by Vox Day
The archon growled at him, warning him off, and Christopher laughed out loud. It seemed a lifetime ago since he had destroyed Verchiel in the Circle of Fire, and he’d only grown in power since that day. He needed this, a fight, a battle, a little taste of victory to take away the bitter sting of the Prince’s humiliating defeat.
“If you run away now, I might let you live,” he promised the archon.
It was even possible that he meant it. But the question was moot.
“I stand before you with the blessing of my Lord.” The archon bared his claws and roared, exposing long white teeth. “In whose name do you come against me?”
“My own,” said Christopher, and he struck like lightning.
“Khasar!” he heard the others scream as the archon fell, slashed into three pieces by Christopher’s flashing blades. There was a sound of rushing wind, a flash of blue light, and the winged lion was gone.
“And that, you see, is all I need!” he shouted at the departed spirit of the vanquished archon.
A second angel launched herself at him with a shout, brandishing a flaming sword. He parried the attack with one dark blade and riposted with the other, running his assailant through the midsection. The light this time was pinkish instead of blue, but the result was the same. Then there were two.
One angel backed away, but the other fell down on her knees before him, as if she wanted to pray to him.
“Will you worship me?” he asked, surprised. He didn’t think slaying an archon or two was reason to compel such devotion, but perhaps she had heard of his mastery of Leviathan.
The angel looked up with a confused look on her face. It was a pretty face, and recognition came almost as an electric shock as he stared down at her. It was Holli’s face, his sister’s face, stolen from his mind again and used against him.
“Worship you? Christopher, I’m trying to save you! I know you’re in there, somewhere. Listen to me! You’ve got to give up! Don’t you understand that Kherev and His Father weren’t even trying? You can’t win!”
He was angry as he realized that she expected him to fall for the same trick twice. It had worked once, before the gates of Chasah, but he was no fool. It would not work again now.
“I cannot win? Do you know who I am?”
“Of course I do, I’m your sister!”
The voice was familiar, too much so. It haunted him from within, from a place deep within his soul. A place he did not dare to look.
“I have no sister,” he shouted harshly. “I am Baal Phaoton, the Master of Leviathan, a Captain of the Fallen and I bear the favor of the Dawn Prince Himself. See this!”
He pointed to his golden face, a shining inhuman visage.
“I am Baal Phaoton!”
“No, your name isn’t Ball whatever, it’s Christopher Lewis, and you’re not an angel. You’re my brother and you’re human, just like me.”
“Shut up!” he shouted at the pretty angel kneeling before him. She was really starting to anger him. “Don’t you talk that way to me!”
“But—”
“Shut up!”
His blade slashed downward and the haunting voice was stilled. Unlike the others, though, there was no flash and the third angel collapsed before him, clutching at the terrible wound cleaving her shoulder.
“Christopher, no!” she moaned faintly.
Christopher had just drawn back his dripping blade to finish the wounded angel when a mist seemed to pass from his eyes. Suddenly, the stricken angel was transformed into Holli, his little sister, his favorite. Her pretty face was now twisted into a tightly drawn mask of pain, but her soft blue eyes held the same look of concern for him that he had seen many times before. And then she was gone, in a pale flash of white light that left him dazzled and confused.
Somewhere, he thought he heard a dark voice laughing in the back of his mind, but he did not know to whom it belonged. He hoped, almost, he prayed, that that dark voice was not his own.
Jami watched in shocked dismay as the hulking warrior that just could not be Chris stalked into the ruined Hall of Righteousness. There was, she could see, very little that remained of her geeky, loser brother anymore. He was taller, built like an NFL linebacker, and covered with dark, spiked armor that looked as if it was permanently welded onto him.
His face was not a face at all, but a death mask, a lifeless metal parody that reminded her of King Tut. Except in the pictures she’d seen, King Tut was sort of smiling, and this evil imitation of her brother didn’t look capable of cracking a grin. But he moved with a careful, catlike grace, and he carried two darkly glowing swords as if he knew how to use them.
