I threw open the back of our truck, which resembled a small moving van. My parents bought it for the same reason we had the bunker, “in case.” In case the world ends and we needed a big truck for some reason. In case tragedy struck. Always in case.
I thought they were nuts—normal in most respects, boring even—just a little extreme about this particular issue. But I chalked it up to history. They remembered the Attack on Diamond Head just over ten years ago. They'd seen the devastation wrought by the Nephilim War a few years after that, in which the Nephilim had been destroyed completely—in which their dangerous, blood-sucking race had been eradicated for good. I remembered too, of course, but I was a kid, sheltered from the enormity of it by my parents. But they had this bunker before those things happened.
And now… Now I knew they had other reasons for their extreme cautions and preparations. My parents made short work of getting the weapon into the truck while I watched and wondered.
"Who are we protecting this from?" I asked.
My dad looked down at his horrible ring, the Token of Strife. "An old friend."
I was about to ask more when the crack of thunder filled the sky. All three of us looked up. The clouds caught the rays of the setting sun, bursting with the colors of the retreating day. But then they changed, shifting, spinning like a whirlpool in the air, forming a funnel.
"They're here," my dad said, his voice too calm, too quiet. Too controlled. Because I could sense that whoever 'they' were, it was bad. Really bad. And my heart skipped a beat, shifting and bumping erratically in my chest.
But I couldn't pull my eyes away from the sky as the center of the whirlpool lit up and a beam of golden light blasted down into the field beside our house.
Even without Evie whispering the colors in my ear, I would have known. The golden light of it burned into my soul.
And then a figure emerged from the light clad in shining golden armor, holding a sword in the sky like an avenging hero.
No, not a hero. As the golden wings unfurled, as the light brightened and radiated around the figure, I saw the truth.
Not a hero.
A Nephilim.
Chapter 3
Checkmate
The Nephilim emerged from the beam of light, and others followed. They wore similar armor but they didn't have wings or a sword. Instead they walked toward us with long silver guns in their hands, guns that weren't made by humans, guns I had never seen before. I stood in shock. Nephilim didn't exist anymore. They'd been exterminated during the war. And this one, I'd never seen anything like it, not even in news clips and videos. The wings were bigger, brighter, more glorious than anything I'd ever seen or imagined.
My dad moved to stand in front of me and my mother. "Go. Now! I'll hold them off."
My mother looked at my dad, her face filled with such sorrow it choked my heart. It was the look of someone saying goodbye.
Forever.
I turned back to my dad. "If you're staying, I'm staying."
The Nephilim and soldiers were still a distance away, trudging through the overgrown grass that surrounded our house. But they would be here soon enough.
My dad gripped my shoulders as he faced me. His torture ring dug into my skin. "We can't win this, my little Star."
I wanted to argue, but with a tear trying to escape his dark eyes, I couldn't.
"It's too late for that," he continued. "Get the weapon to safety. Don't let this be for nothing."
He made eye contact with my mother one more time, then reached for her hand. She ran into his arms with a sharp cry. He kissed her once, whispered something in her ear, and then turned away. "Go!"
He moved quickly, inhumanly fast, as his armor began to glow blue, the carvings lighting up. He dashed around the soldiers, avoiding their gunfire that came out like streams of flame, cutting them down one by one with his sword. The Nephilim hovered over our field, as if holding the portal open.
I'd never seen anything like this. Not even on Diamond Head. Not even with Zeniths. My dad was something more. Something magnificent.
"Scarlett, get in and close the door!" My mother had already gotten into the front seat of the truck. I moved as if ice ran in my veins, but I did move, slowly crawling into the back of the truck, next to the weapon.
"Don't let this be for nothing," he'd said. My stomach clenched. By 'this' he'd meant his death.
I watched as he continued to fight soldier after soldier. As he killed each one, a new one would pour from the portal. Hope planted itself in my heart. My dad could win this. He could.
Finally, he faced the Nephilim, who moved away from the bright (golden—thanks Evie, I get it, everything's golden) light. The portal shimmered and faded the closer the Nephilim came to my father.
"Let us end this," my father said, holding his sword forward.