Armageddon (Angelbound)

by Christina Bauer

  I lean into Lincoln’s body, feeling his warmth beside me. We spend about half our time standing on some stage or other. Somehow, this comforting routine almost makes me forget why we’re here.

  Almost.

  The image of Maxon’s screaming face appears in my mind. I shudder and glance at my wrist. My Looking Glass still shows Maxon awake, sitting upright and white-eyed. Still safe. “I wonder how Hildy’s doing.”

  “I’m certain she’s fine.” Lincoln loops his hand around my waist. “Have you ever seen this chamber before?” That’s what he says, but I know him well enough to know what he really means. Don’t think about Maxon, Myla. Try to stay focused on the now.

  “No, tell me about it.” I force a smile, which is my way of saying, I’ll try.

  “We’re in Meeting Hall J-29. Walker just finished it six months ago.” He gestures above my head to the great sheets of gray concrete, each one several yards wide. They drip down the towering back wall like so many May pole ribbons. The different streams roll together by the floor, weaving themselves into the flattened stage where Lincoln and I now stand.

  “Notice anything different?” Lincoln asks.

  I glance around the hall. “Not in particular. Seems like a lot of Walker’s other stuff.”

  “Look closely at the concrete beneath our feet.”

  I focus on the floor. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Sometimes it takes a minute for the magic to kick in. Be patient.”

  Suddenly, a constant stream of scrolling text appears across the strips of billowing concrete. Ghoul minds are all connected in Group Think, and the concrete shows a live feed of what they’re saying. Right now, it’s a lot of talk about the Fealty Ceremony that’s due to start any second.

  KLX-2849: Just portalled in the last visitors from Antrum.

  WKR-7: Bring them to the Meeting Hall J-29 immediately. The ceremony will soon start.

  OWB-0275: The Furor want to land in the main square of the Spires.

  KLX-2849: What? Tell me they aren’t in dragon form.

  OWB-0275: They couldn’t exactly land if they were in their human state.

  KLX-2849: It’s against regulation to allow dragons to land in the main square.

  WKR-7: Screw regulations. The Furor Emperor sees Maxon as his Heir. We don’t want him any angrier than he is right now. Let them land anywhere they want and please, stay out of their way, at least until they return to humanoid form.

  “It’s amazing,” I whisper.

  “It’s Walker.”

  A hiss sounds from behind us. I don’t need to turn around to know the source of the noise. It’s the Oligarchy, the four craggy old ghouls in red robes who rule the Dark Lands. They march off the stage and down the center aisle, which is an undulating ribbon of concrete covered in scrolling text. The words streaming down it all read various versions of ‘the ceremony is starting.’

  The four skeletal ghouls make their way to the back doors of the hall, their long red robes dragging behind them. A sickly sense of unease crawls up my throat. Yesterday, we were in a different chamber, on a different aisle, and with a different set of doors, but the event ended in Maxon’s abduction. I straighten my shoulders and try to stay positive. With any luck, today’s ceremony will close with a solid plan for his rescue.

  The Oligarchy reach the back wall, where they stand in pairs, one set on either side of the aisle.

  That’s the signal. Time to start.

  I raise my arms, and the crowd quiets to a hush. My voice carries loud and strong through the hall. “The King and Queen of Antrum greet you. The Houses of Antrum are bound by vows of loyalty to our throne.” I lower my arms and turn to Lincoln.

  “Tonight, we call upon those vows to help our son, Maxon,” he says. “Come forward and show your fealty.”

  The concrete doors swing open, and a parade of faces march down the center aisle. One by one, the Earls and Duchesses of each house approach the stage, offering us soldiers and weaponry. As the leaders make their pledges, some have tears in their eyes over Maxon. A handful recall the terrors of the last war with Hell that was started by King Aethelwulf. Many share some story of how Armageddon murdered a loved one. Most want one thing: revenge.

  More dignitaries march up to address us. Mom, Dad and Cissy arrive next, pledging Purgatory’s army to our cause. After that, the Furor Emperor approaches us in his handsome human form. He offers the unlimited use of his entire dragon horde. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dad smiling his face off. In the Battle of the Gates, the Furor fought against Heaven and that sucked with a capital S. To say the Furor are badass in battle is a crazy understatement.

