“Leave now,” Rogan said to the ladies.

  They stood there.

  “I said leave!” Rogan shouted.

  “We can’t!” Jana cried. “We can’t move our feet.”

  It was the same tactic Semyaza had used on me aboard the flight deck of the Midway.

  “Noz . . . wouldn’t it be best if they were to take the jars far from here?” I said.

  “They stay,” Nosroch said. “It serves my purpose.”

  What purpose? Having three murderous demons nearby served no purpose that I was aware of.

  Sue stared at the jar in her hand. I could tell she was uncomfortable with the thought she might be holding Ashmedai and Ornasis. There was only one reason I could think of that would get her to do it. She was doing it for me.

  “As long as they’re in the jar, they can’t hurt you,” I said, trying to comfort her.

  Sue’s hands were trembling. She looked to Jana.

  Jana assured her with a nod.

  Nosroch descended. He spoke to Rogan. “Your presence here is a favor to Grant. Respect his wishes and stand down.”

  But Rogan had no intention of standing down. With Nosroch within reach, he raised his sword and charged.

  He didn’t get far. Like the girls, his feet were frozen in place, out of sword reach of Nosroch.

  Rogan was beyond furious. “Fight me, you coward!” he shouted.

  “I have no intention of fighting you,” Nosroch said. “But if you persist in your hostility . . .”

  Rogan persisted.

  “. . . they will.”

  Rebel angels appeared, surrounding Rogan. There was easily a thousand of them, their black swords drawn. They encircled Rogan, their bodies forming an arena.

  Nosroch released his hold on the Sayeret Matkal soldier.

  CHAPTER

  36

  “Rogan, you don’t need to do this!” I shouted.

  Apparently, he did. Assuming a fighter’s stance, he held his sword at the ready, his eyes enraged. He moved in circles, anticipating an attack from any direction. Was he really going to take on all of them single-handedly?

  Whether he was brave or foolish—I couldn’t tell—he was a product of his heritage. More than once the Israelis had been victorious against incredible odds.

  Five rebel angels separated themselves from the others and closed in on him.

  Rogan wasted no time. He attacked one of them, their swords clashed, sparks flew. Another angel attacked from behind him. Rogan pivoted, anticipating the move, blocking the blow.

  And so it went. Five against one. Rogan alternately defending, then attacking, pivoting in a circle. Each one of the angels was his equal, in strength and skill, and he was never a threat to them. They fought patiently, keeping him off-balance, never pressing their advantage, and it became clear that they had no intention of harming him.

  Rogan began to tire.

  Advantage angels. I knew what it was like for Rogan, having fought in an arena, and I’d only fought two of them.

  Breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, Rogan’s blows became sloppy. The five angels saw that he was weakening and pressed their attack.

  Realizing he couldn’t keep this up indefinitely, Rogan attempted to escape, dropping through the gravel ceiling, leaving the same way he’d come. Two angels went after him and pulled him back into the arena.

  With nowhere to go, Rogan fought, barely able to hold up his sword. He dropped to one knee and continued fighting until his strength gave out, collapsing onto his hands and knees, exhausted.

  The five surrounding angels did not lower their guard, anticipating a ruse. But Rogan was done, he had no fight left in him.

  “End it!” he shouted at them.

  But that was not the plan.

  The five angels drew back.

  Had it been any other rebel angel leader, this was the point when the taunting would begin, the long speech declaring the foolishness of humans to think they could thwart angelic schemes. But Nosroch was no longer like other rebel angels.

  He turned to me.

  “Grant,” he said, “allow me to introduce the angels who, like me, had their eyes opened when you spoke so heroically in Sheol.”

  I found myself the center of attention of a thousand rebel angels. I’d faced a congregation of rebel angels before, but this time they weren’t glaring at me with hatred. On every face I saw admiration, something I never thought I’d see. It was overwhelming.

  My part of the Spectacle was over and I was feeling pretty good about myself. I’d delivered Rogan and Nosroch had subdued him without injury.

