The Fallen 4

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  The pain helped Gabriel to think more clearly, and he was able to call upon the power that was now a part of him. And as the Engine fought to keep him within its clutches, Gabriel released his angelic fury in an explosion of ravenous fire.

  The animals squealed and shrieked as their bodies were incinerated, the entity that they had been part of crumbling to fiery pieces. Gabriel landed upon the floor, surrounded by burning animals, some running about frantically before eventually succumbing to death.

  The engine continued to thrum with life, but its control over the animals was lost. They ran, afire with the flames of the divine, to what they believed would be their savior. The Fear Engine was quickly covered in burning animals, the fires from their bodies igniting the soft, fleshy parts of the living machine.

  Gabriel listened to it scream as the machine’s psychic claws attempted to reach into his brain, trying to coerce him to come to its aid.

  But Gabriel managed to resist, watching as the fires of divinity ravaged the evil contraption until its plaintive cries were silenced.

  Quickly approaching the burning remains, Gabriel checked to be sure that the engine was no longer alive, before calling upon the power of the angels, yet again, to transport him back to the school, and to the aid of a desperate friend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kraus stood before the flat-screen television, flipping past channel after channel of hissing static before finally finding one that was still broadcasting.

  Something bad was going on out there, something even worse than before.

  The newscasters appeared terrified as they relayed their stories of cities all over the globe experiencing attacks by monsters that seemed to appear from nowhere.

  The way the word seemed to roll from their lips—“monsters”—made him briefly consider his sanity. But then he thought of the world he’d lived in before the darkness had fallen, a world where he’d served the needs of Heaven’s angels.

  Kraus could barely remember a time when the world had seemed at all normal.

  The TV showed some grainy footage of a city. Was it Chicago? He couldn’t understand what the broadcasters were saying in the live signal. He wanted to turn off the sound so he wouldn’t hear the screams that drowned out the broadcasters, but he couldn’t figure out what button to push on the remote.

  Buildings were burning and the streets were filled with armored things that seemed to attack with abandon, and it didn’t appear that there was much anybody could do to keep the monsters back.

  This is what the Nephilim are for, he thought, feeling sick to his stomach as the scene went to static. The program returned to the studio with the two anchors, who looked as though they wanted to burst into tears.

  Kraus began to wonder if something had happened to his friends. He knew that they had gone off on a mission of great importance. Had they failed somehow?

  Panic set in, and he wished with all his heart that there was something—anything—he could do to help them. But he knew his function was to wait for their return and be ready to heal them so that they might continue the fight against—

  Kraus felt it through the floor, and in the very air itself—a strange disturbance that rattled the school property, and him, to the very core.

  The television went black, as did the lights. Something had happened to their generator. Kraus looked about the darkened room. For the briefest of moments he considered that Aaron and the others might have returned from their mission, but he knew better.

  Something was very wrong.

  Kraus left the room, maneuvering through the darkness in search of Lorelei and Dusty, senses finely tuned by his former years of blindness.

  But first a quick stop at the maintenance closet where the Nephilim stored many of the swords, knives, and axes that they had collected from the dead beasts who had invaded the school grounds when the last of the Powers angels and the Abomination of Desolation had attacked.

  Kraus thought he might be needing a weapon.

  Just in case.

  * * *

  Aaron watched as an old woman shambled over to the card table with a tray of three steaming coffee mugs.

  “It’s instant,” Tarshish said, helping himself to a mug. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  Aaron didn’t really want any coffee right then, but it seemed like the polite thing to do. “Thanks,” he told the old woman, but she didn’t respond.

  “What’s up with them?” Aaron asked in a whisper as the woman walked off with the empty tray.

  Tarshish shrugged before taking a sip of his steaming drink.

  “That one’s Betty,” he said. “She’s been gone the longest of all of them.”

  “Gone?” Aaron asked.

  “Dead.”

