Chapter IV

With everything falling and collapsing around them, the temperature was unimportant.

THE ROARING NOISE WAS tremendous. Dust and falling debris had turned the normally climate controlled, clean Vault into a some kind of a wasteland. The large overhead lights that normally lit the area were blinking like a boxer that had just been knocked to the canvas, trying desperately to regain his vision. Large distorted shadows were flashing and sparking around them as things continued to shake and rumble.

Ritti’s eyes had started to water, as the early stages of death approached him.

Abbot stood over him, his legs bent, with one hand on the pistol, and the other hovering off of the ground for support. It was hard to gain your balance as the ground moved around them. There was nothing that Abbot could say to Ritti.

He looked dispassionately down at the fallen Colonel of the Swiss Guard. He knew that the darkened blood was a bad sign. It meant that bile had entered the blood stream, and like a snake’s venom working its way through the fallen man’s body, there was no turning back.

Abbot kneeled by him, “I never believed in stuff like this before . . . but . . .” Abbot’s eyes looked over at the two creatures standing face to face, “I think you’re probably going to a place where a bullet in the gut is the least of your worries.”

Ritti tried to talk but as he opened his mouth a brown, bubbling froth poured out.

“Thanks for the tour, anyway. I’ll pay on my way out. Oh, and one last thing to take with you into the afterlife . . . you’re a douche-bag.” Abbot stood, as the man’s eyes locked on something beyond their sight, knowing that Ritti had passed on to that other place.

Greed got him.

Greed gets most people.

Abbot quickly turned, trying to figure out what in the hell was about to happen. He didn’t relish the idea of being stuck under a thousand tons of ancient rock, but then being played with by these two monsters didn’t seem like a good second choice either. Scanning the periphery he noticed that the Papal Nuncio—Belsito Pasquale—was clinging to the leg of a table as if to let go would mean certain death. He was sitting on the dust-covered floor and his eyes were as large as saucers.

If Abbot could do anything right, it would be to save this man who was, apparently, the only decent man in this underground hellhole.

“Pasquale!” he yelled. “Stay put, I’ll come to you.” And though the distance between them was a mere 10 meters, with the shaking of the ground and the falling rocks and glass, it might as well have been a kilometer.

As he explained the events that were prophesied to occur, Pena, Marco, and Diego were spellbound. When Thomas explained, using the words of Jesus where he could, there was a frightening truth that couldn’t be overlooked. Pena didn’t even know if he was a believer or not, but he knew that he trusted Thomas. There was something about the man, a kind of childish innocence and honesty, that he couldn’t ignore.

“Now is when things really get awful,” Thomas said slowly. “The Archangel and the tracker are free, now, in their own forms.”

“So they probably kill each other . . .” Pena wondered out loud.

“I’m not sure,” Thomas said strangely. “That was one of the things that Jesus didn’t elaborate on. He said that they would bring the clouds to the earth . . . and below. I think that means that more angels will come down.”

“Below,” Marco added, “because they are deep beneath the Vatican.”

Thomas nodded, “That’s the way I took it. But there is something else that Jesus says, and it bothered me for a while. He said that the shadows and the clouds and the flames would meet one last time before the Great Battle.”

Pena glanced at Thomas through the rearview mirror, “Clouds are angels, so maybe the shadows are those other angels that you talked about. The ones that were cast from Heaven, but didn’t join the Devil. So the flames would be . . . what?”

Diego nodded, “Demons. Dark Angels. All three factions will meet. Face to face for the last time.”

“My lord,” Marco said, “This is the beginning of the End of Days. If the forces of Heaven and Hell meet with these Shadow angels . . . that would be it.”

“The Kingdom will be up for grabs,” Thomas said. “And it is all happening right now. But I’m not sure what happens next. Jesus said that even his mind could not foresee the outcome of the meeting.”

“So, the world might end tonight?” Pena asked with a hint of concern under his words.

“My advice,” Thomas said carefully as they made their way down the lonely stretch of road, “is to put as much distance as we can between us and the Vatican.”

Pena felt for his pistol, not that it would do much good, but just that it was a nervous habit of his when danger could be around the next curve.

Mavet held a broad sword in each hand, eyeing Deegan, taking stock of the shape-shifter. He was a worthy opponent. He had hunted and captured the three Angels that were crucified on thick wooden spears outside the gates of Hades, long ago.

That in itself was a horrible, but impressive feat. It was the first time that such an act had been perpetrated against God’s soldiers. And He had not intervened.

God had issued the warnings to all of them. Outside of Heaven, and the city of Purgatory, there is no divine protection. Free will and consequence are the dominant forces. All of Hades had rejoiced that day when the three Angels were slowly impaled on the three sharp wooden spears. And while they celebrated this victory . . . all of Heaven was silent . . . even God.

Michael and the others had pressed for war, immediately. This act of kidnap and crucifixion was unforgivable. But God was very clear:

The Great Battle will begin when Lucifer’s sword draws innocent blood, on earth.

And now, all these years later, Mavet and Deegan were standing just a swords’ reach away from each other. Mavet stared into Deegan’s eyes as grey and cold as the polar glaciers. For better or for worse, the tracker was a legend.

In a gesture of respect Mavet gently tossed one of the swords to the shape-shifter.

“Spasiba, bolshoi,” Deegan replied as he moved the sword back and forth measuring it’s weight and balance.

Thank you, very much.

“Nye duri, Deegan,” Mavet snapped back.

Don’t be a fool, Deegan.

“Your a tracker, not a fighter,” Mavet snorted.

Deegan laughed, “Where I come from, there’s no difference. We . . . what is the term? Multi-task.”

“That’s very hip and aware of you,” Mavet said. “You have become quite knowledgeable during your time here, chasing me around the world.”

“You weren’t that hard to find, so I had a lot of free time to learn the monkey culture,” Deegan said as he steadied the sword in front of him. He lowered his body, preparing for a fight.

Mavet took his sword in both hands, steadying it off to his right, the tip slightly angled back.

He, too, was ready for a little altercation. This would make the history books. “You ready for this?”

Deegan took several quick deep breaths, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he took his fighting stance. His eyes narrowed, and he blinked several times to get his mind and body aware. “I was born for this . . . it was my destiny.”

“So be it!” Mavet said and with lightening speed the Archangel’s broadsword cut through the air towards Deegan’s neck.

Deegan raised his sword just in time for the two metal blades to meet, smashing loudly and exploding as they did, sending fragments of ancient metal in all directions. It looked like a million shards of razor sharp silver sparkling around them like raindrops. One of those swords was an ancient Viking weapon that had killed thousands of non-believers during the crusades.

The other broken blade . . . was Excalibur.