The Shivered Sky

by Matt Dinniman

  But the radio message had energized them. Most had radios available to them, and they had begun to find each other. As Dave and the banished angels pressed through the woods and toward the city, their numbers swelled. Any anger or resentment the angels had for their banished brothers was swallowed. One assembly, hidden deep in the forest had been meticulously planning one last final assault, but everything had been pushed up because of this. They swept forward once the rain began, tracking and retrieving five of the periscepters.

  Then came word that the demons were dealing with a revolution of their own, and it was decided they could wait and organize no longer.

  They only had to push about ten miles forward, then they'd be within ten sections of the Tower. So close. They would have to fight for every inch now, and hold their position however long it took.

  They were out of practice, poorly armed, and without central leadership, but they were determined and angry, and they were fighting for their own land.

  There were still two unaccounted for periscepters, but a wing of angels had sneaked behind the demon lines and was attempting to get to them. He prayed Rico was alive by some miracle, and that he had learned how to use them. If not, they would desperately seek out humans, trying to find someone like Hitomi.

  The artillery began to pound a few miles to his left. Buildings evaporated. All around him, the angels roared. They charged, thundering away into the storm.

  He was to stay here under the tent, the secondary command area, only using the light as an absolute last resort. If he brought attention to himself, he'd have that artillery raining down on him in seconds.

  Dear God, he thought as the angels and demons met in the sky.

  The two armies clashed, and the resulting thunderclap almost knocked him over. Fire, steel, teeth. He watched through a pair of air binoculars that could see sharply for miles. It rained bodies and blood, and even at this distance, the sound blended in with the rain. Cries of pain, belching cannons, flesh being ripped apart. The skyline was a panorama of death.

  The ground crawled with demons too, ripping through the streets on broad, floating boats equipped with flame-throwers and guns. A line of buildings exploded, showering rocks on the boats, sending them and their occupants into chaos. The three-headed Cherubim swept down on them, claws raking up four or five at a time.

  In certain areas Dave saw the demons were easily dominating the sword-wielding angels. They had round, floating guns that spun flower-shaped patterns of fire into the angels, cutting through them like paper. One of the weapons jammed, and the angels were on it, cutting at it with their swords. But they were picked off by the winged women demons with tails, and the gun was quickly repaired and put back into use.

  “This is unbearable,” the Power next to him said, also wielding a pair of air binoculars. He commanded this area. The artillery shelling continued. A building only five blocks away rocked with an explosion, shattering the windows all around. “The demons have completely broke through in some areas down the line.”

  Dave had to look away, beginning to wish he had accepted their offer for a helmet. Below, the streets were an ocean of blood, demon bodies, and dying angels.

  The angels began to be pushed back; all around their gains evaporated as the demons’ heavy guns and fighting machines asserted their dominance. The demons were clearly uncomfortable in the rain, but their forward ranks were littered with floating skiffs and platforms upon which they could rest.

  “I have to do it,” Dave said. “Pick me up and I will strafe them with the light. We'll do it as long as it takes.”

  He didn't have to request it twice. The Power swept Dave into his arms.

  They flew parallel with the advancing demon line. Dave aimed directly at the center, arcing the light. Almost immediately the artillery started raining down near them. They moved fast, zigzagging. The angels began to focus on the platforms where the demons had to rest, blowing several out of the sky. The banished angels picked up dropped weapons, quickly learning how to use them.

  But the demons would not push back. It became a stalemate, both sides breaking themselves on each other, even with Dave cutting through them. He could only do it sparingly. It sapped his energy and they had to move after each burst. It became a battle of attrition, one the demons would easily win.

  “We have to push forward,” Dave said. He thought of Gramm, Hitomi, and Rico. If they were dead, he wouldn't allow it to be for nothing. He couldn't.

  All around him, angels and demons died.

  * * * *

  Gramm hit the ground hard. Still, he didn't loosen his grip on the periscepter. It was more out of surprise than desire to keep it away from Rico. He rolled away, hitting a wall. The weapon flew from his hand and landed in a deep red carpet out of reach. They were back in Moloch's apartment. The place looked like it had been torn apart by a squall.

  Rico was on the ground a few meters away, breathing and coughing heavily.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Rico began to pick himself up. He lurched for the periscepter.

  “No,” cried another voice from the other room. Rico's voice. Weakened, but clearly Rico. Confusion mounted. “It's not me. He's a shapeshifter. Don't let him get away with the periscepter. Don't.”

  Gramm didn't have time to think. The wall was covered with knives and swords, and he yanked off a long, black blade and hurled it at the wobbling form of Rico.

  Gramm had never thrown a knife before in his life, but it embedded right into the neck of the other form. It sank to the floor and fell over, blood spraying. Gramm jumped over, snatched up the periscepter, and pointed it. He flashed the light.

  Nothing.

  From the other room came a laugh. A horrifying laugh.

  “No,” Gramm said, the realization of what he'd done hitting him like a train.

  Rico rolled over, hand over the wound in his neck. He had already pulled out the knife. The wound tried to heal itself, but the blood still flowed, like water out of a dam.

