He knew there was a veritable army of supernatural creatures up there wreaking havoc on the archangels and archesses for their master. For Gregori.
Doing his bidding. Fighting his battles for him.
Abraxos looked back down at his Adarians. They waited patiently and silently for him to give them their orders. They’d done so ever since Gregori brought them each back from their different brinks, from their various damnations, to those ends they’d all reached when they’d gone their separate ways. Abraxos supposed he owed Gregori that much. He’d reunited him with his brethren.
But in that moment, they’d been changed. They went from being an army of angels to an army of incomprehensible darkness.
Abraxos looked down at his hands. Blood was caked on them; it had been for some time now. They were dirty, and darkness stained beneath his fingernails. They were hands he’d used to rip the hearts out of living, breathing human chests, both young and old. He’d done it so that the life beating within them would replace just a fraction of the life he’d lost within himself.
He looked up at his men. There was Asteraoth, whom Uriel had killed what seemed like eons ago. He was back, and watching Abraxos with the same quiet patience they all did. There was Dumah, also killed by Uriel. Elyon, whom they’d all called Ely. Laoth, also known as Luke. Mendrion, whom Abraxos had called Mitchell – the tall dark angel who was fond of human cigarettes and shadows. Morael, Puriel, Hamon… whom Abraxos had unfortunately killed, himself. Ramael, Rumon, Tartys, and Xathanael – all of them were there in that burned and desiccated field. They stood there before him, waiting for orders to come from the man they’d once called General, or in quieter, more peaceful and laid-back moments, “Brax.” And in more recent times, Kevin.
They’d been through so much together. Two thousand years on Earth, and a history in the angel realm. Only to be gathered at last, mere slaves to a man they barely knew.
Gregori had brought them together well enough, but he’d brought them together to suffer, and to cause the same to those around them.
Abraxos took a deep breath, filling his lungs with remnants of smoke in the apocalypse that had become of the forest. “I don’t know about you, boys,” he said very softly. It was almost a whisper, barely intelligible amidst the din of the magic battle above. But he knew his men heard him anyway. “But I think I’m just about done.”
The silence in the small clearing was nearly as deafening as the racket above. And then Ely lifted his chin and shifted on his feet. The tall black man took a deep breath, a calm gesture that was at odds with the blood on his stained clothing. “As am I,” he said.
Mitchell pulled a cigarette out of his black leather jacket pocket, and the tiny click of a lighter broke the following silence. The Adarian took a long drag off its end, then lowered it, releasing his breath in a puff of smoke. “Same here.”
Luke looked from Ely to Mitchell to Abraxos. He ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, giving the impression of someone waking from a nightmare. “Yeah, me too.”
One by one, the Adarians turned toward Abraxos and nodded in agreement.
“I’ve had it.”
“Count me out.”
“We’re all done.”
Until they stood at last
truly
reunited, joined in defiance against the man whose yoke they bore. When they’d finished, Abraxos asked, “Okay, then. So what now?” He’d never directly asked his men for advice before. He was the General, he was the idea man, he was the leader. But he recognized the wisdom of time and experience in his companions as he looked upon them now. Their dirty clothes, their stained fingertips, their soul-filled eyes.
He was no better than them. They were a team.
It was a long time before any of them answered. They glanced at one another questioningly until finally, Ely cleared his throat. “Well, I think it might be a good idea if we find a way to get rid of this heart-eating curse. I miss the taste of mac and cheese.”
Kevin did too. And he smiled.
The problem was, he had no idea what magic user in any of the realms connected to Earth would be powerful enough to negate a curse Gregori had placed on them. Even now, he knew they were going to have to face the man in white himself when Gregori learned of their defiance. They’d been sent here to do away with the archangels and archesses once and for all.
But they weren’t going to do that. And now they would have to deal with Gregori’s wrath. If they even survived that bit, which Abraxos was dubious about, they would then be tasked with finding a cure for whatever Gregori had done to them to turn them into apocalyptic zombies.
The battle was far from over, and the war had just begun.
