Ash & Flame: Season One

by Geiger, Wilson

  Malakhi.

  “He’s an angel …”

  “I know, but…” Dad paused, staring back at her. “Look, let’s just take a look and make sure he’s okay, alright?”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but a part of her knew that her dad was right. The angel had tried to protect them, and even though her instincts screamed at her to go right now, she couldn’t. They couldn’t leave Ithuriel alone out here, not without knowing they had done what they could to help him. He deserved that much, didn’t he?

  And Dad deserved the peace.

  The voices began to murmur in her head, agitated and swirling. Of course, that made her decision easier. She bit her tongue, squeezing until the voices fell into a brooding, uneasy stillness.

  “Emma?”

  She blinked, then nodded towards her dad. “I’m ready if you are.”

  ▪▪▪

  Ithuriel set his jaw and stepped towards the daemons.

  They fanned out before him, thirteen visions from Hell, their razor-like teeth clicking. One of them snorted and dashed forward, menacing gaze settled on the Malakhi.

  The beast was fast, the glistening muscles of its legs twitching as it thundered towards Ithuriel. The daemon leapt over the still body of Azazel, claws fully extended. Opening its maw wide, the daemon roared as it lowered its head, horns aimed squarely at Ithuriel’s chest.

  The Malakhi shifted on his feet and lunged, the spear sliding in his grip as he thrust. The dazzling point struck the daemon in the shoulder, spinning it sideways. The creature crashed to the ground with a baying cry, and Ithuriel leaned forward, pinning it to the ground, the spearpoint stuck in its shoulder.

  He let go of the spear, and manifested it into his other hand, bringing it down with a sick squelch into the daemon’s ribs.

  Ithuriel felt movement all around him as the other daemons came at him. He yanked the spear free of the shrieking daemon, swinging the weapon in a wide arc. The weapon crashed into another of the lesser demons, flinging it away. The daemon tumbled over and landed with a crunch against the jagged rock shelf behind Ithuriel.

  The instinct from millenia as a warrior drove him now, pushing him forward on tired legs. He sighted along the spear, aiming at one of the onrushing daemons, and shouted as he hurled the weapon.

  The spearpoint took the daemon through the chest, cracking ribs as the daemon was flung back by the spear’s momentum. The creature’s flailing body caught another charging daemon, and both tumbled into the dirt.

  Ithuriel heard the growl just before a daemon lunged into his side, claws digging into his legs. He grunted against the piercing fire, and the spear shifted back into his grip. He drove the weapon down hard, the spearpoint punching effortlessly through the daemon’s back. It howled, and Ithuriel kicked out with a leg, the daemon’s claws releasing their grip as the beast spun away.

  The Malakhi twitched his fingers, and the spear drew back in his hand. He lunged forward, grimacing at the sharp pain in his legs. The shining tip of the spear drove right through another daemon’s head as it rushed towards him, and the foul thing flopped backward, red tongue lolling from its mouth as dark blood spurted from the wound.

  Ithuriel spun to his rear, sensing the danger, but it was a fraction too late. A daemon’s horns crunched into his chest as it roared. The impact sent the spear flying from his hand, and he fell back, the daemon’s claws slicing into his arms. He rolled with the momentum, and flung the daemon off, the spear flashing back into his grip as he hurled it forward in one smooth motion.

  The weapon caught the beast in midair, slamming through its side. He flexed his fingers again, and cried out as claws ripped through one of his wings. Another slash, this one catching him across his lower back, brought him to a knee.

  He was a step too slow now, weaker by the moment. His strength ebbed, the divinity within fading, his life spilling out with the blood that dripped down his armor.

  Ithuriel shouted. The spear flashed in his grip. He thrust it behind him with a savage twist, and heard a baying shriek, felt the thunk of the spear as it sank into flesh.

  He whirled as the next one came at him, feeling the vibration in the earth as the daemon’s hooves pounded against the dirt. He brought the spear around, just managing to fend off a swipe of the creature’s claws. He shot a hand out and latched onto one of the daemon’s horns, twisting its head, forcing the beast down to the ground. The spear flashed in his hand, and he drove it down.

