Angels and the Bad Man

by M. K. Gibson

  “You are the worst wingman ever,” Riggs grunted in pain.

  “You’re not exactly the best yourself, asshole.”

  “Do I have to remind you that you were going to turn me and TJ into liquid fertilizer?”

  “Right about now, I am wishing I had,” Riggs said, wincing with his eyes closed. “Wouldn’t have to deal with what’s coming now.”

  “What’s coming?”

  He held up his severed hand. The one that had the ring. “I no longer control the angels.”

  Oh . . . shit. I looked, and everywhere, the combative angels were now free. Some continued fighting back, while others turned to run. That meant Legion was now free to come and kill us at his leisure.

  That was it. Game over.

  “Any last words?” I asked.

  “When I die, I’ll come back.”

  “Asshole.”

  Riggs chuckled through the pain. “It was nice knowing you, Grandson.”

  “It . . . it was nice knowing you as well.”

  I held up my bracers and projected an energy shield around both of us as a hail of weapon fire rained down. The shield held, but with every blast, I felt my internal energy supply get lower and lower.

  A few well-placed hex bullets, and we were dead. But no, Legion just unloaded round after painful round into us while they all laughed. The noise was deafening and both Riggs and I screamed, knowing the end was coming.

  And then, over the din of battle, a Mighty Trumpet sounded.

  Loud and sweet, ringing across the battlefield, the call of Gabrielle, the Horn Blower, echoed the Will of God. With crimson battle plate and purple wings, she arrived in her full glory, descending upon the Legion, and she was not alone. Landing beside her in a swirl of darkness was Sariel the Angel of Death.

  The two archangels stood there in the middle of the battlefield, imposing and powerful. Yet they did nothing. The angels on the field rallied around them and even Legion seemed baffled.

  It was clear, the archangels were waiting. For what, I wasn’t sure. Then, he came.

  Chael. Michael.

  He bounded through the courtyard gates, his pale white skin and long black hair painted in blood. Like a crazed madman he came to stand before them, his dead white eyes looking them over as if it was his first time gazing upon his kin. The white eyes flashed blue for a moment, and in that briefest of seconds, Chael—Michael—knew them.

  “Master TJ,” Sariel said.

  “As we instructed,” Gabrielled followed up.

  TJ stepped out from behind them. I didn’t even see the boy standing behind the massive angels. He came to stand in front of the archangels and in his hand were the Tears of God.

  Michael’s eyes flashed blue as he looked upon The Tears. Seeing the pure crystalline light, he wept. The archangel’s tears streaked down his face through blood and grime.

  “Let—” TJ started, then stopped. He looked to Sariel and Gabrielle for encouragement, and they both nodded to the boy.

  “Let there be LIGHT.”

  And Light Be.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Mischief and Johnny Cash

  Within the boy’s hands hovered two miniature suns.

  In flash of brilliance The Tears of God erupted forth, streaming pure light from TJ’s hands, eyes and mouth, flooding the courtyard. The boy turned his head, looking at across the battlefield. Everywhere the son of Raphael looked, the light of God shone.

  Some put their hands up, reflexively, perhaps to protect their eyes or perhaps because of shame they felt in the face of purity. Others simply embraced The Light. They stood there and basked in the pure and true light.

  The light didn’t push away darkness; it eradicated it. Across the courtyard the light vibrated with an audible resonance. Tones. Ringing chimes from a time before Time itself existed.

  And there were also screams of the dying. The light from The Tears, guided by TJ, sought out those who had transgressed against us and destroyed them in a very Old Testament, vengeful God kind of way.

  Legion, all of them, melted away in the light. Their bodies dissolved in gurgling screams of wailing anguish as the light burned every last molecule of their blood and tissue. TJ left none of the assassins alive. Was it the will of God that smote Legion, or was it the vengeance of a thirteen-year-old son who was afraid for his father?

