Armageddon (33 page)

In retaliation for his crimes against God and Heaven, the Almighty had collected all the pain, horror, sadness, and misery that Lucifer had caused. One could call it Hell.

And God had taken that Hell and put it inside the Morningstar, a perpetual reminder of the crimes he had committed.

Now Lucifer stood in Hell as it swirled and screamed about him, reliving every moment of his loathsome sin against his Creator and His creations. The turmoil pounced heavily upon him, driving him to his knees, wanting him to relive the Great War.

It no longer fazed him, though, for how could he ever possibly forget? He remembered what he had been responsible for every waking moment.

Lucifer slowly rose.

“Are you all right?” he asked the mouse, burying his face in the crook of Lucifer’s neck.

Milton did not answer, but he could feel the animal trembling, its tiny heart beating rapidly in fear. Lucifer carefully removed him from his shoulder and placed the animal safely
within his robes, up against his heart. “You’ll be safer there,” he told his friend, as the environment raged about him.

Hell descended upon him again, furious for all the time it had been held prisoner. Power such as this could be totally devastating, especially in the wrong hands. Lucifer knew the ramifications of it being unleashed by Satan Darkstar.

And he wondered if he was strong enough to prevent that from happening.

*   *   *

Verchiel emerged from the vortex with his ragtag army of monstrosities close at his heels.

He’d thought he was prepared for anything.

But he was wrong.

Verchiel found himself on an island of cooling volcanic rock, on top of which sat a great stone citadel, covered in moss. Molten rock seemed to have bubbled up from the ocean around the island, creating more tiny islands of steaming black. The surface of the sea was also littered with the twisted wreckage of mankind’s folly—great warships and carriers, as well as aircraft, lost in one battle or another.

His body tensed, and the divine fire that resided at the core of his being began to stir. He was surrounded by a gathering of abominations, so large he could not hope to defeat them all.

But they paid him no mind. In fact, they barely noticed that he was even there.

Verchiel gazed down into a pool of seawater at his feet and
was shocked by what he saw. He appeared to himself as a visage of death, his hair and face caked with the dried blood of the vanquished. His armor had been forged in the fires of Heaven, but after trekking across the blighted land, it was hidden under the mud and spatter of combat.

He appeared to himself as a monster.

It was no wonder that he could walk amongst them.

The angel’s thoughts were interrupted as a hush fell over the gathering. The monsters’ attentions were all directed toward the citadel.

Someone had just stepped through the enormous stone doors to address the crowd of monsters. Squinting his eyes, Verchiel looked upon the black-armored figure as he heard the name whispered in multiple languages throughout the legions.

The Darkstar.

But Verchiel knew him by another.

And that name was Lucifer Morningstar.

V
ilma wanted to see Aaron, to make sure that he was all right and tell him that she loved him with all her heart.

After he had absorbed the power of God, the Unforgiven had taken him to the old missile silo, concerned that he might not be able to control the intense heat that now radiated from his body.

“I’m here to see him,” she told the two Unforgiven angels who stood guard outside the silo.

“No one is allowed inside,” one of the pair stated.

“But I’m his girlfriend. I need to see him,” she said angrily. “So if you would please—” She moved toward the door, but the Unforgiven blocked her way.

“Those are our orders.”

“I don’t care about your orders. Get out of my way or—”

The Unforgiven sentries spread their metallic wings wide.

“We have our orders, Miss Santiago.”

Vilma’s true nature rose in her chest, the burning sensation slowly intensifying as the Nephilim readied to exert itself.

But it wasn’t needed.

The door behind them unlatched, and an authoritative voice came from inside. “Let her in.” It was Aaron’s voice, but there was something strange about it. Something different.

The guards were about to protest, when Aaron interjected. “Let me remind you that I am not a prisoner.”

“But Commander Levi—”

“Your commander should worry about what’s to come, not who is or isn’t allowed to see me. Let her in.”

The sentries closed their wings and stepped aside. Vilma passed through the doorway and closed the door firmly behind her.

