“Unbelievable,” Doc grumbled.
Figuring it was well past time to get some frigg’n answers, I willed the cloak into retreat and placed myself squarely in front of Gabriel.
“So, I take it we’re no longer fugitives?”
Pensively scanning the group, he replied, “No. You are not. In all actuality — you never were.”
“Well, that’s interesting, Gabe. Because it sure as shit felt that way.”
“I’m afraid that was the intent, Dean Robinson.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, doing my damnedest to follow the plot. “You’re going to have to explain that.”
“What Gabriel is saying,” Stephen replied, “Is that the only way to draw out the traitor within the seraphic court was to lay the mantle of treason on another party. Hence the reason for my perceived incarceration and the bounty laid upon your head.”
As the gears started turning, I said, “So this whole thing — it was a trap.”
“A well laid trap. And, regretfully, you were—”
“The bait,” I grumbled putting two and two together. “You should’ve told me.”
“That was not his decision to make,” Gabriel interjected, “An unspeakable conspiracy had infected my ranks like a festering plague. I could not risk that information leaking to the actual traitor.”
“You mean Remiel,” I muttered.
“Yes,” Gabriel coldly replied, gazing at his angelic brother’s limp body trapped with the Holy Flame. “My most trusted lieutenant. The revelation of his betrayal was more than disappointing to say the very least.”
“But, why the hell didn’t you snag him in the desert? You must’ve known he was the frigg’n barkangel at that point?”
As Gabriel’s brow furrowed in puzzlement upon hearing my moniker for the divine traitor, Rooster said, “The bad archangel. A.K.A., the barkangel. A.K.A., the traitor.”
Evidently less than impressed with the nickname, Gabriel said, “Unfortunately, Remiel managed to elude capture in the desert and subsequently fled beyond our Sight. It was then that I realized he would only again resurface to claim the one thing he required to fuel his revolution.”
“The Ark,” Rooster chimed in.
“That is correct, John,” Stephen replied.
“And you knew we’d figure out a way to get it first,” I muttered.
“I had faith that would be the case. Yes.”
“But, what about Azazel?” Rooster asked. “We may’ve stopped Remiel from unleashing the Watchers on Heaven but the anakim militia are still on schedule to lay wreckage to the Earth in about an hour and twenty minutes.”
“No,” Gabriel said. “They are not. As we speak, ten legions of my brothers are descending upon Azazel’s stronghold and exorcising both him and his league of bastard offspring from existence.”
“What?” I blurted, both shocked and elated. “How’d you find him?”
With a very uncharacteristic grin, the archangel simply replied, “You have your methods, Dean Robinson, and I have mine.”
“So, it’s over,” Doc chimed in. “We won?”
“It is over, Erin Kelly,” Gabriel replied, causing Double OT to stop scarfing down sausage dogs and yell, “We won! Ha! That’s what I’m flipping talking about, bitches! Hash tag — Booyah! Can I get a Hell Yeah? Let me hear you guys say it. On three. Ready? One. Two. Three!”
When nobody offered a response, he halfheartedly muttered, “Go team?”
When nobody offered a response to that either he defeatedly went back to eating.
“It’s not over,” I grumbled, gazing at the obscure food cart and the arcane object hidden within. “What about the Ark?”
“It must be secured within the vaults of Tenth Heaven,” Gabriel definitively replied. “Far from all who seek its power for discord and insurrection.”
“Secured, eh?” I grumbled. “And how’d that work out the last time for you, Gabe? Oh, wait, maybe I should ask Lucifer because if I’m not mistaken, I believe he stole it right from under your nose a few thousand years before you even frigg’n knew he stole it.”
As his eyes flashed a deep black indicating he didn’t exactly appreciate my tone, the archangel replied, “Am I to understand you have a wiser course of action to offer, Deacon?”
“I have a more permanent solution in mind. Something to ensure it never ends up in the wrong hands — again.”
Sagely studying me for an excruciatingly long second or two, he replied, “Are you suggesting that the Vessel, an instrument imbued with the physical embodiment of God himself, be destroyed?”
