At The Gates ds-3

by Tim Marquitz

  A smidgen of confidence emerging at their continued immobility, I looked over their heads to the other side of the room. Well over two football fields in length, I couldn’t see anything clearly in the gloom, but I spotted an arched doorway at the far end, of course. A narrow path between the fiends led straight toward it.

  No idea what lay beyond the arch, I tried to picture the layout of Lucifer’s chambers in the hopes of gaining some perspective. It wasn’t happening. The chamber was obviously built underneath, but I’d never heard so much as a whisper about it. Even with all the secrets Lucifer had shared with me, I’d never known about this place.

  That meant two things: I wasn’t meant to know or they were built after Lucifer took off for parts unknown. It was likely the former, if recent revelations were any indication.

  Either way, it meant that whatever was down here was here for a reason. Like a kid admonished not to peek, I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to find out what was so important it had to be guarded by an army of dread fiends.

  Have I mentioned I’m a tad bit on the impulsive side?

  I put my gun away and covered it up with my shirt. Not sure what the trigger might be for setting the fiends off, I didn’t want to risk looking like I was there for a fight. Besides, if the horde woke up on the wrong side of the cave, it wouldn’t matter if I had a million guns. There just wasn’t a win buried anywhere in that massacre. It wouldn’t be but a couple of seconds before I ended up as a chunky, red coat of paint on the walls.

  A quick tap to my head cleared that thought away before it could dissuade me. I drew in a deep breath and took one step into the chamber. Nothing happened. I took another and still nothing. By about the tenth step, my ass threatening to turtle, I had passed the point of no return. If they sprung awake then, I was dead.

  My pretend optimism fueling my advance, I sped my pace and moved as nonchalantly as I possibly could while running my ass off. The orange shimmer of their eyes stayed on me as I passed, but they never turned their heads or moved to intercept me.

  About ten yards from the archway, I nearly barreled into a wall of fiends that blocked the way. My attention on the ones behind me, I hadn’t noticed the ones in front. Breathing like a locomotive, I felt panic start to well up, but it subsided just as quickly when the fiends didn’t so much as blink.

  The path cluttered, I peered over them to find a new way to the arch. There wasn’t one. Wedged tight against each other, the fiends formed a solid barrier. I thought about backing up and diving over them, but I highly doubted I’d make it. Ten yards is a long way. Ask any football team.

  Flying crossed my mind, but that was a pipe dream. It went up in smoke the second it popped into my head. Images of me crash landing in their midst sprung up unbidden. Even if I managed to figure out how to fly, I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t take offense to the use of magic. So, limited in options, there was only one more thing I could try.

  Tentative, I reached my hand out and touched one of the fiends with the tip of my finger. The ooze felt warm as I yanked my finger back to keep it from being bitten off. The fiend just stood there.

  A little braver, I did it again, this time laying my palm on its arm. Once more it did nothing. Its lack of response was encouraging. Thinking I could make it, I gave it a try.

  My courage tucked between my legs, I squeezed between the closest two fiends, their stench making my eyes water. Neither moved, but their bodies were so rigid they didn’t even sway as I pressed against them. The greasy pus slathered across their bodies made it easier to slide past, though I felt like I was crawling out of an infected boil.

  In the second rank, I slipped between two more and found myself surrounded in the third. Packed even tighter, there wasn’t any room for me to get by. Since it didn’t make any sense to go backward, it would have to be forward.

  Careful not to bump the fiends, I gently leaned my shoulder against theirs and exerted some pressure. It was as though I were pushing against a brick wall. I’d managed to slide through a couple of inches, but they weren’t budging. As I got to my chest, it was like squeezing a watermelon through a dog’s ass; it just wasn’t happening.

  Determined to get through, I put my weight into the move and I slid a few more inches but was unable to go further. While not quite the immovable object, they were as close as I would ever see. Worried I might wake them if I pushed any harder, I tried to back out only to find I was stuck.

