by J F Cain
A few feet in front of the arrayed Guardians stood Fares, who would be leading the battle. He stood there tall and strong, wrapped in his powerful aura, like a warrior of legend determined to carry out the duty fate had in store for him.
Aranes and Eiael stood at the top of the stairs in front of the keep’s entrance. Kadu appeared before them and bowed.
“Lucifer and his most powerful Demons are standing beside Abaddon. They have formed an outer line of defense,” he reported to Aranes.
“How is that possible?” Eiael asked, unable to hide her astonishment.
Aranes merely nodded. Her face not revealing any emotion, she turned and walked into the keep. Eiael and Kadu watched her with awe as she strode across the soaring entrance hall—a glorious, legendary figure, supremely powerful and all-knowing, who undoubtedly knew the hidden sequence of events that led to the coming dramatic events in human and ethereal history on this night, at this cosmic point in time.
Outside the fortress, Eregkal’s warriors and their ruler stood in a long line like tall, fearsome statues, filled with the arrogance of power. Angels of darkness and death waited for the battle to begin so that they could come to life and bring hell down to Earth. Even Beleth and Gremory, with their fierce beauty, seemed like destructive deities seeking to devour blood and long-lived souls to satisfy their insatiable hunger.
Halfway down the line, Abaddon stood out with his bright gray aura shining all around him and lightning flashing in his eyes. An almighty Angel with death’s blades in his hands, ready to serve divine justice. With his gaze riveted on the forest across from him, he waited silently for them to attack, wondering at the Source’s indifference.
Maybe the only reason It had helped him get Aranes back from Eregkal was because it was dangerous for Lucifer to keep her. Now that there was no such danger, It had left them to their own devices. Yet it would be just as dangerous if Aranes fell into the Cursed’s hands. Of course, the Dark Lord and his warriors were a not inconsiderable help. Even so, it didn’t guarantee Aranes’ safety. And they had definitely not been sent by It. What would happen if the monsters managed to capture her? Was there any chance that the Source would allow such an odious crime that would endanger Its rule? The logical answer was no. But then why was It so indifferent about the safety of Its precious daughter and her child? Or was there something behind Its stance that he didn’t get? Perhaps the Supreme Authority had Its own plan. But then, what was it? He shot a quick glance at Lucifer. Had he realized what Its plan was, which was why he had brought so few Demons to help him? This way, he could prove to him not only that he was willing to support him but that he knew It better than anyone and could even predict what It would do. Which, of course, he would use in different ways to achieve his own purposes.
Abaddon felt black omens circling him. A cold shudder ran through him, reaching down to the depths of his being, as if his soul was sending him a sign. Yet once again he wondered if it was his fear of losing his partner talking or if he had actually grasped the Source’s intention. He used his supernatural vision and, without turning his head, sought Aranes inside the keep. Practically hidden behind one of the windows in her room, she was regarding the first line of defense pensively. She was as calm as always. But this time her calmness gave him a funny feeling, as if she knew something he didn’t. Did she know of a decision that doomed him? Don’t let fear affect you. Aranes will never leave you, he told himself, unable to believe the opposite.
The Cursed attacking forced him to set his bleak thoughts aside. Vampires and werewolves ran out of the forest. Their unnatural war cries broke the silence of the plateau, as the creatures in the first reconnoitering wave leaped forward.
“Don’t let anyone through!” Lucifer shouted at his Demons.
A sarcastic smile formed on Asmodeus’s lips.
“With pleasure! I’ll dance on their ashes!” he said, impatiently twirling his sword in his palm.
The fortress’s walls suddenly seemed to empty. The Exorcists vanished and instantly appeared a few feet behind the Demons. They lifted their crossbows, released a shower of arrows and then returned to their positions on the walls. The arrows arced across the plateau and hit a number of Cursed. The vampires screamed as they fell to the ground and their bodies turned into an unearthly ash that swirled in the air, mixing with the white snowflakes before it drifted to the ground. Any werewolves whose vital organs were hit fell to their knees and, as they howled and toppled to the side, they resumed their human form and faded away. The rest broke off the arrows that had pierced their arms and legs and, hoping that the wounds would close soon, continued to advance. The arrows bounded off the gargoyles’ stone skin, but some of them became lodged in specific spots on the ground, where the Exorcists’ glass spheres were buried.
The combustible liquid exploded, shaking the earth. The blasts sent dismembered vampire and werewolf limbs flying into the air together with stone gargoyle pieces. But the destruction didn’t end there. The ethereal fire released by the explosions spread over the ground, enveloping many more creatures in flames. The night became filled with hideous shrieks. Clouds of smoke scattered in the icy wind, carrying away the vampire ashes and the wails of the wounded werewolves lying on the ground.
“Good one!” Lucifer said with approval.
Abaddon raised his swords, ready for battle.
“But they’re still coming,” he replied with irritation.