  When the screaming stopped, the light abated in power and intensity, and I saw TJ stagger. Like Moses coming down from the mountain, TJ was touched by something more powerful than the universe in which we resided, and his flesh bore that mark. His hair was now pure white, as were his eyes. Gone were his irises and pupils, leaving only the whites behind. But even from here, I could tell TJ wasn’t blind. I knew he had sight more powerful than all of us.

  I looked at my hands as I lay there. I felt the stirring of something. Call it the soul. Call it inspiration. But then and there, I truly felt again. When the final waves of light hit me, I felt cleansed. I felt forgiven. And in the briefest of moments, I heard a voice.

  Faint, yet . . . powerful.

  I heard His Voice. The Voice of God. A message for me and me alone. And in that fleeting moment I felt His Presence.

  And then, nothing. It was gone.

  He was gone.

  The Presence left as abruptly as it had arrived. Lying there, I felt diminished.

  I felt less. Saddened. Alone.

  Yet hopeful.

  As The Light receded, the Deep-One-possessed, killing monolith known as Chael was literally burned away. Gone forever. In his place knelt Michael. He Who Was Like God.

  The Archangel of Courage in The Darkness. Michael rose up to his full height, his true height, towering above all others. Gone was the shirtless psychotic in pants made of human and demon skin. Gone was his long, lank, black hair, replaced with clean ebony locks. He was dressed in intricate armor and cloth made of the deepest blacks and the purest white. His wings, black with smoke-gray hues, flexed along his back. He was once again whole. And his brilliant blue eyes regarded me as I lay there on the cold white stone of the temple’s courtyard.

  For a brief moment, I was sad to say goodbye to the insane Chael I’d come to know.

  “Come out, my friend,” Michael said. His voice was clear and lucid. It resonated with power and clarity.

  Painfully, I crawled out from where we were dug in, pulling Riggs with me. Once we were free, the two of us supported one another and limped over to the three archangels. The remaining angels parted for us. There was a sense of begrudging respect. Two humans fought for them, protected them, while they ran in fear of their questionable mortality.

  The sense of irony was tangible as I nodded to the angels.

  Michael stepped up to Riggs and me. “You have saved me. Saved us. Thank you. Now, be whole once more.”

  Michael laid a hand on each of us, directly on our foreheads. And I felt the power and light of his will enter us. Healing warmth similar to that of Gabrielle radiated through me. From his touch, I felt wounds close. I felt my life replenished.

  Beside me, I saw Riggs’s hand regrow. His exo-suit reverted back to its liquid state and retreated into his bracers. Riggs flexed his new hand and smiled.

  “It’s killing you inside to help me, eh?” Riggs asked, smirking. Michael nodded and squeezed his massive hand, which was still atop Riggs’s forehead, just a little, to make Riggs wince.

  “Asshole.”

  “Thank you,” I said to Michael, who released Riggs and smiled at me.

  One of the gathered angels broke through the ranks and presented himself before the three archangels and knelt down to one knee. It was Jophiel, the leader of the Choir.

  “Forgive me,” Jophiel said to Michael. Michael knelt down next to him and placed his forehead against Jophiel’s. Michael placed his hand on the back of the angel’s neck.

  The act was almost human.

  “No, forgive me. For what I did to you and for what I became. I was lost. Corrupted. I had given up. F
or too long I fought them and in a moment of doubt, my resolve wavered. In that fleeting moment, they took hold of me. The Deep Ones invaded my mind and I was their minion. I thank you for leading The Choir in my absence. For guarding this place while the others guided The Tears for as long as they did.”

  Gabrielle then addressed the gathered angels. “Now, we have all been presented an opportunity. A chance to do what was never given to us before. A chance to create our own purpose. Not one in service to The Creator. But one we choose for ourselves. Our own destiny. Beyond this place. In the world where we are needed. His enemies thrive while we hide. No more.”

  Damn. Now that’s how you make a speech. I needed to write that down.

  “What of the Tears of God?” Jophiel asked.

