by Roy Bright
Malphas rises himself into the air and over the energy beam that almost consumes him. His cocky attitude vanishes and he commands the remaining demons to attack, thrusting his staff forward.
They do so, howling and screeching into the night air.
Judas looks at Charlotte. “You got another in ya?”
She shakes her head. “No, not for a while at least.”
Uriel brandishes his sword. “Then we destroy them the old-fashioned way.” He charges into the fray, followed by Jophiel.
“Ika,” Judas commands, holding out his right hand. The sword detaches from his back and into his grip. “Don’t get killed,” he says to Charlotte with a small smile.
“No chance,” she replies, releasing her swords from their sheaths and spinning them in front of her.
They charge.
Uriel is the first to reach the enemy. He swings his sword and cleaves a large section of them, turning them into dust. He spins around swings again with the same outcome. A section of demons attack and he throws out his wings, shielding himself behind them, their attacks bouncing off, then swings them open and spins around, slicing those closest in two. The demons may have the numbers but Uriel has the skill. Jophiel joins him at his side and they fight back to back, brother protecting brother. The demons encircle them, but it makes no difference. They cut down anything that approaches.
Charlotte steps to the side, avoiding one of the creature’s attacks. Speed and precision are her greatest traits and she slices the beast in half before it has chance to mount a fresh attack. More launch themselves at her, slavering as they scurry toward her on all fours. She leaps, somersaulting over a large group, landing in the middle of others. She slices both swords from her front to her sides, decapitating those closing in on her, then turns and charges back at the larger group, hacking them to pieces.
Another approaches, its claws tapping and skidding on the concrete as it prepares its assault. Before it has a chance, Charlotte is upon it, slamming a sword through its open mouth, locked in its final scream as it bursts into dust. She turns in time to see an ape-demon pounding toward her and activates her shield as it slams down its powerful arms from overhead, and the Divinity bubble crunches into the ground below. She deactivates it and the sudden action causes the demon to stumble forward, losing its footing. She thrusts a sword upward, into the underside of its chin and through its head, then motion-blurs forward, splitting it in two. The foul creature explodes and she lowers her gaze to prevent the dust from entering her eyes and mouth, then charges at another group.
Judas does not run. He walks through the demons bearing down on him and with one swing of his sword, slaughters them. There is an explosion of gore and viscera caused by Ikazuchi’s power, as the Demon Sword does its best to soak up as much of their blood as possible. It screams with glee at every kill, relishing the destruction, bathing in it. Stained with black demon blood, Judas’ face is a fixed point of vengeance, focused upon a hovering Malphas and nothing else, not even acknowledging the demons that attack him, cutting them down as though on autopilot. The symbiosis between him and his weapon Ikazuchi has reached such a powerful peak that he is almost driven by it; it seems to do the work for him. A creature attacks from behind and he spreads his wings without so much as looking at it. Its attack bounces off and Judas spins a full turn, slicing it in two and then continues his fierce march forward.
As Charlotte decapitates another, the demons cease their attacks and perform a hasty retreat.
Judas halts and looks around at his companions who all signal that they are okay.
Malphas throws his head back and laughs. “Yes. They are here. They have come. Your time is over.”
Judas looks at Charlotte who is pointing at the sky, then into the direction in which she is indicating. Four large fireballs streak across the night sky, rocketing their way toward them. He turns back to Charlotte.
“Horsemen!” she screams.
Uriel grabs hold of Jophiel. “Regroup,” he shouts, dragging the angel with him, making his way toward Charlotte.
Judas backs away, his gaze never leaving that of Malphas who grins wickedly.
The remaining demons scatter past Malphas, disappearing into the Vatican City streets, howling into the night, their jobs complete having stalled the holy four in preparation for the Horsemen’s arrival.
The fireballs arrive. They smash into the ground with controlled explosions, causing dust and rock to disperse like shrapnel.
