“You need no help, whore. You are an animal. You are one of the blessed ones. You were given life and free will. You have taken this glorious gift from our father and wasted it by polluting your body and living like a pig wallowing in filth.”
“You fucker!” the woman screamed and managed to hock up a good wad of spit and fired it at Gregory.
“Gutter trash.”
“This is your goddamn baby, you bastard. Fucking help…” And she let loose another soul-shattering scream. Mal watched as the baby slid another inch into the world. And he felt sick because he knew damn well who that baby was to become.
“True, whore. It is my child. And you shall die knowing that the only good and sacred thing you have done in your miserable existence is be the vessel for my son. For what falls from your diseased and worn womb is the salvation for us all.”
Gregory stepped out of the shadows and raised his arms. Light formed around him and grew to such an intensity that Mal had to look away. Gregory’s voice grew as loud as the light was intense. And the walls of the sewer shook. His voice drowned out the woman’s scream as she pushed one more time, dropping her child into the bloody puddle beneath her.
“You birth the Savior, whore. My son will rise up and become a God among men. He will be my vengeance on you pathetic animals. He will be the embodiment of chaos, for he is of me. And I am Abadon. I am chaos.”
The light abated and Mal looked upon the scene of his birth. His infant self lay wailing between the sprawled legs of his mother. Blood flowed from her, bathing the baby in gore.
A shadow from behind Gregory quickly became Desmond. He reached down and a sudden flick of his wrist and a flash of cold metal severed the child from its mother forever. Another flash and the knife was gone and Desmond deftly tied off the umbilical cord. He laid his coat over one arm, picked up the baby Mal and nestled the infant into the coat. Mal watched himself disappear into Desmond’s massive embrace.
Gregory looked upon the woman.
“Please, help me,” she pleaded weakly, her life quickly running out between her legs.
“Rest easy knowing that you have finally done something of purpose with your wasted life. You have brought unto this world a glorious new light. My son will clear the path for me to re-enter my kingdom, my home. My imprisonment on the festering cesspool reaches its final days. Soon I will step through the gates and claim my rightful place in Heaven. And woe be to any of my brothers who attempt to block my way. For my son will deliver them pain and suffering and they will soon learn they are not as immortal as they once thought.”
And with that, Gregory stepped back into darkness and was gone. And Mal watched stunned as his mother gasped her last breath. Mal wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to comfort her. But all he could do was stare at her still body as it lay in an ocean of blood and tears…cold and alone.
««—»»
Yet another swirling sensation and Mal found himself standing in White’s office once again, the image of his mother dying still reflected in his eyes. He stood there in stunned silence for a while. White waited patiently.
Finally, “Angels?”
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me you’re all angels?”
White nodded, “Of course Mal, you know this. You’ve always known this. How else could Gregory have promised you salvation?”
“I suppose. But having it laid out there like that…”
“I know. The brutal truth of it all—angels are real, demons are real. Good and evil exist and there is a God.”
“And what side are you on?” Mal asked with a little more than a hint of venom in his voice.
“What do you think?”
“You knew what was happening and you let it,” Mal said, his jaw tight, his shoulders tensing.
White took a second to respond as if he was choosing his words carefully. “I am not allowed to interfere, Mal. None of us are.”
“Bullshit!”
White sighed.
“You’re an angel. Gregory is an angel. Gregory interfered.”
“True,” White conceded. “Gregory has lost his faith. He now exists for one goal and one goal only, to reclaim his place in heaven. And he has broken the rules to make sure this happens.”
“So now he’s evil?”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Why? He hurt me, seduced and got my mother pregnant, and then watched her die while laughing at her. He made me an assassin, sent me to kill countless people. It may not have been his hands that did the killing but there’s still blood on them.” Mal, paused, thoughts bouncing around in his head.
“Gregory has been hurt by what he sees as our father abandoning us. I truly think he just wants our father to forgive him. But like I said, he has grown impatient. It’s like any child seeking the attention of its father. I feel that Gregory thinks that going through this effort, working his way back to Heaven, will show our father how much he has suffered and paid for his previous decisions.”
“Kinda fucked up, huh?”
“Perhaps. But Gregory is misguided. His plans are born of frustration and desperation. We all have our roles and most of us chose to remain true to them. Others not.”
Mal nodded quickly. “Yeah, that’s another thing. Why the fuck are you here anyway? Shouldn’t you either be in heaven playing a harp, dancing on clouds or down in hell torturing lost souls or something?”
White shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not as simple as that. The war in heaven was complicated. There were those who chose no side. Those who decided it best to stay away and let things fall where they would. Gregory was one such angel. Those who took up no arms in either defense or opposition to heaven were banished by God to this plane as punishment. Free of the torments and shame of Hell but denied the glory of Heaven. But in that punishment there was always hope that God would find forgiveness for his lost children and allow them to come home. Allow them back into the presence of his glory.”
“Guess that didn’t happen?”
“Being immortal can be a curse for some. Especially the impatient. Gregory and his abandoned brethren have been here for millennia upon millennia. Before man and beast. For some it has been too long. And they feel it is time to take matters into their own hands.”
