Goetic Justice 2

The question had been carefully formulated to trap Nahash. If she answered truthfully, then she might expose herself to attack.

"Leave now," she bellowed, choosing to ignore his query.

"Very well," the Watcher sighed, "perhaps we can draw him out if the wretch refuses to show himself."

Faster than anyone could react, the Seraphim raised his spear above his head, swinging it towards Nahash. There was a crack like thunder, and Ryan was thrown into the air along with a torrent of dirt as if a land mine had just gone off under his feet. He landed hard on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. As he struggled to right himself he saw that the Seirim had been scattered, but not by a blow from the spear.

There was a dark shape standing where they had been only seconds before, and as it unfurled a pair of great, leathery wings, Ryan recognized it. Azazel had come down from the sky like a thunderbolt, blocking the Seraphim's spear with its flaming halberd. The licking flames that encompassed the massive axe head petered out, leaving what looked like recently forged metal, still glowing orange with heat as the monster pushed its adversary back.

The Angel's bare feet skidded on the dirt, and he brought his spear to bear once again, pointing the golden tip at Azazel. The creature was unmistakable, twelve feet or more of bulging muscle coated in dark hair, a pair of twisted ram's horns protruding from its head as its three eyes glowed with infernal heat. It stamped its cloven hooves, making the ground vibrate beneath Ryan's feet, braying like a goat as it confronted the armored man.

"Nice of you to join us, brother," the Seraphim chimed. Apparently, he had been expecting this, he didn't seem at all surprised by the sudden appearance of the monster. "You're looking grotesque, as always."

"Samael," Azazel replied, its unearthly voice making Ryan's skin crawl. It spoke with a flanging effect, like both a man and a goat were speaking from the same throat in unison. "I see that thou art still doing our father's bidding."

"Someone has to do the dirty work," Samael replied, resting his spear across his armored shoulder once again. His mannerisms were so affected, he was downright flamboyant, gesturing with his free hand as he spoke. "Being the Chief Seraphim of the Fifth Heaven has its perks."

"Do not pretend that thou art burdened," Azazel rumbled, "I have borne witness to thy cruelty and vanity in ages past."

"What can I say? I'm good at what I do." Samael replied with a wink.

"An executioner should not enjoy his work."

The two began to circle one another warily, their weapons at the ready, staring unflinchingly as they prepared to do battle. Nahash quickly returned to Ryan's side and plucked him off his feet, pulling him clear of what would soon become an arena. Her sisters too scampered out of harm's way, staying close, watching as their father faced off against their uncle.

"Who is he?" Ryan whispered.

"Samael," Nahash hissed, clutching Ryan like a doll. "He is a Seraphim, chief among Angels. They call him the Angel of Death, sometimes the Poison of God. He is a spirit of vengeance and destruction, called upon to exact justice." She said that last word with derision, she didn't think much of their brand of justice it seemed. "He betrayed our father during the rebellion. He mated with a human woman and begot Asmodai, a terrible Nephilim, and he condoned the teaching of secret knowledge to mortals. But when the time came to choose sides, he forsook both mother and child, abandoned his friends, and returned to God's legions in exchange for power and status."

"Aren't Angels supposed to be like...the embodiment of good?" Ryan asked.

"They are no different from mortals or demons. There are good Angels, there would have been no rebellion if they had all been of like mind, but Samael is vicious. He revels in conflict and violence."

It was so jarring to be rooting for the hulking mass of fur and horns over a being that seemed to be literally made of light. More importantly, how had the Masons summoned this creature? It wasn't a demon, at least not in the sense that it was listed in the grimoires and could be conjured through conventional means. An already out of control situation was further spiraling into a nose dive.

"You've been causing problems," Samael said in a mocking tone, every step of his massive feet making the ground tremble as he squared off against Azazel. "We're so close to repairing the damage that you did, to returning the world to its rightful state, and here you are once again. You just can't help yourself from waving your big, hairy cock around and spoiling everything, can you? You should have stayed asleep."

Samael lunged towards his opponent, aiming for Azazel's gut, but the horned beast blocked the blow with its halberd. There was a sound like a gunshot as their weapons met, Ryan covering his ears in alarm, a spray of bright sparks flying from the blades where they made contact. The forces at play here were monumental, it was like watching two wrecking balls slam together.

