The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy

by Terra Whiteman

  X

  FACE VALUE

  Qaira Eltruan—;

  THE TRANSPORTER SMELLED LIKE OIL AND BLOOD. I wondered how many people had died in here.

  I kept off the headgear since I was the only one who looked properly demonic. I’d make a point of putting it back on right after anyone who mattered caught a glimpse of my face. The suspicion would be off us, then.

  My name was Sergeant Briikel Ardec, if anyone bothered to ask.

  He wasn’t dead, just absent. The armor given to us had been hacked and supplied with alternative identities of the same rank. Eventually they’d catch on, but it would take a while. We’d been told that they didn’t check that kind of thing; just scanned our badge, waited for it to beep a certain way and then told us to get lost. Considering that came from Belial, I knew the intel was solid.

  But doubt always had a way of needling itself into my mindset, and I was losing a battle against my nerves. We were crammed into a transporter cabin with twenty-five other soldiers of varying rank, on our way to Abraxes, Anevhin’s command ship.

  So far, so good.

  We’d been dropped off half a day’s trek from Tehlor’s border, where we met with Belial’s rebel group in Eiyen Port, a transportation hub outside of the capital.

  The group had led us through crowds of Gothic-Victorian dressed civilians, ferrying us across station check-points. No one even looked in our direction. Why would they? It wasn’t like anyone was suspecting angels dressed as demons. And I had to agree it was a stupid idea without me.

  With me it was ingenious, and I almost grinned while envisioning the moment Raith found out how his Anevhin army had fallen.

  Asshole. This would mark the second time that he’d fallen for it.

  The dock to Abraxes was another story. The entire perimeter was enclosed in a wall of guards—lowly-ranked, thankfully—scanning armor of militant passengers as they were siphoned through to an awaiting line of transporters.

  We slowed, cautious.

  Michael was just a pace behind me, having fallen back with the others, sticking to Obsidian Guard tradition. The squad leader walked in front, his attendant right behind him. I was expecting some form of shake down, considering all the civil revolt happening across this layer, and here it was.

  Unfortunately, Belial had forsaken me.

  They were making everyone take off their helmets to confirm their identities. My picture had been implanted into the suit’s identity code, and there was about a fifty percent chance no one would notice my team if they were forced to show their faces. The early morning resembled twilight; perhaps it would dull the aquamarine hue of angel eyes.

  No, probably not.

  This would take some smooth operating.

  There weren’t many Obsidian guards hanging around the port, which made this troubling. No one approached us because of our rank, but everyone certainly noticed us. The tension lifted as I sensed the guards’ apprehension—the shift in their demeanor as we approached. I kept my helmet off, choosing one guard to glare at.

  I gave the demon salute. The group of guards tending to us returned theirs. The one closest to me, the one I was glaring at, scanned my identity code. He matched the picture with the face, and then saluted again.

  “Can’t have enough of you guarding central command,” he said, trying to break the ice. “Especially with those God Killers around.”

  “Commander Raith sent us from Judas personally,” I said.

  “Were you the ones neutralizing Tehlor City?”

  Tehlor City had been neutralized. Belial was going to love the news. “That’s right.”

  “I was expecting to see more of you.” My team began their scans, and no one asked to see their faces. Success. “You’d think our Lady General would have dozens of Obsidian Guards around her.”

  Lady General? Shit. “She will. The others have been flown from Judas directly; we were called out of duty from Tehlor City.” I was talking too much. Sometimes I got a little too into character. “Although none of that is your business; is it, soldier?”

  The guard shrank. “No, sir. Have a safe flight.”

  And just like that, we were en route to Abraxes.

  Seyestin had given me a transmitter—a bracelet around my wrist, concealed by armor. Once pressed, it sent a signal back to Ezekiel, confirming we had made it to the command ship.

  Hopefully this would make Yahweh and Adrial feel better, considering it had taken a lot of red herrings to convince them this plan could work. They’d thought it better to send more disciplined soldiers, but they wouldn’t have made it past the dock.

