Chapter Two
A group of shadow gargoyles stumbled into the lair, their obsidian skin dull and cracked in places. They looked nothing like the fearsome monsters Ronen had faced in battle. Gone were the glowing crimson eyes, the misshapen, perverted form. These creatures were beaten, desperate—some even wounded.
“Thank you,” gasped the leader, a male with stony skin marked by jagged scars. “We didn't know where else to go.”
Ronen’s stomach knotted with revulsion. These were the enemy, the traitors who’d sided with the rogue demons against their own kind. Every instinct screamed at him to attack, to eliminate the threat. He glanced at Cassiel, whose expression mirrored his own internal conflict.
Michael raised his hand, silencing the group.
“Before you say another word, understand this: your fate is yet to be decided. The Most High will determine if you deserve mercy.” His intimidating gaze swept over the group.
“Now, speak, or be gone from here and face your doom without any hope of our protection.”
The leader’s eyes darted between Michael and the Shadow Slayers. “We were promised power, glory, a chance to break free from the constraints of our sworn duty,” he continued, his voice breaking. “But we were nothing but pawns—disposable tools to be discarded once our usefulness ended.”
Ronen’s fingers remained tight around his blade.
These pathetic creatures before him bore little resemblance to the savage enemies he’d fought.
Part of him—the part that still woke screaming in the night, phantom pain searing across his scarred flesh—wanted nothing more than to cut them down where they stood.
They’d made their choice. They’d betrayed everything sacred.
“How many of you are there?” Michael asked, his tone measured but firm.
“Twenty-three are on the Eastern Seaboard. We’re all that’s left of our cell.
” He lowered his head. “The demons…” His voice hitched before continuing.
“They started eliminating us when we could no longer find any relics.
They said we'd served our purpose.” His voice trembled.
“Those who tried to escape were killed immediately. The rest of us they tortured for sport.”
Ronen’s grip on his weapon loosened slightly. The word ‘torture’ reverberated through his mind, triggering flashes of his own ordeal. His scars seemed to burn with remembered pain.
Michael narrowed his eyes. “Yet here you are. I find it laughable to believe they would release you without an ulterior motive. Don’t lie to me.”
“I agree. I assume they hoped we would run to a lair to reveal your location.”
Cassiel gasped as Ronen tensed and Nash growled. Bastards. Michael chuckled, and Ronen wondered if he’d lost his mind. He couldn’t imagine what was humorous about their predicament.
The shadow gargoyle leader’s shoulders slumped. “We've been running for days. They were closing in, but we split up. Went in different directions before banding together again. We believe we’ve eluded them completely.”
Cassiel stepped forward, her posture still defensive. “Why should we trust you? How do we know this isn’t some elaborate trap?”
The leader regarded her with hollow eyes. “Because we’re dying.” He gestured to his cracked skin. "Without the demons’ dark magic, the corruption is eating us from within. We can’t even shift to our original human form anymore.”
Ronen’s throat tightened. He’d seen death in many forms, but watching these gargoyles slowly crumble was unsettling. Their dark skin, once gleaming with unholy power, now resembled weathered stone, fragile and brittle. Despite his hatred, something uncomfortable stirred in his chest.
“We have information,” another shadow gargoyle spoke up, a female with one wing partially shredded. “While still shadow-bound, the rogues had looser tongues. A few of us overheard what the demons are planning next.”
Michael’s expression remained guarded. “And what would that be?”
“They’ve infiltrated human governments,” she said. “High-ranking officials, possessed by demons who can mask their presence even from angels. They’re calling it 'Operation Deep State.'"
Cassiel scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. We would’ve detected—”
“That’s enough, Cassiel,” Michael snarled. “I will be the one to decide what is and isn’t ridiculous.”
Cassiel mumbled something under her breath but took a step back. “Fine.”
Michael shook his head at her as if she were a misbehaving child, then returned his attention to the female shadow. “Where are these supposed officials now?”
The female shifted from foot to foot, and some of the others looked around nervously. At last, she spoke.
“We’re… we’re not entirely sure. I heard something about Miami, but others have spoken of Atlanta and Houston.”
Michael placed his hands on his hips. “Well. In that case, you will be escorted to the lair’s prison until we investigate those locations. After that, your fate will be decided.”
