by J F Cain
The head of the Exorcists bowed and left to do as he was commanded.
Abaddon was sitting in an armchair with his left ankle resting on his right knee and his index finger pressed against his temple. He was thinking that this was the worst Christmas of his life. Instead of spending the day cuddled up with his partner in front of the living room fireplace, beside a decorated tree, he was sitting alone in a cold hotel room, watching the preparations of those who wanted to kill her.
When he sensed the otherworldly vibrations produced by the materializing Exorcist, he let his hand drop onto the chair arm and assumed a neutral expression that hid his sadness.
Kadu materialized in front of him and made his usual bow.
“They are attacking tonight,” he said tersely.
Abaddon nodded, as if hearing something he already knew.
“I will be there,” he replied in the same tone.
In Elether, Gabriel saw Kadu vanish from Abaddon’s room. As the Archangel searched for Lyla on Earth, his ethereal screen rippled and changed to an image of the Appalachian Mountains. The Succubus was spying on the activity in the fortress from the mountainside. Beside her, a concentration of ethereal energy appeared and quickly condensed into Abriel’s form.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes also on the fortress.
“More than ever,” Lyla replied coldly with a single glance his way.
“I suppose there would no point in trying to convince you not to do it.”
“No one can stop me now. I’m going to reshuffle the balance of power in the dimensions,” she boasted.
“Do you think that Lucifer will allow it?” Abriel asked, a trace of mockery in his voice.
“And how will he find out? He has no dealings with the Cursed. He always underestimated them, as well as everyone else,” Lyla remarked bitterly.
Abriel didn’t go to the trouble of pointing out all those things she should have considered herself about Lucifer. He knew he would be wasting his breath.
“And the Source? Do you think It also doesn’t know what you’re all preparing to do?”
Lyla shrugged indifferently.
“There’s nothing It can do. Its Angels can’t get inside there.”
“But they can prevent anyone from entering,” Abriel retorted.
Lyla shot him an angry glance that conveyed how much his doubts were getting on her nerves.
“Believe me, Abaddon will be fighting on his own tonight,” she said, her voice harsh.
Abriel regarded her pityingly.
“Where there’s conceit in abundance, there’s no room for truth,” he remarked and left her, disappointed by her inability to see the glaring truth.
The Archivist entered the Eternal Source’s sanctuary and, with a steady stride indicative of his disciplined nature, he crossed the vast plane. When he reached the slowly spiraling golden circles, he knelt and bowed his head before the Supreme Authority of the worlds with the same awe he always felt.
“All the Earth’s Cursed have gathered outside the Exorcists’ fortress,” he said without lifting his head.
“Keep the Archangels here,” the Source’s strange voice was heard saying from within the circles.
“And who will protect her?” the Archivist asked.
“My firstborn Angel,” the Creator of the worlds replied.
The Archivist’s head shot up in astonishment. He wondered what the Source was trying to achieve by involving Lucifer in something that was clearly the Celestials’ obligation—and although he didn’t say anything out loud, he knew It had heard his thought. But It gave no answer.
“As you wish,” he said somewhat numbly.
He got up and, after bowing, left the sanctuary, clearly troubled by Its decision. When he reached his desk, he dropped into the armchair and, while staring into space, tried to figure out the likely consequences of this decision. Then, feeling uneasy about what was happening on Earth, he conjured his ethereal screen and sought out Aranes.
She was in her room in the Exorcist fortress. She was looking out the window at the bailey down below, a shadow of sorrow in her eyes.
She was thinking that all the Guardians gathered in the bailey might not live to see the dawn. And even though—as someone who knew the laws governing the cosmos—she always approached such situations judiciously, right now she was upset that these precious servants of humanity would be sacrificed. Even if she knew that their sacrifice was necessary for humanity itself.
“Is everyone ready?” she asked Eiael.
The Guardian leader had been standing silently in front of the fireplace and staring absentmindedly at the bright flames. Her anxiety about the battle’s outcome was like a burning vise around her heart.
