Reckoning

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It had been a good visit.

Lucifer only wished that they could have done something a bit more pleasant, a few drinks perhaps, a nice dinner, conversation that went well into the wee hours of the morning. Holding back Hell was not the activity he would have chosen for his first meeting with his son.

He seems like a good kid, Lucifer mused. Eager to help, and he had his father’s eyes, but there really wasn’t much he could do about the Morningstar’s current situation. He had only helped to delay the inevitable for a little while longer.

Things were bad. Verchiel’s magicians had almost succeed in breaking down all his remaining barriers, and the pain was becoming unbearable. Lucifer hadn’t wanted his son to see him this way, so he had sent him away, urging him to put his strength to use elsewhere, for his was a lost cause.

But deep down, the first fallen angel didn’t want to believe that was completely true. The prophecy of forgiveness had come to fruition because of him, because he had hoped that someday the Lord God would understand how sorry he was and give him the chance to apologize.

Unfortunately Verchiel would do everything in his power to make certain that Lucifer never had the chance to utter those words of atonement, and would make him responsible for yet another heinous crime against God and what He holds most dear. The leader of the Powers didn’t believe that Lucifer had the right to be forgiven, and there were days when he believed that Verchiel could very well be right. But it wasn’t up to them to decide. God would forgive, or He wouldn’t. It was simple as that—or at least it used to be.

Fight as he did, Lucifer knew he could not keep the door closed for much longer. Hell raged at his back, the pain at the core of his being, methodically peeled away like the multiple layers of an onion.

The Morningstar was ashamed, believing that he should have been stronger, able to restrain that which had been such a crucial part of him for so long. Hell had come to define him, showing what his petty jealousy and arrogance had been responsible for.

In the world of inner darkness it sounded like gunfire as the first thick metal hinge exploded from the vault door. It was followed by a second, and as he pressed his back flat against the cold surface of the door, he felt it shift within its frame. It won’t be long now, Lucifer knew. The gaseous discharge of the accumulated misery on the other side wafted up around him. It made him see it all again, experience it as though it were happening. It was Hell incarnate.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried aloud as the door fell, trapping him beneath its tremendous weight.

And that which came to be known as Hell surged out from within him, a geyser of rage, pain, sadness, and misery garnered from the most horrible event ever to befall the kingdom of God.

“So sorry.”

She looks much better, Aaron thought, watching Vilma as she slept peacefully. Silently he thanked the Malakim for what he had done for her—for him—and swore that Verchiel would be made to pay for his crimes.

He reached down and pulled the blanket up over the girl. It was damp in the basement, and she had enough problems without catching a cold to boot.

“She’s much better, thanks to you,” Gabriel said from nearby.

Aaron couldn’t stop watching her.

“You love her, don’t you?”

Aaron’s first impulse was to deny it; he’d never admitted it out loud before. But the fact was he did love Vilma Santiago, and as he watched her sleep, he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Aaron remembered the Archon’s words about his mate, and the beautiful children they would have together. Vilma was part of his future. He just hoped she wanted him to be a part of hers.

“Yep, I guess I do,” he finally responded. He looked at the dog that was lying on the concrete floor not far from the foot of the mattress. “Is that cool with you?”

Gabriel was staring at Vilma as well, and Aaron could feel the emotion emanating from the Labrador’s dark, soulful eyes. “It’s cool,” he said, blinking slowly. “She’ll be good for our pack.”

Aaron smiled. “Won’t she though?” he agreed, rising from her side.

“Do you have to go?” the Labrador asked, climbing to his feet as well.

Aaron nodded, knowing his options were few and time was growing slim. His father had been weakening, and who knew what kind of power Verchiel now had at his disposal. If what Lucifer told him was true, the leader of the Powers wasn’t just gunning for Nephilim and fallen angels anymore; he had a score to settle with the whole planet.

“This is it, Gabe,” he told the animal. “Verchiel is going down for good this time.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Lehash said as he walked down the stairs toward them, Scholar close behind.

Aaron had been waiting for them to arrive, certain that Lorelei would have gone to them as soon as he’d revealed his intentions.

Scholar looked pale as he maneuvered around Lehash. “Lorelei told us what you learned,” he said, a tremble in his voice. “Verchiel has lost it completely. It was bad enough that he wanted us dead, but to intentionally unleash that kind of force upon the earth…” The fallen angel stopped, speechless for the first time that Aaron could recall.

Lehash’s pistols flared to life in his grasp and he spun them on his fingers in true cowboy fashion. “Never met a son of a bitch that deserved two in the brain pan more,” he proclaimed.

Vilma stirred at the sound of their voices, rolling onto her side before returning to the embrace of healing slumber.

“I’m doing this alone,” Aaron said softly.

Lehash’s heavenly weapons dispersed in a flash. “Must be the acoustics down here,” the gunslinger said, sticking a finger in his ear and wiggling it around. “But I’d swear you just said you were going to face Verchiel alone.”

Aaron nodded. “That’s what I said.”

