thirty-six
Slowly, we move down the hall and away from the shadows that reach to trap us. Carrying half the archangel’s weight causes me to fumble.
We dodge fallen bodies and navigate through the horrors of the mess I left behind. Each squelching step is a reminder of the look in the guards’ eyes as they were pulled from this life, and a twinge of guilt to go along with it.
I tell myself that they deserved it, that if I didn’t kill I would have been the one to die. I can’t die. Not yet. Not until I find him.
I won’t feel guilt over the deaths of tormentors. They may have been human, but they were no less monstrous than the creatures from below.
The archangel doesn’t say anything. He only watches his step, stumbling over body after body. He grunts in pain, coughing as if he’s been ill for a long time.
Half of the cages have been emptied, and the girl I met before rushes between the others, unlocking them one by one. Some of the freed prisoners search the bodies on the floor, stealing their keys, their weapons. The keys allow more people to open the cages, and one by one, they empty.
The girl looks over to me, gratitude in her eyes as she watches me support the archangel through the room. Part of me wants to stay and help, to ensure they all make it out. But now I know where Jeremy is, and I know he’s alive. For now.
So I look away from them, and half carry the archangel towards the door I entered through.
It takes us too long to make it back to the tunnel. Even longer to make it to the ladder. Each step becomes slower, the archangel’s head hanging lower.
“We’re almost there.”
I hold his waist tightly, his arm draped across my shoulders. My fingers slip, the blood that coats them making it hard to grip his sweat-slicked skin. No warmth courses through me; his skin is nearly cold to the touch, the dark veins fading slowly. He’s healing, but too slowly.
It’s not until we stand beneath the ladder that I realise I didn’t think this through. How am I to carry him up there? With my shoulder bleeding, I can hardly carry myself.
“Shit,”
I mutter, searching the tunnel for any other exit.
The archangel looks up at me with hooded eyes. “Leave me.”
I study his face. His dishevelled hair, the dirt that coats his skin, the cuts that have yet to heal. If it weren’t for the golden blood that drips from his wounds, I’d think he looks like a human.
“I thought I told you, archangel…”
I brush a strand of hair off his face. “We find the fallen angel together. Besides, I owe you one or two.”
His eyes search mine, the pleading expression replaced by something unfamiliar. He looks at me as if it’s for the first time.
I turn away, peering past the ladder and down the tunnel into the darkness. The faintest glow flickers in the distance. I wonder where it leads. Is that daylight peeking through?
I half smile at the archangel. “Fancy giving me a light?”
He flicks his hand towards the darkness lazily, sending small dim balls of light above us. They’re not as bright as they were in the chasm. It’s as if they’re fighting for their breath as much as he is.
We continue to stumble through the tunnel, each step an unknown. I wonder if my next step will meet solid ground or if it will fall into darkness. Dread pools in my stomach, the rope around it pulling me away from this place.
A chill kisses my skin, though there is no breeze. Darkness nearly swallows us whole, but it doesn’t stop us from taking step after step. Without Vince rallying the guards, we’ve given ourselves a buffer. The first wave of guards is dead, but Lilith will know what happened, and she’ll be whispering in the minds of each of them to hunt us down.
It’s been nearly three days since I first spoke to an angel, since I left the protection of the city for the first time in years.
Now I run from the devil with the archangel in my arms.
The chill grows stronger, the faint light glowing softly in the distance. The only thing that guides our way is the two small balls of light that struggle to stay alive.
“We’re going to make —”
A deep sound vibrates through the tunnel around us, cutting me off. It’s hard to tell how far away the growl is while it still echoes in the distance.
The archangel tries to straighten, his left hand reaching for the sword hidden at his back, but it falls back to his side before he drops to a knee.
The arm draped around me pulls me to the ground with him. His eyes flutter closed and his head drops, his body slumping against the wall of the tunnel.
“Archangel —”
The lights go out as he falls unconscious, his wings reappearing.
Another growl.
Shit.
I tap his face a few times, then grip his chin. “Archangel, you need to wake up. I can’t carry you and fight. You need to wake up.”
