by Matt Drabble
The animal was rip cord thick with hard muscle, its jaws were powerful and pumping like pistons desperately snapping for purchase around Baines throat, he rolled with the animal after it had landed heavily on his chest driving them both to the floor, he frantically tried to get out from underneath the Rottwieler shoving its chest with one hand whilst warding off the drooling jaws with the other. Even in the gloom he could see the folds of decaying flesh peeling from the dogs face, its putrid breath made him gag as it showed no sign of slowing, Baine felt his strength weakening as the animal twisted and snapped in a frenzied whirlwind, he knew that he had to regain his feet before the Rottweiler sank its teeth in a fatal fashion. As his arms began to tire Baine made a decision and steeled his stomach, he switched his defensive position and placed a hand on either side of the dogs head, he used a garnered strength and yanked the animals face in millimetres away from his, as the jaws snapped feverously he tilted the snarling face to the left and thrust his own mouth forward snapping his teeth into the dogs eye. The Rottweilers dead eyeball popped in his mouth spewing foul decay into his mouth causing him to gag as the soiled juices ran from his mouth, the dog immediately leapt back and staggered drunkenly away in agony. Baine clawed his way back to his feet vomiting his mouths putrid contents as he stood to the jeers of the watching audience, the bloodlust howls of derision rained down from his captors as their disappointment became palpable, even from his disadvantaged position Baine could feel the atmosphere change from one of triumph to one of uncertainty and even fear. Baine allowed the smallest trace of a smile to wander across his lips, he soon turned his attention back to his pit companion who by now had begun his own recovery, the dog started to circle him slowly now with an added feral respect. Despite his success Baine knew that he would be unlikely to avoid a further sustained attack, blood was already running from his heavily gashed arms, lacerated with bites and claw slashes, the dead dog suddenly sprang forward leaping powerfully through the air, Baine instinctively placed his fate in another Hail Mary play. As the animal reached him he rolled backwards with the dog’s momentum, he placed his palms under its ribcage, as he hit the floor he brought his feet up under its chest, as the dog passed over him he put every ounce of strength he had left and thrust with all his might, the animal was suddenly airborne. Baine followed its trajectory as it headed upward, for what seemed like an eternity the question of clearing the pit was quite literary up in the air, the Rottweilers legs pumped furiously as it hit the dirt lip clawing for purchase, Baine urged the animal onwards desperate for it to make the transition, eventually the screams of his robbed captors told him that the dog had made it.
McCullum watched Lucy from across the room, his memory was patchy and faded in and out, he was sure that he was here with a purpose, his mission eluded his thoughts dancing beyond his comprehension, whatever it was, it was surely the most important thing he had ever been asked to undertake. His brain refused to cough up the details and as he watched the beautiful but strangely sweating woman he became sure that she lay at the heart of his reason for existing. His ability to reason had left him almost completely now due to heavy influences of both Gabriel and now Lucifer clumping around his mind in careless heavy boots, for now he was an eager dog on a leash, to be pulled in any direction by which ever master currently held his noose.
Michael stared disbelievingly at the sudden and violent turn of events, a stab of paralysing fear passed through his gut, could he have been wrong, could everything that he believed in be so wrong, had he taken a wrong turn path somewhere down the line, could the legends and myths really be true. He watched transfixed as the dead animal tore and slashed at the panicking humans who were all running blind crashing into each other, some of the weaker ones were being crushed by their more desperate cohorts as they fought for escape, several of the cloaked men and women had toppled over and fallen bleeding into the pit. He frantically scanned the pit, desperately searching for a healthy human host to transfer his essence to; if either of the beasts destroyed this fragile form then he would be condemned to an eternity of Purgatory. Suddenly the animal paused its bloodlust to stare directly at him, as their eyes met across a bloody carnage the dead dog registered its tormentor, Michael looked with a commanding stare directly into the Rottweilers eyes, he silently exercised his absolute authority and watched as it obediently wander slowly closer. He only realised his terrible fate when it was unavoidable, the dog sprang forward at its tormenting captor with the enhanced speed and strength that he himself had given it, as the animal clawed and ripped at his throat with a fervour that would not be denied Michael only had time to understand that perhaps he had learnt another human emotion, arrogance, as the blood and life flowed from his ruined shell.
