Blessed Fury: An Urban Fantasy Romance (Angels of Fate Book 1)

by C. S. Wilde

  She stared at him. Gods knew what awaited for them in the hall, but of one thing Ava was certain: she’d protect Liam with her life.

  For him, she would be ready.

  “Yes,” she said quietly, laying a hand over his. “I’m fine.”

  “Judgement day is falling upon us, brother,” Gabriel said, his tone grave and mournful.

  “You should visit the Nine-Five.” Liam turned away from Ava and took his gun from its holster, unlocking the safety with a loud click as the elevator slowed and stopped. “Judgement day is child’s play for us.”

  19

  Ava

  The elevator’s door slid open to reveal a wild river of beasts pouring through the broken entrance and windows of the hall. Warriors pushed back, attacking the incoming streams to contain the flow, but there were too many creatures and they slipped through easily.

  In the middle of the hall, the disciples of the God of War formed circles around Erudites and Guardians, their brothers and sisters who knew nothing of bloodshed and violence.

  They had been the first to die. Bodies in white and light-gray bodysuits were strewn across the marble, joining beheaded werewolves and vampires.

  Blood from both sides painted the floor red.

  Gabriel’s wings flashed on his back, then boosted him toward one of the windows, across the hall, where a pair of vampires fed on a screaming Guardian.

  Ava thanked the Gods that Justine wasn’t here. Her friend was an Erudite, like many of the bodies piling across the hall, their silver bodysuits drenched in red. But none had perished more than Guardians. Red made a stark contrast against the white of their suits.

  It was easy seeing herself in those bloodied piles; a corpse with a milky and unblinking stare, lost amidst all the others.

  Without thinking, Ava stepped back and into the elevator, her heart thrashing within her chest, every breath a slash in her lungs.

  “The Gods are with me, and I’m with the Gods,” she muttered to herself, her entire body trembling, including her sword. “Even if I walk through the wastelands of the Hells, I will fear no evil, for the Gods are with me and I’m with the Gods.”

  “Ava, I won’t let you get hurt,” Liam said.

  His voice snapped her out of her desperation.

  He was out there, where werewolves and vampires dashed across the hall, drawing rivers of blood, and he was smiling at her, a silent assurance that he’d protect Ava with his life. Liam was her charge, and he was out there where the rivers of blood flowed freely, and Ava was here, scared witless inside the elevator.

  She forced herself to step out and back into the hall. She swallowed and strengthened the grip on her sword.

  Liam turned toward the cruel madness ahead, the muscles on his back clenching. “Remember the dual battle instances we practiced?”

  Fighting back-to-back against unseen enemies had been easy, something between battling and ballroom dancing. The shifting muscles on Liam’s back had told her what their next move was, so after a while she could easily follow him. But they had only practiced twice and against thin air. Her entire experience was based on imaginary attacks.

  Ava took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Then she slammed her back against Liam’s.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  His chuckle reverberated through his ribcage. “Not really.”

  Liam led the way, a holy gun in one hand and his sword in the other. He shot four blasts ahead but kept moving. Ava followed, his every step also hers.

  A werewolf charged at her from the left, and she turned in a half-circle. So did Liam, their bodies moving in unison. He faced the beast, and Ava heard the blast of his gun followed by a splash of blood. From the corner of her eye, she saw the werewolf slump on the floor. The gaping hole in his left eye still oozed blue smoke.

  This wolf wasn’t as strong as Lothar, and that’s why it easily perished.

  Her stomach clenched and her legs weakened, but she kept going. One flaw in their stance could cost them their lives.

  Liam dropped his empty gun on the floor. “Damned the Hells. That was my last shot.”

  “Why are the In-Betweens doing this?” Ava mumbled as they pierced their way into the bloodbath.

  “You know why.”

  She did, and at the same time, she didn’t. Lothar and Lilith could have requested a meeting with the Order, voiced their concern. This act of desperation was … exactly that.

  It struck her then, that the In-Betweens might have asked for help already, but their pleas probably remained unanswered. After all, depositions by In-Betweens held no value in the Order’s courts.