  “She’s dead?” Aaron questioned incredulously, turning in his chair to look at the others, who sat in front of the blank television screen. “They’re all dead?”

  “Yeah,” Tarshish answered, setting his mug down. “I didn’t have the heart to let them go. It’s amazing how attached I’ve gotten to them.”

  Aaron was horrified.

  “The power of God released from the Metatron,” Mallus interjected, quickly changing the subject. “We need to find it.”

  “Finding it will be the easy part,” Tarshish added.

  Aaron took a sip of the instant coffee and made a face. It was horrible. Making good coffee wasn’t the dead old lady’s strongest skill. Imagine that.

  “Why?” Aaron asked, pushing his mug closer to the puzzle border.

  “The power of the Metatron couldn’t exist alone in the world,” Mallus explained, his own steaming mug in hand. “It had to find a host.”

  “Hosts,” Tarshish corrected.

  Mallus nodded, taking a slug of the coffee before speaking again. “That power remembered what it had been… what it had been part of,” he explained. “Part of a special trinity that had composed the Metatron.”

  “So it found three hosts?” Aaron asked.

  “It certainly did,” Tarshish answered. “And it was corrupted in the process.”

  Mallus sighed as he set his mug down. “The power of God, meant to help humanity, has been used for less than righteous purposes all these years.”

  Tarshish’s old eyes fixed Aaron and Mallus in a serious stare. “This isn’t going to be easy,” he warned. “We’re all going to need to be at the top of our game if we’re even going to come close to taking back the power of the Metatron.”

  Aaron understood the gravity of the situation, but could not help but stare at the sickeningly skinny Tarshish, sitting in his wheelchair.

  “What?” the Malakim asked.

  “Are you up to the task?” Aaron questioned, scrutinizing the Malakim.

  Tarshish laughed, a short bark that sounded loose and wet. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said, reaching up and pulling down the lower lid of his left eye. A blinding ray of light sneaked out from beneath the weathered skin. “This is just a suit I wear when I’m taking it easy.”

  “Cool,” Aaron said, satisfied with the Malakim’s answer.

  Mallus had begun to speak again, when the Nephilim suddenly experienced a sensation akin to somebody setting off a bomb of pure sound inside his skull.

  “I need you here.… I need you back here this instant!”

  It caught Aaron off guard, and he startled, his sudden movement flipping his chair over and landing him unceremoniously on the floor.

  “What is it?” Mallus asked urgently.

  Aaron scrambled to his feet, too stunned to be embarrassed. “It’s Lorelei. She’s back at the school,” he explained. He could feel his nose bleeding, and wiped the blood from his nostrils with the back of his hand. “I’ve got to get back.”

  Mallus and Tarshish shared a look.

  “Aaron, time is of the essence. If we—”

  “I know,” Aaron interrupted, still feeling his friend’s lingering terror. “But this is an emergency.”

  “The whole frea
kin’ planet is experiencing an emergency,” Tarshish exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry,” Aaron said, flexing the muscles in his back and calling forth his wings. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Mallus protested, but Aaron wasn’t listening. He wrapped his wings about himself and pictured the school. His friend needed him.… His friend was in danger.

  And nothing was going to keep him away.

  * * *

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” Tarshish said, leaning forward to pick up another piece to his puzzle.

  Mallus noticed that the puzzle’s picture had changed again, this time showing what appeared to be some sort of ancient temple sitting atop a stony mountain that jutted from a bluish-green ocean.

  “We can’t wait for him,” Mallus said. “Things are moving too fast.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Tarshish asked, finding a home for the piece and snapping it into place.

  “We go and take God’s power back,” Mallus said matter-of-factly. “That’s the key to stopping the Architects.”

  Tarshish looked up from his puzzle. “What about a host?” he asked. “Without the boy…”

  “We’ll worry about that after we get the power back from the unholy trinity,” Mallus replied.