The Cursed charged the Ethereals. Moving their weapons so swiftly that it seemed like they were everywhere at once, the Demons and the Dark Angel cut up so many of them that those following quailed. They tried to retreat and save themselves, but death awaited behind them too. The Cursed elders had known that the first wave would be driven back and slaughtered mercilessly and so chose to sacrifice young, undisciplined vampires and werewolves who had no idea what lay in store for them. And because it was a certainty that they would turn tail at the first sign of danger, they surrounded them with other more powerful beings who had undertaken the task of disciplining them. Anyone who tried to break away met their death in the cruelest of ways. So the rest were forced to carry on with the attack.
Wild with despair, they yelled as they charged the first line of defense in the hope that, if they managed to get through, they might save themselves. But instead of fighting the Ethereals, they tried to slip through the gaps between them and because everyone was trying to do the same, they simplify made it easier to be killed. However, in the chaos, some made it through, finding cover behind other creatures being slaughtered and the gargoyles, whose stone bodies withstood the strikes of ethereal weapons better.
Abaddon saw them enter the dome, where they were safe from the Ethereals.
“They’re still getting through,” he called to Lucifer while continuing to destroy creatures.
The Dark Lord nodded as if to say that he was thinking the same thing.
“Tighten your defense!” he ordered his warriors loudly while plunging his dark sword into a big vampire and turning him to ash.
The creatures that had managed to pass the first line of defense ran toward the fortress, thinking to find protection beneath the walls and wait for the second wave of attacks or to escape in the turmoil that would ensue.
“Fire at will!” Kadu commanded the Exorcists on the wall.
The arrows fell on werewolves and vampires, stemming their frenzied dash. However, more creatures continued to slip through the Ethereals’ first line of defense and reach the walls.
Abaddon looked toward the forest uneasily. Hordes of Cursed were coming out of it, as if born from the darkness. It was the second wave, whose purpose he realized was to eliminate as many Exorcists and Guardians as possible, so that the third wave would achieve its purpose.
How will we drive all of them back? he thought anxiously and, without stopping even for a minute in his efforts to destroy as many unnatural beings as possible, he checked on the Demons fighting with him. Lucifer, with total concentration,
was mowing down creatures with admirable ease and speed. Asmodeus did indeed seem to be dancing on the ashes of vampires, arrogantly showing off his battle prowess. Other Demons also looked as if they were enjoying sending the Cursed souls where they belonged. But Abriel and those who, from what he could see, were under his command, were fighting as if they truly cared about protecting Aranes. After Lyla’s attack on the Guardian sanctum, Aranes had told him a lot about the fallen Powers. But if that were true, then why had their commander brought so few warriors with him?
In war, numbers alone confer no advantage, he encouraged himself as he cut off the head of a werewolf with one sword and stabbed a vampire who was trying to slither past him with the other.
However, despite the efforts of the Dark Angel and the Demons, it was impossible to stop the thousands of Cursed who had swooped down on them like locusts.
Abaddon turned his attention on the creatures that had managed to steal past their defense and were running toward the walls. He saw with relief the Exorcists launch their destructive grenades. A terrible explosion was heard, followed by others, one after the other. Suddenly the clearing was enveloped by fire; the earth pulsated and thick clouds of smoke and dust filled the air. Flames and thunder and the cries of disintegrating vampires created a hellish landscape. As soon as the evening breeze swept some of the smoke away, werewolves and gargoyles could be seen lying on the ground with torn flesh; a bloodied, ash-filled and stone-riddled pulp of mangled bodies still writhing in pain. Those who escaped the massacre began to climb the walls with the ease their supernatural powers gave them, enraged and with their fangs bared menacingly to rip apart the fortress’s defenders.
A hail of arrows fell on them, piling up the dead at the base of the walls. One vampire managed to reach the top and leapt agilely between two merlons, near one of the wall’s defenders. The Exorcist, who right then was shooting an arrow at another creature, felt movement on his left and turned to face his adversary, but he didn’t get the chance. The vampire had already shot his hand out and, with his long claws slashing through his neck, he cut off his head. Before he could lower his hand, an arrow became lodged in his back. The Exorcist’s headless body fell through the vampire’s ashes and collapsed onto the stone slabs of the wall-walk behind the battlements. Somewhere else along the wall, a werewolf covered the last few feet to the top with a leap and landed between two merlons. But before he could do anything, an arrow pierced his skull; the creature cried out and toppled backward to the base of the wall.
The vampire elders watched the battle with displeasure.
“We don’t seem to be doing very well,” Kochee remarked bitterly, always willing to lambast their race’s leader and his decisions.
Lucard glanced at her scathingly, not deigning to answer. When he got his hands on the Angel, she would be the first of the elders he would annihilate.
“The real battle hasn’t yet begun,” Lyla replied and looked at Vincent over her shoulder. “Give the order for the air assault to begin,” she commanded with the confidence of a great general.
He first looked at his master, seeking his tacit consent, and when he got it he rushed off to convey the order.
CHAPTER 27
From the keep’s top level, Aranes and Eiael watched the conflict taking place outside the fortress and the attackers’ efforts to invade it.
“So far so good,” said Eiael, but her voice held a trace of wariness.
“We still have a way to go before the battle ends,” Aranes replied and stepped away from the window.
Eiael saw a werewolf fall dead inside the walls, struck by an Exorcist’s arrow that got him directly in the heart.
