Tribulation

by Philip W Simpson

  “It doesn’t get any worse than this. It’s probably the worst crime there is. It was bad enough when the Grigori started having physical relationships with mortal women, let alone this.”

  “But I’m not even a full demon,” Sam protested. He didn’t get it. He really didn’t get it. Why would they do this to him? It wasn’t fair. It was never fair.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “They’ve made their decision. I can’t see you ever again. They consider this a huge favor just allowing me to say my goodbyes in person. In fact, I’m lucky apparently that I’m still an angel, lucky that I wasn’t cast down into the pit.”

  “I wish you would’ve been,” said Sam hotly. “At least that way, I could see you when I liked.”

  “Don’t say that, Sam. I know you’re angry but we have to face up to what we’ve done. I hate it just as much as you but I can’t do anything else.” She began to sob in misery.

  He couldn’t resist. He pulled her to him. They stayed like that for a long time, until she stopped crying.

  “We’ll find a way out of this,” he said. “I’ll talk to Gabriel. She’ll understand. She’ll help.”

  Aimi broke his embrace immediately. “Who do you think told me I couldn’t see you anymore? It was Gabriel and the other archangels who made this decision.”

  Sam was so shocked, his legs suddenly felt weak, almost giving way on him. He stumbled, the betrayal falling heavily upon him. Gabriel. She was meant to be his ally. Why had she done this to him? Suddenly, everything his father said was starting to make sense. Could he really trust those in Heaven?

  Aimi put her tiny arms around him again. “Goodbye, my love. I’ll watch over you. I’ll never stop watching you or loving you. We’ll always be together that way.”

  “No!” he said, pleading with her, desperate. He put his arms around her and squeezed, imagining in his desperation that if he hugged her tightly, she would never be able to leave him – never be able to escape. Somehow, she still slipped out of his grasp. Even when she was human, she’d been hard to hold on to. Before he could move, she was airborne, her beautiful wings outstretched.

  “I love you, Sam. I will always love you.”

  “No!” he screamed at her. “Don’t leave me. I’ve only just got you back. You can’t leave. It’s not fair!” But it was too late. She was gone, lost in the clouds.

  For a moment, he stood completely still, frozen in grief and despair. Then with anger so intense it made him feel cold, he drew his swords. He attacked the bush with more fury than he thought he was capable of, reducing it to scattered twigs. As he hacked at it, a low keening sound emerged from his throat. There were dead trees in the distance, the beginnings of the forest he had avoided. He sprinted towards them, chopping at the first one he reached with strokes so powerful they almost severed the thick trunks with one blow. The tree toppled. He ignored it and moved onto the next one and the next and the next, more effective than the most efficient lumberjack. As he hewed, he began to sob, the first time he had truly cried. He’d only cried once before, when Aimi had first been taken by the Rapture, but this was worse, much worse. Hikari had told him that demons didn’t possess tear ducts and it was true. As then, he cried tears of blood, the scarlet liquid once again streaming down his face.

  They ran down his sweatshirt and jeans, staining them. He didn’t care. He kept hacking away at the trees. Blisters formed on his hands. The blisters tore and bled. The blood ran down his hands and on to his blades so that every time he struck a tree, crimson would splatter over the dead wood.

  His rage was undiminished, his swords unblunted. It would take more punishment than this to wreck the edge of his blades. He chopped on, tireless, fueled by his anger. Hours passed … not that Sam was aware of the passage of time. Later, much later, he realized that he must have temporarily lost his mind.

  As night fell, the sound of chopping could still be heard reverberating amongst the dead trees of the forest.

  When he came to his senses, he was standing in a wasteland of dead wood. It was dawn. At first, he couldn’t remember what had happened. He blinked a couple of times against the morning light. His swords were still in his hands but his hands hurt. He didn’t know why.

  Hundreds of trees lay shattered about him as if a team of lumberjacks had worked furiously for a week. Sam looked down at his swords. With trembling hands, he raised them to eye level. Both were blunted and notched. How did that happen? Swords like his were not damaged easily. And then it came rushing back to him. Aimi. She was gone and he had been betrayed. He staggered and fell to one knee.

