Plague of Angels
by
John Patrick Kennedy
Copyright ©2014 by John Patrick Kennedy, All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission by the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Interior Design by Damonza
Prologue
God spoke, and everyone had to go home.
Except one.
Most of them didn’t want to go. For tens of thousands of years they had guided humankind. Or tortured them, or instructed them, or drove them mad, each according to his or her whims. Some had helped humans tame fire, some had taught them to hunt. Some had taught the ways of the plants and the animals, some had taught the ways of war. Some had demanded sacrifice, and still others took delight in the destruction of what their brethren had built.
Many of them were now considered gods themselves, or devils: Guayota, Babalu, Aye, Nago, Xiuhtecuhtli, Chicomecoatl, Bahlam, Coyopa, Kukulkán, Pinga, Asdzą́ą́ Nádleehé, Illapa, Kurupi, Tinirau, Enli, Hahanu Ningishzida, Ishara, Kothar-wa-Khasis, Beelshamen Fuxi, Lisuga, Maklium sa Tiwan, Dellingr, Hephaestus, Boldogasszony, Summanus, Tawals, and a thousand others.
But they weren’t God. He was God and they were his Angels. And when God commanded, the Angels did what they were told, whether they had rebelled before or not. Because when he spoke in the Words, not one could fight against them.
Most of the Angels rose to Heaven, returning to their brethren to bask in the eternal light of God’s glory, to share stories of their short (by Angelic standards) time on Earth, and the strange things they had seen. The Angels of God – the ones who had never left – smiled and nodded. Then all the Angels in Heaven went back to their heavenly business. They worked as they were moved by His spirit, they joined in holy unions with one another, felt peace and joy and love, and had no hint of jealousy or anger. Those had been banished with the last of the rebels.
For the Descended – the rebels who’d stood against God, who’d marched in their glory to his mountain and demanded he surrender it – for them it was back to Hell. Back to the Pit of Darkness they had tamed and made their own; back to their eternal and unconscious compulsion to punish those who God rejected and damned for all eternity. They flew wide over the Lake of Fire and circled the plains of Hell like great black crows, come to roost on their prey.
All save one.
Nyx was tall. Her hair was silver, and sparkled as if diamond dust were infused within each strand. When she was not disguised, her body was wrapped in black armor, scaled like a snake, that clung to her like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination from the hard tips of her breasts to the cleft between her legs. It opened across her chest to show off her silver-white skin and ample cleavage. On her left hip her sword rested in its diamond scabbard. The holder that held the fire-tipped whip she used on her enemies and victims alike was strapped with diamond straps to her left thigh. On her feet were boots made of diamond spikes, with high, pointed heels that should not have been able to support her weight, but did because she willed it. On her head she had a horned tiara made of diamonds, rubies, gold, and the black stones of Hell. It rode high amidst the sea of her hair.
Nyx’s eyes were red and orange, their pupils slitted like a snake’s. She had lately taken to framing them with heavy black makeup, drawn outward in patterns after the Egyptian style. Her nose was shapely without being sharp, her face long without being pointed. It was as if all the elements that made a human face beautiful had combined together to form hers.
Nyx had led the rebellion against God.
It had been a simple matter, really. Nyx thought Angels should have free will, as God had free will. She thought they should be able to make their own decisions, rather than obey God at all times and in all things. It was a simple idea, and it sparked a rebellion that divided Heaven and threatened the very fabric of the universe. She and her companions soon numbered in the hundreds of thousands. And when there had been no capitulation, when God did not answer their cries for free will and freedom to travel the universes, it had been Nyx who led the armies of the rebels, with Lucifer – Morning Star, the brightest of them all – at her side.
They had marched and fought their way to the base of God’s mountain, and Nyx had gone toe to toe with Michael, Archangel of Battle. By the end of it, Heaven had been smeared with the ichor, feathers, and severed limbs of his creations.
And when God intervened and Nyx’s armies were destroyed, it was Nyx who agreed to abandon Heaven forever, instead of letting her brethren be destroyed on the spot. And so they had Descended into Hell.
There was a battle to control Hell, of course, first against the demons who already lived there, then among the Angels themselves. Many of the Descended who rebelled with Nyx now rebelled against her. The battle lasted for an aeon and when it was over, Nyx was once more in command.
Soon after, the first souls began falling into Hell, and the Angels began torturing them.
Nyx did not know where the need to punish had come from. She had not had it before, but she took to it with a vengeance, as did her fellows. They became punishers of the wicked, driven by the desperate, uncontrollable and unstoppable desire to see those souls that landed in Hell punished for their sins. Soon there were more souls then there were Angels, and the Angels gave part of the work to the demons.
And so Nyx became Queen of Hell, ruler of the Descended Angels, and the final arbiter of punishments for the damned.
When the Descended Angels found out that they could go up to the Earth through the same portal that the souls came down, it was Nyx who chose who got to go, for how long, and at what price.
