by Roy Bright
The Colonel, Conrad, and two remaining soldiers regroup in a corner of the room opposite to the multitude of creatures doing the same.
“Weapons check,” Nathan says, grabbing his rifle by its sling. He removes the magazine and checks the remaining rounds. He sighs as he reinserts it then cocks the weapon. He glances at his men as they perform the same routine, tailored to their own individual weapons. With the exception of Conrad, they look terrified, and that fear has transferred to the clunky manner in which they perform their checks – a routine they had carried out countless times before with expert ease, often in the dark. But here, facing the horror that swarms across the room, huddled and snarling at them, that level of skill seems alien, as though they had never known how to do it. Fighting enemy soldiers is one thing, an act they had been trained and were prepared for, but fighting demons and knowing that a soul could be damned, banished to Hell – that knowledge was the worm burrowing through their brains. A dangerous, cancerous fear that unless brought to heel would without doubt be the end of them.
The Colonel whispers. “Ease yourselves boys. If this is to be it, then go out like a soldier and with a clear conscience. You are all good men and I have no doubt in my mind that all of you are destined to rise, not fall. So let us do God’s work for him today and ready your weapons, they will be coming for us.”
One of the soldiers takes a long, deep breath, and puffs out his chest.
“Atta-boy,” Nathan says, returning his attention to the gathering Taken on the opposite side of the room. “Show ’em no fuckin’ quarter.”
The creatures sway in unison, their teeth glinting in the sparse light afforded the room from the open doorway and the remaining soldiers’ weapon lights. Each has their arms down by their sides, clawed fingers extended and twitching, eager to tear into the men across the room.
Conrad whispers “Приходьте отримати деякі” in his native Ukrainian, or “Come get some,” and the creatures either understand his challenge or it is pure coincidence as they rush at them upon hearing his words.
The men are about to open fire when the wall to the right of the stampeding Taken explodes and through it, framed by daylight, streaks Uriel with wings extended, his huge sword raised and a pissed-off look on his face. He strikes at the closest bunch of Taken and they explode into dust, showering the room in their expired form. He then raises his sword and slams it into the ground causing it to radiate holy light outward and vaporize the remaining creatures, their ashes dropping to the ground where they stood. He pulls his blade from the ground, rests it upon his shoulder, and strides over to the soldiers. “Are you men okay? Can you still fight?”
Conrad bursts into laughter. “Holy fucking shit!” he says, grinning from ear-to-ear.
***
The gigantic clawed hand whistles through the air as the Destructor swings it down toward Judas.
The angel hasn’t moved since dispatching a large portion of Malphas’ forces, remaining down on one knee, his right hand gripped tight around the handle of Ikazuchi and a grim determination on his face. His gaze remains fixed upon the Destructor as it launches at him. Then, with no effort at all, he raises Ikazuchi and blocks the attack. The expression on the Destructor’s face, an equal mixture of disbelief and fear, causes him to smile. He is no longer the man he was when they first met a couple of years back. No longer the lesser of the two, an unequal foe pitted against an undefeatable adversary. He now possesses power – he is the one to be feared. The weapon that he wields, that he holds sway over, has bridged the gap and forever changed the odds. Although he is physically dwarfed by the demon before him, it will never again be him that scurries around seeking refuge from creatures such as this.
The demon shakes off its fear and presses its face closer to him. “Iscariot…” it says, drawing closer, its voice deep and booming.
But he is no longer there. Motion-blurring, Judas shifts to his right beneath its head, moving so fast that the creature’s hand is still locked in the blocked position. He leaps into the air at the side of its neck and swings his sword. The top-half of the blade slices into the Destructor’s neck, and from it a force of energy radiates out, arcing through flesh, detaching the creature’s head from its body and a fountain of black blood gushes forth.
Before the head hits the dirt, Judas is on the ground and walking away as the gargantuan beast’s body collapses onto the concrete, causing the ground to tremble like an earthquake.
Everything stops. All demons in the vicinity stare at him, shocked at the swiftness in which the largest of them, their champion, had been dispatched.
Michael can do nothing but stare at Judas, his eyes wide, unable to comprehend the power the man now wields. It bothers him a great deal. A million thoughts race through his mind before coalescing into solitary question: can the man control that which he now possesses?
Breaking the silence and the first to react, Malphas is in a fury. From his aerial position above the battlefield he raises his staff against Judas and, screaming, shoots a bright red energy beam from it that fizzes and crackles with deadly intent.
Judas turns around, elegant and fluid, and blocks the beam with the sword. The living weapon feeds upon it, drawing the delicious energy into its dark soul. He draws it back and returns the attack – Malphas attempts to block it but fails as the force coupled with Ikazuchi’s Hellish energy explodes into him, knocking him backward and down onto the concrete, skidding to a halt on his back. He gets to his feet with a stagger and, composing himself, snarls at Judas then slams the base of his staff into the ground, opening a portal beneath him. He drops in, disappearing, and it closes as soon as his head passes through it.
The remaining demons look on in horror as their leader abandons them. They retreat, scattering in all directions.
