The Complete Archangel Wars Series: A Shared Universe Series (The Archangel Wars)

by Jonathan Yanez

  “Yes,” Esther said immediately veering off to give orders to her lieutenants.

  Seraphim’s reply came back in a question, “We will kill any that try and flee us. Why not attack Golgotha now?”

  Michael looked the Death Angel up and down. Seraphim was a great warrior and a good friend whether she knew it or not. One thing Michael could do without was her urge for battle. “We wait for night to fall. I gave Alan and Raphael that long.”

  At the mention of Alan’s name something crossed Seraphim’s face. Some kind of emotion even Michael had never seen after spending an eternity with her. Just as soon as it was there, it was gone. “Then tonight we will bring Gabriel’s scheme to a final end.”

  Seraphim flapped her wings harder to join her Death Angels at the head of the formation. Hurry Alan, Michael though, this is going to all end soon.

  Chapter One Hundred Twelve

  “The sun is already starting to set,” Alan said trying to hide the exasperation in his voice. “We need to get going now.”

  “We will,” Raphael said, examining the large warehouse of armor and weapons the minotaurs provided. “But it would be rude to refuse the Queen her gift of supplies before we depart.”

  “Yes,” Cratos grunted as he entered the warehouse. “And you will need your strength, Horseman.” As much as Alan hated waiting, the steaming mound of meat on the platter Cratos held in his hands made his mouth water. “Eat,” Cratos said, placing the offered food on a pile of shields stacked waist high.

  Alan attacked the food with mixed feelings as he watched the sky turn into a myriad of orange and pink hues. The meat was tender and spiced just right. Each bite seemed better than the last. Alan tried to remember the last time he had eaten or slept.

  Cratos interrupted his thoughts with a light laugh. Alan looked up into the minotaur’s eyes with a upturned eyebrow, “What?”

  “Are you enjoying the food, little brother?”

  “Yes,” Alan said suddenly taking the last piece of the foreign meat and holding it away from his mouth, “why? What did you do to it?”

  “Oh, I didn’t do a thing. I just wonder if you know what it is you eat so ravenously?”

  Alan looked at the slab of meat that could pass for anything. If Alan had to guess, it was some kind of venison but, really, he had no idea. Who knew what animals inhabited the supernatural plane. This was one of the few instances Alan chose ignorance instead of facts. “I don’t want to know,” Alan said as he chomped down on the last piece of delicious meat.

  Cratos chuckled again in a deep tone that rumbled from the depths of his chest, “Good choice, little brother.”

  “Alan,” Raphael called from somewhere down the many aisles of helms and swords.

  Alan gulped the last morsel of mystery meat as he walked through the warehouse to find Raphael. The building reminded Alan of a large warehouse. Aisles upon aisles lined the inside of the warehouse and held every kind of weapon or armor Alan could imagine and many he had no idea existed. He found Raphael looking at a section of an aisle to the rear of the warehouse that housed complete outfits of smaller-looking gear.

  “This is the section we use when our youths are ready for battle,” Cratos said with a smile.

  Alan looked back at the rows of armor he had already passed. Cratos was telling the truth. With the average minotaur measuring seven to eight feet tall, their armor needed to match their impressive build. The section of the warehouse they were in now was home to suits of armor that looked like they would be big enough to serve Raphael and Alan.

  Raphael was staring at a suit of plated golden armor, lost in thought. The sheen from the steel reflected his face back in a way that twisted his features. For a moment, Alan thought he caught the reflection of the man Raphael used to be. His eyes were hard, solid, unyielding. His mouth was firm and decisive.

  Silence fell over the unlikely group of human, angel and minotaur. Raphael slowly extended a hand and touched the metal. He let his hands fall down the breastplate to the greaves and gauntlets, then, finally, the helm.

  One could only imagine the memories going through Raphael’s mind; thoughts of so many dead by both his own hands and by those of others. The weight of his own promise to never fight again bearing on him as the vow would soon be broken.

