That was what they had been told—what had been explained—in order for them to understand what was happening to them.
They had all known they were different, believing they didn’t belong.
They knew they were special but hadn’t known how.
Aaron had brought them here, to this abandoned school, from the lives they had known outside, to teach them their purpose.
The world was a wonderful place filled with light, but from the light, shadows were created, and in those shadows there were things that did not belong.
The Nephilim soon learned that this was their purpose: to shed light upon the darkness and to destroy the things that waited there. This was what they were learning to do.
The Nephilim waited before the school building that had become their home. They had learned about their abilities, had learned to control the divine power that lived inside of them. Out in the world they had seen evil and had eliminated it. Some of their number had given their lives to the task, but those who had survived had grown bolder with each new mission, preparing them for this.
William let the angelic power flow, just like Aaron had taught him.
His sword of fire blazed a ferocious red as he waded into battle. His enemies were the beasts in the air, on the ground, and in the woods that surrounded the school. His entire focus was on two things: wiping the creatures from existence, and keeping himself alive.
Russell wanted to run away. He had faced monsters before on other missions, but never so many as now, and never all at once. He recognized some of the beasts advancing on them. He’d slain their kind before, but others he had never seen.
The first of his spears of divine fire hummed in his hands, waiting to be thrown at its target, and he had never wanted anything more than to race into the school and to hide someplace safe.
But he knew he wasn’t going to do that, no matter how afraid he was. These were his friends.
And this was his job as a Nephilim.
The troll surged up from the ground directly in front of him, trying to stab a filthy knife between his ribs.
But Cameron was faster, evading the monster’s thrust with a flap of his wings, bringing the burning blade of his rapier across his attacker’s thick muscular neck.
No matter how many times he performed the act of killing, Cameron could not get used to it, and he felt as though a little piece of himself—of his humanity—went away with every death he delivered.
It was a kill-or-be-killed world that he lived in now, and he did not want to die, but Cameron had to wonder if any of who he actually was would be left, once all the killing had finally stopped.
Or would only the angelic survive?
Melissa caught sight of Samantha struggling with four bony, catlike demons. She had never really liked the girl. Sam had always seemed to think she was better than Melissa.
But seeing Sam grapple with so many monsters made Melissa angry. They may not have been the best of friends, but they were sister Nephilim.
In a burst of rage, Melissa pierced the eyes of the walking corpse she fought with her twin daggers of white-hot fire. Her immediate foe vanquished, she raced to Samantha’s side.
Wings erupted from Melissa’s back and she sailed through the air, connecting with one of the demonic cats and sinking the first of her knives into its cold, black heart.
“Thought you could use a hand,” she said with a smile, placing her back against Samantha’s.
“Thanks,” Sam said.
“Don’t mention it.”
And they fought together, one no better than the other, the beginnings of a friendship forged in heavenly fires and the blood of combat.
Russell was dying; he could feel it. He was leaking copious amounts of blood from multiple bites, and he could feel himself beginning to grow weak. He’d always known he could die. Aaron and Lucifer had told him as much, but one never thinks it could happen to him.
His blood was drawing more of the beasts. They emerged from the shadows, risking daylight to get a piece of him, attacking and then scurrying for cover, watching and waiting for him to fall.
Russell looked to the others for help, but they all seemed to be locked in battles for their own lives. It was solely up to him, which is how it had been for most of his life. He never knew his family, and had lived in state care for as long as he could remember.
His first try at family was here, with the others of his own kind. It had been wonderful, but now it was coming to an end.
The spear of fire dropped from his grasp, fizzling away to nothing before it could even touch the ground.
Russell stood weaponless and watched his attackers grow brazen, stalking toward him, some already wearing his blood upon their lips.
And that just pissed him off.
His anger was extreme, and instead of a sword or an ax he imagined it as a ball of flame, growing larger and stronger inside of him. Barely able to stand, Russell painfully lifted his arm and gestured for his foes to come closer.
That seething ball of rage became larger, and larger still, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on to it. But he managed, waiting until the monsters were just near enough.
And then Russell set it free.
Cameron heard a familiar scream just before the explosion of heavenly fire threw him to the ground. As he scrambled to get back on his feet, he saw that where he’d last seen Russell was now a blackened patch of smoldering earth.
Not wanting to think about what had just happened, he pushed it to the back of his mind, where he stored all of his horrible memories. There were monsters coming through the wafting smoke, things that slithered upon their bellies, others that crawled across the battle-scarred earth on multiple spidery limbs. He glanced quickly at his forearm—twelve burns, twelve kills, since he’d first spilled the troll’s blood. It was time to add another.
A bat-like thing swooped down on him with a hiss, attempting to sink its fangs into the soft flesh of his throat. But Cameron reached out, grabbing the bristling fur of the nightmare flier and slamming its fragile body to the ground, driving a fiery dagger into its heart and extinguishing its life.
The bat-thing screamed briefly and then was still.
Cameron looked up to see other beasts now coming to challenge him. But first he placed the burning blade against his flesh.
Thirteen.
