CHAPTER NINETEEN #2
“Reaver,” Pestilence coos, and her voice has taken on a different quality, calculating and manipulative. “How wonderful of you to join us. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
“Have you?” Reaver’s grip tightens on his sword. “Because I’ve been trying to avoid it. But you kidnapped my girlfriend, and come to find out you’ve also hurt my friend here, so here I am.”
“Friend?” She laughs, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.
“Is that what you think you are? Gabriel has no friends. He has victims and casualties. Everyone he’s ever cared about has died or been destroyed.
But you,” she continues, focusing entirely on Reaver now.
“Do you know why I freed you from Treachery Prison? Why I gave you a chance at redemption?”
Reaver’s face goes blank. If he knows, which I suspect he does, he’s not about to give anything away. Smart.
“I knew my freedom came with payment. Nothing good ever comes for free. I figured you’d get around to the bill eventually.”
“Oh, this isn’t about payment. This is about opportunity.
” She spreads her arms, encompassing her fortress, her army, everything.
“I need you, Reaver. Gabriel is broken—useful for torture and companionship but ultimately limited in his power. But you? You’re still whole, still strong.
And thanks to a small oversight on Themis’ part, you’ve never fallen.
So, I need you to help me challenge Themis herself. ”
“Yeah, that’s a hard pass. Thanks for the opportunity, though.” Reaver states flatly.
“I wasn’t asking.” Pestilence’s voice drops to a purr.
“You owe me. Our contract was quite clear—one favor, to be called in when I chose. And I’m calling it in.
So join me, or your precious Kennedy dies.
Actually,” she corrects herself, “Join me, or everyone and everything you’ve ever cared about dies.
You’re not meant to be the hero, Reaver. You’re the brainless brute.”
I feel Reaver’s entire body go rigid beside me. “You touch her—” Reaver’s voice sounds like murder incarnate.
“Jenna has her,” I whisper. “Pestilence is full of shit,” I choke out. Reaver looks at me as if I have three heads, and it occurs to me that he has no idea who Jenna is. For all he knows, she’s as bad as Pesta. “She’s one of the good guys,” I add, since time is not on our side for explanation.
“Am I?” Pesta queries with a sing-song air of delight to her voice.
“Jenna has her only because I allowed it. Have you learned nothing? And as for Kennedy, I won’t have to touch her,” Pestilence continues.
“If you refuse me now, I’ll simply send word to my agents.
They’ll find her. Infect her. Bring her to me.
And you’ll get to watch as she rots from the inside out, screaming your name and begging you to save her. ”
“Reaver,” I say quietly, gripping his arm. “Don’t listen to her, Kennedy and Jenna—they escaped. They’re on their way to The Firehouse. Alastor will protect them. She’s bluffing.”
He turns to look at me, and I see the war raging behind his eyes. “Are you sure about that?”
“Reasonably sure.” I do my best to reassure him, although I may be the one needing some good ol’ fashioned reassurance right about now. “Alright, maybe sixty-forty, but at least fifty-fifty.”
“That’s not reassuring, Gabe.”
“I’m working with limited information here!”
A Collector chooses that moment to attack, and Reaver dispatches it with a casual backhand that sends it flying into a pillar and crashing to the floor. “Alastor,” he says, and I can hear the disdain in his voice. “Runs The Firehouse on this side?”
“The very same. Trust me, if anyone can keep them safe, it’s him. Guy’s paranoid as hell—literally—and protective of women.”
I hear Reaver let out a low growl. “That’s even less reassuring. But I know him. He’ll protect them.”
Pestilence shrieks in fury, and the demons surge forward again. Except this time, we’re ready. Or as ready as one can be when you’re battered and haven’t fought for more than a decade.
Reaver moves like a force of nature, his sword carving through demons with practiced efficiency. But I can see him pulling his punches, holding back, already calculating the cost of every move.
He is planning something.
I grab a fallen demon’s weapon—a crude axe that reeks of disease—and throw myself into the fray. My body screams in protest, but I ignore it. Pain is temporary. Death—death would be permanent, but I’ve been so close to both for so long that they’ve lost their sting.
“On your six!” Reaver calls out, and I duck as his blade whistles overhead, taking out a Plague Wraith that was about to grab me.
“Thanks!”
“Don’t mention it. Literally, if anyone asks, you saved yourself.”
We fight in tandem, covering each other’s blind spots, moving with the kind of synchronicity that only comes from centuries of partnership.
