One of the bright lights had turned at their approach and now Alex and the others were staring directly into the beam, making it hard to see much of anything else.
"Amiel! It's all right!" Wilhelm shouted back. "My friends have come; they're here to help us!" He stepped out from the crowd and walked forward, directly into the light.
The ground shuddered again, much harder this time, opening cracks and fissures in the earth and sending Alex and many of the others down to their knees. Alex could only won der what was happening to Oblivion right now to cause him to lose control like this.
She looked to the skies, saw tiny holes opening in the boiling clouds and the raging fire beyond it, ready to pour down upon them.
"Wilhelm?" called out the voice on the other side. "Are you yourself again?"
"The others found a way to free me, to free all of us!" Wilhelm replied.
The light turned away, and when her eyes cleared, Alex saw a line of twenty men standing at the edge of the tent city, each of them holding a semiautomatic rifle. But they stood at ease, weapons pointed at the ground.
A short man Alex remembered from the last time she had visited Jerusalem stepped forward, welcoming them into the camp. His name was Amiel Yishai, and he'd quickly become friends with Grant after the city's collapse when Grant and the Loci had arrived to help with the cleanup.
"It's Alex, yes?" Amiel asked, a smile on his face.
She tried to smile back, but couldn't conjure up any semblance of happiness or warmth. "It's good to see you again, but I'm afraid we don't have much time. We're going to need your help ..."
Her voice trailed off when she caught sight of Wilhelm carefully approaching a frightened-looking child, who sat nearby. Slowly, cautiously, he knelt and allowed the girl to approach him. Wilhelm knew this kid, Alex realized. But the girl was no doubt frightened by what had happened to Wilhelm when Oblivion overtook him, and was unsure of whether or not to trust him.
Wilhelm smiled and made a silly face, tugging on his ears and sticking out his tongue.
The girl's face broke into a timid grin, but she kept her distance. "Willuhm?" she said. Some sort of nickname, Alex supposed, or the girl's best attempt at pronouncing his name.
The fearful way the little girl looked on Wilhelm was having a profound effect on him; he was near tears. He looked helplessly at Amiel, who walked over and held the little girl's hand.
Amiel said something in Hebrew. It sounded comforting, reassuring.
Wilhelm faced his young friend with sorrow in his eyes, an unspoken request there. She said something soft in reply, looking down at the ground.
"She asked why you were so angry before," Amiel said.
"Oh . . ." Wilhelm moaned. "I wasn't angry, sweet girl. I wasn't angry. I ..." He didn't know what to say. "I was ... I was sick. My heart, it was ... it was sick. Diseased. I didn't know what I was doing, I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry, little one, I'm so, so sorry."
She turned loose of Amiel and stepped forward into a hug by Wilhelm's welcoming arms. Wilhelm looked as if he'd just been brought back to life, and she squeezed tears from his body with her tiny embrace.
Alex moved a little closer, watching as the girl said something else.
Amiel translated. "The `bad man,' " he said, "she wants to know if he's angry, or if his heart is sick like yours was?"
Wilhelm smiled through his tears, bittersweet at her innocent question.
"I ... don't know, little one. He's just ... he's not himself."
She replied, and Amiel translated again.
"Can you stop him, Willuhm? Will you make the bad man stop?"
Wilhelm hugged her harder, but cut his eyes across at Alex.
We'll stop him, Alex vowed. One way or another, we'll stop him.
The Tower of David, also known as the Jerusalem Citadel, rested inside an ancient fortress that touched the far western edge of the Old City.
Payton followed the main vehicular road through a gap in the ruins of the Old City walls. Inside, he moved southward, following the outline of where the walls had once stood, until he came upon the fortress. Largely medieval in design, with stone parapets and stairs, the structure was multileveled and tiered. Modern metal walkways and stairs had been added in various spots, providing tourists easy access to otherwise unreachable rooms and lookouts. The entire structure was crowned by a pinnacle tower that showcased Muslim architectural influences.
