There was a large section of sky that seemed to pulse and expand, fiery explosions blossoming in the air above the battleground.
Drawn to the bizarreness of it all, Vilma clutched her sword of fire and flew up toward the strange disturbance, wanting to assess the situation.
Something had begun to appear, and it was huge, temporarily taking her breath away.
Some sort of craft appeared out of the ether. To her, it resembled an enormous seashell—a seashell the size of a football field—but a seashell nonetheless. The craft’s smooth surface was marred by explosions, fiery clouds and black smoke blowing from it.
The enormous ship was losing altitude.
Flapping her wings fiercely, Vilma flew to warn the Unforgiven before—
There was an even louder explosion from the seashell-shaped craft, as debris fell from the ship. From the desert below she saw a flash of yellow and Gabriel locked in battle with multiple armored foes.
“Heads up!” she cried, helping out the dog by slicing the head from one of his assailants, while he dispatched another by ripping out its throat with his powerful jaws.
The dog looked toward the sky, his body starting to shimmer and spark as he left for cover.
The Unforgiven were all fleeing the scene. She quickly scanned the battleground to be certain that everyone had heeded her warning when she saw Taylor Corbet.
Aaron’s mother was fighting for her life against something that resembled an awful combination of scorpion and lion. The horrible beast snatched the woman’s rifle from her hands, its pincers snapping the weapon in two. Undeterred, Taylor pulled a handgun from the waist of her pants and continued to fire at the abomination.
The strange craft was falling now. There wasn’t a second to waste.
Moving as quickly as possible, Vilma flew toward Taylor, grabbing hold of the woman beneath her arms and hauling her into the air, away from her monstrous attacker.
“What the hell are you doing—,” Taylor began, but then fell silent as the burning craft rushed by them on its collision course with the desert.
“Dear God, what is it?” Vilma heard Taylor ask, and remained silent, for she did not have the answer.
The craft decimated everyone still on the ground as it hit. And the resounding boom was just as Vilma imagined the end of the world would sound.
* * *
Something had fallen from the sky.
Satan Darkstar saw the strange craft as it plummeted to the blighted land below, trailing fire and smoke as it crashed upon the battlefield, snuffing out many a loyal soldier beneath its enormous mass.
But their sacrifice would not be in vain, for it was exactly the type of distraction he needed.
The Metatron fought tirelessly, but Satan could sense the armored giant’s inner struggle.
The Nephilim boy—the son of the Morningstar—had taken on the power of God, assuming the guise of the Metatron, and it was proving a far more daunting task than he had thought.
The power of God, now a whole entity again, no longer divided and weakened between the three Sisters of Umbra, was a force to be reckoned with, and did not care to be controlled.
The Darkstar would be overjoyed to release it from its shackles and put it to use restoring the earthly passage to Heaven, but in order to do that—
The Metatron was momentarily distracted from the battle at hand as it stared into the billowing cloud of dust and sand rolling across the desert toward them from the crash of the enormous craft.
Satan took full advantage of the opportunity, throwing himself at the Metatron.
They fought, blinded by the dust, sand, and smoke, but the Darkstar knew what he was searching for. It was like a beacon, calling out from within the Metatron’s mighty form.
“Succumb to me, boy,” Satan said. “Surrender what’s inside you and be free of its burdensome turmoil.”
He created a knife from the darkness inside him, with a hooked blade designed specifically to peel the armor from a godly being, as easily as one would peel the skin from a piece of fruit.
The Lord of Shadows lashed out. The point of the knife dug deeply into the divine metal of the Metatron’s chest plate, just below where the human heart would beat.
Satan could barely contain his excitement, leaning all his weight on the knife to open the armor and bring him that much closer to his prize.
But the Metatron did not see the futility of his actions, using one of its mighty wings to swat the Darkstar away.
Satan rose from where he had fallen and felt the ground beneath his armored heel give, and turned to see that he was standing precariously close to the edge of the crack in the earth that their struggle had caused. The fissure descended for miles, most likely into the fiery core of the planet itself.
And all from one little sword strike, Satan Darkstar thought, amused. I don’t know my own strength.
The Metatron stood at the ready, but Satan could see that the damage had been done. There was a large, gaping wound in the godly being’s chest, leaking divine power out into the air.
Such a waste.
“You’ll give it up to me or I will cut it from your chest,” the Darkstar growled. “Either way would be sufficient, though the cutting would certainly be more”—he smiled at his adversary—“fun.”
The Metatron placed a trembling hand over his chest in an attempt to seal the wound.
But Satan would have no such thing.
Satan attacked again.
He landed upon his foe, covering him like the darkest of shadows, driving him back to the ground. The hooked knife was at the ready, poised to peel away the armor forged of divinity.
The air swirled with the blood of God, and Satan Darkstar could feel its corrosive power upon him. The power ate the darkness, but this did not deter the Lord of Shadows. He needed the power to activate the Ladder. It would be his.
The Metatron thrashed, but could not drive the Darkstar back. He was far too close to victory.
