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“YOU SHALL NOT PASS,” Camael called from Jason’s body as he wielded a flaming sword of light against the vile throng.
A deluge of misshapen creatures were squirming through the partially open gate as it hung in the air at the end of the old train bridge. Even as they hit the ground and began to run, they either met their end upon the edge of the sword or were flashed into fire when Adriel returned them to the Pit in flames with a mere touch. They were indeed a fearsome pair to behold, yet now and again one of the horde slipped by; there were just so many of them.
“Come ‘ere, ya little freak,” came a call from behind them.
Neither of them turned, but heard the boom of the shotgun Hofniel wielded in Daniel’s body. When the demons of the horde were slain by non-angelic power, they apparently just dissolved into a small puddle of primordial ooze. Who knew?
“I can’t catch them all,” Adriel called as yet another slipped by.
“I’m running low on ammo,” Hofniel called.
“We must not let them pass, or all may be lost,” Camael shouted as he beheaded a gruesome figure with an emaciated human form and two heads, neither of which had any skull above the nose.
“I knew we’d miss all the fun, standing guard out on that lonely road,” Hemah said as he walked up next to Hofniel, brandishing a lethal-looking short-barreled shotgun.
“Brother, did you abandon your post?” Camael called incredulously, dispatching another nightmare creature back to the Pit.
“No, we were relieved by a local citizen’s militia group, as they described themselves,” Arariel answer. She held a crossbow of all things, and had a quiver of bolts slung across her chest. “They arrived 10 minutes ago, in time to witness Hemah slaughter three of the Pit’s denizens. Once the initial shock of their appearance wore off, the group assured us the demons would be just another opponent for them to vanquish.”
“Those weren’t their actual words,” Hemah finished. “Their version was much more colorful. Some of the phrases even good Catholic Patrick laughed at.”
“Well, join in, there are ample numbers to keep us all busy,” Camael ordered. “I’m going to check on Raquel.”
Looking at Arariel, he shook his head. “A crossbow?”
“Hey, it was offered, and it reminded me of my time in the Han dynasty,” she smirked.
As he approached the open rear doors of the van, Camael noted two things. One was the figure of his sister once again holding her hand to Ham’s shoulder, and the deepening hue of the energy sphere which he knew meant the gate would soon be gone. The second thing was the still shape of Frank Kratos on the ground, with Hofniel kneeling beside him.
No one within the van had apparently witnessed his death, and Hofniel knew not to distract them, even though it broke his heart. He knew the longer Frank’s body was without life, the harder it would be to help him recover, and the less complete it would be. Rushing to his side, Camael and Jason were having an argument inside Jason’s skull.
“You’ve done it before, with Marrisa,” Jason was yelling.
“Agreed, and Father was less than pleased. I do not wish to incur His wrath again for the same transgression,” Camael replied.
“Let me speak to Daniel,” Jason insisted.
“Hofniel is not an Archangel, he cannot resurrect the dead as we can,” Camael replied.
“If you don’t do something, I will reject you from my body and inform Raquel,” Jason countered. “She’s been close enough to Frank for long enough, she won’t hesitate to save him.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Raquel said from Clara’s body as her wheelchair rounded the front of the van. “All the psychic energy flying around out here is as bad as the testosterone level at a bar fight on Friday night.”
The chair stopped, and Clara jerked her head up as she burst into racking sobs at the sight of her dead husband. For long moments, nothing happened. Then slowly, the ragged hole in Frank’s back from the passage of the bullet began to close. No scar formed, and no writhing of tissue occurred; the wound just diminished until it vanished. Frank thrashed once on the ground before leaping to his feet. As soon as he was upright, Clara’s eyes flashed white and Raquel was back in her long-term host.
“How shall we reconcile this unwarranted occupancy of this host with Father?” Camael asked sadly.
“No need for grief, my friend,” Frank said as he walked over to Camael and laid a hand on his forearm. “I gave Raquel permission to occupy my body several days ago. I was concerned something might happen to me while Clara and Ham were with me at our house. I didn’t want them to be defenseless, so Raquel and I came to an agreement.”
