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

by Jonathan Yanez

  As war plans ran and reran themselves across Michael's thoughts, Esther and Caleb joined him at the front of the caravan: Esther on his right, Caleb on his left. “The Nephilim units are following as fast as they can on the ground, still they will be hours behind by the time we arrive,” Caleb said past the familiar sound of gushing wind.

  Michael nodded to the tall warrior whose pale skin nearly matched the wings that carried him. “Good, as soon as they arrive we’ll attack. It will give us enough time to scout the area.”

  “It should be daybreak when they get here,” Esther added. “Fighting with the sun at our back and the light in our enemies’ eyes will be helpful.”

  Michael nodded again. “We’ll need every advantage we can get no matter how small.”

  Michael could hear Caleb chuckling despite the hour. “Care to share what’s so funny?” Michael asked.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s nothing really. I just realized that we’ll be attacking at dawn. I’ve always wondered why in books they always attack at dawn. Ironic, right?”

  Michael and Esther both exchanged rolling eyes still they couldn’t help but acknowledge Caleb’s point.

  “On a more serious note,” Caleb said, “the Nephilim are also bringing our gear.”

  Michael turned, confused. “Oh, I know you said it was pointless to bring any armor or weapons,” Caleb said raising both hands palms up. “Our plan is still the same: wrestle theirs from their dying hands and use their own weapons against them. I just thought we could still use a uniform for our army. I mean, we can’t have you giving one of your epic speeches in that.”

  Caleb’s eyes looked Michael up and down as the trio zipped through the hot air. Michael examined his attire. With no time to spare, he had refused to pause and change into any kind of traveling or battle outfit. Losing his black suit jacket and tie, Michael still wore his black slacks, dress shoes and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Point taken. What did you have in mind?”

  Chapter 56

  Everyone in the museum courtyard stood shocked. Alan’s words sunk into the moment as smooth as sand paper over granite. Of all people, Jericho was the first to break the silence. The stout man whooped and hollered. Other members of the warrior Angels laughed aloud and even clapped their hands at the sudden turn of events. Samson and Deborah raised their eyebrows and looked to Sera for direction. Hands clenched to either side, the leader of the Death Angels was not amused. “The nerve you have is beyond me, Nephilim. You can barely stand, let alone fight. No, your answer is no. Samson, Debor—“

  “I know you aren’t scared, Sera,” Alan said, heat rising from his chest as he channeled and willed his wings to form. “You couldn’t be the leader of the Death Angels if you were fearful. So, what is it? Come on. Fight me. If you win, you get what you want: I die. If I win, you join us and fight against the very people you once called your enemies.”

  Sera’s jaw muscle quivered. She was smart enough to know what Alan was doing. He was forcing her into a corner where she would have to fight. Especially now as the other Death Angels in attendance found their voice and picked up chants and jeers. Lucky for Alan, the group had been in near isolation for such a long period. It didn’t take much to get them excited about something. Alan almost thought he heard a few shouts of encouragement for him.

  “Come on, Seraphim, you still got it… Don’t you?”

  “Finish the Nephilim.”

  “Don’t give up, boy!”

  “Well, he’s going to be dead soon but I’m starting to like this kid.”

  The shouts continued to pick up in tempo and volume. Alan was content to give Sera as much time as possible to decide. His wings still weren’t forming. He could feel his internal heat growing. He just wasn’t quite there yet. I hope you know what you’re doing, he said to himself. This was your best shot. Your only shot. You’re too weak to fight two of them but maybe, just maybe you have enough left in the tank to surprise one. You have to finish this quick.

  “Enough,” Sera roared. Her fiery red hair bouncing, giving the dome of her head the affect that she was actually aflame. She turned, looking each one of her warriors in the eye before stopping to stare at Alan. She was beyond intimidating. In that moment, Alan would rather have faced a charging lion. The silence made things worse. No one spoke, not even the wind dared to interrupt the stressed moment. “I accept,” Sera said.

  A shout rose from deep within the lungs of all the Death Angels as they prepared to see their leader in action. Samson and Deborah stepped to the side giving Sera and Alan ample space.

  Alan already knew she would come quickly. She would attack without warning as seemed customary to their warrior race. His body was broken, she would underestimate the strength he still possessed. If only his wings would cooperate. Alan stood still squinting against the harsh rays of sun that blazed against the ruined courtyard grounds. Alan could feel the heat rise from some hidden cavern deep inside. I hope you’re ready, wings. He thought quietly to himself and the wings that could not provide a response, I need you now, don’t let me down or we’re both dead.

  Sera charged without warning just as Alan expected. Roars from her men- and women-at-arms shattered the sky. Alan stood feet firmly planted, knees only slightly bent. His hands were clenched so tightly into fists he could feel his finger nails digging into his palms.

  She was charging him head on. With every step she took, her own raven black wings began to sprout and take form behind her. With only twenty yards until impact, Sera took flight. Gliding a few feet off the ground, her wings beat the air violently behind her, propelling her forward at a dangerous speed.

