The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy

by Terra Whiteman

  The briefing had lasted half an hour and now I was on my way to the hangar to get suited up. There was no way out of it this time; I’d have to lead my team.

  I kept trying to think of how valiant I’d appear after our victory—millions of demons saluting my image on the battlefield—but every daydream ended with rolling footage of me lying amid layers of fresh corpses, my head blown open like a melon. Having an imagination was a double-edged sword, let me tell you.

  The sky had changed again from clear navy to a muddy orange-brown wash. The air felt thicker with moisture, and I knew that we were getting close to Anevhin. It was the only place of the lower layers where it still rained, all because of the cataract and her basin. Cephalon killed any sense of adventure we demons had ever possessed, and because of that I’d only been there once before.

  Breaks in clouds revealed bordering farmlands, all abandoned. Some of the irrigation systems were still operating; they must have booked it quickly, maybe within the last several hours. I didn’t want to think about what might happen once their streams ran red with blood.

  The Young Commander had given me a personal locker, one the size of a walk-in closet. Sniper and assault rifles of both angel and demon issue lined the walls. At the very back was my ballistic uniform. I grabbed that first.

  I loaded my selection of weapons on the dock outside, savoring the slightly-temperate weather. My top hat was replaced by another with a wider brim, lower stock. My right eye was covered by a coded monocle that splayed into a digital visor with one of the best magnification options I’d ever seen. Nearly three hundred years of progress, and the angels were still better than us.

  Sirens started to blare.

  Activity around me began picking up.

  We weren’t being attacked, but the noise served as warning that we needed to wrap up preparations because the show was about to begin.

  I didn’t budge and kept on calibrating my rifle. My group wasn’t set to depart until after we arrived. We’d be flying over the field with bullets whizzing by our heads. Great times were in store. One would think they’d try to keep the Next-In-Line Commander of Hell a little safer.

  I caught something in the corner of my eye and turned to look over my shoulder. Leid was sitting on one of the higher benches, swinging her legs with a strange smile on her face.

  Something was wrong with her eyes.

  Something was wrong with her.

  No one had told me what was going on—I assumed it was because they themselves didn’t know either. God killers always kept their ways secret. Her expiration was already made known, but I didn’t think this was it. From what I understood expired Vel’Haru didn’t smile or pass the time by sitting around and enjoying scenery. Adrial had muttered something about Leid being ‘no longer herself’, but he may as well have grunted something unintelligible with how vague that statement had been.

  “Good morning,” I said, having nothing else to say. “Shouldn’t you be in the command station?”

  “Shouldn’t I?” she responded. Her voice was wispy, not at all like Leid’s.

  Hearing Justice Koseling speak for the first time had been a surprise. Such a tiny little thing is expected to have an equally tiny voice, but her voice was deeper, authoritative. It had a rasp to it that no one of the male sex could deny was seductive.

  “Are you alright?” I asked after a lengthy pause. “I haven’t seen you around and you don’t look so good.”

  “I feel perfect,” she said, pouting. “It’s not nice to comment on a lady’s looks, you know.”

  “Well your skin is see-through and your eyes are black. You kind of look like you’re a minute from dying, so I had to ask.”

  The wicked smile on her face spread from ear to ear. “I’m further from death than ever before, Admiral Vakkar. But thank you for your concern.”

  Well, it seemed she’d been turned into a nutter. Hopefully if I said nothing else she would go away.

  “You’re a changed man,” she ventured, cocking her head to the side, leaning in as if to study me. “Wearing an Argentia Crest, fighting against your own.”

  “Not changed,” I grumbled, checking the precision of the rifle’s scope. “There’s only ever been one thing fueling my actions. But yes, I’d agree this is out of character for me.”

  Leid gave a tiny laugh, watching the jets soar overhead. “Of course, of course; but not quite out of character as the last time, right?”

  I froze, my eyes slowly drifting to their corners. “Beg pardon?”

