Lilith would risk it all. With Samael flapping over her shoulder, talons reaching for her, she ducked and ploughed ahead. Startled creatures flinched or stared from all sides. The artefact stayed clutched in her hand. Fear and hope bounded and collided in her chest like playful kittens. The ground was rough, furrowed by hundreds of clawed feet. She fell once, but the action saved her life, sending her body underneath Samael’s swoop.
It bought her precious time.
Then Samael dropped out of the skies, a plunging angel of death. Lilith was now close enough to wave at and lock eyes with several of the soldiers, beseeching them to help. She expected nothing.
But it was only when Samael landed on her, scrabbling for purchase, his disgusting demon’s mouth snuffling and mashed across her neck, that she experienced the true heroism of humans and soldiers. One moment she was lost, captured; the next a group of military men burst through the gates of hell, weapons chattering, spewing lead and RPG missiles and hurling stun grenades, forming a phalanx that speared straight toward her.
Samael the great king of hell rose, shrieking, his bulk the stuff of every man’s nightmare, but they never even flinched. They fought on. They battled. The woman was their goal, the woman in distress.
“She’s one of ours!” someone shouted and Lilith felt a surge of love, hope and eternal gratitude. She squirmed out from under Samael, pulling free as bullets and rockets stormed into him, hiding his form in a repulsive cloud.
One of ours!
She ran to them and they pulled her among them. They herded and protected her. They formed a circle and put her in the middle, firing, running, staying focused. Now they had to climb a heap of bodies that they had helped make, but their team mates on the other side helped by picking off attacking demons.
Up and up they went. Lilith among friends for the first time in her life and surrounded by people that cared. That would fight for her.
One of ours.
Suddenly, her objectives took on a new and deeper purpose.
THIRTY
Ken felt a sense of relief when the tournament was called to a temporary halt after the first round. Either the Devil had gotten some news that needed attending to or he wanted them to come out fresh and rested in the morning. Either way, the businessman left the arena and the crowd of demons filed away. Ken and his two compatriots were prodded through a gate toward a row of cells.
With spears, swords, claws and fangs all around, Ken knew there would be no opportunity to escape. Even if Milo was with them and not entrenched in a world of grief, even he couldn’t hope to barrel through so many weapons. There was nothing else for it. Ken let them lock him in his cell.
Only then did he see Felicia led to hers and then mashed into her own small cage. The lycan’s instant moans clawed at his heart. He wanted to say how sorry he was, how she should struggle through it.
But he knew nothing about the depths of her torment. He feared he might make it worse.
So Ken sat with his back to the wall and stared at his knees. He listened to Felicia wail and Milo cry. He felt more wretched, more dejected and heartbroken than at any other time in his life. He saw no future, and no victory. The Chosen were lost, their world doomed. If misery and desolation were the basest emotions in the very depths of hell, then Ken knew he was there.
The night passed slowly, and there was no relief.
*
Even before the guards came for them, Ken knew the tournament was resuming. He could hear the swelling clamor of the crowd, the stomping feet on the bleachers, the baying and howling and rampant demands for blood.
The path was short, and their guards forced them along at a fast pace. Even Felicia, who struggled even to crawl after a night crammed into her cage. Ken stooped and helped her along. The guards noticed that their pace then increased so did nothing to stop him.
Out into the arena they walked, and the crowd cheered. Today they would bleed. Today they would die. Today they were all Daniel, and this was the worst lion’s den in known history.
Ken thought about home and all the bright things that had ever happened to him.
Now, several minutes later, in the semi-final he faced only darkness and tragedy, about to fight his new opponent. What would be the ruin of his life stared back at him from the center of the arena. A win would ruin him, a loss would ruin him.
He faced Felicia.
THIRTY ONE
Lysette managed to relax during the flight from Vienna to Orlando. She even managed to catnap when she was told they were being escorted by three American F-16s. Apart from the battle to save their world, that they appeared to be losing, Lucy’s flirtations with a new life, and her mixed feelings for Giles—complex and happy, even hopeful, but always tempered by the awful knowledge that one day she would have to delve through all the corners of his mind and learn what was hidden there—she fought hard with one other, profound problem.
