“Or . . .” I said. “If the army wins the west coast they could march here, to us, to attack Vegas together.”
“Even then,” Ceriden said gloomily, “we won’t have the numbers. The denizens of hell are limitless, comprising millions of years of fallen souls.”
“All we have to do is kill the Devil,” Belinda pointed out.
“And you saw how well that went,” Ceriden said. “We can’t just attack. We need a plan, a good one.”
I saw more people sitting up, starting to get animated. That was good. The more we ignored our desolation, the better chance we had. It was then, however, that Lysette’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and held her hand up.
“One second please,” she said. “It’s the library.”
I tried to stem a smile. The library never contacted us unless it had fresh, useful news. Maybe they’d found a way to find the Old Ones or isolate the Devil. Or kill him? I reined in my thoughts as Lysette listened.
Her face fell. Her eyes watered. She put the phone down and held her head in her hands.
“It’s bad,” she said. “A massive demonic force is attacking the library right now. They’re being overrun.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
We had no other recourse than to use Kinkade.
“A force of thousands,” he began, “have surrounded the library . . .”
Ceriden sat bolt upright. “They stand no chance,” he breathed. “Oh, Taryn. Taryn is there too.”
I remembered Taryn was Ceriden’s first-turned. Vampires held a special bond and a special love for their first-turned. To Ceriden, Taryn was a son.
Kinkade continued, “Nathan has activated all protocols. The library is guarded by 200 men and fifty vampires, some of them princes, almost matching Eliza in prowess. They are remaining inside because of the huge force that comes at them. Demons are charging now, wayclearers in front, all twisted tusks and deformed claws. They run across the flat grass. Defense measures are activating. Pits with spikes at the bottom open automatically, accepting many demons. A firewall springs up, catching more. The attack slows. It is 2:00 a.m. there now, and dark, but the fires paint the night skies lurid red. Everything is lit in flickering crimson and gold, the building’s front and sides, the trees, the demons themselves. They hit the next security measure, a wall of spikes that springs up in their faces. They scream and die. Many are pinned to it, but more just use their screaming colleagues to climb up and over. Now, archers fire from the windows of the library, shooting those demons that top the wall. There’s crossbow fire too, and some machine gun fire.”
I found myself sitting forward, terrified and anxious. More than that, I felt utterly superfluous. How could we protect everywhere at once?
“The library is our greatest resource,” Cleaver said. “Initially, I wanted to go there to help protect it rather than Miami.”
“It has good protection,” Belinda said. “You could not have helped.”
Kinkade hadn’t stopped talking, “The bigger demons have struck the wall, toppling it. There’s confusion. Many fall. Hundreds are dead. This is happening on all four corners of the house. Now, flying beasts come. They attack the windows with knife-like beaks, claws and talons. They strike and fall back or are shot with arrows. One beast hangs on and plucks a vampire out of the house, throwing it to the floor. The building shakes as more beasts hit it. Now, bigger demons lope through the grounds, standing on their brethren as they come. Arrows bounce off them. Bullets pierce their armor but not deeply. Some fall. More hit the house on all sides, crumbling mortar. The doors are vulnerable, though reinforced. I see a hierarchy demon now . . . Baal.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. This was as bad as it got.
Belinda squeezed my hand. “Stay strong, Dean.”
Kinkade continued, “Baal has hit a wide bank of windows with immense power. The entire row shattered. Mortar crumbles and so does a part of the house. Demons are swarming inside, being met by vampires and humans. It’s chaos in there, lit by electric light and flickering torches, fought by the modern man and the ancient beast. There are vampires killing dozens of demons each. They are holding the horde at bay. But now I see fast-running vicious beats the size of antelopes, they leap, attack and rend and are so fast even the vampires are finding it hard to match their speed. There are wide, powerful beasts too, hammering at doors and walls. They will get through.”
“My Taryn,” Ceriden moaned. “Where is my Taryn?”