  He didn’t cry this time. Gradually, as he assimilated the memory, a cold anger grew in his heart, replacing whatever grief he had felt. He stood slowly, nodded once to himself and cast around for his backpack. Eventually he found it, buried under the remains of a thicket he’d sheltered under the previous day.

  He stalked back to the beginning of the forest and seated himself on one of the stumps he had created. Dipping into the side pocket of his backpack, he pulled out his whetstone and began sharpening his Katana with smooth, rhythmic strokes, his blank gaze staring at nothing in the middle distance. Sharpening his swords always calmed him, clearing his mind and giving him space for ordered thought.

  He started to feel better straight away. The dried blood on his hands flaked off as he worked, revealing fresh scars. He must’ve really given his hands a work out to inflict damage like this. The injuries were an anomaly though – one that he couldn’t really explain. The hilts of his swords were made from steel, not iron. In theory, the steel couldn’t harm him so why the damage? It had happened before and usually he set the problem aside as something to think about when he had less pressing matters to attend to. For some reason, this train of thought suddenly appealed to him. He knew it was a distraction, something to occupy his mind so he didn’t dwell on current events but he didn’t care.

  Hikari had helped train not only his body but his mind. To attack problems with the same vigor as he would in one of his martial training regimes. Hikari had often advocated the theory of Occam’s razor – the simplest and most likely explanation was usually the correct one.

  There were two most likely explanations. The first was the proximity of the iron. His hands were only separated from it by a fraction of an inch. The other explanation was that repeated impacts – and he was talking about hundreds or even thousands – could still damage him over time, even if it wasn’t iron. It was something to think about.

  These thoughts and the monotonous, repetitive task were soothing. He started to feel back in control, more rational. Reluctantly, he considered his current problem. It was monumental – a real doozy. What was he going to do? He’d only just got Aimi back and suddenly, she was taken from him again. What were Gabriel and Heaven playing at? Weren’t they his ally? Didn’t they give Aimi back to him to keep his favor? Perhaps they had and perhaps and then again perhaps not. He couldn’t let his father’s insidious words influence him though. Satan was known as the father of lies for a reason.

  He thought about what had happened to the Grigori. God had punished them, banishing them from Heaven because of their conduct with human women. And they had been angels like Aimi. What the two of them had done was worse, in theory. Aimi hadn’t just loved a mortal human, she had loved a demon. Or half of one. In Heaven’s eyes, it probably made no difference. Sam knew that Heaven could not overlook such a trespass. It had to be punished even if it was just for form’s sake.

  Just like Hikari had taught him, he examined the issue from every angle. What should’ve happened is that Aimi should have been banished, just like the Grigori - perhaps even stripped of her Angelic status. Either way, Sam would’ve been happy. He would have got his Aimi back. But clearly, this was not in the best interests of Heaven. They wanted to keep Aimi close, but why? There had to be a rational explanation. Surely the reason couldn’t be to antagonize him? That just didn’t make any sense. Or did they think they could hold Aimi host
age in exchange for his obedience? What obedience? He was already doing what his heart and soul compelled him to do – help the innocents. What else did they want from him? Sam didn’t understand. Try as he might, he couldn’t get to the truth.

  He drew in a great breath of air and let it out slowly, releasing some of the pain and frustration he felt. Whatever the reason, Heaven had antagonized them at a time when he suspected they needed him the most. Wasn’t he about to go into battle with the Antichrist and his forces again?

  There was something he could do, something he always did when the burden and weight of who he was became too much: the mindlessness of pure physical exertion.

  Both swords were sharpened now, their edges now restored through sheer determination and hard work. He hadn’t even noticed moving on to the Wakizashi. He felt suddenly ashamed. He loved his swords more than most anything else and he felt horrified that he had dishonored them in such a way. To be used like a common axe was unforgiveable. He swore to himself that no matter what happened, he would never treat his blades in such a way again.

