Ash & Flame: Season One (22 page)

Anderson dragged a body towards a long channel dug into the dirt, other men and women of Haven hauling off the corpses of Ashen alongside him. Many paused, looking up at the smoke trailing into the sky. Anderson saw Kevin and nodded towards one of the survivors, who grabbed the body by the shoulders.

“What the shit?” Anderson motioned towards the drifting smoke as he strode towards Kevin.

Kevin put a firm hand on Anderson’s shoulder. “We got trouble,” he said under his breath. “Trouble we can’t handle right now.”

Something crashed in the distance, and Abaddon’s booming voice echoed, the shouted name unmistakable. Anderson leaned over to one side, his brow furrowed as he looked past Kevin.

“Anderson, you need to get them out of here now,” Kevin said. He racked his mind, struggling to think of some place, any place, that they could go, where they would have at least a chance. He snapped his fingers.
Kennett’s Castle
. “Northeast. Follow the river, there’s an old, ruined fort just off-shore.”

“What, that place? There anything left of it?” Anderson paused. “And what the hell are you gonna do?”

Kevin nodded. “It’s that or head over into what’s left of town. You wanna try that instead?” He pushed Anderson towards the interior of Haven. “Hurry up, man. I’ll slow him up.”

“No, Kev—”

“Get the fuck outta here, Anderson! They need you!” He pushed Anderson again, this time with both hands, and the man backed away. “I’ll find you later!”

Kevin turned and sprinted around the hub as Anderson shouted at the others. He ran towards the row of buildings on the southern fringe of the compound, and didn’t look back. Anderson knew what had to be done, and he’d do it.

A cloud of dust rose into the air, and he heard the giant angel’s rumbling shout for Ithuriel. Wood splintered, loud booms and cracks echoing throughout Haven. Kevin’s breath caught in his throat at the shrieking groan of metal, and he ran faster, his boots slapping against the cracked pavement.

Abaddon stood on the other side of twin silos. Hartman backed away slowly as the Malakhi’s maul swept towards the closest silo. There was a reverberating clang and the silo swayed.

Idiot!
Kevin rushed towards Hartmann and grabbed the man by the arm. Hartmann swung around, his eyes wide and panicked.

“Get to Anderson,” Kevin hissed. He turned Hartmann around and pushed him back towards the hub. “Go, before it’s—”

A huge hand latched onto Hartmann’s head and squeezed. The man opened his mouth to scream and Abaddon hurled him away. He landed with a sick thud against one of the crumbling walls and slumped to the ground.

“
Blessed
.” Abaddon stepped in front of Kevin, his chest heaving. His eyes were wild, his skin splotched and dark. A misshapen dent had collapsed part of his darkened breastplate, and lower, near his waist, a jagged hole had punched through his armor, dried blood trailing down his leg. “Where. Is. He.”

Kevin could feel the seething anger radiating from the angel, and for the hundredth time today he wished Ithuriel were here. But he had to stall Abaddon for as long as he could. It might not be long, but it didn’t have to be. It just had to be long enough.

“Abaddon, stop!” Kevin swallowed and stood his ground. Glancing at the unmoving form of Hartmann, he held his hand still, aching to grab
Lahat
. “You just killed him! What—”

“The Spear.” The Malakhi’s nostrils flared and he reached for Kevin with a massive hand.

Kevin darted back, his mind frantic, his heart racing. Not long enough for the others. Not nearly. “Listen to yourself, Abaddon! Look at what you’ve done!”

Abaddon lifted the maul and Kevin ran. He felt the breeze as the weapon whisked past his head, adrenaline flooding his legs. He sprinted for the hub, not daring to look back. He set his jaw and crashed through the back door, jarring his shoulder.

He rolled forward, spinning to his feet and facing the door. He shrugged his shoulder, wincing, and a section of the back wall flew inward.

Abaddon’s maul punched a hole in the wall and he stepped through the falling wreckage. He looked down at Kevin, a mad grin on his face. He reached up and pushed against the ceiling.

