Consecration

by Ira Robinson

  No. Not a demon. As Carver looked up into the eyes of Azazel, they almost seemed to slide from the evil and hate they once held into compassion as he nodded.

  "A deranged one," Azazel muttered. "An angel nonetheless."

  He gently nudged Lisa on the shoulder, and her body followed the direction, sidling slowly toward Indris as the huge devil took a lumbering step. His wings caressed the ceiling above and the beings below, sliding across her back as Indris grabbed her,.

  "Don't you see what's really going on, Carver?" the demon asked, using his name for the first time. Carver's eyes rose to follow the movements as he came closer. "Don't you see the folly of serving such as him?"

  The eyes fluttered a bit, and Carver could not drag his own aside, a subtle shifting inside of them pulling him in. His body had the sensation of moving forward, dragged into those orbs as the swirl continued. Impelled against his will, the thoughts of the rest of his body melting as his power to resist withered in the hypnotic effect of Azazel's being.

  Those eyes, almond-shaped and filled with the smokiness that exuded at his feet, subtly danced with a scintillation irresistible, the colors fading from black, worming to red, into amber and back to black, circling around as Carver's being ebbed.

  A part of his awareness realized this was how Azazel had controlled humans for so long, their own wills cascading into oblivion as they became servants to this old demon paying god.

  His words were ambrosia as they slid from his mouth into Carver's ears, their tone caressing his spirit. "You are confused. I understand. I want to tell you the truth, Carver." Another step closer, the great bulk of him sliding across the metal floor, a lengthy tail coming up in a soft swirl. His wings bent forward, cutting off the view of those behind him, their own silence as their master approached him falling away as the dust from the ceiling. "Your life has been a lie. Meaningless. I can separate you of the bonds you have to him."

  Could he? Carver sensed he could, as his being was dragged further from his body. To be free of Biel would change his life in ways unimaginable.

  It was, after all, what he wanted from the beginning, wasn't it? To be away from the insanity his world had become since taking on the mantle of the Hallow, to turn up a place he and Lisa could belong and never have to worry about the wars between the demons and the angels. Better to let them fend for themselves, to be able to find some peace for themselves or destroy each other in some final rage, for all he cared. To be away from it would be a blessing, wouldn't it?

  A part of him bucked it, though, something deep inside that told him what he was passed beyond magic, power, demons, and angels. It went outside gods and monsters, breaking through to something else entirely.

  It went to the eyes of his little girl, who looked at him as a superhero, cape or not, and the smile on her face when she saw him do what he knew was right.

  "Let me free you from the bonds you have to him," Azazel said, his voice almost a whisper, soothing and smooth, the orbs pulsing with a fever of colors and emotions. "I can give you what you seek the most."

  A frenzy inside as Azazel; came to within three feet, his face bent into Carver's own, the wings behind him flowing like smoke, themselves, began in his arm, and in an instant he was sucked into himself, the hypnotic coiling effect of the eyes of the demon scattering.

  "Yes, you can," Carver muttered, the hackles on the back of his neck rising as the demon breathed a fetid stream of air. "You can give me my daughter back."

  Azazel's eyes flared wide, the scintillations dissipating as the orbs returned to the malevolent magma-red once more.

  Carver leaped forward, his right hand lifting as the potential in him released, white-hot gout of flaming power jetting forth from the scar as the beast within him burned, its dying scream joined by Carver's own as he pushed it all into Azazel's face.

  The demon prince wrenched backward, the scales falling away as the Hallow's power shot into him like a bolt of lightning, and a wail of fury and pain flowed from his throat. He backed a step, two, as his wings crashed into the ceiling above, showering bits of tile and mortar to the ground in a sputter, the impact shaking the whole room. Carver's feet moved again as he pressed the attack, the last of the demon carried within him coming out into Azazel's chest, a squeal of an onrushing wind from his hand piercing the skin of the colossal creature once more.

  Again Azazel stumbled, confusion and pain ripping across his face as the small man in front of him did not stop, arcing jets of fury into him over and over again.

  Lisa was tossed aside, her legs barely under control as Indris flung her aside, leading the two other demons to help their master. She recovered her step, her hands still bound behind her and the gag in her mouth blocking the scream she emitted as the glaze on her eyes faded, and she became aware of what was happening before her. She ran to the corner away from the fray, while Jessup moved, himself, bounding past Carver and Azazel to crash into the three approaching.

  All went down, bowled over by the weight of the dire wolf as he snapped at any limbs he could stretch his jaws toward, biting over and over.

  Azazel roared in rage as he slashed out at Carver with his lengthy arm, the claw raking across Carver's shoulder but not piercing through.

  The force was enough to push Carver backward, though, and he crashed into the wall behind him with a crunch.

  Chapter 29

  Carver shook his head, the rattling of the concussive force clouding his mind as he raised his hand to his skull and felt, wincing at the wetness of blood already flowing.

