Battle Storm (The Battle Series Book 2)

by Mark Romang

  Rage seized Thorn. And he almost attacked Satan right there, but then he thought better of it and restrained himself. Instead he took a half step forward, lifted the Eden sword another inch. “I have only one question to ask you.”

  Satan stopped pacing and faced him. “You have only one question? I’m so disappointed.”

  Thorn nodded. “I was just wondering… were you also at the tomb when Jesus rose from the dead?” Thorn watched a scowl slide across Satan’s beautiful face. A hint of darkness appeared on his flawless countenance.

  “First off, Jesus was not the son of God, and he did not rise from the dead. That is a myth. He was only a man, a prophet. His disciples moved his body to a secret tomb to perpetuate the lie he had risen,” Satan said.

  Thorn shook his head. “It’s not a myth, it is historical fact. Jesus appeared to over five-hundred people after his death. He even ate with the disciples.”

  Satan started pacing again. He clasped his hands behind his wings as he stalked. “I can see that I have stirred up your wrath, Andrew. Ordinarily this would please me. Anger is perhaps the greatest tool I use to further my kingdom among the humans. But right now I need you to calm down. I need you to be able to think clearly. Your future depends upon it.”

  “I don’t want anything you have to give.”

  “You cannot defeat me, Andrew. The Eden sword has no power over me. You were once a pastor. You’ve studied the book of Revelation. You know what happens. Nowhere in the Bible does it talk about a common man defeating me.”

  “I know what you’re after, Satan. You want Spencer. You’ll take him over my dead body,” Thorn vowed.

  “You’re trusting God will provide you with a way out. But he won’t. He’ll allow you to be arrested. You’ll rot in prison the rest of your days. Sara will be arrested and jailed also. Spencer will become like an orphan. He’ll bounce around from foster home to foster home. Someone else will help shape his morals and teach him how to be a man. The outcome won’t be good.

  “But I can change all that. I can fix things for you, Andrew. Charges against you will be mysteriously dropped. You and Sara can live in the open. You won’t have to hide like animals. And Sara is young enough to have more children. You two can have a good long life together. All your dreams can still come true. It’s not too late. But you have to do as I ask.”

  Satan stopped his pacing once more. He looked intently at Thorn. His eyes softened and became sympathetic. Thorn found himself drawn toward Satan’s impossibly blue eyes. The eyes were mesmerizing, hypnotic in a way Thorn couldn’t understand. He felt at ease and comforted. And as he stared at the blue eyes he thought over what Satan said. He thought about how nice it would be to not have to hide, to live with his wife in the open and have a family and live like normal people, to never look over their shoulders again and wonder when they would be discovered. Maybe it could work out after all. Stop! He’s tricking you just as he tricked Adam and Eve.

  “This is my final offer, Andrew. Give me Spencer and I’ll make your problems go away. I give you my word.”

  Thorn lifted the Eden sword and waggled it. The blade erupted into flames. “Your word is good for nothing. So go to hell. It’s where you belong.”

  “Very well, you’ve made your choice. Now you must reap the consequences.”

  Chapter 43

  Thorn didn’t see the blow slam into him, but he felt something powerful collide into his chest in a punishing way. The jolt lifted Thorn off his feet and propelled him backwards. His arms flailed. He landed awkwardly onto his back, splashing down into the stream nearly twenty feet away. He sprawled in the stream, too stunned to move, his head under the water. He didn’t know if he was alive or dead or halfway in between. But then Coleton Webb’s parting words penetrated his daze. “Dig deep, buddy. Don’t ever give up. Never surrender.”

  Thorn gathered his resolve and sat up. Rivulets of icy water coursed down his face and beard. He sputtered and coughed and blinked the water from his eyes. He saw Satan standing on the spot where they talked. But somehow he looked bigger to Thorn. Or maybe the cave had shrunk. I must have hit my head. Nothing makes sense.

  Thorn looked behind him. The canoe still sat there. He could see Emily and Spencer and Webb watching him. Even in the dim light he could see their long faces. Emily and Spencer looked as distraught as funeral attendees, while Webb looked like he would bolt at any moment and come join the fray. Thorn waved them off, motioned them to leave. But they wouldn’t budge.

