Alan Price and the Statue of Zeus (The Nephilim Chronicles Book 3)

by Jonathan Yanez

  Alan took two, then three more steps. The noise of such a great power source competing against one equally as strong was unlike anything Alan had ever heard. In that moment, an immovable object was colliding with an unstoppable force and the result was mind-boggling.

  Alan gasped for breath in ragged gasps. He knew he had to be getting close to Kyle. Alan could hear his counterpart grunting under the exertion of his attack. Alan’s muscles ached and his back cried out in pain as he hunched forward and took another step. Then as soon as the attack started, it stopped.

  A ringing was left in Alan’s ears as he stumbled forward in the absence of the force pushing him back. Wings separating, Alan landed on all fours panting. Cold night air never felt so good. The ringing continued as Alan searched for an answer to Kyle’s sudden break in attack.

  Alan didn’t have to look long. Esther was beside him screaming something into his ear. Alan shook his head trying to rid his eardrums of the incessant buzzing. Esther was filthy with blood coming off her nose. As Alan tried to make sense of his surroundings, Esther’s voice finally broke through, “Kyle left to help Gabriel. Raphael and Michael have him cornered.”

  Alan followed Esther’s line of sight to the middle of the courtyard. There, an epic scene was taking place between the forces of Light and Darkness. Michael and Raphael were engaged with Gabriel as Seraphim and Cratos circled Kyle. “The fight is turning in our favor now that we have Gabriel and Kyle occupied,” Esther explained. “They’ll need your help. Can you fight?”

  Alan nodded saving his lungs for breathing instead of words. His armor was so hot on his body in fear of being burned, Alan shed his steal frame, opening himself to attack. Esther pressed Alan’s great sword into his right hand, “Go. We’ll handle the rest of the Fallen and the Death Angels.”

  “Be careful,” Alan managed to say as his fatigued lungs heaved in another long drought of air. Alan made his way through the battlefield, stepping over bodies. He avoided the enemy where he could yet even on his way to stop Gabriel, Alan had no choice but to dispatch numerous members of the Fallen race who refused to stand aside.

  Alan’s arms ached with the lifting and striking of the sword. Even with his super strength and speed, it seemed his abilities had their limits. Over and over again Alan beat back any would-be attackers as he kept his eye on Gabriel and the ferocious battle taking place between the Archangels.

  It seemed no one from either side wanted a part in the battle the trio were engaged in. A large berth was given to the three Archangels. To their left, Kyle, Seraphim and Cratos waged their own war.

  Above all, Alan wanted to go help Seraphim. His heart told him it was the right thing to do. Yet Alan also knew his duty as a Horseman. Seraphim was in no impending danger and neither was she a damsel in distress. She could hold her own and she had proven as much time and time again.

  Pushing the notion from his mind, Alan concentrated on the battle he knew he had to enter. Blood-red fire and lightening-bolt yellow lit the night sky as Gabriel and Michael dueled. It was clear to see that alone Michael would quickly be out-matched. His lightening strikes did little to damage Gabriel. However, anytime Gabriel mounted a counterattack or got the upper hand, Raphael would dart in with his trident.

  Raphael would pose little threat to Gabriel without his power. However, dividing Gabriel’s attention was enough to at least keep Michael in the fight. As Alan got closer, he could tell Michael and Raphael were fading despite their heroic effort. So much blood was smeared across Michael’s silver armor, it was impossible to tell if it was his own or that of his enemies’. Raphael’s chest heaved with exertion as he struck out with his trident only to miss then dodge and parry Gabriel’s return attack.

  Alan entered the fight with abandon as he refused to give into the pull of fear. Great sword in both hands, Alan rushed Gabriel. The Fallen Archangel smiled as Alan sliced the air he had inhabited only a moment before. Over and over again Alan, then joined by Michael and Raphael, sought to cut down their enemy.

  Lightning flashed in Michael’s hands, blue wings pulsed with energy and crimson fire from Gabriel’s twin swords flashed through the air. Neither side gave ground. If Alan thought his entrance to the conflict would give the upper-hand to the side of the Light, he was wrong.