  The daze floated away rapidly, seconds only before he pulled himself erect once more and ducked as Azazel took another swipe with his massive arm, the claws at the tips of his fingers scraping across the wall with a cascade of sparks and a harsh clang.

  Carver dodged, trying to get behind the huge demon prince but one of the wings came down at him and bashed into his chest, sending him sailing once more. This time, he was able to land on his feet before he lost control, the rubber soles of his sneakers sliding on the metal with a squeal. His cloak billowed around him and he grabbed for the first pocket he could reach.

  A small object went into his his grip and he spared only a momentary glance, long enough to see the glitter of gold and the familiar feel of the dragon-shaped whistle.

  Before he could bring it to his lips, the tail smashed him, and his breath spurted from his lungs as he was shoved back. The whistle dropped from his hand and clattered across the floor, skidding near where Azazel now stood.

  As he rose again, his eyes caught the sight of Lisa near one of the corners of the room, her arms coming free from her rear as she slid them under her feet, agilely breaking loose. The ropes binding them together were still there, but she lunged from the corner and scrabbled for the blade on the ground, lost in the fracas between Jessup, Indris, and the other two demons.

  Jessup fought ferociously, one of the beasts already bleeding its essence away as Indris brought a short knife down, stabbing into Jessup's side. The wolf howled but did not back down, blood streaming from his jaws and multiple damages as he slowly worked his way toward Lisa, keeping the spawn at bay.

  "I will destroy you, Hallow!" Azazel screamed his voice loud enough the air shook, but his own blood, a brackish green pestilent substance, oozed from the wounds Carver created. He spun violently, the wings flailing with the arms and tried to stomp down on Carver, but he ducked aside, letting the weight of his body carry him a few feet distant before bounding up again.

  He raised his hand and a gout of holy power shot out again, but his aim was bad. The jet struck the wall behind the demon ineffectually as the creature whirled. Carver released another bolt, this time tagging the left wing of the demon and Azazel screamed in pain as the bolt moved down, cutting into the relatively thin leather and prying it in two.

  A fluttering began, trembling from the base near Azazel's shoulder, the leathery texture of the wing flapping useless around as the demon reared, his skull nearly impacti
ng the ceiling above them all and screamed. He rocked back and forth, the huge form backing away before moving in again, so enraged his eyes flowed a terrible red, shedding its iridescence everywhere the demon looked. He spotted Carver reaching into a pocket again and spun, the tail once more colliding.

  It scraped along his face, knocking his jaw and delivering a rush of agony through his head as he was bounced. His hands caught him before he tumbled down and he drooled. Dark serum dotted the floor, reflecting the yellow-white lights as Carver tried to regain his footing.

  He swiped the juice off of his lips, sparking more pain, the streak on the black cloak barely seen but for the wetness. He gagged and spat again, the taste of the liquid thick on his tongue.

  From the corner of his eye he detected movement and glanced toward Jessup, the large wolf transmitting one growl and howl after another, ducking and weaving as the demon and Indris focused on him, ignoring his daughter behind them.

  Carver shook his brain, his guts wrenching, when Lisa took a step closer to the melee, the blade he dropped seeming hours ago in her hands. The thing was huge compared to her small form, but she held it straight as she approached.

  Carver was slammed again, the smack of the giant fist of Azazel pounding into his face and he caromed backward, his head snapping on his neck. He tunneled into blackness for a moment before he hit the ground on his spine and uttered a cry.

  White fire shot from his hand as he tried to recover, the power out of control as he shook. He turned his head, his vision starting to clear, so dazed he felt nothing as Lisa plunged the sword in her hand into the exposed neck of Indris.

  An azure glow flared out of the blade as it penetrated the skin of the dark monarch, and Indris, at first, did not seem to notice, his attention so focused on the wolf in front of him. A second later, though, as Lisa backed with her hands now emptied, the grin which seemed to perpetually be plastered on his face faded as the intensity increased.

  She had stuck it into him to the stem, crashing through who knows what as it entered the king, and he reached up a hand, dropping the small knife he had been using on Jessup, to try to grab the hilt. His fingers wrapped around it like a lover's caress, folding over the leather straps surrounding the steel.

  He folded down to the ground before he could move it, turning as he did. Carver saw the large streams of blood flowing out of the wound, so dark it was almost black, washing over the fine suit as he went down, his body convulsing.

  Carver got to his feet and ducked as Azazel maneuvered again, his full weight bearing down as he punched. It smacked Carver in the shoulder and he spun wildly, tumbling down once more.

  Lisa cried out, nearly soundless in the depth of the roar Azazel was making.

  Carver, bloodied and raw, every part of his soul aching beyond measure, crawled across the metal floor, inching ahead as Azazel began to laugh.

  "You're a fool, Hallow," the booming said. "Barachiel should have chosen a better vessel."

