The Powers stopped, studying the dog that blocked their advance.
“It is the animal,” said one of the angels. “The one the Nephilim altered.”
“You are correct, brother,” said the second. “And it has been made savage by the Nephilim’s poisonous taint.”
“We would be showing it a great mercy if we were to end its life,” said the last, and he crept closer. The others cautiously followed.
“Don’t think I’m going to make this easy,” Gabriel growled, his large, blocky head moving slowly from side to side, keeping his eyes on all three of his adversaries.
There were more explosions in the distance, blasts that sent powerful shock waves through the ground and shattered the windows of homes around them. Geysers of flame erupted into the sky followed by billowing clouds of oily, black smoke.
The angels were distracted. Bolts of electricity continued to drop from the sky, and wherever lightning fell, an explosion that shook the neighborhood followed. Gabriel held his ground uneasily, fearing for his master’s safety.
They looked back to him, but he could see in their eyes that the angels had lost interest. Each continued to gaze longingly in the direction from whence they had come.
“I think your brothers might need your help,” Gabriel said, hoping he could convince them to leave.
They looked at one another. The sounds of explosions filled the air.
“Are you going to waste your time fighting an animal, or are you going to help your brothers?”
The angels suddenly screamed, their cries like those of the seagulls he used to chase on Lynn beach, and Gabriel thought he had made a mistake. But they didn’t attack; instead each opened his wings and they flew off to join their brethren. Gabriel watched them glide through the air and had to fight the urge to follow. He was worried about Aaron and about the citizens, but he had made a promise that he would not break.
The dog heard a noise behind him and turned to see the front door slowly open. Vilma stood there, wrapped in the knitted afghan that had been thrown over the back of the couch. She appeared cold, her body racked with chills. Her eyes were wide, as if awakened by something that had truly terrified her. The smell of sickly sweat wafted from her body in waves.
Gabriel padded back up the concrete path toward her. “What’s the matter, Vilma?”
On bare feet she stepped out of the house and proceeded down the path. She seemed drawn to the sounds of the explosions and looked off in the direction where the angels had just gone.
“Vilma,” Gabriel said, standing by her side. “What did you see, Vilma?” he asked her softly, not sure he wanted the answer.
“He’s still alive,” Vilma said softly, a tremble in her voice. “Aaron’s alive.”
And, overcome with relief and happiness that his master was safe, Gabriel tilted back his head and howled with joy.
Aaron regained consciousness gradually, his brain fumbling for connections to his senses. Hearing was first, but that only caught his own labored breathing and the rapid-fire beating of his heart. Pain came next, a thousand aches, bruises and cuts. He wiggled toes and fingers, flexed muscles in his arms, back, and legs. They all hurt, but everything seemed to be working.
As he opened his eyes, he recalled the battle he had been fighting before … before what?
His blurred vision gradually cleared to reveal the obscene level of devastation that had befallen Aerie. He remembered fighting Verchiel. The last thing he recalled was the Powers’ leader attacking, a blade of fire destined for his throat. He was about to reveal the identity of the angel that had sired him—Verchiel was about to say his father’s name when there was a blinding flash, and an explosion that tossed the angel aside like a rag doll.
The air was thick with acrid smoke, but it did not hide the corpses that littered the ground.
On weakened legs Aaron walked among them, his eyes falling upon bodies so badly burned that their identities were a mystery. Friend or foe, he had no way of telling, and an incredible sadness washed over him.
“Verchiel,” he whispered with disdain, somehow knowing that his enemy’s body was not among the blackened corpses at his feet. Aaron knew that somehow Verchiel had survived the cataclysm that had ravaged this place.
He heard an awkward approach behind him and whirled, a sword of flame coming to life in hand. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, but he was ready to fight again if necessary. From the thick smoke they came, a bedraggled Lehash supporting a weakened Lorelei, followed by other residents that had survived the Powers’ attack.
“You’re alive,” Aaron said, beaming as the gunslinger and his Nephilim daughter lurched toward him.
“Appears that way,” Lehash responded. His clothes, face, and hands were covered in a thick mixture of dirt, dust, and dried blood. “Can’t say that would’ve been the case if it weren’t for Lorelei here,” he said, his attention upon the young woman at his side. Lorelei looked the way he felt, drained of all strength. “She brought the wrath of Heaven down on them sons a’ bitches,” Lehash said proudly, and Aaron then knew that it had been angel magick that rained down upon Aerie that day.
Lorelei slowly lifted her head, her blank, exhausted stare suddenly focusing on Aaron. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “He never got a chance to see it all come together.” Tears streamed from her eyes, leaving trails down her dirt-covered face. “Belphegor’s dead.”
Aaron’s body began to tremble. It was a feeling he had experienced before and he knew what it meant. “Where is he?” he asked, a sense of urgency to his tone. “Where’s Belphegor’s body?”
Lorelei feebly pointed to what remained of the church behind them. “He’s there,” she said. “In the rubble of the church. He died trying to defend it from Verchiel.”
As before, Aaron felt the power building at the center of his being and he spread his wings to fly, soaring over the heads of the surviving citizens, and then above the ruin that had once been their place of worship. He had to act quickly before the opportunity passed.
The Founder’s body lay half buried beneath the debris of the church, and Aaron touched down to kneel before his lifeless form. As he leaned closer to the fallen angel’s corpse his suspicions were verified. Belphegor’s angelic essence was faint, but it still lived.
The power swelled inside Aaron, flowing up and out of his center to pool in his hand. “You are forgiven,” he said to Belphegor, and laid his hand upon the fallen angel’s brow. There was a blinding flash, like a thousand and one photographs being taken at once, and a creature of the purest white light emerged from the rubble of the church to hover above him.
Aaron sensed the presence of the citizens nearby as they struggled to climb the debris, and heard their collective gasp as they looked upon what he had done.
“It’s time to go home, Belphegor,” he told the being of light.
And the angel, once again in its purest form, looked up to the heavens, toward what had been denied it for countless millennia. The heavenly creature then spread its gossamer wings of radiance, and in a silent flash, was gone.
Aaron knelt upon the rubble, awash in the relief of Belphegor’s release. But this time, he felt no satisfaction, as if he had not yet completed the task at hand. And then he understood, for it was true that he had not yet finished his work.
He stood, turning to those around him. “Gather the remains of those fallen in battle,” he stated firmly. “All of them, Powers’ soldiers included.