by Drew Foote
Reckoning
The tired red Sun descended toward the horizon of the plains of Megiddo. Its diminishing rays cast the roiling chaos below in sharp shades of burgundy and orange. Angels and Demons struggled mightily against one another, slaying with ravenous fangs and shining swords, in a stark tableau of apocalypse. Samael’s deathly hymn echoed above the screams and metallic concussions.
It was the final sunset.
The forces of Hell were scattered in disarray before the insatiable hunger of Leviathan. The monstrous Worm drove through the center of the battlefield, tearing a gaping hole in the lines of Apollyon’s army. Shining legions of Angelic Powers moved forward in Leviathan’s catastrophic wake, striking Demons down with methodic discipline. The Angels sensed victory as their bright hearts surged with ferocious zeal.
Apollyon the Destroyer ignored the bedlam sown by the Worm. His merciless gaze lie fixed upon the radiant form of Archangel Gabriele. She hovered over the madness, radiating fierce arctic light, and she chillingly returned Apollyon’s glare. There was no fear within her.
The Destroyer stormed toward her with murder in his heart. The black flames of his soul surged higher in a miasma of extermination. Everything near him, scores of Angels and Demons both, collapsed with his terrible passing — their lives harvested simply by proximity to the Reaper.
Babylonia the Great, perched atop the rearing back of the Beast, eyed Leviathan with cruel calculation. The Beast’s six remaining, leonine heads watched the Worm’s destructive passage with predatory intent. The hungry Beast crouched down on haunches that towered over the world as it waited with feline eagerness.
The Worm slithered toward a single point in the heart of Hell’s forces, a point that did not move: the undaunted form of Paimon the Cruel.
Paimon stared at the fanged rim of Leviathan’s colossal mouth as it bore down upon him. The height of the Worm’s maw pierced the clouds above like the rings of Saturn. Fires of unquenchable hunger danced in the Worm’s gullet, nothing but eternal torment within its depths.
Paimon felt a righteous anger unlike any he had ever known; the loathsome Worm had destroyed his home, the Tower of Knowledge. The world would never again know such a wonder as the Tower, the mightiest treasure in creation.
That, Paimon could not forgive.
Even worse, Leviathan had betrayed both Heaven and Hell. He turned his back on creation for the meaningless embrace of oblivion, the empty promise of silence. Leviathan had cast his lot with the Void.
He could understand the depths of Leviathan’s disillusion. Not a day went by that Paimon did not rail against the cruel hand of God and fate. Despite the depths of the Fallen Archangel’s knowledge, he had no greater understanding of the Creator’s will than the most ignorant child. No matter how much he learned, the injustice of the world never lost its mystery.
Humanity was worth saving, though.
When Paimon previously faced Leviathan, the Serpent’s power had been constrained by fear of destroying the Tower. Here, amid the chaos and bloodshed of Megiddo, he had no such compunctions. He would tear the world to jagged pieces, if he must.
Leviathan coursed sinuously toward Paimon, his serpentine mass radiating desperation. The battlefield erupted from his passage like the bow wave of a tsunami. All fled his approach.
Two elemental forces of hunger faced each other across of a field of viscera and trampled bodies: the Serpent and the Worm. They were the most ancient of incarnations, brothers destined to hate. The Serpent was the hunger of the mind. The Worm was the hunger of the body. They would not suffer the other to live.
With a defiant howl, Paimon the Cruel unveiled his soul.
The universe screamed with the sound of shattering glass at the sight of the Serpent’s majesty. The world trembled at the realization of his form, the perfect colors coursing through him. Although Paimon was damned, he still had the heart of an Archangel, and it still howled with kaleidoscopic majesty. Heaven shook with the fury of one of its fallen children.
Every quantum of learning in the galaxy, every iota of knowledge that filled existence, coursed into Paimon’s vengeful form. It flowed into him like a live wire, a perfect conduit of might. The power buoyed him on waves of information. He lifted into the air, robes billowing as light poured from his soaring shape.
The Worm did not hesitate, and he did not slow his murderous onslaught. Leviathan knew there could be no forgiveness; they had all come too far. His tormented soul — and the soul of the entire world — was on the line.