It may have been two millennia ago that we fought side by side, but it is like muscle memory—our bodies remember how to fight together even if our minds forgot.
A Rot Fiend manages to sink its teeth into my calf, and I go down hard. Reaver is there instantly, his boot connecting with the creature’s skull with enough force to shatter bone.
“Getting sloppy in your old age, Gabe,” he taunts, hauling me up again.
“Fuck you. I’ve been tortured and starved for a decade. I was literally just hanging on a fucking wall an hour ago.”
“A decade of torture. Please. Try a thousand years in Treachery, then come bitch to me, and maybe I’ll have some sympathy, pretty boy.”
Despite the circumstances—the demons, the fighting, the very real possibility of death—I find myself grinning.
This… this is what I’ve missed. Not the glory of being an Archangel, not the worship or power.
Just camaraderie, brotherhood. Having someone who understands what you’ve gone through and will still fight beside you.
“Hey!” I call over to Reaver as we carve our way through another wave of demons. I’m lost for words, something that rarely happens. He must understand what I’m trying to convey, because he gives me a curt nod.
“Don’t go giving me some deathbed confession, you can save it. We aren’t dying today.”
“No, listen. When I fell, when Themis cast me out, I lost everything. My power, my purpose. I never wanted to be what she made me. I left all of you behind. I’m a warrior, and whatever this bitch wants from you, I got your back. I know you didn’t intend to find the likes of me down here. But…”
“Gabriel—” Reaver starts to speak, but a horde of small demons surge forward, and we lay waste to them together.
In the end, we’re both dripping in entrails and questionable ooze.
Reaver is quiet for a moment as we catch our breath before the next onset.
His sword is raised, ready to strike, as is my axe.
“You’re welcome,” he finally says, continuing the conversation as if we hadn’t just fought for our lives.
“But you’re still an idiot for getting captured in the first place. ”
“Fair point.”
“And if you ever quote poetry at me again, I’m leaving you here.”
“That wasn’t poetry!”
“It was poetry adjacent. That’s close enough.”
We fight our way to the center of the great hall now, all the while Pestilence stands watching us, her expression unreadable. The demons begin to pull back, creating a circle around us.
“Impressive,” she says, her voice carrying across the sudden silence. “I forgot how beautiful you were when you fought. Heaven’s perfect weapons.
“Neither of us is Heaven’s anything anymore,” Reaver answers flatly.
“No. You’re mine.” She smiles, and it is the worst thing I’ve ever seen. “Or you will be. Last chance, Reaver. Submit willingly, help me take Heaven from Themis, and I’ll leave your precious Kennedy alone.”
“Reaver—” I start, but he holds up his hand.
“What exactly would this submission entail?” he asks.
“Reaver, what are you doing?” I hiss, grabbing his arm.
He ignores me. “Would I have to hurt people? Innocent people?”
Pestilence tilts her head, weighing her answer. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me, but Kennedy matters more.”
“Reaver, I told you. I’ve got your back.”
Reaver turns to look at me. “And she’ll make good on hurting Kennedy. I can’t let that happen. You did the same thing for Jenna, didn’t you?”
“Are you two done? Yes, you will hurt people,” she said.
“To rule Heaven, we’ll need to break things.
Destroy and kill things. But think of the greater good—a world without Themis.
One without her arbitrary rules and punishments that serve only her.
I’m not the bad guy here, she is. Look at all she’s done to you and your brethren.
Take a good, hard look and tell me I’m wrong. ”
I watch Reaver weigh what she’s just laid out.
“This is what she does, Reaver. She plants doubt in your mind and makes you think she’s not worse.
” My words fall on deaf ears, and Reaver steps toward her.
“All it will be is a world with your tyranny instead. Much better!” I yell out to her, hoping to the gods that Reaver is listening.
Finally, Reaver stops and speaks, although still not looking at me. “Gabriel, do you trust me?”
Of all the questions he could ask, that is the one I least expect. Do I trust him? This man who showed up out of nowhere, who fought beside me like no time had passed, who made me laugh in the middle of Hell?
“Yeah,” I nod, although he’s not looking at me. “I trust you.”
He nods once, then drops his sword. It clatters on the stone floor with a sound like a bell tolling, echoing through all her fortress.
“Reaver!” I shout, but he is already moving forward, toward Pestilence.
“I submit,” he says, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “On one condition.”
Pestilence’s eyes light up with triumph. “I’m listening.” She smiles.