Angels Falling

by Harriet Carlton

  Imorean pushed away the satisfaction that threatened him. He couldn’t be distracted now. He spun, sword up. The point tore through Vortigern’s chest, dragging up to his shoulder. Vortigern backed away a pace and hissed at him. Imorean rebalanced. He was fast. Faster than usual on the astral plane. Faster than Michael and faster than Vortigern. He could beat him. He had to. Offensive. He ran in. Get inside Vortigern’s guard. Vortigern spun. Black flame scorched the ground between them. Imorean threw himself sideways. Power. Focus. He dug as deep as he could. White sparks gathered at his fingers. Not enough. Outside the circle, someone screamed. A blaze of white leaped from Imorean’s hand, catching one of Vortigern’s wings. He screeched. Distraction. Imorean crashed in again. He lunged, sword just missing Vortigern’s stomach. He turned. If he couldn’t get a direct hit, he would settle for a wound. He caught the underside of Vortigern’s arm. Blood followed his sword as he retreated. A few droplets landed on his face. Vortigern stopped. Blood gathered on the sand underfoot. Imorean wanted to stop. To prepare for Vortigern’s counterattack. But he couldn’t. Take Vortigern while he was still. Then everything would be over. Another scream ripped the air outside their tiny arena. Roxy. Too late to stop himself, Imorean’s eyes left Vortigern. A boot landed dead center of his chest and he stumbled backward.

  Momentum carried Imorean beyond the ring of flame and outside of Vortigern’s artificial arena. He stumbled, disoriented. Black flashed in the corner of his vision. Instinct reacted. Imorean spun. Power burst his veins. Flaming, white sword met black. A shockwave split the full arena. He cried out as he was hurled off his feet. Heartbeats later, he crashed into the base of one of the temple’s ruined pillars. He lay still, stunned. No sound. His ears rung. Air. Groaning, he forced it through his lungs. Sword. It lay a short distance away from him. He crawled to it. In his peripherals, he saw Roxy scramble back to her feet, slamming her back against Michael’s. Michael had lowered his stance. There was no more time to look at them. Presence. Imorean hauled himself up.

  Brown eyes caught a glimpse of Vortigern, then a tongue of black fire burst across white feathers. Imorean screamed. High panic. Fire. Fire. Fire. He was on fire. White. The world flashed white. Veins seared hot. Boiling. Move. Imorean spun. Motion was automatic. Desperate. White fire cut black, dousing it – burning over it. He took a step back and flared his wings. White lit the feather vanes. Dark flame on the plumage was overrun by white. Energy surged through his body. Panicked. Wild. His ears roared. White exploded and crackled around him and Vortigern. The dark flames extinguished. Clearness. He spotted Vortigern only feet away. He stood upright and spun his sword. White rippled the air. Power unrestrained.

  And stop. Freeze. Slow. The world didn’t move naturally. All speed had been punched from the air. Imorean spared a glance around – he could afford the time. Time had exited. He breathed. He could gather himself. White flame licked slowly at the ground. A slow, crawling devour of earth. He blinked. He seemed to exist outside of time. Outside of reality. Blood dripped down his chest in slow motion. Vortigern lay, now on his side. He wasn’t moving. Roxy, back to back with Michael, was still holding off Bethany. Bleeding. Bleeding heavily. One side of her shirt was stained dark. Her eyes were less focused than they should have been. Roxy. She was in trouble. Bethany reached back for a new attack. Imorean shifted his gaze. Michael on the extreme defense. Blood ran from four deep grooves on his temple. His mother. There was a look of utter viciousness in her eyes. Fury. She screamed – the sound still low in Imorean’s ears – wild and angry, hands slashing and snatching at Michael. But no danger to either of them yet. Michael was still too much in control. Brown eyes slid back to Bethany and Roxy. Speed was returning. Roxy was slipping down. The patch of red on her side swelled. Her sword was coming loose from her hand. Cold ran through Imorean’s body. The grin on Bethany’s face was unholy – murderous. Gleeful. Imorean knew in that moment, Bethany would kill Roxy. She would, and he must not let her.

