Judas: The Relic (The Iscariot Warrior Series Book 2)

by Roy Bright

  He thrusts his hand out and the dagger glows, then skids along the floor and back into his armored fingers.

  Relentless, he yet again attacks and she leaps into the air, pushing his dagger away with one sword and then stabs the other into an exposed unarmored section in his midriff. It strikes deep, and steam evaporates around it once again. She retracts it, dropping to the ground, and black blood spills out. She ducks as he reaches down to grab her and, running between his legs, stabs a sword into the back of his thigh and springboards herself up onto his back. She throws a sword over his neck, but he manages to bring a hand up in front of his throat, the armored fingers preventing it from cutting into the flesh.

  Pestilence roars with rage, spinning around, trying to force her off. He stumbles out of the covered area behind the pillars and into the open square, still trying to remove the irritant from his back. He calls out in frustration and then bends forward.

  From out of his back, a pair of large, slimy wings unfold that almost cause Charlotte to lose her grip as they spread beneath her. Pestilence then thrusts downward, propelling them both into the air.

  ***

  Judas focuses his attention on Charlotte, suspended in midair, a brilliant and golden light surrounding her. His eyes widen as Ikazuchi whispers, “Move. Get back.” He turns to his left and leans to one side as Famine’s massive bladed ball whizzes past his face.

  She ambles forward, retracting the weapon and spinning it around in the air over her right arm. It is immense, with each link in the chain the size of a man’s fist, the ball bigger than a basketball, and she wields it as though it weighed nothing at all.

  Judas covers up with his wings as she lets it fly once more. It thuds against them, shunting him ten yards backward, his feet scraping against the floor. Retracting them, he readies himself for another attack, eyes narrowed and focused on the Horseman.

  “My, my,” Famine says, continuing to spin the weapon on its chain, “it would seem that there is more to you than the others. Much more. Maybe this won’t be such a boring fight after all.” She spins the chain around her body, then launches it out from a lower angle.

  The change in direction and speed catches him off guard and the ball hits Judas square in the chest, propelling him backward onto the floor and causing blood to jet out in a fountain. He skids along the surface and then rolls back over his head, onto his hands and feet. He rises as fast as possible and strikes a defensive posture, although his chest pounds from the pain. He reaches down and his hand is wet with blood. His self-healing process hasn’t kicked in. Not this again, he thinks to himself and concern floods through him as his mind casts back to his battle against Lucifer when his ability to self-heal was disabled, ultimately costing him his life. He cannot suffer the same fate here. Charlotte depends on him now more than ever. They all depend on him, the entire world. He will not fall here, not today.

  “You will repair, Judas,” Ikazuchi whispers to him, “but it will take much longer. You must avoid taking too much damage at all cost. You are starting to understand – these beings can hurt you, kill you even.”

  “Thank you for the comforting pep-talk,” he says grimly.

  Famine chuckles. “With whom do you converse? Your sword, the mighty Azazel? He cannot help you, Iscariot. You are to die here today. We are to aid in laying waste to this world, and that will be that.”

  His lips purse, and Judas shakes his head.

  She laughs, just once, hard and sharp, then spins the weapon backward and kicks it at him at great speed.

  He reacts, slashing at the ball, parrying it away. He thrusts his wings back and streams forward, hovering above the ground. True flight may not be possible but hovering is, allowing him to move at greater speeds than running and he covers the distance between them in a flash, thrusting the sword at her.

  He’s inside her guard, her weapon not yet retracted and she must act quickly to avoid being run through. She drops her right shoulder back as the sword slices toward her but isn’t quite fast enough and it cuts into her midriff, taking a chunk with it. She spins around and kicks at him, connecting with his ribs.

  He calls out in pain, then slashes the sword out and to the right, attempting to cut off her head with one blow, but she’s too fast and he grimaces as she leans back to an almost horizontal position, ducking underneath the flashing blade.

