The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy

by Terra Whiteman

  He had sent that to all high-ranking officials aboard the Ezekiel. All eighty-five of them.

  And then everything erupted into chaos.

  Angels swarmed the deck—some running, others flying—in every direction. They dove off the railing in drones, their wings clapping the still, cold air as they vanished into darkness.

  I was forced to make a decision that I knew I’d live to regret for the rest of my life, however short that may be. I blurred toward Oraniquitis, who stood amid the growing sea of white feathers, my wings releasing from my back. I grabbed her and pushed off the deck, ascending away from the Ezekiel. I sped upward, the air crushing my defiance of gravity, my arms clenching tighter around Oran.

  Blinding light rose in a dome below, spanning faster than I could fly. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, begging my wings to go faster.

  I felt the heat on my face and the gaining force against my body. Something heavy pushed me up, flinging me off trajectory. It hit me like a freight train, and the roar that followed burst my eardrums. The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was Oran slipping from my arms, falling into the fiery sphere below. Her eyes were filled with surprise, fear and desperation.

  And then she was gone.

  XXVII

  AS THEY LAY DYING

  Seyestin Trede—;

  I AWOKE ON THE GROUND IN A BED of ashes, my head filled with knives. At first I only had enough strength to roll onto my back, and when I did I coughed, sending a fresh twinge of pain up through my chest. It hurt to breathe.

  All I could do was lay there wheezing, staring up at the sky as ash and cinder snowed across the frozen wasteland. I smelled smoke and heard fire crackling in the distance. I craned my neck to the side, catching a glimpse of something moving next to me.

  Yahweh.

  He sat with his knees to his chest, wings still released and fluttering behind him, adorned in torn pieces of his suit. His eyes never left the sky, pain and loss contorting his face. A crimson tear rolled down his cheek.

  It all came flooding back.

  Yahweh had activated Ezekiel’s anti-matter shield the moment Belial had sent the warning. I had screamed for him to follow me—to get to the deck and fly as far away as possible. Instead he had grabbed me. I remembered the sound of the observatory glass shattering. His grip had nearly crushed my wrist. My memories ended there.

  Now I was beneath the ash, smoke and shrapnel of our warship; with Yahweh Telei huddled, crying blood tears as he mourned all we had ever hoped to gain.

  And himself, because now I knew what he was and could only wonder what might happen next.

  “Why did you do this?!” he screamed at the sky. “Why would you do this?!”

  ***

  Qaira Eltruan—;

  My eyes fluttered open and all I could feel was searing pain in my stomach. My vision was blurred and I choked in surprise from the sudden sensation. Warm blood seeped from the corners of my trembling lips.

  I lay in the middle of a still-smoking crater. A piece of antenna from our ship was speared through my gut, pinning me down. I ripped it out with a wince, clutching it thereafter, waiting for regeneration. My head lolled and I sighed as a tingling sensation overtook the pain. All of the events leading up to this moment spun circles in my mind.

  Strong enough, I crawled out of the crater. The remains of angels and demons peppered the barren field among smoldering metal, already starting to freeze over.

  I thought of the others.

  Oran, Adrial, Yahweh, I called.

  Silence.

  I surveyed the wreckage, thinking of Raith, craving his murder all over again.

  Qaira. It was Adrial, and I sighed with relief. Where are you?

  North side of the blast-zone, I said. How are you still alive?

  —Not exactly sure. The anti-matter shield stayed up long enough for me to jump ship and run. I got hit with part of the engine and blacked out. Where’s Yahweh?

  Not with me.

  —Oraniquitis is here. She pulled the engine off of me, apparently.

  I thought back to the image of her falling out of the sky; I’d been so certain that I had killed her. Can you account for anyone else?

  —No, but I can see a few survivors heading east.

  Alright, I’m coming to you.

  I got to my feet, legs wobbly from all the energy lost to cold, injury and exhaustion. The first few steps were staggers.