  I approached Rogan, but not too close. I’m not an idiot. I wanted to tell him he would understand everything in time. He didn’t give me the chance.

  “Get away from me, traitor,” he spat.

  I glanced at Jana and Sue. They shuffled their feet to show me Noz had released them. Despite the lurking danger in the jars, now that they were here, I knew I could say nothing that would get them to leave.

  Noz had everything under control. And I had to admit, having witnessed the host of rebel angels paying homage to me, the admiration in their eyes was exhilarating. I’d never been a jock, never knew what it was like to have cheerleaders standing on the sidelines during a moment of victory. And while I hadn’t played a starring role, I was part of the winning team and it felt good.

  From here on out, it was all Nosroch. I didn’t know the specifics, like how he’d get the Divine Warrior to make an appearance so that the former rebel angels could renew their allegiance to him, but I didn’t doubt that Noz could pull it off. I was proud to stand with him, and relieved that for once I hadn’t been duped by evil. I had been right about him, and soon everyone would know. I only wished Abdiel could be here to see it.

  Nosroch rose above the assembly. With his back to us, he spoke to the great beyond, his voice as clear as a resounding bell.

  “I have done everything you have asked of me,” he said.

  I scanned the skies. This was going to be glorious.

  Thousands upon thousands of angels appeared.

  As they materialized my heart leaped into my throat.

  Without exception, every one of them had a black sword, and to my utter horror, standing in the vanguard was Semyaza.

  “As promised,” Nosroch said to him, “I have delivered to you all of the traitor angels, the wretched Nephilim half-breed, and the ring of Solomon.”

  “Well done,” Semyaza said. “And my children?”

  Nosroch motioned to the clay jars Sue and Jana were holding.

  It made sense now. Not only was Semyaza prince over Ashmedai, Ornasis, and Lilith, he was their father, having sired them in the ancient days of the Nephilim.

  Semyaza looked as insufferable as ever. Nosroch was delivering to him everything he needed to redeem himself before Lucifer at the site of his original embarrassment. Once again, I’d been deceived. Was I ever going to learn?

  “Bring the bearer of the ring and the wretched Nephilim before me.”

  “Really, Myles?” I said. “After all we’d been through, you can’t call me by my name?”

  The comment earned me a blow from the nearest rebel angel. I landed in a heap beside Rogan.

  Rebel angels flanked Rogan and me, dragging us in front of Nosroch, forcing us to kneel before Semyaza.

  “Grant,” he mocked, “how good to see you again. And once again you have allowed yourself to be deceived. How typical. I look forward to being your prince. My children will teach you what it means to be demon.”

  I stared up at him and said nothing. What was the use?

  “What? No sarcasm? No witty references to being in the mush pot? And you brought Jana with you. You are ravishing as ever, my dear.” He looked at Sue. “And the professor’s lapdog. I will take pleasure in knowing that I can still hurt him by what I plan to do with you.”

  Nosroch took his place beside Semyaza without expression. The grand architect of Spectacles had crafted a masterpiece, this time to save his own skin.

  Nosroch spoke to Semyaza. “I have done my part,” he said. “Now do what you promised.”

  Semyaza nodded, proud to demonstrate his authority.

  His countenance caught fire in an angelic blaze of glory, radiating with light and power.

  Lucifer appeared.

  He was just as I’d remembered him. More beautiful than any of the other angels, regal, shining with the light of ten thousand suns.

  Rogan glared at me without sympathy, an accusing hatred, telling me what I already knew. This was all my fault. He’d been right all along, and I wouldn’t listen. There was good in this world and there was evil. Why was it that everyone could see that and I couldn’t? He had warned me. Abdiel had warned me.

  Abdiel.

  Lifting my head, with every ounce of strength I could muster, I shouted.

  “ABDIEL!”

  In an instant the vast number of angels in the sky doubled as the host of heaven appeared. Abdiel stood over me. Another angel of equal stature stood over Rogan.

