by Thomas Grave
A calm ferocity grew inside Sebastian, and he stared at the Angel with cold, hard eyes.
Gabriel stood slowly, eyes never wavering from the Reaper’s face. Three strands of hair lay out of place on the Angel’s forehead.
Now, we are getting somewhere . . .
Sebastian ripped his scythe from the air with his left hand, swooping horizontally in a fast slice. He shrugged his shoulders, relaxing his pose, knees loose, yet flexed.
He pointed the scythe at Gabriel.
The Reaper said evenly, his voice no more than a whisper, “Gabriel, I’m going to hit you. Hard.”
A glint of light danced on the scythe’s blade.
“And I promise. It’s going to hurt.”
The air shimmered around Gabriel, waving like a heat mirage dancing on a desert asphalt road.
Gabriel shouted, “I am a warrior of the Lord, Horseman. The Might of God. I was only to delay you while we found the Revenant. But if you wish to truly challenge me, then come at me!”
Gabriel pulled his ancient broadsword from the air, light coalescing into the blade itself. He slashed at the ground, carving through the dirty concrete and melting it. An arc of sparks graced the air before fading away.
He brought his sword before his face, the light haloing around his head as he moved forward to charge.
Then Sara screamed.
Both shifted their gaze in the direction of the scream for a brief instant before looking back at each other.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t over.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Sebastian replied with a nod.
They blinked.
Wednesday, 2:30 am (Purgatorium)
The condo staircase seemed to go on forever. Sara’s light footsteps hammered at the wood as she hurried down the steps. So far, she had counted nineteen stories. Her lungs burned, and she grew dizzy from going in circles, winding ever farther down. The grey walls of the stairwell shifted and a cadre of shadows danced in her periphery, as if some malevolent force stalked her. Pounding and skittering from above sent chills down her spine, but she kept her focus steady. Then, whatever it was screamed. It ricocheted off the walls to her, chasing her down the steps with a nerve shattering cry.
Before she had run out of the room, Sara had grabbed a shoulder bag that was lying on a chair and stuffed the snow globe into it. She knew it had to be important. Maybe it had the answers to some of her questions. She’d have to figure that out later. For now, the bag hung loose behind her, flapping with each downward step she took.
She was both relieved and anxious when she rounded the last corner and came to a dull green door. She slammed her body against it, almost ripping it off its hinges, and stumbled forward. Cold air nipped at her face and body. Her breath came out in puffs. It had gotten colder, and she was now without that ugly brown fur coat. The wind moaned as it whipped around her. From the clouds, relentless spotlights continued to scan the area.
She knew she wasn’t safe out in the middle of the street. She didn’t know why, but they were after her, and she needed to hide. Surely he would come for her.
To her left was an alley.
She sprinted into it and ran to the first door she came to. It was dark inside but she could still make out what could have been an old bakery. Smoky residue drifted off the blackened walls. The smell of burnt wood surrounded her. What was left of the layered rows, which had once lined the walls with different varieties of fresh breads, now littered the ground as bits of charred wood.
Behind her, on the other side of the door, she heard the same wailing from the staircase. They were following her. Something pounded on the metal door, and the pounding and wailing echoed around her.
They wouldn’t take her without a fight.
Don’t bakeries have knives? She slammed open cabinet doors and pulled out drawers to no avail. Apparently, not anymore.
In her panicked search she spotted a large hole that had been punched through the wall in front of her and seemed to lead into the next building.
It was a risk, but she went for it.
Once inside, she stopped short. Perhaps in a previous time, this had been a toy shop. But now, in this decayed world, it was the creepiest thing she’d ever seen. Dolls lay scattered everywhere. Some with cracked faces, and some with black holes where eyes should have been. There were dolls with mangled arms and legs, and heads twisted and deformed. They stared at her, like she were trespassing. Even though the faces were frozen in time, she could have sworn one of them exhaled cold breath, breath that faded away a second later.
The temperature dropped a little more. A chilling mist lingered over the floor and everything had a slightly blue glow to it, illuminated from an unseen light source. A small gust of wind jingled an unseen wind chime. The sound made her skin crawl.
She gulped. “Jesus.”
Right in front of her stood a large, sturdy display counter, built from solid wood, and amazingly not destroyed. Dust gathered on the glass and concealed the contents inside.
A hellish roar tore through the air behind her. It came from the bakery. They’d gotten inside.
Another roar followed, fainter, like an echo, probably a reply from somewhere far off in the city. Perhaps some sort of tribal call to announce they’d found her. The skittering of the beast’s claws crept closer, getting louder. She pressed her back against the wall.
“Mama,” a voice spoke behind Sara. Her heart stopped until she realized the voice had come from a doll on the shelf behind her. The stupid thing had a sensor. She stilled herself.
Her attention turned to the hole in the wall. A living shadow came into view and inched its way into the store. It moved like a thick pool of oil, slithering forward, sloshing as if it were mopping tar onto a roof. It could have been the same creature Sara had seen at the window, but she wasn’t sure.
It made a sound like a heavy wet towel being thrown onto a floor. Somehow, when she wasn’t looking, the dolls had all turned their gazes toward the shadow creature.
