The Wrath of Angels (Eternal Warriors Book 3)

by Vox Day

  Dozens of flaming spider-children were frantically dancing about in fruitless attempts to escape immolation. They fell away like midnight shadows running from an unexpected sun, and in the midst of them was Worm, only not as he had been before. As Robin stood there, gaping, he saw Worm open his mouth and send forth a furious jet of hellfire that swept over a pair of panicking spiders like an incendiary deluge. But it was not Worm’s flamethrowing that stunned him, even as he felt the burning heat on his face, but the dragon-heads that now sprang from the sides of Worm’s neck, both of which were actively seeking out targets and breathing fire on their own.

  “He’s no Nephilim,” Lahalissa breathed in his ear.

  “You don’t think he’s actually….”

  “Count the heads.”

  Robin laughed, though it came out a little more hysterically than he would have liked. He should have known. Worm had been playing with him, earlier, arriving in the form of the three-headed eagle. And then, of course, there was the matter of the sword and its ability to break the Mad One’s spell. A dragon’s tooth is a powerful thing, even more so when the dragon is an ancient Lord of Chaos.

  “Leviathan!” he shouted, brandishing the sword.

  The three-headed Chaos lord turned, and Robin saw that all six of his eyes were like rainbows. All six of them also appeared to be faintly amused.

  “I believe this belongs to you.” The fallen angel walked over and returned the sword to its owner with a grin and a genuflection. “You fooled us. We thought you were merely twice-fallen.”

  “Forgive me, Great Lord,” apologized Lahalissa, falling to her knees. “I did not know you.”

  Worm snorted. “Don’t trouble yourself, little demon girl. I did not intend you should.” He looked up towards the ceiling, where the light of the still-burning spider children could not penetrate. “Shall we see if we cannot perhaps free that erstwhile friend of yours?”

  A pair of red leathery wings sprouted from his back, and he winked at Robin as he launched himself into the air. “I’m afraid you didn’t actually teach me the art of transformation, but I did appreciate the effort,” he called down, even as both dragon-heads scanned the darkness.

  He banked suddenly to the right, as a gobbet of silk barely failed to ensnare his left wing. It was hard to see exactly what was going on in the darkness, at first, but three fiery bursts abruptly revealed the shadowy shape of the great spider, as it smashed into the smaller, semi-human form of Worm. Herne’s human face was shrieking wildly as his spidery legs wrapped around his foe and he buried his giant mandibles savagely into Worm’s human neck. Lahalissa gasped as a strangled cry issued forth from Worm himself, and Robin wondered if he should run for the door.

  Or, maybe you should take advantage of the distraction, fool! In the light of the burning spider-children, he could see something at the far end of the dark room that looked as if it might be a stairway. He was useless here, Leviathan couldn’t possibly need his help, so why wait? But he found that even with the end of his long journey before him, he could not take his eyes off the struggling monsters.

  For never before had he seen a Lord of Chaos battle with a Great One. And for all that the cherub was ensorcelled and insane, Herne appeared to be winning. The spider’s long, hairy legs held Worm’s wings pinned to his body so he could not escape, and two of them forced the twin dragon heads to point away, where their bursts of flame could not hurt the arachnid. And still the mandibles dug in ever deeper, injecting a poisonous green ichor into the throat of the struggling Worm.

  “We have to do something!” cried Lahalissa.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know?”

  Then a thought struck him. The spider hated fire, but Worm was no longer the only source. All around them were the corpses of the spider children, mostly reduced to glowing embers, but still a ready source of flame nevertheless.

  “Fire!” Robin shouted to his companion. “Throw it at that thing!”

  “What?”

  He demonstrated, hurling a chunk of glowing spider remnants at the massive creature. He missed, but he could see that the height was not out of reach. Lahalissa joined him, and though their first few throws were off-target, soon they found the range and it was not long before the creature’s noxious fur was ablaze in three places.

