Of Kings and Demons (19 page)

An odd-shaped view of the sky, formed by the jagged spaces between the
foliage of towering trees, was the first sight that greeted Gwyneth when she
woke.

She tried to stand but her limbs denied her
and she dropped to her knees. The paralysis was worse than she’d expected. Her
senses were blurred, obscured by the demonic virus. She called for help, a long
and quivering moan that dissolved into the vast darkness of the woods. Her
physical incapacitation transmuted into an emotional despondency, a growing
tumour in her consciousness.

Gwyneth had read about the infected angels
and how they were consumed by the dark side in the past centuries. These
records were written into the historical annals to remind the Guardian Angels
of the sacrifices that had been made in their war with the Demons.

The virus would impair the verve of the
Angels as it debase the intrinsic fabric of the Angels, and rendered them
debilitated and impotent. Over seven days, the bitten Angels will gradually
lose their powers and angelic disposition, and their physical appearances will
deteriorate with falling hair, wasted complexion and twisted ears. They would
become a cusp between deformed Angel and mutated Demons. The mutated specie was
termed
abeo
meaning the vanished ones.

Some of the
abeo
, whose consciousness of good has been completely
consumed, will served in the armies of the Demon Lords; while those who
retained the partial consciousness of an Angel, and refused to serve the
Demons, will reside in the dark recesses of Earth, feeding on the trash of
humanity.

She shuddered at that stark prospect of her
degeneration. Pain and fear now consumed her senses with only a cacophony of
insect sounds keeping her sane.
How long had I been unconscious?
She had
lost track of time.

Gwyneth tried to stand and succeeded at her
fifth try, wobbly like a toddler. She checked her surroundings and realized her
landing had created a crater. The heat from her crash landing had scorched
everything within a twenty-yard diameter, even the towering trees that
seemingly touched the skies.

Her heartbeat pounded in irregular tempo
like if her respiratory system constricted by a serpent. The wounds on her arm
were growing sore and soon glowed with a grisly green. The sapping pain brought
out a grudging respect in Gwyneth for the Demon Lords who are famed masters in the
concoction of potent venom.

Using her hands, Gwyneth dragged herself
over to a huge tree. The trunk was so broad that it provided with a nice
leaning spot. She could gauge their age by simply feeling the bark, and the
wrinkles that lined the girth told her most of them were as old as civilization
on the American continent.

Her thoughts darted to Maganus and other
Guardian Angels. Anxiety for their safety fed the virus, now creeping across
her chest and devouring her senses. Her sights were affected and she was seeing
colours!

Gwyneth tried to summon Marz with an
intense whistle. However, the effectiveness of her whistles was impaired by the
venom, and was frail and brittle. A good hour elapsed without any traces of
Marz. She could no longer feel her legs. It took ages to shift herself. She
laughed, with bitterness at her own disability.

The powerful White Angel, Gwyneth the Fair,
has been reduced to a struggling mortal, a sight that would please the Demons. As
the undercurrent of negative emotions stirred in her, it began to snow. The
chill brought an ironic comfort—she felt better. It was a soothing respite.
Then the realization hit her. Snow is her ally and she can summon it. Snow
contained the possible element to retard the spread of the demonic virus.

The words in the annals on the virus began
to ring in her ears. The demonic venom was a strain of poison extracted from
the depths of Hell. It fed on the negative vibes of human emotions. If it was
transmitted through the blood of human beings, it means instant death for
mortals. There were certain elements that could be used to slow or retard the
growth of the virus and snow was one of them.

Her wait for Marz was in vain. She feared
demise in the secluded woods.

The White Angel was helpless.
Defenseless.

As time flowed by, and life ebbed away,
Gwyneth drifted into frequent spells of darkness. Sudden movement in nearby
bushes yanked her back to consciousness.
Marz? Or could it be a hungry bear?

Then it came; a tiny being emerged from the
snow-clad bushes and flittered around her. It was a butterfly whose appearance
was ,paradoxically, both an intrigue and relief.

Gwyneth stuck out her pointer finger for
the insect to alight upon and then studied the animal. She smiled, in partial
self-tease.
For all her prayers, only a butterfly responded?

“I wish you could help,” she whispered.

Abruptly, in an overwhelming response to
her whimper, the butterfly leapt from her finger and formed a path of gold in
its flight. Sensing danger, Gwyneth clutched her golden cross, her last line of
defense, ready to respond.

She was blinded by a burst of light as the
butterfly exploded into mist and soon, right in front of her, stood a winged
dark horse. Gwyneth watched agape at the transformation and the sight of the
handsome mane, which had a silky, red texture. The eyes, which were glimmering
rubies robbed her attention. The sheer beauty of the winged creature belonged
to another realm. When she saw the rider, she could hardly breathe.

He had the aura of an ancient and
accomplished warrior. The boots were lined with bold red and silver, the regal
colour of a Demon Lord. The mask, the plume, and the armour confirmed her
suspicions.

Gwyneth clenched her fist for a possible
fight. Her fear had fed the venom in her, and she felt poison coursing through
her veins like a serpent. Her defiant composure, raised head and jutted-out
chin, did little to hide her trembling.Her legs were numb, and soon her arms
would go.

The towering figure dismounted and landed
with a heavy thud, and sauntered towards her with sure footsteps, each of which
resonated with intimidation. Then the figure stopped just a yard away. He
raised his hand and gently flicked open the mask.

Shocked, she began panting as she looked
into the unmistakable face of Prince Vassago, one of the most powerful lords of
the demonic worlds. The thick moustache and proud goatee, with his self-assured
gaze, spoke of an aristocratic background. It was the mole on the right corner
of his lips that confirmed his identity.

