“Move aside,” Seraphim ordered.
A defiant sneer crossed Kyle’s lips.
“Have it your way,” Seraphim said, lifting her blade with both hands high over her head in preparation to strike.
“No,” Michael said running towards them but it was too late. Seraphim was bent on having her revenge. With a powerful, downward motion, she hammered her blade against Kyle’s wings. The resulting noise sounded like an ironsmith bashing against his anvil with a hammer. Sparks flew through the air, still Kyle’s wings remained intact as he refused to move.
The entire time, Gabriel remained in his protective shell chanting louder and louder. “Get him out of there!” Seraphim yelled as she lost all sign of sanity and began bashing her sword over and over again against Kyle’s wings. Her Death Angels moved to do her bidding. The eleven black-winged elite angels, who had proven their might throughout the millennia, jumped at her command.
Michael watched in horror as they moved against Kyle. Some ran while others flew just over the ground. Something clicked in Michael’s mind as the top tier of angelic warriors closed in on Gabriel. It was something he had said, You brought me my army. “No! Wait!”
Michael’s warning was too late as the Death Angels struck at Kyle’s wings in unison. Before their blows could land, Kyle opened his wings in one quick motion, lifting his red appendages to the dark sky above. Light blinded Michael as Gabriel shouted the final words to his spell. A concussive blast rolled out from where Gabriel stood, forcing everyone to not only shield their eyes from the light, it also caused them to stumble and hold their ground against the force.
Michael looked on as if he were in a nightmare; chaos broke loose across the courtyard. All the Death Angels beside Seraphim turned on their fellow angels as if possessed. Their eyes glazed over so only white showed. They lunged at their brothers and sisters, impaling them on spears and decapitating them with single strikes. At the same, time a large contingent of demons led by the shape-shifter Triana rushed from inside the keep. Gabriel and Kyle joined the fight, slashing out with an inferno of fire and energy wherever they could.
Michael forced himself to enter the battle: his hate growing for Gabriel, a feat he didn’t think possible. Wading into the madness around him Michael, whispered, “Where are you Alan?”
Chapter 23
Leaving Cratos to follow on foot was out of the question. The Minotaurs could run tirelessly for days, still their pace was nothing compared to the speed Alan and Raphael had at their disposal. The solution was Raphael clenching Cratos’ shoulder armor in both hands and carrying him as they flew. In return, Cratos held both his own weapon and Raphael’s trident. Cratos wasn’t happy with the traveling arrangement but there was nothing to be done. The result was the trio flying through the air quickly though not as fast as Alan would have liked.
The sun was already down and Alan knew Michael couldn’t wait for them. The attack was commencing now and Alan wasn’t there. A look behind him told Alan that Raphael did not need to be spurred on. The Archangel wore a determined stare in his eye and a jaw set with conviction.
Alan took stock of their position. They were only miles from their destination. The dark world below rolled on and on in a series of steep hills and grassy knolls. The air was cold and a feeling beyond the normal chill of the night caressed and stroked Alan’s skin. Alan fought back a tremble as he steeled himself for the fight to come. We can stop Gabriel now, we can do this. He was too powerful before but that was before we had the minotaur’s information to defeat him. This will work, this has to work.
Distant clanging and faint shouts saved Alan from having to convince himself for the hundredth time they were not too late. Golgotha, the fortress where Gabriel had chosen to take up his residence, became a dark outline in the already black landscape below.
Alan could feel his heart quicken as they approached. Without being asked, he slowed his forward progress to allow both Cratos and Raphael to fly beside him. “Remember the plan,” Raphael said as he clutched Cratos with both hands, “We’ll only get one chance at this.”
“It will work,” Cratos said, “it has to work.”
Alan couldn’t bring himself to look away from the oncoming fight, he just responded in turn, “We’ll do our part, Raphael. Cratos and I will distract him. You just be ready to make the cut and use the blood as a bridge between you two.”
Raphael’s reply was a short nod as he also prepared himself for what was to come. “We stop Gabriel, then rescue Kassidy.”
