The Damned and The Pure Series: Books 1-4 (The Damned and The Pure Series Box Set)

by J. D. Stonebridge

  David shrugged. "So, either we find a way to stop two more sacrifices, or like I mentioned a few days ago, we find Lilith’s replacement and probably Michael’s spear to kill those archangels. Which sounds less crazy?"

  "Both," Daniel proclaimed, much to David's surprise. "You have my greatest gratitude, David Tenney. I shall relay the message to my sister Gabriel, and we shall devise a plan."

  David nodded. With a gesture of farewell, Daniel walked into the light from the skylight and disappeared.

  Jenny returned carrying a plastic bottle of medicine and a glass of water. "Thanks, Jen," David said as he absently popped the lid and took three small pills.

  "You shouldn’t push yourself so much, David. You haven't slept at all since..."

  "Sleep?" David mocked as he swallowed the pills and downed the water. "How can anyone sleep properly in this situa—-"

  Jenny gasped as her brother collapsed on the chair. Behind him, Ariel hovered with a worried face. "Shall we allow him repose for today?" she whispered. "He has done so much, and I hope he will forgive me."

  Even asleep, David's face had traces of pain and sadness. He was a different man now. Ariel placed her hand on her chest and as it softly glowed, she gently placed it on his head.

  "Right then," Caelum uttered. "Daniel just gave me an idea, and I have my own plan. I can't let him have all the glory now, can I?"

  "I understand," Ariel nodded. "Where are you going?"

  Caelum turned as he was about to exit. "I'm off to see a certain angel about a certain something." He then saluted as he closed the door behind him. "See you tonight, my dear.” And with that, he was gone.

  Lost in his own mind, David dreamed of a peaceful scene. He watched the sunset as the ocean’s waves gently swept against his leg. To his left was a familiar lighthouse, its white walls reflecting the orange sunlight. And to his right were green eyes that gazed into his. Her face was pale, but her eyes were shining and her smile was beautiful. Her crimson hair softly blew in the wind, and she lifted a hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

  The words rolled off his lips, as gently as his voice had ever been.

  “I miss you…”

  Epilogue: Death’s Promise

  In a dark room, Caelum glanced at his watch. In front of him, a sigil was drawn in blood. A few bags with the label Donor Blood laid in a pile in the corner. He tapped the watch and took a lighter from his pocket. As the lighter's flame touched the blood, it ignited and created a display of a pentagram with symbols riddling the edges of the shape. There was a strange anomaly in the pentagram as it had no circle that encompassed the sigil. In the wake of the fire, black feathers he’d collected from ravens burned and flickered about.

  The flames rose higher and roared into an infernal pyre. Caelum smiled as he heard the sound of flapping wings. The roar of the flames hushed and the orange pyre of flames turned into a dim lavender blaze. As the flames lowered, it revealed a figure dressed in a pale white robe. Her silken black hair waved as if in the wind, while the trace of her wings illuminated in the moonlight. There was something odd about the shape of her wings, they were far larger than Caelum remembered.

  "Caelum," Azrael greeted. "You seem well."

  The demon cracked a grin. "I should say the same. But is it just me or did you gain weight on your back?"

  Azrael gave him a sullen gaze, focusing on Caelum’s trembling pupils. "Your eyes betray your humor."

  Caelum placed his hands in his suit pockets and absently tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor. "We lost someone."

  The angel stepped out of the sigil and touched Caelum's arm. "My deepest condolences for your loss. Though she was demon born, her honor lives on and I am here to ensure that her wishes are granted."

  Caelum returned the statement with a doubtful glance. "You sound confident, Azrael. I fear that Uriel and Raphael were the weaker ones, and here I am on a whim of a plan."

  "I did not stand idle," Azrael reassured. "It was my command for my legion of reapers to control the flow of souls as they spilled from Hell. It was also their duty to gather the energy from the souls and bring it to me."

  Caelum raised an eyebrow. "Hold on there. Are you saying you can absorb souls?"

