The Fallen 2 Read online

  Aaron and Gabriel approached the crowd gathered before the Church of Aerie.

  “It looks like everyone is here,” Gabriel said as he looked around at the waiting crowd.

  There was a nervous tension in the air as fallen angels and Nephilim stood side by side, the first generation of heavenly beings rubbing elbows with the next. For the first time Aaron truly understood what Aerie was all about. It was about change, for the Nephilim would be what remained upon Earth after the fallen angels were finally forgiven and allowed to return to Heaven. A changing of the guard, Aaron thought.

  The crowd started to notice his arrival and stepped back, bowing their heads in respect, opening a path for him to the steps of the church.

  “That’s very nice of them,” Gabriel commented as they walked past the citizens.

  Some of those gathered gingerly reached out and touched his arms, his shoulders and back, barely audible words of thanks leaving their mouths. He wanted to tell them to stop. He wanted to tell them that he had done nothing that they should be thanking him for—in fact, they should be chewing his head off for drawing Verchiel’s attention to Aerie’s location.

  A murmur passed through the crowd, and Aaron saw that Belphegor and Lehash had come out of the building and now waited for him at the top of the church steps.

  This is it, he thought, starting his ascent.

  “I’ll wait for you down here,” Gabriel said with a wag of his tail.

  As he reached the top of the stairs, the two fallen angels bowed their heads as well. “Don’t do that,” he told them uncomfortably.

  “Just showin’ the proper respect,” Lehash said as he clasped his hands in front of himself.

  Belphegor placed a firm hand upon his shoulder and looked into Aaron’s eyes. “They know what is coming,” he said, nodding toward the crowd gathered below them. “But they need to hear it from you—they need to know your intentions.”

  Aaron could feel their eyes upon him, the intensity of their gazes boring into his back. “Wouldn’t it be better if you talked to them?” he suggested. “They trust you.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, boy,” Lehash told him. “They know the real thing when they see it. It’s you they’ve been waitin’ for.”

  Aaron looked back to Belphegor, hoping the old angel would help him out. He’d never been comfortable with public speaking.

  “The citizens are waiting” was all Belphegor said as he stepped back.

  And Aaron knew there was only one thing left for him to do. Slowly he turned to face the throng and his breath was taken away by the sight of them; every eye fixed upon him, every ear attuned, waiting for what he was about to say. His mind went blank and all he could do was to return their stare. Who am I kidding? he asked himself, sheer panic setting in. They were insane to be depending on him. He wasn’t a savior; he couldn’t even help his family or his friends.

  He looked into the crowd and saw Gabriel staring up at him from the throng, the gaze of his dark brown eyes touching Aaron’s, helping to bring a sense of calm to him. Farther back he noticed a distinct head of beautiful, white hair, and Lorelei giving him the thumbs-up.

  “I don’t want to disappoint you,” Aaron said, his voice tenuous as the words began to spill from his mouth. “Some of you believe that I’m a savior, someone who’s come to save the day.” Aaron paused, looking out over the citizens of Aerie. “Am I the Chosen One?” he asked, feeling strength come into his words as he spoke from his heart. “I don’t really know. But I do know that I have a power—a power that seems to set me apart from everyone else. And we’ll never get to know what I am and what I’m capable of if Verchiel has anything to say about it.”

  A rumbling murmur went up from the crowd and Aaron could only imagine the fear that many of them had lived with during their lives, dreading the day when the leader of the Powers host would turn his attention to them, and the place of peace that they had built for themselves.

  “This morning I’m asking you to fight,” Aaron told them. “To fight for your future—for your redemption, and your right to go home.” He tried to look each in the eye. “This is what I intend to do,” he told them. “It’s time that I confronted my destiny—and I would be honored to have you all fight by my side.”

  The silence was deafening. Aaron wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected, but a void of response was not necessarily what he’d hoped for. He was about to turn to Belphegor, when a sword of fire sprang to life within the crowd. It was raised high in the air, and was followed by another, and then another still. Aaron was speechless, looking out over the crowd, as every one of them raised a weapon of heavenly fire in salute to him.