  Sharp jagged shock pierced his side as the huge booted foot of Azazel struck him. He lifted from the ground and soared across the room, his chest meeting the floor once more ten feet away. The breath spouted out, particles of blood dotting the dust and grime of the alloy. He tried to take another pull, as the blackness veiled his mind once more, but could suck in no more than a little as the pain cut through his awareness from the broken rib. It crunched inside him as he moved, his legs kicking forward to get from this horrible thing, the monstrous creation from the depths of hell.

  His eyes crossed something glinting a few feet distant and focused, tying to use it as a guide through the pain and harsh edge his mind was overwhelmed by.

  He stretched out a hand, his fingers slipping across the small object as the cloak caught up on a rivet jutting from the floor. A tearing sensation as he pulled harder against the steel joined the laughter of the giant behind him as the fabric let loose.

  His fingers wrapped the thing, so tiny in his hand and yet glimmering with hope as he turned, his back now to the floor.

  He heaved a deep gasp, the agony of it burning within him almost impossible to bear. His body cracked and a moan broke from his throat as he sat up.

  The golden whistle, the filigrees decorated so prettily, a dragon with its wings pressed close to it in flight, joined his lips and all the breath in his lungs went into the blow.

  There was no high-pitched cry, no droning like a referee calling a play. What came from the front of the whistle was a crash of sound that froze all of the beings in the room in place.

  Wind rushed through the room, smashing into all present as the colossal roar, hot and furious, flew from the whistle, paralyzing even the demons. The fearful tone of something ancient, massive and powerful, brought them into an awe-struck muteness, unmoving. Not a sigh escaped their lips and the laugh Azazel's pleasure at seeing Carver on the ground began was drawn to a halt.

  Carver, however, could still move, and he lifted his body up, his legs wobbling under him as he blew, his eyes remote and shining with pain. The walls around him shook, vibrating, with the flaming frenzy of the dragon's scream as he stepped closer to his daughter.

  He could do no more, the whistle falling into silence as the rush of sound faded. His breath heaved from his lungs as he moved faster, almost tipsy with the ache and heat.

  Lisa screamed as he approached, her eyes wide with terror as Azazel crashed toward him, his long legs carrying him fast. Her hand began to rise and the scrabbling of Jessup's claws on the floor as he recovered from a blow he had taken matched his own movements.

  Carver ducked at the unmoving form of Indris, the blood pool across the ground slathering under his feet as he passed through it, the soles of his shoes squelching it away, still wet but coagulating.

  He took a deep breath and began the whistle again, the scream of fire and rage of the ancient of days poured its terror out again. Lisa's face locked in place, her hand unmoving as the sound wiped her mind, the clawing against the floor from Jessup fading as he, too, was stopped. The brutal stomping of the giant soles of Azazel became nothing as Carver reached out and grappled the blade sticking from Indris' neck.

  He yanked, the steady flow of exhaling jerking for a moment as he strained to break the hilt free of the flesh.

  It came out with a snick, blood pouring out slowly, no longer pushed by a beating heart.

  The whistle's fury ended as he dropped the golden object and whirled around, the actions of the others in the room beginning as if time restarted once more.

  Lisa's chest rose and fell as a scream wrenched from her body and Jessup pounced at the remaining demon.

  Carver spun, the blade held in his right hand and summoned up all of his will, the huge form of Azazel creaking toward him. One wing spread while the other hung limply along his side, the bones holding its canopy useless, the leather tattered into pieces by Carver and the creature's frenzy.

  Carver bounded, his legs coiling under him and, with a jerk, lifting him off the ground as Azazel crashed toward him, arms outstretched to take him into a hug he would not escape from.

  Carver brought the sword to bear and pushed all of his potential into the flesh of his palm.

  Something inside of him snapped, a sensation unlike what he felt before as the release of energy poured away from him into the hilt. The light from his hand grew in intensity as he was carried by the strength of his lunge, the end of the blade aimed for the mass near Azazel's stomach. An electrical tingle filled the air around him as the power seethed forth, the ivory mixing with the azure of the blade itself

  The point entered the skin of the demon at the spot the navel should be, opening a pinprick of a hole that rapidly spread wider as it razored into the malignant flesh, the metal deepening with a sizzle as its edge combined with the magic pouring out of him.

  Carver opened his mouth and screamed as suffering, onrushing abject torturous pain shot through him from his own core, as the essence of himself was being drained away into the flow ente
ring Azazel. The pressure of their movements, coming together as one, was unstoppable and he could not release the hilt if he wanted to.

  The sword kept going in and Azazel joined Carver's cry, his booming roar morphing into a higher pitched keening wail as one inch after another entered his flesh, the cancerous goo from his guts beginning to slide down the blade even as it crept deeper.

  Finally, Carver's own hand began to enter it and his scream increased as the burning within his grip began, his skin joining the inside heat and hatred of the being before him. The glow of power emitting furiously from his hand disappeared as his palm, then the rest of his fist, became one with Azazel.

  The demon's arms crossed over Carver's back and squeezed, bringing the man's face close, pushing him hard into his chest. His arm jerked as he was pried closer, the sword entering deeper and the anguish bursting into a deeper dread as his flesh burned in the creature.