All that was left, for any of them, was death.
Leviathan fought for freedom. Freedom, not just for himself, but also for all God’s children. He fought to grant them peace, the respite of oblivion. In the depths of his blackened heart, hidden in the darkest chasms behind his terrible hunger and fury, his soul sang with utter joy.
It had been so long since he felt this way.
The Worm was a hero. He was righteous, and he was noble. Even should fail, this moment was his. Even God could not take this sensation of purity from him. His soul soared as his cavernous jaws drew nearer to Paimon’s radiant form.
He must stay strong in the face of the Serpent’s villainy!
Paimon spoke.
The Serpent’s mouth opened, and from it issued words of incandescent wrath. The power of concentrated knowledge flowed through him in a roaring river of eldritch energy, spilling from him in a language that ripped the fabric of the universe. He spoke heretical words fraught with luminous might, phrases that made no sound save the tearing of existence. Paimon poured out the entirety of his essence, his every joy and every sorrow, into a cataclysmic diatribe.
Reality broke.
Paimon’s will superimposed blistering concatenations of knowledge onto the skin of the world. Lancing lines of blasphemy arced across the battlefield, bisecting the air with shining threads. Paimon’s diatribe rewrote the laws of physics and bent God’s creation. He interleaved burning razor wire between the layers of the material world, its blazing weave piercing Leviathan’s titanic form.
The ancient Serpent bellowed righteously as his ancient might fell upon the Worm of old. The impossible strands of Paimon’s knowledge ripped into Leviathan’s colossal bulk, piercing his armored carapace as though an insect on display. They formed a coruscating latticework of energy that snared the Worm in an implacable prison.
The Worm, however, would not be held.
Leviathan roared in a deafening hurricane of indomitable will. The stench of decay poured from his abyssal maw in a putrid gale. The Worm’s mass heaved against Paimon’s materialized words, snapping them like piano wire. Paimon’s knowledge vivisected Leviathan, but there was nothing vital within him to injure; he was naught but hunger.
The Worm surged forward.
Paimon redoubled his efforts as Leviathan coursed toward him atop the broken ground, as inexorable as death. Paimon lost himself within his forgotten words, upending his very soul into a shining river of knowledge. More lines of power erupted from the air, winding their way around Leviathan in a radiant matrix. A glowing web constricted about Leviathan’s putrid flesh.
The Worm snarled as he slowed and lost momentum, his cataclysmic bulk grinding forward in an agonizing crawl, but he did not stop. He could not stop. Leviathan fought furiously forward, the endless pit of his hunger nearly upon Paimon.
He would save them all!
Paimon felt himself slipping away, torn apart by his own words. He could not maintain his onslaught, and he could not defeat the Worm. Leviathan’s power was too vast and undeniable, too primeval to be swayed by knowledge. As it had ever been, the hunger of the body always defeated the hunger of the mind. Such was destiny.
Paimon would surely die, as his Tower had before him. As his mind shattered beneath the weight of his reverberating soliloquy, he thought of Walter. He hoped he had bought enough time for his friend. Perhaps, at least, his death would have meaning. Was that not all he could ask for?
Baby
lonia and the Beast pounced.
The monstrous Beast, its feral frame as massive as humanity’s sins, soared through the air with catlike grace. It landed atop the Worm’s sinuous back, driving its wicked claws through the armored plates of Leviathan’s skin. It latched itself behind the Worm’s gargantuan head, holding on with furious conviction. The soul of the bestial demigod erupted with savage wrath.
As one, Babylonia and the six heads of the Beast brayed in triumph. The fearful hearts of humanity, the source of the creature’s power, roared in unison. The wavelengths of their souls vibrated with the frequency of the Beast’s screeching battle cry; their champion was unleashed. The shattered plain of Megiddo shook to its foundation.
Leviathan shuddered as the Beast’s merciless claws dug into his flesh. Paimon now forgotten, the Worm writhed atop the battlefield, crushing countless Angels and Demons. He sought to roll and throw the Beast from his back, but Paimon’s words restrained his motion in their cruel embrace.
The Worm was trapped.
