Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes (The Nephilim Chronicles)

by Jonathan Yanez

  “It’s something I have dedicated more time thinking about than I should. I don’t know if I can kill her, Esther. No matter what she is doing or what she has done, I refuse to believe that the woman I loved is completely gone. No matter how much she tries to deny or hide it, I know there is still some measure of good left inside.”

  Esther stood quiet. Michael’s gaze rested directly in front of him on the table’s surface. He could feel Esther’s eyes on him. “Do you think me a fool, Esther?”

  “No, I think history needs more people like you.”

  Michael pursed his lips, making eye contact with his friend. “Many will die. Whether we win or not, so many will die.”

  “Many will be asked to sacrifice for what they believe,” Esther restated. “Hope is not completely lost. I heard two Nephilim volunteered to approach the Death Angels. However small their chance may be, there is still a chance.”

  Michael nodded. He even grinned as he remembered Alan Price, the newest Nephilim, approaching him without shoes and volunteering when no one else would. “Yes. For all our sakes, let us hope that Alan Price discovers for himself what I know he is capable of.”

  Esther opened her mouth to speak, before her lips could form the words and push them into existence, her tablet beeped a warning. Michael couldn’t see the message but if Esther’s expression was any indication, the news was not good. He knew what she was reading before she even moved to speak. Hundreds of Angels were scouring the globe to find Ardat and her army. It was only a matter of time before one of them stumbled upon her lair. “We found them, didn’t we?”

  Esther’s face was pale as she looked up into the sad eyes of her friend, “Yes, we did. You’re not going to believe this.”

  Chapter 52

  Alan remembered the time he thought he was the only one with the gift of supersonic speed. He thought back to when he could sprint by anyone. When he was untouchable and free to do whatever he wanted without fear of repercussion or anyone else being able to duplicate his power. Those were good times. Times Alan found himself missing as he was hurled through the air and sent crashing into the door that led to the museum’s outside courtyard.

  The two Death Angels who stood beside Sera were as fast as he was if not faster. In a flash, they were beside him. In half that time, the male struck him across the jaw and female lifted him off the ground and hurled him towards the courtyard.

  Alan crashed into the freshly cut grass and tumbled across the manicured lawn before he came to a skidding halt. The smell of grass and newly churned dirt consumed him as he struggled to his feet. The four Death Angels walked though the door. Alexander, who had both of her arms pinned behind her back, dragged a struggling Danielle in tow.

  “Leave this place now,” Sera commanded.

  “No, not without your help.”

  Sera shook her head in disgust. She looked to the man and woman who had thrown Alan outside. “Samson, Deborah, make him want to leave. Make him beg to leave.”

  Determined faces met his as the two Death Angels advanced. Alan stood with feet planted shoulder width apart. Every muscle in his body was tense and ready. Samson and Deborah were stronger, faster and more experienced in warfare than Alan, still he possessed something they didn’t. He possessed the fortitude and desperation to win.

  Samson made his move first. The man possessed the largest arms Alan had ever seen on anyone, human or supernatural. The warrior vaulted into the air, right arm already cocked back ready to deliver a punch. Alan met his attack head on as he too lunged forward and lifted his right knee aiming for Samson’s jaw. Among the many things the Death Angel was prepared to encounter, an all out attack was not one. Alan’s right knee made contact with the underside of Samson’s jaw. With an unearthly crack, the Death Angel was sent flying across the courtyard and into a tall stone statue that decorated the museum’s courtyard. Both statue and Angel crumbled to the ground amidst a pile of dust.

  Alan couldn’t believe what he had done. It was working. He was calling on his abilities as a Nephilim and they were responding with more power than he could have thought possible. There was no time for celebration as Deborah used the lapse in Alan’s guard to her advantage. Coming up behind him at lightening speed, she unleashed a fury of blows aimed at Alan’s torso and face.

  Alan did his best to block the incoming strikes but she was too fast. For every fist he managed to dodge, another met his ribs, sternum and cheekbones. Somewhere in the nearby distance, Alan could hear Danielle’s screams. Blow after blow that would have broken any normal man in half met their mark. In seconds, Alan was reduced to a coughing pile of open wounds with bruises covering the better part of his body. He was learning by trial and error that even his Nephilim power of invulnerability had its limits. One incredibly strong strike to his kidneys sent him reeling back and to his knees.

  Through sweat and blood, Alan looked up into the face of his attacker. Deborah was heaving with exertion. The knuckles on both of her fists were bruised and bloodied. The pile of ruble that marked Samson’s resting ground shifted. He rose from his tomb of broken stone like a zombie from the grave. Samson’s long dark hair hung in dirty clumps around his face giving him the appearance of an ancient barbarian come-back-from-the-dead.

  Alan pushed aside the pain his body screamed at him to acknowledge and rose to his feet. Lifting his eyes, he stared defiantly at Sera. Motion above the leader of the Death Angels caught his eyes making him blink to focus on what he saw but couldn’t comprehend. Eight more figures including Jericho joined the group. Eight impossibly intimidating and fierce men and woman perched comfortably on the museum roof. Large black wings either folded against their backs or spread wide ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. Most stood with arms crossed, some with a look of interest and curiosity as they watched.

