Robert Browne - The Paradise Prophecy

All he felt was contempt.

Belial whirled and glared at him, her eyes angrier than he’d ever seen them-a hot, luminescent yellow. Then the ground began to shake harder than ever, chunks of stone breaking away from the temple walls and shooting out like mortar fire, slamming into the earth around him. She swiped an arm in his direction and the impact to his chest was as sharp and painful as if she’d delivered the blow directly. The gun went flying as he tumbled back onto the temple steps, the wind knocked out of him.

Taking advantage of the moment, Callahan advanced on Belial and swung out, landing a solid punch to her throat. Belial made a gagging sound and staggered back, grabbing her neck-

– but Callahan kept moving forward. She shifted her body sideways and kicked out, the sole of her boot landing smack in the middle of Belial’s gut.

Across the yard, the pilot-McNab-was climbing out of the helicopter, staring at them in utter disbelief.

Even from this distance, Batty could see the panic in his eyes, and he knew what was coming next. He tried to call out to McNab, but no words would come, he could barely breathe.

Then McNab scrambled back into the helicopter, and a moment later, the whine of its engines filled the air as the rotors started whirling.

He was about to leave them behind.

“Stop!” Batty shouted, finally able to breathe, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the rotors and the rumbling of the sky.

Chunks of the temple showered down around them as Callahan continued her assault, fueled by anger, punching and kicking, knocking Belial back.

But Belial wasn’t close to being down or out, and she suddenly vanished-

– only to reappear behind Callahan again.

Then Belial was advancing, waving her hand like a wand, each wave sending a jolt of energy in Callahan’s direction, Callahan grunting and stumbling, trying to recover but finding it harder and harder with each new blow.

Batty spotted the gun where it had fallen and clamored across the steps, reaching for it, getting it in his grip. Pulling himself upright, he aimed again and squeezed the trigger-

– but the gun clicked. Empty.

Shit.

And now Callahan was on the ground, and he could see that she was weakening. She tried to strike out, but Belial knocked her back with another invisible blow. Then the redhead moved forward and stood over Callahan, blood pouring from the wound below her shoulder blade.

Raising her voice so that she could be heard over the roar of the rotors, she said, “Give me the manuscript, Sebastian, or I’ll rip her head off and drink her fucking blood.”

And Batty had no doubt she’d do it. No doubt at all.

But then something unexpected happened.

Batty heard a sound, a soft plock that registered just below the whine of the chopper blades. Belial’s eyes went blank and she stumbled forward slightly, as if buffeted by a sudden wind.

Then she turned, and he could plainly see the hole in the back of her head, a small trickle of blood seeping from it, turning her copper-colored hair a darker shade of red. He hadn’t seen an exit wound, so he could only assume the bullet was lodged in her brain-or what was left it. The impact had surely mushroomed through her skull, destroying everything in its path.

Then another shot rang out, hitting her in the cheek, spinning her around, the side of her face turning into raw, bloody hamburger. A third shot quickly followed, putting a hole through the back of her neck, and she dropped to her knees, her eyes now filled with shock and rage and dismay.

It took Batty a moment to figure out where the gunfire was coming from. Swiveling his head, he looked toward the helicopter.

Across the yard, McNab lay on his belly, a sniper rifle in hand. He smiled, as if satisfied by a job well done, but Belial suddenly screeched and swept an arm through the air.

A chunk of the temple broke free, rocketed across the yard like a small comet and slammed into the helicopter’s gas tank.

As McNab jumped to his feet, the chopper exploded in a ball of fire behind him. He screamed as the flames enveloped him, instantly turning him into a roasted human marshmallow. Then he slammed to the ground and stopped moving.

The concussion lifted the helicopter several feet into the air, then it dropped back down, landing on its side, its rotors snapping as the flames quickly gutted it.

And as they burned away, Belial teetered a moment, turning to Batty, her eyes now full of sadness, a fountain of blood pouring from the hole in her neck and down the side of her face. Then she toppled onto her back, the blood spreading on the ground beneath her.

As he slowly regained his senses, Batty staggered to his feet, shell-shocked, not quite believing what he’d just witnessed. He stumbled to the bottom of the steps and stood over a broken Belial, once again wondering how he could ever have taken her into his bed.

After a moment, Callahan got up and stood next to him, her fists involuntarily clinched, as if she were waiting for the bitch to make another move.

Then Belial’s mouth opened and blood bubbled up on her lips as she tried and failed to speak.

But Batty heard her voice inside his head.

This isn’t over, my darling. We’re connected, you and me.

That was Rebecca’s gift to us…

Then air escaped from between her lips as the life went out of her eyes and her body abruptly went still, abandoned by its occupant. It was, after all was said and done, just a human vessel, a skin, a means to an end that meant nothing more to her than a wrecked car or a torn dress. She had no use for it now and she was gone.

A moment later, the rumbling stopped.

The sky was clear.

The earth still.

Even if Batty’s heartbeat wasn’t.

That old woman with the really long neck is staring at me,” Callahan said.

They had been hiking for what seemed like hours, following the winding trail down the mountain past the rice fields and the tribal villages, both of them on edge, but exhausted after the debacle at the temple.

And that’s exactly what it had been. A debacle.

What else could you call it?

Two good men were dead, the temple in ruins, a helicopter destroyed, and Batty and Callahan were lucky to have gotten out of there with their souls still intact.

One of the only blessings to come of it, Batty thought, was the dispatching of Belial-at least in her current human form. But he knew they hadn’t seen the last of her.

This isn’t over, my darling.

Belial might not return in the form of knock-’em-dead redhead, but she’d be back, stronger than ever. You could count on it. It would take a lot more than a couple of clueless mortals to destroy her, and all he could think to do was to keep moving forward in hopes they’d get lucky again the next time.

At least they’d come away from the debacle with a bit of knowledge. Thanks to Brother Philip, they now knew this went well beyond a few calculated attacks against the guardians. There was a plan in motion and it was an ugly one. A plan that would reach its conclusion during the coming eclipse.

The fourth moon.

Batty knew about lunar tetrads, knew they were rare, but he’d never considered that there was a power in them that would help Belial and her friends open the gates of hell. And he knew in his gut that this was exactly what they were planning. After years of trying, they had finally harnessed enough corrupted souls to overwhelm all the good in the world and deliver to them the paradise they sought.

The paradise they had lost.

But based on what Brother Philip had said, he could only conclude that Saint Michael had a plan of his own. A plan that involved the sacred traveler, whoever that might be.