  Come, on, come on, anytime now.

  The intensity in her eyes was enough to make any warrior shudder. Both arms pointed forward, she was going to tackle Alan with enough force to snap his spine in two. Waiting in the middle of a street, facing down a hurling Mack truck would have been easier. Only ten yards and a brief second separated the angelic spear from her Nephilim target.

  Oh my gosh, I’m going to die, Alan thought as his wings failed to appear. I hope Danielle is ready to do some serious healing.

  At the last possible moment, in one large show of magnificent soft blue light, wings shot from Alan’s back. Originating somewhere near his shoulder blades, Alan could feel energy surge from him and extend out to his wings.

  Unlike the Death Angels’ dark, feathery wings that very closely resembled birds’, Alan’s wings seemed to be made of glowing light. Still taking the common shape of traditional wings, his aerial extensions hummed softly with power. Instead of feathers, blue lines made up his wings and ran parallel from the origin points of his back down to the tips of each wing.

  Alan was as stunned as Sera. The expression on her face was priceless. In one tenth of a second, rage turned to wonder, primal intensity to awesome intrigue. Unsure how to control his wings, Alan tensed as he prepared for the inevitable collision. Alan raised his arms to shield his face. Out of instinct, his wings did the same. Alan found himself wrapped in a blue cocoon of pulsating winged safety.

  Too late to deviate from her plan, Sera hit the cocoon at a speed that boggled Alan’s mind.

  Chapter 57

  “They’ve arrived?” Kyle asked wiping beads of sweat from his brow.

  Ardat nodded once again finding herself in a position to play “good demon” and placate those following her instructions. “All is going to plan. They found us just as I wanted them to. The Angels have us surrounded and are waiting for their own Nephilim to arrive before they attack, just as we knew they would. The armor for the giants, is it complete?”

  Kyle nodded nervousness clear across his young face. “Yes, everything is finished.”

  “Good, report to Dominic. When the fighting starts, stay by his side.”

  Kyle did an awkward half bow as he retreated into the deeper recesses of the cave structure to find Dominic.

  Ardat watched him leave before she too departed from her pr
ivate chamber. She headed to a larger portion of the underground desert caves where her army had set up their headquarters.

  Along the dark halls lit only by torches placed in holders against the walls, she encountered dozens of demonic Nephilim soldiers running to and from their various tasks. Every single one either bowed low as they passed or lowered their head in respect. Ardat didn’t bother to return their gestures; as a member of the Fallen, she was not expected to. These were humans, slaves. In a way, they were only what they were because her and her kind deemed it so.

  They were a required curse to get what she wanted. They were a means to an end. Dominic and Kyle, who where her own to command, were expendable: they all were. Ardat was much too aware of herself to allow these passing thoughts to hold her attention for long. She had a war council to address.

  A few minutes of walking down the torch-lit cave halls found her in a massive chamber carved out of dark red desert rock. All the Fallen, no matter what their rank or skill level, had been summoned. All but a few headed the call. A sea of twisted faces greeted their leader as she entered the room and walked to a raised platform. An open podium awaited her. The room quieted on cue as she moistened her lips and looked out into their expecting eyes.

  Many, like herself, had chosen to keep the same faces they were given at creation: beautiful faces that had distinguished them once as Angels. After the fall, others had decided to truly embrace their new identities and allowed what was on the inside to show through on the outside. The result of this decision among others resulted in fanged teeth, sprouting horns and reptile-like eyes. Ardat had centuries to adjust to these features and now looked at both normal and abnormal members of the Fallen race as one and the same.

  The room twisted in shadows of torches and lanterns as Ardat began. “You all know me well. We’ve had much too long a time imprisoned on this earth together not to. But I am here to tell you, friends, brother and sisters, that this chapter in our lives is coming to an end. With your help, we have found the lost Chronicle of celestial weapon making. With your help we have resurrected the material needed to create our instruments of war and we have made enough to equip an entire army.”

  Ardat’s voice rose as she talked. With her last sentence, she lifted a fist into the air. The result was just as she expected: thunderous applause and grunts of support. Not a single member of the Fallen race was content to stand still. Every single Fallen soul was eager and ready to fight. They just needed one final push, one final reason to die on the battlefield for their beliefs and her gain. “The Angels of Heaven are at our gates once again, dear friends. Once again, they are here to kill and maim, not only us but our loved ones as well. This time, however, will be different. This time we are the ones with the weapons and they are the sheep in our slaughter pen.”

  Thousands of eyes shifted first to sorrow at the memory of defeat and the loss of those in the first war, then to rage and anger. Violently they stomped their feet and shook their fists in the air. Ardat stood tall and commanding, drawing in a deep breath: she knew they were ready. “To the armory, my friends. When their Nephilim arrive at dawn, we spring our trap!”

