by Roy Bright
“Because they know, Judas. War is coming. Something huge and unstoppable, far beyond the abilities of even Heaven’s finest warriors – they will be powerless to stop it. They have been working in secret, trying to find a way without using the likes of me. They are fools. Powerless. Lying and deceitful. Making you believe that your quest was unjust, untrue.
He shakes his head. “No. You are lying. The Council would never do that. Jesus would never do that to me. This is a lie.”
Azazel cackles “Is it really? Are you sure I’m lying?”
Judas takes a few steps into the darkness toward the voice. His eyes narrow, his brow furrowed. “You know something, don’t you? Tell me what you know demon.”
Azazel laughs again with gusto. “I know a great many things, Judas. Maybe that was a little white lie about your Council, although even if they were aware of what now comes they wouldn’t be able to stop it. But you can. You can, Judas, if you would only cease being weak, afraid, useless – if only you would defeat me.”
A loud hiss spikes out from behind a wall a short distance behind him and he whips around to face it. The hiss stops, leaving an eerie and deafening silence. One that worries him – he takes a couple of steps back, frowning, aware that something isn’t right.
The wall explodes and the dragon-serpent tears through it, bearing down on him.
Judas wastes no time. He turns and bolts away from it, blazing through the maze corridors, the sound of laughter pursuing him. Hurrying through, he changes direction again and again, praying that he does not run into another dead end. His luck holds and he is presented with continuous open passageways, but his anxiety continues to rise as he feels the presence of Azazel at his back and has to keep checking behind him to make sure the demon is not inches away, ready to devour him.
At last he charges into a clearing at the heart of the maze, with only one way in… and one way out. Cursing aloud, he turns to head back but stops just as Azazel snakes his way around a corner toward him.
“End of the line, Iscariot. This is where it ends. Or begins.”
He screams, deep and guttural, clenching his hands into fists, his teeth bared. “What do you mean, Azazel? What does all this fucking mean?”
“You came here for a reason, you came here to claim me, to use me in the fight but you are not worthy. You are not capable of figuring out how to defeat me, how to wield me, and as such this is your demise. Unless you can find the solution… just… in… time.” He laughs, continuing his advance.
Judas backs away, annoyed that he is unarmed. “I have no weapon; I cannot fight you.”
“Fight me? Who ever said anything about fighting me?” His laugh deepens as he rises, towering over him, preparing to strike.
“YOU DID!” Judas screams, with anger burned into his face. “You said that I must fight you if I am to—”
Judas stops. His eyes open wide. His pupils dilate, and his mind makes the connection. He understands. In all the fighting, running, and pandering to the demon’s visions, he had failed to see the simplicity of it all, the knowledge that was staring him right in the face, information that Azazel had been continuously reminding him of. He was here to claim the weapon, not fight it. He was here to become its master, not learn how to wield it. The demon sword would obey his commands, bend to his will, but he must claim it. No – that wasn’t right. Not claim it. Wanting it was not enough, it wasn’t the whole of it. He had to will it to him, to bring it into his reality, to connect it to him. He must—”
He holds his right hand up into the air, his palm to Azazel and, taking a deep breath, shouts. “I claim you. I claim you by naming. I name thee… Ikazuchi, Sword of Thunder.”
Azazel opens his mouth wide and thousands of razor-sharp teeth glisten, beading with saliva. He roars as he powers down and devours Judas.
***
Samael is bored. He has been sat here, waiting, for almost five days and although time does not pass at the same rate for angels as it does for humans, it has still been a grueling and tiresome task. He has tried to pass the time by inventing little games, and now he is in the throes of his latest project. Rock stacking. So far, he has built an impressive if uneven eight-foot tower and as he prepares to place his largest piece yet, he stops, his attention drawn to the mouth of the cave. He ceases the gentle flapping of his wings, hovering above the tower of stone, and eases himself down to the ground. He walks toward the cave entrance.