The Metatron encased his hands in the stuff of Heaven, his each and every grappling punch searing the Darkstar’s body.
But Satan would do anything to bring about Heaven’s fall.
“You could have made this easy,” Satan Darkstar said. “But I’m overjoyed that you didn’t.”
Strength surging, the Lord of Shadows drove the Metatron backward, one tumbling over the other until the Metatron lay at the edge of the abyss.
Straddling his foe, Satan called upon the dark reserve coiled at the center of the form he now called his own, and felt it respond to his request.
Hell always willing to oblige.
Satan pulled back his arm, all the infernal power that roiled about inside him focused for this one, final act.
Darkness thicker than the black of oblivion swirled about his arm and blade, and Satan Darkstar brought his weapon down on the Metatron.
In a killing blow.
* * *
It was time.
Hell churned angrily about Lucifer, ready to explode out into the world.
But Lucifer would not stand for it.
This was his burden. Hell’s pain and misery belonged to no one else but him.
It was his responsibility, as it had been his responsibility for these many millennia. He was not about to see it unleashed upon his son, never mind a world already besieged by nightmare.
No, it was time now to take it back.
To wrest control from the Darkstar.
“Are we ready, Milton?” Lucifer Morningstar asked, rising up from where he sat. The tiny, warm body of the rodent resting in his hand brought the Morningstar great comfort.
And in this comfort he found the strength to do what he must.
Placing the mouse on his shoulder, the Son of the Morning readied himself to take matters into his own hands once more.
As Hell carried on as only Hell could do, Lucifer closed his eyes and saw beyond the pocket of his subconscious where he currently resided and looked out through eyes that had o
nce been his.
Lucifer saw his son, and knew at once that a new and dangerous responsibility had been added on to his already gargantuan burden. Realizing this, he allowed himself the chance to listen to the thoughts of the dark thing that lived within his body, repulsed by the depths of its evil.
Fragments of thought so assailed his every sense that he was almost driven back to the safety of his deep subconscious.
Heaven would fall . . . God driven from the light, into the clutches of darkness . . . a Ladder would be restored, giving a means to breach the pearly gates . . . and this would come from Aaron—the Metatron—who held within him the power of God.
The situation was even more dire than Lucifer could have imagined. His essence surged forward, shattering the black, crystalline barriers that held him at bay.
Regaining mastery over his own form.
* * *
Aaron fought to move, but his energy was practically nonexistent; his multiple injuries taking their toll. All he could do was watch the blade fall and pray for the strength to survive the assault.
As the knife approached his chest plate, it stopped. The strangest of expressions passed over the face of his enemy.
It was a look that could only be described as surprise.
Knowing that this might be his only chance, Aaron reacted, focusing every remaining ounce of strength that he had in reserve into one hand igniting a short sword in a rush of divine fire.
The look on Satan’s face was almost comical, wide eyes darting about as he struggled to bring the dagger down, but appeared incapable.
Aaron leaped up from where he lay, bringing the cracking sword around, plunging the blade into the Darkstar’s side.
There came the most horrible of screams, Satan’s ebony wings pounding the air furiously as he attempted to make his escape. Aaron jumped for his injured foe’s leg to keep him on the ground, but Satan evaded his grasp. Aaron fell to his knees and watched as the Darkstar’s huge, flapping wings carried him off to safety.
A shot echoed across the desert, and Satan Darkstar fell from the sky in an explosion of black feathers.
Aaron whirled around to see his mother, cradling a smoking weapon in her arms as she came closer. Vilma walked beside her, covered in a thick coating of dust, but never looking more beautiful. Gabriel trotted faithfully beside her, shaking the desert dirt from his coat. Levi and the Unforgiven soldiers, having survived the fall of the mammoth object that had crashed down from the sky, walked behind them.
They waved to him, and Gabriel barked raucously, but reunions would need to wait. There were still matters of evil to be contended with. Satan had not been vanquished.
Aaron flew to where the Darkstar lay.
Satan lay on his stomach, perfectly still. One of his wings was smoldering where it had been shot.
Aaron knelt beside his foe.
The power of God, though weakened, still raged within him, and it demanded retribution. He tried to calm it down, but it would not listen. It wanted to see its foe vanquished, destroyed, not caring that his father was not responsible for his actions.
Summoning a dagger of fire in case, he reached out to turn the villain over. He was surprised to find Satan’s eyes wide and focused.
There was something in his enemy’s gaze that touched Aaron’s soul.
“Dad?” Aaron whispered.
It was no longer Satan that was with him, but the Morningstar.
“I . . . I’m not sure how much longer . . . I can hold him at bay,” Lucifer struggled to say.
He reached out, grabbing hold of Aaron’s wrist, pulling the knife of fire toward his chest.
“Do it,” the Morningstar commanded.
Aaron was horrified by what his father was asking of him. He fought God’s power as it urged him to carry out his father’s command.
His father’s eyes slid away from his, growing wider as they fixed on something behind him.
Aaron turned to see his mother standing there, still holding her weapon at the ready. Vilma, Gabriel, and some of the Unforgiven soldiers stood by her.
