by Brian Rella
“Let me take it into the Realm with me and test it on a big fucker. At least then you know if it really works on them or not.”
The General opened his mouth to say something when their conversation was interrupted. The intercom squawked on his desk. It was Nora.
“General, urgent message from the President. Shall I put her through?”
“Yes,” he replied.
The General picked up the phone. “This is General Rand, Mr. President.”
The General went silent as he listened. Titus could hear the conversation as if it were happening right in front of him. Shit…
“Yes, Mr. President… Of course, Mr. President… It will be ready; I assure you… I understand. You too, Mr. President.”
Titus stared at the General. His cheek twitched.
“Looks like we’ll be deploying the weapon sooner than we had hoped,” he said. “The President has decided. Based on recommendations from his cabinet and our test results today, he has requested the weapon be deployed and used to hunt down and kill the woman and her dem—that is, Fallen.”
Titus scowled and rose to his feet. “I heard what he said. This is a big mistake, General.”
“I tend to agree,” he said, “but I have my orders.”
“Then I’m out,” Titus said.
“Titus, wait. Hear me out,” the General said and nodded toward the chair. Titus sat down hesitantly.
“It will take some time to mount the weapons and get them deployed into the field. In the meantime, we have orders to get going, hunt the woman down, and kill her. I propose we do just that, and you take the lead. Maybe we won’t need to use the weapon at all.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying let’s get her our way and use the weapon as a fallback. But I need you, Titus. I need you to lead the assault.”
“I’m listening.”
“We know where she is. Satellites picked her and that flying creature up in an extinct volcano field in Arizona. We sent nano-drones and found her hiding there with her…Fallen…in Humphreys Peak. Now, here’s what we’re going to do…”
21
BRENNAN
October 28, 2015
New York, New York
Brennan flipped back a few chapters to reread from the Testament of Ezra. It has to be here. I’m so close. God, please show me the answer.
He had been studying the Apocrypha for several hours, skipping his duties in the church, focused on finding the truth about the prophecy of the One. His eyes stung and teared from all the reading. His face was shadowy stubble. He stank of coffee-breath and desperation because the answers were here, but he was finding it impossible to put it all together neatly like he wanted to. Brennan was a detailed man, organized and methodical, but none of this was straightforward. It was buried and spread around like someone had written a single book and then ran across the centuries scattering the pages across time and space. He had found some answers, but many more questions. The texts were vague and sometimes conflicting. Nothing was clear, and Brennan found himself agreeing with the Church’s decision to exclude these books from the Bible. They were too fragmented and difficult to follow, even for a scholar. But he was determined, and pressed on despite all the challenges.
Uriel, one of the seven arch angels, seemed to be the key to all the visions the prophets had documented. He was mentioned only a couple of times in the Bible, but much more often in the various discarded books of the Apocrypha, where he played a significant role as a bridge between mankind and God. Brennan was keenly focused on him. He seemed to be the twine that tied all the theories of the Fallen together.
Uriel is the angel of glory, third in the hierarchy of arch angels behind Michael and Gabriel. Oftentimes depicted with a book and a fiery sword.
The book. He’s the arch angel of knowledge…
Uriel had visited many prophets. Razmus, Ezra, Enoch. They all documented the visions Uriel shared with them. Why? What had he been trying to tell them? What had he been foretelling? Brennan pushed the Testament of Ezra aside and pulled the tattered Book of Razmus open in front of him.
Uriel took Razmus to the valley of the souls and spoke to him. Uriel related the story of other angels that had fallen. One of the first angels that fell after Lucifer was Nasriel, the Guardian of Time. He was one of the first Fallen Angels the Watchers had imprisoned in the Second Death.
In Razmus’ vision, Uriel spoke of the dark times rising. He spoke of many attempts by the Fallen to try to break free from the Second Death and retake the Earth.
“Nalsuu, The King of the Fallen. The self-proclaimed King of the Fallen. The Leech of Aeons.” The phrases kept coming up in the text, but who was this King of the Fallen? Which angel was he that fell? Was it Nasriel?
The Angel Nasriel had been close to God, had been one of God’s most trusted warriors. This was after Lucifer had fallen to hell and became Lord of the Underworld, after God created man.
When God created man, He had angered Nasriel. He was jealous of God’s new creation. He felt the Angels were closest to God and that there was no need for another race.
But God obviously saw things differently. And there were more angels that had the same feelings about man.
The book spoke of other fallen angels: Kuriel, Baakiel, Mazeek, and many others. How did it all fit together?
Brennan rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes, pressing his eyeballs back into his skull. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat fluttered, and his brain wanted to quit, but he pressed on like a good soldier, forcing himself to refocus, and get through another page, and then another, and another. It would all come together eventually, he just had to press on.
He was getting somewhere with the mysteries. The revelations about some of the Fallen were helping put the puzzle pieces together. He just had to keep at it and it would come to him. His faith would see him through, as it always did.