  After that, seven archangels step through the opened doors. I outright gasp. This represents the entire archangel population in the after-realms, if you don’t count Lucifer. And since he’s been imprisoned for eternity, no one’s counted Lucifer for a very long time.

  They step forward, different faces and skin tones, but all of them serene and beautiful. They pledge their armies and power to us. Dad steps up to join them. He announced that he’ll lead them all in the greatest army in the history of the after-realms. Together, they’ll finally destroy Armageddon.

  The crowd goes nuts, but a sense of unease seeps into my bones. I turn to Lincoln, and I see the same questioning look in his eyes.

  Once the archangels process out, another angel takes appears at the back of the hall; one with exotic, almond-shaped eyes and long straight black hair.

  It’s Verus, the oracle. She steps silently down the main aisle, her white robes and wings glowing with their own light. She pauses before our stage.

  “I am here today to tell you of my prophecy,” she says simply.

  Prophecy updates? Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

  I know Verus’s system. Her prophecies are almost always bad news, especially for me. I lean back on my heel and eye Verus carefully. I’ve been standing onstage for hours, my son is missing, and this crown weighs a ton. I do not want to deal with her manipulative crap right now.

  I lower my voice to a hush. “If I tell you to take your prophecy and vamoose, will that make any difference?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Sometimes, I hate you, Verus.”

  “Just sometimes?” A smile dances in her almond-shaped eyes. “I must be growing on you.”

  Verus turns to address the packed audience. “I come with news of my vision. Years ago, I had a prophecy concerning Myla and Lincoln.”

  My tail arcs over my shoulder, the arrowhead end pointing directly at Verus. With everything going on right now, she’s finally coming clean about the old Myla and Lincoln prophecy? I’ve asked her a million times to explain what made her manipulate our lives and bring us together. No matter how I pleaded, she wouldn’t tell me dick. Now, my kid is missing, and she decides it’s time to blab.

  “My prophecy is this,” declares Verus. “The offspring of Myla and Lincoln will be the ultimate warrior in the after-realms. This child, and this child only, will thwart our greatest threat. Though Armageddon is pure evil, he is not the worst terror I see in our future. We need Maxon alive. He is the key to our survival. He must return home as quickly as possible.” She surveys the rapt crowd for effect. “I believe that means war.”

  The crowd loses their freaking minds. A chant of ‘war-war-war’ fills the air. Lincoln raises his arms, signaling that sharing-time with the oracle is over. A muscle flickers along his jawline. “Thank you, Verus. You may leave, now.”

  She kneels before us, which is an extraordinary move from her. “I hope you can forgive me when you have Maxon safely back in your arms. Whatever I do, it’s for his ultimate benefit.” She rises to her feet again, her eyes glowing a preternatural shade of blue. “Your Maxon must live.”

  “We couldn’t agree more,” says Lincoln.

  “You must declare war,” demands Verus. “Now.”

  “Thank you for your advice.” I gesture toward the back door, the universal royal move for
‘shut up and get out.’

  I watch Verus walk away and suppress the urge to tackle her from behind. After all these years, she comes out with her prophecy, and it’s only to manipulate Lincoln and I into starting a war.

  Oh, hell. Maybe she’s right. Maybe they’re all right.

  Last to come are the Oligarchy, pledging the support of ghoul-kind in order to transfer the armies to the Plains of Fire, the area surrounding the Walls of Hell. The audience restarts their cheer of “war, war, war!”

  I watch the frantic faces. All the free peoples of the after-realms are represented here: angel, quasi, thrax, furor, and ghoul. They’ve all pledged their support to our cause. Stupidly, I thought there would be offers of magic or back entrances to Hell. Somewhere along the way, everyone decided we were going to war.

  “This feels wrong, Lincoln.”

  “I know,” he replies. “But what other choice do we have?”

  My mind spins through possibilities and approaches, but I can’t think above the din of the shouting crowd.

  Seems like we don’t have any options left.

