A rumbling murmur went up from the crowd and Aaron could only imagine the fear that many of them had lived with during their lives, dreading the day when the leader of the Powers host would turn his attention to them, and the place of peace that they had built for themselves.
“This morning I’m asking you to fight,” Aaron told them. “To fight for your future—for your redemption, and your right to go home.” He tried to look each in the eye. “This is what I intend to do,” he told them. “It’s time that I confronted my destiny—and I would be honored to have you all fight by my side.”
The silence was deafening. Aaron wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected, but a void of response was not necessarily what he’d hoped for. He was about to turn to Belphegor, when a sword of fire sprang to life within the crowd. It was raised high in the air, and was followed by another, and then another still. Aaron was speechless, looking out over the crowd, as every one of them raised a weapon of heavenly fire in salute to him.
“Guess that’s a vote of confidence,” Aaron heard Lehash say. He turned to find the constable wielding his golden pistols. “They’re not swords, but they do pack a pretty good wallop,” he said, crossing the weapons in front of his chest. “And I would be honored to fight in your name.”
Belphegor smiled as Aaron looked back to the citizens.
Maybe we do have a chance, he thought, his faith roused by the sight of those gathered below him, and he wondered if Camael would have been proud. His musings on his absent friend were cut off, as there came a sound, abrupt in its intensity, painful to the ears. It was like the crack of an enormous bullwhip, and it was followed by a terrible ripping as a hole opened in the air above the crowd. Aaron watched with increasing horror as a red-garbed warrior dropped from the wound in space to the ground below. The crowd pulled back as Malak raised his spear, pointing it toward the Nephilim. Above the armored warrior, the gash pulsed and sparked as the sound of flapping wings began to fill the air.
This is it, Aaron thought as Lehash pushed past him down the stairs, pistols of heavenly fire in each hand. Gabriel had come up the stairs to Aaron’s side, barking and baring his teeth in a display of savagery uncommon to the normally docile animal.
“I want you to go to Vilma,” Aaron told him.
“But I want to stay with—”
“Don’t argue, Gabriel,” he ordered the dog. The sounds of angels’ wings grew louder. “Protect Vilma.” He knew that his friend would have preferred to stay at his side, but Vilma needed a guardian, and he could think of no one that he trusted more.
With no further argument, the dog bounded down the stairs and up the street.
And then an army of angels, bloodthirsty screams upon their lips, weapons of war in their hands, spewed forth from the hole, like biblical locusts preparing to blight the land.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Aaron had begrudgingly accepted his inhumanity, and now attempted to wear it with pride. There was very little pain as the sigils appeared on his flesh and his powerful wings burst from his shoulder blades. A spectacular sword of fire ignited in his hand, and he welcomed the rush of power that engorged every fiber of his being.
The last of the Powers’ soldiers emerged from the tear in the fabric of space, and they began their assault, dropping down from the sky, their weapons of flame seeking to end the lives of Aerie’s citizens. He wanted to help them, but he could not take his eyes from Malak—his little brother—still standing before the fissure.
What are you waiting for? Aaron wondered. The report of Lehash’s pistols echoed like thunder through the normally still air, and then Malak knelt on one knee, bowing his helmeted head before the opening. Aaron tried to see into the rip, certain that the surprises from the other side were not yet over.
A sudden chill filled the air, and Aaron felt his presence before seeing him. Verchiel emerged into Aerie as if he were its savior, and not its destroyer. Wings of the purest white spread full, he glided from the darkness of the fissure, a look of contentment on his pale, aquiline features.
Just seeing the leader of the Powers there in the citizens’ place of solace filled Aaron with a barely controlled fury. It was all he could do not to launch himself at the villain, but caution was the victor, and he waited for his enemy to make the first move.
“And so it ends,” the Powers’ leader proclaimed, his voice booming over the cries of battle. Verchiel glanced at his soldiers in the midst of violence, at the citizens fighting for their lives, and then his dark, hawklike eyes fell upon Aaron. “You couldn’t possibly have believed it would end any other way!” Verchiel roared, smiling with anticipation.
Aaron leaped from the church’s steps and landed on the sidewalk, sword of fire at the ready. “It’s not over yet,” he said to the angel, beckoning to him with an outstretched hand.
Verchiel shook his head with great amusement. “No, Nephilim,” he said, touching his long, spidery fingertips to the top of the kneeling Malak’s helmet. “Another wants the honor of ending your life.”
Malak slowly stood to face Aaron; a lance of black metal clutched in his armored hands.
“I believe he wants to eat your heart,” the angel said, lovingly brushing imaginary dust from the shoulder of the warrior’s scarlet armor. “And I do not wish to deny my pet his desire.” Verchiel brought his hand to his mouth, kissed his fingertips, and placed them on Malak’s head. “Kill him,” the angel declared.
And with his master’s blessing, Malak attacked.
Lehash had known the angels that now attacked him and the citizens of Aerie. Once they had been soldiers of Heaven, protecting the sanctity of the Creator’s desires, but now they were something altogether different. These were not beings of purity and righteousness, but shadows of their former glory, twisted by the malignant beliefs of their leader.
He fired his weapon into the screaming face of one attacker, spinning around to kill another before the first could fall to the ground. It had been quite some time since he’d delivered violence on such a level, and he found that he had developed a distaste for it. Aerie had been good for him, calming what seemed to be an eternally angry spirit. He had found a place to belong, a home to replace the one that was lost to him.
But now there was a chance, a slim possibility, that he might see Heaven again, and somebody wanted to take that from him—from all of them who called Aerie their home. Lehash was not about to surrender that chance no matter how small. That was what fueled him.
He shot his bullets of fire, hoping that each enemy falling dead from the sky would bring him closer to forgiveness—closer to Heaven. But there were so many, and the air was soon filled with the stink of burning flesh and spilled blood.
What a terrible thing, the fallen angel thought as he unleashed the full fury of his terrible weapons, and watched as both friends and foes died around him.
What a terrible price to pay for forgiveness.
“Do you remember me, Stevie?” Aaron asked the creature before him. “Do you remember who I am?”
Malak thrust his spear forward with blinding speed, and Aaron reacted barely in time to angle his body away from its razor-sharp metal tip.
“I remember,” Malak said, his voice cold and menacing as it echoed from inside the horned helmet. “I remember the pain you caused, the misery you have brought to the world.”