  “Don't let him laugh at me,” Rico said, the words gurgled. “I don't want to hear it when I die.”

  A numbness crept over Gramm. How stupid can I be? He rushed into the room, kicked in the door. There it was. The demon. He had a long gash along its black, legless body. The strange women, all of them dead, surrounded him.

  “You can't do anything to me,” the black demon said. “I am a god. Immortal, and I will be worshipped long after your kind has been forgotten.” He began to laugh.

  Gramm raised the periscepter and removed the demon from life. He rushed back to Rico, falling to his knees, sobs wracking his very soul.

  “What did I do?” Gramm said. “What did I do?”

  Rico wasn't dead. Not yet. There was an impossible amount of blood, and his friend's words were distant. “I thought I was dead, but the girls saved me. They attacked him, but he killed them. Then he laughed at me, so I stuck a spear in his side. ‘That didn't kill your god,’ he said. ‘It won't kill me.'”

  “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

  “It's not your fault, brother. Don't sweat it.” He coughed up blood.

  Gramm couldn't feel his arms or legs. He wished for his own death.

  “Gramm,” Rico asked. “Was I wrong? About the angels?”

  “We're all the same. Some are good. Some aren't.”

  “Do you remember what that thing in the woods said to me? He said I had an important role. That makes me feel good. Do you think I did something important?”

  “Yes I do, Rico.”

  “I ... I hope so.”

  “You have to stay with me.”

  “It was a good throw. It took me a long time to be able to do that.”

  “Stay with me.”

  “I can't.” He closed his eyes, and he died.

  Part of Gramm died, too. He placed a hand on Rico's warm cheek, tears streaming down his face. How could anyone live after making such a terrible mistake? He picked up the knife. He clutched it in hi
s hand.

  * * * *

  “What is that noise?” Dave asked, looking over his shoulder. A massive cry rose from the east, and shadowed against the clouds a stain spread across the sky. The sight terrified him. He pulled the periscepters to his chest, his breaths coming in gasps.

  “We're being flanked!” cried the Power. “I need immediate relief to the east!”

  “Shit,” Dave said. “We're toast.”

  They had been pushing back and forth for what seemed like hours, neither side gaining ground without losing it again almost immediately. The first several stories of the buildings below were buried in blood-soaked demon bodies. The fighting grew in intensity, both sides overwhelmed with the constant shifts.

  “They're angels!” came the cry.

  “Angels? From where? There are so many!” the Power said into his radio. He listened intently. He looked at Dave.

  “They say three of your friends assaulted the angel prison camps and freed them all. Two males and a female, armed with periscepters.”

  It was the best thing he'd heard since he'd returned.

  Above, the angels swept down on the demons, carving them away like a scythe on grass. Like a wave on a campfire. Like light on darkness.

  * * * *

  The building was actually a raised turret just inside the main gate. There were two of them, and he could assault either. He chose the easternmost tower because it had the least amount of damage. And the demons were congregated closer to the other one.

  Levi hid within a crashed Human Jumper just a short flight away. He worriedly watched the rain wash down on another wrecked jumper nearby. If the explosives got too wet ... No. He wouldn't let himself think like that. He'd covered them properly.

  The human skeletons stared at him. He welcomed their scorn.

  The main gate was once beautiful, and it dismayed him to see it like it was now. The great arch once spread high into the red sky, covered with flowers and vines, and an immense garden grew in front of it. Towering statues of Cibola's architects stood looking over the entrance, both pointing to another sculpture within, an empty throne. A pond filled with thousands of multi-colored fish surrounded it.

  All that was gone now. The plants were dead, the pool drained. The statues and throne smashed and burned. The white of the arch blackened with war.

  When he had scouted the gate earlier, there were only three guards, all Pazuzu. Now there were twenty, all Dahhak except for one. A hulking, three-legged Asag, a living hill with a gun the size of a Foray cannon.

  It was time.

  Levi had invented and designed over a thousand devices in his lifetime, and every single one of them was a failure. None accomplished their main goal: to serve and defend the citizens of Cibola. To better their lives. He thought of that now as he held the remote and flipped the switch, praying he'd get it right at least this once.

  To his left the wreckage exploded in a great fireball. Heat washed across his face. Then another explosion followed from another wreck further down.

  The demons immediately burst into the air, brandishing their weapons. All rushed forward except the Asag, who raised its massive weapon, searching the sky for the unseen threat.

  The Dahhak descended upon the burning wreckage. When they were close enough, Levi flipped the third switch to trigger the big one, the one to finish them off.

  Click. Nothing.

  “Son of a demon,” he said, grabbing his makeshift rocket launcher. He jumped up and out of a jagged hole in the jumper, aiming at the red-painted rock. He fired and leapt back down, covering his head.

  The detonation was more powerful than he anticipated. His hiding place rocked and crumpled, throwing him over onto his side. His arm crunched painfully against the toothed metal wall. He burst into the sky just before the jumper exploded from the Asag's cannon. He flew at his top speed toward the turret, crisscrossing as the Asag filled the air with flak. Almost directly above the gate and Asag, he pulled the strap on his backpack, releasing the 120 bomblets on the giant beast below.