And with every decision, Nyx was left wondering if she was still in God’s control, if she was truly making the decisions, or if she was merely a puppet in His hands. It made her angry, and to abate the anger she took to walking the Earth, wreaking vengeance on the evil and making deals with those who would be evil but didn’t have the power to manage it without help.
At the time God announced that everyone else had to go home, Nyx had been watching a pair of very bad men kill each other in a duel. She loved seeing the expressions on souls after they died, when they felt themselves sinking into Hell. She especially loved that moment when they realized who she was, because the souls of the dead saw her true form, not the disguise she was wearing.
And just as the two men died of their wounds and their sinking souls saw Nyx for who she was, all the other Angels on Earth were gone. A moment before, Nyx had been connected to her brethren all over the world. Then, in the space between heartbeats, she was alone on the Earth.
And being Descended, Nyx had some very straightforward words for it all: “What the fuck?”
The feeling lasted only a moment. Then another Angel was present, and she heard the trumpet: a loud clarion call that Angelic ears could hear all over the world.
That bastard Gabriel, showing off.
She stomped away from the crowd of humans, found a dark place and changed into her true form. She was just rising into the sky, with the intention of shoving Gabriel’s horn someplace rather uncomfortable when the Holy Host made its presence known. Hundreds of them, singing and rejoicing. All Angels from Heaven and not a single Descended among them.
Well, I’ll fix that. Nyx spread he
r black wings and flew towards the joyful noise, crossing over the Mediterranean in a matter of minutes, speeding toward Judea. I will find out what’s going on, she thought, then I’m going to kick some…
The strike came from above.
Heavenly fire blasted Nyx from the sky to the sea, scorching her flesh and boiling the water around her. Her armor took most of it, but it still really hurt. In fury, she rose up out of the water, her body healing as it went, sword in one hand and deadly three-headed whip in the other. Both weapons lit with hellfire, and she prepared to do battle.
“HOLD!”
Shit. Michael.
Nyx held her place, floating high above the earth as Michael, the warrior of God, descended from on high and faced her. He floated a hundred yards away, lit by a light so bright it seemed as though a star had fallen to Earth and frozen halfway. His armor was the purest white and built for protection, not display. Even so, the magnificent body that was under it was still obvious, and Nyx knew from very close personal experience (before the Descent, of course) that it was very powerful, very strong, and very, very beautiful.
“Hold, Nyx,” Michael commanded. “Go no further.”
They’d been lovers once, in Heaven, and partners in God’s Legions. And when she had rebelled, they had fought each other for a hundred years or more at the base of God’s mountain before God finally came down and put an end to it.
Michael was just starting to get the better of the fight when God had appeared. Not that Nyx would ever let him know that.
“Michael!” she put all her outrage into her words. “What the fuck? Where is everyone? And what the fuck is all the noise?”
“He has changed things,” said Michael. “He has decided on a new course for these mortals. And so He has sent His son, who is Himself, to the Earth to be born of a woman this night.”
“His son,” said Nyx slowly. “Who is Himself. What, like Mithras?”
“Mithras was one of us, Nyx,” said Michael, making Nyx smile. He had never forgotten that she was an Angel, even if the majority of Heaven didn’t think so anymore.
“This is different,” continued Michael. “This is God Himself.”
Nyx thought about it. “If God Himself were to be born of a woman, she’d explode.”
Michael grinned. “You would think, but apparently He’s found a way.”
“Glad I’m not her.” Nyx looked over to the light of the Heavenly Host. “Is that what all the noise is about? Covering her screams?”
“He announces His arrival to the world,” said Michael. “And with His arrival, all things have changed. All the old gods have returned home, be it to Heaven or Hell, and will answer their followers no more.”
How boring their lives are going to be, Nyx thought. And poor Isis and Persephone.
They had rebelled with her, those two, and had fought beside her in Hell. They had been lovers together, the three of them, many times over the millennia. Neither had enjoyed Hell much, though they had the same urge to punish and torture as the others. So when the opportunity came, she had sent them both up to the Earth. They had each built very successful followings, and each (according to their stories when they visited) were gratefully loved and appreciated.
And now they can’t go back, Nyx thought. “Why?”
“No idea,” said Michael, shrugging. “He didn’t tell us why, only what had happened.”
“And of course He didn’t tell me in person,” snapped Nyx. “Instead He sent you to knock me around…”
“He sent me,” said Michael. “Because you get to stay.”
“What?” Nyx’s jaw dropped of its own accord. It took her a moment to recover it and blurt. “Me? Why?”
“Because all light must have darkness to shine against,” said Michael. “Because God’s son must know earthly temptation and refuse it. Because he must be seen to do so.”
“But he’s God,” protested Nyx.
“He is God’s son,” said Michael.
“Who is God.”
“Yes.”
“God can’t be tempted.”
“But His son can.”
“But His son is Him!”
