The Fallen 3 (23 page)

“Hey,” she said, attempting to make herself sound stronger than she was.

“Hey, back,”
he grumbled. His head dipped down and he gave her another lick upon the cheek.

“How are you feeling?” Kraus asked her, holding her wrist and taking her pulse.

“Like crap,” she managed.

“Can I ask what you were attempting to do?” Kraus questioned.

“I was calling for help,” she replied. And then it hit her. She’d nearly killed herself but no one had answered her. Not God, not anyone else. “But I guess nobody was home,” she added quietly.

Then, as if in response to her comment, a strange sound filled the library and the floor beneath her began to shake.

“What’s that?” Lorelei asked, using what little strength she had left to push herself up into a sitting position.

The sound grew louder, and Gabriel was at full attention, growling and barking as the noise intensified. Milton burrowed beneath the Labrador’s collar.

Then the roof of the library caved inward as something crashed through the ceiling to land on the floor in an explosion of fire, smoke, and dust. The sound, like a jet engine, was deafening.

The bookshelves surrounding the group toppled, creating a protective roof above their heads, saving them from the pieces of burning wood and rubble that were thrown into the air at the object’s impact.

Kraus lay on the ground, coughing wildly in the choking dust. Lorelei managed to crawl beneath the canopy of shelves, toward Gabriel. The Labrador stood at the edge of an enormous jagged hole in the wood floor, peering down into the swirling smoke and darkness.

“There’s something moving down there,”
the dog said.

Lorelei joined him at the edge, testing the floor with her weight before getting too close, but it held, and she was able to peer over the edge too.

Her first thoughts were that they were under attack, that the Powers angels that wanted to bring about the End of Days had somehow found their location.

But then she had the strangest of thoughts.

What if it wasn’t an attack at all? What if her attempt to communicate with Heaven, with the Creator, had been successful, and He had answered her cries for help?

Gabriel began to bark as something stirred down in the pit.

She saw it too, and reached over to calm the dog, to let him know that maybe this was a good thing.

And then what had fallen from the sky roused the smoky air with its feathered wings, revealing its true identity. And Lorelei could not help but scream.

Dusty stared, head cocked to one side. It reminded Aaron of how Gabriel sometimes looked at him when the dog didn’t quite understand something.

“I guess you’re real,” Dusty then said to Aaron, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he slumped forward, falling to the cemetery ground.

Aaron knelt beside the boy. He could see that Dusty was struggling with something.

“You’re going to be all right,” Aaron reassured him. “Hang in there.”

“You … you don’t know what it’s like,” Dusty said through gritted teeth. “It wants … it wants to trigger … to trigger the end.…”

Dusty thrashed in Aaron’s arms. Aaron pulled him closer in an attempt to lend him some of his strength. He wanted to tell the youth that
yes
, he did understand. He remembered the fear and turmoil he had experienced when his angelic nature had first started to manifest, how it, too, had wanted to take control, suppressing his human nature.

But Aaron had fought that untamed, divine spirit, bending it to
his
will, eventually melding the two halves of his dual nature into one magnificent being.

“Fight it, Dusty,” Aaron urged, picking up the trembling youth. “You just need to show it who’s boss.”

Vilma’s cry interrupted his thoughts. “Aaron, look out!”

Then Aaron was struck by a searing blast of divine energy that would have burned the flesh from his body had he not instinctively shielded himself within his wings.

Aaron let Dusty fall from his arms and spun in the direction of the attack, his fiery sword raised. He gasped as he saw four angels hovering above the cemetery. Their garments were tattered and burnt, their faces blistered, as though they might have been in some sort of battle recently.

These are the last of their malignant kind
, Aaron thought.
These are the last of the Powers
.

“Give the boy here,” the leader demanded. “I won’t tell you twice, abomination.”

Aaron couldn’t help but laugh as he leaped into the air to attack. The last of their host, their leader gone, and still they thought they were the top dogs.

Lashing out with his sword of fire, the Powers’ leader blocked Aaron’s attack with a blade of his own; an explosion of searing embers filled the air as the swords connected.