  Alan lost himself in the moment as he stared at the beautiful creatures of Heaven. Thick feathers on their powerful wings quivered in the soft breeze. Of course, they're black. They’re Death Angels. Did you really expect them to have white wings?

  “We need your help,” Alan said finding his voice amidst his moment of wonder. “If you won’t do it because it’s not benefiting you than do it for those who lost their lives in the first war. Do it for your brothers and sisters, so their sacrifice won’t be in vain.”

  “What’s he talking about, Seraphim?” Jericho asked from the museum roof.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Samson, Deborah, finish him. He’s a Nephilim for bleeding sake.“

  Samson and Deborah advanced across the courtyard again. This time massive wings more befitting a creature of mythical status unfurled from their backs and beat against the still air. Both Angels’ feet lifted from the ground as they prepared to attack. Without a word, they charged Alan at once.

  Chapter 53

  “Forcing everyone to work through the night. We are very near our goal. In a few hours we should see the remaining pieces of the statue reshaped into armor and weapons as instructed.”

  Ardat nodded to Dominic who held a broad sword at arm's length for her inspection. The interior of the cave was warm. Flames from the hundreds of forges leaped at the darkness and cast shadows across every wall. The fire’s light licked and flirted against the steel Dominic offered.

  Ardat let her hand gently touch the sword’s hilt. The craftsmanship was rough and mediocre at best but what could she expect with a human Nephilim in charge of the undertaking? The time constraint also added to the lack of quality. Still the weapons would serve their purpose. As long as they were stout and sharp enough to kill their enemies, that is all that was required. “These will do.”

  “They are nothing near the weapons we used during the first war,” an elderly female voice said from the shadows.

  Dominic jumped from his kneeling position sword in hand. Ardat had sensed Triana’s presence as Dominic approached with the sword. How long she had been there altogether, Ardat wasn’t sure. When the battle was over there would be time to look into
Triana’s peculiar behavior. However, with war looming Ardat had enough to deal with. The last few minutes Dominic had been talking, Ardat was waiting for Triana to make her appearance. “No, Triana, they are not. Nevertheless, they will do. We will have an eternity after we win this war to recast weapons. As well as time to question members of our kind and ensure loyalties lie where they should.”

  The small woman emerged from the shadows like ink oozing from a broken pen. If she picked up on Ardat’s cryptic message she showed no sign. “As always, Ardat, you are correct. I do, however have a question that is not so easily answered. May we speak in private?”

  Ardat nodded to Dominic who, with a bow, took his slipper-clad feet into the recesses of their hidden cave. “Triana, as always I am at your disposal. I am very glad you decided to join our first meeting and have rallied to our banner. Please, what is it that bothers you?”

  Triana stepped closer to Ardat allowing the light to reveal her sharply pointed teeth. Black eyes looked into Ardat’s with an expression of worry. “I fear we will be found despite our remote location. Perhaps saving the weapons to strike another time would be more advantageous to our cause. Others of the Fallen have expressed…concern.”

  “Others,” Ardat played with the word like a rogue bone in her mouth.

  The hesitation in Triana’s answer was enough to tell Ardat that the old woman was still playing at something. “Yes, others like Belmore.”

  “I see. Truth be told, I cannot wait to kill the man once and for all. Now that we have weapons capable of ending immortal life, I may pay him a visit before this war is over.”

  Triana nodded too eagerly, “You won’t receive complaints from me, dear. I agree with your decision. You have led us this far without causing us to doubt you. Still clarifying what you intend next may put some of the others at ease.”

  Ardat weighed her words; still far from trusting the woman she answered, “You are right to question. This location will not remain a secret for long. If our enemies have not already discovered our whereabouts they will soon enough.”

  Triana tilted her head to the side straining to see through the fog of Ardat’s words. Realization struck the small woman like a hammer to the skull. “You want them to find us, don’t you?”

  Ardat felt her lips twitch at the corners. “Yes, I do. When they get here, they will be tired from the trip and unfamiliar with the terrain. We’ll also be able to maneuver our troops accordingly, bringing the Angels and Nephilim into a fight they cannot win.”

  Triana also allowed her lips to turn up in a twisted grin. “Oh, Ardat, that is just marvelous. I knew better than to question you, still the others will rest easier when I tell them the details of your plan.”

  Ardat nodded and turned to leave. There were still a number of tasks that called for her attention. Triana’s voice pulled her back. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ardat, I can imagine how busy you are but if you would indulge a demon just a single question further.”

  Ardat clenched her teeth. She was not used others questioning her. Thus far, she had done her best to keep her temper under control reminding herself that she needed the other Fallen to follow her into battle. After the Angels were defeated, she could maneuver the executions of those whose company she detested, like Belmore and maybe even Triana. That time was coming soon; however, it was not here yet. “My, my so inquisitive but please, Triana, do ask,” Ardat said with feigned courtesy.

