Echoes of the Past ds-4

by Tim Marquitz

  Baalth nodded and pointed up at the orb. “Like you, I have also spoken to Lucifer since his departure.”

  That caught me off guard, but it made a twisted sense. Baalth had disappeared during the Heaven fiasco. Just like Hasstor had used the storms to cover his arrival near Earth, it was reasonable to assume Baalth could have done the same to leave the dimension and seek out Lucifer. Not only did that mean he knew what was going on in Heaven and didn’t care, but it also meant he’d probably always known where my uncle was. It was just another kick in the ass to my presumed importance. Lovely.

  Baalth waited a moment, as if letting me work it all out, before he continued. “Hasstor told you about the war?”

  I nodded, but kept the part about the tome to myself. If Baalth didn’t know about it, it wouldn’t matter. If he did, he would understand why I kept it from him. If it was important to his plans, he’d bring it up.

  “It would seem God’s other creations have been busy in His absence. They have grown and evolved far beyond what He believed they would. Worse still, they have become defiant, believing themselves masters rather than servants.”

  A theme that is apparently rampant in every world. I bit my tongue to keep from illuminating the hypocrisy he’d so poetically stated.

  “A number of universes have banded together and set out to conquer the rest, and ultimately, God himself.” He grinned at their audacity. “The most frightening aspect is that they may well succeed in their quest.”

  “Is it possible?” Hearing it put so plainly scared me.

  He nodded. “For all that He is capable of, God has spread his energy over His immeasurable lifespan, crafting universes again and again and again, expending the effort to maintain them. It’s quite an impressive feat. However, while still a power far beyond anything you or I could imagine, He has perhaps spread Himself too thin. Not content to create beings as simple as humans, God has crafted beings far closer to His image than any of us could hope to be. Given free will and the ability to evolve as a species, these creations have come unto their own as deities. This is what your uncle fights against.”

  And here I was thinking I had it bad.

  Baalth pointed to McConnell. “Though I am loath to torment such a faithful servant as Henry, the price of his resurrection was to sacrifice himself to the cause of defeating the enemies of God before they fall upon us and lay waste to our universe.”

  That’s one hell of a trade. I felt sorry for McConnell, but maybe it was fate’s way of paying him back for all the wrong he’d done in his life; and then some. He was probably building up some serious supernatural karma, not that he’d ever get to spend it. “So, what does all this stuff do?” I gestured to the room and McConnell’s tank.

  “It’s a portal to the universe where Lucifer now resides.”

  I heard the words but they didn’t make sense. “It’s a what?”

  “A dimensional rift, which leads directly to your uncle.” He ran his hand along the side of the tank. “It is kept available and shielded from detection by The Gray’s reserve energy. He is, in essence, the key to the portal. Henry holds it in stasis so its energy remains constant and off the radar of those who might be searching for such things, like your companions in DRAC.”

  I didn’t bother to tell him I was on indefinite vacation and I didn’t know shit about what they were tracking. “So, it can’t be detected?”

  “Only from within this room. I’m sure you felt its power when you walked inside.”

  I nodded, but I still didn’t understand the purpose of a portal going to Lucifer when the bad guys were there waiting to come to Earth. “What’s the point of keeping it open? Aren’t you worried the aliens will use it to come here?”

  “Not at all, as it isn’t actually open, just available should it be needed. The portal is connected to Lucifer and is carried on him at all times. It’s attenuated to allow no one else to use it. Were he to die, the portal link would shut down.”

  I still didn’t understand. “Then why have it at all?”

  “Because Asmoday had no idea what he was unleashing when he empowered Glorius.” Baalth clenched his fist and his power welled up. He stretched his arm toward the tank and let loose a burst of power that damn near singed the hair on my balls. The power swirled into the tank and disappeared. McConnell thrashed and I was glad I couldn’t see more than just his shadow reflected against the sides. After a moment, Baalth willed his power to settle and turned back to me. The Gray slowly settled. While Baalth didn’t look fresh, he looked like he’d taken a load off. “The soul transfer with Glorius not only gave me his powers, magnified beyond imagining, but it also passed along the mutated piece of his angelic existence, which absorbed all the power Asmoday fed him.”