And he was sure there would be more.
Samantha saw the monsters converging on the man they’d saved at the cemetery.
Dusty.
He had been placed behind their line of defense, but in all the insanity that was going on, he appeared to have wandered out into the open. Sam knew that the young man was important and that she should do everything in her power to see that he was safe. He looked as though he was having a hard time staying conscious, swaying upon his feet as four trolls stalked him. The ugly beasts were almost there, and Sam didn’t know if she would be fast enough to get to him in time, so she imagined a weapon that could reach Dusty faster.
A bow blazed to life, followed by an arrow of orange flame.
“Sweet,” Samantha said, placing the arrow against the bowstring of fire. She didn’t have time for a practice shot, and hoped her aim was true.
Squinting through one eye, she drew back and let the arrow fly. She could hear it hissing as it flew through the air, finding its target in the center of one of the trolls’ foreheads, igniting the monster’s entire skull as if it were the head of a torch.
Sam walked steadily toward the monsters that had now turned their attentions to her. One flaming arrow after the next found its target, turning the attackers into piles of barbecued troll.
Dusty stood there staring, mouth agape.
Samantha smiled. The boy was cute, and she found herself ashamed to be thinking of such trivial things in the heat of battle. Getting her head back in the game, she considered where she might take Dusty to keep him from harm, and was extending a hand to escort him away when a spear tip entered her back, exiting
through her chest.
She tried to turn, to take out the troll warrior, but she could no longer move. Her bow and arrow of divine fire disappeared in a flash. And she fell to the ground, consumed by death.
The instrument screamed. Dusty’s hand burrowed into the pocket of his jacket, wrapping around the blazing-hot harmonica, and drew it out into the cool New England air.
He’d watched one of the angels who was trying to protect him go down. And now the monsters were coming for him again.
Dusty wanted to run, but the dizziness was too much. It was the instrument’s fault, he could sense it. The device created to signal the end of the world was trying its best to influence his decision, but he had to be strong. He had to prove who was boss.
The monster who had struck down the angel pulled its rusty, bloodstained spear from the angel’s back, and licked the blade with a tongue that looked like a giant garden slug. It laughed a low gurgling sound as it fixed Dusty with beady eyes and pointed to the angels that hovered above the school grounds.
“They want you alive,” the monster spoke. “If we deliver you unharmed, we get to live.”
Dusty slowly backed away from the advancing creatures. The instrument was pleading with him. But he wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t time. He would not play the song.
One of the monsters charged at Dusty from the side, throwing a heavy woven net over him with a roar. Dusty tried to evade it, but the net still managed to snag him, the heavy material dragging him down to the grass. His attackers roared their approval, loping across the ground, each of them grabbing an end of the net to make sure that Dusty couldn’t wiggle free.
Even though he was so weak he could barely keep it together, Dusty tried to fight back. He kicked at the loathsome creatures when they attempted to restrain him. This just made them laugh all the harder as they pulled the net tighter to restrict his movements.
Dusty didn’t want this … didn’t want to be anyone’s prize. The instrument was still warm in his hand. Reluctantly, he brought the harmonica to his mouth.
Yes! Yes! Yes! It screamed inside Dusty’s mind, believing that its wishes were about to come true, but Dusty used all his remaining strength to correct it.
“No, not for that,” he strained, bending his mouth toward the hand that held the instrument. His lips wrapped around the warmth of the metal, and he puffed briefly into the harmonica.
The noise was brief, deafening, and devastating; it obliterated the net in which he was confined, and turned the monsters that had captured him into a fine black spray, which decorated the landscape.
Dusty lay upon the ground, listening to the sounds of the battles going on around him, fighting to stay conscious … fighting to maintain control, the song of desolation echoing painfully—insistently—inside his brain. Briefly he shut his eyes, only to feel the instrument grow stronger, trying to force its will deeper. Dusty shook free from its clawing grasp, opening his eyes to gaze up into the smiling face of an angel.
An angel he’d tried to kill earlier with the instrument.
An angel desperate to hear the song of the world’s doom that was playing incessantly inside Dusty’s mind.
There was an explosion of sparks as Aaron’s sword met Jeremy’s battle-ax. Aaron beat the air with his wings, propelling himself backward, and away from the young Nephilim, now suddenly his enemy. He had no idea what had happened to the youth, but it seemed that he was internally fighting something that, despite his efforts, was winning the battle.
Jeremy surged ahead in the air above the school with a roar. His wings flapped frantically as he came at Aaron full throttle, ax ready to hack his enemy to pieces.
Aaron changed course, flying up and over in an aerial acrobatic maneuver that made it seem as though he’d flown off, but actually dropped him behind his foe. Lashing out at Jeremy, the son of the Morningstar brought his sword of fire across one of the boy’s wings, causing him to spin out of control and plummet toward the ground.
From above, Aaron watched Jeremy catch himself, touching down with barely a stumble. There was madness in the boy’s eyes as he again prepared to take to the skies.
“Jeremy,” Vilma called out.
Aaron watched as the boy stopped and turned toward the young woman.
