by J. L. Myers
Perhaps there was hope for them after all. Perhaps he would not have to go through with the unthinkable one day. But in case he still did…
Michael reached up and back over his shoulders, wrapping his hands around Evangeline’s arms to unhinge her hug before pushing her away from him. He settled her back on her bottom, nestled among the thriving plants that seemed to face toward her as if drawn to her energy. “Time for your lessons.”
Instead of frowning, like she did most days, Evangeline smiled, happiness beaming from her. “I am ready.”
Michael opened his mouth to start his story, the one about the angel who chose himself over God and started a war that would threaten them all, the story of her true father, the Dark Prince of Hell. “It all began…” Before he got more than a few words out, he choked on them.
A shadow had grown behind Evangeline.
At first Michael thought it was a trick of the endless light that surrounded them, a change created and reflected by the plants that seemed to grow around her even as he spoke. But the plants were not that high. Not even the ones behind her. They were up to Evangeline’s ribs—not her shoulders. The shadow grew larger and clearer as it arched up from behind her, taking on form that stretched out from her back.
Wings.
Michael’s mouth snapped shut, the hope that had burrowed into his heart with a vengeance now ripping it apart. She had not been born with them. Without the gentle glow that haloed her body, any onlooker would assume she was human. But now they were here, turning from a shadow into the real thing. And they weren’t right. Not the pure white of Heaven. Not even the satin black of Hell. Each gossamer feather started out white, fading out to gray and ending in black that haloed each individual feather. Dark and light. Not one or the other.
“You see them, Michael?” He was back to being called by his name as Evangeline’s wide eyes looked at his folded wings rather than at his face. “I am same as you.”
“No, Evie.” Michael shook his head, watching in morbid fascination as her wings lost clarity, their black and white color fading back to shadow before disappearing altogether. “Not like me.” Not of Heaven alone, he added in his head as she sniffed.
Standing up, Michael could not bring himself to look at Evangeline. He could not stand to see the sadness in her eyes at his reaction. His head shook with unvoiced disapproval as he stared blankly. Those wings proved what she was, of light and darkness. Her path was not set. Her future—all of their futures—was not safe. “We will continue your lesson tomorrow.”
Michael turned away, stepping off the rocky structure and fanning his black wings out to get back down to the scorched meadow. Evangeline’s sniffling grew louder, though he refused to give in to the instinct that demanded he return and console her. His love for her was unfortunate for both of them, cruel even. And Evangeline could never know about it. Like he could never let this unwanted emotion sway him from his duty.
Chapter Four
Michael stood in wait with his back straight and his chin held high. His raven black wings pulled at his shoulder blades, and the coating of hybrid blood over his leathers, legs, and arms was still wet. The time had finally come, and here in this clearing not far from the forest hideout his trusted warriors had helped build, he was ready.
Ten years had finally passed since that long-ago day in a large village barn. Now his plan was finally being put into action—without God’s knowledge.
Highlighted by the glow of the blue orb high in the clear night sky, mist weaved and shifted slowly. It whispered through the trees as if carrying secrets, marrying with the sounds of crunching footsteps. A chill owned the air, being swept off the snow that blanketed the clearing and weighed down the branches of the surrounding trees. Frantic whispers grew louder by the second, spoken by the young and uninformed.
The women appeared through the surrounding trees one by one, dazed and blank faced. Yet their hands that clung to the arm of a child each were strong and unrelenting, despite the tugging and desperate pleading. There were at least one hundred altogether. And then those young silvery sets of eyes began to see what awaited them. As if by infection, each boy or girl grew more panicked, tugging harder in-between frantic pleas to be released. Their stares shot from their unresponsive mothers to Michael, fear resonating in them at the black-winged angel that was coated in a slick of vibrant blood.
A boy with pale flesh and black-as-night hair broke free first. “Run! Breakaway!” He helped free some of the other children, and they instantly raced for the tree line.
More got loose, but the first escapees didn’t get far, suddenly stumbling back from the trees as if they’d hit an invisible wall. Twenty angels with wings of pure white appeared between the thick trunks, their bodies equally smeared in hybrid blood to cloak their thoughts and actions from the maker of all.
The children these twenty angels had created by lying down with human women were terrified. But this was not a battle to be fought. This was a reunion.
Keeping his voice level, Michael spoke clearly. “Do not be afraid. We will not harm you.”
The angels pressed in around the women, their wings stretching out to form a barricade. Michael’s words repeated from their own mouths as their eyes claimed the horrified stares of many of the boys and girls. Some of the children screamed, and more broke loose.
“Do not listen to them,” the same boy from before barked out, returning to his mother to slap her across the face. “Wake up!”
His mother didn’t even flinch, and Michael realized she was the one woman he had impregnated. Which meant, that rowdy boy with the tenacity and strength of a leader was…his son.
Coming slowly closer, feet crunching quietly over powdery snow, Michael neared the boy. None of the other children calmed down either, refusing to fall prey to the power of their angelic stares. Mother’s fell without cries of surprise or hurt as the rest of the nephilim broke free, while others remained statue still and unprovoked by the screams of their own daughters or sons.
