Tribulation

by Philip W Simpson

  The remaining demons immediately fell upon him. With an expression that any witnesses would have interpreted as pleasurable, Sam drew both swords. The weapons almost leapt into his hand, eager to be about their business.

  Above, the lethal barrage of iron fire ceased raining down and the demons advanced more confidently. At first, Sam dare not look above, guessing that the gunner would not risk inflicting friendly fire, but then the noise of the rotors changed. He glanced upwards. Both Blackhawks were besieged by Astaroth, clearly preoccupied with the new threat. The pair veered off and disappeared from view, relentlessly pursued by the flying demons. Sam was alone.

  The first demons to reach him were Lemure. He destroyed them with quick, efficient strikes of his swords, so quickly that they had no time to react. The four remaining Horned demons were a completely different kettle of fish, not to be dismissed as easily. Horned demons were never killed easily. Sam didn’t exactly fear them, but he was certainly wary. Their giant limbs – bigger and more powerful even than an Astaroth’s - deserved respect. They lumbered towards Sam, their stupid goat-like faces frozen in snarling rage, lowering their ram horns as they charged.

  The first one reached him a fraction of a second before the others, raising its weapon in one of its huge arms. Sam ducked under the enormous stone mallet that swept down upon him and then leapt straight upwards. His Katana speared out, taking the Horned demon in the side of its throat, a place where Sam knew its armor did not reach.

  It disappeared while Sam was still in midair. He landed and rolled, scything out with both blades in a wide arc before him. The blades bit into the lower legs of the next charging Horned demon. Roaring, it toppled to the ground, shaking and splitting the tiles with the impact of its fall. Sam only just got out of the way in time, lunging sideways, forgetting that it would only be a death blow that would banish these demons back to Hell. The demon was out of the fight but it wasn’t dead. Yet.

  The momentary distraction cost him dearly. The stone mallet of the third Horned demon smashed into his side. It was only a glancing blow, some instinct shifting his body slightly just before impact, but it was enough to crack what felt like every rib in his body. The impact blasted him sideways into the low stone balustrade of the balcony, almost toppling him over. He righted himself desperately, clutching his injured side with the fist holding his smaller blade, breathing heavily. He could already feel his ribs knitting together, but he needed more time.

  The two demons still in the fight advanced upon him, only a few feet away. Still injured and backed up against the wall, Sam had nowhere to retreat to. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He sheathed both swords and yanked out one of the grenades, ignoring the burning sensation as his naked flesh made contact with the iron casing. He pulled the pin and dropped it at his feet and then vaulted the wall. As he floated over it, he grasped the lip with one hand, praying for the best.

  The grenade detonated at the exact same time as he slammed into the side of the building, both impacts very nearly forcing him to lose his grip which would have hurled him from the face of the wall. He sensed the deaths of the Horned demons and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. It seemed someone - other than Gabriel - still cared about him up there. If the Horned demons hadn’t have succumbed, he really would’ve been in trouble.

  He took a couple of moments to consider his position. Thirty two floors up. Dangling one-handed off the side of a building. It was just as well he wasn’t scared of heights. Below him, the battle between the Resistance and those who followed the Antichrist continued, screams and roars of rage echoed up to wear he hung. He could clearly see an adjacent building that had just started to burn, fires licking out of the windows. The Blackhawk helicopters had disappeared. He couldn’t even hear them and he silently wished them well. If anyone could survive, it would be Adam and Grace. They were the true survivors in this world.

  Grunting with the pain, he hauled himself back up and over the balcony wall, scuttling as quickly as he could towards the only door leading into the building. It was locked but he managed to manipulate it with his telekinesis, sliding the bolt back from the other side.

  Inside, he found himself alone with two options: take the door to the right or use the stairs and head upwards. His demonic intuition told him that there were several demons above him, including a mind familiar to him. Using his glamor to disguise his presence, he crept up the stairs. Thankfully, his side no longer ached, his ribs almost completely healed even in the short amount of time that had elapsed since he’d been wounded. He checked the countdown on his watch.