  Baalth strode slowly down the line of bodies set into the walls. I followed alongside, staring up at the people. I suddenly felt ill again.

  Baalth turned his head to look at me, as though he could tell what I was feeling. “Do not worry your human sensibilities about them, Frank. They were dead before I brought them here. It is only the surge of magical energy through their bodies that gives them the semblance of life.”

  That was something, at least. I nodded and asked him to continue telling me about Glorius.

  He did. “Thanks to God’s plan that his Angelic Choir forever be empowered to defeat those who challenged him-little did we know why we would need such abilities-angels evolve as they absorb power through a soul transfer. The new energy level becomes the base level, their bodies adapting to maintain the balance. We demons had such useful talents removed from us at the Fall.” He chuckled to himself. “When I inherited Glorius’ power, increased beyond even what he could naturally handle, I also inherited the strange adaptation, but not in the way I would have preferred. Quite the opposite, in fact. Asmoday’s meddling had broken Glorius, forcing an even greater evolution upon the angel. So, rather than gaining the ability to normalize my power no matter its level, my magic constantly multiplies and grows, but I have no way to keep it contained.”

  “So, sending the power into the tub helps relieve the pressure?”

  “It also provides a pool of accessible energy to be used by God and Lucifer, which cannot be detected. The impact on the war effort is quite impressive. It allows them to open the portal from their end and draw upon a reserve of magic while their enemies weaken over the course of battles. It also serves as a bit of surprise boost when necessary, allowing them to catch their foes off guard.”

  I pulled my gaze from Baalth and set it on the orb. My mind instantly started to wonder what answers I could get if I confronted Lucifer directly. “Could I use the portal to travel to my uncle?”

  Baalth quickly waggled a finger. “You could, but you would not survive the trip. The gate is not intended for travel, only the transportation of energy. You would be broken down into your base components to become a part of the power flow.”

  I felt a sudden headache coming on, my face flushing. So close to the truth and yet still so far. I growled and looked toward the door, suddenly wanting nothing more to do with Baalth or the politics of Hell. “I’m going home.” I waved and walked off.

  Before I could get out of the room, Baalth called to me. “Lucifer asked about you.”

  I didn’t believe him; wasn’t even sure I cared, but the words stopped me. I didn’t turn around, though, out of spite. I stood, staring at the door. “Then why didn’t he have Hasstor pass a message on?”

  “For all the necessity of utilizing demons such as Hasstor, Lucifer does not trust them. He would not give them such a message for fear it be seen as weakness. Lucifer cares for you greatly, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

  A sharp pain spiked behind my eyes, my stomach churning. I spun to glare at Baalth. “If he loved me so much, then why did he leave me behind? Why did he keep Arol’s power for himself when he sent me off to be his errand boy murderer?”

  “Because you weren’t ready for it, Frank. It’s tha
t simple.” Baalth sighed. “Lucifer hoped you would stand at his side and rule Hell in his stead, but you want nothing to do with it. You never did. Had he allowed you Arol’s power, you would have been seen as a threat to the Demonarch. You would have gotten yourself killed by those who opposed you taking power.”

  “So, he did it all for me, huh?”

  “He did, though I know you’ll never believe it to be true.” He shook his head, frustration plain on his face.

  I felt a twinge of doubt, which was washed away by a bout of lightheadedness. “And now?”

  “Things have changed, Frank, but Lucifer still hopes for the same.”

  I stared at the demon, trying to pierce the shadows of his dark eyes, but there was nothing there that told me whether he was being honest or plying me with emotional bullshit meant to pacify me. I didn’t know what to believe, but I didn’t want to hear any more of it.

  Not feeling well, I left the room and made my way through the labyrinth of tunnels, which led back to the portal in Lucifer’s chambers, grateful the secret passage was only hidden from the outside. I’d been fed so much shit my eyes were turning brown, and I was sick of it. I hadn’t gotten any real answers since I started searching for the truth about my mother, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t gonna. There wasn’t much point in asking any more.