  “Guess that’s a vote of confidence,” Aaron heard Lehash say. He turned to find the constable wielding his golden pistols. “They’re not swords, but they do pack a pretty good wallop,” he said, crossing the weapons in front of his chest. “And I would be honored to fight in your name.”

  Belphegor smiled as Aaron looked back to the citizens.

  Maybe we do have a chance, he thought, his faith roused by the sight of those gathered below him, and he wondered if Camael would have been proud. His musings on his absent friend were cut off, as there came a sound, abrupt in its intensity, painful to the ears. It was like the crack of an enormous bullwhip, and it was followed by a terrible ripping as a hole opened in the air above the crowd. Aaron watched with increasing horror as a red-garbed warrior dropped from the wound in space to the ground below. The crowd pulled back as Malak raised his spear, pointing it toward the Nephilim. Above the armored warrior, the gash pulsed and sparked as the sound of flapping wings began to fill the air.

  This is it, Aaron thought as Lehash pushed past him down the stairs, pistols of heavenly fire in each hand. Gabriel had come up the stairs to Aaron’s side, barking and baring his teeth in a display of savagery uncommon to the normally docile animal.

  “I want you to go to Vilma,” Aaron told him.

  “But I want to stay with—”

  “Don’t argue, Gabriel,” he ordered the dog. The sounds of angels’ wings grew louder. “Protect Vilma.” He knew that his friend would have preferred to stay at his side, but Vilma needed a guardian, and he could think of no one that he trusted more.

  With no further argument, the dog bounded down the stairs and up the street.

  And then an army of angels, bloodthirsty screams upon their lips, weapons of war in their hands, spewed forth from the hole, like biblical locusts preparing to blight the land.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Aaron had begrudgingly accepted his inhumanity, and now attempted to wear it with pride. There was very little pain as the sigils appeared on his flesh and his powerful wings burst from his shoulder blades. A spectacular sword of fire ignited in his hand, and he welcomed the rush of power that engorged every fiber of his being.

  The last of the Powers’ soldiers emerged from the tear in the fabric of space, and they began their assault, dropping down from the sky, their weapons of flame seeking to end the lives of Aerie’s citizens. He wanted to help them, but he could not take his eyes from Malak—his little brother—still standing before the fissure.

  What are you waiting for? Aaron wondered. The report of Lehash’s pistols echoed like thunder through the normally still air, and then Malak knelt on one knee, bowing his helmeted head before the opening. Aaron tried to see into the rip, certain that the surprises from the other side were not yet over.

  A sudden chill filled the air, and Aaron felt his presence before seeing him. Verchiel emerged into Aerie as if he were its savior, and not its destroyer. Wings of the purest white spread full, he glided from the darkness of the fissure, a look of contentment on his pale, aquiline features.

  Just seeing the leader of the Powers there in the citizens’ place of solace filled Aaron with a barely controlled fury. It was all he could do not to launch himself at the villain, but caution was the victor, and he waited for his enemy to make the first move.

&nbs
p; “And so it ends,” the Powers’ leader proclaimed, his voice booming over the cries of battle. Verchiel glanced at his soldiers in the midst of violence, at the citizens fighting for their lives, and then his dark, hawklike eyes fell upon Aaron. “You couldn’t possibly have believed it would end any other way!” Verchiel roared, smiling with anticipation.

  Aaron leaped from the church’s steps and landed on the sidewalk, sword of fire at the ready. “It’s not over yet,” he said to the angel, beckoning to him with an outstretched hand.

  Verchiel shook his head with great amusement. “No, Nephilim,” he said, touching his long, spidery fingertips to the top of the kneeling Malak’s helmet. “Another wants the honor of ending your life.”

  Malak slowly stood to face Aaron, a lance of black metal clutched in his armored hands.

  “I believe he wants to eat your heart,” the angel said, lovingly brushing imaginary dust from the shoulder of the warrior’s scarlet armor. “And I do not wish to deny my pet his desire.” Verchiel brought his hand to his mouth, kissed his fingertips, and placed them on Malak’s head. “Kill him,” the angel declared.