  Pulling back her chain, she wraps it around the exposed sword as it slices over her head then, spinning to her left, whirls away, unfurling more chain and wrapping a section around her arm and under her elbow. She pulls on it, bending her elbow, her arm upright, tightening the slack.

  He refuses to lose his weapon to such a cheap move and grips onto it with every ounce of strength he has, planting his left foot forward, firm, rock solid. With the sword vertical, he grabs a hold of the blade with his left and pulls back. His enemy may look as though she is about to fall apart, to decompose, but her physical strength far belies that as she pulls him toward her, wrapping the chain around her arm and closing the distance.

  Quivering, he does not possess the strength to resist against her and so changes tactic and drives forward. It works and Famine stumbles back from the sudden release of tension between them. He flicks his sword upward and then draws it down and out of the loosened chains. He’s within striking distance of her head. He can take her. He has her, he knows it. He slashes.

  She vanishes, transforming into a mass of rotting and diseased crows that flap away from him.

  Malphas steps forward and launches a bolt of dark energy from his staff.

  As he does, War swipes a massive fist at him, launching him across the square and causing the bolt to miss its intended target, exploding into a section of wall. “Is it not enough that I have to keep this one in check,” he says, pointing at Death, “without worrying about you as well?”

  Furious, Malphas drags himself to his feet. “How dare you? You fight for me.” He points his staff at War.

  Unfazed, War turns away. “We fight because of you, not for you. You hold no power over us, paltry demon, not even with that stone tablet which you carry. The fight is between them and them alone. You shall not interfere.”

  Used only to Lucifer telling him what to do Malphas does not take orders from anyone else, but decides to hold his tongue and let the Horsemen play their part. For the time being. And so he gets back onto his feet, his face a powerful mixture of outrage and disdain.

  Judas flinches as the bolt of energy screams past, distracting him from the fight for a moment. He turns just in time to see the crows return and he swings at them, but connects with nothing. He tries to pinpoint their position, but he cannot see them, they have vanished. He turns in all directions. Nothing. Without warning, he lifts into the air and is thrown forward as the crows engulf him. He lands on the cobbles with a thud and rolls across it. Getting to his feet as quickly as possible, he focuses his sense of hearing, trying to chase down the sound of the birds and locate them. He hears nothing and so closes his eyes, throwing all of his concentration into his hearing.

  A flutter to his left.

  He swings at it. Nothing.

  Behind him.

  Slashes – but again nothing.

  He hears them to his right and turns to strike, opening his eyes. From out of their center, a bladed ball streaks toward him. He flinches to his left and it slices his cheek, drawing blood. The ball retracts and the flock then zips to his right. Another of the weapons appears and this time he ducks causing it to fly over his head. Another retraction and the birds change direction again with yet another bladed ball streaming out. He pulls his stomach in and arches his back away from it, but it nicks him, again drawing blood. This time, multiple balls erupt from the center of the crows. He turns and powers his wings forward, then somersaults over them and, snarling, charges at the flock. As he does, the chains tighten and retract back to their source, forcing him to spin around as fast as he can and throw his wings up as a shield. The bladed spheres connect and emb
ed into them, pulling him back toward the birds. He feels the flock surround him and lift him into the air. Opening his wings, he sees them in front of him, formed into the appearance of Famine, a shimmering black mass of feather and beak, and she laughs at him.

  “It has been fun playing with you, Iscariot, but now I’m done. You did well. It has been such a long time since I used this form, you should be proud.”

  He grunts, struggling within the avian grip. He needs to think fast. He needs a solution or it is all over. His eyes widen as Famine’s bird-form draws its head back, screeching, preparing to consume him.

  The solution presents itself to him. He pulls up his sword and drives it into his side. He screams. Pain to end all pain, as demonic power floods into him.

  Azazel’s face, huge and grinning, manifests itself in spirit form, out of Judas’. “I… see… you,” it says to Famine and then opens up its mouth to reveal hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. It tears into her, chomping large sections of birds away from her face.

  She screams and falls out of the center of the flock as they explode into a flurry of feathers.

