Michael (The Airel Saga, Book 2) - By Aaron Patterson Page 0,16

familiar smell of blood, urine, and bile filled his nostrils; it was strong, pungent. He took in the enshrouded scene in the dark. He cracked a smile, an indulgence. It was the sort of smirk one might suffer to admit upon the countenance after stealing something, getting away with a crime.

Bodies. The detritus was littered everywhere. It was difficult to get a count, but the carnage was nothing if not complete. Kreios stepped over a head and made his way to the door. There was moaning and whimpering. The room hummed with it. Most were in the throes of death and missing limbs, bleeding out. They were soft, untrained. Compared to what Kreios could muster they were but children in the arts of war.

A voice stopped him in his tracks. “You will pay for what you’ve done. Our Infernal will not stand for this!”

He opened the door, allowing a shaft of orange-yellow brightness from the security light outside to penetrate into the meat grinder of the gym, illuminating a man. “Shame. I missed you,” Kreios said.

The man stood twenty feet away holding an H&K Granatpistole; a compact 40mm grenade launcher. It was in his only hand. His other arm was gone. His voice trembled. “Our Infernal will—”

“Your Infernal is already dead. Trina Wilson, the host? She burned to death not long ago.”

The man tried to keep a bead on the angel, but the weapon was heavy and his hand shook too much; he was going into shock. Evil laughter. “Why should I believe anything you say, Kreios Son of God—” his mouth clamped shut involuntarily; it was asymmetrical, out of order.

Kreios brought the massive Irish sword around to guard again, point to the ceiling, both hands on the grips. “Your Brother still lives, I see. Turn your weapon on yourself now or I shall finish you myself.” He bent at the knees, ready to spring.

“We know of Airel! We will kill her!”

“Filthy Infernal! I should remove your mouth from your face for speaking those words!” Kreios felt his world collapse in on itself a little more at the mention of her name. “She’s already dead, fool! One of this clan killed her!” Rage exploded within him once again, but he stalled for more information, circling his prey.

“Maggot, it was you and your kind that started this; it has always been that way. Your kind declared war. And now…this last thing you have done…you have unbridled me. You have backed me into a cave, provoking me. I am now about the business of finishing.” Kreios leaned into him. “I will erase—unmake all of you.” Before he could go further, the ripping sound of a demonic separation broke through the room.

“KREIOS!” a booming guttural voice tore from the jaws of a skinny one-armed beast as it broke free of the man. Both fell to the floor and the winged creature rolled and slipped in the greasiness of rent bodies and limbs.

The man came to his feet, bringing the grenade launcher around, pulling the stock into the crook of his remaining arm. The deputy Infernal was struggling to rise up with only one arm, saying, “We know of The Alexander, Kreios! We know what he has wrought!” Kreios ignored it, focusing instead on the man. Kreios feinted left as the man took his shot.

The grenade launched with a little pop as Kreios spun right. It sailed across the gym and exploded in the opposite corner, shattering brick and tile, sending chunks of flesh into the rancid air and setting fire to a large banner. “Thank you,” Kreios said as he closed and took the man in the midsection, thrusting his sword into his abdomen.

Man and beast screamed at the same time. Quickly he brought the sword around and decapitated the man.

The Infernal fell to the ground writhing in pain. The wounds shared between demon and host were only in the mind, but the mind was a powerful thing. Kreios took full advantage of the demon’s temporary insanity and hacked its head off. The demon burst into thousands of shards and scattered across the floor. In seconds each piece evaporated into the air leaving nothing but a memory.

Kreios wasn’t even breathing hard. He stood and scanned the area. The fire was spreading to the ceiling. From there it would find the hundred-year-old rafters, dry as a tinderbox.

They knew his name. They knew of Airel and the boy Michael, that he had betrayed both the Seer and the Brotherhood. Kreios knew what it all meant