  A vampire yanked Liam away, trapping him in a strong hold. Before Liam or Ava could fight back, the creature’s fangs sank into his neck.

  Ava saw red; she felt red, pulsing, beating, burning inside her. Red. Gold.

  The rift. It bled the same energy that created her shield. Warmth swam across her body, sharpening her senses. Every movement felt faster, more fluid. Before Ava knew it, she had circled the vampire and slashed her blade across his midsection with surgical precision, missing Liam by a few inches.

  The vampire’s waist fell on the floor, guts and organs pulled by gravity. Liam shoved the upper half of the vampire away and glared at her.

  “T-the Gods are with me,” Ava muttered, her teeth clattering as she glared at the vampire’s bleeding half. “And I’m with the Gods.”

  Liam stepped around the fallen body and cupped her cheek with his free hand. “Princess, you can use Erudite skills, and maybe that applies to Warriors too.” He looked around. “Right now, you need to be a Warrior. Can you do that for me?”

  “You’re hurt.” She nodded to the blood on his neck which had stopped flowing.

  “This little thing?” He smirked. “Come on. It’s not enough to tickle, let alone turn me.”

  She gave him a weak smile, holding back her tears.

  He kissed her forehead. “You’re doing great.” With that, he slammed his back against hers.

  They pierced through the crowd of moving bodies, slashing and dodging in perfect synchrony. Ava didn’t know how, but she felt faster than before. Suddenly, she was perfectly aware of every tendon and bone under her skin.

  She quickly spotted Lilith amidst the clashing bodies. The vampire queen fought back to back with Lothar the same way Ava did with Liam.

  Lothar, a giant wolf man two times Lilith’s size, slashed and ripped everything in his path. With one strike, he shredded a Warrior’s face into bands of flesh and bone splinters.

  The werewolf lord chuckled to himself, something between a growl and a bark. “You show us no mercy, servants of the Gods!” His barks were clear amongst the sounds of battle, even though forming words strained his thick throat. “Now no mercy falls on you!”

  Lilith scoffed. “Such a taste for the dramatic, dear.”

  Her eyes shone red as she glamoured an incoming Warrior, stopping the woman in her tracks. Lilith jumped over her and bit half of her neck off.

  “There you have it, princess,” Liam muttered to Ava. “The werewolf lord and the vampire queen got tired of taking shit and decided to come out and play.”

  Ava didn’t say anything, just remembered Lilith’s words. “Stay away from the Order.”

  She’d tried to warn them.

  Amidst the blood bath, Lilith caught sight of her and stopped. Her neon-blue eyes shone red, and a sudden urge to run and never stop took over Ava. She shook the urge away, the rift inside her beating in unison with her sword, flooding her with light and blocking Lilith’s glamour.

  Why was Lilith trying to save her?

  A Dominion with peach-colored wings zinged past the arched windows, landing amidst the crowd of bodies to Ava’s right. A vampire jolted toward the Dominion, but the woman glared back at the creature and he stopped in his tracks. The vampire began shaking, then stepped back, muttering something Ava couldn’t understand. The Dominion kept
her focus on the creature, and the vampire kneeled on the ground.

  “Please, no more,” he whimpered, veins bulging under his neck.

  The Dominion handed him her holy gun. Tears streamed down the vampire’s cheeks.

  “Thank you,” he whispered before shooting himself in the head.

  Ava turned to Lilith, who’d witnessed the same scene. The vampire queen’s glistening red eyes tried to tell her something, but she couldn’t figure out what.

  Reality wavered around Ava. Dominions, the evolution of Guardians, didn’t force harmful emotions onto others. But then again, this was battle, and battles were not won with mercy.

  The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  She looked around and noticed that apart from the Dominion and Gabriel, there were no second-tiers here. And the three high angels were nowhere to be seen.

  Where was the cavalry?

  As if on cue, the domed ceiling rumbled and three angels broke through, falling upon the hallway like ripe apples: the Messenger, the Throne, and the Sword.

