The Dark Storm (25 page)

Seeing one of his brothers fall sent Angelo into a rage. “Die, hell’s spawns!” Angelo bellowed. Riel attempted an overhand strike, which Angelo blocked. The war demon feinted left and struck right, but again Angelo blocked it. Simultaneously the two combatants struck, locking the hilts of their respective swords.

“You fight well for a priest,” Riel taunted.

Brother Angelo gave a confident smirk. “I was born to combat your kind.” Using all his strength, Angelo pushed off, separating the swords.

Akbar rejoined the fight, blindsiding the demon with his spear. The demon howled in pain as the crystal weapon dug into his side. The host’s body sprayed blood like a small fountain, turning the spear a pinkish color. With a grunt Riel snapped the shaft of the blade and examined the wound. Already the head was beginning to melt as power tried to heal the wound. He cast his rage-filled eyes on Akbar. “For this you will pay, Ghelgath.”

“Then come and collect the debt,” Akbar said defiantly. He opened and closed his fist, trying to will the ice to take shape, but he was too spent. Unarmed, he was sure that he could take Riel, but with that blade between them it tipped the scales in favor of the dark forces. Still, Akbar would protect his brother and his order at all costs. If it meant his life, then he would die for the same thing he had lived for, the order.

Angelo had been Akbar’s teacher for over twenty years. He knew the young warrior’s spirits as well as he knew those of his own children, and what he read in his student/friend’s eyes frightened him. Akbar was fast, but Angelo had to be faster. He reached Riel a split second before Akbar did. Angelo saw Riel tense to sidestep the blow, which was what he expected, so he spun with his momentum to cleave the demon’s head. To Angelo’s
surprise, Riel had been expecting just such a move and caught him at the wrist. Moving with the strike, Riel was able to knock Angelo off balance. When he realized what Riel was doing Angelo tried to pull back, but it was too late.

Akbar’s face was peaceful, blue eyes staring dreamily off into space. His lips were curved into a calm smile, oblivious to the clear liquid spilling over them. Akbar looked over at Angelo, and he could see the crystal tears dotting the corners of Akbar’s eyes and his cheeks. Trying to keep from choking on the transparent blood of his ancestors, Akbar whispered to Angelo, “Let it be known that I died in service.” With the last bit of his strength Akbar pulled himself free of Angelo’s blade and lunged at Riel. The demon never even flinched as his blade separated Akbar’s head from his body.

Still clutching his bloodied sword, Angelo looked down at the corpse of not only one of his most promising students but also one of the most tortured souls he’d ever encountered. For as long as he’d known the Ghelgath, his sole motivation had been service to the order and righting the wrongs of his people. Of all who had entered the Great Halls, Akbar had to have been one of the most dedicated. Angelo looked up at the grinning face of the war demon.

“Don’t look so sad, priest; he died well. Much better than you will, I suspect.” Riel flicked the excess blood from his blade onto the corpses of the dead Inquisitors who lay on either side of Angelo. The bodies twitched once before sitting up like marionettes. The previously dead Inquisitors sprang to their feet, guns hanging at awkward angles, facing their former commander. “I had so much fun killing them that I thought I’d give you a go,” Riel taunted before setting the freshly made Stalkers on the grief-ridden Angelo.

With his blade raised level with his shoulder, tip poised to strike, Angelo regarded his opponents. “May the Lord have mercy on your souls, brothers, but I must set you free.” The fight didn’t even last five seconds. Angelo stepped between them without even brushing shoulders and stood in front of Riel. Behind him the heads of the two Inquisitors fell to the ground. Angelo pointed his bloody blade at Riel and said, “Shall we?”

Riel twirled like a helicopter that had gone out of control, destroying everything in his path. Angelo offered a series of weak blocks as he was forced into a corner. He fought the good fight, but the demon was too skilled. With a whirling sweep, Riel sent Angelo’s blade soaring into the air. Angelo instinctively reached to catch it, and by the time he realized his mistake Poison had already carved a nasty gash in his forearm. The wound instantly turned a sickly purple just before Angelo felt the first licks of pain. He was able to force enough of his power into the wound to slow the spreading of the poison, but it would only be a matter of time before it overcame him.