  "Yes, I am given the right and duty to lord over the souls of mortals and demons alike. With my imprisonment, it gave me the opportunity to gather strength."

  The demon folded his hands and placed his weight on one leg. "Then you became that black comet and, quite literally, punched a hole in Heaven."

  "Indeed. I have your daughter to thank."

  "I'm sorry?" Caelum prodded.

  "If not for your daughter's soul and the immense forces she had absorbed, I would not have made it in time. Sister Gabriel would have perished, and Brother Daniel would have been slain if Sister Gabriel's forces had not assisted. So shall the rest of your comrades, I believe."

  Caelum’s eyes lowered with thought. "I see."

  Azrael studied his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she saw solace." Caelum, why have you summoned me without a binding seal, nor a contractual design? I warn against you calling me in such a manner for a conversation. I have my servants to assist you with queries"

  The statement brought a giggle out of the somber demon. "Glad you asked, Azrael. It's rather convenient that one, you told me that you can absorb souls, and two, you honor my daughter's wish. Because, you see, I need a big favor from you.”

  Azrael's quiet, solid expression changed into curiosity.

  “I wish to experience the hospitality of your home,” Caelum said. “And I don’t mean Heaven, mind you. I know I will be smitten if I take even one step there. I am interested in seeing your other home.”

  “What are you saying?” Azrael prodded.

  Caelum smiled, his hazel eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Would you do me the honors of opening the Gates of Purgatory for me?”

  Avenging Salvation

  The Damned and the Pure Book 4

  Copyright @ 2016 by J.D. Stonebridge. All Rights Reserved

  Author: J.D. Stonebridge

  Prologue: Michael and Lucifer

  Though bathing in the holy light of Heaven, Raphael walked on the immaculate floors with a heavy heart. He carried with him the events recently, when the mission entrusted to him had not only failed but also cost him the life of his brother.

  Impossible, he kept repeating to himself. The archangel denied what happened. We are the first! How could one of us fall at the hands of such as them? But no matter how many times he questioned the result of the battle, his anger and pleas would never change what happened.

  The dark orb came from the Heavens, and Raphael had never seen such darkness. It was as beautiful as it was ominous. Following it was the army led by their treacherous sister, Gabriel. They came all at once; countless angels waging war against them. Raphael could do nothing. He was never truly a warrior like his brothers. Raphael was an angel of the words and of the medicines. To battle against the rebels was something he could not do. And they had come to fight against his brother, guided by the angel who he had taken under his wing for many centuries.

  Raphael pushed away the thoughts. There was no point in pondering over the past, much less bear the guilt others should. He stepped into Michael’s temple, lifting his chin high to face his brothers. Upon meeting his brother’s gaze, however, Raphael felt himself recoil.

  Michael’s eyes shone against the light that filled his temple, and his eyes bore the disappointment he had for his younger brother. Raphael feared him; he was familiar with his brother’s temper that many had never seen. Many believed it was Lucifer who was to be feared. But to see them now, side by side upon the pedestal, Lucifer’s calmness and almost humorous eyes were in contrast to the frown on Michael’s lips. However, to turn back would be a greater offense, and Raphael could not risk adding fire to Michael’s fury.

  Instead, he stood straight in front of Michael and bowed his head low. With a dry throat, Raphael reported, “Our
brother, Uriel, has fallen at the hands of Gabriel’s army. Our task was not accomplished.”

  After his statement, Raphael dared to lift his gaze again to his brothers. Lucifer gave only a sigh, but no anger marked his expression. Michael, however, showed his disdain.

  Pathetic was the word Michael offered to Raphael. The word was enough to stab the younger archangel’s already failing dignity. Raphael pursed his lips, daring not to speak.

  “Two archangels against an army of those puny soldiers?” Michael scoffed. “And Uriel dared to call himself the Wrath of God.”

  “There is no need to speak ill of the dead,” Lucifer commented, his tone light. “I am certain Uriel did what his power allowed him. Unfortunate that it was not enough.”

