Fall of the Angels

by Josh Raymer

  You have to help us! The Bronze Man is dead. The demons…there are too many of them. Colin and I are going to be overrun. Please, Silas…HELP US!

  Is this it? Is this the moment Jesus was talking about, when I would be faced with an impossible choice that only I could make? A choice so monumental that God picked me to make it out of the billions of people on Earth?

  Because if this is it, I’m not ready to decide.

  Good thing you don’t have to choose.

  I hear Augustus’s voice at the same time I feel him grab me by my shirt lapels and pull me in close for a hug. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I hug him anyway.

  “You’re everything God could ever want in a nephilim,” he whispers in my ear. “And everything I could ever want in a great-great-grandson. I love you.”

  I step back as he extends his arms, fingers still wrapped around my shirt front.

  “Now, go save your family,” he says.

  With that, he pushes me backward, and what I didn’t realize in the seconds before this moment was that we’re standing at the edge of the platform. Augustus has just pushed me off into inky black nothingness. I know in my heart—in the same way I know my own name—that this leads to Earth, but there’s only one problem.

  I have no idea how to get back.

  All you have to say is, “God, I want to go back.” He’ll do the rest.

  As I fall, the same weightlessness carries me downward that I experienced after leaving Lilith’s wasteland. I fire back one final response to Augustus.

  Can you take Michael all by yourself?

  His laugh is so loud I can hear it with my ears.

  I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment, Silas. Everything I’ve done has been preparing me to kill this bastard. I’ve got my shot. Trust me—I won’t miss.

  That’s when a new voice comes through, one that I now know well.

  He won’t be alone. Let’s finish this together, old-timer.

  Comfortable in the knowledge that Lilith and Augustus can end this battle once and for all, I spin in midair, hold out my fist like Superman, and say the words.

  “God, I want to go back.”

  Chapter 16

  16. What Comes Next

  A tunnel of light stretches out before me, like stars being elongated by the stopping of time. I go from floating to rocketing forward like I’ve cleared the big hill on a roller coaster and am now hurtling toward the ground thanks to gravity. If Bron truly is dead, I don’t know if Peter can hear me—or how he sent off that message in the first place—but I have to try and send him a message back.

  I’m coming, Peter. Just hold on.

  My speed is increasing now, to the point that I’m on the verge of blacking out again. I close my eyes and slow my breathing, willing my body to hold it together. What happens is familiar now but still unsettling: my consciousness uncouples from my mind and drifts away, zooming down below the slipstream that is rocketing me back to Earth. It clears the clouds in the sky, the snow-covered mountains, and the towering trees, coming to a rest in a clearing illuminated by the headlights of a couple of vehicles parked at the top of the hill and angled downward.

  Two faces turn up toward the sky, and even though my heart is a million miles away, it skips a beat seeing two people I love more than anything in the world: Colin and Peter. Reflected in their eyes is a streak of light that looks like…

  “Is that a shooting star?” Peter asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.

  “No…” says Colin. “I think…I think that’s…”

  “Silas,” Peter finishes.

  My consciousness zooms away, meeting up with my mind and body right as I soar past the treetops above my family members’ heads. I see a spot between them and the approaching demon horde, and with both fists glowing a fiery red, I slam into the Earth with the force of a bomb dropped from the heavens. My fists crash into the ground and unleash a shockwave that disintegrates the demons within a hundred-foot radius. The heat and the stench I haven’t experienced in what feels like years returns in a wave so overpowering it threatens to consume me. Bron was right: there are thousands of demons here.

  If I don’t do something drastic right now, we’re all going to die.

  I close my eyes and trust everything to the new programming Augustus gave me. Like a dancer following a routine so well-rehearsed it’s second nature, I hold out my arms and spin in a circle. I spin and spin and spin until a force emanating from my body lifts me off my feet and pushes me skyward. I open my eyes and can hardly believe what is happening: I’ve turned into a whirling tornado of angelic energy, bathing the entire forest in a bright red light.

