Wrath of the Fallen: The Guild of Deacons, Book 2

by James MacGhil

  Forming into a horrific cloud of chunky shards, the spine-chilling debris field surged to a staggering height of five thousand or so feet before slowly running out of momentum and plummeting back toward the Earth in a fiery death dive.

  And before I had the opportunity to nearly shit myself for the third time in as many minutes, the armageddon’esque meteor shower slammed into the ground surrounding the surviving half of the once majestic obelisk with a prolonged series of pelting thuds that, in turn, sent a savage shockwave ripping across the landscape in a hammering blur.

  Sort of like somebody unpaused the movie, my concept of reality snapped back into place just in time to get ferociously blown backward several feet as the tidal wave of pissed off energy slammed into Rooster and me with the force of a wrecking ball. Not slowing down in the least, it tore through the legions of anakim and Kruger clones, still locked in mortal combat behind us, until neither man nor beast remained standing for as far as the eye could see.

  With my ears ringing and sight blurred, I staggered to my feet as a shellshocked Coop and Double OT stumbled toward me looking like somebody just stole their lunch money.

  Picking himself off the ground, a clearly dazed Rooster was trying his damnedest to shake off the epic shellacking as MacCawill somehow just stood there sucking on a fresh cigar.

  “You didn’t duck,” he said, smiling at us as he blew a rather elaborate smoke ring.

  “Asshole,” Rooster muttered, apparently fighting the urge to punch him in the face with every fiber of his being.

  Scanning the crew, I grumbled, “Everybody good?”

  Still wobbly, Owen asked, “Betty? Betty White? Is that you? What the flip are you doing here? Wait, is it my birthday? Did you get me a new bath-robe? And Twinkies? Let’s snuggle up and watch some Mr. Rogers. Won’t you be my neighbor …”

  And then he collapsed to the ground and passed out with a creepy smile on his face.

  Trying to put that mental image out of mind, I stepped over him and said, “Is everybody besides NecroDork good?”

  Hazily gawking into the smoldering fallout zone, Coop asked, “What the hell just happened, y’all?”

  “MacCawill happened,” Rooster replied, still pissed.

  “We accomplished the mission,” MacCawill muttered, “That’s what happened.”

  “And decapitated the goddamn Washington Monument. And apparently laid waste to any structure still standing in the Nation’s fucking capital.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re welcome?” Rooster barked. “Are you serious? Is he serious—”

  Interjecting, I asked, “How much time you think we’ve got before Lew’s back on his feet?”

  “Maybe a couple minutes,” MacCawill replied. “Maybe less.”

  “Well, collateral damage notwithstanding, it seems we momentarily postponed the frigg’n apocalypse.”

  And it was right about then when the billows of smoke hovering around us cleared away, and all our gazes collectively drifted upwards to the hellish green portal still swirling in the dark sky above what remained of the jacked up monument.

  “Or not,” Coop muttered.

  Clearly perplexed as he studied the unnatural vortex which was somehow picking up speed at an exponential rate, Rooster’s eyes danced with rapid thought.

  “Why didn’t the goddamn gate to Tartarus go poof?” I asked. “We broke the connection between Lucifer and the monument — frigg’n literally.”

  “I — I don’t know. Somehow it’s still drawing power from the Ark.”

  Peering across the fallout zone, I instantly spotted the glowing silhouette of the divine chest sitting ominously undisturbed amongst the debris field. Still perched on the rustic stone pedestal, it was spitting out bolts of spectral lightning like a Tesla coil on crack.

  Gritting my teeth, I grumbled, “Not for long.”

  “What are you fixin’ to do, hoss?” Coop asked.

  “Turn the Ark into kindling,” I replied, as the cloak flared upon my shoulders like a raging beast sending a jolt of wrathful power coursing through my spine.

  “No,” Rooster interjected, shaking his head. “You can’t do that.”

  Locking gazes with him, I said, “Fucking watch me.”