  Michael did not divert his eyes from Raphael, as if not hearing Lucifer’s words. He looked down on his brother and asked, “The scribe survived, then? And his descendants?”

  Raphael set his jaw and nodded slowly.

  Michael was quiet for a moment. He only stared at Raphael, as one would eye an insect that dared to crawl inside one’s home. Raphael felt as such; an insect, weak and to be crushed. With Michael’s next question, Raphael knew his fate was set.

  “Do you at least have the decency to return my spear?” Michael spat, and Raphael looked down. His thoughts returned to the battle near the mortal’s home, just after they’d discovered that the demon was still alive. The wretched angel, Ariel, had taken the only weapon he had, the weapon entrusted to him to carry out the mission he had failed.

  “I—” Raphael had never stuttered before, but the terror in his heart was making it difficult to confess. “My deepest apologies, Brother Michael. Your weapon has been stolen.”

  He waited, but nothing came. No shouts, no attacks, and no demands from the archangel he had been so loyal to for his entire existence. The silence was far more frightening. Raphael looked up to his brother and met fiery eyes burning with anger. Finally, Michael spoke.

  “And when do you intend to return it to me?” Michael demanded.

  “Let me return to the mortal land,” Raphael was quick to request. “I will retrieve it. The rebellious angel, Ariel, she—”

  “An angel such as that one is carrying my spear?” Michael’s voice boomed across the temple, echoing on the marble floor. Michael took one step towards the cowering Raphael, his jaw set. “You failed the mission I entrusted to you, you let your brother die in combat, and let my beloved spear be handled by a lowly angel. And you dared to return to my land in your cowardice! You are a waste to be eradicated, Raphael.”

  “Dear brother,” Lucifer placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder before Raphael could respond, “what could we gain in scolding? What could we gain from our brother’s punishment?” Then, Lucifer’s golden eyes shifted to Raphael’s. “Our brother is distressed about what has happened; it is certain. Let us put away our petty emotions while we can still plan ahead of our enemies.”

  Michael looked at Lucifer for a time, his breathing slowly calming. When Michael shrugged away Lucifer’s hand, he took a step away from Raphael and crossed his arms over his chest. He turned to Lucifer again and asked, “And what do you believe we should do next, Brother?”

  “Continue, of course,” Lucifer said. “I am certain the poor and confused scribe has already divulged our intentions to those who wish to get in our way but that does not mean we are at a disadvantage.”

  “What do you mean?” Michael demanded.

  Lucifer’s smile widened. “Have faith in me, brother,” he simply said. Lucifer turned to Raphael and gave him the same knowing smile. “Do you wish to redeem yourself?”

  “Yes,” Raphael answered in one breath.

  “I am glad,” Lucifer responded. He turned back to Michael and said, “May I borrow a few of your warriors, then?”

  “What will you do, Lucifer?” Michael pressed, not fond of being in the dark.

  “Do not fret. I am merely taking a trip to the land below,” Lucifer said. “And I will do what must be done to fulfill our dearest wish.”

  Chapter One: Those Left Behind

  A white blanket covered the once green fields of Minnesota. The black stone in front of him was in stark contrast against the soft winter snow that surrounded him. Caelum watched the sun rising in the horizon, slowly bathing the mountains with a faint yellow glow. His scarlet scarf swayed with the wind as his focus lowered to the grave marker below his feet. He stared at the stone as if it would suddenly appear to him as the one whose final resting place it marked, though he knew no such thing could happen.

  “At least, one of us is at peace now,” he whispered into the winter winds.

  Regret was one thing he often felt these days. Regret for abandoning the first person he’d cared for in centuries, regret for dragging her into the battle he’d gotten himself involved in, and regret for not being able to save her when she had saved him. Caelum knew little about being a father, but he knew this: it was a father’s duty to protect his daughter. And yet, here he was, standing over her grave. He wished he could remember her final moments vividly, but he couldn’t. He wished he knew what she had been doing when she’d died; the final words she’d spoken to him, whispering to him as if from underwater. But his memory failed him, having been under the influence of Azazel in those moments. I made the deal to be able to protect… Caelum laughed softly. Looks like I failed you until the end.