Judas steps behind Charlotte and wraps his wings around her, protecting her from the barrage. Once the rain of rock and debris ceases, he spreads them and looks around to see the other two angels doing the same. Ahead, a large cloud of dust still looms and within it he can make out four very large humanoid shapes. He grips the handle of his sword tightly.
From out of the dust cloud stride the Four Horsemen. Three of them are huge – giants, at over 12 feet in height, each armor clad and carrying unique weaponry. The fourth is much smaller, human sized, and whose upper body is without clothing save for a mask that covers his face.
The Horsemen stop about 100 yards away. The three giants stand upright, monumental and motionless, but the smaller, unarmored one favors a more hunkered stance, swaying in place with vicious scythes dangling in each hand.
Malphas steps out of the now dissipating dust cloud, walking between the two center Riders. “You should be honored. Few can claim to have their miserable and wretched lives ended by such nobility. Please, allow me to introduce our friends to you.” He points to the Rider furthest on his left, seemingly diseased-ridden with small insect creatures skittering and burrowing across his body. In his hand he holds a large bow made of bone, a skull forming the grip and shelf. “Here we have Lord Pestilence. And next to him, Lady Famine.” He indicates a tall, thin Rider.
Her body appears starved, flesh close to the bone, her face with sections of skin missing, revealing skeletal patches. Draped around her body and over her hands are bladed ball and chain weapons and despite appearing as though she may keel over at any moment her presence is terrifying as her blood-red eyes focus upon the group. She smiles through decaying lips.
Malphas chuckles. “Incredible and beautiful, isn’t she!” He looks to his right. “Next to me is his Lordship, War, and what a soldier he is too. Just look at him. Look at his armor, at his life-taking Death Sword. He is a true King.”
War says nothing, nor does he move. Monolithic in stature, his hand rests upon his sword that is over half his height in length. Fierce red eyes peer out from under his horned helmet.
Malphas widens his eyes and performs a theatrical shudder. “Terrifying, I’m sure you’ll agree.” He leans forward, looking past War to the last member – Death – who continues to sway on his feet, his weapons dangling by the side of his body. He then grins and leans back, re-focusing his attention upon Judas and the others. “Well, I am sure that no introductions are needed for that one now, are they?” He claps his hands together. “Now. Give me my Book and my Seal and then you may put up whatever pitiful resistance you think you can muster.”
Uriel and Jophiel step forward, forming a shield in front of Charlotte.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
Uriel glances back. “We must protect you at all cost. I fear these creatures are beyond us. We must allow you time to escape.”
“Escape?” she says with alarm. “I’m not going anywhere. We stand and we fight.”
Judas places his hands on her shoulders. “They’re right – run. Get out of here. We’ll hold them off. Get as far away as you can until you feel the Thŭramré lift and then portal somewhere, anywhere, it doesn’t matter. Just get out of here and find a way to contact Gabriel.”
“I am not leaving,” she says, her tone defiant.
He places his forehead onto the top of her head and closes his eyes, then moves his head back and cups her face with his hand. “You have to, baby-girl. You must survive if we are to win this, even if it means us
losing our lives protecting you. Remember, my role is to be your guardian, no matter what. Now please, go!”
She closes her eyes, then stabs a sword into the ground, freeing her hand in order to rest it on top of his.
“Go,” he says again, removing his hand from under hers, placing it on top, and squeezing hard.
Opening her eyes, she glares at Malphas. She points at him. “One day I will kill you.”
He sneers at her.
She pulls her sword out of the ground, backs away, moving behind Judas and then turns and flees.
“She is the Book and Seal,” War says softly, pointing at her without turning to look at Malphas.
“What?” Malphas says, his attention turning to the Horseman.
“If you want what you seek, then you must capture her. You need her alive.”
Malphas’ head whips around to his left. “Pestilence. Get her.”
Pestilence strides forward, increases his speed to a jog, and then into a powerful run.