  8 minutes.

  The stairs doubled back on him twice. Eventually, he reached another landing. He listened at the fire door. Nothing. Cautiously, he opened it. The space was clearly some form of anteroom – narrow and featureless with a few scattered chairs and high, full-length windows that allowed the light of the blood red moon full access. Save for himself, there were no other living creatures present.

  Large, double doors made of heavily embossed bronze stood closed at the far end of the room. He crept in that direction, his senses guiding him. So far, this had been too easy. Highly suspicious in itself.

  7 minutes.

  He listened at the door and heard muffled voices. Taking a deep breath and bowing to the inevitable, he tugged on the bronze handles. Both doors slid open on oiled hinges. Sam stepped through and found himself in a large, richly appointed chamber, with large windows overlooking the nearby buildings.

  He was not alone.

  In a huge leather chair behind a heavy mahogany desk sat a figure that Sam hoped never to see again - his brother, Semiazias. The Antichrist. Flanking him were the two most beautiful women Sam had ever seen. His heart skipped a beat before accelerating like a race horse out of the traps. Immediately, he knew what they were and with strength he didn’t know he possessed, he tore his eyes from them. Succubi. Other than their tiny horns, they resembled human females. And not just any human females; impossibly beautiful ones that had the power to seduce with just their looks. He’d encountered them before and knew he was almost powerless to resist them.

  He continued to look around carefully, much to his brother’s apparent amusement, reaching out with his senses. Wall sconces, once containing lights powered by conventional means, now contained flickering flames, casting uncertain light about the room. In the shadows, there seemed to be something else. For some reason, Sam couldn’t see or sense whatever it was properly. He dismissed it as unimportant for now. He was more interested in whether his brother had an escape route. If this room or any nearby was a desecrated church, then Semiazias had an out. So far, he was unable to detect any trace of such a place.

  Sam, though, had been expected.

  “Hello, brother,” sneered Semiazias. “What kept you?”

  Sam made a show of looking at his watch. 6 minutes until the airstrike. “Been busy. Had an appointment with an old friend. You might know him. Joshua – or as everyone else around here calls him – the Prophet.”

  Semiazias leant back in his chair, smiling broadly, displaying dazzlingly bright teeth. It was funny seeing that expression on such a familiar face. Semiazias was his identical twin after all. The Succubi mirrored the expression of their master, one caressing his shoulders, the other his hair.

  “And what did the Prophet want with you, then?”

  It was Sam’s turn to smile. “He wanted me to kill you.”

  Sam had expected his brother’s smile to at least falter, if not vanish entirely, but he was disappointed on both counts. If anything, his leer broadened.

  “Well, good for him. He really had come a long way from that sniveling little boy a few short years ago. I think spending time in Hell really nurtured him. Was good for him, even. Look at him now – prepared to throw me under the bus to achieve his own ends. You’ve got to admire that, really.”

  This was an unexpected response from his brother. He didn’t seem concerned or surprised.

 
“So you don’t care that your supposed ally has turned against you?” he asked, slightly bewildered.

  “Of course not,” replied Semiazias affably. “I knew what he was planning and I’ve taken steps to avoid it. Besides, our father and I have got plans for him. And you, by the way.” He suddenly clicked his fingers. “How rude of me. I haven’t done the introductions. These two ladies here – and I’m taking liberties with the definition of lady here, of course – are my personal assistants, Lilith and Naamah. Say hello, ladies.”

  Both Succubi smiled at Sam. He ignored them, knowing from personal experience what their smiles could do to him. His brother watched him carefully, smirking all the while.

  “You really should get a couple of your own, Samael. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

  “No thanks,” said Sam, gritting his teeth.

