Chapter 44: Ashtaroth

I pull myself out of my true form and back into a physical body. I want to be able to hold a weapon, to crush Belial's skull with my hands, to rip him apart, limb by limb.

Reforming right in front of him, I grab his head and twist it before pulling it off. I want to feel his blood covering my body like an unholy baptism, but I am not the only one who cannot be destroyed.

Belial's ethereal form, orange tendrils trailing behind it, leaps back before reforming once again into the flesh and bone demonic visage. The Fallen and Elioud, having mostly dispatched the rest of Belial's troops with Sariel's help, move closer but maintain a healthy distance. The ones that are not injured or tending to the injured, at least. I look at Lana, bleeding and unconscious just a few feet behind the archdemon who hurt her.

"You wanted to fight, betrayer," I taunt in our original language, making his nostrils flare. I beckon him closer with one hand and unsheathe the blade that reformed with my body with the other. I need to exhaust his power enough that he flees.

Belial laughs fanatically. "What took you so long? She's all but dead now."

I growl under my breath. I miscalculated terribly and my little lamb paid the consequences. A trembling Puck reached us with his warning, and, pausing only long enough to send Aim to the Dark Prince, I grabbed hold of Sariel and materialized us in Abaddon. Perhaps too late. Perhaps the last time we spoke was when I was pushing her away, making her believe she meant nothing to me.

I grit my teeth. Lifting my sword, I give Belial no choice but to engage me or flee. He charges, spear extended, and our weapons meet with a thunderous clash. I disengage and swing horizontally, aiming to cleave him in half. But he moves too fast, deflecting my strike and making it go wide. Belial then thrusts the spear forward, my own torso the target, and I easily sidestep. Using the opening, I swing my sword overhead. As he dodges, I summon ether-born wind to send arrow-fast particles of sand at his face. Shrieking, Belial releases the bounds of his mortal form again, reforming only when my winds die down. When he summons hellfire to throw at me again, I don't expend energy on reforming. Instead, I use the ether to disappear from the fire's path and emerge behind him, kicking him in the back – a move similar to the one I practiced with Lana just days ago.

Stumbling, Belial jumps through the ether himself, moving to a safe distance. A few mocking words from my side are enough to have him charge me again recklessly. We dance for long minutes. But Belial always enjoyed politics more than fighting, leaving the leading of his armies to Lana's grandfather. I expect him to make a mistake soon.

After executing a feint, I surprise him enough to cleave off one of his arms at the elbow. I take in his roar of fury with a grin. Still smiling, I swing my sword in an undercut, his shriveled balls the next part I want removed. He jumps back fast enough that only the tip of my sword makes contact, cutting a long slash into his robes.

I click my tongue in annoyance and grip my weapon in both hands, ready to end this game. At that moment the ground begins shaking beneath us and I take several steps back on instinct. A hole opens underneath where we were standing, just as I'm clear of it, and Belial disappears with a wail of terror, straight into the Burning Pits.

Aim must have reached Sataniel and, briefly, I wonder if my assassin still lives. But I'm already turning away from the glowing depthless pit and the moaning wails rising from it. I run towards Lana and drop to my knees, dumping my sword to the side like it is worthless kitsch.

I gently tip up her head with my palms on her jaw. Her face is bloodless and the wound under her shoulder is to blame. "Watcher!" I yell for her mentor, the one whose healing abilities she lauded during the weeks we spent nearly every hour together. Turning around, I see that the blonde angel is tending to Lana's mortal companion, Kevin. The boy is bleeding from a long gash across his sternum.

Sariel kneels next to them and ushers the other Fallen towards us. My son may have given into lust centuries ago, but he still has some light in him, enough to have maintained the ability to heal flesh wounds. All I could do would be to cauterize the wound with fire, hurting her more in the process.

Daniel reaches us and leans over Lana, immediately placing an already glowing hand over the hole in her chest. It has been eons since I saw that kind of power at work – most of the once-angels residing in Abaddon or Hell cannot connect to Heaven's light this easily.

This angel did not fall lusting for the carnal pleasures of mortal flesh. No, he was merely made more feeling than most angels, the empathy creating a capacity to love, that capacity leaving a void where there should have been only light. But angels are not given that choice; the free will to act on needs they should not have. It is why most of us joined Sataniel in that first schism. None of us had the same needs… but we should not have had needs at all. We should have been obedient guardians and messengers, existing for no other purpose than to serve the Most High. Perhaps Father had come to regret some decisions if he had left so much of his love in this being despite the angel's imperfections.

Although he had used a lot of his energy fighting demons and doing battle mending, the Watcher makes quick work of the perilous injury and Lana stirs just as it closes, leaving behind a mark of a healing wound that would have taken a normal mortal several weeks to achieve on their own.

Beautiful eyes the color of a newborn leaf open slowly, unfocused at first, dazed and dreamy. The eyes of an angel, inherited from her grandmother, but most often burning with the indomitable will of her general grandfather. She leans her cheek into the palm I placed to support her head.

"I thought he killed you," she whispers, her voice faint and raw from screaming. I growl at the sound of it, wishing I could have had more time with Belial, to torture him for centuries for causing her pain. But what I can do to him is nothing compared to what he is hopefully enduring at the hands of the Dark Prince.

"I believe I told you, sweetness, that there is only one being who could rid you of me." I stroke the apple of her cheek with my thumb and her eyes close again.

"She requires rest," Daniel explains. "The healing wounds are leaching her strength. She has none of it left." The Watcher's tone is calm and unafraid, though haggard from depletion.

I sheathe my discarded sword, then gently gather Lana in my arms before rising. "You have my gratitude," I murmur to the solemn healer, then turn until I am facing the rest of the Fallen. "We are leaving." I sweep my gaze over her mentors and colleagues, daring anyone to defy my proclamation. They all look ragged and not many dare to even meet my eye. I find Maalik standing close, arms crossed, and address him next. "Sariel will stay here to assist."

My son is supporting the Cambion boy, who perhaps finally got past his aversion to the male's touch. "Yes, Father," he acknowledges my command, his black eyes still full of painful loss.

I unfurl my wings, making several soldiers gasp in awe. While pride would have normally given me a burst of energy, I am fully preoccupied with the precious being in my arms and ignore them. I propel myself into the air, Lana sleeping through the force of it. Turning towards the Phlegethon, I do my best to hold a steady elevation so as to not jostle her, and use the ether to shield her from the wind.