The Fallen 3 (25 page)

Lucifer glared at the child, annoyed that he still couldn’t see the big picture. “Then why would you wish to wake it up?”

“Because it
can
destroy us,” the child said, stifling a giggle.

Lucifer felt his anger spike. He hadn’t experienced fury this intense in centuries, and his Light Giver blazed to life as if he were holding a ray of the sun.

“I grow tired of your games,” Lucifer snarled. “Tell me why you’d wish to awaken the angel.”

“To prepare the world for my coming.” Despite the intensity of the sword’s glow, the child looked at him, defying the light, the darkness in the child’s gaze seeming to absorb the blade’s radiance.

“By destroying it?” Lucifer questioned. “If Wormwood is allowed to fulfill its purpose, then—”

“He will be stopped way before that,” the child interrupted.

“Stopped?”

The child nodded, a sly smile upon his young face. “Killed after severing the world’s connection to God and Heaven, but before the deathblow can be delivered.”

Lucifer could not believe what he was hearing.

“Somebody is going to kill the Abomination of Desolation?” he asked incredulously.

The child hopped down from the ice throne and approached him.

“A group of somebodies, actually,” he said.

Lucifer was still perplexed. Who could possibly have the power to kill God’s angel born with the sole purpose of—

And then the Morningstar came to understand.

The child stood before the wall of ice where the body of the Devil was frozen, staring through the glacial wall at the scarlet-skinned beast enshrined within.

“The Nephilim are far more powerful than even you believe,” the child spoke. “And your son …” The child turned from the frozen Devil to look at Lucifer.

“He is the most powerful of them all.”

Lucifer could no longer contain his fury. With a roar, he lashed out, swinging the Light Giver at the child. Lucifer knew he would likely do little damage to the child’s phantom form, but this was purely an act of rage.

The child vanished as the blade struck the wall of ice with incredible force, a flash of searing white illuminating the chamber.

“Why so upset?” the child’s disembodied voice asked, echoing through the chamber. “If you’re going to serve me—”

“I’d never serve the likes of you,” Lucifer snarled, thrusting out his burning sword, igniting the pockets of shadow as he searched for the child.

“That makes me sad,” the child said.

The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, but Lucifer continued to search.

“Where are you?” the Morningstar demanded. “Show yourself.”

“I want to assure you,” the child’s voice spoke, “that this isn’t what I wanted at all.”

There was a loud cracking sound, followed by a rapid succession of pops and snaps.

Lucifer whirled around and saw jagged cracks forming in the section of the wall that contained the body of the Devil.

The enormous blood-colored beast exploded from its cold confines. Clawed hands reached down to take hold of the Morningstar in an impossible grip.

“We could have been so special together,” the child spoke, now wearing the body of the Devil. “Such a waste.”

G
eburah remembered the words of his leader.

At the time, the Nephilim scourge had reached its zenith. The great Verchiel had gathered the Powers within the frozen remains of the ark, located deep within a dormant volcano atop the mountain Ararat.

The Powers’ leader had believed the ark of the holy man Noah to be the perfect place to reveal his plans for purging the world of evil. It was symbolic. The Creator had sent a great flood to wash away the world’s sins, and now Verchiel would attempt to cleanse the planet of the growing Nephilim threat.

Aboard the vessel of petrified wood, partially buried in tons of snow and ice, they had been roused by their leader’s words, but then the angel Verchiel had grown strangely stoic, and had begun to speak of another plan … the final solution if they were to fail.

That was when Geburah, and five others of the Powers host, had been singled out. They were to leave their brethren, to live amongst the humans and take note of the amassing evils. If all went according to plan, this evil would be wiped away when the greater Nephilim threat was no more, but if Verchiel should fail …

Geburah shook himself from his recollection, hovering in the air above the Nephilim’s hiding place. Now was the time to complete his master’s wishes, now was the time to expunge all the evil that had malignantly grown upon a world once blessed by God.

Now was the time to bring it all to a close.

The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and the Powers’ current leader sensed that he was in the presence of the profane. Geburah turned his gaze to the air behind him, watching with a slight unease as the sky became black with the arrival of the monsters that had allied themselves with the Powers.

Beasts of the air—gargoyles, imps, and demons—were driven from their hidey-holes with a promise that they would be allowed to live if they were to serve the Powers on this most sacred of missions. It was a lie to be certain, but a lie to achieve a greater good.

If all went according to plan, none of them would survive, the blessed or the accursed.

With the flapping of leathery wings at his back, Geburah turned his attentions to the earth below him. In the shadows he could see more horrific shapes moving, marching,
stomping, burrowing, and slithering—others of the monstrous ilk that joined the Powers’ cause in the hopes of having mercy bestowed upon them for their service.

In the time it took for Verchiel to try to achieve his sacred goals—and fail—the earth had become overrun with evil; beasts of every conceivable size and shape waited for an opportunity to claim the world for their own nefarious purpose.

It troubled the angel to be in the presence of things so foul, but it was all for the best. That is what he would tell himself, over and over again.

A mantra to the end of the world.

Evil had come to their home, emerging from the cover of shadows and dropping from the sky.

And the Nephilim rose to battle.

Each bore the power of a divine being inside of him, made all the stronger by the melding of a human nature as well.

They were the perfect blend of the heavenly and the earthly; two of the Creator’s most prized creations merged to form something entirely new.

That was what they had been told—what had been explained—in order for them to understand what was happening to them.

They had all known they were different, believing they didn’t belong.

They knew they were special but hadn’t known how.

Aaron had brought them here, to this abandoned school, from the lives they had known outside, to teach them their purpose.

The world was a wonderful place filled with light, but from the light, shadows were created, and in those shadows there were things that did not belong.