Just when Abraxos was taking a deep breath to warn his men of the work ahead and give them a pep talk as he had done in the old days, there was a shift in the wind. The smoke around them wafting up from the destroyed earth and trees swirled around the figures standing like monuments in the waste. Those swirls rose and switched direction, lifting away.
The wind picked up in speed, clearing the air within a few seconds.
Abraxos stood frozen to the spot. He could feel something moving in.
Once, when the west was young, he’d placed his ear to a freshly laid railroad track, just to see if the rumors about the steam engine’s power were true. It had been said you could tell they were coming from miles and miles away by hearing the humming vibration they made in the metal rungs. The rumors had been true, and Abraxos remembered feeling slightly awed as he pictured the oncoming beast. In his mind, he saw the mightiest of all dragons, forged of cold iron and large beyond life, with breath of smoke and sparking ash.
He had that same feeling now, that slightly scared sense that something very big was on its way.
“Brace yourselves, men.”
But they knew it too. Mitchell dropped his cigarette into the dirt and snuffed it out with his shoe… as if it were necessary in this scarred battle scape that errant magic had formed. He rolled up the sleeves of his long-sleeved white shirt. Beside him, Ely placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded at Abraxos. Luke looked to the other Adarians in silent communication, and they all moved inward, supporting each other, drawing close.
Abraxos knew what was coming. And it was bringing hell with it.
He closed his eyes, accepting that this may very well be the end. He’d had a good run of it, all in all. There’d been some crappy years near the end, and some extra crappy days at the end of those years. But if he were to average it all out, well, it hadn’t been that bad.
So he took a deep breath.
But a mere second after he’d closed his eyes,
all
sound beyond his eyelids ceased.
No crackling fire, no screeches, no blasts, no warping magical spells, no crunching of leaves under boots, no nothing. He was plunged instantly into a world of peaceful quiet.
He popped his eyes open again, more alarmed by this than anything.
And found himself in another world.
Chapter Forty-Eight
It had probably been mere seconds since Mimi had put out her call to the dragons, but for everyone on that platform that had at one point been a very lovely tree house, it felt like forever.
Max stumbled back, his grip on the hilt of his sword slippery with sweat and blood. He took the weapon with him as he retreated, yanking it from the wraith’s midsection as he stumbled backward. It dislodged itself, covered in blue blood, and the wraith fell to the floor.
As the monster vanished from view, Max looked up.
At first, it was almost only a
sound
that kept his attention heaven-ward. It was a distant call not unlike an eagle’s cry. But the calls became more plentiful and deeper, resonating the way thunder did, and one by one, the archangels and their opponents slowed in their battle to look up.
The dragons arrived like a tide of color on the wind. They spanned across the horizon, distant raptors of red, green, blue, and even black. There were dozens of them. Possibly hundreds. They were distant dots, but he could make out their wings, and before long, he recognized tails, arms, legs, and toothy maws. Max could scarcely believe it.
One by one, the Phantoms, wraiths, and gargoyles slowed in their attacks and looked up as well. The sound was upon them, now, the colors near. When they realized what was coming, they stopped fighting altogether and seemed lost and unsure, like pets without their masters, or soldiers without orders.
Max looked back down to find the archangels glancing at one another, the archesses pulling slowly together, their wary, keen gazes watching their enemies as they moved in. Then he noticed Mimi when Rhiannon stepped away, revealing the red-headed child.
It happened as if the change was a portent to the arrival of her kin. One moment, she was standing there, eyes closed, feet firmly planted, hands outstretched and bathed in fire, the next, a coating of magic enveloped her, and inch by inch, her body switched from human – to
dragon
. Her legs and arms developed red shimmering scales, her hands curled into talons, her back arched, and in a bright red flash, she was entirely magnificent, every inch the young red fire-breathing monster.
Max gazed up at the beast with the spikes down her back, the tail that could take a man’s head off, and the teeth that could rip another monster in two. Mimi raised up on her back legs, threw back her dragon’s head, and roared to the heavens. Fire emitted from her throat like a blow torch, and the flying beasts closing in answered her call.