  Attacked from an unsuspected quarter, the spider panicked, and made the mistake of trying to beat the flames out with its legs, and momentarily freed Worm’s twin dragon heads. A moment was all he needed, and seconds later the abomination shrieked under the direct onslaught of the twin flamethrowers, one of which burned through the silken chord that held the creature aloft. Together, the two entwined combatants plunged to the floor like a giant meteor, exploding in a blinding burst of white-hot flames when they struck. The flames blazed higher, to twice Robin’s height, as they engulfed the due and obscured the vicious battle.

  Robin sat up on his elbows, shielding his face against the blazing heat, and looked over at Lahalissa. She was sprawled face-down where he had shoved her when he’d realized that the two great beings were about to fall directly on their heads.

  “Holy flaming Latrodectus!” he swore, wiping sweat from his brow. “Are you all right?”

  Lahalissa peered uncertainly over her shoulder, in a manner that he probably would have considered extremely seductive had that sort of thing not been completely incongruous right now.

  “I… think so.” She rolled over and sat up. “Yes, all the bits and pieces appear to be in the proper places. Oh, dear, I do hope Worm is not hurt.”

  “I don’t know if that’s even possible.”

  Indeed, as he spoke, something rose from the flames. It was not shaped in the image of either of the battling beasts; it was just a simple angelic form. It stumbled awkwardly towards them, naked and hairless. Robin leaped to his feet, expecting to see Worm. But it was not Worm, it was Herne, not the Hunter, perhaps, but truly himself once more, freed of the spider-curse.

  Behind him, Worm stepped out of the blazing fire, but in his human guise, and apparently unscathed. He smiled, and the rainbow-coloured eyes smoldered with self-satisfaction.

  “You freed him,” cried Lahalissa.

  “I haven’t enjoyed myself so much since I devoured that damnable Lord of the Sword,” Worm declared. “And yes, he is free, though I believe quite a bit the worse for wear. Better you take him with you—did you see the stairs over there? Considering that there appear to be a mass of angels headed this way in a hurry, I suggest you may wish to expedite things. I shall be taking leave of you here.”

  “Wait,” Robin clutched at his hand. “How can I thank… I am indebted to you.”

  Worm shook his head, and the light from the fire made his ivory teeth appear to be golden as he smiled. “Think nothing of it, little demon. As you said before, there is no debt between us. Go, and free your master. I care little for the petty wars of man and angel, but sometimes, even a Lord of Chaos may find pleasure in, how shall I say it… in exerting himself for a change.”

  “Farewell, Great Lord,” Lahalissa kissed him on the cheek.

  “Assuredly. Oh, and Robin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Speaking of the Sword, you may find it most helpful in seeking to destroy your enemies, mighty though they are. Two things they cannot abide, the power of Heaven’s King, and the power of my kin.”

  The ground began to glow beneath Worm’s feet, and he began to sink into the floor of the cavern, not passing through the rock but simply melting his way through it.

  “Let them follow this way, if they dare!” The Lord of Chaos laughed and waved at them as he sank beneath the rocky surface.

  Robin waved back, then looked at Lahalissa. Her eyes were grim with the realization that they did not have much time.

  “Go,” she told him. “Herne and I will try to delay them a little, if need be. But hurry!”

  He nodded and ran for the stairs, sincerely hoping that his lord and master was in better sh
ape than poor Herne whose golden eyes were still lost in confusion, if not madness.

  Chapter 5

  Taking Everything Away

  Another nightmare about to come true

  will manifest tomorrow.

  Another love that I’ve taken from you

  lost in time, on the edge of suffering

  —Disturbed, (“Prayer”)

  He screamed. Not for the first time. Nor, most likely, for the last. Years passed. Decades, then centuries. It was time enough to shatter the senses of a god. But he was not mad so much as he was nothing; he was formless and void. Was it ten days since he had been bound in chains of living silver fire and sealed to these stones with the unholiest of magicks, or ten millennia? Only one thing was constant, but it could not help him mark the time.