Brennan closed his eyes and thought back to his childhood, sitting under his father’s wood shed. He remembered the calm he felt there, and he imagined himself there now, the moist soil clinging to his jeans, the earthy smells, the crickets that sang and kept him company. The images were like a calming salve on his irritations and he began to relax and build some energy. The weariness left him, his focus returned, and he opened his eyes refreshed and able to continue.
Moving back to the Book of Razmus, he reread the passages about Uriel and Kuriel’s fall with renewed hope and energy. He didn’t have the complete picture yet, but he had enough to point Frank in the right direction. And with his energy restored, he was sure he could untangle the rest quickly. I just hope there’s enough time…
22
FRANK
October 28, 2015
New York, New York
Jack yawned and rubbed his eyes. Nic wrapped his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders as Frank led the boys upstairs to their room. Bare wooden steps and white walls lined with pictures of priests in mat frames lined the stairs up to the residences. They stopped on the third floor.
The hallway was long with many doors on both sides. This was where the priests, including Brennan, and the Monsignor lived. Frank also lived here from time to time.
Frank walked down the long hall with the boys, silently passing his room and pointing to the door next to it. “Bathroom,” he whispered.
Next to the bathroom at the end of the hall, Frank pushed open the door and motioned for the boys to go inside. He switched on the light illuminating the mostly bare walls, save for a crucifix and a picture of Pope Francis. Someone had fetched the boys’ things from their house and placed their duffel bags at the foot of two single beds that were on opposite sides of the room.
Nic walked to the bed farthest from the door and sat on the edge. Jack walked to his side of the room and took off his shoes. They both looked tired, the dark purple circles under their eyes giving them a haunted look.
“Your stuff is here,” Frank said. “Keep it quiet. There’re
old people up here.” He glanced from Nic to Jack. “Get a good night’s rest.”
Both boys glanced at him, neither saying anything, a mix of emotions on both their faces. “Well…good night then,” he said, and shut the door.
Frank went to his room, took off his jacket, and tossed it on the bed. A couple of pictures of his family were on top of his otherwise barren dresser-top. He paused there, looking at his family. They were smiling in all the pictures and that’s the way he liked to remember them. The bad memories rushed to the front of his mind, but he turned away quickly, and pushed them back down in their hole where they belonged. No time for this. I need to speak to Brennan.
He glanced at his watch and saw it was after midnight. Frank crept back downstairs and made his way to the hidden door behind the stairs across from the kitchen that led to the underground connection to the church. “A’nacre,” he said, and the door appeared.
He stepped down the stairs, the overhead lighting making his skin glow ghostly white. The sounds of the city faded as he descended, and he was left alone with his loud, nagging, thoughts.
At the bottom of the stairs, he opened another hidden door and entered into the Basilica of St. Patrick’s. He was now in the long and narrow hallways of the crypts. Limestone tombs engraved with dead people’s names followed him down the corridor to a spot on the wall marking the resting places of the archbishops. Pausing, he turned to face the wall.
He said the incantation to make the door appear. The indigo outline of a door spread around the wall. Frank pushed the center and went through the doorway, stepping onto another dark landing going down.
He cast the spell of light to guide him down the steps. At the bottom, the room opened into the huge underground facility.
The original stone that was used to build the Cathedral was used down here as well. The stones bordered the walls symmetrically all the way up to the ceiling. Artists had painted murals of angels and man on the ceiling. The whole room reminded Frank of an underground Sistine Chapel.
Frank stepped onto the carpeted floors and gazed out over the rows of bookshelves that spread all the way back to the other side of the room. The air was noticeably recycled here, and the quiet was deafening in juxtaposition to the cacophony of rhythms and beats of the vibrant city above.
Frank strode the maroon-carpeted floor, passing bookcase after bookcase, heading to the back reading tables and offices of the Order. The Order had been consolidating its libraries here over the years and the volumes of knowledge had grown like weeds in the stacks since the last time he’d been down here.
The hum of computers grew louder as Frank made his way past the last remaining rows of books. The Order had installed an underground datacenter in the eighties. The network was connected to the internet, including the Deep Web. The Order was listening to everything. They had more information coming in than many governments, and it was how they stayed on top of the threats that conventional governments had entrusted to them since before his time.
As Frank rounded the corner, he came upon Brennan at one of the reading tables. He was scrawling in a notebook, and volumes of ancient texts were spread out around him on the table. He didn’t seem to notice Frank as he approached.
Never looking up, Brennan said, “Well, are you going to sit down or stare at me all night?”
Frank stepped to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from Brennan. “I’ll be just a minute. I have to get this down, then I have something important to tell you,” Brennan said.
Frank sighed. Brennan’s stories were always longwinded, and he had little patience. It was going to be a long night.
23
TITUS
October 28, 2015
Humphreys Peak, Arizona
Titus made his way through the field of lava rock under the cloak of night. His footsteps fell silently as he weaved his way through the rugged terrain, foregoing the hiking paths humans used to scale Humphreys Peak.