  Her gaze lowered to the cane resting beside my knee. “I don’t identify with people based on the way they look. For me, it’s energy. You’ve got a different type than the rest; headier, more vibrant. Hard to forget, even after a thousand years.”

  Now she had my full attention. “Who are you?” Because she wasn’t Leid, that much I knew.

  “Who I am isn’t important. What’s important is who you are. Do you understand? I know who you are, and I know what you did.”

  “Maybe you should go to the infirmary and get your head examined.”

  Leid’s shoulders sagged, she sighed. Her breath came out as steam and she nestled into her coat, sweeping her hair over her shoulders. As she did, I caught a glimpse of black veins wriggling beneath the skin of her neck, like evil tree roots scrounging for water. It made me shiver.

  “I’ve been here this entire time.”

  “Here?”

  “Inside of her; watching, waiting. I’ve been with her through almost everything she’s ever done as a scholar… and Sanctum, especially.”

  I said nothing.

  “I’ve felt your energy before. It’s the kind that sticks around for days, wherever you’ve been. And here you are, fighting shoulder to shoulder with Qaira Eltruan. Wouldn’t it be funny if he found out?”

  “No,” I said, dropping my act, “it wouldn’t be. Actually, it’d probably be bad for everybody, including you. My past is passed, Whoever-You-Are, and it needn’t be dredged up here.”

  Not-Leid stood, her smile diligent and diplomatic. “I agree, but I’m very partial to chaos. I can’t guarantee my tongue won’t slip.”

  I stood as well, hooking the rifle to my strap. I gave her a cold look down the brim of my hat. “What do you want? It’s not like I’d have anything valuable to a god killer.”

  “I might need a favor one day,” she said, descending a step toward me. “And someone like you might come in handy.”

  I studied her, hesitant. These were the worst kinds of deals; mainly because I had no idea what I was agreeing to. On the other hand, declining her request meant being gutted on the spot. The smart choice was obvious.

  “Don’t strike deals with demons unless you plan to hold up your end,” I warned.

  “Believe me,” she said, extending her hand, “my word is everything.”

  I took her hand and we engaged in a single shake.

  Her skin was cold and dry, scaly almost, and it took everything not to recoil at the touch. But there was something else that happened when our palms met. Electricity, albeit weak, no more than a pin-prick of heat. It traveled up my arm, and then I felt different somehow. A second later I couldn’t tell if I’d imagined it or not.

  Not-Leid gave me a sharp, knowing smile. Without another word she turned and left the dock, disappearing into the crowd of soldiers gearing up for transport. I stared until I couldn’t see her anymore.

  Well, fuck.

  This was not part of the plan.

  XII

  A MATTER OF DISCRETION

  Qaira Eltruan—;

  THERE’D BEEN NO SURE WAY THAT Mastema Tryess wouldn’t break free of any bindings, so I had no choice except to kill her.

  Yahweh wasn’t going to like it but he’d told me to use discretion, and I was doing just that.

  This Archdemoness was small fries anyway; Abraxes had two others to offer, one of them Lucifer’s general. Not many tears would be shed. The good news was that now there was one less offic
er to worry about and her security card had universal access. Cha-ching.

  She’d led me right up to her executive suite. It had a huge window on the outer wall, giving us a panoramic view of Abraxes’s deck and central command towers. Living comfortably, even in war.

  Mastema took off my helmet, liked what she saw, muttered something about keeping up the morale, and then literally shoved me on to her bed. Like I said before, demons really liked to party. It was almost as if the Nehelian blood in their veins unlocked all the pent up inhibitions the Archaeans avoided. Needless to say, I didn’t have to pretend too hard to seem interested.

  As Mastema straddled me, all the while removing articles of clothing from her upper body, I shoved my scythe through her stomach. Then I pulled upward, slicing her in two, giving her corpse a sort of pronged look.

