And then I jammed the shotgun muzzle squarely into his chest and pulled the trigger.
My hand blew backward from the recoil as the devastating, point blank blast of Judgment fire erupted from the the semi-divine Winchester and slammed into my adversary with extreme prejudice.
The smarmy smile instantly vanished from Lucifer’s face as the hissing deluge of white flame covered his torso like unnatural napalm, causing him to reel backwards a step.
And just as I was expecting his innards to blow out the back of his cloak before being vaporized in a brilliant flash of wrathful radiance, the fireball harmlessly melted from existence.
Completely frigg’n dumbfounded by the fact that he somehow shrugged off a blast of Judgment fire like it was nothing, I blurted out, “That’s not possible.”
Condescendingly glaring at me as his white cloak mockingly billowed upon his shoulders, he said, “You’re still not paying attention, Master Robinson. Allow me to provide some further clarity as to the extent of my abilities.”
Before I knew what the hell was happening, the son of bitch pulled his left hand into a tight fist and willed a horrifying lance of pure, white flame into being. Without another word spoken, he launched at me with impossible speed and drove it straight through my frigg’n chest.
All the way through.
Adding insult to certain injury, he thrust the searing pike into the cold ground behind me as I slumped to my knees impaled like a skewered pig.
Giving the infernal weapon a final, forceful shove, he then triumphantly loomed over me as a torrent of ineffable pain surged through my body and my perception of time sputtered to a crawl.
Blood leaked out my chest like a frigg’n sieve as Doc roared a primal scream and her eyes flashed with horror. Instantly overcome with rage, her golden helmet snapped back into place over her face as she ripped the spatha from the scabbard on my back.
In a single motion barely perceptible to the human eye, she leapt at Lucifer with the grace of a ninja and drilled him in the jaw with her armored left hand. Caught off guard by the brazen maneuver, he stumbled backward as Doc continued to unload on his ass in a blur of golden fists. Moving with impossible speed, her white eyes glowed with unfettered fury as she swung the otherworldly sword at Lew’s neck, only to have him literally catch the blade in mid arc.
Undeterred, she effortlessly yanked it free and spun to her right assuming a bold offensive stance as she defiantly held the sword at the ready position.
“Very impressive, poppet,” he snidely remarked, seemingly enjoying himself. “You bear the Armor with a mastery well beyond your years. But I’m afraid play time is over.”
And then he simply waved his left hand and lifted Erin a few feet off the ground with an unseen force. Waving his hand again, the sword flew into the darkness and she was inexplicably locked into place like a floating mannequin.
Her eyes returned to normal as the metal mask melted from her face; and she tried to say something but quickly found herself unable to speak.
Smiling at her, Lucifer snidely said, “We have nothing to discuss, my dear Erin. Not as of yet anyway. And, as they say, silence is sometimes golden.”
“Let her go,” I managed to force out, trying like hell to pull the flaming spear out of my chest cavity to no avail. “It’s over, asshole.”
“Over?” He merrily scoffed, shifting his attention back to me. “No, Master Robinson. It, most certainly, is not — over.”
Glancing at Doc, he said, “Behold — Father’s great Witness has come forth. The script is playing out with uncanny precision. This is splendid news. Splendid, indeed. I’m honestly quite impressed you managed to conceal her identify from me. Very shrewd maneuver on your part. Top marks, Dean.”
And when it was pretty clear I had no frigg’n idea what he was talking about, he said, “Oh, isn’t that interesting. Ms. Kelly didn’t see fit to disclose to you the nature of her condition, did she?”
Stepping toward me, an argent metal gauntlet fluidly manifested over his hand as he grasped my chin and pulled my face toward his.
Struggling to keep my eyes open as my life force continued to drain from my body, he coldly muttered, “I’d say you and the good doctor would have much to discuss, but I don’t believe you’re going to last long enough to have that particular conversation. You don’t look well, Dean.”
Spitting a wad of blood in his smarmy face, I grunted, “When I get up, I’m gonna frigg’n end you.”