The Tower itself was a perfectly cylindrical minaret. Miraculously, it showed few signs of damage from the recent cataclysmic earthquake. Payton was amazed it hadn't collapsed, as it looked extremely old and fragile. But looks could be deceiving.
Payton's feet carefully navigated the uneven cobblestones atop the old structure as he directed Devlin toward the minaret. They stood on a grass-lined stone walkway, above ground level and so untouched by the DarkWorld's effects. To his right and above was a narrow white archway made of white stonemost of which was barely still standing.
Shortly after entering the Old City, he'd torn an entire sleeve off of his black jumpsuit and fashioned a gag for Devlin to prevent him from alerting anyone to their presence. He maneuvered them through the central courtyard until they faced the minaret.
Payton crouched low beneath a higher platform of stone and elbowed Devlin in the face. He lowered his old mentor to the ground, unconscious. But Payton did not rise to his feet once more.
Instead, he decided that it would be here, well out of sight, where he would watch and wait.
Ethan opened his eyes and found himself sprawled on his back near the top of the Dome of the Rock. The burning clouds seemed nearly on top of him, being up so high. But that view only held him for a second because the next thing he saw was an Israeli army truck rocketing through the air directly at him.
He jumped with all the enhanced might his legs would give him, barely making it out of the way as the truck slammed into the massive gold Dome. He heard a horrific crash behind him as the truck plunged through the roof and crashed onto the floor below.
His jump had taken him too far down the side of the Dome to get a handhold, the gold tile set too close together, and he tumbled on. Finally, at the bottom, a wide ledge separated the lower walls of the building from the Dome, and Ethan's feet found purchase there.
He glanced down at the ground. Oblivion was not where he'd last seen him; he couldn't spot those fiery eyes or that slate gray skin anywhere.
He turned to get another look at the gaping hole above, and saw Oblivion standing there, up the side of the Dome.
Ethan kicked off against the ledge, his superpowered legs sending him fifty feet high before gravity took over and he began to descend. He collided with Oblivion on his way down and gave him the best sucker punch he had.
The ground quaked immediately and a flash of sheet lightning lit up the city as Oblivion's frame blasted through the Dome, creating another hole in its surface, and his immense dead weight silently plunged beyond it to the ground underneath. Ethan grabbed on to the lapels of Oblivion's brown leather jacket, riding this ancient creature all the way. The impact Oblivion caused created a small crater in the building's interior, and he was folded sickeningly within it.
Ethan got to his feet. He had one shot. Thankfully the many holes they'd smashed into the Dome let him orient himself to the rest of the city, and he grabbed Oblivion by the lower legs and began to spin in place.
Hope I gave this enough time, he thought. Hard to tell without a watch that works. But I can't risk dragging this out any longer.
He spun faster, twirling like a discus thrower, calling on every ounce of strength his superpowered muscles could muster.
Please let this work ...
With everything he had, he finally let go and sent Oblivion soaring like a rocket, flying off into the dark, treacherous sky.
Oblivion met land again nearly half a mile to the west.
He made a spectacular crash into another ancient structure on the far edge of the Old City, digg
ing another giant crater into its center. But he would not be deterred.
He wasted no time returning to his feet, taking in his surroundings.
He knew this place.
Oblivion climbed a cobblestone staircase to a secondary level and rounded a corner. He spotted a tall, narrow tower in the farthest corner of this castle and decided to walk toward it. Higher ground was always the best vantage point for his work.
But something wasn't right. He heard hushed footsteps, moving rapidly in his direction.
Oblivion had just turned a corner, moving toward an opposite entrance to the interior of the Citadel, when he stopped in place.
A lone figure blocked his path, forming a dark silhouette against the harsh surroundings. Oblivion saw the tip of a sword touching the ground. The sword was held perfectly vertical, and his flaming eyes slowly traced its long, gleaming silver edge upward until he found the hand that held it. A hand with a golden ring attached to it, a burgundy gemstone inset in its center.