She called out to him, but he didn’t respond. When he ignored Holli too, Jami felt her stomach drawing together in one huge knot. Something bad was going to happen, she could feel it in the air, and there was nothing she could do about it. As Khasar moved to intercept the monster, she backed away, her fear escalating into terror.
Surely, Khasar would protect them, she thought. He’d done okay against Lord Bile, at least for a while, and she couldn’t imagine that Chris was stronger than the archon. At least, she sure hoped he wasn’t. She felt a momentary pang of remorse for cheering against her brother, but after all, he’d made his choice.
But when Chris struck down Khasar and then Daliel with effortless ease, Jami realized they were completely at the mercy of this killing machine that was once her brother. She felt the loss of the angels like a knife in her heart, but it was nothing compared to the icy hand of dread that gripped her whole being when she saw Holli kneeling before the one called Baal Phaoton.
Even before it happened, she saw it coming. Once, when Chris was ten, a neighbor’s puppy had nipped at his face, drawing blood as its needle-sharp puppy teeth unexpectedly pierced his nose. The puppy had leaped away, its tail wagging, intent on play and completely unaware of the rage it had inspired. Her brother, angry, his nose bleeding, had smashed the little dog to the ground with his fist and was just about to kick it when Holli, her eyes full of tears, managed to intercede and take the puppy safely home.
Jami saw the whole thing happen, and that face of rage, just before he struck the puppy, had imprinted itself forever on her mind. Now, she saw it again, in an inhuman mask of gold.
“Chris, no!” she cried, as if her words could stop what an archon couldn’t.
She rushed to Holli’s side, but her stricken twin vanished before she got there. Her world reeled, and everything went red. Hate and rage and grief and horror swept through her soul, and a sword appeared in her hand as if by magic, burning with a darkly raging light.
“I hate you!” she screamed. “I hate you! You should be in Hell!”
She slashed wildly at him, and he stepped back from the clumsy stroke. Twice more, she swung, and both times, he easily evaded her attacks. Panting hard, and finding it hard to see past the tears that were blinded her eyes, she suddenly remembered Kherev’s words.
“Forgive him as I have forgiven you. Love him as I have loved you.”
No! She hated him. She hated him more than she even knew she could hate. He’d just stolen her better half away from her, and she would never forgive him for that. Never, never, ever! It was not possible, not now, and not ever. She would hate him until he died, horribly, she hoped, and then she would hate him even more as he burned forever in Hell.
She tried to run him through, but he parried her blade and for the first time, struck back. The blow was heavy, but she blocked it, though its force was strong enough to make her stagger.
“Forgive him as I have forgiven you. Love him as I have loved you.”
“Shut up, Kherev,” she snarled at the voice inside her head. “Where were You when I needed you? Why didn’t You save Holli?”
“Have you learned nothing, daughter of the King. I am with her now, just as I am with you.”
A picture suddenly filled her mind. It was as if she stepped outside herself and watched, from a distance, as a sister fought her brother. It w
as a scene that had been played time and time again, over fifteen years, over two short lifetimes. They fought with words, they fought with fists, they fought with tooth and nail. Now they fought with swords burning black with hatred.
But then the terrible gold-faced warrior seemed to shrink before her eyes. She saw he was not so terrible, not so mighty, just a wounded spirit that had learned to lash out at everything around it, like an unloved, mistreated dog. It was if his heart was open before her, and she saw each unhealed scar, each bleeding wound. She stared at the heart, and was filled with shame when she saw that many of those wounds had been inflicted by her own hand, by her own tongue.
“Forgive him as I have forgiven you. Love him as I have loved you.”
Now she knew what she had to do. She dropped her weapon and spread her arms wide, as if to embrace him.
“I forgive you, Christopher,” she heard herself say. “I love you, Christopher”
And she smiled victoriously as his dark blade entered her heart.
Chapter 27
The Shame of Chemosh
As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness:
—Psalms 17:15
“Well done, Baal Phaoton,” Kaym told him as he limped into the hall.
