Armageddon (47 page)

“What now?” Lorelei asked, turning to A’Dorial, who stood beside her, the remaining spirits of those who had died while the earth was cut off from Heaven gathered around them.

“Something wonderful,” the ghost angel replied.

“I meant for me,” she said.

“I know.” A’Dorial raised a ghostly arm and pointed toward the Metatron, who had retrieved something from inside the temple after defeating the Architect.

The heavenly giant held an enormous key before him. It began to shift and change into the form of a huge sword.

A sword of light.

The Metatron caressed the blade, making its light shine all the brighter.

Even though a ghost, Lorelei raised a protective arm to shield her eyes, but A’Dorial reached out to push it down.

“This is something you should see,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

And when the sword was glowing brighter than the light of a thousand suns, the Metatron raised the blade toward the heavens. The sky above the Megiddo desert began to swirl, whisking away the remaining dark clouds.

It was like the entire planet’s revolution had increased tenfold, and Lorelei wondered foolishly, if they didn’t hold on to something, would they fly off into space?

“What’s happening?” she asked, wonder in her voice.

Without a word, A’Dorial directed her attention to the great stone temple. The glowing spiral extended from its roof into the sky, spinning ever so gently as it twisted up into the sky and beyond.

The Ladder.

Lorelei thought of her father, wondering if he could see what she had helped to accomplish.

“They should be here any minute,” A’Dorial said.

“Who?”

“He’s told them that it’s safe now,” the spirit of the angel said, gesturing to the Metatron, who stood statuelike, arm raised, the light from his mighty sword glowing like a beacon.

Something began to appear in the sky above their heads, from one end of the horizon to the other. It gradually filled her entire view.

“Oh my God,” Lorelei gasped, as the image became more distinct.

She’d always imagined Heaven as a magickal place, its lights twinkling in the night like priceless jewels. But as the Golden City drew closer, she realized it was more beautiful than she could ever have believed. Countless hosts of angels stood upon the city’s parapets, their armor flecked with gold. And one by one they spread their awesome wings, flying down to the world below them.

One such angel appeared in front of her.

“Hello, Lorelei.”

There was no mistaking that Southern twang, and Lorelei smiled widely as the angel’s form shifted to one that was most familiar to her. Lehash, her father, stood before her in his faded blue jeans and worn cowboy boots. He wore a flannel shirt, and a Stetson on his head, and around his waist was a gun belt, two golden Peacemakers hanging in their leather holsters.

“Dad,” she said, flowing into his arms.

She was surprised and so very glad that she could feel him.

“You done good,” the angel Lehash said, hugging her back.

She pulled away from him, her eyes drawn to the city
above them. “Is that the Golden City?” she asked, watching what must have been a hundred angels flying about it.

“It is.” Lehash adjusted the hat on his head. “You want a closer look?”

Her gaze dropped. “What about them?” Lorelei asked of the spirits that gathered beside her.

“What about ’em?” Lehash asked, as those who had died when the world was cut off from the glory of Heaven dissipated like smoke, flowing up toward the kingdom of Heaven.

“Is that where I’m going?”

“Eventually,” the angel said, hooking his arm around his daughter’s. “But fer right now, we got some catchin’ up to do.”

“I love you, Dad,” Lorelei said, as they walked arm in arm into the sun.

*   *   *

Jeremy gazed at the enormous, glowing city that filled the sky above him.

He knew what it was, but to admit it out loud would probably drive him mad.

Jeremy, Verchiel, and a strange assortment of warrior monsters that had sworn their allegiance to the angel had been fighting their way across the desert, moving toward what looked to be the scene of some major happening.

Perhaps a defining moment in the battle.

He’d been thinking of Enoch, somehow knowing that the child was part of whatever battle raged in the distance, and that had just made Jeremy want to get there all the quicker.

But then the sky had started to swirl, as if the revolution of the planet had miraculously increased, and it had appeared above them to fill the sky.

Heaven.