  And with his master’s blessing, Malak attacked.

  Lehash had known the angels that now attacked him and the citizens of Aerie. Once they had been soldiers of Heaven, protecting the sanctity of the Creator’s desires, but now they were something altogether different. These were not beings of purity and righteousness, but shadows of their former glory, twisted by the malignant beliefs of their leader.

  He fired his weapon into the screaming face of one attacker, spinning around to kill another before the first could fall to the ground. It had been quite some time since he’d delivered violence on such a level, and he found that he had developed a distaste for it. Aerie had been good for him, calming what seemed to be an eternally angry spirit. He had found a place to belong, a home to replace the one that was lost to him.

  But now there was a chance, a slim possibility, that he might see Heaven again, and somebody wanted to take that from him—from all of them who called Aerie their home. Lehash was not about to surrender that chance no matter how small. That was what fueled him.

  He shot his bullets of fire, hoping that each enemy falling dead from the sky would bring him closer to forgiveness—closer to Heaven. But there were so many, and the air was soon filled with the stink of burning flesh and spilled blood.

  What a terrible thing, the fallen angel thought as he unleashed the full fury of his terrible weapons, and watched as both friends and foes died around him.

  What a terrible price to pay for forgiveness.

  “Do you remember me, Stevie?” Aaron asked the creature before him. “Do you remember who I am?”

  Malak thrust his spear forward with blinding speed, and Aaron reacted barely in time to angle his body away from its razor-sharp metal tip.

  “I remember,” Malak said, his voice cold and menacing as it echoed from inside the horned helmet. “I remember the pain you caused, the misery you have brought to the world.”

  He spun around gracefully, the spearhead slashing across the front of Aaron’s body with an ominous whisper. The Nephilim moved too slowly and the tip of the spear passed through his shirt to cut a fine line from his left shoulder down to the right side of his stomach. He leaped back, feeling warm blood seeping from the open wound. First blood was to Malak, and Aaron doubted it would be the last of it spilled in this battle.

  “I’m your brother,” he tried again, preparing himself for the next assault. “Verchiel killed our parents. He took you, changed you, turned you into something—”

  Like a rampaging bull Malak charged, the spear suddenly gone, replaced by a fearsome club, its surface studded with spikes. “He made me a hunter,” he growled. “A killer of Heaven’s criminals.”

  Aaron dove beneath the club’s pass, discarding his own sword of fire and lunging forward to grab his attacker’s weapon. They struggled for control of the instrument of death, but then Malak slammed his armored face into the bridge of Aaron’s nose. Aaron heard a wet snap and blood exploded from his nostrils. It felt as though his head was about shatter, but he maintained his grip on the club.

  Malak violently wrenched the weapon away, watching as Aaron stumbled backward, wiping the blood from his face. There was no pause in the creature’s reaction, not the slightest hint of mercy. The armored warrior came at him again, and Aaron called upon a sword of fire to defend himself. The club had become a two-handed ax, and it descended on him with incredible force. He brought his own blade up and the collision of heavenly fire with enchanted metal rang in Aaron’s ears like the crack of doom.

  Both combatants leaped back, a brief respite before continuing their skirmish. Aaron became aware of the battles going on around him. The streets of Aerie echoed with the sounds of strife, and he wondered if it would have been the same if he had listened to Belphegor and not gone to Vilma’s aid.

  Feelings of guilt fueling him, Aaron took the offensive, charging at Malak, the tip of his fiery sword tracing a sparking line across the enchanted chest armor. Malak stepped back, discarding his ax and reaching for another instrument of death from his seemingly endless magickal arsenal. Aaron did not wait to see what the warrior would choose. With the aid of his flapping wings, he propelled himself forward and relentlessly rained blows upon his enemy with his own sword of fire.

  “I don’t know what he’s told you!” Aaron shouted, desperate to reach some trace of his brother, even as he drove Malak back. “But it isn’t true.”