“Thank you for your mercy,” she said, the others murmuring their agreement.
Michael snorted. “Don’t thank me yet. Remember, the Most High has the final word.
” He turned to Cassiel. “See if either Ezekiel or Archer is available for a healing session. This vermin is useless if they turn to dust and have to be swept up.” He glanced back at the shadows, pursing his lips.
“Actually, summon them both. This crew is a mess.”
Ronen regarded the broken and battered gargoyles, his stomach twisting and turning as he fought the growing compassion rising within him.
Would he have also faltered, succumbed to the darkness, had his torture continued?
Maybe he was only minutes away from giving the rogues everything they wanted so he could save his own ass.
After the shadows were properly secured, Michael ordered them to the conference room.
“Nash, you will remain here as lead sentinel of the East Coast lair. I will appoint an additional three warriors to back you up.” He turned to Ronen.
“I want you to lead a team to Miami, I will choose who accompanies you. Cassiel, you’ll head up the mission in Atlanta. I’ll have Victor handle—”
“Wait!” Ronen interjected. “I’ve never led a mission. And Cassiel has much more experience than I do. This seems way too important to entrust to someone who hasn't had decades in the field.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “And here I thought you were ready.”
He glared at Ronen, and fear gripped him. Could Michael see into his soul, know the real reason he was afraid to lead?
“I…I will be someday.” Ronen despised how weak he sounded.
“Hmm…” Michael stared down his nose at him. “Then, perhaps you should stay behind.”
Ronen’s gut clenched. “No, please. That’s not what I meant. I can fight, I haven’t failed to do my part in battle.”
Cassiel nodded. “I’ve fought alongside Ronen and trust his ability and loyalty. He pulls his weight, is a valued comrade.”
Michael sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with you mongrels.” He waved his hand around dismissively. “Fine.” Michael jabbed a finger at Ronen. “But you can’t hide from yourself forever. I’ll be watching you.”
Ronen didn’t doubt it.
* * * *
Three days later, Ronen stood at the back of the lair’s tactical room, lips pressed together as he surveyed the gathered Shadow Slayers.
Victor had arrived from Chicago that morning, and his weathered face was grim as he studied the map spread across the table, the jagged scar across his cheek more pronounced.
“Miami,” Victor said, tapping a thick finger on the southern tip of Florida. “If what those shadow gargoyles told us is true, then our intel doesn’t track. When our scouts verified the demon energy signatures, they appeared disproportionately thin.”
“How do you mean?” Cassiel asked with a frown.
“They’re typically clustered together. Safety in numbers and all that.” Victor shook his head. “But this massive government installation barely has any rogues occupying it. There’s a large staff operating out of that location, so there should be more of a demonic presence—masquerade or not.”
Ronen’s jaw tightened. He still wasn’t convinced they should trust the information, despite Michael’s apparent willingness to take the shadows seriously. “And if it’s a trap?”
Victor glanced up. “That’s why we’re sending our best. You, me, Cassiel, and Samir.”
“Samir?” Ronen could barely suppress the edge in his voice. “You’re kidding, right?”
The former rogue had only been back at the Boston lair for a month. It seemed much too soon for a recent traitor to be trusted.
Cassiel grunted. “I gotta agree with Ronen on this one. Rogue intel? Rogue co-fighter? The unnecessary risks are stacking up.”
Victor nodded. “I understand your reticence. But Samir was only compromised for a short time, lured to the darkness through his then-lover. His brief stint on the inside will offer us an advantage we can’t get anywhere else, even from our current prisoners.”
Ronen scrubbed his face with one hand, reminding himself that he was the one who’d forfeited the opportunity to lead the mission. However, that didn’t mean Victor was in charge.
“Cassiel is leading the mission. She should be the one to decide.”
Victor straightened with a sigh. “The actual attack strategy, not assembling the team. That’s my task.”
“It’s cool, Ronen,” said Cassiel. “I can make anything work.”
Her words projected agreement, but her eyes were cold as ice.
“Can we move on?” Victor directed his question at Ronen, his gaze steely.
It was a good thing he’d insisted to Michael that Cassiel should take the lead. If he were in charge, the battle would’ve begun before they ever left the lair.
Ronen glared back at Victor. “As long as Cassiel is fine with everything, then so am I.”