“What is your name?”
The boy spun so fast he was a blur. Angelic speed. The flaring of his nostrils and the threat in his eyes was a promise of retaliation to come. “Get away from me, from all of us. Let us go.”
Michael sighed. Though he felt a sudden protectiveness for this young boy of barely ten years old, he could not make the mistake of leading with his heart again. First Gabriel, and now her child that, if he was being honest, he wished had been his own. “I cannot do that.” His powerful stare lifted over his son’s shoulder, settling on the boy’s mother. She was a beautiful human with mocha skin and flowing dark hair, nothing like Gabriel. “Tell him, tell them all, why they are here.”
Without any hint of emotion, the woman did as she was commanded. “You are here, Micah, to be with your father. All of you are of the angels, implanted inside our bodies for a greater cause. We had ten years…” A glimmer of sadness shone through as glistening pools collected in her eyes. A single tear slid down her high cheeks. “And only ten years. You are the nephilim, created to help win the great war that is to come. This is our goodbye.”
“What?” No!” Micah spun away from his mother and shoved at Michael’s chest. He took a small step back, surprised at the boy’s ability to move him at all. These kids were powerful, and their strength would only increase with time and the right training. “You are not my father, and we will not fight your war.”
“It is time to farewell your mothers. You will never see them again.”
The mothers that had fallen rose up. Each of them stood still, arms stretching out in wait of a final embrace. More silent tears fell, while others remained strong. An angel’s mind control was strong, but the love of a mother, it seemed, was a hard thing to break. A few of the children rushed in, grabbing onto their mothers as if they would never let go. As if it would somehow save them. Some cried or pleaded, and others yelled.
Micah did none of the above, turning his shaking head away from his mother. He le
veled his eyes at Michael with a look of hate as he breathed loudly through his nose.
“Time to leave,” Michael said without looking away from his son.
As the women untangled themselves from their clinging children, the angels stepped in to pry others away and hold the more feisty ones back. The women bypassed the angels without argument or any backward glances, and then Micah lunged forward, grasping the hilt of the angel sword. The long blade yanked free, and the boy took a few steps back, pointing the sword at Michael’s chest. Over the wrong side if he hoped to pierce his heart. “We are leaving too.”
Michael remained calm and so did his angels, even as some of the boys and girls punched and slapped them to get out of their hold. “No, you are not.”
Micah stabbed the sword forward, and Michael batted it sideways in time. The boy stumbled, the heavy weapon pulling him forward and down. One knee hit the snow, but he shoved himself upright and whirled. “Fight back. Fight back, or we are dead!”
The boy lunged again as the others responded, turning their shock and fear into aggression. The angels held up their barricade, and none of them retrieved their own swords. Instead, they dodged attacks and pushed back anyone who tried to rush through their joining wings. They were not here to end the lives they had created; they were here to transform them into warriors, a secret weapon against all the evil that would soon enough come for Heaven itself.
Michael caught the sword length between both his palms and twisted it, throwing it and the boy sideways. “And where will you go? Your mothers are not the same anymore. They cannot show love, they cannot take you in, and they will turn you away out unto the cold to freeze to death.”
“We can take care of ourselves.” Micah swept a foot out at Michael’s legs, making him stumble. Then he was on his feet, sword driving for Michael’s gut as it blazed a brilliant blue.
Michael swatted the searing blade, but not fast enough. The tip bit into his side, burning right before the blue snuffed out. But he didn’t go down. He didn’t even stagger. Face plagued by shock, Micah hesitated, and Michael curled his large hand around the sharp length and shoved it back. The boy fell, backside collecting the snow with a thump. And then the hilt was back in Michael’s bloody hand and the tip was pointed down at his son. “You are all too young and hot-headed to take care of yourselves.”
All around, the angels had gotten control over most of the children. Despite being outnumbered, their young had succumbed to fatigue first. Some sat, panting for breath. Other sported minor injuries from pummeling into the chest plates that adorned each angel’s armor. Others had bruises and small cuts on their faces from failed attacks that had resulted with them running into trees.
“Are you going to kill us?” Still breathing hard on the icy ground, Micah showed no fear as he glared up at Michael.
“That is your choice, a choice each of you is free to make. Join with us and we will protect you. We will teach you to fight and to protect yourselves. We will house and provide for you. We will help transform you into a new race, the first nephilim with the humanity of humans and the power of angels.”
Without even balking, Micah pushed the sword away from his heart and rose up as high as he could stand. “And the war?”
Michael didn’t have the answers. He didn’t know what would come of them or how it all would unfold. “One day it will come, and when it does, Heaven will need your help, all of your help. The darkness of Hell will rise, and if all that is light fails, the earth will fall to ruin as surely as Heaven will. If we fail, the world as you know it will no longer exist. Heaven will not exist. Only Hell will. Hell below. Hell above. Hell on Earth. Will you help us? Will you fight for light?”
Micah glanced around at the boys and girls that had gathered closer with Michael’s candid words. Sadness for what they’d lost and fear of the unknown retained the glimmer to their eyes, but something else glistened in each of their silvery depths too. Strength and purpose. A few weak smiles were formed, and a couple of the children nodded slightly.
