watching her, she would give them the show they didn’t want to see.
She slowly descended to the ground and walked across the crater towards the Demon. It had ceased its howling to look at her with weariness. She had the feeling the Demon had no choice but to obey Michael but it seemed unwilling to act upon its orders. Then she remembered that Samael had been one of the Angels vying for peace.
“Samael?” she asked softly as she walked towards him.
He backed away snarling until a collar of light tightened around his throat. It cut in viciously, ripping the flesh even as it healed and pushed away. The agony would drive him mad if he did not complete Michael’s will.
He threw himself at her snarling, only to smash against her shields. Again and again, he threw himself against her shields. The onslaught was unbelievable, her shields flaring and crumbling beneath his onslaught. He wasn’t using refined power but raw, elemental power that corroded through refined spells. Raw power cracked in the air, with each encounter their powers reacted and flared off around them. The Cathedral was so thick with power the air was changing colour.
Uncontrolled magics reacted with each other as Hera met might with might, it rolled around them beyond either’s control. This was the battles that levelled cities, raw power that reacted on its own accord, even striking against its own source. Light danced up into the sky in shifting shafts and striking bolts, illuminating the battleground through all the layers of smoke and magic. Fire danced in the air like Fairies and Titans, ice slicked the ruins like the palaces of the Ice Giants, great cracks snaked across the ground as it shook with ever increasing frequency.
Despite the ferocity of the battle and the sheer volume of power being unleashed the Angels easily contained the errant power. But they were noticing the drain that raw powers caused. Raw power had the ability to corrode through any refined spell.
Samael was driven to attack her again and again. Hera continued to back away from his attacks, still unsure how to drive him off. His powers were completely alien to her, strong in the taste of Angels but corrupted in a manner she could not understand. He did not strike with spells but raw power. Any of the shields she normally used against Angels was nearly useless. His own shields rivalled hers in strength, made of raw power, it was impervious to any spell she had thrown against it, even elemental attacks. It was also withstanding her own raw attacks.
It would seem that the Greater Demons truly were the ultimate weapons.
But they were flawed, despite their strength, despite their powers and despite their ability to rival the Gods they were but constructs that belonged to Hell. And Hell called to them.
More time passed as he continued to assault her, she was really beginning to feel the strain of two Divine battles. It was a sad reflection of the powers she had lost. There was a time she had taken on whole pantheons easily. She was amongst the most powerful Gods to have ever lived. But she was still weak, her own natural powers were nowhere near their peak, and she couldn’t understand why.
Leaving her powers uncontrolled to defend herself she descended into the depths of her power, seeking its raging core to calm her. It was also within here the memory she sought to use, of actions done long ago. The Underworld was connected to the Surface in all places, but only some places were permanent for the dead to pass through. These passageways could also be traversed by the living, earning their way into myth and legend. Divine beings had the ability to enter and leave the Underworld at will, well the true blooded ones did.
Passages could, however, be created, temporary as they were.
Mortals had managed it before to send or summon spirits. Some beings, particularly the Lampades and Valkyrie, were adept at traversing between the Surface and Underworld. They could even take spirits and the living with them. In the past Ereshkigal had created a passage for the dead to walk onto the Surface to make the living fear her. In her past, Hera and her siblings had created a passage to the gates of Tartarus when they had overthrown the Titans. It was that memory she sought.
Samael continued to attack Hera, driven ever onwards by the mounting agony of Michael’s leash. However, that same drive allowed Hera to work her will without him noticing what she was doing. She drove her powers downwards, it was easier than she thought. New York was a vast city that had people dying all the time, the sheer volume had made a semi-permanent passageway for the dead.
The Underworld surged up to meet her, she could feel the pressure building underneath her. Huge cracks shattered the floor of the cathedral, smoke, and flame pouring out of the earthly vents.
It wasn’t just to the Underworld she was making the passage but to Hell. Luckily enough she could use Samael as the anchor. The Greater Demons belonged in Hell, their Curse required their return. She made the connection to Hell, surprised to feel Sariel’s power floating about. What had the girl been getting up to?
She felt the ground surge and knew that by now the Angels would start working out what she was doing. She had to do something they would not suspect.
With a last almighty cry, she drove home her spell, even as she abandoned herself to the Lifestream. Surrendering all of her to its uncontrolled powers, it was a risk, a literal sacrifice. She may not return, but it was a better chance than being sucked into Hell which was her only other option now she had opened it up.
