Page 54

All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing as I run through the foyer of the agency. My head pounds, my heartbeat quickens, and my eyes scan the shadows for danger.

I move towards the offices, pulling my blade from my belt as I do. The moment I open the door to the first office, I skid to a halt so quickly that I nearly fall over.

Bodies are splayed out across the room – on desks, on chairs, on the floor, dead bodies covered in blood.

No, not bodies. Mannequins made to look like corpses.

Their fingers are all pointing to the door at the back of the office, the door that leads to the outdoor training area.

A deep, dark pit forms in my stomach, growing with each step I take over the staged massacre. Cain is toying with me, like a serial killer toys with their latest obsession. Like a child plays with their food.

What else should I expect from an angel ruled by darkness? Or is this what angelkind really is?

I move past the final faux corpse on its knees with its finger pointed to the back door. I don’t follow it. Instead I slip through the door to the right. Beyond it is a room I’d normally be ecstatic to be raiding, but trying to find a weapon that gives me a fighting chance against a sociopathic fallen angel isn’t exactly a cause for celebration.

Without even needing to look, I walk straight to the swords at the back of the room, remembering the archangel’s words. To fight an angel, I’ll need an angel’s weapon.

I tuck blades into the sheaths on each of my thighs and strap a handgun and spare round of ammo to my belt. The sword I pick up feels heavy in my hands. While it may not have been carved in Aetheria, it’s the most likely to give me a fighting chance against the fallen angel.

Following the mannequins’ directions makes me feels like a lamb being led to slaughter. My body fights for every step, exhaustion threatening to take over at any moment. I’ve spent nearly a week with broken sleep, surviving off tinned food and standing at death’s door more times than I can count.

The only thing that pushes me forward is the fear that pulsates through my veins, the adrenalin that comes with it.

The back door has been left ajar, something blocking it from closing fully. As I near, I see that that something is a human arm. Not a mannequin, but real flesh and bone.

My stomach twists and turns, bile rising in my throat. All I can think is please don’t be Xavier.

I take deep breaths and stand parallel to the door, lifting my sword to poke the tip through the crack slightly.

Three.

Two.

One.

I push the door open with my shoulder and almost have to jump over the corpse wedged in the doorway.

It’s strange to think that this is where we’d normally train on a nice day. The building wraps around the small square of an outdoor gym. Grass lines the walls; I believe there used to be flowers planted in there somewhere. The running track circles around the rings in the centre. The sweat, blood, and tears I’ve shed, both on that track and in those rings, are nothing but invisible memories now.

Behind the rings, weights are scattered between the benches, as if a workout was abandoned midway through. This used to be beautiful place to let off steam, to fuel the hope within us that one day we’ll stand a chance in this war.

Now… it’s nothing more than a graveyard.

Deep red covers every blade of grass; it nearly looks fake. The bodies are fresh, agents splayed all over the place. All dead because of me.

Cain stands in the centre ring, his bladed wings stretched out behind him.

A group of humans kneel in front of him with their hands by their sides. None of them move an inch. They don’t even blink. I wonder for a moment if they’re breathing, but when I see one sway slightly, I take a small breath of relief.

I scan their faces, each of them all too familiar. The man kneeling at the end of the row is dazed like the others, but there’s still life in his forest-green eyes. They aren’t as glassed-over as the others. Shadows play at his hands, but they don’t grab hold. His dark hair sits in tight curls on top of his head. Blood stains his uniform.

Xavier.

Pain shoots through my chest when I lay eyes on my friend controlled by shadows, staring through me as if I’m nothing more than a speck of dust.

“Xavier…”

His name is quiet on my lips, the sound getting caught by the lump in my throat.

“You know this is because of you, oh chosen one,”

Cain snickers. “They’re all dead because of you.”

His words cut through me like knives, working their way down to the deep, dark pit that’s taken residence in my stomach. It’s made deeper and darker by the vacant look in my friend’s eyes.

“What have you done to them?”

My voice is riddled with disgust and disdain. My hand tightens on the sword that’s raised ahead of me.

Cain’s chuckle is devoid of humour. The hairs along my arms rise in defence. “Me? This is because of you. I’m here because of you. We all are. This war started because of you, it’ll end because of you, and now their fate is in your hands.”

“Look, I know you all have this deluded fantasy that I’m this so-called saviour, but you’re wrong. I’m human.”

A look of amusement spreads over his face, his eyebrows rising. “You know what you are, don’t you? You can feel it.”

I freeze, my body protesting what my mind has started to ponder. I shake my head, letting out a frustrated breath. “What do you want from me?”

Cain tilts his head to the side as he studies me. “I want you to take a blood oath of allegiance. To me. To the Darklands. To Lilith.”

My jaw falls slack and a bark of a laugh escapes me. “I’m sorry, you what?”

Cain moves to stand beside Xavier. “Swear your allegiance and I will let your little friends go.”

He places his hand on Xavier’s shoulder. Xavier doesn’t move an inch.

I take a small step forward, but Cain clicks his tongue and his metal wings graze Xavier’s back.

“I would stay where you are if I were you.”

“Just let them go. You and I can have this conversation alone.”

My breaths are short and sharp, my eyes never leaving my friend.

“You think I don’t know anything about you, don’t you? You think I don’t know that you wouldn’t just let yourself die rather than give yourself up.”

He clicks his tongue again, his wings curling around Xavier’s neck.

I glance over to those next to him. Beside Xavier kneels Layla, her eyes glassed over completely. Next to her is Patrick, then Rachel, and at the end, Captain Moore. Each of them in a zombie-like trance.

Cain shifts his eyes over to Layla. Her hair has fallen from its tight bun and hangs over her blood-covered shoulders. Her dark brown eyes belong to him, but I can see the fear within them.

Layla’s hand twitches at her side, as if her mind is telling it to move but her body is protesting the command. Her body loses and her hand wraps around the gun in Xavier’s belt before she stands, focusing on me with an expressionless face.

She ducks under the ropes of the training ring, her movements slow and controlled. A single tear rolls down her cheek when she raises the gun slowly, aiming it at my head.