  “Do you like my choice of art, by the way?” continued Semiazias easily, pointing behind him with one languid hand. “Liberated it from the Met. It’s The Sacrifice, from The Satanic Ones by Felicien Rops. It’s a pretty invigorating feeling when you know everything in a city belongs to you. That the city is yours. I can take what I want. In fact, my followers enjoy the same good fortune. It’s a pity that that small band - they call themselves the Resistance, don’t they? Haven’t seen the light, so to speak. Making trouble, setting fires. Although I have to admit, we’ve set a few of our own too. I believe they’re out there right now, stirring up mischief. If it wasn’t for them, this city would be a fabulous place to live.”

  On the wall behind his brother was a smallish black and white etching. It featured a demonic presence floating over a partially nude woman. She was lying on some sort of sacrificial altar. Other, smaller flying demons floated nearby, appearing to gloat.

  “Good, isn’t it? Kind of reminds me of our mother.”

  Sam felt his anger building but controlled it, knowing full-well that this whole exchange had been engineered for precisely this purpose. His brother was trying to goad him. But to what end? So that Sam would attack him? Something started to niggle in the back of his mind. What was in the shadows?

  He breathed out slowly and surreptitiously checked his watch. 4 minutes. “So, let’s get on with it, shall we, brother? You know why I’m here. To finish what we started three years ago.”

  Semiazias nodded slowly as if acknowledging the truth of what Sam was saying. “Of course. I knew you were coming. I’ve also got no inclination to have a repeat performance of our last encounter.”

  Semiazias suddenly gestured around the room. What had been obscured was suddenly made clear. “You know everyone else, I think. The Devil’s Hand have already made your acquaintance and are very keen to get to know you better.”

  The five Cambions emerged from the shadows, their presence now clear in Sam’s mind. In a move that appeared almost rehearsed, they lowered their heads towards Sam, seemingly in a gesture of respect.

  Sam should have known. Should have at least guessed that the Devil’s Hand still had a part to play in this. They had, after all, been charged by his father to kill him. He felt an urge to check his watch again, knowing that at least another minute had elapsed. It was too obvious to check the time though. His brother would suspect something. Instead, Sam began counting down in his head.

  “I think they have something of a grudge against you now,” continued Semiazias conversationally. “Especially after you killed two of them. Oh – and your pet Hellhound didn’t help either. Seems he was a bit of an inconvenience. Caused them to lose your trail for a bit there. Not that it wasn’t sorted out in the end. I don’t think your Hellhound will be around anymore to help you out. They made sure of that.”

  Sam felt his rage building at that. If the jibe about their mother hadn’t hit home, this certainly had. Yeth had been his only friend and these creatures, had killed him. They would pay. Oh yes. They would pay alright. He let his rage take over, enjoying the sensation as his eyes turned red. He had something like less than three minutes until the airstrike. Three minutes to hurt these demons as much as he could. In three minutes, the smirk on his brother’s face would be wiped off forever.

  “Come on then,” he snarled, drawing his swords.

  The Devil’s Hand didn’t need a second invitation. They advanced, their faces grim, both male and female with swords already in their hands. His brother and the two Succubi looked on, appearing to enjoy the spectacle, much like sports fans at a game. Sam thought he recognized two of the Cambions, marking them for the ones he had already killed. They would be the stronger ones – the two he would have to watch.

  Their tactics were simple but also incredibly effective. The moved to surround him, to attack him from all angles, making it all but impossible for him to defend. They hadn’t counted on his whirlwind attack though – an attack specifically designed for this scenario. They weren’t aware of it – how could they be having never encountered it before? And they were supremely confident in their abilities. Why wouldn’t they be? Even if they failed this time, they could come back at him again and again. Death was no hindrance for them. It would, on the other hand, be a severe setback for Sam.

  Unbidden, the words of Miyamoto Musashi came to him, words that applied to situations just like this: There are many enemies applies when you are fighting one against many. Draw both sword and companion sword and assume a wide-stretched left and right attitude. The spirit is to chase the enemies around from side to side, even though they come from all four directions.