  “Well, this question is only for me; but why is the remainder of the celestial metal being melted into large armor and weapons? They are ten times the size of any fallen or Nephilim we have.”

  “Well, dear Triana, they are for our Nephilim giants of course.”

  Chapter 54

  He would get back up no matter what. At least that is what he told himself as Samson and Deborah rained down blows. The two were truly seasoned warriors. Their skill surpassed even that of Angelica’s. Alan did his best to parry and counter each strike. With two assailants striking, the job was nearly impossible.

  He did manage to land a right cross that connected with Samson’s left eye that in seconds began swelling shut. He also found a pause in the fight where he kidney punched Deborah so hard she dropped from her hovering position just above the ground and fell to her knees. These victories were short lived. The Death Angels pressed the fight and for every strike Alan managed to land, two or three from his enemies collided against his body.

  Blood streamed into his eyes from a cut across his brow. His lip was split, his ribs felt bruised maybe even broken, and his left leg was only just able to support his weight.

  Alan fell multiple times during the fight. Every time, he regained his feet and doggedly pressed on. You’ve been beaten down worse than this. This is nothing. You’ve spent a lifetime on your knees. Get up, Alan. Get up.

  Time after time Samson and Deborah would think they finished Alan with either a punch or kick and a pause would follow. Every time Alan found himself on the dirt floor of the courtyard, he would somehow find the strength to rise.

  “Just stay down,” Deborah said as she delivered a brutal strike to Alan’s right temple.

  Alan’s will held firm but his knees did not agree. With a thud, he fell to the courtyard’s mutilated grass floor. His lungs ached; sweat and blood covered the mass of bruises that was once his body. His vision was blurring, the fingers of unconsciousness fought to control his mind and send him reeling into the darkness of oblivion. Still the physical pain he felt paled to the emotional rollercoaster of depression and anger he had endured throughout his entire life.

  With a grunt, Alan stood once again wobbling unsteady on his feet. “I won’t stay down. Not until you agree to help us.”

  Alan looked across the courtyard past Samson’s and Deborah’s shocked expressions and to Sera. Danielle still stood in Alexander’s grasp. Silent tears streamed down her face as she looked on helpless and hating every moment of it. Alexander’s own expression was steady and grim. Sera on the other hand fumed with resolve. “Samson, Deborah, finish him.”

  Samson looked Alan up and down as he nursed his own left jaw. The look he gave Alan was one a wolf would maintain on a injured lamb. Deborah’s face was much the same: her fists bloodied and bruised, dark wings folded neatly against her back. “I don’t know what kind of Nephilim you are,” Samson said, “but no one has ever endured that kind of beating and lived. Much less stood and defied us again. There can be no victory for you here. Whatever you hope to accomplish it is lost.”

  Alan spat out a pool of blood that had slowly formed in his mouth. Strength, speed, durability: they were all present and accounted for. Now if only Alan could will his own wings to join the fight. He knew he was capable of harnessing his powers. If he could master the others then he could also call on his wings. Michael had told him before that no Nephilim was capable of flight; Danielle confirmed this idea with awe when his wings first emerged. Maybe they could help him now. They had to help him now; Alan was quickly running out of options. In a moment of desperation, Alan rolled the dice, “If I defeat you, will you come?”

  Samson furrowed his brow and exchanged a confused look with Deborah. “You can barely stand, kid. I’d say you have a one in a million shot, but no I wouldn’t help you even if you—“

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Alan said taking in deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain that coursed through his body while struggling to straighten his stance. He looked past both Samson and Deborah and locked eyes with Sera. “I was talking to you.”

  Chapter 55

  Michael’s white wings beat against the dry humid air. The vast Sahara desert spread out below him in every direction. Even with his bird’s-eye view, the rust-colored sand was all he could see. Clever girl, Michael thought to himself about the woman he still loved. Clever place to lure us into a fight, hundreds of miles of uninhabited land. No one will witness the battle that will determine the rest of history.

  Sand dunes emerged from the desert floor at odd interv
als providing perfect cover for surprise attacks. The terrain was built for hidden foxholes and trenches capable of hiding numerous enemies.

  This is where it is all going to end, Michael thought. This is where history hits a fork in the road. Either we will live to tell our story, or they will.

  Michael glanced behind him. An army of Angels with wings beating against the dry air followed behind him. The sun was flirting with the tops of sand dunes marking the close of another day. The night would be cold but Michael refused to let even more time pass, allowing Ardat precious hours to create weaponry and prepare for battle.

  Flight, especially during the day had to be a calculated risk. However, their need to confront the enemy as soon as possible outweighed the need for secrecy. If they did not succeed, there would be no secrets left to keep. Nephilim ground troops had confirmed that the area was clear of any inhabitants. No curious eyes would see the group of angelic beings as they speed towards their destiny. Just in case, Michael had ordered the army to fly at a distance from the ground, which would ensure that if anyone did see them, they would be much too small to identify.