Hell On Earth (Book 6): Rebirth

by Wright, Iain Rob

  Noah be damned.

  Crimolok strides onward, footsteps crushing the metal wagons littering the human pathways, but then he pauses. He senses something. Something terrible. Obscene.

  He looks down.

  There stands his brother. Even inside the diseased meat he is wearing he shines like a star, and the beauty of his spirit manages to surprise Crimolok after having lost his true memory of it.

  “Michael! I sensed you were here. Did God expel you from his feeble cocoon, or did you flee, knowing His time is at an end?”

  From inside the wretched vessel of a deceased human, Michael stares up at Crimolok without fear or awe. “Brother, you are an offence to creation. You were born to build, and yet you destroy.”

  “Destruction is the essence of creation, Michael. How can I create unless given a canvas? God surely forgives me, for he made me what I am.”

  “God’s forgiveness is forever beyond you, vile one. I came here to stop you. Your atrocities must end.”

  That God’s forgiveness is forever out of reach causes a deep sorrow inside Crimolok, but it serves only to stoke the blazing fury inside his soul. “You should have remained in safety and enjoyed Heaven a while longer. How did you come to be here?”

  “Our forsaken cousin Daniel gave his power to the human who owned this body. This vessel is the only one in existence able to hold an angel’s essence. It was the only way I could come here and face you. I left the warmth of Heaven because of your arrogant crusade.”

  “Now you will know only oblivion.” Crimolok lashes out, trying to crush his brother’s vessel with a swipe of his giant hand. Michael leaps aside and throws out an arm. A bolt of heavenly light slices the air and hits Crimolok’s shoulder.

  Crimolok stumbles backwards, feeling pain for the first time in his long existence. It is exquisite. His legions surround Michael, intending to tear his vessel apart, but he quickly dispatches them with the purifying flames of Heaven. They are no match for an angel.

  “Is Lucifer with you too?” Crimolok demands. “I do not sense his presence.”

  “Lucifer is somewhere else, seeking atonement for his crimes. It is not too late for you to do the same. God’s forgiveness is beyond your reach, but mine is not, brother. Stop your slaughter and embrace me.”

  “Embrace you? Where? In the depths of the abyss where our father sent me? Do you know what it is like for a creative being to be trapped in an endless nothingness? I spent an eternity in complete darkness with nothing but my own nightmares.” Crimolok sneers in disgust. “You think our father to be a just and merciful ruler? He is a scared tyrant, hiding away while his children burn. I would never abandon my garden as He has done His.”

  Michael sneered back. “It is because of avaricious fiends like you that he was forced to do so. He chose humanity’s suffering over humanity’s end. A choice with terrible consequences that could not be avoided, but a pained life is better than no life.”

  Crimolok sneers again. “It depends on the amount of pain. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  Michael dodges another attack, an irritating wasp. Once more, he releases a white-hot stream of heavenly light, singeing Crimolok’s torso and drawing more of that exquisite agony. It is a feeling like no other – an explosion of the senses.

  Michael throws more light, burns more flesh. “Give up, brother, or be extinguished.”

  “Extinction is the only kindness left to me, Michael. I will prevail or I will not, but I will never again be a prisoner. Enough talk! Let us fight as brothers must.”

  More of Crimolok’s legions surround Michael, closing in on all sides and forcing him to deal with them. Crimolok takes his chance, lunging forward and scooping Michael up in his hand. The fight is over.

  Michael squirms in Crimolok’s hands, but with his arms trapped, he can summon no more of that heavenly light. Crimolok looks down at his brother and is surprised to feel something other than hatred. “You and Lucifer were my brothers. I loved you, yet you abandoned me to Father’s wrath. That sin is greater than all else. That sin is the reason this world, and so many others, burn. I am the Red Lord, the painter of blood, the new father of creation.”

  “You are lost, brother, as you have always been. Your gift is too much to bear. It puts you closer to God than any of us, but you sear in the heat of his glory.”