"Disorder has always been thy greatest fear," Azazel shot back, "what art thou without thy ranks and honors? Strip thee of thy armor and thy titles, and all that remains is a pretty coward."

Azazel swung its weapon at Samael's head, but the Seraphim deflected it, producing another deafening bang and a shower of sparks. Samael spun his spear in his hands, never taking his eyes off his opponent.

"You think that you can protect your Nephilim? They've been living on borrowed time for five thousand years, just waiting for the drop of the axe. You think that your mortal champion will be spared the rod? He's the cause of all of this, no different from you, offending God because he wanted to get his cock wet. Maybe that's why you've taken such a liking to him?"

Samael leapt into the air, spinning to bring the tip of his spear down on Azazel's head, a remarkable feat of acrobatics for a creature that was so large and heavy. The beast blocked the strike with the haft of its halberd, sagging under the force of the blow, and then took advantage of the opening to deliver a punishing kick to the Seraphim's belly.

The Angel stumbled backwards, his beautiful features contorting into a hateful glare as he recovered and readied his spear.

"You always were good at fighting, brother. You used to forge the weapons and armor of Heaven, you used to command legions. Now look at you, fighting for a patch of dirt. The only creatures under your command are a handful of wretched half-breeds and a single clueless mortal. I don't know how you can bear the shame." He delivered a flurry of fast, jabbing strikes, keeping Azazel on its toes as the creature parried them. "But fighting fair is for the honorable dead. Let's see if you can defend both yourself and your charges!"

Right on cue, Haures emerged from the shadows where he had been lurking, his burning eyes fixed on Ryan as droplets of molten saliva dripped from his jaws. The Seirim took up position around him, shielding him. Nahash had been able to hold back the demon by herself for a time, surely Haures could not take on all of the Seirim on his own? As if to answer Ryan's question, there was more movement from behind Samael, a dozen figures pouring in through the breach in the barrier and taking up position in a firing line. They looked like the corrupt SWAT team who had first attacked Ryan in his apartment, clad in black body armor and wielding automatic rifles that they trained on the Satyrs.

Azazel was distracted, clearly wanting to intervene, but Samael pressed the attack to keep the fallen Watcher locked in battle. If Azazel focused all of its attention on defeating its opponent, then it would be leaving Ryan and the Seirim to fend for themselves. It could attempt to save them, but in doing so, it would risk exposing itself to attack from Samael. Ryan had always seen the entity as being nigh-omnipotent, but now it was locked in a struggle with someone who seemed to be its martial equal.

He looked down the barrels of the guns, Haures inching slowly closer like a stalking tiger, his heart racing as he tried to think of a way out. The cover of the forest was too far away to reach in time, and the Seirim would fare no better in a hail of gunfire than he would, he had seen Nahash's form dissipated by conventional weapons.

The Masons had brought all of their forces to bear and they were completely trapped. He reached out and took Nahash's hand, squeezing it tightly as he looked up at her. They shared a lingering glance, Ryan worrying that it might be their last, but then he saw fresh determination in her ovine eyes.

"Sisters!" Nahash called out, releasing Ryan and balling her fists. "Let the forest reclaim this grove!"

She crouched and slammed her hands on the ground, the other Seirim following suit. Ryan watched, confused, and then he began to feel it. His hair started to stand on end, as if the air was crackling with static electricity. The atmosphere was thick with magick, he could feel it buzzing on his skin, the grass itself seeming to vibrate beneath his feet. From the trees emerged great swarms of insects, so thick that they blotted out the stars. Flies, bees and moths, butterflies and all manner of winged bugs encircled them in an obscuring cloud. It was like being in the eye of a tornado, the combined flapping of their myriad wings sounded like an outboard motor.

The soldiers broke ranks, trying to fight them off, waving their hands as the swarm startled them. Animals followed close behind, squirrels leaping from the branches and scurrying towards the Seirim, deer breaking through the wall of foliage as if didn't hinder them at all. An especially large stag collided with one of the soldiers, seeming more startled than aggressive, the man turning his weapon on it and cutting the helpless beast in half with a burst of automatic fire. Even Haures had to leap clear, the sudden stampede taking him by surprise. It was as though the woods themselves were coming to their aid.