“And I am the solution to their problems,” Mal said coldly.
White looked into Mal’s eyes, and he saw the pain of betrayal and beyond that he saw something else. Deep into Mal’s eyes there was…defeat. But then, Mal blinked and all of that was gone from his eyes, replaced by seething anger and a rage. White could feel heat rising from Mal’s body and he took a step back.
Mal noticed White’s reaction and cocked his head, curious. “What’s wrong, Jer? See something you don’t like?” And Mal remembered the last time White had been uneasy with him—a few minutes ago when he pulled the gift from Gregory out of his jacket.
“Let me ask you something, Jer.” And Mal swiftly produced the knife once again. “You seem to be a little concerned about my little friend here.” Mal could have sworn he saw White wince. But he soon regained his composure.
“You don’t know what it is you hold.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me then.”
White tried hard to seem at ease, but it was obvious he wasn’t. Mal wondered if Angels could sweat.
“Do you feel the energy coursing through your weapon, Mal?”
Mal hadn’t really noticed it before, but White was right, there was a definite feeling of power that came from holding the weapon. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I do.”
“The war for Heaven was a brutal and violent one. Our powers aside, the battles often came down to a bloodrage frenzy of weapons and fists. Many an angel died by the blade. Our weapons were things of beauty crafted by one of our most prized artisans. During the war he and his apprentices forged weapons of immense power. An endless supply of weapons poured from their hands. But none so great as The Arsenal of Undoing. It was with these weapon
s that Lucifer and his followers were cast down into the pit.”
Mal looked down at the knife in his hand. It was indeed a thing of beauty. Never had he felt so in tune with a weapon before. It seemed to tap right into his soul. It knew what he wanted to do before he did. As he started to test its weight, tossing it from one hand to the other, Mal could feel the blade becoming part of him. As if it sensed the aspect of him that was of Heaven. It was the perfect weapon. Somewhere in the distance he could hear White speaking.
“What you have there is The Blade of Undoing. Forged from the essence of Heaven. Created from the substance of creation itself.” White paused staring at the blade as if it were an animal about to attack. “It has the power to undo those born of Heaven.”
Mal caught the last part of what White had said. “No shit?”
White nodded his head.
“So this is an angel killer. Man, that’s some serious mojo.”
“The weapons were supposed to be gathered and destroyed. I had always doubted they would all be found. Seems my fears were well founded. I’m sure one of my brothers cast into the pit stole away with a few. My guess is Gregory has made a pact with one for the weapon. Or just simply destroyed them for it.”
White stopped speaking for an instant. He shook his head while looking at Mal, his eyes almost pleading. “It’s a power not meant to be in mortal hands.”
Mal shrugged. “I suppose not.” Then he stopped playing with the blade and looked at White with cold menace. “But then again, I’m apparently not a normal mortal am I?”
White stiffened and glared at Mal unflinching. “No, Mal. It would appear not.”
Mal held his stare with White for a couple of seconds then let a smile fill his face. “Looks like I need to pay my benefactor a little visit. Maybe introduce him to the wrong end of my little buddy here.”
“Or you could just walk away, Mal.”
Mal started shaking his head vigorously. “No, Jer. I think you know I can’t do that.”
“It is a shame then.”
“Yeah, I suck. But so does everyone, even those who shouldn’t…like angels.”
“Everything is flawed.”
“Yeah, Gregory certainly is.”
“Gregory is misguided, Mal. Walk away and show him all his plans were for nothing and he will be defeated.” White spread his arms wide. “The world is yours, Mal. You could do the right thing.”
“Yeah, I could. But where is the fun in that?”
White sighed.
“Aw, what’s the matter, Jer, disappointed?”
“I have counseled you in what you could do, Mal. The decision is yours.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never been good at those.” Then Mal lowered his head, that cloud of menace returning. He stared down at the knife. “You could have saved her, Jerry. You could have decided to do the right thing and saved my mother. But you’re a pussy, Jerry.”
“I have my instructions, Mal. My job here is to—”
White saw it coming at him, a flash of white and gold hurtling toward his chest. He felt it hit and the pain exploded through his body as if every single nerve had ruptured. His scream was deafening, shaking the very foundation of the building. He looked down and saw the hilt sticking out from the center of his chest. The pain crippling. White fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked up at Mal as he approached. “Why?” was the only word he could manage.
Mal stepped up close to White and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Because I don’t like being played and I don’t like pussies.” And with that Mal grasped the hilt of the blade and pulled. And as the last sliver of the blade left White’s body, Mal could feel all the angel’s energy follow the blade out. The room began to tremble. The windows bowed in and White let out another earth-shattering cry. And suddenly Mal found himself at ground zero as White’s body exploded with the energy of a thousand suns.
When the sound finally abated, Mal found himself on his knees in the middle of what used to be the top floor of Jericho White’s office building. He was trembling, but not with fear, with power. The Blade of Undoing was still clutched in his hand and he could feel its vibration coursing through his body. It sang to him.