  It wasn’t the smartest way to kill someone, considering the mess, but time was of the essence and she had been pulling her shirt over her head, covering her neck—the easiest and quickest way to kill someone. Now I had blood all over me and could only afford a few minutes to clean up. First, the body.

  I rolled Mastema in the bloodstained duvet and middle sheet of the bed and stuffed her into the closet, still trying to shake off the look of confusion in her eyes when I punctured her gut. The confusion had turned to terror in an instant. Her ‘why?’ had become an ‘oh.’

  I’d killed a lot of people in my lifetime, but surprisingly I didn’t like doing it. I’d always thought it would get easier but it never did.

  Had anyone actually known how guilt-ridden I was over blowing someone’s brains out, no one in Sanctum would have followed me. Malay had made it more manageable back then.

  Or maybe it was because I wasn’t a slave to my honor first, feelings last heritage any longer.

  Vel’Haru were much more aloof than Nehel, and it was annoying. I didn’t want to think about this. There was no time.

  I washed the blood off my face, hair and suit, trying my best to keep the washroom clear of any diluted bloodstains. I placed my helmet back on and vacated the suite, ready to regroup. It would probably take a while for anyone to discover Mastema’s body. Once Yahweh attacked, she wouldn’t be available for any guidance. I’d stabbed the fleet good enough to draw some blood. The wound wasn’t life threatening, instead painful and inconvenient.

  The guards by the residential suite saluted me. They would be a problem. Eventually—if they weren’t completely inept, anyway—one of them would realize the Archdemoness hadn’t come out. I had to switch roles. Switch clothes.

  And that meant killing someone else.

  *

  I didn’t have any time.

  The moment I stepped out on deck, an admiral summoned me to stand in for a meeting with the higher-ups. Only Obsidian guards did that kind of thing. They knew how to keep their mouths shout; it was how they got the job in the first place.

  Michael was already in there. His head followed my slow transition to the other side of the room.

  Samnaea Soran was in there too, her back to us. She was shaking her head at a series of projection screens, all different broadcast stations playing the same footage.

  “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.”

  “Cut all radio waves,” she ordered quickly into her headset, admirals and other high collars buzzing behind her, giving minions orders into their own headsets. “WDR, I repeat, cut all transmissions. I want a total black out in three seconds.”

  “If we black out, so do our troops,” cautioned Azazel.

  “It’s a risk we have to take,” said Samnaea, pointing at a demon near the door. She gestured something I couldn’t decipher, but it was enough to send her underling fleeing into the hall. “Cutting the transmission will sever the broadcast. We can afford two seconds.” She paused, looking back at the screen.

  “Sir,” she breathed. Samnaea had switched calls, and I had a good idea of who was on the receiving end. “WDR is cutting all transmissions. We will be silent for at least ten seconds. Yes, we’re waiting for Mastema and then we’ll execute your order.”

  Fuck.

  Looked like my cover was going to get blown sooner than I’d expected.

  And now I was trapped in a room with executives and Archdemons. I also had no idea where the rest of my team had gone.

  It didn’t matter yet; the signal wouldn’t send off until Ezekiel got here, but still. Things were getting dangerous, and I couldn’t check out.

  Samnaea threw half the room on all the layer-wide broadcast stations, then gave the remaining audience a speech about diligence and diplomacy—blah, blah, blah. I had to admit she was a crowd pleaser. The last time I saw her, all raccoon eyes and bloodthirsty, I wouldn’t have expected such a one-eighty.

  “As far as Abraxes is concerned that broadcast never happened. The rest of Hell will follow suit. Don’t let the Archaeans get into your heads right before our battle. That’s what they want. They’re outnumbered and the only thing they can throw at us anymore is psychological warfare. Demons, Archdemons, the Argent Court isn’t freedom and you know it. Take it from someone who’s watched their progress for three hundred years—nothing’s changed. They’ve just decided to try and look like the heroes this time.” She waved her hand. “Go, prepare for war. The angels are coming whether you choose to believe what that lying prat had to say or not.”

  Officials began filtering out of the room.