  Tugging on his scarf, he turned away from the fields of white and to the dark smoke that came from the chimney of the lone house. His eyes flickered to the roof where he had once spoken to the young lady who used to call it home, and he pushed away the melancholic feeling that was threatening him. There was little he could do for her now aside from making sure her sacrifice would not be in vain.

  Out of habit, Caelum immediately went for the knob on the wooden door to the quaint home. His hand hovered barely an inch over the bronze knob when he stopped himself, reminded of the person who inhabited her home now. Caelum curled his fingers and lifted them to knock on the door instead.

  The sound of falling books echoed from inside. Caelum cringed at the sound, listening to the next set of noises that followed before someone yelled, “Hold on!”

  Seconds ticked by until the door flew open, revealing a disheveled David wearing a loose cream sweater and blue sweatpants. His brown hair was in disarray and a set of glasses hung from the bridge of his nose. He looked like the same David Caelum had first met, but the demon knew better. He wasn’t the only one gravely affected by their recent loss.

  “Caelum,” David greeted him. His tone was stoic, and his voice sounded deeper than before. “Come in.”

  “Forgive me for barging in,” Caelum said as he stepped inside. His eyes scanned around the area, seeing that Mikaela’s collection of books had grown by a third. The bookshelves were stuffed with all sorts of things, and the sofa he had once called his bed was littered with papers. He turned to David with a raised brow, and the young man shrugged.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Haven’t gotten around to fixing up the place,” David admitted, then moved to the same study table Caelum used to watch Mikaela work on. With his eyes on the notebook he had been writing in, David asked, “So, any news?”

  “No, unfortunately,” Caelum admitted. “Things have been quiet the past few days, and it’s very unsettling.” He let out a deep sigh. “For once, a moment of peace is rather unpleasant.”

  David huffed his breath. “The calm before a storm?”

  “Indeed. However, that is not what I came to discuss with you. People have been rather concerned.”

  David hesitated for a moment, as if the statement hit a nerve. But it went as it came, and David dived into his work again. “There are a lot of things to be worried about. The world is ending.”

  “It is. Though that does not mean we should spend the rest of our days in misery.” Caelum stepped forward, peeking over David’s shoulder to the notes he was making. “What are you working on, David?”<
br />
  “A weapon,” David quickly answered. Caelum raised a brow, peering further into the notes with David’s messy handwritings, able to decipher very little. He saw calculations and notes, and a few unevenly drawn sigils. But he could not read the details from where he stood. Not that it mattered as David was willing to share.

  “It’s for angels,” David explained. “Rather, against them.”

  Caelum frowned. “What do you mean?”

  David sighed heavily. “I can’t explain it right now; it’s not yet finished. But I’ve gone over Mi—” David hesitated, the name catching in his throat. “I’ve gone over the notes I found here. Mostly about how to manipulate souls. I am devising something that I want to work only on angelic souls. Something to manipulate their souls…” His voice trailed off, catching something in the book that he’d settled beside his notes. He turned his attention to the pages and continued as if he was alone again.

  Since they’d parted ways after Mikaela’s funeral, David had taken it upon himself to continue her work. Mikaela, Caelum knew, had buried herself in research about souls. She had studied for years, learning the components of the soul and how to possibly manipulate it. Caelum lowered his gaze to the floor as he thought of Mikaela’s disdain for him, going so far as to attempt to erase the things that reminded her of him. Was that the reason you worked so hard? To scrub away what you inherited from me?

  And here was the young man who was so important to her. Caelum didn’t know how Mikaela had felt for David, but he knew she’d cared for him. Seeing how it had angered her when she saw their house on fire, Caelum knew David and his sister meant something to his daughter, and it was the least he could do to look after them in her place.

  But David’s insistence on staying in her home to study what she knew worried them all. To hear that he had been working on a weapon to be used against the archangels confirmed Caelum’s theory of David’s desire for vengeance.