Armageddon

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  His legions trained their gazes on him, every one of their monstrous eyes fixed upon his glory.

  This was what the Darkstar had been missing; this was why he still existed.

  This was what it must feel like to be God.

  The thought spurred him on, and a sword of war grew in his hand.

  Satan raised his weapon as he marched across the desert, urging his armies to follow, the movement of the vast gathering causing the very floor of the desert to tremble with their footfalls.

  An archeological dig existed in the location where his prize was hidden, layers of the city of Megiddo exposed to the world after countless centuries.

  The archeologists might have uncovered priceless historical artifacts, but they had yet to come across the true prize.

  Satan took to the air, his black-feathered wings carrying him above the monstrous throng.

  “Dragons!” he roared.

  Four of the large reptilian beasts removed themselves from the gathering, taking flight to join him in the skies. They flew in languid circles about him, waiting for commands.

  “Reveal to me my prize!”

  Satan directed his sword at the timeworn city.

  The great sky beasts screeched in compliance, arcing their bodies toward the desert below. Positioning themselves around the dig, the great dragons reared back their heads, taking in enormous lungfuls of air to mix with the heavily combustible fluids produced from venom sacks in the backs of their cavernous mouths for an explosive and fiery effect.

  The dragons spewed their fire at what was exposed of Megiddo, billowing clouds of fire and black smoke roiling up from below as the reptiles’ venom ate away at the primordial sands to expose what lay hidden beneath.

  Satan returned to earth, touching down upon the desert, which had been crystallized to glass from the intensity of the heat.

  The dragons ceased their spew, rearing back to circle what they had exposed. Satan waited patiently as the steam cleared. As the location began to cool, Satan saw that what remained of Megiddo, as well as layers upon layers of the desert strata, had been burned away. Waiting for him below, he saw his prize.

  Beth-El was an odd-shaped structure, like a pyramid with its point sliced away. Satan leaped into the hole, using his wings to slow his descent. Landing before the looming structure, he was amused by the stairs of gold that led up to an even larger set of doors.

  With memories not belonging to him, he recalled climbing these mighty steps with ease in the form of the great armored Metatron.

  Excitement the likes of which he’d never experienced coursed through the Darkstar as he ascended the remaining steps to the House of God. There was no discernable way to open the mammoth doors except to pry them apart by force.

  Sword still in hand, Satan Darkstar jammed his shadow blade in the seam between the doors, using all his might to try and pry the pair apart.

  Wings pounding the air, Satan leaned and pushed upon the sword, crying out with exertion.

  He was nearly exhausted when he felt movement.

  Yes, yes it was moving.

  A new strength born of the promise of triumph fueled him. The left-side door bulged outward with a serpentine hiss as the seal was broken.

  Satan marveled at his feat, sending his sword back into the shadows as he approached the door, grabbing it in both hands and pulling it toward him.

  As the door inexorably came open, he was struck by a gout of heavenly fire.

  It burned both physically and mentally, and Satan Darkstar screamed as he threw himself away from the entrance, and the threat within.

  His armored form, still engulfed in the caustic flames of the divine, tumbled down the steps of giants.

  Calling upon the shadows, the Darkstar pulled the darkness around him like a cocoon, engulfing his entire body to extinguish the holy fire. Satan then cast the cloak away, his black armor still smoldering, as he prepared to deal with that which would keep him from his reward.

  Turning his gaze to the top of the stairs, he saw them, as deadly-looking in the flesh as they were in memory.

  Two of them glared down at him from the entrance to Beth-El. Their bodies were lion-like, large and powerful, with human heads that stared at him voraciously. From their furred, muscular backs sprang two sets of fiery wings that slowly fanned the air as they watched their prey from above.

  These were the Cherubim.

  The guardians of the House of God.

  It was their job to keep him from gaining entrance to this holy place.

