Daystar (4 page)

Dahlia wove to avoid him as he landed.
 
They danced together around Michael.
 
Michael’s shouts of frustration rang across the ice, but she did not smile or taunt him.
 
She could not afford to miss a move or slip.
 

Michael stabbed at her with all of his strength.
 
The spear point sliced through the hellish fluid.
 
Dahlia dodged; it passed by her cheek missing by inches.
 
She countered with her weapon and sent a wall of sludge at him, filling the hole he had created.

Lucifer moved by her in a blur.
 
The percussion of his blows brushed across her skin as he whacked an angel close behind her.
 

Michael roared and charged through the mud.

Dahlia rushed Michael and threw him back towards the center of the crater where the material was deeper.
 
The Archangel sank in up to his knees.

***

Berith charged a line of Uriel’s angels as they touched the ground.
 
He swung two claymores, batting back those who were invulnerable, slicing through those who were not.
 
He ignored their blows against his armored skin, unable to feel the hits.

Apple ran and leapt onto his back, firing at the angels that dove for his head.
 
Her feet found the stirrups they had added to his armor.
 
She hooked herself in and took shots at anything that moved.
 
“I’m on!”

Berith grinned up at his fiancée.
 
“How is the ride?”

“Delightful as always!”
 
She ran out of ammo and smashed her crossbow on the head of an angel.
 
She grabbed for the myriad shiny blades that she had strapped to her armor.
 
Her hands moved in a blur, only aiming at those angels that were free of pendants.
 
No blade went wasted.

A trio of breathers dove, wings flicked to spray the ground with fire.
 
Berith saw and grabbed Apple from his back.
 
He turned from the angels and shielded her with his body.
 
Fire hit the ground around them.
 
Apple kissed Berith’s metal cheek.
 
“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”
 
He rolled in the snow to cool his skin and tossed her to his shoulders.

***

Helion slammed into breathers, breaking their attack formations.
 
Sylphs tore off pendants as they flew by.
 
He pumped his wings and scanned the ground below.
 
His pitch-black eye sought out the wounded, while his white eye tracked the angels around them.
 

A scream cut through the air above them.
 
Helion looked up and caught a banshee mid-fall, the boy badly burned.
 
Whitney took the boy to her chest so Helion could hold the shield.

A wounded angel fell out of the clouds, wings slashed to pieces, evidence of Furcas’ weapons.
 
Archangel Raphael dove through the clouds and caught the wounded angel.
 
He faltered in the air.
 
He was exhausted, being the only medic the angels had.
 
He tried to heave the wounded angel over his shoulder and careened into Helion.

Helion caught Raphael around the waist.

Raphael stared into Helion’s eyes.
 
He made no move to attack.
 
He was tense and tired.
 

Whitney opened her mouth to scream.
 
Helion shook his head at her.
 
He let Raphael go.
 
“He is a healer, a medic like us, let him be.”

Raphael nodded to them.
 
“My thanks, Helion.”
 
He flew upwards, his hands flashed with golden light as he worked on the angel.
 

***

Furcas swung his sickles; the weighted balls on the end tangled the glaives and wings of the angels around them.
 
He twisted and cast them aside.
 

Paimon flew beside him.
 
“So what name are you picking?”
 

Furcas shot higher into the air.
 
“I don’t want to say.”

“Why not?”
 
Paimon coated an angel in ice, the creature dropped away from them.

“Because.”

“I don’t get veto power if you win, dipshit.
 
So why not?”

Furcas smiled.
 
“I want it to be a surprise.”

Paimon rolled his eyes and went back to back with Furcas as a mass of angels circled them.
 
Furcas lashed out with wind.
 
Paimon reloaded his squirt gun with chemicals.
 
“Well, I am thinking Gaby if it’s a girl.”

Furcas paused in his attack.
 
“We are not naming
our
child
after your fucking ass of a brother!”

Paimon grinned.
 
“I think he’d find it incredibly annoying, that’s enough of a reason to do it.”

Furcas wrapped his chains around an angel’s neck and threw him into a wall of others.
 
“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Paimon shrugged.
 
“If you just told me—”

“No.”

Paimon squinted.
 
“Barachiel’s coming.”

Furcas grimaced and looked over his shoulder.
 
“Fucking great.”

Paimon eyed Furcas.
 
“You are forbidden from going at him alone.
 
Hear me?”

Furcas raised his sickles.
 
“You need to get to Gabriel.
 
If you stay here, what the fuck am I supposed to do up there besides confuse your brother?
 
I can’t work that machine.”

Paimon clenched his jaw.
 
“You don’t need to work it.
 
You just need to destroy it.”

“I probably won’t know how to do that either.”

“I am
not
leaving you alone with Barachiel.
 
That’s final.”

Furcas sighed.
 
“I can take care of myself, Paimon.”

Barachiel raised his mace and hovered above them, his guardian angels surrounded him.
 
He sneered at the pair.
 
“Furcas, your brothers are so happy you have come back to them.
 
Are you ready to return?”

