The Damned and The Pure Series: Books 1-4 (The Damned and The Pure Series Box Set)

by J. D. Stonebridge

  “He now stands before me to be blessed by me. For he shall deliver the end to all.” From the Horseman’s hand, a small seed was produced. The seed germinated, and like a vine, started to twirl and twist in a wide circle. As it did so again and again, it started to turn brown and formed what Caelum would call a crown.

  “Take this, and be on thy way,” the Horseman said. The demon reached out and plucked the round artifact. For a moment, he inspected the dry circle of wood, and as Azrael gestured with her hand, he carefully placed it on his head. The horse suddenly raised its legs and let out a neigh that echoed across the garden.

  “Lo!” shouted the Horseman. “For there shall be great tribulation upon the land, and great wrath upon the people, and they shall fall by the edge of the sword!" Its words echoed within Caelum whose thoughts returned to that of the war that raged on in the mortal land.

  Bright burning swords armed the angels in gleaming white garbs as they hovered above a curious mass of people in Times Square. The traffic halted and the various electronic displays shorted out into distorted images before they flickered off. In the early hours of the morning, the bright display of the glorious battalion had rivaled the rising sun, making one man fall to his knees.

  “A-angels!” the man cried, seeing their beautiful skin, the ornate cloth that covered them, and the six rays of translucent light vibrating on their backs. Their images were close to all the statues that depicted them.

  The angels landed, and the dust and dirt of the streets billowed away from their feet. The crowd pressed among each other but kept their distance, murmuring their beliefs and disbeliefs in equal. The man from before raised himself and slowly approached them.

  “I- I am Reverend Patrick Tims,” he stammered. “I- I share the word of the Lord, and I- I- I welcome you.” His tears flowed with no end, staining his shirt. He walked closer, and spread his hands wide. “Are...are you here to give us the word of the Lord?”

  That question made the angel who faced the man glare at him. The angel’s stare somehow made his stomach churn and his mouth run dry. Despite their divine forms, he could sense a hostility like none he had ever felt. He faltered at his next step as his shoe caught a steam vent. He tripped right into the angel who extended her arm to catch the man.

  “Oh! Th-thank you!” he exclaimed, feeling an overwhelming warmth from the angel’s hand. The angel propped the man upright and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you a follower of our Father?” the angel asked.

  “Yes!” he cried, tears still flowing from his eyes. He turned to the crowd, who all shushed themselves as he did. He smiled and laughed to himself. “Everyone! Let us all praise the Lord! For He has sent us His messengers to renew our faith!” The crowd roared in delight, some clapped and some hugged another in glee, and others knelt in prayer.

  “Rejoice! For the Lord, our God, has not abandoned us!” the man shouted.

  The crowd suddenly gasped, their faces of joy twisting into horror. Reverend Patrick felt something warm in his body. He looked down, and the bright outline of the angel’s sword stuck out of his chest, his blood sliding off its tip, leaving no stain. His cries of joy slowly turned to sobs as he felt burning pain sear his entire body. Patrick let out a scream as the blade twisted and raised, lifting his body. Blood stained the ground where he stood and everyone watched as the reverend choked and convulsed. With a mighty right swing, the sword tore him in two, spraying blood into the crowd and scattering the man’s guts into the street. The angel raised her sword and her voice boomed for everyone to hear.

  “Woe, woe, woe, to those who dwell on the earth!”

  In Fayetteville, North Carolina, people came out of their houses as the skies filled with lights. Descending from the clouds, huge circles of lights arrived by the hundreds. Several smaller lights started shimmering around each circle.

  “UFOs! UFOs!” cried one woman who wore a vintage Mars Attacks! T-shirt. Kaley Barrings noticed that their shape and the way the lights behaved were exactly how most alien sightings depicted them. She watched as all the lights formed yet another circle around the sky. The larger circle hovered above an area she was familiar with, and with a realization, she shouted to anyone who could hear her, “I knew it! Fort Bragg’s Special Air Force was the one behind all the UFO sightings!” She watched in awe, just like all the people in the street, as the UFOs completed the circle and emitted a golden light. Soon, she saw a wall of fire heading towards her as all the lights in the sky brought down an array of golden beams.