  “You don’t get it,” he persisted, “If you destroy it now, it’ll evaporate the entire city… and probably most of the eastern seaboard.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m serious, Dean. The fact the Ark’s still able to keep that gateway open means it’s running full bore. And without Lucifer or the obelisk to harness the energy stream, it’s highly unstable.”

  “So what the hell do we do?”

  “We need to figure out how to disable it — make it go dormant.”

  “Well figure it out fast,” MacCawill grumbled, “There’s no sign of the cavalry yet and Lucifer’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up.”

  Turning to Rooster, I said, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

  Starting to pace, he muttered, “I need to think.”

  “We don’t have frigg’n time to think,” I barked. “Just tell me how to turn the fucking thing off.”

  Stopping in mid-stride like he had a major epiphany, he yelled, “That’s it! All we have to do is turn it off.”

  “Turn it off?” Coop scoffed, spitting a wad of tobacco juice on the ground and looking at him like he’d blown a ginger gasket. “You saying the Ark of the Covenant has a dagum kill switch?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does. Well, sort of. Actually, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. But that’s irrelevant. I have an idea.”

  “What’s the short version?” I grumbled, as a thunderous clamor behind us indicated the anakim army was recovering from the Gomorrah Flare backlash.

  Slipping into bloviation mode, he said, “At its most basic level, the Ark’s nothing more than a power generator. Now granted, it’s souped up like a celestial freaking Lamborghini with twin turbos running on divine ethanol, but just like any other generator — it pumps electrons through a circuit to produce energy. You guys with me?”

  Rolling over, Double OT murmured, “I’m with ya, Johnny. Really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree.”

  And then he passed out again.

  Rapidly losing patience, I said, “Please cut to the end.”

  “The Ark — It’s a simple electrical circuit. We just need to add a ground to the return and stop the flow of the current.”

  “The frigg’n return?”

  Looking at me like I was a complete dumbass, he said, “The point where the electrons leave the circuit to create energy. In the case of the Ark, the return is the Mercy Seat.”

  “The what?”

  “You need to get out more, mancho,” MacCawill chimed in. “There are two golden angels mounted opposite each other on the Ark’s lid. The space between the tips of their wings is called the Mercy Seat.”

  And as the statement registered with my brain, a lightbulb the size of a hot air balloon went off in my head.

  “Son a bitch,” I muttered, as the prophetic words of Mariel flashed through my thoughts. “Only by embracing mercy will the fate of destiny’s design be witnessed.”

  Raising a ginger eyebrow, Rooster said, “Wait, what did you say?”

  “Never mind,” I replied, instantly realizing what I had to do. “Stay here. Hold the anakim off as long as you can.”

  “And then what?”

  “If Big A’s not here by then — it might be a swell time to break out the rosary beads and say a couple Hail Mary’s.”

  Willing the gauntlets into being, I clenched my fists as the argent metal slowly formed over my hands and forearms.

  “Where are you going?” He protested.

  With my mouth curled into a dark grin, I said, “To embrace mercy.”

  And then I simply focused on the Ark and took three bold steps.

  Chapter 36

  Really hoping that I didn’t turn into a pork rind, I traversed the smoldering fallout
zone in a blur of motion and fluidly manifested directly opposite the Ark of the Covenant.

  And, unfortunately, before I had the opportunity to shit myself or go blind, I was instantly bombarded by an overpowering field of otherworldly energy that swirled and hummed around the gilded chest like a spectral swarm of pissed off hornets.

  Instantly thinking that perhaps this was a really fucking bad idea, I had a brief yet highly ironic Indiana Jones moment as the unrestrained primal power lashed out from the Ark in tenacious, crushing waves that pelted me like a million unseen fists. And somehow, despite the stinging pain that literally screamed through every inch of my body with unrelenting vigor, I convinced myself that my face wasn’t going to melt off.

  So at the very least, I had that going for me.

  Which was nice.