  Sariel waved his hand to regard TJ. “They have moved on. From our care to his.”

  “That is correct. Now it is our time to choose a new destiny for ourselves,” Michael finished.

  The angels nodded their acquiescence to their leaders’ decisions. “Where will we go? What will we do?” one of the other angels asked.

  At first, I was going to offer them refuge on my land. But I stopped myself for several reasons. First, because I already did that with the people of Midheim and I’d hate to fall into a rut. Nothing worse than being predictable or formulaic.

  But secondly, and most importantly, because Vali and Vidar lived there leading their—our— people. And I wasn’t sure what kind of friction could come from having angelic cousins in one place with humans stuck between them. It could be a new utopia. But more likely it would be a cult or a war zone.

  An idea struck me. It was either a beautifully elegant solution to many problems or the dumbest thing that ever oozed out of my moronic mind.

  “I have a solution, I think,” I said.

  Michael stood and came to tower before me. “What is it?”

  I told him. And he laughed. Then Gabrielle laughed. Then freaking Sariel laughed. Courage, Will and Death stood there belly laughing at me. It was humbling. Well, I guess that answers that. Dumb idea. Dumb dumb dumb.

  “That is perfect,” Michael said.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot sometimes. I just figured . . . say what?”

  “Your idea. It is perfect. It gives us purpose, pedantic as it is. Some changes will need to be made. But in this, you have given us the opportunity to be needed once again. In this, people will once again believe in us. Have faith in us. And that will replenish us with power.”

  Riggs looked skeptical. “Do you think you can pull this off?”

  “Yeah, I do. I have an in. And I can’t think of anything better than sticking it to the demonic nobility in a way that makes them all rely on mankind and angels.”

  “Sounds like you still have a little of me in you.”

  “I do,” I admitted. “Building things. Fixing things. Mischief, and Johnny Cash.”

  “Yeah, JC got me through a lot of dark times. Trust in his lyrics, kid. He was more of a prophet than a man.”

  “I was very proud of him,” Sariel said. “One of my most favorite descendants.”

  Well, I guess that explained a lot.

  “But in the meantime,” I said, “I need to get the tears back to New Golgotha if I am going to keep Löngutangar from being destroyed. Can you get us back there?”

  “I will,” Michael offered.

  “As will I,” said Gabrielle.

  “Then we need to go, now. Riggs, I assume you will return to First Heaven? Riggs? Where are you?”

  “Here,” he said, walking back from across the courtyard. “Just had to get something back. Yeah. I’ll be there.”

  “Good,” I said. “When I get this sorted out, I’ll message you. This could be big, you know.”

  “That’s what I am afraid of. After this is done, I’m going to have to disappear. Too many people will try and take advantage of me.”

  “Understood,” I said.

  I didn’t really, though. But if what he said was true and that his descendants could command him, then hiding out was his best option.

  “I’ll hear from you soon,” Riggs said as he put his hand out and I took it. I looked him in the eye and shook his hand. I felt like we should hug or something. Family and all. But maybe it was too soon.

  As I took my hand back, Riggs palmed me a couple of items. One was a folded and sealed letter. The other was a ring. His ring. The Seal of Solomon. I looked at it wide-eyed.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Where you’re going, and with what you have to do, you going to need it. If it’s with you, no one can compel me to use the Well. And if you have any shot of pulling off this bullshit plan of yours, then yeah, you’ll need the influence, kid. Just try not to rely on it. It corrupts. Trust me.”

  In that moment, there was a bond. I know he felt it also. A deep connection that only family can feel. Loneliness and a river of time had separated us, but now we were within arm’s reach.

  Screw it, I was going in for the hug. And you know what? So did he.

  “Granddaddy,” I whispered. It was what I called him when I was a kid.

  He just held me closer. “See you soon, boy.”

  “Try not to destroy the world while I’m gone,” I said.

