Armageddon (46 page)

Whoever these Nephilim are,
Vilma thought, turning to fly in for what she hoped would be a killing strike,
they are a force to be reckoned with, and I’m honored to be fighting beside them
.

Nephilim exploded to dust around her, but she was moving
too quickly to pull back now. As if reading her mind, Melissa and Cameron moved to either side of the godlike being, attempting to distract him long enough for her to—

She suddenly spread her wings to their fullest, cupping the air around her and slowing her progress, allowing her to hover in the air before her foe as she swung her mighty blade of fire.

The Architect finally noticed her, extending his arm to block her blow. But it was too late. Her sword sliced cleanly through his pale flesh at the wrist. Without a moment’s hesitation, she drew back and plunged the crackling blade into the Architect’s chest. The sudden explosion of energies slammed Vilma into the desert sand.

Cautiously, she lifted her head. The blast had leveled the battlefield around the temple and knocked the Nephilim from the sky.

The Architect knelt in the sand, scorched black all around him, Vilma’s blade sparking and sputtering where it protruded from his chest.

“Oh you wicked, wicked things,” he bellowed inside their heads.

Vilma cried out in pain, as did the others.

The Architect rose. His severed hand had grown back, and he used it to withdraw Vilma’s sputtering blade from his chest, absorbing its energy.

“If only you knew the glories that I had planned for you.”

And as his words echoed inside the minds of the Nephilim,
a double set of enormous, multicolored wings grew from his back, wings covered with ever-widening eyes.

“But that’s all over now,” the Architect said with absolute revulsion as he extended his pale arms and began to wave them in the air. “It’s time that I take it all back, you ungrateful wretches.”

Vilma almost got out a warning for everyone to run, when the pain seized her. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, as if each of her internal workings was being torn out one at a time. She was paralyzed as the divine power that made her Nephilim was pulled from her body—from all the Nephilim—by the angry Architect.

The Unforgiven opened fire, but their weapons proved little more than an annoyance for the angel. The Architect simply raised a hand, setting loose a wave of energy that caused the Unforgiven’s weaponry to overload and explode. The air was filled with twisted fireworks and the cries of fallen angels injured by flying shrapnel.

The Architect returned his attention to the Nephilim, their divine power flowing across the desert to swirl about him.

Vilma struggled to remain conscious, while willing Melissa and Cameron to be strong, to somehow find the strength to fight this, for if they were to stop fighting . . .

She dug her fingers into the sand and used all that she had left to rise. As she looked around her, she saw the others were attempting to do the same.

“Inspiring to the end,” the voice of the Architect bellowed inside their heads. He pulled his arms to his body, closing his long, spindly fingers into fists, his wings slowly fanning the air.

All of the Nephilim screamed as the Architect attempted to pull the last of their divine fire from their bodies.

This is what death feels like,
Vilma thought.
This is the end.

At first, she believed the vision was a manifestation of her pain, a glowing mote of energy dancing across her line of sight. But then she watched as, with a roar and a guttural growl, that glowing ball of fire struck the Architect, sending him stumbling backward to the blackened sand.

Stunned, Vilma saw the divinely altered Labrador retriever tear into the Architect, ripping away one of his wings with a ferocious snarl.

The Architect’s psychic screams exploded in her mind, and she watched in horror as Gabriel was tossed violently away.

The dog slid across the ground, quickly jumping to his feet and shaking off the sand in a shower of divine sparks. Then he got low to the ground, baring his teeth and growling.

The Architect rose up, his wings torn and leaking heavenly energies, and Vilma feared for Gabriel’s safety.

At least she did, until she heard the voice.

“Don’t even think about hurting my dog,” Aaron Corbet warned, as the Architect spun toward this latest challenge to his supremacy.

Just before all Hell broke loose.

*   *   *

God had sent him back, and none too soon, from what Aaron could see.

He wasn’t quite sure who he was dealing with, but he had his suspicions.

