Scorn of Angels (21 page)

Vladimir Royok stepped out of one of the buildings dedicated to pleasure. It had been a good trip for him, this time. The furs he had brought had traded well, the food and beer had been excellent, and the woman who had serviced him had been more than skillful. He had coin in his pocket, a full, happy stomach, and a satiated lust. Life could not be better. He would sleep the night on his boat, with the cargo of iron pots and grain, and leave in the morning.

He had just stepped on the dock when the demon landed in front of him, its eyes glowing red and its black wings flapping. Vladimir opened his mouth to shout in horror and the creature’s sword, a vile, hook-ended thing with a serrated blade, shoved into his stomach and tore down. His shout turned to a scream of pain as the stench of his ruptured bowels filled his nostrils.

The creature twisted its blade and pulled him close. It had a tusked mouth, and its teeth were razor sharp. “Pray, little man,” it said. “Scream to your goddess, Nyx, and maybe she will come to your rescue.” When Vladimir, falling into shock, only gasped, the creature shook its arm, ripping the blade deeper through Vladimir’s body. “Pray!”

Vladimir screamed out Nyx’s name as the town around him erupted in flames and cries of agony. As his eyes dimmed, Vladimir saw more of the black-winged demons falling from the sky.

Berith changed the shape of his blade, making it smooth so the human’s corpse could slide off it. Around him, mortals tried to run or fight, or simply died. Some were rounded up and made to pray, others were brutally abused in front of their children. Some children were pulled slowly in half while their parents screamed to Nyx for help.

Berith’s lips curved into a grin.
If that doesn’t make the bitch come running, nothing
will.

The table was crowded with platters of roasted meat and fowl; baskets of warm bread, fragrant with herbs; and bowls of salad glistening with fresh green oil. Nyx was savoring her first glass of wine in far too long when the screams of her followers began reverberating in her head. Usually, their voices were like the murmur of a quiet brook in her mind, always there but easily ignored. This time, they rose up in a cacophony of pain and despair.

“Nyx?” said Persephone. “What’s going on?”

“They’re killing them,” said Nyx through gritted teeth.

“Who is killing whom?” asked Arcana.

Nyx let her mind flow out to her followers and saw with their eyes. “Berith, Pesado, Verrine, Gressil and Sonneillon are leading them,” said Nyx. “They’ve each taken a city: Gnyozdovo, Helmgard, Beloozero, Muron and Timerovo. They’re slaughtering everyone,”

Arcana’s eyes unfocused as she let her mind move over the earth. Men and women and children died in agony, screaming Nyx’s name.

“They really want to lure you out,” said Persephone. “What are you going to do?”

Nyx growled, and her shoulders drew in.

Arcana rose up from the table. “I cannot allow innocents to be slaughtered.”

“They’ll kill you,” said Nyx. “Once they know you’re here, they’ll all come at you at once.”

“I know,” said Arcana. “Which is when you and Persephone will ambush the others.”

Persephone smiled. “I like the way you think.”

“I don’t,” said Nyx. “We can’t stop Tribunal if we get killed helping the humans.”

“They are your followers,” said Arcana. “Your responsibility.”

“They’re humans, and they’re being killed,” snapped Nyx. The other people in the tavern were looking their way, curious. “It happens. And we can’t save them all if we die saving a few!”

Arcana reached inside her armor and cast the pendant she had found onto the table in front of Nyx. The three interconnected moons gleamed in the light of the fireplace. The little copper flames on its sides seemed to dance in the flickering light.

“You are their Goddess,” said Arcana. “They are your responsibility.”

“I know that!”

Even as the words left Nyx’s mouth, she felt the desperate babbling prayers of her followers rising up in her mind. One of the prayers came from a girl of eleven years, who was being subjected to hideous abuses by three of Berith’s Descended. A dozen other prayers came from her family, who were being forced to watch.

“Fuck.”
These people didn’t do anything to deserve this!
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Nyx pushed herself to her feet and grabbed the pendant off the table.

Persephone rose as well. “Are we going, my Queen?”

Nyx kicked the table they were at hard enough that it flew across the room and shattered into splinters against the wall. The others in the small tavern yelped in surprise and shock and ran out the door. “Yes, we’re going. Arcana, start at Gnyozdovo. It’s the farthest from the others and will give us the best chance.”

