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Kheone wiped away the sweat dripping in her eyes, smearing the black demon blood across her face. She clutched her short sword, stained dark with the same.
“How you doing, Serel?”
She spared a glance over her shoulder through the dim light of the smoke-filled warehouse, taking her attention off the demons for a split second. Serel knelt next to three humans, golden light coming from his hands as he attempted to heal the workers injured in the assault. The fools had been too afraid to take the escape she’d offered a few minutes ago. Kheone no longer had the strength to fight and keep the rift open at the same time. When the rift snapped shut, she left Serel to heal and protect them as best he could while she focused her efforts on the most immediate threat. Five demons. God help her.
“Don’t worry about us, LT!”
Kheone shrugged off the nickname Serel had picked up from watching too many war movies and centered her attention on the threat in front of her. One body lay motionless at her feet while the four remaining demons fanned out in front of her, more cautious now than they’d been a minute ago.
The day started out bad and had only gotten worse. The shrill notes of the landline phone had interrupted her sleep in the dark hours of the morning. She’d prayed for a misdial, but, to no one’s surprise, God hadn’t seen fit to answer her prayer. Daleos’ voice on the other end, pleading for help, galvanized her to action. She had gathered a small team and opened a rift. Before she could think through the consequences, they’d stepped through the red-ringed hole in space into a burning warehouse in Denver and confronted a horde of demons. The all-too-familiar situation had become rarer in recent weeks.
Daleos conscripted Emric and Maj immediately upon their arrival to flank the demons outside, leaving Serel behind to help the humans cowering in the corner. He was a healer and a scholar by training, the very definition of calm, but no amount of prodding and cajoling had overcome the workers’ fear. He stood over them, brandishing an iron pipe and a plain but very functional dagger, ready to use his recently learned skills to protect those in his care. Although Serel’s proficiency in practice was decent, he’d be lucky to bring down one demon, let alone four. Kheone was all that stood between them and agonizing death.
The roar of demon fire drowned out much of what was going on outside, but a few screams and curses drifted to her ears. There was nothing she could do for those on the outside, and the odds were good that she wouldn’t survive this. She wasn’t an archangel, but she hadn’t spent the last ten thousand years fighting demons to give up now.
Her lungs heaved, pulling in smoke, which now filled the warehouse. She fought the urge to cough.
“Hello,” a grating voice snarled. “I haven’t seen you around before, angel.”
Kheone’s wild, wicked grin snapped the demon’s mouth shut and caused its dagger to tremble. She loved when they tried to taunt her. It meant she scared them. If they knew who she was, all four would probably run out the way they’d come in, and where was the fun in that?
She scanned the demons’ faces, looking for the sharp features and golden eyes of the punk who had scarred her neck. Kheone wanted to return the favor, someday, with interest. He was not present in this raggedy horde. Kheone pushed aside her disappointment and met the issue at hand.
The demons shoved out the smallest of their lot, a sword digging into the middle of its back. It gulped and ran forward, shrieking, waving a bejeweled, leaf-bladed dagger wildly, no discipline to the attack. She danced out of the demon’s path, sliced its arm with her curved blade, and smiled when its scream pierced the crackling of the flames. The demon fell to the ground, twitching uncontrollably from the holy water she’d applied to her sword. The screams ceased as she ran it through the demon’s heart. Her remaining enemies spread out.
Kheone held her body and sword in a ready position. Angel fire would be very useful right about now, but she must make do with her blade and thousands of years of combat experience. It should be enough. If not, she would take as many of these fiends with her as she could. Guardian Angels didn’t run from fights, even the ones that might kill them.
These last three demons showed more cunning than the first two, attacking in a coordinated effort. She never knew what she’d get when she battled one of Hell’s own. Some were little more than beasts, capable of great brutality but no thought. Some were clever. And then there was the demon who had lodged himself firmly in her nightmares, ruthless and sly, whose fierce gaze battered at the shield she raised over her heart, her head, and her soul.
Kheone buried the memory deep. She did not have the capacity to deal with her past while dancing with these devils. Her complicated defense was only going to hold them off for a moment or two. She spun and thrust and dodged, praying for reinforcements. Time was her enemy.
Her blade glowed red from the fire creeping up the walls, reflecting her own fury as she whirled around to face an opponent. Spotting an opening, she drove the sword into the demon’s belly. It fell to the floor, clutching at its guts spilling from the gaping hole. The demon’s scream faded, leaving only an eerie silence punctuated by the crackling flames.