“Let me guess,” Aaron said, standing there, adorned in armor of his own design. “An Architect?”

“The only,” the robed figure announced, attacking Aaron suddenly with snaking tendrils of snapping fire that sprang from the tips of his long fingers.

Instinctively, Aaron reacted. He captured them in one hand, before they could do any damage.

At least that was what he thought he was doing.

Aaron immediately felt his strength begin to wane. Releasing the writhing filaments, he recoiled as they again attempted to entwine him. He summoned a sword of fire and slashed at the tentacles.

“The great Aaron Corbet,” the Architect taunted. “So many of my plans for the future were built around your existence.”

Gabriel leaped with a ferocious snarl, only to be caught mid-leap by the Architect. The dog struggled in his grasp.

“Fascinating,” the Architect said, studying the animal. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this. . . .

“You did this,” he accused Aaron. “You changed this lowly beast into something . . . better.”

Aaron tensed, formulating his plan of attack.

“This is was what we—what I—was attempting to do,” the Architect said wistfully. “I wanted to make this world better.”

Aaron started toward his enemy, but Gabriel cried out.

“No closer or your canine companion dies all the quicker,” the Architect warned.

Aaron froze, feeling completely helpless, as he watched Gabriel’s struggles grow weaker in the Architect’s grasp.

“If you hurt him . . .”

“When,” the Architect confirmed. “There is no doubt that I will hurt him, the question is when.”

Aaron glared.

“To prolong the life of your animal, will you give me your divinity?” the angelic being asked.

Aaron forced himself to contain his anger, the slow fanning of his wings the only sign of the rage burning within him.

“Will you, as their leader, command them to surrender the spark of Heaven that still exists within their souls?” the Architect asked, gesturing to Vilma and the other Nephilim, some of whom he knew, and some he did not.

Tendrils of energy wrapped around the dog, draining away his divine energies.

“Say yes, Aaron Corbet,” the Architect hissed. “And there might still be hope for this world.”

The attack came from the most unexpected place.

Taylor Corbet sprang up from the desert sand, clutching
something metal that glinted sharply in the light of the newly emerged sun.

It was one of the Unforgiven’s wings.

She swung the feathered blades with all her might, and the tips of the razor-sharp feathers buried themselves deep within the upper body of the godlike being with a satisfying
thunk
.

For the briefest of moments, the world went deathly still.

“Oh, you nasty little germ,” the Architect’s voice exploded in their minds.

The surprise of the attack had loosened the Architect’s grip on Gabriel, and the dog shot from his grasp in an explosion of divine fire and burning embers. At the same time, Aaron lunged forward, cocooning his fists in the fires of Heaven and putting all his strength behind a punch to the Architect’s single eye.

“That’s for hurting my dog,” he said, as the heavily robed figure collapsed to the ground.

The air beside the Architect began to churn, and a very angry Gabriel appeared in a flash of orange fire. The dog bit into the angel’s neck and violently shook his prey.

The Architect appeared stunned, but it didn’t last.

A sphere of humming energy surrounded the being, repelling Gabriel. The golden fur around the dog’s face had burned away, revealing raw and glistening flesh beneath.

“Gabriel!” Aaron cried out.

“No worries,” the dog reassured him. “Just a scratch.”

The Architect rose, the protective barrier humming around him like a hive of angry bees.

“We are done here,” he announced with great finality, and Aaron had to agree.

It was time for this to be over.

Aaron caught movement around him. Vilma and the other Nephilim had gathered by his side; the surviving Unforgiven had risen to their feet.

It was time for the final battle.

This would be their Armageddon.

*   *   *

The Architect Overseer had never believed this would happen.

His vision for this world was crashing down upon him.

He had failed.

And as he was surrounded by the creatures that he had made the cornerstone of his vision for a new Paradise, he felt a twinge of emotion uncommon to his kind.