“Are you ready, little brother?” Cratos said grinning at Alan, “This will be the first time any minotaur has entered the battlefield with a Horseman. I hope you will be able to keep up.”
Alan found himself smiling despite the sounds of war that loomed louder and louder with each passing second. “We’ll find out soon.”
The time for talking was over as the trinity of unlikely companions sailed over the walls of Golgotha and was horrified to see the battles taking place below. Alan’s eyes enlargened as he tried to understand what was taking place.
A small group of Fallen, along with Gabriel, was beating back a much larger army of angels. Things his eyes saw but his mind couldn’t comprehend flashed in front of him. Seraphim’s Death Angels hacked and slashed their way through the angelic ranks. Michael was below shouting orders and making his way through the crowd of churning bodies and flying blood toward someone Alan didn’t recognize, someone who had red wings similar to his own.
“What’s happening?” Alan asked as confusion wrapped him in its gnarled grasp.
“It doesn’t matter,” Raphael said, his eyes narrowing as he fixated on Gabriel, “we stick to the plan.”
Alan was still trying to piece together the pandemonium unfolding in front of him when he spied Seraphim below. Her red hair bounced back and forth as she dodged strikes to her face and abdomen. Two of her own Death Angels had her backed into a corner of the courtyard. They were slashing at her as if she were one of the enemies.
Without regard for his own safety or a word to his comrades, Alan angled towards Seraphim. He folded his wings on his back sending him into a dive.
“Wait,” Raphael yelled behind him, but all rational thought had left Alan. All he knew was he couldn’t let Seraphim die.
---
Unwilling to use lethal force at least until he could figure out what was going on, Alan landed on the back of one of the Death Angels. Unsuspecting a blow from behind, the man crumpled under his weight. The next Death Angel, a woman with short blonde hair and a scar on her left cheek, moved to meet Alan’s attack but she was too late.
Alan used the butt of his great sword in a quick upward motion and brought the steel pommel up against the woman’s chin. She staggered back and fell on her rear. Dazed, she worked her jaw and blinked her pure white eyes over and over again.
Alan reached Seraphim’s side as he tried to explain what he was seeing. Not only where the Death Angels turning on their own, no pupil or iris existed in the orbs of their eyes.
Seraphim reached for Alan’s shoulder, “Don’t hurt them,” she panted, “they’re under Gabriel’s control. They don’t know what they’re doing.”
Everything made sense. Alan kept a wary eye on the two Death Angels now struggling to their feet as he took stock of Seraphim’s condition. A dozen small cuts and shallow gashes proved how dedicated she was to enduring their attack and finding a nonlethal way to stop them.
Alan knew he had to find a way to distract these Death Angels and lead them away from Seraphim. She needed time to recover. He also understood only precious seconds remained before the pair of Death Angles charged again. Alan brushed back a lock of Seraphim’s long red hair that hid the scare on her cheek. “No arguing. You need to recover, I’ll lead them away.”
Seraphim opened her mouth to protest just as Alan knew she would. Before she could get a word out, Alan intercepted her argument. “I promise I won’t hurt them. I’ll find a way.” Something stirred in
side Alan, a feeling he knew was always there but was too afraid to claim as his own. As the Death Angels advanced on them, Alan leaned over and kissed Seraphim on her lips.
The act was rushed and far too short lived for Alan’s liking but it would have to do. A tingling sensation traveled through Alan’s body as he separated and stared into Seraphim’s eyes, “I think I love you.”
Seraphim opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. It didn’t matter; their time was over. Alan could hear the running feet behind him. With a rush of wings, he lifted off the ground and turned to meet the two Death Angels.
---
Battle without having the intent to harm was much harder than Alan anticipated. Quite quickly he realized he needed to move the engagement to a different location. Alan needed to convince the Death Angels to follow him and give Seraphim time to regroup. Dodging between a club from the female Death Angel and a short sword from the male, Alan’s brain worked overtime for an answer.