The ceiling exploded outward, splinters and debris falling all over the floor. One of the survivors fell through the gaping hole and landed with a crunch. Kevin scrambled back up to his feet, coughing away the dust that swam in front of his eyes.

“Abaddon, stop!” he shouted. His hand closed over the pendant and he barked the sword’s name,
Lahat
flashing into his grip.

The Malakhi froze and his heavy gaze fell over Kevin. “It has been a long time since a mere human stood before me as you do.” An amused, uneven smile spread across his face as he focused on the blue flames that licked over the blade. “Tell me, human, do you know who named that Blessed weapon?”

The Unmaker’s smile fled as he whispered, and Kevin’s sword vanished from his grip. Kevin looked down at his empty hand, his mouth slack.

“Shit.”

Kevin turned and ran out of the remains of the building, jumping over debris, chips of cement and wood falling all around him. A wooden panel collapsed overhead, a corner smacking into Kevin’s back as he leapt through the double doors. He grunted and rolled to his feet, ignoring the burning pain between his shoulders.

The last of the survivors were still making their way towards the northeastern fringes of the compound. A handful carried supplies over their shoulders, the stronger ones helping with the cots and the injured.

Kevin had to give them more time. He took a heaving breath and veered towards the west, hoping Abaddon would follow him. He looked over his shoulder, a mocking shout on his open lips.

Just in time to catch Abaddon’s massive hand as it swept toward him.

The Malakhi’s hand caught Kevin in his ribs and he found himself lifted off his feet. The world twisted and pitched, his mouth open in a silent shout. He squeezed his eyes shut and cried out as he slammed into the earth, sand and muck splashing over him. He rolled with the impact and ended up on his back. He squinted his eyes open, the cloudy sky staring down at him.

Heavy footsteps sounded nearby, trailing away. Kevin tried to sit up but his vision spun, nausea crawling up the back of his throat. He shook his head and could only watch, blinking away the fog, as Abaddon walked towards Ithuriel’s dome.

The Unmaker stopped and looked up at the great dome. He spread his arms wide and laughed, deep peals of manic laughter, and then his head leaned back.

“All this, for him, your precious Ithuriel?” he cried out into the sky. The laughter flipped off like a switch, replaced by his bellowing anger. “And what was left for me, Father? When I gave you everything?”

His shoulders shook, his hands clenched into fists. “Your favored sons, Michael and Gabriel. Where are they now?”

Kevin felt the sand and dirt on his back shift. His stomach churned, unsettled, and he scooted back away from the giant Malakhi. A sound rang in his ears, like the crash of the ocean, a rising tide that brought his hands to his ears.

Abaddon’s wings spread and he leaned back, his fists balled at the heavens. “Where are you!” The ragged cry tore from his throat.

The dome exploded outward, triangular sections flying everywhere. Steel bent and broke, beams cracking in two. The heavy door popped off its hinges and arced overhead, spinning past Kevin and slapping into the wet muck.

Abaddon screamed again and the earth around the dome erupted into a shower of dirt, sand and twirling debris. Kevin heard a terrible grinding noise and the earth under his feet shifted. He rolled over onto his knees and pushed himself to his feet. He took a step and nearly pitched forward as the ground buckled underneath him.

Kevin ran as fast he could, his gaze fixed on the trees to the north. He fell and clambered to his feet, scrambled on all fours, his heart thudding against his chest.

He ran and ran, Abaddon’s quaking, booming laughter behind him, and waited for the earth to fall under his feet.

▪▪▪

Before the Great Flood Azazel had given them weapons, shown them how to mold metal to their will. He had shown them dark secrets, forbidden and powerful, and what had humanity done to repay that debt? They had turned on him at the end, betrayed the Grigori.

He had spent an eternity chained to the earth, under the tidal waves that broke against the world. Humanity had lived on, blessed by God, and they had forgotten Azazel, forgotten the gifts he had given them all. They let him suffer under a mountain of bedrock and forgot his name. What they had forgotten his wings had remembered, would always remember, unable to lift him clear of the earth. He, and the Grigori, were cursed to forever be bound to this earth.

