Tribulation (37 page)

They were about
twenty feet above the balcony. One of Grace’s squad began to
prepare the descending ladder. Sam waved him away and tugged off
his mike. He secured his swords, suddenly aware that his backpack
was missing, feeling a little odd that the familiar weight was
lacking. Grace saw his frown.

“What is it?”
she mouthed.

“My backpack,”
he replied, yelling over the noise of the rotor.

She gave him
the briefest of smiles. “I know where it is,” she yelled back.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see it again. And me too. Come back alive,
Sam.”

He nodded.

“Good luck,”
Adam shouted in his ear. “Remember, ten minutes. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,”
shouted Sam, quickly setting the stopwatch function on his newly
acquired watch.

Grabbing hold
of the safety handle, he leaned out. On the balcony below, several
Horned demons stood motionless, staring menacingly up at the
helicopters. Dozens of Lemure ran around frantically, desperate to
attack the helicopters above but with no means to do so. Adam
gestured and the gunner opened up on them, the large rounds
punching holes in even the Horned demons’ armor, sentencing them
back to Hell. The gunner cleared an area that was demon-free enough
to satisfy Sam.

Suddenly,
thoughts of Yeth intruded into his battle calmness. This was
exactly the sort of situation where he would’ve liked Yeth to be
with him. He wondered where his Hellhound was right now. Whether he
was all right and had survived his encounter with the Devil’s Hand.
He couldn’t risk summoning his demon. If there wasn’t a chapel
inside the building, then Yeth would have to battle through several
thousand demons to join his side. If there was, he was dooming his
demon to death when the airstrike came. A part of him didn’t even
want to try for fear that Yeth may not be able to answer the call
because he was dead. The thought made Sam feel more upset than he’d
believed possible, the Hellhound being his only real friend and
companion these last three years. ‘Stop it,’ he told himself. The
train of thought was beginning to ruin his battle mood.

Angrily, he
cast the thoughts aside carefully and resolutely. He’d have to
determine Yeth’s fate later and didn’t have time for distractions
right now. Without another thought or backward glance, Sam
jumped.

Brotherly love

“…
and in every sort
of evil that deceives those who are perishing. They perish because
they refused to love the truth and so be saved.”
2 Thessalonians
2:10

H
e landed heavily, bending both knees to absorb the
impact. Even so, he still managed to crack the thick stone tiles
that covered the balcony. Although completely unharmed, the impact
still hurt. He didn’t even want to start thinking about how much
agony falling 32 floors would involve.

The remaining
demons immediately fell upon him. With an expression that any
witnesses would have interpreted as pleasurable, Sam drew both
swords. The weapons almost leapt into his hand, eager to be about
their business.

Above, the
lethal barrage of iron fire ceased raining down and the demons
advanced more confidently. At first, Sam dare not look above,
guessing that the gunner would not risk inflicting friendly fire,
but then the noise of the rotors changed. He glanced upwards. Both
Blackhawks were besieged by Astaroth, clearly preoccupied with the
new threat. The pair veered off and disappeared from view,
relentlessly pursued by the flying demons. Sam was alone.

The first
demons to reach him were Lemure. He destroyed them with quick,
efficient strikes of his swords, so quickly that they had no time
to react. The four remaining Horned demons were a completely
different kettle of fish, not to be dismissed as easily. Horned
demons were never killed easily. Sam didn’t exactly fear them, but
he was certainly wary. Their giant limbs – bigger and more powerful
even than an Astaroth’s - deserved respect. They lumbered towards
Sam, their stupid goat-like faces frozen in snarling rage, lowering
their ram horns as they charged.

The first one
reached him a fraction of a second before the others, raising its
weapon in one of its huge arms. Sam ducked under the enormous stone
mallet that swept down upon him and then leapt straight upwards.
His Katana speared out, taking the Horned demon in the side of its
throat, a place where Sam knew its armor did not reach.