  Get to her. Get to them. And Imorean was there. Before he had thought about it, he was there. The world snapped back. He barely stumbled as he found his footing. Solid. Everything was solid again. Reality rushed back. Bethany’s sword swung down toward her target. Imorean held. Bethany’s intended target was now safe between him and Michael. A faint smile twitched in the back of Imorean’s mind at the thought. But no time now. Speed crashed into life. Bethany was what mattered. Imorean stiffened as her expressions changed. Hate. Malice. Shock. Something that hinted at regret. Her sword crashed into his own. Imorean held his ground. He pushed back against her. Bethany – for all she had done. She had revealed their plans to Vortigern after he had spared her from a cold-blooded death. Imorean parried her. She had separated him and his squad over the volcano battle in Iceland. Intentional. He dropped his parry as Bethany’s broke and stepped inside her guard. She had led Vortigern to Roxy, to his family. Movement came before consciousness. Imorean grabbed her by the shoulder and stabbed up, sword plunging through Bethany’s sternum.

  Brown eyes met blue – blue that was horrified, terrified. Imorean shook. A tremble made its way up his spine. Bethany grabbed at him, fingers snagging his shirt sleeves. Blue eyes began to drain of color, giving way to gray. Imorean tried to step backward, to reverse what he had done. Bethany. He had just stabbed Bethany. No. He couldn’t have. Blood trickled from her chest, spattering his hands. She gasped, her breath rattling in her throat. Blood painted her lips. Imorean stepped away, pulling Michael’s sword from her chest. Scarlet rushed down the blood run channels, bright drops of life falling from the razor tip. Bethany screamed, the sound bouncing off the mountains and monuments. And she continued to scream. Hands scrabbled at her open chest. Knees shook beneath her. Imorean stood. He could move no further. Michael’s sword balanced limply in his hands as Bethany fell to the ground, her life ebbing into the dirt as her screams bounded back over the mountains. A bright, red circlet settled into the dirt beneath her. Imorean stood frozen. Nearby, he was aware of Michael fighting his mother. But somehow, that was very far away. It was something that was happening in a different world. Bethany’s head lolled to the side, eyes still on him. Paralysis swept through Imorean. She was dying. Dying because of him. Shuddering vision fixed him in place. A small smile curved bowline across Bethany’s lips. Her eyes gave in to gray.

  Gone. Bethany Voran was gone. And he had struck the blow.

  Numb, Imorean swallowed and turned to Roxy. She looked up at him. Horror. Gratitude. Wariness. Confused. She was confused. So was he. His heart beat without agency. Without an owner. He flared and closed his wings. Michael could hold his mother off for a moment more. Just a moment. Roxy needed him. He reached down to her, wanting, not knowing why, to pull her to her feet. He wanted to reassure her. To remind her that he was still the same person. That he hadn’t just murdered someone. Murder. God. He had just killed Bethany. Something he had fought so hard to avoid. Reactionary. It had just been a reaction. But that would never absolve him. Murderer. His throat closed. What had he done? Bethany’s words from Mexico came back to him. What would Mommy think?

  Movement shivered in Imorean’s peripherals. Fury swept the small arena. He turned, wings snapping back out. His blood seared hot again. Too late. Seething black flew up like volcanic ash, coating and covering the air. Imorean stumbled backward and coughed. He couldn’t breathe. The solidified darkness in the air was too thick. Roxy screamed, the sound high and clear. Another shout rang through. Imorean swung at the darkness. It parted around his sword like water. Never, never had he heard Michael sound so afraid.

  “Imorean!”

  “Mom! Michael! Roxy!”

  Imorean stilled as the darkness ebbed and settled. Roxy, his mother, Michael. Where …? Oh. Vortigern had multiplied. Shadowed versions of him stood around the arena. Roxy had been hauled to her feet, blood still running down her side. Four Vortigern Shadows were on both sides of her, gripping her tight, keeping her on her swaying feet. Imorean swallowed. Michael stood restrained by s
ix mock Vortigerns. Hands held his four wings down, arms kept flung out to his sides. His sword lay on the ground in front of him. One shadowed hand covered his mouth. The ground at Michael’s feet was a churned mess. Cold ran through Imorean’s veins. His mother stood confused, lodged between two Vortigerns. Imorean met her eyes. A pause, then she turned away.

  The weight of a presence pressed in from behind. Imorean tensed, every nerve on edge, ready to move.

  “Don’t you see? I will win, Imorean. There is nothing you can do,” said Vortigern. From the sound of his voice, Imorean could tell he was very close behind.

  He took a steadying breath, then turned to look at Vortigern. “What do you want?”

  “Choose. Who do you want me to kill? Who matters least? The choice is yours.”