  I bow my head forward and plow into the advancing rows of demons like waves crashing into sandcastles; the hellish fiends dissolve in the face of my immense power. Around the clearing I spin, my nephilim tornado leaving the rocks and the trees unscathed but tearing the demons limb from limb. I direct the tornado using my body, shifting it from one side to the next, like a broom being swept left and right to clear sawdust from a shop floor. There’s no wind noise up here, so all I hear is the pff each time a demon turns to ash and scatters in every direction.

  I know the job is finished when the heat and the smell leave me entirely. I reach out to bring the angelic energy back into my body, but there’s none left. The last little bit flickers out right as my feet touch the ground a few dozen yards from Peter and Colin. When I land, my legs wobble and give out. I have to imagine this is what running a marathon feels like: you’ve given all you have to give, and now your body is in full revolt. Even if I wanted to stand and fight, my legs wouldn’t allow me.

  I hear footsteps, and within seconds, Peter tackles me and wraps me up in a hug, both of us sprawled on the ground. He’s crying, and so am I.

  “Silas,” he sobs. “Damn it, man. I thought, I thought…I thought you would look bad, but Jesus man, you look like shit warmed over. Does Heaven not have showers?”

  I push him off and dry my tears with the back of my hand. He’s gotten a haircut since I last saw him—it’s a hack job, but he’s still deceptively handsome—and the dark shadows under his eye complement the five o’clock shadow he’s got going on. Speaking of his eye, there’s a new addition to his face I haven’t seen yet.

  “You got an eyepatch!” I yell.

  “Hell yeah I got an eyepatch” he yells back. “Badass, right?”

  “So badass,” I tell him. “Chicks are gonna dig it.”

  At that moment, I feel a hand grip my shoulder and look around to see Colin standing over me. I manage to lift myself to my knees and wrap him up in a hug. I made do with Augustus’s hugs in Heaven, but Colin’s hugs are still the best. The smell of his leather jacket and terrible aftershave warm my heart.

  “I thought we’d lost you,” Colin says, fighting back tears.

  “You almost did,” I tell him, pulling back and rising unsteadily to my feet. Peter grabs my shoulder to keep me from falling. “Augustus is up there right now fighting Michael to trigger Lightfall. I left to come here.”

  “Michael?” Peter asks, dumbstruck. I forget he’s not as used to the larger-than-life figures from his Bible entering into his reality. “Like the archangel?”

  “One and the same,” I tell them both. “Augustus has to kill him with his flaming sword to activate Lightfall. I don’t know if he can do it, Colin.”

  Colin nods, but his expression signals resolve and confidence.

  “If anyone can do it, he can,” he tells me. “Augustus is a machine.”

  “It was unbelievable fighting alongside him,” I admit. “He was standing toe-to-toe with Gabriel like it was some drunk causing trouble at the bar. We took him down together, and Augustus killed Raphael on his own. He has help, too, in the fight against Michael. I like his odds, even if he’s the underdog in the fight.”

&n
bsp; “We had no idea what was happening upstairs,” Peter tells me, hand still on my shoulder. “The Bronze Man showed up and told us you needed our help to complete a ritual. That once it was done, you would come home.”

  I’m afraid to ask, but I have to know.

  “Time is different up there,” I say. “How long was I gone down here?”

  Colin and Peter look at each other, then at the ground.

  “How long?” I say, quieter this time.

  “A year,” Colin tells me.

  I drop my head into my hands, my stomach seizing to the point where I think I might vomit. Once I heard I’d been gone three months, I knew it would be bad. But I never thought it would be this bad. To leave my friends behind to fight without me for a year…it’s utterly devastating. I could fight for the rest of my life, and that will be a debt I’ll never be able to pay back.

  “The others, Forrest and Grace,” I say, my voice low. “Are they alive?”

  “Yes,” Peter says quickly. “They’re back in Sherwood.”