  War it is.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I pace the cold floor of a gray concrete room at the top of the tallest tower of the Spires. The room is windowless, but that will change once Walker returns with Dad. The Fealty Ceremony ended an hour ago, and my father asked to meet Lincoln and me here. He has something special to show us.

  “Any ideas what your father’s up to?” asks Lincoln.

  “None.” I stare at the concrete wall, watching the Group Think go by. It’s a lot of the practical side of having company in the Dark Lands.

  GHT-1628: Picking up thrax from Pulpitum V.

  KPO-12: Airspace access approved for Furor use in Sector Nineteen.

  BQ-14: Janitorial detail to Sector Four.

  A low-pitched hum sounds as a black door-sized hole appears in the center of the tower floor. A portal opens. Through that darkened shape steps my father and Walker. Dad’s in his silver armor, his long golden wings on display. A manic gleam lights his eyes as he wraps Lincoln and me in a warm hug.

  “Could you believe the ceremony today?” says Dad. “The archangels and the Furor? There’s never been an army to match this one.”

  Walker grips my shoulders, his all-black eyes staring deeply into mine. “How are you holding up?”

  My breath hitches. That was the first time I’ve had a conversation with anyone today about Maxon. It’s all been war, war, war. This is why Walker’s the best honorary older ghoul brother ever.

  “Life passed surreal about an hour ago. Now, I’m in what you call a dreamlike haze.”

  Walker frowns. “Should we do this later?”

  “Of course, not.” Dad eyes Walker suspiciously. “When did you become afraid of war? I trained you to fight first and question later.”

  “I’m not afraid,” explains Walker. “I was merely asking if—”

  Dad slaps his hand against Walker’s back. “Why don’t you give me some time alone with the kids, eh?”

  Walker’s great black eyes focus on me. “Is that alright with you?”

  “Sure, Walker. Take a break. Go eat some worm soufflé or something, you’ve earned it.”

  Walker nods, opens a black portal and disappears.

  Once he’s gone, Dad rubs his palms together greedily. “Now, as I was saying. There’s no time to waste. We need to kill Armageddon. Make him pay.”

  A sinking feeling creeps into my bones. “I thought we were saving Maxon.”

  “Of course, we are,” says Dad quickly. “But to do that, we have to kill Armageddon, right?” He eyes me carefully. “That’s what Faustina told you.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Good, so we’re agreed.” My father steps over to the wall. “Where’s the door in this place, anyway?” He pats another section of stone. “Ah, here it is.” The outline of a doorframe appears in the wall. He turns to us. “Ready to step out onto the balcony?”

  My voice comes out low and dreamy. “Sure.”

  Lincoln’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “What’s out there?”

  “You’ll see,” announces Dad as he pulls the concrete door open. “This is why I brought you here. Your surprise. I hope you’ll be pleased.”

  Dad walks through the opened door; Lincoln and I follow. We all step out onto a small cement balcony many stories above the earth. The air is brisk and thin, making me hug my elbows for warmth.

  My father gestures across the landscape. “There they are.”

  I scan the horizon. Everywhere I look, the land seems covered in a sheet of slowly shifting concrete. “I don’t see anything.”

  Dad gestures me to the balcony’s edge. “Come here, right by the wall.”

  I step up beside him, resting my elbows on the lip of the concrete barrier that marks the balcony’s edge. Leaning forward, I scan the landscape again. Grey shapes come into color and clarity.

  “That concrete isn’t moving. Those are bodies.” Bit by bit, I can make out the different colors of thrax houses, the dark robes of the ghouls, and even the floating shapes of dragons as they dive through the air.

  “Yes,” answers Dad happily. “The troops are starting to come in. I’ve had them bivouac around the Spires.”

  Lincoln steps up beside me, scanning the same view. “There must be millions of warriors down there.”

  “About five million,” announces Dad. “Within a week, we’ll reach a hundred.”

  A jolt of worry zings through my nervous system. “It will take them a week?”

  “Fast, am I right? We’ll be able to move out in two weeks. That’s amazing for an army of this size.”

  “But Hildy can only protect Maxon’s mind for another day or so.”

