“It must be done quickly,” Uzkiev said suddenly, lowering a communicator. “The angels advance.” He paused, looking at Ungeo warily, then said, “The team dispatched to the Tower has met heavy resistance, but they report the Sphere will be shattered soon.”
Ungeo's heart stopped at that. She looked between the two. If the Sphere was shattered, then all this was for nothing.
Ascot nodded. Below, the great mass of demons lurched forward. On the ground and in the air. A great number of transports, fighters, and floating missile cruisers rumbled into the sky. A whole legion of the circular net traps buzzed ahead of the group. There were none of the massive beast transports. They had been sabotaged and attacked as a part of the Dahhak revolution efforts.
The platform on which they stood was actually a floating command center. It was outfitted with several automatic and manual defenses. Ungeo still felt terribly exposed. It moved behind the mass, barely squeezing between the buildings. On both sides above floated the enormous artillery guns that could fire shells a quarter of Cibola's width. None of them were ready yet, and each crawled with workers frantically cleaning and welding, removing and replacing panels on the side. They should be placed further back, much further back, but Ungeo knew they couldn't allow them to be placed in the unprotected rear.
There would be no quick end to this battle, even if the angels had all the periscepters. The moment the light was fired, ten square blocks around it would be destroyed by the artillery.
Her wrists were unbound and a large radio was shoved into her hands. It was on a known Dahhak frequency, and it should work the Kostchtchie communications officer explained, but no one was currently answering.
“This is Ungeo G'sslom,” she called into the radio. She spoke in Dahhak.
Far to her left, one of the massive artillery tanks suddenly roared to life. The barrel belched fire that laced into the air like the tongue of a dragon. “Please,” she called again into the radio. “Answer.”
* * * *
Far below and forward, Ko rode on a black transport skiff racing toward the new angel menace. He was tired and bruised from the endless fighting. He was in a constant state of near-drowning from the rain. No strength was left for this conflict, but he would find the energy somehow. He'd assembled a loose squadron of orphaned Footies, none of whom with a surviving officer.
A Marid from the adjacent skiff leaned over the rail waving at him. Ko eyed him warily. All Marid looked the same, so there was no way to know if it was one he knew.
It jumped from the skiff and zoomed over to Ko's. Ko had to reach out and pull the shadowy demon in.
“It's Tua,” he said.
“Tua?” Ko cried, clasping the Marid on the shoulder. He was of his original Footie platoon. “How are you alive? I thought I was the only one!”
“My gun was blasted out of my hands, and I was surrounded. So I played dead. I regrouped with a Marid unit of career soldiers. I'm one of them now.”
Ko told him his tale of fleeing with Tix and the captain and of both of their deaths. And of the constant, wild skirmishes that had followed. Even coming to meet up with this group to deal with the angels, he had to fight off Dahhak, Asag, and Overseer attacks.
“I gotta tell you something,” Tua said. “It's about that Charun of yours. She's been captured. And she's here.”
Fire
They floated above the sealed doorway to the room of the Sphere. The trip via the aorta was instantaneous, but they still had to come down several stories to get here. It had taken several hours, and every passing second was absolute torture to Tamael. She expected the darkness to sweep up at her at any moment.
Tamael looked at Indigo, waiting for orders. It had taken some time to mentally allow herself to think of the cicatrix bearer as her superior, but the Principalities immediately submitted to her. And even Frish acted differently around her now. Iopol remained outright hostile.
“We blast our way through like before,” Indigo said. “I wash the room in light, and we rush forward and do the same to those below.”
From underneath came a massive crashing. Beneath their feet, the floor buckled. Oh no, Tamael thought, waiting for the black to sweep over her. Yehppael.
“One of the columns has fallen,” Indigo said after a moment. “Let's do this.”
“I hope you know what you're doing,” Iopol muttered as he aimed his weapon at the door. They couldn't blast their ways through the floor like they did at the human levels—they were much thicker here—so they focused on the sealed door. At the same time they fired. The entire door flew away, falling below.
