Camael watched as the transformed youth rose into the air before the agonizing beast, his mighty wings beating the air, lifting him to hover before the face of his enemy.
Leviathan lashed out at the Nephilim, its whiplike tentacles attempting capture, but falling upon empty air, the angel’s movements were so swift.
“Damn you,” Leviathan roared, its thick, green life stuff draining out from the gaping stomach wound to pool upon the cave floor. “Damn you—and the master you serve.”
Aaron hovered before the snarling face of the beast, sword poised to strike, and Camael marveled at the sight of it.
“Got a message from the big honcho upstairs,” Camael heard the Nephilim cry as he brought the flaming blade down in a powerful arc aimed at Leviathan’s head. “You’re dead.”
The fire blade cleaved through the incredible thickness of the sea beast’s skull with a resounding crack—the majority of the fearsome weapon buried deep within its monstrous cranium. It thrashed wildly in a futile attempt to dislodge the flaming weapon, but then grew impossibly still.
Aaron withdrew the sword and held it proudly above his head, powerful wings beating, holding him aloft. A fearsome cry of victory filled the air, and Camael stared in awe as the gigantic body of the ancient sea deity began to burn. The first flames shot up from Leviathan’s head wound in a geyser of orange fire, the ravenous heat spreading down the length of the monster’s enormity—its scaled flesh, muscle, and bone food for the heavenly flames.
Aaron flew down to the cave floor just as the monster’s body collapsed in a gigantic pyre of smoldering ash, and strode menacingly toward Camael. The spawns of Leviathan scrambled about the cave floor, their shells aflame—the final remnants of the ancient sea monster left alive—but not for long.
Camael clutched his own weapon, unsure of the Nephilim’s true intentions. It would not be the first time that he had bore witness to a half-breed’s descent into madness after manifesting the full extent of its heavenly might.
Aaron stood before him, heavenly armament in hand, and he studied the fearsome countenance of the Nephilim. In his weakened state, Camael wasn’t sure if he could survive a battle with such an adversary, but prepared himself nonetheless. Neither spoke, but the angel warrior watched for the slightest hint of attack. If there was to be battle, his first strikes would need to be lethal.
“That thing really pissed me off,” Aaron said as a small smile played across his warrior’s features. “Glad to see you’re all right.”
And Camael lowered his sword, confident that the Nephilim’s mental state was still intact—at least for the moment.
Aaron placed his hand on Gabriel’s side, watching the rise and fall of the dog’s breathing. The Labrador’s yellow coat was saturated with slime. “Hey,” he said softly, giving his best friend a gentle shake. “It’s time to get up.”
At first, the animal did not respond, his mind still in the embrace of doggy paradise. Aaron shook him again a bit harder. “Gabriel, wake up.”
“I am awake,” replied the archangel wearily, still resting his emaciated frame against the cave wall.
Aaron looked up. “I was talking to the dog,” he told the messenger of God. “His name is Gabriel, too.” He smiled briefly and looked back at his friend, who was finally beginning to stir. “Hey, pally, you awake yet?”
The dog stretched his four limbs and neck, emitting a low, throaty groan that began somewhere in lower regions of his broad chest. Then he sighed, his dark brown eyes coming open. “I was having a dream, Aaron,” he said sleepily. “I was chasing rabbits and having lots of good things to eat.”
Aaron stroked the dog’s head lovingly. “You can do all that stuff out here—without being eaten by a sea monster.”
The dog lifted his head and gazed about. “Where are we?” he asked, sitting up. “The last thing I remember … the old woman,” he said, a wide-eyed expression of shock on his canine face. “She spit something at me, and it made me numb.”
“Yep, I know,” Aaron nodded. “But I think we’ve taken care of that,” he said, and looked in the direction of the still smoldering remains of the mythological sea monster.
“The spawn cannot continue to exist without the beast’s mind,” Camael said, standing over the fleshy sacks that Aaron had liberated from the monster’s body. He was checking to see which of the captives of Leviathan were still living. “They were all part of one great beast—and the parts cannot survive without the whole.”
Gabriel stiffly climbed to his feet and shook, spattering the surrounding area with the digestive juices that still clung to his fur.
“Watch that,” Aaron said, covering his face, his wings reflexively coming around to block the spray. “I’ve got enough of that crap covering me.”
“Then you won’t notice a little more,” the dog said, and smiled that special smile unique to the Labrador.
“Maybe there’s still a chance I can shove you back into one of those stomachs,” Aaron grumbled with mock seriousness, giving the dog a squinty eyed stare. Gabriel barked and wagged his tail, none the worse for his experience being captive in the gut of a sea beast.
“Who’s he?” the dog suddenly asked, coming forward, his nose twitching.
Aaron noticed the angel Gabriel now stood by him, and seemed to be studying his dog of the same name.
“Gabriel,” Aaron said to the animal, “this is Gabriel.” He motioned toward the archangel.
Gabriel padded closer, nose still sniffing, tail wagging cautiously. “That’s a very handsome name,” the dog told the angelic being.
The archangel looked from the dog to Aaron, a quizzical expression on his gaunt features. “You named this animal—after me?”
Aaron shrugged his shoulders. “Not specifically. It’s just a very regal sounding name. When he was a pup he looked like a Gabriel to me, that’s all.”
“I was quite adorable when I was a puppy,” the dog said with a tilt of his blocky head.
The still weakened angel carefully walked toward the dog, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the animal’s head. The Lab seemed to have no problem with that, licking the angel’s hand affectionately.
“This animal has been changed,” the archangel said, stroking the fur on the side of Gabriel’s handsome face. “It is not as it should be.” The angel looked back, as if seeking an explanation.
“Gabriel is very important to me,” Aaron began. “He was hurt—near death. I saved him.”
“You saved him,” the angel repeated, holding the dog’s face beneath the chin and gazing into his dark chocolate eyes. “And so much more.”
“He did,” Gabriel said looking back.
“What other wonders can you perform, Aaron Corbet of the Nephilim?” the angel Gabriel asked, fascination in his tone.
Aaron didn’t know what to say, feeling self-conscious beneath the scrutinizing eyes of the messenger of God. “I really don’t know, but…”
“He is the chosen of the prophecy,” Camael spoke up. The former leader of the Powers was kneeling beside the now deflated digestive sacks, and the remains of the angelic beings they contained. He gazed at the bodies of the heavenly creatures, many just barely alive—on the verge of death. “What other wonders is he capable of?” Camael asked sadly among the desiccated and the dying. “He can send our fallen brethren home.”