Samael looked around in confusion as his prey disappeared in a flurry of green mist. His confusion was short lived as the ground exploded beneath him. Fire rushed up in an inferno, the screams and sounds of Hell filled the night air, sending the Humans outside scurrying.
Across the street, the Arch Angels watched as the cathedral and the Greater Demon it contained were swallowed by Hell. The remaining skeleton of the cathedral collapsed inwards into the raging fiery chasm. Samael gave forth a petrified scream as he was swallowed up by the chasm. Flames leapt as high as skyscrapers before the maw darkened and closed. The flames suddenly died, their absence sending everyone night blind.
All that remained of the cathedral
was a bare slab of solid rock.
Chapter 33
In the morning sunlight, the Arch Angels walked over the ground, invisible to the confused mortals still milling about. Even the emergency workers avoided walking on the slab.
The Angels scoured every section of the slab and the buckled dirt around it, but there was no trace of Samael or Hera. Had she really been sucked into Hell? Had she been that foolish to believe she could control something she had not created? Did she think she could survive in Hell? Had she forgotten that the Underworld was now a one-way passage?
They knew she hadn’t escaped. The Angel Weave prevented her from leaving by any magical means. She hadn’t ascended or teleported, she hadn’t transformed into something else. She hadn’t tried to break free. Which meant she was either dead or had been sucked into Hell, which was as good as dead.
Sariel had in some way been avenged though that did little to ease Michael’s guilt. The others breathed easily. Now there was but one rogue Goddess.
Ariadne watched them from the street, she could see them despite their spells of invisibility. She was after all Divine, she had just been stripped of most of her powers. But they were returning with Hera’s help. She used simpler glamour to hide, but it worked. Their eyes did not linger on her when they scanned the crowds. They saw Hera’s High Priestess, and they didn’t realise it. She smirked. She was the greatest threat to their power after Brigid, and they didn’t even know of her.
She had watched the fight last night, unlike the Humans and Daemons around her she had understood what was happening. She hadn’t thought such power possible or even imagined such power. The Age of Angels had deluded everyone. The Gods were truly a force to be reckoned with, the Angels Rebellion had succeeded through trickery, luck, using the Gods’ rules and their own unique ability to combine their powers. But could they really face Hera or Brigid on an open field as they continued to gain more and more power? It scared her to think just how powerful Hera would be once Humans started worshipping her in real numbers. If she succeeded in converting America and Mexico then how much power would she wield?
She was well aware the entire battle had been contained by the Angels. All magic across Manhattan had been impeded by their Weave. The impact of the battle had been severely reduced. But she has still sensed its power, the amount of power had overwhelmed her senses. Manhattan would be awash with lingering magical energy for weeks, if not months. The residual magic would slowly be absorbed into the living systems. She wondered just how many mortals were suddenly going to start experiencing strange phenomena as the result of their developing powers.
She smiled it would be the perfect time to gather them to Hera’s call. She was no fool, she was replaceable. But if she did all that was asked then she would be rewarded. Hera was not Human and lacked Humanity, but she understood mortal drives. She rewarded those who pleased her well.
Hera was not dead, though where she was Ariadne had no clue, but she would not be idle in Hera’s absence. What better way to greet the Goddess’ return than with an every growing army of worshippers, Daemons, and mages.
Anjali ducked in behind the nearest doorframe, pushing herself as far into the shadows as she could while the military patrol shot along the street ahead. She was tired of running, she was tired of hiding but what choice did she have? Pakistan had gone insane.
No one had thought much when the military had overthrown the president, he hadn’t done much for Pakistan, and it was a fairly regular occurrence in Pakistani politics. But things had changed once Azad Ali had taken control, slowly at first. Islam was the state religion, it had always been, but their worship changed. It became enforced. Those who were not Muslims started being ostracised by their communities as ever more restrictions, and laws were brought into place.
Women lost what rights they had. They had once been a country who had had Benazir Bhutto as their prime minister, now a woman was not even allowed to leave the house without a male escort. They had degraded quickly into Afghanistan under the Taliban. The men held all the power, the military’s rule was absolute. All who did not comply were punished. Those who were not Muslims were enemies of the state.
If she were caught, she would be killed. She was a Hindu woman, and she wasn’t wearing a burqa. She would not wear a burqa. If she was wearing one she might stand a chance, it wasn’t like they checked who was under them, but she required a male chaperone to be outside.