Lysette was tapping into a security feed on the internet. It covered all of Aegis’ headquarters around the world and fed into all their internal CCTV cameras. It took her just a minute to bring up the library footage.
We saw eight different screens, enlarged by the fifty-four-inch monitor we had on the wall. I saw scenes that Kinkade had described. I saw each one separately, in color, and grated my teeth together until they hurt.
“I can’t watch and do nothing,” Belinda said anxiously. “I can’t just sit here.”
She rose and walked to the side of the room, no longer looking at the events unfolding right in front of us.
Kinkade went on, “The rear wall is breached, collapsed. Three floors have been demolished back there. Winged beasts fly into bedrooms and along hallways. Humans stand up to them with guns, knives and swords. More hell-beasts flood the library’s interior. They forge toward the library itself now, which is protected by the whole house, it being in the very center and reached only by a winding, internal staircase. But . . .” Kinkade paused then, the anguish clear. “Walls are broken. Rubble rains down into the library itself. Demons crawl down the walls like spiders, scuttling toward the floor. It extends twenty floors down, but they are reaching it quickly. The walls are made of books, millions and millions of books.”
“The irreplaceable knowledge of all our centuries,” Ceriden said.
“It is burning,” Kinkade went on, “flames catch and flare up. The Library of Aegis is on fire.”
I dipped my head even more. I heard Lysette’s small cry. There were no words any of us could say.
“The library is overrun. Its defenders are dying. Some are fleeing. The vampires are standing strong, but they are surrounded. If there is an evacuation siren, I would sound it now or everyone will die.”
Lysette looked at Ceriden who shook his head.
Then we saw Taryn defending the library. He had a curved scimitar in one hand and an Uzi in the other. He wore a knight’s armor and a soldier’s helmet. He was covered in demonic blood, wading through severed limbs and spilled ichor. Ceriden cried out and ran for the monitor, holding his hand out.
The roof of the library was ripped clean off by a pair of dragon’s claws and thrown to the grass.
Baal himself descended into the library and landed atop Taryn with two front claws, spearing him to the floor.
At that moment, Taryn died.
Ceriden screamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Ken Hamilton stood below the Golden Gate Bridge, looking up at the swarming evil denizens snaking along its length. They were marching on San Francisco and they carried battered swords, spears, guns and shields. They were myriad, ranks and ranks of them. The sound of their boots was drowned out by their bellowing, their shrieks of bloodlust. Ken saw beasts with feral faces, with no faces at all and with antennas for faces. They were big and small, wide and narrow. There were snakes and eels the size of buses, one giant the size of a building. The Golden Gate groaned under their combined weight. Ken just wished it would collapse at that point.
He stood with the Lionheart blade in hand. Once he’d put the word out through Aegis, everyone that wanted to protect their city and thousands of local military personnel had joined him along the beach.
Felicia stood with him, her blond hair as bright as any sun. “How long until our main force gets here?”
“An hour or so,” Ken said, gauging where the vanguard of the demonic army was. “Too long.”
“Far too long. We have about t
en minutes before they start marching on the city.”
“We can hold them at the Golden Gate.”
“Brave words, my friend. But do you believe them?”
Ken turned to her, his own blond hair blowing in his eyes. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “We have no choice.”
Many others stood around in the mud under the bridge. So many that they filled it and the banks that led up to the roadway. Milo was at his side, ready for a battle, ready to avenge Eliza. Captains stood there too, of marines, and commanders, of Special Forces and SWAT and SFPD. Everyone stood ready to defend their city.
Ken looked up. Bright blue skies shone above. It was early morning. A breeze blew across the bay from Alcatraz to Pier 39 and from North Beach to Land’s End. He had men waiting in the Presidio – the 1500-acre park where the Disney museum and Lucasfilm’s Yoda Fountain stood. It was there that they would contain hell’s onslaught if need be.