  They stood amidst hills of bodies, grand like the Gods themselves. Ezraphael, with his silver and golden wings. The Throne, Agathe, a woman with raven hair and raven-feathered wings. And the Sword, Talahel, with his long red hair tied in a braid, the sides of his temples shaved, and his wings of a fiery orange.

  Agathe and Talahel charged forward, slashing bodies as if they were made of butter, their movements too fast to follow. A blur of light and death.

  So quickly the balances had tipped. This was not a battle anymore; it was a slaughter.

  Ava should’ve rejoiced, but the In-Betweens were being drugged and starved, and no one listened, no one cared. In a way, she understood why they revolted against those who killed them without second thought.

  The Order had failed them.

  “You watch us suffer,” Lothar’s words echoed in her mind. “My children, drugged. You murder them. The Gods don’t listen.”

  The Sword vaporized many In-Betweens with his red light-blasts, and the Throne vanished into a cloud of smoke just as a werewolf charged at her, only to reappear behind her enemy and slash his throat.

  Each high-angel had a unique power particular to their essence. Powers not shared by anyone in the Order.

  While the Throne and the Sword worked the hall, Ezra stood still, his attention locked on Lothar and Lilith.

  The werewolf lord rested his forehead against Lilith’s as if saying a silent goodbye. He pushed her away when Ezra ran toward him.

  Blue thunder cracked around the Messenger’s force field, forming a sphere around him. Lothar dodged at the last minute, and Ezra tore a round hole on the marbled wall, raising a cloud of debris on the spot.

  The clean-up teams, whatever remained of them, would need weeks to fix all this.

  Ava looked for Lilith but couldn’t find her anywhere. The vampire queen was gone.

  “Fight me!” Lothar bellowed, his barking words an effort for him. “With honor!”

  The round, invisible shield around Ezra was coated with dust.

  “Gladly,” he said through gritted teeth, his loose light hair draping over his face. His force field blinked out, and the dust fell on Ezra’s silver bodysuit.

  The Messenger ran toward Lothar, a golden layer wrapping his hand—a shield—and with one mighty strike, Ezra sucker-punched him. Lothar slammed against the opposite wall of the hall. Marble cracked, and Ava thought the hall would crumble upon everyone in it.

  Perhaps it already had.

  This was not the Order. Not her Order. This was something else.

  Lothar shook his head, centering himself. He then rushed toward the Messenger, and Ezra withdrew his sword.

  Their strikes were thunder and storm, booming loudly across the now-quiet hall. Most screams and cries had ceased. Agathe and Talahel had cleaned up the place, and the surviving angels helped their fallen comrades. All vampires and werewolves were either dead or had fled.

  A howl of pain sucked Ava’s attention back to the fight.

  Blood trickled down the edges of Ezra’s lips, and the left side of his face was a dark shade of purple. Lothar was in worse shape. He wheezed and almost tripped twice, a hand slammed on his ribs. He had a black eye, and his snout bent on an unnatural angle. And then there were all the deep gashes across his body. Ava counted at least one or two fatal wounds.

  Everything happened so fast …

  Ezra fixed his silver hair behind his ear. “Repent for your sins, creature.”

  Lothar growled, “After you.”

  “We only hurt those of you who have broken the law, and yet you come to our house and murder innocents.”

  “You murder our innocents too. We are desperate.” Instead of focusing on Ezra, Lothar found Ava, and his eyes, sad and resigned, rested on hers. “Evil triumphs when good does nothing.”

  “Say what you will,” Ezra spat. “Your treason must be punished.”

  Ava wanted to intervene, to beg Ezra for Lothar’s imprisonment instead of his execution. But Ezra was faster, and in a moment, he was upon Lothar.

  “Wait!” she yelled, but Ezra didn’t hear, or perhaps he simply ignored her.

  The werewolf lord didn’t fight, he just stared at Ava as Ezra slashed his throat open. Blood sprayed from the wound, but Ezra wasn’t done. He couldn’t be, because Lothar could heal. He pulled Lothar’s head back while pushing his body down with his foot, stressing the tension upon Lothar’s neck until it ripped free of his body. His spine dangled under his neck.

  Ava dropped to her knees and hurled.

