6
Amanda awoke to the sound of rapping on her door. Bleary-eyed, she glanced at her alarm clock. It showed 5:39. Groaning, she rolled out of bed, shimmied into a bathrobe, and stumbled over to the door. Marc’s flowers burned brightly on the kitchen table.
Sarah sometimes got so drunk that she couldn’t find her way home, and instead came over to Amanda’s place. She hoped that this wasn’t one of those mornings that she’d spend in the bathroom, cleaning up the puke after her friend.
Through the peephole, Amanda saw a bulky man clad in a preacher’s robe, complete with a clerical collar and a bible under his arm.
She sighed and unlocked the door. “Yes?”
“Your abode reeks of the unclean,” the priest said. “My child, you’ve been tainted by darkness.”
“Sorry, not interested.”
Amanda closed the door, but the priest wedged his foot in. “I’ve disposed of the unholy monument outside, yet the demonic filth persists! It runs deep within this place.”
“Remove your foot, or I’ll call the cops!” Amanda hissed.
“I represent the ultimate authority.” The priest’s face appeared in the slit, his eyes burning with golden light. “Submit thyself for cleansing, or face the wrath of God!”
"Leave me alone, you sicko!"
With one mighty pull, the man ripped the door from its hinges. It crashed into the opposite wall with a boom that shook the entire building. The priest took a step forward, crossing the threshold into Amanda’s apartment, his face a mask of steely resolve.
Amanda stumbled back, tripping on the carpet. A whoosh of wind and wingbeats filled the room. The curtains whipped wildly.
“You wear the mark of the Devil, mortal.” The voice of the priest turned hollow and deep, echoing through the room.
He held up the bible. It shone with a blinding light, and then it started twisting, turning upon itself. The cover morphed into a hilt and a cross-guard. The pages spilled out, forging a gleaming edge.
“Begone!” he roared, sweeping forward, swinging the sword.
Out of reflex more than anything else, Amanda threw herself to the floor just as the blade smashed into her living room sofa, turning into a cloud of whirling cotton.
“Marc!” Amanda cried, crawling backward. “Help!”
She wasn’t sure what calling for him would accomplish – he was in Hell, probably busy planning his war – but that was the only thing she could think of as panic seized her mind.
The floorboards cracked with every step the priest took. Wings of white light sprouted from his shoulders and a golden halo blazed above his head. Amanda cowered in the corner, tears streaming down her face.
He raised his sword.
“In the name of all that is holy and just, I sentence you to an eternity… an... eter… et... ”
The light drained out of the room. Shadows slithered along the walls. Amanda watched in horror as the priest’s skin withered and flaked, his entire being crumbling to dust and torn pages. Soon, nothing but silence and the sound of her rapid breathing filled her apartment.
A hummed melody from the depth of the darkness caused Amanda's heart to start thudding again. A silhouette with long fluttering hair appeared in the twilight of the doorway.
“Marc?”
Amanda wiped her tears on the back of her hand, but by the time she could see clearly the shadows had already shifted and the silhouette was gone.
The room suddenly lit up as Marc materialized in a burst of flames. “Are you okay?”
Amanda looked around the room in confusion but then nodded weakly.
“I heard your call and came as quickly as I could. What happened here?”
“I… I don’t know.” She shrugged tiredly but forced herself to smile. “Some priest with a sword decided to redecorate my apartment.”
Marc helped her to the kitchen. And while he brewed a cup of tea, she recounted the event up until the point where the priest crumbled to dust. She wasn’t exactly sure why she left out the melody and silhouette in the doorway.
With a tight face, Marc placed the steaming cup on the table and wrapped Amanda in a blanket. He was unusually quiet, especially considering what she’d just told him.
“Who… or what was that priest?” Amanda finally asked.
“Hmm…” Marc said, concern creeping into the nooks of his face.
Almost a full minute went by. Amanda hadn’t seen this side of him before, and the serious look was disconcerting.
“Tell me,” she finally said, breaking the tense silence.