  Now I had something else to worry about: Samnaea Soran.

  I couldn’t walk around without my headgear like planned, and if I was ordered to protect the Obsidian General, I’d have to mask my voice in case she recognized it. My team couldn’t speak at all, either, since demons and angels had developed different dialects of Archaean after segregation. I could mimic it fine; they were obvious.

  And not to mention the most evident danger—Samnaea had abilities that mirrored mine, maybe even stronger. While that didn’t pose a threat to me, it certainly did my team, and without my team I was just a single man amid a ship of enemies. Vel’Haru or not, I’d be in serious trouble, especially if they had more of those tranquilizers.

  Yahweh, I said on our private telepathic line, Plans need to change. Samnaea’s aboard Abraxes.

  Wonderful, he sighed. That must have been a last minute decision on Lucifer’s part. Our intel had no idea about it. Is it too late to pull out?

  Uh, yeah. We’re halfway to Abraxes right now. I wouldn’t pull out anyway. This might be advantageous to us.

  —Are you planning to subjugate General Soran?

  No, I’m planning to kill her. If she’s downed, Lucifer won’t have a general anymore. It’ll be great.

  He was hesitant with a response. I feel as if she may be more useful alive.

  Coming from someone that’s never had to face her. She isn’t exactly obtainable. Once she figures out who you are, there’s about a two second window before you’re eviscerating yourself.

  I agree with Qaira, for once, said Adrial, jumping in. Samnaea Soran is too dangerous to take hostage. Qaira may not be susceptible to her abilities anymore, but that doesn’t mean his team or anyone on Ezekiel isn’t either.

  Yahweh took a little longer with a response this time. As he thought it over, I fidgeted with my pulse rifle, trying to look natural—as if I wasn’t hearing voices in my head.

  I felt the transporter’s descent begin to slow. Some of the soldiers were moving closer to the door. Time was almost up.

  Are you there? I asked, annoyed.

  —Yes.

  Well, what’s the verdict?

  —I didn’t realize you needed one.

  You’re the Commander. I’m just a lowly grunt, awaiting orders.

  —Take Samnaea Soran hostage, if you can. If it’s too dangerous, you have permission to kill her.

  What about Tryess and Lier?

  The objective is to take command of Abraxes, Yahweh reminded me. We still need to take them into custody.

  Got it. Over.

  Fuck me.

  The original plan was somewhat doable, but now the kid was really reaching for the stars. He must have had some major faith in me if he thought I was capable of taking over an enemy command ship crawling with primers and a sado-masochistic Archdemon, all with just twelve soldiers. They were good soldiers; skilled fighters, tough and rotten to the core, but still.

  The most feasible way to accomplish all of this was to get into Abraxes’s command station as quickly as possible and destroy the ship’s halo. The battle would end before it even began. However the timing had to be perfect or else we’d have an entire fleet of angry demons to handle, without hope of any help from the angels.

  And then there was Samnaea. The only way to safely secure her was to take her by surprise. That would have to happen before we seized central
command. Last but not least, we’d have to spend four hours aboard Abraxes without being caught.

  As I pieced together a plan, the transporter stopped with a jolt.

  A moment later the doors slid open, and then I glared out into a brightly illuminated dock, the cold wind slapping away the stagnant, muggy air of the transporter cabin.

  My team and I stepped out with the crowd, mimicking the salute each soldier had done ahead of us to their superior chains of command.

  First things first; I needed to find a place where we could discuss my plan in private, and judging by all the activity happening on deck in anticipation of the upcoming battle, that wouldn’t be an easy task.

  *

  I got lucky. Really lucky.

  Mastema and Azazel were without the companionship of Samnaea once we arrived ready for duty. I’d overheard some of the soldiers along our trek through the highbridge; General Soran was with the primers, taking the place of Praetor Delvori.

  As a member of the Jury, I’d never been formally introduced to Archdemons Lier and Tryess. Certainly they had seen me at trials, but I looked different enough now that without a second glance no one would recognize me as Justice Alezair Czynri.