Callously pushing me away as he strolled toward the Ark, he said, “I think we both know that’s simply not going to happen. The Gehenna fire from my lance is devouring the very last of your life essence as we have this enlightened conversation. You’ve been bested by the very Wrath you were entrusted to wield. The irony is delicious. And yet, the tales of your martyrdom will undoubtedly be etched into the annals of eternal infamy. Perhaps even a nice sonnet will be sung of the mighty Seventh Deacon of the Seventh Line and his nobly tragic end at the hand of the Morning Star. I dare say it’s almost Shakespearean. And with that parting sentiment, I will bid you adieu, Master Robinson. I’m quite late for my visit with our friends in the Heavens.”
Ignoring his gloating bullshit as I slumped further down on the infernal lance, I muttered, “We slammed the door on Tartarus, asshole. Looks like you’re going alone.”
“Am I?” He playfully asked, as a fine layer of white flame shimmered into existence on the fringe of his cloak.
And then he simply ripped the lid off the Ark and tossed it into the darkness.
As my muddled mind churned to keep focus, the night air filled with an incessant fluttering of unseen, massive wings accompanied by the unnatural shrieking of a thousand, tormented voices.
The unnerving sound rang through my head like a raging nightmare as I looked up in horror to find that Lucifer was no longer alone.
He was standing amidst a legion of angels.
Angels with soulless black eyes infused with a countless millennia of crazed madness and sullied, tattered wings that flared from their statuesque frames in seething rage.
The fallen Watchers.
He’d liberated them after all.
Fuck.
Drawing on the last ounce of strength remaining in my body, I lurched forward in futility only to have the flaming pike rip deeper into my chest.
With nothing more than a contemptuous glance, Lucifer muttered, “And so it begins.”
Then he and his army of psychopathic seraphs shot into the night sky like a fleet of shooting stars until they were simply gone.
No longer able to keep my eyes open, I felt my head drop stiffly against my chest as the magnitude of what just happened hit me like a sledgehammer.
Unfortunately, it was right about then when I also came to the bitter conclusion that I had nothing left in the tank, as my senses steadily faded to a state of void.
Damn.
Impaled on a flaming spear by the frigg’n Devil.
If that ain’t a hell of a way to go out, I don’t know what is.
Yep. Pun intended.
The last thing I heard was yelling.
Actually, it was more like screaming.
Frantic, pissed off screaming.
It was Erin.
I felt her grab me — shake me.
Then there was just darkness.
Damn the bad luck.
Chapter 37
“Good evening, this is Buzz Shea reporting live from Boston’s historic Faneuil Hall — or more appropriately, what’s left of it. Welcome to tonight’s special edition of The BuzzSource and tonight’s buzz, as you can well imagine, is the single question on everyone’s mind — What’s next? By all accounts, it’s been roughly forty-eight hours since the unprecedented, global incursion of the barbaric creatures that our military leaders are now referring to as Hostile Biological Beings of Anomalous Anatomical Classification — or simply H-BACs. While the intentions of these so called H-BACs remains as much of a mystery as their origin, th
ey seem to have simply vanished as quickly as they appeared. However, the questions remain — Where did they go? Will they come back? How will we stop them? Can they even be stopped? With every major nation still reeling in the aftermath of their heinous — near unspeakable — atrocities, a unified state of emergency continues to reign throughout the land. However, despite the still unquantified levels of death and destruction, several strides toward regaining a semblance of normalcy is well underway in most U.S. cities to include the Nation’s capital where, according to unconfirmed reports, a weapon of mass destruction was detonated. So, what’s next? Apparently, only time will tell. In other peculiar, yet seemingly unrelated, news — an abnormal amount of meteorite strikes have been reported along the eastern seaboard and throughout the upper Midwest. A spokesperson from the…”
“Change the flipping channel,” a somewhat familiar voice grunted from somewhere in the depths of my mind as the odd sensation of teeth nipping on my ear and a really small tongue licking my face coaxed me into a somewhat lucid state of consciousness.
