13
Amanda stumbled out of the bathroom, dizziness clouding her vision. Images of Sarah, soaking in a pool of her own blood, flashed through her mind's eye. She fell to her knees, the thudding pain in her head intensifying.
People passed her by, some giving her strange looks, others ignoring her completely. Spatters of dried blood still dotted her arms. And through all of this, the thought that entered her mind was that she should crawl to the side, so as to not be in the way.
On her hands and knees, she made it over to the sitting area at one of the restaurants. She bumped into a table and looked up. Her eyes widened. With a cigarette wedged between his lips, Don watched her silently. He pushed a napkin dispenser to the edge of the table.
“I… um…” Amanda mumbled, grabbing a few and wiping her arms and face. “I… I killed Sarah...”
Don nodded, his expression unchanged. He took another drag but said nothing.
“Oh god, I’m in so much trouble,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened.”
“She angered you, so you killed her,” Don said as if explaining something very trivial to a small child. “It’s human nature. Cain and Abel.”
“Aren’t you… upset with me?”
“Why would that bother me in the slightest?”
“You’re supposed to protect me! Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Like the flash of my lighter, the lives of mortals burn short and bright,” Don said, his voice hollow. “But eventually, everyone dies.”
Amanda just stared, tears welling up in her eyes. She’d murdered her friend. Sarah was dead. The realization hit her in the face like a sucker punch, sending her reeling. If she hadn’t already been on the floor, she would’ve fallen over.
A shrill scream rang through the mall, causing people to look up. A woman stumbled out of the bathroom, steadying herself on the wall. She screamed again.
“Twelve angels are coming,” Don muttered, stubbing out his cigarette.
He pulled Amanda to her feet. She wobbled after him, trying not to collide with the stream of people running in the opposite direction. Suddenly, a bright light shone through the ceiling window above the fountain, bathing the room in a warm glow.
“They’re going to smite me, aren’t they?” Amanda whined as she hurried after Don. “Oh, god I deserve it too.”
“No,” Don said, taking long strides toward the exit. “They’re not here for you.”
“That is true.” A tall man in a flowing brown cloak blocked the way out of the mall. His white hair cascaded around his chiseled face like a waterfall of milk, and a halo of gold hovered above his head.
“You…” Don growled, darkness creeping into his face.
“Indeed,” the angel said, walking up to Don. “I know what you’re doing.”
The two angels stood equally tall, the muscles in their faces tense and their eyes meeting in icy hatred.
“You weren’t sent here,” Don said, his voice chilling the air.
“The difference between us, Samael, is that I can think for myself.”
“And yet you’re in my way. That seems rather foolish for a great thinker like yourself.”
A glimpse of a smile flashed across the angel’s lips. “I’m here to warn you. The path you’re on should not be trodden.”
“You pride yourself on autonomy, but are you ready to take responsibility?” Don took a deep, measured breath. “Out of my way, or this city burns.”
Their eyes met again, exchanging unspoken insults and challenges. Amanda feared that the world around her would burst into flames at any moment. Time itself seemed to stop as the two angels fought an unseen battle of wills.
Finally, the angel in the brown cloak stepped to the side, his eyes falling on Amanda. She shuddered under his gaze as Don dragged her out of the building.
“I know what you’re doing, Samael,” the angel said. “I’m watching you.”
***
The windswept waste stretched out before Marc. Miles and miles of bones, bleached by harsh weather and eons, stood out like a mismatched piece of a jigsaw puzzle against the otherwise blackened landscape. A fanged row of mountaintops bit into the horizon, drawing rivers of magma from the hazy background.
The King of Hell watched his legions march into the desert. Rows upon rows of horned hellspawn moved in formation, their skin glistening red below the scorched armor, ready to gore and rip and tear. Posses of tittering succubi, dancing to the thundering beat of the war drums, twirled slim knives between their clawed fingers. Chariots on wheels of fire carried demonic generals high above the battlefield. And finally, a vanguard of ghost templars, their once flowing white tabards now stained and tattered by centuries of bloodshed, followed Baphomet toward the frontline.
The greater demon roared and flexed his wings, spreading them across the sky, plunging the army behind him in boiling darkness. The pentagram on his forehead burned like a tiny sun, guiding the legions. His hooves crunched against the bones, guiding the beat of the drums.
Marc stepped into his own chariot. The two Nightmares galloped into the sky, pulling him with them. Their fiery manes whipped behind them, and their pale eyes reflected the violet clouds that drifted above.
This would be the largest battle that Hell had seen in a long time.
Lucifer’s forces crawled in the distance like a black carpet of ants. They were marching straight to their doom, Marc thought. His army was three times as large. Whatever lay buried in this parched soil, Lucifer was desperate to have. Marc shook his head. It mattered little. Lucifer’s forces would be crushed before dawn, and then he could take his time to sift through the bones for answers.
A corrupted cherub landed on the side of his chariot. “I bear news from the mortal realm.”
“Not now,” Marc said, his red eyes fixed on the ever-shrinking space between the two armies. “Not now.”