The Paradise Prophecy

the oppressiveness of Pandemonium.

Wide valleys. Dark, craggy mountains. They might as well have been stranded on the moon.

As they traveled along the road, Batty’s gaze fell to the broadsword at Michael’s side. He knew exactly what its purpose was, but Michael had yet to say a word about it. And the sight of it only made his resolve grow stronger.

After less than an hour of traveling along a winding road, Michael stopped, pulled his knife from his waistband, and tore a long gap in the atmosphere.

Then he made the knife glow and they stepped into yet another cave and followed him through a maze of interconnecting tunnels until they were outside again, facing yet another bleak landscape.

Several yards in the distance, silhouetted against a darkening sky, was an old castle, with high towers and crumbling ragstone walls. It looked as if it hadn’t been occupied for centuries-

– except for a single glowing window, high on a wall.

“No one’s been near this place since Lucifer was banished,” Michael said, then gestured to the window. “I guess they thought it was safe to bring her here.” He smiled. “Let’s prove them wrong.”

49

They waited until the sky was almost completely dark. This gave them the advantage of cover, but it also made it more difficult to see and maneuver.

The castle was fronted by a small forest, and Batty knew that, like the Forest of Never, there were creatures here, watching them, waiting for them to make a wrong move.

“Same as before,” Michael said. “They won’t attack unless provoked. And they couldn’t care less what’s going on in that castle.”

The three had split up, he and Michael taking one flank, while Callahan took the other. As they moved cautiously through the trees, Batty kept his eyes on that glowing window, knowing how terrified that poor girl must be.

Protect her.

That’s what he intended to do.

As they got closer to the castle, Batty saw several ways in. Although castles are generally built for defense, this one was so old and decrepit that there were large gaps in several places along the front and side walls.

But it wasn’t unprotected. There were two men sitting guard on a low wall out front, smoking cigarettes- which to Batty’s mind, seemed a bit incongruous, considering where they were.

“Drudges,” Michael whispered. “He must’ve brought them with him.”

“And who’s he?”

“Beelzebub.”

Batty knew the name well. Straight from the pages of Paradise Lost. Second in command to Satan. Articulate. Well-mannered. Deadly.

He looked at the two drudges, who, from all appearances, were just the opposite. “What do you want to do?”

“I hope your friend is ready,” Michael said.

“Why?”

“I have a confession to make.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve never been very good at this stealth shit.”

Then Michael jumped to his feet, ripped the gun and knife from his waistband, and shot through the trees like an angel possessed, his long gray hair blowing out behind him as he headed straight for the two drudges.

The term all hell broke loose never seemed more appropriate.

Callahan couldn’t believe how quickly things went south.

One minute she was sidling up to a gap in the castle wall, the next minute Michael was flying across the yard like maniac on steroids, firing his Glock at the two drudges out front.

He was obviously a guy who liked to get straight to the point.

Unfortunately, he must have forgotten there were a few mortals around. This bold move of his had alerted somebody inside the castle and suddenly the whole yard was flooded with drudges, Michael taking them down one after the other, enough dust in the air to create a sandstorm.

All of this would’ve been fine if some of those drudges hadn’t spotted Callahan trying to sneak inside through that gap.

Someone screeched, sending out an alarm, and the next thing Callahan knew, she was confronted by two snarling sycophants. And with all due respect to Ajda, the tea shop waitress, these things were mother-fucking monsters compared to her.

Fortunately, she had the shotgun, which was a pump-action autoloader, and she started firing away, blowing the fuckers to the seventh level of hell.

Then she was inside the castle and running for a set of stairs, until her path was blocked by an army of drudges, some of whom had knives, others with guns.

She opened fire again, blasting a couple of them to smithereens. But then the knives started flying and the guns were barking and Callahan dove behind a stone pillar.

A split second later, Michael popped into view like a TV genie and started firing and reloading, firing and reloading, moving with blinding speed, taking them down like shooting gallery targets, working with a fluidity and grace-and most of all, accuracy-that Callahan could only envy.

She spotted LaLaurie on the stairs behind Michael. He’d come in through a gap in the wall and was taking the steps two at a time toward the hallway at the top. A couple of drudges scrambled down toward him and it looked as if he were in real trouble, until he ripped the book bag off his shoulder, yanked the Milton manuscript out and pressed it against the first drudge’s face.

The drudge screamed and toppled over the stairs, landing hard on the stone floor before bursting into a cloud of black dust. Then the second one came at LaLaurie, but he seemed to have a bit more of a brain, and he grabbed for the book, screaming as it burned his hands. Still, he managed to rip it out of LaLaurie’s grip and fling it aside.

Then he went in for the kill, baring his teeth, which was kind of funny considering he wasn’t a sycophant. Maybe he was working on a promotion. He went at LaLaurie’s throat like a coyote after a cat, but LaLaurie didn’t falter. He sidestepped and delivered a left jab straight to the drudge’s face and down it went.

But the wannabe was the least of the professor’s worries. At the top of the stairs was the real thing-another sycophant-and if those two below had been monstrous motherfuckers, this one was Godzilla, and he was blasting down those stairs like a greased monkey shot out of a cannon-

– his mouth opened wide enough to swallow LaLaurie whole.

Batty saw the thing bearing down on him, thinking, this is it, it’s over now, when he heard a shout behind him and Michael was at the bottom of the steps. Michael ripped the broadsword from its scabbard and flung it toward Batty.

To Batty’s surprise, he caught it with little effort. Then the thing was on top of him, but he swung out hard, slicing into its torso, and with a screech, it burst open, blowing a thick, oily black dust right into his face.

The stuff burned and Batty coughed and wiped frantically at his eyes. When he could see again, he bounded up the stairs, finally reaching the top.

There was a dark hallway ahead, flickering lamplight coming from an open doorway, and standing there, wide-eyed, was a girl of about fifteen or so, wearing a brown ceremonial robe. She looked as if she’d been expecting someone else, her gaze dropping to the sword in Batty’s hand.

And he could see that she was about to bolt.

“Wait!” he called. “Stop! I’m a friend of Michael’s!”