  Pain, in the moment, is always eternal.

  His arms and legs were awkwardly splayed, stretched out to their full length, and with his head they formed a living pentagram pointing ominously at the molten core of the shadow world. The silver fire snaked hungrily about his wrists and ankles, always gnawing, always burning, but never devouring.

  More time passed, perhaps a minute, perhaps a decade. Then he noticed something strange. There was an absence, something was missing. His ever-present companion was gone. What was it? Somewhere within the deep red haze in which his awareness furtively swam, a thought gradually began to take form.

  Then he realized the truth. He could feel nothing. His pain was gone, and the numbness was like paradise, a faint touch of ice on the lips of one engulfed in the auto de fe. For a blissful moment, he almost relaxed, but the knowledge that his old friend, his only friend, was out there somewhere, waiting, filled him with such panic that the crimson sea swelled over him again, and he faded away….

  “I say, do you think you’ve had enough, then?”

  The bound one blinked as his shroud of darkness was abruptly violated by a lurid flare of emerald light. A shape stood before him, no, it was a being, standing upside down on the ceiling. Or was it the floor? He could feel the tattered remnants of his mind attempting to find order in the madness, as a panoply of bewildering shapes and sounds assaulted his time-deadened senses. He felt confusion and weariness, and suddenly, unexpectedly, a searing sense of fury.

  And with the rage came a semblance of memory. Not everything returned to him, very little, in fact, for his mind was badly abused. But he came alive to the knowledge of what he had once been, and he realized that he would do anything, anything at all, if he could only somehow purchase his release from this unending ordeal.

  “Please,” he begged. It was so difficult to form words. “Release.”

  “You are in a bad way, aren’t you? O my lord king, how are the mighty fallen!”

  The words were strange to his ears, but even in his barely-lucid state, he could hear the grief in the other’s voice. The visitor, no, rescuer, gestured and the hissing chains were blessedly stilled. Their magic disappeared and they became nothing more than dead metal, mere ornamentation for his neck, wrists and ankles. Somehow, he found the wherewithal to strain against them, but they did not move.

  “You’re even worse off than I thought. Have you no strength left to you at all?”

  “I exist,” he whispered. “I persist.”

  His rescuer smiled enigmatically as he drew a fingernail down his wrist. Green flames flickered enticingly from the shallow wound.

  “Pray, take no insult in this,” the visitor told him, before pressing the wounded wrist to his lips. He felt the sweet taste of raw power, and then the fire was flooding through him, setting everything from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers ablaze with vigor. He absorbed the power, embraced it and let it engulf him, as he sought more, ever more.

  “Stop, that’s enough! Enough, desist!”

  A hand struck his face, and the shock of the blow woke him fully. He released the other, more abruptly than expected, and almost laughed with joy as he saw his rescuer stumble backwards and nearly fall. He was still not entirely sure who he was, or what, but the important thing was that the pain was gone, completely! He felt like a new creation born from flux and chaos as the borrowed angelfire coursed through him and its supernatural essence restored him to life.

  With the slightest of twitches, he rid himself of his restraints and the dead silver flew across the cavern where it was buried deep within the walls. For a moment, he hung suspended without support, upside down, in the air. Slowly, deliberately, he rotated his body until he was fully upright; only then did he bring his legs together and allow his feet to touch the ground. Standing erect for the first time in ten centuries, he folded his arms across his chest, and regarded his rescuer in silence. Recognition dawned first, and then anger. He waited, but when his visitor remained mute, he spoke in a voice cold with age-old anger.

  Revenge delayed is nevertheless sweet.

  Had I drained thee it would be meet.

  How darest thou come to me, hobgoblin?

  Thinkest thou the years my rage would soften,

  And void the memory of treachery

  Which never the like this world did see?

  “You don’t understand,” replied the other, who continued to regard him warily but seemed otherwise unfazed by the bitterness of his accusation.