Aaron turned toward her.

He had changed.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad change, but it was a change.

Where he had once been about five-eight, five-eight and a half, he was now more than six feet. And his skin . . .

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his skin had taken on a kind of golden-brown coloring, his muscles larger and much more pronounced.

“Been working out?” she asked nervously.

Aaron looked down at himself and smiled.

“Pretty crazy, right?” he said. “Guess the power of God is doing a bit of remodeling.”

“Are you . . . ?” she began, but didn’t finish as she stared into his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It really didn’t hurt at all. In fact, I didn’t realize how much I’ve changed until my mother pointed it out.”

“Has she been in to see you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Frick and Frack out there let her by without any problem. Fringe benefit of being best friends with Levi, I guess.”

Vilma reached out to touch his muscular arm. It was very warm.

“Any problem with the heat?” she asked.

At first he looked at her quizzically, but then understood. “Oh, you mean the internal fire?”

“Yeah.”

“Early on,” Aaron said. “But I’ve figured out how to keep it under control. In fact . . .” Aaron stepped away from her. “Watch this.”

Vilma was shocked when divine fire suddenly appeared upon his exposed flesh, as if ignited with a lighter.

He saw the concern on her face and smiled. “It’s okay, really,” he said, his calmness putting her more at ease.

The fire then wrapped itself around his biceps. The holy
flame began to solidify, becoming a golden metal that sparked as if reflecting light upon a mirrored surface.

“What do you think?” he asked, obviously proud of his achievement. “Pretty impressive, right?”

The fire had spread over his entire body, armoring him from the neck down. He extended his arm toward her, and she reached out tentatively to touch the armor. It was only slightly warm to the touch.

“It feels like metal,” she said.

“And for all intents and purposes, it is. Metal made from divine fire.”

There was a lag in conversation as they admired his armor, but Vilma could not hold back any longer.

“How does it feel?”

He smiled. “The armor? It feels like—”

She shook her head. “No, what you have inside you.”

“It feels fine,” Aaron told her, but she could always tell when he was lying.

“How does it feel, Aaron?” she repeated quietly.

His face became more serious. “You know when you’re at the zoo, and you look into the tiger’s cage and it’s just lying there, chilling in the sun, but you know that it could jump up at any moment and kill anything it wanted?”

Vilma nodded.

“That’s what it feels like,” he said. “It’s just chilling, waiting until . . .”

He seemed afraid, and she reached out, taking his armored hand in hers. As she did this the golden metal returned to fire, and then vanished, the flesh of her hand now touching his.

Vilma wanted to tell him that everything would be all right, but the look in his eyes told her differently.

“It’s changing me,” he said softly. “I can feel it working inside me. It’s trying to make me a better fit, but I was never made for this.”

She squeezed Aaron’s hand, not at all liking what she was hearing, but knowing that she needed to be strong.

For him.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be me,” he continued. “I want you to know how much I love you, just in case I . . .”

Vilma stood on her tiptoes and silenced his words with a kiss. She wanted him to know that she loved him. But she couldn’t tell him they would be okay. She didn’t want to make promises that she might not be able to keep.

Their lips parted and she gazed lovingly into his eyes, but something wasn’t right.

Where there had been love a mere second ago, now there was a strange blankness.

“Aaron?” she asked.

“They’re coming,” he said flatly, unceremoniously releasing her hand, as his flesh caught fire, and divine armor again took shape upon his body.

Levi suddenly appeared in the doorway, the Unforgiven lined up behind him.

“Are you ready?” the leader of the fallen angels asked.

Without answering, Aaron strode from the chamber, leaving Vilma standing there alone.

The warmth of his kiss already cold upon her lips.

*   *   *

Dusty stood before the restroom mirror, seeing himself in the now, but at the same time glimpsing his future.

The Instrument was spreading.

The pieces of the shattered sword were joining together in his body.