Oblivion recognized this man, just as he recognized the weapon he wielded. Was he surprised to see this one alive? Not really.
This one had a particular knack for survival.
"Thresher," said his piercing, booming voice, an aberration of nature.
"Bringer."
Payton burst forward with his liquid speed, sword in both hands, before Oblivion could meet the oncoming attack with his burning eyes.
Payton fell upon him, slashing as hard and fast as he could with his powerful blade.
"The Bringer shall be slain at the hands of the Thresher," Payton said as he followed through, breaking away and slowly rounding catlike on Oblivion.
Oblivion had suffered a vicious, disfiguring diagonal gash across his face, but it didn't faze him. A tiny flicker of his head and Payton was zooming through the air. His body crashed against a stone wall behind Oblivion and was held in place there.
Delirious from the crash, Payton held stubbornly to his sword as tightly as his broken body would allow.
"That's what the prophecy says," gasped the Thresher before spitting on Oblivion's face. His words came in a fast exhalation as Oblivion sent crushing pain throughout his body. "Funny how the prophecy was so concerned with your arrival, but it said nothing at all about how long you would stay. I'm here to let you know: Time's up."
The sky flashed with terrible thunder and vicious lightning, and Oblivion flung Payton against another wall. Whether this went on for minutes or for hours, Payton could not tell, but on it went.
And yet. In the midst of the torture, he'd noticed something.
The curved scar on the back of Oblivion's hand had expanded into a circle. It was a circle that lay flat, wrapping around his wrist until one edge of the curve touched the other. It looked different somehow than the rest of the granite.
Payton swallowed bile and willed himself to stay awake. He was certain he had broken bones throughout his body, and imagined he had a good deal of internal bleeding. But he would not give in to death, not this death, not now. His part to play was not over yet. And he would refuse Oblivion this prize for as long as he could; every additional second Payton drew breath was a victory, and remaining alive was the only way he could fight back against Oblivion's merciless beating.
They were still outside in the courtyard, though Oblivion had dragged or thrown him from one end to the other and back again. He sneered at Payton repeatedly, an unusual display of emotion from this all-powerful being, and Payton was forced to wonder how much Oblivion knew of the prophecy about the Bringer and the Thresher.
The Bringer shall be slain at the hands of the Thresher, the prophecy stated. Perhaps Oblivion was enjoying proving it wrong.
"Poor, pathetic fool," called out a voice that did not belong to Oblivion.
Devlin strode into view, and Oblivion momentarily paused in the thrashing he was giving to Payton. So, the old man had gotten free.
"Did you really think you could kill Death incarnate?" Devlin asked, striding toward them with a smug expression, hands clasped behind his back.
Payton laughed out loud. It was a sound of rebellion, of not giving in. He savored the moment and the way his laughter made both Devlin and Oblivion recoil slightly.
"I didn't come here to kill him, you arrogant fool," Payton replied through broken jaws, still laughing. "I came here ... to take back ... what doesn't belong to him."
His left hand was balled into a fist, but neither Oblivion nor Devlin had yet noticed what he held within it. With every last ounce of strength left, he summoned his speed one last time and burst forward, digging the Dominion Stone fragment he'd been hiding into the giant slash he'd made across Oblivion's face, hoping against hope that the Stone would find some remnant of blood that still remained inside the body of Grant Borrows.
Alex, Daniel, and the others suddenly stopped. Their Rings vibrated and gave off a shimmering glow. "Did you feel that?" she asked.
"I did," Daniel replied.
"It was like ... it was like a surge ... like something passing through me," Alex explained. She looked around; the others nodded back. They'd all felt it, and though the sensation had passed, all of their Rings were still glowing.
Amiel Yishai was among them now, wearing one of the Rings of Dominion, along with many of his fellow cleanup workers. With the help of Amiel and Wilhelm, every unworn Ring had found a wearer among the good people of Jerusalem.
"This could be it, come on, we've got to hurry-" she said.
"Help me . . ." mumbled a new voice.
