Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was obvious his strike would never land—his movements were too telegraphed, his target too heavily guarded.
But Luce had to admire something in the no-holds-barred attempt.
Jophiel lunged forward again, unimpeded this time, and pulled his sabre from the belt at his waist to block with the flat edge.
He knew Gabriel might be furious with him later, but his loyalty to Jehovah compelled him to act, and frankly, he doubted Gabe would approve of the young demigod’s actions.
He was shoved back, heels grinding in the dirt as Foster’s momentum carried them both towards Jehovah. With a grunt of effort and a hard push against the younger man, Jophiel was able to deflect the blow aside, but not without a long slice from shoulder to wrist.
Jophiel cried out but stood his ground. Across the clearing, Glory shrieked and tried to run towards him, only to be blocked by Lucifer’s barrier.
“Glory, stop!” Bal said, gripping the blonde by the forearms. “Would he want you in danger?”
“I don’t care!”
“I am fine, Gloriana,” Jophiel grunted, keeping his eyes on Foster, who seemed torn between attempting a second strike and surprise that he had wounded someone. As with Camiel, Jophiel’s wound lingered as a result of Foster’s strange blade.
The tension simmered long enough for Jehovah to lift his hand, to do what no one could be sure. Then Foster bolted across the clearing as if freed from some spell keeping him in place.
“After him, if you would,” Jehovah said, waving his raised hand lazily.
Jophiel nodded and tore off after the young demigod, disregarding his still healing wound despite his sister’s shouted protests.
Two other angels from the contingent followed their lieutenant; enough to offer him support while keeping the King properly protected.
They disappeared around the ruins of the building, and Jehovah turned to Lucifer with a cold glare. “There has been enough chaos this day.”
“For once, brother, I can agree with you,” Luce said, albeit bitterly.
“I will take my fugitive and go, before the barrier around this place wanes thin enough for mortals to traverse.”
Luce frowned. “You will be taking no prisoners.”
Jehovah laughed. “Do you forget, Lucifer? Your son promised her to me. He is also of royal blood, is he not?”
“You can’t be serious that you think his word voids my claims.”
“What authority have you to claim sanctuary when my kingdom was violated? The girl will face her trial.” His gaze hardened. “My laws are clearly defined, and she willfully defied them. It is a slight against my intelligence and my hospitality.”
“I did not intend offense, Your Highness,” Mags said quietly where she knelt in the grass. “I was seeking to avert the very calamity we see unfolding today.”
“You have chosen a very reckless and ill-advised path in your haste to decide.” He softened, but only slightly. “Actions have consequences, Mary.”
Mag’s decision dawned on Luce, before she even made a single movement.
Like an ache in the throat, slow, paralyzing terror crept down through his torso to settle in his gut like a stone.
It was written in the cast of her features; the firm set of her delicate jaw, the square of her tiny shoulders, the way her gaze was cut with steel.
This was not a woman who would run or debase herself with tears or pleading.
“Mags, no.” Lucifer struggled to his feet, relying on the surge of panic-fueled adrenaline to carry his utterly drained body through the motions. “Please.”
“You speak as though there are choices to make, Luce,” she spoke softly, but her voice was steady.
“Indeed, there are not.” Jehovah inclined his head briefly. “But to be certain, Ezekiel, if you would?”
The angel at Jehovah’s left shoulder stepped out and hesitated, silver wings fluttering awkwardly.
He was tall and slender, with a shock of pure white hair pulled back in a neat ponytail to highlight a stern countenance.
Dark, angular eyes flicked across the field to Raguel, who met his gaze with a mingled look of reproach and pleading.
Ezekiel looked away first, something akin to anger in the action. He crossed the grass with long strides, hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his rapier.
“Zeke.” Mags lifted her chin, and the angel gripped it firmly. She immediately tried to shrink back, but he gripped her forearm with his free hand to still her.
“Do not speak.” His normally smooth voice was rough with repressed emotion, the mellifluous tones cut with gravel. “Do not make this more difficult than it needs be.”
Mags went small and rigid in the angel’s grip.
“Release her!” Luce roared and attempted to surge to his feet.
Between maintaining the barriers in place and the damage his body had taken, his magic was almost fully depleted, even with the bolstering waves from Cami and Sachi.
Lucifer crashed to his knees halfway to Mags’s side. “Please, Ezekiel, release her.”
