After the Last Battle

By Matthew Moss

An assassination broke the peace, causing Heaven and Hell to enter another war, but this one was different; Heaven lost this war. With the angels nearly extinct, the demonic forces of Hell are free to occupy the three realms: Heaven, Hell, and Earth. However, the one reason for the assassination, which led to a war that left the world scarred, just might be the thing that gives Earth a second chance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543938999

Book preview

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Prologue

Saint Michael’s feet made little noise as he strode past the two silent, statuesque guards posted on either side of the open double doors to the throne room. In the center of the main room hung a large chandelier, but it gave out little light; instead it only sent shadows sprawling across the flagstone floor and red brick walls, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the room. A red rug with black designs of indistinguishable shapes ran the full length of the room, from the entrance to the empty metal throne. The throne was a clash of shriveled beings clawing their way up to sharp, iron finials, as if attempting to get away from some terrible beast beneath them. The combined heads and limbs somehow managed to twist themselves into some resemblance of a chair.

Michael’s lip curled in disgust at the grotesque piece of furniture. As much as he loved the queen who called this palace home, he still couldn’t get used to her taste for decoration—or, rather, her lack of taste. A hint of a smile touched his lips at the thought. Michael scanned his light green eyes over the large, open room in hopes of seeing his lover, but she was not there. He took a seat on a nearby bench to wait for her to return. The seat was uncomfortable, but at least looked relatively normal with its rough, unsanded wood planks.

The archangel was not surprised that the demonic queen was not there, as he had not announced his visit. Usually, the two planned their assignations so they would avoid being caught together, but lately Michael had been worried about the queen. Ever since the loss of their unborn child a little over a year ago, the queen had been growing more and more distant. He hoped that today’s surprise visit might cheer her up and restore the connection they had once had.

It seemed so long ago, now, when he had first met Helimoni, his lover, at one of the many meetings the high-ranking members of the realms of Heaven and Hell held to ensure the continuation of peace between the two empires. Since that day, he and his demonic mistress had visited each other on many occasions, but always in secret, as infatuations between demons and angels had been deemed a capital offense by both realms. In most cases travel between the two realms was restricted, but Michael’s position as General of Heaven’s armies and Helimoni’s title as Queen of the Citadel, Hell’s prison level, gave them nearly unrestricted freedom.

Many months into the discreet relationship, Helimoni had broken the news that she was with child. At first, Michael had been terrified, as he was unsure how they could continue to keep their relationship hidden; but as the child grew in Helimoni’s womb, he found that he looked forward to the day the child would be born. Sadly, that day never came. Eight months into the pregnancy, Helimoni lost the child. The loss hadn’t surprised Michael, as no one had known what might become of a child conceived between a disciple of Hell and a citizen of Heaven. Still, he had been saddened by the tragic loss, and while he had tried to turn to his lover for comfort, she had done the opposite, choosing instead to live mostly in solitude to ease the emotional pain.

The creak of rusted hinges broke the string of Michael’s reminiscences. He stood from the bench and looked to the side door that had just opened; Helimoni walked through the doorway. She was looking down at a small object in her arms, but even with her head bent she was tall—at least six feet in height. On her hairless head she wore an iron crown, a single red gemstone set in the center. She also wore a plain, dark red dress that flowed down to her feet but that did not touch the ground as she walked. A golden bracelet, shaped like a leafy vine, wrapped around her right forearm.

She moved with long, elegant strides to her horrific throne, her head still bowed, intently studying the object she carried. Michael stood still for several moments, having not been noticed by the demoness, and marveled at her beauty. He approached the throne, taking care not to startle his lover, then stopped a few yards away.

My love, he said, almost in a whisper.

Her head jerked up abruptly. The expression on her face was one of surprise—but not of delight. She looked like a criminal who had been caught breaking the law, but her dark blue eyes went beyond the malignant depths of criminality, revealing a mix of depravity and self-satisfaction. A cold shiver ran through Michael’s body… This was not the woman he loved. Her eyes were those of some immoral creature, not his infatuate.

He looked down at the object she held in her arms and understood. So that’s all I was to you—a tool? His voice quivered, lingering somewhere between hatred and tears.

Helimoni stood and placed the bundle of blankets in her arms on the throne. Through the folds of the cloth poked the soft face of a baby, perhaps just shy of one year old. No, honey, she said with mock sympathy, you weren’t just a tool for me to use. You were also a fool who trusted me. Her mouth twisted into a sardonic smile.

