Angels of War Battle of Archangels (Book 3) (Angels of War Trilogy)

by Andre Roberts

  Joan continued to ease her way down the stairs. She studied the Hellhounds and the bats far above her attached to the cavern roof. She spotted the two rusted cages where Jason and Rendon once stayed as captives until her and Maria rescued them.

  The Hellhounds hesitated to attack Joan. They knocked their black ram horns against each other in fear and anger, the crashing echoed throughout the cavern like giant cue balls slamming together. The bats did not hesitate, they spread their black leathery wings and swooped down from the cavern craggy roof and raced towards her. Their red eyes glowed bright against black furry faces. Their mouths lined in sharp yellow teeth stretched open to release horrible screams.

  The archangel lifted her sword, its honed edge reflecting against the fires. The first and largest bat sped down to her. She cut fast, the foul beast shrieked in pain. Its bloody insides spilled upon the steps and vanished before its body struck the ground. She killed three more before the others realized Joan owned the ability to send their worthless souls into Oblivion.

  The bats stopped in mid-air and collided into each other. They became a tangle wrapped in wings and sulfur perfumed black fur. Joan launched herself into the frightened clump. The bats clawed and fought to get away from the archangel who sliced through them as if she struck baseballs in a batting cage.

  “Where is my father?”

  She leaped into the Hellhounds massed together. Her golden armor gleaming against the red Hell light. She cut into the hounds. They howled and fled in mass like a wilder beast herd on the African plains. Their howls filled with agony lifted up into the cavern. She drove them by the thousands into a lake made from fire and brimstone.

  Joan turned to face the Hell guards. None approached her, in fear they scattered until the cavern emptied. “Where is my father?”

  Her voice echoed against the cavern’s red walls. Tears streamed from her eyes. “Where are you, Michael?”

  She closed her eyes and listened. Hell gave her screams and rumbles. The angered howls of Hellhounds driven into a burning lake and the bat’s intolerable screams ripped the air. She took a deep breath. “Where are you, Michael?”

  “I’m here.”

  Joan opened her eyes to gaze at the fiery lakes and the heat waves rising from their turbulent surface. Michael’s voice rose in her mind distant and thin, as if he lived on the moon. Her heart ached. “Where is here, Michael?”

  “Beneath Hell.”

  Joan sheathed her sword, the minions no longer wanted to fight her. “Beneath Hell. There is no beneath Hell, Michael.”

  A weak and broken laugh filled her head. “Such a place exists, Joan.”

  “How do I reach you? How do I save you, Michael?” Michael’s voice faded out. A distant scream filled with pain broached her mind. Her stomach tightened at the horrible sound.

  Not too far from Joan a Hell guard dropped his battle-axe, the heavy weapon clanged against the rocks. He approached Joan, fell to his knees and lifted his massive hands above his head in mercy.

  Joan gritted her teeth, rage swept through her. She readied her silver gladius and lifted the blade above her head to strike the beast down. “You dare come to me in mercy?”

  “Wait,” he bellowed and lifted his head. “Do you want to find Michael?”

  “Speak,” Joan said with her sword still raised and ready.

  “Michael is held captive below Hell.”

  Joan tightened her grip on the sword’s jeweled hilt. “Below Hell, how do I enter this place?”

  The Hell guard shifted his head, a thousand eyes blinked and rolled towards Satan’s Palace bordered by a fire filled moat. “Enter Satan’s Palace. Before his throne is a glass floor and beneath the floor you will find Michael.”

  Joan lowered her sword and swept her eyes over the beast’s face. She stared at the wet bovine mouth, the thick yellow bucked teeth underneath rough lips. The thousand eyes crazed blinking. She wondered if the demon told her the truth, yet his words didn’t matter. The truth in Hell became a twisted thing. Without a word the archangel raised her sword and cut down into the demon’s ugly head.

  A thousand eyes widened in shock and pain, a terrible scream spilled from the guard’s mouth as black brain matter splattered the ground like rotted fruit. Then its body vanished into Oblivion.