Tamael rushed in first, firing along the side of the Sphere, careful not to hit it. The surprised Dahhak turned to face the angels but were cut down immediately by the sweeping light of Indigo, who was in the arms of Frish.
“Forward,” Tamael yelled.
The room was in terrible shape. All three remaining pillars were damaged. The fourth had fallen inward against the black orb. Marble and dust littered the floor along with dozens of dead Dahhak. The orb itself had a single crack about twice the length of an angel running along the side. Maybe more as they were hard to see against the black.
Where the lower door had once been was a gaping opening. A Pazuzu burst up through the entrance, and Tamael fired at it, knocking it back down, but not before it hit one of the three columns.
Indigo and Frish dove down toward the hole while the others directed their fire at the entrance. It was over only a moment later. Frish placed Indigo gently on the ground. Both were covered with black soot.
“The room below was filled with ‘em, but they weren't expecting us,” Indigo said, wiping soot from her cheek and forehead. She was out of breath. “They may be back soon, though. And I can't keep this light on forever like Hitomi can.”
Two of the pillars looked as if they could snap and tumble at any moment. Tamael shook her head. “They may not need to return if we don't do something about this.”
Indigo surveyed the damage. Her eyes widened as if she was finally noticing how perilous their situation was. A large section of one of three remaining pillars cracked off, crashing to the floor below. “Holy crap,” she said.
“I'm not sure what that means, but yes, holy crap indeed,” Tamael said.
* * * *
“Who is this?” crackled the radio.
Ungeo jumped at the sound. “Hello,” she called, speaking Dahhak. “This is Ungeo G'sslom. With whom am I speaking?”
“Ungeo, this is Trukkac. We feared your death.”
“I want to speak to the prelate immediately.” She told Trukkac her situation, leaving nothing out. She told him what she wanted to ask.
On the other end, Trukkac sighed. “Lothe was just in there trying to convince him the same thing. I agree with you, but the prelate insists Moloch himself wants this. Nonetheless, I will attempt to patch you through.”
A moment later, “Moloch be praised! Ungeo is alive.”
“Your Excellency!” She began to tell the Dahhak prelate of their perilous situation, and of how all may be lost if they didn't aid the loyalists.
Afterwards, there was a terrible silence that lasted so long Ungeo feared she had been disconnected.
“Perhaps it is a test,” the prelate said finally. “The Decretal speaks of several instances where Moloch has deliberately misled followers to test them. Perhaps this is one.” He sighed heavily. “Allow me to speak with the Nidhogg.”
Ungeo's heart leapt. There was still hope. “Of course. Just a moment.”
* * * *
Somewhere along the past few hours, Ko had picked up a Geyrun-sized waist holster and personal hand weapon to supplement his giant hand cannon. He found it extremely useful when he had to deal with an enemy up close.
Ungeo was in mid-turn when he shot her. She had a radio in her large claw, and it hit the ground and shattered. Along with the remnants of her hand and forearm.
He'd lost his identity as a Geyrun. It was her fault. A
ll her fault. Ko thought of Qulp and Booja, and he knew neither would recognize him now. Because of her. A great fury boiled within, magnifying his already glowing hate.
He thought of Tix and the captain and all those friends he'd made in the short time he'd been a Footie. Gone. Of the great peace that had almost been. Of the dreams of so many, lost at the designs of this Charun.
Ko tried to imagine his greatest dream, coming home and picking Qulp up and placing the boy on his knee. Of telling him of the great war and how he had fought bravely. Of how his boy could now grow old because he was safe and free.
The hours of endless fighting had made him realize this was never going to happen. There would never be peace. Only war, pain, and death.
Ungeo G'sslom was a living, breathing manifestation of everything that was wrong with the Dominion. But not for much longer.
Ko stepped off the personal transport he had commandeered and onto the command platform. He walked toward the wretched Charun, who was on her knees, clutching the stump of her arm as the blood freely pumped.