Give me the child and I will forget your treachery, replied Michael firmly, just able to hold back tears. Even as he spoke the words, he attempted to push past Helimoni to grab the child. But the Queen of the Citadel would not allow it.

Instead, Helimoni retrieved the finely tapered blade from inside her long, red sleeve. She slipped the point of the long blade between Michael’s ribs. Warm blood oozed over her hand, bringing back the demon’s sardonic smile. She would not let anyone take her child. There was no way of knowing just how powerful an angel–demon hybrid might be, but having the boy under her control when he was fully grown would allow her to advance her power and perhaps conquer the other layers of Hell.

But the demon queen’s moment of triumph was short lived. Helimoni watched in confusion as a white aura surrounded her. She stepped back, leaving the angel to fall to his knees. Michael pushed, sending the white aura with its encased victim soaring into the air. The demoness shrieked in agony as she crashed into the chandelier, the hot wax and glistening flames blistering her gray skin.

The two demons standing guard outside the throne room quickly entered and ran forward. But they were too slow. With the last of his strength, Michael scooped up the child lying on the throne and, moving his hand in a circular gesture, opened a portal in the air before him. The gateway crackled with pale yellow and white energy. He tossed the child through the gateway. Then Michael dropped down onto one knee as the portal burned out and collapsed.

He knew he would die—but he also knew the child, his son, was safe. Helimoni may have fooled him, but he was not unwise. The dying general knew his death would appear to be an assassination and thus would break the truce between the Fortress of Hell and the Kingdom of Heaven. War would follow—and it would be relentless, as all wars between the armies of Heaven and the hordes of Hell were. He knew that Earth would be the last place the war would reach, if it even made it that far. But by sending the child there, he had given the boy the time he would need to grow to an age when he could defend himself.

And, he was right.

Chapter 1

As she walked through the woods a few hundred yards behind her home, Athaliah heard the soft and repetitive: Twang. Thud. Twang. Thud. She moved around the final tree—a large oak with roughly textured bark—and caught sight of the young man in the clearing. He was in his early twenties, with broad shoulders and strong arms. In his left hand he was holding a bow. Slung over his back was a deerskin quiver that held six or seven arrows. About twenty-five yards from where the man was standing were the rest of his arrows, buried deep in a tree that had died in last winter’s storms.

Athaliah stood there watching the man and thinking back several years. She had been thirty-four years old when she and her husband had found the young child lying a few feet off the side of the road on which they were traveling. Astounded that the baby had been left abandoned, the couple took the boy in, named him, and raised him as their own. That was back when life was relatively peaceful and normal; everything changed when the devastations of war struck Earth. A war between the armies of Heaven and the hordes of Hell.

How long do you plan to stand there watching me? said the young man as he fired his last arrow then turned to face his mother.

The woman smiled, stirred from her thoughts by her son’s pleasant voice. For a moment she wondered how he knew she had been watching him. Looking at her son, Athaliah noted how his light green irises almost seemed to shine in the dimming woods. His eyes were surrounded by a well-nourished, unlined face that carried with it the look of ambition. His hair was varying shades of dark brown, like the bark of an aged oak tree, and fell to his mid-forehead, covering the top half of his ears. Had it been any longer she would have called it shaggy. A lean nose sat above a pair of thin lips that naturally parted into a smile when he spoke.

You’ve always been quite observant, haven’t you, Telarious? she asked.

The man smiled as he went to collect his arrows from their tight, four-inch grouping. The arrows were each about thirty-two inches long. They had one black feather and two white feathers on the tail end, to act as fletching that stabilized the arrows during flight. The shaft of the arrows were lead-gray in color. The arrowhead was steel, secured to the shaft by a light brown cord that wrapped tightly back and forth, from the arrowhead to the shaft and then back again.

Telarious gently pulled the arrows from the dead tree and placed them into his sturdy quiver. The quiver had a single leather strap that ran diagonally across his chest, from the right shoulder to the left hip. Once he had retrieved all his arrows the adept archer untucked the soft leather flap that could be used to cover the top of the quiver, protecting the two dozen arrows.

Dinner is ready, said Athaliah. Come and eat before it gets cold.

Yes, ma’am, Telarious replied. He jogged over to help his aging mother walk back to the house, guiding her through the dimming woods.

