The Fallen 3 (27 page)

T
he Devil hurled Lucifer to the floor, ice shrapnel spraying the air with the ferocity of the impact. Circles of color expanded before Lucifer Morning-star’s eyes as he fought to remain conscious. Using the powerful muscles in his back, he flexed his wings, pushing himself up, the Light Giver blazing in his grasp.

Lucifer was about to confront the red-skinned demon again when a sound permeated the icy chamber. Lucifer hesitated as the noise shook the cavern—and his very self—to the core. Though he had never heard its like before, Lucifer recognized the sound, and knew that he was too late.

The Devil roared, his laughter mixing with the lingering apocalyptic sound.

“It’s happening,” the Devil said with excitement. “Just as I planned.”

Lucifer spread his wings, preparing to flee the chamber.
Perhaps there’s something I can do to—

A massive cloven hoof dropped down upon his armored form, crushing him against the frozen cavern floor.

“You’re going nowhere,” the Devil informed him. “There would be little you could do anyway. Why don’t you just watch it all unfold with me, and perhaps reconsider what I have offered you.”

Using all his strength, the Morningstar pushed the offending hoof away and slid out from beneath it. Then he swung the Light Giver, the blade biting into the Devil’s fur-covered ankle.

Rearing back with a scream, the Devil lost his balance, his massive form falling backward against another frost-covered wall. New images of the sleeping Abomination of Desolation flashed upon the shattering ice. Lucifer could not take his eyes from the sight, even as he took flight to attack the Devil.

The Devil was ready for him, muscular, leathered wings exploding from his back, swatting the fallen angel aside as if he were an annoying insect.

Lucifer struck another wall, his eyes again riveted to the fragmented images. The Angel of Destruction’s eyes opened, shining brightly like twin moons hanging in the velvet black of a night sky.

“No,” Lucifer hissed, climbing to his feet. He tried to wrap
himself within the feathered confines of his wings, to picture the school that had become his home, but the voice of the Devil prevented him from focusing, and escaping.

Lucifer spun around to see the Devil bearing down on him. He slashed out with his sword of fire, severing the tips of two of the giant’s fingers.

The Devil roared, clutching the wrist of his damaged hand, but then he began to laugh, and the lava-like blood bubbling from the stumps began to grow into new fingers.

“Why do you fight me?” the Devil asked, lashing out with a perfectly healed hand.

The blow was like being caught in the thrall of a hurricane, hurling Lucifer from the chamber and down the lengthy corridor. He bounced, before crashing to roll upon the ground. Grunting in pain, he pushed himself to his feet.

He was back in the corridor that held the child’s—the Devil’s—siblings.

“Just imagine, you could be the evil they always imagined you to be,” the Devil cajoled. “Pledge your obedience and a new kingdom awaits you.”

“I’ll fight you until my dying breath,” Lucifer gasped, as the Devil bent to enter the corridor.

There was a sudden rumbling sound, followed by earsplitting snaps as the ice containing the other monsters broke open.

And the monsters within awakened.

“You’ll be fighting more than me,” the Devil said with a
malicious twinkle in his yellow eyes. “And my brothers and sisters are far less merciful than I am.”

The cold blackness of the void was all that it had ever known.

Until now. The Abomination of Desolation opened wide its eyes and knew what it had to do.

It turned its gaze to the crater opening above its head, seeing its destination far in the distance. Floating in zero gravity, the angel spread wide its wings. Slowly at first, it flapped its powerful wings—twin sails forged from the metal of Heaven’s foundry.

It was all new to the angel. This was its first waking since it had been fabricated by the Creator, and it delighted in this sense of purpose.

Up from the belly of the moon it propelled itself, the power of divinity allowing it to fly within the vacuum of space.

The Abomination of Desolation surged up from the crater to glide above the lunar landscape. Its eyes scanned the surface, void of life, and it was mildly amused. The earth would soon be like this one.

The Abomination turned its attentions from the surface of the moon to the stars and planets above.

The call of the instrument lingered in the cold, summoning Wormwood to perform its duty assigned by God.

