He was about to show Leviathan the disastrous effects of eating something that did not agree with it.
If it were capable, the beast Leviathan would have smiled.
As it swallowed down its latest morsel, a wave of contentment passed through the monster the likes of which it had never experienced. Leviathan could feel the pulse of the Nephilim’s power within it, and knew that this source of strength would be what would finally allow it to emerge from its prison of rock, and claim the world above as its own.
It watched the others that had once been part of its nourishment, the angelic creatures, useless husks, drained and sprawled about on the floor of its prison, and realized that none had made it feel as glorious as it did now. The spawn moved excitedly beneath their parent’s protective scales, sensing that it would soon be time to leave the cave and emerge out into the world, where its reign would commence.
It imagined that the Creator, in all His infinite wisdom, would send others to smite him—soldiers of the heavenly realm—that would all meet a similar fate as those who had come before. With the Nephilim’s strength, there was nothing that could stop Leviathan from recreating the world in his own likeness.
Sated by the mere promise of new angelic energies, Leviathan prepared itself for the transforming influx of power that would soon awash it. It leaned its colossal, wormlike bulk against the cave wall and imagined what was next in its future. After countless millennia, it had the means to be free. The denizen of the depths would send its spawn out of the cave, to the settlements beyond, bringing the inhabitants, now under its control, to Blithe. Now it would have the substantial numbers and tools needed to be liberated from its rocky prison.
And then its work would begin.
The monster fantasized of a world transformed—sculpted as a representation of its own chaotic nature. It saw a place covered with churning seas, most of the landmasses swallowed up by volcanic upheaval, the skies gone black from volumes of ash expelled into the atmosphere to blot out the hated sun. And all the life upon the new world, that teemed upon what was left of the blighted land, and swam beneath the dark, ocean depths, would praise its name in worship.
“Leviathan,” it imagined they would proclaim. “How blessed we are that you have touched us with your resplendent glory. Praise be the Lord of the deep, hallowed be thy—”
It felt a sharp twinge of pain in the lower internal regions of its mass, a burning sensation that seemed to be growing. The monster removed itself from the wall where it had reclined, its head scraping the roof of the undersea cavern as it rose.
“What is this?” it asked in a sibilant whisper full of shock and surprise as the discomfort intensified. “What is happening?”
Never had it experienced such agony; it was as if there was a fire raging within its body—but how is that possible? it wondered. The heat of its pain was intensifying, the blistering warmth expanding up from the nether regions of its serpentine trunk to spread throughout.
“This cannot be happening,” Leviathan exclaimed as the first of the remaining digestive sacks exploded, the fluids contained within brought to a boil from the raging internal temperatures of its body. Leviathan moaned in agony, powerless to act. Another of the sacks ruptured, spraying the walls in a bubbling stream—followed by another, and then another.
The monster swooned, its pain-racked form crashing into the rocky surface of the cave walls. The spawn, normally protected beneath its armor of scales, rained down to the cavern floor, scampering about in frenzied panic—driven to madness by the pain of their progenitor.
Leviathan wanted nothing more than to flee its prison, to have an opportunity to show the Creator that it, too, had a reason to exist. In its fevered thoughts it saw the glimpses of a paradise of its own design fading quickly away. It saw the black, roiling oceans full of life that it had helped reconfigure—a world of chaos that looked upon it as God and Master.
“It would have been magnificent,” Leviathan moaned as the sword of fire erupted from the center of its body—and something that burned like a star emerged from the smoldering wound.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Camael slowly removed himself from the ruptured digestive organ and gazed about his foreign surroundings with a cautious eye.
While trapped within the prison he was made to believe that he had found the angelic paradise that was Aerie—and all the centuries of isolation and conflict he experienced had come to an end. The prophecy had occurred: The fallen angels of Earth forgiven by Heaven. It was bliss.
As he looked around the subterranean cave, the reality of the situation was driven painfully home. He had not found Aerie, and where he now stood was the farthest from Paradise any angel could possibly be.
A mournful wail rose in intensity, reverberating around the cavern, awakening the angel further to his environment. Camael turned to see the monster Leviathan in what appeared to be the grip of torture. The sea behemoth thrashed, its body viciously pounding off of the cave walls as it shrieked in pain.
A sword of fire grew in his hand, a caution in case he should need to defend himself.
“He is accomplishing what we could not,” said a voice nearby, and Camael turned to the Archangel Gabriel, withered and wane, leaning back against the stone wall.
Camael bowed his head, recognizing the angel for what and who he was. “Of whom do you speak, great one?” Camael asked, returning his attentions to the flailing beast.
“The Nephilim,” the desiccated emissary of Heaven whispered. “The latest messenger of God.”
“Aaron,” Camael gasped as Leviathan continued its dance of agony. He watched awestruck as the skin of the beast smoldered, the protrusions that dangled obscenely from the monster’s front, and of which he had been captive within, exploding, their contents spraying the air with a steaming mist.
“It would have been magnificent,” he heard the creature of nightmare rattle as a weapon of fire suddenly tore through its midsection, and a warrior angel—, one he first bore witness to only a few weeks ago—, stepped from the gash in what seemed a mockery of birth.
He was about to call out to the Nephilim, but something stayed his tongue. Camael observed the half-breed, the offspring of angel and human, and was startled, and perhaps even a little concerned by what he saw.
The Nephilim jumped from the wound in the sea beast’s stomach, his black-feathered wings flapping furiously, attempting to dry away the internal fluids that stained their sleek ebony beauty. In his hand he held a sword of fire—a weapon so fierce that it could rival those carried by the elite soldiers of Heaven. This was not the newly born being of angelic power that erupted to life mere weeks ago to avenge loved ones viciously slain, Camael observed. This was something all together different.
Camael watched as the transformed youth rose into the air before the agonizing beast, his mighty wings beating the air, lifting him to hover before the face of his enemy.
Leviathan lashed out at the Nephilim, its whiplike tentacles attempting capture, but falling upon empty air, the angel’s movements were so swift.
“Damn you,” Leviathan roared, its thick, green life stuff draining out from the gaping stomach wound to pool upon the cave floor. “Damn you—and the master you serve.”
Aaron hovered before the snarling face of the beast, sword poised to strike, and Camael marveled at the sight of it.
“Got a message from the big honcho upstairs,” Camael heard the Nephilim cry as he brought the flaming blade down in a powerful arc aimed at Leviathan’s head. “You’re dead.”
The fire blade cleaved through the incredible thickness of the sea beast’s skull with a resounding crack—the majority of the fearsome weapon buried deep within its monstrous cranium. It thrashed wildly in a futile attempt to dislodge the flaming weapon, but then grew impossibly still.