  The monster unleashed one last blast as death rained upon him, and it knocked Levi from the sky. He nose-dived, hitting hard. His consciousness threatened to flee, but he fought the darkness with everything he had. He looked down with horror to see his legs mangled and bloodied. The pain came then, and he could do nothing but scream.

  The door was right there, and he pulled himself toward it. All around came the shouts of demons, coming to investigate the explosions. He had to get himself inside. He tried to raise himself, but his wings just didn't work. Then he was at the wooden door, pulling it open. From behind came a distant shout, and a rifle blast ricocheted off the wall to his left.

  Inside, he slammed the door. Taking a deep breath, he tried his wings again. He floated slowly up, the pain excruciating. Up and up he went, all the way to the top.

  They began firing on the turret, explosions threatening to topple the entire building. Blood freely flowed from his legs, the wounds mortal.

  He went through the narrow hole at the top, coming into the room of the shofar. The massive horn twisted around the chamber, made of a strange ivory-like material that was unknown to him, and it was carved with the image of the forest. The bell of the horn rose vertically into the air cresting like a flower, wide as the turret itself. The body snaked and snaked until the single mouthpiece at the very center of the room.

  Tamael's message had been clear: the shofar had to be sounded. It was the only way to manually open the mouth of the Tower. It would be the sign to allow the others to know when to shine their light.

  Levi prayed for strength, and it was given. With one hand he grasped onto the receiver, pursing his lips. With everything he had left, as the building and his own life crumbled all around him, he leaned forward.

  Redemption, too, came at that moment for Levi. For he died with the sound of the shofar ringing in his ears.

  * * * *

  While the horn itself was almost deafening to the demons advancing upon the crumbling tower, it was the frequency, not the volume, that caused the sound to resonate deep into the ground, to cause the very ice to hum and amplify the call, to make the sound rise high and above everything, filling every corner of the angel world with the full, rich call.

  * * * *

  High above Cibola, at the very top of the mighty Tower, the mouth yawned.

  * * * *

  Far, far below, Indigo desperately tried to find a way to save the Sphere. They wound the columns with the fabric from the massive curtains below, but they didn't help. Tamael was underneath the Sphere, her hand holding it. It was light as a bubble she said, but she didn't know if it would stay when the pillar fell. And even if it did, Indigo knew she wouldn't be able to hold it forever.

  The blare of the shofar resounded throughout the Tower. Everyone stopped and looked at Indigo. She had the five periscepters put together in three different sections. With two in one hand and one in the other, she pointed at the exterior wall and fired. Immediately, she felt a strange sensation in her stomach, and the light locked itself on, unable to turn off.

  My friends, she prayed. Please be ready.

  * * * *

  Hitomi and Polsh stood atop a massive dome. Once, the building had been used for races. Hitomi's heart was heavy with worry for Dave, Gramm, and Rico. She didn't know where they were and if they had the periscepters. She and Polsh had decided they could wait no longer and stole a demon transport. They rode unhindered until they found this place.

  The horn echoed.

  “There,” Polsh said, pointing southeast. “That should be about right.”

  With the single periscepter she had, she fired. Her arm stiffened, and the light became a solid thing, like she was suddenly pulling on a rope.

  “I think I have it,” she said.

  * * * *

  “Are we close enough?” Dave asked. The battle continued to rage, and the demons were falling back fast. Some in full retreat. The shofar blast sent the angels i
nto a frenzy, pressing twice as hard.

  “Yes,” came the answer.

  He raised both weapons and fired.

  * * * *

  Gramm was on his knees, staring at the knife when he heard the shofar. He ignored it. He was thinking of his own death. Of dying alone. He didn't want that to happen to him again.

  “Rico,” he whispered again. “Forgive me.”

  The horn blast ceased, echoing. Finally, he wondered about it. Then he remembered, jumping up, grabbing the periscepter. Was he close enough? He didn't know, and there were no windows here.

  He rushed into Moloch's room. The dead demon was completely gone, but the women remained. Rico said they had saved him, and they died because of it. “I'm sorry,” he said to them, too.

  He searched the wall of screens for the right image. He looked and looked, desperation rising. Time was running out. Then he saw it. Someone wasn't too far from the Tower, looking at it. Beams of light came at it from two different directions, and the whole thing glowed slightly. He put the image in his head and went there.

  He landed on a balcony of a building a few blocks from the Tower, knocking over a surprised-looking woman who shrieked and ran off. It smelled of incense here. Demons floated all around, Dahhak, but all of them had their attention on the Tower.

  He raised the periscepter, first at them, then the Tower.

  * * * *

  The blast from the idiot Geyrun's weapon knocked her down, scorched her body to the edge of oblivion, but it didn't kill her. Someone was wrapping up her hand wound. He was too close, Ungeo thought miserably as they picked her up. Everyone knew those hand cannons decreased their firepower the closer the target was to the barrel. He should've used the other weapon he had. The gun he had used to blow off her hand.

  “Poor Ko,” Uzkiev said sadly as a Pazuzu rolled his fat body off the platform and to the city street below.

  “Poor Ko?” Ungeo raged. “The prelate was asking to speak with you! And look at my hand!”