“Stand down,” roared a Pazuzu commander. A moment later Ko had more than twenty guns trained on him. He reluctantly lowered his weapon, sticking it in the holster. He desperately looked around, seeking a way to kill her.
“No,” cried the cowardly Charun, looking at the charred pieces of her hand. “Moloch help me, what did you do?”
“What's going on here?” It was Uzkiev, coming from behind a gunner battery. The Nidhogg paused when he saw Ko and Ungeo. “You have a difficult time following orders, Geyrun. Why aren't you with your platoon?”
“They're all dead.”
“No,” Ungeo repeated. “He was asking to speak to you.”
“This Charun is a prisoner under my care. To attack her is a direct assault on me.”
“Please step aside.”
“I understand your feud with this Molochite, yesss, but this time apologies will no longer do.”
“Let me kill her.”
“No,” Uzkiev said. Ascot buzzed forward, landing on the snake's shoulder.
“Please, we must find another radio. They will come. They will.”
All around the artillery suddenly roared to life, filling the air with fire. The platform pitched, skewing everyone. Behind, a transport's forward landing gear buckled, causing the whole thing to crash down and ignite.
Ko had never met his father. He thought of him now. He wished he'd known him. He'd been killed by his master Overseer doing his job, a personal assistant. Ko had lived as one, but now he was about to die as a soldier. He prayed for Qulp, too, that if he ever had to live as a soldier, he would die knowing peace.
Ko was many things. Blundering, awkward with words, prone to terrible mistakes. But surviving as the Overseer's personal assistant—the same Overseer who cracked walls regularly with his fist and caved in floors with a stomped foot—he learned one thing: to remain sure-footed at all times.
All around him the others stumbled. Even Uzkiev who constantly floated rather than stood reeled at the sudden sway of the platform. Ko raised his half arm, aiming the giant weapon directly at the wide-eyed Charun. Smoke and fire erupted as he fired point blank.
They began shooting at him only a fraction of a second later.
Then there was a peace like he had never known. Finally, a great peace.
* * * *
“I'm worried about Rico,” Hitomi said to Gramm as she helped slide an angel out of a locking mechanism. The angels were surprisingly light.
“Thank you,” the angel whispered. But before she could get the hand spike out, the angel gasped and burned away to dust. That was the third time that had happened in the last few minutes. She moved to the next one.
A group of several hundred demons had attacked about ten minutes before, but they were overwhelmed and ripped to shreds by the weaponless angels before Hitomi could finish them off with the light. The number of free angels grew by the moment. With the discovery of a guards’ shack filled with weapons and hand-held welders like the one Dave once had, the number of freed angels went up exponentially.
“I am too,” Gramm answered. “Maybe I should go back to find him.”
“No. Not yet.”
The moans of pain were replaced with cheers, a roar not unlike the rain, and Hitomi had removed the cumbersome helmet long ago. Many of the humans were permanently deafened, especially those who had been here for some time. But for some their hearing had already returned. Many sulked away back into the city, but an equal number remained to help.
A thousand free turned to ten thousand. Then a hundred thousand, and then to great numbers beyond.
“Hitomi!” called a familiar voice. She turned to see Polsh rushing her. She suppressed a sob as she rushed up and hugged the engineer angel. She had last seen him just before they were captured.
“I thought you were dead!” she cried.
“When they described our savior, I knew it was you,” the large angel said, rain cascading off his head and face. He wept openly. “I knew it was you.”
“Where are the others?” she asked.
“I don't know,” he said. “Except Verdan. He plunged a knife into his own chest rather than allow himself to be captured.” He spit.
She wanted to simultaneously laugh and cry at that.
Floating behind Polsh was another angel, a female covered with bruises and wearing ripped remnants of robes. Her hands were quivering. “This is Vuriel,” Polsh said. “She has something to tell both of you.”
The angel swept forward. Her voice quavered when she spoke. “I was part of a team searching for your friend Dave in the northern wilderness when we were set upon.”
