Retribution (Redemption Series) (22 page)

Chapter 25

A Civil War
fought on the principles of freedom and love. It is one step closer to resolution.

~
Bezaliel
~

Lilith's army
was waiting on the rolling hills beyond the portal. It was beautiful, identical
to the place we'd left behind with the exception of color. Everything here,
like in the tests we'd endured, was more vivid. Colors were stronger, deeper.
The grapes left behind on vines already harvested so purple they almost
appeared red. It made the grotesque monsters covering the fields even more
grotesque, even more terrifying.

They were all
there, the spider-Demons with their fangs loaded with poison, the Troll-Demons
with their detachable claws, Demons with bull-like bodies and horns, Demons
with bulbous noses and large muscular bodies, and half human hybrids with dark
hair who had chosen to fight with their mother over the brother offering them
escape. And they gave us no time to prepare.

The first shots
of power and claws flew toward us as soon as our feet touched the ground on the
other side of the portal, and I grabbed for my light, my magic bubble of
protection rolling out in the nick of time. It shielded me, gave me time to get
my bearings as Demons more prepared for battle than I threw
themselves
into the fray with no hesitation.

And it was then
I heard my music.

Realistically,
battle, whether human or otherwise, is a cacophony of noises, a disharmony of
shrieks, screams, dying breaths, whooshing weapons, stomping feet, and cries of
retribution. And as hybrids rushed past me, some falling and others continuing
forward, I gripped my magic hard, my eyes seeking
Marcas
.
But I had lost him. At some point, while crossing over, we had been separated,
and there was nothing left to do but fight.

Power surged
toward me, and I lifted my hands, sending a white stream of light that
connected with the Demonic magic, sending it back to the creature that'd
attacked me. There was a scream, and then nothing, but with so many sporadic
shrieks, I couldn't be sure I'd killed or even wounded my assailant.

Time stood
still. There was nothing to do but consider the most pressing attacks, and I
was smack dab in the middle of the fray. My bubble protected me as best it
could, but it was not invincible and so I moved quickly, weaving and attacking
so that I wasn't still enough to be a perfect target. It was like being stuck
inside a very vivid, very slow moving, animated version of a Picasso painting.

There was blood
everywhere, so vividly red and green that I could no longer tell the difference
between the landscape and the dying. No . . . not the dying.
The
recycled.
Marcas
had told me once that Demons
didn't die. The bodies they inhabited could be destroyed, but their Demonic
spirit endured and was reincarnated into a different Demon form. Angels were
the same way, only instead of being recycled, they healed. Angels could be
wounded, but if it was a death blow then they simply folded in on themselves
and lay suspended for however many years it took for even a fatal wound to
heal. Only God could take their lives indefinitely.

But as I stepped
over the Demons slain, over hybrids who had not survived an attack, I found
myself wondering if the same was true for the half-bloods.
 
When Demons like
Marcas
died, were they recycled? Or were they simply damned?

I deflected a
claw that barely missed my arm while my power sank into a spider-Demon that had
approached my leg, its fangs extended. My shot was true, and the spider-Demon
rolled onto its back, its legs folding in on itself as it simply faded from
existence. Its body remained, but it looked like an empty shell. It was
disconcerting, and I pushed my way backward, sliding behind hybrids in the heat
of battle, my thoughts only on
Marcas
. I needed to
find him.

The fighting was
thick, desperate, and I nearly cried as I pushed my way through it, deflecting attacks
and killing anything I was capable of killing.
Blood.
Everywhere there was blood and empty shells. And still no
Marcas
.

In the distance,
there was a clear patch of grass, and I moved toward it desperately, my eyes
searching the battling faces frantically.
Almost there.
 
And then . . . .

"I have
been biding my time for this moment," a female voice said evenly and my
blood ran cold, my eyes lifting to meet the smiling face of the Demon Lilith.

Even in battle,
she was glorious, her figure gloved in red leather from head to toe, her hair a
black mass of flying curls around her head. Her hands were claws, her eyes red.

"Lilith,"
I whispered.

She flashed
fangs as she moved toward me, attacking anyone who attempted to harass me, even
her own minions.

"She is all
mine," she roared to the Demons approaching us, and they backed off,
throwing themselves into the battle with the mindless energy of drones.

Fear consumed
me. I would love to say that I had a moment of bravery, of confidence, but the
only thing I felt was terror. Saying it was anything else would be a lie.

"You,"
Lilith said wickedly, "My Little Angel, have been a burr in my side. I
think it's about time I remove you."

I pulled on my
magic hard enough it hurt, and Lilith winced. I wasn't bound to her son
anymore, and the light that surrounded me now would no longer allow her
entrance. For a moment, for a single moment, I felt invincible. Then Lilith
smiled, and I felt cowardice sneak in again, making a home in my fear-ridden
veins.

"It feels
good, doesn't it?" she asked.
"Thinking that your
power is stronger than mine."

I didn't move,
but I did look her in the eye. If this was the end for me, I was going to face
it directly with eyes wide open. Maybe, in the end, that was bravery in itself.
Facing death and remaining stoic. Lilith blinked and lifted her hands.

"It's been
quite a few decades, Lilith," a voice said, and I took a startled step
backward as my father moved into my peripheral vision.