  I took no part in your great fall,

  And treachery was by you fanned

  When jealousy cast fatal pall

  Upon the Queen, and you cast out

  That staunch support of love’s redoubt.

  And furthermore, o king archaic,

  We speak now in modes prosaic…

  "Which is to say, shut up and listen to me for once, you stubborn old fool!"

  But the Faery King’s fury was too great by far to listen to the admonishments of another, even a rescuer who protested his innocence.

  Cur! Surely thou shalt see oblivion

  Before forgiveness from King Oberon!

  Betrayed, forsaken and dethroned uncrowned

  The Faery King of Albion renowned.

  Speak in thy defense, but know

  Thou art of mine no good fellow.

  False friend! The villain’s hand unseen—

  "Not me, old fool, it was thy Queen!"

  Oberon staggered backwards as if his rescuer, and possibly betrayer, had struck him a blow. His back smashed into the rough stones to which he’d so recently been chained, but that momentary pain was as nothing compared to the cruelty of the words which now flayed his heart. In centuries of pondering upon his fate, never once had the thought that his betrayer could have been his true love even entered his mind. His eyes saw nothing, he heard nothing, there was only red, red rage.

  Robin saw Oberon fall to his knees, in apparent grief and pain, and repented his harsh words.

  Sorrow is mine, I dare say

  Nor would I ever you betray.

  None knew my nature more than you

  As I am wicked, I speak true

  Naught am I, naught shall I be

  Except that ever I served thee.

  But too late, he realized that the king was not grief-stricken, but enraged, and his protestations were useless in the face of the Faery King’s suddenly murderous fury. Oberon rose to his feet with an expression harder than iron, as angry red flames flickered from his rage-filled eyes. He stepped forward and grabbed the traitor’s throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air. Choked gasps for mercy were met only with a tightened grasp and disdainful words.

  Well-served am I, by mendacious fae

  Accursed of Man and the Throne of Dei.

  I reject and rebuke thy lying word

  Such claims were better had I never heard

  Thee speak. Nay, rather the fiery embrace

  Of my chains than to know that her sweet face

  Is but masquerade, serpentine façade,

  A traitorous beauty and a deceitful fraud!

  Oberon waved his free hand, and the dead silver began to glow ominously from wher
e it was embedded in the far wall. The stones around it began to liquefy and melt, giving off a hot, golden light that was deceptively beautiful in the unearthly emerald light. As the molten rock ran down the cavern wall, Oberon summoned his erstwhile chains from the stone with the force of his will and caused them to circle in the face of his frightened rescuer. They swam through the air like silver sea snakes, graceful and deadly, awaiting only a command to pierce, penetrate and imprison.

  It was at that moment that Robin realized he had forgotten Gloriana’s vial. It had been a mistake to restore Oberon to even a modicum of his great power without the corresponding knowledge of the centuries that had passed. With a savage effort, he twisted himself free of Oberon and dropped to one knee before his angered liege. Quickly, he produced it and held it up to the king even as he bowed his head.

  O king, if you will not heed me,

  Heed Gloriana Queen, for she

  Has prepared for thee this potion magic

  To explain the centuries tragic.

  For in the time since you were gone

  Eight hundred years have seen the dawn

  And passed away again as fast.

  Drink this, O king, and see the past.

  Oberon was at first inclined to refuse the proffered vial, suspecting a trap, but the desire to know sparked an undeniable hunger deep within him and overwhelmed his anger. Eight hundred years! It was impossible! So much could happen over so great a span of time. Then, too, how could he be sure of the truth of his betrayal without the knowledge offered to him by Gloriana. Doubt assailed him. It was a queenly gift, to be sure, but did it come at a price? As little as he remembered, he could not help but remember her. Surely no one could forget her! A hawk among the pigeons, she had been. Did he dare drink? And yet, how could he refuse? For pride’s sake, he resisted a moment longer, and then, with mounting desire, he took the vial from his onetime servant’s hand.