  But they recognized me as something—someone they couldn’t quite put their fingers on. The curious, cautious glimmer in their eyes said it all. Risky as it was, I used that to my advantage.

  “Sergeant Ardec and the Obsidian Third Watch, at your service.” I gave Mastema a salute, tactfully placing my helmet back on. “We’ve been shipped from the Judas by Commander Raith’s orders to assist wherever needed.”

  I’d caught her attention the moment she had spotted me approaching. The Archdemoness hesitated with a response. Azazel just glared. No one had told either of them that Lucifer was sending special guards. Because he wasn’t.

  “Did he send you any specific orders, Sergeant?” asked Mastema. The eagerness in her cobalt, red-rimmed eyes suggested a sexual interest in me. Demons were typically more vulnerable to desire, given their nature, and to Fallen eyes I was cream of the crop. Flirtation was optimal here.

  “No, Lady Tryess,” I said, softer this time. “Only to assist; wherever needed.”

  Mastema seemed to catch the double-meaning. She hesitated again, twirling a lock of coiled, auburn hair.

  Azazel rolled his eyes. “There’s no time to screw the meat-shields, Mas.”

  “This could be my last day on Hell,” she whined. “I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

  Michael looked at me from the corner of his visor. His expression read, ‘Have you gone insane?’

  “Whatever,” sneered Lier. “You’re lucky I don’t tell Commander Raith what an unprofessional slut you are.”

  Mastema pulled Azazel to her, licking the corners of his lips. She combed her fingernails through his sandy-blond hair, whispering, “I know you won’t. You love me too much. Don’t be jealous, it’s a meaningless fuck.”

  Even I nearly guffawed at that. Demons, christ.

  Azazel melted into the palm of her hand. His slender, pretty face dulled with trust, and then he turned a hard gaze toward us.

  “Sergeant Ardec, please escort Lady Tryess to her quarters. The rest of you, assist the primers at the hangar. Make sure General Soran has everything she needs.”

  “Sir,” I said to a backdrop of similar responses from my team.

  We then parted ways, much to my concern—my team guided away by Azazel toward the hangar while I followed Mastema as she hastily led me toward the residence sector. I had to wonder how many attractive soldiers had been ordered to be her ‘meat’ before me. It wouldn’t have been torture; she wasn’t hard on the eyes.

  Time to rock her world.

  XI

  INNER ANGELS

  Belial Vakkar—;

  “HOW LONG UNTIL WDR AND AKKAROZ PB are able to cut our transmission, do you think?”

  “Thirty seconds, give or take,” responded the analyst.

  Well, that wasn’t much time at all.

  “Which means we need to cut to the chase,” said Naberius, frowning. The lights had been on him for only a minute and he was already starting to sweat. “None of the usual theatrics from you.”

  “Oh, come now,” I said, feigning insult. “Everyone loves my theatrics. But yes, you’re right, it’s time to give a speech, not a performance.”

  “The signal breach is clear,” announced another analyst. I never bothered asking their names since it wouldn’t do me any good either way. I’d been a demon so long that every angel looked the same. “We’ve hacked into every radio wave frequency across Hell. You’re live in five, four, three—”

  In just two more seconds, every telegraphic billboard, projection screen and broadcast station would cut their scheduled programming to a gigantic image of my grinning face. The rumors of my death would fade, and new ones surrounding the Obsidian Court’s shady dealings would surface. I didn’t have a massive army and war machinery backing me; I didn’t need them. Media was the key. In thirty seconds I could make half of Raith’s followers turn on him, all with a little camera and press coverage. That’d show him for underestimating me.

  “Two—”

  Beside me, Naberius swallowed hard. I rolled my eyes.

  One.

  The projection screen light flickered a soft green. The analyst pointed at me. My grin grew to devilish proportions.

  “Good evening, Hell. Sorry to interrupt whatever it was that you were watching or listening to, but I just wanted to settle the score.