Her role as one of the Chosen.
So far, she could recall only one time when she’d been useful. The time she’d unmasked Kasumi, but even then the Destroyer had managed to escape. What worth was a mind-reader among all this madness? Shit, she hadn’t even been able to turn Logan’s daughter from the darker side. The kid, Ethan, had won her over. And then Ceriden—she was still shocked by his reaction.
As if they didn’t have enough to contend with.
Hours passed on the plane. The artefact they’d secured from Abaddon sat between a heavily cloaked Ceriden and Marian Cleaver; the big gun-toting guy from Miami not letting it out of his sight for a second. Only Jade the elf sat in perfect isolation, staring serenely out the round window and never once switching her gaze. Maybe she was meditating, ruminating on the plight of the elves, barely a handful of which had been seen during the last hundred years. Maybe she was thinking about her family. Jade had an older sister called Amber, who was rumored to be joining the Aegis team, but there’d been no sight of her as yet.
Lysette wouldn’t even consider intruding on her thoughts. Not for a second.
The pilot’s voice came over the public address system, speaking clearly. They were about to start their descent through the clouds into Orlando and a warm, sunny day. It felt good to be returning to the group. At least here they could gain some overall clarity, regroup properly, and perhaps formulate a global plan.
She stared through the clouds, spotting landmarks down there. For the first time, from the corner of her eye, she noticed Jade move.
“Call on the pilot to speed up his descent,” the elf said. “Now. And brace yourselves.”
Lysette stared at her, wondering fleetingly if she was joking. Then she saw the elf’s face.
“And radio the jet fighters,” Jade said. “We’re under attack.”
What?
Lysette swiveled toward her own window. At first, she saw nothing but then, as she stared, a faint shape glided by beneath them. It was like seeing a shark glide by when you’re treading water.
Then another.
And then many more. Winged demons. Huge and terrible birds of prey. They flew up toward the plane, wings with spans of a hundred feet beating steadily, an airborne army of devilish destruction.
The F-16s peeled away from the side of the airplane and engaged. Missiles tore from their own wings at super-speed, breathing fire themselves, and imploded against the upsurging mass. Winged bodies exploded and fell away. Limbs, heads and wings blasted in all directions. Even up here, through the glass, Lysette could hear the demonic shriek, a chorus of the damned, full of anger and hate. The F16s tore through them, then quickly banked, spun and came around again.
Lucy and Ethan ran to a window, the vampire’s big cloak flapping. Ceriden and Cleaver ran to another, Cleaver picking up the artefact as he went.
“Why?” Lucy asked. “Why now?”
“The artefact,” Ceriden said anxiously. “They have come for it.”
“Crap,” Lysette muttered. “When we’re two miles high? Crap, crap.”
�
�Don’t worry, guys,” Cleaver said consolingly. “The army boys have this. Look at ‘em go.”
Lysette watched as the F16s arrowed in for a second onslaught. The flying demonic horde were uncomfortably close by now, so close in fact that Lysette could make out eyes, features and deadly appendages. They swooped, spiraled and glided through the skies, cawing like prehistoric Pterodactyls only bigger. Lysette steeled her heart against fear.
Another whoosh and more missiles departed. The sky detonated into flame, black bodies incinerated. Body parts shattered everywhere, but this time a handful of demons landed on one of the jet fighters, covering its cockpit window and sitting on its wings. As Lysette watched, one of the demons reached down and tore out part of a jet engine, then tossed it away over its back. The F16 spluttered and faltered in mid-air and, then went into a dive. The demons flew off, screeching in victory.
Jade raced through to the cockpit. “Radio for more fighters,” she said. “Now.”
“Already did,” came the scared reply. “Minutes ago. Should be here soon.”