Baine sat in his pit as the animal ran riot on the surface, several bodies had fallen in around him, once he felt a little stronger and his wounds had begun to heal, he dragged and stacked two cooling corpses and a third body that was still moving against the side wall giving him a human ladder of sorts. Baine climbed out slowly and cautiously searching for Michael as he knew that he was in no shape to fight one of the Archangels in his still healing state, as he reached the surface and hauled himself over the edge he realised that he needn’t have worried, the fallen one was lying in a large puddle of pooling blood around his prone position. As Baine moved closer he could hear the wet struggle for breath through the fatal throat wounds, he had to give Michael credit as despite his mortally wounded body he had gotten some good offence of his own in as the dog was lying a few feet away slowly limping its way back towards death for the second time. Baine knelt beside the dying man, Michael seemed to be attempting to offer some perhaps prophetic words on his death bed, but the words were caught in his ruined throat spoiling his last ditch movie style death. Baine shrugged and moved away carefully avoiding the bodies lying in various states of health on the floor, at the far end of the room was an open door, he passed through and climbed the stairs out of this basement nightmare, he ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth deciding he might need something to take away the aftertaste of dead dog eyeball. He began to ascend the dug clay stairs, his right hand steadying himself on the earthen walls leaving a slick red trail behind him. The daylight at the top of the stairs beckoned him toward a welcome reprieve; he raised his face toward the warming sun and staggered forward eyes closed. A shadow suddenly filled the opening blocking the light,
“Bugger” Baine muttered to himself with a tired, slumped shouldered sigh, he knew what was coming but did not even have the energy to tense for the inevitable, the powerful blow propelling him airborne, cascading over the side of the manmade stairs and crashing back to the bottom of the pit. Azazel crash-landed next to his broken form, Baine rolled onto his back and stared up into the gloom at yet another angry angel, it was beginning to seem all too depressingly familiar. He was scooped up with ease and slammed into a clay wall; he heard a jangling noise heard through the foggy haze that seemed to be a permanent fixture these days. His arms were hoisted high and then clamped above his head, cold manacles snapped tightly around his wrists rendering him helpless. Azazel took a step back and looked over at the ruined mess of Michael; he turned back to Baine blazing wrath with burning eyes,
“What are you waiting for” Baine managed before the blood flowed and flesh was stripped by angry angelic talons and teeth.
Gabriel threw the small mobile phone against the hotel room wall shattering it instantly, he carefully swallowed the explosive rage that threatened to destroy his plans, the phone call had come from one of his agents secluded close to Michael who it would appear had broken ranks and taken Baine before the Cube had been discovered. It had taken every last ounce of self-restraint for Gabriel to actually take in the agents words as his head throbbed so terribly clouding his thoughts, the only silver lining was that the plan had actually failed in spectacularly fashion leaving Michael missing presumed perished. The hotel room was large and plush, from here he waited for the human converts to
arrive, the 11th Order had followers across the world and protocol for any arrival in new territory dictated that Gabriel waited for a debrief, so he had to sit in a claustrophobic room choking on his own fury, perhaps he would call for room service for a little venting, at last he began to smile a terrible smile.
CHAPTER X
CONTROLS ARE SPRIRALING
“Ye shall utterly destroy all the places, wherein the nations which ye shall possess served their gods, upon the high mountains, and upon the hills, and under every green tree:
And ye shall overthrow their altars, and break their pillars, and burn their groves with fire; and ye shall hew down the graven images of their gods, and destroy the names of them out of that place."
Deuteronomy 12:2-3
Lucifer knelt low on the wet grass, she had forgone her usual expensively tailored wardrobe with some regret, but today’s endeavours required a more practical outfit of black combat trousers, a fitted lycra long-sleeved tee-shirt topped with a tight fitting black sweatshirt. She surveyed the farmland with caution, she could sense the presence of her brethren, three archangels were secreted about the farm somewhere with a strange vacant scent of a fourth. The detective was lying face down beside her, oblivious to the soggy mud ruining his clothes; absentmindedly she reached over and gently rolled him over.
The farm house was around a quarter of a mile away but she needed no binoculars to view the occasional scurrying ants, the humans, around thirty in all, appeared to be from both orders. She recognised some from the Grigori’s ranks, a curious mix of professionals and heavy-set labourers, she could not identify any warriors from those in the open, but if at least three archangels were present then there would be close protection, Reapers. Sudden movement from out of the ground caught her eye, an ingenious trap door swung open and two struggling figures emerged dragging a third, then another two heaving up a heavy dead weight, then another group, all in all she watched as eight bodies were pulled from their temporary graves. A crudely constructed pyre was arranged downwind of the farm and set ablaze, the corpses were hefted into the cleansing flames, their transporters stood in sombre reverence heads bowed in prayer.
McCullum stirred to her side, she looked down into his eyes, a temporary dull clarity returned, a slight parting of the mists, he looked up at her with confusion coloured with a tint of devotion. She reached down and began to stroke him through his suit trousers’ relishing the reaction, until dark the afternoons light was hers to waste.
Baine drifted back and forth between the pain and the blackness, he felt himself being taken closer and closer to the edge of release before the pause that enabled his healing to bring him back. His throat was thick with clogging blood dragged from his lungs as Azazel ripped and tore through his chest and stomach, for a while he had been able to drift his mind away from the agony whilst he cleared his mind and concentrated on forming a strategy, but in reality it was a fool’s errand. His wrists were manacled securely above his head, the iron bars were driven deep into the walls and securely concreted, there was no James Bond style escape on the cards here, only more blood and more pain.