  Thorn looked down at his stinging chest. He scowled when he saw a softball-sized hole in both his fleece and shirt underneath. He could see pinkish skin. No blood, at least not yet.

  Thorn stood up and wiggled out from his rucksack. He tossed the bag onto the bank. He needed freedom of movement, as much as he could get.

  Thorn climbed up the bank on wobbly legs, grimacing with each step. His prosthetic needed adjustment. The device abraded his stump. Thorn tried his best to block out the pain, and instead focused his eyes on Satan, wary of another unseen blow.

  Thorn noticed the submersion in the cave stream didn’t seem to affect the Eden sword at all. It still burned with red hot intensity. He switched the sword to his left hand. His right hand—raw and burned—could no longer grip it properly. Dear Lord, I know it’s not my job to defeat him. I’m only a man. But if you could grant me just one wish, I would dearly love to knock Satan off his feet. Thorn couldn’t think of anything more rewarding or pleasurable than driving the sword deeply into Satan’s chest. A blow all mankind longed for, whether they knew it or not.

  Thorn limped slowly toward his opponent. He still couldn’t get over the surrealism of the moment. He felt as if he’d been transported into a Lord of the Rings movie set. But instead of battling orcs, Saruman or the Dark Lord, Sauron, he battled something far worse and sinister.

  When Thorn came to within fifteen feet of his opponent, Satan lifted his left hand. He cupped the hand and pointed his long fingers toward Thorn. Similar to a wizard holding out an outstretched staff, Thorn knew at that moment another invisible blow hurtled his way. But he could do nothing to defend against it. A millisecond later the blow punched into his chest in exactly the same spot as the first blow. He again flew backwards through the air. But this time he didn’t land in the stream. He thudded onto the rocky cave floor. Thorn heard bones in his back crackle and snap. His breath fled his lungs and he gasped for air like a dying fish stranded on land. He rolled over onto his stomach to aid his gasping lungs.

  Thorn looked over towards the canoe again. Emily was out of the inflatable and trying to make her way over. She called out to him hysterically. Webb fought to restrain her. Spencer sat motionless in the canoe, holding his trident, his eyes large and fixed on Thorn. Get up! Don’t let Spencer see you like this! Quitting is not an option. Thorn wanted something good to come out of this. If nothing else he wanted to demonstrate to Spencer how to stand up against evil, that no matter how many times the Evil One knocks you down in life, you keep getting up.

  Thorn pushed himself up to his knees. He attempted to stand. A sharp pain knifed his lower back. His spine didn’t feel right. His crash landing had obviously messed up vertebras or discs in his back.

  As he struggled to stand a vision entered his head. He saw the bearded man again, still seated and praying intensely. But this time Thorn noticed something different. He saw holes in the bearded man’s folded hands. And he realized Jesus was praying for him. Just knowing the King of all kings was praying for him sent newfound strength flooding into his limbs. Thorn made it to his feet. But no sooner did he stand up when another blow slammed into his chest with laser-like accuracy.

  Thorn didn’t remember flying through the air, didn’t remember crashing down in a heap. But it must’ve happened. He lay stunned on the cave floor, a tangle of arms and legs, head swimming dizzily. If he was in a prizefight his corner would be throwing in the towel, and the ref would be stepping in and waving off his opponent, stopping the fight. Neit
her option existed for Thorn. He operated on his own.

  Webb’s voice entered his head. “I want you to fight with everything you have to stay alive. I want you to live to a ripe old age, an old man who walks with a cane and has a face like a raisin, full of wrinkles.”

  Thorn felt the cave floor quake. He lifted his head and saw Satan approaching. The ground trembled seismically at the evil drawing near. Oh God, help me to stand. I’m so weak, Thorn pleaded.

  But his mounting injuries crippled his chances. His chest hurt badly, tender from Satan’s punishing blows. And not just his aching chest, Thorn’s head throbbed so much he couldn’t hear anything but his racing heart. As he fought to stand, his movements seemed stuck in slow-motion. Everything slowed down. I’m not going to make it up in time, he thought. Somehow he still hung onto the Eden sword—a miracle in itself. He pointed the flaming blade tip onto the ground and used the weapon to help him rise up. But his right leg wouldn’t cooperate. He realized then that his prosthetic had fallen off.