  Replacing the whetstone, he put his backpack back on and sheathed both swords. The interstate was only a few hundred feet away. He set off, quickly accelerating to a fast jog. He’d exorcise his inner demons with flat-out exhaustion. The thought amused him slightly, quirking one of his lips up for a moment. Then he ran and ran, with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy. His endurance had always been much greater than any normal human and he was going to test its limits. It was daylight but he didn’t care. He needed this.

  A battered sign told him Harrisburg was thirty five miles distance. It took him just over two hours; if anything, he was probably increasing his pace. Despite the light, he felt strong, his anger fueling him. He didn’t actually go through the city itself. It was probably a bit risky to enter it even though in his state of mind, he felt like a fight. A city this large would probably have its share of demon worshippers. He just didn’t want to slow down, wanting to keep going, to temper his body against this anvil that was the road.

  Something else compelled him. A sense of urgency. He wanted to reach New York. Knew he had to reach it as soon as possible. Something was happening there and it was where he needed to be too.

  The interstate took him through the outlying towns around Harrisburg without incident. He could see the city in the distance. Black smoke rose from some of the taller buildings, a firestorm probably igniting whatever was left to burn. Some miles behind him, he sensed something, now recognizing them immediately – the Devil’s Hand. They were definitely on his trail. He smiled grimly. Let them come. They would have to catch him first and fight him on his terms.

  He crossed another riverbed. From the looks of it, the river – whatever its name, Sam could find no helpful signage – had once been mighty. The dried riverbed was a few hundred feet wide, once home to what must have been a great torrent of water. Whatever was left was diseased and dirty. A fetid odor rose from it, so bad that Sam increased his pace even more to outrun the stench.

  By nightfall, he had reached the outskirts of Allentown. The interstate would take him directly through the city but at the last instant, some instinct warned him against it. The city screamed trap. He sensed many demons within.

  He veered off, following highway 78, heading south east. He’d been running for several hours now, without rest or drink or food. Still he persevered and would have done so for many more hours if it hadn’t been for what happened next.

  Out of the dark sky came another winged figure. Sam knew immediately who it - or he - was, and finally stopped just out of curiosity, a strange feeling after running for so long. The exercise hadn’t taxed him. He was hardly out of breath.

  The figure was winging its way closer. The last time Sam had seen him was just before he’d departed for Hell to rescue Grace. Another unexpected visitor. Strange how the mere mention of the Grigori earlier had seemed to summon him. Sam was indeed quite popular lately. If that didn’t tell him that events were moving apace, then nothing did.

  Samyaza dropped to the ground several feet from Sam, impossibly elegant. Sam hadn’t seen angels make such a gracious entrance. The Grigori folded his glossy black wings onto his back and crossed the distance between them on long, slim legs. The black leather pants reflected what little light there was, shimmering as he moved. Naked from the waist upwards, his lean, muscled and hairless torso gleamed like polished ivory.

  He stopped within arm’s reach of Sam and smiled, his perfect teeth flashing, his handsome face the epitome of allurement. Unconsciously, Sam returned the smile, not as immune to Samyaza’s charms as he would have expected or hoped. “Samyaza. What brings you here?”

  “You, as it happens,” said the Watcher, smiling easily. His head suddenly darted in a direction just over Sam’s shoulder. For a moment, he looked slightly shocked. This was swiftly replaced by an expression that Sam could only describe as calculating. The Watcher looked at him sharply. “You do know what follows you?”

  Sam shrugged nonchalantly, trying to out-cool this impossibly suave creature. “The Devil’s Hand, if I’m not much mistaken.”

  The Watcher nodded. “They are still some distance away but I will keep this short. The longer you delay here, the closer they become. I’ll cut to the chase – I know what the Powers That Be have done with Aimi – with the two of you. And with what was between you.”

  Sam gritted his teeth and said nothing.

  “I, of all … people, feel your pain,” he continued. “I know what it is like to love and then have it taken from you.”