  What was left of Fayetteville were smoldering embers and molten rocks. Kaley felt her skin singe at the heat, but she was alive. The burning car in front of her and the untouched patch of the street where she lay suggested that a vehicle had been flung right in front of her and blocked the blaze from hitting her directly. She braced herself for the shock as her surroundings were covered in soot and embers. She cringed at the sight of burning bodies scattered around, and all she could hear was the dull crackling of fire. The idea of Hell descending upon Earth overcame the woman. All she could do was hug herself and weep.

  Her weeping halted as a glowing light hovered above her. A being in a long, flowing white robe appeared. As it neared, she saw a very beautiful woman with brown flowing hair. The rest of her body was covered in the white robe, but on the woman’s back were two rays of light, and at its feet was a soft orange light, as if it was the glow of a candle. “A-a-an angel?”

  Kaley surrendered to the thought that an angel would grant her salvation. In her now twisted mind, she convinced herself that she was going to be saved. The angel neared, and the last thing Kaley saw was a large alligator head that burst from the angel’s sleeve, and her last sensation was a crushing pain on her head.

  The thousands of deaths at every second made even the Leader of Hell shudder in his seat. Azazel rose from his seat and watched, his hands trembling. He balled them into fists and whisked the feeling away. The sensation was so strong that he could not help but shake his head. He muttered to himself. His skin couldn’t help but crawl with the feeling, but in his head, a different miasma apart from death and destruction seeped in. Azazel panted, feeling an unbearable mix of nervousness and fear. It’s the first of the Horsemen. Damn it, Caelum! If there was any more I could do to damn you, I would love to do so again and again! Damn you!

  “Sir?” said a voice, pulling Azazel out of his enraged state. “I believe you have felt it.” Baron slowly slid up from a pool of shadows near him. “The angels have begun attacking the humans all over the world.”

  Azazel waved his hand as if to shoo him, “Yes, yes I did. Our ol’ chap Caelum opened the Gates of Purgatory too. We’ll do as I discussed. Go and pool all the remaining souls of Hell.”

  “Of course.” Baron nodded.

  Azazel strode towards his chair and sat down. He closed his eyes and tried to absorb the situation. “And what of our party animals upstairs? How are they faring against those winged bastards?”

  “Quite well, if I may say,” Baron said. “They were the generals of Heaven before.”

  “Good, good.” Azazel breathed in. “I do hope they keep their end of the deal. As for us,” he rose from his seat and held his chin high, though there is still doubt in his mind. “We may have to sweeten the pot to survive.”

  Chapter Twelve: Conflict

  Signaling the start of the Rapture, Caelum watched the first of the Horsemen leave for the portal. No regrets. There was no turning back, but he also knew that he would be back. Caelum meditated on the notion that he must succeed no matter what, and he must have faith in the rest who were fighting for the same cause. I did make a promise that I have no intention of breaking.

  He turned to Azrael, whose gaze was still locked on the departing Horseman. “Where shall we go?” he asked.

  Azrael turned her head and started walking. “Please follow me.”

  Mimicking the angel’s pace, the two walked in one direction in what seemed to be a repeating gar
den. “Azrael,” Caelum called, bored of the scenery. “Is this what Purgatory really looks like?”

  The angel shook her head. “We are in the garden, a mirror of Eden’s garden. I believe you noticed even hell has a garden of its own.”

  Caelum’s lip twisted to the side. He remembered the area where the white tower was. There were no plants in Hell, but as he thought about it, there were several large boulders at odd places in the area’s expanse. And then there was the labyrinth that towered to great heights. “Right, apparently Hell has a rock garden.” He chuckled, asking himself which came first: Hell’s rock garden or the zen garden he sometimes sees in oriental pictures and some homes? Sufficiently amused, Caelum turned to Azrael once again. “Are we there yet?”

  “It should be here soon,” she replied. “I can feel him.”