  “You are a master of deceit,” Malak said, drawing his own sword of dark metal to parry Aaron’s blows. The warrior moved with inhuman speed, his movements registering as little more than a scarlet blur. “Lies flow from your mouth like blood from a mortal wound.”

  “Listen to me, Stevie!” Aaron yelled, on the defensive again, barely stopping the unremitting fall of the enchanted black blade.

  “Malak,” his attacker bellowed, enraged. “I am Malak!” The savagery of his attack intensified. “I kill you now in his name,” Malak growled, preparing to deliver a final deadly strike.

  And as Aaron primed himself to counter this killing blow, the question of futility echoed through his frenzied thoughts. Is it possible? He caught sight of the warrior’s eyes through the slits of the horned helmet—murderer’s eyes, void of any trace of humanity—and wondered if there was even a slight chance that Stevie was still somewhere inside the monster that was Malak.

  Verchiel grinned, pleased by the ferocity of his pet’s attack. Everything was proceeding as planned. He looked out over the dilapidated human neighborhood, at the battles being fought in his name. The vermin would be routed from their place of concealment, and the process of purging the last believers of the prophecy from the world of God could begin. After Aerie was wiped from existence, it would only be a matter of time before all the Creator’s offenders were destroyed. And on that day he would return to Heaven, to the accolades of the Almighty, and he would take his place at God’s side.

  The Powers’ leader breathed in the stench of violence, his memories taking him back to a time when his purpose was defined for him. He remembered the war in Heaven and how even when it appeared to be over, the followers of the Morningstar defeated, the true struggle had yet to begin. They took their audacity, their insolence, and fled to the Earth, hoping to escape the Creator’s wrath. To think that they actually believed they would be forgiven, the angel mused.

  “Lost in thought, Verchiel?” A voice distracted him from his reflection.

  Verchiel looked toward the entrance of the church and gazed upon the living dead. “Belphegor,” the Powers’ commander hissed. “Camael told us that he had taken your life in the Garden.”

  “I think he may have exaggerated the truth a bit,” the Founder of Aerie commented.

  His disappointment in Camael strengthened all the more, Verchiel started up the church steps two at a time. “What is it the humans say?” he muttered, murder on his mind. �
��If you want a job done right …”

  Belphegor did not respond. Instead he opened the door of the church and slipped inside.

  Verchiel suspected a trap, but the idea that one he believed destroyed so long ago was still among the living drove him forth. He summoned his weapon of choice, and the Bringer of Sorrow came to burning life in his hand as he took hold of the cold metal of the handle and yanked the door wide, plunging himself into the place of worship with the hunger of bloodlust beating in his chest. The church was enshrouded in darkness, the only light from candles burning before a makeshift altar in the front of the building. Belphegor waited for him there.

  “Come in, come in,” the old angel said as he motioned Verchiel closer. “I was hoping to have a discussion with you before things got out of hand.” He shrugged. “I guess we’re a little late.”

  Verchiel began moving cautiously down the center aisle; the flames of his sword illuminating the church’s interior with its wavering light. “I have nothing to discuss with the likes of you,” he snarled as he surveyed the offensive surroundings.

  Belphegor smiled as if privy to some secret knowledge. “That is where you’re wrong, Verchiel,” he corrected. “There is much to talk about.” He turned to the mural painted upon the wall. “Have you seen this?” the fallen angel asked, gesturing to the depiction of an unholy trinity.

  Verchiel sneered. “I have borne witness to myriad representations of this repugnant prediction in my pursuits. I cannot begin to tell you how it disgusts me.”

  Belphegor nodded. “I figured that would be your answer.”

  “It is heresy to even think that the Lord God would allow—”

  “He has, Verchiel,” Belphegor interrupted. “He has allowed it. The prophecy has come true—you’ve seen it with your own eyes, but you’re too damn stubborn to accept it.”

  The leader of the Powers seethed, the fallen angel’s barbed words stoking the fires of his wrath. “The Creator has entrusted me with a mission that I intend to fulfill; those who sinned against Him will be held accountable for their crimes.”