A God to Fear (Thorn Saga Book 5) (17 page)

Thilial felt strangely guilty about this. Ever since Tugaloo, she’d been trying to convince God to cease His efforts to rehabilitate demonkind, yet now that He was on the cusp of granting Thilial’s wish, she was far from satisfied. She was angry. With God, with herself. With Thorn for starting this whole mess. As she and Gleannor had risen through the angelic ranks, they’d always been competitors, but Thilial had still agreed with her that Hell was the only appropriate place for the rebellious creatures.

So why am I so troubled by the prospect of finally exterminating them all?

With Gleannor and her coterie coaxing Him all the while, God had granted His army the freedom to abscond to the angelic realm during the battle whenever its soldiers deemed necessary—which would reveal to the demons the existence of the angelic realm. This, plus the carelessness with which He’d allowed war against Atlanta’s demons, signified to Thilial that He truly had given up on demonkind.

“We must purge the knowledge that Thorn has been spreading,” Gleannor had argued, as if any demons but the Judge actually believed Thorn. “We must stomp the demons into oblivion so they will never challenge us again. They will not listen to the Lord. They never have, and thus they deserve death. Even God must admit this now.”

Angels tell better lies than devils ever could
, Thilial thought bitterly as she descended with the other white-robed warriors. She could see the flying specks of spirits battling in the spaces between warehouses, far below in the quarantine zone. The demons had struck first, but not by much.

As the specks grew larger, Thilial tried to convince herself that all demons
did
deserve to die, so that killing them might come easier to her. She found herself unable to do so. Hopefully Thorn had found a way to convince some of the city’s demons not to fight. Maybe the angels would arrive on a mostly empty battlefield. But as they descended through the lowest layer of stratus clouds, Thilial saw many thousands of demons crowding into the warehouse complex, and she knew that even if Thorn was free, he’d failed in his mission.

Lord, I am Yours
, she repeated to herself, less as a genuine prayer and more out of habit.
Keep me safe and give me Your strength.

She unsheathed Fear. A smattering of the army’s other cherubim had brought swords left over from the old days, the days when Heaven had still forged such things. Most were dull-edged and rusted, but none so much as Thilial’s. She took comfort in its presence, since most of the angels had no weapon and would be fighting hand-to-hand. Many of them, she noted, were younger angels like herself. The older ones—those with more seniority—had been allowed to stay in Heaven to watch the battle from afar.

Lightning struck through the army again, and the rain vibrated with the ensuing boom of thunder. Shortly after, bands of demons near the ground began to swirl into fighting formations.
They’ve seen us.

Thilial grimaced as she drew nearer to the opening battle in the new war between angels and demons. Rain pounded down, and Atlanta’s stolid skyscrapers regarded the opposing forces from their light-speckled perch in the distance.

“On me!” Marcus bellowed to every raiding demon within earshot. Only a few dozen heeded his words at first, but the group behavior gradually bled outward, and soon demons were withdrawing through windows, walls, and roofs across the many warehouses. “On me!” Marcus yelled again, so the newcomers could find their leader’s position in the throng. Myriad demons circled in around him, hooting and cheering at this uncommonly violent adventure, some dragging angels’ dead bodies like children’s toys behind them.

The raid on the quarantine zone had been an overwhelming victory. Some straggling cherubim had probably managed to survive the attack, but Marcus hadn’t the will to root them out. The important thing was that the Enemy had taken the bait. Marcus’s attack had lured out His angelic legions, and now
they
were Marcus’s prime target.

Marcus had been ecstatic at this chance to finally
act
, rather than continue the endless furtive scheming that Wanderer enjoyed so much. But when he saw the colossal heavenly host moving in from above, a newfound fear pierced Marcus. Vast bands of angels, thousands upon thousands of them, stretched into a ghastly white aurora snaking through the thunderclouds.
Wanderer wants me to fight
that
?

Marcus supposed it was doable. The angels he’d just fought had been craven weaklings, fleeing rather than fighting—the rest would be just as cowardly. And the ten thousand demons he’d led to attack the quarantine zone were only the first wave. Wanderer held multitudes in reserve: demon armies from Augusta, Columbus, Charleston, Charlotte, Nashville, Birmingham, Richmond, Orlando, Baltimore, and even a lethal force from New York City. All lay in wait beneath the ground for many blocks in all directions. At the right moment, Wanderer would rally his forces and join Marcus in the battle.

