“That’s it Captain Schnither sir, it’s practically a done deal! We should make tracks after that plane. Abaddon will expect our report sooner rather than later you know.”
Craven, a tall, lean and entirely unlikeable creature, leaned forward and hissed his forceful suggestion in Schnither’s ear. Schnither was perched like a giant pulsating gargoyle on top of the airport’s terminal building, and he tensed visibly when Craven spoke. Everything about this demon bothered Schnither, from his serpentine features to his inability to respect personal space, to his horrible tendency to be right about everything. Most of all, Schnither resented the fact that Abaddon had made such a big deal about assigning Craven to this mission – did he not know that Schnither was more than capable of getting rid of a few measly humans by himself? He shuffled his sullen form a few inches away from Craven so that the foul monster’s breath was no longer on the back of his neck, then he turned to face him.
“We will go,” Schnither said slowly, “When I deem it time. This is my team, my mission, I am perfectly capable of giving the command.”
Craven looked startled for a brief moment, then the arrogant creature realised that he had rattled Schnither’s cage, and the thought delighted him.
“Oh Captain,” he goaded as he raised one sarcastic eyebrow, “Of course I know that you are the boss here. I am sure that Abaddon only despatched me as back up; I doubt very much that my selection had anything to do with your past, shall we say, not entirely successful attempts at putting a stop to the Wrens’ shenanigans.”
Schnither’s fury was rising in his chest and sulphurous yellow smoke began to seep from his nostrils. Craven had not worked alongside Schnither before, and did not know when to stop pushing, and so he continued to provoke Schnither with his sarcasm and thinly veiled demeaning comments.
“You know, Captain, historically Lord Abaddon has assigned me to lesser ranking demons than you. I tend to be despatched to sort out the messes created by those who don’t know better and aren’t really capable of efficiently executing their missions.” He paused to ensure that what he was implying was sinking in. “But I am sure that this is the exception to that rule…” Craven’s sinuous face wrinkled into a jeering smile, his thin yellow lips curling upwards cruelly.
Schnither had had enough; he rose suddenly to his full imposing height and Craven realised too late that his captain was in fact a foreboding menace, even minus one arm and one ear. At over seven feet tall, Schnither towered a good foot above Craven, and was almost three times the skinny demon’s girth.
“Uh, Captain, Sir. I…” Craven stammered but was not quick enough to find clever words to appease Schnither. The rest of the demonic troop had ceased their chatter and all eyes were now fixed on what was about to befall Craven.
“I am the Captain of this troop,” Schnither hissed menacingly as Craven cowered beneath his wrath. “And you… you will respect that at all times. If you cannot do that, there will be consequences, and they will be severe. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Sir, abundantly clear,” mumbled Craven, whose terror now threatened to give way to rage and indignation at this public humiliation.
“What was that?” roared Schnither. “Speak up! We cannot hear you!”
“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. There will be no reoccurrence. You have my word.” Craven had no choice but to concur, but his pride had suffered a hefty blow and he silently vowed vengeance on this jumped up, self-important beast.
“Ah, well if I have your word…” Schnither snarled at his subordinate with loathing in his red eyes. “But just to be sure…” And with that he raised his remaining arm and rained several punches down on Craven while the other demons cheered and clapped with euphoria.
“Silence you buffoons!” Schnither’s roar sounded above the furore. “A commotion like that will alert all of nature and humanity to our presence! Be quiet!”
Instantly, the pandemonium settled and there was a reverential hush across the assembled demons. This collective and unquestioned obedience pleased Schnither, and he proudly stood tall and puffed out his chest.
“Now,” announced Schnither, with his ego suitably inflated, “Now we make our move. We will wreak havoc on that flight – we will cause terror before we bring destruction. We will prolong their anguish! But…” He paused for dramatic effect and was delighted to find every ghoulish wide eye focused on him. “But, the final severing of the fuel lines will be my privilege, and mine alone – anyone who even goes near it will pay with their lives! Is that understood?”
“Yes, Captain Schnither!” The resounding reply was a deafening roar, and Schnither revelled in the control he had over the scraggly yet dangerous and unpredictable troop before him.
“Good,” he said quietly, “Now, to battle!” And with that rallying cry, there was a frenzied flapping of wings as the demonic battalion took to the air en masse, bustling and clashing against each other in an egocentric effort to impress Captain Schnither, who flew ahead of the troop in the direction of Araco Airlines flight 454, which by now was a mere speck on the horizon.
On the other side of the airport, Cosain and his angelic brothers materialised from behind a disused storage building. The seven warriors were an imposing sight, regal and fearsome, in full battle regalia, and with glowing swords at their sides. They watched as the tangled cloud of black wings and scaly bodies grew smaller with distance, knowing their destination.
“It is time, brothers,” Cosain’s voice was earnest, his chiselled features sombre. “This will be a decisive battle, we cannot afford any error.”
As one, the seven angelic warriors unfurled their wings of brilliant white and took to the skies in pursuit of the demonic horde. They would not let the Atoner down – and they would not let Phoebe Wren down. Her life depended on them.