chapter Fifty-Six
Bliss
he wolves crashed into the battle, meeting their former masters with tooth and claw. With froth on their lips and blood in their mouths. For revenge. For victory. For freedom.
They had followed Fenrir as he raced back through the passages, toward the Gate of Promise, which Gabrielle had shown him, and appeared at the stone tablet just as Schuyler held Michael's sword aloft.
"Destroy our enemies!" Fenrir roared. "Make them feel our wrath, our revenge!"
Bliss saw Schuyler through the chaos and wanted to run to her, but there was no time. The battle was upon them. They would fight or they would die. The wolves had thrown off their chains; they were savage and ferocious. Demon-fighters. Demon-killers.
Silver against flesh, the White Fire of Heaven against the beasts of Hell. The wolves fought bravely and courageously, but their numbers were no match for the godsfire, for the flame that seared their very souls.
They ran howling to the edges, howling in retreat.
Until a blaze of light shone from the darkness.
A light that was just as bright as the godsfire - even brighter - this was the light from the Holy Grail, blessed by the spirit of the Son of God. The true light of Heaven.
The Venators had come.