“I’m suggesting that the only thing capable of opening the gates of Tartarus be removed from the equation — once and for all.”
“Interesting,” he muttered under his breath like he was having a minor epiphany. “Regardless of the fact that I may be in agreement, such an act would be nothing less than blasphemy to the very highest of degrees. Even if warranted to secure the future of Heaven and Earth alike, no angel could possibly carry out nor condone such a task.”
And as I stood there thinking what the hell to say next, Stephen casually strolled toward the Sausage Rocket and attentively gazed inside.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Although quite regrettable, it appears the Vessel has suffered irreparable damage during its recovery.”
Glancing at Double OT like a skilled lawyer leading a witness, he asked, “Would you not agree, Mr. Trask?”
“Damaged?” Owen scoffed, also peering into the massive food cart. “Hell flipping no, bossman. It’s—”
“A frigg’n mess,” I said, picking up on where Stephen was going as I elbowed Double OT in the ribs to shut him up. “Must’ve hit one of those time currents or something on the way back. Right, Owen?”
“Damaged, you say?” Gabriel interjected. “That is highly unfortunate. Are you quite sure it cannot be salvaged?”
“I fear it is beyond mending,” Stephen replied in his signature stoic fashion.
“If the Vessel has been sullied then it most certainly cannot be returned to the Heavens. However, even in a compromised state, its power is nothing to be trifled with. Perhaps you should transport the remnants to a safe location and properly dispose of them. For, as Deacon Robinson so astutely noted, it would be more than irresponsible to allow any last splinter of the only instrument capable of opening the gates of Tartarus to fall into the wrong hands — again.”
Breaking into the conversation, I said, “Wait, are you saying you want us to—”
“I trust you understand what must be done,” Gabriel replied.
And then he and the still comatosed Remiel simply vanished in a powerful burst of air, accompanied by the whooshing sound of unseen massive wings.
“Ah, dudes,” Double OT said, trying to wrap his head around what was going on, “What the flip just happened?”
Rather matter-of-factly, Coop replied, “Well, cuz, it seems that by exploiting an apparent loophole in seraphic jurisprudence, Stephen just gave Gabriel a somewhat legit way to tell us to torch the Ark so this whole shit show don’t become a sequel.”
“Ha! Did you just say jurisprudence and shit show in the same sentence, Cooper Trooper? Loved it!”
“Durn skippy.”
Turning to Stephen, I muttered, “Gabe’s starting to grow on me.”
“And apparently you’re growing on him,” he replied.
“Seriously? How can you tell?”
“Mainly by the fact that he didn’t behead you for calling him Gabe … twice.”
“Right,” I muttered, making the mental note to quit mouthing off to celestial über beings at some point down the road.
“So,” Rooster said, as we all stood there looking at each other, “Seems like this is as much of a happy ending as we’re going to get. What the hell do we do now?”
“I don’t know about, y’all,” Coop said resting his signature long bow on his shoulder, “But, now that we ain’t criminals — I’m seeing a cold beer and a warm fi
lly in my immediate future.”
“Hells yeah!” Owen yelled. “I love horses. Can I come?”
As everyone shook their heads in unison, Stephen said, “Might I suggest that you all return to the Quartermaster. I’m sure Abernethy will be quite relieved to see you. Dean and I will join momentarily.”
Nodding his head, Rooster smiled ear to ear and muttered, “That sounds like the first good plan I’ve heard in a week. Hey, sweetie, can you hear me?”
“Of course I can hear you, Cleric O’Dargan,” instantly boomed the disembodied voice of Skyphos from the ether.
“Miss me?
“No. I most certainly did not. And kindly refrain from calling me sweetie.”
“Yeah, you missed me. Hey, be a doll and get us home, would ya?”
In response, an otherworldly portal fluidly manifested adjacent Double OT’s amplifier forest and the crew began to happily file through it.
Before Erin faded into the swirling radiance of spectral blue light, she turned to me and said, “Please be careful.”