  And it was the Darkstar’s mission to see these bestial angels dead at his feet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Through ghostly eyes, Lorelei stared at the dark arrow tattoo on the hand of the body she currently possessed.

  “So you think it will take us to Enoch?” Jeremy asked.

  She tried not to look at him as he removed his torn and bloodstained clothing and slipped into one of the tight, black leather outfits that the Agents of the Architects wore.

  “It will take us to the Architects,” Lorelei answered in the gruff voice of the corpse. “It seems pretty simple.”

  “Then that should do it.” Jeremy moved to stand beside her, staring at her expectantly.

  “And then what?” Lorelei asked.

  He looked at her as though she had two heads. “Then we save Enoch and get out of there.”

  “That’s your plan?” she asked. She could feel the corpse decaying. She’d need to find another relatively soon if they kept this up.

  “It’s all I can think of,” he said, showing an emotional side that she’d never seen at the school. “I made a promise to protect the little tinker and haven’t done a job of it. Do you have any other ideas?”

  She thought for a moment, attempting to access the corpse’s memories. There wasn’t much there to use. “Not really,” she had to admit.

  “That’s it then. We go with my plan—get to the Architects, find Enoch, and get the hell out.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Lorelei said.

  “That’s what you have to keep telling yourself when you’re in the thick of it.” The hint of a smile appeared on Jeremy’s blood-spattered face. “So, can you make it work?” he asked, gesturing with his chin at the tattoo on the corpse’s arm.

  “Yeah, I think I can,” she answered. “It’s pretty straightforward. I just press it to activate the spell.”

  “Then I should probably get close,” Jeremy said, sidling up beside her. “Oh, wait a sec.” He pulled the black mask that the Agents wore over his face. “Okay. I’m good.”

  “You better be, if we’re going to get out of this alive.”

  “What do you care?” Jeremy asked. “You’re already dead.”

  Same old Jeremy, Lorelei thought as she raised the corpse’s bare arm and applied pressure to the tattoo.

  It was as if the world had dropped out from beneath them.

  One moment they were standing in the woods, the next—

  Jeremy bent over, violently retching, pulling the mask from his face so as not to throw up in it.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” he asked, wiping vomit from the side of his mouth.

  “From what I could see, it wasn’t much different from how the Nephilim travel,” Lorelei said. “It’s where we are that has me curious.”

  They were in a circular room, standing on a raised dais. Everything was smooth, rounded.

  “It reminds me of a seashell,” he said. “Like this place was grown, not built.”

  “We’re between the moments,” Lorelei blurted out.

  Jeremy looked at her as though she was crazy. “And what, pray tell, does that mean?”

  “This place, the Architects have created it between moments in time, between the then and the now.”

  “Now you’re just giving me a headache,” Jeremy said. “Any idea where they’ve taken Enoch?”

  She tried to pull more information from the corpse’s memories, but got nothing. S
he was going to need to find a new vehicle to possess very soon.

  “Let’s go out here,” she suggested, heading toward the only door in the room.

  Jeremy slipped the mask back over his face as he followed her into an equally rounded hallway. “Which way?”

  As if on cue, an Agent came around the bend, stopping before them. “Uh,” Jeremy began. “Where have they taken the child?”

  Without a word, a knife appeared in the Agent’s hand.

  “They don’t speak,” Lorelei said.

  “Whoops.” Jeremy created a sword of fire to meet the Agent’s attack.

  “Don’t damage the body too much,” Lorelei cried out. “I’ll need it if—”

  Jeremy screamed like a madman, swinging the sword with such force and accuracy that the flaming blade sliced through the Agent’s neck, its head flying through the air as its body collapsed to the floor.

  The Agent’s head rolled to Lorelei’s feet, bulging eyes, shocked by death, staring up at her through the eyeholes in the mask.

  “Sorry,” Jeremy offered, but no amount of apology could keep her in the body she currently inhabited. She had to leave or risk being trapped forever.