“Yes,” she responded and lifted her gaze to the Superior. “If you do not possess self-sacrifice, you cannot be a part of our orders.”
Aranes turned to look at her.
“There is no death; only a change of form,” she said, as if trying to console herself with the reminder of the universal law of the cosmos. “The end of a life means the beginning of another, sometimes on a different level of existence. In your case, physical death brings you one step closer to fulfilling your fate.”
“It is comforting to know that even if we fall tonight, we will continue to serve the same purpose,” Eiael replied stoically.
Aranes’ contemplative expression showed that she was recalling battles from old eras weighted with eternity.
“That is what the warriors of Light are pledged to do. Maintain the balance in any form of existence and at any cost.”
Eiael nodded and went to the chair where she had left her cape.
“There’s a battle to be fought. I need to speak with my warriors,” she said in a determined tone of voice.
“Yes, go to them,” Aranes agreed. “You must definitely speak to them. Your attitude has always been a source of inspiration and strength for them.”
Eiael grabbed her cape, bowed, and left the room. Aranes turned to the window once again. This time her gaze traveled over the dark forest. She couldn’t see her persecutors, but she knew that beneath the trees’ thick foliage, they had drawn up, ready for battle.
“This is going to be a very difficult night for all of us,” she muttered prophetically. She sighed heavily, as if there was a heavy weight on her chest that wouldn’t let her breathe freely. The thought that the time she had feared was drawing near filled her with untold pain. The emotions she had been suppressing for a while rushed to the surface. She felt herself losing her strength, that enormous personal strength that kept her inner self untouched by any outside influence. Wanting to hide her state of mind from indiscreet eyes, she moved away from the window and went to sit down on the bed. She closed her eyes to hold in the tears that welled up, but they stubbornly slid through her lids and down her cheeks. “Please, help him bear it,” she whispered her plea to the Source.
However, she knew that she couldn’t protect Abaddon from the cruel fate that lay ahead of him. She buried her face in her palms and, losing the last vestiges of her celestial nature, she wept like an ordinary woman who was hurting for the man she loved.
With her white cape billowing around her legs, Eiael crossed the large hall and, before exiting through the keep’s entrance, she wiped the worry off her face and replaced it with an imperious expression.
Fares, who had been waiting at the top of the stairs, stepped aside as he saw his leader come out.
“Attention!” he commanded the Guardians.
Eiael stopped and for a moment let her gaze sweep over the warriors who were lined up in the bailey. A tragic figure who had to announce the death of everyone she loved, and with them everything she had created in her long life.
“Guardians of the Earth,” she began to say in a loud, commanding voice. “It all ends here. This is the defining moment when we will prove our faith and devotion to the Eternal Source. Our whole lives have been a preparation, a test, and those who have passe
d are here today, ready to sacrifice themselves for the Superior and her child. We shall not let the treacherous capture what is most sacred to us! We shall fight! We shall kill and we shall die! But we will teach them one thing. That they will not achieve their purpose until the very last Guardian has taken his or her last breath,” she ended, her voice vibrating with passionate certainty.
The swish of three thousand swords being whipped out of their scabbards filled the bailey. The warriors of Light raised their weapons.
“For the Superior!” they thundered as one.
A shudder of powerful emotion rippled through their air at that moment when the Guardians sealed their fate. Their lips burned with the taste of immortality. Soon they would pass into eternity and the gates of Elether would open wide to welcome them. That prospect filled them with joy and strength.
Eiael looked toward the hill where the Cursed elders stood and her gray eyes glinted fiercely. She was the most powerful Guardian and so would be the Superior’s personal shield. It was her that anyone who managed to reach the incarnated Celestial’s room would have to face. And it wouldn’t be an easy feat.
Abaddon appeared outside the Exorcists’ fortress, a few feet in front of the energy dome. With his armor and aura radiating light, he stood and scanned the area.