Christopher nodded absently and turned back to look at where his false sisters had fallen. He wondered why the second angel, the one that looked like Jami, had suddenly quit fighting. Her unexpected smile now haunted him, because it was not the smile of a victim, it was the smile of a victor, of someone who knew something he didn’t. It gnawed at his confidence, but also, he thought with relief, confirmed that she’d been a fake, because his real sister didn’t even know how to stop fighting. He turned back to the fallen angel.
“So what do we do now?” he asked. “Where’s the legion?”
“Asmodel is taking it to the second planet. He thinks the Prince might be there. Which leads to your first question, and what we do is we find the Prince, gather our forces together, and continue the war. That is what I will do.” A spasm of disgust flashed over Kaym’s face, and his eyes grew cold. “Though if you wish, you may join the cowards who have submitted to Heaven’s King and be a slave again.”
“No, of course not,” Christopher protested. “I’ll go with you. But, you know, the Prince kind of, well, ran away, didn’t he?”
Kaym stared levelly at him.
“Yes?”
“Well, I didn’t really think that was cool, you know.”
He choked as the fallen angel grabbed him by the throat. Kaym’s hand felt like a metal vice around his neck, and despite his power, he couldn’t break free.
“Never mention that again! Not to me, not to yourself!” But then Kaym sighed, and released him. “Though I agree with you. Still, what you must keep in mind is that if you would claim the power you desire, you have no choice but to serve the Shining One. When He claims the throne of Heaven, then we who have been loyal shall finally claim the godhood that will otherwise be denied us. Heaven’s King will never allow that, because he is—”
“A jealous God and He will have no other gods before Him,” a stranger interrupted.
Christopher was surprised to see the King’s Champion, Kherev Elohai, walking into the defiled Hall. He was alone, and unarmed, but he wore a crown of fire and his quiet confidence made Christopher feel very uneasy. Knowing how easily he had beaten Abaddon, Christopher decided that discretion was the better part of valor and returned his blades to their scabbards. He inclined his head respectfully, and waited to what Kaym was going to do.
“The Lord has accomplished His fury,” Kherev told them. “He has poured out His fierce anger, and kindled a fire that has devoured the foundations.”
Christopher glanced at Kaym and saw that the fallen angel had gone even whiter than normal, and was shaking with fear before the unarmed intruder.
“What do you want with me, Son of the Most High God?”
Kherev pointed at the fallen angel, who shrank before him. “Woe be unto you, Chemosh, you are undone,” he said with an air of finality.
Kaym bowed as he firmly grasped Christopher’s arm.
“Do not torture me with your flames, Lord Jesus. We will depart this place….”
Kherev shook his white head.
“That is enough, Chemosh,” he commanded, and his voice was like a bullwhip cracking. “Release him.”
“He is mine,” Kaym protested from behind gritted teeth.
“Not yet. Take only that which is yours to take, damned one. To the rest, you have no claim. Now begone, and join your master in the place of darkness.”
“This war is not over.”
“It was over before it began, Chemosh. Did you not understand when I told Gog Sheklah, I am the beginning and the end. Now leave this place before My Spirit flays you with the holy fire.”
Kherev’s voice deepened and echoed against the stones of the empty Hall as silver flames began to erupt from his blazing red eyes. Christopher cringed, and Kaym fell humbly prostrate before the Son of God, defiant no more. Then, with a rose-gold flash, the fallen angel abruptly disappeared.
Christopher was not sure what he should do, or say, so he waited for Kherev to break the silence. But the Son of the Most High did not seem inclined to initiate a conversation, though he seemed calmer and the terrible silver fire stopped leaping from his face. He simply stared at Christopher with those frightening red eyes, and Christopher had the sinking feeling he was being judged and found wanting. He stood that terrible feeling as long as he could, but when he couldn’t take the silence any longer, he cleared his throat and addressed God’s Son.