Lilith's mouth
formed a silent "o" as her gaze moved to his.
Bezaliel
never even flinched.

"I'd say
this moment has been a long time coming. Wouldn't you agree?" my father
asked.

Lilith's eyes
bled to black. Her hands lowered, forming into fists at her side.

"And what,
my dear
Bezaliel
, would bring you to that
conclusion?"

My father took
an agonizingly slow step forward, his green eyes beginning to lighten until the
shade was almost, but not quite white.

"I'd say
you owe me, Lilith. On your hands is the blood of my wife. You have tortured my
daughter, and you have blatantly attempted your own war on Earth. We are far
from even."

Even I heard the
deadly threat in my father's voice. It sent shivers down my spine. Lilith was
hot-headed, but she was no fool. She circled my father, her expression calm. My
father was older than she, an Angel that had been created way before the time
of Adam. She feared him.

"Go,"
Bezaliel
said, and I knew he meant me.

I heeded his
command, and I moved past them, back into the fray, another step closer to
finding
Marcas
. The bodies, both living and dead,
were as thick as they had been before, and I searched them.
Nothing.

The battle was
dying down. The hybrids were still standing, most of them having survived the
onslaught by Lilith's pets. But many too, had died. And yet, they still seemed
to outnumber the monsters still fighting.

Bezaliel
was facing off
with Lilith behind me, and many of the combatants had stopped to observe, awed.
Had
Marcas
done it? Had he won his kingdom?

And that's when
I saw him. He was fighting, along with Luther, on the outer fringes of the
battlefield where the stronger monsters had gathered. The hybrids had the upper
hand, and I watched as Luther shoved a detached claw into the heart of a
bull-like Demon before kicking a bulbous creature in
Marcas
'
direction.
Marcas
' power was quick and brutal and
both Demons went down. It was enough.

Luther grinned
and held out a bloody hand, clasping his brother by the arm in celebration. The
hybrids had won. The Outer Level was theirs. They could build a new kingdom for
Exiled Demons with
Marcas
at its head.

I worked my way
down a hill, sliding as I hurried to reach
Marcas
,
and that's when I saw the shadow. It was a large shadow, a cloak covering a
body hidden by a hood. It took only a split second for me to realize it was
headed for
Marcas
at a speed too quick to stop.

There was a
scream so loud it froze an entire battlefield. And as I watched something
silver enter
Marcas
' body, I realized belatedly that
the scream was mine.

Chapter 26

Look for the light,
but never forget the darkness.

~
Bezaliel
~

There should
never be a moment in anyone's life in which they have to watch the people they
love die. If I could have one wish, one wish in the world, I'd wish that no one
ever had to watch their loved ones die.
Ever.

Lucifer had his
revenge. In a moment of joy, in a moment of hope and freedom, he had his
revenge, and I watched as
Marcas
' body fell to the
ground.

Luther went down
next to him, his hand held out, power surging to the figure who had murdered
his brother. The Demon didn't go down. Instead, he vanished without a trace
still covered in his hood.

I was running
now, each breath a chore, a stitch in my side as I sobbed.
Tears.
Marcas
had told me to cry. I was doing it now. I
wasn't sure I could stop even if I tried. I wasn't sure I could ever stop.

I knew even as I
approached them that it was bad. I could hear
Marcas
'
breathing, labored and raspy from a few feet away, and when Luther looked up,
his eyes meeting mine, there was defeat written in his gaze where a moment ago
there had been celebration.

I was ten steps
away now. And my mind was a frenzied mess. With every breath, a new thought.

Ten
steps.
Please don't let him die.

Nine
steps.
Take me instead.

Eight
steps.
If I had never been born, none of this
would have happened!

Seven
steps.
Be strong, Day.

Six
steps.
I can't do this.

Five
steps.
Make yourself!

Four
steps.
I love you,
Marcas
.

Three
steps.
You can't die,
dammit
!

Two
steps.
You can't do this to me!

One
step.
No!

Marcas
' head rolled to
the side, his eyes meeting mine, and I fell to my knees and crawled. I crawled
because there was no way in hell I could walk. If I had the ability, I didn't
remember how to use it. And when I reached him, I grabbed the front of his
stupid black t-shirt, and I yelled because it was honestly the only thing I
knew to do.

"Damn you,
Craig! Damn you!"

Luther's hand
found my shoulder.

"Dayton . .
. "

I ignored him,
my eyes locked on
Marcas
' face. For now, he was still
alive, and I was angry. He couldn't die!

"Dayton,"
Luther said again. I spared him only a brief glance, his face nothing more than
a streak of color, destroyed by too many tears.
"His
heart, Dayton.
It was his heart."

I froze, letting
go of
Marcas
' shirt as I let my gaze move downward,
my world crumbling around my feet.
His heart.

There was a
dagger there, a silver dagger strategically placed in his ribs. I had a
flashback then, a brief moment in a car with
Marcas
in Italy, a moment where he had told me, point blank, that the only way to kill
a Demon was to destroy his heart.

I wanted my ten
steps back. I wanted those last ten gosh damn steps back! I gripped
Marcas
' shirt again, my hands curled desperately in the
fabric as if letting it go meant letting him go.

"Do you
remember what I told you at the Abbey when we fought Damon?" I asked.