by Matt Drabble
Lucifer moved swiftly and deadly through the shadows, blood dripped from a wicked looking silver blade with strange ancient etchings carved into the handle leaving a black trail behind her, McCullum trotted carefully in her wake stooped and low, his movements were intuitive she was pleased to see. She had slackened his noose slightly to allow him to be of more use than a dozing puppy, now he was Rottweiler all teeth and claws, suppressing his humanity allowed him to be a remorseless weapon.
A couple were rutting amongst the hay bales under the corrugated ramshackle roof, careless, Lucifer smiled to herself, she motioned to McCullum with a flick of her slender wrist, he drew a matching blade in a smooth expert motion and detoured toward the couple. Lucifer heard only stifled moans and no screams she noted with pleasure, only a wet ripping sound as McCullum opened their throats, he joined her quickly crouched at the barns exit, the coppery smell of fresh blood on his knife but not on his clothing. The farmhouse lights lit some of the windows casting outward light into the yard beyond, the both edged around the troublesome glows that threatened to illuminate their presence. She could smell Baines flowing blood and entrails from here along with one of her kin, they both seemed to emanate from beneath the ground, out into the field beyond the house an almost imperceptible soft smoulder of light gently flickered from atop a trap-door she mused. She knew that a diversion was needed if she was to take Baine from the clutches, she realised that it was with some regret that she would have to send McCullum into the lion’s den to create such an opening. The last few days had taught her that if she was to have a future on top of the food chain then she needed the half-breed, the old Orders had fallen, the old ways were finally dead and blown to dust, it was time to cleanse and begin anew. She reached out and gently touched the detective’s cool forehead, his heartbeat was steady and hands held true, he looked up with trust and devotion, it was a look she felt that she could never tire of.
Two more sentries wandered by, noisily complaining about the cold and damp, their movements careless and unperturbed, both held British Army issue SA80 A2 LSW machine guns, but held them loosely. She withdrew her hand from McCullum’s head and nudged him gently away.
The two men were around ten to twelve feet away, the detective covered the distance in a flash, his movements were almost feline in their grace, he took the first sentry from behind, his left hand gripped the man’s head and pulled it back exposing his throat. The knife was razor sharp, as he sliced it open he twisted the sentries head toward his companion spraying the second man in a deep red mist blinding and confusing him, he released one already dead man and stepped into the second’s proximity driving the blade up and under his throat silencing and killing at the same time. McCullum bent to retrieve one of the weapons from the floor, he turned back towards Lucifer still concealed within the shadows, he received her instructions soundlessly and nodded.
Lucifer waited until the sounds of the crash of the farmhouse door being kicked open and the shouts and screams punctuated by the spitting venom of the gun before she broke cover and ran to the concealed door in the middle of the fields, her worry over McCullum was distracting, damn you Baine, she thought, you better be worth it.
Baine’s vision blurred around the edges as his body was worked to its maximum capacity to cope with the terrible wounds inflicted by a vengeful archangel. He had sworn to himself that he would not give the son of bitch the satisfaction of the music of his screams, it was a promise that he was unable to keep. With his arms raised above his head his was able to just about ease the strain by balancing on his toes but the floor was increasingly slippery with his own blood as he twisted on the vine. Azazel had worked feverishly ripping and tearing at his exposed chest and stomach, his clothes long since discarded lay in rags on the floor, exposing his vulnerabilities. He had drifted closer and closer to the brink of death several times only for the angel to drag him back at the last minute, until now he had been convinced that he could not die, but now he knew the truth, that despite all of his abilities the dark waited for him just the same.