  “I’m not dead. Far from it, actually. You see, dear demons,” I leaned back on an imaginary wall, “the Obsidian Court tried to have me executed because I didn’t want to participate in this war. Where does war ever get you? Where is it getting you now? How many loved ones have you lost this week?”

  I yanked the Young Commander toward me, sharing the spotlight. He looked mildly uncomfortable. “Commander Yahweh Telei isn’t your enemy. Our leader declared war on the angels, and despite all the hardship that he and the angels have faced thus far—”

  I caught Naberius wince.

  “—He is unwilling to kill any Archdemon we capture. Do you know why? Do you? Because it’s all been a lie from the very beginning, ladies and gentlemen. The Obsidian Court has been trying to cause a war for half a century, spinning media and political agenda to ignite that spark.”

  I gave Yahweh a cue to speak.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Citizens of Hell, demons, I am Commander Yahweh Telei of the Argent Court, Regalia of Crylle. Lay your hatred and your weapons down. I don’t wish to kill you, only to neutralize the threats of Heaven. I am offering peaceful negotiations and a solution to your societal ails. Belial Vakkar and Naberius Uhnem stand by Argentia. Please do the same.”

  Naberius was cued to speak. He stepped forward and opened his mouth.

  The flashing green light turned a solid red.

  “We’re cut,” said the analyst, crestfallen. “They were faster than I thought.”

  “It’s fine,” breathed Naberius, relieved. “You said enough. Although details would have been helpful.”

  “Details of what?” I grimaced.

  “How Samnaea Soran killed your wife?”

  “Oh, they’ll find out. People will start to dig. Commander Raith is going to have a tough time leading the war while cleaning out his closet, too.”

  General Trede entered the room. He and the Young Commander shared a look, nodded, and Yahweh murmured a goodbye, following his general out. I couldn’t tell if the news was good or bad.

  Qaira and his team were on a suicide mission to Abraxes. Now we all knew that Vel’Haru could be slain. Since then, the war had gotten a bit bigger—more complex. And all we needed were the other god killers joining the fight, as if the stakes weren’t high enough already.

  Naberius sat down and lit a cigarette, looking troubled. We’d been given shit about smoking inside, but all the guards and analysts had filtered out. “H
alf of what you said was a lie.”

  “Was it?” I mused. “I’d like to think it was a slightly distorted version of the truth. Samnaea Soran did try to kill me.”

  “Not because you weren’t going to join the war, and I’m fairly certain she was acting alone. Commander Raith wouldn’t do that. Not even to you.”

  “Oh Naberius,” I sighed, lighting a cigarette too. “You really need to grow a spine. Have you any idea how much trouble it was getting you into office in the first place? Fight for your title, man.”

  “I’ve already put my neck on the line for you,” he growled. “I’m a traitor, just like you.”

  “Yet you’re still arguing for the Obsidian Court. If you were golden with how things were going then you wouldn’t have blown Lilith’s brains out.”

  Naberius rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He knew I was right.

  “Now you’re either with me or against me. Don’t be a one-foot-wet kind of lad.”

  He responded with a noise, nothing remotely coherent, and I headed for the door. We were about to run smack into another battle and I had a sniper-team to school.

  Well, pretend to school. It wasn’t like I had much experience with a military, but I could at least direct them toward the best sniping spots on a battlefield. Once upon a time I’d been a soldier of sorts, but never a leader of soldiers.

  On my way there, Naberius’s statement circled my mind.

  Commander Raith wouldn’t do that. Not even to you.

  What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean?

  I’d been with Obsidia from the very beginning. I was an Archdemon—fallen angel, angel born—and had helped build Hell, just like the others. Sure, I’d been a Jury informant, but Lucifer hadn’t known about that before Samnaea tried to arrest me.

  Had he?

  *

  I hadn’t slept for over a day. I’d never outwardly complain, since others had probably gone with less sleep; but exhaustion was creeping up on me, dulling my enthusiasm and bolding my apathy toward the prospect of our defeat. Difficult to uphold the morale when I couldn’t even keep my eyes open.