And maybe Marcus would shine so brightly in combat that he could expand his followers beyond the demons of Atlanta; perhaps the out-of-town demon hordes would consider following
him
rather than Wanderer. Maybe Marcus would finally have his chance to usurp his leader’s power.

And I bet the angels, those arrogant oafs, think they’re surprising us with their advance. They’ve seen nothing yet.

Even as he thought this, he saw thousands more demons silhouetted against the lights of Downtown, soaring toward him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of Atlanta’s demon population joined him in this first strike in their renewed struggle against the Enemy. If that angel’s rescuing of Thorn at the courthouse hadn’t convinced the demons to ally with Marcus, this force of angels encroaching on the city certainly would.

“The Enemy’s tyranny must end!” Marcus shouted to the growing horde of demons. “Form up! Tonight we will strike Him a blow that will ring through the annals of history!”

The demons cheered at Marcus’s rally to war. With so many of them present, it sounded more like the dull roar of a crowd than a legitimate war cry, but Marcus took that as a sign of the strength of his numbers.

A few demons made a slapdash effort to accrete themselves into a military formation, but most continued swirling around Marcus in chaotic, celebratory arcs. Less than a mile away now, the descending angel army was arrayed in pristine rows and columns, a far cry from the demons’ disorganization.
Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on leading a force of this size by myself.

“Shazakahn!” Marcus called when he saw a grouping of African demons.

Their leader shoved his way past a few of his zealous, careening followers. “What?”

“Help me form them up! We need to prepare for the battle!” Marcus felt a pang of nostalgia at his barked order—a fond remembrance of wars long past. But with this memory came the realization that none of the demons in this horde had waged war in ages.
Do they even remember how?
But certainly the angels didn’t remember, either.

Shazakahn marshaled his troops. Between him and Marcus, several hundred demons joined the rough formation. Their peers finally started to follow suit, conforming to their leaders’ wishes.

Marcus raised his voice to its upper limit. “On my mark, we charge to attack them!”

The demons shouted their hurrahs, and most of the formation collapsed at Marcus’s words. At least a thousand demons broke from the main group and rushed forward toward the angels. Had they not heard Marcus say, “On my mark”?

“Demons, return to formation!” Marcus called, but a thunderclap doused his words. Seeing that their peers were already charging into battle, the bulk of Marcus’s force began its advance as well. “Demons, back!”

Even Shazakahn waved Marcus away as he commanded his own troops to attack.
How dare he!
But Marcus could do nothing to stop an army over which he had so little control. He had no choice but to join the headlong assault. “On me!” Marcus called to the few followers who’d stayed arranged with him. “TO WAR!”

Marcus surged upward at full speed, one demon among thousands. Falling rain droplets blurred into a haze of motion on both sides. Lightning struck again, this time between the two armies, and Marcus wondered if the fulmination was natural or God-caused.
The Enemy Himself is watching me tonight.

The angels ahead had ceased all movement at the demons’ advance, but they made no defensive moves whatsoever. The buffoons just idled in formation, confirming Marcus’s hunch.
They’re just as out of practice at war as we are. I’ll be able to slaughter scores of them tonight.
He tried to savor the experience as best he could as he rushed forward to meet his foes.

The idiot demons who’d blitzed into battle before Marcus gave the order had a thirty-second head start on him. They were nearing the angel’s forward lines now. Marcus counted the seconds passing, eager for the violence that was about to unfold.
We’re back for you, you obsequious peons. Your very existence is a mockery of us and our way of life. I will show you no mercy.

The front wave of demons clashed into the angel army. From Marcus’s vantage, it looked like the angels barely bothered to defend themselves as the demons plowed through them.

Then, seconds after the initial collision of armies, the entire angelic host disappeared. Over a hundred thousand angels simply vanished, as if the storm clouds had swallowed them up. They left behind only lightning, rain, and a great many confused demons, who continued onward into the empty space that the angels had vacated.

