Tim Marquitz - At The Gates

Or was it?

A dimly lit bulb fluttered to life inside my thick skull. If I weren’t around, I wouldn’t have to worry about Azrael finding the key piece in time. He also wouldn’t need to torture my friends. While I couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t do it out of spite, I could hope I wasn’t worth his effort.

Thinking along those lines, a plan began to form, no matter how half-baked it might seem to anyone not currently inside my head. While Azrael had told Rampage not to kill me, the message hadn’t been passed on to the other two flunkies, as far as I could tell. Besides, even if they had been told, I can be very persuasive. Seriously, who wouldn’t want to kill me?

As they dragged me down the hall, I glanced over at the werewolf on the left and did my best to force a smile onto my face. He glared at me.

“What’s your problem?”

“I’m just curious about something,” I choked out. “Are you neutered, or do werewolves just naturally lack balls?”

He snarled and pulled me to the ground by my arm and delivered a vicious kick to my ribs. The world disappeared in an explosion of white that faded fast to black, a piercing hum bouncing around inside my ears. Another kick brought the world back into focus, and what little was left in my stomach vacated it in search of better climes. My generosity was rewarded by a stomp to the head, my face smashed into the concrete floor, Humpty Dumpty reenacted. My vision tunneled and the darkness closed in. The warm slime against my cheek was so far out I barely registered it. I felt something like a water balloon burst in my chest, a warm, wet sensation tickling me inside. Waves of exhaustion washed over me, everything slowing down.

As my eyes slid closed, I heard Rampage howling at the other werewolf. Too tired to care, I let go. Mission accomplished.

A sharp pain against my cheek snapped my eyes open. They came into focus on a furry lightning bolt, reddish-orange eyes glimmering just below.

“You’re not getting off that easily, demon.”

Damn.

Still laying in my spew, warm and sticky against my fingers, it was obvious I hadn’t been out but a few seconds. So much for my master plan. Now I was just beaten up more, and still alive. What’s a guy got to do to die?

Rampage leaned over and pulled me up, supporting my weight, but making me stand. The movement just reinforced my wish to die. It hurt-a lot.

The other two werewolves stayed a little ways behind us, their faces looking like beaten dogs; one of them carried my gun. Rampage ignored them as we traveled on a little further until we reached the area of DRAC that housed the holding cells.

“Get the door,” he told the other two.

They snapped to and slipped past us, one yanking open the heavy, reinforced steel door while the other stood by.

A blur of black and white whipped through the air behind them. Geysers erupted where the werewolves’ heads had been just a split-second before. Warm blood rained over us as their bodies danced in place for a moment, then crumbled to the floor. Their heads landed with moist splats right after.

Rampage’s grip loosened and I drooped to the ground across from the spurting corpses. A rumbling, basso growl came from beyond the door and echoed down the hall, vibrating the walls. The werewolf stood there without moving as a monstrous blue-black form appeared in the doorway. Red stained claws led the way as the creature hunkered down and eased through the door, a grinning ursine face coming nose to nose with Rampage.

It was another werebear, but it definitely wasn’t Grawwl.

It nudged Rampage with its snout, its muzzle pulling back to show a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. A low growl rolled thunderous from its mouth and Rampage stiffened in response.

A quick slash later, the werewolf stumbled back, an oozing, crimson hole where his throat had been just seconds before. He clutched to the wound, a quiet whistle slipping between his clawed fingers, and stared wide-eyed at the werebear. His eyelids fluttered: once, twice, then closed, never to open again. His arms fell limp at his sides and his legs gave way. He crumbled into a heap and laid there, his life’s blood staining the tile floor.

The need for me to die now passed, I looked up at the giant bear and sighed, lowering my face. It was just my luck.

“You look like you could use a hand,” the bear told me, its voice deep and smooth, a gentle chuckle rounding out his words.

I recognized its intonation and looked at the creature again. This time, my eyes saw him for who he really was; Rahim.

“Are you serious?” My excitement was tempered by internal bleeding.

He grinned and hunched down lower so we were face to face. “In the fur.”

His movement was fluid and graceful. He held out a monstrous paw to me and I grabbed ahold so I could get to my feet. Amazed by his transformation, I couldn’t help but stare.

“We thought you were dead.”

He nodded. “I know.” He motioned behind him. “I had a little angelic help chasing away the weres after Rachelle gated all of you out of there.”

Beyond the behemoth, Akrasiel leaned casually in the doorway. In his hand, he held Katon’s replacement sword, along with Scarlett’s blade, Everto Trucido.

“Hi Akrasiel, or do you prefer Raguel?”

He smiled, the leather of his face seeming to crack. “Names are just names. It’s all the same to me.”

I gave the angel a grateful nod, then my eyes went back to Rahim. Like Grawwl, he was nearly as big as a house. Though he wasn’t standing up straight, he looked to be several feet taller than Grumpy. His fur was a black so deep it shimmered blue when he moved. He had short swords for claws and his body was built for power.

While he didn’t look like Rahim-he looked like a bear-there was a definite resemblance in the facial mannerisms and the way he carried himself. His old confidence was back, glistening in the shimmering red of his eyes. Seeing the fluidity of his motion, I had to ask.

“The back?”

A wicked grin spread across his face. “It’s perfect. The transformation healed it completely.”

Returning the smile, I was glad he was still among us. I just wish I could say the same for Abraham. Reminded of the old psychic, my eyes teared up and I suddenly couldn’t look Rahim in the face.

“Abraham’s dead.” I nearly choked on the words. Just saying them made me feel weak.

Rahim gently set a reassuring paw on my shoulder. “I know.”

“It’s my faul-”

Rahim cut me off. “I don’t believe that, Frank. More so than any of us, he knew the risks associated with what we do.”

“But if I had-”

“We don’t have time for this.” The last word segued into a growl. “You can worry about pointing fingers later. We need to get you fixed up and get to Heaven. Any plans been made?”

I took a second to compose myself before I answered. He was right. No matter what happened, I needed to focus. Abe would come back from the dead to kick my ass if I let him die in vain. “We should still have our key piece and we’ve agreed on a tentative assault plan. It’ll need some tweaking to adjust for Azrael’s mucking about, but with you and Akrasiel over there, I think we’re better off than we were before.”

The old man shook his head, picked up my gun, and came over beside us, his leather face serious. “I’ve done all I can for now. You’ll have to do this without me.” He handed the swords to me, and then my pistol.

I accepted them and slipped my gun into my waistline as I thanked him, glad to have them all back. No point in arguing with the angel, we just said our goodbyes. He disappeared in a golden flash.

Once he was gone, I shrugged at Rahim. “I’ve recruited Alexander Poe to help us, Baalth’s mentalist, who just happens to have a little magical aptitude. It’s not much of an addition, but since we’re looking at a smash and grab, followed by a suicide run, I think we’re as ready as we can be.”