  Chapter 58

  The impact of Sera’s strike should have been enough to topple a building. Instead, Alan’s wings absorbed her devastating blow. They trembled under the force of the collision and shook under the exertion. Despite this, they held strong. In one powerful motion, blue wings violently swatted Sera back as they opened from their defensive position. At the crux of the collision, Alan closed his eyes. As the moment of impact passed, Alan allowed himself a peek at what waited next for him. Not a single jaw was closed. Heads tilted forward with eyes unsure of what they were seeing. Death Angels stood stunned as their leader was not only stopped, but also turned and blown back in the opposite direction. Alan felt his jaw also drop as he witnessed Sera struggling to her feet from across the courtyard. His wings had sent her flying back to where she had first started her attack, near Alexander and Danielle.

  Awe and a bit of fear consumed Alan’s senses as he truly examined his wings for the first time. They fluttered softly on either side. With similar mental instruction he would use to lift his arm, he looked to his wings and ordered them to move. Sure enough, soft blue energy wings responded in turn. He could move them just like any limb, up, down, out. They felt good; they felt great. Instinct must have saved Alan from Sera’s attack. Survival mode and adrenaline ordered his wings to protect him.

  “Alan, you might want to play with your new toys later,” Danielle yelled. Alexander had lost his grip on Danielle when Alan’s wings made their appearance. She ran now to stand by him. “She’s getting up. Here, before you go.” Danielle wiped her tear-streaked face with the back of her right hand as she placed her left palm on Alan’s shoulder.

  Warmth flowed from Danielle into Alan. Cuts began to close, aches receded and pain ebbed. “Were you crying for me?” Somewhere in the back of Alan’s mind, he knew that this was not the appropriate time to ask the question. He just couldn’t help himself. Not once in his existence could he remember anyone carrying enough about him to shed tears.

  Danielle kept her hand on his shoulder and fixed him with a scowl. “Yeah, I thought they were going to kill you—if you’re going to be a jerk about it—“

  “No,” Alan said as reflexes took over and he placed his own hand on top of hers. “It’s not that at all. It’s just, no one has ever cared about what happens to me.”

  Color rose to Danielle’s cheeks but before she could stumble over an awkward response, Sera’s voice broke their conversation. “How did you do that? What are you?”

  Alan broke eye contact with Danielle gently removing her hand from his shoulder. He was far from being fully recovered but there was no denying the physical and emotional repair the brief moments Danielle’s touch provided. He looked across the courtyard to Sera who now stood covered in dirt and dust from head to toe. Bruises and scraps of her own showed on her fair skin. “I told you before. I am your friend. But you’d have none of that. It’s clear the only way I’m going to get your help is by beating you worse than you beat me. If that’s the way you want it, then that’s the way it will be.”

  Alan started to run. He was done waiting for the attacks to come to him. It was time to turn the tables on the leader of the Death Angels. Alan called on his speed to send him forward. Mimicking Sera’s own move he ordered the wings trailing behind him to action. Nearly stumbling as he fine-tuned the flapping of his glowing wings, Alan synchronized the motion to his sprinting legs.

  Scenery blurred in every direction as his feet lifted from the ground and his wings carried him forward even faster than he could run. Sera’s facial expression was priceless. Eyes stunned at the sight of the charging Nephilim, she had no time to react.

  At the last moment, just before collision, Alan angled his attack so they would crash directly into the exterior museum wall. With any luck, his chosen trajectory would land them in the padlocked room holding the celestial weapons. Alan mustered every ounce of strength that still coursed within his body. At skull-cracking speed, Alan struck the Death Angel.

  Despite the crouched stance she chose in preparation to absorbed the impact, Alan lifted Sera off her feet. Both arms wrapped around her torso he ignored her strong flailing arms and violently beating wings. With strength he was only beginning to understand, he drove her, spine first, into the stone museum wall.

  Ancient masonry crumbled as Alan used Sera’s body as a battering ram. The two combatants created their very own entrance through the museum leaving clouds of dust and debris in their wake. Alan forced his wings to beat onward, only content to bring his limp package to a rest once they had broken through a particularly dense stonewall. The air was musty and the stench of mildew was enough indication for Alan to know they arrived.

  With one final forceful stroke of his wings, Alan drove Sera to the stone floor. The impact was so great the very earth itself cracked and spider webbed out in every
direction under the pressure of the blow.

  Alan knew he had only seconds for his plan to work. Sera was stunned but not unconscious. Her warrior spirit would have her on her feet soon. Alan pushed himself up, off his opponent and frantically searched his surroundings. He could hear the noise of shouts behind him. Whoops and hollers drifted through his newly created museum entrance as spectators hurried to see the outcome of Alan’s unexpected strike.

  The room was dark. The only light coming from the hole Alan made with Sera’s body. Ignoring the smell, Alan’s eyes took in the scene. Shelves were erected throughout the still room. Each ledge was hidden with a dust covered sheet. In a state of panic, Alan ran to each shelf and began ripping off covers. Sera was stirring.