The Paradise Prophecy

It was de Souza. Jose de Souza.

“I told you this was coming,” he hissed, then suddenly his face began to distort, his eyes narrowing, his teeth growing sharp and nasty.

He was a sycophant.

Opening his mouth, he went for her throat, but Callahan ducked away and brought a fist up into his stomach. He howled and rolled off her and she scrambled desperately for her gun, snatching it up in her fingers as she turned to face de Souza. But before she could get a good grip on it-

– he swiped a hand at her, knocking it away. Then he lunged, moving in for the kill.

But Callahan reared back, brought her foot up and kicked out with everything she had. The heel of her boot smashed against his teeth, nearly pulverizing them, the blackened one ripping free at the root and splatting on the rooftop.

De Souza howled and fell back, grabbing at his mouth-

– as Callahan found her gun, pointed it at him and pulled the trigger.

A split second later, the sonofabitch was dust.

As Batty made his charge, Beelzebub wheeled around, waving a hand at him.

Knowing what was coming, Batty dove, flattening on the rooftop as a deadly wave of energy rocketed past him, nearly creasing the top of his skull. Then he jumped to his feet again, and a voice behind him shouted-

“Sebastian!”

Batty turned, saw Michael near the edge of the rooftop, broadsword in hand. Repeating the gesture he made at Lucifer’s palace, Michael thrust his hand out, releasing the sword.

It flipped end over end and Batty caught it midair, then turned without hesitating and lunged toward Beelzebub, whose attention had returned to the girl.

“Look out,” Belial cried, and Beelzebub wheeled around, again waving a hand at him.

Batty thrust the sword upward, blocking the blow, feeling it vibrate in his hands, the force of the energy nearly knocking the weapon from them. But he held on tight and lunged again, swinging out hard.

As the edge of the blade sliced straight for Beelzebub’s stomach, the dark angel’s eyes widened-

– and he suddenly vanished.

A split second later, he was behind Batty, but before he could make a move, Michael was there, slicing at Beelzebub with his knife. The blade scraped across the dark angel’s back and he stumbled forward as Michael advanced on him.

Returning his attention to Belial, Batty saw that she had scooped up the dagger and was backing away, the girl struggling in her grip.

“I’m really starting to think you have a thing for me, Sebastian.”

“Let her go, you bitch.”

“How can you call me that after all we’ve meant to each other?”

Batty felt her trying to get inside his head, trying to use her power against him. But he refused to let her in. He thought of Rebecca and how she was part of him now, and he knew she’d never let Belial get close to him again.

“Let her go,” he said, raising the sword.

Belial ignored him and grabbed the struggling girl’s hand. Prying it open, she forced the dagger into it and pushed the girl to her knees.

For a moment, everything around Batty seemed to shift into slow motion-

– Belial holding firm, hand clamped over the girl’s, once again raising the dagger high.

– Michael and Beelzebub locked in hand-to-hand combat, a fluid ballet of blows.

– Callahan charging through the sea of drudges and dark angels like a rampaging warlord, fists flying, gun ablaze.

– The moon still in full eclipse, its fiery crimson surface alive with power.

– And the dust, always the dust, bursting in the air.

It all seemed so surreal to Batty. Dreamlike. Not of this world. And he wished he could open his eyes and find himself two years in the past, back in his bed in Ithaca, Rebecca-sweet Becky-sleeping quietly beside him.

But the dream was broken by another shout, Michael standing only feet away. “The moon, Sebastian! The moon! It’s not too late-do what has to be done!”

Batty glanced again at the blood moon, then looked at the girl, still kneeling in front of Belial, struggling in the bitch’s grip, the dagger poised above her throat, utter fear in her eyes.

But as their gazes connected he saw something else there. Something more than fear, coming from the very depths of her soul. She seemed to understand-to know-what was being asked of him.

“Do it, Sebastian! Now!”

Tightening his grip on the sword, Batty moved toward them, but something within him still resisted.

She was a human being.

Flesh and blood.

Who was he to decide who should live and die? Who was he to decide the fate of the world?

He wasn’t a god. Not even close. There were times he barely felt like a man.

“Do it!” Michael shouted, sensing his hesitation.

Batty looked again at that hovering dagger, at the fury in Belial’s eyes. He felt her trying again to push her way into his brain, but again he resisted. He was no longer drawn to her. Could deflect anything she threw at him.

Strengthening his resolve, he raised the sword, knowing that the decision he’d made could change the world forever. Then he closed his eyes, letting his vision guide him, swinging the sword home, feeling it cut into flesh, slicing through bone.

And when he opened them again, he saw Belial’s pretty Brazilian head tumble across the rooftop and roll over the side.

53

As Belial’s headless corpse flopped to the ground behind her, the girl staggered forward and burst into tears.

Batty dropped the sword and grabbed for her, pulling her into his arms. And as she sobbed against his chest, he felt Rebecca smiling inside him.

But it wasn’t over yet.

All around them, the battle still raged, Callahan fighting off the last of the drudges as Michael and Beelzebub continued trading blows. Then the moon began to darken, turning a deeper shade of red, as the ground beneath them trembled and rolled.

Batty wondered if this was it.

Had he made a mistake in keeping her alive?

Were the gates of the Abaddon about to open, once and for all?

But then the girl began to tremble violently in his arms and to Batty’s surprise, she pushed away from him. Stepping several feet back, she looked up at him without even a hint of fear or confusion in her eyes.

Something had changed about her.

There was a maturity in her gaze. An awareness. She was no longer the young girl he’d seen trapped in Belial’s grip.

Then her body began to shimmy and shake, her naked flesh falling away, as if she were shedding a cocoon, and a bigger, bolder, more radiant being rose from within, her wings unfurling, opening, spanning fifty feet or more.

She was, quite possibly, the most beautiful creature Sebastian LaLaurie had ever seen. And as she levitated several feet above the ground, she smiled at him.