  A small flicker of hope ignites in my chest at hearing this news.

  “And the city, is it still standing?” I ask them both.

  “Barely,” Colin says quietly, his thumb stroking his machete.

  “A lot has happened while you were gone, Silas,” Peter says, patting my shoulder. “We have a lot to catch you up on, which we’ll do at some point. The thing we need to focus on right now is finishing this ritual so we can get out of here.”

  “You’re right,” I admit, shaking my head to clear the funk. “Let’s stay focused on the mission. You said Bron was dead. Can you take me to his body?”

  I hope they’re wrong. We’ve already lost Puriel, and losing Bron would be a huge blow. Not just to our efforts, but to my psyche. The aloof giant seemed to be above the conflict in Heaven, making him useless in battle but keeping him above the dread I felt for my fellow combatants who threw themselves at the enemy.

  If he died here on Earth at the hands of demons in an effort to buy us time for a mission that might not succeed, I’ll be gutted. He deserved so much better.

  I follow along behind Peter and Colin as they lead the way, the knot in my stomach growing tighter with every step. If I just want it hard enough, maybe I can will Bron being alive into existence. But if Peter thinks he’s dead, I don’t have much hope.

  Bron is curled up on his side, almost like he’s sleeping. His hands are pulled up into his chest, and there’s a neutral expression on his face that I’ve come to associate with his default facial arrangement. Never high, never low—just right in the middle. Amidst the calamity we faced in Heaven, his steadiness was an asset.

  I approach him slowly, knowing that the closer I get, the more inescapable the fact will become that Bron is, in fact, dead. Still, as I draw even with him, I place my hand on his chest and try to detect a spark of heavenly energy. I know Bron is not part angel like me, but I figure I can detect his life force all the same.

  I don’t know what gives me that assurance; however, I’m going with it.

  Please, God. Don’t take Bron away from us. He’s a faithful servant and a good friend. Bring him back to us. He deserves so much more than to die at the hands of demons.

  I keep my hand on his chest for ten seconds, then twenty, waiting for God to hear my prayer and bring my friend back to me. But it’s no use. I withdraw my hand from Bron’s cold, still body, tears streaming as the reality sets in that my friend is gone. He died buying us the time we needed to lure Michael out.

  “Rest easy, Bron,” I tell him quietly. “Thank you for all you did for me.”

  “Your friend died a hero,” Colin tells me. He’s crouched down beside me and looks at the bronze giant’s closed eyes. “He threw himself in front of a wave of demons that broke through the warding he put in place. Saved us both.”

  “How did they get the drop on you all?” I ask, shaking my head.

  “Bron said he thought some of the rebellious angels must have signaled down here to the demons once they found out Lightfall was happening,” Peter answers.

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” I reply. “Nobody knew about the plan but me, Bron, Augustus, Lilith, and the archangels. The only explanation is that…is that…”

  “The archangels told the demons,” Colin finishes. “To save their skin and keep their lofty perch, they turned to the creatures on the bottom of their shoe.”

  “Such hypocrites,” I spit, my anger at the archangels renewed.

  “We just have to hope their efforts were in vain,” Colin says. “That Augustus can finish off Michael and cast them out. Bron told us Heaven is at stake.”

  “It is,” I affirm. “The angels are so caught up fighting each other they don’t see the damage they’re causing. If we don’t stop them, all of Heaven will be destroyed, including the throne room. Speaking of which, I need to tell you something.”

  I turn to face Peter, his eye locking onto mine. My brother, once the lovable lothario who could woo any woman at Tully’s Tavern after enough drinks and a heap of flattery and BS, has aged in my absence. Gone is the kid I knew.

  He’s a year older, although my brother seems much older than that.

  I place my hand on the back of his neck and steady myself to tell him the part I kept secret, even from Augustus. This part is just for the two of us.

