Echoes in Eternity (The Pella Series Book 1) (46 page)

Azaziel turns nearly 5 times bigger
than his size and has closed the distance to our posse surrounding us with a dust cloud. His voice booms loudly:

“I am the one who taught your kind to make breast plates, and weapons. Do you think your mere guns would do anything against us? I am the personification of impurity! I can feel all of your sins. You, Turk Stacy,” he points a long finger into the posse, singling Turk out.

“Marcus here saved you from lifelong servitude on a schooner. After sixteen years of torture and having had no foot stepping on land, Turk here had gone half crazy, and killed one of his torturers. Of course they captured you and you were about to be made an example of to the other captives and you were immediately flogged. They also sentenced you to be flayed alive before all of the galley slaves,” he says clapping his hands as if this was the most pleasant sight to see.

“Then they were to spill your intestines before you while you were still alive, and remove your lungs from the back of
your rib cage like the Vikings did. I was enjoying the flaying they started after Turk here was stretched on an X shaped wooden contraption spread eagle, which by the way was my invention! When the flaying started on his chest, Turk started screaming and his agony had reached Marcus’ ears on his ship, isn’t that right brother?” he asks mocking.

“You always had a soft heart for this sort of thing. Marcus of course changed his course to ease the agony of the captive no matter who he was. When our brother Marcus was done, all of Turk’s torturers were killed, and Turk was released half his chest skin removed, he was still conscious and in delicious pain!” says Azaziel grinning as wide as possible. “Marcus healed him then in that fall day in 1479. Isn’t that right Turk? That’s aaaaall there. In.
Your. Head...” he says drawling as he enunciates each word.

“Turk had
said that he’d be happy if he had never seen the ocean again, but he would follow Marcus to the ends of the earth even on the ocean. Guess my dear brother Marcus told him he was free to do whatever he wanted, or wherever he wanted to go. Turk told him that he would lay his life down for him whom he believed he owed it to, and with his permission he wanted to be part of his ship.” Then he turned to Marcus and asked.

“Brother Marcus, how clearly could
you see through his soul? This man believed that Marcus was sent by God, and yet you weren’t! Marcus had his own agenda, didn’t you brother? All for the sake of your offspring...” adds Azaziel disgustedly, trying to create mistrust.

“Marcus thinks he is a great judge of character and heart. He accepted the loyalty of this man. Turk
Stacy had been with him for over four hundred years. You could have died that day, and made your way to heaven. But here you are, serving Marcus for the sake of a little girl everyone wants to kill!” he bellows.

“My brother brought him to his ranch in the desert at a time when only Indians occupied the land. You were captured from a ship that was fighting against Venice. Not only were you fighting against the army that represented God on earth, bu
t you killed the Captain of the Guard after he whipped you within an inch of your life, and that murder tainted you, no matter what the reason. You’re bothered by it, are you not? You actually are afraid that you may not go to heaven!” mocks Azaziel.

“Enough!” says a commanding female voice. “Our business is not the mortals here!” says
Stella, holding her hand to pull Azaziel back. Marcus slowly changes positions to put himself between the posse and the Angels. Gabriel doesn’t miss that move; neither do the
Psyches
and Hailey. A mischievous smile tugs at her lips as if she has discovered the chink in our armor. Marcus wouldn’t allow the murder of mortals and the Nephilim who were beyond the fifteenth generation who were under his auspices. All of us were there to protect Marcus, and my family. Gabriel slowly shifts his position to side with Marcus; an action which is duly noted by Marcus. He misses nothing.
Fallen Angels
like Azaziel could summon demons. Mortals can’t stand against them but the Nephilim can. A feeling shifts inside Gabriel, awe, having realized that Marcus managed to have the Nephilim and the mortals coexisting and supporting one another. In fact our posse which included the Nephilim existed for centuries managed by a human named Buck Whitman. This strikes a chord with Gabriel; it’s a turning point in him. Because I noticed it, so do the
Psyche
... They’re getting more than they bargained for.