She had no chance to savor the victory. The last two demons fought with renewed vigor, kicking, punching, and biting at her; their daggers were forgotten in their desperation, clinging to the hope for even one more minute of their cursed lives. She turned her sword, the gentle curve of it drenched in the black demon blood, to the next opponent. Knowing what its fate would be, this demon evaded its deadly edge, only for a pipe to knock it senseless. Serel stood behind it as the demon collapsed onto Kheone’s blade.
“Thanks, Serel!” Kheone turned to the last demon, tugging her sword free.
“Anytime!” He gave her a tremulous grin and saluted her with the pipe as he returned to the humans, brandishing his weapon like he knew what he was doing.
The last demon standing, its hateful stare matching the evil within, took advantage of her momentary distraction. It grabbed her sword hand and broke her wrist with a sharp twist. Kheone held in her scream and dropped her sword, pushing the pain to the back of her mind. It sat there, a pulsing ball ready to explode later if she survived.
The demon pushed her away and picked up a length of chain, swinging it around and around in figure eights. The fiend stood over her sword. She could get to the blade, but it was going to hurt. Probably like Hell, but as she had yet to go there, Kheone couldn’t be certain. She had a job to do, humans to rescue.
Kheone dove for her sword and knocked over the demon, dodging the chain by some sort of miracle. She grabbed her weapon with the unbroken hand. A presence loomed above her. Kheone hunched over the sword, preparing for her journey to the afterlife. It wouldn’t be the glorious return to Heaven she’d always had before, but it would be a good death, befitting a Guardian Angel’s purpose. Protect humanity from demons and from itself.
Demon blood dripped down onto the floor next to her, and a gurgling gasp drew her focus upward. The imposing form of the Archangel Michael, in all of his warrior glory, stood above her, the last demon impaled upon his golden-handled great sword. In the corner, Serel ushered the humans through the rift Michael held open. The archangel held his body ready for more grisly violence, and cold fury sparked in his brown eyes.
When the body stopped moving, Michael shoved it off the great sword. The corpse hit the floor with a wet thud. Kheone scrambled up, holding her broken wrist close to her chest, her sword in her left hand. He inspected her from head to foot. Apparently satisfied she’d suffered no life-threatening injury, he turned and strode to the rift.
A fierce smile slashed across her face, and she took a step to follow the archangel. Too late, she heard the soft scuff of shoes behind her. Agony ripped through her, tearing her breath away. A sixth demon no one had seen laughed, a low rumble she barely heard over her own gasping. It pulled the knife from her lower back. She tumbled to the floor as her opalescent blood mingled with the demon ichor, a rainbow glaze over a tar pit. Blessed Heaven, she’d almost made it.
Michael turned and stalked over to her attacker, menace rolling off the lethal predator ready to slay its prey. One look at the archangel and the fight drained from the demon. Michael said nothing as he leaped the final few feet and impaled the demon through the heart. The body collapsed at his feet, oozing blood all over the archangel’s tan boots. Kheone’s vision grayed at the edges, and her gasps grew more desperate. Michael turned from the demon and knelt at her side.
“I shall take you to safety, Lieutenant.”
He lifted her into his powerful arms and walked through a new rift, carrying her into her own room in Kansas City. Six hundred miles in a single step.
“One small step for an archangel,” she said. The loss of blood had made her light-headed.
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry.” So tired. The world darkened.
“Open your eyes, Kheone.”
Her body wanted to disobey him, but thousands of years of training made that impossible. Kheone complied. Worry creased his brow. Huh, odd. She’d seen many others hurt worse since the Gates disintegrated in an incomprehensible explosion of sound and light, but never once had Michael seemed even uneasy, let alone worried.
“I’ll be okay. You’re here.”
Her words came out muffled and mumbled, and the crease deepened.
He placed her face down on the bed, so gently it was as if she’d floated there on her own accord. Michael tugged the kopis sword out of her grasp and set it on the nightstand. Without a word, he nudged her shirt up and pulled her cargo pants down enough to expose the wound in her back. Kheone hissed at the pain as he placed his hand over it. Warmth flowed through her body, and the walls of her room reflected the golden glow radiating from where Michael touched her. The sharp pain dulled to an ache, and the gray fog of unconsciousness receded.