“Taylor,” Lucifer whispered.
His mother stood rigid, but then her grip relaxed, the rifle falling to the ground.
“Sam?” she asked, her voice quivering.
Sam? Aaron wondered, but the question was swept aside as his mother ran to the Morningstar, throwing her arms around him in an unbridled display of emotion.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lucifer Morningstar had never believed he would hold her in his arms again.
He’d always considered losing Taylor part of his punishment—his penance for the crimes he’d committed against his Holy Father and Heaven. Never had he imagined—especially in a moment such as this—that he would be reunited with his love.
“You look awful,” she said to him as he stood up from where he lay.
“I haven’t been myself,” he told her, reaching to wipe away some of the tears that streamed down her filthy face.
He could not help himself. He brought his mouth to hers. His kiss was eagerly accepted, and it renewed his strength to battle the ancient force that possessed him.
But for how long?
Lucifer knew that his time was limited.
“The beasts of nightmare will be here momentarily,” the Morningstar said, pulling away from Taylor and turning his attention to his son.
From a distance, Lucifer saw the legions of monsters who still survived making their way across the desert, as if they were drawn to the lingering malevolence of their master.
Aaron knelt upon the ground, and Lucifer could see that he was struggling with the power that now possessed him.
“What did you do?” Lucifer asked him.
“What I could,” Aaron answered, lifting his pain-racked gaze. “I tried to assume the mantle of the Metatron, but I don’t think the power of God likes me.”
“That extreme power was not meant for you,” he said. “It’s fighting you . . . eating you alive from within.”
“There wasn’t any other way,” Aaron said. “I had to try and stop the Darkstar.”
With a mention of the Lord of Shadow’s moniker, Lucifer felt the creature trapped inside him resume its fight. He gasped, using the strength of his love for Taylor and Aaron to keep the monster restrained.
“What can we do?” Taylor asked, coming to stand beside him.
Lucifer smiled, aroused by her selflessness. “You can do what you’ve obviously been doing since I broke your heart,” he told her.
He could see that she was about to protest but stopped her with a glance. “I never believed that I would ever get the chance to say how sorry I am,” Lucifer told her. “Leaving you was one of the hardest things I have ever done.”
She placed the most tender of kisses upon his lips, and Lucifer thought that if he were to die right then, he would be satisfied.
But there were things that still needed to be done, monster forces to be lessened.
A sword of fire ignited in Vilma’s hand as she looked out over the desert. Gabriel had positioned himself at her side, wisps of divine fire leaping from the ends of his hackled coat.
“It won’t be long now,” she said, turning to look back to them.
Aaron managed to create a sword, despite his weakened condition.
Taylor picked up her weapon from where she’d dropped it.
“Once more into the breach,” she said, flicking a switch, causing it to hum loudly as it charged.
Lucifer was amazed by their bravery, proud that he had known them and fought alongside them.
But it was his time.
And his time alone.
The Morningstar strode past them, allowing his wings to emerge. The left wing was still a bit tender, but it had pretty much healed. It would suffice enough to carry him aloft.
“Where are you going?” Taylor asked.
Lucifer didn’t want to turn around, knowing how hard it would be to look away, but her voice compelled him.
“We’ll back you up,” Vilma said. Her wings appeared, and she held her blazing weapon eagerly by her side.
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not this time.”
“What are you going to do?” Aaron asked.
Lucifer looked to his son and felt nothing but pride.
“What needs to be done,” he said. Lucifer pointed to the approaching beasts. “Their numbers must be whittled down,” he said. “And I believe I have a way.”
His eyes moved past them to the giant crack in the desert. A pulsing orange glow emanated up from the fissure, followed by a thick, noxious cloud.
“Most are simple beasts,” Lucifer said, again turning away from them, “and are easily swayed to obey.”
“Sam,” Taylor tentatively called.
He hesitated, turning back one last time.
“I love you,” she told him.
“And I you,” he answered. Lucifer took to the sky, feeling stronger at that moment then he had in eons.
Strong enough to hold back the Devil, and the legions of Hell itself.
* * *
“I have to go with him,” Taylor said.
Vilma reached out to grab her arm, stopping her.
“We need you with us,” she said, shifting her eyes to Aaron, who looked worse than he had mere moments ago. “Aaron needs you too.”
Taylor gazed after Lucifer’s dwindling shape as new tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Okay,” she said, hefting her weapon and regaining control over her emotions. “What now?”
Vilma placed an arm around Aaron to keep him from falling. She saw the strain on his face and knew that God’s power was killing him.
And that was killing her.
“We have to protect that,” he said, slowly turning to point out the stone structure that had been revealed from deep beneath the desert sands. “If my father doesn’t make it . . . if the Darkstar regains control . . . we need to keep him from that.”
“Beth-El,” Levi whispered in reverence, his shaded gaze locked upon the temple. The fallen angel dropped to his knees on the sand. “We stand before the House of God.”
The other Unforgiven followed their leader, heads bowed in a deep-residing respect.
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