Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1)

by N. L. Gervasio

  “You’ll need those bullets, boys,” she said and looked back at Sean, whose signature revealed only brilliant white. She quirked a brow. “I hope you have something good to fight with.”

  “I do.” He held up the relic, which had a white signature of its own.

  Armen smiled.

  “Why do your eyes look like that?” Dante asked.

  “Like what?” She turned to Terry.

  “They’re white,” Dante replied.

  “She can see things we can’t with those eyes,” Terry said.

  “Dante, look through that door and tell me what you see.” If he couldn’t see what they would be fighting, he’d be useless. This wasn’t like seeing Cerberus. Everyone could see that damn dog, even the news crew that filmed him barreling down the street after her and Terry.

  Dante leaned forward and quickly withdrew. “A hell of a lot of moving shadows.”

  “Shades,” Terry corrected.

  “Minions,” Armen re-corrected.

  “Lesser demons,” Sean further corrected.

  “Whatever,” Armen snapped. “As long as you can see them.”

  “I can,” Dante replied with a nod.

  “Good. Don’t shoot them until they materialize, otherwise the bullets will go right through.”

  “Got it.”

  Terry took a step forward. “Armen, I can’t smell anything.”

  “Neither can I. What does that tell you?”

  “She’s pretty damn high up in the hierarchy?”

  “Yes.” She peered around the door again. “The trigger’s been thrown. It’s now or never.”

  On Terry’s nod, Armen jumped forward, with the others following closely.

  Bishop Thomas was a horrific sight to see, nailed upon a large wooden cross behind the altar. Ash stood beneath him, turning what looked to be a dagger over in her hands. She smiled when Armen entered.

  “Hello, Azel, I figured this would get your attention.” Sweet sadism lent a razor-sharp edge to her voice.

  Armen stopped in the center of the room, taking in her surroundings, before finally resting on Ash. “You’re one sick bitch, entering a church and crucifying a Bishop.”

  Ash giggled. “I know, is it not wonderful?”

  “Um, no, it’s not.” Armen held the scepter’s sword ready in her right hand. “Why in the world would you need to crucify a Bishop? There are other ways to get my attention.”

  “Eye for an eye, dear,” Ash said smugly. “You slaughtered my Cerberus. I slaughtered a man of . . . .” She looked up to the ceiling.

  “Why won’t any of them say it?” Terry asked his father.

  “Because they can nae say His name. It can nae pass their tongues.”

  Minions tackled Armen from the left, pulled Dante back from behind, and knocked Sean to the ground. Terry just stood turning rapidly in a circle waiting for one of them to materialize so he could shoot. Ash’s horrid cackle echoed throughout the hall. Armen had been fairly certain it was another trap, but what other choice did they have? They needed to get near the bitch to kill her, and it was quite possible that Armen would be the only one who could achieve it with the scepter.

  Armen jumped to her feet and sliced through a few minions before gunfire erupted. Terry took aim at those materializing before him. Armen knew he had a full magazine, but he only had fifteen rounds, and there were more than fifteen shades closing in on them.

  A lot more.

  Armen had freed herself of another attacker, and the minions lay in a bubbling fiery mess at her feet.

  “Try to not do too much damage to the church.” Terry moved closer to her and fired at the minion nearing him.

  “I’m not the one crucifying a Bishop here.” Another gunshot echoed through the cathedral, telling them Dante was alive and kicking. Armen quickly scanned for Sean and found him thrusting his ancient relic into the chest of an oncoming minion. The creature shrieked and dropped to its knees. “Okay, how does that thing work?”

  Terry looked around and saw his father. “The shillelagh? It belonged to St. Peter.”

  “No shit?” Armen swung her blade up over her head and dropped it onto the neck of a nasty little bugger with perfect precision, taking its head in a clean sweep.

  Terry fired into a few more shades as they solidified. She’d been trying to keep a count on his rounds so she’d know when he had to reload, but she was losing track. There were just too many shades surrounding them.

