He began to run, heedless of the burning pentagrams around him. Demons starting appearing in them — Lemure, Astaroth and horned demons and others — but they were still adapting from their sudden transition from Hell and few noticed him. Those that did, he evaded or mowed down with vicious strikes with his blade.
He was approaching the altar. Even here, the great architectural cross of the church had been desecrated with blood. He felt his ire begin to boil over and this time he gave it free reign, experiencing the change with pleasure as his eyes began to glow. He would use his anger to fight against whatever tricks the Antichrist planned to use against him.
Behind him, the demons began to get their bearings. They surged towards him but he gave them no heed. His eyes were firmly fixed on the motionless figure before him. He was still fifty feet or so away from the figure when he heard a crashing sound above him. His steps faltered and he looked up, swords poised.
A winged figure was emerging through one of the broken alabaster windows, scattering fragments of glass before it. It took flight inside the nave and then arrowed down to land beside Sam. Sam recognized her with a wave of relief. The Archangel Gabriel.
“Hello, Samael,” she said. “I told you I’d see you again.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Helping you, obviously. I can’t assist you in your battle against the Antichrist, but I can watch your back for you. I’ll hold them off while you deal with him.”
“Surely you can’t hold them off all by yourself?”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Gabriel.
She glanced upwards. Through the gaping hole created by the Colonel’s tank, more angelic figures, both male and female, poured into the cavernous space above the nave. They were armoured in a similar way, their gleaming breastplates in stark contrast to the dark armour worn by the Astaroth. Long flaming swords were gripped in their hands and their beautiful faces were grim. Winging their way gracefully downwards, they landed near Gabriel.
A flaming sword suddenly appeared in Gabriel’s hand, suffusing the immediate area with light. She smiled. “Just concern yourself with the task that is before you.”
Sam nodded his thanks, turning to face his adversary again. He ran forward and circled around the altar, into the immense space that was the Presbyterium. On happier days, the space was used by up to four hundred priests as they gathered around the bishop to celebrate the liturgy. Today, there was only one. Or so Sam believed. Out of the shadows moved two hulking shapes. Astaroth. Swords drawn, they advanced menacingly, their red, baleful eyes fixed on Sam. They lumbered forward to stand before him, just out of sword range.
“Leave him,” said the hooded figure without turning. “He belongs to me.” The voice sent a shiver down Sam’s spine, its tone achingly familiar. “Go and join the others.”
The Astaroth glanced uncertainly behind them before moving aside to allow Sam to pass. His eyes followed them warily, suspecting a trick as they stalked off, joining their brethren in the battle that had already begun with the angelic intruders.
He turned his gaze forward again. The hooded figure hadn’t moved. Sam approached within ten feet and the figure finally held up one hand to halt his approach. Sam cautiously moved a little closer and then stopped, still six feet away.
“I really didn’t think you’d get this far,” said the figure, his strangely familiar voice muffled slightly by the hood. “But I’m glad you did.” With one hand, he swept the hood off his head.
Sam staggered back a foot and gaped in sheer amazement. He recognized him immediately, and the enormity of it made his head swim. The handsome face, the strong pale features. He knew it well.
The face was his own.
15
PRESENT
“After this I saw in the night visions, and, behold, a fourth beast, dreadful and terrible, and strong exceedingly; and it had great iron teeth: it devoured and break in pieces, and stamped the residue with the feet of it: and it was diverse from all the beasts that were before it; and it had ten horns. I considered the horns, and, behold, there came up among them another little horn”.
Daniel. 7:7–8
“Who … who are you?” he spluttered.
The figure gave a crooked grin, a smile that Sam recognized immediately from his futile attempts to pull off the same expression in the mirror. “Our father was right. You are a little stupid.”
“Our father?” Sam exclaimed.
“Yes,” replied the figure slowly as if explaining something to a dim child. “Our father. Yours and mine. You’re my twin brother.”
“My brother?” Sam echoed, completely stunned by the knowledge.
The figure sighed. “If you’re going to repeat everything I say, then I just won’t bother. My name is Semiazas. We share the same mother and father, you and I, it’s just that I was raised in Hell while you were raised amongst all the other useless humans.”
Through the fog of confusion that was threatening to unman him, Sam started to understand. His mother had given birth to twins but somehow managed to conceal one of them — himself — from his demonic father. Or at least … conceal him long enough for her to remove him from its clutches.
“And our father?” he asked.
Semiazas sneered at him, the face twisting in some way that was foreign to Sam. “You are a dullard, aren’t you? You really hadn’t guessed after all this time? Our father is the Morning Star, the Bringer of Light, the Illuminator, the father of lies — call him what you like. You might know him as Satan. I call him Father. He’s yours too.”
Sam felt like he had been shot. He fell to one knee, breathing heavily. His father was Satan, the Lord of Hell himself? He told himself this wasn’t true, couldn’t possibly be true, but in his heart, he knew that it was.
“Count yourself lucky,” said Semiazas. “We are the first and only children that he will have. Doesn’t want too many offspring lurking about — the sons of Satan himself are far too powerful and dangerous to keep around. We were only brought into existence for a particular purpose: me to be the Antichrist, you to be the poor puppet who gets his soul and blood sucked out of him by yours truly just to make me even more invincible. That idiot woman — our mother — had to go and make it difficult. If she hadn’t spirited you away somehow, then you would have been under my blade by the time we could walk.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.” Sam spat the words out, sudden hatred for this creature filling him. He didn’t care that it was his brother; Semiazas was clearly evil. He stood, strength filling him, and raised his swords.
Semiazas stared at him, suddenly amused. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why? Why not?” He took a step forward. “You deserve to die for all the evil you have wrought.”
“I thought you’d know your Bible, brother. You must have heard of Cain and Able. Don’t you know that killing your brother is a mortal sin? Would you really condemn yourself to a life in Hell, away from your precious humans?”
“It would be worth it,” Sam shot back through gritted teeth.
“Ah, well,” said Semiazas. “Didn’t really think that that particular gambit would work anyway. Let’s try something else.”
He clicked his fingers. A door inset into the brown concrete wall underneath the huge pipe organ suddenly opened. Two figures appeared, the larger one dragging a smaller figure, hands securely bound, behind it.
As they got closer, Sam’s heart started pounding in his chest. Now he recognized both of them. The taller figure with blond hair was Joshua. The smaller one was a person he’d never thought he would lay eyes on again. A person whom he’d prayed that he would see, knowing it was a forlorn hope. A surge of emotions threatened to rip him apart; joy at seeing her again, and a terrible, terrible anger.
It was Aimi.