“I want to show you Gabriel, and semi-fallen Marcus that I care nothing about the mortals!” Azaziel’s gaze runs over every man in the posse who looks like they
have had more than their share of the battleground; tough, seasoned men. And Azaziel could enter into each of their minds to find their weaknesses, and torment them with it. He doesn’t even have to lift a finger to kill them; their own personal agony would do the job. Azaziel shakes Stella’s hand off and moves forward leaning over the middle aged cowboy who shows the wear and tear of life and of the desert. His callused hands are holding a Winchester rifle aimed at Azaziel.

“Buck Whitman, the ranch foreman! Does it still bother you that an outlaw posse tied you up and raped and killed your young daughter in front of you and your wife? Had it not been for our Marcus here, your wife would have had the same fate. Tell me, does it still keep you up at night?”
knowing full well that it does. Buck Whitman flinches as if someone stepped on his bleeding wound. But Azaziel is having too much fun with the pain of others, he adds.

“And you, rich boy,” he points at my former self. Hailey’s lips part, licking her lower lip. Her eyes glint, and she takes a step forward toward my former self. I’m holding my unblinking impassive gaze on Azaziel and
my former self presenting immense control of my emotions; he gives nothing away. “Tell me, Alexander, how does it feel to denounce your mother and your father to leave all those nice estates back in England, and come to this godforsaken desert land to be with his little daughter who is not even completely human? Does it ever bother you that you’ve abandoned your aging parents, their only son, heir to their wealth, leaving them all for a
girl
?” he asks as if the word ‘girl’ invokes vile and disgust in him. I don’t show the relief I felt; what he reads from me is not the truth.

M
y relief however is short lived. His demeanor changes as he catches the micro change in my mood. “Wait...wait...wait, you are blocking something, you are
more
...Alexander! You’re not mortal! Oh, my brother has been bad!” says Azaziel, his eyes completely dark and fiery. His long finger extended towards me accusingly, and a slow smile creeps up on his face.

“You laid claim on her! You have given her your heart! This is precious, indeed!” he whispers but the effect of it is thunderous. Hailey examines my former face, and she whips her head back to me in realization. My face remains impassive, but she’s now certain of my weakness. My former self continues to look at Azaziel impassively,
with an absence of valence. No one can guess what I’m planning to do. I appear in total control of myself. Silent; not a muscle moving. Not even a soft breath comes out of me showing any sign of mood change.

Azaziel turns
to heaven in a grand gesture, and bellows:

“And they call
me
Fallen
! They’re all
Fallen
!
Do you hear me Father?
They are worse than
I
!”

All hell breaks loose at that moment.

I jump off my horse in a blinding speed and hit Azaziel with a mean left hook. I have never run from a fight or a challenge in all of my existence. In fact I crave them. I was born for the battlefields. My thirst for the blood of the
Fallen
increases in me by leaps and bounds. With unexpected speed even from a Nephilim, I face Azaziel, and hit him once again with the might of the first generation Nephilim, with the near strength of an angel. But Azaziel is not a man or a Nephilim. He is a
Fallen Angel
.

Azaziel laughs with blood dripping from his split lip which heals before everyone’s eyes instantly leaving behind a
trail of crimson blood which ceases to flow after healing. Azaziel licks the blood with his tongue, in an exaggerated gesture. He then raises his hands with balls of fire in them and smirks, “Didn’t I tell you that I taught the men the art of warfare? Though I enjoy beauty here on earth, I
love
destruction even more! Not even your dark heart can match mine, Alexander,
the magnificent
!” he bellows with a mocking voice.

