WHEN ALEXA CAME TO, she stood on a dirt road surrounded by open fields of tall grasses, rolling hills, and rivers. Just beyond, the hills flattened to a rolling plain that stretched as far as she could see. Farms and houses dotted the landscape, and farther off, she could see the bustle of a small town south along the main road. Here and there water dully glittered where icy streams descended from the hills to cut across the plains. She saw men drilling with steel in the yards and women tending their vegetables in their gardens.
Atop the hill, staring down at her like a great stone beast, was a castle.
A gray stone labyrinth of walls, pointed towers and keeps spread in all directions. It loomed over the city and farmland below.
Alexa prickled with the feeling something was missing, as though she’d forgotten something important—
Milo.
She turned on the spot. “Milo?” she called. Then with more conviction, “Milo! MILO!”
A strange cold panic gripped her as she stared down the dirt road in both directions.
A man with a long gray beard and dirt-covered clothes, who’d been shambling along the road heaving a large bag on his shoulders, stopped and turned, his eyes lost in a frown. But there was no sign of the tall warrior angel she’d grown so accustomed to being with.
How can he not be here? They had entered the Inferno Trials together, two champions. Was this another scheme from the Legion? Had they been separated on purpose?
At that precise moment she heard the screaming—a long wail of a person being tortured, and it was coming from somewhere inside that castle.
She saw the old man hurry his step down the road. His bones cracked as he hobbled away from the castle.
The castle.
She knew this was the second trial. Somewhere inside that castle, where the screams and shouts were coming from, she would find Milo—or at the very least, the second trial. Her jacket had mysteriously reappeared, and when she moved her hands to her waist, her weapons were there.
Why would the Inferno Trials give her back her weapons? If she was right, and the second trial would be harder than the first, why give back her blades? The thought that she might not have the need of weapons for the second challenge was disconcerting.
But the reappearance of her weapons frightened Alexa much less than the disappearance of Milo.
A gray mist coiled upwards, twining around the path, and disappeared through the castle gates like a silent invitation.
Making up her mind, Alexa walked up the dirt road that led to the castle. She hurried her pace, her legs a little stiff, almost like when she’d first found herself in a new M-suit. Still, she felt weakened, every step had become a monumental effort.
Was her collar doing this? Or was this decline part of what the archangel Sabrielle had warned them about. Their angel bodies couldn’t stay in purgatory indefinitely.
Alexa brushed the thoughts from her mind and kept moving. She would worry about that later.
The village was alive with the sounds of wagons and merchants going about their business. She did her best to ignore the strange looks the locals gave her. A middle-aged woman screeched at the sight of Alexa and spat on the floor, doing some strange sign with her hands.
The mortals all shared the same haggard look, as though they’d been starving for weeks. Fear lingered in their eyes, and the air smelled of moist earth, decay, and unwashed bodies.
As she walked, the mortals kept throwing her suspicious looks, their eyes rolling over her clothes from her boots to the daggers across her waist, but the fear in their eyes was more alarming. Men pulling carts bent somberly to their tasks and gave her a wide berth as she walked past, as though she might strike out at them.
Alexa couldn’t get over how real the village, the people, this place felt. It wasn’t at all like the first trial, where everything still looked and felt like purgatory, complete with death, suffering, and despair.
This place was nothing like that. The setting felt like she’d gone back in time—jumped into a time machine and popped out somewhere in the fifteenth century.
The sight would have upset the average angel, yet Alexa was calm. The only way she knew she was still in purgatory was because the world still lacked color, shifting between blacks, whites and grays.
Alexa sent out her angel senses and felt the familiar warmth and light, the energy all angels recognized as mortals. Not demon. No supernatural entities. No death. Nothing. She scanned for the cold, empty feeling of death and the smell of sulfur. But even though her angel senses were acute, she felt nothing out of the ordinary.
If these mortals weren’t demons disguised as humans… could they be real?
Alexa shook her head. None of this made any sense. Part of her knew this was just a portion of the trials, created to play mind games with her, yet the other part wasn’t so sure.
Alexa shivered slightly and kept going. The closer she got to the castle, the smaller and more insignificant she felt. She kept her right hand on her weapons belt and hurried her step.
Her stomach knotted as she tried to control her nerves. She felt strangely alone without Milo by her side. She’d grown accustomed to the insufferable and proud angel, and now she missed him terribly.
A protective warrior angel could be quite a comfort. The fear of being alone in a strange and dangerous land, even if it was her own fault they’d come here, was only just below the level of her excitement. It wouldn’t take much for the fear to rise over it.
What if something terrible had happened to him? Or maybe Milo wasn’t part of the second trial and she had to face it alone?