  “Then I shall burn.” Crimolok clenches his fist, crushing the weak, blood-filled vessel his brother inhabits. Liquids explode from the orifices and Crimolok tosses the quivering meat to the ground.

  Tony could hold on no longer. He’d rode day and night to get here, and there was no doubt that he’d arrived, but his body was done. The trees deep into the forest had all been chopped down, and the uneven ground tossed Tony’s scrambler back and forth until he was no longer able to hold on. His wrists were weak and his hands could no longer grip, so he simply let go of the handlebars and tumbled from the seat. The scrambler continued on until it hit a stump and toppled onto its side. For a while, Tony lay there on his back, staring up at the early morning sun. It was a cold sun, more lukewarm yellow than blazing orange. Winter was on its way, and soon the dead world would frost over.

  There’s no one left. This place is abandoned.

  Tony turned his head and saw a field of flesh. Bodies, not people. A crumbling wall lined a nearby hill, a castle hiding behind it. This was the place he’d been looking for. It was a dead place.

  Soon my body will join all the rest.

  Tony lay on his back, tired, panting, and waiting to die. The war wounded knew when their time was up. They would find a place to rest and close their eyes, knowing they would never again wake up. He had thought to do the same.

  But he wasn’t dead. Not yet.

  His constant shivering and blurred vision told him there could not have been much blood left in him to lose, and he assumed it was only shock keeping him breathing. All pain had gone. His thoughts were basic, focused only on the present. He was partly dreaming, not knowing fully what was going on. The only thought he could hold on to was that he needed to climb the nearby hill. He needed to reach the top.

  I need to know for sure that everyone is dead.

  And so he managed to climb back to his feet and continue his journey on foot. There was only a hundred metres left to go until the bottom of the hill. He couldn’t lie down and die so close to his objective. His feet felt like lead weights and he had to labour over every step. He made it away from the trees and into the field of the dead, intending to avert his eyes and cast out the images of dead men and women, but what he saw surprised him. The carpet of flesh wasn’t human. The corpses belonged to demons – thousands of them. They were mostly burnt, but many were dismembered, arms and legs hanging on by sinew and skin. There were arrows sticking out of the ground and peppering bodies all around. Closer to the hill, the bodies were nearly incinerated. Something had obliterated them – like a giant lightning bolt from the sky.

  Tony began to hope. Perhaps the people here were still alive. Perhaps they possessed some fantastic weapon that could do this. What on earth could wipe out a thousand demons in a field like this? Military artillery was the only thing he could think of.

  That hope slowly bled away as he climbed the hill, seeking the castle at the top. The ancient stone wall was in ruins, entirely broken down in several places. There was no way this place could ever be defended.

  It had fallen.

  Climbing the hill was a slow process, and Tony nearly quit several times. Demon corpses littered the slope, and their blood made it slippery. If not for the fact that so many were burned, he wouldn’t have made it. Their ashes covered the ground and allowed him to barely keep his footing. Eventually he made it to the top.

  His energy spent, Tony fell onto his hands and knees. His journey was still incomplete, so he fought the urge to lie down. He wouldn’t die six feet outside the castle walls, so he crawled.

  And he crawled.

  He didn’t stop until he made it inside the walls. Blo
ody saliva hung from his mouth. His pulse pounded in his eardrums.

  The castle had toppled, only its lower section was still standing. Its upper floors, walls, and ceiling were scattered in a hundred places, demon bodies crushed beneath. Everything had been scorched black, as if the world itself had caught fire. The bodies were so badly charred in this area that is was impossible to tell human from demon. This must have been the scene of a last stand. Somehow the people here had pulled the pin on something devastating.

  Good on ’em. They went down in a blaze of glory.

  There was a patch of unburnt ground nearby, shielded from the blaze by a stack of thick logs. Tony dragged himself over to it, barely able to feel his legs any more. It was a struggle, but he managed to pull himself into a sitting position against the logs. Too tired to hold his head up, he let it lower onto his shoulder. It was then that he saw the most beautiful sight.

