Back at the Wrens’ almost empty house, Jack and Eva busied themselves with last minute packing. It was getting late now; the light was dying and it had been a very long day. Phoebe was so tired she could barely see straight.
“I think I’ll call it a day,” she yawned, “I can finish off anything that needs seeing to tomorrow, we have an extra day now that we don’t fly until Friday.”
“Okay, sweetie,” smiled Eva, as she stifled a yawn of her own. “See you in the morning, sleep tight.”
“Sleep well, Phoebe,” echoed Jack. “And thanks for your help at the hospital earlier. That was some kind of crazy day!”
“It sure was,” mused Phoebe, “If only you knew the half of it…”
Phoebe hugged her parents, then left them in the living room and trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. Was it really only this morning that she had been an orphan, still getting used to her new life in Ireland? Crazy. She pulled on her nightdress, and walked over to the bedroom window. Above the house, she could just make out two glowing figures – one of them was definitely Croga, because Phoebe could see the ‘X’ shape formed by his twin swords; she assumed the other to be Lasair, although it was difficult to be sure from this distance and under the cover of darkness. Phoebe climbed wearily into bed, snuggled down under the blankets, and before drifting off to sleep, it occurred to her to wonder where the other angelic warriors were if only Croga and Lasair had been stationed at her house. Exhausted by the day’s events, Phoebe did not give this much extra thought, and she uttered a brief prayer of thanks before she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Back at the Otonno household, Demetrius was also getting ready for bed. He, like Phoebe, was exhausted from a strange and eventful day, but was aware of the presence of Cosain, Solas, Dilis, Trean and Neam, who he had spotted stationed around the boundaries of his home. “Hmmm,” he pondered, “Why are so many of you here? And why are you not all with the Wrens?” A long and emotional day had left Demetrius drained and exhausted, and despite his curiosity at the angels’ presence he could not stay awake any longer and closed the blinds on the scene outside before crawling gratefully into bed, whispering a prayer of thanks and falling into a deep sleep.
Within moments, a sudden ear splitting shriek pierced the silent darkness. Captain Schnither and Lieutenant Garshwell, in full battle regalia, shot from the dark African sky like rogue fireworks with a horde of hideous demons following in their wake. Cosain knew that it had been inevitable that the Enemy would eventually discover Demetrius’s significance to the Atoner’s plans and would attempt to thwart his move to Ireland. Given that no real threat had been made on Demetrius’s life to date, Cosain knew too that it was highly probable that the enemy would move to eradicate the threat posed by Demetrius tonight.
“Cosain,” Garshwell screamed, “Captain of the Host of Heaven! Prepare for the end! You cannot save the boy! He is ours!”
In the blink of an eye, Cosain and the Heavenly warriors had taken to the sky, heading as one straight for Schnither, Garshwell and the demonic troop, like a radiating bolt of majestic lightning. The angels shot head first into the black writhing mass of evil, blasting it apart so that demons went flying in every direction, like the explosion of a macabre Catherine wheel. The initial impact was devastating for the demons, with dozens of them sent spiralling and spinning to their doom before they even had a chance to swing their swords. The larger, stronger demons were not so easily disassembled however. Garshwell and half the horde pulled back, circling higher into the sky then doubling back until they were behind Cosain and the angelic warriors. From the dark fray, Schnither and the other half of the malevolent troop unleashed all their fury on the angels, ensuring that they had to focus all their attention on fending off that attack while Garshwell and his minions regrouped and prepared to attack from behind. The onslaught that followed was fierce and devastating. Cosain, Solas, Dilis, Trean and Neam, seeing that they were hideously outnumbered, formed a defensive ring, standing shoulder to shoulder and rallying against the hellish brood with all their might. The ethereal warriors fought bravely, and their defensive stance enabled them to shield and defend each other while sending one screeching fiend after another to the Abyss.
But the demonic horde was relentless, and for every fiend despatched to the hellish void, five more seemed to appear until Cosain and his angelic brothers began to wane and weaken. Wave after wave of demons threw all their fury at the angelic warriors, whose resolve never diminished, although their backs and arms and legs burned with exertion and exhaustion.
“Cosain” gasped Trean, “We cannot continue like this indefinitely! What are we going to do, Captain?”