“Some things never change,” she muttered.
Aranes heard her and turned to look at her.
“What are you referring to?”
“The werewolves,” Eiael replied, her voice betraying her annoyance. “They try to show that they aren’t our enemies, but their actions prove the opposite.”
“Appearances are often deceiving,” Aranes reminder her. “You don’t know why they took part in this scheme.”
Eiael frowned, not understanding.
“Do you think there is a reason other than the obvious?”
“Yes,” Aranes answered, but the look on her face declared she would not reveal the reason.
Although the Superior’s certainty made her wonder, Eiael didn’t insist. She thought that maybe she could ask her about the matter that was on her mind. Of course, it wasn’t the time for it, but in the end she gave in to her need to know the truth.
“When you were incarnated on the physical plane, Galen came to find me. He told me that your presence here on Earth was a message from the Source and that inconceivable events would take place. It looks like he was right,” she said, not hiding how much the werewolf’s accurate prediction troubled her.
“Galen has lived a long time and now possesses foresight which makes it possible for him to read the Source’s signs,” Aranes observed.
Eiael’s gaze was pinned on her spiritual mother’s eyes as she tried to see beyond her serene expression.
“He also told me that the truth will shed light on hidden centuries-old secrets, that I am a part of those secrets and will be forced to face the lie I have been living in. He hinted that this lie has something to do with my longevity,” she went on, tamping down her impatience to find out the truth.
“Everything comes out at some point. You know that well, Eiael. You just need to be patient,” Aranes advised her, her tone urging her to think of all she had been taught in her long life.
“Of course. You are right,” the theurgist replied, lowering her gaze. She felt bad that she had gotten carried away by her emotions and, at such a critical moment for humanity, she had troubled Aranes with a personal issue.
Aranes smiled at her approvingly and headed for the chair by the fireplace. She had been on her feet all day supervising the battle preparations and the baby in her belly had been protesting for hours. But as she was walking, a dull pain in her womb made her breath catch; she moaned softly and bent over, clutching her belly.
Eiael rushed to her side.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, worry written all over her face.
“The child is coming,” Aranes replied and took a shallow breath.
“You need to lie down. Besides, there is nothing more you can do now,” the theurgist said. She looked calm, but something in her eyes betrayed a turmoil that touched on terror. This special child could not have chosen to come into the world at a worse time. What would happen if the Cursed managed to seize the fortress right when the Superior was in labor and confined to bed? And if she had already given birth, how would she be able to protect both Aranes and the newborn? She began to run through alternative solutions, assess choices, consider variations in her mind, but her conclusions weren’t encouraging. May the Source protect them if we fail to, she prayed inwardly, restraining the tremble in her hands.
As the pain subsided, Aranes slowly straightened. With Eiael supporting her, she reached the bed and lay down without taking her eyes off her spiritual daughter’s somber countenance.
“Don’t worry, everything will be as it should,” she reassured her, her tone protective.
Eiael nodded and sighed.
“The Source is Wise,” she remarked, as if trying to console herself with that thought. The remarkable fact that the son of the two incarnated Angels would be born on December 25 didn’t escape the sharp-witted theurgist. On this same day—which coincided with the winter solstice, before the changes in the calendar caused that day to be moved to December 21—according to the traditions of both ancient and modern religions, a number of solar deities considered to be humanity’s saviors had been born. The Superior’s child would evidently have this role. The Supreme Authority is marking the beginning of a new era of consciousness, she concluded with total certainty.
Suddenly, a frightening crash resounded throughout the fortress. And then a
nother one, immediately followed by a third. The keep shook, as if bombarded. Aranes, who had predicted all her persecutors’ likely moves, was not rattled. But Eiael ran to the window and looked down.
Enormous stone spheres were falling onto the walls, forming cracks in them. With a loud clamor, the strange rocks continued to bash the same spots, making the walls tremble until holes were formed low enough that the attackers could get in without having to climb. Some spheres fell inside the bailey, rolled among the Guardians—who stepped away—and then unfolded, first revealing the gargoyles’ stone wings and then their bodies. As the creatures were stumbling to their feet, vampires and werewolves that had been approaching the fortress leaped onto the fallen boulders and entered the bailey with wild cries.
Fares drew his sword.
“To our last breath!” he shouted with passion.
Behind him the Guardians unsheathed their swords. The mystical symbols engraved on the blades became activated, enveloping them with fiery energy, and the theurgist warriors prepared to face the enemy horde swooping down on them and the stone creatures that were already among them.
The enemy forces clashed fiercely. Steel blades met long supernatural claws that were just as tough, and together they danced the timeless dance of death. The clang of steel mingled with war cries, unnatural growls, and the crash of disintegrating stones as the Guardians in the rear guard opened hyperdimensional gateways and vaporized the gargoyles that had infiltrated their lines. A fierce battle raged in the fortress’s bailey. The adversaries had become war machines whose only purpose was to sow death so that they could fulfil their mission. The Guardians fought like wild animals against the beasts they faced, drawing every last drop of their physical and hidden powers; heroes that marched proudly toward death because they had chosen to.