Malachi was paralyzed by the sight, one part fascinated, the other filled with terror over what was to come. It’s too late, he realized, knowing that he did not have the strength to face off against Taranushi and the emerging brood. Slowly he rose to his feet, careful not to arouse the Shaitan’s attentions, and started for the cover of the thick jungle foliage. He would find his cave, and there he would begin to compose his escape.
Images of the Shaitan forces invading the Kingdom of Heaven oozed into his mind, followed by the presentation of total darkness, and he had to consider the fact that perhaps there would be no tomorrow.
The thought came upon him like a shroud draped over the face of the dead.
He was just about to turn away from the horrors unfolding at the base of the Tree, when a sound from above made him stop.
He had heard this sound before when last he’d stood in the Garden.
It was the sound of God’s terrible fury taken shape.
The war cry of the Seraphim.
Remiel dropped from the sky, burning blade in hand, a scream of furious indignation on his lips.
How dare this thing taint the Lord’s Garden with its presence, the Seraphim thought as it swooped down upon the Shaitan.
The blade arced as he dropped, seeking out the muscular flesh between the beast’s head and shoulders. Remiel watched the fiery sword, anticipating the sensation of its razor edge biting into thick muscle.
But it was as if the blade passed through water.
The Shaitan’s body shifted, flowing away from the descending soldier of Heaven, to reconstitute directly across from him.
The monster smiled, attacking with the speed of thought.
Multiple sets of limbs rose, fingers like worms writhing in the air as bolts of snapping blue energy leapt from their tips. Remiel spread his wings, lifting off from the ground and blocking most of the supernatural energies with his sword, but one of them got through. The dark magick pierced his shoulder, an electrical fire igniting in his veins, causing his wings to grow numb.
He fell through the withered limbs of the Tree of Knowledge, landing on the body of Adam, the stink of the first human’s blood flowing up into his flared nostrils. He could feel the sickness of the Garden, feel the evil bubbling up just below its surface, and was almost taken to the brink because of it.
The Seraphim began to rise as tiny, white hands with claws like hooks reached up from the ground, grabbing at his armored form. Remiel watched in horror as the claws pierced the Heaven-forged armor with little effort, holding him in place as more and more of the birthing Shaitan attempted to feed upon him. He furiously beat his wings, pulling away from some of their clutches, and was able to kneel upon the churning soil, raising the flaming sword that once belonged to the sentry of Eden, and stabbing it down into the ground.
There came a muffled explosion, followed by unnatural, high-pitched screams from beneath the dirt. Remiel could feel their pain, hear the psychic screams of the injured and the dying, as the hold they had upon him loosened, and he was able to free himself.
He withdrew his blade from the earth, which was hot and sizzling with the life juices of the unborn Shaitan. Eager to see them all dead, the Seraphim readied the sword to strike again at the base of the Tree, when the newest attack came.
The adult Shaitan exploded at him, running upon all fours like a bull and ramming its bony head into Remiel’s midsection, pinning him to the side of the Tree.
Remiel recovered quickly, bringing the pommel of the sword down on top of the Shaitan. Its head seemed to break apart, flowing up the Seraphim’s arm. The damnable creature’s entire body went to liquid, oozing over Remiel’s armored form, covering him in its malleable flesh.
The angel could feel what it was doing, seeking out the weaknesses in his protective covering. He could feel the thing squirming through the openings, writhing against his divine flesh beneath the armor. The sensation was sickening.
Remiel thrashed, dropping to the ground, beating his wings, but the flesh of the Shaitan had spread onto them as well, preventing him from taking flight. He tried to use the sword, poking and jabbing at the thick second skin that had engulfed his body, but the Shaitan endured the stabs of the flaming blade, squeezing him even tighter, while forcing the armor from his body.
Pain like he had never experienced before flowed through him. The angel attempted to cry out, but his mouth was filled with the oozing, liquid flesh of his shapeless attacker. His own flesh was burning as the Shaitan released its destructive, dark energies.
The Seraphim fought fitfully as his body was completely engulfed in the constricting mass of the forbidden life-form. From all around, he heard a rumbling chuckle, as the Shaitan continued its relentless assault. The creature knew it was winning.
The monster was whispering now, telling him to give up the fight, that there was no dishonor in this defeat, for it was all inevitable.
He could feel the Shaitan inside him now, forcing itself down his throat. Remiel called upon the fire that was his gift from God, and his body started to radiate a heat as hot as the fires of creation, but it wasn’t enough.
The fire could not burn bright enough to repel the darkness that now held him in its constricting embrace.
Stealing away his light.
Feeding upon his life.
Jon was holding Izzy up by the waist, helping her move across the twisted landscape as they tried to follow Remy.
“I can’t believe he left us,” Jon said, stumbling as the ground pushed up suddenly beneath their feet, sending them both falling to the ground.
“He’s doing what he needs to do,” Izzy said, breathing heavily. She looked even sicker now; her mahogany skin had taken on a grayish pallor. She didn’t even try to get up.
“But I thought we were part of that picture,” Jon said, trying to help her to rise.
“We are,” she said, pushing his hands away.
“You have to get up,” Jon told her. He was looking around. “I can’t imagine it’s much farther. . . . How big can this place be?”
“Very big,” Izzy said. “Much bigger than you could ever imagine, and she needs our help.”
“Which is exactly what we’re going to give her,” Jon said, bending down to wrap his hands around her waist and lift her to her feet.
“No,” Izzy said firmly, her dark eyes looking deeply into his. “She needs us.”
“Well, we can’t stay here.” Jon was really annoyed now. “Remy is over there somewhere and he—”
“She needs our help,” Izzy repeated firmly. “My help . . . and your help.”
He didn’t know what she was getting at as she sat upon the ground, one of her hands again buried beneath the soil.
“I don’t . . . ,” he started to say.
“Think about who we are.” She grabbed his pants leg, attempting to pull him down with her. “Whose blood courses through our veins.”
The moist ground dampened the knees of his slacks as he knelt with her.
“She’s going to die. . . . Eden will die if we don’t try . . . if we don’t lend her some of our strength.
“I can’t do it alone,” Izzy continued weakly. “Will you help me?”
Jon didn’t know what to say at first, even though it was obvious. This was what it must’ve been all about, the true reason he had been born into the Sons.
His purpose.
“Will you help her?” Izzy whispered pleadingly.
Tentatively he extended his hand above the soil, curious as to whether or not it would hurt, and then brought it down.
Knowing Nathan would have been proud of him as he plunged his fingers into the dampness of the earth.
“Why are you hiding?”
Remy Chandler opened his eyes at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Madeline?” he called into the sea of gloom surrounding him.