  Ten feet away was a gigantic foot. Tony allowed his gaze to follow a massive leg until it reached a ruined torso torn almost in two. The humans here had managed to kill a fallen angel. It made their last stand even more heroic. It was an honour to die amongst them.

  I always thought I’d die on a battlefield. Never thought it would be this peaceful.

  Tony managed to lift his head and look straight ahead. The stone wall in front of him was mostly intact, but a small section had been knocked down, leaving a gap the size of two men standing shoulder to shoulder. Through the gap, Tony could see the sun. Beneath that sun, at the bottom of a long, grassy slope was a wonderful lake. Its waters reflected nothing but sky, and it was untouched by the charred chaos of war. There were even ducks gliding on its surface.

  Tony smiled. It was a good place to die.

  “You all right, mate?”

  Tony turned his head more quickly than he should have, and his vision swirled. Standing before him was a middle-aged woman wearing a cassock and dog collar. He blinked several times, trying to dispel the bizarre ghost.

  “Gotta say,” said the woman, refusing to disappear from his imagination, “you look like something just shat you out. Where did you come from?”

  “W-Who are you?”

  “Angela. I’m the only one left here. Sorry if you expected a crowd.”

  Tony wheezed, struggling to breathe. “They’re all dead?”

  “What? No, not at all, my friend. They buggered off to Portsmouth.”

  “Portsmouth?”

  The woman nodded. “Yeah, apparently there’s a bunch of people there.”

  Tony started laughing. It made him dizzy, and he kept thinking he would run out of breath and pass out, but he couldn’t stop. He kept on until the woman grunted at him and appeared pissed off. “Sorry,” he managed to say. “It’s just that I came from Portsmouth to find you people, only to find out that everyone went the other way. It’s funny.”

  The woman looked at him for a moment, then smiled. It was a warm, genuine expression that made Tony feel completely at home with this odd, middle-aged vicar. She sat down next to him, leaning against the logs and staring out through the gap in the wall. “The people here were bloody mad on fishing,” she said. “The place stunk of fish twenty-four-seven. I hated it, but now it smells too much of fire and blood. Reminds me of a place I’d rather not go back to.

  “What happened here?”

  “The demons attacked, but before the people here scarpered, they called in a fireworks show. It was quite the event. Reminded me of the civic hall on a Friday night. You ever been?”

  He shook his head. “How did you survive what happened here, the bombs?”

  “The castle had a dungeon. Seemed like a good place to be, so I threw myself down the steps just as the first bombs hit. Felt like the ground was going to swallow me up, but once it stopped I came back outside and everything was on fire. Can’t you feel how hot it was, even now?”

  Tony shook his head. “I can’t feel anything.”

  “Yeah, that’ll be because you’re dying. You Christian?”

  “No. Fuck God.”

  “Okay, no last rites for you, then, but can I say one thing?”

  Tony looked at her. “Be my guest?”

  “All is forgiven. God – or whoever was running the show – really dropped the ball by letting Hell invade the Earth, so believe me when I say there’s going to be an amnesty on damnation. Hell is out of business. There’s only one place still accepting lost souls now and that’s Heaven. I can’t tell you what it’s like up there, but I can tell you that this place isn’t all there is. There’s more, and I think you’ll be surprised by what you find.”

  Tony wheezed. “I-I’ve killed a lot of people. Before all this… I killed… many.”

  The woman put a hand on his thigh and squeezed playfully. “Amnesty, remember? You’re going to be just fine. I just watched you stagger up this hill with everything you’ve got. Only a decent man has that kind of determination. Now, rest and give in. You’ve fought your last battle, so no more struggling. Just lie back and let it take you.”

  Tony couldn’t control his eyelids. They were sliding down, millimetre by millimetre. He wanted to yawn, but his lungs had stopped. The only thing he could feel now was his own thumping heartbeat. But even that eventually stopped. The strange thing was that another thumping had begun – a rhythmic, powerful beating of the wind. It was a sound Tony knew well from his years fighting other men’s wars.

  It was a helicopter.