  The archangel headed for the palace, a monstrosity larger than Hell’s Cathedral. Her eyes picked out the shadows perched in and on its many windows and balconies. Dark bodies began to run into the palace, fear laced shouts and screams rose, a voice ordered someone to shut the doors. Without Satan and his archangels the lesser spawn’s arrogance vanished.

  Joan faced the fiery moat. Flames roared up before her, creating a wall to stop her advance. Anger and guilt beat through her. The emotions roiled and drove the archangel into a controlled frenzy.

  She spread her white wings and leaped over the fiery palisade and landed on the other side. More shouts reached her ears. Before her rose Satan’s spacious and dark palace made from black lava rocks. To her right, across the moat, countless lost souls gathered on the rocky slopes and shores to witness the spectacle.

  One enraged archangel, against Satan’s impotent flunkies.

  Joan sprinted for the steep staircase built up towards Hell’s Palace front door. Two Hell guards armed with spears rushed from the black ironwood doors to greet the diminutive archangel. She cut them down with one stroke each. Their howls echoing up through the rocky cavern, their souls dispersing into Oblivion.

  Joan bounded up the stairs. A round golden shield flashed into her left hand. A heavy noise rumbled from behind the door. Someone slid the door’s heavy bolt home in an attempt to lock her out. A smile played her face as her white horsehair plume danced. She picked up her speed and slammed her shield into the ironwood door.

  The door, forty-feet tall and made from black ironwood, shattered and crashed to the entry hall floor. Dust rose thick around the archangel who stepped through the destroyed remains. Bodies ran from her, their screams causing her ears to ache. She confronted unimaginable horrors.

  The fat flies freaked her out the most. They wore colorful suits and jaunty black top hats. Smoking pipes hung askew in their mangled mouths. The ghouls, the Hell guards, and even a few Hellhounds who ran upright like men did not bother her. Yet the flies in their cheerful dress made her skin crawl. Her face twisted not in fear, but distaste at the minions who fled her arrival. They understood if she gotten this far into Hell, none would stop her. And the one, who owned the power to stop her, allowed his hateful pride to keep him locked in Heaven.

  Joan dashed up the long hallway, her sword blazing silver light. She cut down a few Hell guards and palace flunkies who got in her way. Satan’s throne sat before her, a massive seat made from shiny lava rock and skulls. The Hell guards who stood near the throne dropped their iron spears and ran into the many crevices within the dark palace.

  The archangel paused before the throne, her eyes sweeping over the horrid seat for a moment and then she stared at her sandaled feet. She stood on a glass floor. Beneath her another dark world existed and she wondered why God created such a deep and pitiful place, like a nightmare within a nightmare. Her eyes squinted to take in a rock table with a black tree on its surface. Manacled to the tree hung Michael surrounded by a hundred Hell guards with spears pointed at his bloody body.

  The monsters took turns jabbing their rusty weapons into his flesh. Crimson spouted from his wounds. His screams did not reach her ears, but Michael’s head bolted back and his mouth opened in agony.

  Joan’s emotions went beyond anger and into a world filled with blind rage. She needed to save him. Without a second thought Joan dropped through the glass floor.

  12

  Once Joan fell through the glass floor, her wings deployed. She headed for Michael chained to the petrified tree, her heart beating fast and hard underneath her armored chest.

  Joan exercised her angelic vision and zoomed in on Michael. A hundred Hell guards surrounded the arc
hangel, jabbing him with poisoned spears and swords. Michael, stripped down to a loincloth, suffered from the bloody wounds the Hell guards inflicted upon him.

  One beast drove his blade straight into the archangel’s side up to the hilt. The archangel lifted his head and screamed in pain as the guard rammed the blade home.

  She couldn’t understand why Michael refused to save himself. He owned the ability to break the chains and slaughter the minions who tortured him.

  Joan stretched her wings and folded them back to increase her speed. Her eyes narrowed as she forced herself to fly faster against the hot air. And then it hit her.