  A shuddering breath made its way through Imorean’s chest. Helpless, he looked back to his mother, Michael and Roxy. What could he do? The lives in front of him were invaluable. They meant more than the world itself. Choose one of them to die? No, no, he couldn’t do it. He had to do something. Brown met gray and realization crashed into Imorean’s chest. All the fighting he had done. It was useless. Vain. This was a trap. It always had been. And its jaws were closing.

  “No,” he said.

  “No?”

  Imorean turned to Vortigern. His heart quivered in his chest. He had to do this quickly, lest his nerve fail him. “You want someone to die, right? Payment for Bethany. Payment for your hate for me. Retribution for Inmerael and my unrighteous existence. I get it, I do. You want to see some punishment for everything you feel. For all the ways that fate has wronged you. For the way that I came into existence. But direct that punishment at me. Not them.”

  Vortigern cocked his head to one side, his sword tip lowering. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  Roxy shouted, her voice breaking. “Imorean, no!”

  A strangled cry erupted behind Imorean. He turned. Michael’s green eyes were fixed on him as he strained against the Vortigerns holding him. Every muscle was flexed, furious to get to him. His green eyes were pleading. Imorean tried to smile at him and Roxy, but his lower lip trembled. Provided Michael, Roxy and his mother could get away, nothing else mattered really. The artifacts? Closing hell? It didn’t matter. The mission didn’t matter – it was ruined anyway. The people before him were real. They were alive. They were his family. There would be another chance for success. There would never be another chance for their lives. Love, mercy. They mattered more than any mission. If he could save them, get them out of here, any price would be worth it. He turned back to Vortigern.

  “Do whatever you want to me, but let them go.”

  “Huh … I marked you for brave, Imorean. I didn’t peg you as being brave and stupid.” Vortigern smirked. Then he sneered. “Your sword. Drop it.”

  Imorean swallowed. His fingers tightened on the handle of Michael’s sword, then he dropped it in the dirt. It landed with a resounding thud. He walked toward Vortigern. He couldn’t help feeling acutely aware of how tightly Vortigern gripped the handle of his own weapon. Imorean almost hesitated as Michael roared behind him, the sound still muffled. Gray eyes narrowed, and Vortigern pointed to the ground. Imorean closed his eyes. An execution.

  “Don’t try anything, Michael. I’m too close to your charge. You’d injure him, too. Either way, I want you to spectate, not involve,” said Vortigern, his voice quiet.

  Breath heaved through Imorean’s lungs. He wanted to fly. To leave. To escape. But he couldn’t. No. His lay duty to those behind him. Wherever that same duty may end. He wouldn’t abandon them. He stopped in front of Vortigern, within arm’s reach. Vortigern’s black-bladed weapon was still gripped tightly in his hand. Vortigern studied him – Imorean could feel gray eyes surveying him. A hand came up and caressed the side of his face. Sick. Imorean resisted the desperate urge to jerk away.

  “Do you have any idea what I could do to you? I could humiliate you. Torture you. Toy with you. Break every bone in your body and then your mind. Skin you alive. The options are limitless. I could drag your death out as long as eternity would allow me.”

  Imorean nodded, stifling the tremble in his spine. “Yep. I know.”

  “And yet here you stand. Unwavering. Humans. I will never understand you,” murmured Vortigern. Imorean gritted his teeth. Something was going on behind Vortigern’s eyes. A stir deep in the gray. “Whatever I want, you said?”

  Imorean nodded again. Stiff. He couldn’t help it. He was balanced on the precipice between life and death and Vortigern was the deciding factor of what happened. Death would come. Of that much, he was certain. Vortigern gave a low laugh and his hand tightened on Imorean’s cheek. Slow. Vortigern would not make his death a mercy. Imorean resisted the urge to cry out. Vortigern’s nails cut through his skin, blood rushing the wounds. How much more blood would spill before this was over?

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  Chapter 72

  Horror. Imorean thrashed and pulled back as Vortigern leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. Heat seized his veins. Now he did scream. The world broke apart into shattered fragments. Michael screamed. Roxy screamed. His mother stayed silent. Imorean fell. Through the ground itself. It swallowed him. Home. He saw home. Fragments caught, visible for only a heartbeat. They drifted away, out and beyond his reach before he could grasp them. The living room he had grown up in. His father’s face. His mother’s laugh. Felsenmeer. Michael’s resigned smile. The Blue Ridge Mountains. Roxy’s grin. A roll of pictures crossed through a black abyss. His mother and Gabriel in the photo booth. His ruined home – torn apart. Michael falling from the sky after pushing him out of the way of Vortigern’s attack. Roxy lying as though dead in the hospital at Upper Morvine. The Aurora Borealis broke in front of his eyes. Rainbow, orange, yellow, blue, purple. Green. White. And Gray.