Her mind raced. Putrid fumes rose from the moat that surrounded the castle as she crossed the drawbridge. No mortals challenged her as she moved past the outbuildings. No one came forth to bar her way.
The closer she got to the castle, the fewer mortals she saw until there was just her dashing towards the great stone beast. Flags with the symbol of a snake flapped in a crisp wind atop the highest tower. Alexa met no one as she passed the moor and walked through the castle gates.
She could hear the screaming more clearly now. The voice was definitely male. Quickening her pace until she was almost running, she dashed through a gatehouse and under a giant metal portcullis that looked like the mouth of a snake. Finally, she stormed into a large courtyard choked with broken stone and crumbling walls.
Even before she looked, Alexa felt the presence of death. She felt some small life snuffed out. At the same time, she also felt the tug of human death and something else, something cold and dark.
Carefully, Alexa drew her soul blade and moved into the courtyard. Mortal bodies lay on the ground covered in their own blood—women and men with multiple arrows puncturing their chests and faces. Crows picked at a pile of charred corpses, and Alexa felt both sick and furious.
A band of five males, tall and broad-shouldered, stood in the courtyard. Their faces were harsh and grim. They all wore high boots, trousers, and ruffled white shirts buttoned up over dark vests with heavy black capes hanging almost to the ground. Besides the impeccably polished armor, their swords, knives, and lances glinted in the dim light.
They looked like lords of this castle, and yet, Alexa knew at once these weren’t mortals. She felt the familiar swirl of energy that was angel, but there was something else—a sense of something dark, an ultimate cold that pulsed in them.
And among them was Milo.
Her spirits stumbled a beat. He stood next to the men, a vague, dreamlike expression on his face. He looked just like the last time she’d seen him, and his green collar glowed dimly. Although there was a resemblance with these men, Milo stood out among them. He was all light and handsome, whereas they were dark and brutish, almost ogre-like.
As she moved even closer, she could see them more clearly now. Her eyes moved to their necks, and they all had the same snake sigil she’d seen on Milo.
They were his brothers. They were Nephilim.
Three mortal men were huddled before them. Their ragged clothes drooped loosely on their bodies, their faces were beaten and tear stricken, and their bodies were bent and broken. Iron chains dangled from their wrists.
“…dance,” one of the Nephilim was saying as he nocked an arrow and pointed it at the nearest mortal man. “Dance or I’ll rip your tongue out like I did to your friend.” He motioned to the bloody body on the ground next to the small man.
The man moved his body in an awkward motion, hopping on one leg. Alexa noticed that his right leg was limp and hung uselessly at his side. Beads of sweat ran down the man’s temples as a small whimper escaped from his lips. The Nephilim began to laugh.
All but Milo, who was staring at the scene with horror contorting his face, his fists clenched.
The other two mortals had stepped back as far as they could, trying to hide in the open space.
“Faster!” commanded the same Nephilim. His smile was terrifying and feral.
The mortal was red faced and tears ran down his face, but he didn’t stop. There was fear in his eyes. He knew he was about to die.
“Faster!”
The mortal flailed his limbs in the air and above his head, shaking his hands in an attempt at a dance, and then collapsed on the ground, whimpering. He raised his trembling hands and said, “Please, my lords, don’t kill me. I beg you. I have a family. They need me—”
Dark liquid spurted out of his mouth and spilled down his chin over the arrow that impaled his neck. He slumped to the ground just as a brilliant bright sphere hovered over the body for a moment and then disappeared.
The Nephilim laughed harder.
Alexa felt a flame of hatred ignite inside her chest. Her fury achieved new depths as she squeezed her soul blade and crossed the courtyard. They had not seen her enter yet, and she quickened her pace.
The largest of the Nephilim moved forward and pointed to the two remaining men. “You there, come here,” he said to the one nearest him. “We haven’t finished playing. Come.”
The mortal gave a squeal but didn’t move, the whites of his eyes showing.
“I think you’re scaring it, Baruk,” said the Nephilim who had just killed the other mortal in a bored kind of voice. “You must try to be nice with the game. Otherwise, you’ll spoil it. And where’s the fun in that? They must obey of their own will, our little pets.” He laughed as the other brothers joined him.
“I don’t need you to tell me how to play with my pets, Anagar,” said Baruk. There was a smile on his lips but none in those dark eyes. He turned back to the chained mortals and closed the distance between them. “You had promised your daughters,” he said. “They were not beautiful or gentile, but thy were still a promised gift to your lords, your gods. But the women have vanished into thin air as though they never were. You wound me, sending my gifts away like this. Have you grown tired of my hospitality so soon?”
“No—no—my lord,” wept the man, tears glimmering in his eyes. “I will get them back! I swear it!”