What deception is this?

Marcus stopped his advance, letting the rest of his force charge ahead of him. Had the angels somehow retreated, seeing that they were outmatched? Had they been an illusion—a feint from the Enemy to distract from something else? Marcus looked around to all sides, then up to the clouds, then down to the sleeping city far below. He saw many more demons drifting toward the battle, but no battle would take place without the missing angels. Marcus cursed himself for not anticipating the Enemy’s trickery. Perhaps if the angels failed to fight, the demons could still claim victory. But then neither his plans nor Wanderer’s plans would come to fru—

A great cry went up among the demon horde: hundreds of death wails combining into one. Marcus turned to the leading edge of the demon force, just a quarter mile away. The angels had reappeared around the unsuspecting demon army. The cluster of spirits was so intermixed that Marcus could not discern where the demon army ended and the angel army began. It looked as if the angels had reappeared right next to the demons, then butchered them without warning—indeed, a full half of Marcus’s fighting force now floated lifeless among the clouds.

The other half exploded into a panic, darting in chaotic vectors in an attempt to flee. Marcus was still trying to comprehend what had happened, and how it had happened so fast. But he would not accept defeat.
I must hold them together. We can still achieve victory.

“Shazakahn!” Marcus called. He flew through the tumult, searching for the African leader. Screaming demons lurched every which way. Marcus impacted several dead bodies in his haste to find help. “Shazakahn! Where are you?”

“Shazakahn is slain!” came a response from somewhere in the chaos. “We must retreat! Retreat!”

“No!” Marcus bellowed. “No retreat! Form up around me! We can hold them off! Form up—” An angel appeared—literally out of nowhere—and raised its sword to strike Marcus. Marcus yelped as the cherub brought its sword down, but another demon slammed into the angel at the last moment, saving Marcus’s life.

Where is Wanderer? We’re getting slaughtered! We need his reserve forces. We need to turn the tide of this battle.

As the horrific scene unfolded around Marcus, he saw that all of the angels seemed to be using the same new trick that had nearly killed him moments ago. If a demon had the advantage, an angel would vanish, only to reappear moments later with its hands around the demon’s neck or its sword skewering the demon’s midsection. The angels’ new ability flabbergasted Marcus. Even he was forced to admit to himself the futility of fighting an enemy with such a skill.

What’s more, the winged angels flew much faster than the wingless devils. The demons could not flee. And up here in the sky, they had nowhere to hide. They were too terrified and undisciplined to mount a counterattack. What had begun as a promising battlefield had been transformed into a total massacre in less than a minute.

Marcus charged toward the ground. It was a mile beneath him, but if he could escape beneath the surface, he’d be safe.

He’d barely begun his flight, though, when he saw a heartening sign. A new force of demons was rising from the ground! These brigades were well coordinated and arranged in tight spherical formations as they drifted upward—deadly weather balloons rising in the storm. Perhaps this was the force from New York, since Marcus knew of no southern demon force that was so systematized. Whoever they were, they looked to be some twenty thousand strong.

Only twenty thousand? Why not send the full force now?
Maybe Wanderer had some sort of flanking maneuver planned.

The angels must have noticed the incoming demons too. They fell back and upward a ways, reforming for the next attack, likely just as aware as Marcus that the demons wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Heaven’s opening move had left a sobering detritus of demon bodies in the angels’ wake.
Did Wanderer send my first wave in to expose the angels’ trap? Did he send us to our deaths?

Some spirits lingered in the space between armies, hacking away at each other, so Marcus withdrew closer to the ground, near the safety of the other demons.
It will not be me who takes the glory for this battle
, Marcus realized, though he was glad to still have his life.
Some other demon will lead us to victory, and I’ll once again become Wanderer’s errand boy. For now.

Marcus looked downward to see some angels emerging from the warehouse complex on the ground—only a couple dozen, but enough to worry him. Should they choose to martyr themselves, they could mount an effective enough raid to distract the demon horde from below while the greater angelic force attacked from above. Maybe Marcus could gather some of his surviving followers and massacre this group of cherubim. Maybe he could still carve out his own slice of prestige from this battle.