Vilma was drawing nearer to him, a far more delicate sword of fire in hand, but held low to her body in a less threatening gesture.
“You need to get ahold of yourself,” she instructed. “What’s wrong? Tell us so we can help you.”
Aaron dropped to the ground beside his girlfriend.
Jeremy’s skin was flushed a bright red and sweat dripped from his face in rivulets.
“I … I can’t fight,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s strong … very strong … it wants to own … me.”
“What does, Jeremy?” Aaron asked. “Tell us and—”
But Jeremy was gone again, whatever it was inside him exerting full control.
Then the boy threw his ax at them, the spinning weapon throwing swirls of fire as it hurtled toward them.
Aaron leaped to one side as the ax whizzed past. Vilma barely evaded the blade as well, and it struck the ground behind them in a fiery explosion.
But it was all a distraction. Jeremy charged at them, twin swords of scorching white fire in his hands. He came at Aaron first, swinging the weapons wildly. Aaron tried to back away, but his attacker was too fast. The hungry blades took nasty bites from his shoulder and wing.
Suddenly Vilma was there, her own powerful wings spread as she tackled their opponent in midflight. She flew with him across an expanse of lawn, slamming him fiercely against one of the school buildings. Glass shattered and pieces of brick wall crumbled as Jeremy struck.
Leaping back, Vilma again summoned her more feminine blade.
“Please fight this,” Aaron heard her say as the Nephilim struggled to shake off the effects. “Remember what we talked about, how you told me that you never wanted to lose control? Don’t do it now.”
Aaron didn’t know what the two had shared during their time away from the school, but it seemed to be having some kind of an effect. Jeremy had dropped to his knees. His entire body was smoldering now, small burn holes forming in his clothes as parts of his body became superheated. Aaron guessed that whatever was inside of Jeremy was attempting to override any control and tap into the power of the angelic essence within him.
“Oh God!” Jeremy cried out. His body was glowing with the intensity of the heat of his flesh. His wings looked as though they were made of fire, their flapping movements tossing tongues of flame as they fanned the air.
Aaron ran to Vilma, attempting to pull her away. If this continued, Jeremy’s angelic essence was likely to explode, destroying its human host as Russell’s had.
“We have to help him,” Vilma said, struggling in Aaron’s grip.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he told her, holding her tightly.
Jeremy continued to scream, sinking his fingers into the soft soil, sending streaks of hungry fire out across the ground.
Aaron leaped from one of the tracks of fire, Vilma clutched in his arms. The ground ignited, violently hurling the two of them back. Aaron rose, checking to be sure that Vilma was all right, and found that she was only stunned.
Jeremy’s angelic essence was out of control, and Aaron knew that there was only one thing to do.
He had to put it down before it could do any more damage.
Aaron summoned his sword once more and ran toward the boy who was once his comrade. He didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice.
It was an act of mercy.
Snakes of fire leaped from Jeremy’s fingertips, and Aaron jumped through the air, slashing at the writhing tendrils, absorbing them the best he could with his own weaponry. Finally close enough to his foe, Aaron lashed out, the pommel of his sword connecting with Jeremy’s twisted face and knocking him backward.
Lording above him, Aaron saw his target and knew what needed to be done
. Eyes fixed upon Jeremy’s exposed neck, Aaron brought up his sword to start its fateful descent.
“Stop!” barked a familiar voice that caused Aaron to hesitate.
He turned toward Gabriel, and slowly lowered his blade. There was a look in the dog’s eyes, something that Aaron had seen growing there for quite some time, since the dog had been touched by the power of the Nephilim. Aaron had always known there was something special about the Labrador, even before he’d brought him back from the brink of death. And he was now about to find out how special he actually was.
Gabriel could smell the boy’s pain.
The dog had left Lorelei and Kraus in the library to find Aaron, and fill him in on what had happened—on who had happened—when Jeremy’s pain had cried out to him.
First things first, thought the dog in the midst of chaos.
He’d found Aaron about to do the unthinkable and was glad he was able to stop him. Now it was up to him.
There was angel fire everywhere, as whatever was causing Jeremy’s pain attempted to exert control. Gabriel knew he had to be careful. That fire could hurt him badly.
He could sense Aaron close by, ready to strike if necessary.
Gabriel approached Jeremy, brown eyes scrutinizing the Nephilim. With his special vision, he could see the boy’s pain, a dark mist hovering about his head.
Gabriel chanced a quick glance at his master, to let him know that everything was going to be fine.
And then the dog remembered what had appeared inside the library, and wasn’t quite so sure. But that was a worry for another time. First Gabriel had to save Jeremy.
He was close enough to speak to the boy now.
“Jeremy,” Gabriel barked for his attention.
The boy lifted his head, tears steaming from his flushed face in the cool air.
“Get away,” Jeremy said, the pain in his voice obvious. “Don’t know how much longer I can hold it back.”
The boy’s clothes were gone, burned away by the intense heat radiating from his body. There were tiny blisters developing upon his flesh, and Gabriel knew he had to act quickly.