  The Archangel Michael.

  “I thought you didn’t care,” I said to Abdiel.

  “I am pleased to serve the Father,” he replied.

  “The ring is mine,” Michael said to Lucifer.

  For a moment all was silent and it appeared we were at an impasse as both sides of the original rebellion squared off against each other. The atmosphere was rife with tension. Who would make the next move? Michael or Lucifer?

  As it turned out, it was Nosroch. This was his show.

  Leaving Semyaza’s side, he rejoined the one thousand. As their leader, he faced Lucifer. In unison, they raised their swords high. To indicate their change of allegiance, their black swords turned silver as they took their stand.

  I will remember forever the look of betrayal on Semyaza’s face when he realized what was happening.

  CHAPTER

  37

  Humiliated before Lucifer once again, Semyaza flew into a rage. He drew his sword and attacked Nosroch. Like a spark igniting an explosion, the skies erupted into battle.

  Adversaries since before the creation of the cosmos clashed, each side distinguishable by the color of their swords. But for the first time in the history of the world, one thousand of the original rebels fought on the side of the faithful.

  Michael and Lucifer rose above the din, generals directing their forces.

  Abdiel stepped in front of me. “Stay close,” he said.

  While I’d seen the big guy brandish his sword before, this was the first time I’d seen him in battle. His strength, his prowess, was beyond impressive. As a mentor, he’d been hard on me and I hadn’t appreciated him. Seeing him in action, I felt ashamed for all the times I’d disrespected the warrior that I saw now.

  I glanced in the direction of Jana and Sue. They had moved behind a large air conditioning unit, protecting the clay jars with their bodies. I wanted to get them to the membrane portal and get them out of here, but that would mean somehow getting them through the heavy fighting without breaking the jars. I couldn’t risk it. For now, they were safe where they were. No one was paying attention to them.

  Caught in the middle of two eternal forces, I drew my sword and engaged in battle. To my surprise I was able to hold my own, grateful for my training with Rogan. I landed some good blows, blocked opposing blows, sidestepped others, and when my swordsmanship proved inadequate, used my walking through walls skill so that my opponent’s black sword passed through me.

  I glanced in the direction of Rogan. Weary before the fight began, he was faltering. His lips moved as if forming the same words over and over, and I realized he was praying. While he was engaged with one rebel angel, I saw another approach him from his blind side. Stepping to Rogan’s side, I blocked his blow. Rogan glanced at me, grateful, and he began fighting with renewed vigor.

  The battle raged. All around us the clash of swords produced sparks that filled the air with what looked like a million fireflies.

  Fighting off one, then another, and still another rebel angel, my arms were beginning to tire, and I became aware that, for all the fighting, there were no wounds, no casualties, no fatalities.

  The angel code.

  Nosroch had spoken of it. Since the original rebellion angels fought with a gentleman’s understanding that ensured both sides protected status. But to what end? How would this engagement reach a conclusion? Would there come a point when both sides would simply call it a day and go their separate ways?

  More importantly, did that code extend to humans caught up in angel warfare? If not, were Rogan and I the only two potential casualties? Would Semyaza use this battle as cover for ridding me from his life forever?

  I scanned the immediate area, but could not find him in the mass of angels. Abdiel said to stay close. He knew I was vulnerable.

  Then, from behind me, someone grabbed my shirt and pulled me back.

  I swung around, ready to strike.

  It was one of the repentant angels.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted.

  His grip was strong. I couldn’t pull free. All of the repentant angels were retreating in what appeared to be a coordinated maneuver. All except for Nosroch who was engaged with Semyaza. He was surrounded by rebel forces, totally exposed.

  “We have to help him!” I shouted.

  The grip tightened, dragging me farther away.

  “Abdiel!” I shouted.

  The big angel swung around and came back for me.

  “Not me! Nosroch!”

  With no one left to fight, Semyaza’s forces circled the two combatants as their leader and Nosroch exchanged blows. Several rebel angels came to Semyaza’s aid. They were doing exactly what the angels had done with Rogan, wearing him down into submission.