He didn’t want to rule over humanity, not like the other Fallen. He didn’t want to make them anew under his own image. That was too good for them.

Azazel wanted to remind them what they had all forgotten, until it was seared in the ashes of their memory.

He fed on them now, breaking their bones, ruining their flesh. They could run all they wanted, scream and beg and blubber, but they could not escape his judgment. He shattered their minds, flooding them with power and venom until they drenched the sand red.

He finished with the last of them, savoring the echoes of anguish as the man’s wails were cut short. He took a deep breath of the fetid air and froze at the new scent that assaulted his senses. He closed his eyes and quickly located the direction of the foul odor.

Satisfaction buzzed in his core, his insatiable hunger reaching out towards the source, so close, like claws digging into their prey. A
Malakhi
, one that had marked him earlier. Embarrassed him.

The angels had watched as the Grigori drowned, safe on their perch in the Heavens. They sat and did nothing as their brothers and sisters thrashed hopelessly against the chains that bound them to the earth. The Malakhi beat their wings against the air and soared over the floodwaters, knowing that the Grigori would never fly again.

Azazel opened his eyes and looked south, the name on his lips, on his tongue. His scaly wings spread wide, his talons clenching paired flails.

Ithuriel
.

▪▪▪

Ren darted low, his knife aiming for Brad’s thigh, but the man was too fast. Brad sidestepped Ren’s swing and kicked out with his other leg. Brad’s boot connected with Ren’s side and he hissed in pain, stumbling off to the side.

He spun around to face Brad, his body on fire in a thousand places. Bruises scored his ribs, ran up one of his arms. The gash across his eyebrow had reopened, clotting blood sticking to his eyelid, seeping down the corner of his eye.

But he was still breathing. He was still alive.

He held the knife in front, the tip of the blade centered on Brad’s chest. “Let her go. I’m not letting you take her again.”

Brad’s eyes narrowed and his hand shot to his neck. He frowned and paused, before his other hand pulled a long military knife from a sheath strapped to his leg.

“Lose your holy weapon?” Ren hadn’t even thought about it, not until now. Brad’s pendant was gone.

Brad shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “No, I hid it away, so that your precious Ithuriel wouldn’t be here for you.”

He leapt forward, mouth open in a snarl, and Ren barely jumped back in time. Brad’s long knife whisked past his cheek. He shifted on his feet and his other hand came up, his fist hammering into Ren’s ribs.

Ren gritted his teeth and swung his knife in a downward slash. The blade bit into Brad’s arm, but Brad was already shifting again. His lead foot swept behind Ren and he grabbed Ren’s shirt, pushing him back over his leg. He carried his momentum forward and slammed Ren against the hard ground.

The air rushed from Ren’s lungs and he gasped for breath, blinking back tears.

He tried to thrust his knife up into Brad’s chest but the man brought his knee down, pinning Ren’s forearm under his weight. The blade fell from Ren’s fingers and he struggled to breathe, his mouth open wide.

“Got me good,” Brad hissed under his breath. His free hand latched around Ren’s throat and he squeezed. “But you’re outta time now. Me and Emma got to go.”

Ren’s free hand swept across the grass and churned up dirt, pausing as his fingers slid over a jagged piece of slate. He latched onto the rock and swung it across Brad’s forehead, wincing at the dull crack of stone impacting skull. The pressure on Ren’s chest and throat eased as Brad fell back, his eyes blinking. Brad touched his forehead, smearing blood across his face.

Ren’s chest heaved as he took a huge gulp of air, and he pushed himself up, leaning on one side. He saw the glint of metal beside him, and his fingers reached out for the knife.

Brad swatted the blade away, the knife spinning in the air, disappearing into the deep grass. He lunged forward, throwing himself on top of Ren. He drove his forearm down, pressing hard against Ren’s throat. His other hand rose over Ren’s head, the point of his gleaming knife aimed at Ren’s face.

“This is over, Ren.”

Blood dripped down Ren’s cheek. His eyes went wide and his heart lurched in his chest as Brad tried to force his windpipe shut. He was too late. How could he fight this? How could he resist such power?