  Kneeling on his left knee, Thorn watched Satan approach. The banished archangel closed to within twenty yards. A purposeful look masked his beautiful face. Thorn looked up at the cave ceiling and estimated its height at fifteen feet. It might be just high enough, he thought.

  He tried to stand up one more time, but his body refused to comply. And with only one option left to him, Thorn raised the Eden sword up and over his head. Like a lumberjack throwing an axe at a tree, he flung the supernatural weapon towards his enemy.

  The sword left his hands and flipped end over end towards Satan, its holy flame hissing and popping, and glowing brighter with each inch traveled. Satan dodged to his right. The Eden sword tracked with him. Satan feinted to his left and then jerked back to his right. But like a heat-seeking missile locked onto a heat source, the Eden sword wasn’t fooled. It plunged into the gemstone-covered breastplate adorning Satan’s chest, stabbing deeply into his angel flesh and catching it aflame.

  Gemstones popped out Satan’s breastplate and showered the cave floor. Satan staggered backward. He flapped his wings to catch his balance but teetered over.

  Thorn’s throwing motion nearly took him down as well. He fell forward but caught his fall with his hands. Thorn leaned back onto his knees. He glanced behind him, thought about making his way back to the canoe. But then he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. He turned back around and saw his nemesis prowling toward him. Satan held the Eden sword—no longer flaming—in his right hand. And except for his ruined ephod and breastplate, looked no worse for wear.

  I’m screwed, Thorn thought as he watched Satan lift his left hand and deliver yet another invisible blow to his chest. The power and energy level generated by this blow dwarfed the previous three. Thorn screamed as he somersaulted backwards for a dozen feet before crashing into a large pointed boulder. His back inverted as it took the brunt of the impact. Thorn’s head snapped on his neck like it was made of rags.

  Stunned, Thorn barely noticed Satan kneel down beside him. Instinct told him to move. But he couldn’t get away. His damaged spinal cord wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t feel his legs. All he could feel was the stinging sensation ravaging his sternum. His heart boiled in his chest, churning madly. Thorn looked down at his chest. It was like something from a horror movie. The softball-sized hole had moved to his flesh. He looked into the cavity and saw bones. And not only bones but his fluttering heart.

  Satan caressed his head gently. “Some people call me the Father of Lies. But I told you the truth, Andrew, when I said the Eden sword holds no power over me.”

  Faster than an eye blink, Satan reached into the hole in Thorn’s chest. Thorn felt a brief, painful tug. And then Satan lifted out his heart and held it up. Blood dripped from the vital organ onto Thorn’s stomach and legs. Incredibly, his heart continued to beat in Satan’s hand.

  “You should have taken my offer, Andrew. In the end I won anyway. You’ve lost everything.”

  Staring at his heart in Satan’s hand, Thorn couldn’t believe he was still alive. It didn’t seem possible he could live without his heart. But he knew he had only mere seconds left. As soon as the oxygen-rich blood supply in his brain ran out he would expire. He turned his head toward the canoe and his family and Webb. They were all back in the canoe and paddling off.

  He wasn’t sad by their departure, or that they were giving up on him. Because he saw angels; hundreds of them surrounded the canoe, guarding Emily and Spencer and Webb. But the angels did more than just supply protection. Some swam alongside the canoe and propelled the watercraft swiftly downstream. The untainted light beaming off their robes chased away the darkness and lit their way. His wife and son and best friend were safe. Thorn knew there was no way Satan could penetrate the angel defenses.

  He watched them go, reluctant to turn away, knowing he would never see them again this side of heaven. But then a vision suddenly appeared in Thorn’s mind and redirected his thoughts. He watched Jesus unfold his nail-scarred hands and stand up from his seat on the throne. He looked down at Thorn and smiled. He held out a hand. But before Thorn reached up, he looked over at Satan. The beastly archangel no longer looked like an angel of light. His evil colors shone through the disguise, marring his beauty. His eyes were no longer blue sapphires. He now had elliptical eye pupils like a snake.