  A force slammed into her body like gravity times ten. She hurtled downwards, the harsh red ground littered with spiked rocks rushed upwards. Her wings fumbled, she tried to straighten them but to no avail. Her world twisted, the force pulled her pass the petrified tree. She blew by the table and Michael.

  Joan swallowed several breaths to calm herself. Her golden shield appeared in her right hand. She slipped the shield between her body and the ground rushing up beneath her. The invisible force hauled her downwards like a powerful magnet. Michael told her Hell’s powers became impotent to archangels. What she faced at the moment shredded his statement.

  Joan crashed into the ground. Rocks and debris shot up around her joined by a thick dust cloud as if a comet slammed into the earth. Pain rolled through her body, she coughed. Blood seeped from between her lips. For a moment she thought she broken a rib.

  The lithe angel rolled off her shield. Raucous laughter filtered down to her from the rocky tower, another scream erupted followed by more harsh laughter.

  Joan struggled to her hands and knees. She stopped the bleeding by will and took to her feet. The pain subsided in waves. She swept her eyes over the land, inhospitable but without the caustic fires and fumes unique to Hell.

  For a moment she thought she entered a grave filled with bones she never seen before from animals long extinct or shelved by God. She pondered on how many other worlds existed like this and decided those secrets better left to God. Too many other questions filled her head. Like why this place powerful enough to render her wings useless.

  Joan hefted her shield from the ground and tramped towards the tower. The pillar rose five thousand feet above her. She slipped through enormous rib cages and gigantic skulls from things she never read about in her science books. Creatures she considered from other worlds God created and kept private. She stumbled upon what appeared to be a cow skull with five horns, human skulls with four eye sockets and teeth in double rows. Oddities she found both curious and distasteful. Another scream rolled down to her.

  Joan reached the tower and gazed up its sheer sides set with divots and razor edged volcanic rock. She reached out with a steady hand and nicked her index finger against a sharp rock. Blood slid down her hand in a thin red rivulet.

  “No,” Joan said. She touched the rock and sliced her finger again. The climb would be torturous and too much bleeding might weaken her powers and render her useless by the time she reached Michael.

  The archangel shook off the disheartening thoughts and placed her hand on a rocky divot. She shut her eyes, dug her fingers in and pulled herself up to begin the ascent.

  Hand over hand she went. The rocks cut her palms. Blood seeped from the thin wounds, her sandaled feet pressed against the sharp edges. The rocks gouged tiny divots into her leather caligae sandals, cracking the hobnails underneath. Her toes struck against the volcanic glass, the cuts in her hands seared like fire.

  “Up,” she said. Laughter exploded from the top. A scream came. Something white tumbled from above and fell beyond her view. She thought the object a foot smeared with blood.

  Joan took a chilled breath. She pulled up, her right foot slipped. If she fell, gravity would yank her down to the hard bottom.

  “Slow and steady,” she said aloud and lifted her eyes up the tower. With each breath she climbed, the sharp volcanic glass continued to cut deep. Joan wanted to scream from the pain.

  Joan pressed her face against the cold tower. Tiny cuts lined her cheeks, drawing blood. Her face appeared as though she fought a cat. Thin scratches became gouges in her palms. The bleeding on her fingers became more profuse.

  Joan fought against the screams and cussing her tongue wanted to unleash. She reminded herself not to whine or cry, suck the pain up like a warrior and press on. She released a haggard breath and moved up. Left arm, right arm, left foot, right foot, and take one step at a time, don’t stop.

  Pain exploded in her knee, she moaned in agony and looked down. Her head swooned from the height. Blood poured from her knee. A sharp slither broke off and protruded an inch below her kneecap.

  Her strength started to seep from her trembling arms. “This is not happening,” she said and pulled and pushed. The pain sent colorful bobbles before her eyes, pink, blues, and greens. She groaned low in her throat and moved on faster. If she died once she got to the top, at least she arrived.

  13

  Joan caught their voices, deep and indifferent to the pain they caused Michael. He shouted again and laughter hit the air, closer this time. Her face became a bloody mess. Sweat speckled her forehead and slid into her brown eyes, the salty burn blurring her vision. Sweat mixed with blood stung the tiny scratches over her face.

