The Paradise Prophecy

52

The dark angels and their drudges cheered and applauded. They had never before seen anything so glorious.

As the dust cleared, Beelzebub looked up and saw that the eclipse was nearly full. The moon glowed a brilliant bloodred in the sky.

“Let us begin,” he said, and those in robes formed a circle around the girl as he approached and stood over her. “Are you ready to give your soul to Lucifer?”

The girl looked up at him, her eyes glazed.

“Lucifer …,” she muttered.

Beelzebub smiled, slipping the dagger from his pocket as he turned to the others and spoke the sacred incantation. “Quod apertum est, id aperiri non potest.”

What is opened, cannot be closed.

“Quod apertum est, id aperiri non potest,” the others repeated in unison, then began walking in a circle around the girl and Beelzebub, chanting the words over and over.

Beelzebub knelt down. “It’s all right, my angel. Nothing to be afraid of. Soon all your pain will be gone. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“You want me to take away your pain?”

“Yes . . .”

He held out the dagger. “All you have to do is give yourself to Lucifer. Are you ready to do that?”

“Yes,” she said a third time, then took the dagger into her hand.

Batty watched in astonishment as the cracks in the ground started to multiply, chunks of the earth breaking away, tumbling into the ever-widening pit, a wall of molten lava shooting up from within.

The dead things were still crawling toward them and Michael fired his Glock with one hand and arced his knife with the other, severing arms and torsos and heads.

Batty and Callahan opened fire alongside him, putting bullets between their eyes, knocking them back into the abyss.

Batty felt a prickling on the back of his neck and turned to where one of the shacks had collapsed behind him. A short distance away, he saw a cement bunker on the side of the hill, and there, standing on its rooftop were a dozen or more people in brown robes, moving in a tight circle.

He was instantly reminded of the drawing on the seventh page.

Firing off one last shot and nailing another dead thing in the chest, he shouted to the others and took off toward the bunker.

Quod apertum est, id aperiri non potest,” the crowd chanted as the girl knelt there, staring at the dagger in her hand. “Quod apertum est, id aperiri non potest.”

“It’s all right,” Beelzebub said. “It’ll only hurt for a moment. One small prick of the flesh and all is yours.”

The girl swayed slightly, still staring at the dagger. Then she raised it into the air and Beelzebub smiled.

“Yes, yes . . . Give yourself to Lucifer.”

He could see that she was his. That she was about to do it.

“Quod apertum est, id aperiri non potest.”

He glanced at Belial, who had broken from the circle and was watching with quiet rapture in her eyes.

The moon was in full eclipse now, everything aligned and perfect, and he knew that all he had worked for, century after century, would finally be his. His beloved brother would soon be free and the world would be theirs to rule together.

The girl raised the dagger higher, then higher, aiming it toward her throat.

Batty was only feet from the bunker when he saw the girl raising the dagger.

No, he thought, no . . .

He had to stop her.

Shoving his gun into his waistband, he dropped the broadsword and picked up speed. Hurdling over a low cement barrier, he jumped onto a platform, then leapt toward the bunker, grabbing on to the lip of the rooftop.

His legs swung free and he struggled to pull himself up and over the ledge, but he couldn’t get enough momentum and the strength in his fingers was waning fast.

One of the drudges on the rooftop spotted him and snarled, heading in his direction. But just as the drudge was about to reach him, a shot rang out and a bloody red hole opened up in its forehead.

It blew back hard, bursting into a cloud of black dust.

Batty closed his eyes as the dust blew across his face. He heard shrieks and cries of alarm from the rooftop and he knew that others would soon be coming. His fingers were starting to give out, and as he struggled to hold on, his gun shook loose and clattered to the ground below.

Shit.

Just as he was sure he was about to follow it, he felt a burst of energy behind him, a rush of hot air that sent him hurdling up and over the lip of the rooftop, and he knew that it was Michael’s doing, delivering an invisible blow.

He rolled and jumped to his feet-

– and there, just five yards away, was the sacred traveler, her eyes glazed, staring at the dagger in her hand.

Beelzebub was vaguely aware of a disturbance around him, but paid it no attention. The little witch wasn’t doing what had to be done.

He glanced at the moon.

“Go on, my angel. The time is now.”

But girl still didn’t move. Kept staring at the blade.

“You want to give yourself to Lucifer, don’t you?”

“Lucifer . . . ,” she murmured.

“One small prick and the world is yours.”

“Mine . . . ,” she said.

Then, just as he was about to give up hope, she tightened her grip and raised the dagger even higher, ready to plunge it home.

“That’s it, my angel, that’s it! Time to take away your pain.”

Then all at once, something shifted in her eyes. She suddenly focused on Beelzebub, then screamed and brought the dagger down-

– plunging it straight into his throat.

Beelzebub’s eyes went wide as he grabbed his neck and teetered back, blood pouring between his fingers. Getting to her feet, Jenna kicked him hard, knocking him backwards. “Go to hell, you sonofabitch!”

Belial shot forward, grabbing for the girl, as angels all around them started shouting, several of them reaching for Beelzebub as he tumbled to the ground.

Batty barreled forward as a crowd of drudges and dark angels descended upon him. He spun and swung, connecting with every blow, but there were too many of them and he knew he wouldn’t last.

He did his best to drive them back, looking desperately toward the girl, relieved to see that she was on her feet now, standing over a figure writhing on the ground, the dagger in her hand, and murder in her eyes.

A dark-skinned Brazilian woman was reaching for her and as Batty was about to move in, someone hit him from behind, knocking him sideways.

Wheeling around, he punched out blindly, sending another drudge sprawling.

