Wind blasted out of Az, sending the Angels tumbling. As they righted themselves in midair, three men appeared beside my husband in the sky, each riding a terrifying steed. They were Angels, but they had their wings put away; they didn't need them when they rode. Nor did their stallions need wings to fly.
One of the men was beautiful in a spine-chilling way, his green eyes even brighter than usual, casting a glow that lit the crown upon his head. He rode a white horse, as white as bleached bone, and carried a crimson bow. And I don't mean the sort you put on Christmas presents.
The next man had the sleek build of a Greek warrior and was more classically handsome, with thick, brown, movie-star hair and a jaw that could sharpen steel. He held a longsword, already drawn, and his mount was the color of fresh blood.
The last rider was attractive too, but he looked a bit like a supermodel from the eighties—heroin chic is what they used to call it. His beauty was dampened by overly sharp cheekbones, sunken eyes, and an emaciated body. His white hair appeared all the brighter against his tan skin, and the glow from his caustic yellow eyes seemed menacing. He held a pair of scales like Lady Justice, and his horse was as black as the bleakest hour of the night.
Behind the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, a group of Demons rose on leathery wings, claws extended and horns glinting glossy black. Ragged teeth were bared and cloven hooves sparked on the air as if it were stone. Demons were horrifying at night but in full sunlight, with Wild Magic riding them, they brought terror to another level. The nightmare defying day, brash enough to reveal all of its horrors. With them were a few Archangels and the Avengers. And leading them all was Lucifer in his Devil form.
Satan shot forward to hover beside his son and shouted his battle cry, “Morningstar!”
“Morningstar!” the Demons and Angels took up the cry.
And that was when the real fight began.
Describing a battle is difficult. How do I convey the cacophony of clanging steel or the rolling roar of battle cries and screams of pain? How can I accurately describe the way blood fell in swaths and globs of gore splattered the growling shapeshifters below? How they prowled in circles and leapt into the air, waiting for their enemies to make a mistake. What words could instill the same emotions that rose in me while I watched two of the greatest god armies clash before me? The anxiousness and eagerness. The thrill and delight. Because even with god and apple magic making everyone hard to kill, Hell was winning.
And I didn't have to lift a finger.
“Cease!” a voice called out, so powerful that the very air vibrated.
The armies lurched back from each other, wings and hooves beating the air, and every eye focused on a spot above us.
There, in a frame of clouds that shone from within, was Jehovah, God of Judaism, Islam, and all forms of Christianity. Robes of shimmering white encased him and his head was wreathed in a circle of light, setting his golden-brown hair to shining. A beard trailed down his thick chest and his eyes glowed so brightly that he appeared blind. And he wasn't alone. One of Jerry's arms was wrapped around my son, binding his arms to his sides.
“Brevyn!” I shrieked and launched myself toward that kidnapping motherfucker.
A ball of lightning hit me square in the chest and sent me tumbling backward, off my air steps. Instinctively, I summoned my wings and righted myself.
“Do not try that again, Godhunter,” Jerry said. “One more move at me or my Angels, and I will sever your son's head from his body.”
I went still, magic alone keeping me aloft as fear burned my veins. In Jerry's right hand was a blade of blessed steel.
“Father!” someone shouted from below.
There, still in his Victorian suit, stood Jesus. Even enhanced with a bite of faerie apple, his magic wasn't made for a battle. It was like a rabbit bounding into a den of wolves.
“Leave now!” Jerry said to his son. “Go home, Jesus!”
“Father, don't do this. Please! You don't have to be this person. We are a family. One pantheon. Let's forgive each other and unite once and—”
Jerry flicked a finger and another ball of lightning shot out, rocketing down to hit Jesus Christ in the chest. Several of us shouted in alarm as the J-man flew backward, leaving a smoke trail. He hit a tree, crumpled to the ground, and didn't get up.
“Brother!” Azrael shrieked and dove for Jesus.
“He's your son, you horrid man!” Lucifer shouted from the maw of his crimson face.
“He betrayed me. Now, hand over the other traitors, or I will kill the Godhunter's son,” Jerry said calmly.
“What traitors?” Lucifer asked as he rose to face Jerry on his level, his leathery wings pounding the air.
“No closer, Lucifer!” Jerry pointed his knife at the Devil. “I want the Angels who broke their vows to me and allied with you. Hand them over, and I will give you this child.”
Luke looked at me. I looked at Brevyn. Brevyn winked.
My jaw fell open, and I remembered what Brev had said to me. How I had to remember that he would be okay. He had promised me he would, and I had to trust him.
I met Luke's gaze and shook my head.
