Kill Samael.
The void shook wildly, and then morphed into a scene that felt somehow familiar.
A strong older man in a leather coat knelt before a Cross made of red-hot coals. His hands were covered in blood, and his entire body flickered with crimson fire as he struggled to hold the Cross together. He was laughing and crying, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks.
Someone else was laughing and crying as well, a matching harmony to his, but it came from everywhere and nowhere, and felt like it was fighting to stop the man and his Cross.
The image rippled like a reflection in a pond, and was replaced by another.
Two puppies chasing each other playfully through puddles of blood—jumping, splashing, and barking as their tails wagged back and forth, flinging blood everywhere.
Ripple.
A beautiful Sphinx telling herself riddles in a silver mirror—somehow giving wrong answers but not wrong answers.
Ripple.
A wooden Cross Pattée cracking and splintering as the hands of time destroyed it—but new shoots of green leaves grew from within those dead cracks.
Ripple.
Four Masked figures on giant, four-legged beasts confronted each other, their mouths opening as they conversed, but all that could be heard were the cries of the damned and the horns of war.
Ripple.
A never-ending explosion on a field of black that seemed to rip my mind into pieces, but was also comforting.
Ripple.
A dog fighting pit with silhouettes of giant ephemeral and elemental beings placing bets from high above. Four adult dogs hoarded human bones in one corner while four puppies squared off against them, snarling, yapping and stumbling over their own disproportionately massive paws. But they were growing rapidly, and the adult dogs bared their teeth with seeming alarm.
Ripple. Another vision. Ripple. Another vision.
Again and again and again…
With no other choice, I rode the winds of chaos, watching the never-ending explosion of visions—watched as the ripples grew more violent and far-reaching.
Chapter 36
I came back to with a groan, shivering from the experience. One vision especially stuck in my mind, waking my body up like an electric shock.
Samael waiting for me on the roof of a building. But something else waited for me on the roof of the building as well. Something else I had once wanted but couldn’t quite recall.
On that rooftop was a choice.
I looked around for the bear, ready to demand an explanation—for him to elaborate on the visions. Were they real? Possibilities? Warnings?
But the little mushroom-muncher had left.
True to his word, my weapons and jewelry were exactly where I had left them. I began putting them on absently, recalling the visions and trying to make sense of them, wondering if any of them were immediately relevant. According to the bear, they had all been relevant revelations.
“Relevations,” I muttered, setting the black halo on my head. My last item. My eyes latched onto a bent katana in the grass. Perhaps not my last item. But it was a broken blade. And I already had one broken blade.
I pulled the broken Spear out of my body with a familiar gesture, wincing anew—like I did every time—to see it still damaged. Perhaps a broken blade had its uses. Maybe two wrongs could make a right…
I scooped up the katana and stared at it intently, listening. I smiled as it finally greeted me, and then I asked it a question. It practically vibrated with joy—to hear it still had a purpose.
The katana abruptly melted to liquid, splashing the metal all over my hands. I smiled down at it, focusing on it, listening to it, telling it what I needed it to do. It responded instantly, forming into a hovering ball of chrome above my palm.
Then I called upon my old friend, the Silver magic.
The two merged together like love at first sight, growing stronger for it.
Then I glanced down at my broken white Spear and sang a song in a language lost to mankind lifetimes ago.
The silver sphere struck the white wood of the spear and began to glow. I sang louder, sweat dripping from my brow as I fused the silver into the wood, healing it. Why hadn’t I thought to do this before?
After an eternity, it was finished. I realized I was kneeling on the ground, panting. And I held a silver spear in my hand—still as light as the original, but harder than steel.
The Spear was fixed. Forged anew. That hadn’t been too difficult.
Now I had something to fight Samael with until I got close enough to use Cain’s dagger to carve out his living heart.
I had a bit of Silver left over from the Spear’s re-forging, so flung it at a nearby rock, cursing the tiny bear. But I was also grateful because his visions had shown me where to go.
The excess silver splashed into the rock, creating a Door, but something seemed to be fighting it. I set my shoulders, gripped my Spear, and pulled the last ring from my pocket. The Silver Seal gleamed too brightly. Nevertheless, I set it around my finger and pointed at the hesitant Door, willing it to obey me and serve me.
Because I was a Goddess who demanded respect.
It finally formed into a Door and I nodded stiffly. Why hadn’t I used the Silver Seal before? I hadn’t needed to wait for Doors to appear on their own, I could have just made my own. I had amassed so many trinkets that I couldn’t even recall where I had picked this one up.
I realized my pulse was quickening as I wrapped myself in power, arming myself to destroy Samael before he had a chance at banter. He would only say one thing before he died.
Please.
I took a calming breath, and stepped through the Silver Door.
Chapter 37
I stepped out onto the roof of an abandoned building in an abandoned city. The same rooftop I remembered from my vision, but Samael was nowhere in sight. Instead, two knights stood with their backs to me—one wearing gold armor and the other wearing silver armor. They were both tall, heavily-muscled men. The golden knight looked to be twice my size, but the silver knight made his fellow look like a gangly teen wearing his father’s armor.