Slowly opening my eyes, I found myself in a familiar dimly lit room lying on my back, on what felt like an oversized wooden table. Staring at the ceiling in a blurry haze, I immediately became aware of the intense, throbbing pain that raced through every last inch of my body.
With a heartfelt groan, I lifted my head to find a certain brown spotted, miniature feral hog standing squarely on my bare chest, staring at me with great anticipation.
Giving his little head a reassured pat, I muttered, “Good to see you, Duncan.”
As the pocket pig responded with an elated squeal, I said, “But if you’re licking my face, who the hell’s biting my ear?”
And then, unfortunately, I turned my head to find Double OT sitting there in his Spiderman boxer shorts and kittenzilla tee shirt with a shit eating grin plastered across his bearded face.
“Owen?”
“How ya feeling, monkey man?”
“That depends. Am I dead?”
“Don’t think so.”
“In that case, I feel like shit.”
“Yeah, you kinda look like shit. And while we’re on the topic, you kinda got this funk—”
“Hey, Owen.”
“Yes, monkey man?”
“Why in the fuck where you biting my ear?”
“Is that not a thing?”
“No. That’s not a thing.”
“Oh. This is awkward, isn’t it?”
“I’m going to get up now.”
“And I should probably leave.”
Shimmering out of existence only to reappear on the very far side of the Quartermaster with an acoustic guitar in hand, he then began to expertly pick an old blues song that I couldn’t quite place.
Painfully sitting up on the makeshift hospital bed, Duncan excitedly jumped off me and scampered toward the bar. As I looked around through foggy eyes, I found myself surrounded by hundreds of wounded clerics strewn across every available table top in the entire frigg’n Quartermaster.
“Take it slow,” Rooster said, pulling up alongside me and placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve had a rough couple days. How you feeling, man?”
Grasping my chest to find one hell of a grotesque, semi-healed wound, I grumbled, “Hazy. How did I—”
“Survive being shish kebab’d by a lance made of Judgment fire?” He interjected, handing me a black RoosterBragh tee shirt emblazoned with the tagline The Early Bird Gets the ‘Bragh, Brah. “We’re not sure. But, you can thank Harlan and Willa for patching you up. After we got you back here they worked some serious vexen mojo. It was — messy.”
Making the mental note to figure out what the hell that meant at some point down the road, I muttered, “Lucifer … he beat us. After all that, the son of bitch still managed to free the Watchers and—”
“I know,” he said, hanging his head in frustration. “I know.”
“We need to do something.”
“Yes. Yes, we do but—”
“How’s the team?”
“Everybody’s okay. For the most part—”
“Good, then round them up.”
“Look, Dean, I need to explain a few things first—”
“Explain it later,” I grumbled, painfully throwing my legs off the table. “We need to figure out our next move. Where’s Big A?”
“Stop!” he barked, as his eyes flashed a blazing red. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We need to think this through. Things have become — complicated.”
And when I offered nothing in response besides an icy stare, he said, “Okay, so, after Erin pulled Lucifer’s skewer out of your chest—”
“Wait,” I said, anxiously scanning the makeshift hospital ward. “Doc. Where’s Doc? Is she—”
“She’s fine. Actually, she’s kinda more than fine.”
“Then where is she?”
Nervously clearing his throat, he replied, “She, ah, left.”
“Left? What do you mean she left? Where the hell did she go?”
“To find the other one.”
And when I gave him the second icy glare in as many minutes, my enigmatic ginger colleague said, “So, apparently, Erin’s a—”
“Witness,” I muttered, as my mind flashed back to the events at the Washington Monument.
“Wait, you knew?”
“That’s what Lucifer called her. What does it mean?”
“Well, according to the Book of Revelations, when the end times are approaching, two prophets arise that bear the Armor of God, and are supposedly juiced up with the power to devour their enemies with fire that pours out of their mouths amongst a few other things. They’re referred to as Witnesses.”