  Burying the pain in a dark corner of my mind, I clenched my fists and summoned all my supernatural strength. Feeding off my raw determination, the cloak flared out on my shoulders as I defiantly fought through the raging, unnatural shit storm to reach the God box within a half dozen, or so, labored steps.

  Somewhat mesmerized by the surreal artifact in full-on ape shit mode, I was immediately drawn to the two golden cherubim mounted like ever vigilant sentries atop its ornate lid. Silhouetted by pulsing flashes of ethereal green lightning, the majestic statuettes simply gazed at each other with expressions of perfect serenity as a literal maelstrom of unfettered power spun like a centrifuge of imminent destruction between their outstretched wings.

  Figuring it was high time to shit or get the hell off the pot, I muttered, “When this is over, I really need to evaluate my life choices.”

  And then I raised my metal encased hands and grasped both tips of the angels’ wings with all my frigg’n might.

  I’m pretty sure that I started screaming at that point.

  I’m also pretty sure that my face started melting off.

  But, to be fair, it’s a bit hard to recollect with any degree of certainty because shortly after I turned myself into a walking circuit breaker for the greatest power source known to mankind — Things kind of went to shit.

  Real quick like.

  Typical.

  On the upside though, Rooster’s theory about ‘turning off’ the Ark was right on the frigg’n money.

  In fact, after I wrapped my paws around the damn Mercy Seat, it didn’t take more than half a second for the entirety of the Ark’s divine juice to stop flowing into the gateway to Tartarus.

  Mainly because it began to flow into me.

  All of it.

  Hence the screaming and face melting.

  Now granted, I probably should’ve seen that coming.

  But, in my defense, I was never very good at physics.

  At any rate, as I made the mental note to ask Mariel why she left this part out of her cryptic words of wisdom, I felt my legs go limp and instantly collapsed to my knees. With my hands locked into a death grip on the cherubim, the hissing, sparking stream of consummate power literally gushed into my spasming body until even the Deacon’s cloak said “screw it” and relented to its divine dominance.

  My head rolled back on my shoulders as I fixated on the unnatural portal swirling in the dark sky above. Happily watching it slowly fade from existence, I felt an incredible sigh of relief wash over me.

  And then, as my mind began a steady drift into the either, I felt nothing.

  No pain.

  No guilt.

  No remorse.

  No — nothing.

  Apparently about ready to check out and call it an afterlife, a stirring on the periphery of my pain induced euphoria caught my attention, and a dark figure appeared on the opposite side of the Ark.

  Unable to really do anything about it, I helplessly watched as the mysterious party crasher glared at me and said, “Dean, I swear to God, if you’re fucking dead again, I am so kicking your ass.”

  Wait.

  What?

  “Doc?”

  “It’s me. Now, get up. This isn’t over.”

  “What … what are you doing here?”

  “My job,” she replied, muttering a few words under her breath in Enochian before casually placing her hands on top of mine.

  As my muddled brain churned on overtime trying to figure out what the hell was happening, the crushing torrent of divine energy pouring into me like a firehose instantly stopped.

  And it began to pour into Erin instead.

  Shit.

  That’s not good.

  Despite my deep fried, jacked-up condition, I dove into an instant state of panic and tried my damnedest to stand up.

  When my legs made it pretty clear that it wasn’t happening anytime soon, I focused all of my remaining will and slowly pulled in a long, deliberate breath.

  Cleared my mind.

  Focused my thoughts.

  Found the Balance — the perfect balance between wrath and clarity.

  As the unfathomable power welled up in the deep recess of my soul, the cloak roared to life and the divine Wrath coursed throughout my being like a turbo shot of diesel powered adrenaline.

  With my strength returned and broken body instantly healed, I boldly rose to my feet, and locked gazes with Erin who was standing opposite me somehow completely unaffected by the Ark’s crushing power.

  “How are you doing that?” I barked.