Angelo rolled a split second before the cursed blade left a gash in the wall he’d been standing in front of. When he righted himself from the roll he felt dizzy and his limbs seemed heavier. The scar on his forearm had filled with puss and the poison was quickly spreading to his shoulder and hand. With his good arm Angelo tossed whatever he could heave at the demon, but Riel kept coming, savoring the High Brother’s death. It was the end and both combatants knew it, but the man in the doorway didn’t.

For a man his age, Redfeather moved extremely well. One by one the Stalkers came, only to taste the blade of the enchanted dagger. Though it had never before answered
to Redfeather’s touch, he wielded it as if it had been made for him.

Redfeather delivered a fatal blow to the eye socket of one of the Stalkers, lodging the blade in its skull. While he was trying to pull it loose a Stalker jumped on his back. As Redfeather struggled with one Stalker, another one latched onto his leg. Together they wrestled him to the ground, while more Stalkers closed in. The thinnest Stalker reached a clawed hand for Redfeather only to have it go up in flames. The Stalker stared at the smoldering nub in shock when the second burst of deadly flames struck it in the side and carried it across the room. The remaining Stalker managed to turn around to snarl only to have its mouth filled with the unforgiving flames. The creature’s burning body danced around the living room before another burst sent it flying into the wall.

Jackson stood in the doorway decked out in black leather and clutching an odd-looking shotgun. The weapon was made of polished silver and crafted to look like a striking dragon. Running along the underbelly and extending from the mouth were three barrels. Jackson took a minute to examine what was left of the Stalker before helping Redfeather to his feet.

“You know when Jonas first came up with this thing, I had no idea how much fun I’d having putting it to use.” Jackson expelled the shells and loaded fresh ones. His eyes traveled from the smoldering Stalkers to Riel, who was staring at what was left of his creations like a grieving parent. “That your handiwork?” Jackson nodded at the moldering corpses. “Makes for a good show, but the craftsmanship ain’t worth shit.” Before Riel could respond, Jackson loosed another burst, barely missing the demon who was scrambling for cover.

Brother Angelo knelt, clutching his throbbing limb to
his stomach. “Who are you?” he groaned up at the young-looking black man.

Jackson extended his hand and helped Brother Angelo to his feet. The man looked flushed, but he was able to stand with a little help. “Somebody that doesn’t want to see you die tonight.” Jackson let Brother Angelo rest his weight on him only to be surprised at how light the man was. Cradling the shotgun in the crook of his right arm, Jackson addressed the few Stalkers that were cautiously closing in on them. “You ugly sons of bitches ready to dance or what?”

The Stalkers moved not only swiftly but en masse as they rushed Jackson and Angelo. Jackson regretted his arrogance as he found himself stumbling backward under the wave of Stalkers. He tried to get a shot off with the shotgun, but it went wild and ignited the silk curtains hanging in the front window.

Seeing the wounded High Brother and the now-unarmed man go down renewed the Stalkers’ courage. While they tried to pin Jackson to the floor, the most brazen of the bunch lunged in to take a chunk out of Jackson’s arm. It let out a horrible shriek as its teeth struck cold iron and shattered. Before the creature could retreat, Jackson jammed his fist beneath the thing’s jaw and flexed his fist. The creature’s face went slack when the silver stiletto entered though its lower jaw and came out the top of its head. Bringing his other arm around, Jackson drove a second stiletto through the creature’s eye. The prosthetic arms had been Morgan’s gift to Jackson during his rehabilitation from the vampire attack. The arms were crafted by Morgan’s hands and blessed in the halls of St. Anthony’s. Jackson had proven to be a natural with the killing devices, as the Stalkers were learning.

Brother Angelo tried to get his footing but found that
his legs were reluctant to support him. The poison was working faster than he had thought it would. Through his hazy vision he was able to make out Riel standing a few feet away from him. The demon also looked haggard and exhausted, but at least he still had the strength to hold his sword, which at that point seemed impossible for Angelo. The poison had killed all the muscles in one arm and was making short work of the other. Angelo tried to raise his fists, but his limbs felt like they were filled with sand.

Riel’s grip on Angelo’s jaws was so intense that the bones started to pop. “You and your order are done, priest,” Riel said, almost compassionately. “Surrender and acknowledge Belthon as your lord and master and I might be tempted to let you live.”