Michael commands his warriors without mercy: “Hellwatch! Kill them all.”
The Archangels tear into the fleeing creatures as none are capable of summoning portals to save themselves. They cut them down, one by one.
From across the east ramp and shielding a group of civilians, Gary looks at Judas in disbelief. A terrible feeling works its way into the pit of his stomach and he shakes his head. Talking quietly to himself, he asks: “My friend, what have you become?”
Thirty-Five
Sobbing drifts around the large space as many of the remaining survivors huddle together, attempting to comfort one another and hold onto whatever last shred of hope they may possess. In a smaller office space attached to the hangar the stronger of them work in pairs, ferrying the dead from their fallen positions to a temporary resting place. The body bags that were once available to them are now long since depleted so they use whatever they can – bed sheets, cut-up tarpaulins, even broken and splintered doors.
Setting down a small body wrapped in a sheet, a soldier kneels down next to it and wipes tears from his eyes. He draws in a deep, melancholic breath, full of sadness. He has been no stranger to this sort of work over the years, even before the End of Days, but the senseless mass slaughter of innocents has taken its toll and he feels it in his very soul.
They all do; each one of them that has been fortunate enough to see their lives spared today, and as Colonel Taylor walks among the dead assessing the situation, he sees it in their haunted faces. He walks over to the distressed man and places a hand on his shoulder. “Corporal Jones,” he says, adding a gentle yet firm squeeze with his powerful hand.
“Sir,” he replies, bringing himself to attention driven by his commanding officer’s authoritative presence.
He smiles at his Corporal, choosing his words with care, knowing that he needs to inspire now more than ever, so that this man may venture back to his duties and filter down that inspiration to others. With the exception of Conrad, his senior staff numbers were dwindling fast leaving more inexperienced men and women, a scenario alien to him as his extensive interaction with combat had more often than not proved to be the exact opposite. He kneels down and plac
es a hand on the small bundle that Jones had been carrying. He closes his eyes and exhales, then stands back up. He motions for the man to walk with him. “What we do, Corp—” pausing, he smiles, “I mean, Jonesy,” he says, forgoing formality. “What we have always done carries with it a great penalty, a weight that others find impossible to bear. The same emotional responses exist within us as they do all men and women, but it is how we deal with them in the face of adversity that sets us aside from the rest. We are expected to fight and be strong, to exude confidence and be a rock for others, to never display signs of weakness that our enemies can exploit, yet what most do not understand is that we are still human beings, not emotionless warmongering robots. We feel and we despair and we weep, but our burden is knowing when it is the right time to do so, and when it is time to bottle it up for the greater good, even at the cost of our own mental wellbeing.” He pauses for a moment and turns to face Jonesy. “I need you to be strong, Corporal Jones.” Formality has returned, indicating a specific response from his soldier. “I need you to be the very poster boy for the word – resolute, to inspire, and bring those around you up to the level of duty that is expected from them. Do you understand, son?”
Although he is tired, and a small part of him still struggles with hopelessness, the motivational talk with his Commanding Officer has the desired effect and he straightens up. He does understand, he knows what is expected of him. He attempts a smile but is not quite ready for that so, instead, settles for a small nod, a gesture returned by Colonel Taylor.
He pats Corporal Jones on his left shoulder. “Good man. Finish up here, Corporal, then gather the troops and meet me in briefing, let us start to do what we do best and plan our strategy.”
This time, his response is more soldier-like, carrying more fire in its belly. “Yes sir,” he barks, moving away with intent.
Colonel Taylor hears a voice from behind him and he turns to find the Archangel Michael stood behind him.
Michael smiles. “Inspiring one’s troops is never an easy thing nor should it be taken lightly. The scales in economy of human battles to those of angels may vary wildly, but the despair of soldiers is an emotion that remains universal, it would seem.”
He smiles back. “That it is… Y’know, I don’t know how to address you. Sir? Your holiness?” He laughs, then closes his eyes, and turns his head skyward. After a few seconds he opens them. “This is officially the weirdest day ever, and there have been quite a few weird ones before.”
Michael laughs. “Well, first off please just call me Michael. We are, after all, officers of almost equal ranking.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that, but fine – Michael it is.” He holds out his right hand. “Nathan. Nathan Taylor.”
Michael takes his hand and shakes it, noticing the man’s firm grip. “Walk with me please, Nathan.”
He nods and indicates for Michael to lead on.
“What you said to that young man just now is quite correct. You need a strategy so that these people may prevail. The Demon Lord Malphas’ full intentions are not yet clear to me, but I do know one thing – he wasn’t here for The Light. He was searching for something else.”
Nathan stops. “Searching? Are you sure? It’s a little convenient, is it not, that Charlotte arrives and within a week we are attacked?”
“I’ll admit, the possibility of coincidence is high but I am positive it was a search mission.”
“What makes you so sure?”
They continue to walk.
“Well, first off, he dispatched a nominal force.”
“You call that nominal?”