  “Please, Maxon will be fine.” A manic gleam sparkles in his eyes. “I was under Armageddon’s thumb for twenty years and look at me.”

  “Yes, look at you.” I scrub my hands over my face. “You’ve never really recovered from your time with him. We both know that.”

  “How can you say such a thing? I’ve an archangel’s power to heal.”

  “And Maxon doesn’t,” says Lincoln.

  My father folds his arms over his chest. “Maxon’s part archangel.”

  “Fine.” My tail points right at Dad’s nose. “For the sake of argument, let’s say Maxon does have your power to heal. Even you still get nightmares. And you’re growing more obsessed with killing Armageddon by the day. That’s the first thing you said just now. Kill Armageddon, not save Maxon.”

  “I want to kill the old bastard because he took my grandson,” growls my father. “I realize that you’re unused to war, but that’s what’s going to get your son back. The sooner we all accept that and turn our minds to planning the battles, the better.”

  “But war is the only way you’ve considered, Dad. We haven’t even spent a minute thinking about other options.”

  “Because there are none. If all goes well, I can get Maxon out of Hell in a month or two.”

  “And if it doesn’t go well? King Aethelwulf started a war against Hell, and he fought it for decades.”

  “I’m not King Aethelwulf.”

  “So, can you assure me that your war won’t take decades, too?”

  Dad’s mouth thins to a determined line. “There are no guarantees in war, but going into it questioning yourself will only doom you to failure.” He points to the millions of troops on the ground. “They can smell fear in their leaders. It takes the fight right out of them.”

  “It’s my job to ask questions, Dad. I’m their Queen.”

  Dad rounds on Lincoln. “And what do you say as King?”

  “I say that what’s most important is this.” He gently cups my wrist in his hands, exposing the Looking Glass image that still appears there. “To be a great king, Maxon needs to be whole and well. We need to look into all—” His voice drops off as he stares at the image on my wrist.

  I follow his gaze and my world shatt
ers.

  The Looking Glass shows Maxon inside his prison, wide awake. His mismatched eyes dart wildly around the cell as he screams in terror, his fists pounding on the shifting walls. Although the Looking Glass doesn’t allow me to hear my son, I know exactly what those screams sound like. Every cell in my body is electrified with alarm. Even my igni take up the cry, filling my head with weeping.

  Someone speaks in a whisper. I realize it’s me. “I thought Hildy was protecting him. What if Armageddon’s in his throne room right now? He’ll know Maxon’s awake. He could start torturing him any second.”

  Lincoln grips my wrist harder. “It’s already been a day, her powers must be running out.”

  In the Looking Glass image, Maxon’s eyes flicker between their typical hue and the all white look of Hildy’s powers. After a few seconds, his irises and pupils disappear once again. He sits calmly against the cell wall.

  Hildy’s in control once more. I watch the Looking Glass, searching desperately for any sign that Armageddon heard my son’s cries and has decided to hurt him. Nothing happens. I let go of a shuddering breath. My child is still safe.

  Terror tightens my throat, making it hard to speak. “Maxon’s okay for now, but Hildy’s powers are breaking. We don’t have more than a day before by baby is at Armageddon’s mercy. We have to do something right now.”

  Lincoln steps away, the lines of his face set and hard. “It’s obvious what we have to do. Prepare for war.” He gestures to my wrist. “Hildy’s already failed. Forget about her. Maxon will get shattered in Hell, yes. But we’ll figure out how to put the pieces back together after we get him out.”

  Shock prickles across my skin. “So that’s it. We’re giving up on Maxon. He’ll be tortured in Hell and that’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine!” yells Lincoln. He inhales a long breath, composing himself. “We have to look at practicalities here. I agree with Xavier. Any other discussions that don’t center on war are a waste of time. Even worse, they will make our people question our resolve.”

  I nod, unable to form words. My sweet Maxon left to be tortured by Armageddon for years? The King of Hell tore the wings off Dad’s back every day. What will he do to my baby? I set my hand over my mouth, suppressing in a sob. Lincoln wraps his arm around my shoulder.