Leviathan screamed to pierce the Heavens, the essence of despair, as he felt the sharp pain of defeat pierce him along with the Beast’s talons. His heart collapsed with the weight of his failure. He was so close … only to have it all snatched away.
This was the Beast’s world, the world of joyful sin, and it held no place for the Worm’s despair. There was but one answer to such weakness: it was brutal, bloody, and an answer the beast was happy to provide. It was God’s truth, delivered by the fangs of the damned.
Babylonia sundered the sky with her burning lash, her beautiful face twisted with predatory exultation, and the Beast began to savage the captive Worm.
Six roaring heads descended upon Leviathan, their cavernous mouths pouring magma. They ripped into his pestilent flesh, again and again, tearing their way through the back of his cavernous skull. The Worm may have been larger and more ancient, but no one could resist the bloodlust of the Beast. Geysers of bile and flesh erupted into the sky, a farewell to the setting sun.
The bloody scene lurched sickeningly before Paimon’s eyes, weak with both nausea and exhaustion. His mind railed at the gruesome barbarity unfolding before him, an abomination of desolation, but he fought to hold on to consciousness. He must hold on; he must not surrender to weakness.
However vile, was this not justice? Was this not righteousness? Paimon held Leviathan in his blinding snares as the Beast ended the Worm’s wretched existence.
Leviathan thrashed beneath the weight of Paimon’s knowledge and the Beast’s savagery, but it was a fight he could not win. His struggling slowed, lethargic and weak, and finally ceased. The Worm’s fearsome form stilled, looming atop the chaotic battlefield like a cadaverous monument.
Death finally came for the Worm.
Leviathan’s consciousness gave way to oblivion, the thing he desired most, but fear consumed him. It was not the end; it always happened again, a never-ending circus of horror. He had fought to prevent such tragedy, but he had failed. The forces that struggled against the Void might yet carry the day. All could be for naught.
With his dying breath, Leviathan cursed the narrow-minded fools. The Worm knew that death was only temporary, but anguish was eternal. This they would eventually learn, to their infinite sorrow. Leviathan’s blackened spirit knew only regret as he was welcomed, once more, into death’s skeletal embrace.
The Beast perched atop the towering carcass, the triumphant conqueror. It howled in a thunderous bellow, the battlefield trembling with its terrible wrath. The Beast knew nothing of despair, nothing of the weakness that plagued the minds of the chattel. It was a predator, and it knew only thirst for battle. It knew only conquest.
Six leonine heads glared slyly at Paimon, their muzzles coated in black gore. Babylonia, equally as sly, smiled at the elderly Demon with smug pleasure.
Paimon collapsed onto the battlefield, utterly spent.
~
The death knell of Leviathan, along with the Beast’s victorious roar, rang across the battlefield. Apollyon did not turn; he had his target. Paimon and Babylonia had accomplished their task, and now Apollyon had his. There was but one more obstacle preventing him from reaching Samael before his brother could finish exterminating humanity.
Archangel Gabriele.
Apollyon strode forcefully across the battlefield atop legs as tall as a towering redwood, shattering Angels beneath his cloven hooves. His annihilating essence radiated from the ebony fire pouring from his body, shredding souls as he passed. Nothing could slow his implacable progress.
Apollyon was the death of the firstborn, the most terrible of God’s plagues.
He would stop Gabriele’s madness. He would permit no one to destroy the world, save himself. Apollyon would rip existence to pieces so that it might be rebuilt once more … so that he could once more tear it apart. Such was God’s plan.
Archangel Gabriele calmly awaited Apollyon, her six wings undulating in the fraught air. She hovered in silence. Beautiful eyes of hard diamond watched his approach, confident and half-lidded. The Hammer of God hung casually from her iron grasp. She pulsed frozen light in a chilling sunrise.
Gabriele had a purpose, as well, and it had consumed her. She was the incarnation of God’s mercy, existing to deliver peace to all His children. Her mercy had become warped through the ages, however. Over the course of eternity, whereas Uriel had burned ever hotter with righteous indignation, Gabriele grew ever colder.