  Gabriel danced around their blows and beat back attacks with his twin swords that resembled tongues of fire. If their enemy was weakening, he was showing no sign. “We can’t keep this up much longer,” Michael gasped as he rolled and crouched next to Alan. Never once did he let his eyes sway from his opponent.

  “We have a plan,” Alan said as he jumped out of the way from an oncoming blast of fire that rocketed from one of Gabriel’s swords, “we don’t need to kill him, we just need to make him bleed. Cut him once and Raphael will do the rest.”

  Confusion then acceptance registered across Michael’s face. “Follow my lead and be ready to grab his attention when I am exhausted. Whatever happens, you make sure you lead them, Alan. The other three Horsemen need you, whether they know it yet or not.”

  Alan looked at Michael with confusion, a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue. But all time for talking was over. Michael’s veins popped from his neck and head, a roar escaped his lips as a crackling cyclone of spectrum of electricity swarmed around him.

  Gabriel dismissed Raphael’s latest attack and sent him into a tumbling slide beside Alan. The Fallen Archangel directed his attention to Michael’s act, “You should know, brother, even with your most powerful attack, I am still your better.”

  Alan helped Raphael to his feet, “Be ready to run in front of me,” Raphael grunted as he spat blood. Raphael gripped his trident in his right hand. With a quick slice from one of the trident’s three blades, Raphael made a shallow cut in his left palm. Then he reached down into his left gauntlet to retrieve the vial of Baymore’s minotaur blood. “This will exhaust Michael. This will be our last opportunity.”

  Before Alan could ask what was about to happen, his eyes were captured by a brilliant display of light. Channeling all the swirling brilliant electricity around him into his hands, Michael shot a beam of pure electricity at Gabriel. Instead of trying to dodge the attack, Gabriel met the assault head-on. Sending a torrent of dark, cherry red flames from both of his hands, the two streams of energy collided. Everyone was forced to look away or shield their eyes in the presence of the brilliant red and yellow light.

  “Now,” Raphael shouted over the snapping and hissing, “I’ll run right behind you.”

  It was only then Alan grasped the plan. With a quick nod, Alan splayed out his wings wide on either side of him to conceal Raphael and ran at Gabriel. It would take Alan only milliseconds to cross the distance between himself and Gabriel, but a quick look told him Michael was fading fast. Gabriel’s stream of flames ate up Michael’s line of energy feet at a time. Soon, Gabriel would completely overpower Michael and consume him in an inferno of pain.

  Alan urged his legs to pump faster. Still yards from his opponent, Alan yelled and hurled his sword as Gabriel’s chest. Gabriel finally broke eye-contact with Michael. Left hand extending, Gabriel batted the sword from the air as if he were dismissing a fly. Alan was so close to colliding with Gabriel, he was sure the plan worked. Then only feet from the Archangel, Alan was struck by what felt like a giant hammer to his stomach and chest.

  The air escaped his lungs and sent him to his knees gasping for air. Pain shot through his ribs and sternum. The world around him threatened to go black. Then, all Alan could see through tunneled vision was Raphael vaulting over him and striking out with his trident. Finally, Gabriel’s expression changed from calm and proud to fearful and shocked.

  Gabriel jerked his head to the side but not before a thin line of red showed across his right cheek. Alan looked on in horror as Gabriel reached out with his left hand, batted away Raphael’s trident and the vial of minotaur blood and caught the Archangel by the throat.

  Alan was helpless as he struggled to regain his
feet. His legs churned in the blood soaked ground: standing was out of the question. His eyes traced the path of the vial. By some miracle the vessel remained intact. It lay in the dirt only a few feet from Alan.

  “Enough!” Gabriel screamed. In the next second, Michael was consumed in fire and thrown backward, slamming into Golgotha’s stonewall with enough force to crack the battlements. An avalanche of stone and mortar fell on Michael’s limp body concealing his fate.

  Alan fought back the urge to fall into unconsciousness as his body rocked with spasms. Crawling on his hands and knees, Alan reached for the vial of minotaur blood.

  “You should have remained in exile, Raphael,” Gabriel said still, holding him by the throat. “I’m going to tear you in half.”