Lysette watched the F16 plunge straight down. A parachute ejected from the cockpit, but a passing demon saw it and homed in. But, as the demon attacked, Lysette saw it flinch and jerk as if from handgun fire and fall lifelessly away.
Well done, Fighter Pilot. One for the good guys.
There were still two F16s up here with them. Rolling and swerving, evading and engaging, they swept amidst the enemy, using missiles when they could and switching to bullets when they had to. Trails of lead stitched across the clouds and the skies, slamming the enemy into oblivion.
Lysette cheered, but then felt Jade bounce down beside her.
“Look to the horizon,” the elf said, “and brace for what’s to come.”
Lysette let her eyes drift upward.
The skies out there were black. Black with an approaching darkness; a vast, thick darkness of many bodies; a mass, a multitude of winged death; and the sun faded in their wake.
“Oh God,” Lysette whispered. “Oh God, save us.”
THIRTY TWO
The cloud engulfed them. The pilot nosed the aircraft down as fast as he dared. For a moment the skies outside the window grew so thick with demons that Lysette saw only blackness; not the F16s, not the clouds, nor even a speck of light. Terrifying faces smashed into her window, inches away, scraping the glass and snarling, then falling away only to be replaced by more. The plane juddered.
Jade strapped herself in. Lysette closed her eyes in terror and did the same.
“If you know any angels,” Jade said. “Pray to them now.”
Before Lysette could worry about the meaning of that statement, the sound of an explosion numbed her ears. Their aircraft rattled and shook. But a second later the skies cleared, and she could see once more.
Though she wished she couldn’t.
Shockingly, blood dripped down the outside of her window; thick black glutinous blood. Demon hide was stuck to the glass too, fluttering like an angry wasp. Beyond that was a scene of madness, a tableau straight from a renowned artist’s vision of hell on earth.
Demons flew through the skies, flitting, weaving and flapping their membranous wings. In their jaws were parts of aircraft and parts of men. Their talons dripped blood. Below, several jet fighters spiraled toward the ground, defeated, leaving trails of debris in their wake. Other F16s had now arrived, and the battle for victory raged through the skies above Florida; the strangest and possibly greatest aerial battle the world had ever seen.
Thousands of demons fought dozens of jet fighters; this was hell calling on all its reserves, every flying demon that had made it through the hellgate, and this was every available fighting plane that could make it to the battle. Bullets flew like drifting clouds in the air, blowing apart clusters of demons in a wet haze. Missiles streaked in between. Several planes were covered in crawling demons, with many more flapping and hovering outside windows and cockpits, clawing furiously at the glass, snapping at metal and supports. Clever pilots sent their planes into death-defying aerial maneuvers, shrugging demons off at every twitch and turn, but there were always more. Many more.
Up close, Lysette stared in horror at the bunch of demons that sat on her wing. Like a row of fairground gargoyles they perched, peering across at her, a mischievous fury in their inferno-bright eyes.
“Please no,” she breathed. “Please don’t.”
The ground rushed up at them, the pilot now starting to level off a little. She hadn’t realized they were so close to the ground. She could see hangars, parked planes, racing vehicles full of men, and a terminal building. But even so, she thought, even so, what chance do we have?
“Stay strong,” Jade said as if she could read Lysette’s thoughts. Maybe she could. Elves did communicate through telepathy.
The plane roared and levelled. Demons streaked by outside, not realizing how close they were to the ground and striking hard at terminal velocity, becoming mere bowling balls of dead parts. F16s swooped in as low as they dared, darting up at the last possible second and ridding themselves of dozens of enemies whilst many more simply crashed into the concrete runway. Another F16, felled by the winged horde, crashed to the side of the runway, fire exploding from its heart.
Lysette sucked in a deep breath as the demons sitting on the wing to her left reached for both engines and ripped them viciously from their moorings. The same thing must have happened on the other side because, without jet propulsion, the airplane fell out of the skies, dropping like a heavy stone.