A lone figure steps out and walks toward him. As he clears the entrance he stops and raises his right arm, brandishing a huge and powerful sword. His wings open from his back, wings that are no longer pure white, but have begun to turn black. He screams at the top of his voice, “Ikazuchi!”
Samael smiles and whispers, Welcome back brother, I knew you could do it.
Judas lowers the sword and stares at it.
It speaks to him. “There is much we must discuss, Iscariot. There is much that I must tell you before we depart for the White Kingdom.
Judas takes a deep breath and nods.
Two demons stand on a large outcropping of rock behind and above Samael, their presence undetected.
The smaller of the two turns to the other larger demon. “What does this mean, Lord Astaroth?”
The Demon Lord and Commander of ‘The Infernal’, Lucifer’s Special Forces, turns and walks away.
The smaller demon glances back at the two men below, then sets off to follow his master. “My Lord? Please, what does this mean?”
“It means,” he says, without looking at him, “that it has begun.”
He opens up a portal and they step through it.
Thirty-One
“Miss Hope,” Colonel Taylor says striding toward her, his right hand outstretched, “it is my absolute pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you Colonel, it’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Charlotte says, shaking his hand.
“Please, call me Nathan. I can’t be having the daughter of God thinking that I outrank her now, can I?” he smiles.
She smiles back at him, then offers a small laugh. “Well, Nathan, I don’t outrank anyone, I’m not military, and, well – I’m just a person.”
“Quite,” he replies, smiling, raising his eyebrows a little.
“I also insist that you call me Charlotte. Since we are now on first name terms that is.”
He nods and offers her a seat. “I hope you have been treated well by my facility staff?”
“Umm, yeah, very well, no problems here.” She looks toward Gary who nods in silent agreement.
“That’s good to hear. May I offer you a drink, a particularly lovely bourbon perhaps?”
She is about to answer when Gary interjects.
“Er, she’s not 21 yet, she’s only 18… apparently,” he throws her a sarcastic look, “so no booze for this one. Maybe a nice cup of tea!”
She is about to protest when Nathan laughs. “Of course. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Don’t bother,” she says, half-smiling, “I’m not really a tea sort of girl.”
Colonel Taylor nods and smiles.
“I’ll take a shot of bourbon though,” Gary says, sitting forward in his chair. “Since you asked that is.”
“No problem,” he says, getting up and moving toward an open drinks cabinet. He pours Gary a bourbon and hands it to him.
Charlotte stares at him, mouth open a little, her head to one side.
“Oh, stop pouting,” he says, grinning, “you wouldn’t like it anyway.” Taking the drink, he swirls it around in the glass, then smells it, drawing in its smoky aroma. “Hmmm, so good. It has been an age since I had a good drink. Everything we have scavenged was hyper-market bullshit, nothing as nice as this.”
“Well, that’s the finest Kentucky bourbon, Four Roses, one of the best, an American tradition.”
Gary screws up his face. “Don’t the Japanese own this now?”
“Drink your whiskey, Detective Cross,” the Colonel says, laughing.
> Gary takes a sip. He closes his eyes, relishing the flavor, and then swallows. “Man, I don’t care who makes it, that’s good whiskey right there.”
Nathan takes a seat in one of his standard office chairs across from Charlotte and sets his own glass down on a small table between them.
Gary follows suit, taking a seat to the right of her.
Nathan reaches into his top right pocket and pulls out a cigar. “You mind?” he says, looking at them each in turn.
Both shake their heads.
He smiles, lights it, and sits back in his chair, drawing in the thick smoke. His eyes widen as he realizes he is neglecting his hospitality duties and motions to his pocket, looking at Gary.
He shakes his head. “No thanks. Not a smoker.” He smiles.
Nathan offers him a small smile and nod of his head, then turns his attention toward Charlotte. “So, what are your plans, how long do you intend to stay with us?”