“And Father agrees with this?” Camael asked dubiously.
“Father has given me great latitude with Clara and Frank. They are both destined to be part of saving this planet and its residents,” Raquel replied.
Her tone was solemn, but there was a twinkle of mirth in her voice. Apparently, she enjoyed teasing her brother.
“What about the gate?” Frank blurted suddenly.
In the midst of dying and being resurrected for the second time in 24 hours, he had temporarily forgotten their mission. All heads turned toward the back of the van and were met with an indescribable sight. Dozens of demons in all manner of sizes, shapes, and horrors were suspended in acts of running. Some were in mid-stride, while others were leaping for their nemeses awaiting them on Earth’s side of the gate. Arariel, Azrael, and Hemah were all frozen in martial poses, preparing to attack whatever despicable resident of the Pit was nearest.
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them,” Ham said, panting. Sweat was pouring down his face, and his raised arm trembled and shook.
Camael rushed to his side, and Raquel rolled around to the side door hydraulic ramp to reenter the van. Supporting his arm, Camael asked, “What is it you’ve done? Why have you chosen to suspend them rather than close the gate? Surely if you have this much authority to freeze time, you can close the rift.”
“I was closing it when something more powerful than I’ve ever felt began pushing through,” Ham explained. Camael had clambered into the van and placed his hands on Ham’s back and under his forearm, helping him hold his hand aloft. “Raquel had to save Frank, so I told her I’d hold the line for as long as needed. You were right; I can close it by myself. It almost was closed when something started pushing back from the other side.”
“Release the time hold, and let us end this permanently,” Camael ordered.
“Give it one more minute while we get reloaded,” Frank said, reaching for his last magazine, and pressing a fresh one into the pistol.
“I’m all out,” Hofniel said, rattling his shotgun.
“Here, there’s a box of 25 slugs under the seat,” Frank said, turning toward the driver’s door.
Ham uttered a single explosive sound and recoiled from the direction of the gate. All action started again, and Frank yelled, “We aren’t ready.”
“I didn’t let go, something yanked time out of my hands,” Ham gasped. “It felt like I was being electrocuted.”
Arariel and Hemah resumed their fight, while Adriel reached for the next demon squirming through the hole. Suddenly, Azrael flew backward in a high arc, landing with a thud 30 feet away, flat on her back. Everyone heard the whoosh as the air was forced from her lungs.
“Cease your efforts, Ham,” Camael said. “I know who this is.”
Stepping from the back of the van, Camael strode toward the center of the rift. As he neared it, a massive, darkly-writhing, winged creature of such foul appearance as to defy description emerged from the hole. It was like watching a baby being born, only this womb was the eternal Pit of Hell and the baby was one of the ruling Princes.
“Amom, you are not welcome here,” Camael called even as the figure burst through the stretching portal.
“Brother, the residents of this pitiful planet have called us forth from the netherworld, and we have as much right to their vessels as do you to yours,” Amom replied.
The voice which came from the figure sounded like a deep-voiced announcer speaking from the bottom of a well, with the bass turned all the way up. The walls of the van vibrated with the intensity of it.
“I see no vessels for you to occupy, brother,” Camael replied slightly.
“Our vessels await us in the world, and we shall go to them, now,” Amom bellowed.
Ham saw the Archdemon carried a long, twisted shaft which resembled a great oak tree branch. Looking closer, he could see the images of many faces, twisted in agony, etched along its length. As he watched, the mouths on the faces moved, and wordless cries issued forth. Galvanized by the thought of all those souls in torment, Ham turned his chair around and told Clara to get out so he could as well.
Amom swung his staff like a club, one-handed, toward everything in his path. Demon, angel, or human; it didn’t matter. Hemah and Arariel were cast aside like matchsticks, and dozens of scampering demons were crushed by the speed and weight of the blow.
Camael’s sword appeared in his hands, and he swung it two-handed to meet Amom’s staff. The impact from their meeting deafened everything with the ability to hear. The concussion was so great, it turned Clara’s chair on its side where she had just rolled off the lift. Clara was thrown from the chair sprawling sideways onto the hard-packed dirt.