  Thorn struggled to find his voice. His tongue was thick and dry and nearly useless. He shaped the words with his mouth. “I didn’t lose. You did,” he said in a hoarse voice. And then he reached up and took Jesus’ hand, and allowed his spirit to leave his body.

  ****

  Thorn couldn’t believe how light he felt. In fact he’d never felt so fantastic. His spirit had transitioned from his body the instant he took his least breath, and did so seamlessly. Free of his beaten down flesh, Thorn felt strong and unstoppable…immortal. I can catch up with them and show them I’m okay. I can tell them death isn’t anything to fear. If they eat some manna they’ll be able to see me. He started to follow the canoe and the angel procession. But two angels peeled off and intercepted him. They calmly and gently held his arms.

  “You cannot follow them, Andrew. You’re no longer part of this world. You live in heaven now. We’re going to take you there,” the angel on his right said.

  Thorn hadn’t even thought of that. He was actually going to heaven. The thought of heaven thrilled him. “But I want to know that they’ll be okay, tell them goodbye one last time.”

  “Your loved ones are fine, Andrew. Michael and his army are here. Satan and Michael have battled many times. Satan has never defeated Michael, and he never will,” the angel assured him. “Now, we are in charge of transporting you to heaven. It’s time, Andrew, for you to receive your reward.”

  They keep calling me Andrew. And that’s who I really am. There’s no reason for me to keep the charade going any longer. I’m Andrew Maddix, not Adam Thorn. “Okay, I’m ready to meet Jesus. There’s so much I need to thank him for. He’s been helping me all along. I saw him praying for me.”

  The angel nodded. “Jesus prays nonstop for all his brothers and sisters.”

  Maddix smiled at the heartwarming thought. He looked at the angel, so exquisitely beautiful and powerful, and unlike Satan and his fallen angels, utterly holy without a trace of sin. “Take me to heaven. I’m ready to start living like God intended,” he said.

  Chapter 44

  It still hadn’t quite hit her yet—that she was a widow.

  Emily sat in the canoe and tried her best to comfort Spencer. They clung to each other tightly and grieved together, mother and child. Both sobbed unashamedly. Tears streaked down their faces and mixed together.

  Emily knew of a Yiddish proverb that says “What soap is for the body, tears are for the soul.” She always found the proverb beautiful, but now she understood it firsthand, and more profoundly than she wanted to. Tears help express feelings and are a gift from God, but Adam’s death didn’t feel like a gift at all to her, just a curse.
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  He’s gone. I don’t have a husband anymore. And Spencer doesn’t have a daddy. Behind her Webb sat stone-faced in the stern and paddled the canoe. She felt the canoe moving rapidly, but didn’t offer to help Webb. Spencer needed her more, and she needed him. Spencer was so much like his father. He was like a miniature Adam, and was all she had now to remind her of Adam. They left everything back at the house but their memories and their love when they fled to the cave.

  I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know what to do, she thought. Her husband dying wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Sara, do you have any manna with you? If you do, eat some,” Webb urged. “You have to see what I’m seeing.”

  “Mom, why did Mr. Webb call you Sara?” Spencer asked, pulling away from her.

  “Because Sara is the name I went by when I lived in America. Before I married your father my real name was Sara Kendall, and your dad’s real name was Andrew Maddix.”

  “You said there wouldn’t be any more secrets, Mom.”

  “That was the last secret, Spencer. I promise you that was the very last one. I know this has been a rotten day for you. It’s been a bad day for all of us. Someday soon I’ll explain everything to you. But not right now.”

  “Please eat some manna, Sara,” Webb urged more insistently this time. “I know you don’t like me much. And I know you don’t trust me. But you can trust me this time; you’ll like what you see.”

  Sara noticed Webb no longer paddled. He held his paddle across his lap, and yet the canoe still cruised along at a good clip. Intrigued, she grabbed her backpack and unzipped the pouch where she stowed the manna tin. It had been almost six years since she last ate manna. And she hadn’t missed it at all.

  For some reason the manna enabled them to see the spirit world. And the spirit world terrified her. Sara opened the tin. She caught Spencer’s eye. He looked at her expectantly, as did Webb. She closed her eyes and placed a manna piece in her mouth. She chewed the pleasant tasting wafer and swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t regret it.