  Michael nodded at me and pretended to escort them to the deck. Samnaea turned and took a call while I made my escape.

  “You can’t find her?” I heard her murmur. “Where was the—oh.”

  I was two steps from the door when I heard her say, “Wait, you.”

  I froze, suppressing a sigh.

  If I had to kill Samnaea, Yahweh would never forgive me. I’d have essentially won them the war singlehandedly, but not on his terms. Yeah, I got it; less violence meant the angels’s image wasn’t smeared, especially after that political stunt. Sadly my options were getting pretty slim.

  “What’s your name, Sergeant?”

  “Ardec, Lady General, of the Obsidian Third Watch.”

  “Archdemon Lier says Archdemon Tryess brought you to her private quarters less than an hour ago, and that was the last time she was seen.”

  I tensed. “Yes, Lady General.”

  By the look of disgust in her eyes, I could tell Samnaea wasn’t a fan of her associate’s romps with underlings. The disgust wasn’t directed at me, at least; I was just following orders as far as she saw. “Do you have any idea where she went after that?”

  “No. Archdemon Tryess was still on her bed when she ordered me out. She’d been wearing a lot of clothes.”

  General Soran studied me, looking me up and down, the disgust in her eyes turning to suspicion. And intrigue.

  Come on, I thought. Let me go, bitch. I don’t want to kill you.

  Samnaea smiled, gesturing to the chair beside her. “Close the door and sit.”

  I did as she commanded.

  “I believe you, Sergeant Ardec, but I have to make sure, you understand.” She placed her hands on my shoulders, her touch gentle, careful. It brought back memories of the masquerade. Alezair’s memories. “Please, remove your helmet and let me slip inside of you.”

  I hesitated, still.

  I felt Samnaea shift. She was looking down at me, surprised at my lack of unconditional obedience.

  “No,” I whispered. “I can’t do that, Lady General.”

  Before she could respond, sirens blared.

  The room’s illumination began to dim and brighten rhythmically, shading us in red. In about five seconds more officials would be in the room and then the body count would triple. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I whirred to the door, engaging the m
anual lock. Samnaea hadn’t moved, startled.

  “I can’t do that, Samnaea,” I said again, switching off the suit’s voice modulator. “Waste of time. Wouldn’t work on me, anyway.”

  Samnaea’s lips stammered, her golden eyes wide with fear and realization. “T-Take off your helmet.”

  “There are two sure things that can get you killed in this world,” I said, taking slow, calculated steps toward the panel. “Promiscuity and curiosity. Need I say more?”

  “Take off your helmet,” she repeated, her gaze averted to the banging on the other side of the door. To my surprise, Samnaea seemed more worried about that than the prospect of her demise. “Hurry.”

  I felt the heat from the transmitter on my wrist. Seyestin had executed the signal.

  I had no idea why Samnaea kept insisting that I prove my identity. It was clear she already knew who I was.

  I ripped my helmet off and unleashed a scythe. “Samnaea Soran, by order of the Argent Court, I am placing you—”

  “Take me with you,” she practically pleaded, rushing across the room, gripping my arm in mercy. She looked me in the eyes, noticing how they were just like hers. Surely Lucifer told his court who I really was by now—at least told the people who mattered and could do something about it. Still, it was probably a trip staring into the face of a man so darkly renowned.

  I was stunned into silence at her request. The surprise was only momentary and all I did then was offer her a frown in suspicion.

  Samnaea stood vigilant. “Lucifer’s trying to kill me. Please, place me into custody. I’ll come quietly, I swear.”

  I’d run through a million different scenarios of Samnaea’s surrender, but had never quite expected it to turn out like this. I was relieved and disappointed at the same time—disappointed because my vengeance meter called for some blood after what had happened in Purgatory’s solarium. You didn’t nearly force me to castrate myself with a piece of broken glass and walk away unscathed.

  But now was not the time. Duty before honor, as the angels pathetically put it.