Berith stood on the top of the highest tower in Gnyozdovo, grinning. He held a bleeding, screaming child in each hand. Their father was on his knees before Berith, begging and pleading and praying to Nyx to preserve his children. All around, the city burned. The last of the warriors had been killed, and now the frightened townsfolk did what the weak did best: scrabbled desperately to survive.

“You’re not praying hard enough!” shouted Berith. He pulled back his left arm and threw the little girl. The man screamed and rushed to the edge of the tower just in time to see his child’s brains dashed out on the ground below. With a howl of rage, he threw himself at Berith, unarmed, clawing and punching and biting at the Descended.

Berith dropped the other child out of sheer surprise. Then he punched the man in the head hard enough that his skull cracked open. The man slumped to the ground, dead.

“Too bad,” said Berith. “I wanted to see what you’d do when I dismembered your son in front of you.” He looked down at the screaming, crying child. “And now you’re useless.”

He was raising his foot to stomp on the child’s head when an exquisite pain ripped across his body. He had only a moment to realize that he had been cut in half when a thrust drove a shining blade into his heart, exploding it, and him, into silver dust.

Arcana picked up the child as Berith disintegrated and flew it down to the ground. Then she took to the air again.

“HEAR ME!” Her voice echoed the length of the city. “I am Arcana! Servant of God and soldier in his army! And I COMMAND you to cease and return to Hell or be destroyed!”

The screams from around the city diminished slightly as nine more Descended rose up from the city. Several, Arcana saw, were in varying states of sexual excitement. Arcana let her armor glow brilliant white. Its light pierced through the dark of the night and spread over the city. The people below, for the first time since the Descended started their attack, felt hope resurging inside them.

“Get the bitch!” screamed one of the Descended, his red armor flowing over his body as he charged forward. Arcana smiled, the grim joy of battle—true battle—rising up inside her, and charged forward to meet him.

Sonneillon and her squad of Descended raced through the cloudy sky toward Gnyozdovo. Berith’s squad had not found Nyx, it was true, but finding a Heavenly Angel was nearly as good. Sonneillon practically drooled. It had been so long since she had faced one of the Heavenly Host, those Angels of shining flesh and superior attitude. If they could capture Arcana, they could visit tortures upon her that not even one of God’s soldiers could hope to stay sane through.

There was a whistle of wings cutting through the air, then a scream. Sonneillon spun in the air just in time to see one of her squad explode into a cloud of silver dust that sparkled briefly before being scattered by the wind.

“What the fuck?” Sonneillon shouted. “Squad, move to…”

This time she caught a glimpse of black wings and armor streaking down from the sky before another of her Descended burst into silver dust.

Holy fuck, it’s Nyx!
She opened her mind up to send to the other squads of Descended.
Nyx
is…

From below her, Persephone broke through the clouds and slashed Sonneillon open from belly to throat. The shock jarred the thought from Sonneillon’s head. Persephone buried her hand inside Sonneillon’s chest and then yanked.

Persephone opened her mouth, now filled with razor-sharp fangs, and Sonneillon had just enough time before she exploded into silver dust to see her own heart being bitten in half.

Michael rose from the bench on the mountain, opened his mind and sent,
“It’s
time.”

Around Heaven, from the gardens to the sunlit, flower-covered plains, to the mountains and forests, from the caves below and the skies above, the Angels came. Half a million Angels, white wings spread wide, flew in a long, slow circle surrounding God’s mountain. It would take hours before they all were in place.

Assuming there’s no interference.
Michael would not even allow himself to think the name of the one who might interfere.
Assuming we are let through. Assuming everyone doesn’t forget about
it.

“That’s a lot of assumptions
,” sent someone
.

The voice in Michael’s head was one he had never heard before, and Michael knew every voice in Heaven. It was not one of the Angels or one of the souls. It wasn’t one of the Descended either, for he knew all of them as well. And it certainly wasn’t God. Or Tribunal.

“Who are you?”
Michael sent back.

“Epiphenia. Nyx’s
daughter.”

Michael was so surprised at that he forgot to flap his wings, fell thirty feet, and had to recover.
Good thing Rafael wasn’t here for that. He’d laugh so hard he’d fall out of the sky.
Michael turned his attention to the strange voice.
“Angels can’t have
children.”

“Nyx did,”
sent Epiphenia.
“Tribunal asked her to, and she did. Then Tribunal took me down to Hell to murder
me.”

“Souls can’t be murdered,”
sent Michael.

“I’m not a soul. I’m an
Angel.”

“Only God can create an
Angel.”