  Judas falls to the floor with a painful thud.

  Azazel’s spirit form slinks over the ground toward her, its body connected to the point in which the sword remains embedded into Judas, and finishes the job, tearing into her flesh, consuming her. In seconds she is gone and Azazel screams a defiant laugh, snaking back over the ground and back into the sword.

  Through grimaces of pain, Judas pulls it out from his side, blood spurting from the wound, and rolls onto his back, his strength almost faded, and it is sheer instinct that prevents Death’s scythes from piercing his face as he lifts his sword up with both hands and blocks them, the Horseman having appeared from nowhere. The foul stench causes him to turn his head to one side, away from it as he breathes into his face and stares at him, silent, through its gray skull-like mask.

  Death flips himself over Judas’ head, planting both feet firmly on the ground and, with his scythes hooked around the sword, drags Judas up and over with him and throws him a 100 feet into a pillar at the edge of the square.

  The stone column explodes as Judas smashes through it and into the wall behind. He claws at the ground, his feet scraping against it as he tries to stand up and look around, attempting to locate his sword. He sees and grabs it, then stumbles to his feet, swaying on them, his head swimming with pain, blood pouring out of multiple wounds. He tries to gather himself as best as he can to prepare himself for the next fight. He’s in bad shape; he knows it as he staggers from side to side walking forward, out of the dust and back into the square. Ahead, Death stalks him, twirling his scythes in his hands, cocking his head from left to right. Judas feels his strength fail him, such is the severity of his wounds and the delay in their healing, and he stumbles and drops to one knee, his sword still ahead of him, pointing toward the Horseman.

  Then, the weapon vibrates in his hands, growing in ferocity, and he struggles to keep a hold of it. A power courses through him, a feeling that he has never felt, not even when infused with Charlotte’s Divine energy, and it feels as though good and evil are at war within him. Struggling to control himself, he shakes but nevertheless stands and his lips clamp together, allowing only a fevered murmur. As he closes his eyes, the shaking peaks and his entire body vibrates uncontrollably. Time slows for a moment and he hears Ikazuchi’s excited voice within his mind.

  Yes. YES. You have her, you have her power. You need to discharge this initial build up before it destroys you. Our fight here is done for now. We must retreat and acknowledge this gift, learn from it. You are spent, there is nothing more you can do. Unleash her energy before it’s too late, Iscariot. Then let us be finished here.

  His eyes snap open to see Death racing toward him, closing in rapidly. Screaming, he raises Ikazuchi into the air, above his head, with both hands and a leaping Death is but within a few feet of him as he slams the sword into the ground.

  St Peter’s square detonates.

  The entire area ahead of him explodes like a volcano, splintering stone and rock and brick into the air as the ground ripples, spreading a shockwave outward like a nuclear blast, obliterating all in its path. The ground under the Basilica and the building shatters and bursts up and outward, throwing the stone, brick, and cobbles far into the air and then raining it down all around. A massive chasm opens up beneath Vatican City and swallows the ancient area into the ground.

  Judas collapses onto a broken rocky outcrop, his energy spent. Through the devastation all around, he hears Ikazuchi screaming at him to get up, to create a portal out of there as the Thŭramré has now been lifted.

  But he cannot. His body is broken beyond anything he has ever experienced, and all remaining will within him is gone. As he lies on his side, he sees the once grand square disintegrate before him and he blinks in disbelief, both appalled and amazed at the destructive power within him. “I wrecked it,” he says, his speech broken and cracked, trying to ignore the screaming Ikazuchi who rages within his mind. The ground around him quakes, and as a large dust cloud spreads toward him, he knows that this is the end; his wounds are too severe to survive a descent into the Earth. He smiles as he feels a faint amount of Divine energy somewhere further away. “She got away. I’m sure of it,” he whispers to himself, then closes his eyes.

  A dark portal rips open behind Judas and from out of it scrambles Charlotte. She grabs hold of him, opens up another beneath them, and they fall through it as the area around them collapses into fire and chaos.

