Grant kept an eye on Ramiel as he allowed the angelic troopers to move ahead of him.
A large angel charged, and he lifted his weapon, met his attacker’s blade. Clanking metal cast off sparks. Grunts and groans wove in and out of the soft wind.
The being’s pale skin showed the strain of his muscles as he moved to match Grant’s movements. With a flick of his wrist, he sliced the artery in the thigh. Blood gushed from the opening. When the creature grabbed for his injury, Grant struck the next main vein, the jugular, forcing his opponent to his knees, then kicked him onto the ground.
Cries vanished from his mind as he focused with tunnel vision on the next angel poised to attack him and the essence of his wife.
“I’m on my third, slowpoke,” she teased.
“I’m the turtle and you’re the hare. We both know how the story ended.” He chuckled. “I might have had a slow start, but I’ve got stamina.”
Heat shot through him from the excitement his words brought to her body.
“Yes you do. However, I’m smart enough to take my nap on your back while you’re still plugging along.”
Well, he couldn’t argue with that. He ducked a swooping blade.
“Pay attention, dear husband. I don’t want to end up dead because you’re too busy talking trash and thinking of having your way with me.”
“My game is on.” He cut into the exposed jugular, then the vein in the angel’s thigh. Bodies littered the ground, and he moved over them to his next prey. His swift movements sped as he sliced another creature, followed by another.
The scent of decay filled his senses. The hot sun beat down on him. Sweat covered his brow as he forged on. Faces vanished. Only mayhem surrounded him. Demons tore the wings from the backs of angels and blood shot out from the gaping holes. His stomach lurched.
* * * *
Blood soiled Auria’s hands and upper arms. The setting sun in the distance filled the bright sky with streaks of red. Limbs and heads desecrated the field. The thick scent of death hung in the air like a marshy fog.
A soft gurgle rattled next to her. Fazzio lay bleeding, enduring a slow end.
“May you find the peace you seek in death.” She swooped her blade through his neck.
Bodies of several thousand beautiful majestic angels were piled on each other. A few hundred aequitas and demons were scatted about. Her muscles trembled from exhaustion. She stumbled forward, ending the suffering of those near death, praying for their lives to end.
Only a few hundred angels remained. The aequitas and demons left were double their numbers. So few of the angels she fought today should have been on a battlefield. Untrained, without even a chance to defend themselves. Why would they march into a slaughter?
“Do you surrender?” Grant shouted.
Lucifer stomped over to him. “Show them no mercy, as they have done to us.”
“I will not. We are better than they.” Grant turned his back to Lucifer, who raised his blade over Grant’s head, ready to bring it down.
Auria sprinted to meet the descending blade with her own. “Can’t let you do that, and if I were you, I’d leave now.”
Grant turned. “I expected as much.” A shockwave of air moved outward like a ripple in a pond, sending all the demons to the ground in a cascade. Dominoes, tossed into the grass.
“You are quite something, Auria.” Lucifer bowed, fixing her with his celadon green gaze.
“When you tire of playing house maiden to Grant, I’d really enjoy your company.”
Take a number. Every man wanted her to serve his desires. What about what she wanted?
Lucifer winked. “I’ll see you around, Grant.” Red mist engulfed him and imploded.
“Better not be too soon.” He shoved his sword into the scabbard.
The demons vanished in clouds of red fog.
Deimos limped over, with Photius not far behind.
“Time to go meet our maker.” Grant gestured them to the far side of the field, to a small pathway between the rocks.
Boulders covered in a bright green fuzzy moss moved, creating a line of sight into a cave. Songs of sorrow filled the large open space, where angels glowed with shimmering light. Tears spilled from their eyes.
With each step forward, she felt heavy, unable to carry on because of the horrible acts she’d committed in her life. She was unfit to be a mother to Jet and Onyx. Pain ripped through her chest. Blood filled her gaze and droplets slid down her face.
Deimos stopped, and Photius coaxed him back into line. “Seraphics. If you let them dazzle you, they will drain you of your goodness, fill you with every misdeed you’ve ever committed.”
What a strange thing for him to say “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“On our planet, they appear to those who obtain perfection and suck the essence from their body to add to their own. Which furthers their ability to nourish God’s need for devotion. After they appear, they leave the person empty and marked by the stigmata.”
That explained why they didn’t come to earth. Perfection was not a state known to humans. Maybe they were lucky after all, for being so flawed.
“Auria,” came to her, spoken in the robust male voice she recognized from her ascension. Did her creator want something from her?
Grant continued forward, seemingly unaware of the intruder in her mind. At the back of the gold shiny room, they filed one by one down a narrow passage. They stood sideways to fit the tiny space.
What would God be like? Male of course. But would he look different to her than to the others? Fear plagued her. If they couldn’t convince him to give them their freedom…what then?
The corridor wound around a marble column in an upward granite slope. High ceilings stretched above them into darkness.
Grant hurried his pace at every turn. The muscles in her body ached as she struggled to keep up. The air grew thinner. Her lungs burned.
Deimos and Photius slowed, shuffled and stumbled.
A young girl’s voice came from just above. Grant hustled upward.
Pushing past the two fatigued males, she caught up to her husband. Light blinded them as they entered the open space. She shielded her eyes.
Golden birdcages of varying sizes contained individuals on the side opposite to the light. Some sat with long faces, others rattled the bars. Several had expired. One of the enclosures shook and wobbled. Inside, a child kicked the bars.
Auria stepped closer. Pasiphaë? If she hadn’t seen this with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it.
“Get me out of here,” the girl demanded.
She laughed. “I don’t think so. There is probably a perfectly good reason you’ve been locked up.” At least, this answered where the tyrant had disappeared to.
“Yeah, the whiz kid is crazy. If you don’t believe me, ask any one of the others trapped here.” She grabbed the bars and rattled the golden-domed cage.
“Relax, Pasiphaë. If you don’t belong here we’ll figure that out.” Until then, the girl must remain locked up.
“As if I can trust you.” She crossed her arms and stuck her lips out, pouting.
“You don’t have much choice. Now pipe down.” She motioned her to be silent.
“Whatever. He knows you’re here, stupid.”
Someone needed to wash Pasiphaë’s mouth out with soap. Prison hadn’t seemed to dampen the child’s disposition. Each cage contained a child around the age of eight to twelve. What was going on here?