Like a beckoning finger, the instrument summoned the Abomination, and the Angel of Destruction flew through the darkness at nearly incalculable speeds.

Its destination grew larger in its vision—the planet that would die at its hands.

It was the worst sound Vilma could ever have imagined. It was a sound like babies crying so desperately that they couldn’t catch their breath, brakes screeching for what felt like days before the inevitable thump of metal striking flesh, a telephone ringing in the dead of night and the knowledge that devastating news waited on the other end. It was all of these and more, mixed together to create a cacophony all the more horrible: the death knell for the planet and all that lived upon it.

Vilma, Aaron, and Gabriel ran back to the front of the school and saw the Powers’ leader standing beside the beleaguered Dusty, the tool of destruction against his lips as he played.

The way the boy’s eyes fluttered and rolled, Vilma could see that he was no longer in control, having succumbed to the demands of the instrument.

“We have to make him stop!” Vilma screamed over the song.

“Wouldn’t matter,” Aaron said with a sad shake of his head. “Can’t you feel it? It’s already begun.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Vilma snapped at him. “There has to be something we can do to make this right.”

She was in a panic; the harmonica’s song placed the most horrible of images in her mind. Vilma saw flashes of her aunt … her cousins. They were dead … and the world outside their home was dead as well.

The whole world was dead.…

“No!” Vilma cried as she squeezed her eyes shut. “No, not yet. There has to be something we—”

The wind suddenly picked up; leaves, dust, and loose debris were tossed around by the powerful shift in air. It became darker, as if a storm was brewing, and in a way, it was.

Vilma looked up to see thick black clouds whizzing past, and something else … something that grew larger in the sky above them … something that was descending.

Gabriel started to bark and whine, and Vilma knelt beside the dog, placing her arm around him, not only to comfort him but to take some comfort for herself.

“It’s all right,” she told him, her eyes fixed to the growing shape.

“No,” Aaron said then, looking to the heavens. “No, it’s not.”

The shape had become more defined, and all the more familiar. It was an angel. Huge in stature, it wore armor that glinted in the weak rays of sun that peeked through the shifting miasma of storm clouds. Even its wings were armored, each individual feather sheathed in metal.

Vilma felt herself begin to unravel. She felt herself regressing to the scared little girl she had been after the loss of her mother, after coming to the States to live with her aunt and uncle. She didn’t want to be like that again. Scared. Helpless. And looking at Aaron, she saw a glimmer of that in him.

“What do you mean, no?” Vilma said to him. “You’re supposedly the Chosen One.… Do something.”

Aaron looked flustered, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled with what to say.

The giant angel was beautiful—but also terrifying.

Is this what the end of the world looks like?
she wondered.

It was at least twenty feet tall, but it touched down upon the school grounds without a sound.

Vilma noticed then how incredibly quiet it had become, realizing that the song being played on the instrument had stopped.

“Aaron,” Vilma said, her voice a pleading whisper.

“I know,” Aaron whispered back. “I’m the Chosen, I should do something … but what?”

That’s a good question
, Vilma thought, her eyes riveted to the harbinger to the end of the world.

Geburah looked upon the Abomination with joy.

The behemoth of Heaven stood perfectly still, its metal wings slowly furling with a sharp clacking sound. Wormwood appeared to be assessing the situation.

Geburah knew it would not be long before the angel discerned what needed to be done.

The Powers’ leader looked out over the grounds. Wormwood’s mighty presence had brought a stop to the battle. Nephilim, monsters, and angels all stood in wonder of its formidable sight.

Geburah spread his wings, leaping into the air to welcome the Abomination of Desolation. The others of his host followed his lead and they soared toward it. It was time for them to welcome Wormwood, exalt it for what it was about to do in the name of God, Heaven, and in the memory of their former leader, Verchiel.

As the angels approached, the Abomination took on a more defensive posture, areas once smooth and molded to its musculature became sharp and bristled with spines of metal.

He believes us threats
, Geburah realized with surprise.