“What are they supposed to do?”
“According to the ancient prophecies, their purpose is to stand against Lucifer and the Four Horsemen. They’re supposed to stop the apocalypse.”
“Son of a bitch,” I grumbled, trying to wrap my head around this more than bizarre twist as I rapidly connected a couple of dots. “Doc’s purpose — This is what Mariel was talking about. She knew this was coming.”
Awkwardly getting to my feet, I said, “I need to talk to her. I need to talk to Mariel. Right frigg’n now.”
“Yeah,” Rooster muttered, “And this is the complicated part.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t talk to M.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because, hoss,” Coop replied, joining the discussion with his long bow draped over his shoulder and looking exceptionally worse for the wear, “Heaven’s locked up tighter than a clam’s ass at high tide. Ain’t nobody getting in — or out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When Lucifer started his shenanigans in D.C.,” Rooster replied, “The archangels evidently put the Heavens on total lockdown. That’s why Skyphos went dark.”
“Wait,” I grumbled. “Are you saying we’re cut off from Skyphos?”
“And Abernethy,” Coop added.
“Abernethy?”
“Big A and Tango never made it to the Washington Monument,” Rooster defeatedly muttered, “Because they were gathering the rest of the Deacons in Third Heaven when the doors got slammed shut. They’re trapped there.”
“Christ,” I grumbled. “So, you’re telling me that Doc’s in the wind, Big’s A trapped with half of the Deacons, and Stephen’s imprisoned with the other half?”
“And, unless I’m missing something, we have no frigg’n recourse to do anything about the small fact that Lucifer’s raising hell in Heaven. Until, of course, it spills over onto the Earth.”
Shaking my head, I asked, “What about the frigg’n anakim?”
“Another conundrum,” he muttered. “After Lucifer took the Watchers and headed topside, the anakim just stopped fighting and hauled ass. That was two days ago.”
“All of them?”
“Far was we can tell, yes.”
“Where the hell did they go?”
“Not sure, hoss,” Coop replied, “Yesterday, Crockett and his team tracked a group of biggins into the Grand Canyon, but then the trail went colder than a brass toilet seat in the Yukon.”
Shaking off the latest Cooperism, I asked, “What could they be doing in the goddamn Grand Canyon?”
“Dunno,” he said, gazing at the droves of wounded clerics scattered throughout the massive room. “We’ve been a little short staffed to figure it out. But, whatever it is, all across the dagum globe they’re keeping a low profile — for now.”
Taking a deep breath as I sat back down on the table with an offshoot of pain firing through my torso, I grumbled, “This is frigg’n complicated.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Rooster muttered. “We need to be smart about our next move.”
And it was right about then when the front door to the Quartermaster swung open, and a curiously tall figure clad in a blood soaked tunic and shredded armor staggered through before falling to his knees.
Jumping off the table and willing the cloak into being, I took a bold step forward as the haggard mystery man quickly scanned the room in a panic. Fixating on me, a look of relief washed over his face as he clumsily got back to his feet and stumbled toward us like he was on his last legs.
Barely making it to Rooster before face planting on the stone floor in a smoldering heap, he said, “The Heavens are ablaze. The fallen ones have returned … you must help us … you must—”
And then he simply went limp.
“Who’s this guy?” Coop asked, as Rooster reached down to check his pulse. “Is he dead?”
Pulling back his tunic to reveal the remnants of badly burned and savagely mutilated wings, Rooster replied, “No. He’s not dead. And he’s not a guy. He’s an angel. One of Gabriel’s foot soldiers if I had to guess.”
Locking gazes with Rooster, I said, “And if he figured out a way to get out of Heaven—”
“He can figure out a way to get us in,” He nodded, as his eyes danced with rapid thought.
“This isn’t over,” I muttered as the cloak flared on my shoulders and a dark smile curled across my face. “Not yet.”
Wrath of the Fallen: The Guild of Deacons, Book 2 Page 34