The courtyard was packed with a maelstrom of bodies. The sounds of metal against metal and the multitude of clamor produced from an angel or Nephilim using their supernatural abilities rang through the air.
Alan’s abilities as a Horseman meant he was faster and stronger than either of the two opponents he faced. He would soon find out that their unique abilities leveled his advantage. Alan weaved in and out of their attacks. Striking with the butt or flat side of his sword when he could. The damage he inflicted this way was minimal at best. It did nothing to stop the insatiable hunger for battle glowing through the Death Angels’ white eyes.
Then the tables turned. The female warrior hesitated for a moment then disappeared. The male warrior dropped his weapon. In the place of his hands, two large rocks appeared like boxing gloves around his fists.
Alan was still trying to make sense of the matter when something whipped past him and sliced at his armor. The minotaur platting was strong enough to turn the blade as Alan twisted and caught what he thought was the outline of the female Death Angel before she disappeared.
Confused as he was, Alan didn’t notice the male warrior send a strike to his stomach then his chin in quick succession. Again the minotaur armor absorbed the blow, only sending a shockwave through Alan’s body. The hit to his chin, however, landed just under his helmet. The helm flew off his figure as his teeth crashed together threatening to break. Alan could taste blood as he reeled back.
Without thinking, Alan took to the air. He needed to form a plan before entering into a battle with an invisible foe and one with rocks for hands. Alan launched himself skyward. The battle for Golgotha raged all around the fortress as well as into the sky. Everywhere Michael’s angels fought back both their Fallen counterparts as well as Seraphim’s mind-controlled Death Angels.
Alan raced straight upward, trying to lead his two opponents away from anyone they could hurt in the ensuing battle. To his right and left Alan caught glimpses of airborne struggles between dark-winged Death Angels and the white-winged angelic warriors. Still, he flew straight up into the night sky.
Finally hundreds of feet over the fortress of Golgotha, Alan came to a halt and hovered in the frigid air. At this altitude, his breath came out in white puffs of warm moisture only to disappear within seconds of their manifestation. A quick look below told Alan his plan was working. Two pairs of white eyes rocketed towards him. Just before impact, the female Death Angel disappeared again. This time Alan was ready: just before the outline of the woman turned invisible, Alan grabbed her right wrist with his own right hand. She struggled like a crazed animal to free herself from his grasp but Alan refused to let go. He knew if he lost her again, he would only be inviting another invisible assault. Doing this left him open to her companion’s attack, a risk Alan had to take.
Alan paid for his gamble with a series of blows to his torso and face before he was able to get his left hand around his attacker’s armor. A collar of ringed metal protruded just enough from the male Death Angel’s breastplate for Alan to grip. Again and again, Alan was struck by both the male warrior’s rock hands and the invisible female’s club. Despite the onslaught of blows, Alan refused to loosen his hold on them. Blood streamed down his right temple and the left side of his lip but his grip on them was as strong as ever.
With a thrust of his wings, Alan dragged the pair of Death Angels higher and higher into the cold night. Beating his wings behind him in quick rhythm was draining. The added weight of the two struggling angels behind him sapped his strength as he struggled to ascend.
The night air grew colder and colder until Alan thought for sure he was gulping down actual breathes of ice. The moon and stars loomed in front of him looking so close to his oxygen-deprived brain that he could reach out and touch them. The crazed thrashing behind him began to subside as his supernatural luggage also started to feel the effects of the thin air.
The world around Alan began to blur as only one thought came and went from his mind, Higher, need to go higher.
By this time, the motion in each of his hands completely subsided. Alan was higher than he had ever flown. Even his trip to the mountains to visit the minotaurs had not taken him this far into the night sky.
The moon loomed larger than he had ever seen . To his right, it gleamed its brilliant silver light against his dark bent armor. A quick look to each of his hands and Alan confirmed his two assailants were both unconscious. Alan’s wings beat at a sluggish pace, the cold air sent shivers up and down his spine. Barely able to stay in the air, Alan began his descent.