“Believe me, Nathan. If Malphas had realized that The Light had been here, he would’ve sent a much fiercer unit in greater numbers than we witnessed. Where she is, Judas follows and he would not have arrived so unprepared.” He sighs. “I know it must be difficult for you, the feeling of hopelessness against such an overwhelming enemy.”
“Hey! We’ve held our own pretty well… at times.”
“Yes, Nathan, indeed you have. And your determination and sacrifices do not go unnoticed, of that I can assure you, but the truth of the matter is whether we like it or not, the ante has just been upped with Judas’ intervention and things will never be the same again. But to get back to my original point, he had initially sent what we would consider a lesser force and was only forced to show himself and bring a larger one when he realized Charlotte and Judas were present. This is what leads me to believe that he had sent his forces to search for something. I need you to think carefully, Nathan. Do you have any idea what it might be, why he has targeted your group?”
“Believe me, Michael, if I had one iota of a clue, I would be acting upon that information right now and not attempting to discover it with you.”
“Quite,” he says, sighing. “Well, we need to find out what it is and fast. I will have my team investigate and see what we can come up with. In the meantime, you gather your forces and we can discuss our next plan of action.”
“We need to be swift about this, Michael. I don’t want my people here when they come back.”
“You will be quite safe for the time being. We have just gained ourselves some valuable breathing space. Neither Malphas or Lucifer will try anything just yet. Armies that suffer unexpected defeats tend to retreat and readdress their strategy; Lucifer’s is no different. They will be licking their wounds and deciding how to deal with my men and, more importantly, Judas.”
“You mentioned that before. What is so special about him?”
“Before today? Nothing in comparison to my Hellwatch, but he is now in possession of a weapon that is bound to him. A weapon that is a game changer and as such the forces that Lucifer will eventually throw at us will be much greater than before. Unfortunately, Nathan, they will be a force totally and utterly beyond you and your people.”
Nathan ceases walking and looks at Michael. He is tired, that much is obvious, but the new information presented to him fills him with enormous concern and his face reflects it, adding to his fatigue. “There will be nothing we can do? At all?”
Michael presses his lips together, and shakes his head.
“Well, I don’t believe that. We are not just cattle to exterminate on a whim. We have fought and prevailed throughout history and this is not our time to go gently into that good night.” He walks away, his fists clenched, bristling with anger.
Michael raises his eyebrows and smiles as he too walks away.
***
Judas admires Charlotte, moving around the hangar that now serves as makeshift living quarters for the remaining inhabitants, all much too afraid to occupy domiciles split from the group, their need to feel strength in numbers never more important than it is right now. She drifts between groups of people, comforting, embracing, and commiserating with them; laughing with those who still have the strength and inclination to do so. But, as she flits from one group to the next, the one clear thing that she leaves behind is a new hope and although they return to their sorrow, anguish, and grieving when she leaves, they appear bolstered, strengthened in some way that her being there will make everything all right, that she will help see them through the worst of times. Whether that is to be the case or not, Judas knows that they are important sentiments to hold onto and maybe that is the only way these people will get through the nightmare that they find themselves in. He glances to his left as Gary’s voice pulls him out of his reverie.
“She really is something, isn’t she?”
He smiles and nods. “That she is, Gary. That. She. Is.”
They stare at her in silence for a few moments longer before Gary breaks it.
“What’s going on, Judas? What the hell happened back there?”
“Care to be more specific?”
“With you. With that thing on your back. Everything. Like how the demons burst into gory messes and not just the usual dust. Like how you managed to drop Mr Massive Demon without so much as a blink of the eye. Y’know, I looked at you back there
and it wasn’t you. Sure, you were throwing all the shapes, doing all the usual stuff, but it just wasn’t you.”
“I’ve evolved.” He turns to face him. “What’s your point, Gary?”
“My point is that I am concerned for you. I am not a stupid man, Judas, we both know that, so my only conclusion is that this sword is what’s changing you.”
“Bastard doesn’t like me!” A voice whispers from behind Judas.
“The fuck… was that?” Gary asks, alarm spreading across his face.
“Quiet now, Ika,” Judas says, glancing over his shoulder.
“What is that thing, and why can it become a human?” Gary holds up his hands and shakes his head, still awaiting an explanation.
Judas leans in to him. “Look, I understand you need answers, but not here and not now, yeah? These people have been through enough, buddy, so let’s not freak everyone out when there’s no need, okay?
Gary studies him for a few seconds. “Okay, but when the three of us are alone I want some answers Judas. I deserve to be told. I’m sick of being the last to know, on the periphery of information. We’re a team, remember?”
He does remember. And, observing the forlorn look on Gary’s face, he feels annoyed with himself for keeping his friend out of the loop, for not including him. They have been through a lot together and he deserved to know everything. “You’re quite right my old friend and I apologize. When we have a quiet moment, you, Charlotte, and I will go through everything regarding what has happened, is happening, and is yet to come. Fair enough?”
Gary nods. “Fair enough.”
Their attention is drawn to Michael and Colonel Taylor as they appear. Michael beckons them over and they make their way to him, easing through the people sat or lying on the ground.
