As if on cue, the false angel landed beside Belial, training its empty eyes on the two of us. Fear curled up through my stomach, washing away the agony from my broken arm. I had faced death before—twice, in fact—and yet it paled in comparison to the stare of this abomination.
Gabriel pushed me behind him, murmuring under his breath. “You need to get out of here.”
“I’d love to, Gabe, but I don’t think Naked McEvilGuy is going to let me make a run for it,” I replied through a grimace.
He seemed to realize the truth in my statement, but he didn’t like it. Neither did I.
“Very well. Draw up your shields. Things are about to get…messy.”
“Messy?”
Before he could answer, the false angel lunged for me, one huge hand outstretched. Gabriel shoved me out of the way and its fist punched a gigantic crater in the ground, scattering gravel, dirt, and dust into the air. I scrambled backwards with my good arm, swallowing hard, but there wasn’t enough time to react because Gabriel shouted: “Michael! Now!”
The archangel appeared behind me and raised his hand to the sky. “Celeste!”
Thunder roared and clouds materialized above us. The sky seemed to explode with activity. I shielded my eyes, just barely able to see a gigantic lightning strike hit the false angel. The sound of the electricity connecting with its flesh made my ears pop and the hairs on my arms stand to attention. When the bolt disappeared, there was only a huge plume of smoke coming out of another even larger crater.
I shook my head, holding out my hand for Michael to help me up. “No way it’s that easy.”
He set his jaw, stepping towards the hole. “It’s not. But that’s not what the bolt was for.”
Some of the smoke cleared and the moonlight caught upon a long, silver object stuck in the ground. A sword. Its handle had beautiful patterns beaten into the metal, images depicting angels soaring and demons falling in their wake.
Michael plucked it out of the ground. I had read about it before in Paradise Lost. It was the sword that cut the side of Satan and helped them win the war in Heaven.
When his hand closed around the hilt, the metal shone brilliantly. In a flash of movement, a silver liquid flooded up over his arm, his shoulder, his upper torso, down his body to his feet until he was covered from head to toe. Seconds later, it solidified into a sleek armor, with patterns and markings that matched the sword. It was similar to the type of armor that Roman and Spartan warriors once had—separate pieces that were solid yet light enough for quick movements. He turned, looking at the sky.
Another huge gust of wind whipped through my hair. Dozens of angels, all different sizes, male and female, landed behind us: armed to the teeth with swords, spears, lances, and axes, their snow-white wings flaring. Among them, Raphael stepped forward, radiant in a dark bronze helmet and armor, and carrying twin short axes.
“Jordan, you should not be here,” he scolded softly, brown eyes filled with worry as they fell across my injured arm and the blood dripping from my neck. I was panting and shaking so hard that I could barely manage to shrug my uninjured shoulder.
“So I’ve been told.”
Sheathing his axes, he laid his gloved fingertips on my arm and throat. I felt coolness enveloping the damaged areas, soothing the pain until the gash on my neck vanished and I could move my fingers again. I flexed the muscles in my arm and winced.
“That is only a temporary fix. I will need more time to mend the bones completely.”
“Assuming we survive this.”
He flashed me a bitter smile. “Indeed. Get somewhere safe.”
I shook my head. “They’ll only chase me. Give me a weapon.”
“I don’t have time to argue with you.”
“Whether I leave or stay, I’m dead,” I replied, my voice hard with resolve. “I’d personally rather go out fighting,”
Raphael stared down at me for a long moment before handing me one of his axes, which took a moment to balance in my hands. He motioned to two male archangels behind me—a pair of dark-haired, olive-skinned twins.
“Ithuriel, Zephon, stay close to her.” The two angels nodded.
Raphael joined Michael and Gabriel where they stood in front of the crater, weapons poised. Across from us at the edge of the lake, Belial had acquired his own suit of armor: not nearly as intricately decorated as the angels, but the black metal looked as frightening as the demon himself. He raised a hand and scores of demons trudged out of the lake. Their dingy armor, weapons, and burnt grey wings dripped water as they came to a stop behind him.
Mulciber came up beside him with her face bloodied and bruised from Michael’s assault. It made a grim smirk touch my lips. She too had summoned a dark brown armor and a whip made of fire, flickering light across her filthy mahogany-colored wings. They weren’t kidding when they said they wanted a war.
The smoke cleared and the false angel rose to its feet from a crouch. Patches of burnt skin sloughed onto the ground, exposing muscle and cartilage, but the damn thing still stood.