He doesn’t move.
I see his chest rise and fall slowly, the only indication that he still lives.
My shoulder throbs, my head feels faint, my muscles ache.
Another growl, this one so close that I feel the chill of the creature’s breath on my neck.
“Swords are the only weapon fit for a war like this.”
I reach around the archangel, my hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as I unsheathe it. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow this for just a moment,”
I whisper, readjusting my grip. Then I turn, slicing the blade through the air as I do.
Pain shoots through my shoulder with every movement. I move slowly, my left foot stepping forward. The sword is heavy; a dull ache pulses through my wrist already. The darkness doesn’t help. Daemons blend into the shadows too well for me to make out their forms until they’re close enough to grab me. I can’t see how many there are down here. I can hardly see three feet ahead.
If the archangel were conscious, he would be mocking my sloppy swordsmanship. I think of his words while he corrected my technique in the woods only a day ago.
I hold the sword parallel to my chest. The hilt just above my belly button.
“A pommel this big has enough room for you to grip with two hands.”
So I do. I fix my stance, my right foot leading instead of my left. Then I move into the darkness.
The ache in my wrist slowly fades, and each movement becomes more purposeful. I remember the eight angles of attack. It’s not skilful movement by any means, but it’s enough to fight through the creatures surrounding us.
Daemons drop around me, the sword proving a worthy weapon for an otherworldly foe. With each fallen creature, my movements grow stronger, faster, more powerful. Warmth tingles my fingertips, spreading through the veins on my forearms. The sword seems to reflect any light that is to be found within the darkness of the tunnel.
The creatures’ growls are low, almost like they’re still half asleep. My skin heats, the faint gleam of the sword extending beyond the pommel. My shoulder no longer hurts. In fact, I can’t feel the wound at all.
The reflection on the sword shines brighter, so bright that it can’t possibly be a reflection at all. The sword itself is glowing, bright golden light illuminating its edges and the tips of my fingers. The longer I wield it, the further the light spreads down my arms. It acts as a torch, and I fight quicker now that I can see.
There are daemons everywhere. The metal grate path that leads through the tunnel hovers over water, with space on either side before the walls curve overhead. Daemons stand hunched against them, their heads hanging low. Some of them turn and move towards the light; others stay still. Watching. Waiting. But for what?
The sword fuels me further, not letting me falter, guiding my steps. Feeding me power. I wonder why the archangel didn’t tell me that his sword has the ability to do this, but I also strangely understand. In the wrong hands, that information could change the power balance of this war. If humans were to wield the angels’ weapons and channel their power… we could take back our world. It’s a secret he’d likely kill to keep.
No more daemons rush towards me, but I still hold the sword high, my breaths short. They don’t move. They simply watch. They wait.
An image flashes through my mind of humans caged like prey, stored away like chickens in a coop.
They’re taking humans to feed their army. The daemons are waiting to be fed.
One at a time, they start to approach, slowly realising that I am not here to feed them. As I radiate with light, they appear to calculate before attacking, rather than showing the brute force I’m used to.
One takes slow steps towards me, and when it growls I swear I can make out the word “Angel.”
Almost as if summoned, the archangel appears besides me. He stands taller now, his head held high, his skin glowing in unison with my own. His eyes flick over to the beasts around us before dropping to his sword gleaming in my hand. Then they narrow on me.
He stares at me for a long moment, his brows pulled together. His eyes show none of the archangel I’ve come to know, but rather the cold killer who leads the war. For a moment, I wonder if our alliance is over. For a moment, I wonder if he’s contemplating whether to kill me and let this discovery die alongside me.
“Get ready to run.”
His voice is cold, calculating, commanding. He doesn’t ask for his sword back. Instead he takes a deep breath, the light threatening to burst from his skin.
His hands curl into fists at his sides, and after a moment of silence, the power is released from within him. A flash floods the tunnel, not as big as it was earlier, but enough to drain the power that had been coursing through my veins. Enough to give us a head start.
We don’t speak as we run towards the light at the end of the tunnel.