But first they had to try to stop them at the bridge.
Ken made the signal. All manner of weapons were prepped. A thousand men stood before him and streamed up the banks. The lead pack carried RPGs, the next pack automatic machine guns. There were grenade guns and weapons with an incredibly high cyclical rate. With Felicia and Milo, he ran with them, topping the bank and then streaming around to the start of the ramp that led to the Golden Gate.
“Where are the jets?” someone fretted.
“Not here yet,” Ken said. “But they will be.”
He walked amid a crush of bodies. To their left the Presidio stood green and bristling with men and women, armed forces and civilians. Ahead the demon horde slowed.
And then Ken saw her. She pushed through the mass of demons, blond hair tied with bones, neck adorned by them, and her racks of teeth gnashing.
She was Dementia and she led this army.
Ken gripped the Lionheart blade harder. He thought he’d already killed this demon bitch once. Today, if they met in battle, he would make sure of it.
Felicia clasped his left hand. “Good luck,” she said, “on the bridge.”
He bent down to kiss her as the day brightened. “We’ll be together again.”
“And I,” Milo said. “I thank you for being such true companions. We vampires have a jaded and snobbish view of the world. I regret the earlier dog comments to Felicia and my derision of you. I am proud to stand with you, here, at the end of all things.”
“You derided me?” Ken was surprised. “Well, shit, I suppose I used to be a knobhead but I’m all better now. And this is my city. I grew up here, became a man here. This is my domain. I’m happy to be here at the end of everything.”
Felicia raised her face to the sky as if sniffing the wind. “It’s wide, it’s open,” she said, “and free. It is a good place to defend. It is a better place to fight.”
Ken lifted his sword. Soldiers, cops and civilians surrounded him, surveying the oncoming mass as it crossed the bridge. Faces snarled, jeered and laughed at them. The humans were resolute.
But they had no leader.
Ken felt a rush of purpose, of pure determination. He was Chosen and he could do this. With a roar he lifted his blade to the skies and started walking. Everyone around him followed and those in front were either pushed aside or ahead. Soon they were walking faster and then jogging. They shouted battle cries, and all raised their weapons. The demons sped up too, Dementia at their helm. The demons were twelve abreast along the bridge’s six lanes, with the enormous golden-brown structure rearing above them, framing their advance. They filled the walkways to either side too, so eagerly that some of their number was crowded and pushed over the side. They climbed the bridge’s enormous supports and crawled across the suspension cables.
Ken roared as he ran, Felicia at his side. He could hear Milo at his back. There was a resounding crunch at the front as both armies met. He slowed, but still collided with the man in front who came to a dead stop. There was no room.
No room to swing a sword.
Screams came from up front. Ken tried to thread a way through, but he was closer than he realized. The sheer force and number of demons was forcing the humans back, that and the fact that they had the slope. Humans were stabbed, trampled on and mauled. They were thrown over the side of the bridge. Ken saw a demonic face in front of him and stabbed past a man’s ear into the center of it.
He wrenched the sword back as the demon died.
The horde pushed. Men stumbled. The sound of gunfire filled the air. It became clear that one of the real problems they were facing in the crush was the ability to change mags quickly. Demons fell, but their brethren climbed over them or wrenched them apart. They never stopped coming.
Ken jabbed with the sword, utilizing every space he could whether it be head height, knee height or anything in between. Their purpose here had been to stop the advance, cripple it before it left the bridge, but it wasn’t happening.
He came face to face with a wayclearer and hacked at its tusks. It clawed for him, but he pulled away, headbutting the man behind. He was pushed into the next demon, a strong brute. The Lionheart blade was unhindered, so he used it to carve a hole through the creature. The blade thrummed in his hands, glowing slightly. It had been made for this. Its power traveled through the metal and into his arm, into his heart. It lit up his inner strength and determination and he began to swing, lopping off heads to left and right and cleaving skulls. Felicia was with him, still in human form due to the restrictive battle, and using two curved scimitars to great effect. Milo crushed and smashed at Ken’s right.