  Wedged between their arms, I had one elbow grinding into my spine while the other pressed into my stomach, the fiend’s hand grazing my crotch. Even as easy as I am, it didn’t feel good.

  Unable to go either way without a jolt, I got up on my toes and tried to save some space that way. It didn’t quite work out as planned. Only able to lift up a little, I was still stuck, only less comfortably.

  The stifling air was filled with the stink of dread fiend, every breath was torture. I could taste the decay. My stomach grumbled, compressed as it was between pointy elbows. To make things worse, an oozing pustule broke open on the shoulder of the fiend before me.

  Yellow-green goop boiled out of it and ran like a putrid caterpillar down the fiend’s arm and onto my chest. It soaked through my shirt, its pulsing warmth lapping at my skin. Spurred on by the biochemical assault upon my sensibilities, I tried one last time to slip past, but I remained stuck. I pushed harder and then harder still, squirming to be free. They didn’t budge.

  “Move damn it!” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even realized I said them.

  To my horror, they did. The pressure suddenly relieved, I fell on my ass as the fiends stepped away, the room filled with a horrific symphony of snarls and rumbling growls.

  On the ground, surrounded by dread fiends, I did what any self-respecting hero would do in my situation. I curled up into a ball and pleaded for my life.

  To my utter and complete surprise, it worked.

  After a few moments of me sitting there with nothing being gnawed off, I suddenly realized the room had gone quiet again. I dared a peek past my forearms to see the fiends were still there, but they’d gone rigid once more.

  I uncovered my face completely and glanced around the room to find they’d stepped to the side, pressing into an even tighter group than before. Amazingly, the path to the arch was clear.

  A tentative sigh of relief slipping out, I got up and willed my feet forward before they changed their minds. The last few yards flew by and I reached the doorway, casting furtive glances inside to make sure I wasn’t walking into an even worse situation.

  The room beyond free of dread fiends, I went inside in a hurry. As I crossed the threshold, magical flares along the walls flickered alive, filling the room with gentle light. A closet in comparison to the fiend room, the walls of the chamber were carved at odd angles, sharp corners jutting into the room. It took me a second as I moved around, but I realized it had been cut in the shape of a pentagram.

  On the furthest wall was another tunnel that had been recently dug judging by the rough edges. Broken rock and gray dust sat at the mouth, piled several feet thick. I ducked around the opposite side to keep the tunnel in sight as I surveyed the rest of the chamber.

  In the center of the room, upon a raised dais of blackened marble, stood a trophy case, kind of like the ones used to showcase sports uniforms. Its muted gold frame was intact, but the glass that made up the front wall was shattered. Pieces lay on the ground before it, glistening in the light.

  On its remaining walls were elaborate, mystical symbols etched into the glass. The writing flowed along the breadth of the glass and seemed to segue seamlessly from one to another, its sequence lost only at the shattered pane. Though I couldn’t read a word of it, it was written beautifully.

  That meant bad.

  In general, magic is ugly. Based in a primal brutality, it comes to life in fire and fury through sheer force of will. It’s the battering ram and the bullet.

  Now when you get into symbols and scripts, it
means the mystical energy has been harnessed to a specific use, which is most often defensive or meant to counter offensive magic. Crude symbolism limits its potential, the essence of magic born of imagination and creativity. Like art, the more beautiful, the more transcendent, the more effective it is; the more versatile.

  The artistic script on the case told me it was meant to hold or protect something powerful. The broken glass outside of the case meant whatever was inside had let itself out.

  That’s real bad.

  A spider-like shiver ran down my spine. Coming down here, I had a pretty good idea who might have whacked Asmoday, but now I wasn’t so sure. If whatever was in the case was sentient, then that only added to the suspects and muddied the water.

  Honestly, I didn’t really care who killed him. As a matter of fact, that person did me a favor as it cleared my debt to Asmoday without me having to welch. That point aside, the empty case was just another problem I had no idea how to fix.

  Feeling a bit exposed with the dread fiends at my back, I made my way to the tunnel. A quick peek told me it curved upward. Once more attempting to picture the rooms above, I thought I could guess where it would come out at.

