Philip Simpson - Tribulation

They shot through the gap, the door gunners pounding any Astaroth with hundreds of rounds from their miniguns. The Blackhawk containing Sam circled over the balcony on the 32nd floor with the other Blackhawk taking a supporting position nearby.

Sam couldn’t help but think back to just over three years earlier and his last encounter with his brother. That time, like this one, he had to storm a well-defended position to even get close to him. Sam sighed. It was never going to be easy, he reflected, reminding himself why he was doing this. Not for those in Heaven. Not for Him. This was for the innocents. Those who didn’t deserve to be the targets and subjects of the Antichrist’s rage. If Sam killed the Antichrist, surely he would save many innocents.

They were about twenty feet above the balcony. One of Grace’s squad began to prepare the descending ladder. Sam waved him away and tugged off his mike. He secured his swords, suddenly aware that his backpack was missing, feeling a little odd that the familiar weight was lacking. Grace saw his frown.

“What is it?” she mouthed.

“My backpack,” he replied, yelling over the noise of the rotor.

She gave him the briefest of smiles. “I know where it is,” she yelled back. “Don’t worry. You’ll see it again. And me too. Come back alive, Sam.”

He nodded.

“Good luck,” Adam shouted in his ear. “Remember, ten minutes. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” shouted Sam, quickly setting the stopwatch function on his newly acquired watch.

Grabbing hold of the safety handle, he leaned out. On the balcony below, several Horned demons stood motionless, staring menacingly up at the helicopters. Dozens of Lemure ran around frantically, desperate to attack the helicopters above but with no means to do so. Adam gestured and the gunner opened up on them, the large rounds punching holes in even the Horned demons’ armor, sentencing them back to Hell. The gunner cleared an area that was demon-free enough to satisfy Sam.

Suddenly, thoughts of Yeth intruded into his battle calmness. This was exactly the sort of situation where he would’ve liked Yeth to be with him. He wondered where his Hellhound was right now. Whether he was all right and had survived his encounter with the Devil’s Hand. He couldn’t risk summoning his demon. If there wasn’t a chapel inside the building, then Yeth would have to battle through several thousand demons to join his side. If there was, he was dooming his demon to death when the airstrike came. A part of him didn’t even want to try for fear that Yeth may not be able to answer the call because he was dead. The thought made Sam feel more upset than he’d believed possible, the Hellhound being his only real friend and companion these last three years. ‘Stop it,’ he told himself. The train of thought was beginning to ruin his battle mood.

Angrily, he cast the thoughts aside carefully and resolutely. He’d have to determine Yeth’s fate later and didn’t have time for distractions right now. Without another thought or backward glance, Sam jumped.

He landed heavily, bending both knees to absorb the impact. Even so, he still managed to crack the thick stone tiles that covered the balcony. Although completely unharmed, the impact still hurt. He didn’t even want to start thinking about how much agony falling 32 floors would involve.

The remaining demons immediately fell upon him. With an expression that any witnesses would have interpreted as pleasurable, Sam drew both swords. The weapons almost leapt into his hand, eager to be about their business.

Above, the lethal barrage of iron fire ceased raining down and the demons advanced more confidently. At first, Sam dare not look above, guessing that the gunner would not risk inflicting friendly fire, but then the noise of the rotors changed. He glanced upwards. Both Blackhawks were besieged by Astaroth, clearly preoccupied with the new threat. The pair veered off and disappeared from view, relentlessly pursued by the flying demons. Sam was alone.

The first demons to reach him were Lemure. He destroyed them with quick, efficient strikes of his swords, so quickly that they had no time to react. The four remaining Horned demons were a completely different kettle of fish, not to be dismissed as easily. Horned demons were never killed easily. Sam didn’t exactly fear them, but he was certainly wary. Their giant limbs — bigger and more powerful even than an Astaroth’s — deserved respect. They lumbered towards Sam, their stupid goat-like faces frozen in snarling rage, lowering their ram horns as they charged.

The first one reached him a fraction of a second before the others, raising its weapon in one of its huge arms. Sam ducked under the enormous stone mallet that swept down upon him and then leapt straight upwards. His Katana speared out, taking the Horned demon in the side of its throat, a place where Sam knew its armor did not reach.

It disappeared while Sam was still in midair. He landed and rolled, scything out with both blades in a wide arc before him. The blades bit into the lower legs of the next charging Horned demon. Roaring, it toppled to the ground, shaking and splitting the tiles with the impact of its fall. Sam only just got out of the way in time, lunging sideways, forgetting that it would only be a death blow that would banish these demons back to Hell. The demon was out of the fight but it wasn’t dead. Yet.

The momentary distraction cost him dearly. The stone mallet of the third Horned demon smashed into his side. It was only a glancing blow, some instinct shifting his body slightly just before impact, but it was enough to crack what felt like every rib in his body. The impact blasted him sideways into the low stone balustrade of the balcony, almost toppling him over. He righted himself desperately, clutching his injured side with the fist holding his smaller blade, breathing heavily. He could already feel his ribs knitting together, but he needed more time.

The two demons still in the fight advanced upon him, only a few feet away. Still injured and backed up against the wall, Sam had nowhere to retreat to. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He sheathed both swords and yanked out one of the grenades, ignoring the burning sensation as his naked flesh made contact with the iron casing. He pulled the pin and dropped it at his feet and then vaulted the wall. As he floated over it, he grasped the lip with one hand, praying for the best.

The grenade detonated at the exact same time as he slammed into the side of the building, both impacts very nearly forcing him to lose his grip which would have hurled him from the face of the wall. He sensed the deaths of the Horned demons and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. It seemed someone — other than Gabriel — still cared about him up there. If the Horned demons hadn’t have succumbed, he really would’ve been in trouble.

He took a couple of moments to consider his position. Thirty two floors up. Dangling one-handed off the side of a building. It was just as well he wasn’t scared of heights. Below him, the battle between the Resistance and those who followed the Antichrist continued, screams and roars of rage echoed up to wear he hung. He could clearly see an adjacent building that had just started to burn, fires licking out of the windows. The Blackhawk helicopters had disappeared. He couldn’t even hear them and he silently wished them well. If anyone could survive, it would be Adam and Grace. They were the true survivors in this world.