Francis bounced off a nearby wall, landing on all fours.
His plan was to make a break for his apartment, where he had plenty of weapons hidden, and to finally put an end to . . .
Dardariel was on him like a horsefly on fresh shit, dropping out of the air before Francis even had a chance to move.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” the angel taunted, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing.
Francis imagined his eyes exploding from his head like something out of a Warner Brothers’ cartoon as the grip intensified. There was only one thing left he could do and he knew he would regret it. He fumbled inside his suit coat again, found the dagger, and used it.
The blade was thin and sharp, and it sank into the flesh of Dardariel’s throat with very little resistance.
The look on the angel’s face was priceless, and Francis felt the grip upon his neck begin to loosen . . .
Before it grew viselike again.
Dardariel threw him away, his body rocketing down the corridor and smashing through the door to Squire’s apartment.
He wouldn’t have any luck at all if it weren’t for bad luck.
Francis struck the arm of the filthy couch, sliding across the floor, and ending up against the wall. “I’m okay,” he lied as he realized all eyes were upon him.
He struggled to stand, and then saw Aszrus, or what was left of him, cradled in Montagin’s arms.
Dardariel made his entrance then, flying through the doorway, blazing sword in hand. He touched down in a crouch, eyes scanning the room like a hawk.
Francis winced as the angel’s eyes touched upon the remains of his beloved general. He opened his mouth to warn the others, just as Dardariel seemed to explode, a searing flash of divine radiance accompanied by a mournful cry that turned into a shriek of berserker fury.
Jumping to his feet, Francis tried to get across the room, but the angel Dardariel was already on the move.
Heath was the first to fall, a magickal spell roiling in the palm of his hand as the angel delivered a blow that sent him sprawling, the magick in his hand gone harmlessly awry.
Montagin didn’t even try to escape, bowing his head in submission as Dardariel lashed out, slapping Aszrus’ assistant to the floor.
“This way!” Francis heard Squire cry out, and turned to see the hobgoblin holding open a cabinet door beneath the sink.
Francis was about to head in that very direction, when the room was filled with the deafening roar of flapping wings. He knew what had to be done.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he ordered Squire, then turned to face the horde of Heavenly anger that now descended upon him.
“Hey, fellas,” Francis said with a devilish smirk as he held up his hands in surrender.
“Long time, no see.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The castle trembled violently.
Simeon squinted through the dust and bits of rock that rained down from the ceiling, looking to Hallow for guidance.
“It appears that our first lines of defense have been breached,” the necromancer said, suddenly looking much older.
“What should I do?” Simeon asked, ready to fight.
Hallow listened to the sounds from outside, head cocked ever so slightly. “If you stay here with me you will most certainly die,” the necromancer said. He turned his wizened gaze to the forever man. “I could order you to leave, but something tells me that command would fall upon deaf ears.”
Simeon stumbled to one side as the castle again quaked.
“The spell that prevents their access will not stand up to much more of this assault,” Hallow said. He was making his way toward the stairs, beginning his climb.
“Where are you going?” Simeon demanded.
“I’m going to meet our guests,” the magick user told him.
“No.” Simeon rushed up behind the old man, grabbing at the back of his robes.
Hallow lost his balance and fell backward into Simeon’s arms.
“I won’t let you kill yourself,” Simeon told him.
“Is it that obvious?” Hallow asked. “Not even about to give me a fighting chance.” He chuckled sadly.
“You’re still a great necromancer,” Simeon said, helping to steady the old man. “Show it.”
Normally for such impertinence he would have been beaten, or worse—killed, and maybe killed again—but this time was different.
“I’m tired, Simeon,” Hallow said. “My brother and I have been fighting this war for far too long.” He paused, catching his breath.
“It’s time for it to end.”
Simeon reached out, gripping the necromancer’s arm. He was shocked at how bony it felt through the heavy cloth of Hallow’s robes.
“Everything that I have has been put into the castle’s defense,” he said, “but still he advances.”
“You must continue to fight,” Simeon told him.
The old man nodded. “And fight I will,” he said. “Until I cannot fight anymore.”
“You yourself said that Tyranus cannot be allowed to win.”
“No truer words were ever spoken,” the necromancer said. He started to climb the stone steps again. “Of that, I have no intention.”
Hallow reached the doorway.
“In days past it was all about the battles, who would win, and who would lose,” he said. “But now, in my waning years I’ve come to understand that the answer I sought—that my brother and I both sought—masked a lie.”
The structure trembled again, the iron chandeliers that hung above the grand room swaying in the rubble that crumbled down from above.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” Simeon said. He had his hands atop his head to protect himself. “What lie?”
“Victory,” the old magick user said. “There can be no victory in this game.”
The building shook again, and Simeon fell to one knee, as his master clutched the doorframe with a withered hand.
“I don’t . . .”
“We exist to maintain a balance,” Hallow spoke, over the sounds of his home under siege. “If one defeats the other, what is maintained with that? Nothing. The balance is lost no matter who lives, or dies.”
There came a commotion from outside that told him that the magickal barriers had fallen, and he looked toward the huge, wooden doors. The demon staff was scrambling to place heavy pieces of furniture in front of the opening, hoping to buy more time.
“But someone will reign victorious,” Simeon said.
Ignatius Hallow shook his head. “None must be victorious. For balance to be restored, the Keepers must be removed from the equation.”
“But . . .” Simeon began, not quite sure he understood.
“With both of us gone, nature will take its course—a natural balance will eventually occur.”