  Ithuriel blinked, spots appearing in the corner of his eyes. How many left now, he thought. He had lost count. Two? Five, six?

  Something hit him hard, snapping his head back. Claws slid into his arms, pinned his legs. He tried to push up, tried to pump his wings, but one of the daemons latched onto his shoulders, its teeth biting into his neck.

  Too many. Too much.

  He closed his eyes, and waited for the end to come. Waited and wondered how it would feel, if the pain would go away. Would he simply cease to exist? Would Father return for him, pluck his soul from the pitch black, and tell Ithuriel how sorry He was that He had left him alone here at the end of things?

  A sudden fear gripped him. The end was supposed to be so different.

  ▪▪▪

  Ren nearly stumbled, his weight shifting backwards as he rounded the rock shelf. He gaped. His heart raced in his chest, and he held out a protective hand towards Emma.

  Daemons surrounded Ithuriel.

  The angel lay prone, his wings in tatters. He barely moved as claws dug into his back, one of the daemons trying to tear through his armor. Three daemons, tall and thin, chittered as they watched, their hooves stamping in the dirt. Dark, motionless lumps lay strewn near the angel, skinless bodies gleaming in the failing light. One lay farther off, and Ren could make out a leathery wing jutting from the dirt.

  Ren tried to swallow and couldn’t, his mouth suddenly dry. He pulled the knife free of his belt and looked back at Emma. He wasn’t quite so sure this had been a good idea.

  “I’ll be right here, Dad,” Emma said, like she could read his mind. She frowned and set her jaw.

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  Ren nodded. “Right.” He didn’t know what exactly had happened to his daughter, but she seemed older somehow.

  Go. He tightened his grip on the knife, and felt the power still coursing through him, combining with his fluttering nerves and sending chills up his back. He took a deep breath, and started walking towards the daemons, his breathing loud in his ears.

  “Hey!” he shouted, and he willed his legs forward at a faster pace, his boots kicking up sand.

  The daemon straddling Ithuriel turned its head, baleful yellow eyes glaring at Ren, and he wished he had thought to take a piss first. The creature raised its red-tipped claws, and pointed at Ren.

  The other daemons bayed, the staccato sound that echoed in the quarry almost like mocking laughter.

  Their claws clicked together as they focused their attention on Ren. One of the daemons broke free of the others, hooves stomping into the dirt. The beast lowered its head, revealing ivory horns that curved over its skull, and charged at Ren, long, bloody claws flexing.

  Shrieking, the goat-daemon stretched out wide with its arms, claws extended. The creature’s leg fibers twitched, the muscles over its sickening, skinless body glistening. The daemon hurtled towards Ren, closer and closer, teeth bared.

  Ren felt…

  Power.

  He lunged forward, shocked at how fast he felt, his skin tingling with energy. The knife flashed out in front of him, his mind dully realizing his own hand driving the blade ahead with frightening speed. He stepped into the creature’s charge, and its eyes went wide.

  Ren’s thrust caught the daemon square in the chest, the blade punching a hole right through, his fist sinking into its chest cavity. A slick warmth passed up his forearm, and he stood face-to-face with the daemon, its fetid breath washing over his face.

  The goat-headed daemon howled, rearing back
with its claws. Ren reacted out of instinct, hyper reflexes ripping the knife loose of the hole in the creature’s chest. He flicked the knife’s tip up, and drove it into the daemon’s jaw in one smooth, quick motion.

  The blade bit into the soft flesh under the daemon’s jaw, and Ren felt the creature shudder as the tip of the blade thudded into bone. Its eyes glazed over, the beast’s tongue lolling over its lips, and Ren pushed the daemon’s twitching body away.

  He stared for a second at the corpse. He had done that. Effortlessly. Easily. He glanced back at Em, and she nodded at him, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

  Ren caught motion in the corner of his eye, and tensed. The daemon, the one that had pointed at him, stepped clear of Ithuriel, the others spreading wide. No laughter this time, their gaze fixed on Ren.

  You’ve got their attention now.