  Adrial and Oran appeared from the screen of smoke after a ten minute hike across the crater, where Ezekiel had all but evaporated. Adrial was hunched on the ledge, still regenerating. Part of his body was smoldering; he’d been injured worse than me. Oraniquitis stood tall behind him, watching my approach.

  Once we rejoined, Oran lowered her head and looked across the graveyard of corpses and warships. There was sadness in her eyes. For some reason it made me angry.

  Angrier.

  “I thought scenery like this elated you,” I said. “You’re a destroyer of worlds, right?”

  “Usually,” she replied, morose, “but it appears you’re doing a fine job of that on your own.”

  “What now?” asked Adrial, hoarse.

  I nodded toward the staggering clusters of silhouettes, barely visible through the darkness. Ash had begun to coat my uniform and I lifted the visor to get a clearer picture. “We regroup. Find Yahweh.”

  “He might be dead.”

  “No,” I said. That wasn’t an option. “We need to find him and take shelter before whatever else Raith has for us is enacted.”

  “Grigori-Tal is the closest city from here,” said Adrial, nodding east.

  Most likely where the survivors were heading. “Good. Let’s go. We can call our reinforcements.” The closest reinforcements were a day out; we couldn’t wait that long out here. The Ezekiel had had thousands in her fleet. Jets, transporters, craft-carriers; all turned to dust. Lucifer had done the unthinkable. This was something I might have done a thousand years ago, but never had I expected it from him.

  But he was no longer Lucifer Raith, Commander of the Archaeans. His Archaean blood grew thinner by the day. Further from angel he fell—;

  And closer to me he became.

  *

  Grigori-Tal was a waystation, two hundred miles from Kirisyn, Junah’s capital city. It was encased in a metallic dome that shimmered like liquid silver under an invisible spotlight. Two pillars marked its perimeter, circular telepads between it designated transporter and zeppelin docking sites. It, like the rest of this layer, was abandoned.

  Others had reached the site before us, as the doors had been deactivated and left ajar. We arrived with fifty other soldiers, demons and angels alike. Neither side of the celestial spectrum seemed intent on killing each other anymore.

  The three of us could have high-tailed it across the frozen tundra within half an hour, but instead kept with the lessers to ensure they made it through alive. Had we abandoned them, Yahweh would have never forgiven me. Our journey had taken an upwards of six hours.

  A dozen angel aerial craft were stationed outside the city—only a dozen had remained after Ezekiel’s destruction. That was a sobering fact.

  I paused in the threshold of the station dock, inspecting the deactivated panel on the door. The clearance level was high—too high for a normal citizen to initialize. I gazed into the dark tunnel with a knowing frown.

  “What is it?” asked Adrial.

  “Looks like Samnaea is alive.”

  “That means Belial is, too.”

  Yahweh, are you here?

  Still, no answer.

  “This could be a trap set by the Demon Commander,” cautioned Oran.

  That notion hadn’t eluded me, but anything short of another anti-matter bomb wasn’t going to stop me from finding out. “We have no other option. Do you sense anything?”

  Oran squinted through the darkness. “Lesser life-forms. More than a few. Their resonance sings a sad, tortured tune.” She breathed in, closing her
eyes. “It tastes wonderful.”

  Adrial glared at her with disgust. That was verification enough for me.

  We headed inside, motioning for the survivors to follow our lead.

  *

  There were another two hundred survivors inside, huddled around the waystation commons. Samnaea was indeed alive, but far from well, trying to contact a ship alongside demon soldiers. So far no one was answering. Not a good sign.

  Belial sat on the staircase beside behind her, smoking a cigarette, eyes on the ground. At our entrance they rose, but only for a moment. Until now I’d thought him to be unflappable; looked like the bar had been set. Mass-democide.

  Both of them looked like shit. Clothes soot-ridden and torn, skin red from cold exposure. I was certain we didn’t look any better.

  “Is Yahweh here?” was the first thing out of my mouth after reaching the commons. There was a weathered aRAVE leaning against a pillar, demon-designed. Belial must have snatched it off of Judas’s ship. More surprising was that he must have saved Samnaea.