Angelo looked up at Riel. Though the strength had all but left Angelo’s body, the fire in his eyes burned with intensity. “Even if I die here tonight, another will take my place and ensure that you and your kind are forced back into the pits of hell.”

Riel measured his words. “Possibly, but you won’t be around to witness it. I may have failed in capturing the Nimrod, but your death will ensure that I have another chance at it.” With a triumphant roar, Riel plunged Poison into Angelo’s gut. As the fire from the poison racked his insides, his screams could be heard for blocks.

“No!” Redfeather screamed, drawing everyone’s attention. He knew how important the High Brother was to the order, and if he died then all would be undone.

“I’m on it,” De Mona snarled, abandoning the Stalkers she’d been fighting. Riel was rearing back to take Angelo’s head when De Mona’s claws tore into his shoulder, cutting through flesh and muscle. “Get the hell away from him!”

Riel stumbled to the side and took stock of his shoulder.
“Sneaky Valkrin bitch,” he spat. “I see not all of your wretched line has answered the call. If you surrender now, I’ll see to it that Lord Titus shows you mercy.”

De Mona smiled, licking his rich demon blood from her claws. “You know, I keep hearing about how badass this Titus dude is, and for some reason I can’t bring myself to give a fuck!”

When Riel swung Poison, De Mona ducked under the strike and locked his arm under hers. With a twist, she dislocated it at the shoulder, but it only slowed Riel. He delivered a sharp knee to De Mona’s stomach, and when she released her grip on his arm he slammed the hilt of Poison into the side of her head. Before De Mona could recover, Riel kicked her hard in the chest, sending her flying across the room. Almost instantly De Mona was back on her feet, but the war demon had vanished.

Though their master had fled, the Stalkers continued to pour into the brownstone. Jackson tore into the Stalkers with abandon, but it seemed that for every one he slew two more took its place. “This is getting us nowhere. Morgan,” he barked into the earpiece he was wearing. “We need a miracle in here!”

“Ask and you shall receive,” Morgan replied. A moment passed and there was a brief rumbling just before the eastern wall of the brownstone exploded in a shower of plaster and concrete.

Morgan stepped through the wreckage of the wall, coated in plaster. Beneath his jacket he wore a banged-up iron breastplate bearing a Celtic coat of arms on the chest and tattered jeans. The dust and rubble that was still raining from the damage landed on his skin, only to be absorbed, turning Morgan an off shade of gray. The muscles in his arm bulged as he strangled the handle of his jeweled hammer. “Servants of hell,” he began with his hammer
upraised. “In the name of my Lord and my family, I cast thee out!”

When the hammer made contact with the ground everything that could break did. The windows exploded, raining glass on everything and everyone. The shock wave from the hammer was so intense that it collapsed what was left of the upstairs banister and the ceiling, burying the Stalkers.

“What in God’s name was that?” De Mona asked, sitting in the corner trying to figure out which way was up. Her entire body felt like it’d been dipped in hot water, but she was alive. Unlike her mortal companions, her demon blood had made her invulnerable to the hammer’s power.

“Justice,” Morgan said, helping her to her feet. “But we’ve no time to celebrate, so I suggest we leave.” He looked at the pile of rubble, which was already beginning to stir. It had slowed the Stalkers, but it wouldn’t stop them.

“That cat don’t look like he’s going anywhere,” Jackson said of Brother Angelo. The High Brother rolled on the floor feverishly, muttering to himself.

“I need to examine the wound to determine if it’s safe to move him,” Redfeather said.

“Man, them things are gonna be back on our asses soon, and angrier than ever. You better pick him up and let’s skate,” Jackson told Redfeather.

“It burns!” Angelo shouted, clawing at his chest.

“Redfeather’s right; we need to check him out.” De Mona knelt beside him. She could smell the demonic poison rotting his flesh from the inside.

Morgan sighed. “I’ll see if I can buy us a few more minutes then.” Morgan walked to the edge of the pile where a decaying arm sprang free of the rubble. Morgan placed his hands flat on the ground and tried to level his breathing. The ground rumbled slightly and the ground
split. Everyone watched in amazement as the Sheetrock and brick began to form a wall from the ground up. The end result was a six-foot wall of mismatched pieces, separating them from the Stalkers.