  The angel moaned as he tried to push himself up, and a tide of anger crashed over Ren. The Malakhi had fought for Haven, fought for humanity. He had fought for Ren, even when he didn’t deserve it. Now he looked beaten, the daemons playing with him like a cat toyed with a mouse.

  The roar that escaped Ren’s lips surprised him, and before he knew it he was charging ahead. His legs moved faster than he remembered, his arms pumping as he raced towards the cluster of daemons nearest Ithuriel.

  The remaining daemons bayed, their challenge hanging in the air, and they bounded towards Ren. He could feel the raw hatred radiating from them, even from this distance, their contempt for humanity reaching out for him like a swelling tide.

  He didn’t care. He let it wash over him, let it fuel his own anger. His skin tingled, power and adrenaline surging inside, and he embraced it all. He was tired of running from these things.

  He jumped to one side, narrowly avoiding one of the daemon’s horns as it charged the spot where he’d just been standing. He brought the knife down as his feet landed, the point slipping into the daemon’s back and tearing across its ribs as Ren forced the blade down hard.

  The daemon splayed out at his feet, claws slashing at his leg as it bayed in agony. He ground his teeth together and ignored the biting pain, turning to face the next daemon.

  He swore to himself. The daemon was already on top of him.

  Shit. He spun around just as another daemon lunged into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs.

  The impact drove him to the ground, the knife flying from his hand, the daemon scrambling on top of him.

  The creature growled and lashed out with its jaws, teeth inches from Ren’s face as he struggled to push it off him. His hands grabbed at the creature’s wet neck, and he twisted and yanked, trying to force it away.

  “Dad!” Emma’s high-pitched voice.

  Ren’s fingers dug into the fibrous, corded muscles running down the daemon’s neck, finally finding purchase. He squeezed, and heaved the beast aside, rolling over at the same time, his knee digging into the daemon’s chest. The daemon snarled at him, eyes boring into his, full of hate.

  Ren was sick of it.

  A shout tore from his lungs, and he drove a fist down into the daemon’s head, ignoring the thrashing claws that dug into his side. His fists hammered at the thing’s head, pounding and pounding until the daemon stopped moving, viscous blood dripping from his fists.

  His chest heaving, Ren got to his feet, standing over the daemon’s twitching body. He glanced down at his side, wincing at the long slashes underneath his tattered, bloody shirt; fortunately they didn’t look too deep. The pain was a dull, throbbing ache, an echo of what he would feel if this power were to wear off.

  A short, barking cough cut off Ren’s concerns over his wounds. He spun towards the noise.

  The last daemon stood crouched over Ithuriel, teeth chittering. Dark blood seeped down its torso, and it favored one leg. It flexed its claws, like the beast dared Ren to come any closer. He took a step, and the daemon bayed, one of its claws reaching down towards the angel’s head. It stomped a hoof into the dirt, reinforcing the message.

  What do I do now? Ren didn’t have much experience with hostage situations.

  Suddenly the daemon froze, its gaze locked on something beyond Ren. Ren turned and stared as Emma walked past him.

  “Em?”

  She ignored him, holding the daemon’s gaze with her own. Her eyes had gone dark. Ren’s heart thundered in his chest, but he was afraid to move, afraid that if he took a step the daemon would snap out of it. Emma was right there, almost within reach of the thing, its maw slack as she strode towards it.

  Emma stopped in front of the daemon, frowning, her hand reaching out like she was going to touch the vile thing.

  Ren opened his mouth, a warning on his tongue, but Emma muttered something to herself, and her hand shifted, a shimmer of heat rippling around her hand. She pointed at the transfixed creature standing before her.

  At first Ren couldn’t see anything, but the daemon’s yellow eyes widened in shock. It let out a horrible, gasping shriek as steam rose from its skinless body. Ren cringed as cracks started to appear, weaving down the creature’s chest like a spider’s web. One of its arms shriveled, and the daemon fell back, its cry little more than a dry hiss. Ren heard a sickening pop and the daemon’s body sank into itself, dried, cracked flesh unmoving against the dirt like it had lain under the sun for days.