“I didn’t say it made sense.” Michael grinned again. “Nonetheless, God’s son will walk the Earth. And when He goes to the desert to contemplate, you will tempt Him.”
Michael had an infectious smile, and Nyx was tempted to smile back, save that she was still pissed at God and wasn’t going to smile at any of His ideas. “I will, will I?”
“You will,” said Michael.
“And if I don’t want to?”
“You’ll want to,” said Michael. “After all, how often do you get to tempt God?”
Nyx glared at him. “I will get you down in Hell one day, Michael.”
Michael laughed. “No chance, Nyx.”
Nyx sighed, knowing it was true. Still… “How long until the desert?”
“Thirty years or so,” said Michael. “He must grow up as one of them, and learn as one of them, and see what it is they truly are so He may preach to them.”
“Well, He’s in for thirty years of disappointment,” said Nyx. “I, meanwhile, have some time on my hands.” Now it was her turn smile – a very warm, very inviting smile. And to make it that much more alluring, she let her armor slowly fade away, leaving her bare and very beautiful flesh exposed. “Care to do anything about it?”
Michael smiled back, but his was sad. “Our time ended when you rebelled, Nyx. I thank you for the invitation.”
“Fine,” said Nyx, tossing her head and not bothering to cover up. “I’ll take myself to Rome for a time. There’s always someone to do there.”
“Do that,” said Michael. “Godspeed.”
Nyx growled at him. “Don’t mock me, you.”
The twinkle came back into Michael’s eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Nyx turned away, making sure Michael got a very good look at her very well-shaped ass as she did. “I’ll see you later, I suppose?”
“Maybe,” said Michael. “I don’t know what He plans next.”
“Fine,” repeated Nyx. She started off, then stopped and turned back. “And Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I will tempt him,” Nyx said. “And when I’m done, I’ll have God’s son bending to my will. I guarantee it.”
Chapter 1
Nyx, wearing the form of the mortal woman the people had come to know as Mary Magdelene, stayed in the crowd until the sky went dark, weeping with the others.
He had said the sky would turn black, and she knew him well enough to know that if He said so, it would happen. And so she had stood in the throng of people gathered together to weep and watch Him die, just as He had foretold.
Many of those who had gathered were utterly destroyed. Some wept, not just for the man, but in the understanding of their own fates, in despair of their ultimate mortality. Some watched the grim spectacle in awe, seeing him as a paradox of weakness and strength. A few watched the scene numbly, with no expression at all. Others kicked around blame as if by shunting responsibility they’d be absolved for their part in His death. Whatever their reaction, none of them could look away. So they stared as their savior, bloody and exposed, writhed on His cross. The hot wind that stirred the dust at their feet blew grit into His wounds and His eyes. Nyx pretended that was what was making her cry, even though she knew it wasn’t so.
Then the sky went black.
Not the black of an eclipse, or dark clouds obscuring the sun, though those were certainly rolling in from the edges of the desert. No, this was the darkness of night, the darkness of mourning and death, as He had predicted.
Nyx stole away from the crowd of mourners and found a place where no one could see her. There, she transformed, letting the clothes she wore melt into her body. She exchanged false warm blood for false cold blood, false flesh for scales, false legs for a long, slithering body that would glide, unnoticed, up the small mount to where He hung.
Nyx’s
forked tongue licked at the air. She could smell Him, even from this distance.
Nyx wasn’t supposed to go to Him. Not now, and certainly not in this form, but she could not let Him pass from Earth without touching Him one last time. The guards that surrounded the place had not been letting anyone get near and would kill a snake as soon as look at it. But now, with this thick, unnatural darkness descending, they were as blind as anyone else in the horde, and Nyx could slip through unnoticed.
The coarse, hot desert sand rolled underneath her sinewy body as she slid her way up the mount, between two of the guards, and up on to the hill of execution. There were three of these so-called criminals crucified there. The two on the outside were thieves and probably murderers. He was hanging in the middle, supposedly to signify He was the worst of all. Nyx would have laughed, but her form did not allow it.
The worst of all, she thought. Hardly. He would have been the best of them, had He not seen how unworthy they are of him.
In the darkness she slithered to the base of his cross and looked up. He hung like a trophy, suspended before the crowd, high on the wooden cross. His hands and feet were nailed through with blunt shards of iron, torn flesh hanging from the edges of each wound. His feet pressed against their little platform, holding him up even as the nails pinned them in place. A crown of woven thorns, made to mock Him, had been forced onto his head, tearing at his scalp and adding to the blood running down his body.
His flesh was mortal, despite the spirit that lurked underneath it. It could only take so much before it collapsed entirely. He had been on the cross for hours now, and while Nyx knew that He could easily have lasted days, if He allowed it, she also knew that His time was growing short. Even in the darkness it was clear that the strong carpenter’s muscles on His arms and chest were stretched nearly to their breaking point and torn open from the many lashes he Had received. It was barely noticeable beneath the blood, sweat and dirt that covered His face, but the hanging man was crying.