Raphael pushed himself back from the oak desk once more damning the puny limitations of these fragile human forms, his neck ached and his eyes blurred with overuse from the computer screen. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and allowed himself the smallest of self satisfactory back pats, he had seen only too well the dangers of succumbing to human emotions from Gabriel and now it would appear Michael too. He cared little for the zealots and their ideals, it had been so long ago now that he could not even begin to fathom fact from fiction as far as the cube was concerned. As far as he was concerned the damn thing could stay lost forever as could their estranged father, Michael and Lucifer had always felt their abandonment for greater than the others, it had always driven their motives hard. Raphael had constantly maintained a distance from the emotions of their perceived betrayal; he considered himself a pragmatist, adaptable to any situation and determined to thrive no matter what the circumstances. It was these character traits that had led to his natural accounting abilities; he was a master at picking the right stocks and shares, the right companies to invest in and the right time to dump. It was all a cold calculation game requiring research and patience, when you had been around since the beginning of creation; you had plenty of time for both. Raphael knew that he had never been seen as a warrior amongst his brothers and therefore he held the lowest standing, he had always valued his mind over their brawn, here on earth brains would appear to triumph over strength. He thought that his brothers would be shocked to learn of his sole control over their finances, only he had the codes and numbers that held their vast fortunes, let them fight for mythical objects he would hold the money and with it the real power in the real world. Samyaza was napping in the corner, sprawled out cold on a plush leather sofa; Raphael could tell from the start that his brother had no interest in the financial machinations of their future. Samyaza was only interested in the strength of his fists and the limited power derived therein, it was the failing of his kind and would be the foundations of his success.
Lucifer yawned and stretched feeling the pops and cracks of her lithe frame, McCullum was sitting alert and ready like an attack dog poised for its command. She had allowed a little of her essence to infect his body, stirring it into animation and making him useful, they had to take the farm and she needed him at her side. She ran a soft hand through his hair, growing to warm to his company and feeling a mild discomfort at the thought of him being gone from her side. Is this what the humans called love or affection she wondered, she had witnessed human pairings interacting in the park when she had been studying them, hands clasped together, dogs and owners playing joyfully, rolling on the balmy grass. She knew of course of the gentle eroding of the archangels dispassionate natures through the ages, she had seen glimpses of humanity creeping through the longer that they stayed in these forms, she had always considered it to be a weakness, but now she found a strange form of comfort in the contact.
She looked around the darkening farm from their vantage point, the lengthy shadows offering excellent cover, it was time.
McCullum heard the call through the swirling mists that clouded his mind, it wasn’t unpleasant here, lost in the foggy recess, for the first time in a very long time he was at peace. His mind was absent of strain, there were no work demands, no family tensions, no pressure to conform with colleagues or form meaningless friendships. Here he just was, her voice soothed his thoughts and calmed his waters, the man he was no longer existed, if indeed it ever had, any time that a cognitive idea floated toward his circle of light from beyond the darkened boundaries it was quickly extinguished. He was a knight, he knew that now, he had always been her knight, he could not see her favour tied to his arm but he felt its presence just the same and now she had need of him again; he galloped toward the light and into her bidding.
Justin Castle stamped his feet and balled his toes in a vain attempt to alleviate the cold that crept into his feet despite his thermal protection, fucking typical, he thought, why do I always pull the shit duty. He knew that inside the warm farmhouse Manning would be laughing at him with his usual wit and grace, every time that they played rock, paper, scissors he seemed to lose resulting in his exile to the cold. His supervisor was a nightmare to work under, always quick with a scathing comment or a public putdown; he seemed to delight in making life as difficult for those around him as possible. Night was falling fast and the temperatures were plummeting just as quickly, he could not see why they even needed sentries, from what he had heard the half-breed was chained to the walls of the pit and going nowhere especially with Azazel for company, he did not envy Baine one little bit. He hated being outside especially with those damn Reapers around here somewhere, they were supposedly under the Archangels control but he did not trust them any more than he would a rapid dog. He had been a member of the 11th Order for over twenty years now, following in footsteps laid down over centuries, the
Castle’s had been loyal and obedient members of the Order since the beginning, Justin however had his own mind and had never been content with merely following. He had worked under Raphael in the finance department; he had seen the facts and figures of the current wealth and had drooled over the projections for the new Orders potential future. Despite his father’s devotion to the 11th Order, Justin had never shared in his zeal for the cause, growing tired of his ailing father’s nagging for him to produce an heir to carry on the name, there’s always time, he had told the old man before he’d died, always time. He had wondered on many occasions if the Grigori would not make a more suitable home for him and his tastes, then his prayers had been truly answered when Manning had brought him to the countryside. Here was a chance for him to carve out his own future, to seize his own place at the top table, to get out from under Manning, accidents happen all the time around farmyard machinery, suddenly he did not feel the cold night air, or the damp mud beneath his impractical shoes, or his legs, or the wet patch spreading across the front of his trousers, or the ground as he collapsed upon it. He could not move as a shadow loomed over him, paused briefly to check on his fading condition then swiftly moved on, Castle’s eyes drooped slowly as the blackness took him, just take Manning as well, was his last thought as the Castle line ended.