As mother and son approached their house Telarious scanned the faded wood of the story-and-a-half home. Telarious’s father, Jabir, was a carpenter and had built the now weathered house shortly after they had found Telarious. The house was a simple one with wood siding, four single-paned windows, and a small lean-to that stored the wood the family used to heat their small home. Although the house was a small, humble home it was just as sturdy as any other house in the village.

I’ll cut some more wood tomorrow morning before breakfast, Telarious said.

Athaliah smiled in reply as the two walked through the back door and came into the house, where they were greeted by Jabir. Telarious’s father was a tall and muscular man with noticeably large hands that were well suited for his profession. He provided for the family by trading carpentry services for food and other supplies.

In the midst of walking up the stairs, Telarious turned back to his parents. Let me put my bow and arrows up, he said, and I’ll be right back down.

Okay, Jabir replied. Just don’t take too long. Despite your mother’s brilliant cooking, it’s still better when it’s warm.

Athaliah looked at Jabir with questioning eyes, wondering if there had been a hint of sarcasm in her husband’s words.

Up in his room, Telarious hung his quiver over the post of his bed and then unstrung his bow. While walking to the corner of his small room he couldn’t help but admire the handmade bow. It had been carved from a large branch of a white oak tree. The center of the bow, near the grip and the arrow shelf, was textured to look like the bark of the tree branch. Telarious believed the texture improved his grip, and thus improved his control of the bow. The texture of the bark thinned out as the wood curved away from the arrow shelf, forming the limbs of the bow, until the texture completely disappeared and the bow became perfectly smooth right before the bow’s secondary curves. Telarious thought the lack of texturing near the ends of the bow gave it a crude yet elegant appearance.

After setting his bow carefully on a shelf and hanging the string on a hook on the wall, Telarious made his way down to the dinner table. He arrived just in time, as his parents seemed to have impatient looks on their faces. The three family members sat around the sturdy, maple table. Jabir sat at one end, and Telarious sat at the opposite end, while Athaliah sat in the middle. A cast iron pot with steam rolling from it sat in the middle of the table. Athaliah leaned forward and began ladling out servings of venison and potato stew. The family ate and talked about their day, as they did each evening.

I would like to be excused, the well-mannered Telarious said after another few minutes, I have to get up early and split wood for breakfast.

Of course, Jabir and Athaliah replied simultaneously.

Telarious stood from the table and made his way to his room. His father had originally built the upper half story of the house as an attic for storage, but then had gladly turned it into a bedroom when Telarious became old enough to need his own room. Despite its size, Telarious never felt it was too small.

Telarious tossed and turned most of the night, dreaming that the village he lived in was razed during a raid by demonic soldiers. In his dream, the most notable demon was a tall soldier dressed in full plate armor. He seemed to be dragging some of the villagers away, but Telarious couldn’t see where the demon was taking the villagers. Telarious was spared from the horrifying images of his nightmare by the early morning’s rising sun.

Despite having gotten little sleep overnight, the weary twenty-two-year-old pulled himself out of bed. He walked across the creaky but sturdy floor and over to the window. Staring out of the thin, glass panes, he started thinking about the odd dream. Telarious rarely dreamt, but when he did, it was usually of mundane, day-to-day tasks. However, this dream had been different; it didn’t feel like merely a dream….

Not wanting to waste any more time on the subject, Telarious expelled the thoughts from his mind. He got dressed and made his way downstairs, where his parents were still sleeping in their bedroom. The front door squeaked as he opened it with great care, hoping to not wake them. I really need to oil these hinges, he thought to himself then smiled, knowing he had thought that almost every time he opened the door, yet he still hadn’t oiled the hinges.

Telarious continued over to a pile of unsplit logs that stood a few yards from the house. He retrieved the axe that lay on the ground and began the process of splitting the wood into smaller, more manageable pieces. The task of chopping wood had quickly become tedious for Telarious; as a result, he often let his mind wander as he continued with the chore. Usually, his thoughts focused on his form handling the axe: raising the axe up above—but not behind—his head, then letting it fall to the wood, allowing the weight of the axe head to do the splitting to conserve his energy. However, today he could not keep his thoughts from returning to last night’s dream. The screaming of a young girl… the tall demon dragging people away… the popping and crackling of the burning house singeing the hair on his neck… It had all sounded and felt so real!