“Not going soft on me just yet”, a painful claw gripped his face, talons dug deep into the flesh as a madman’s eyes bore deep into him, “Where are your jokes now funny man?, where is your bravado, is your heart still strong?”. The hand released its vice on his face only to relocate to his left breast, the nails dug in hard. “Why don’t I rip it out and check if it still beats half-breed”, the pressure was unbearable, his healing ability was already struggling to cope with knitting his insides back together, now fresh blood began a quickening flow from his chest cascading to an already soaked floor. Foul breath filled his face as Azazel leaned in, the nails tore into his flesh sinking deeper and deeper toward the very beat of his life, his eyes began to droop as the violating force reached his heart. He could feel the clutch now around his vital organ, his breath caught somewhere in his very bowels, the pit darkened as the blackness stole in around him, the dark was here, finally, the only surprise was that it was not empty. Every life that he had ever taken swirled around the edges of the fading light, every face that he had ever watched die at his hands now danced mockingly beyond his reach, their eyes burned with vengeance and their mouths were hungry. Suddenly the pressure was gone, his breath caught, missed, missed again then caught, coughs exploded out his chest, choking great gasps of air refilled his lungs as his heartbeat spluttered back into life, the faces receded back into the darkness, not yet you fuckers, he thought wearily, not yet.
Lucifer had crept toward the unguarded pit amongst the violent noise emanating from the farmhouse, figures had rushed from the surrounding shadows as soon as the firing had begun, loud shouts and low whimpers filled the night. She crept stealthily to the horizontal door and lifted it with barely a whisper, she knew at this close range that it was Azazel occupying the darkness below and he was working. In the time before Azazel had been renowned for his prowess with interrogation, his skill with the blade was legend, angels were by nature a placid and obedient race, but their father’s obsession with the humans had sown the seeds of discontent long before the rebellion. Michael and Gabriel had always been the swords of God, the iron fist of an omnipotent ruler and Azazel had been their scalpel for extraction. She slowly descended into the pit, Azazel’s voice was strained through pure rage, she had never heard such emotion in an archangel’s voice before, she knew that the walls between their trueness and their human hosts were always fragile at best; Azazels appeared to have broken completely. In the dim flickering flame of the wall mounted torches she could see Baine suspended by his wrists, his upper clothing lay in tatters and his milky white flesh was not faring any better. Even looking at her brother from the rear she could tell that he was oblivious to her presence, normally they could tell each other from a distance. Their angelic essence would flow around and above them, swirling colours and fragrances that were unmistakable beauty incarnate, now however the aura of Azazel was a dirty muddy grey that dripped from him with a foul odor. She approached slowly enjoying watching her brother work, the spraying crimson mists and the pain moans of the half breed were making her wet, if only she had her detective at hand she would have mounted him on the spot, writhing and pounding…, she suddenly snapped back into herself annoyed at the distraction. She shook her head to clear it and with a smooth fluid motion drew the silver blade; the etchings on the handle were an incantation older than everything that even she knew. The six blades had been forged by their father and handed to his most trusted lieutenants, they were the only instruments that she knew of that could effectively end an angel. If a host body was destroyed then they were able to occupy another human within a short distance, if not then it was a long trip to purgatory and an eternity to find your way back again. Azazel was working himself into a frenzy, no longer the surgeon, now he was a butcher, it was a simple task to clasp her brother around the neck from the rear, “forgive me” she whispered with a tear and plunged the blade inwards and upwards.
Baine had seen the figure exp
ertly creep down the stairs, the movements careful and surefooted with a well practiced grace. It was only when the figure passed under the mounted torch on the last stair that he recognised her, bitch, he thought with malice, the last time he had seen Lucifer he had promised to end her, in his present predicament it was a promise that he could not envisage keeping. Yet she hesitated, her approach was one of stealth, she was not here it would appear to join the evisceration party, as his captor tore into him with a frenzy that suggested he was beyond merely torture and was now hell-bent on destruction and unaware of his new visitor. Lucifer covered the ground between them, without care, she paused halfway, a strange look passed over her face, she suddenly shook her head as if to clear it and stepped in close. Azazel went stiff and the pressure was gone from his heart, lightening flashed through his eyes, once, twice and then the life was unmistakably gone, the body went limp and slipped to the floor. Lucifer stood before him; even in his severely weakened state before the darkness closed around him again he could swear the bitch was crying.