  “Jesus Christ,” said the woman beside him. “Hold on a little longer, fella. I think the cavalry’s here.”

  15

  Mass moved beyond the gates, giving a hand signal for Cullen to split off with Fang 2 while he led Fang 1. Addy and Smithy were both in Mass’s team. Addy was the last member of the team he’d led out of Portsmouth on that doomed mission several weeks ago now. He couldn’t bear to be parted with her. Smithy, on the other hand, was Mass’s good luck charm. Since meeting the lad, they had survived certain death on several occasions. He was too good not to have around.

  Twenty other men had been spread across the two teams, and Mass knew all of them. They were the last of the Urban Vampires, and they were about to do what they did best: saving the goddamn day.

  It was early in the day, which made their mission harder. They couldn’t sneak in under the cover of darkness and retrieve General Thomas and his men. There was no choice but to fight. At least Wanstead had come through on the weaponry. Mass felt good about that.

  The Benelli shotgun was a sight to behold – a semi-automatic with a handgun grip and collapsible stock. It held eight solid shot cartridges at a time, and was an absolute cannon. Mass felt his balls grow every time he fired it. To think the only gun he had ever held a year ago had been the odd antique passed around pubs between drug dealers. In addition, the other ten Vampires on his team had been kitted out with an assortment of combat rifles and less exotic shotguns.

  They had set out an hour ago and had already made it halfway across the city, heading north and fighting for every inch. Fortunately, the demons were focused on assaulting the walls around the docks and only attacked Mass and his team sporadically. It still felt like the early waves of a larger assault. Something worse was coming.

  Crimolok.

  General Thomas had radioed in his position as being to the direct north of the city at Fort Widley. The old fortification was manned by a small group of guards, ready to send up flares if anything entered the city, so Thomas had likely gone there hoping to find allies and weapons. He would have found both. It was a smart move.

  Smithy no longer sported a shotgun. He had swapped it for a matching pair of Sig handguns that he wielded like a maniac, popping off shots left and right before gleefully slamming in fresh clips. Mass would never have thought a person could have a natural talent for killing, but Smithy was some sort of prodigy. He made killing demons a performance. The other Vampires watched him in awe.

  “How much further is this fort?” Smithy asked as he shoved both muzzles against
a burnt man’s eyes and pulled the triggers. “Does it have a gift shop?”

  Addy was looking around, searching for more targets, but they seemed to be in the clear for the moment. “It’s about another half a mile,” she answered. “You’ll see it soon. Big, ugly thing.”

  “It’s defensible,” said Mass. “It was smart for Thomas to head there. If he decides to try and take us out, we won’t stand a chance.”

  Smithy wiped demon eyeball goop from his face and frowned. “Why would he take us out? We’re coming to rescue him.”

  “He wants me dead, and seeing a team of Urban Vampires sneaking through the ruins is going to give him a perfect excuse to start shooting.”

  “It presents an opportunity for us too,” said Addy. “I say we kill the bastard as soon as we get a chance. With the chaos going on right now, we can get in and out before anyone knows what’s happening. We should make a plan.”

  Mass replaced the cartridges in his shotgun and thought about it. “I don’t have a plan. Shit, I haven’t had a plan since the first demons arrived on my block in Brixton. We stick together and don’t give up. That’s the only plan I’ve ever followed.”

  “Friends forever!” said Smithy with a great beaming smile. “Hey, heads up!”

  A group of demons emerged from a block of flats. They were covered in blood, no doubt from having killed a group of soldiers camped on the upper floors. Mass peered upwards and saw the torn body of a woman hanging half out of a broken window on the fourth floor.

  Addy fired and struck the first demon. Smithy let loose with his handguns and hit the next. Mass obliterated the third with his Benelli. All three demons were burnt men. The number of primates seemed to be decreasing, which was a good thing. The burnt men were slower, weaker, and much easier to deal with in small groups than the frenzied primates. It gave Mass hope that perhaps they were making a dent in their enemy’s numbers. Their elite troops were running thin.