Uriel and Jophiel race forward to meet and attack him.
They swing their swords and Pestilence blocks them with his bow. Slinging it over his back, he reaches into his belt and draws out a dagger, so large that for all intents and purposes it may as well be a sword.
Judas moves forward when Ikazuchi’s voice stops him. “Wait, Judas. You must fight with great intelligence. They will not survive, but you can. The same thing will happen if you defeat these as you did Barachiel. Their power, their knowledge, it all becomes yours. You have an opportunity here. Do not squander it.”
He holds the sword up in front of him and it glints under the moonlight cascading down over St Peter’s square. “You have planned this. You’ve known all along.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How could I? Now shut up and prepare for battle.”
Uriel wraps his wings around himself to shield himself from Pestilence’s dagger attack. But they prove useless as the dagger cuts through them as though they were made of paper. The weapon strikes deep into him and he calls out in great pain, stumbling to his side. A rot grips him, coursing through his body, plaguing its way through every inch of his being. His skin blisters and cracks, like the sound of splitting wood. His veins rise to the surface and blacken as skin peels and falls away. He turns to Jophiel, eyes wide, mouth open, terror written across his face. His movement ceases as the plague-rot locks him to the ground as though he were a statue, his breathing heavy and panicked. Jophiel screams, calling out to his brother. He rages and, drawing on his anger, throws all of it into attacking the Horseman, thrusting his sword at him.
Pestilence grabs it and the weapon slices through his hands but causes him no distress. He lifts the angel into the air and, placing a massive hand over his head, cups it effortlessly. He squeezes, exploding the skull within his grasp, scattering blood and brain matter out between his fingers. He throws Jophiel’s ragdoll corpse to the floor.
Uriel screams and tries to raise his sword but he cannot. The plague-rot has him rooted to the spot as every nerve has succumbed to the disease. He screams, defiant, one final time, and then his head explodes into a cloud of blood mist and bone splinters.
Famine chuckles as she retracts her ball and chain weapon, the remains of Uriel still stuck to it, his blood marking a trail back to her. “Angels are such soft creatures,” she says, picking pieces of flesh off the bladed-ball and dropping them to the floor.
Pestilence places his thumb and middle finger into his mouth and whistles and an armored white horse crunches from out of the concrete below him, lifting him up into the air. He flicks the reins, urging the beast forward.
Judas moves with haste to prevent the Rider from giving chase but stops dead in his tracks, his eyes and mouth open wide. He wants to scream but cannot as the pain that runs through his mind is like nothing he has ever felt before.
Without a sound, Death has warped to Judas’ position and clamped his hands around his head, hissing as his icy fingers stretch over his face now gray in color, veins drawn prominently to the surface.
He lets go of Ikazuchi and the weapon falls to the floor. “A-za-zel,” he manages to say, through labored intakes of breath.
The sword transforms back into its human form and grabs a hold of Death, then throws him across St Peter’s Square where he tumbles and rolls onto his feet, then skids to a halt.
Azazel grabs Judas, who breathes out hard, the color in his skin returning, veins subsiding. “Snap out of it, Iscariot. Get into the fight. You cannot win with me like this. I need to be a sword. You need to defeat them with me as a weapon.”
Judas shakes his head, willing composure back into himself, and holding his hands up he roars, “Ikazuchi!” It lands in his hand and he adopts a fighting stance. He glances at the fleeing Charlotte and whispers, “Don’t get caught.”
***
Charlotte looks back mid-sprint upon hearing a horse whinny and sees Pestilence bearing down upon her. Looking ahead, she thinks to herself that if she can just make it to the pillars she could find a way through them to the streets beyond. She hopes at least. She puts more drive into her sprint and powers forward, holding her breath then screams, knowing that she isn’t going to make it as she feels the horse bearing down upon her and senses the foul decay spewing forth from its rider.