“Is this how it’s going to be, Nephilim?” the Powers’ leader asked, pushing Aaron back with great force. “And here I was,
content to let you and your loathsome kind die along with the rest of the world.”

Aaron touched down upon the ground. Vilma guarded Dusty, her own sword of fire poised and ready if need be. The other Nephilim gathered around their leader, ready for whatever was to follow.

“The world isn’t dying anytime soon, angel,” Aaron said. “It’s under our protection, as is this man.” He pointed the end of his sword at Dusty, who trembled as if freezing, but Aaron knew otherwise. The youth was fighting to maintain control, fighting for the life of the world, and they were going to do everything they could to help him.

“Under your protection,” the angel repeated with a sneer. He turned his head to glance briefly at his silent brothers. “The world was once under our protection,” he said. “And it’s still overrun with monsters and half-breed trash. No, it’s better that we let it die.”

Aaron took note of the thick gray clouds forming in the sky behind the angels. At first he had believed it to be a natural occurrence, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“I want you to be ready to leave when I say,” Aaron ordered in a voice low enough that only the Nephilim could hear.

The Nephilim looked at him, not sure how to react.

“Aaron, we’re not going to—”

“You will leave when I say. Take Dusty with you. The fate
of the world depends on it,” he explained, eyes on the darkening clouds that swirled in the sky above their heads.

“You heard ’im,” Jeremy said. “When he says go, we go.” A battle-ax of fire formed in his grasp with a hiss.

And that was when the sky opened up, raining down swollen, soaking drops of water—and something else all together.

Aaron had no idea what to call them. Gremlins, perhaps? Demons? Whatever they were, they came in the clouds, their bodies a shiny, rubbery black, about the size of a city pigeon, with bat-like wings. They fell with the rain, their large mouths open and rimmed with razor-sharp teeth.

“Go, now!” Aaron roared, springing off from the ground, swiping at the flying beasts as they swarmed around him.

“Do you see, Nephilim?” the Powers’ leader cried over the sound of the torrential downpour. “Do you see how far we’ve fallen? We ally ourselves with what we most despise, but we do it for the good of all.”

The demons flew about Aaron, many attaching themselves to his body and biting into his tender angelic flesh. Aaron fought the best he could, but as he killed more and more, three times as many took their place.

The Powers’ leader droned on above him.

“Allow this world the mercy of a quick death, Nephilim.”

“How about we help you on the way first?” Aaron said, flapping his wings all the harder and propelling himself at the
Powers’ leader and his silent ilk, a growing flock of demonic pursuers following him on his course.

The Powers’ leader roared his disapproval, but it didn’t do him much good. At the last possible minute, Aaron dipped down, flying beneath the Powers as the demonic swarm continued straight on in their flight path, attacking the angels in a cloud of leathery wings, claws, and teeth.

Flying earthward, Aaron saw with disappointment—and anger—that the other Nephilim had not yet left.

“Go!” he screamed at them as he flew closer. “I’m not going to tell you again!”

He could see that they were dealing with the odd demons attacking from the sky, and the zombies that crawled up from the earth.

Vilma looked at Aaron defiantly, not wanting to leave him.

“You heard me, get out of here!” he roared.

There was a sudden explosion of searing heat from behind, and Aaron was thrown to the ground with the intensity of the blast. He landed atop a grave marker, the marble cross shattering as his body struck it.

He looked up into the sky. The Powers had ignited their bodies in divine fire, incinerating many of the flying demons that they had brought with them.

They were descending now, coming to claim their prize.

“If you love me, you’ll go,” Aaron said to Vilma, chancing a look at her. “Take Dusty and go … please.”

He could see that it pained her, but she listened, running back to the trembling youth. Aaron watched as Vilma took Dusty into her arms and spread her wings.

He mouthed the words
I love you
as their eyes met. Then Vilma’s wings closed around her, and she and Dusty were gone.

The other Nephilim hesitated, ready to fight by Aaron’s side, but the world would need them.