  Five more shots sounded across the church. Dante. That didn’t help.

  “Hey, I’m going to have to reload soon.”

  “I’m right here,” she replied, her voice floating just over his shoulder.

  Another gunshot sounded near Sean. Dante had made his way over to him. Good. The less she had to worry about anyone, the better she could concentrate on the minions. Terry fired three more bullets and then she heard a click.

  “Duck down,” Armen said. She needed a full 360 degrees clear to work with.

  “Down.” She and Terry worked well together when fighting demons, much like their arguing.

  Armen scanned the room; shadows peaked intermittently like waves over the pews.

  Terry reloaded at a rate faster than Armen had ever seen a human move. “Coming up.” He stood and soon had a blade at his throat.

  “Terry, really, you should wait at least three seconds after stating something like that.” Armen lurched forward, moving the blade swiftly past his neck and around, to spear the minion in the face. She looked up at him, felt his breath on her cheek, and she smiled as he craned his head back to look over his shoulder.

  “Nice move.”

  She brought the blade back over his shoulder and lowered it with a snap to cut the minion rising from the floor in half. “Thanks.” She looked to the front of the church. “We need to get closer.”

  “I know. How do you propose that?”

  After scanning the room, she realized there just weren’t a lot of options. As much as she hated to admit it, coming here had been a good move on Ash’s part. “Just move forward, cutting down anything in our path.”

  Terry shrugged. “Beats standing around.”

  “It has to be quick so she has less reaction time.”

  “Go,” Sean said from ten feet away. Dante fired at another rising minion. “We’ll cover ye as best we can.”

  Armen looked up into Terry’s vibrant green eyes.

  “You heard the man.” He grinned at her. “Move your ass.”

  She spun to her right and ran down the aisle, Terry right on her heels. Gunshot sounded directly behind her and a minion fell to her left amidst the pews. She sliced through the air to her right, cutting another in two. Terry fired three more rounds into approaching minions when they materialized before they could reach Ash. Armen rounded the corner of the first pew and slid wildly on the slick floor until she came to a teetering stop. Once she straightened with Terry’s aid, and her body wasn’t making an attempt to prove gravity wasn’t always on her side, she was able to take a look at the liquid that caused her to slip. The hardwood steps to the altar ran in red rivers; the wood stained with the Bishop’s blood. There was also a priest lying at Ash’s feet, still and pale as Death.

  “You’ve killed two men of God, Ash,” Armen reprimanded.

  “So I have,” Ash replied with a giggle.

  “It will not please Father.”

  “He’s no Father of mine.”

  “He is the All-Father, and He’ll be displeased with your . . . creativity.”

  “As it will displease Him when I take you, Azel.”

  “The hell you will.” Armen took a step closer. “Try it.”

  “Puppet.” Ash snapped her right wrist over the body lying at her feet. The dead priest twitched, and Armen widened her eyes as he slowly sat up on the steps.

  “Shit.” Terry stepped up behind her. “I didn’t know she could do that.”

  Armen just shook her head, unwilling to respond in voice, watching the pr
iest stagger. She really didn’t want to behead the man, even if he was dead, but it’d be the only way to stop him.

  In her distraction, a small minion snatched the scepter from her grip, and she leapt after him to retrieve it. The imp scurried up the stairs and around the pulpit. Soon, it cowered behind Ash and raised the scepter to her.

  “Good boy.” Ash patted its head.

  Armen stepped carefully backwards to Terry.

  Ash studied the scepter’s base for a moment, and then pressed the trigger to the side. The blade sheathed, and a large grin spread over her ruby lips.

  “Armen, what are we going to do?”

  The priest finally stood upright, and his hollow eyes stared past them. “Bring her to me.” With a jerk, he took a step forward.

  “Shoot him in the head,” Armen whispered.

  Terry took aim and fired. The priest stumbled back and fell onto the steps. Ash giggled and flicked her wrist. The priest twitched again and sat up.