Alex spun. Stumbling toward them from behind a dying hedge was-
"Fletcher!" she shouted.
He collapsed on the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head, his Ring illuminating the area where he lay.
"Hector!" Alex called.
Their round friend bounded his way to the spot where Fletcher had collapsed, and touched him gently on the cheek. Hector closed his eyes and concentrated.
Fletcher's eyes fluttered, his cheeks filling with color again.
"Alex ..." he said weakly, "I just-I got free. On my own."
"No," said Nora, "you had help."
Alex stood to her feet and spun in place, taking in the sight of hundreds of bright lights that were shining like tiny stars, dotting the city in every direction. In fact, there were almost three hundred of the impossibly bright, shimmering lights ...
Understanding washed over her at the sight, and her heart began beating faster ...
"Look!" she cried, smiling and pointing at the lights. It was the first time she'd smiled since Grant died. "I'm guessing there's no need for us to sneak around anymore."
The others took in the sight, and as they did, Alex turned to her team. "Time to split up! Find them-all of them! And hurry! Oblivion will throw everything he's got at us now!"
"I'll go with Hector," Daniel volunteered. "If I stay close, I can use his powers to heal, and two of us can work faster than one."
Alex nodded, turning her attention now to the Old City as the group split and ran off in all directions, and to the storm overhead, which had grown increasingly turbulent and powerful. A torrent of blood rained upon them, but this time Alex smiled.
He did it.
"Looks like somebody's not happy," she said to herself with a rush of satisfaction.
Oblivion screamed. He howled and protested in an outraged fury, knowing pain for the first time in his existence. Every muscle within the body of Grant Borrows was clenched as Oblivion bore down and flung his arms as wide as they would go.
Lightning struck at the moment he stood outstretched that way, and the walls of the Citadel tore themselves apart as the ground shook even harder than before.
His true voice broke through the frail vocal cords of Grant Borrows and screeched and clawed and scratched at the fabric of existence until it was heard by every ear across all four corners of the globe.
So potent was the sound that it pierced the veil of reality, and for one single moment the scales fell from ev
ery human eye and the true nature of the universe was laid bare. The unearthly glimpse seen in that terrifying moment revealed an unseen world full of beautiful, powerful beings bathed in light, and shadowy creatures that skulked and slithered, drawn to the dark. Like a painting by Bosch, details of surfaces and crevices and devices unknown to man were suddenly everywhere, and there was far more to take in than any human eye could conceive.
Nowhere was this more evident than in Jerusalem, where countless numbers of these beings, both dark and light, were seen locked in an unimaginable battle. Swarms of them filled the skies and tromped across the lands. And everywhere there was a man, woman, or child, a small radius surround ing them held creatures of light and dark clashing against one another.
The moment passed as soon as it had come. Oblivion's scream ended, the otherworldly vision faded, and once more all that could be seen was what was real and tangible in the mortal world.
Oblivion staggered, weakened by some conflict or reaction taking place within him. He forced himself upright and crushed the piece of Dominion Stone Payton had used on him into powder. But he broke it while Payton's hand was still clinging to it, so Payton's hand and all five fingers were crushed as well.
Oblivion flung Payton across the square one last time until the swordsman slammed into another wall, then fell limp onto the ground, face first. Their Rings both glowed, but Oblivion neither noticed nor stopped to investigate.
He had bigger concerns. Inside his head, all was suddenly, deafeningly quiet.
How was it possible?
This feeble human had severed his link with the army he'd called to himself. Those he'd wielded had vanished as if cloaked in the night. He could no longer hear their thoughts, see their movements, or command their actions. He had already dispatched the remaining members of the Secretum himself before entering Jerusalem; they were of no further use to him. They were gone, and now the Ringwearers were gone as well, and he was left utterly, thoroughly alone.
But then, he had always been alone. From the time before time began, he existed as no other could. No one could share this experience with him, no one but he in all the universe would know and appreciate what he was about to do with the intimacy and beauty and attention to detail that he would utilize.
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