She withdrew into a frigid prison of calculation, an oubliette of logic. Gabriele severed herself from emotions, amputating the part of her soul that knew suffering. Gabriele’s weakness died long ago. She was stronger, now.
Gabriele still served mercy, but it was a different mercy than she possessed when time was yet young. It was now a harsh and unyielding thing, a crystalline prism. Existence was suffering, and she existed to ease suffering … therefore, she must ease existence: it was pure logic.
Irrefutable.
She would deliver mercy to all of God’s creation, and to the Void, as well. Gabriele would stop the cycle of rebirth and sever the spine of time. The clean and unassailable rationale of this rang true within her heart. It would be her greatest triumph, and if God objected …
Well, He could stop her, if He wanted to.
Gabriele did not think He would, however. God had cloistered Himself away, leaving his riotous children to fend for themselves. Gabriele was unsurprised, for it was merely history repeating itself. The Creator often tired of His playthings, and their struggles were far from His sight.
God did not care.
The Destroyer finally stood before her, looming in front of the setting sun like a black engine of obliteration. The Reaper of the World towered above the battlefield and his massive wings cast Gabriele in shadow. The Archangel produced her own light, however, and there was no doubt in the glacial depths of her heart.
Gabriele rose higher into the air, her tiny form hovering at eye-level with Apollyon. The forces battling below recognized the cataclysmic struggle about to ensue; each side withdrew hastily from the vicinity. The front of the battle shifted away from the two horrible deities. All knew the struggle that would decide the fate of the entire battle.
They stared at each other for a time, the Reaper of the World and the Strength of God. Though their appearances were vastly different, they were similar souls. They were both dreaded Seraphim, God’s murderous firstborn, and they were willing to die for their cause. One of them would.
“Shall we?” Apollyon asked.
“We shall,” Gabriele replied.
The Destroyer nodded his massive, horned head. There were no words left.
With the barest whisper of motion, Apollyon struck at the hovering Archangel with blistering brutality. The ebony edge of Terminus hurled toward her, its enormous length tearing through the sky with blasphemous speed. Gabriele watched it approach, unconcerned.
The Hammer of God arced into Terminus’ path. It hung there patiently as the battl
efield around them held its breath. The flow of time bent and warped around the mass of their colliding power, distorting at the singularity of that terrible conjunction. The unstoppable force of Terminus careened toward the immovable object of Malleus Dei.
The weapons connected …
Terminus stopped.
A shockwave of impossibility blossomed from the cataclysmic impact, unfolding from the weapons like an atomic burst. It tore across the battlefield, obliterating both Angel and Demon alike in an eviscerating nova. When it finally subsided, nearly half of both remaining armies were dead. The survivors stumbled about, confused and shell-shocked.
Archangel Gabriele, however, still floated serenely before Apollyon, her hammer upraised. Neither the impact, nor Apollyon’s withering presence, could overcome Gabriele’s will. She hung in the air like a shard of crystal.
Apollyon smiled viciously, each jagged tooth larger than the Archangel’s form. It had been eons since he had faced a true test. He would enjoy this greatly.
Apollyon swung again, and again Gabriele parried with apocalyptic force. Another concussion ripped across the field, scattering both forces like chaff. The armies of Heaven and Hell ceased fighting one another as both sides hunkered down to survive the ringing battle between their generals. Even the Beast, crouched protectively by Paimon’s unconscious form, was held at bay.
The Destroyer hammered repeatedly at Gabriele’s resolute, shining form. Each strike whistled through the air with thunderous force, a blow that could murder worlds, and each time the might of Gabriele deflected it. She was the Strength of God, and it was the strength of eternity. The Destroyer had met his match.
Gabriele began to strike, as well. She tore through the sky, faster than light. Her wings blazed with frozen fire as she stormed the Destroyer like a vengeful sparrow. Though her size was small, each blow of her hammer descended with enough weight to end Apollyon’s existence.
Terminus rose and slid to meet her blows, now. Its colossal length twisted through the air with impossible precision, the Destroyer whirling on his cloven hooves as the ferocious Archangel circled him. Each impact caused continents on the other side of the planet to shudder apart, magma weeping from the ground.