  “Okay, so that doesn’t work,” Armen said.

  “He’s obviously not a zombie.”

  “Oh, no, they’re quite different,” Armen replied with a quick shake of her head.

  Terry turned to her. “I don’t even want to know.”

  “I’d heard of the puppets, but I’ve never seen one until now.” Armen thought hard about how to get the scepter back. Facing Ash without a weapon was a good way to die, and Ash would make the death slow and painful. Terry was still shooting minions occasionally, mainly keeping a path open between them and his father, who neared the front of the church with Dante.

  “Shoot that one, behind her.” The little varmint deserved to die for leaving her weaponless. Terry took aim and fired. The minion screeched when it fell back, leaving Ash to look briefly at it as it suffered before turning her attention back to Armen.

  “Would that be vengeance?” The corner of her mouth curled.

  “No, only you will feel the wrath of my vengeance,” Armen replied.

  “You forget my duties, dearest Azel.”

  “You have nothing to do with revenge, so don’t try to play it off like you do.”

  Ash giggled and the priest stumbled forward again. “You forget that revenge and lust are quite the pair.”

  Terry touched Armen’s arm, gripping her gently, and he leaned closer to her. “How can she stand on consecrated ground? My property burned Sariel’s feet.”

  Armen shifted her eyes to view Ash’s feet, which were covered by her long red dress. “If she’s not burning, she’s not standing.” She quickly tracked one of the shades to watch it materialize. Once it did, the faint smoke rising from its feet when they touched the floor sparked an idea. She jerked away from Terry.

  “Ar—men!”

  She headed straight for the priest, jumped up onto a pew, launched herself as high as she could, and slammed both of her feet into the priest’s chest as she came down. Ash stood on the second step, just below the cross holding the Bishop at center stage. The priest sailed backwards and slammed into her, which released the scepter from her hand, popping it away from the demon and toward the pews. Armen hit the blood-soaked floor on her left side, her jump a little off due to the slick blood, but it had worked, and Ash was now lying on the floor with her puppet priest on top of her. She shrieked, the consecrated ground burning her flesh, and she pushed the priest off. Armen slid over to snatch the scepter from the floor. When she looked up, Ash’s face was directly in front of her, hissing. Ash wrapped her fingers around Armen’s throat.

  “You shall die by the blade of that weapon, as was meant to be!”

  Behind her, Terry shouted to his father and Dante as Ash lifted Armen into the air by the throat. Armen held onto Ash’s forearm with one hand to keep from truly hanging.

  “You were always His favorite, made in His image. You even have His eyes.”

  “It’s not my fault you look like a fiery Medusa,” Armen choked out. “But hey, you are a demon.”

  Ash’s fingers tightened around her throat, and she gasped for breath. “You even have His pathetic wit. I look nothing like that bitch.”

  Armen hooked her left hand over Ash’s arm and brought her right hand up to clutch Ash’s throat. “You’re . . . just . . . jealous,” she forced, squeezing her fingers around the demon’s neck.

  “Me, jealous of you, who has been turned to flesh? Ha! I could snap your little neck right now if I wanted to.” Ash struggled against Armen’s tightening fingers. “But . . . I . . . will not . . . because it is not how you . . . must die.” She grasped Armen’s left bicep with her right hand. They drifted upward, attempting to strangle one another. Armen still held the scepter, the cylinder forming an effective hook holding her in place, and she wrapped her legs around the demon bitch and tightened.

  The grip on Armen’s neck loosened a bit, and she drew in a breath before speaking. “I’m in His favor again,” Armen replied hoarsely. “A place you will never be, and that’s why you’re jealous.”

  Ash snarled. “I do not need Him, dear, or to be in His favor.”

  “Then why seek me out?” One of them was bound to tell her eventually.

  The right side of Ash’s mouth curled up. “You are the only angel He fathered, dear.”