  “Get to the point,” said Sam, tight-lipped. He really didn’t want to discuss the matter with a Grigori.

  “Very well. This may be hard to hear but it is what it is.” The Watcher took a breath as if gathering his thoughts. Sam hadn’t seen him do that before. It would seem that Samyaza had something of importance to impart. “Gabriel has made a pact with Satan.”

  The Grigori watched Sam carefully for a reaction. He was destined to be disappointed, however. Sam now had a tight rein on his emotions. Outwardly at least. Inwardly, his thoughts were awhirl. He should’ve expected this. How could he have trusted Gabriel? Irritatingly, his father had been right after all. Even though his heart was thudding rapidly in his chest, no expression betrayed him. He wouldn’t give Samyaza the satisfaction though. Like his angelic and demonic relatives, Samyaza could be infuriatingly smug. Perhaps that was how all these creatures treated mortals, even mortals like Sam …

  “The pact involved the Anti-Christ and the false prophet. The deal is that when Christ returns at the end of the Tribulation in three and a half years’ time, both these creatures will be sent to the deepest pit in Hell, to the eternal lake of fire, there to remain for all eternity, with no hope of escape. You are familiar with this?”

  He was indeed. It was in the Bible although interestingly, it was the first time he’d heard talk about the false prophet. Sam knew that the prophet was meant to rise with the Anti-Christ but if he was around, he was keeping a low profile so far.

  “But the real key point of the pact involves the identity of the Anti-Christ. As you know, both you and your brother had the potential to take the place at your father’s side. You were the rightful heir, having defeated your brother so therefore, you are, for all intents and purposes, the Anti-Christ.”

  Sam opened his mouth to protest but the Grigori held up one hand. “Yes. I am well aware you declined, thereby infuriating your father for all time but that is as may be. Heaven and Hell are all about the wording, especially when it comes to contracts or pacts. Often they adhere to the letter rather than the spirit of the law. And the wording here is clear. The Antichrist. That could be interpreted as your brother … or you.”

  Sam digested this, feeling the cold anger grow again inside him. Gabriel was playing a dangerous game. This was the second time she had betrayed him. Once, he could forgive, but twice? He said nothing though, for fear that his anger would betray him, mu
ch like her.

  “So the Antichrist will be sent to the eternal lake of fire when Christ returns,” continued Samyaza. “That’s plural. Antichrists.”

  Sam marveled at Gabriel’s double-dealing, but he had to admire the plan. Like most great plans, it was simplicity itself. Sam was always going to be a thorn in Heaven’s side after the return of Christ. What were they meant to do with him? He wasn’t welcome in Heaven and he simply could not be allowed to remain on the Earth when Jesus created his thousand year kingdom of paradise. It would just be embarrassing having a half-demon around. And they couldn’t just send him to Hell. He’d shown he was easily capable of transporting himself out of there. So there was only one place left: the eternal lake of fire at the bottom of the deepest pit in Hell. Only one place was worse – the bottomless pit where his father would be confined for a thousand years, and they couldn’t send him there. That was reserved for Daddy only.

  Sam was at a loss. The betrayal was complete. What had he done to deserve this treatment? He’d lost everyone he cared for in the Rapture. Not only that, but he’d done everything Gabriel had asked of him, battling the Antichrist and demons, thwarting his father and rescuing what innocents he could. Why wasn’t that enough? Why would she punish him after that?

  “So, what does my father get out of this? Why would he want both sons in the lake?”

  “I believe Gabriel offered him certain … concessions, in exchange for his agreement. I don’t know what they were, but the inducement must have been considerable.”

  “This doesn’t change anything,” said Sam, the words sounding more noble than they had to right to do. “It doesn’t change who I am. I’m not suddenly going to stop doing what I’m doing. Just because Heaven doesn’t keep its word, doesn’t mean I don’t have to.” He spat the words out like ashes. He meant it, too. Damn Hell and his father and damn Gabriel and Heaven too. He’d do what he did best, what he always did – take care of himself.