  “Not good,” was all she could manage before she pulled herself free to float above the decaying corpse as it crumbled to the floor.

  “Not good at all,” Lorelei stressed, her voice no longer heard by anyone but herself.

  * * *

  Melissa and Cameron soared upward within the mountain’s chamber into the aerial battle between the revived Nephilim and the Angels of the Void.

  The Nephilim fought with all their heart, weapons of fire striking at their bat-winged enemies, but they were just not strong enough. Centuries of inactivity had made them far too slow.

  The Void Angels moved at the speed of thought. It would be a slaughter, unless Melissa and Cameron intervened.

  “I’m going in,” Cameron yelled, thrusting with his wings to collide with Russell, as the dark angel was about to tear out the throat of a female Nephilim he had pinned to the rocky wall.

  Melissa set her sights on Samantha.

  “Feeling brave, are we?” the Void Angel asked as she ripped the wings from a struggling Nephilim, letting him plummet in a pathetic spiral to the ground below.

  Melissa held her tongue, focusing everything on her attack. She lunged at Samantha, but the black angel was quick, evading her with incredible precision, slashing at her as she passed.

  Melissa evaded the claws, but barely, crashing into the wall with enough force to daze her. Shaking her head to clear it, she saw that Samantha was almost upon her, the girl’s mouth twisted in a malicious grin.

  Folding her wings tight to her back, Melissa allowed herself to drop as Samantha’s claws scraped across the stone wall, just missing her. Then she reached up, grabbing hold of the Void Angel’s ankles, pulling her down. Samantha shrieked, struggling ferociously as they fell.

  Her leathery wings flapped wildly, slowing their descent, and proving to be the distraction that Melissa needed.

  Filling her mind with thoughts of when they’d first met at the school, scared of what they had become and what the future had in store for them, Melissa remembered how Aaron and Vilma had helped them, how they’d helped each other.

  The pair bounced off rock protruding from the mountain wall, and Melissa was forced to release the dark angel. But before Samantha could recover, Melissa created a sword of fire, slashing at her foe. Samantha did exactly as Melissa had expected, blocking the sword strike with her elongated claws.

  There was a strange explosion of light, tinged with darkness, and the two were forcibly repelled from one another, both plummeting to the ground below.

  * * *

  Even though Cameron had Russell pinned to the ground, the Void Angel was incredibly fast, jabbing the razor-sharp claw on his index finger into Cameron’s side.

  The Nephilim cried out, jumping away before the dark angel could do further damage. He pressed a hand to his side to stanch the flow of blood.

  “Did you really think you’d have a chance?” Russell taunted. “Look around you, Cam. The ground is covered with dead Nephilim.”

  And he was right.

  Cameron was beginning to feel woozy. He tried to focus on the divine fire coursing through his veins—

  As well as the memories of his dead friends that would allow him to defeat the evil angels.

  “You thought you were such a badass,” Russell continued. “The quiet warrior.” He smiled a wicked smile, and all Cameron wanted to do was punch his face in.

  But that wasn’t the solution. Cameron needed to remember their time together, when they were family.

  When they were all Nephilim.

  “Are you still burning yourself after every kill?” Russell asked.

  Cameron must have looked shocked.

  “What, you didn’t know I knew? Oh yeah, I knew. Watched you do it, burning your flesh with the edge of your sword.”

  Cameron didn’t know what to say.

  “I used to think you were so cool,” Russell spat with contempt. “But then I died. And when I was brought back, I could see you for what you truly are.” He paused, and Cameron noticed the muscles in the Void Angel’s legs tense.

  “Doomed,” Russell cried as he sprang.

  There wasn’t much of an opportunity to think, never mind act. Cameron relied entirely on instinct, reaching for what was the closest object to protect himself from the slashing, razor-sharp claws.

  The Nephilim corpse took the brunt of the damage as Cameron thrust it at his foe, buying himself a few precious seconds.