  He broke the hug and gave me a playful smack in cheek. “Not today. Today, I think I am going to help you heal it. When you have time, time alone, read the letter. Heed it.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “Now get out of here. Save your town. Beat the bad guys. Do the hero thing. Just do it with a smirk.” Riggs looked me over and smiled.

  “I don’t know another way.” I smiled.

  “Salem, it is time,” Michael said as he walked up with TJ by his side. The boy was quiet, yet smiling.

  I knelt down in front of TJ. “Are you ready?”

  “Hell yeah.” TJ smiled.

  “I need to take these then. May I?”

  “Yes. Just save my dad.” TJ held his hands out, offering The Tears to me.

  “You got it, kid.”

  I reached out to take The Tears of God and hesitated a moment. Placing my hand on them, I waited for pain or another episode. And . . . nothing.

  They were solid. Real. I took them gingerly from TJ’s hand and stowed them in my coat pocket.

  “Michael. When you’re ready. Gabrielle, if you please, drop TJ off at Löngutangar while Michael and I visit Archduchess Lady Bathin’s palace in the Black Marble district of Ars Goetia.”

  “Then let us go,” Michael said, and Gabrielle nodded.

  “See you soon, kid,” I said to TJ, who smiled, and his white eye winked back at me as Gabrielle and TJ dissolved into the energy of the Ley Lines.

  “Second star on the right, straight on ’til morning,” I said to Michael.

  The archangel Michael rolled his eyes. Yes. Archangels apparently roll their eyes. “You would look ridiculous in tights,” Michael said.

  Just before the two of us dissolved into energy and joined the power of the Ley Lines, Michael paused and laughed. Hard.

  “‘Halo, how are you!’ I just got that.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  A Certain Ring

  Now, in Black Marble

  Michael and I materialized in Black Marble, the former Washington DC, where Archduchess Lady Bathin made her citadel. DC was once the hub of the free world, founded by the forefathers of the United States. Men of vision and hope. Ironic, since it became a cesspool of crooks, liars, and pandering, nepotistic assholes.

  So, not much has changed since then.

  Last time I was here was right after Father Grimm first hired me. After our first meeting at Dante’s. It felt like a lifetime ago. It was fitting that this was where I got to put this whole thing to rest. Where I got to put this crazy freaking last several months behind me and move on with living my life, if you can call it that.

  We approached the gates to her citadel and I announced myself to the nearest hellion security guar
d. “Baron Salem and guest to see Archduchess Bathin. We have an appointment.”

  ********

  “Do you have The Tears of God?” Bathin asked, sitting on her ornate throne of wood, marble and bone.

  Each component of the throne represented the kingdom tiers of New Golgotha. The tiers of success. The noble-born Pride demoness was dressed in her usual, slightly provocative ensemble, a blood-red lace corset and matching leather pants. This time, though, she was sporting a black off-the-shoulder cape. Along with the vestments of her power, she wore a silver- and gold-entwined circlet atop her forehead and woven into her horns and white braided hair. She smiled her Prideful smile. She had won, and she knew it.

  The inside of her throne room was more like a corporate CEO office, complete with a horseshoe-shaped executive table and wall-mounted holo-terminals running news and current events. Where it broke with modernism was with the smoky marble stone walls and actual burning sconces. Certain traditions had to be upheld, I guess.

  Seated at the table were her retainers and lords.

  And that smug bastard Andromalius. The demon bastard who got me sent to prison and who threatened my people. Still dressed in his throwback slacker clothing, complete with wool cap, excessive rings and bracelets, the demon oozed douchebag.

  Next to him was Maz’ael. Maz tried hard to look hard, but he couldn’t meet my eyes. Our last meeting established our personal pecking order and he knew it. My vision of Vali, and what he did to Maz, trickled back to me.

  And I smiled.

  “Looking rough, Maz,” I told the demon. “Meet some interesting people?”

  “Fuck you,” he said in response. He seethed looking at me.

  Good. Because it was taking every last ounce of my waning willpower to not come across the table and beat him to death with one of those fancy leather office chairs they were reclining in.