The blow stalled Amom in his tracks. He recoiled slightly, catching himself before he toppled.
Standing tall and flapping his wings for effect, he said laughingly, “Is that the best you’ve got, little Brother?” and he swung again.
This time, his staff was used as a hammer, trying to drive Camael into the ground. Camael danced aside easily, and he leapt across the brief distance between the two Archangels; one fallen, and one full of God’s grace. His sword flashed, and Amom’s bellow sounded like the great noises Blue Whales make. A line of bright white scored its way down Amom’s chest, and thick, black, oozing fluid bubbled to the surface of the wound.
Stepping to his right, Amom shrugged the wound off, even as it began to close and mend. “If that little scratch is all you have, you may as well vacate now,” he gloated. “I’m sure I can find one of my chief demons to ride that young morsel, until we’re ready to eat him.”
Swinging the staff over his head, Amom stepped forward and delivered a crushing blow to the top of the van. Ham had just rolled off the lift and turned toward the fight. The concussion from the blow rattled him and caused his chair to rock. He hurtled forward to right it, and slid to a halt at the back doors.
“So, here is the puny mortal Father has deemed to be the savior of this weak and useless ball of mud,” Amom sneered. “Let us see what strength Father thinks to have given you.” Amom thrust his hand forward, palm out.
Ham sensed what was coming, and threw his own force in return. The two balls of red and violet energy met mid-air and tangled together, roiling around in the night like a spasming, pulsating, light show tornado. In seconds, the opposing powers detonated, pushing a shock wave out in all directions. Any remaining demons were cast as leaves before a maelstrom, and it was good none of the angel’s vessels had risen to their feet as of yet. The crushed van flipped end over front before rolling onto its side.
Frank stood where the van had been moments before. Utter disbelief shown on his face at his first sight of the behemoth. Hofniel stood beside him, shotgun hanging uselessly at his side.
“So, bullets won’t hurt this one?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know, have you got an Elephant Gun, I believe Daniel calls it?” Hofniel replied.
Frank turned and sprinted for the tree line.
“At least one of your puny mortals sees the uselessness of your efforts and decides to run for its miserable life,” Amom laughed.
Hofniel spied Clara lying on the ground, struggling to sit up. He rushed to her side, righting her chair and lifting her back into it. “Thank you, cousin,” Raquel offered.
“My pleasure, cousin,” Hofniel replied.
“Amom, you have squandered your horde now, and there are none left to join you in this ill-conceived effort,” Camael called up to the giant. “Return to the pit before we are forced to vanquish you. I do not wish a rematch of the battle fought eons ago.”
“So, you do remember the thrashing I gave you?” Amom chortled. “Let me recall; was it from a blow such as this?” the Archdemon screamed, thrusting the tip of his staff at Camael, who was standing well within striking range.
Camael’s sword was quick in response to engage the side of the staff, but not before the tip had struck a glancing blow off his shoulder. The strike spun him around, and in the moment of imbalance, Amom struck again. Swatting at the struggling form of Camael, he meant to crush him.
“I shall smash you again, just as I did so long ago,” Amom sneered, grinning wickedly.
As the blow descended, a roaring boom echoed across the opening and Amom cried out, grasping his shoulder and losing his grip on the staff. Already set in motion, the staff bounced off the hard earth and caromed off into the night. Removing his hand, Amom gazed in wonder at the hole in his shoulder.
From the edge of the trees, Frank called out. “This puny human didn’t run very far. Say hello to my little friend,” he mimicked as he once again pulled the trigger on the Barrett 50 caliber. The round sped true to its target, and a similar hole appeared in Amom’s cheek, at the edge of the lid below his right eye. “Sorry, sights are off a little, I was aiming for your forehead,” Frank called tauntingly.
Bellowing his rage and pain while holding his hand over his injured eye, Amom took one long stride in Frank’s direction, where his outstretched leg met the blade of light in Camael’s hands. This time, it wasn’t a slashing strike, but more akin to chopping down a tree. The blade sunk deep into the front of Amom’s leg, lodging in his shin. It stuck there, and Camael was unable to retrieve it.