Damn, there are a lot of them! he thought, clenching his fists. He wondered if he would be able to drive back so many thousands of supernatural beings just with the help of the Guardians and a few Exorcists. The answer wasn’t at all encouraging. Could the Celestials see in how much danger Aranes was right now? When Lucifer had abducted her, they had helped him get her back from Eregkal. Would they also help him now? But if they did intend to help him, why hadn’t they already appeared? Perhaps, if he asked for help, they would hear his appeal. He didn’t care about appearing weak to anyone; he cared about keeping Aranes safe.
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw the first line of Cursed start to advance through the forest. They were approaching the plateau slowly, as if assessing the reactions of their adversaries, both present and absent. Elether’s radiant energy shot out of Abaddon’s eyes and his face grew fierce. He conjured his swords and prepared to fight. Unfortunately, the Celestials hadn’t appeared. So he decided to ask for help from the only Celestial he saw as a true brother.
“Gabriel!” he shouted with a voice like thunder.
The tension in his voice shook the icy air and an uneasy, expectant silence fell over the rows of Cursed. They stood still in their positions, waiting to see what would happen. The Celestials seemed to have abandoned the Superior and the Dark Angel, but who could be sure that in this dire moment, his appeal for help wouldn’t be heard?
Lyla was sure. With the snow-capped Appalachian peaks as a backdrop, she stood on the bare plateau of a hill and regarded Abaddon with a sarcastic smile. Beside her, Lucard, Galen, and other Cursed elders hid their thoughts behind their cold, expressionless faces.
The five Archangels hurried into the Archives. Behind them followed Cassiel and Cerviel, who had also been watching the developments on Earth. Gabriel was already there and was speaking with the Archivist and Michael.
“Abaddon needs our help. Aren’t we going to do anything?” he asked, his voice betraying his worry.
“No, we are not,” the Source’s representative replied.
As she approached, Anael heard his refusal. She stopped at Gabriel’s side and looked at Elether’s commander in chief.
“Michael, please …” she said almost pleading for him to help.
Michael shifted his gaze away so that she wouldn’t see his displeasure at the Source’s decision, but said nothing. He would be the last to ever go against the Source’s will.
“This is unacceptable!” Uriel intervened. “We cannot just sit here doing nothing and leave the Superior prey to treacherous beings that want to tear her to pieces.”
“Whoever descends to the physical plane will be considered fallen,” the Archivist warned.
Elether’s generals stared at him dumbfounded.
Gabriel was the first to recover from the shock and moved toward the Source’s sanctuary.
“I want to speak to It,” he declared as soon as he reached the golden gateway.
“You cannot enter without Its permission,” the Archivist replied sternly.
Gabriel was looking at the bright gateway in front of him with a bewildered expression. His Creator’s unprecedented refusal to see him was very strange. He wondered if Its stance was due to his personal trial or if this was Its way of telling him that his part of the mission was over and he shouldn’t become further involved. However, no matter the answer, he had already made his decision.
His face not revealing any emotion, he returned to the group.
“When I deem it necessary, I will intervene. I will not abandon Abaddon,” he clarified his intentions to the Archivist and, without bowing, he swiveled on his heel and headed for the exit.
His behavior astonished Michael and made Cassiel and Cerviel feel ill-at-ease. The Source’s representative stood there expressionless as the other four Archangels followed Gabriel. As soon as the Archives’ huge door has closed behind them, all the gazes zeroed in on him. But it was Anael who spoke.
“Follow me,” she said urgently.
The Archangels appeared at the Superior’s headquarters and stood in a circle, facing each other.
“Do you think there is a chance our involvement may make Abaddon’s mission more difficult? That there may be a secret understanding between him and the Source?” Anael asked Gabriel.
Gabriel had already conjured his screen in the middle of the circle and was looking at Abaddon, who had bent his head in disappointment. He has been asking himself the same question with a small pinch of anxiety each time he tried to explain what was happening. It had often crossed his mind that unlikely as it may be, Abaddon himself might have asked for this test. But he was too clever and rational to do something so stupid. Or wasn’t he? Had despair vanquished his reason? Had the powerful spirit that not even Lucifer had been able to break been broken by an unrealized love?