A space opened up around them. The demons slowed, some staggering away. Men were able to fall to their knees, aim and fire full volleys of bullets. Demons faltered and died. The vanguard of their march slowed to a crawl.
Ken pressed ahead. Felicia’s blades whirled, caught the sun and threw off curtains of blood. There was a flash to the right and then something horrific was there, right in his face.
Dementia.
“Youuuu killlled my brotherrrr . . .”
“Bitch,” Ken said. “Why don’t you just fuck off?”
He cleaved the air before her face, narrowly missing as she leapt back. He swung up but she had a sword of her own, catching his. A small space opened out as they fought. He forced her backward with Felicia and Milo close behind and dozens of cops surrounding them. She came at him with a flurry of thrusts; left, right and overhead.
Ken caught her high blow on his own blade. Their steel swords clashed on the Golden Gate Bridge, the pure sound ringing out over the rolling waters. Ken remembered a whim of hearing and seeing swords clashing on the Golden Gate as he helped protect his home.
It had come to pass.
Dementia snarled, her mouth so twisted one of her long fangs punctured her own cheek. Ken saw the blood flow and remembered it was poisonous.
Milo was yelling, screaming at the demon bitch that had killed Eliza. His fury was vented on every demon around her. By now, the demonic horde was in a steady retreat.
Ken jabbed and swung. Their swords bit at each other, producing sparks. Dementia was cut in four places. Ken wasn’t even tired. He pressed her, swinging blow after blow until she fell to her knees, sword upraised.
“A thing like you should never have been allowed to live,” he said.
He swung.
His sword struck hers and sent it bouncing away. His blade cleaved into her skull, sticking there. It entered only a few inches, so thick were her bones.
And still she looked up at him, licking her lips.
“Youuuu should have gone forrrr the—”
He struggled to pull the sword free, but Dementia rose with it still wedged in her head. She leapt at him, bearing him back and off his feet. He hit the ground hard, backbone bruised, this wild, malevolent, horrendous creature atop him, her head and the sword swinging wildly.
Elsewhere, demons were emboldened by her attack. They charged, backed by those behind that bayed for blood. Men fired their automatic weap
ons until the lead they sprayed became a constant stream in the air. Demons were hit, chunks of them flying everywhere. But more came. They overran the men and pushed on.
Ken struggled to hold Dementia at bay. Drool dripped from her ragged mouth and hit the asphalt, where it sizzled. Her entire body was atop him, her weight and strength holding him down. Her face grew closer until only a few inches separated them.
“Youuu arrre not worthy of my powerrrssss.”
He knew she was about to spit on him, spit right in his face with that acidic saliva of hers. It would be the last humiliation. He struggled with all his might but couldn’t move. The Lionheart blade waved and flashed above his head, but the irony was, he couldn’t reach it.
“Dieeee,” she hissed.
Demonic hooves and claws pounded by them as the demons charged, trying to force the humans off the bridge. Several fell beside Ken’s skull, but they didn’t help him. One fell over Dementia, but she held fast.
Ken stared vile death in the face.
A wicked scimitar-like blade cleaved Dementia’s face from the other side, passing straight through her skull and splitting through her nose. Ken saw it and then jerked his head aside, avoiding the blood. Dementia fell dead to the right. Ken was left staring up at Felicia.
The wolf held out a hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah, you took your time. I was holding her down for ages.”
Felicia smirked. “I didn’t want to interrupt whilst you two were . . . you know . . .”
Ken shuddered, then reached down and extracted his blade. “This time,” he said. “She doesn’t come back.”
With a heavy blow he sliced her head clean off its shoulders. They watched it roll, the terrible eyes still flashing, the ragged teeth grinding together, the bloodied feet drumming until all sense of life left the separated skull and body.
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