---
The battle on the ground had spread to every section of the fortress and even outside the castle’s massive black walls. Alan shook his head to clear his oxygen-depraved mind as he placed the two unconscious Death Angels safely near the corner of the fortress courtyard. He hid the pair in the deep shadows provided by the fortress wall. Alan prayed no one would find them and that they would remain unconscious for the remainder of the battle.
More than anything, one thought pressed itself into Alan’s mind. He needed to find Gabriel and stop this once and for all. Alan’s eyes frantically searched the battleground for the Fallen Archangel. More bodies than he wished to see lay strewn across the dirt ground of the courtyard while hundreds of bodies still fought one another in the midst of total chaos. The numbers still belonged to Michael and his angels but the sheer force and frenzied power of the Death Angel corps evened the scales.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alan caught a burst of flame. Red wings mirroring his own slashed out burning anyone who stood in their way. Alan did a double-take not believing his eyes. Kyle stood smiling as he sent showers of fire back and forth across a group of screaming angels. Beyond Kyle, Gabriel wrestled with Michael, Raphael and Cratos.
Alan couldn’t bring himself to focus on Gabriel at the moment. Despite the plan, despite what his head told him to do, Alan flew between Kyle and his next group of victims, “Kyle,” Alan said seeing but not believing, “what are you doing? What has Gabriel done to you?”
Kyle hesitated the slaughter of those around him and fixated on Alan. A sneer crossed his lips followed by a mirthless laugh. “He’s opened my eyes, Alan. I see now what I am and what I was all along. I am Death. I was always destined to become the Horseman of Death. It has followed me my entire life, can’t you see that? First your mentors died when I found out about this supernatural war that rages around us humans, then the battle when Ardat tried to seize control. Seraphim’s near-death experience—if she hadn’t been saved by Danielle—and now, now…” Kyle opened his arms wide to take in the gory scene around him, “now all this.”
“No,” Alan said refusing to allow himself to be brought down by Kyle’s lie, “none of that was your fault. Gabriel’s done something to your mind he’s—”
“He’s controlling me like the Death Angels?” Kyle asked pushing his head forward and widening his eyes. “Look at me, look at my eyes, Alan.”
Alan did with a sense of sadness. Kyle was right. If Gabrie
l was manipulating Kyle, it was nothing like the unfeeling movement of the white-eyed Death Angels. Kyle was talking and acting on his own. Despite this, Alan still refused to believe Kyle was completely lost, “Just stop this,” Alan pleaded. “Talk to me. We can work this out.”
“You had your chance to talk,” Kyle said as he prepared for another attack. “You had more than your chance to see what I really was. Instead you were too wrapped up in yourself. I am Death and I will show you what that means.”
Kyle’s wings rushed forward until both tips were facing Alan. From Kyle’s crimson wings, a mixture of energy with tongues of fire shot towards Alan. Alan was so distraught at the idea of losing Kyle, he had just enough time to deflect the attack with his own wings. A sizzling and buzzing sound ripped through the night sky as Alan’s wings and Kyle’s attack met.
All other noise in the battlefield lessened as Alan’s ears rang with the unearthly sound of the Horsemen’s battle. Heat wrapped Alan in its smothering embrace as it sucked oxygen from around his body and threatened to suffocate him. Great, Alan thought as he struggled for an answer as to what to do next, First, I can’t breathe because I’m flying too high, now Kyle is going to kill me with heat.
All Alan could see was his blue pulsing wings as he deflected Kyle’s attack and wrapped himself in their protection. The pain from the heat was uncomfortable but bearable. One step at a time, Alan forced himself forward. The pressure was like resisting the weight of a fire hose as he fought for every step forward. His feet slid as Alan lowered his head and walked directly into the force of the Horseman of Death.
With every step, the heat and cracking sound of energy competing with energy grew. Sweat was pouring into Alan’s eyes but he didn’t dare look up. He wasn’t sure what would happen if his face came in contact with the deadly force of Kyle’s energy-like fire.
Alan Price and the Statue of Zeus (The Nephilim Chronicles Book 3) Page 16