A thick tendril edged out of the darkness. Layers of blackness folded away from it like a second skin, exposing a dark hand tipped with talons. The hand pushed out of the shadow and into the blue light, giving it an unnerving glow.
The shadow’s center mass stirred and rose into the air, forming a tar-like mound, churning like a stormy sea. The darkness gave way to glowing, yellow eyes. Parts of its charcoal-colored skin peeled away, leaving mounds of blood-red muscle that appeared purple beneath the blue light. The creature had no lips, only sharp teeth that dripped a black liquid and stood on two legs but was slumped forward, as though it normally walked on all fours. Judging from its size, it could have once been a man. It wore some sort of collar with mystical symbols on it.
And it took a step in her direction.
Sara shivered from the cold, but immediately tensed up again for fear of making a sound.
The beast lowered its gaze and swept the area, scanning everything in sight.
Putting its nose in the air, it sniffed.
Sara knew the creature would smell her.
It paused, remained still. Another sniff in her direction.
Sara had to run.
The creature sniffed again, then jerked its head in her direction.
With all her power, she pushed off the floor and jumped onto the display counter, sliding forward. Her feet hit the ground and broke into a sprint.
Growling, the beast hurled itself at her, crashing into the display and shattering it. Not hesitating, she ran out the front door directly into two more black shadows.
They shimmered and made their own sloshing sounds, swirling like their centers were tornadoes.
Then they rose higher.
She stared at them, horror widening her eyes. The creatures grew to the size of horses, their fingers with long machete-like talons. One howled to the sky. The same awful sound she’d heard earlier.
An explosion erupted at the nearby intersection, rocketing debris about
twenty feet into the air, the noise deafening. Beyond the monsters looming in front of her, a ghostly blue fire consumed the entire intersection. Within the blue flames she could make out the silhouettes of humanoid beings appearing, one after another, turning into dozens, then hundreds, and then thousands.
The monsters shrieked and rose even higher above Sara. She cowered, waiting for them to attack, but they remained distracted by the explosions.
Another explosion detonated from the opposite direction, boxing her in.
When the fires ceased, zombies were everywhere. They crept forward, like an angry mob, their torches blazing high above their rotting heads. Rats spilled out of drainpipes and manhole covers, scurrying toward her, their eyes gleaming in the dark. The two shadow monsters turned their attention back to her and readied themselves to pounce. Sara opened her mouth to scream when a bright light hit her from above. The spotlights had found her, and the shadow monsters backed away, cowering in the presence of the light raining upon her.
For a moment, she thought she was being abducted by a UFO. It was so bright she had to cover her eyes. Wind blew wildly. Filth and debris lifted from the street, swirling around her. A loud, droning sound came from above, like an invisible helicopter hovering above her.
The first shadow monster smashed out of the front display window of the toy store, sending broken glass in all directions. She turned to see the creature land on all fours. The monster snarled at her, almost barking. Black drool drenched the street and ate away at the concrete like acid.
Sara stumbled back, falling out of the spotlight.
It charged forward, mouth gaping open.
Sara screamed.
Wednesday, 2:35 am (Purgatorium)
Raphael paced on the roof of the Opera House, gritting his teeth. He sighed, shaking his head. What had Gabriel been thinking? To engage the Horseman in battle, even if he wasn’t up to full power, was utter stupidity.
Although Raphael wasn’t sure of the exact details, the Horseman was considered a member of the top tier of Archangels, perhaps even a rank above. Gabriel acted the fool.
What in the Heavens was the Horseman thinking, creating a Revenant? How could he have done such a thing? Did he not understand the consequences of bringing her back?
Then it hit him. Raphael stopped pacing. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner?
The Horseman’s memory was wiped when he was reborn.
He doesn’t know.
Sara’s scream pierced his thoughts and his head snapped upwards. The spotlights had found her. Everyone knew her location.
Most importantly, Raphael knew. He was there in a blink.
Wednesday, 2:38 am (Purgatorium)
The moment Raphael came out of his blink, he took a step back. An army of Souls was scattered throughout every corner of the city block. The streets, alleys and buildings were filled with them. The glowing eyes of Stalkers were visible in every window. It seemed the whole city had arrived. Not only that, every caste of Soul stood in attendance. Torch light danced on every corner. The lights that scanned the city, searching for her, disappeared, returning back to the Heavens.
Three stalkers stood in front of the Revenant, all braced to attack. One snarled before charging, its long arms clawing at the ground like a gorilla as it ran full force at her on all fours. Its claws tore up the cement street as if it were dirt, sending chunks into the air. It pounced midstride, covering ten feet in seconds. The Revenant’s arms rose in an attempt to protect herself.
Raphael drew his sword as he blinked directly in front of her and sliced in an upward stroke. The cut was clean as two halves of the Stalker slid past, one on either side of her, each half leaving its own trail of black, acidic blood behind. Steam hissed off his white katana as the ooze evaporated.
The Angel turned and inspected the Revenant. Complete shock warred with fear on her dirty face, though her beauty shone through like Heaven’s light.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m here to protect you.”
“What do they want with me?”