“Don’t worry, Doc. Piece of cake. It’s not like I’m going to some undisclosed location to nuke a divine relic with the power to melt my face off.”
Oh, wait.
Chapter 30
With a somewhat skeptical look, Erin stepped through the arcane gateway as it snapped shut, leaving Stephen and me standing in momentary silence.
After a second or two, he said, “Let us finish this.”
“Not yet,” I grumbled. “What about the fallen Deacons? If Remiel’s the damn barkangel, he knows where they’re being kept. We can still save them.”
“And we will. That information will be extracted from Remiel and we will see to the release of our brothers. I promise you that, Dean. But, first we must tend to the task at hand. It will take our collective power to grapple with the Ark.”
“Understood,” I acknowledged. “In retrospect, it’s a damn good thing you showed up when you did. If Remiel added me to the collection, it would’ve been game over. He’d have the final piece he needed to become the—”
“Evil Über Deacon? I thought we agreed not to use that name.”
“To be fair, I think you agreed. I’m still kind of partial to it. Rolls off the tongue. Snappy.”
“Well, fortunately for both us, it is now officially a moot point.”
“Fair enough. Guess it’s time to pour some lighter fluid on the Ark of the Covenant and set a match to the biggest bonfire in human history. And I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”
“These are unusual times, indeed,” he muttered, as a portal of swirling black smoke manifested upon a casual wave of his left hand.
“So, where are we going?”
“A dark place. Somewhere far from both the Heavens and the Earth — Where no human soul ever hopes to find themselves.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this place?”
“Because your intuition serves you well.”
“Hold on,” I said, pointing at the portal. “Please tell me that’s not a doorway to frigg’n Hell. Are we seriously going to Hell?”
“Yes. We are.”
“Awesome,” I muttered, making the mental note that I don’t get paid enough for this shit as I willed the cloak into being. “Hopefully Lew’s still screwing around at the airport. I’ve had enough of that smarmy bastard to last an afterlife if you know what I’m saying.”
And much to my chagrin, Lucifer casually emerged from the infernal gateway with a shit eating grin stretched across his face and a wooden box of cigars in hand.
“Why, Master Robinson, should I be flattered or insulted?”
Damn.
That was awkward.
Strolling past us and happily gazing upon the Ark still situated within the oversized food cart, Lew then said, “Well done, gentlemen.”
“Lucifer,” Stephen coldly muttered, as his cloak billowed and surged upon his shoulders. “What an unpleasant surprise.”
Smirking, he replied, “Come now, Stephen, did you really think you could unlatch the proverbial fence to my backyard without my taking notice?”
“Apparently not,” he grumbled, willing his broadsword into being as it manifested on his back in a spectral flash and reaching back to grasp the mighty hilt.
Dismissing the show of force, Lucifer quipped, “I assure you, my good man, there is no need for that.”
“What are you doing here, Lew?” I grunted, willing the shotgun into being.
“Why I’ve simply come to offer my hearty congratulations on your successful endeavor. After all, I can’t help but retain some small sliver of pride for aiding in the resolution of these most troubling matters. Would you not agree, Dean?”
“Yeah right,” I halfheartedly muttered, “You were a huge frigg’n help. Pinning Gabriel as the traitor and teaming up with Remiel — the actual traitor — to take him down. Goddamn brilliant. Nice work. You got played, Lew. Like a frigg’n chump.”
“Yes, well, perhaps things were not exactly as they seemed. But, such details are always the case in love as they are in war. Nonetheless, here the three of us stand together at the very threshold of victory! This grand tale could not have arrived at a more fitting end. So, I say again, well done, gentlemen.”
Drawing his sword from its scabbard and resting it on his shoulder, Stephen said, “We have work to do. What is it that you want, Lucifer?”
“As I’ve told you both before, I simply want what I have always wanted. The Balance restored. Do you not understand?”
When Stephen nor I offered anything in response besides a pair of scowls, he said, “I would’ve thought it rather obvious at this point. Very well then. Perhaps I should simply show you and be done with it.”