  I sucked in a lungful of warm air as I triggered the portal for Earth. My life had been a series of lies piled upon lies, but at least I had one person I could talk to who never once offered me anything but the truth, no matter how much it hurt to hear it. It was time to go see him.

  He certainly wouldn’t start lying to me now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was late afternoon when I arrived at Rest Land Cemetery. The sun was still hidden behind the thick storm clouds that drizzled over top of me as I made my way through the park. Despite the massive deaths caused by the Tree of Life’s temper tantrum, and all the new burials following it, the cemetery was empty of the living. That was good. I needed some peace.

  Massive piles of dirt encircled the cemetery property, forming a makeshift wall where the stone one had been erased. I could see from one end of the graveyard to the other, nothing but freshly placed flowers and steel poles set into the ground to mark the edges of the gardens. It was a somber sight.

  I made my way over the wet dirt and trailed muddy footprints across the garden, stopping far enough off to make sure Rachelle wasn’t there. Once I was sure she wasn’t, I went to Abraham’s grave and dropped down on the fresh sod, which had been laid to replace the topsoil eaten away during the storms. It was soft. The smell of wet grass filled my nose. The temporary grave marker stood out dark against the brightness of the sod. It was hard to believe Abe had only been gone a few days. It seemed forever.

  I ran my hand across the plastic, temporary plate, wiping away the condensation, so I could see Abe’s name. A weight seemed to settle over me as I read it, as though his loss had just found the time to sink in.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the ground. Reality told me there was nothing I could have done to save him from Azrael, but it didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. I could have tried harder, I could have…

  I let the thought go. Azrael killed Abe. While I couldn’t protect him, I had at least avenged him. Abe could take comfort in the fact that Azrael joined him in the nothingness left behind by God’s departure.

  I rubbed my eyes and let out a hoarse chuckle. Who am I kidding? As much a realist as Abe was, he wouldn’t have been happy with me murdering Azrael, especially not in his name, but the deed had already been done. Sadly, Azrael hadn’t been held accountable for his actions. I hadn’t avenged Abe. I’d only helped his killer escape an eternal lifetime of torment. He wouldn’t have to live on and slowly go insane in the misty confines of Limbo. In my anger, I’d given the angel exactly what he wanted: freedom.

  That was all I could take. Frustration overran me and I crumpled to the wet ground. I’d let Abe down, and I’d let Rachelle down; I’d let them all down, and betrayed Scarlett’s faith on top of it all. Baalth had been right. I wasn’t ready; not for anything. There wasn’t any point in pretending I could live up to my uncle’s ideals, or more importantly, to those of Abraham. Once more I was in over my head and there wouldn’t be any getting out it this time. I wasn’t just waving, I was drowning.

  I couldn’t even unravel my past, let alone figure out how to prepare for the end of a thousand galaxies. Defeated, I lay there with my head cradled in my hands, letting the rain wash over me.

  Move!

  Just like it had when Poe snuck up on me in Hell, a flicker of instinct warned me of something headed my way. It had been right then, so I trusted it and rolled away without hesitation. A muffled thump sounded right where my head had been. A puff of grass exploded at Abe’s grave.

  I was on my feet and running before the grass fluttered to the ground. It was obvious the DSI had found me again. I could picture Captain Johnson’s face screwed up in an angry snarl and bitching that he missed. He probably wouldn’t the second time. The storms had screwed me by wiping out all the trees and standing headstones I might have used for cover. Now, there was nothing but an open field and a shitload of clear space between me and a bullet in the back.

  Then I remembered I had magic.

  I willed a shield behind me just as Johnson picked his spot. A bullet slammed into the glistening wall and was reflected away, a wisp of energy marking the spot on my shield that had been hit.

  “The head again?” This guy was starting to piss me off. He was good.