“He will not,” Jehovah dismissed his brother with a lazy wave, but Ezekiel hesitated, gripping Mags tightly but not moving to return to Jehovah. “You disgrace yourself with these pitiful displays, Lucifer, honestly.”
“I do not care,” Luce said, bracing his palms in the dirt. He shoved himself up, struggling to get one foot planted and wavering from the strain. “I will debase myself a thousand times over for the ones I love.”
“Not for your son, however?”
“Some of us draw the line at murdering our children.”
A darkness stole over Jehovah’s face like a cloud across the sun, something ugly flickering there. With a swift and violent slash of his hand, a tendril of light came down like a whip across Luce’s straining back, bringing him to the ground again.
“How dare you,” Jehovah hissed, bringing his whip down again, and again. It tore through Luce’s shirt and bit into his back like a fiery brand, singing the flesh even as it was split. “You know nothing of why Christos was asked for his sacrifice, or what it cost me to even consider it.”
“And yet,” Luce hissed, voice low and taut with strain from the assault, “you allowed your son to die. Encouraged it, even.”
Another swing and crack of the whip. Glory began to cry, while Remiel unleashed a string of curses in several dead languages.
Fury cast Jehovah’s face in hard lines, rendering him a vengeful sculpture. “Unlike you and yours, my son understands the balance of the universe, and his place within it.”
“So you claim.” Luce looked up from the ground, disdain clearly etched in the lines of his mouth, the furrow of his brow. “Or is he simply afraid of your reaction should he refuse your wishes?”
The golden light reared back again, angling to strike Luce across the face this time.
Instead, the whip cracked down across a broad, tanned chest, leaving a nasty split in the skin like a flayed fish, its edges smoldering.
Michael grunted, falling back and landing on his back in the dirt before Lucifer.
“Not me, you beautiful idiot,” Luce murmured, running his fingers over Michael’s forehead to brush loose curls out of his eyes. “I can take it. If you must defend someone, go to Mags.”
Michael’s healing factor had been almost completely depleted when he took Foster’s blow for Luce, and the building collapse had left him severely injured.
Luce dug deep, pushing himself past his long-reached limits, to send the last dregs of his power into the angel, offering him as much healing as he could muster in the hopes one of them could save the girl.
Michael stared up, the pale blue of the sky haloing Lucifer’s dark, disheveled head, and thought the Devil might be more beautiful now than he had ever been in their youth. Sparks of healing magic raced across his temples and down his neck, shoulders, and torso.
Bones snapped back into solid form; torn muscles knit back together.
Then the magic fizzled out, only able to address the most urgent of medical concerns.
Michael grunted, rolled to the side, pushed up from the ground on trembling arms, and got unsteadily to his feet.
His still shattered wings drooped and dragged along the grass.
“You are entirely out of line, Michael,” Jehovah warned him, voice taut with fury. “To lie to me, defy me, and now to interfere with my justice?”
“This is vengeance, not justice,” he spoke slowly, knowing to speak his mind was to invite his own punishment. He turned to Ezekiel, delivering his best disappointed glower. “You were trained to be better than this, Ezekiel.”
“I was trained to follow orders,” the younger angel rebuked him. “A lesson you seem to have forgotten since teaching it to me.”
“You will learn much with age that cannot be taught, youngling.” He extended a hand. “Please allow Mary to come to me. I do not wish to fight you.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Ezekiel gripped Mags more tightly, pulling her rigid form to his side. Mags whimpered, and Michael couldn’t hold himself back anymore.
“So be it.” Michael lunged forward, only for Ezekiel to spin nimbly aside, dragging Mags with him. Michael pulled up short, wheeling around and making a second attempt at tackling the younger angel.
Ezekiel dodged again, stumbling slightly over Mags’s feet and yanking her behind him as Michael reached for her again.
With a growl of irritation, he pulled a thin cord from his belt, looping the golden strands over Mags’s thin wrists and letting it pull taut.
She winced, recoiling, and Ezekiel pushed her to her knees.
“Stay out of my way,” he hissed, ducking another swipe from Michael and elbowing the taller man in the gut, pushing him away from Mags.
Michael tried to draw his sword from the sheath down his back, but Ezekiel wasn’t foolish enough to allow his former mentor a weapon.
He beat him back mercilessly, blocking every strike and countering with another immediately after.