  Caelum stopped, feeling a strange vibration. It was weak, but slowly the vibrations turned into light shudders, and soon, the faint sounds of steps were heard. It was coming from everywhere, making Caelum scan the area in all directions. The sound gradually increased until it reached a point where it made him think of a stampeding bull.

  Surely enough, the shudders turned into heavy thuds. At the last second, Caelum heard a thundering rampage from behind, and before he could turn, he felt himself get thrown to the side. It felt like gravity itself turned sideways and made him fall. When Caelum looked back, however, he found himself standing as if nothing had happened. The realization caught up to him. He was looking at himself. Another him stood still, bearing a blank face that looked upon the empty space. Before the questions could leave his lips, an arm caught his own and pulled him.

  The rampaging steps of a horse filled his ears, and the garden became a blur as the rider dragged him so fast. A moment passed, and the trod of the horse started to slow. Once Caelum’s senses caught up with him, he found himself surrounded by gray rectangle buildings, green camouflage tents, and an assortment of tanks and planes.

  “Ahahahaha!” a voice boomed, full of mirth. “Is it not a sight to see? Chariots of steel, birds that rain fire from the sky, and a crucible of burning light!”

  When Caelum turned, he saw the being that was enjoying the scenery. He himself was a scenery worth taking in for a few moments. He was riding on a red steed covered in armor which consisted of small, shining crimson plates interconnected by little metal rings while he wore a similar attire. A bronze chest plate protected his shoulders, and his legs were covered with several stacked sheets of the crimson plating. The one thing that made Caelum realize what kind of armor he was wearing was the helmet. Its dome design, metal horns on top, and the mask that portrayed the mortal’s version of a demon was a sure sign of samurai armor.

  After reviewing who he assumed to be the second Horseman, Caelum took a moment to look at himself, seeing that he’d left a part of him a few seconds ago. His entire body was translucent, and he gasped when his hand passed through the other as he tried to touch it. Okay, great. My soul has been torn away from me.

  The Horseman suddenly hopped off his horse. He didn’t seem to have weight, as his feet made no sound nor left a mark on the ground. His stout form faced Caelum, and for some reason, it made him think that the Horseman was inspecting him.

  “Yes?” he asked, feeling an oncoming frustration similar to the first Horseman.

  The being tilted his head. “Ohoho, aren’t we a monger of conflict?” he said with the same merry tone.

  The demon crossed his arms over his chest, expecting another journey into himself. “A monger I am not. Nor am I one who harbors conflict. I'm here to make sure that all these conflicts will end soon.”

  “Not one to harbor conflict?!” The being suddenly thrust his arm forward with his palm open then raised his other hand in the same gesture and took one large step forward. “Yet you are here to end conflict with conflict?! Wonderful! Magnificent!” He waved both his hands slowly to the side. “Conflict is the very essence of existence. For it brings change, and with change comes the cycles! Life and death! Chaos and order! The steroidal flow!” His hands, both stretched to one side, slowly waved upward and to the opposite side. “I am the second Horseman, he who comes once the souls of all beings alike gather, I shall appear to relish the conflict, I am...” with a loud grunt, he stomped his feet on the ground, and to Caelum’s surprise, three sets of arms burst from his plated shoulders, “I am War!”

  “And I am bored,” Caelum whined. “Seriously.”

  War stayed in his theatrical pose, unfazed by Caelum’s heckle. “Through this boredom, your idle hands weave the minds of the unsuspecting, creating conflict within them. Do you not?”

  Before Caelum could snap a retort, he stopped, recalling his days as a demon under Azazel. Whenever he would grow tired of the bleak days, he would stalk anyone who had placed themselves in complicated situations. From the rebellious teen who blackmailed her teacher with whom she had other relations to the man who beat his ex-wife to death, and of course, there was Maxwell, the prophet of peace that caused chaos in the cities, and everything else in between and beyond. Recalling these, Caelum felt a sense of nostalgia. I have changed so much that I can’t even keep track anymore. Now I’m pushing forward to change once more.

  “That you are!” War answered. “I brought you here, demon of conflict, to celebrate with me as I walk the lands.” He straightened himself and turned to the north. “Behold! The preface to the greatest conflict in the world!”