Lehash scowled and Aaron prepared for the onslaught that he knew would be coming. “You’re not going anywhere alone, boy,” he snarled. “Look at you,” the cowboy said, throwing out one black-gloved hand toward him. “Yer lucky you can stand, for pity’s sake. You just got stuck with a spear—and almost died! This ringing any bells?”

Aaron’s hand instinctively went to the bandage on his chest. The wound was still painful, but he was healing quickly, another perk of being a Nephilim. “It’s not that I don’t want your help. In fact nothing would make me feel safer than to have you guys at my side when this finally goes down.”

Lehash studied him, slowly folding his arms across his chest while Scholar simply stared.

“But I’ve come to realize that I have to do this alone.”

Lehash shook his head. “It ain’t true,” he grumbled.

“It is,” Aaron answered. “This has been about me from the start. Verchiel lost it because of the prophecy.” He pointed to himself. “I’m that prophecy, I’m the physical manifestation of all that he hates. It’s got to be me that takes him down.”

“He almost killed you, Aaron,” Gabriel said, his gruff animal voice filled with concern.

“Key word being ‘almost,’ ” Aaron responded. “I wasn’t ready before. I didn’t understand what all this angel stuff was about. But I do now. I know how much is at stake. It’s not just fallen angels and Nephilim that are in danger. It’s the entire world.”

Lehash rubbed his hand across the rough skin of his face. “He won’t go down easy. An animal’s at its most dangerous when its back is up against the wall.”

“He’s right about that,” Gabriel said, fortifying the gunslinger’s words.

“Believe me, I know that I could very well be killed, but I also know that it’s for me to do, and me alone. I’ve got to be the one who ends this.”

The room became very still, the only sound Vilma’s gentle breathing as she slept.

“ ‘And the one shall come that will bring about the end of their pain, his furious struggle building a bridge between the penitent and what has been lost,’ ” Scholar said, his stare vacant, as if he were looking beyond the room, perhaps into the future. “That’s a line from the prophecy,” he said, his eyes focused on them again. “Your prophecy.”

And Aaron knew it was time to go. He reached within himself and drew upon the power of angels, feeling the names of all those who died fighting for Lucifer’s cause rising to the surface to adorn his flesh. This is for them, as well, he thought. His senses grew more keen, the fury of Heaven thrumming in his blood. He brought forth his wings of blackest night, unfurling them slowly, fanning the air in anticipation.

“I have to go now,” he said in a severe voice he had come to recognize as his own, a voice filled with strength and purpose.

He looked at them all, perhaps for the last time, and an unspoken message passed between them. This was hard enough without the hindrance of final words, and even though they would not be by his side in this last battle, they would in fact be with him in spirit, providing the strength he would need to fight.

“See you when this is done,” Aaron said, Vilma’s peaceful sleep his last sight before departing to fulfill his destiny.

It had never known such a connection to another living thing.

Its tiny heart beat rapidly; its respirations quickened as it listened to the furtive moans of its friend in agony.

The others of his kind were hurting him again, their droning chants making him writhe and cry out. They sat around the outside of his circle, rocking from side to side as they repeated their hurtful song.

Something leaked out from the tortured creature’s body. The mouse was reminded of the morning fog on the river outside the mountain monastery that used to be its home, only that fog was not the color of dried blood and did not bring with it such feelings of unease. Something was coming into the world that did not belong, and the mouse’s friend cried out in abandon, a mournful song filled with shame at not being strong enough to prevent it.

The one called Verchiel impatiently paced before the hanging figure, his gaze fixed upon the tortured one. It was he who was behind it all, he who was responsible for all the pain.

The rodent could not bear to hear it any longer, did not want its friend to think that he suffered alone, and against all instincts it scampered across the wooden floor, no longer caring if it was seen or not. The mouse passed between two of the chanting ones, reaching the ring of foul smelling dirt. It stifled the frenzied urges to flee, its tiny eyes fixed upon the face of the one called friend. It had but one purpose now.

The dirt on the floor was cold and damp and stank of death, but it did not hinder the mouse as it forced its way through the mire, interrupting the perfection of the circle’s curve. It had broken the circle and the patterns beyond, without notice, conquering its fear and reaching its friend.

Standing upon its hind legs, the mouse raised its pointed face and reached up with its two front paws to the sad figure hanging above it. “You are not alone,” it squeaked in the most rudimentary of languages.

Triumphant, yet unaware of what it had truly done.

Verchiel was mesmerized by Lucifer’s suffering. He could not pull his gaze away, watching as the greatest of sinners strained to keep God’s punishment within him.

“Let it go, damn you,” Verchiel hissed, the anticipation almost more than he could bear.

Soon they will all pay, the angel thought with a perverse sense of satisfaction—the human monkeys scurrying about thinking themselves so much more, the fallen angels and their Nephilim spawn, and the Lord God. How sad that it has come to this, the Powers commander ruminated as he watched the first of the fallen writhe. Verchiel was surprised that one such as Lucifer could care so much for the primitive world to which he had been banished. He himself could no longer hide his distaste for the place and its corrupting influence over his Father in Heaven.