  “He’s in the medical bay with Seyestin,” muttered Belial. “He’s in denial that half the people there are already dead.”

  Why hadn’t he answered my call? “Where’s the medical bay?”

  Samnaea pointed to the westward tunnel. I nodded thanks.

  Adrial and Oran hung back, knowing this was going to be a complicated ordeal. I wasn’t suited to handle such ordeals, but there was only me now. The mantle had made it all the way to the back of the line.

  There were another fifty survivors in the medical bay, and I instantly knew what Belial had meant. I was no doctor and it was clear that almost all of them were beyond help, suffering third degree burns, mortal shrapnel wounds and head trauma.

  But it appeared Yahweh had come to his senses—or not, depending on the context—as he sat against the wall amid the dying crowd, staring at nothing. This was an extremely depressing sight.

  Before I could get a word out, Seyestin stepped from the doorway, blocking my path. He looked down his nose at me with narrow, angry eyes.

  “When?” was all that he asked. He didn’t have to say any more.

  “The Basin. Yahweh would have died otherwise.”

  “And no one told me.”

  “Of course no one told you,” I said. “You’re as devoted to the rules as they come.”

  “Do you have any idea what this means?” Seyestin whispered, threatening.

  I took a step in, challenging him. “What does it mean? Look around you. Angels and demons are taking shelter together. Working together. Raith just offed his entire fleet. What the fuck does it matter who Yahweh is now?”

  “What Yahweh is now,” sniped Seyestin.

  I stared at him with equal fire. “Keep talking and I’ll permanently shut your mouth, white.”

  Seyestin said nothing, but took a step back. He leaned against the door, shooting his Commander a sympathetic look. “And what’s going to happen now? Look at him; any second he’s going to start crying and then everyone will know.”

  “I was about to fix that before you interrupted me,” I muttered, moving past him.

  Yahweh’s gaze never deviated from the wall, even as I knelt in front of him.

  “Hey,” I said. “Snap out of it.”

  He said nothing, though his eyelids fluttered and his expression grew even more defeated. A stethoscope hung loosely around his neck, threatening to fall.

  I sighed and took a seat beside him, reaching into my pockets. No luck. “Go and get Belial’s cigarettes,” I called to Seyestin.

  Seyestin snarled in insult. “I’m not a servant.”

  “It’s not for me.”

  Reluctantly, he stormed out.

  “Yes, what happened is horrific and unforgivable and I’m sorry,” I said, calmly. “It hurts like a bitch and you never really get over it. But you continue to live and learn to deal with it somehow. The end.”

  Yahweh tilted his head, eyes still on the wall. “No wonder you’re such a mess.”

  I had to laugh a little.

  Seyestin returned and threw me a package. I caught it with one hand, sliding two cigarettes out. I offered one to Yahweh. He didn’t move. Neither did my gesture.

  Eventually his eyes strayed to the cigarette dangling in front of his face. Then he looked to me in question.

  “Go on,” I said. “You’re a Vel’Haru. Nothing can kill you, not that this would have anyway.” I lit mine. “But hey, at least it’s completely guilt-free now.”

  “Guilt-free,” he murmured, taking the cigarette. “And what would anyone say if they saw the Argent Commander smoking a demon drug?”

  “I don’t know. He deserves it?”

  A small trace of a smile tilted the left corner of Yahweh’s mouth. He slid the cigarette between his lips and I lit it for him. He took a long drag, and exhaled. Instantly he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Wow.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You’re tainting me with your dark habits.”

  “No, I’m showing you how to live a little.”

  “As if my life isn’t exciting already.”

  I said nothing, and neither did he. It was quiet for a while. Seyestin had vacated the room, not caring to observe our bonding time. For the better, anyway.

  Someone among the injured was crying for their mother. We both looked toward the sound, listening to the soldier’s dying breaths.

  “Do you ever think about anything before?”

  “…Before what?”

  “Before this.” Yahweh looked at me, solemn. “Before Alezair.”

  “All the time.”