  The silk undergarment she wore beneath her armor clung against her sweat-slicked body. Joan climbed another foot. Glass shards scraped against her armor and disfigured the precious metal with scratches. Her right knee suffered another sharp slither. The archangel tried her best not to moan out loud.

  Joan faced the table bottom riddled with hooked divots. She stretched out and grabbed one, swung from the tower and monkey barred her way using her swaying legs and momentum until she neared the table’s edge.

  She swung a hand and grabbed the ledge. Her muscles throbbed and burned, her head swooned like she drank too much tequila. She reached up with her other hand, pressing her fingers against the stone and hauled herself high enough to rest her forearms on the table surface. Joan rocked her right leg and kicked up. The force propelled her to the tabletop where she rolled on back. Bright red light poured over the tabletop like spotlights on a twisted circus ring.

  The lights came from Hell above.

  Joan forced herself to heal faster than normal. The Hell guards didn’t see her. They continued to indulge themselves with Michael’s torture. Every time he screamed her heart ached and her desire to destroy the enemy grew stronger. She sat up and plucked the two volcanic slithers from her knee.

  Strength suffused her body, but too slow. She stood, the pain in her knee from the slithers vanished. The scratches on her face and hands healed. Her armor returned to its bright luster.

  Joan crept forward, stilled her nerves as the enemy kept their wide backs to her. She lifted her hand, her round shield appeared and she drew her gladius from its sheath.

  In one leap she deployed her wings for the short flight over the Hell guards gruesome heads, and landed before Michael chained to the petrified tree. She turned to face the demons.

  Their bovine faces registered shock.

  With shield up and sword at the ready she forced herself into a liquid calm. Spears and swords rattled around her, the Hell guards shuffled back from the intruder who interrupted their torture session.

  “Another one to add to the tree,” a voice boomed from the crowd.

  “Nail her, torture her,” the crowd said in unison.

  Joan’s muscles relaxed, her eyes swept over the armed Hell guards who lifted their swords and spears into the air and shouted.

  A weak chuckle flittered up from behind Joan. She turned to stare at Michael’s face covered in bloodied lumps and bruises from his torture. Over a thousand gouges and cuts covered his body, blood poured in red sheets from the injuries.

  “Why are you laughing, Michael,” she said while fighting against the hot tears threatening to crest her eyes. The shouts rose higher, drumming into her
head until an ache formed behind her eyes.

  “You, my love, think way too much,” he said through bloody cracked lips. “Is this not a good time to fight?”

  The one hundred Hell guards fell silent, spear tips dropped and aimed at her. They meant to skewer her. She faced her opponents, lifted her sword higher and struck its flat side seven times against the golden Judea Lion shield boss. Her enemies understood she fought at the Battle of Seven Gates and no mercy would come their way.

  The archangel allowed the final musical note from her shield strike to echo throughout the massive cavern. Heavy silence pervaded the scene. The Hell guards labored bovine breaths and their creaking armor filled her ears.

  A bellow lifted like a death cry. The Hell guard who stood before the crowd drove his spear at Joan’s midsection. She cut the shaft in two and jammed her blade into the beast’s armored chest. The horror howled in pain and vanished. The others scrambled towards her, angry, clumsy. They stumbled and fell over each other in their eagerness to kill the archangel.

  Joan set her mind to butcher’s work and flowed into them like a ballroom dancer. She spun, ducked, twirled her blade and cut into them. Blood and gore splattered her golden armor. Bovine screams erupted into the tepid air. Spears shattered against her golden shield, swords failed to penetrate her armor. They fell in ones and twos. In fear, some speared or hacked their fiendish blades into comrades. Their mistakes made her bloody work easier.

  The archangel became lost in violence. She enjoyed the killing, her muscles worked with a smoothness she never experienced when she fought General Temeculus. An incredible power filled her up with gold and silver light. She no longer thought about the Hell guards as single kills, she surged through them with grace and ease. They attacked her in rage and fell to their deaths into Oblivion, erased from even God’s perfect memory.