Or…they were both actually tiny, highly-insecure men wearing a lot of metal padding.
I had a feeling that I would find out soon enough—the easy way or the hard way.
They were patiently and silently watching a Silver Door before them and seemed to not have noticed my arrival. The sunset sky was a smear of purples and greens like an epic storm was in process, but the air was still and dead. I saw lightning off in the distance, but heard no thunder.
The air smelled pleasant—making me smile. Like fresh fruit in a lush garden.
I studied the two men warily, wondering if I should kill them now or wait a few moments. Their armor was ornate and imposing, seeming designed more for court balls rather than the fields of battle. But that could be a calculated deception. Like the jewelry I wore—seemingly trite and pretty—their armor could actually be equally dangerous items of power.
Something about them seemed familiar, like I had seen them somewhere before, but I didn’t remember them from my visions, and definitely hadn’t met any knights in my travels through the Doors.
They continued to stare at the Door with infinite patience. Who were they expecting? Samael? I cleared my throat, thumping the re-forged Spear of Destiny into the floor at my feet. They spun quickly at the noise, but their armor was as silent as silk on silk, proving my earlier thought. No plate armor was that quiet. I had to fight the look of surprise on my own face, marveling at the beauty to the armor. From the front, it was even more impressive.
Their armor wasn’t just rich and well designed. They were pieces of art.
The golden knight’s pauldrons had been designed to look like a thick, open book resting atop either shoulder. Braided vines held the books in place like restraining bookmarks, stretching on down his strong arms to transform into thicker, older vines. Hundreds of golden leaves grew from the vines,
covering his arm in protective, precious-metal foliage all the way to his impressive gauntlets—each big enough to crush my skull with a clenched fist. The gauntlets were segmented and chitinous, making me think of a beetle burrowing near the roots of the vines growing up his arm, but each knuckle was encrusted with a single brilliant emerald.
Enochian script—the language of the Angels—was etched into the entire surface of each gauntlet, and they were both entirely different. For the first time, I felt a shiver of fear, knowing that placing so many runes beside each other should have resulted in nullifying the other runes.
Or they could have produced a blast of destruction that ended the world.
Imagine the moment God realized it had been a bad idea to order Indian curry for takeout.
And that God’s green Earth was His Pearly Potty.
I frowned, momentarily startled at the strange thought. Where had it come from? I shook it off as something to do with this strange place and it’s thunder-less lightning.
Since we were all still breathing, I decided the knight must know a thing or two about runes.
The golden breastplate was one solid piece, and portrayed a king with his hands raised in victory. A beautiful palace loomed behind him, but rather than looking designed for defense and war, it looked more like a place of worship and peace. Maybe a temple, then, not a palace.
The knight’s metal skirt was a canopy of tree leaves, and the legs were gnarled, ancient tree trunks. Each kneecap showed a life-like human face. One featured a beautiful young woman with thick, flowing hair and the other was a bearded old man with long, knotted, wild hair. The knight’s boots resembled a tangled knot of roots—with a single red ruby the size of my fist on the top of each foot.
His helmet resembled a snarling bear with wings at the temples that flared backwards into points. Through the open mouth, I saw only a veil of golden chain links, concealing the man beneath. But on the center of the bear’s forehead was a silver circle containing a six-pointed star—perfectly symmetrical with dots between each point.
The silver knight looked almost identical except for his helmet, which was a roaring lion. Instead of flaring wings at the temples, his head was surrounded by a mane of silver hair that looked light enough to shift in the wind or comb with my fingers even though it was also metal. The same star symbol marked his forehead, but in gold, and a similar curtain of silver chain links concealed the man’s face.
“You are earlier than we anticipated,” the golden knight said in a warm, soothing voice. He waved a hand towards the Silver Door they had been watching, and it evaporated like smoke in a breeze. Impressive.
I thumped the butt of my Silver Spear into ground significantly, gauging their reactions. They didn’t flinch or tense. They were standing near the ledge of the rooftop and I wanted to get an idea of how high above ground level we were, so I began walking towards them, thumping my spear with each step in a steady, ominous beat that produced a faint throb of silver light in a circle around me.
They watched me thoughtfully, not looking the least bit concerned. They were either very brave, very stupid, or very powerful. I was pretty sure I knew which.
I kept a close eye on them as I reached the brick ledge and glanced down. We were about a hundred feet above a narrow, cobbled alley, but across the alley was the back of a decrepit church, slightly shorter than our own building. Once-elegant spires lined the peaked roof, but most of the survivors looked cracked and worn, on the verge of crashing down into the cobbled alley below. Almost the entire back of the church consisted of one vast stained-glass window.
But not just any window…it was practically a mural—a piece of art in glass form, utilizing every color of the rainbow, so vibrant it almost looked alive.
The church looked on the verge of collapsing in on itself, but that glass window looked as if it would last for eternity. Despite the abandoned city, there was obviously a light on in the church because the majority of the glass glowed enticingly, illuminated from within.