  Tarshish pushed his wheelchair back from the card table. “Let’s do this, then,” he said, standing stiffly from the chair. He glanced over to the group of elderly men and women sitting before the television. “It’s been fun, gang,” he said, his words followed by a flash of brilliance.

  Mallus watched as the residents of the nursing home all went limp, collapsing in upon themselves and turning to dust before his eyes.

  Tarshish, on the other hand, looked stronger as he stared with golden flecked eyes at the place where his friends had once sat.

  “I’m really going to miss Wednesday nights,” he said sadly.

  “Why is that?” Mallus asked, mildly curious as to what might cause a being like the Malakim to experience the emotion of loss.

  “Wednesday was bingo night,” Tarshish said.

  “Bingo?” Mallus repeated.

  Tarshish nodded. “I love playing bingo.”

  * * *

  The child thrashed so violently that Jeremy was afraid he would drop the little bugger.

  “Stop the nonsense!” Jeremy barked as he carried Roger up the walkway to their rented cottage.

  “It is not nonsense!” Roger screeched, his arms and legs flailing. “We need to leave this place at once!”

  “There, there,” Jeremy’s mother said, cupping the baby’s angry face in her hand as Jeremy stopped in front of the door and dug in his pocket for the key. “Roger’s just knackered is all, a little lie-down, and he’ll—”

  “Enoch!” the baby wailed. “My name isn’t Roger; it’s Enoch!”

  “That’s right, Enoch,” she cooed, following the two of them into the cottage.

  “We’re not going anywhere, Enoch,” Jeremy said, ready to hand the raving child off to his mother. “You’re going to have a bit of rest, and then, when you wake up refreshed, we’re all gonna have a nice sit-down and discuss—”

  He was handing the child to his mother when Jeremy noticed the point of a knife protruding from her chest.

  “Mum?” Jeremy said, feeling the air suddenly punched from his lungs. “Mum, what… ?”

  Her mouth was moving as she deflated before his eyes, falling to the floor of the entryway.

  “It’s too late!” Enoch screeched. “They’ve already found us!”

  Jeremy sensed movement from behind him, and he tossed baby Enoch onto the couch as he spun to meet his attacker.

  It took a moment for his brain to register, because his attacker was practically invisible. Whatever it was wearing blended in with the colors of the cottage. The chameleon drove a knife blade deep into Jeremy’s upper chest. It would have been his heart, but he’d had the instincts to move as his attacker—his mother’s murderer—had come in close for the kill.

  Too close.

  Jeremy screamed, and lashed out with all his might. His fist connected with something that felt very much like a face. His attacker stumbled back, pulling the knife from the Nephilim’s chest as the chameleon fell.

  Jeremy spread his wings and beat the air, causing powerful gusts of wind that drove his attacker away, and bought him time to collect himself. A lamp clattered from a side table, and sand blown in from the still-open door created a kind of smoky haze in the air, temporarily allowing him to see his assailant.

  Jeremy didn’t wait for an invitation. He dove across the room with the help of his wings and connected with the figure, driving it to the floor. His assailant was slimmer and smaller than he, but its strength was undeniable, and whatever it was that the attacker wore made it as slippery as hell.

  An elbow slammed into Jeremy’s face, driving his head back. Then a foot planted upon his chest and kicked him across the living room to slam against the couch.

  For a second Jeremy worried about Roger—Enoch—but, chancing a quick scan of the area, he saw that the baby was nowhere to be found, which, given the circumstances, was probably a good thing.

  His attacker landed upon him, and instinctively Jeremy threw his arm up to block a punch, feeling the bite of the knife. Growling like something wild, Jeremy tapped into his fear and fury, bringing forward the power of the Nephilim and creating a battle mace of fire, which he swung wildly, hoping to connect with his foe.

  The attacker leaped back and away from the flaming weapon, and Jeremy got to his feet, his eyes furiously attempting to keep track of the mysterious assassin that seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye.

