The Holy Dark

by Kyoko M

  “He was smart,” Michael said. “No way in from the roof or any of the main entrances. We’ll have to go with a below ground assault. Myra’s M24 won’t do us much good either. He’ll be on the bottom floor using a gas forge to keep the hellfire going and to smelt the coins.”

  “I still don’t get why we don’t just blow him sky high,” Myra replied, a hand on her hip.

  She glanced at Gabriel. “Don’t suppose you brought a rocket launcher with you?”

  “Killing him isn’t enough,” the archangel replied. “He’ll have men in there, and if they survive the explosion, they’d take the coins and run. It also wouldn’t extinguish the hellfire. It’ll last for days with the proper kindling, and someone else would take over even if we managed to take out Moloch. We have to stop them all and reclaim the hellfire.”

  She sighed. “Nothing’s ever simple in this business. I think Ace should lead us in. He’ll be able to smell the Mooks long before they see us. Gabe and I can cover you and wifey while you go for the coins. What do you think, angel food cake?”

  His jaw twitched, but he didn’t correct her this time. “Sounds reasonable. You’ll have to draw the men off Moloch. He’s no slouch. I’ll need full concentration in order to beat him.”

  She offered a wolfish grin and a wink. “I’m sure me and the mutt can handle it.”

  Ace wagged his bushy tail and followed her as she headed for the exit to get ready. Gabriel watched her go and then addressed his brother.

  “The closest strike team I could assemble is about ten minutes out. I’ll let you know when they arrive.”

  Michael nodded, and the angel departed as well. I wrapped my arms around my midsection as my stomach did a few backhand springs inside me. We stayed silent for a long while, listening to the wind blow through the trees scattered just outside of the surrounding complex.

  “You okay?” Michael asked softly.

  “I’ll make it,” I answered, still unable to meet his gaze. “You wanna talk about what happened back there with the demon?”

  “Not unless you want me to punch a hole through this building,” he growled. “But I’m glad we’re alone. I need you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  He touched my shoulders, guiding my gaze upward. The moon-sliver above us illuminated half of his face, the slope of his cheek, and left the other in shadow. The vibrant green of his eyes appeared silver now. “No matter what happens in there…you have to get the coins. Don’t hesitate. Not even for me.”

  I dug my fingers into my duster, my voice wavering. “What are you asking me to do? Let you die?”

  “There’s more at stake here than just my life. Promise me that you’ll stay focused.”

  “Michael—”

  His grip tightened. “Promise, Jordan.”

  I stared up at him. “I promise.”

  “Thank you. I know you’re strong enough to do this. Let’s go.”

  He walked away. Say something, you idiot, a voice inside my head screamed. You might die. Tell him the truth.

  “Michael, wait!”

  He froze in mid-step, his broad shoulders bulging beneath his leather jacket as he tensed. My throat wouldn’t open. Words crowded on my tongue. Come on, Amador, say it. Say the damn words.

  He turned around. The wind swept his dark hair into his eyes, hiding them. “Yeah?”

  My dry lips cracked open. “I—”

  A loud humming sound emanated from his pants pocket. I heard him sigh in resignation before he answered his phone. “What?”

  His brow straightened into a firm line. “Alright. On my way down.”

  He tucked the phone in his pocket. “The strike team’s early. I have to go give out orders. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  Michael disappeared over the ledge, taking the fire escape rather than the stairs. Good. I was having trouble breathing and my vision was blurry.

  “I love you,” I whispered to no one. Then I dried my cheeks and prepared to slay a dragon.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  JORDAN

  I’d never worn SWAT gear before—only a bulletproof vest that time Gabriel and I went to save my father in Detroit. It was borrowed, so it didn’t quite fit me everywhere. My breasts, average though they were, ended up crushed against the chest armor, and the bottom brushed the top of my thighs when I walked. I strapped the helmet on so tight that each time I swallowed it constricted my jaw a bit. The goggles were clean, but I had to resist the urge to adjust them as they pressed into my cheeks. I’d have imprints if I made it out of this mess alive.