Telarious was not frightened by the dream; rather, the opposite. Though he had never told anyone, a large part of him desired a conflict. For he wanted a chance to prove himself, to see what he would do when put to the test. So far, despite the circumstances of the world, he had lived almost his entire life in peace. Demons had never attacked his village, and the last time raiders assaulted it was over a year ago, when he had been out hunting, unaware the raid had even taken place until after it was over. The desire for conflict made Telarious unsure. He knew conflict was something to be avoided…so why did he lust for it? Why did he want to fight, and maybe even kill? He wanted to feel disgusted by these internal desires, but he could not make himself do so. So, he convinced himself it was not a desire for death that drove his lust for conflict, but rather, his selfless wish to help everyone he could. The young archer wanted people to live their lives with as little demonic influence as possible.

Telarious was finally torn from his dark and unpleasant thoughts by the rapid clanging of a bell from the nearby watchtower.

Raiders. How convenient, he whispered to himself. He dropped the axe and ran toward the house to retrieve his bow and quiver of arrows. Now is my chance, he added with a pugnacious grin.

Telarious burst through the squeaky doorway, ran upstairs to his bed, and snatched his weapons. He stopped just before exiting the front door to string the recurve bow. He checked to make sure he had all his gear before running out of the house, as he knew that a bow without arrows is no more than a harp, short of a few strings. He exited the house with a sense of fear at the prospect of confronting the raiders, just as his startled parents came out of their room to see what was going on.

Chapter 2

Telarious stood next to a collapsed brick building, which had stood in ruins for as long as he could remember. It was one of several old, crumbling buildings that outlined the village square. Staying behind the building, he looked out into the open square. What he saw, he almost couldn’t believe.

The raiders had gathered the villagers into one large group and then forced them onto their knees. None of the villagers had been tied or bound, but still, no one dared move. Looking at the raiders, it was obvious why. They weren’t raiders at all. They were demons. Their signature leathery stone-gray skin, their disgruntled posture, and their clawed fingers gave it away. Looking around, Telarious saw some of the villagers laid deathly still in pools of their own blood. Probably the ones that fought back, thought the young archer.

There weren’t many of them, judging by the number that Telarious was able to count—only about six or seven.

Why are these monsters attacking our village? They never have before—so why now? Telarious’s mind jumped from question to question but provided no answers.

He looked around, sizing up the enemy, while trying to formulate a plan. Maybe if he could distinguish the leader from the other demons he could take him out and the rest would scatter.

Telarious noticed that one of the unholy creatures appeared to be giving orders, but the creature’s back was turned to him. He decided to move closer to get a better look, and maybe, hear what they were saying. He moved quickly, and with soft footsteps that were muffled by the sobs of mothers and the demons’ shouting. He drew closer and took cover next to a large wooden house. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and he could feel a cold sweat running down his face. The demon he had seen giving orders had turned to face the group of villagers and, without knowing it, looked toward the hidden archer. The creature was wearing full plate armor—the same armor Telarious had seen in his dream. The archer didn’t know what it meant, but had a good idea about what was going to happen next.

Before Telarious could formulate his plan of action, a demon wearing a steel helmet and loose-fitting chainmail approached the lead demon. The lesser demon’s chainmail grated hoarsely on itself and bounced against the thin pad of cloth armor underneath as he walked. The demon carried a one-handed axe in his right hand and dragged a man behind him with the other. The man looked to be in his early thirties.

We found him, said the demon wielding the axe.

The armored demon looked at the man, who was now bent over on his knees, shaking in terror, even as the other demon still held him tightly. We know what you are, citizen of Heaven, the demon said in a growling voice. You didn’t expect to hide forever, did you?

Hearing their leader refer to the citizen of Heaven, the four remaining demons emerged from the huts and houses to stand by their leader’s side with powerful stances and smug confidence. The buildings reflected the delicate touch of the demonic visitors with their splintered doors and crippled hinges.

W-what? I’m no angel, the man replied in a shaky voice.

The demon grinned under the faceplate of his helmet. We take this one, he told the other demons. Kill the rest.

Before any of the unholy creatures could move, however, the demon holding the man dropped his axe. It clattered onto the hard earth of the village square. A dull white aura appeared around the demon’s head…and he began to rise into the air. He hung in midair for several moments, frantically clawing at the aura around his helmet, but with no success. Each swipe of his clawed hand simply passed through the white light. The next moment, without warning, the steel helmet made a terrible crunching sound as it caved in on the demon’s skull. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished. The dead demon fell back to the ground, next to his