  My brain kicked in, motivated by the thought of having a fist-sized hole punched in it-again-so I manipulated my shield to cover more of my body and started veering off in random directions. If there was more than just one sniper out there, I didn’t want to make it easy for them to take me out. They could be leading me deeper into the trap.

  I kept running, aiming for the housing area, which had escaped the storm that devastated the cemetery. It didn’t make much sense that the DSI had just stumbled across me at Abe’s grave, so they’d likely staked the place out. I’d probably caught them asleep at the wheel. They must have had agents in place, but not any kind of air support or they would have taken me out as soon as I arrived. Given that they’d only just received their funding and marching orders, I figured they were short on troops, which could only play to my advantage. They’d no doubt recruit local law enforcement to help hunt me down, but those guys would be way more hesitant to shoot first and ask questions later. They didn’t have the same kind of immunity the feds had. If I could make it to the houses, I could get away.

  How’s that saying go? Wish in one hand, shit in the other?

  Focused on the neighborhood ahead and the sniper behind, I didn’t see the heaping mound of dirt move until it was too late. My peripheral vision suddenly went dark. I turned my head to see a fist the size of a lunchbox right before it plowed into my face. The world exploded with light and I was flung sideways through the air, slamming into the wet ground. The mud cushioned the impact, but my head rang like an anvil.

  Instinct took over and I went for my gun. A spear of agony blew through my forearm, and I watched in stunned silence as the inside of my arm exploded in a gush of blood. The pistol fell from my limp hand just as what little light there was went away. I raised my eyes just in time to see another giant fist crash into my face. This time, my shield was gone.

  I heard a muffled crack as I flew backward from the uppercut, my brain sloshing around inside my head as though it were in a blender. Cold mud filled my eyes, nose, and mouth when I hit the ground. I went to raise myself up and my wounded arm gave way with a lightning bolt of pain, and I crumpled onto my side, spitting out chunks of mud. My vision blurred, I only heard the hulking behemoth stomping toward me. I willed my magic to work. Nothing happened.

  There was nothing I could do but laugh. I wiped the crust from my eyes and stared at the approaching mountain, doing my best to make my e
yes focus. When they did, I felt the sudden urge to pucker up to keep me from shitting myself.

  The Nephilim, Jorn, stood before me.

  His lips were pulled back into an ugly sneer that probably burned a couple hundred calories just to maintain. The grunting he was doing as he lugged his six hundred pound frame across the mud was probably another fifty, or so. His bald head glistened in the rain, drops of water sluicing through the crevices of fat that defined his hound dog face. Every footstep shook the ground as he came toward me, his splotchy cheeks a dark red. He looked really mad.

  I guess he had a right to be.

  Just a few days ago I’d put my gun to the head of the guy’s best friend, Zellick, and pulled the trigger. It probably didn’t feel good to have his buddy’s brains splattered all over his side and not be able to do anything about it. Unfortunately for me, he’d found a way to rectify the latter part of that.

  My gun off in the mud about ten yards away, I thought it’d be a good idea to revisit my first meeting with Jorn. I’d set his ass on fire. I willed my power to life and was very disappointed when, once again, it didn’t answer. Jorn thumped closer as I tried to clear my head.

  The worst part about magic was that it took serious focus to manifest and maintain. That wasn’t something I’d yet mastered. Still new to the power, it took a lot of effort to draw it out. Wizards like Rahim or McConnell could do it in their sleep, their magic such an integral part of their being; it was the true them. For me, my first instinct was to crack a joke or pull my gun. That didn’t work so well with a broken jaw and my. 45 a million miles away.

  Jorn didn’t seem to care about my problems. He snatched me up by my throat, both of his meaty paws wrapped around my neck. That limited my third option: crying like a little girl and begging for my life.

  My fourth choice was punching him in the face, so I went with that. It seemed a reasonable decision at the time. Didn’t do much good. My fist crashed into his flabby cheek and he barely grunted as folds of fat rippled at the impact. It was like hitting cookie dough. He growled and lifted me further into the air while dots danced in my eyes. Before the signal to kick him could run from my brain to my foot, Jorn slammed me to the ground.