Cosain could see the look of bewildered disbelief on Trean’s face mirrored on the other angels’ faces, and it was as he looked around that his guard dropped, just momentarily, and Schnither seized his chance. He lunged at the Heavenly Captain, slicing through his upper right arm with his crooked, serrated blade and leaving a deep gaping wound. As the angelic blood poured out, Cosain winced in pain and had to make a huge effort not to drop his sword as his left hand shot instinctively up to put pressure on the yawning wound. Cosain tried in vain to lift his sword, but the wound inflicted on him was too deep, and his right arm was powerless. He would never let Schnither claim the victory, however, and swapping his sword into his left hand, Cosain resumed the fight, although gravely weakened by his injury. Schnither retreated upwards, screeching with glee – not only had his aim hit its angelic mark, but he had wounded the Captain of the Host. He hoped with all his black heart that it would be a fatal wound, and even the mere possibility of Cosain’s demise made his hideous face contort in warped joy, his red eyes flashing and his cackling mouth revealing three rows of rotting teeth.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, there was a blaze of resplendent light that lit up the African night sky, as Croga appeared on the periphery of the mêlée, angelic face set like flint, avenging swords slashing and cutting through the fray. His unannounced and unexpected appearance threw the demons into utter confusion, sending some of them spinning and crashing into each other, while some took to the air and vanished in chaotic terror. Those that remained turned their attentions to Croga, whose swords found their mark time and again, sending demons to the Abyss in a swirl of yellow vapour. Cosain and the other angelic warriors seized their lifeline, and re-engaged the Enemy with a renewed vigour and Heavenly zeal. Their swords glowed with a fierce Heavenly light, and glancing up at the window, Cosain wondered what Demetrius had prayed before falling asleep. “If only he fully realised the power that is in his prayer,” Cosain thought, as his sword connected with a wailing, snarling demon who had lunged at him, teeth bared, separating his hideous head from his gnarly body.
For a full thirty minutes, the skies above the Otonno house rumbled and raged in a blur of unseen conflict. To any human onlooker, there was nothing untoward on this clear and chilly night, but in the Heavenlies the forces of evil rallied hard against the forces of good. The battle that thundered on was fierce and prolonged, but as hard as Schnither and Garshwell and their horde fought and thrashed, Cosain and the angelic troop would not be beaten, and Neam’s assertion proved true – ‘Good will triumph over evil. Every time’.
At last, exhausted and positively fizzing with fury, Schnither drew alongside Lieutenant Garshwell as they fought now for their very lives. The arrogant horde of demons that they had lead into battle had been decimated, leaving only a handful of bedraggled, battered beasts, and Schnither could see that those who were left were on the brink of fleeing the fight.
“Garshwell,” he bellowed, yellow smoke billowing from his nostrils as he snorted and hissed in sheer exhaustion and unbridled rage. “We cannot overcome them, they are too resilient.” The admission pained Schnither to the point of causing him physical discomfort, which was reflected in the contortion of his already hideous features.
Lieutenant Garshwell could not argue with Schnither’s appraisal of the situation, but he was all too aware of what lay in store for them should they retreat. They were in a no-win situation with the only apparent outcome being certain obliteration for Captain Schnither and his lieutenant.
“We cannot fall back, Sir, he will annihilate us if we do…” A look of sheer terror swept fleetingly across Garshwell’s face, and Schnither realised that he would rather take his chances against the angels’ fiery swords than return in defeat and face the insatiable wrath of Abaddon the Defiler.
“Very well, Garshwell,” replied Schnither reluctantly. “But I cannot stay, I must return to the Mooar Mountain… Abaddon would retrieve me from the Abyss only to slay me again himself if I did not report back.”
Lieutenant Garshwell knew that his commander was correct in his hypothesis, and so with a grim acceptance, he saluted Schnither, who shot upwards into the darkness, leaving Garshwell and the few remaining demons to their certain fate at the hands of the angels. As he flew, Schnither looked back briefly, just in time to see Cosain run Garshwell through with his blazing blade. The Lieutenant screamed his savagery before his monstrous black body exploded into a thousand pieces, and vanished leaving only a trail of orange vapour.
“You fought bravely, Lieutenant Garshwell,” Schnither whispered to himself. “I fear there will come a time when I will envy you your fate.” And he shuddered violently at the thought of the very probable demise that awaited him at the hands of Abaddon the Defiler.