Micah sighed, sounding and looking so much like Michael but oh so young. He held out his hand, firm and without even a hint of tremors. “What choice do we have?”
Michael smiled and clasped his son’s smaller hand in a firm grasp. “The one you have now made.”
Chapter Five
Darius smiled for the first time in years, breathing in the warm smells of life and humanity. Peering over the tall ridge he had climbed around from the other side of the rocky incline, the monument the rising moon shone down on was a sight for sore eyes. Babylon. He rubbed his hands together, watching as the city’s fires came alive and the sounds of nightly celebrations lifted in volume like a chorus.
With the hellions trapped by day, forced to evade the sunlight lest they wish to be incinerated, the time it took for him to move their growing army was slow and tedious. Being immune to the light like the other hybrid-hellions meant nothing if the vast majority of them turned to ash at direct contact from the sun’s rays. A rocky cave had been their resting place for much of the previous daylight hours.
Now there was the promise of respite…and something so much more enticing.
Movement came from behind Darius as a few hybrid-hellions ventured out around the mountain. Snickers and high-pitched squeals announced the waking of the hideous monsters Lucifer had created when he forced his black-laced blood on the human-hellions.
But it was none of those movements that alerted him.
No. They were his allies. His backup…but would he need them for what was coming?
Not too far down the steep rocky decline, a horde of mostly men and a few women ascended one quick climbing foot at a time. They were not human or angel, but rather something in-between.
And Darius knew exactly what they were, and who led the charge that had been nearing while they slept unawares.
“Thanatos,” Darius barked out, narrowing his eyes as the distance separating them grew smaller. “We meet again.”
Though he had only met the young man once, there was no mistaking him. Now that he had met Lucifer personally, this man’s bronzed skin and golden hair was a dead giveaway to the fact that he was the Prince of Hell’s son. His silvery eyes, handsome yet rugged features, and the faint glow that haloed his body made the truth undeniable. Partly human, and partly the spawn of the devil. The men and women trekking after him were his siblings, brought into this world from Lucifer’s own seed. The others behind them were…living hybrids.
But were they allies or the enemy?
After planting the seeds of doubt, Darius had been killed by Michael and sent to Hell before the Prince’s son could accept his offer. Yet, reports from his hybrids that had succumbed to his perilous fate had informed him. Thanatos hated Lucifer; he believed his own father wanted them dead. A lie Darius had easily conjured to sway their potential loyalty.
Darius stood his ground as Thanatos bypassed the final few boulders and a stray tree that stuck out of the makeshift path. Anticipation shone in his eyes as he came right up to Darius. A sword hung at his side, but he made no attempt to retrieve it, even as the hellions crowded nearer on the mountainside like crawling spiders and gnarled beasts. The hellions hissed and chuffed with delight of a battle to come, a battle they still had no power to win or lose without the ability to wield weapons and inflict damage.
“Seems though, that our reunion is on much better terms, Darius.” Thanatos and his much smaller group of siblings eyed the hybrid-hellions, the monsters that crept closer, and the living hybrids that now moved to rejoin their returned leader. “How did you escape Hell?”
Darius shrugged. “A loophole. Your murderous father released the souls of Hell in an attempt to escape. He still wishes you all dead, to ground you under his thumb when he rules the fiery pits and Earth as his own. But we have a setback—”
Before Darius could reveal their impotence when it came to battle and takeovers, the surrounding hellions let out varying grotesque sounds. Gnarle
d bodies twisted and whirled, bulbous heads swung around, and beady sets of more than two eyes, as well as overgrown eyes, shifted around as nostrils flared to scent the warm air.
“An ambush?” Darius would have been surprised—if he could actually trust anyone’s motives.
And then the threat appeared.
Shouts and slices of unsheathed metal preceded the sight as twelve men led the speeding charge around the mountain. Vampires. The originals that Lucifer’s blood had created and that God had chosen to spare when they bowed down to his will, or so he had been told by his hybrids when they had been hunted down by the angel allies.
Now they came at them, steady over the undulating terrain, swords raised and ready to kill. But they didn’t head for Darius and the hellions or even the hellion-hybrids. Instead, they veered to the side, racing directly for Thanatos and his group.
Darius stepped into the line of fire and threw his head over his shoulder. “We can’t harm them and they can’t harm us. You must do the fighting.”
Thanatos’s confusion was answered as he witnessed Darius and a number of the dead hellions get run right through as if they were nothing more than smoke. A barked command to fight back flew from his lips, and then the clash of metal erupted like claps of thunder.
Darius stepped back out of the fray, directing the rest of his dead followers to do the same. Among the thirty-odd men and women that were Lucifer’s spawn, another sixty living hybrids joined the assault. But the upper hand was not quite theirs. Despite starting at twelve in numbers, there were now close to eighty vampires, and he had a feeling this was not the lot of them. They were as quick as the angel-humans and his living hybrids, and equally as vicious. Almost matched in force, Thanatos and his small army held their own. Blood splattered, bodies started to fall, tumbling down the steep rocks, both enemy and ally. This battle was either side’s for the taking.