Marc’s lips stretched into a tight minus. “It appears you were visited by an avenging angel… and that you somehow killed it.”
“Killed it how? I swear I didn’t do anything.”
“The Heavens haven’t concerned themselves with Earth for a very long time. The fact that they decided to act now is deeply unsettling.”
“Is it because of us? He said I was tainted.”
Marc looked her dead in the eyes. “I would never compromise your safety.”
He grabbed a broom and started sweeping up the mess on the floor. Despite everything that had just happened, there was something comical about the King of Hell cleaning her apartment, and Amanda struggled to keep the smile off her face.
She sipped her tea, wondering if he could somehow fix her front door too. A giggle finally snuck out of her.
“What's so funny?” Marc said.
“I just got this image in my head of you in a work overall, a pen behind your ear, and a belt of tools around your waist, carefully reattaching the door to its hinges.”
“Amanda?” Marc said gravely from her bedroom, instantly smothering her tiny spark of humor.
“Yeah?”
“Where did you get this?” Marc came out, broom in one hand and something dark in the palm of the other.
He dropped it onto the table in front of her. It was a single thorn, dry and blackened.
“Um, I must’ve dragged it in at some point, I guess? Sometimes I go running in the woods. Why?”
“Listen to me,” Marc said, grabbing her shoulder. “That right there is a thorn from the Corona Spinae…”
“The what?”
“Christ’s Glory… the original crown of thorns…”
***
Marcellixis slammed open the doors to his strategy room, causing the snoring goat head of Asmodeus to snort and open its eyes. Lilith’s resting smirk drained from her bright red lips, and Baphomet rose out of his chair, hooves clattering against the obsidian floor.
“We have a problem,” the King of Hell said.
Abaddon appeared in the doorway behind him. Veiled in black smoke, eyes flashing yellow, the angel of death stood at the height of nearly ten feet, not counting the massive wings that extended into the darkness of the ceiling. Out of all the original fallen angels, Abaddon was the only one that had always remained loyal to Marcellixis.
“The skies have opened,” his whispering voice sliced into the room. “The death of an angel heralds a coming storm… the final judgment… retribution and the end of times… Revelation...”
Lilith rolled her eyes. “Quit with the gloom and doom already. What’s the problem?”
“I think Amanda might’ve killed an angel.” Marcellixis sat down on the throne and touched his chin thoughtfully.
“Amanda? That little human girlfriend of yours?” Baphomet rumbled. “How’s that even possible?”
“Well, first of all, she’s not my girlfriend – we’ve just started dating. But to answer your question; I found a thorn from the Corona Spinae in her apartment – so, that’s how.”
The room fell silent. Apart from Archangel Michael’s Sword of Retribution, the legendary thorn was one of the few artifacts that could wipe angels from existence.
“Well, where is the thorn now?” Asmodeus said, his clusters of eyes all narrowing at once.
“I left it with her, in case they try something again.”
“Let me get this straight. An angel was killed for the first time since the Fall, and the Heavens might be opening for revenge…” Baphomet thundered. “...and you decided to leave one of our most potent weapons in the hands of a mortal?”
“I say let the Skies strike the human down. It’s not our concern,” Lilith said.
“Don’t ever talk about her like that again.” Marcellixis’s eyes glowed like hot coal. “Besides, it is very much our concern. The angel claimed that Amanda had been tainted. He came to cleanse her soul.”
“What did you do to her?” Asmodeus said. “You certainly have the looks and the charm. I can’t imagine why you’d need to fiddle with her soul?”
“See, that’s the thing. I would never break the First Pact. Especially not with… her.”
“I still don’t see why this mortal is so precious to you, Marc,” Lilith said, disdain seeping into her words like venom. “Why are you willing to sacrifice everything for her?”
Marc ignored the Succubi Queen and strode over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of fermented sinners’ tears.
“So, if you didn’t touch her soul, who did?” Baphomet growled.
The King of Hell downed the bitter liquid in one swig. “There’s only one person who would love nothing more than to see the world burn…”