Baruk smiled a wet-lipped smile. “I don’t believe you. No daughters. No gift. No life.”
With immortal speed, Baruk lashed out, grabbed the weeping man’s head, and snapped it like a twig. He collapsed to the floor as another sphere of brilliant light twinkled and went out. The Nephilim snickered as he turned towards the next man—
“Stop!” Alexa moved cautiously towards them, her eyes flickering from the big Baruk to the other Nephilim and finally to Milo, who had a look of mild surprise at the sight of her.
It wasn’t the greeting she was expecting. He was looking at her with a sort of blank indifference like he’d never seen her before.
“My blade will be the last thing you see before you touch him,” said Alexa, trying not to let Milo’s cold indifference throw her off. Still her soul blade trembled in her hand.
She stepped before the mortal man and whispered in his ear, “Run!” She waited until he’d shuffled away and placed herself in a fighting stance before the Nephilim.
“What’s this?” said Anagar, laughing softly, his eyes rolling over every inch of her. “A female in our midst… and a pretty one at that. A gift sent from Father?”
The Nephilim’s attention homed in on her, watching her with an unnatural hunger in their eyes. She felt like a bunny who’d accidently stepped into a wolf’s pack. A chill crept down Alexa’s spine as she realized what she saw in those eyes.
She scowled and flipped her blade in her wrist. “Lucifer didn’t send me, Nephilim.”
The Nephilim glowered at the mention of their father’s name—all but Milo who continued to look at Alexa with a confounded expression, his mouth hanging open. His lips moved as though he were chewing the words he was holding back.
“You dare speak our father’s name?” said Baruk, soft light glittering off his metal armor. When he frowned, his heavy black brows joined together above his deep-set eyes.
“She’s a sorceress,” observed one of the Nephilim with long oily black hair. His eyes were traced with matching black kohl. “An enchantress sent to temp us?”
“I don’t care what she is,” purred Anagar. “I’ll take her. Hell, I’ll take her now if no one else wants her.”
Alexa made a vulgar gesture, but Anagar beamed and blew her a kiss.
Baruk continued to observe her, shadows playing on the hard lines of his face. “She is no sorceress or witch. Can’t you see it, smell it off her, that foulness… that reek of mortal-loving fools?” He paused. “She’s an angel.”
Alexa looked over to Milo. He was looking at her, but he still looked dazed, like someone sleepwalking in a never-ending nightmare. With his eyes unfocused, he kept frowning and shaking his head as though he was trying to remember something he’d forgotten.
Anagar lost his smile. “I thought we got rid of the angels?” He turned to his brothers. “Didn’t we win the war? From what I recall, we won The Battle of Blood with the help of our brothers in the south. And after we won, we drank toasts with their angel blood and fed our hounds with their angel flesh. Why would the Legion send us a girl angel on her own? Surely not to frighten us? To tempt us, perhaps?” His smile returned as he looked at Alexa again. “Unless she is the new kind of angel Father was telling us about. The ones with the stronger human bodies, not that it would matter. What did he call it again? The human blankets—”
“Mortal suits,” Alexa said sharply.
“Mortal suits,” repeated Anagar, playing the words on his lips. “Sounds disgusting.”
“It doesn’t matter what they call themselves… angels are angels, and they are no match for the Nephilim,” said the only Nephilim with the shaved head, who was covered in the runes of a demonic language. He pulled two small axes from his leather baldric. “They’re weak and soft. I can carve her up right now if you want, Baruk. She’ll made a nice addition to my wall.”
Alexa felt a sharp, quick panic rise up in her, an aching pain that had her throat closing. She looked at Milo again. His eyes cautiously flickered from side to side and looked troubled.
Alexa felt her bravado waver when he saw Milo looking at her as if he were seeing something fundamentally wrong, like a person with two heads.
What was he doing? Why wasn’t he beside her, helping her? Why hadn’t he come to her the moment she appeared to them?
Alexa had only heard stories of the Nephilim. But from what she’d read since she found out about Milo’s past, these beings had inhuman strength thanks to their archangel father—the most powerful archangel that ever was. She knew she could never defeat four on her own. She needed Milo’s help.
Defeating the Nephilim was the second trial. She was sure of it. Surely Milo had figured it out as well, so why wasn’t he joining her? Together, they stood a chance, but on her own…
“Only a mad angel would risk coming here alone,” said Baruk, raising his brows. “So why are you here, if not to die?”
“Well, for starters,” said Alexa, turning her attention back to Baruk and the others, “we’re going to stop you from hurting or killing any more mortals.”
Anagar looked over his shoulder. “We? Who’s we?”
