Authors: Robert Browne

The Paradise Prophecy (52 page)

BOOK: The Paradise Prophecy

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“Lucifer . . . ,” she murmured.

“One small prick and the world is yours.”

“Mine . . . ,” she said.

Then, just as he was about to give up hope, she tightened her grip and raised the dagger even higher, ready to plunge it home.

“That’s it, my angel, that’s it! Time to take away your pain.”

Then all at once, something shifted in her eyes. She suddenly focused on Beelzebub, then screamed and brought the dagger down—

—plunging it straight into his throat.

Beelzebub’s eyes went wide as he grabbed his neck and teetered back, blood pouring between his fingers. Getting to her feet, Jenna kicked him hard, knocking him backwards. “Go to hell, you sonofabitch!”

Belial shot forward, grabbing for the girl, as angels all around them started shouting, several of them reaching for Beelzebub as he tumbled to the ground.

B
atty barreled forward as a crowd of drudges and dark angels descended upon him. He spun and swung, connecting with every blow, but there were too many of them and he knew he wouldn’t last.

He did his best to drive them back, looking desperately toward the girl, relieved to see that she was on her feet now, standing over a figure writhing on the ground, the dagger in her hand, and murder in her eyes.

A dark-skinned Brazilian woman was reaching for her and as Batty was about to move in, someone hit him from behind, knocking him sideways.

Wheeling around, he punched out blindly, sending another drudge sprawling.

Then gunfire rang out, and he saw Callahan moving toward him, blowing away drudges left and right, clouds of black dust bursting like fireworks in the air around her.

But when he turned to face the girl, the Brazilian woman had her by the arm, struggling to wrestle the dagger from her. The woman glanced up at Batty, and as their eyes made contact, something warm and wet rolled over in his stomach.

He knew instinctively who she was.

Belial.

It was Belial. Already comfortable in a new skin.

She shook the dagger free and it fell to the rooftop, and now Beelzebub was being helped to his feet, his eyes filled with fury.

Batty tried again to move toward them, but his path was blocked by a rampaging drudge. More shots rang out and as the drudge disintegrated, Batty charged, heading straight for Belial and Beelzebub.

C
allahan saw LaLaurie making his charge and was about to join him, when someone tackled her from the side, knocking her to the ground.

Her gun spun away as one of the robed idiots landed on top of her and smiled, revealing a blackened front tooth.

It was de Souza. José de Souza.

“I told you this was coming,” he hissed, then suddenly his face began to distort, his eyes narrowing, his teeth growing sharp and nasty.

He was a sycophant.

Opening his mouth, he went for her throat, but Callahan ducked away and brought a fist up into his stomach. He howled and rolled off her and she scrambled desperately for her gun, snatching it up in her fingers as she turned to face de Souza. But before she could get a good grip on it—

—he swiped a hand at her, knocking it away. Then he lunged, moving in for the kill.

But Callahan reared back, brought her foot up and kicked out with everything she had. The heel of her boot smashed against his teeth, nearly pulverizing them, the blackened one ripping free at the root and splatting on the rooftop.

De Souza howled and fell back, grabbing at his mouth—

—as Callahan found her gun, pointed it at him and pulled the trigger.

A split second later, the sonofabitch was dust.

A
s Batty made his charge, Beelzebub wheeled around, waving a hand at him.

Knowing what was coming, Batty dove, flattening on the rooftop as a deadly wave of energy rocketed past him, nearly creasing the top of his skull. Then he jumped to his feet again, and a voice behind him shouted—

“Sebastian!”

Batty turned, saw Michael near the edge of the rooftop, broadsword in hand. Repeating the gesture he made at Lucifer’s palace, Michael thrust his hand out, releasing the sword.

It flipped end over end and Batty caught it midair, then turned without hesitating and lunged toward Beelzebub, whose attention had returned to the girl.

“Look out,” Belial cried, and Beelzebub wheeled around, again waving a hand at him.

Batty thrust the sword upward, blocking the blow, feeling it vibrate in his hands, the force of the energy nearly knocking the weapon from them. But he held on tight and lunged again, swinging out hard.

As the edge of the blade sliced straight for Beelzebub’s stomach, the dark angel’s eyes widened—

—and he suddenly vanished.

A split second later, he was behind Batty, but before he could make a move,
Michael
was there, slicing at Beelzebub with his knife. The blade scraped across the dark angel’s back and he stumbled forward as Michael advanced on him.

Returning his attention to Belial, Batty saw that she had scooped up the dagger and was backing away, the girl struggling in her grip.

“I’m really starting to think you have a thing for me, Sebastian.”

“Let her go, you bitch.”

“How can you call me that after all we’ve meant to each other?”

Batty felt her trying to get inside his head, trying to use her power against him. But he refused to let her in. He thought of Rebecca and how she was part of him now, and he knew she’d never let Belial get close to him again.

“Let her go,” he said, raising the sword.

Belial ignored him and grabbed the struggling girl’s hand. Prying it open, she forced the dagger into it and pushed the girl to her knees.

For a moment, everything around Batty seemed to shift into slow motion—

—Belial holding firm, hand clamped over the girl’s, once again raising the dagger high.

—Michael and Beelzebub locked in hand-to-hand combat, a fluid ballet of blows.

—Callahan charging through the sea of drudges and dark angels like a rampaging warlord, fists flying, gun ablaze.