  Alan was captured by the moment. When he finally did find his voice, it came out cracked and shallow, “Raphael, we should go. I—”

  Before Alan could finish, a leathery hand fell on his shoulder. Cratos’ grip was firm without crushing, “Easy, Horseman, give the Archangel a moment.”

  Alan felt a rush of blood flood his face. As much as he wanted to give Raphael all the time he needed, the sun was setting. Even now shadows of the oncoming night were beginning to flitter through the opened ceiling. The hour was soon approaching when Michael would attack Gabriel. Raphael would have to break his word and reenter the fight between the Light and the Dark.

  “No,” Raphael said still looking at the armor, “Alan’s right, we have no time to waste. This has to be done. If for anyone’s sake, for Kassidy’s.”

  A few minutes time found all three warriors choosing armor and setting the various pieces in place. Raphael selected the suit of armor that had caught his eye. The golden hue of the metal transformed the white-haired Archangel into the figure of the leader he was before.

  Alan looked on with admiration as Raphael placed each piece on his frame with a delicate touch. With the straps Raphael could not reach, Alan was surprised to see Cratos ready to assist. The large hands of the minotaur were as agile as they were strong. When Raphael was finished, he looked as though he belonged at the head of an army. “Now, let’s get you fitted.” Raphael said to Alan.

  “Uh, yeah,” Alan said motioning to a suit he picked out on the same aisle. “What do you think of this one?”

  Cratos excused himself to go find his own gear as Raphael walked towards Alan and admired the suit he chose. It was forged from a dark metal somewhere in the color spectrum between black and grey. Alan smiled as the tone reminded him of Seraphim’s metal wing. His heart beat faster at the promise of seeing her again and finishing what they started. Alan knew the level of excitement he felt at seeing her once more meant something far greater than friendship. He was eager at finding out what that was.

  “A fine choice, Alan,” Raphael motioned Alan to stand still as he took down the breastplate and began securing it on Alan’s chest. “I know you’ve been in a few fights before but, trust me, this will be like nothing you have experienced yet.”

  Alan thought back to his first encounter with Gabriel, how pathetic his attack had been and then to the memory of Seraphim crying out in pain as Gabriel turned his wrath on her. The anticipation of a rematch made Alan’s blood boil.

  Raphael finished securing the breastplate then moved on to the greaves and shin guards. “Until we are able to wound Gabriel and transfer the power he stole from me, he will be a maelstrom of power. Even after I take back what is mine, Gabriel should not be taken lightly.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Alan said securing the gauntlets in place. Whoever had made the armor was a master at his or her art. Despite the protection the armor provided, Alan felt as though he could move in any direction he desired. He was mobile down to every digit of his fingers.

  “I see you found a suit of armor small enough for you, little brother,” Cratos said turning a corner. The minotaur had spent the time equipping himself with dark green armor that started at his shoulders and continued down to end in a metal skirt. His head was free of any helm, leaving the thick horns protruding from his skull free to be used as weapons.

  Alan ignored the jab and instead looked to Raphael for the cue to be on their way. Raphael took his glance with a nod of his own. “One last thing, Alan. Do not be so impetuous. I want to free Kassidy as badly as you. But we will be hard-pressed to do this without weapons.”

  Cratos cocked his head to the side and motioned to them to follow. “Weapons you say, Arc
hangel? Well, the minotaurs are masters at forging steel. Please allow me.”

  Alan and Raphael followed Cratos to a corner of the large building where an entire section was dedicated to every kind of weapon fathomable. It was clear to see the workmanship of each piece was beyond a simple blacksmith. Even with Alan’s limited understanding of weaponry, he could tell these weren’t only weapons; they were works of art.

  Cratos wasted no time. As if his mind was already made up before they entered the weapon area, he headed for a large piece that looked like a metal rod connected to an anvil. The minotaur hefted the weapon as if it were as light as a dagger. “I’ve made my choice. Horseman?”