  Fifty-Three

  The wind rushes against Charlotte’s face with such a fierceness that it causes her eyes to water as she squints. Strands of hair whip against her face and she is powerless to sweep them away as she squeezes her arms around Pestilence’s neck, holding on tight as he rockets them upward, further and further away from the ground. She looks down. This is it, the dream she had in the classroom, the ruined Vatican City beneath her. She calls out as her grip loosens, just enough to make her drop her swords and grip on tighter to the Horseman. The holy weapons tumble out of sight, falling to an unknown point far below. Shit, she says to herself, knowing that she will never find them again, that one of her greatest powers against evil have just fallen out of her sight forever. She laughs in her mind. What difference will it make? She is about to die either by falling to the ground once she loses her grip, as she knows she will, or the crazy bastard she is clinging to will take her into space where her entire body will freeze to death in an instant. It’s not looking too good, Charley, she thinks. Not good at all. Fuck it. If she is to go, then she’s taking this bastard with her. She clamps one hand around his head and then the other, closes her eyes, and draws upon as much Divinity as she ever has. Opening them, they glow brilliant white and the Divinity wraps itself around her in strands, spinning around her like a rope, increasing in speed. Her muscles tighten and veins pop out on her neck and arms as the Divinity’s intensity increases. She screams. A powerful one. The sky thins to nothing as she approaches the edge of the Earth’s troposphere and she moves the holy energy from her to Pestilence, driving it into him, flooding his entire being with it.

  The Horseman screams. What is this? He has never felt anything like it. A power greater than his own, than anything he could hope to channel. She has defeated him; he knows it. He will not be able to contain the blessed power that flows through him, attacking him at will, breaking down his form. Could this one be stronger than He who created her? It doesn’t matter, for the time being at least. He is gone.

  She screams once more, driving the last of her remaining energy into Pestilence and the Horseman evaporates within her hands. She passes out as she begins to fall.

  ***

  What is this place? Where am I?

  She pushes her face off the floor and then the rest of her body, moving to her hands and knees slow. Around her is nothing, an infinite empty space. Just a pure brilliant white light.

  I don’t understand, am I d
ead?

  “No,” a voice says. Calm, serene almost.

  She spins around and Pestilence is before her, but he is different now, not as menacing. Gone is the battle armor and weaponry, instead he stands before her in a white suit, and he is calm.

  “You are a curious one, Charlotte Hope. Very curious indeed.”

  Her eyes narrow, and she looks around. He said that without moving his lips, without opening his mouth. How?

  “Where am I?” She looks down. She also said that without opening her mouth.

  Pestilence smiles, walks over, and stands in front of her. “Why, inside your mind of course. I am now a part of you, for as long as I find you interesting at least.”

  “What do you mean, part of me?”

  “You defeated me and somehow absorbed me. In honesty, I am not entirely certain of the details – the how and the why. But you have done it and it is curious. Most curious.”

  “Am I dead?”

  He laughs. “Oh no, child, not dead, not yet anyway, but the clock is ticking and we best get to it.”

  Her eyes narrow, her thoughts still confused. “I don’t understand. You were trying to kill me and now you want to save me – why?”

  “Because you are interesting to me. And it wasn’t personal before, it was merely a command, an order to obey. But now I am here, with no more orders to follow. So I shall stick around for a while and watch with great interest. Who knows, maybe I will check in from time to time, offer my council, if nothing more than to make the game more fun.” He smiles.

  Exasperated, she throws up her hands. “What does that mean? What does any of this mean? Tell me – tell me everything.”

  “All in good time child. But for now, remember – you have many of my gifts. Open your mind to it and make good use of them, or I will have to return to the center of all things much earlier than I would like. You are so fascinating, Charlotte Hope.” He glances away as if looking for something, and then smiles. “Seems there is much to your friend Judas as well. It would appear my sister has also failed.” He turns back, a quizzical look upon his face.