  Armen sucked in a small gasp of air. Her Father never told her of her creation. She assumed she was like all of the others.

  Ash chuckled. “And you are the key to all that exists.”

  Armen frowned at that point. “What does that mean?” She knew demons held no truths on their tongues, and if they did, it was something usually spoken in cryptic idioms, much like the message scrawled in blood.

  “If you die, you shall enter the Light, correct?”

  “I suppose so.” Armen held back on her grip. She needed answers.

  “However, if one of the Dark kills you, all of your precious existence shall vanish.”

  “One of the Dark did kill me,” Armen stated.

  “Ah, but you were one of us then.”

  “If all existence would vanish, then why in the world would you kill me? You would disappear, too.”

  “Hmm, shall I tell thee all?” Her red eyes brightened as Armen’s fingers tightened on her throat again. “All existence shall fall into the Darkness.”

  “I’ve conflicting stories. I think you’d better be certain before one of you kills me,” Armen suggested, the scepter turning in her left hand, searching for the trigger with her thumb. Generally, she was right-handed, but there wasn’t time to squabble over which hand was better suited for what she was about to do.

  “I am certain,” Ash said, the grin stretching over her ruby lips. “The Namseer tells me it is so.”

  “Oh?” Armen arched a brow. “Can you hear him right now?”

  Ash smiled, her fangs appearing as her lips parted.

  “Tell him to mind his own fucking business, and then tell him to leave me the hell alone.” When Ash’s wide eyes returned to calm, Armen knew a reply was on the tip of her tongue.

  “He says he cannot do such a thing.”

  Armen shoved the end of the scepter between Ash’s ribs, just under the breastplate. “Then say goodbye to him.” She pushed the trigger to the side and the scepter’s blade unsheathed into Ash’s body, ripping through her black heart and out of the top of her skull. Surprise manifested on the demon’s face for a mere second, and then rage ruptured with a silent scream as her mouth opened wide. Black blood flowed, gushing down her chin, and her grip on Armen tightened, fingernails digging into Armen’s skin. Armen let go of the demon’s neck and punched her in the face. Ash flew backward, forcing Armen’s legs to let go. It took only a second for her to realize how high in the air she was.

  “Shit.” She plunged to the floor, rapidly leaving the fiery demon behind, and sheathed the blade. Knowing Terry wouldn’t be able to save her from this and there was nothing else she could do, she closed her eyes tight, awaiting the impact and her death.

  The hardwood floor of the church ne
ver came, and she bounced back up before realizing someone caught her. The insanity of anyone attempting such a feat, and the fact that it had worked, made her open her eyes.

  His fiery blue eyes cast down at her as she rested in his arms. His lips slipped into a sly grin, black hair fell in cascades over his shoulders. He gently set her on her feet, but still kept his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  “Samyaza,” she whispered, shocked. He had no doubt saved her and he would never let her live it down. She would owe him.

  “Armaros,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twisting into a sinister grin at her realization.

  “Shit,” was all she could say. Terry bolted for her, but it was too late to say anything else. Samyaza raised his hand, palm facing Terry, who froze in place with a yell.

  Armen jerked and tried to remove herself from his arm, but found she couldn’t move much. Terry let out a shriek of agony, and his father and Dante couldn’t take a step near him to help.

  “Stop it,” Armen shouted.

  Samyaza’s eyes met hers. “Why?”

  “Because you’re hurting him,” she replied, her voice shaking at what he could possibly do to Terry with just a mere flick of his wrist. That was the kind of power this one held. The Leader of the Rebellion, the most powerful of the Grigori, the reason she fell from Grace. Stupid, gullible, naïve girl. She wondered if her Father had any regrets, if such a thing affected Him. She certainly did.

  Samyaza lowered his hand and Terry dropped to the floor, the spell broken. That would cost her, too. Sean and Dante rushed to his side.

  His eyes sparkled when they returned to her. “That is twice now.”