I realized that I was leaning over the edge, feeling drawn to that window, drawn to the story depicted in glass. A crucifix made of red-hot coals dominated the center of the window, held together only by a thorny vine wrapping around it in an upward spiral. A wreath of white roses was draped over the top like a fallen halo.
Or a funeral wreath on a tombstone.
Despite the flaming cross, neither the thorny vine nor the white rose wreath burned.
Just to the right of the center, a man stood staring down at the cross, his back to me so I couldn’t see his face.
Just to the left of the center, a small young girl with long pale hair mirrored his stance, much shorter than the adult, of course. The two of them held hands, and where their flesh met seemed too bright to directly look at—like staring into the sun.
At the base of the window were dozens of wicked claws, snarling beasts, and gnashing fangs. The Demons—despite their fangs and claws—were all beautiful. One even looked like Samael, and I noticed an empty black throne hidden to the right of the tangled mass of flesh.
At the peak of the window were Angels, and their faces were scarred, wounded ruins, their eyes pure white. Despite their flaws, they were perfect in every other way, and they were depicted in light, cold colors in the glass.
Each corner of the window was difficult to focus on, my eyes seeming to slip away each time I tried. All except the one in the bottom right corner, suggestively close to the empty black throne.
A man in black rode a black, winged unicorn—an alicorn. The beast’s eyes glowed with all the colors of the rainbow, somehow cycling through them one-by-one. Great skeletal wings arced over the man’s back, sprouting long black feathers like those on a peacock but with red orbs at the tips. Unlike a typical feathered wing, there were maybe a dozen feathers altogether, making the wings look impractical and dysfunctional. The eyes of the man’s mask glowed such a bright golden color that I couldn’t quite make out the details of the mask itself.
He gripped a coiled white chain, and a sinister, curved black blade—looking like it had been taken from a spear-sword—hung from the end of the chain.
I tried again to study the other three corners of the glass window, but could only confirm that they were also masked, humanoid silhouettes riding four-legged beasts. Out of the corner of my eye, the top left figure seemed to flare brighter for a fraction of a second, but when I tried directly focusing on it, I still couldn’t pick out any details—seeing only a blurred silhouette. Perhaps the light within the church didn’t reach the corners like it did the rest of the window.
I finally leaned back from the ledge, blinking a few times since they felt gritty from scrutinizing the window too closely. The two knights hadn’t moved but I abruptly realized I had focused so intently on the window that they easily could have killed me had they wanted.
“Where is my Demon?” I demanded. I’d come here to kill Samael, not to stare at windows or make new friends. I’d seen this rooftop—or one almost identical to it—in the bear’s vision, and it had shown me battling Samael. He was supposed to be here. Why else would my Door have taken me here?
A sudden suspicion settled over my shoulders, and I realized I was growling openly. At the knights. With a snap of my fingers, I cast a precise blast of air to knock off their helmets, expecting to find Samael hiding beneath like a bug under a rock. Their helmets evaporated like smoke before striking the rooftop. I already had a second braid of power prepared—a blast so powerful it could level this entire city if I wanted—to rip his face from his shoulders. But my magic sputtered and died as I saw…
Two very surprised, non-demonic faces stared back at me. I knew my own look mirrored theirs. Primarily because the silver knight had the head of a gorgeous white lion. And it seemed obvious that he hadn’t been padding his armor. His fur looked as soft as velvet, and his eyes were the color of glaciers—a blue so cold that I imagined a frigid wind hitting my cheeks.
“That was quite rude,
” he growled unhappily.
“I’m sure she meant it as a polite gesture,” the other knight said in a meaningful tone. He was a handsome older man—one of those who seemed to only grow more beautiful with age—and had shoulder-length white hair and a matching, neatly-trimmed white beard. His green eyes sparkled like fresh-cut grass, and his skin was tanned like he either spent every moment of every day outdoors or he had some spice in his veins.
Speaking of veins, his were black, fanning across his face like the roots of a plant. He didn’t seem sickly or harmed by it, though. The man just had black veins.
Maybe he had experimented with the wrong Angelic runes on his gauntlets one day.
All that I really cared about was that neither of them was Samael. You would think this would be a relief. That glancing under the bed and not finding a monster was a good thing.
And you would be wrong.
I ground my teeth together. “Where. Is. My. Demon?” I demanded in a clipped tone, squeezing the haft of my Spear tightly, ready to pummel the answer out of them—knocking out tooth by tooth, ripping off fingernail by fingernail, and breaking bone by bone…
As a warm-up to what I was going to do to Samael when I found him.
Chapter 38
They studied me with infinite patience in their eyes, unaffected by my obvious fury. My patience, on the other hand, was not infinite. In fact, it was so finite that it barely existed.
All I really had left in me was a single drop of tolerance.
And that little sucker had just evaporated. It was time to show them just how powerful I—
“You’ve forgotten much, haven’t you, my child?” the older man said gently. “In your accumulation of power.” I blinked at him, caught off guard by his body language, his calm demeanor, and the surprising depth to his question. It earned him a few more minutes of life.
Sinner: Feathers and Fire Book 5 Page 22