It disappeared
while Sam was still in midair. He landed and rolled, scything out
with both blades in a wide arc before him. The blades bit into the
lower legs of the next charging Horned demon. Roaring, it toppled
to the ground, shaking and splitting the tiles with the impact of
its fall. Sam only just got out of the way in time, lunging
sideways, forgetting that it would only be a death blow that would
banish these demons back to Hell. The demon was out of the fight
but it wasn’t dead. Yet.

The momentary
distraction cost him dearly. The stone mallet of the third Horned
demon smashed into his side. It was only a glancing blow, some
instinct shifting his body slightly just before impact, but it was
enough to crack what felt like every rib in his body. The impact
blasted him sideways into the low stone balustrade of the balcony,
almost toppling him over. He righted himself desperately, clutching
his injured side with the fist holding his smaller blade, breathing
heavily. He could already feel his ribs knitting together, but he
needed more time.

The two demons
still in the fight advanced upon him, only a few feet away. Still
injured and backed up against the wall, Sam had nowhere to retreat
to. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He sheathed
both swords and yanked out one of the grenades, ignoring the
burning sensation as his naked flesh made contact with the iron
casing. He pulled the pin and dropped it at his feet and then
vaulted the wall. As he floated over it, he grasped the lip with
one hand, praying for the best.

The grenade
detonated at the exact same time as he slammed into the side of the
building, both impacts very nearly forcing him to lose his grip
which would have hurled him from the face of the wall. He sensed
the deaths of the Horned demons and breathed a silent prayer of
thanks. It seemed someone - other than Gabriel - still cared about
him up there. If the Horned demons hadn’t have succumbed, he really
would’ve been in trouble.

He took a
couple of moments to consider his position. Thirty two floors up.
Dangling one-handed off the side of a building. It was just as well
he wasn’t scared of heights. Below him, the battle between the
Resistance and those who followed the Antichrist continued, screams
and roars of rage echoed up to wear he hung. He could clearly see
an adjacent building that had just started to burn, fires licking
out of the windows. The Blackhawk helicopters had disappeared. He
couldn’t even hear them and he silently wished them well. If anyone
could survive, it would be Adam and Grace. They were the true
survivors in this world.

Grunting with
the pain, he hauled himself back up and over the balcony wall,
scuttling as quickly as he could towards the only door leading into
the building. It was locked but he managed to manipulate it with
his telekinesis, sliding the bolt back from the other side.

Inside, he
found himself alone with two options: take the door to the right or
use the stairs and head upwards. His demonic intuition told him
that there were several demons above him, including a mind familiar
to him. Using his glamor to disguise his presence, he crept up the
stairs. Thankfully, his side no longer ached, his ribs almost
completely healed even in the short amount of time that had elapsed
since he’d been wounded. He checked the countdown on his watch.

8 minutes.

The stairs
doubled back on him twice. Eventually, he reached another landing.
He listened at the fire door. Nothing. Cautiously, he opened it.
The space was clearly some form of anteroom – narrow and
featureless with a few scattered chairs and high, full-length
windows that allowed the light of the blood red moon full access.
Save for himself, there were no other living creatures present.

Large, double
doors made of heavily embossed bronze stood closed at the far end
of the room. He crept in that direction, his senses guiding him. So
far, this had been too easy. Highly suspicious in itself.

7 minutes.

He listened at
the door and heard muffled voices. Taking a deep breath and bowing
to the inevitable, he tugged on the bronze handles. Both doors slid
open on oiled hinges. Sam stepped through and found himself in a
large, richly appointed chamber, with large windows overlooking the
nearby buildings.

He was not
alone.

In a huge
leather chair behind a heavy mahogany desk sat a figure that Sam
hoped never to see again - his brother, Semiazias. The Antichrist.
Flanking him were the two most beautiful women Sam had ever seen.
His heart skipped a beat before accelerating like a race horse out
of the traps. Immediately, he knew what they were and with strength
he didn’t know he possessed, he tore his eyes from them. Succubi.
Other than their tiny horns, they resembled human females. And not
just any human females; impossibly beautiful ones that had the
power to seduce with just their looks. He’d encountered them before
and knew he was almost powerless to resist them.