Jeremy didn’t want to even think of what it meant for their cause. He looked over at Verchiel, and saw that the angel had fallen to his knees in reverence.

“Is it what I think it is?” Jeremy asked, still clutching a battle-ax of fire, just in case. “Is that . . . is it possible?”

Verchiel turned his blood-flecked face to the glow that now blotted out the blue sky, replacing the sun with a light even more brilliant.

“It is possible, Nephilim,” Verchiel said, his normally booming voice little more than a quavering whisper.

“We bask in the glory of Heaven.”

*   *   *

Verchiel wanted to avert his gaze from the sight of the Golden City, for he believed himself unworthy, but he could not.

He’d never believed he would see its wonder or bask in the radiance of its splendor again, and he took in the vision of it, gorging his senses upon the miraculous sight.

The gentle sound of weeping distracted him from his adoration, and he looked to see the monstrous warriors that
had sworn their loyalty to him cower in fear. Many of them cried at what they perceived to be their end.

The goblin, Ergo, had dropped his weapons and curled into a tight ball, trembling and shaking in the light of the Heaven’s city.

“Why do you cower?” Verchiel asked the foul creature that had somehow come to earn his respect.

“I have never seen such a sight,” the goblin spoke, his voice muffled, for he refused to raise his misshapen head.

“And I believed I never would again,” Verchiel told the goblin.

“Does it not scare you?” the goblin asked, peeking out from between splayed fingers.

“Perhaps it once did,” Verchiel said, looking back to the enormity of it all. “But now it just fills me with awe.”

Verchiel’s words must have given the creature courage, for Ergo cautiously looked to the sky above, the other monsters slowly following his lead.

“Its beauty . . . ,” the goblin spoke. “It could most assuredly kill us.”

“That it could,” Verchiel agreed. “That it could.”

And then figures, like falling stars, flew down from the columns and corridors of the floating city, emissaries of light coming to greet them.

Verchiel rose to his feet.

And they came.

The angels of Heaven came.

“Bloody hell,” he heard the Nephilim boy say behind him as the flock of Heaven approached.

“Hell has nothing to do with this,” Verchiel said, as the first of the angels touched down before the enraptured and terrified gaze of a troll, who presented the divine being with his spiked war club as an offer of peace.

The angel brought forth a sword of flame and struck him down.

The troll wailed in pain, his rocky body burning as he collapsed.

“No!” Verchiel cried out, leaping with wings spread to place himself between the sword of fire and the injured troll.

Multiple blades of divine fire connected with a blinding explosion, as they dropped upon Verchiel’s.

“What madness is this?” the angelic soldier shouted, enraged by Verchiel’s actions. “Remove yourself, creature of Heaven, or suffer this foul thing’s fate.”

“I will not,” Verchiel stated defiantly, protecting the rock troll from harm, as the other beasts in his army came to the injured creature’s aid.

Verchiel held a crackling sword of fire by his side, but at the ready, while other angels dropped down from Heaven above, curious as to what was happening.

“He refuses to let me eradicate this dark blight upon God’s chosen world,” the angel said to his brethren. More weapons of
divine fire immediately appeared in each of their hands.

“These creatures, no matter how foul they may appear, served my cause—our cause. They fought with me in battle, and for that they will receive my protection.”

The Nephilim boy came to stand beside Verchiel, his burning ax clutched tightly in his hand.

“I think I can get behind that as well,” he said, eyes scrutinizing Heaven’s emissaries.

Verchiel chanced a quick look at the Nephilim and felt a certain admiration. When this was over, if they survived, he would have to ask his name.

The angels were agitated by their defiance, and Verchiel considered how many of these fine angelic specimens he could take down, before falling to death himself.

Suddenly, there was a murmuring from the back of the angelic gathering, and they parted as a tall, armored figure made his way toward them.

“What seems to be the problem here?” the great angelic warrior Camael asked.

Verchiel dropped to one knee, his head bowed in reverence and respect to the one who had once led the angelic host Powers. “Forgive my insolence,” he said, slowly raising his eyes to look upon his former commander. “But I cannot allow these creatures to be harmed.”