  Michael and Gabriel were built better for their armor and it showed. They moved smoothly as if they were used to it, which didn’t surprise me. I had only known them in their lives on earth right now—a musician and a businessman—but they hadn’t always been in those professions. Still, Gabriel’s excessive height left a section of his lower abdomen exposed as the vest couldn’t reach down that far. Occupational hazard. Normally, they’d wear their holy armor, but the metal would make too much noise and possibly give away our position.

  After the strike team determined that there weren’t any explosives planted around the grounds, Myra took the lead with Ace. We found a sewer grate a couple streets away and crept our way through the disgusting tunnel until we reached the section that connected to the garage of the repair shop. The place used to offer car washes so they had built it around that particular grate for any runoff.

  There were three guys ahead of me, not counting Myra, each armed with automatic weapons. I hadn’t heard a peep from them that wasn’t code for something—all clear, wait for the signal, etc. Their energy was shielded like mine to prevent detection from the enemy, but I knew they were angels. I just hoped they weren’t the ones who thought I was a traitor or I might not make it out in one piece.

  Myra signaled for us to hold on as Ace crept forward on his fist-sized paws, snuffling quietly around the area. He peeked up through the grate and propped himself up against the wall on his hind legs. Standing up, he was taller than Michael, nearly as tall as Gabriel. It was both impressive and slightly terrifying to witness.

  He chuffed once to indicate we were clear. One of the men behind Myra handed her a vial that was about four inches long. She stuck her fingers through the grate and poured the liquid on the edges of the bars. An acrid smell pervaded the air as some sort of acid melted through them. She caught each bar before it fell until the hole would let us fit through. One guy gave her a leg up and she poked the top of her head through to the surface.

  After half a minute, she motioned for us to follow. We filed through the hole, scattering to the far corners of the dusty garage. Half-disintegrated cardboard with peg holes hung on the walls. Some men took cover behind the steel beams where old lifting equipment rusted overhead. The garage was large enough to fit at least six or seven cars. The two doors facing the street were splotched with rust and water damage and wouldn’t have lifted without the help of the Incredible Hulk. The rear entrance was what we were interested in—an old metal door on the landing. We’d theorized that this would be where they’d lay a trap. The only way into the rest of the facility was through that door.

  Myra fell back. A SWAT guy came forward with one of those nifty cable cameras that can slip underneath doors and see around corners. He stayed in position for a full thirty seconds before signing to us what was up ahead: a staircase with two guards on either side of the door. We wanted to keep things quiet for as long as we could, but it wouldn’t last forever. Moloch knew we were coming.

  The SWAT guy beckoned Ace closer as he picked the lock, counting down from three to let us know when he’d bust the door in. I said a quick mental prayer for safety and kissed my mother’s cross before tucking it underneath the armor.

  He kicked the door open. Ace darted inside, disappearing from sight. I heard a couple shouts of alarm and then gunshots. The SWAT guy launched himself into the stairwell. More gunshots, and then the thud of bodies hitting the ground
. The rest of us didn’t waste time. They filed in after him, climbing the stairs. They separated into three teams—one for each of the upper levels—while Michael, Gabriel, Myra and I headed for the first floor.

  Ace sniffed underneath the door and the fur on his neck stood at attention. He growled and pawed the ground. Demons.

  Then, a second growl joined his. There, underneath the seam of the door, came a snuffling sound. They’d brought their own hellhound. Son of a bitch.

  “Let’s hit it,” Michael said, cocking his shotgun.

  Myra flashed Ace a feral grin. “Kick his ass, boy.”

  She kicked in the door. Ace pounced on the hellhound before him, grabbing it by the throat with his gaping jaws. It shrieked and rolled over, thrashing like a beached shark. The two locked into their own private brawl in mere seconds.

  As soon as the door caved inward, shots filled the air from nearly every direction. Myra opened fire with her M16, paving the way for the rest of us. We split up, taking different vantage points.