An emotion that churned and burned with a fire all its own.

The Architect felt betrayed. He felt anger over the ingratitude that was being heaped upon him.

If only the Nephilim could have seen what he had planned for them. He was sure they would have loved him as much as they loved God.

God.

Is that what this is all about?
the first of God’s angels
thought as he prepared to bring all that he had worked toward to an end. Do I really wish to be loved and worshipped as God?

In a way he did, for he knew that if given the chance, he could show his Creator the error of His ways. And then the Architect would reign over Heaven and earth, and the universe beyond. And God would be wished away, as the Overseer had once been. God would be finished with His tasks, and the Architect would build a new reality.

That was what the Overseer had always envisioned. Instead, he had only anger and sadness.

Emotions strong enough to fuel what he would do next.

The Architect knew that once he was brought before God, he would be eliminated, and that concept filled him with yet another emotion:

Fear.

Fear of ceasing to be, fear of having everything he had worked toward erased by a disapproving, godly hand.

But fear and sadness were quickly consumed by his blazing anger, and the Architect knew what he would do. If the Lord God was going to ignore his efforts, dismiss his achievements as nothing more than mistakes, then he would make it easier for the Creator.

The Architect would wipe the slate clean himself.

He would make the earth a blank canvas again.

The divine power that he had stolen built to critical mass within the Architect’s protective sphere.

It will all be over soon,
he wanted to tell the creatures that pummeled his shield with their pitiful weapons and what little remained of their own heavenly energies.

The world wiped clean in the blink of an eye.

*   *   *

Aaron could sense that something was wrong. The Architect just stood in the center of his energy sphere. It was as if he’d given up, but what did that mean for a creature like this?

Then the sphere began to expand, its energy eradicating everything it touched.

Aaron called for everyone to get back, but some of the brave Nephilim either did not hear him, or chose to ignore his request, and were dissolved as the expanding sphere touched them.

“The Architect has created some sort of negation field,” Levi said.

“And that means what exactly?” Cameron asked, a sword of flame clutched in each hand.

“It means we’re screwed,” Aaron said. “You can tell me I’m wrong, but I’m thinking that field is going to keep growing and growing until it wipes out everything.”

“A simple description, but sufficient,” Levi acknowledged.

“So that’s it then?” Vilma asked. “We just let the Architect destroy everything? I can’t believe we’ve come this far only to—”

“We’ve done all we can do,” Aaron said flatly.

He could feel their disappointment. They were expecting him to pull some sort of solution from the air as he would a sword of fire, but they were past that now.

It was time to put their faith in someone other than himself.

All of them had done their part, and now . . .

The House of God rumbled as if besieged by a mighty storm. A searing light flashed from the temple, and they threw their hands before their faces so as not to be blinded.

As the light dimmed before what they believed to be their inevitable end, they saw something that filled them with awe.

And hope.

The Metatron loomed at least a hundred feet over the expanding nullification field. He brought his armored hands down to embrace the sphere of annihilation.

The bubble of dangerous energy became like glass, then started to crack.

Aaron stared in silent wonder, as they all did.

A part of him wanted to cheer, to raise his burning sword to the heavens in victory, but there was something extremely sad about what was happening, and all he could do was watch.

The Architect tried to fight as pieces of his protective shield fell away. Tendrils of energy leaped from his outstretched hands to wrap about the golden, armored giant.

But his efforts had little effect.

The Metatron took hold of the Architect in an armored hand.

“I am God,” the Architect wailed, as the Metatron pulled him closer to his golden chest plate.

The metal became like fluid, and the Metatron hugged the struggling Architect tighter.

“Return to Him,” the Metatron’s voice boomed, drowning out the screams of the Architect as he was absorbed into the armored giant.

Returned to the power that had created him.

L
orelei wanted nothing more than to be with her friends.

Standing there, watching as victory was snatched from what appeared to be the jaws of defeat, she cried tears of joy.