  Which is exactly what it did.

  “Bugger,” Jeremy spat, readying himself for the inevitable attack. Continuing to flap his wings, he spun, searching the room for a sign—any sign.

  Jeremy’s foot landed upon one of Roger’s—Enoch’s—toy lories, and he lost his balance for a moment before regaining his footing.

  But a moment was all the assassin needed.

  He dove to the left, Jeremy smelled his own blood and saw the stained knife blade appearing out of thin air and slipping dangerously past his throat.

  Knowing that he couldn’t keep this up forever, Jeremy reached out to grab his assailant. His hands landed upon something solid, and Jeremy closed his fingers about his prey. It was like trying to hold on to an eel, but he sank his fingernails in as deep as possible.

  Instead of using a weapon, Jeremy sent the divine fire directly to his hands. There was a whoosh as the flames came, and then the stink of something burning as the flesh within his hands began to burn.

  The fires of Heaven were voracious.

  Jeremy was thrown back and away, but this time he didn’t lose sight of his attacker. The assassin was burning.

  The figure was in a panic, attempting to stamp out the fire creeping up its arm, but this only served to ignite its other hand. Jeremy was already on the move before the murderer could flee. His battle mace formed again in his hand as he lunged at the masked figure, and he smashed the assailant across the face with all his might, sending him crashing and burning to the cottage floor.

  Jeremy was stunned to see that his attacker was already attempting to get back up, glaring at him as he rose. The black leatherlike material of its mask had been partially torn with the mace’s blow, and Jeremy gaped in awe at what he saw.

  “Bloody hell,” Jeremy said. “What are you supposed to be?”

  It’s like looking at a bloody ape, he thought as the murderer, its body still afire, made another attempt to take him down.

  Jeremy didn’t hesitate, smashing the mace down upon the creature’s arm that held the knife, shattering its bones to powder.

  The figure did not cry, but it knelt there momentarily before finding its knife with its other hand, ready to go at Jeremy again.

  Jeremy had had enough. “This is for Mum, ya bastard,” he growled, bringing the ball of fire down upon t
he attacker’s skull.

  The would-be assassin slumped to the floor, body twitching.

  Jeremy needed to hold back, deciding that perhaps something might be learned if he let the assassin live.

  A voice that he could not locate at first screamed out. “Don’t even hesitate,” Enoch said from hiding. “End its miserable life now, before others can home in upon its location.”

  Enoch didn’t have to tell him twice. Jeremy brought the mace down again, shattering their attacker’s skull all over the carpet.

  From the corner of his eye, Jeremy saw movement beneath the sofa, and watched as the baby squirmed out from his hiding place. Knowing that Enoch was safe, Jeremy let his mace disappear and went to his mother.

  She lay on her back in the entryway, still clinging to life.

  “Oh,” was all Jeremy could manage as he hovered above her, not really knowing what he should do.

  She looked as though she were trying to speak, and he dropped to his knees and gently pulled her into his arms.

  “Hang on, luv. We’ll get you to hospital,” he told her softly, but the look in her eyes told him otherwise.

  She’d never make the ride, even if they flew.

  Her bloodstained lips moved as she tried to talk to him.

  “What is it, Mum?” he asked her. “What can I do? Please, tell me what I can do?”

  “Protect,” she whispered. Her eyes shifted, searching the room. She was looking for the baby.

  “Enoch?” he asked her. “You want me to protect Enoch?”

  She didn’t answer, but he knew that was what she wanted, as he watched the life drain from her eyes.

  “Of course she meant me,” the baby’s overly intelligent voice said.

  He had crawled over and sat beside them.

  “I’m the last hope of humanity,” Enoch said, staring at the woman’s corpse. “If I don’t make it, none of us will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The darkness was as vast as the ocean and as limitless in its depths.

  Every patch of shadow, no matter how small, connected to a greater whole that now embraced a world in its gradually constricting grip.