  Ithuriel leaned on one forearm, blinking as he looked up at Emma, his other hand clawing at the sand.

  His mouth opened to say something, and he slumped over, his eyelids fluttering before falling closed.

  “Emma, what the hell were you thinking?” Ren pulled her back from the desiccated corpse of the daemon. “Any idea what kind of risk you just took?”

  “What? Did you think I was going to let you have it all?” Emma hissed, her features contorted in anger.

  “It’s mine to use!”

  The sight terrified Ren. Was it his daughter he looked at now, or was something else revealing itself?

  Was that her speaking, or the part of her that was Grigori? He held his hands in front of him, tried not to notice that they were shaking. “Em, easy, hon. It’s over now, okay? It’s just me, just your dad.”

  Emma’s face softened as Ren spoke, and she lowered her hand to her side. The color came back to her eyes, and she blinked. “I know…” She sighed, and looked down at the angel. “He looks pretty bad.”

  “Yeah, he does.” Ren walked over and knelt by Ithuriel, checking his wounds. Puncture wounds and lacerations covered his exposed arms and legs, blood smeared all over his skin. One of his wings had been shredded, feathers littering the ground a few feet away, where the worst of the fighting must have taken place. “But he’s an angel, right?”

  Ren peered up at his daughter, hoping she didn’t hear the worry in his voice. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  ▪▪▪

  Emma followed a step behind her dad, the angel’s feet dragging on the street as Dad carried him. They had left the quarry and the larger forest behind them, and now Dad was leading them down a narrow street, dark abandoned houses on either side.

  Emma glanced up and frowned.

  The full moon made her skittish. Maybe it was because the moon was almost like a spotlight that showed the damned where she was.

  Or maybe it just marked her as one of them. She nearly was. She’d nearly turned on her dad, although she didn’t know why. The anger burning inside her, the whispers that told her that her dad wanted the Words for himself even though she knew he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  She didn’t want to know how close she had been to turning that Word on him.

  Dad took a deep breath beside her, beginning to struggle under Ithuriel’s weight.

  “You okay, Dad?” She thought about giving him another Word, but she didn’t know if it might damn him too, so she left it alone for now.

  “Yeah, I got him.” Dad grunted as he shifted the angel on his shoulder. One side of his shirt glistened where the demon had cut him. “Hope he comes to soon, thoug
h. Not sure how much longer I can do this.”

  Emma glanced at one of the abandoned homes. A section of the roof had caved in, and the faded white siding had been ripped off in long gouges down one side. Scorch marks surrounded one of the broken windows on the second story.

  “Do you want to stop here?”

  Dad shook his head. “Not yet, Em. I want to get as far away from that shithole as we can.”

  Truth be told, Emma was all too glad to be away from there. All those dead things, and no skin on the demons to hide what should have stayed inside. Especially the one she’d burned.

  She hadn’t dared get any closer to the big daemon’s corpse, her skin crawling, like somehow it watched her. She’d imagined the wings fluttering, and the daemon’s neck cracking as the head shifted to leer at her. Even now, back on the road, she felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it.

  Emma coughed quietly into her hand and walked beside her dad.

  They had rounded the street, which turned left past a cluster of dead trees and a marker naming the road

  “Old Hwy CC”, when the angel woke up. He took a loud gasp of air, his chest heaving, and pushed Dad away. Dad nearly fell, suddenly free of Ithuriel’s bulk.

  “Ithuriel…” Dad took a step towards the angel, his hands out in front of him.

  The Malakhi looked back at Emma and her dad. His eyes went wide for a second, a panicked look on his face. He blinked and took a deep breath, licking his lips. “Where…where are we?”

  “In town,” Emma said. She pointed back the way they’d come. “We left the quarry a while ago.

  Remember the quarry?”

  Ithuriel peered down at the ground, and he slowly nodded. “Yes, Emma.” He rose up to his full height and looked up into the nighttime sky. He nodded again. “I remember.”

  “Are you alright?” Dad asked. He glanced at Emma, then back at the angel. “We can stop soon to rest, but the farther we get from that pit the better, as far as I am concerned. Neither of us seem all that up for another fight, and—”