was potentially out of the picture altogether.
On his left, Sam saw an Astaroth get too close to the blades of the helicopter. As soon as it came in contact, it disappeared into a shroud of dust. Sam caught Adam’s eye and raised his eyebrows at the other man.
“Iron-tipped rotors,” Adam said, smiling humorously. “Retro-fitted. Thought that would surprise them.”
Sam felt suddenly elated, like the scene almost warranted laughter. It was pretty surreal. He reflected that was probably another reason why the helicopters couldn’t stay in the air for too long. The iron added just a bit too much extra weight.
The other Astaroth learnt the lesson their dead fellow provided rather quickly and altogether too well, keeping their distance from the blades. Sam saw two of them try another tactic, once again on the unlucky Blackhawk to his left. Working as a team, they divided the fire of the door gunner. While he was occupied shooting at one Astaroth trying to attack him from below, the other grabbed hold of the landing strut with two of its four arms. Sam estimated the creature weighed close to a ton — the Blackhawk could not just ignore such a sudden weight shift. It tipped over to its side. Sam watched helplessly as the gunner fell sideways out the other door, screaming. Both Astaroth forced themselves through the doors and into the interior. Within seconds, the helicopter was spinning out of control. It crashed into the streets below, the wreckage blossoming into flame.
Sam gritted his teeth impotently. His time would come soon though. Very soon. No sooner had the thought entered his head, than the Chrysler building hove into view. Joshua had been telling the truth. It was certainly a headquarters of some description. On the ground, Horned demons and Lemure were hundreds thick, completely surrounding the base of the building. They were under attack though. There seemed to be some sort of melee taking place as, presumably, the Resistance laid siege to it.
In the skies above the once gleaming metal crown of the building, many more Astaroth circled. A fighter jet shot past overhead, strafing the flying demons as it passed. Sam saw at least five disappear under the lethal barrage, punching a hole for the remaining two Blackhawks.
They shot through the gap, the door gunners pounding any Astaroth with hundreds of rounds from their miniguns. The Blackhawk containing Sam circled over the balcony on the 32nd floor with the other Blackhawk taking a supporting position nearby.
Sam couldn’t help but think back to just over three years earlier and his last encounter with his brother. That time, like this one, he had to storm a well-defended position to even get close to him. Sam sighed. It was never going to be easy, he reflected, reminding himself why he was doing this. Not for those in Heaven. Not for Him. This was for the innocents. Those who didn’t deserve to be the targets and subjects of the Antichrist’s rage. If Sam killed the Antichrist, surely he would save many innocents.
They were about twenty feet above the balcony. One of Grace’s squad began to prepare the descending ladder. Sam waved him away and tugged off his mike. He secured his swords, suddenly aware that his backpack was missing, feeling a little odd that the familiar weight was lacking. Grace saw his frown.
“What is it?” she mouthed.
“My backpack,” he replied, yelling over the noise of the rotor.
She gave him the briefest of smiles. “I know where it is,” she yelled back. “Don’t worry. You’ll see it again. And me too. Come back alive, Sam.”
He nodded.
“Good luck,” Adam shouted in his ear. “Remember, ten minutes. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” shouted Sam, quickly setting the stopwatch function on his newly acquired watch.
Grabbing hold of the safety handle, he leaned out. On the balcony below, several Horned demons stood motionless, staring menacingly up at the helicopters. Dozens of Lemure ran around frantically, desperate to attack the helicopters above but with no means to do so. Adam gestured and the gunner opened up on them, the large rounds punching holes in even the Horned demons’ armor, sentencing them back to Hell. The gunner cleared an area that was demon-free enough to satisfy Sam.
Suddenly, thoughts of Yeth intruded into his battle calmness. This was exactly the sort of situation where he would’ve liked Yeth to be with him. He wondered where his Hellhound was right now. Whether he was all right and had survived his encounter with the Devil’s Hand. He couldn’t risk summoning his demon. If there wasn’t a chapel inside the building, then Yeth would have to battle through several thousand demons to join his side. If there was, he was dooming his demon to death when the airstrike came. A part of him didn’t even want to try for fear that Yeth may not be able to answer the call because he was dead. The thought made Sam feel more upset than he’d believed possible, the Hellhound being his only real friend and companion these last three years. ‘Stop it,’ he told himself. The train of thought was beginning to ruin his battle mood.
Angrily, he cast the thoughts aside carefully and resolutely. He’d have to determine Yeth’s fate later and didn’t have time for distractions right now. Without another thought or backward glance, Sam jumped.
Chapter Twenty-five
“… and in every sort of evil that deceives those who are perishing. They perish because they refused to love the truth and so be saved.”
He landed heavily, bending both knees to absorb the impact. Even so, he still managed to crack the thick stone tiles that covered the balcony. Although completely unharmed, the impact still hurt. He didn’t even want to start thinking about how much agony falling 32 floors would involve.
The remaining demons immediately fell upon him. With an expression that any witnesses would have interpreted as pleasurable, Sam drew both swords. The weapons almost leapt into his hand, eager to be about their business.
Above, the lethal barrage of iron fire ceased raining down and the demons advanced more confidently. At first, Sam dare not look above, guessing that the gunner would not risk inflicting friendly fire, but then the noise of the rotors changed. He glanced upwards. Both Blackhawks were besieged by Astaroth, clearly preoccupied with the new threat. The pair veered off and disappeared from view, relentlessly pursued by the flying demons. Sam was alone.
The first demons to reach him were Lemure. He destroyed them with quick, efficient strikes of his swords, so quickly that they had no time to react. The four remaining Horned demons were a completely different kettle of fish, not to be dismissed as easily. Horned demons were never killed easily. Sam didn’t exactly fear them, but he was certainly wary. Their giant limbs — bigger and more powerful even than an Astaroth’s — deserved respect. They lumbered towards Sam, their stupid goat-like faces frozen in snarling rage, lowering their ram horns as they charged.
The first one reached him a fraction of a second before the others, raising its weapon in one of its huge arms. Sam ducked under the enormous stone mallet that swept down upon him and then leapt straight upwards. His Katana speared out, taking the Horned demon in the side of its throat, a place where Sam knew its armor did not reach.
It disappeared while Sam was still in midair. He landed and rolled, scything out with both blades in a wide arc before him. The blades bit into the lower legs of the next charging Horned demon. Roaring, it toppled to the ground, shaking and splitting the tiles with the impact of its fall. Sam only just got out of the way in time, lunging sideways, forgetting that it would only be a death blow that would banish these demons back to Hell. The demon was out of the fight but it wasn’t dead. Yet.
The momentary distraction cost him dearly. The stone mallet of the third Horned demon smashed into his side. It was only a glancing blow, some instinct shifting his body slightly just before impact, but it was enough to crack what felt like every rib in his body. The impact blasted him sideways into the low stone balustrade of the balcony, almost toppling him over. He righted himself desperately, clutching his injured side with the fist holding his