Michael slumped into the small chair next to her bed. It creaked under his weight. She held her breath, waiting for the chair to fall to pieces. It didn’t. Michael’s expression relaxed into cool neutrality now that the danger was over.
“Thank you, Archangel,” she whispered.
“How do you feel, Lieutenant?” Michael asked in his deep voice.
She chuckled, causing the ache in her back to twinge, reminding her she was still healing. Once, her angelic powers would have easily repaired these injuries. Since the Second Fall, all angels’ abilities had faded, except for Michael’s.
“Considering the demon stabbed me in the back, pretty darn good, but my wrist is broken, too.”
He shook his head at her flippant tone, but she thought she caught a twinkle of amusement in his serious eyes as he enclosed her wrist in his large hand, ever so gently. Michael’s expression remained carefully neutral, and Kheone gave him a tentative smile. Once again, golden light filled the room as he healed her. She sat up, wincing as her muscles protested, too newly regrown to appreciate the movement.
“Did everyone make it out?” she asked.
“Yes, everyone except the demons.” As it should be. His muscles tensed, and his eyes glittered, the returning rage spitting off him like sparks from a fire. “Now, would you care to explain what in God’s name you were doing, facing down a horde of demons on your own?”
Gone was the kind Michael with the gentle touch, rescuer of wayward souls and healer of injured angels, replaced by the Archangel Michael, Commander of the Heavenly Host. His voice rang out, cold as the winter snow, and it was all Kheone could do to bring herself to answer.
“You weren’t here, and Daleos was desperate.” Unable to keep the tremor out of her voice, she knew she’d made the right call. She needed to convince Michael. “I followed my training, Archangel. I gathered the few angels still here and rendered assistance to a fellow gathering. As far as I can tell, the mission was a success. Three humans saved, a demon horde crushed, and no angels lost to their schemes.”
“Have your angelic gifts returned?”
Kheone shook her head. Michael’s frown deepened.
“Then, you are not as invulnerable as you once were. Even a small wound has the potential to kill you by infection, and you cannot hold open a rift and fight. I do not wish to replace you as leader of the Kansas City gathering, but if you continue to disregard your own safety, I may have no choice.”
Kheone jumped out of bed and almost pitched into Michael, her body still healing from the ordeal. She straightened up and confronted her commander, her nervousness gone in the shock of his threat.
“I will not put my safety over that of an entire gathering, Archangel. You taught me better. If I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Even if it costs me my position.”
“You are weak, Kheone. I cannot risk losing any more angels. There are too few of us.”
Heat flooded her face, and fiery anger crawled over her at his words. She grabbed her sword from where Michael had placed it on the nightstand and brandished the blade at her commander.
“I may not have all the gifts I once had that you still have, but I am not weak. If you feel I am no longer capable of leading this gathering, you may as well drive this through my heart and put us all out of our misery.”
She flipped the blade and proffered the hilt to Michael, who glowered at it. In a flash, he rose, grabbed the sword, and threw it against the wall. The sword clattered to the floor in the now silent room.
“Enough!” he roared.
Kheone withdrew, cold dread replacing the sizzling anger of a moment ago.
“Enough,” he said again, quieter, running a hand down his face. Michael breathed deep, and his expression slid into the more familiar look of stoic detachment. Good. His rage and worry set her teeth on edge. “I did not mean for this to become a discussion on your leadership abilities. You did as I trained you and defeated four demons. That is...impressive.”
High praise indeed from the archangel. Pride bloomed in her chest, driving away the dread of a moment ago.
“Serel brained one with a pipe first.”
“Still impressive. However, I would have thrown the humans through the rift.” A hint of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I shall leave you to rest. You have done enough for today.”
Kheone kicked off her boots and pulled back the covers. She dropped onto the bed, her vision graying once again as fatigue and injury caught up to her. Michael walked to the door and paused with his hand on the knob. He turned, his usually serious face inscrutable.
“I do not doubt your ability to lead the gathering, Kheone. In fact, I believe appointing you was the best decision I have made since the Second Fall. I was concerned you were more injured than it appeared and allowed my concern to override my judgment for a moment. I am glad you are recovering.”
He walked out. Kheone stared at the spot, mouth open in shock. There were two things Kheone knew about her life. A good soldier obeyed orders. And the Archangel Michael cared about no one. Apparently, the second was wrong.