“You’re important to them. More so than you can imagine. Know that they will do anything they can to get to you.”
Growls turned his attention from her. The other two Stalkers snarled at him, snapping their teeth.
“But, why?” she asked.
“Once you are safe and sound, I will answer all your questions.”
Looking over the Souls, he was seized with the thought that he must not end them. Surely he’d be able to simply subdue them. Even these Stalkers, these lowest of the low, were under the control of their Master. There was still the possibility of redemption for them. Who was he to judge them? That was not his job. He had no right to end their existence.
He gazed past the Stalkers to the writhing horde, the air quivering from their combined desire for the Revenant. None stepped forward, fearful enough of the Angel not to come closer, though they were determined enough not to disperse.
With a weight of authority in his voice Raphael spoke, his words piercing the darkest corners to reach every ear. “This Revenant is under my protection. I do not want to end any of you, but I will. That is my promise.”
Silence settled in the city as his angelic voice echoed, the only sound for a mile in every direction.
The Stalkers crept back but didn’t run away.
Raphael breathed in a ragged sigh. The potential for complete destruction was too great. He needed to take her and blink away from here.
“Place your hand on my shoulder,” he said. “I will teleport us away from here.”
She did so, her hand lightly gripping his shoulder.
With his attention still on the horde before him, the Opera house’s roof filled his mind’s eye.
Then nothing.
He tried again. Nothing.
“Something’s blocking me. I can’t teleport.”
Before she could reply, a bright flash rocketed through the sky. A Soul flew down faster than sonic speed, a concussive boom instantly followed by a great crack as it landed hard with one knee on the ground. The concrete street cratered beneath the Soul, cracks spreading out in ripples and sending dust up to waist level. The Soul stood up slowly, an obsidian staff forming in his right hand. He was tall—taller even than the Angel—with a solid, muscular build. A heavy leather duster flapped in the dust-laden wind, the sleeves torn off at the shoulders. A tall, decrepit grave digger hat sat on his head, a stained and ragged red ribbon wrapped around the bottom.
The Soul grinned as he met Raphael’s gaze. White flame tattoos crawled up The Souls forearms and neck, glowing brightly as they sparked to life. They writhed and slithered upon his skin, these supernatural flames ready to burn everything in sight.
“What is that?” the girl asked.
“A Shade. If there is any Soul that you need to be afraid of, it would be them.”
A feminine child-like voice rang deep in Raphael’s mind. That one calls himself Obsidian. Gift: The Tower.
“The Tower,” Raphael repeated sarcastically. “One of my favorites. Just like Gabriel.”
According to the Records, he first entered Purgatorium—
“Amblin, wait,” he whispered.
Amblin was his cherub, his connection with the light. Not only that, she was his companion for all field missions. Every bit of information was within her grasp if she needed it.
Raphael, adjust your vision, forty-five degrees to your left.
He did so. A very decayed Lesser Soul wearing only one boot motioned toward the Revenant, as if touching her from afar. In his other hand, he held a lit cigarette.
Raphael, that’s not a Lesser Soul, and it’s not a he. It’s a witch in disguise. She’s strong. I can’t break that veil. I’m analyzing the spell she is casting. It’s a block. She’s somehow blocking your blinks. Tracing the source of the spell . . . got it.
Amblin gasped.
“What is it?”
She whispered, Raphael, her pow
er source traces back to the Seals. She’s a Seal Witch. Oh. She’s also removed your flight.
“Great,” Raphael muttered. “If you can, stop her from removing the rest of my gifts.”
Working on it now.
From the sky, another Shade flew down, only this time more gracefully. The dust on the ground parted in a circular manner as he landed softly.
With a wicked grin, this new Shade cocked his head and nodded at Raphael.
Raphael took in the details of this new one. Silly human tattoos covered almost every inch of this Shade’s exposed skin. Asian calligraphy, various knives, and other tribal markings, but his glowing white Shade tattoos were present as well, resembling stitching up and down his arms.
“Details, the tattooed one,” Raphael said.
Rank: Shade. Name: Kei Hayashi, formal assassin for the Chinese Triad. Gift: Art Manipulation.
Raphael interrupted, “Art Manipulation?”
Kei brought up his hands, showing Raphael the images of two wakizashi, ninja style short swords, tattooed on his palms. Dropping to one knee, Kei placed his hands flat on the ground. The terrain around his hands illuminated, as if the ground had turned to water. Wrapping his fingers down into the ground, he gripped something. A dark light shimmered around his fingers as he slowly stood. In each hand, a real wakizashi appeared.
“That’s new,” murmured Raphael.
According to the Records, he first entered Purgatorium—
“That’ll be all, Amblin, Thank you.”
The Stalkers remained standing, poised in front of him. The horde seethed with anticipation, the front row looming forward without taking a step. The two Shades took position, ready for battle.
Raphael rolled his neck and mentally prepared himself for battle. His senses were on high alert. Nothing stayed hidden from him. Not even the stirring shadows that attempted to hide the Stalkers.
Gripping his blade, his eyes shifted from one Soul to another.
He saw the white mist Souls known as Poltergeists.