  Caelum heard gunshots. From his left, a unit of three soldiers spilled, their faces a mixture of courage and horror. One of them sprayed bullets on something unseen. “What the?” Caelum shouted, as a huge mass of vines burst from their direction and wrapped around a shooting soldier.

  “H-help!” the soldier shouted. The rest of the unit began shooting, and the vines broke. The soldier crumpled to the ground, his arms and legs twisting in every direction as if all his bones were broken. The source of the vines revealed itself, and Caelum instantly recognized it as an angel. It almost looks like Raphael. The tattered vines retreated into the angel’s white sleeve but instead of attacking, he stood still. A second later, another of the soldiers let out a curdled cry but was cut off as a humanoid angel appeared from behind and decapitated him with his burning sword.

  Caelum could not understand what was happening. Angels attacking— no, slaughtering humans! Caelum witnessed the robed angel’s other sleeve bring out a Venus flytrap with jowls big enough to swallow a human. It wriggled open then zipped through the last remaining soldier, snapping shut as it reached him. His muffled screams tore from the plant until it turned into a gurgling wail of agony.

  “Wait for it!” War cried with glee. “Wait for it!”

  A siren resounded through the layer of gunshots and screams. Caelum was not familiar with the sound, but from the way War’s helmet was jittering, he was rather excited. From a distance, Caelum could see a sharp object rise from the concrete, a cylindrical metal with a cone-like shape on the top. “Behold!” War pointed, “Man’s greatest creation! The crucible of burning light! Man even had the honor of naming it after me, a Warhead!”

  Above the missile, a sigil started to descend. Caelum watched as it created a ball of light. A few seconds passed and a beam from the sigil fired down. The fields were bathed instantly in blinding light. Caelum couldn’t feel the force as it passed through him, yet he could see the buildings blown away as if they were made of sand. It was only then that Caelum realized he was deafened by the explosion, and several more of these followed as the blast detonated more of the warheads.

  Caelum watched in awe along with War as the aftermath of the explosions left nothing but a crater. Ash fell like snow and the land was filled with silence. Nothing of what was there seconds before left a mark that it had existed. War turned his head towards Caelum. “Has man learned nothing?” he asked. “Or perhaps, has man learned too much?”

  Caelum found himself internalizing again, same as with the first Horseman. “Would it really be
that bad for Lucifer to take the throne of God and start the world anew?” The mere thought of the question shocked him. He turned to War, hoping for answers.

  The demon-like mask looked empty, only blackness where eyes and a mouth should be. But the haughty laugh that followed after mysteriously gave Caelum relief. After filling the air with laughter, War extended his many arms and all manner of weapons appeared in his hands. “Demon!” War called. “Would it matter which armament I strike you down with?”

  Caelum eyed the golden weapons. A mace, a sickle, a sword, and a dagger were on one hand, and the other had a set of claws, a bow, a flail, and a musket. He asked himself the question. Would it matter which armament I strike you with? He thought for a second, and said, “Yes, it would. Granted I will fall regardless of which, but I’d rather be ended by a well-crafted sword. It’s more...dramatic.” He exaggerated the final word, smiling to himself.

  His answer made War thrust his hands victoriously. “Yes! The means will matter if the end cannot be changed!” War neared him, making him flinch as he thought that he might be struck down. Instead, War extended the hand holding the sword. “A gift, demon!”

  Caelum took the blade. The gold sword gleamed, and all manner of jewels lined up at the center. Its edges were of a mirror-like sheen, and its hilt felt like carved bone. Caelum nodded in appreciation, and War did the same. Caelum watched War mount his horse, which had stood behind them the whole time, and as he whipped the reins, he shouted back to Caelum.

  “For there shall be great suffering! Such without equal from the beginning of time, and will never be equaled till the end! The end of days are upon you and no soul shall be saved!” His voice echoed as he rode across the ruined lands. The marching of his horse was proud and boisterous, in contrast to the dead silence of the world after war. Caelum thought grimly of what the Horseman claimed, considering their purpose of sparing the world from the torment that would be Lucifer as God.