“Dave?” Gramm said. “I thought he was with Indigo. Rico said they had made it to the Tower.”
“Yes, your Indigo is in the Tower. There is something we need to do with the periscepters you carry.”
“We only have two,” Gramm said.
“We knew you didn't carry all of them. We weren't even certain you two were still alive. Each periscepter has a tracer within it. We were given the frequencies of each, and we were given the task to collect them. I don't know their progress in finding them. We are to be given a sign, and then you must shine the periscepters upon the Tower. All of them at once. It will kill the demons.”
“The Tower?” Hitomi said. “From here?”
“This isn't close enough,” she said. “They say you have to be within ten sections. We're about eleven and a half away.”
“Close,” Gramm whispered.
“But we don't know if someone has the other ones,” Hitomi said.
“I suspect we will learn one way or another,” Polsh answered.
“When do we do it?” Gramm asked.
“I don't know,” Vuriel said. “Soon. There's to be a sign. It can come at any moment.”
“I can move us in, but I need a picture in my head. I don't yet know how to do it otherwise. The only places I can think of are too far away,” Gramm said.
“We'll take a transport,” Polsh said. We'll fill it with the most able-bodied angels and bring you within range. We'll find a place to hide until the time comes.”
“Okay,” Hitomi said. “But first....” She trailed off. Rico suddenly appeared about twenty feet away, but he was bent over, gasping for breath. “Rico!” she cried, rushing forward. “Rico's hurt!”
They ran up to him. Hitomi grabbed his arm, pulling him from the mud. He was barely recognizable. His skin and clothes were covered with char, like he had been burned. A wild look ran rampant in his eyes.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Gramm asked.
“Give me the periscepter,” Rico said to Gramm.
“We can't,” Hitomi said. “We need them.”
“Give it to me right now,” he shrieked.
Gramm backed away. “What's wrong with you? What happened?”
Rico jumped forward, wrestling with Gramm. “Stop!” Hitomi cried. Then they both disappeared, just like that.
Around them, the people gasped.
* * * *
The rain washed across Dave's face. The water was hot, almost burning, and each drop pounded against him like it was hail, threatening to pummel him to the ground. He stood upon a tall building, staring off into the distance. Into the horde.
An angel standing near him mentioned this was once a neighborhood filled mainly with Hashmallim. Most of the buildings were colorless and slender, clutched tightly together, no two the same height. Only a few had flat roofs like the one he was upon now. The rest were pointed, curved, jagged. The landscape of a nightmare.
It was here where the main battle would take place. All around him the angels formed, an impossible number. They spread for miles upon miles to his left and to his right and high, high above. Everywhere, a giant living thing. A living wall. They were the fists of heaven. Battered, bruised, and weakened. But this time not taken by surprise, not naïve. And they were clenched, ready to pound.
The banished angels who chose to fight alongside their brothers and sisters were offered guns, but many preferred to use their swords and spears. They had left this world before human technology could inspire the creation of the engineering guilds. And like many of the older angels, they shunned what they didn't understand.
They were going to change their minds fast, Dave thought sadly.
“Look,” someone said. “The Cherubim change form.”
A large group of angels near the front grew, their robes ripping from their body. Shivers coursed through him as they grew two additional heads, transforming into lions the size of whales. Their manes were blue fire and their wings were the width of airliners. Zydkiel, the scarred angel who he'd met at the cliff was one of them.
In each hand Dave carried a periscepter. Actually he had five of them, but two were attached to each other in one hand and three in the other. Tamael said that wouldn't matter, even suggested trying to do that over her long message.
It didn't take him long to realize that these five periscepters had been Hitomi and Gramm's. The thought tortured him, but he didn't have the luxury of mourning just yet.
He looked around, trying to grasp the number of angels around him. They had been scattered and hiding, still a large number but mostly in groups of 500 or less, rarely fighting and more concerned with survival. The idea of once again rising up and regaining the city had been lost long ago.
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