  Everything faded in gray. An unstoppable tide. Vision closed. Black washed over.

  Softness and darkness caught him. Imorean curled into a ball. Hide. He wanted to hide here. Wherever here was. Stay. Remain. Energy drained from him. Dead? Was he dead? He had to be. That was the only explanation. Against his inward drive to stay as he was, Imorean opened his eyes. Gray filmed his vision. Vortigern lay on the ground in front of him. Slate eyes open, staring and sightless. Imorean swallowed. But his throat didn’t move in tandem with his intended action. What? He gazed out through his own open eyes. Get up. He was alive. He needed to get up. The Shadow Vortigerns were still there. But the image was wrong. Roxy had buckled to her knees, sobbing. His mother stood still, a small smile on her face. Michael’s eyes were closed. He’d stopped fighting. Imorean stumbled as he felt his body shift, rising to its feet. But he hadn’t made it move.

  A hand jutted out in front of Imorean’s body. His own hand, moving in a way he didn’t recognize. “Huh. He’s younger than I realized. Trapping them early, Michael.”

  Imorean’s wings snapped out in horror. His mouth had moved. He had spoken. But the voice that left his mouth hadn’t been his own. Vortigern was using his mouth to speak. Through the gray film, Imorean looked over at Vortigern’s prone, physical body. Premises vacated. Imorean’s teeth chattered. Vortigern had control of his body. Imorean felt his own fingers snap. The Shadow Vortigerns dissipated. Michael launched forward, secondary sword out. The hexagonal hilt flashed under the dull sky.

  “Ah!” Vortigern-Imorean shouted. Imorean felt himself rock backward, more gracefully than he could have ever moved. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you brute. He’s still in here. You stab me with that sword, you off both of us.”

  “Let him go,” snarled Michael.

  “And lose my leverage? No. I know about your bond with him. Killing him … oh. I can see his memories. Ooh, that’s delicious. You killing him would be like killing a part of yourself. And him hurting you, well, that would be self-injury. Never took you for one that could go soft, Michael. The lingering glances you give him. How disappointing. And, my God, the way he
feels about you … He really cares. Soppy, doe-eyed adoration. He looks at you before anyone else. It’s sickeningly adorable.”

  The clouds overhead darkened, low-bellied. “Let go, Vortigern.”

  Vortigern-Imorean raised one eyebrow. “I don’t think so, Mike. I like this better.”

  Vortigern-Imorean snapped his fingers again, heather-gray flame manifesting in his palm. It licked up his fingers, burning with no heat. Imorean took a step forward, a tremble working through his wings as his body didn’t respond. His body was not his own.

  “You taught him badly, Michael,” said Vortigern-Imorean. “He’s got too much emotion and too little discipline to regain control. And I have enough to keep him down.”

  Roxy launched to her feet. Imorean stumbled in the confines of his own mind. His wings glowed very slightly behind his shoulders.

  She snatched her sword from the ground and slashed at the air. “Let go of him!”

  “Roxy, stop!” Michael caught her by the waist and held her steady. “We cannot attack. Imorean is still in there. We hurt Vortigern, we hurt Imorean.”

  A smile curved across Vortigern-Imorean’s lips. Imorean locked eyes with Michael. Confusion. Torment. Brutal duty. Michael would do what was necessary. Imorean swallowed again. This was Vortigern’s new game. But how could he stop it? How could he possibly beat him? He wasn’t as old, as strong, as powerful or as in control. He was nothing by comparison. A light rain started.

  “Oh, someone do something. This is boring,” snorted Vortigern-Imorean. “I want to see what the two of you are made of.”

  Imorean was thrown back to his side as his body launched forward, grabbing Vortigern’s fallen sword from the sand. Vortigern-Imorean raced forward and lunged between Michael and Roxy. He spun. Imorean screamed, no sound leaving his physical mouth. Michael stumbled back and cried out, both hands flying to the bright, red line across his chest. No counterattack came. Vortigern-Imorean rounded on Roxy.