As Azaziel readies himself to toss the fireball, young Jesse jumps off his horse, and eagerly runs to fight. Azaziel hits him with the back of his hand over his windpipe instantly breaking the young boy’s neck singeing it with a nasty burn. Jesse was born on the ranch; he was only a boy. His death angers all of us, but Marcus most of all. That boy wasn’t tainted with any sin, or any regrets. All the Angels present know that. This is now the point everyone must pick their camp. E
ach person in the posse surges forward with their horses with one purpose in their eyes: Revenge.

Doc Henry who looks no older than thirty five pales with Jesse’s instant death and points his Colts and repeatedly shoots at Azaziel. “They may have baggage, and qualms with their conscience, but I have no such problems,” he says
giving two short coughs, reloading his gun without taking his eyes off the
Fallen Angel
. His spurs jingle, and he remains focused.

“Henry the physician who is supposed to save lives but has taken seventeen in gambling fights, and brawls, yes, you’d make me proud; join
in my ranks if you wish,” says Azaziel invitingly, but a mocking laughter comes from Henry angering Azaziel who responds with a thunderous retort, “then again, you might prefer to keep on dying slowly of that disease, bleeding you inside out helping you to join the miserable hoards in the underworld.”

“You’re preaching to the choir Azaziel, ‘
abyssus abyssum invocate sed caelitus mihi vires
’
. Unlike others, we have no qualms about hell,” I say calmly indicating myself and Doc Henry. Doc Henry’s disease is only for the human’s benefit. He’s an immortal. Azaziel makes a forward motion to simply crush me with his enormous size, “Yes, indeed ‘
hells call hell
,’ and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. But, I don’t believe
your collective strength is from heaven
. You’re both tainted Alexander,” he mocks me.

All the men in the posse
have jumped off their horses, and have taken cover behind the large cluster of rocks, waiting with their guns pointed, except for Henry and I. We don’t seem to have a care and don’t bother to hide, surprising the
Fallen Angels
. Both of us unload our Colts, perfectly aiming at Azaziel’s head, then look at each other in a silent conversation and switch our aims to the sides and above Azaziel’s head which appear off to other members of the posse who know us to be dead shots. But, to everyone’s surprise, Azaziel falters back. It shocks them further to see Azaziel’s seven snake heads which become visible for having been weakened by the gunshots, but as soon as they heal themselves, they disappear leaving an angrier Azaziel who starts speaking in a demonic language calling demons from the other realms. He clasps his palms together creating a ball of fire. Then he slices his arm dripping blood into the fire for recompense to open up a demonic portal where a path didn’t exist before.

“Get ready, just like I told you before,” yells Doc Henry adding with firm resoluteness to the posse behind him, and with one look, Henry and I coordinate our moves. Finally Doc Henry turns to Azaziel and mutters “
Deo duce, ferro comitante
.”

“God is not your leader, and you have no iron, no sword,” says Azaziel confused.

Several things happened simultaneously. The portal created by Azaziel makes a dark hole in midair, first the size of a fist slowly enlarging, like a dark shadow expanding. It ripples, though nothing is in sight, as if it had a bottomless pit. All of the pistols and shotguns could be heard cocked one after another ready to shoot at anything sinister. Gabriel who has been silent as the scene has been unfolding before him takes out two blindingly bright swords housed in its sheaths on his back swinging them so fast, it appears as if it’s chopping and slicing the air. Stella and Gadreel appear to be confused momentarily. Marcus readies himself to channel the sun’s energy, finally assuming his full angelic form as he expands his magnificent wings with a big whoosh. Dust rises up and twists like a dust devil with the strong flaps of his wings, but he remains firmly on the ground. Gadreel reaches the hilt on his side and takes out a fiery sword.

             
Doc responds to Azaziel’s retort.

“Oh but I do possess iron. I may be a sinner, but I am an educated sinner. I know how to pick a winning hand. And you’re not it! Out here, we call this iron,” says Doc Henry pointing
to his guns.

“I pegged you for someone a little smarter than that, John Henry. You can’t win a fight with me using a clumsy human weapon like that
, you dumb cowboy,” laughs Azaziel.