  He moved faster than he ever had in his life. Desperation lent him more strength and speed than he’d thought possible. And what had the Watcher told him? That he had more power than he knew. Perhaps it was time to show it – to truly embrace his heritage and the power that it entailed. It was time to even the odds.

  The move was devastating. To the human eye, Sam was a whirling dervish, both swords almost invisible, seemingly everywhere at once. Sam felt both blades bite deep – his Katana straight through the torso of one of the Cambions, while his Wakizashi almost decapitated a second. Both demons disappeared. Neither one of them were the ones he’d killed before. Worse luck.

  He straightened, feeling drained and sluggish. The great exertion had cost him. Sensing his weakness, the three remaining Cambions attacked together – two from either side and one from the rear. The one to his left – a female - seemed just that much slower than the others. He blocked her attack with one of his shorter blade, sweeping it to the side and plunged his Katana through her eye. She had time to emit one shriek before she disappeared.

  The move didn’t come without a price. He danced away, spinning, sensing the attacks, but his arms felt heavy. A blade slashed through his upper arm, all the way through to the bone. Immediately, he felt the deadly draining effect from the hell-blade. That was from the male Cambion. The sword carried on down on an angle, leaving a bloody trail across his body, ripping open his hoodie all the way to his waist. He felt and then heard something drop from his pocket and onto the floor. His last remaining frag. Sam’s attention was distracted for the briefest of moments. It was all the time the other Cambion needed. The female suddenly spun on her heel. As she did so, she crouched down. In Sam’s weakened state, it was an attack that was impossible to resist.

  Her blade bit through both of his shins. He cried out in pain and staggered, barely deflecting another blow that would’ve taken off his head otherwise, casting around desperately for his lost grenade. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it, rolling towards his brother’s desk, just as one of the Succubi (was it Lilith? – he couldn’t be sure) bent down to pick it up.

  Sam knew he only had seconds remaining. Seconds before the airstrike. Seconds before the last two remaining members of the Devil’s Hand finished him off. Either way, he’d be dead. Sam leapt backwards, mustering as much energy as he could, giving himself as much space as he could between them.

  Over the shoulders of the two advancing Cambions, he saw the Succubi lift up his grenade and smile
at him, gloating. She mouthed the words ‘Looking for this?’ at him.

  He could hardly lift his swords now; his life blood was leaving him, draining onto the expensive rug. He felt nauseous. The two Cambions were raising their swords, smiling in anticipation of the kill. Somewhere outside, he heard a roar and he knew what it was - knew that it spelled death.

  Despite his weakness, he reached out with his mind, feeling for the object, willing it to move with all his might. At the last second, his brother realized what he was doing. His eyes went wide with terror.

  “No!” Semiazias bellowed, lunging for the Succubi and the object she held in her hand. The she-demon turned towards the noise of her master, missing the fact that the pin on the grenade she was holding had somehow … fallen out.

  Both Cambions also turned at the noise. Sam realized an opportunity when he saw one. Lunging as fast as he was able, he hurled himself through the wall-length window, just as the frag detonated. As he flew out the window, surrounded by a rapidly expanding cloud of glass shards, a much larger detonation suddenly erupted, the shockwave kicking with the force of what felt like an elephant landing on him.

  The ground was lurching up towards him at terrifying velocity. Even in his losing battle with consciousness, he knew there was iron beneath him. The impact would kill him. There was no doubt in his mind. As he tumbled and fell, Sam started to smile. It had been worth it though. Some good had come of this. At least he’d killed his brother.

  The thought comforted him as he plummeted to his death. Other faces appeared in his head: Aimi, his mother, Hikari, Yeth, Grace, his father and brother. All the people he’d saved. Those he considered friends. Where he was going, he wasn’t going to see any of them ever again. He doubted whether the eternal sea of fire encouraged visitors.

  As he lost consciousness, he realized his mind must have been playing tricks on him because he felt hands on him. Hands that were soft but incredibly strong. Hands that lifted him up, carrying him gently towards the clouds that raged and boiled above.