I gripped Pierce by the edges of his vest, pulling him close, shaking him out of his stupor. “Do you see now, you stupid bastard? Run. It’s time to run.”
“Agreed,” he said, bending down shakily to collect his bloodied dagger, then taking off with me into the darkness. “The trees,” he said. “Remember where we arrived. We need to hit the node.”
We ran for our lives, not even turning to check on the angels, our escape route taking us past the farmhouse, past a barn, and just beside the lone grain silo. Freedom, I thought, focusing on a point past the bushes on the edge of the farm. We just had to access the gate there, helleport out, and we’d be home free.
But a sudden gust of freezing cold stopped me short. Pierce hugged his shoulders, my warming spell no longer bringing him comfort. It wasn’t just the drop in temperature that halted our retreat, though. There was also the matter of the thick sheet of ice that had just formed in our path.
“Punch through it,” Pierce said, shuddering.
“With what?” I hissed. “It’s too thick for my magic to penetrate.” I slammed my palm against it, looking left, then right, seeing that it stretched into a semicircle around us. We were trapped in some frozen prison. I had to resort to Inscription. Maybe if I conjured some of my spell books, then used them like turrets by channeling fire through them –
“Libris grandia,” I whispered.
Five tomes from the Repository appeared in the air around me, rotating in a slow orbit. I focused my mind on a second spell. I just had to reorient the books, face their pages towards the wall of frost. But even then, would my magic be enough to bring it down?
The beating of huge wings called my attention. The angels were right there behind us, though their wings weren’t in any way visible, no doubt tucked away because of what was said of their power. These fuckers were clever. Most angels had one pair of wings, but the further up they were in the hierarchy, the more pairs they had, to signify both their status and their might. There was no way to tell how powerful Baradiel and Nuriel were, apart, of course, from the massive fucking wall of ice they’d just erected.
Nuriel, the blond one, dusted his hands, flakes of frost drifting to the ground from his fingers. “How lovely to see that we can still use our gifts down here,” he said, smiling cheerily. “And look, flying books! How novel, and yet, how utterly pointless.”
I grimaced, but said nothing. It was better that they didn’t know.
Baradiel’s fist was sheathed in a layer of glimmering ice. “It’s been a while since we’ve visited, but our bodies haven’t forgotten.” His gauntlet of frost shattered as he opened his hand and flexed his fingers. “And I haven’t forgotten how good it feels to kill a demon.”
“Fat chance, fly boy,” Pierce said through chattering teeth. Good old Pierce. We were seconds from dying and he still wasn’t easing up on the sass.
“Brave words from someone who can’t stand a little bit of chilliness.” Nuriel laughed good-naturedly. “I’d consider wearing a sensible jacket next time you assault a conclave of our servants.”
Servants? Did the Thirteenth Choir only think they were worshipping Adriel? What did the twins have to do with the cult?
“I wish everyone would shut the fuck up about my clothes,” Pierce muttered. “But yeah, fucking whatever. A jacket, next time.”
Baradiel raised his arm at us, flecks of ice and snow swirling into a frozen orb in the palm of his hand. “Pity that there won’t be a next time.”
I raised my hand to mirror Baradiel’s pose. “I beg to differ.” I swiveled my body towards the granary, projecting every last drop of heat within me into a point at the center of my palm. Like soldiers, obedient and precise, the five books at my side flipped open, facing their pages to the silo.
“Ignis grandia.”
A tremendous gout of flame surged from out of my palm and from each of the books, six streams of demonfire roaring towards the silo. They ate at the wood within moments, licking hungrily for anything to burn, including the grains – and the millions of flammable particles suspended in the granary’s air.
The silo exploded into an unholy fireball, the force of the blast and the ensuing salvo of splintered wood and debris throwing us all on our asses. I was sprawled on the ground, my eyes focusing on the figures of Baradiel and Nuriel. One was clutching at a sliver of wood embedded in his stomach, as long and sharp as a sword. The other groped at the side of his head, his hand coming away thick and red with blood and brain.
I laughed to myself softly, laughed into the grass as Pierce tugged on my arm. We were miraculously unharmed, and the earth was cold and wet. I turned my head to check on the wall of ice. It was broken, melting. Either the explosion had destroyed it, or the twin angels’ injuries had diminished their control over the structure.
“Come on,” Pierce said, his breath ragged and hot. “We gotta go.”
But the huge release of magic had ripped the life out of me, worn out my cells and my spirit. He pulled me to my feet, and I stumbled along after him, laughing madly as ice crunched and mud squelched with my every labored step.
Forget subtlety and stealth. This was about dominance, about fighting fire with six times more fire. Ice. Whatever.
I almost tripped when Pierce took a moment to slash his dagger through the air, cutting a gate into reality to let us access the Hexus. He shoved me in, murmuring obscenities over why I couldn’t stop giggling. It was the rush of