Gabriel showered, the water ran red as it cleansed, the steam filled the luxurious hotel bathroom as the blood of the room service maid circled the drain, crimson footsteps marked the expensive floor tiles. Dried and fragranced Gabriel wrapped himself in the hotels plush robes, his arms ached as though from a strenuous workout, he stepped carefully around the mesh on the floor eager to maintain his cleanliness,
“Which is after all next to Godliness, he giggled slightly to himself and the remains of his exertions. The large room was originally decorated in a warming neutral beige, but the bloody spray had altered the once lavish suite from a swish refuge to now resembling an abattoir. The maid had begun their meeting as an attractive teenager, a slim brunette with a pleasant face and a sweet smile, now pieces of her were strewn about the room. He had thrown her down onto the bed with ease, her terrified face and almost immediate submission had served only to enrage him further, he had taken her on the bed alive, delighted to find her unbroken and later taken her again only this time her lifeless body was wet with blood and tears. He had battered and torn at her fragile form until nothing remained, time slipped from him along with his will and reason, it was some time later until he came back to himself, sitting in a congealing mess on the floor. Showered and freshened he felt more like himself again, more in control, he opened the hotel room window to allow the bracing breeze to blow through and alleviate some of the stench. The phone suddenly rang shattering the quiet, before he could pick up the receiver the display told him that it was an incoming fax, the somewhat outdated technology ground into life as the printer noisily spat out an upside down image, the phone number on top of the page he recognised as one of his rather dwindling band of loyal followers secreted amongst Michael’s treachery. He turned the page and looked down at the strange symbol;
he knew what this meant and he knew where to go, as he stepped around the gore of the maid he hummed a pleasant tune to himself as he dressed, almost there, almost time, he sang softly.
As soon as the gunfire began echoing throughout the old stone house Raphael was frozen in place, the rapid short bursts angrily spat death into the bodies of the expendables downstairs. Raphael was not surprised to see Samyaza awake in an instant; his prone figure suddenly sprang into life as Raphael was transfixed by indecision. Raphael was also not surprised to see that despite his brothers electrifying resurrection he did not immediately rush toward the violence below, Samyaza was a warrior, but evidently not an eager one.
One of the benefits to having a brain, Raphael had always thought, was having the ability to keep it safely secured in his cranium, there were no old bold warriors in heaven. The carnage below appeared to be winding down almost as soon as it had begun; only the sounds of low moans were drifting up the staircase. Slow careful footsteps were making their way around the lower level, Samyaza covered the distance between the sofa and the door in an instant, Raphael was always impressed with his brothers physical prowess, his body was tensed and coiled, his head was titled, his face a study in concentration, with a whisper he was through the door and gone. Raphael set the hard drives to delete with his own program, the financials would be destroyed beyond recall, the original information was downloaded onto a TB flash drive tucked into his pocket along with the ancient book that the half breed had been found with. The window behind him overlooked the low flat roof at the rear of the farmhouse, he eased the swollen frame up with as much stealth as he could manage, he swung his legs up and through the opening and lowered himself out into the cold night. In an instant he was ground level and with a quick look out of the shadows to ensure his anonymity he was off and running out into the dark, he did not dare take one of the vehicles parked around the house for fear of alerting whoever was left loose round the farm. As with all of his brothers Raphael was linked on a primal level to all of his brethren, he could tell with a thought that Michael and Azazel were both gone, Gabriel was lost and Lucifer was well on the way to joining him. All of the old ways were dead and dust, the Orders were no more and would never be again. Raphael had no interest in sustaining the family business, from now on his way would be the only way and all he required was the access to the millions that sat in his pocket. The blackness stretched out in front of him, his future was one to be created of his own making, the thought made him smile as he disappeared into the night.