  “Have you no respect for the dead, Cam?” Russell asked, tossing the corpse aside.

  But Cameron was ready as Russell flapped his powerful wings, charging at him with incredible speed. Cameron met the attack, swinging his sword of fire and conjuring the memory of the bond the two had shared before Russell’s untimely death.

  * * *

  “What—what have you done to me?” Samantha asked, her speech slurring.

  Melissa felt incredibly cold, experiencing what her former teammate had endured when her life had been taken, and after some semblance of that life had been returned by the power of darkness. Melissa wanted nothing more than to curl up in a dark corner with her eyes tightly shut, but that most certainly would have meant her death.

  She knew there was still some sort of connection between the Nephilim and the Angels of the Void. It was the answer to defeating them.

  Samantha tried to get away, but Melissa couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “You’re going nowhere,” she managed, forcing herself across the expanse of floor and jumping on Samantha’s back before the dark angel could take flight.

  “Get off of me!” Samantha screeched groggily, still reeling from the effects of Melissa’s heartfelt memories.

  Samantha spun around, her claws growing in length, and Melissa reacted as a true warrior, swinging her arm with great force and connecting with Samantha’s chin. The severity of the blow snapped the girl’s head to one side, allowing Melissa the chance she had waited for.

  “There’s still some divine inside you,” Melissa said, taking the black-armor-garbed girl in her embrace. “We’re still connected.”

  Samantha screamed, her wings beating the air as she fought to escape.

  But Melissa held fast, the fire of the Nephilim igniting within her body, even as the darkness welled up within Samantha.

  “Don’t touch me!” Samantha wailed. She almost slipped from Melissa’s grasp, but the Nephilim would have none of that, head-butting her foe, stunning her yet again.

  The darkness and light flowed from their bodies, forming a cocoon about them; fire and darkness swirling around their struggling bodies, as ancient forces, good and evil, vied for supremacy.

  Melissa knew that these two forces could very easily destroy them both, but it was the only way to truly defeat her foe—

  And grant her frien
d the final rest that she deserved.

  And then Melissa saw it.

  It was just a fleeting glance, but at the center of her foe, where she had always imagined the soul to be, Melissa saw what remained of her friend. It was like a jagged piece of flint lying at the center of the black miasma, gone cold and dark with the coming of death.

  A piece of Samantha’s soul that Melissa could reignite if she was strong enough.

  The darkness was winning, driving her to the ground, forcing its way into her body to suffocate the light of her divine birthright.

  But Melissa remembered what she had seen in the center of the Void Angel’s being and held on to that image.

  She dropped her guard, letting the darkness overwhelm her, letting it become overconfident.

  And just when it thought it had won—

  The fire of Heaven was in her hand. Melissa reached through the darkness for Samantha’s hard, blackened soul.

  And wrapped her burning hand around it.

  * * *

  Cameron wasn’t sure how much longer he would last.

  He swung with his sword, but Russell’s claws were just as effective, blocking his swipes and putting him back on the defensive.

  His wound was still bleeding, flowing down his side and into the waistline of his pants.

  Cameron tried to do as Melissa instructed, putting the memories of his deceased friends at the forefront of his thoughts.

  He could see that it was having some effect, but not necessarily the one he had been hoping for.

  The memories of the life they’d shared at Saint Athanasius just seemed to make the reanimated Nephilim all the more furious. Russell screamed, clouds of darkness rising from his body as they continued to battle one another.

  Cameron’s sword of flame shattered with Russell’s latest attack, and suddenly Cameron realized that he was in trouble. His mind felt foggy as he tried to re-create the blade.

  “What’s the matter, Cam?” Russell taunted. “Not the badass you thought you were?”

  Cameron pushed himself across the floor, struggling to pull his thoughts together, but the poison was wreaking havoc on his system.

  “I see your memories,” Russell said, reaching down and running his claws across Cameron’s leg.