Camael considered the monsters with a scrutinizing eye. “You would defend these creatures against your own kind?”

“I would,” Verchiel told him.

And then the angelic warrior did the most unexpected thing, a wide and beaming smile appearing upon his bearded face.

“You do me proud, Verchiel,” Camael said. “It’s gratifying to see that you have learned from your past mistakes.” He reached down to haul Verchiel up from where he knelt. “You now see the potential for good in all forms of life, no matter their place of origin.”

The angelic warriors gathered round Verchiel, and one by one, they each raised their burning swords.

And finally it was Camael’s turn.

“Welcome back, my brother,” he said, joining the salute.

“You have been gone too long.”

*   *   *

Aaron turned his face to the light of Heaven and gave thanks for what had been done this day.

He felt Vilma’s arms slide about his waist and squeeze, and he leaned back into her embrace.

“I thought I would never hold you again,” Vilma whispered in his ear.

He turned and gently took her face in his hands, the armored gloves that he’d been wearing dissolving in a flash so he could feel the warmth of her skin. “See, that’s the difference between you and me. I couldn’t bear the thought, so I never even considered it.” With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that
ran down her cheek. “Guess that makes me a true optimist, or just incredibly unrealistic.”

Aaron kissed her then, and as always, it was like the very first time all over again.

“All I know now is there’s nothing more real than this,” he said, looking deeply into the eyes of the woman he loved, feeling that same depth of emotion returned to him.

“I love you, Aaron Corbet,” Vilma said, holding the back of his head as she now kissed him.

“I love you, too, Vilma Santiago.”

And no truer words were ever spoken.

Angels of Heaven flew above their heads, leaving trails of glowing fire.

“What does it all mean?” Vilma asked.

Aaron looked about him. The surviving Unforgiven angels were seeing to their wounded, to their dead. He saw his mother, Taylor Corbet, kneeling upon the sand, a wounded angel’s head resting in her lap. Gabriel was there as well, the dog using his unique talent to take away the Unforgiven’s fear.

His gaze was again drawn to the wondrous sight in the sky above him, and he remembered his conversation with the Lord God.

He had no idea what it all meant, but then he saw the Metatron moving again and figured they were about to find out.

The armored giant extended his massive arms, palms turned upward.

“Hear me, sons and daughters of earth,” the Metatron’s voice reverberated inside his head, and inside the heads of every man, woman, and child upon the planet, of that Aaron was sure.

“For I am the voice of God.”

Aaron stood transfixed before the manifestation of God upon the earth. A great change had come to the world this day. Not only had the forces of darkness been vanquished by the light, but Heaven and the earth were united again.

Bound more closely than ever before.

The earth was now an extension of God’s kingdom.

Watched over by the beings who were the embodiment of both Heaven and earth, divine and human.

Nephilim.

And the name went out over the world for all to hear and know—

Nephilim.

They were to be the guardians of a new world—

Nephilim.

Emissaries of God’s light, and scourges of shadow—

Nephilim.

It was their world to watch over and protect from harm—

Nephilim.

And they would do anything, and everything, to keep it safe.

One Year After God’s Message to the World

A
aron Corbet stood with hands clasped behind his back as the giant, ghostly simulacrum of the earth slowly spun before him above the floor of the control center.

If there were any dangers that required the attention of the Nephilim, a circle of red would have pulsed with the location. At the moment, there was quiet, as if to acknowledge that a year ago this day, God had made a declaration to the world. Darkness would no longer have a place on earth, and the Nephilim were there to ensure that remained so.

So much has changed in a year,
Aaron thought, as he looked about the control center where he and his technicians worked tirelessly to carry out Heaven’s wishes.

They had come to the installation in droves, men, women, and children, the young and the old, people eager to help achieve God’s vision for the world. For many, the world had
lived too long in the shadow of darkness, and they welcomed the Nephilim’s efforts.

Others, well, some did not care to see one group endowed with so much power, but they were slowly coming around.