Samyaza could hear the intruder, as stealthily as they moved about their deadly business he could feel the steady heartbeat, it was this lack of emotion and icy calm that had lead him to lean toward caution. Samyaza considered himself a warrior of the highest regard, his was a sword that had always held true and sound throughout the most egregious of heavens battles, he had stood beside Michael and Lucifer in distant pasts wielding his weapon on the battlefield regardless of the odds. He had always been considered decisive of thought and action during the original uprisings after their father had first brought forward his talking monkeys, the rebellion had been crushed as the fields ran red with the blood of their brothers. In truth he had never much cared for the whims of his commanders, the philosophies were for higher orders, he was a warrior born and needed only a direction and an enemy to attack. When Lucifer and Michael had first muted their defection he cared little for reasons and justifications, the cube troubled him as little as his perceived betrayal, he was swayed with thoughts of the ultimate battle that lay ahead with insurmountable odds. The glory of defying their father and his entire forces were what had driven his motivations, when the dust settled his name would be legend and his acts likewise. His frustration had only grown as they were expelled from heaven without a fight; they had slunk away like dogs in the night, banished by their father like scalded children to live amongst the humans. His thirst for war had been sated for too brief a time as mankind began to develop and fight their conflicts from safe distances with computer screens. He longed for a return to steel in his hand and blood sprayed upon his face, the clash of bone on bone, the sound of tearing flesh and giants reduced to screams, if the cube truly existed and it was able to create a perfect world then his would be a never ending battlefield filled with warriors and death and glory.
His thoughts were disturbed by the matter at hand, by the smell he could tell that the intruder was male and disappointingly human, the humans were fragile and easy to break, there was no glory in breaking these brittle creatures across his knee. A shadow passed behind him, he spun uncharacteristically startled, the scent was unmistakably human but the man moved too fast, he paused, the smell that emanated wasn’t entirely manmade, there was something else in there, something angelic almost. Suddenly he was airborne; he flew across the room and smashed heavily into a sturdy oak bookcase that shattered upon his unwelcome impact. He rolled through the collision and was in his feet in an instant, his legs tensed, his balanced position ready for the fight. The man came out of the shadows, he was tall and well muscled, his suit was expensive but filthy and torn as though suffering through neglect, he paused
when his appraisal reached the man’s eyes which were blank but hinting at a direction, Samyaza noticed all of this in a flash. The man did not say a word nor did he look like he was about to, this suited him fine as words were always meaningless in the heart of the battle. They circled each other like two predators preparing for the engagement, without a signal the suited man threw an educated right hook that was as fast as it was deadly. Samyaza evaded it with some effort, the human was fast becoming an opponent to take seriously, the man’s balance did not falter despite the missed blow and he moved back out of immediate range quickly. Samyaza threw a front kick distraction whilst moving into the gap between them as fast as his could move, the man to his credit saw it coming but could not avoid it, Samyaza shot an upward front elbow as soon as he was in range. The bone crunched into the man’s nose shattering it instantly and completely ruining his vision, as he staggered backwards Samyaza followed throwing expert rights and lefts as he went. The suited man did not make a sound even as the steel fists landed forcing him backwards and driving him down to his knees. Samyaza stood over his bloodied adversary, the fight had been all too brief after such a promising beginning, the suited man was bleeding profusely from a ruined face, his mouth moved with great difficulty, a fine bloody mist sprayed as he struggled to speak. Samyaza knelt and leaned in closer to listen, whatever this man had to say before he met his end should be worth hearing, he was a valiant challenger and deserved a modicum of respect. Perhaps it was the centuries of victories astride the battlefield or the arrogance of the undefeated warrior that lead to his guard being lowered, but he knelt just the same bringing his face in too close to the downed suited man. A flash of silver was all he saw as the knife plunged deep into in his chest, he started to laugh at the idea that a simple blade could possibly damage him, an archangel, a sword of God himself, when suddenly it dawned on him that the blade was far from simple. His breath caught as his chest heaved, the markings on the knife were ancient and deadly and spelt death for even him, he tried to shout and scream defiance as would befit a warrior but all he could do was to die in a shitty farmhouse amongst the filthy monkeys.