And then, in a blinding torrent of spectral light, a brilliant white cloak manifested on Lucifer’s shoulders and a nightmarish leather praetorian mask formed over his face.
As the unadulterated power pouring off of his aura slammed into me like a frigg’n tidal wave, my mind raced to catch up to what was happening.
Then, unfortunately, it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Remiel was not the goddamn barkangel.
Lucifer was.
Fuck.
In what felt like extreme slow motion, I watched as Stephen instinctively swung his sword at Lucifer’s neck, only to have it batted away like a twig as Lew covered his fisted hands with argent metal gauntlets and effortlessly dropped Stephen to the floor with a crushing blow to the head.
Barely able to keep my feet, I reached back and ripped the semi-divine Winchester free of its holster and cocked the lever. Training it squarely on Lew’s chest I heard, as much as felt, him erupt into a harrowing, guttural laughter as he knocked it from my hands and clutched my throat in a vice grip. Lifting me off my feet with one arm, his eyes glowed a blazing crimson like orbs of hellfire, and a fine layer of hissing white flame crawled across his gauntlet toward my face.
My skin began to sizzle as the wrathful power of twenty-four Deacons visibly pulsed from his cloak causing the surrounding air to literally boil.
“I was not played, Master Robinson,” he taunted, as I focused all my supernatural strength on prying his hand from my throat to no avail. “For the game was never just about the Vessel. No, no, no. There was always a greater prize at stake.”
Putting the pieces together, I muttered, “Me and Stephen.”
“The alpha and the omega. The first and last Deacons within the mighty lines of Seven. The most potent component of Father’s precious Wrath. Of course, I only required one of your mantles to complete my ascension but, as a matter of guilty pleasure, I simply had to have both. The real trick in the matter, you see, was constructing the proper scenario that would make you both ripe for the picking, shall we say. Hence, I fabricated a common enemy.”
“Remiel,” I grunted.
“Albeit an incredible simpleton, that overzealous archangel did not disappoint. He’s been doing my bid
ding for quite some time now without the slightest inclination of such. And here you both are — practically delivered to my very doorstep in a neat — little — package. Impressive, yes?”
“Fuck off,” I managed to blurt out.
“I will miss our little chats,” he quipped, tightening his grip. “But, I’m afraid it’s time for me to go. For I have a date, Dean. A very, very special date — with a long awaited destiny. As such, it’s well past time for you and your fearless mentor to take your rightful places in my collection. Once I’ve harnessed your collective power and liberated the fallen Watchers, I will descend upon the Heavens like a vengeful wraith and rain down the fires of Judgment until there is not but ash beneath my feet.”
“What about the Earth?”
“The Earth?” He scoffed. “Why the race of man will undergo the greatest reformation in all of its sordid history at the hand of Azazel and his anakim. The mere thought of it brings a tear to my eye.”
“Good luck with that,” I forced out amidst a labored chuckle. “Azazel’s dead, you asshole.”
“Is he? Perhaps you’ve not been paying attention. The more likely scenario is that the many legions of angels sent to end him are now residing in a special corner of Hell. For in his usual ignorant fashion, Gabriel unwittingly sent them into a very well orchestrated ambush. As a matter of fact, as we have this enlightened conversation, Azazel is preparing to unleash his Maradim on your precious humans. Exciting times, Master Robinson. Exciting indeed.”
Within seconds of blacking out, a horrendous crash rang through the air and the door to NecroLord’s lair blew off its hinges to reveal a familiar apocalyptic cowboy holding a sawed off M-79 grenade launcher.
“Hey, fuck face,” Roy MacCawill grunted, spitting a badly chewed cigar on the floor. “You know what else is exciting?”
And then he launched a Holy Flame incendiary grenade squarely into Lucifer’s chest causing him drop me like a sack of potatoes as slithering tendrils of purple fire encompassed his body, forcing him to stagger backward a step or two.
Wrath of the Fallen: The Guild of Deacons, Book 2 Page 28