  No sounds echoing through the tunnel, I pulled my gun out and headed in. The slope wasn’t too steep, but it still rose quickly. After just a few minutes, I’d reached the other end and let my senses loose for long range recon. They didn’t pick anything up. It seemed I was alone.

  Out of the hole, I popped up into what could be considered the foyer of Lucifer’s quarters. The massive stones that sealed the chamber after Lucifer’s departure had been removed by Asmoday and never been replaced. Now, the archway led out into the open expanses of Hell. From there, a knowledgeable person could get anywhere.

  That didn’t bode well.

  Despite my anger at my uncle, I couldn’t help but feel a bit proprietary about his quarters. It would nag at me until I made sure there wasn’t anyone hiding in them or messing with his stuff. Besides, I had Rachelle hide Eve in Lucifer’s God-proofed room and I needed to make sure the bone was still there.

  A quick search of the place eased my mind, finding Eve right where Rachelle had put her. The place being empty made it even more so. Able to do it myself this time, I stashed the bone where no one would find it. Hopefully I could remember where I put it when the time came to retrieve it.

  Getting ready to leave, I had an idea. As one of the first beings to come into existence, Lucifer had a wealth of knowledge on tap. While he wasn’t around to ask questions-not that I would right now anyway-there was still plenty of information stashed away in the books he kept in his chambers.

  In the off chance I might learn something useful, I returned to his room and plopped down in front of a stack of ancient texts.

  Reminded of my lessons as a child, I wished I’d paid more attention then because cramming for tests never works out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Time running out, my research job was half-ass at best, but I did find out a few things.

  The last guardian of God’s throne, who Akrasiel alluded to, was none other than the Archangel Metatron. The highest in the hierarchy of angels, he was God’s personal scribe and right hand wingman. It was his job to pass on God’s word to the rest of the Choir until the Big Guy up and poofed. He would definitely have the power to alter the course of the battle.

  If what Akrasiel said was true, we were still pretty much screwed. Stationed in Heaven, right beside God’s throne no less, I had no way of reaching him, or even getting a message through. Even if I could, I had no idea what it would take to spur him into action. If an angelic revolt in Heaven hadn’t woken his ass up, then what the Hell was I gonna do to top that?

  I’d also managed to dig up a little info on Akrasiel. He was actually the Archangel Raguel. Apparently, it was his place to keep all the other angels in line.

  He sure wasn’t doing a good job.

  With God gone, I couldn’t be certain that was still his angle. His cryptic commentary made me think he didn’t really want me to succeed, but at the same time, you never know with supernaturals. There’s always a hidden goal in everything they do, which is why they never just come out and say things plainly. As such, there just wasn’t any way to be sure whose team he was playing for.

  Worn out, my mind a useless jumble of nonsensical theories and ideas, I headed for the gate to leave Hell when a burst of static exploded inside my head. Recognizing the faint sputter of a telepathic connection, I answered, but no one replied.

  Without warning, a glistening blue portal appeared in front of me. Already on edge, I jumped back with a squeak; I might have even tinkled a little. My fright turned to anger a split-second later as I recognized the source.

  Rachelle peered out of the gate, her face ashen. “We need you, Frank. The Nephilim have attacked DRAC again.”

  She turned and exited the other side and I nearly ran her over in my haste to get through. We popped out in the cool desert night and I could have sworn it was the 4th of July.

  Flashes of red and blue energies seared through the air, lighting up the sky as though it were day. Screams of rage and agony joined the cacophony of battle sounds. Over by the DRAC installation that was buried deep beneath the desert sand to avoid detection, stood what remained of the organization’s military force.

  Scarlett and Katon were a blur on the front lines, wreaking havoc upon the enemy. The gleaming trails of their mystical swords were conspicuous in their absence, but that didn’t stop them. They barreled into the lines with a fury, blood and bodies flying in their wake.