“Go! Go! Go!” Aaron cried as fire rained down from the sky. He shielded himself with his wings, and ran across the cemetery, motioning for the others to get away. One by one he saw them go, and felt as though they still might have a chance to win the war.

Aaron was ready to face his foes again in flight when a ball of fire hurled him back.

“Where have they gone?” the Powers’ leader demanded, touching down in a crouch, the other angels flanking him.

Aaron struggled to his feet, dazed by the intensity of the fire. The ground around him was burning as if doused in napalm. Thick clouds of choking black smoke obscured his vision.

He heard the sound before his saw it, the blade of fire slicing through the air toward him. Aaron managed to lift his own weapon just in time, preventing the razor-sharp instrument of divine retribution from severing his head from his body.

The Powers’ leader appeared before him, one of his feathered wings lashing out with enough force to hurl Aaron backward into the side of a concrete mausoleum.

“You will take me to the carrier, or I will call down the monsters that hide upon this world and they will feast upon the innocent and guilty alike!” the angel roared.

“What will it matter?” Aaron wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, ready to battle till the end. “If your intentions are to end the world.”

The angel smiled and it was a disturbing sight, void of any humor.

“There is much to be said for a merciful death.” The angel nodded. “And I would even bestow it upon the likes of you if—”

“Go to hell,” Aaron snarled, charging at the angel.

It was then that the three other Powers attacked, swords of fire all pointed at the Nephilim. At first Aaron wasn’t doing too badly, but the attacks were relentless, never allowing him even a moment to gather his wits.

He’d been driven back to a cemetery monument depicting a traditional angel: peaceful smile, adorned in flowing robes, wings and arms spread wide, accepting the inevitability of death and the glories of the afterlife. Aaron was ready to make his stand. He could feel the fatigue starting to overwhelm him, but still he fought.

Two of the Powers angels had taken to the sky once again, dropping a halo of divine fire around the monument, the intensity of the flames keeping him from running.

But he had no intention of running.

The leader strode through the flames unaffected, burning blade held at his side, the others followed at his heels. “To think that you killed my master, Verchiel,” he said. “He must have wanted to die.”

The leader attacked, his weapon crackling like the melting of glacial ice as it cut through the air. Aaron did all he could to avoid the relentless onslaught, but he knew that he was slowing down, and that it was only inevitable that the leader’s blade would soon find him.

Suddenly a fissure opened in the earth, separating Aaron from the Powers. At first he wasn’t sure what had happened. Then another winged form unexpectedly dropped down from the sky to stand at his side, a crackling battle-ax of divine energy clutched in his hands.

“Think it’s time for you to get going,” Jeremy said, eyes fixed on the advancing Powers.

“I thought I told you to leave,” Aaron said tightly.

“And when have I ever really listened to what you had to say?” Jeremy asked with a wink, before turning his attentions to their foes. “Now go, the others need you more than they need me.”

Aaron started to protest, but he saw that this was something Jeremy wanted to do …
needed
to do. This was his sacrifice for them, for the world, and Aaron had to accept that.

And he did as Jeremy told him, wrapping himself within the folds of his wings. Aaron’s last vision of the graveyard was
of the British Nephilim swinging his battle-ax, cutting a blazing swath through the air on his way to meet his enemies.

The blade of his ax buried itself deep within the chest of one of the Powers.

The angel screeched like an enormous bird of prey, clutching at the offending weapon as his body began to smolder and burn.

Jeremy yanked the blade free and spun to meet his next attacker. The remaining three angels held back, watching him with cold, merciless eyes.

“Oh, you are a wild one,” their leader spoke.

Jeremy sneered, spinning the handle in his hands. The ax spat flecks of fire as it twirled. “I am that,” he agreed. “Now, who wants to be next?”

“There is a fire in your eyes, Nephilim.” The leader began to pace slowly, his burning sword held close to his side. “The fires of madness, I think.”

Icy fingers clutched at Jeremy’s heart at the angel’s words.

“How many have I seen, just like you, over the centuries,” the leader continued. “Clinging desperately to sanity as the angelic force inside eats it away.”