The grenade detonated at the exact same time as he slammed into the side of the building, both impacts very nearly forcing him to lose his grip which would have hurled him from the face of the wall. He sensed the deaths of the Horned demons and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. It seemed someone — other than Gabriel — still cared about him up there. If the Horned demons hadn’t have succumbed, he really would’ve been in trouble.
He took a couple of moments to consider his position. Thirty two floors up. Dangling one-handed off the side of a building. It was just as well he wasn’t scared of heights. Below him, the battle between the Resistance and those who followed the Antichrist continued, screams and roars of rage echoed up to wear he hung. He could clearly see an adjacent building that had just started to burn, fires licking out of the windows. The Blackhawk helicopters had disappeared. He couldn’t even hear them and he silently wished them well. If anyone could survive, it would be Adam and Grace. They were the true survivors in this world.
Grunting with the pain, he hauled himself back up and over the balcony wall, scuttling as quickly as he could towards the only door leading into the building. It was locked but he managed to manipulate it with his telekinesis, sliding the bolt back from the other side.
Inside, he found himself alone with two options: take the door to the right or use the stairs and head upwards. His demonic intuition told him that there were several demons above him, including a mind familiar to him. Using his glamor to disguise his presence, he crept up the stairs. Thankfully, his side no longer ached, his ribs almost completely healed even in the short amount of time that had elapsed since he’d been wounded. He checked the countdown on his watch.
8 minutes.
The stairs doubled back on him twice. Eventually, he reached another landing. He listened at the fire door. Nothing. Cautiously, he opened it. The space was clearly some form of anteroom — narrow and featureless with a few scattered chairs and high, full-length windows that allowed the light of the blood red moon full access. Save for himself, there were no other living creatures present.
Large, double doors made of heavily embossed bronze stood closed at the far end of the room. He crept in that direction, his senses guiding him. So far, this had been too easy. Highly suspicious in itself.
7 minutes.
He listened at the door and heard muffled voices. Taking a deep breath and bowing to the inevitable, he tugged on the bronze handles. Both doors slid open on oiled hinges. Sam stepped through and found himself in a large, richly appointed chamber, with large windows overlooking the nearby buildings.
He was not alone.
In a huge leather chair behind a heavy mahogany desk sat a figure that Sam hoped never to see again — his brother, Semiazias. The Antichrist. Flanking him were the two most beautiful women Sam had ever seen. His heart skipped a beat before accelerating like a race horse out of the traps. Immediately, he knew what they were and with strength he didn’t know he possessed, he tore his eyes from them. Succubi. Other than their tiny horns, they resembled human females. And not just any human females; impossibly beautiful ones that had the power to seduce with just their looks. He’d encountered them before and knew he was almost powerless to resist them.
He continued to look around carefully, much to his brother’s apparent amusement, reaching out with his senses. Wall sconces, once containing lights powered by conventional means, now contained flickering flames, casting uncertain light about the room. In the shadows, there seemed to be something else. For some reason, Sam couldn’t see or sense whatever it was properly. He dismissed it as unimportant for now. He was more interested in whether his brother had an escape route. If this room or any nearby was a desecrated church, then Semiazias had an out. So far, he was unable to detect any trace of such a place.
Sam, though, had been expected.
“Hello, brother,” sneered Semiazias. “What kept you?”
Sam made a show of looking at his watch. 6 minutes until the airstrike. “Been busy. Had an appointment with an old friend. You might know him. Joshua — or as everyone else around here calls him — the Prophet.”
Semiazias leant back in his chair, smiling broadly, displaying dazzlingly bright teeth. It was funny seeing that expression on such a familiar face. Semiazias was his identical twin after all. The Succubi mirrored the expression of their master, one caressing his shoulders, the other his hair.
“And what did the Prophet want with you, then?”
It was Sam’s turn to smile. “He wanted me to kill you.”
Sam had expected his brother’s smile to at least falter, if not vanish entirely, but he was disappointed on both counts. If anything, his leer broadened.
“Well, good for him. He really had come a long way from that sniveling little boy a few short years ago. I think spending time in Hell really nurtured him. Was good for him, even. Look at him now — prepared to throw me under the bus to achieve his own ends. You’ve got to admire that, really.”
This was an unexpected response from his brother. He didn’t seem concerned or surprised.
“So you don’t care that your supposed ally has turned against you?” he asked, slightly bewildered.
“Of course not,” replied Semiazias affably. “I knew what he was planning and I’ve taken steps to avoid it. Besides, our father and I have got plans for him. And you, by the way.” He suddenly clicked his fingers. “How rude of me. I haven’t done the introductions. These two ladies here — and I’m taking liberties with the definition of lady here, of course — are my personal assistants, Lilith and Naamah. Say hello, ladies.”
Both Succubi smiled at Sam. He ignored them, knowing from personal experience what their smiles could do to him. His brother watched him carefully, smirking all the while.
“You really should get a couple of your own, Samael. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
“No thanks,” said Sam, gritting his teeth.
“Do you like my choice of art, by the way?” continued Semiazias easily, pointing behind him with one languid hand. “Liberated it from the Met. It’s The Sacrifice, from The Satanic Ones by Felicien Rops. It’s a pretty invigorating feeling when you know everything in a city belongs to you. That the city is yours. I can take what I want. In fact, my followers enjoy the same good fortune. It’s a pity that that small band — they call themselves the Resistance, don’t they? Haven’t seen the light, so to speak. Making trouble, setting fires. Although I have to admit, we’ve set a few of our own too. I believe they’re out there right now, stirring up mischief. If it wasn’t for them, this city would be a fabulous place to live.”
On the wall behind his brother was a smallish black and white etching. It featured a demonic presence floating over a partially nude woman. She was lying on some sort of sacrificial altar. Other, smaller flying demons floated nearby, appearing to gloat.
“Good, isn’t it? Kind of reminds me of our mother.”
Sam felt his anger building but controlled it, knowing full-well that this whole exchange had been engineered for precisely this purpose. His brother was trying to goad him. But to what end? So that Sam would attack him? Something started to niggle in the back of his mind. What was in the shadows?
He breathed out slowly and surreptitiously checked his watch. 4 minutes. “So, let’s get on with it, shall we, brother? You know why I’m here. To finish what we started three years ago.”
Semiazias nodded slowly as if acknowledging the truth of what Sam was saying. “Of course. I knew you were coming. I’ve also got no inclination to have a repeat performance of our last encounter.”