“I will skewer you with your own puny stick,” Amom bellowed as he fell to one knee, yanking the blade from his leg. He screamed even louder as the wound opened further, and fresh black vitriol began coursing down his leg. “Your efforts will not stop me from my vengeance, Camael,” he growled. “I shall vanquish all of you from this planet, and then I will lay it to waste.”
Raising the sword over his head, he turned toward Camael and felt yet another punch from Frank’s rifle. This round penetrated his right ear, and went straight into what should have been his brain. Clutching his head in both hands, dropping the sword, Amom screamed his agony and dropped to both knees. He roared in anger, pain, and frustration as he once again struggled to regain his footing.
“Your nuisance weapon will be the instrument of your death, mortal,” he roared. “I shall impale you upon it,” and he lunged for Frank once again.
Deep purple force, pulsating and brilliant, slammed Amom back against the wall of the gate in waves. One of his arms disappeared through the hole, and he quickly snatched it back, a different kind of pain written on his face. For the first time in their brief encounter, Amom looked uncertain. Drawing himself up, he addressed Ham.
“First things first; I must destroy you,” he said calmly.
“Bring it,” Ham called back fearlessly.
Amom dove across the forty foot opening, launching himself with arms outstretched to physically grab and crush the life from Ham. Midway in his leap, a deep purple aura surrounded him and held him suspended in mid-air.
“You will not hurt my friends,” Ham said, twisting his outstretched hand. Amom’s scream of pain resounded into the night.
“You will not harm my people,” Ham called again, whipping his wrist to one side. Amom’s anguished cry filled the evening sky.
“And you will have no more souls to torment,” Ham cried righteously. Pulling his arm into his chest, he punched it back out at the Archdemon.
A gargling cry escaped Amom’s throat as he began to thrash and writhe about, suspended in his now darkening magenta prison. As the orb rolled around in the air, dark fluid continued to spread inside. Flinging his arm away from his body, Ham pushed the prison into the night sky. Higher and higher it soared, illuminated by the bright full moon. Amom could be seen thrashing about inside, but the sphere continued to accelerate until it was finally out of sight.
“Where did you send him?” Raquel asked, rolling up next to Ham.
“I sensed if I sent him back to the Pit, he would simply regain strength and followers, destined to try again,” Ham explained. “I’m not sure he’s going to find many followers on the Moon. “ Ham paused at the faces all staring at him, mouths agape. “Hey, I know I can’t destroy him, so the next best thing is to neutralize his power, right?”
Glancing at the portal, Ham flicked his wrist and it popped out of existence. The night became suddenly much darker. Frank was pulling a flashlight from his jacket pocket to take account of what was left when a vehicle careened off the pavement, slewing about in the dirt before regaining control and heading toward the band of faithful warriors at break-neck speed.
“Get behind me,” Ham called as all the angels formed a line in front of him. “Hey, if I can send an Archdemon to the moon, I can stop a car,” he complained.
“We cannot risk the Father’s Prophet unless it is essential,” Camael said matter-of-factly.
“In other words, we got this,” Raquel smiled impishly.
The Hummer slewed sideways as the driver caught sight of the party in the headlights. The door flew open and a fully combat-armed man leapt from the front.
“Camael, there is trouble in Hellam Township. The fight does not go well there,” the stranger said.
“Ah, Cassiel, how is it you have come this far so quickly?” Raquel asked.
“One of the party of defenders in PA, as they call it, had the phone number to the brotherhood group here in Texas. They were the ones who relieved Hemah and Arariel,” Cassiel offered, as if that explained everything.
“But how did you enter a vessel here, if you were in PA?” Azrael asked, confused. “And is Priscilla alright?”
Turning to Azrael, he said, “your daughter is well, Marrisa; Sariel takes good care of her.”
Turning back to Raquel, he said, “Apparently I can get permission to use a willing vessel over a cell phone?”