The sky was suddenly filled with a concerto of dragon cries. The tree house inhabitants scrambled. More flashes of bad guys came in one after another like a camera bulb that had gone crazy. The dragons had come, but as if Gregori had set up the battle to match and counter everything the archangels could throw at him, more monsters came in to fight them.
The next several minutes were a blur. Where one body ended and another began was impossible to decipher. There was movement all around Max. It took split-second decisions to determine whether the creatures standing in front of him were friend or foe. He lashed out again and again, trying to make his way to some sort of wall or stable structure so he could get his bearings. One after another, he slashed through his enemies. One after another, they dropped at his feet.
He felt the platform of the tree house shift under his boots, and for a breathless moment, he was sliding side-ways on something wet. Probably blood. He grasped at a piece of furniture and righted himself. The platform straightened out again, but he knew it wouldn’t last. No matter how strong the magic had been that had created that tree house long ago, it had taken all it could. They were all going down.
This is the end of the world
, he thought.
In the back of his mind, he wondered where Samael was. He wondered about Angel. He wondered if they’d escaped or if they were dead. Was this the Culmination? Did it even matter anymore?
Suddenly, there was intense pain.
Max stopped, freezing in place. He looked down at the claw protruding from his midsection. It was covered in his blood. He had a sheer moment to register the attack – skeletal hand, a wraith. All of his injuries would come back now.
And then a second hand punched through him to join the other. This time, the pain was unbearable. A wave of nausea rolled over him. His body flushed impossibly hot, then cold. He made a sound that he could not hear and watched in horrible fascination as the second appendage exited his rib cage. This wasn’t a wraith. The hand was carved of sheer granite.
And it held Max’s heart.
It’s over.
They must have drawn their arms back out of his body, but Max barely felt that. He was staring at the sky now, the flashes of color that came and went. In his mind, he heard music. It was the last song he’d listened to – Moonlight Sonata. He’d played it to relax, to help him think.
It drifted, unattached through his thoughts. The colors in the sky grew lighter, back-dropping against a field of pure white. He was floating. The pain was gone. Absolute peace enveloped him as his nerve endings shut down and his brain stopped registering their signals.
“I’m sorry, Max,” a voice told him in that cloud of soft wonder. It was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, one he had always admired. “That was a close one,” it told him lightly. The voice was smiling, and he could see the curling lips behind it. “But I’m here now.”
Beethoven continued to caress the piano in his mind, but now someone was drumming. There were no drums in this song. Max frowned and bumped into something in his floating miasma. He was knocked gently to the side. Then he bumped into something else. Again, he was moved, like a balloon rising up through a crowded room.
The drumming became louder, and the piano faded. The colors darkened once more, the white backdrop turning to blue and pink and orange. Little by little, he became aware of his body, where moments ago it had been gone. He could feel it now, heavy and real.
But still, there was no pain.
The beating drum centered itself within him, settling at last in that place just behind his ribs. He had a heart once more, it would seem, and it beat steadily.
“Open your eyes, Max.”
He did as he was told. He would do anything and everything she ever told him to do. How could he do otherwise?
She was smiling just as he’d imagined her to be. Eyes of black forever gazed down at him, and within their endless depths, he saw the galaxies of the multiverse. Her hair was down now, and the glasses were gone. But she was the same as she had ever been, and in that fateful moment just after dying, there was rarely anything more welcome than a loved and familiar face.
“I guess this time it was you doing the saving,” he said.
Lilith gently brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and shrugged. “Well, after all this time,” she said, and cupped his cheek. “I sort of owe you.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
The floor was slipping. Rhiannon’s boots bumped into a Phantom’s foot as the tree house platform tilted at a 30 degree angle, and everyone went sliding. She turned her body, ready to catch Mimi and prevent her from touching the icy beast, but Mimi was already responding to the danger herself. She batted her huge red wings, and Rhiannon was buffeted by air as the young red dragon took to the skies.