On the ground, surrounded by dread fiends, I did what any self-respecting hero would do in my situation. I curled up into a ball and pleaded for my life.
To my utter and complete surprise, it worked.
After a few moments of me sitting there with nothing being gnawed off, I suddenly realized the room had gone quiet again. I dared a peek past my forearms to see the fiends were still there, but they’d gone rigid once more.
I uncovered my face completely and glanced around the room to find they’d stepped to the side, pressing into an even tighter group than before. Amazingly, the path to the arch was clear.
A tentative sigh of relief slipping out, I got up and willed my feet forward before they changed their minds. The last few yards flew by and I reached the doorway, casting furtive glances inside to make sure I wasn’t walking into an even worse situation.
The room beyond free of dread fiends, I went inside in a hurry. As I crossed the threshold, magical flares along the walls flickered alive, filling the room with gentle light. A closet in comparison to the fiend room, the walls of the chamber were carved at odd angles, sharp corners jutting into the room. It took me a second as I moved around, but I realized it had been cut in the shape of a pentagram.
On the furthest wall was another tunnel that had been recently dug judging by the rough edges. Broken rock and gray dust sat at the mouth, piled several feet thick. I ducked around the opposite side to keep the tunnel in sight as I surveyed the rest of the chamber.
In the center of the room, upon a raised dais of blackened marble, stood a trophy case, kind of like the ones used to showcase sports uniforms. Its muted gold frame was intact, but the glass that made up the front wall was shattered. Pieces lay on the ground before it, glistening in the light.
On its remaining walls were elaborate, mystical symbols etched into the glass. The writing flowed along the breadth of the glass and seemed to segue seamlessly from one to another, its sequence lost only at the shattered pane. Though I couldn’t read a word of it, it was written beautifully.
That meant bad.
In general, magic is ugly. Based in a primal brutality, it comes to life in fire and fury through sheer force of will. It’s the battering ram and the bullet.
Now when you get into symbols and scripts, it means the mystical energy has been harnessed to a specific use, which is most often defensive or meant to counter offensive magic. Crude symbolism limits its potential, the essence of magic born of imagination and creativity. Like art, the more beautiful, the more transcendent, the more effective it is; the more versatile.
The artistic script on the case told me it was meant to hold or protect something powerful. The broken glass outside of the case meant whatever was inside had let itself out.
That’s real bad.
A spider-like shiver ran down my spine. Coming down here, I had a pretty good idea who might have whacked Asmoday, but now I wasn’t so sure. If whatever was in the case was sentient, then that only added to the suspects and muddied the water.
Honestly, I didn’t really care who killed him. As a matter of fact, that person did me a favor as it cleared my debt to Asmoday without me having to welch. That point aside, the empty case was just another problem I had no idea how to fix.
Feeling a bit exposed with the dread fiends at my back, I made my way to the tunnel. A quick peek told me it curved upward. Once more attempting to picture the rooms above, I thought I could guess where it would come out at.
No sounds echoing through the tunnel, I pulled my gun out and headed in. The slope wasn’t too steep, but it still rose quickly. After just a few minutes, I’d reached the other end and let my senses loose for long range recon. They didn’t pick anything up. It seemed I was alone.
Out of the hole, I popped up into what could be considered the foyer of Lucifer’s quarters. The massive stones that sealed the chamber after Lucifer’s departure had been removed by Asmoday and never been replaced. Now, the archway led out into the open expanses of Hell. From there, a knowledgeable person could get anywhere.
That didn’t bode well.
Despite my anger at my uncle, I couldn’t help but feel a bit proprietary about his quarters. It would nag at me until I made sure there wasn’t anyone hiding in them or messing with his stuff. Besides, I had Rachelle hide Eve in Lucifer’s God-proofed room and I needed to make sure the bone was still there.
A quick search of the place eased my mind, finding Eve right where Rachelle had put her. The place being empty made it even more so. Able to do it myself this time, I stashed the bone where no one would find it. Hopefully I could remember where I put it when the time came to retrieve it.
Getting ready to leave, I had an idea. As one of the first beings to come into existence, Lucifer had a wealth of knowledge on tap. While he wasn’t around to ask questions-not that I would right now anyway-there was still plenty of information stashed away in the books he kept in his chambers.
In the off chance I might learn something useful, I returned to his room and plopped down in front of a stack of ancient texts.
Reminded of my lessons as a child, I wished I’d paid more attention then because cramming for tests never works out.
Chapter Sixteen
Time running out, my research job was half-ass at best, but I did find out a few things.
The last guardian of God’s throne, who Akrasiel alluded to, was none other than the Archangel Metatron. The highest in the hierarchy of angels, he was God’s personal scribe and right hand wingman. It was his job to pass on God’s word to the rest of the Choir until the Big Guy up and poofed. He would definitely have the power to alter the course of the battle.
If what Akrasiel said was true, we were still pretty much screwed. Stationed in Heaven, right beside God’s throne no less, I had no way of reaching him, or even getting a message through. Even if I could, I had no idea what it would take to spur him into action. If an angelic revolt in Heaven hadn’t woken his ass up, then what the Hell was I gonna do to top that?
I’d also managed to dig up a little info on Akrasiel. He was actually the Archangel Raguel. Apparently, it was his place to keep all the other angels in line.
He sure wasn’t doing a good job.
With God gone, I couldn’t be certain that was still his angle. His cryptic commentary made me think he didn’t really want me to succeed, but at the same time, you never know with supernaturals. There’s always a hidden goal in everything they do, which is why they never just come out and say things plainly. As such, there just wasn’t any way to be sure whose team he was playing for.
Worn out, my mind a useless jumble of nonsensical theories and ideas, I headed for the gate to leave Hell when a burst of static exploded inside my head. Recognizing the faint sputter of a telepathic connection, I answered, but no one replied.
Without warning, a glistening blue portal appeared in front of me. Already on edge, I jumped back with a squeak; I might have even tinkled a little. My fright turned to anger a split-second later as I recognized the source.
Rachelle peered out of the gate, her face ashen. “We need you, Frank. The Nephilim have attacked DRAC again.”
She turned and exited the other side and I nearly ran her over in my haste to get through. We popped out in the cool desert night and I could have sworn it was the 4th of July.
Flashes of red and blue energies seared through the air, lighting up the sky as though it were day. Screams of rage and agony joined the cacophony of battle sounds. Over by the DRAC installation that was buried deep beneath the desert sand to avoid detection, stood what remained of the organization’s military force.