He slowed his ascent as arcs of crackling blue-white energy erupted from the barbs—divine energy—and it sought out each of Geburah’s followers, burning them black as they were struck. Their bodies fell heavily to the ground and exploded into clouds of ash.

The Powers’ leader managed to summon a sword of fire in an effort to deflect the angel’s energy. But Wormwood’s strength was mighty, and it obliterated Geburah’s weapon with ease, boiling the flesh from his bones.

The Powers’ leader dropped to the ground amongst his dead brethren, choking on their powdered remains.

Why?
he wanted to ask the Emissary of Ending.
Why did you attack us when we, too, are instruments of the Creator?
But Geburah’s vocal cords had been seared, and speech was impossible.

All he could do was lie there, staring at the awesome sight of the angel, a spectator as Wormwood prepared to bring this disease-infested planet to an end.

Dusty gradually awakened, as if emerging from a feverish dream, his body racked with bone-shaking chills.

He dropped to his knees, no longer able to keep himself upright, his vision coming alive to the chaos before him.

Drawing in a trembling gasp, Dusty looked upon the giant that loomed above him. Its armored body prickled with lethal-looking spines, blue lightning arcing from tip to razor-sharp tip. It bent its armored head and stared at Dusty. Its eyes shone like the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler, floating in the darkness peeking out from the helmet’s visor.

It was then that Dusty realized he could no longer hear the instrument. The heavenly tool had been silenced.

He took his hand away from his mouth and looked at it. The heated metal had melted his flesh around the harmonica. It didn’t hurt, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before it did.

The giant extended one of its huge arms, opening its hand above him. A strange humming then filled the quiet air.

See, I knew it was only a matter of time
, Dusty thought as he felt the first knives of pain in his damaged palm.

He looked down to see that the instrument was gradually losing its shape, no longer resembling a harmonica but a living,
liquid metal. It slithered out from between his fingers forming a spinning silver orb that hung momentarily in the air before surging up into the giant angel’s waiting hand.

There was a blinding flash. Dusty averted his gaze, explosions of color blossoming before his eyes as he gradually turned his attentions back to the armored giant.

The instrument was transforming—becoming something else entirely. It was no longer a horn, or a harmonica, or a metal sphere. Dusty watched as the instrument transformed into an enormous sword.

The weapon of a giant.

The angel held the metal blade out before him as if admiring the enormous weapon. The metal spines that protruded from his body came to life once more. Bolts of mystical energy leaped to strike at the blade, and it glowed with an eerie, pulsing light.

Aaron could feel it to the depths of his being. It was time to act.

“Aaron?”
Gabriel asked suddenly, turning his trusting gaze to his master as if he could sense a change in his mood.

Aaron didn’t answer the dog, or respond to the plaintive look in his girlfriend’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the disappointment there.

He let his angelic nature flow through his body, the combined power of some of Heaven’s greatest warriors. He felt his
skin begin to tingle, the sigils of the angels that had served Lucifer, and had fallen in battle during the Great War, rising to adorn his flesh.

Aaron let his nature decide on the weapon he would use; images of an entire angelic armory rushed through his brain until he fell upon a decision.

The sword was massive, taking shape like a solar flare shooting up from the surface of the sun.

Aaron loosened his wings, freeing his black-feathered appendages of flight.

Vilma called forth her own weapon, readying herself to stand by his side in combat. And by the look upon Gabriel’s face, the dog was ready to fight with him as well.

“No,” Aaron said to them, already on the move. “I’m going to need for you to hold back, in case I …”

He didn’t finish the sentence, not wanting to concern them, though he guessed they were already way beyond that. The world was about to end, he could feel it in his bones … at the tips of his wings. There was a part of him that just wanted to give in, to drop to his knees and accept what was about to happen.

Thy will be done
.

But that was complete and utter bullshit, and he was about to tell this angel … to
show
this Wormwood … that very thing.

Aaron leaped into the air, blazing sword of war clutched
to his side. Flying over the battlefield, he saw the nightmare of twisted bodies of things that a year ago he would never have believed existed, and the faces of those who had looked upon him as their leader.