Sliding down onto her knees, she feels a hand brush over her hair as the Horseman leans down from the horse to grab her. Without hesitation, she slashes at the horse’s hindquarters and the beast screeches, bucking Pestilence off, and crashing him to the floor. The horse stumbles to the ground and crunches back into it, through the concrete itself and disappears from sight.
Pestilence gets to his feet and turns, drawing his dagger. He walks toward her, towering above, and she backs away from him. “There is no need for you to die, child,” he says, his voice deep and flat. “The one called Malphas needs you, so put away your weapons and come with me.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, refusing to back down.
“We go where we are sent, and we are bound to the one who has summoned us.”
“Even if that person is evil?”
“Good, evil, these things matter not. We are not aligned in such ways, we merely come when summoned. What you do with your planet is no concern of ours. We are ancient, the deliverers of justice.”
Charlotte looks back. She is being herded, back into the square. “Justice? You call siding with one who wishes to destroy everything justice?”
“Why do you fail to understand? We are weapons to be wielded in the same way as those you hold in your hands. They know not of which side they fight for, they certainly do not care – they simply do your bidding. Now come. Enough of this.”
“Fuck off,” she says, defiant. “You want me, you fight me.”
“Very well. You are useful to the one who commands us and since we possess the ability of resurrection, then so be it. Have it your way.”
A dark portal envelops and consumes him, and he disappears.
Her eyes open wide and her instincts kick in as he appears behind her, plunging his dagger down. She spins around, dropping to one knee and then raises her swords, blocking the attack, forming a quivering cross above her head. She pushes back against the Horseman, forcing him to step back.
“Interesting,” he says, studying her. “I see that you are not normal.”
“Never have been, bitch.” She blurs forward and strikes at his legs. Her swords chink against his armor and she blurs again, moving away once more, toward the pillars. He portals, appearing in front of her, thrusting his dagger forward and she has to activate her shield to prevent the weapon stabbing into her. The force of the strike pushes her back through the gap between two pillars, into the wall behind. It buckles from the strength of the holy shield and she rocks back and forth inside the protective bubble, then looks up in time to see him thrusting another attack. This time the dagger pierces the shield, sliding in with a screech. She forces her head back, the tip of the blade stop
ping just before her wide-eyed face and then turns off her shield and slashes at his hand while ducking to the side. The wound steams, forcing him to retract his arm and take a few steps back. “Seems we can hurt you after all,” she says with a degree of cockiness. “Not as invincible as you thought, eh?”
Pestilence snarls and lunges forward once more.
She blurs ahead, dodging under his attack and takes another swipe at his leg armor. This time, a small crack appears where she struck and spreads out a couple of inches. She turns to see him lunging for her again. She steps back as he stabs his dagger at her and it misses, sliding into the ground instead and she seizes upon the opportunity. Using his arm as leverage, she leaps onto it and propels herself up toward his head and slashes at his face.
A deep wound opens up, steam rising from it and black liquid sprays across the ground.
She lands neatly but fails to spot him swinging a large backhanded fist at her. It connects and sends her sprawling across the floor, into the wall behind the pillars. Pain burns white-hot and she struggles to comprehend what has just happened. Her body feels broken all over. Blood spreads out beneath her and bone juts out from various wounds. Her eyes dart left to right, blinking as her brain tries to come back online. The pain is horrific and her mind swims within it.
Pestilence ambles toward her. “Hmm, that condition will do. Broken but still alive, at least for now.” He reaches down to pick her up and as his hand draws close, she bursts into a brilliant, golden light, burning it and forcing him to drag it back.
The light envelops and raises her into the air. Her body starts to repair itself, resetting every broken bone, knitting her skin back together, and she leans forward, opening her eyes, and regaining her composure. Within seconds, she has healed and descends back onto the ground, the light dissipating.
Pestilence grunts and attacks once more.
She blocks it, wraps her sword around the dagger, and flicks upward. The weapon is wrenched from his hand and hits the ground, sliding away.