“Maybe the Legion sent their cavalry again?” said the Nephilim with the axes. “I’m up for a fight. It’s been a while since I sliced the throat of an angel. I’m a little rusty, but it’s nothing a good fight can’t cure.”
“You’re always up for a fight, Hadaz,” said Anagar. “But if I recall our last encounter with the Legion, I skinned the most angels, not you. Fancy a wager, dear brother?”
Hadaz growled, which made him look feral and more like a bear than a Nephilim. “Well see about that.”
“Let them come,” said Baruk with a thin smile. “Plenty of angels have died trying to defeat us. Two archangels have fallen in this century alone trying to deal with the Nephilim. But hear me now, brothers, when I say the Nephilim are here to stay. Now and always. So, I say to you now, let them come. Because tonight, my dear brothers, tonight, we feast on angel flesh!”
The Nephilim roared and stamped their feet, Anagar hooting loudest of all.
“Milo?” said Alexa, feeling as though his charade had gone long enough, “a little help here?”
Baruk’s smile faded. He turned around and said to Milo, “You know this angel, little brother?”
“I…” began Milo, his face screwed up in concentration, “I—no—no, I’ve never seen her before.”
Alexa felt as though she’d been stabbed in the chest by her own blade. “Of course you know me,” she laughed softly. “It’s me, Alexa, remember? We work together. How about you stop pretending and help me. Help me defeat the Nephilim. I think it’s the second trial—”
“Help defeat the Nephilim!” roared the Nephilim with the long dark hair. He pulled out a long sword with a black hilt and pointed it at Milo, slowly advancing. “What is she talking about, little brother? Are you in league with the angels? How did she know your name, eh? You traitorous little—”
“I’m not a traitor!” shouted Milo. “I’m… I’m a Nephilim.” He blinked in confusion. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.” His voice was low and he didn’t sound very convinced.
Alexa’s fear thumped in her body. “Milo, tell them. What’s the matter with you?” She stared at her partner in disbelief, but his eyes were strange and distant.
“I knew it!” growled the Nephilim and kept his sword pointed at Milo menacingly. “He could never kill an angel. He could never kill anything!”
“I’m not a traitor. I’m a Nephilim, just like you,” Milo started, but his brother was on him before he could finish. The Nephilim punched him across the jaw and seized him around the shoulders, forcing him to his knees as he pressed his sword to his throat.
“I’ve seen females with more balls than you, traitor,” seethed the Nephilim. “Let’s see what color a traitor’s blood bleeds?”
“Release him, Ruthus,” ordered Baruk. “If you kill him, you will suffer Father’s wrath. Nephilim don’t kill Nephilim, or have you forgotten our laws.”
“Father’s law.”
“Still our laws.”
“But if he’s a traitor?” said Ruthus, his face twisted in disgust, “Father will forgive me, I’m sure.”
Baruk watched Ruthus for a moment. “Not if you kill him. Not if you kill Father’s favorite.”
Alexa saw Milo wince at the words, but she took their silence as truth—she remembered Hades mentioning that Milo was Lucifer’s favorite son.
“So,” said Baruk breaking the silence, “before you shed the blood of our brother, let him explain. Perhaps this is all just a misunderstanding. I’m sure our little brother has a very good explanation.”
Ruthus lowered his sword by an inch. “I’ve always said there was something different about you. You’re not like us.”
“I am,” said Milo, shaking as he slapped Ruthus’ grip on his shoulder and stood up defiantly. Alexa always considered Milo a tall angel, but his brothers towered over him at least a head taller and much thicker.
“I’m the same as you,” said Milo, “a Nephilim. The blood of our father runs through my veins just like you.”
“That’s true, but I’m afraid Ruthus has a point.” Baruk moved closer to Milo, his face in a tight grimace, giving him a look of pain. “You always were soft, little brother. Too soft where the humans were concerned. You could never stomach what we did to them, could you? Always looked the other way, never wanted to join us, your own brothers. Maybe this frailty or love of humans comes from that whore of a mother you had. Maybe she made you weak.”
“I’m not weak,” said Milo, clenching his jaw.
“You are the youngest of all our brothers, the smallest and the one with the most human blood in his veins. It’s not your fault you were born different from us, so very unlike us, weaker—”
“I’m not weak!” screamed Milo. His face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the dead mortals had suffered at the hands of his brothers.
Alexa stood stunned, staring at the face of the friend she thought she knew, but she was looking at a stranger.
Baruk smiled. “Then prove it,” he said. “Prove to me, to us, your brothers, your flesh and blood, that you are one of us… that you are Nephilim.” He turned around, his dark eyes met Alexa’s and his smile widened as he said, “Kill her.”