“In honesty, Nathan, I’m not sure. My, er, dad is off on a mission right now. He thinks he has found a way to stop the war that’s coming.”
“God is off on a mission?” Nathan asks, his eyebrows raised.
She laughs. “Umm, no, not God, he’s my father. I mean my stepdad, Judas.”
“Ahh, the infamous super-human Judas Iscariot, the Hero of Tonada.”
She smiles. “You make him sound like Bruce Willis.”
“Well, your stepdad is someone else that I would very much like to meet as I am sure he would be of great value to our team.”
She looks down a little, fiddling with her hands. The corner of her mouth twitches, as though attempting a smile, and then she looks back up. “At the time he was just a man, admittedly an immortal man, but a man nevertheless.” She shifts in her seat. “He saved me in more ways than I can say. But to be frank, Nathan, Judas will never be here to ‘join your team’; his involvement is so much greater than anything you could put him to use for.”
“Greater than the survival of the people who trust in me?”
“Yeah. Like the survival of everyone on the planet, including those that trust in you.”
He ponders for a moment, drawing on his cigar, and sitting back in his chair. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, you are quite right. Yours and Judas’s missions are none of my business or anyone else’s for that matter. It’s just that these people… well, all of us, in fact, have been without hope for the last few years. To finally have you here means so much to us.”
She attempts to smile but resorts to lowering her head again.
Nathan leans forward and flicks a big chunk of ash into an ashtray on the table, then sits back. “I’ll be honest with you: I am a tad lost with all of this.”
“Oh, how so?” she says, looking up.
“Well, my understanding was that you were about seven when the incident occurred. That was only a couple of years ago, so how can you be sat in front of me as a woman?”
“Ahh,” Gary says, with a crooked smile. “You are fishing to know whether we are full of shit or not.”
“No, Gary, I am not – seriously, I’m not,” he replies, sitting forward once again. “I whole heartedly believe that you are who you say you are. After all, I saw her defeat a horde of those bastards in the city, and she is clearly wielding the power of God. No, what I’m getting at is how someone goes from age seven to 18 in a couple of years.”
“Days,” she says, with a smile. “It was actually seven to 18 in a matter of days, in this reality at least. It was my dad’s… Judas’ idea, you see. He wanted me to enjoy a normal life before the horrors of saving the world were to be placed on my shoulders. He didn’t think it was right that my only childhood experiences were constant battles against demons, so he took me off into a world created for me by the big boys up above,” she motions upward, “and allowed me to have a life he thought I deserved. Not to mention implement his own little agenda.” She chuckles. “He’s always rocking an angle that one.”
“Training,” Nathan says, smiling. “He took you off to train you, as well as let you have your childhood?”
“Yep,” she says, nodding, “he killed a lot of birds with one stone that way. And in that place, the time dilation allowed me to age and return to our time as you see me now.”
Nathan reaches for his glass and takes a sip then sets it back down on the table.
“Interesting. Very interesting. So, what’s your plan? How long will you stay?” He looks at them both.
Gary shakes his head. “We don’t know to be honest. As Charley says, we are waiting to hear back from Judas and see what it is he plans to do. Could be days, could be weeks, could be hours. You never know with him, he just kinda does his thing.”
Nathan ponders for a moment, then asks, “Well, no matter how long you’re staying, would you find it in your hearts to meet our residents? Take a while to talk with them, not just the few you have already met – maybe you could hold a rally of some kind? Please? These people need their spirits lifting and they would welcome that from you.” He smiles at her and then turns toward Gary. “From both of you, you are both heroes to these people and—”
The ground shakes with incredible force, so much so that it causes the glasses to lift off the table and into the air and other items to fall off the shelves.
No one speaks.
Gary looks at Charlotte who shakes her head.
The ground thunders again, this time with more force. It is as though something shunts it from below. Another gigantic quake hits the room and more objects fall from their holdings, smashing onto the ground.
“They know,” she says. “They’ve found us.”