“After everything that has happened recently, I wouldn’t rule anything out,” Gabriel replied.
“What do you propose we do?” Sachiel asked.
“We will wait till the moment of attack. If the Source doesn’t help him protect the Superior, we will intervene at once,” Gabriel answered without hesitation.
The Archangels’ attention was drawn by Lucifer’s cloud, which appeared behind Abaddon. Out of the dark energy emerged the Lord of Darkness and Asmodeus. Enveloped in their symbiotic armor, they moved to stand on either side of Abaddon, who was regarding them with bewildered displeasure. Asmodeus returned his gaze with an ironic arch of his brow, but Lucifer didn’t spare him a glance. He just conjured his sword and with his red eyes emitting the fires of Eregkal, he made it clear to one and all that he was there to fight. One after the other, all the Archdemons followed him. Last to emerge from the cloud were Abriel and ten of his best warriors, who took their places beside the Archdemons. The infernal realm’s most powerful warriors had formed the first line of defense outside the fortress and were waiting for the Cursed to attack, weapons in hand.
“It seems he has found the help he needs,” Uriel remarked unhappily.
Raphael seemed just as bothered.
“Yes, but he didn’t get it from the Source.”
“Didn’t he?” Gabriel wondered aloud with a troubled look that betrayed his mind was assessing improbable scenarios.
Everyone’s gazes settled on him questioningly. Some wondered what the Source’s real connection to the Lord of Darkness was and others why It was overturning the established order, and especially in such a paradoxical way.
“Whatever the case, we cannot intervene any longer. We cannot fight side by side with the Demons,” Gabriel continued. “Besides, Abaddon got the help he needed,” he added sadly.
Abaddon had turned his gaze to the fo
rest. The Cursed seemed just as displeased by the Demons’ unexpected appearance. He would have preferred his appeal to be answered by the Celestials, but he didn’t have the luxury to reject the help the Dark Lord was offering.
“Not exactly what you were expecting, but at least I answer when you ask for help,” Lucifer observed as if he had read his thoughts.
“Right now I’ll take any help I can get,” Abaddon replied coldly.
Lucifer hid a smile of satisfaction. He had correctly predicted the Source’s stance and his plan was evolving precisely as he wanted. The number of Demons he had brought to fight had been carefully calculated. With them and the help of the earthly warriors behind him, he could control the number of Cursed who entered the fortress. Because they definitely had to enter.
Up on the rise, the Cursed were exchanging enraged glances full of meaning, as Vincent stared crossly at the plateau behind his master.
Lyla’s expression showed that she hadn’t expected that move from the Dark Lord.
He’s still protecting her! she thought, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Lucard glared at her, his gaze dripping with venom.
“It seems like you forgot to mention Lucifer would be here.”
His scathing tone made Lyla snap back and her face hardened abruptly.
“It doesn’t matter. With or without Lucifer, we will get her soul tonight,” she replied obstinately.
“At what cost?” Galen asked aloud.
Some werewolf elders looked at him questioningly, but only his comrades understood what he meant.
Darkness had fallen on the mountain range, and the moon, sliding among the somber clouds, rose up into the sky, a cold round beacon that illuminated that night of destiny. The wind had begun to blow, its icy breath causing little snowflakes to swirl in the air.
Inside the fortress silence reigned, the expectant quiet before battle. The Exorcists were in position on the walls. Half-hidden behind the battlements, they monitored the movements of the dark army hiding in the forest. The Guardians were arrayed in the bailey. The torches’ flames glimmered on the silver armor with the engraved mystical symbols that they wore over their white clothing. The warriors of Light stood motionless, with their one hand resting on the hilt of the holstered sword at their waists, uncaring about the cold that was freezing their fingers and their breaths. Their faces betrayed not a hint of fear, even though the illusion of divine help had faded and they knew they would soon be facing death. Three thousand brave men and women who proved that the soul’s grandeur is the ultimate bastion of dignity and freedom.