  Raphael’s eyes bulged as he fought in vain to remove Gabriel’s grip from his throat.

  Alan reached the vial and, with one desperate attempt, yelled for Raphael through torn lungs, “For Uriel.” That’s all Alan could think to say. He flung the vial through the air hoping the memory of Raphael’s lost friend would be enough to revive his fighting spirit.

  Time seemed to slow as the vial rotated through the air. A force far stronger than luck would have to be on their side: a miracle. Everything now depended on Gabriel not seeing the vial and Raphael being able to catch the small glass container holding the minotaur blood.

  Nothing would go as Alan planned. It seemed as though Kyle had some how managed to separate himself rom Seraphim and Cratos and had seen Alan’s desperate attempt.

  As the vial hurled through the air, the Horseman of Death intercepted the glass vial, crushing it in his right hand as he caught it. Alan felt a groan escape his mouth. Their chance at having Raphael reclaim his lost powers came to a bitter end.

  ---

  What Alan failed to see was at the same time Kyle moved to assist his master, so too did Seraphim and Cratos move to help their friends. Seraphim cleaved at Gabriel’s left wrist with her sword, failing to break his skin still succeeding in severing Gabriel’s grip on Raphael. Cratos bit down on his own left hand as he ran by, causing a stream of dark blood to quench his palm. Even as Gabriel knocked back Seraphim with a blast of fire and struck Cratos across his right temple, Cratos’ bloody hand made contact with the wound on Raphael’s left palm.

  Alan watched in bewilderment as Raphael reached up and placed his hand on the cut he had made on Gabriel’s face. The motion wasn’t forceful; Raphael was almost reluctant to take back his power. A faint whisper escaped Raphael’s swollen throat, “For Uriel.”

  Wind and blinding light filled Golgotha’s courtyard as Gabriel reached up and with both hands tried to remove Raphael’s hand from his face. Despite the struggle, Gabriel’s attempt was futile. A light so bright it hurt Alan to look, lined the place where Raphael’s hand met Gabriel’s cheek.

  The light continued to grow until it shone brighter than the sun. Alan shielded his eyes with a razed hand as a tempest swirled around the battlefield. Then, with a blast stronger than any storm Alan ever witnessed, it was gone. Alan’s body refused to fight off the stabbing pain in his chest any longer. The world blurred, then everything went black.

  Chapter 24

  “And you see now why our work is so important?”

  “I do,” Ardat said, looking at the aftermath of the battlefield.

  The Shaman nodded in approval as he coaxed the wavering form in front of them to expand. The translucent looking glass shimmered like water as it grew in size. Ardat searched the area for Michael but all she could see was the pile of rocks covering his limp body.

  “You wish to go to him?”

  Ardat swallowed a lump in her throat that had enlarged since the beginning of the battle. To say she didn’t care about Michael was impossible. Above all else, she wanted to be by his side to fight. She wasn’t an assassin or a manipulator, she was a warrior. “Yes and no.”

  “Explain.”

  “I want to make sure he is safe. However, if what you have told me is true about Sodom and the fourth, and final, Horseman, then we must prepare.”

  The Shaman looked on with a smile, “Balance in everything, my dear. Ours is not a game of sides, it’s of leveling the scale. Always when conflicts of Light and Dark exist, there will be shades of grey. So to I can tell you Michael’s fate is not yet sealed. There is still a chance for his survival if we succeed.”

  Ardat exhaled as she felt relief wash over her. Somehow she believed the Shaman. Something about the way he spoke, the familiarity in his voice, told her he was honest. Trust was still a strong word to use about the way she felt about the Shaman. “Then what must we do to succeed? When will they strike?”

  The Shaman tilted his baldhead and looked deep into Ardat’s eyes. “Much too soon. With the Death Angels all but destroyed and heaven’s most capable warriors weakened, we have little time.”

  Ardat folded her arms over her chest and took stock of her surroundings. The two were in a cave deep within the very heart of the earth. Dripping water echoed from a long-lost cavern hidden below. The moist scent of earth and rock filled Ardat’s nose and mouth with every breath. The only light came from torches fluttering and flickering along the cave walls. A thought came to Ardat as she watched the Shaman wave his hand over the looking glass and maneuver from Golgotha’s dominating walls across the supernatural plane. “You know, you could have always just not made that spell for Gabriel. You practically gave him the ability to set this whole plan into motion.”

