His breathing was a grating rasp, and his eyes—his beautiful, soulful eyes—opened as she laid her hand upon his blackened cheek.
“Belphegor,” she whispered, scalding tears of sadness raining down from her eyes. “What have they done to you?”
The fallen angel closed his eyes again, as if attempting to muster the strength to speak. “I have lost my battle,” he said in a strained whisper, his voice like the rustling of dry leaves. “But the war is far from over.”
“They’re killing us,” she said, bowing her head, feeling the grip of despair upon her.
His charred hand brushed against the side of her head, and she raised her gaze to him. “As long as he still lives,” the Founder stressed, “there is hope.”
She wanted to believe in the savior, in Aaron Corbet, but at the moment it all seemed so unrealistic. Instead Lorelei began to move away more of the debris. “Let’s see about getting you free—”
“Stop,” he commanded, his voice stronger. “It is too late for me,” he said with finality.
She didn’t want to hear that, she didn’t want to hear that he had given up. If he had managed to survive thus far, maybe there was something she could do to help him heal faster. Her thoughts raced with spells of healing. “You can’t die.” She continued to frantically try to free him. “You have to hold on … you have to hold on until the savior forgives you.”
“That is not to be my fate,” Belphegor responded sadly, his head resting on a pillow of rubble.
And though it pained her, something deep down inside told her that it was true.
“My many years of tending these gardens has left my constitution weak.” He shook his head feebly from side to side. “Do not despair for me,” he told her. “For I have lived far longer than even I expected. From the moment Camael spared my life in Eden, I knew that I was living on borrowed time, and swore that when the moment finally did arrive, I would not fight, but would welcome it—for it was due me long ago.”
Belphegor paused, his eyes closing, and for a brief moment she wondered if he had slipped away. But then the old angel sighed, a sound suffused with disappointment. “The only thing that pains me is that I will not survive to see the outcome,” he said.
Lorelei said nothing, and the Founder read her silence.
“You believe all is lost?” he asked, and still she did not respond.
The sounds of battle drifted up to them, Lehash’s guns booming, screams of rage, cries of fear. Lorelei didn’t have to see it to know that they were losing the war, she could feel it in the depths of her soul. She could feel them dying.
“Even with Aaron, we’re not strong enough,” she whispered, nearly overcome with hopelessness.
“So you believe,” Belphegor said. “Do you even understand the true nature of what you are?” he asked, straining upon every word. “The merging of God’s two most fabulous creations into one fantastic form of life.”
She felt another of the citizens die as she listened to Belphegor’s words.
“Do you think that the Powers kill you because they think you inferior?” he asked. “They hunt you because they fear you—fear what you have the potential to become.” Painfully he raised an arm to point a blackened finger at her. “You, all the Nephilim, are the next phase in our evolution … the next best thing. But to survive—to make the prophecy a reality—you must fight. It is the last of the trials we must face to achieve absolution.”
There was strength in the old angel’s words, and Lorelei felt the power of her birthright stir. The next best thing, she repeated to herself as she watched the Founder’s eyes begin to close.
“Show them what it means to be Nephilim…,” he said, his words trailing off in a weakening rattle.
Lorelei felt his life slip away, and the world suddenly seemed to be a much colder place. “Sleep well, old man,” she said, and leaned down to place a kiss upon his blackened brow.
Then she climbed to her feet upon the shifting rubble and gazed out over the streets made into a battleground, the citizens fighting to make their dreams of a prophecy come true. The next best thing, she heard the Founder of Aerie say again, and knew that it was now her place to prove him right.
“This is for you,” she said, reaching within herself to stir a power she had believed to be nearly depleted, and she gazed up into the cloudless sky, beckoning to the elements in the language of the messengers.
And the heavens answered.
With a vengeance.
The fear was gone.
Aaron climbed to his feet, crossbow shaft still protruding from his leg, the sword of fire he had just used to end his brother’s life still in his hand. He looked upon his enemy with disdain.
Verchiel hovered over the remains of the citizens’ church, his mighty wings fanning the pockets of flame that still burned amid the rubble. As Aaron studied the creature of Heaven, a monster that had fallen farther than any of the poor beings that had taken up residence on this poisoned land, he felt only anger.
Verchiel gracefully set down upon the rubble-strewn sidewalk, his armor still glistening resplendently in the smoky, early morning sunshine. He too was holding a sword, a truly magnificent blade that Aaron had seen once before when they battled in the sky above his home, on the night his parents were murdered and Stevie was taken.
What was it Popeye always said? his addled brain tried to remember. And then it came to him, and he heard it echo through his head in the odd, gravelly voice of the popular cartoon character. I had all I can stands, I can’t stands no more. Aaron caught himself smiling, the words of the animated sailor summing up his emotions perfectly. He had been pushed beyond fear of the vengeful creatures of Heaven, and after all he had experienced in the last few hours, he did not have the ability to care.
Verchiel walked toward him slowly, a predator’s gait, full of graceful strength and self-assurance. It was obvious that he believed himself the victor. He can’t be more wrong, Aaron thought as he spread his wings wide and leaped at his foe, sword poised to strike. His body screamed, the numerous wounds recently inflicted upon it crying out in protest.
“I’ll show you a murderer,” he growled, his voice filled with the fury of the angelic essence that had become part of his nature.
“Look at what you’ve caused,” Verchiel taunted as he parried Aaron’s strike and pressed an assault of his own.
Aaron was driven back farther into the street. He had to be careful, as the angel’s savage blows rained down upon him, not to listen to Verchiel’s jibes, for they were there only to weaken his resolve and make him doubt his purpose. The heel of his shoe bumped up against something in the street and he chanced a look down to see that he’d almost tripped over Stevie’s headless corpse.
Verchiel used this moment of distraction to savagely hack through Aaron’s defenses, his sword cutting a deep swathe down the Nephilim’s cheek. Aaron cried out in pain and surprise. He had been lucky though, the wound numbed the left side of his face, but Verchiel’s blade could very easily have taken away an eye.
The Powers’ leader was laughing, toying with him like a cat playing with a mouse. Time for the mouse to give the cat a taste of his own medicine, Aaron thought. He unfurled his wings and sprang from the ground, ignoring the blaring pain of the crossbow bolt still imbedded in the thick muscle of his thigh. He flew into the Powers’ commander; his shoulder connecting with the angel’s armored midsection, and the two tumbled backward to the street in a heap of flapping wings.
“The savior of them all,” Verchiel sneered through bared teeth as they wrestled. “They actually believed that you would be the one that brought them God’s forgiveness.”