—The moon still in full eclipse, its fiery crimson surface alive with power.

—And the dust, always the dust, bursting in the air.

It all seemed so surreal to Batty. Dreamlike. Not of this world. And he wished he could open his eyes and find himself two years in the past, back in his bed in Ithaca, Rebecca—sweet Becky—sleeping quietly beside him.

But the dream was broken by another shout, Michael standing only feet away. “The moon, Sebastian! The moon! It’s not too late—do what has to be done!”

Batty glanced again at the blood moon, then looked at the girl, still kneeling in front of Belial, struggling in the bitch’s grip, the dagger poised above her throat, utter fear in her eyes.

But as their gazes connected he saw something else there. Something
more
than fear, coming from the very depths of her soul. She seemed to understand—to
know
—what was being asked of him.

“Do it, Sebastian! Now!”

Tightening his grip on the sword, Batty moved toward them, but something within him still resisted.

She was a human being.

Flesh and blood.

Who was he to decide who should live and die? Who was he to decide the fate of the world?

He wasn’t a god. Not even close. There were times he barely felt like a man.

“Do it!” Michael shouted, sensing his hesitation.

Batty looked again at that hovering dagger, at the fury in Belial’s eyes. He felt her trying again to push her way into his brain, but again he resisted. He was no longer drawn to her. Could deflect anything she threw at him.

Strengthening his resolve, he raised the sword, knowing that the decision he’d made could change the world forever. Then he closed his eyes, letting his vision guide him, swinging the sword home, feeling it cut into flesh, slicing through bone.

And when he opened them again, he saw Belial’s pretty Brazilian head tumble across the rooftop and roll over the side.

A
s Belial’s headless corpse flopped to the ground behind her, the girl staggered forward and burst into tears.

Batty dropped the sword and grabbed for her, pulling her into his arms. And as she sobbed against his chest, he felt Rebecca smiling inside him.

But it wasn’t over yet.

All around them, the battle still raged, Callahan fighting off the last of the drudges as Michael and Beelzebub continued trading blows. Then the moon began to darken, turning a deeper shade of red, as the ground beneath them trembled and rolled.

Batty wondered if this was it.

Had he made a mistake in keeping her alive?

Were the gates of the Abaddon about to open, once and for all?

But then the girl began to tremble violently in his arms and to Batty’s surprise, she pushed away from him. Stepping several feet back, she looked up at him without even a hint of fear or confusion in her eyes.

Something had changed about her.

There was a maturity in her gaze. An awareness. She was no longer the young girl he’d seen trapped in Belial’s grip.

Then her body began to shimmy and shake, her naked flesh falling away, as if she were shedding a cocoon, and a bigger, bolder, more radiant being rose from within, her wings unfurling, opening, spanning fifty feet or more.

She was, quite possibly, the most beautiful creature Sebastian LaLaurie had ever seen. And as she levitated several feet above the ground, she smiled at him.

“You made the right decision, Sebastian. God sent me to watch over you. Over all of you. I am your second chance.”

“But I don’t understand,” Batty croaked. “I was supposed to kill you.”

The angel shook her head. “No, Sebastian. It was the
third
choice that mattered. The
hidden
choice. The one not shown in the prophecy that demonstrated your humanity to God and told him there was still hope for humankind. The one that came from reason and emotion, with no promises attached to it. It was the
right
choice, Sebastian. The only choice.”

Free will, Batty thought. That’s what it ultimately came down to. And what so many people thought of as weakness—the ability to empathize, to
care
, the thing that seemed so absent in the world of late—was really man’s strength. His lifeblood.

The angel flicked a wrist and the sword at Batty’s feet suddenly leapt through the air and landed in her hand.

Then she was moving, gliding, sweeping the blade in wide arc, a wave of energy rolling out across the rooftop, drudges disintegrating in its wake, dark angels dropping their skins where they stood, their vaporous life-forms fleeing in terror.

With a roar of rage, Beelzebub broke from Michael’s grasp and flung an arm out, firing his own ball of energy straight toward the warrior angel’s chest. But she deflected it with the blade, hurling it right back at him, the impact slamming him to the ground.

He landed in a heap at the edge of the rooftop, his body twisted, broken beyond repair. Looking up at her in stunned disbelief, his eyes went blank—

—and he was gone.

And as the last of the demons abandoned their skins and fled into the darkness, the angel waved her sword once more. Thunder rumbled, and all throughout the city, the fiery crevices of hell sputtered and died, sealing up before Batty’s eyes.

Then the angel looked at him and touched her heart.

“Go with God, Sebastian . . .”

And before Batty could say a word, she let her wings carry her into the sky, taking her upward toward the heavens. As she disappeared from view, a ray of golden light broke through the darkness above and swept across the landscape, restoring everything in its path.

It looked to Batty as if someone were running the film in reverse, buildings rising from the rubble to their former glory as the city was restored.

And all around him, the
favela
began to shift and change—battered aluminum shacks turning into houses; trees and grass sprouting and growing, flowers blooming, as the moon faded away and the sky turned a brilliant, cloudless blue.

Batty looked at Callahan and Michael, all of them standing there, frozen in place, covered in fine black dust, their weapons limp in their hands, their mouths agape—

—as they stared in awe at the world around them.

I
t was almost as if it had never happened.

BOOK: The Paradise Prophecy

12.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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