Dusty removed his sweatshirt. In the flickering fluorescent light, it looked as though he was wearing a gray metal chest plate, only he hadn’t put on any armor. Yet that was what his chest had become . . . what all of his flesh was slowly becoming.

“Dusty?” a gruff voice called to him from outside the restroom.

He quickly put his sweatshirt back on, just as Gabriel nudged open the door and padded in across the tile floor.

“Everything okay?” the dog asked, looking up at him.

“I’m good,” Dusty said. “What’s up?”

“Everyone is gathering in one of the classrooms for a strategy session,” the dog explained. “Thought you’d like to come, maybe help guide the conversation.”

“I’m leaving,” Dusty said unemotionally.

“You’re leaving?” Gabriel questioned. “Where are you going?”

Dusty again turned toward the mirror for a glimpse of the futures—his futures, and the world’s.

“Can’t really say,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Well, I’m going with you,” Gabriel said bravely. “We’re in this together. We started this journey together, and that’s how we’ll end it.”

“What about Aaron?”

Gabriel had to think about that. “He’ll be fine,” he said after a moment. “He’s got to do what he’s got to do, and I have to do what I have to do.”

“And you have to be with him,” Dusty said. He turned back to the mirror, tapping the glass with the tips of his fingers. “I see so many reasons for you to be at his side.”

“But what about you?” Gabriel asked.

Dusty could feel the Labrador’s eyes upon him, as the metallic tinge crept up the exposed skin of his neck. He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up over his head. “What about me?”

“I’m your ride, remember.”

“I remember.”

Dusty headed for the hallway, Gabriel walking behind him.

Dusty looked down the passage.

“The meeting is that way,” he told the dog. “And I’m going this way.” He hooked a thumb in the opposite direction.

“Are you sure about this?” Gabriel asked.

Dusty laughed. “No way,” he said. “There are a ton of ways that this could go wrong.”

“Then let me go with you,” the dog begged. “Let me help to make it right.”

Gabriel’s words created a rush of visions, slightly different from the last set.

“You’ll be helping by staying here,” Dusty said. “Go with him.”

He started to walk away.

“You’re going to make me worry about you,” Gabriel grumbled.

“Don’t,” Dusty said, without looking back. “We’ve all got a part to play, and I’ve got a date with the future.

“If everything goes as I expect, it’s going to get pretty damn interesting.”

*   *   *

Enoch dreamed of his past, and the glory that was his when chosen by God to become the first Metatron.

Yes, there was much glory, but there was also fear.

Lots and lots of fear.

To be a lowly man, taken up to Heaven, paraded before God and his holy messengers. Yes, lots and lots of fear.

But the Lord God had explained that Enoch was chosen. He was the perfect human form in which to create the ultimate being that would watch over the earth while God was away—

While God was away?

While God was elsewhere doing what God does.

Enoch had embraced this new identity, doing as the Creator had intended until—

Until I was murdered.

The memory of the experience returned to his consciousness. The power of God and His angels had been viciously cut away, and his human aspect had been left to die.

The trinity torn asunder.

Slowly, Enoch opened his young eyes, remembering how he had been taken by the black-garbed Agents of . . .

The Architects.

Enoch awoke with a start. He was encased in a transparent sphere of energy, a bubble of sorts that hung in the air above the great room where the Architects had gathered.

The child knelt in the bubble, placing his hands on the surface of the sphere to observe his captors.

Twelve Architects stood around a ghostly interpretation of the world. Visuals of what was happening across the world would suddenly pop up, showing some sort of event, but each quickly went away to be replaced by another.

The events depicted changed as quickly as the Architects themselves.

They transformed before Enoch’s eyes; first appearing as rolling spheres of fire covered in all-seeing eyes, and then morphing to a more human shape, with multiple sets of gigantic wings growing from their backs, and then to enormously tall
figures, covered head to toe in robes that seemed to be cut from the fabric of the night sky—stars and all.

It was almost as if they couldn’t make up their minds as to what they wanted to look like, deciding that they would look like many things.