  The Shaman stopped the scene in front of what looked like a tall tower. “My order has never asked why or how, we have only maintained the balance and do what needs to be done. Without the spell, Gabriel would never have been able to separate the human and supernatural planes, keeping the human race out of this historic conflict Raphael would never be urged to take back his abilities. And the fourth Horseman would not have been discovered at this moment.” The Shaman pointed to the towering building that vacillated in his looking glass. “Do you know what this is?”

  Ardat eyed the building wondering if it was some kind of trick question. “Of course, I was there when it was built. It’s the Lighthouse of Alexandria.”

  “Correct. Most importantly it is our next destination. The forth Horseman awaits us there. To maintain the balance between good and evil, the side of the Light will desperately need our assistance awfully soon.”

  Chapter 25

  Alan awoke to the groans and muffled screams of pain that was the horror of the end of a battle. Smoke from a dozen different fires drifted across the dark sky mixing with the growing stench of sweat and blood. Alan’s chest felt like a mess of broken bones and torn skin. His head swam as another intense bought of pain threatened to take him into unconsciousness once more.

  Moans drifted across the battlefield as those still able to stand found their feet. Alan forced himself up to a sit, regretting the act as soon as he performed it. The pain was unlike anything Alan ever experienced. A familiar voice behind him echoed his own sentiments. “It looks bad, little brother, your breastplate is bent nearly in two. Minotaur armor does not bend so easily.”

  Alan winced as Cratos came into view, “Aren’t you supposed to be helping or reassuring me that everything is going to be okay? I can feel how bad it is.”

  Cratos spread his lips in an act Alan was beginning to understand was a smile. “You’ll live. Let me help you to your feet. And now that we have spilled blood together on the field of battle, you truly are my little brother.” Cratos extended a hand, “Come. We will find you medical aid.”

  Alan accepted the offered hand and with a grunt Cratos lifted him to his feet. The eight foot tall warrior could have carried Alan if he wished. Instead, he wrapped his right arm around Alan’s upper back and armpit. The pain was only just bearable as the two made their way through the battlefield and outside the courtyard of Golgotha. Something Cratos said took the edge off Alan’s pain, “What do you mean ‘now I’m your little brother?’ You’ve been calling me that
since I met you.”

  Cratos nodded, “True; however, before I was calling you that in jest due to your puny size. Now it is a term of affection.”

  Alan had to stop himself from laughing. He had no idea what kind of pain would follow the action. Aside from that, laughing as they walked through a landscape of dead and dying bodies seemed inappropriate. Alan’s eyes scanned the surrounding area searching for anyone he might know. It was clear that the encounter with Gabriel had been a success but to what extent Alan couldn’t tell.

  “The others,” Alan asked still searching the courtyard as Cratos led him out. “What happened to them? Are they all right?”

  Cratos remained quiet.

  “Tell me,” Alan persisted as worry began to chew at his stomach.

  “Be still, little brother,” Cratos said as they left the courtyard of Golgotha and travelled under its gigantic arches to the front of the fortress, “and see for yourself.”

  Alan stumbled in the care of Cratos’ support down a dirt path and to an army of white tents erected to care for the wounded. Seraphim ran to them taking Alan’s free arm and draping it around her neck mirroring Cratos. As far as Alan could tell, she was free of any serious injury although her eyes were as somber as ever.

  “Let’s get you to the healing tent as soon as possible,” Seraphim said directing the trio to a tent with open flaps. Those still able to walk ran back and forth carrying wounded and attending where able.

  Alan’s eyes widened as he saw the chaos ensuing inside the medical tent. Whimpers and screams assailed his ears as he was led to a clean cot to the left. Danielle rushed forward, concern written on her face. She looked as though she were about to faint. “Oh, Alan,” she opened her arms to give him a hug then thought better of it and took an awkward step back. “I’m glad you are okay. I wanted to come find you myself but Cratos said it was his duty to the Minotaur Nation, or something like that, and promised to bring you back.”