The realization exacerbated her physical
pain.
Her final moment?

“Gwyneth the Fair.” It was a mellifluous
voice, a smooth-flowing river that swept away the debris of wariness. He
scanned her from head to foot as if Gwyneth were a tradable commodity in the
bazaar.

“Pathetic,” the Prince said. “Look at how
you tremble.”

“Prince Vassago, what else can I be after
an ambush?”

“Never underestimate the powers of the
Demons.”

“Pride?” Gwyneth frowned, her eyebrows
twitched as the pain lurked in her chest. “You are…are behind this?” she asked.

“Don’t frown,” the prince said. “It is
hurting you. Shed anger, hatred or anything negative will only worsen the venom
that now flows in your veins.”

“That’s very kind advice.”

“It is for your good.” Vassago’s lips
curled in disapproval and he continued. “Medicinal application is what you
need. From the colour of your complexion, I do not need to do much to kill you.
And if it’s this easy to finish off a formidable Angel, I need not come
personally.”

Gwyneth swallowed.
Vassago was right.

“Doubt will not help save you, Lady
Gwyneth.”

“You are genuinely here to help?”

Prince Vassago’s eyes widened as his irises
mutated into a dark maroon and a gust of wind hit Gwyneth on her face.

“Where is your faith in the good?”

“Vaporized, scorched by the treachery of
your race.”

Gwyneth regretted her sarcasm as she
witnessed Vassago’s irises turn a deep red and his ears glowed. The fury lasted
only for a moment for the iris soon returned to the usual blue, and the ear
dimmed.

“I don’t blame you,
Angel
. However,
despite our very different agendas, surreptitious methods in handling opponents
are beyond me. I have always conducted my affairs, diplomacy or wars against
your race, with reason and fairness. I do not like Gabriel and the lot, but I
do not hate them.”

Gwyneth could feel the strength of honesty,
fierce and uncompromising emanating from the Prince’s eyes. “I am sorry, Prince
Vassago.”

“Who can blame you?”

“Events in the last few days,
with Kings and kinglings brutally murdered, left me with no

reason to believe you came with good will. Such attacks are against the
rules of engagement
。
”
      The prince shrugged nonchalantly.

 “Prince Vassago, is it too much to ask for
a reasonable explanation to all this madness?”

“I don’t owe you one.”

“Then I plead for one,” Gwyneth whispered.

“Barbatos,” Vassago muttered. 

“He is behind all this?”

“With the backing of Lucifer, of course.”

“I am surprised.”

Vassago stroked his beard. “I came to you
without his knowledge.”

Gwyneth struggled for words.

“Are you touched or plain dumbfounded?”
Vassago asked, his strong features glowing with pride.

“I am no more enlightened, Prince.” Gwyneth
asked.

The Prince sniggered. “Barbatos is capable of great things. However, his
ambition outstrips his abilities. His sense of reality, of the balance of power
between Angels and Demons, can be distorted. You raised and guided him. You
should know better.”

Gwyneth stared into the distance. At this
moment of vulnerability, she did not need to be reminded of her past mistakes.
Vassago’s
paradoxical ways.

“Lady Gwyneth?”

“Yes?”

“I meant that you groomed him. You were his
mentor. He was your friend and then enemy.”

Pains in her chest sent Gwyneth into uncontrollable coughing and she spit
blood.

“You need immediate help, Lady Gwyneth.”

The prince studied her wounds and clucked his tongue. “You called
yourself a Guardian Angel?”

“I suppose you could show some respect to
your victim by not gloating, Prince Vassago.”

“You heal faster with your mouth shut,” the
Prince warned, then raised his right

hand over the wound and begun to chant in a tongue
that sounded like a cross between a grunt and an alien snort. Gwyneth tried to
resist but gave up when she realized Vassago was trying to heal her.

As she watched, she was impressed by the
aura of authority that cloaked Vassago. He was intense and sharply genuine.

The wound on her arm transmuted first to a
pale green, then a gentle yellow before gradually dissipating. Simultaneously,
the load lifted off her heart and the pain that was like a constricting serpent
just minutes earlier, had faded away like vapour.

Vassago studied her wounds and once
satisfied, dropped her arm. “You shall live on to create more trouble for my
fraternity!”

Gwyneth was nodded her thanks. She
struggled to stand and was soon on her feet.

“Your powers have not been fully replenished.
Do not over-exert.”

“Thank you, but enlighten me on your true
motives, Prince.”

Vassago rose to his full height, almost a head taller, and in his
armoured robes, looked intimidating.

“Use your instincts. Feel the answer.”

“Do you know Barbatos’s specific plans?”

The prince smiled.

“Barbatos has always aimed to be
the
overlord of Hell, after Lucifer. Barbatos wants be the first Lord of Demons,
the
Primoris Senior
. That is his ambition, but his methods and ways are
beyond to us all.”

“The usual domination agenda?”

“It is always an aspiration of Demon Lord
to control humanity totally.”

Gwyneth clenched her fists. “We will make a
response.”

“What is the point with the serious
degeneration of the state of the human world?”

“That is a very poor excuse. You are going
to just sit back and watch Barbatos destroy the old order?”

“I had lost control of my legions,” the
prince explained. “Barbatos had overall control. Lucifer gave him access to the
resources, and whatever that might be needed to achieve his objectives.”

“I am surprised.” Gwyneth said.

“He is set on domination. Lucifer needed
somebody to lead the charge.”

“If he fails …” Gwyneth prodded.

“Somebody has to take blame for a silly
campaign should God send his Angels.”