Gary’s eyes open wide. “Fuck – we have to get outta here.”
Another quake, followed by a loud alarm that causes Charlotte and Gary to jump.
“The general alarm,” Nathan shouts, “we are under attack.”
“My swords!” she shouts, turning toward Gary, her eyes wide, panicked. “I need my swords!”
Thirty-Two
The angelic halls bustle with commotion, all centered on the angel striding toward the Council chamber. The White Kingdom’s residents flit around him, gasping and talking to one another behind cupped hands. But he is not the focus of their attention; it is the weapon upon his back, secured to his body by small hands protruding from its sides, wrapped over his left shoulder and around his torso, linked by its interwoven fingers.
He doesn’t see them, the gawkers and the staring faces. He is single-minded and entirely focused as he approaches the chamber’s entrance with a bold confidence, bold even for him. A power surges within him that makes him feel formidable, perhaps even more so than when his and Charlotte’s energies are intertwined, bolstered by her Divinity. The power both excites and terrifies him.
He marches up to the main doors and they open without him even touching them, causing a flicker of hesitation to rise, unsure of what to make of it. He pushes it out of his mind and steps through; he has more important things to think about. Upon entering, all but one of the Council members stand, shocked expressions upon their faces. Seraphim is the first to address him.
“You dare to bring that… abomination into the houses of the holy? I will not allow it – we will not allow it.”
Powers slams his hands on the Council bench. “You were ordered, by the master Himself no less, not to pursue this Iscariot. What have you done?”
Judas looks to Jesus, the only man seated, his eyes pained, a dour expression upon His face.
He sighs and lowers his gaze toward the bench.
Judas screws up his face and shakes his head, turning back toward the other Council members. “There is much that must be said,” he says, his arms outstretched. “Listen to what Ikazuchi has to say and then make up your own minds on what action must be taken.”
“You’ve named it?” Seraphim asks incredulously, his mouth downturned, his brow furrowed.
Judas stares at him.
Much time has passed since Seraphim has felt
this disgusted with another soul, but the emotion now flows through him in powerful waves. “I don’t care what you’ve called it, Iscariot. That is the demon sword Azazel, and it has one purpose and one purpose alone. You know not what you have done.”
Judas shakes his head then glances toward the sword on his back. “Ika. To me.”
The sword peels away from Judas’ back, creaking and floating free of him, then enveloped by a dark, shimmering energy it transforms into its human guise.
Azazel stands in front of the Council, smiles and stretches. “Ahh, much better. Although I very much like being the weapon, I do enjoy stretching my legs now and then.” He turns toward Judas and shakes an index finger at him. “I’m kinda getting used to my nickname now. Ika. Yes, I actually like it. Good job, Judas. Good job indeed,” he grins.
Seraphim slams his fists onto the bench. “No! This is blasphemy. This creature should not be here. Away with you foul bea—”
“Oh do be quiet you pompous old fool,” Azazel snaps, irritated by the whining. “How long has it been since you got laid? Christ!” He looks across at a seated Jesus and offers an apologetic nod. “No offence, dear boy. I meant it as an expression, I wasn’t actually referring to you and the last time you were… you know?” The moment feels awkward and he pulls a mock sad face.
Judas shakes his head while gripping the bridge of his nose between his fingertips.
Azazel takes a few steps toward the bench. “Oooo-kay. Kinda got off track a little there,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Right you lot, please sit down and listen in.”
None move. All stare at him, their eyes blazing with fury.
He sighs. “I did say please, didn’t I?”
One by one, the Council members capitulate and take their seats, the last to do so being Seraphim who continues to eye Azazel with naked hostility.
“Right, nice one,” Azazel says, clapping his hands together again and moving even closer to the bench. He is just about to address the members when the chamber doors burst open and Michael strides in flanked by Samael and Raphael. Behind him, the other Hellwatch troops file in: the Archangel’s Uriel, Jophiel, Zadkiel, and Raguel.