Then gunfire rang out, and he saw Callahan moving toward him, blowing away drudges left and right, clouds of black dust bursting like fireworks in the air around her.

But when he turned to face the girl, the Brazilian woman had her by the arm, struggling to wrestle the dagger from her. The woman glanced up at Batty, and as their eyes made contact, something warm and wet rolled over in his stomach.

He knew instinctively who she was.

Belial.

It was Belial. Already comfortable in a new skin.

She shook the dagger free and it fell to the rooftop, and now Beelzebub was being helped to his feet, his eyes filled with fury.

Batty tried again to move toward them, but his path was blocked by a rampaging drudge. More shots rang out and as the drudge disintegrated, Batty charged, heading straight for Belial and Beelzebub.

Callahan saw LaLaurie making his charge and was about to join him, when someone tackled her from the side, knocking her to the ground.

Her gun spun away as one of the robed idiots landed on top of her and smiled, revealing a blackened front tooth.

It was de Souza. Jose de Souza.

“I told you this was coming,” he hissed, then suddenly his face began to distort, his eyes narrowing, his teeth growing sharp and nasty.

He was a sycophant.

Opening his mouth, he went for her throat, but Callahan ducked away and brought a fist up into his stomach. He howled and rolled off her and she scrambled desperately for her gun, snatching it up in her fingers as she turned to face de Souza. But before she could get a good grip on it-

– he swiped a hand at her, knocking it away. Then he lunged, moving in for the kill.

But Callahan reared back, brought her foot up and kicked out with everything she had. The heel of her boot smashed against his teeth, nearly pulverizing them, the blackened one ripping free at the root and splatting on the rooftop.

De Souza howled and fell back, grabbing at his mouth-

– as Callahan found her gun, pointed it at him and pulled the trigger.

A split second later, the sonofabitch was dust.

As Batty made his charge, Beelzebub wheeled around, waving a hand at him.

Knowing what was coming, Batty dove, flattening on the rooftop as a deadly wave of energy rocketed past him, nearly creasing the top of his skull. Then he jumped to his feet again, and a voice behind him shouted-

“Sebastian!”

Batty turned, saw Michael near the edge of the rooftop, broadsword in hand. Repeating the gesture he made at Lucifer’s palace, Michael thrust his hand out, releasing the sword.

It flipped end over end and Batty caught it midair, then turned without hesitating and lunged toward Beelzebub, whose attention had returned to the girl.

“Look out,” Belial cried, and Beelzebub wheeled around, again waving a hand at him.

Batty thrust the sword upward, blocking the blow, feeling it vibrate in his hands, the force of the energy nearly knocking the weapon from them. But he held on tight and lunged again, swinging out hard.

As the edge of the blade sliced straight for Beelzebub’s stomach, the dark angel’s eyes widened-

– and he suddenly vanished.

A split second later, he was behind Batty, but before he could make a move, Michael was there, slicing at Beelzebub with his knife. The blade scraped across the dark angel’s back and he stumbled forward as Michael advanced on him.

Returning his attention to Belial, Batty saw that she had scooped up the dagger and was backing away, the girl struggling in her grip.

“I’m really starting to think you have a thing for me, Sebastian.”

“Let her go, you bitch.”

“How can you call me that after all we’ve meant to each other?”

Batty felt her trying to get inside his head, trying to use her power against him. But he refused to let her in. He thought of Rebecca and how she was part of him now, and he knew she’d never let Belial get close to him again.

“Let her go,” he said, raising the sword.

Belial ignored him and grabbed the struggling girl’s hand. Prying it open, she forced the dagger into it and pushed the girl to her knees.

For a moment, everything around Batty seemed to shift into slow motion-

– Belial holding firm, hand clamped over the girl’s, once again raising the dagger high.

– Michael and Beelzebub locked in hand-to-hand combat, a fluid ballet of blows.

– Callahan charging through the sea of drudges and dark angels like a rampaging warlord, fists flying, gun ablaze.

– The moon still in full eclipse, its fiery crimson surface alive with power.

– And the dust, always the dust, bursting in the air.

It all seemed so surreal to Batty. Dreamlike. Not of this world. And he wished he could open his eyes and find himself two years in the past, back in his bed in Ithaca, Rebecca-sweet Becky-sleeping quietly beside him.

But the dream was broken by another shout, Michael standing only feet away. “The moon, Sebastian! The moon! It’s not too late-do what has to be done!”

Batty glanced again at the blood moon, then looked at the girl, still kneeling in front of Belial, struggling in the bitch’s grip, the dagger poised above her throat, utter fear in her eyes.

But as their gazes connected he saw something else there. Something more than fear, coming from the very depths of her soul. She seemed to understand-to know-what was being asked of him.

“Do it, Sebastian! Now!”

Tightening his grip on the sword, Batty moved toward them, but something within him still resisted.

She was a human being.

Flesh and blood.

Who was he to decide who should live and die? Who was he to decide the fate of the world?

He wasn’t a god. Not even close. There were times he barely felt like a man.

“Do it!” Michael shouted, sensing his hesitation.

Batty looked again at that hovering dagger, at the fury in Belial’s eyes. He felt her trying again to push her way into his brain, but again he resisted. He was no longer drawn to her. Could deflect anything she threw at him.

Strengthening his resolve, he raised the sword, knowing that the decision he’d made could change the world forever. Then he closed his eyes, letting his vision guide him, swinging the sword home, feeling it cut into flesh, slicing through bone.

And when he opened them again, he saw Belial’s pretty Brazilian head tumble across the rooftop and roll over the side.