  With harrowing bolts of spectral green flame dancing around her silhouette like a raging firestorm, she casually replied, “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Later?” I protested, trying to pry her hands free of the Mercy Seat. “You shouldn’t be here. Let go.”

  Ignoring me as she clamped down even harder with impossible strength, she simply lowered her head and closed her eyes.

  Looking up to find the gateway to Tartarus rapidly shriveling into nothing more than a cloudy vapor in the night sky, the Ark began to violently convulse as a deafening human-like screech erupted from somewhere deep within its enigmatic core. The spectral radiation pouring into Doc tripled in intensity as the golden cherubim clutched in our hands began to sizzle like they were within seconds of literally melting.

  “Let go!” I yelled, as Erin’s eyes shot wide open and bored a hole through me with a cold, empty stare.

  Saying nothing, she just tightened her grip.

  And then something happened that I still haven’t got straight in my head.

  As I desperately tried to wrestle our hands free of the self destructing divine relic, Erin’s deep brown eyes turned a radiant, almost glowing white.

  And I’m not talking like they rolled back in her head.

  I’m talking like they literally turned white.

  Like a spine chilling — unadulterated — make you piss your pants — white.

  As I simply stood there speechless, the ornate panels of gold plating that covered the four sides of the Ark began to fluidly peel off, only to inexplicably morph into an ethereal suit of seamless armor that methodically locked into place around Erin like a jigsaw puzzle.

  Smoothly covering her like a glove that hugged every last contour of her body, the otherworldly combat attire completed its surreal manifestation by gliding up her neck and encasing her head in a sleek, full-faced helmet. Almost like a metal ski mask, the menacing headgear coated everything except her eyes, which balefully blazed like sentient orbs set against the featureless golden carapace.

  With the Ark reduced to nothing more than an oversized rustic crate, the pint sized knightress simply removed her armored hands from the cherubim and everything just stopped.

  The thermonuclear laser light show.

  The uncontrolled shaking.

  The ear splitting screeching.

  Everything.

  Catching a final, fleeting glimpse as the portal to Tartarus completely disintegrated into nothingness, I spun toward Erin with a look of pure bewilderment across my face.

  With a gazillion questions racing through my head, all I managed to blurt out was, “Really?”


  Casually stepping around the fully dormant Ark of the Covenant, her eyes returned to their normal mesmerizing brown as the dauntingly creepy, golden helmet melted from her face.

  As her mouth curled into a warm grin, she said, “It’s okay, Dean.”

  “Okay?” I scoffed, still awestruck. “No. Hell no! This is not frigg’n okay! Nothing about this is okay! I mean, look at you for Christ’s sake. How in the—”

  “It’s okay,” she repeated, like everything made perfect sense.

  Shaking my head about to launch into an unfiltered, expletive filled tirade explaining the many reasons to the contrary, the sound of sliding rocks from somewhere in the near vicinity made me stop.

  Swinging my attention toward the surviving half of the Washington Monument directly behind us, the cloak rippled anxiously on my shoulders as the mammoth heap of smoldering rubble strewn about its disheveled base began to collapse inward upon itself like something was forcefully burrowing its way out.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, ripping the shotgun free of its holster before focusing my will and cocking the lever.

  Studying the mini avalanche, Erin asked, “What’s happening?”

  “Remember yesterday when you wanted to punch Lucifer in the face?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I think you’re about to get your chance.”

  Right on cue, the Evil Über Deacon himself stepped from the mound of crumbling wreckage like he owned the frigg’n joint.

  Apparently less than happy about catching a Gomorra Flare in the chest while floating around like an infernal Superman, his white cloak burst into blinding flame as the Wrath of twenty-five Deacons visibly pulsed from his being.

  With a batshit crazy glaze over his eyes, Lew methodically scanned the area with a content smile on his face before locking his full attention on Doc and me.

  Closing the distance between us in a blur of motion, he quipped, “Greetings and salutations, my pets. It seems the fates have once again brought us together.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, as my face curled into a dark grin. “Isn’t that swell?”