  “Me too,” he confessed. “I honestly can’t work out how it ended up like this. When I saw you in Crylle I never thought we’d be here.” He took another drag, reflective.

  I gave him a serrated grin. “I’m flattered. The good news is that you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on.”

  My response wiped away any happiness he’d gained. “I don’t see that being very long-term.”

  “Oh, this is nothing,” I said. “We’ll get out of this alive.”

  Both of us snickered, taking drags from the last of our cigarettes.

  “You feeling better?” I asked after we’d mashed our smokes on the floor.

  “No, but I suppose that doesn’t matter.”

  “Great,” I said, standing. “Because I’m about to hold a meeting.”

  *

  Seyestin had managed to contact Argentia, waiting in Orias. They would arrive by morning.

  Samnaea and Belial were unsuccessful in trying to contact Obsidia. Anyone within a day’s reach would have already evacuated. All the command ships were gone, Akkaroz cleaned out of any officials. The population of Hell was already in Heaven’s hands.

  I gathered the others and we formed a circle in the waystation storage facility. Oran, Seyestin, Yahweh, Adrial, Samnaea and Belial. We were all that was left.

  “We have fourteen varying crafts, roughly two hundred soldiers well enough to fight,” announced General Trede, relaying the odds. “We have insufficient firepower to arm these soldiers. Our best bet is to just sit and wait for reinforcements to arrive.”

  “No, we’re not staying here,” I said. “Have your reinforcements transport the survivors back to Avernai. We’ll be gone by morning.”

  Belial tilted his head, lifting a brow. “And where will we be, General Eltruan?”

  I hesitated. My gaze drifted across every face around the circle. “On our way to Akkaroz, finishing this.”

  “Just us?” asked Samnaea.

  “No, not you,” I said. “No offense, but we need someone to look after the survivors and make sure the officials in Crylle are informed properly.”

  Samnaea frowned, scathed. “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

  “No, because you can’t fight. Your party trick doesn’t work on other psions or Vel’Haru, and that’s about all we can expect from here on out.” When she looked away, I sighed. “T
ake the free pass, little girl. Unless you know how to land a head shot, you’ll only get in the way.” I pointed to Oraniquitis. “She’s a woman, too. Don’t start with that sexist shit.”

  “Do as he says,” advised Belial. “Someone needs to tell our story if we don’t come back.”

  “You’re a high-ranking official of the Obsidian Court. We need leaders alive to fix everything once this is over,” I said, supporting Belial’s advice.

  Samnaea only nodded.

  “How do you propose us getting into Akkaroz?” asked Adrial, leading us back on topic. “Junah’s cephalon is deactivated.”

  All the routes via flight were perilous ones, too. There was a reason why all craft transportation ended in Junah. The only way into Akkaroz was by cephalon. I remembered Akkaroz’s surface; the dark, windy tundra and the cave system we’d explored in the Sanctum Era. Negative one hundred degrees. Fifty percent air pressure.

  I gestured to Seyestin. “He can navigate through anything. Trede will drive the transporter.”

  Everyone looked at each other. No one seemed thrilled with my idea.

  “We can’t stay here,” I persisted. “By morning who knows what plans have amassed. We are all that this job needs. If whoever’s left of Hell can stop three Vel’Haru, a pyrokinetic psion and Heaven’s best pilot, then they deserve to win.” While this in itself was a sound reason, I left out the fact that Oraniquitis was still expiring, now without access to a serum to slow the process down. Every moment counted.

  “I will go,” Yahweh said. He understood the reality of our situation as well.

  “I go anywhere he goes,” Seyestin followed, touching the Argentia crest on his totaled armor. Yahweh and he shared a warm look. Apparently General Trede had gotten over his Commander’s indiscretions.

  Oran frowned “Someone has to keep you all alive.”

  “Why not,” shrugged Belial.

  Adrial was the last to agree. He sighed, resignedly. “I think this plan is terrible, but I’m not staying here by myself.”

  I smirked, victorious. “Alright, grab anything we can use. We leave in an hour.”