  “Ava!” Ezra said, truly seeing her for the first time, blinking away the bloodlust that had taken hold of him.

  He threw Lothar’s head away like garbage before running to her.

  Ava stumbled back, bottom to the floor as she pushed herself away. Her shifting feet slid on the bloodied marble. Her breathing was frantic, ragged, and she couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. She had to get out of here. Away from him. From everything.

  Warm liquid made her hands slip, and she glanced down. Her palms were soaked in red.

  “The Gods are with me,” she breathed.

  “Ava, please.” Ezra reached for her, but a pair of black army boots stepped between them.

  “Don’t touch her,” Liam said. “Lothar didn’t deserve to die that way. He was desperate; they all were.”

  Ezra’s glare was anger and contempt, his lips white because he pressed them too hard. His clothing was splattered with Lothar’s blood.

  Red on silver.

  “They killed our brothers and sisters,” Ezra countered. “What did you want me to do, Selfless?”

  Ava inhaled deeply, centering her thoughts as she glanced at the bodies strewn across the hall. Both sides wrong, both sides right. It made her head hurt.

  She wiped bile from her lips with the back of her arm, staining her leather jacket. It didn’t matter. By now she was half covered in blood anyway.

  She forced herself up, trying to ignore Lothar’s fallen body in the back of the hall and how it sucked all the hope and faith and kindness out of her.

  She grabbed her sword from the ground, and the blood on her palm tainted the handle. The beating of the sword reverberated faintly from the blade into her bones.

  “Why did you give me this sword, Ezra?” Her voice came out weak and broken.

  “Ava …” Ezra tried to step toward her, but Liam blocked his way again.

  The Messenger sighed as if he were searching for the right words. “The sword is a facilitator,” he finally said. “It helps you unveil the power of your essence. It’s supposed to push a third-tier angel into becoming a second-tier.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, staining it wine red. “It’s because of the sword you hold that I ascended many centuries ago. I figured it could do the same to you.”

  Ava frowned, slightly confused and yet relieved that she hadn’t lost her mind. The sword was doing something to her after all. “Why would you want to speed
my ascension?”

  He tried to step closer, but Liam pushed him back.

  Ezra blew out an exasperated breath. “Because you need power to walk with a Selfless. It was dangerous, Ava, and just the thought of you getting hurt—”

  Liam snickered and crossed his arms. “See, I have a different theory. I think you wanted her to ascend so you’d have a powerful mate by your side. I’ve seen what she can do, and I’m betting you know exactly how powerful she is.”

  Ezra’s blue eyes beamed with fury, but he didn’t move an inch toward Liam. Instead, he turned to her. “I’d never use you in this manner. Ava, you know me. I gave you this sword because I trust your abilities, and I trust you. What I said remains true. I need you by my side; the Gods need you by my side, with or without the sword. We must help the Order shed light into mankind’s path.”

  Ava looked at the fallen corpses and at the red blotches splattering the hall’s marbled floor. An irking sensation prickled beneath her skin. “Is this how we’ll do it, Ezra?”

  He followed her gaze and blinked, as if only now he could see the rotting death around them. “We had to.” He frowned at a small mountain of werewolf bodies. “Gods, we …” He swallowed. “Revenge is not the way of the Gods.”

  From a distance, the Sword and the Throne watched him intently.

  “But we had to do it.” Ezra turned to Ava, nodding to himself, his eyes glistening. “We had to, Ava, they attacked us. Please ...”

  She didn’t know what to think. Almost as if in auto-pilot, she asked, “Why did you pair me with Liam?”

  Ezra’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “He needed the guidance of a Guardian.” He seemed to sense this wasn’t enough for her, so he puffed out a breath. “Liam is fire, Ava, burning without thinking twice. You’re water, soothing and calm. He’s impulse; you’re common sense. It might’ve been unconventional, but I truly believed you could help him.”

  She stepped closer and peered into Ezra’s eyes. As far as she could see, they spoke the truth; they always did. The bloodlust she’d seen as he ripped away Lothar’s head had given way to something frail and breakable, like a thin layer of ice.