Lysette clutched her plastic seat handles with every ounce of strength, as if they could save her from dying. The empty space through which the airplane dropped seemed to take an age to pass by. She found herself leaning forward and going rigid, every muscle taut.
Then, leisurely, the line of demons took off, a black cloud rising, and she knew the impact was imminent.
The landing was horrendous; the wheels folded, the belly crashed down hard. Lysette saw Lucy and Ethan, Ceriden and Cleaver, Jade; all holding on for their lives, but she had thoughts for nobody now but herself. That was the thing about plane crashes. Essentially, when it came down to it, you were well and truly on your own.
Overhead baggage compartments crashed open, deploying their cargo. Jade moved her head out of the way as a metal suitcase crashed into the back of her seat, denting the headrest. Lysette’s lower body hurt as she pitched in her seat, the seatbelt strap doing its job. Her skull smashed against the bulkhead and she saw a demon flying along outside, watching their progress and snapping its jaws together as if in anticipation of the coming kill. Sparks flew all around it, leaping from the contact between fuselage and concrete runway. Like a missile the plane shot along, dragging its body and breaking up as it went. Lysette saw the cockpit shear off and knew they were in trouble.
Real, mortal trouble.
Deadly debris whirled down the middle of the plane, swirled by a gust of sudden air. The front of the plane had gone. The pilots were gone. The aircraft’s fuselage veered at a thirty-degree angle. Structural cracks shot through the structure, one over Lucy’s head and another to the far side.
Lysette could only watch.
Already demons were flying in through the exposed nose, filling the gap and flapping to prevent themselves from being blown inside too fast.
And still Lysette could only watch.
Then it happened. The horrible thing. Lysette had made Lucy her charge, tried to look after her, and pretty much failed. Now, the plane burst open around the sixteen-year-old. The cracks separated and her part of the plane swerved and rolled to the left.
Disintegrating as it went.
Everything descended into chaos.
THIRTY THREE
Lysette threw up as the plane juddered to a sudden halt. Demons swarmed inside, their wings smashing against bulkheads, their beaks snapping plastic and metal apart. Even so, Lysette cast a glance over her shoulder, out of the window. Lucy’s part of the plane was just a mash of
fragmented rubble.
No . . .
She saw Marian Cleaver rear up, shotgun in hand and start laying waste to demons like they were garbage. Shell after shell blasted them apart, smashing them even as they croaked and died against the far bulkhead. Ceriden scooted past him, all vampiric rage and vengeance. His strength came to bear, letting him tear limbs and heads from the attacking creatures. Jade was a little slower, hurt by the various impacts, but she soon shook it off to engage in battle. Lysette pulled out a handgun, her only means of fighting, and tried to decide who to shoot.
Why am I Chosen? Why me?
Demons descended on Cleaver in a wave. Surely they could smell the artefact. And then Abaddon himself stalked into the plane, ripping seats and doors apart as he moved, barraging his way toward the beleaguered Cleaver.
Lysette saw truckloads of troops squealing to a halt outside.
And then she heard it . . . a faint whisper . . . a tiny voice in her head . . .
Help. Oh, help me. It hurts . . . hurts so bad . . . help, please . . .
Words. But not spoken aloud. Heard only in Lysette’s head and belonging to only one person.
Lucy!
Abandoning all notions of battle, Lysette jumped from her seat and leaped out of the nearest hole. Her feet hit the concrete hard, her legs folding, and then her forehead struck, scraping across the hot surface.
She saw stars. But it didn’t matter. Only the voice mattered now.
Do it. Please. I’m dying. Can’t you see? Dying . . .
Lysette cried. Tears ran from her eyes as she ran faster than she’d ever run before. Her heart heaved. Behind her the battle escalated as the soldiers arrived and engaged the demons. More flying beasts dipped down out of the skies. Lysette ran amidst the horror and the hell, narrowly missed by at least two swooping killers.
The Chosen Trilogy Boxset Page 41