Now the ground began to tremble, as if an earthquake was shaking the grove. Before his eyes he saw shoots sprout from between the blades of grass, rising rapidly towards the sky as they began to swell and grow. Wildflowers broke the soil, weeds and grasses shooting up to waist height in a matter of seconds. Some of those shoots grew scales of bark, branches extending so rapidly that Ryan had to duck to avoid losing an eye. Creepers and vines wound around the newly formed trunks, mosses coating the bark, a canopy of green leaves growing above his head. He lost his balance and fell on his ass.

When he rose to his feet again, he couldn't see anyone. Not Nahash or her sisters, not Haures and the soldiers, not even Azazel and Samael. He was standing in lush woodland, overflowing with plants and creatures. He couldn't see a single tree that wasn't swarming with bugs and critters, the air thick with falling leaves and particles of what must be pollen. It was dark and eerie, he didn't even have the light of the moon to see by now.

The Seirim had grown an entire forest in less than a minute, they must have expended an obscene quantity of energy to achieve this feat. In doing so, they had been separated from him, the trees were so tightly packed that he couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction. He wanted to call out to her, but he risked revealing his position to Haures.

Ryan jumped as he heard another crack ring out, somewhat muffled now by the dense undergrowth. Azazel and Samael were still dueling somewhere nearby. He advanced through the trees, squeezing between the moss-covered trunks where they were pressed tightly together. There was no line of sight, scarcely any room to maneuver. Could Haures be stalking this forest, waiting behind a tree to pounce on him? Where were the Seirim? It was like a maze in here.

Another bang echoed through the trees, it seemed to be coming from somewhere to his right. Better stay clear, he didn't want to be crushed under the feet of the two battling giants. He moved away from the noise cautiously, hoping that he would meet Nahash or one of her sisters before Haures or one of the Mason soldiers. The grass was tall enough to reach his waist, the flowers and tangled undergrowth making it hard to move. At least it was muffling his footsteps.

As he rounded an especially thick tree trunk that was coated in a layer of twisted vines, he heard a twig snap. He pressed himself flush against the tree, his breath catching in his throat. Who was it? Friend or foe? Trembling, he slowly moved his head, peeking out from behind cover and willing his eyes to penetrate the gloom.

It was a man, human, clad in black ballistic armor. His rifle was shouldered, and he was swinging it between the trees, searching. It was one of the Masons, separated from his squad by the sudden appearance of the forest just as Ryan had been separated from the Seirim. He looked just as lost as Ryan felt.

Now that he could get a closer look, he could see that the man was wielding a H&K G-36, a service rifle of German origin commonly used by many police forces and military units. It had a flash hider on the barrel and a night vision scope mounted on the rail, he could make out the signature green glow. It could fire seven hundred and fifty rounds per minute at a muzzle velocity of three thousand feet per second, and it was fed from a box magazine with a capacity of thirty cartridges. The Mason goon also had a sidearm holstered on his hip and a few more magazines in his carrier.

Ryan didn't know how he knew those things, his brain seemed to just pull the knowledge from the depths of his memory as it was needed, but it wasn't associated with any actual events that he could recall. It was Vapula's doing no doubt, she had implanted the life experiences of a soldier or maybe some kind of bodyguard in his mind.

He snapped his head back as the soldier swung the rifle in his direction, hiding behind the trunk of the tree. He could scarcely hear the sound of the man's footsteps over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. Nahash wasn't here to save him this time, nor would Azazel swoop down from the sky and fight on his behalf. If he was going to survive this, then he had to fend for himself. If only he had thought to keep the gun that he had recovered on his person, he had no idea where his bag was now.

Careful not to make a sound, he took another quick peek, seeing that the soldier was now pointing his rifle in a different direction. That night vision scope gave the shooter an advantage, but the sight aperture would be narrow, limiting his peripheral vision. If Ryan could sneak around to his side, then he might be able to get the jump on him. But then what? He had the knowledge and the muscle memory that he needed, but it was all locked deep in the recesses of his brain. He couldn't access it voluntarily, it just seemed to come as it was needed. Could he rely on it? He didn't have a choice...