He stood and let the power overtake his battered body and let loose a roar loud enough for the entire city to hear.
He turned to leave, his decision made. He needed to pay an old friend a visit and thank him for all the wonderful gifts he had given him. Then Gregory would feel the sting of undoing. And after that Mal would seek out every last angel and undo them in turn.
Gregory was right about one thing. Mal would open the gates of Heaven, but there would be no parade of forgotten angels trailing him through. For when Mal was done slaughtering the angels here on earth he was going for the ones in Heaven. Oh yeah, Mal thought, Heaven will be mine. Because when he finished with those sons-of-bitches, he was going after God. And that motherfucker was gonna pay.
—
Daddy Demon’s Day Out
Travis watched as the claw emerged from the wall of smoke before him. The skin was green, or red, or reddish green, he couldn’t tell. Travis shrugged—it was some color—who cares? His nose twitched as a horrid stench invaded it, reaching deep into his body, wrapping around his brain, snaking down into his stomach, through to his lower guts and out his asshole with a meaty, slightly wet-sounding and totally violent fart. Travis blushed.
A low rumbling sound arose from the wall of smoke. “Nice one.”
All the previous blush left Travis’ face in a flash, replaced, instead, with a deathly pale white. “Uh-uh,” he stammered and took a step back as the claw began fanning the smoke away in a way that Travis found kind of…girlie.
Then he heard a heavy blowing sound—like you make when blowing out a candle, only wetter—but not as wet as Travis’ earlier fart, of which he was certain there had to be visible evidence marking his shorts—and the wall of smoke began to disappear and the space was soon filled with a creature even Travis wasn’t expecting.
Travis stood there, his jaw hanging so low that it was possible he would begin drooling any second. Either that, or he was going to piss himself.
Travis followed the claw up and up. It flowed into an arm as big as Travis’ torso. Ridiculously defined muscles were covered with a roadwork of veins and sinew that led to the beast’s body which was easily three men wide. Well, at least two big men and maybe one skinny. And on top of the torso sat such an abortion of God’s creation Travis didn’t know whether to feel pity or scrub pots with the thing’s face. Travis’ neck began to hurt from looking up at the beast that was easily eight feet tall. He wanted to look away, but he was so entranced—or was it disgusted—that he just couldn’t. And Travis continued staring even as the massive claw—the palm of which was bigger than Travis’ head—reached out toward him. He didn’t even notice as the claw moved close, closer, so close to Travis’ face. The talons curled slightly in. And the thumb and middle finger came together and then…
…thwick…
…flicked Travis square in the forehead.
“Snap out of it, Chico,” the booming voice said flatly. “I know, I know, I’m so fucking gorgeous you just can’t stop staring, right?”
“Uh-uh,” Travis said, continuing his new adventures in eloquence.
The beast put both arms out, palms facing Travis. “Wait, wait!” he said, motioning with his hands in a, once-again, girlie way. “You think this is good? You need to see the backside.” And with that the beast jumped up, spun around in the air, landing with a resounding thud and cocked his ass out for Travis to see, which wasn’t hard since the creature, being eight feet tall…well…his ass was kind of right in Travis’ line of sight.
“Take a look at that, my man. Tell me that isn’t the sweetest ass you’ve ever seen on this plane or any other.”
Travis took a small step back, thought about it, and took a big step even further back, gave a quick nod and agreed. “Um, yeah. It’s a very…nic
e ass.”
The beast wiggled his glorious ass at Travis. “Damn straight, Chico. This thing is a bitch magnet.” Then he wagged it one more time, slapped it hard on the right cheek, jumped up, spun around again, and landed facing Travis, his huge, red, cat eyes focusing on the trembling little shit before him.
“Alright, Chico. What the hell do you want?”
The question snapped Travis out of his stupor and he immediately launched into his well-practiced speech: “For years I have sought the means to summon you, oh Lord. I have scoured the globe searching for the spell that would bring you to me and deliver me that which my heart so desires.” Travis emphasized parts of his speech with hand gestures that the beast deemed forced and staged. “From the great plains of Africa, to caves buried deep in the South American jungles and in the highest mountains of Asia, I have…”
“Wait a sec…”
“…killed and destroyed countless in the search for…”
“Hold on now…”
“…the one thing that would…”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
One thing a person should always know when dealing with an eight-foot-tall demon, when they tell you to “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” you…shut the fuck up. So that’s what Travis did.
“Look at me, Chico.” The beast leaned down so he was eye to eye with Travis. “Do I fucking look like I care what you did to summon me? Huh, do I?”
Travis was as surprised by the question as he was by the fresh, minty breath of the beast. He kind of expected: dead, rotten meat, sulfur, a huge unwashed ass. Still, Travis was told he would have to show his dedication to the demon. Show the trials and difficulties he went through to acquire the spell and the implements needed to summon the beast. “Well, I was told I had to…”
“Yeah, yeah.” The beast stood back up to full height, rolling his eyes. “I know, you were told I need to know just how much you went through to call me, blah, fucking blah.”
“But…” Travis feebly tried to interject.
Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings Page 4