  At their sides were the few remaining DRAC wizards with any real power. Although nowhere near the might of Rahim, their spells were taking a heavy toll on the Nephilim. They’d opted for explosive magic that left black smoke and flash fires behind, helping to confuse those who survived the initial blasts.

  The human security force, while immensely underpowered compared to the opposition, used the DA slayers to help even the odds. Set up smartly to take advantage of the Nephilim’s clustered formation, deadly, magically-enhanced bullets peppered the half-breeds like sideways rain. It was surprisingly effective.

  While not a tactician, Rachelle did great by bringing us in behind the gathered Nephilim. Though they hadn’t brought but a fraction of their army, they still had us way outnumbered. Unfortunately, my being able to sneak attack them wasn’t gonna be enough to even things out. It’d have to do though.

  Too exhausted to pull off any more magic, I was gonna have to do it the old fashioned way. Committed, I left Rachelle behind and charged forward to put bullets into their backs. Amid the chaos, it took them a while to even realize I was there. I’d emptied two clips before I even got an ugly look. When they finally did notice, they responded with a vengeance.

  A dozen bolts of mystical energy sizzled toward me at once. Fear and adrenaline kicking my body into overdrive, I managed to avoid the first volley, ducking and dodging as the glowing spears whipped past.

  Their surprise worn off, the second barrage was more on target. I slipped the first two by jumping over them, but a third grazed my side and sent me into a spin; right into the path of the rest. Unable to get out of the way, I tucked into a ball to minimize the target space and hoped I didn’t get hit anywhere vital.

  Just before they struck, a shimmering blue portal appeared in front of me. It swallowed the bolts in one hungry gulp. I hit the ground at the same time Rachelle opened up a second portal in the midst of the Nephilim army.

  The bolts exploded from the portal and crashed into the unsuspecting half-breeds with a resounding boom. My maniacal laugh was probably louder.

  Obviously clueless as to what had happened, the Nephilim focused on me continued to blast away. My eyes on Rachelle to be sure she was still paying attention-she had a habit of wandering off mentally-I stood and fired. As the spears neared, they were once again intercepted and turned back upon their force.

  Magical explosions bombarded
the Nephilim from all sides as the slender mystic varied the locations with a thought. I continued drawing their attacks to me as Rachelle stayed out of sight and redirected everything tossed my way.

  Katon and Scarlett realized what we were doing and ordered our folks to advance. Random blasts tearing at their flesh and morale, the front line violently cleaving through their ranks, the Nephilim broke. Those capable of dimensional travel ported away, leaving their friends to find their own ride home.

  No longer being bombarded, I surveyed the field until I saw someone I recognized. Thinned as it was, it didn’t take long.

  Less than fifty feet from me, I spied the massive bulk of Jorn. Braver than most of his companions, he stood his ground, his meaty fists wailing away in a circle at anyone who came close. Shirtless-a sight that will forever live on in infamy in the annals of my memory-his arms and shoulders were covered in pustulant, bubbled wounds. The side of his face, I could see, was seared black, pieces molting off as he moved.

  Scurrying around his feet was Zellick. The little guy stepped out quick from behind Jorn’s shielding mass to lash out with his dagger, before leaping back to safety.

  Venai was probably another fifty feet past them. She held a flickering portal open at her back as she screamed for Jorn and Zellick.

  An idea sprang to mind. I called for Rachelle to pass on a message for Katon to follow me and headed off. As quick, and as low, as I could, I closed the intervening space. Venai spotted me just as I came up behind her companions. She shrieked a warning, but it was lost in the white noise of battle.

  A smile plastered across my face, I waited until the weasel popped up for another round of hit and run before doing anything. He saw me just as I pulled the trigger.

  “Remember me?”

  His eyes went wide as the bullet pierced his cheek. They were wider still when the back of his head exploded in a conflagration of red and gray. The spray showered Jorn in warm chunks as Zellick dropped at his feet. Venai screamed again and left the portal, racing toward us as fast as she could manage, her wounded leg slowing her down.