Furcas stared at the empty eyes of the guardians.
 
“Really?
 
They appear to be slack-jawed and stoned.
 
I expected a bit more enthusiasm.
 
Not going to win me over.
 
Sorry, it’s still a no.”

Paimon grinned at Barachiel.
 
“Was that a serious question?
 
I mean really, come on.
 
He has
me
.”

Barachiel swung his mace.
 
Paimon was ready for it.
 
He turned off his jet pack and fell to avoid the arc of burning light.
 
Furcas jumped above it.
 
The pair flanked the Archangel.
 
Barachiel flew backwards to keep them both in sight.

Furcas pulled clouds in, keeping visibility to a minimum.
 
He whipped up air and blasted the angels around them.
 
A breeze accompanied the flight of sylphs; they ripped pendants from the emotionless guardian angels.
 
The angels clutched their chests as they transitioned to the physical realm; they weakened and fell sick within seconds.

Paimon turned his jetpack on and soared through the flagging angels.
 
He pulled out his shotgun and blasted them into chunks.
 
He sang and punctuated his notes with the percussion.
 

Barachiel looked up to Furcas.
 
“You love
that?
”

Furcas watched Paimon explode the heads of angels.
 
“Quite.”

Barachiel stared at Furcas, slowly edging towards him.
 
“You have changed.”

Furcas shrugged and pelted Barachiel with hailstones the size of soccer balls.
 
“You have not.”
 
He whirled around and whipped his weighted chains towards the Archangel.

Barachiel flew backwards.
 
Furcas flicked his wrist and pulled the air behind Barachiel, sending the Archangel veering towards him.
 
Furcas swung both sickles and locked the chains around Barachiel’s mace.
 
He wrenched the weapon from Barachiel’s grip.
 
Furcas twisted and threw the mace into the open air behind him.

“No!”
 
Barachiel dove for the mace.

Furcas whipped his sickles towards Barachiel’s face, sending him back.
 

Paimon caught Barachiel’s mace and grinned.
 
“A present?
 
Oh baby, you shouldn’t have.”

Furcas shrugged.
 
“Least I could do, honey.”

Barachiel went red in the face.
 
“I
hate
the both of you!”
 
He flew up and sent his guardian angels to fly in-between him and the Fallen.
 
They were countless in the sky glowing white and gold.
 
Their wills locked to Barachiel’s; they had no thought of their personal safety, only his.

Paimon swung the mace.
 
Blinding light shot through the air and seared the angels, sending them reeling in the sky.
 
They had no defense against the heavenly weapon.
 
Paimon whooped.
 
He slammed the mace into a guardian and smiled as the angel exploded into luminous bits.

Furcas kept his eyes on Barachiel.
 
He took the angels’ confusion as an opportunity.
 
He opened a hole through the guardians with a whirlwind and blasted through the gap.

“Hey!
 
We said no separating!”
 
Paimon shot after Furcas.
 
Guardian angels swooped in to block him.
 
He could barely see through them as they blanketed the air.

Furcas did not spare him a glance.
 
“Paimon, keep going up, you have a job to do!”

“I can’t get up there if there are guardian angels everywhere!”

“They’ll leave you alone shortly, I promise.”

Paimon’s eyes widened as he realized what Furcas planned.
 
“Furcas!”
 
He frantically swung at the angels.
 
He made holes, but more filled their place.
 
“Furcas!
 
I said
no!
 
You do not engage him alone!
 
Furcas
,
stop!
”

Furcas ignored him, his eyes on Barachiel.
 
He swung his weighted chains in circles at his side.
 
The weights collected ice, increasing the size of the ball and chain with each rotation.
 
Furcas smiled.
 
“Barachiel.”

Barachiel stared at him coldly.
 
“Why do you do this?”

“You still don’t get it to do you?”

Barachiel watched the chains swing closer.
 
“I do not understand stupidity.”

“You don’t understand bravery either.
 
Or self sacrifice, or love.
 
You would never put yourself in danger for another.
 
You are a coward.”

“A coward?
 
I have power!”

Furcas sneered.
 
“Really?
 
Subordinate to Michael, how much power can you have?”

Barachiel scowled and flew backwards.
 
“I have what I want.
 
You have nothing but that pathetic, violent—”

“Alcoholic, abusive,
jerk
.”
 
Furcas finished and smiled.
 
“He’s a foul-mouthed, scruffy pothead with a gambling streak.
 
He’s insane, he’s sadistic, he’s far more intelligent than you can ever hope to be and he’s all that I want.”

Barachiel shook.
 
“No he is not!
 
I know you desire more, I know!
 
I have seen it!
 
You cannot lie to me!”

“Then take a good look!
 
I’ll think it clearly for you.”
 
He gazed straight into Barachiel’s eyes.

Barachiel looked into Furcas’ thoughts.
 
He paled; his mouth dropped open.
 
“That is not possible.”

“Apparently it is somehow.”
 
Furcas sucked in cold, night air.
 
“You live such a restricted life, Barachiel.
 
All those rules.
 
No fun at all.”