  Semyaza fought like a madman, leveling blow after blow on Nosroch.

  Nosroch fought bravely, but he was tiring.

  Seeing that Nosroch was no longer a threat, some of the angels moved away. Not Semyaza. He leveled blow after furious blow on his betrayer. Weary, Nosroch dropped to one knee.

  “We have to help him!” I shouted, trying without success to yank myself free.

  No one was listing. No one else was fighting. All eyes were on Nosroch and Semyaza.

  The code.

  Once Nosroch’s strength failed, the battle would be over. What then? Nosroch’s Spectacle would have failed. Would he and his repentant angels be handed over to Lucifer?

  Nosroch turned to block a blow from behind him and Semyaza saw an opening. With a victorious cry, he struck, his sword slicing into his foe. The blow was fatal.

  In that instant Nosroch erupted in an explosion of color and blinding light that eclipsed the sun, his death sending a shockwave that swept through every angel, rebel and faithful alike, with force, wounding them, as though by his death a part of them died.

  The skies were stilled as the angels on both sides exchanged pained expressions. The fight had gone out of them. And as the glory of what was once Nosroch faded, they lowered their weapons.

  Semyaza, realizing what he had done, stood forlornly under the disapproving glare of his peers. One by one they vanished, leaving him to stare imploringly at an angry Lucifer.

  Lucifer disappeared and Semyaza, his head lowered in defeat, followed.

  The last to leave were the one hundred repentant angels. They gathered at the place where Nosroch died, their heads bowed in tribute.

  Abdiel stood beside me. “You fought like a warrior today, Grant Austin,” he said. He turned to leave. Turned back. “I regret not taking your advice to converse with Nosroch. Today, he was the Nosroch of old. I will miss him.”

  He vanished.

  On the far side of the roof, I watched as Rogan stood before the Archangel Michael, removed the ring, and handed it to him.

  CHAPTER

  38

  Sheol had changed since my last visit. It was still cavernous, red and dusty, and I could still feel the drain from being here. The thing that had changed was that it was now populated.

  “Abdiel told us you were coming!”

  A broad-shouldered, virile young man strode toward me confidently. For a shade—that’s what people are called in Sheol—he looked remarkably handsome. He extended his hand in greeting.

  “Welcome to Sheol, Grant Austin,” he said, “or as we like to call it, home.”

  It was a few days after Nosroch’s Spectacle that Abdiel appeared to me in his messenger role to deliver the Father’s answer to my petition on behalf of Nephilim. The Father opened Sheol to all demons who chose to live here. It was a perfect solution given the fact that Sheol had been created for the incorporeal spirits of those who had died prior to salvation through His Son. Here the souls of Nephilim could rest until the day of judgment when the Father would determine their—I should say, our—individual eternal destinies.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” I said.

  He smiled. “This isn’t the first time we’ve met,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m Elihu. Nosroch’s son.”

  Meeting the son of Nosroch was all at once a pleasurable and uncomfortable. The last time I saw him, he was green and slimy and hanging from my sealing. And so, as is my custom, I said something totally inappropriate.

  “I guess the customary, ‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ doesn’t apply in this situation.”

  His laughter was easy and genuine. “May I show you around?” he said.

  I fell into step beside him, thinking that his current form must be what he looked like in ancient days when he was Nephilim.

  “It’s not much to look at now,” Elihu said, “but we’re learning to adapt. We’ve discovered we’re able to fashion structures with our minds.”

  He demonstrated by raising a pillar out of the ground. Semyaza had once done something similar, putting me on a pedestal—not in a good way—to torture me in the presence of his legions.

  “Here, we are able to live respectable lives like we once did on earth and, more importantly, free from pain. No more clinging to ceilings. No more repulsive demon bodies. No longer the slaves of evil princes. No longer driven by insatiable desires to possess human bodies in order to find a measure of relief.”

 

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