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“Let’s,” says Hesediel.
BILL STAYS UP front while me and Hesediel go into the forest around back.
She starts the party by manifesting her Gladius and sprinting through the woods torching everything like a pyromaniac who got a gallon of high octane for Christmas. I bark some Hellion hoodoo I haven’t used since the arena. The tops of the trees along the far edge of the woods explode in flames, sending burning tree limbs onto the roof and through the windows at the rear of Wormwood’s playhouse.
As the first Hellions run out to the woods, Bill steps into the clearing and blasts away with the Colt. Cuts down three before they know what’s happening. The rest, maybe ten in all, come out of the trees firing wildly. A few at the rear of the pack are burning when they run into the clearing. Hesediel strides from the inferno and downs them all with her Gladius. That gets their attention. The rest make a break for the mansion. Bill hunkers behind one of the vans and fires. The guards open up in his direction, pumping automatic rifles into the side of the van. This really pisses me off, but gives me a chance to get into the fight.
While they’re all looking in Bill’s direction, I come out of the trees, firing and throwing more hoodoo. I wound a couple, and when the rest fire in my direction, I bring down one of the burning trees on top of them.
It barely misses the group and I’m left with my ass hanging out in the open. I hit the deck, firing blind as bullets kick up clods of dirt around my head. That’s fine, though. Really, Bill and I aren’t even trying to hit them anymore. We’re just keeping them interested in us and not the sky.
A few of the real hard-ass Hellions stand their ground, firing, reloading, and firing again. The rest look around for somewhere to run that isn’t on fire or full of flying bullets. It never occurs to them how fucked they are.
Graceful as a feathered torpedo, Hesediel swoops from the sky, her Gladius slicing and dicing the guards in the back. She lands and the hard-asses empty their clips into her armor. The sound is deafening, but doesn’t last long. Bill and I take out a couple of pricks with our last bullets while Hesediel beheads the last two in one smooth motion.
Hesediel stands guard with her Gladius while Bill and I reload. If there are any guards left in the woods, they’re Kentucky fried. Not a problem.
The grounds of the mansion, the hillside—everywhere we look—is a wall of flame. Sparks arc onto the mansion’s smoldering roof. The back of the place is already on fire. All we have to do is wait for the scared dummies inside to decide they want to be dead dummies outside. The light from the flames is weirdly beautiful. It illuminates everything in a wavering, liquid pattern of reds and yellows.
A shadow streaks across the flickering light.
Hesediel’s armor rings out again. A hundred church bells clanging at once. Something slams her onto her back, leaving a deep, scorched dent in her breastplate. A few yards away Hadraniel drops lightly to the ground, the glare from her Gladius brighter than the blazing forest. She looks every bit as crazed as she did on the boulevard. Her angelic flesh is dry as sandpaper. Black lines ring her eyes. She’s so tweaked she can’t even hold her Gladius still. But it doesn’t make her look weak. It just reveals her true face, the grimace of a celestial berserker ready to burn down Heaven, God, and every mortal soul there ever was.
Hesediel rolls easily onto her feet. I start toward her, but she holds up a hand to stop me. Hadraniel looks from her to me, then back to Hesediel.
“Is this your new lord, sister? The Abomination? How desperate your God must be.”
“He’s still your father too, Hadraniel.”
Hadraniel looks at the sky.
“Not mine and not yours anymore. But you’re too sentimental to see it.”
“Better to have a heart than a twisted soul.”
“Better a twisted soul than no future.”
Hadraniel flicks her Gladius through the air. Ash and burning cinders fall on the angels’ armor. On their faces and hair.
“I know better than to ask you to come with me again,” says Hadraniel.
“It would be a waste of both our time.”
“So be it.”
I thought I was fast. Hell, I thought Arwan was fast. But with their wings outstretched, the charging angels are just a haze of fire and flashing armor.
They fight on the open ground in front of the mansion and in the burning forest. Swoop around each other above the flaming treetops. Their armor clangs and peals when they slam into each other. Shrieks when they glance off each other, metal sliding across metal.
It’s hard to tell the two apart. High in the air, one of them spins, catching the other flat across the back. Burning feathers explode into the air like skyrockets. The injured angel tries to stay aloft, but can’t. She weaves uncertainly, clearly groggy. Tucking in her wings, she dive-bombs just beneath the attacking angel’s killing blow.
She comes in low for a landing, but misjudges it. Hits the ground hard and slides across the road almost to the mansion door, tearing up tarmac, soil, and concrete. Hesediel staggers to her feet and takes a fighting stance but the armor on her back is burned open, like someone took a plasma torch to it. A lot of her hair is singed off and half of her face is black. But she doesn’t back down. Neither does Hadraniel.
She turns slow circles in the sky above us. Taking her time. Letting Hesediel’s injuries do their work, tiring and weakening her.
Hesediel stumbles. Catches herself. Her Gladius flickers.
Hadraniel swoops like a falcon in free fall, and batters Hesediel’s Gladius with her own, knocking her off balance. Hesediel staggers back a few steps. Her arms shake like the Gladius is suddenly too heavy to hold. I run through the falling embers to her. Bill fires shot after shot at Hadraniel, who doesn’t even bother to acknowledge them.