He heard another twig snap as the soldier moved closer, and Ryan slowly began to inch around the trunk of the tree to keep it between himself and the man. His hands were shaking, there was so much adrenaline in his system that he almost felt high, and as the soldier passed him by he emerged directly behind him. He tried to creep closer, not really knowing what to do, but then he felt a stick snap beneath his foot.

His heart stopped in his chest as the soldier paused, then swung his rifle around to point it at his face.

Ryan moved without thinking, his body responding to the threat before he could even process what was happening. His muscles reacted as if they had performed the maneuver a thousand times, it was second nature, a learned behavior that Ryan had never actually learned. He dashed forward and closed the distance between him and the soldier before he could bring the weapon to bear, gripping the gun beneath its barrel and raising it into the air. The soldier squeezed the trigger, the weapon barking as it loosed a burst of automatic gunfire not an inch from Ryan's face, but he didn't even flinch as the deafening noise made his ears ring.

With his other hand, he lunged towards his opponent, delivering a fast and powerful jab to his throat. The blow sent the soldier reeling, gagging as he stumbled backwards. Ryan tore the weapon from his gloved hands and hit the release catch just below the trigger, the magazine dropping into the grass and out of view as he discarded the neutralized weapon.

Now clutching at his throat and making choking sounds, the soldier fumbled with his holster, succeeding in pulling his sidearm free and attempting to point it at Ryan. It was too late, however. Ryan was already moving, gripping the soldier's wrist in his hand and turning to pull it over his shoulder. He applied force to bend the man's arm at an unnatural angle, hearing bones crack as he broke it at the elbow. The Mason soldier screamed, his voice somewhat muffled by the balaclava that he was wearing, dropping the pistol as Ryan continued to turn.

He gripped his fist in his hand, pushing it to apply more force as he came back around and slammed his elbow into the man's face. He felt a distinct crunch as his adversary's nose was flattened by the blow, a torrent of blood pouring from his nostrils and impregnating the fabric that covered his mouth. He groaned and sputtered, unsteady on his feet, his hands raised as if he couldn't decide whether to clutch his face or his neck. Ryan stepped in and very nearly lifted him out of his boots with a savage uppercut, sending the soldier toppling to the ground. His body flattened the grass as he landed hard, lying motionless, silent save for a worrying gurgling sound.

Ryan knelt to retrieve the pistol, briefly checking the chamber and safety before aiming it at the prone man. The encounter couldn't have lasted more than five or six seconds, and slowly Ryan came to as if awakening from a dream.

He panicked for a moment, aiming the handgun away from the brutalized Mason, hyperventilating as his brain caught up with what his body had just done.

"Holy shit," he whispered, "holy shit!"

He looked at his hands like they were no longer his own, the knuckles on his right red and aching where he had punched the man below the jaw. He might have the muscle memory and reaction times of a soldier, but he had none of the callouses and resilience that their training and lifestyle would have built up over the years. He felt like he might have broken something, but the adrenaline fogged the pain.

Vapula hadn't been lying. He wasn't sure if this soldier was going to be okay, the man was making a horrible death rattle. He checked the magazine on the handgun with mechanical speed, it was another Glock, and noted that it hadn't been fired yet. There were seventeen rounds of what looked like .45 ACP, with one in the chamber. He briefly considered retrieving the rifle but then decided against it. The long barrel would only hinder him in these tight spaces, and he couldn't prevail in a straight up shootout.

He barely had time to collect his thoughts before hearing shouting from the forest around him. They would be drawn by the gunfire. How many had there been? Ten or twelve at least. Could he take on that many single-handed? He had no idea what his limitations were, what he was really capable of. Don't think about it, just react...

Readying his weapon, he took cover behind a nearby tree, listening intently for the approaching soldiers. They wouldn't all be coming from the same direction, it was unlikely that enough time had passed for them to find each other again.

"It came from this direction!" he heard someone shout, "fan out!"

Shit, two or more had managed to regroup. He had to move fast, before the odds were stacked too highly against him. He tried to quieten his thoughts, listening to his instincts, letting these new impulses guide his actions. There was no time to waste being afraid, hesitation could get him killed.