  Alan looked around at the multitude of weapons to choose from. There were everything from single-handed swords and spears he recognized to weapons like whips and nets he had no idea how to wield. One item more than any other captured his eyes. The metal was so well-oiled, it caught the last light of the dying sun and showed through the coming shadows of the night. It was a great sword that rested with its point on the earth. From tip to the base of the pommel, it was so long it reached Alan’s chest. Alan grasped for it and tested its weight. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather and ancient runes were written on the pommel.

  The weapon felt light despite the mass as Alan leaned in closer to try to catch any familiar symbol on the runes. “It says, ‘Only the strong’,” Cratos explained. “It is a good blade. I think it will serve you well.”

  “Shall we?” Alan and Cratos looked over to Raphael. The once leader of the Archangel corps looked back at them as he placed a golden helm on his head. His free hand held a trident as tall as he was, its silver and gold adorned with carvings of gigantic waves and mythological sea creatures.. Three sharp prongs all as long as daggers topped the weapon. “It’s not my own, but it will do the job.”

  Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

  Seraphim and her Death Angels made quick work of the Fallen and their Nephilim that had yet to make it into the relative safety of Golgotha. In Michael’s eyes, Seraphim took too much pleasure in slaying those unwilling to surrender. She also did not try to persuade them to lay down their arms. Her warning was spoken once and then followed by a quick death.

  There was only so much Michael could do to control Seraphim’s wrath. An attack on the fortress was approaching quickly. Even now, the moon was beginning to dominate the sky and stars twinkled as if in anticipation of blood.

  Michael walked in his own silver armor back and forth through the line of soldiers. His eyes roved between his own men and the tiny dots that marked enemy sentries on the wall. Gabriel, how many will die in your vain grasp for power? Michael thought. He knew even if the answer to his question was a single life, it was too many.

  His heart weighed a hundred pounds as he readied himself for the battle to come. A life as any kind of angel—Fallen or other—meant an eternity to know and respect your own race. Every face that nodded back to him or smiled as he walked through the ranks, he recognized as a friend. The same went for his enemies those he would kill that day he would know.

  Michael welcomed the voice yet dreaded the words as Esther and Angelica approached from deep within the camp. “Soldiers are placed and ready,” Esther said.

  Angelica, as acting leader of the human Nephilim, also gave her report. “The Nephilim unit is in the rear as ordered, waiting for your command to move into position.” Angelica hesitated moving a strand of rogue blonde hair behind her right ear, “And, Michael, if I may?”

  “Of course,” Michael said, “What is it?”

  “I understand your concern about involving Nephilim in this fight. In spite of this, we deserve a place on the battlefield just as much as you. This is what we believe in. If dying for the Light to stop a madman is our end, then so be it.”

  Michael hid his shock and likewise his approval. The last thing he expected was for the Nephilim to demand a place beside the angels on the frontline. In times like these, friends were the greatest things Michael could hope to have standing beside him. “Your words are accepted with thanks, Angelica. And to my chagrin, I’m sure you will be seeing action before the night is over.”

  Angelica nodded, pleased without showing any sign of happiness on her face.

  The trio was interrupted by a rush of wings as Seraphim descended beside them with a harsh landing. “Night has come. Let us be done with this.”

  “Are your Death Angels in position?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this is what we will do …”

  ---

  Michael refused to be anywhere but in the frontlines with his soldiers. He relied on his captains to carry out their orders as instructed. As much as he respected Seraphim and her clan of Death Angels, he could never be certain she would do as told. Even now as they prepared for the main assault on Golgotha, Michael was saying a silent prayer for Seraphim to rein in her anger.

  Michael placed his silver helm on his head. Then he channeled his unique gift. Electricity began to snap and spark at his hands. His soldiers formed ranks behind him as he stared at the castle’s main gate. So far, Gabriel had shown no aggression. Fires burned on the ramparts with dark figures outlining guards but that was all.

  As the energy built and began to form in the palms of his hands, Michael found his thoughts turning to Ardat. As he cleared his mind and prepared for the fight to come, Alan and Raphael’s absence struck him. We can’t wait any longer, Michael told himself for the hundredth time. We must strike now.

