Philip Simpson - Tribulation

Just like Hikari had taught him, he examined the issue from every angle. What should’ve happened is that Aimi should have been banished, just like the Grigori — perhaps even stripped of her Angelic status. Either way, Sam would’ve been happy. He would have got his Aimi back. But clearly, this was not in the best interests of Heaven. They wanted to keep Aimi close, but why? There had to be a rational explanation. Surely the reason couldn’t be to antagonize him? That just didn’t make any sense. Or did they think they could hold Aimi hostage in exchange for his obedience? What obedience? He was already doing what his heart and soul compelled him to do — help the innocents. What else did they want from him? Sam didn’t understand. Try as he might, he couldn’t get to the truth.

He drew in a great breath of air and let it out slowly, releasing some of the pain and frustration he felt. Whatever the reason, Heaven had antagonized them at a time when he suspected they needed him the most. Wasn’t he about to go into battle with the Antichrist and his forces again?

There was something he could do, something he always did when the burden and weight of who he was became too much: the mindlessness of pure physical exertion.

Both swords were sharpened now, their edges now restored through sheer determination and hard work. He hadn’t even noticed moving on to the Wakizashi. He felt suddenly ashamed. He loved his swords more than most anything else and he felt horrified that he had dishonored them in such a way. To be used like a common axe was unforgiveable. He swore to himself that no matter what happened, he would never treat his blades in such a way again.

Replacing the whetstone, he put his backpack back on and sheathed both swords. The interstate was only a few hundred feet away. He set off, quickly accelerating to a fast jog. He’d exorcise his inner demons with flat-out exhaustion. The thought amused him slightly, quirking one of his lips up for a moment. Then he ran and ran, with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy. His endurance had always been much greater than any normal human and he was going to test its limits. It was daylight but he didn’t care. He needed this.

A battered sign told him Harrisburg was thirty five miles distance. It took him just over two hours; if anything, he was probably increasing his pace. Despite the light, he felt strong, his anger fueling him. He didn’t actually go through the city itself. It was probably a bit risky to enter it even though in his state of mind, he felt like a fight. A city this large would probably have its share of demon worshippers. He just didn’t want to slow down, wanting to keep going, to temper his body against this anvil that was the road.

Something else compelled him. A sense of urgency. He wanted to reach New York. Knew he had to reach it as soon as possible. Something was happening there and it was where he needed to be too.

The interstate took him through the outlying towns around Harrisburg without incident. He could see the city in the distance. Black smoke rose from some of the taller buildings, a firestorm probably igniting whatever was left to burn. Some miles behind him, he sensed something, now recognizing them immediately — the Devil’s Hand. They were definitely on his trail. He smiled grimly. Let them come. They would have to catch him first and fight him on his terms.

He crossed another riverbed. From the looks of it, the river — whatever its name, Sam could find no helpful signage — had once been mighty. The dried riverbed was a few hundred feet wide, once home to what must have been a great torrent of water. Whatever was left was diseased and dirty. A fetid odor rose from it, so bad that Sam increased his pace even more to outrun the stench.

By nightfall, he had reached the outskirts of Allentown. The interstate would take him directly through the city but at the last instant, some instinct warned him against it. The city screamed trap. He sensed many demons within.

He veered off, following highway 78, heading south east. He’d been running for several hours now, without rest or drink or food. Still he persevered and would have done so for many more hours if it hadn’t been for what happened next.

Out of the dark sky came another winged figure. Sam knew immediately who it — or he — was, and finally stopped just out of curiosity, a strange feeling after running for so long. The exercise hadn’t taxed him. He was hardly out of breath.

The figure was winging its way closer. The last time Sam had seen him was just before he’d departed for Hell to rescue Grace. Another unexpected visitor. Strange how the mere mention of the Grigori earlier had seemed to summon him. Sam was indeed quite popular lately. If that didn’t tell him that events were moving apace, then nothing did.

Samyaza dropped to the ground several feet from Sam, impossibly elegant. Sam hadn’t seen angels make such a gracious entrance. The Grigori folded his glossy black wings onto his back and crossed the distance between them on long, slim legs. The black leather pants reflected what little light there was, shimmering as he moved. Naked from the waist upwards, his lean, muscled and hairless torso gleamed like polished ivory.

He stopped within arm’s reach of Sam and smiled, his perfect teeth flashing, his handsome face the epitome of allurement. Unconsciously, Sam returned the smile, not as immune to Samyaza’s charms as he would have expected or hoped. “Samyaza. What brings you here?”

“You, as it happens,” said the Watcher, smiling easily. His head suddenly darted in a direction just over Sam’s shoulder. For a moment, he looked slightly shocked. This was swiftly replaced by an expression that Sam could only describe as calculating. The Watcher looked at him sharply. “You do know what follows you?”

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, trying to out-cool this impossibly suave creature. “The Devil’s Hand, if I’m not much mistaken.”

The Watcher nodded. “They are still some distance away but I will keep this short. The longer you delay here, the closer they become. I’ll cut to the chase — I know what the Powers That Be have done with Aimi — with the two of you. And with what was between you.”

Sam gritted his teeth and said nothing.

“I, of all… people, feel your pain,” he continued. “I know what it is like to love and then have it taken from you.”

“Get to the point,” said Sam, tight-lipped. He really didn’t want to discuss the matter with a Grigori.

“Very well. This may be hard to hear but it is what it is.” The Watcher took a breath as if gathering his thoughts. Sam hadn’t seen him do that before. It would seem that Samyaza had something of importance to impart. “Gabriel has made a pact with Satan.”

The Grigori watched Sam carefully for a reaction. He was destined to be disappointed, however. Sam now had a tight rein on his emotions. Outwardly at least. Inwardly, his thoughts were awhirl. He should’ve expected this. How could he have trusted Gabriel? Irritatingly, his father had been right after all. Even though his heart was thudding rapidly in his chest, no expression betrayed him. He wouldn’t give Samyaza the satisfaction though. Like his angelic and demonic relatives, Samyaza could be infuriatingly smug. Perhaps that was how all these creatures treated mortals, even mortals like Sam…

“The pact involved the Anti-Christ and the false prophet. The deal is that when Christ returns at the end of the Tribulation in three and a half years’ time, both these creatures will be sent to the deepest pit in Hell, to the eternal lake of fire, there to remain for all eternity, with no hope of escape. You are familiar with this?”

He was indeed. It was in the Bible although interestingly, it was the first time he’d heard talk about the false prophet. Sam knew that the prophet was meant to rise with the Anti-Christ but if he was around, he was keeping a low profile so far.