  “I saw Mom and Dad up there,” I tell Peter. His eye immediately starts to glisten anew. “They were so happy, Pete. They were together, and they were rejoicing, and there was no pain or suffering or illness. It was so beautiful, man.”

  We lean our heads against each other and cry, the tears dropping into the dirt. The invisible weight I felt lifted after my trip to the throne room—I know that same weight is lifting off his shoulders now, too. He took Mom’s death so much harder than I did, so I know it means everything to him to hear she and Dad are OK.

  “Colin, come here,” I say, waving for the old man to join us. He slides around beside us and places his hands on both our shoulders, tears on his cheeks. I look at him and share the other piece—the piece I saved just for him.

  “I saw how my dad died,” I tell him. “Malphas put all these doubts in my head about what happened. It caused me to lose trust in you, and I’m sorry for that. I had the chance to go back and see for myself, and I saw it. He did die that night you were there. He was there to meet Malphas, but Gregori killed him.”

  Colin recoils and places his hand over his heart. For a second, I worry that he’s having a heart attack. He’s simply processing the news, though. He shakes his head, and his shaggy black hair, streaked with gray, sways side-to-side as he does.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “Gregori was our ally in the fight against Malphas. Why would he kill your father, Silas? I don’t get it.”

  “Oh, God,” I groan. “I have a lot to catch you all up on, as well.”

  Before I can say another word—before I can let my family know that Gregori was working with Malphas the entire time, that he stirred up the angelic insurrection and tried to kill me—an ear-splitting noise rings out from high above us. It’s a deep, sonorous sound so powerful it ripples the air and kicks up dust from the ground. It’s like my insides are being turned to jelly as I try to discern what we’re hearing. The tone shifts just enough to offer a clue as to what it is.

  It’s a gong. And judging by the force and where the sound seems to be coming from, I have to assume it’s a heavenly gong. But why is it being rung?

  I squint at the others, who are huddled before me with their hands over their ears. I mouth the words “it’s a gong” at them and they both nod, then close their eyes. I share the sentiment: it’s fine to know what it is, but when is it going to stop?

  That’s when a voice cuts through the cacophony—a voice inside my mind.

  Silas, can you hear me?


  Augustus, is that you?

  I know it’s him. It’s his voice, but I need to hear him say it. With Bron dead, I’ve been pushing away the possibility that Augustus and Lilith could die. I need them to be alive: for their own sake, for mine, and for Bron’s heroic sacrifice.

  If my great-great-grandfather is dead because I chose to come here…well, I don’t think my heart would be able to take it. It’s already dealing with enough guilt.

  It’s me. We did it, Silas. That smug bastard is dead.

  How? I mean, I know you’re good, Augustus, but I was so worried.

  The next voice belongs to Lilith.

  Well, he had some help. But your ancestor is a certified badass, kid.

  Thank you, Lilith.

  Now comes the million-dollar question.

  The angels. Does that mean…they’re falling?

  They are—and they’re coming your way. We can see them. Do you?

  With the voices quiet, I notice that the gong has stopped. We’re looking around the empty clearing, which is eerily quiet now that our ears aren’t under assault. I’m about to respond that I don’t see anything when I lift my eyes up and gasp.

  Dotting the sky are thousands of streaks of light. They’re like shooting stars, only slower, tracing a slight arc as they angle toward our position. I can’t tell from here, but I can picture it: at the front of each streak, rather than a rock, it’s an angel. Suffice it to say, when they land here, they’re going to be royally pissed.

  I turn to grab the others when they gasp and point over my shoulder. I wheel around and immediately spot what grabbed their attention: among the cascade of streaking lights is a fiery red dot moving faster than all the others. We all trace its path down through the canopy of trees and feel the aftershock as it craters the ground a few hundred feet away. I turn back to Peter and Colin.

  “How wide is the zone for catching the angels?” I ask them.

  “Couple miles,” Colin answers. “But judging by how many are falling, we need to haul ass out of here.”