World After

71

AT RAFFE’S FEET, Beliel lies on the dirt. He bleeds through gashes, bites, and missing chunks. The three scorpions latch their mouths onto his open wounds and begin to suck him dry like enormous leeches with stingers.

Beliel yells, clumsily batting away the scorpions with the last of his energy.

Beliel’s skin becomes parched and begins to crinkle. Soon, I know he’ll shrivel and his flesh will look like beef jerky.

Raffe glances at the angels watching them, then back at Beliel’s shriveling skin. Even with his mask, I can tell he doesn’t want to do anything drastic in front of the angels. But he can’t let his wings be sucked dry and shrivel. And even if he could get these scorpions off Beliel, more could come down from the sky.

He spreads one of Beliel’s stolen wings and holds it firmly in one hand. From his waistband, he pulls out the kitchen knife he took from the beach house. It reflects the torch flames as he raises it, just before he swings down with the blade.

Beliel, still not entirely paralyzed, shrieks as Raffe cuts through his wing joint.

The wing falls on the ground.

The angels watch, stunned.

Raffe lifts his knife again.

A few warriors leap toward Raffe with their wings spread back and their fists ready. They think he’s cutting off an angel’s wings and that they’re defending their own. I guess it’s one thing to let an angel fend for himself against a little girl and her pets but not against another angel amputating his wings.

But they can’t reach him fast enough. Raffe slices through Beliel’s second wing.

The snowy wing falls to the ground, still glorious and full of life.

Raffe kicks at the first angel to reach him.

He fights hand-to-hand with the first two angels who come at him. He yells at them, probably trying to explain what’s really going on but his words get lost among the roar of the scorpions above, the angry clamor of the angels, and the crashing of the waves.

He can hold his own with the first two but a third one pulls out his sword.

The only effective weapon Raffe has is his demon wings which are still hidden beneath the feathered disguise. He backs up, hesitating to show them to so many angels even though it’s unlikely that anyone will recognize him with his mask. But his attacker gives him no choice as he winds up to slice with his sword.

Raffe’s demon wings burst open.

The crowd becomes silent. The scorpion buzzing fades as they finish their flyby. And Raffe’s wing scythes slide out with a snick.

His scythes clang and deflect against his opponent’s sword. The sword flies into the air and lands on the lawn.

Raffe lowers his chin and glares at the angels with a menacing look. With his giant bat wings behind him and the scythes glinting red by the torchlight, he’s the perfect picture of the devil.

The two severed wings lie on either side of Beliel. The white feathers blowing in the breeze look surreally out of place on the blood-soaked ground. Raffe’s festive mask only adds to the horror of it as he looms over Beliel.

As everyone stares, the only sound is the buzz of the locusts flying away and the waves smashing against the cliffs below.

Then the sound of a hundred angel swords being pulled from their scabbards fills the night.