The Nephilim soon learned that this was their purpose: to shed light upon the darkness and to destroy the things that waited there. This was what they were learning to do.

The Nephilim waited before the school building that had become their home. They had learned about their abilities, had learned to control the divine power that lived inside of them. Out in the world they had seen evil and had eliminated it. Some of their number had given their lives to the task, but those who had survived had grown bolder with each new mission, preparing them for this.

William let the angelic power flow, just like Aaron had taught him.

His sword of fire blazed a ferocious red as he waded into battle. His enemies were the beasts in the air, on the ground, and in the woods that surrounded the school. His entire focus was on two things: wiping the creatures from existence, and keeping himself alive.

Russell wanted to run away. He had faced monsters before on other missions, but never so many as now, and never all at
once. He recognized some of the beasts advancing on them. He’d slain their kind before, but others he had never seen.

The first of his spears of divine fire hummed in his hands, waiting to be thrown at its target, and he had never wanted anything more than to race into the school and to hide someplace safe.

But he knew he wasn’t going to do that, no matter how afraid he was. These were his friends.

And this was his job as a Nephilim.

The troll surged up from the ground directly in front of him, trying to stab a filthy knife between his ribs.

But Cameron was faster, evading the monster’s thrust with a flap of his wings, bringing the burning blade of his rapier across his attacker’s thick muscular neck.

No matter how many times he performed the act of killing, Cameron could not get used to it, and he felt as though a little piece of himself—of his humanity—went away with every death he delivered.

It was a kill-or-be-killed world that he lived in now, and he did not want to die, but Cameron had to wonder if any of who he actually was would be left, once all the killing had finally stopped.

Or would only the angelic survive?

Melissa caught sight of Samantha struggling with four bony, catlike demons. She had never really liked the girl. Sam had always seemed to think she was better than Melissa.

But seeing Sam grapple with so many monsters made Melissa angry. They may not have been the best of friends, but they
were
sister Nephilim.

In a burst of rage, Melissa pierced the eyes of the walking corpse she fought with her twin daggers of white-hot fire. Her immediate foe vanquished, she raced to Samantha’s side.

Wings erupted from Melissa’s back and she sailed through the air, connecting with one of the demonic cats and sinking the first of her knives into its cold, black heart.

“Thought you could use a hand,” she said with a smile, placing her back against Samantha’s.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“Don’t mention it.”

And they fought together, one no better than the other, the beginnings of a friendship forged in heavenly fires and the blood of combat.

Russell was dying; he could feel it. He was leaking copious amounts of blood from multiple bites, and he could feel himself beginning to grow weak. He’d always known he could die. Aaron and Lucifer had told him as much, but one never thinks it could happen to him.

His blood was drawing more of the beasts. They emerged from the shadows, risking daylight to get a piece of him, attacking and then scurrying for cover, watching and waiting for him to fall.

Russell looked to the others for help, but they all seemed to be locked in battles for their own lives. It was solely up to him, which is how it had been for most of his life. He never knew his family, and had lived in state care for as long as he could remember.

His first try at family was here, with the others of his own kind. It had been wonderful, but now it was coming to an end.

The spear of fire dropped from his grasp, fizzling away to nothing before it could even touch the ground.

Russell stood weaponless and watched his attackers grow brazen, stalking toward him, some already wearing his blood upon their lips.

And that just pissed him off.

His anger was extreme, and instead of a sword or an ax he imagined it as a ball of flame, growing larger and stronger inside of him. Barely able to stand, Russell painfully lifted his arm and gestured for his foes to come closer.

That seething ball of rage became larger, and larger still, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on to it. But he managed, waiting until the monsters were just near enough.

And then Russell set it free.

Cameron heard a familiar scream just before the explosion of heavenly fire threw him to the ground. As he scrambled to get back on his feet, he saw that where he’d last seen Russell was now a blackened patch of smoldering earth.

Not wanting to think about what had just happened, he pushed it to the back of his mind, where he stored all of his horrible memories. There were monsters coming through the wafting smoke, things that slithered upon their bellies, others that crawled across the battle-scarred earth on multiple spidery limbs. He glanced quickly at his forearm—twelve burns, twelve kills, since he’d first spilled the troll’s blood. It was time to add another.

A bat-like thing swooped down on him with a hiss, attempting to sink its fangs into the soft flesh of his throat. But Cameron reached out, grabbing the bristling fur of the nightmare flier and slamming its fragile body to the ground, driving a fiery dagger into its heart and extinguishing its life.

The bat-thing screamed briefly and then was still.

Cameron looked up to see other beasts now coming to challenge him. But first he placed the burning blade against his flesh.

Thirteen.

And he was sure there would be more.

Samantha saw the monsters converging on the man they’d saved at the cemetery.

Dusty
.

He had been placed behind their line of defense, but in all the insanity that was going on, he appeared to have wandered out into the open. Sam knew that the young man was
important and that she should do everything in her power to see that he was safe. He looked as though he was having a hard time staying conscious, swaying upon his feet as four trolls stalked him. The ugly beasts were almost there, and Sam didn’t know if she would be fast enough to get to him in time, so she imagined a weapon that could reach Dusty faster.

A bow blazed to life, followed by an arrow of orange flame.

“Sweet,” Samantha said, placing the arrow against the bowstring of fire. She didn’t have time for a practice shot, and hoped her aim was true.

Squinting through one eye, she drew back and let the arrow fly. She could hear it hissing as it flew through the air, finding its target in the center of one of the trolls’ foreheads, igniting the monster’s entire skull as if it were the head of a torch.

Sam walked steadily toward the monsters that had now turned their attentions to her. One flaming arrow after the next found its target, turning the attackers into piles of barbecued troll.