Everything else drops away. The ringing steel, the shouting, the breaking ocean. Even the imminent threat of Zarael. Semyaza’s words are the only reality.
And they can’t possibly be true.
Nathaniel presses his hand into the sand and tries to sit up higher, winces. ‘It is not possible.’
‘It is and it was.’
‘The stars and moon aligned.’
‘It took the remnant gifts of each of us to guide you from beyond the veil.’
‘But how—’
‘We were bonded to those women, Nathaniel. Have you truly forgotten what that means?’
Nathaniel swallows. And then all that’s left of his strength drains away. All the certainty. Whatever lies beneath that question, it’s taken something from Nathaniel, diminished him in ways I barely understand.
He’s not defiant anymore.
I look to Jude. Is it possible it was the Fallen and not the Garrison who led Nathaniel to us? What would that mean? But the truth of that question already creeps over me like a chill on the wrong side of midnight.
It changes everything.
There would be no greater purpose for us after all.
A dozen questions—more—skitter through my head and careen away before I can grasp them. I feel as if I’ve been sucker-punched, except I’m still standing. My gaze drifts over the battle. The carnage. Immundi bodies piled up on the beach, scattered between skirmishes. The blood on my sword. For a slow, sickening moment I feel the weight of all the death. All the violence. All of it my heritage…
I feel someone else arrive. I’m sluggish to turn, still lost in questions and confusion.
‘GABY!’
At Jude’s shout, I duck and bring up my katana, but it’s too little too late. Another, heavier sword smashes into it, slams the flat of my blade into my forehead. The impact reverberates through my skull. It’s like being kicked by a horse. I stagger back, but not quick enough to avoid the steel-capped boot that crunches my ribs. Pain forks through my ribcage and steals my breath.
And then something cold and hard slams into my temple and the whole world tilts. I land with a muffled thud. Blackness stains my vision and the evening drifts out of focus. I don’t have to look up to know I’m in serious trouble.
A fierce shout breaks through the fug. Swords clash so close I feel the air vibrate.
There’s fighting now, all around me. I have to get up. I have to help. I roll over on my side, think about taking my weight on my knees and elbows. I gag, let a wave of nausea pass. I try to focus on the world, but everything is sideways. Boots and legs flash around me. Shifting or just moving lightning fast? I can’t tell. My vision clears and I can make out Jude and Daniel tag-teaming against Leon a few metres away. Rafa trading blows with another Gatekeeper. Micah and Ez fending off three hellions. When did everyone else get here?
My view is interrupted by two more sets of boots, moving forward and back in an erratic dance, kicking up sand. I lift my head slowly, see Semyaza driving Zarael away from Nathaniel. Away from me. Ferocious, reckless with a millennium’s worth of hatred and rage. Striking with such force I can feel the impact through the dune beneath me. Semyaza’s power, his speed, his fury…beside the Fallen, we truly are children.
My head throbs. My ribs scream. I claw at the wet sand for purchase.
And all I see is Zarael’s pinched face above me again. Too close. The scars punctuating his cheeks and forehead are angry against his moon-white skin. He’s sweating and panting and spraying spittle.
‘You are rusty and dull, like your steel, Semyaza, and still without glory.’ He brings both blades down at once, but the angel times the block, traps the swords against his own and kicks Zarael away. I’m struggling to draw breath but I can’t look away.
‘I need not glory to destroy you.’
Strike, block. Spin. Slice.
‘You will need it to save your half-breed spawn.’
Semyaza launches himself forward—achieves impressive height even with his wings tucked out of sight—and brings down his heavy blade. Zarael blocks, barely centimetres to spare.
‘They are more than a match for you,’ Semyaza says. ‘And they are no longer alone.’
The words wind around me, take vague shape, but the leader of the Fallen and his jailer are already done with sledging. Semyaza drives Zarael backwards, but he’s not quick enough to finish him off. They’re too evenly matched.
I need to move. If I could shift, could I help Semyaza?
The answer takes a few seconds to form, but when it does I know what to do. And it’s going to hurt like hell.
I calculate the distance to Semyaza and Zarael, and push myself into the void. I materialise on my hands and knees, take a breath filled with knives and stifle a groan—if I give away my position I’m dead. I open my eyes as the hem of Zarael’s trench coat brushes my scalp.
This is it.
Semyaza doesn’t look down, doesn’t let on that he’s seen me, but he must have because he lunges at Zarael, forcing the demon to scuttle back—
And stumble into me.
My ribs splinter. A thousand razor blades. I slump to the sand, wrap my arms around myself protectively, only half-aware of Zarael falling and Semyaza leaping over me to get to him. I gasp, squeeze my eyes shut and hope I’ve done enough.
Something hits the sand close to me. I open one eye and see Zarael’s face. But it’s all wrong.
He’s not blinking, or moving, or breathing.
And his body is missing.