The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(76)
He lifted the staff, the crystal rising high over his head. This catastrophe was his fault. He must fix it. He blotted all but his magic and purpose from his mind. Hellfire crackled. Sparks flew through the air. Lashes of light, spun from his staff, wound and tangled in the hellfiends’ limbs. Slowly, slowly, like a spider binding her prey, Merlin wrapped the shrieking demons in his magic. Inch by slow inch, he pulled the mass of them down, down, down, forcing them back into the fissure from whence they’d emerged.
It was not until the last fiend had disappeared into the bowels of Hell and Merlin had driven the base of his staff into the stone after them, that he realized the portal opened by Nimue’s vision would never completely close. If he abandoned this place, the demon horde might very well emerge anew. If the human world was to be spared the horror of Merlin’s final mistake, he must pay for the error with his life.
NINETEEN
Merlin’s memories smashed into Arthur’s brain. The images and emotions took a bare second to absorb and a scant instant more to understand.
Raphael’s stunning blow had driven his blade into the heart of Merlin’s staff. Arthur, arms rigid, fought against the archangel’s advance. Behind Raphael’s head, a stream of blistering vapor shot toward the roof of the cave. Clouds of billowing steam spread right and left. Sparks streamed from Merlin’s touchstone to entwine with the mist in a glittering fog. Brimstone escaped from the deep burned his nostrils.
What have I done?
With a roar, he twisted the staff, shoving Raphael’s fiery blade to one side. Lurching past the angel, he tried to slam the staff back into the hole. It didn’t stick. High-pressure steam, spitting into the cave with the force of a fire hose, flung it back into his face.
A golden blur had him spinning to the left. Raphael hovered above him. His blade sliced downward, aimed for Arthur’s head. He barely threw himself out of the way in time. He hit the ground and rolled, sweeping the crystal head of the staff before him. The angel’s sword struck rock, spraying golden sparks.
Cybele. Dusek might have her out of the cave by now. He had to get to her...
A loud crack rent the air. The hole from which he’d pulled the staff broke open, fissures shooting in opposite directions. The island came apart, just as it had in Merlin’s memory. The rock under Arthur’s feet split. The portion of the island occupied by Raphael heaved upward. The angel pitched backward in a flurry of golden wings.
The fissure shot off into the water. More cracks opened, filling the cave with a sound like rapid rifle shot. The staff’s hole collapsed inward, leaving a treacherous network of crumbling rock. Hot sprays of steam spurted up from below, blasting from every new breach.
Arthur came up into a crouch on the shifting ground. He wanted to dash across the water, to go after Cybele. Raphael had different ideas. The archangel, having regained his equilibrium, swung his blade. Arthur deflected the worst of the blow with the staff. He spun off to avoid the next strike. With a downward sweep of his wings, he launched himself across the water.
Heat flashed through the air. The pool boiled and churned. Eddies formed in the dark water. With a massive sucking sound, liquid drained through the fissures, until the lakebed was nothing but dry stone, crumbling into nothingness.
Unholy screeching erupted from the fathomless deep. Hellfiends.
“Noooo!” Raphael’s cry echoed off the rock.
The archangel fell on Arthur, his fury as hot as the sulfurous steam filling the cave. Arthur whipped his wings around, rising into the air, dodging the blows. The vapor blasting from the ruined lakebed turned hotter. Sweat poured down his torso. His throat closed on the stink. At least the thick haze hindered Raphael’s aim. Unfortunately, it made it just as difficult for Arthur to anticipate the angel’s next attack.
He hovered above disintegrating rock, parrying each strike as best he could. White hellfire crackled inside the crystal touchstone. It raced along the wood, shot out in all directions. Arthur tried to direct the magic at his adversary, but in truth he had little control over it. Merlin’s staff seemed to have a mind of its own.
Demon shrieks filled his ears. Misshapen creatures, a match to those he’d seen in Merlin’s memory, climbed from the deep. Spindly limbs and horned heads attached to round, lumpy torsos were propelled by bat wings and whipping rattails. The fiends streamed past, flinging themselves against the cave’s ceiling.
Raphael looked about wildly. “Michael. Kill them!”
But the dark archangel Arthur had glimpsed only briefly was now nowhere to be seen. With a roar of frustration, Raphael spun and whipped his blade downward. Arthur absorbed the impact with the staff, holding the twisted rod above his head. Fragments of rock rained down. Worse and worse. The cave ceiling was crumbling before the onslaught of demon wings.
Raphael’s blade, embedded in the wood of the staff, resisted the angel’s efforts to yank it free. With a scowl, he reversed course, driving his strength forward. The fiery edge of his blade twisted into the meat of the oak, rowan, and yew. With a resounding crack, all three woods gave way.
Arthur fell back, wings flailing, a half-staff in each hand. Raphael dove after him. As his blade rose for the killing blow, another shower of stone rained down. A large rock struck the angel’s forearm. The sword’s downward arc shifted. The flat of the blade glanced off Arthur’s skull.
His head exploded in pain. More rock rained down. The entire cave, above and below, was disintegrating. The onslaught forced Raphael and Arthur apart. A large rock, striking Arthur’s chest, drove him downward. He struggled to beat his wings, to fight his way up through the plummeting debris. He raised an arm, the top half of Merlin’s staff clutched in his fist. The touchstone was dark. Stones tumbled, taking Arthur down in a furious avalanche. Rocks pummeled his body. One struck his forehead.