She was alone, completely alone. Her father and brothers had been killed in the home invasion. She and her mother had hidden in the pantry and thank the Gods they had been lucky enough that none of the soldiers had checked. They had set the house on fire as they left, uncaring if people were still inside. It had only been a Hindu house to them.
Her mother had not survived the night.
Now she had nowhere to go, no one to seek sanctuary from. Which was why she was creeping through the city of Hyderabad. It had a long history of fighting and religious hate between Muslim and Hindu. It was a fitting place for her to be, fleeing the Islamic Military regime.
But the real reason she was here was the Indus River. It was a sacred river, and it was calling her. It had been calling her for several days now. It spoke of safety, sanctuary, and transformation, strangely enough with the voice of a British woman. What did she have to lose? She had already lost everything. And there was no way she could get across the border into India. Iran and Afghanistan were not choices either.
She crept along the railway lines, glad that the trains were out of service since the bridge had been destroyed in the flood that had devastated the Indus River. That in itself was her greatest hope, much of her banks were ruined wastelands that the government had not gotten around to clearing up.
She paused when she saw movement at the edge of her vision. She started breathing again when she saw it was a family of three hurrying between the rubble. It would seem that they too were seeking the sanctuary of the river. At least she wasn’t hallucinating, which had been her greatest worry.
Her hurried movement, fearful creeping and petrified pauses only increased the closer she got to the river. There were hundreds of people creeping through the rubble, darting through the open zones and hiding within the twisted remains of civilisation. It was appalling that it hadn’t been cleared. Someone could get hurt, never mind the risk of infection.
She shook her head sadly at her foolishness. The military was hunting all non-Muslims like dogs, what did they care for the state of the cities.
Everything was going well. She could see the Indus, its dark waters reflecting the thin sliver of the moon. She could see people slipping into its waters. Many had managed to bring valued possessions with them. She even saw one family silently push their car into the river. Nothing resurfaced, not a single person yet she did not think they had drowned. She saw a family climb into the water and before her very eyes disappear, they hadn’t even fully submerged yet.
She didn’t care where it led to or what happened, it offered sanctuary.
Then she heard a noise that turned her blood cold. A helicopter was flying above her, its searchlight probing between the rubble for people. Hunting infidels. Sure enough, it took them no time at all to locate people.
The sound of a machine gun firing filled the air, as did the sounds of screams and bodies being shot at. Somewhere a siren started to blare, drawing the attention of all nearby military units. The only sound louder was the roar of trucks and tanks.
People broke from cover, running screaming as fast as their legs could carry them to the river. It was now or never. The rat-a-tat-tat of the helicopter’s machine gun filled the air, obscuring all other noises. It was as though time slowed down, she saw people near her jerk into strange motions as clouds of blood exploded out of them. Their bodies became riddled with holes, the ground before them peppered with bullets and blood before their bodies sprawled unmoving onto the ground.
She ran screaming from her cover as bullets sprayed the wreckage, ripping
holes in the ground and rubble. All around her she saw the flash of bullets, then the spotlight flicked back her way as the helicopter turned around. She ran with all her desperation, praying to Kali to be saved and reach the river. Then she heard the machine blaze back into life, as she heard the tank fire its round. The mound near her exploded. It had been covered in children, little children struggling to climb it. The air was filled with short, sharp cries that were quickly silenced. She was flung to the side by the explosion, thankfully just missing the line of bullets that shot through where she had just been.
She struggled to stand up, screaming in horror when she realised she was slipping and sliding on the children’s remains. She stared in horror at her bloodied hands. They had been children.
More screams filled the air as tanks thundered over the rubble, crushing people hiding within. The night sky was ablaze with gunfire and explosions.
She ran for her life, scooping up a small child as she ran past. The child would die, it was clear. Her wounds were severe, her legs had been ripped off in the explosion, but those dark liquid eyes caught her. She could not leave her to die when there was still a chance.
The river had started to glow with white lights, beams shining high into the sky. She saw the dark shapes of people diving into the water, desperate to escape the army. Another helicopter was coming from across the river, its machine guns falling silent. Must be more people on this bank. It was flying across the river when a bolt of red lightning shot up and hit it. Its explosion temporary drew the attention of the army giving the fleeing people precious seconds.
She was surprised when she saw a crucifix shining in a puddle of blood. Apparently the river called to all the infidels.
The Angels' Pride Page 49