  Michael gathered his power as a long lightening bolt formed in his right hand. It was his signature weapon, which had eraned him the name Zeus during the Greek uprising. His soldiers cheered for him as he took the battlefield. The noise of so many shouting throats and stomping feet drowned out any other competing sound.

  Michael lifted the crackling lightening bolt high over his head as he shouted. “I’ve lived for an eternity, I’ve traveled the four corners of our supernatural plane and that of the human world. The one thing that I have learned is that everything happens for a reason.” Michael paused to look behind him and gaze soldiers in the eyes.

  The corps of the angelic army beat their shields and breastplates as he continued. “We are all here for a reason. It is not chance that brings us to the doorstep of Golgotha on this day. And if it is our day to die for what we believe, then so be it. But I promise you this! The Light has never fallen before and I—we will not be the ones to see it tumble into darkness! Are you with me?”

  A roar shook the ground under Michael’s feet. Michael’s eyes searched the crowd for his captains; Esther, Angelica and Seraphim all nodded back with determined looks of their own.

  Satisfied his plans were laid as best as they could be, Michael turned towards the black gates of Golgotha. A steady run ate up the distance between his forces and the Fallen behind the fortress walls. With each step forward, Michael anticipated seeing an alteration in the scene. He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, nevertheless he was sure Gabriel would not surrender gently. The gates loomed ahead as Michael prepared himself to dodge either physical or supernatural projectiles. Still nothing.

  The only noises were those of the soldiers behind him. No shouts echoed from the watchtowers; no screams of the impending attack. Michael knew Gabreil’s lack of a defense was all wrong but still what was he to do? Stay and wait? No, that was what Gabriel wanted. Gabriel needed more time to recover. Michael would not give him the satisfaction. Still fifty yards from the main gate, Michael planted his left foot forward and braced himself for the throw.

  The lightening bolt in his hand was comfortable. He embraced it just as he had hundreds of time before. It felt like second nature as Michael roared for the assault to begin, “Now!”

  With every ounce of strength, using all of the skill learned over his lifetime Michael flung the lightning bolt forward. The missile traversed the distance from his hand to the gigantic twin gates faster than even the supernatural eye could track. The bolt collided with t
he gates with a resounding boom. Esther and Seraphim took their soldiers to the air.

  In a rush of flapping wings, Seraphim’s eleven Death Angels and the hundreds of warriors under Esther’s command lifted from the ground and began their aerial assault on Golgotha. As much as Michael would have liked to join them, he had a much bigger task. Most of the Nephilim under Angelica’s command could not fly. This meant their only chance at entering the battle and tipping the scales in the Light’s favor was for Michael to batter down the gates.

  His first bolt hit its mark and the gates quivered with the shock but held. Michael gritted his teeth as he formed two more lightening rods, one in each hand. His wings ruffled out behind him to add their strength to his cause. Again and again Michael hurled his weapons against the gates. With each strike, a thunderous crash rose above the shouts of war, reducing them to a whisper in its wrath. It wasn’t long before the gates began to weaken, the doors twisted and metal bent under the force of Michael’s attack. Finally, Michael’s fifth attempt brought the gates down.

  Perspiration hindered his vision, still Michael could see the gates groan and topple. Another shout, now from the Nephilim, joined the sounds of battle as they surged forward.

  Tired but eager to join his forces inside the fortress, Michael accompanied them as they ran. Even as they entered the massive courtyard that lay inside Golgotha’s outer wall, there was no resistance. A sick feeling began to twist and turn inside Michael’s stomach as he accepted the idea that this had all been a ruse. One elaborate scheme to lure them inside; to what end, Michael was unsure.

  Black towers loomed above them as they made their way to the inner keep. Shouts and war cries that filled the air only moments before gave way to an eerie stillness. Soldiers ran in every direction looking for the enemy to no avail. Adrenaline the promise of war brought was slowly beginning to sap dry as no enemies were found.