His mind was focused and quiet as he prowled the landscape like a predator, following the scent of evil that drifted downwind toward him. At the top of the second false summit, above the snow line, he extended his senses and could see her in his mind’s eye. Rand had sent up miniature drones, the size of mosquitoes, to do some recon before his incursion. The intel the drones had gathered had been spot on. She was tucked away in a cave accessible only from the steep side of the true summit, where no normal human could get to. But she is no normal human.
At the end of the rock field, he climbed the steep face of the backside of the mountain at an inhuman pace, leaping silently from one foothold to another, clawing his way to the entrance to her lair where she lay with the demons from the Second Death. The wind gusted against him, trying to batter him off course, but he would not be blocked.
He knew in his heart why he pressed so hard and put himself in the way of such harm. It was not for himself, nor for the glory, nor for the Order or the country. It was for her, for his wife Domino. He would avenge her or die trying.
You die today, Jessie.
Too many lives had been shattered by the creatures of the Second Death and the girl. That would end with him. Finally, after years of trying, the General and his team were almost done perfecting a conventional weapon, and soon they might have the power to defeat the Fallen, and the threat to humanity that had existed since the beginning of man could end. It was his only purpose now, and no mountain, no girl, no Fallen would stand in the way of his vengeance.
He reached the true summit, his energy running high and vibrant with the thoughts of revenge that flowed through his mind. His fingers touched ice in a crevice and the wind howled in his ears. The first snowflakes of the season swirled around him and floated back down the mountain as he pressed forward.
I’m coming for you, girl. And your monsters. Today, you all will die.
24
JESSIE
October 28, 2015
Humphreys Peak, Arizona
She floated on a bed of His spongy veins. Suspended in the air, He enveloped her in His dark, comforting embrace. Her tongue spread her lips, and she slowly moved her pink, wet muscle over dry, cracked lips like a jonesing addict who’d finally found her next fix. He varied the ebb and flow of Himself in and out of her as she rested in His caress. Occasionally, tiny moans escaped her when the ecstasy of His gush overwhelmed her. She nestled into the network of limbs He wrapped around her, His blood mixing with hers, healing her, bringing her comfort and safety like nothing else could.
In His coils and folds, He was a blanket of protection. All her pain fell away, like dead leaves sashaying down from trees. He held her just right, every time, like a knowing lover. The rhythmic beat of His true form, the Heart of Darkness that occupied her every thought, rocked her gently into a dream-like state. They spoke in images and feelings. She felt His many mouths suckling on her flesh, drawing out the pain and replacing it with power. His mouths were a gateway to her innermost desires, enriching her with a drug that devoured all that was wrong, and replacing it with all that was right. It was in this communion that she healed, physically, mentally, and emotionally. It was in this communion she grew. There was nothing else but the rhythmic pounding of the giant purple heart, her King, healing her, comforting her, loving her.
Your wounds are almost healed now, Jessie. It is almost time. His mind folded with hers, His thoughts as much a part of her mind as her own.
Yes, my King. I am yours to command.
We are close, princess. I can see the end, the end of the world with you and me sitting atop a great mountain, overlords of our new world. His deep voice resounded in her mind and His many mouths nipped pleasurably at her flesh. A tranquil peace filled her from the imagery He sent her.
You are ready, my princess. Ready for the task that you must complete, so that I will be free from this prison.
Tell me what I must do.
You will free the Shepherd of the Soulless, Dalkhu, and he will raise an army of dead ones
, and together you will free me from this prison of the Second Death and then we will subjugate the humans and the Watchers, for eternity.
Where will I find him, my King?
He is imprisoned somewhere in this desert. You must find him and free him.
But where, my King? I do not even know where I am…
The tomb of Dalkhu has been hidden from me, as have the resting places of all my allies. But you will find him and you will free him. He will raise his army of dead ones, and you will march across the land to the Vortex, and with the Stone of Serr’rah, Dalkhu will open the Vortex between our worlds and free me from this jail.
Yes, my King.
You will—
His coils suddenly gripped her too tightly. She squealed as the pressure within her rose. She could sense His rage, his anger. Something was wrong. Something was—
What is it, my King?
They come for you. They have found you, Jessie. Kill them. Kill them all!
Stars shot across her vision as she opened her eyes and leaped to her feet. Her surroundings were blurred and distorted. She ran for the mouth of the cave, the gusting wind biting at her face, and stopped short after a couple of steps, her body nearly tumbling forward from the momentum.
Nalsuu appeared before her.
“My King, you are here?” she said, hope rising like a wave in her chest. She blinked and the image was gone, sending her heart slamming into her stomach. The cave started to spin around her. Disoriented, dizzy, and frightened, she clutched at the rock wall to her side. Something trickled down her arm, faintly iridescent in the darkness of the cave. The green blood of her King tracked from the open bites on her tricep and forearm, tickling her flesh as the rivulets wandered over her skin.