  The room we entered appeared to be a half-finished expansion of the garage. Torn plastic sheets hung from the naked ceiling, obscuring some of the gunmen. I counted at least fifteen, some crouching, others aiming from behind the metal support beams.

  I found an overturned metal work table in the left corner and took cover, picking my targets. Three men on this side with assorted automatics. Bullets punched dents in the table, echoing loudly through the room. It wouldn’t hold for long, but enough to give me a fighting chance.

  I unhooked the two grenades hanging from my belt and pulled the pins, counting to five before rolling them across the floor. One of the men yelled for the others to take cover, but they were too late.

  The grenades both exploded at their feet, but not with conventional gunpowder and explosives. Holy water splattered over them, scalding any part of their skin not covered in armor. Two of them screamed and stumbled backwards, cradling their faces. I leapt up with my Beretta 93R and aimed for their knees. The bursts of bullets tore through their limbs in bloody splatters. They hit the floor, writhing.

  The third guy had made it out of range, aiming at me from the floor nearby on his belly. I ducked down just as he fired. A couple bullets grazed my helmet, hitting the top of my skull with the force of a sledgehammer. Pain whizzed down my neck and shoulders. Dammit. I’d run out of bullets long before his AK-47 would.

  I edged around one side of the partially shredded table, searching for my chance, when I noticed a particularly large sheet of plastic dangling from the ceiling not far from him. Aha.

  I threw myself onto my back and shot at it, tearing a straight line through. A chunk flapped free and fell on top of him before he could get out of the way. I rolled onto my stomach and shot at the flailing mass. Blood burst through the dirty plastic and he flopped over dead.

  The others were in separate spots fighting, so I crept towards the rear of the room where I spotted the faint glow of fire and smelting equipment. The air in the garage had been musty and damp, but here the heat expanded outward like long fingers. The gas forge gaped wide with a white-orange mouth. The rotten-egg stench of sulfur filled my nostrils.

  Moloch held a crucible inside the forge. He wore a welder’s mask over his face. The rest of him was decked out in body armor. The only skin I could see was the back of his neck, splotched dark brown with a burn mark from where I’d stabbed him with the feather.

  I had a miniscule window of opportunity. The noise from the gunfire wouldn’t give away my approach. I just might get the jump on him. My aim would have to be flawlessly accurate in order to hit the break between the armor.

  I kept the gun steady and eased myself toward him. Icy sweat poured off my skin. Just a little closer.

  Something barreled into me from behind, knocking the wind out of me. Razor sharp claws sliced at my back, trying to get through my vest. Blood and saliva dripped onto my nape. The hellhound had managed to get away from Ace to protect its master. Figures.

  I used every last ounce of my strength and threw myself to the side, knocking the beast off of me. I scrambled backwards on my hands towards my gun. It was inches away when the hellhound stomped on my right wrist and lunged for my throat. I shoved my forearm into its mouth, crying out as it clamped down and damn near bit through my armor. It held, but wouldn’t for long.

  Ace came tearing out of nowhere and swiped a massive paw at the hellhound’s left eye. His claws scored deep gashes down the creature’s face and it released me, stumbling aside with a yelp. Ace stood over me, his shaggy hide damp in spots with blood, but he didn’t waver.

  I grabbed my Beretta while the other hellhound was distracted and shot it. The creature hit the floor, twitched a couple times, and then its body evaporated into ash.

  “Good boy,” I whispered, reaching out to pat Ace’s head. He nuzzled one side of his muzzle against my palm, panting heavily.

  The second after I pulled away, another gunshot ripped through my ears and hit Ace in the right flank. He cried out—a high pitched sound that I’d never heard him make—and stumbled, his red eyes whipping back and forth to detect the threat.

  Moloch stood facing us now with a Desert Eagle in one gloved hand, his welder’s mask lifted over his sweat-drenched forehead. His finger closed over the trigger again. I aimed at him, my fear replaced with complete and utter rage.

  “Shoot my dog again and I’ll kill you,” I snarled, sliding backwards on the floor until most of the animal was hidden behind my body.