He continued to
look around carefully, much to his brother’s apparent amusement,
reaching out with his senses. Wall sconces, once containing lights
powered by conventional means, now contained flickering flames,
casting uncertain light about the room. In the shadows, there
seemed to be something else. For some reason, Sam couldn’t see or
sense whatever it was properly. He dismissed it as unimportant for
now. He was more interested in whether his brother had an escape
route. If this room or any nearby was a desecrated church, then
Semiazias had an out. So far, he was unable to detect any trace of
such a place.

Sam, though,
had been expected.

“Hello,
brother,” sneered Semiazias. “What kept you?”

Sam made a show
of looking at his watch. 6 minutes until the airstrike. “Been busy.
Had an appointment with an old friend. You might know him. Joshua –
or as everyone else around here calls him – the Prophet.”

Semiazias leant
back in his chair, smiling broadly, displaying dazzlingly bright
teeth. It was funny seeing that expression on such a familiar face.
Semiazias was his identical twin after all. The Succubi mirrored
the expression of their master, one caressing his shoulders, the
other his hair.

“And what did
the Prophet want with you, then?”

It was Sam’s
turn to smile. “He wanted me to kill you.”

Sam had
expected his brother’s smile to at least falter, if not vanish
entirely, but he was disappointed on both counts. If anything, his
leer broadened.

“Well, good for
him. He really had come a long way from that sniveling little boy a
few short years ago. I think spending time in Hell really nurtured
him. Was good for him, even. Look at him now – prepared to throw me
under the bus to achieve his own ends. You’ve got to admire that,
really.”

This was an
unexpected response from his brother. He didn’t seem concerned or
surprised.

“So you don’t
care that your supposed ally has turned against you?” he asked,
slightly bewildered.

“Of course
not,” replied Semiazias affably. “I knew what he was planning and
I’ve taken steps to avoid it. Besides, our father and I have got
plans for him. And you, by the way.” He suddenly clicked his
fingers. “How rude of me. I haven’t done the introductions. These
two ladies here – and I’m taking liberties with the definition of
lady here, of course – are my personal assistants, Lilith and
Naamah. Say hello, ladies.”

Both Succubi
smiled at Sam. He ignored them, knowing from personal experience
what their smiles could do to him. His brother watched him
carefully, smirking all the while.

“You really
should get a couple of your own, Samael. I don’t know what I’d do
without them.”

“No thanks,”
said Sam, gritting his teeth.

“Do you like my
choice of art, by the way?” continued Semiazias easily, pointing
behind him with one languid hand. “Liberated it from the Met. It’s
The Sacrifice, from The Satanic Ones by Felicien Rops. It’s a
pretty invigorating feeling when you know everything in a city
belongs to you. That the city is yours. I can take what I want. In
fact, my followers enjoy the same good fortune. It’s a pity that
that small band - they call themselves the Resistance, don’t they?
Haven’t seen the light, so to speak. Making trouble, setting fires.
Although I have to admit, we’ve set a few of our own too. I believe
they’re out there right now, stirring up mischief. If it wasn’t for
them, this city would be a fabulous place to live.”

On the wall
behind his brother was a smallish black and white etching. It
featured a demonic presence floating over a partially nude woman.
She was lying on some sort of sacrificial altar. Other, smaller
flying demons floated nearby, appearing to gloat.

“Good, isn’t
it? Kind of reminds me of our mother.”

Sam felt his
anger building but controlled it, knowing full-well that this whole
exchange had been engineered for precisely this purpose. His
brother was trying to goad him. But to what end? So that Sam would
attack him? Something started to niggle in the back of his mind.
What was in the shadows?

He breathed out
slowly and surreptitiously checked his watch. 4 minutes. “So, let’s
get on with it, shall we, brother? You know why I’m here. To finish
what we started three years ago.”