“I, um, noticed that Kaym… you know, the one you called Chemosh…. I noticed he called you Lord, ah, Jesus, actually.”
“He did.”
Christopher looked closely at Kherev’s plain bronze face. It was hard to read any emotion there, any feelings hiding behind the intensity of the strange red eyes.
“Would that happen to be the same Jesus that’s mentioned in, ah, the Bible?” He tried to assume an airy, intellectual tone. “You know, Jesus of Nazareth and all that?”
“I am.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. “I thought, you know, you were more, like, the peace and love dude. Not so much the warrior sort. I just thought….” His voice trailed off.
Lord Jesus laughed, not unkindly.
“I am the Lamb of God, it is true. But I am also the Lion of Judah.”
“I see.” Christopher took a deep breath and went directly to the point. “So, I’m pretty much going straight to Hell now, aren’t I. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, right? Just turn and burn.”
“That, Christopher Lewis, depends entirely on you.”
“On me? I’m not…. But what about….” His head whipped around, seeing the defiled Hall as if it were the ruin he’d made of his soul. “I mean, I’ve done some bad things. Really bad things, you know?”
“Yes, I do. You have lied and murdered, you have blasphemed, you have cheated, and stolen, and shown disrespect to your parents. You have had congress with demons, you have warred against God, and you have worshipped at the false idol of your own desires.”
Put that way, it sure sounded a lot worse than doing all that stuff had felt at the time. Christopher felt sick to his stomach.
“Jeez, I think you got everything except cheating on that algebra test last week…. So, is there really a Hell after all? But you said… well, what do I do now? I suppose I can’t change what I did.”
Lord Jesus smiled.
“Yes, there is a Lake of Fire. And you cannot change what you have done, instead, you must change who you are.”
“Change who I am? What do you mean? How can I do that?”
“Follow me.”
“Follow you? Where?”
“I speak not of a place, but a Way.”
“A way? What way?”
“The Way to the Father. The Way out of bondage, death and sin. It goes thro
ugh Me. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”
“I don’t understand. How can following your Way change who I am?”
“What is made may be unmade.” His voice was soft and caring. “You see, Christopher, one day, you will stand before the Throne of My Father’s Judgement. And on that day you will be judged. Every word, every thought, and every deed must be deemed pure and right and holy in order for you to be deemed worthy of entering into the glory of My Father’s House.”
“But I’m already doomed, then.”
“You are, because you have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. The glory of God is perfect, Christopher, and even one small sin in an otherwise saintly lifetime of righteousness would render one unworthy of His radiant glory.”
“That seems a little harsh.”
“Can you be just a little dead, and yet be alive? No!” Christopher jumped at His sudden vehemence. “Nor can you be a little stained by sin. My Father is pure and holy, and He demands like purity and holiness from all those who would enter into His presence. This is right and just. But My Father is also merciful, and He knows that you are weak. That is why He will one day send Me to your world, to die, so that you may live forever in the Light.”
“Yeah, the cross thing. I’ve heard about that. But even if it were true, or will be true, I should say, how does Your death help me?”
“Because My Father has promised Me that when He judges those who have pledged themselves to Me, those who have repented of their sin and walk in My Way, that on the Day of Judgement He will look at Me in their place and judge them as if My life had been theirs. And I am without sin, Christopher, Mine is the only life that can be deemed worthy.”
“So what do I have to do?”
“Give up all that you have and follow Me.”
“Everything?” He looked down at the mighty body of the powerful being he had become. “Do you mean even all of… this?”
“Everything.”
Christopher thought about it for a moment. The Son of God was clearly a great and noble being, and the thought of serving Him had some appeal, but he hated the idea of losing everything he had fought for, everything that he had become. Before the light-filled presence of Jesus, he could see that like the Prince, it was the darkness that had changed him, but he could not truly say that he disliked what he’d become. Whether he was, as Kaym had told him, beyond good and evil, or if he was just evil now, was hard to say. But he knew that he loved what he’d become, whatever it was, and that he could not, would not, throw it all away.