  “I did not expect it to be you, little one,” Moloch said, sounding ever so slightly bored. “Perhaps my initial analysis of your character was mistaken.”

  “It happens,” I said. The cacophony of noise around us didn’t allow me to hear if anyone was approaching. I was on my own for now, and it didn’t bode well. Sure, I could talk tough, but Moloch could wipe the floor with me without even breaking stride. I needed backup and soon. All I could hope to do was keep him talking.

  “Myra,” I said into my link. “Ace is hurt. Can you get him out?”

  “Ten-four.” Gunshots echoed in the background of her answer, and then she appeared a moment later, kneeling beside him. Her eyes flicked to Moloch and her voice came out a murmur.

  “You got this?”

  “Yeah. Go.”

  Ace whimpered as she slipped her strong arms around his body, lifting him onto her back so she could keep one hand free to use her gun. She disappeared towards the exit to fight her way back outside.

  “It’s surprising,” Moloch continued, grabbing a pair of forceps. He gripped the crucible and tipped it towards the mold sitting on the table in front of the furnace. Molten silver gushed out and into the cast. Dammit. We were too late.

  “What is?”

  “Your bullheaded refusal to admit when you have been bested. I heard of your exploits while I was preparing in Hell. Your soul was damned and yet you didn’t give up hope for your salvation. The demons waged a war on your hometown and you fought with your bare hands despite being outmatched. You fell into Belial’s trap and helped him raise the foulest creature ever spawned on earth. You are the epitome of the human spirit, Jordan Amador.”

  His black eyes narrowed. “And that is why I intend to destroy you.”

  An unpleasant smirk touched my lips. “Feeling froggy, asshole? Jump. I dare you—”

  Moloch shot me in the right elbow, at the tear in the armor that the hellhound ripped through. I screamed as excruciating pain consumed the entire limb, as if a thousand red-hot daggers had been jammed into every muscle, every nerve ending. The gun fell out of my hand and I curled into a ball on the floor, my eyes blurred with tears, my throat burning with bile. Blood soaked my shirt, my armor, pouring onto the floor in thick spurts. I gasped for air and tried to think past the agony. Stay conscious. Stop the bleeding. I had to stop the bleeding or he’d shoot me right through the forehead and everything would be over before it began. I tried to reach for my fallen gun with my other hand, but the pai
n was so intense I couldn’t even uncurl my fingers.

  “I admire your spirit,” Moloch said over the sound of my cries. “But you are sadly mistaken if you believe that defeating Belial and Mulciber made you an opponent worthy of me. I am not my associates. I do not play fair. I do not have favorites. I am the destroyer of this world. If it makes you feel any better, know that your death is not a personal matter. I need your husband to be properly motivated.”

  His finger twitched again, but he didn’t kill me. He yanked down the welder’s mask quite literally a second before a bullet would have gone through his eye socket. Instead, it ricocheted off into the ceiling. The second shot, however, hit the barrel of the Desert Eagle, sending it spinning towards the corner of the room.

  I looked up to see Michael, bloodied and bruised, standing a few feet away. His holsters were empty. He was down to a Glock and his sword, the latter of which was sheathed at his waist.

  “Michael,” Moloch said. “You are late.”

  “And you’re a walking corpse,” Michael whispered in a tone so dark it seemed to have crawled out of the depths of hell itself.

  He kept the gun on the archdemon and eased his way over to me, kneeling without his gun arm ever even wavering. He laid his other hand on my ruined arm, sending another wave of pain shooting through me. I writhed, whimpering for him to stop, but he hushed me with a gentle tone.

  “Don’t move. I’ve got you.” His energy—mercifully cool and soothing—seeped through the armor and into my skin. The sickening, paralyzing pain abated, but only a little. The cursed metal of the Judas coins lay cooling on the table about three feet away, sucking up the rest. Large dark spots ate through my vision. I was starting to black out.

  Gabriel came around the corner a few seconds later, his face paling as he spotted the puddle of blood I was laying in. He cursed in Latin under his breath and stripped away my entire sleeve.