“I shall show You the error of Your ways,” he spoke aloud, hoping that the Almighty would hear his words and know how wrong He had been to discard him. Verchiel would show the Creator the madness of it all.

Suddenly Lucifer, the first of the fallen, let loose a scream that spoke of his final resignation. The collected horror that was his punishment flowed from his body, pouring from the opening cut into his chest—a thick, undulating vapor eager to make the acquaintance of the world.

“How utterly horrible you are,” Verchiel whispered with a kind of twisted admiration, moving closer to the magickal circle that acted as the punishment’s cage. “What terror you shall reap under my command.”

He looked about the room at the last of his soldiers, bloody and beaten by a crusade gone to seed. Once they had numbered in the hundreds, but now less then twenty remained under his command. And once they would have fought hard against a threat such as this, not unlocked its cage to set it free upon a thankless world. The angels fluttered their wings nervously, sensing the fearsome virility of the power that was being unleashed. They remembered it—the war—and what it had done to them all, the scars it had left.

“Do not fear, my brothers,” Verchiel proclaimed, “for with this force we shall be vindicated, and every living thing, whether of flesh and blood or of the divine, will know that our mission was righteous, and will beg for our forgiveness.”

The Archons began to scream, and Verchiel looked toward the angelic magicians. Somehow the power leaking from Lucifer’s body had managed to break free of its containment, moving past the mystical circle of Heaven’s soil and his adversary’s blood, swirling around his faithful sorcerers like a swarm of insects. The Archons’ screams were frantic, unlike anything he had ever heard before.

Archon Oraios ran toward the Powers commander, his head enshrouded in a shifting cloud that clung stubbornly like a thing alive. “How could we have been so foolish!” the magician wailed, arms flailing in panic. “To think that we had the right—to think that we could erase His Word!”

Verchiel grabbed the angel by his robes as he passed, throwing him violently to the gymnasium floor, and still the cloud remained. A sword of fire came to life in the commander’s grasp. “What is happening here?” he spat, watching as the punishment of God continued to leak from Lucifer’s body, past the circle of containment, and into the room.

“It’s loose,” Oraios cried, thrashing upon the floor as the cloud expanded to engulf the magician’s body. “Somehow the circle was broken and now it is free. How could we have been so stupid as to think we could control it!”

The gymnasium erupted in a cacophony of screams and moans as the Lord’s punishment acquainted itself with the others in the room. Verchiel watched aghast as warriors he had fought beside in the most horrendous of battles were reduced to mewling animals. They cowered in the scarlet cloud—the embodiment of all the suffering caused by the war in Heaven. It laid waste to them all, driving them to destroy themselves. One tore out his eyes, while others turned their own fiery weapons upon themselves. Their screams were deafening.

“You must do something,” Verchiel barked at the Archons as an angel of the Powers host repeatedly flew into one of the room’s concrete walls, as if trying to shatter all the bones in its body.

The three Archons crowded together in the far corner of the gymnasium, trying to hide from the force they had unleashed.

“Do something!” Verchiel screamed again, but they only huddled closer, trembling violently.

“They’re afraid,” said a voice, little more than a whisper.

Verchiel looked to see that Lucifer was awake, even as the power continued to leak from his body. “You did this,” Verchiel said with a snarl, pointing his fiery sword at the prisoner. “You caused this to go awry.”

Another of the Powers host took his own life, his mournful wails reverberating horribly off the cold walls before falling silent.

Lucifer laughed painfully, the rumbling chuckle turning into a wet, hacking cough. “I’m the one hanging over a mystical circle with his chest cut open, and this is my fault,” he said in wonder. “How is that?”

Suddenly Verchiel caught movement from within the circle’s center and noticed the prisoner’s pet vermin, cleaning dirt and blood from its dirtied stomach. He was about to snatch up the bothersome creature and squeeze the life from its body, but then he realized that it wouldn’t matter.

There was a sudden searing flash of heat and Verchiel looked back to see that the Archons had set themselves ablaze. He could hear their voices raised in unison as the mystical fire consumed them, begging the Creator for forgiveness. They remained alive far longer than he would have imagined possible, before their piteous pleas ceased and they collapsed to the wood floor in a pile of fiery ash and oily black smoke.

“Set me free,” Lucifer said as Verchiel returned his attentions to his prisoner. “Do the right thing. Redeem yourself. Let me reclaim my punishment. Let me put it back where it belongs,” the first of the fallen pleaded. “There’s a chance we might still be able to stop this.”

Verchiel gazed out over the gymnasium where the broken, bleeding forms of his remaining followers littered the floor. The cloud of misery was expanding, rolling inexorably toward him. It had finished with his soldiers and now wished to feast upon their leader. He tensed, waiting for its dreadful touch with a strange anticipation.

“Who said anything about wanting to stop it?” Verchiel replied as he was engulfed in the hungry red mist. He felt it cling to his body, worming its way inside him through the open wounds that adorned his flesh. He waited to feel the unrelenting horrors of the Almighty’s punishment, but instead felt the same ever-present sense of rage he’d had since being abandoned by God.

And then the leader of the Powers came to a startling realization. I’m already living the torments of Hell.