Angelus: Angels and Demons

By J. And-re'son

Spera Angelus is someone who wouldnt stand out to normal people, but she is far from normal. Spera is soon dragged into a war between the world she calls home and the world she didnt know she was a part of. A normal day turns to genocide, and if she and her kinds dont take a stand, humanity will face extinction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496968364

J. And-re'son

J. And-re’son started writing from a young age, continued throughout high school, and finished his first book a year after graduating. On his own and with very little spare time due to work, he found it difficult to continue writing but finally managed to finish his book at the age of eighteen. He currently lives in the small town of Price, Utah.

Book preview

Prologue

THE WAR

The ground, like the sky, was black. Dead trees once bent with the wind lay scorched upon the scarlet ground, embers shining in the darkness where the carnage continued.

Swords clashed and the undead fell. Bodies hit the ground as arrows pierced those who attacked from above. All those who fell to the undead only rose to fight their former friends.

Shades sped past, consuming all undead without hesitation or remorse. All of their former allies were falling beyond the recognition of the Lich. The Shades were black as night, like living liquid shadows, moving at unbelievable speeds and consuming hundreds of the undead.

Wolves ran through the crowd of warriors attacking the undead and ripping them to shreds. The wolves moved faster than any normal wolf and in remarkable numbers. They were large beasts the size of bulls and teeth sharp as razors. When one of these beasts fell, the rest of the pack cleverly destroyed it before the Lich could gain control.

Angels rained from the sky, wings of all colors and sizes, carrying people of many ethnicities; men, women, young and old. The angels descended on the hoard of zombies, ousting them from this world with every strike. When the rarity of an angel falling occurred another would cut off its wings or decapitate them. They prioritized decapitation over the removal of wings, though if they had no other option they hacked at the wing to deny them the opportunity of flying.

Reapers walked through the crowd, disposing of all of the Lich’s servants, destroying all those whose death had been cheated. Their black hoods covered their skeletal face, and an hourglass hung around their necks. Their weapon of choice was the Scythe, the blades of which slashing through flesh like a white hot knife through melting butter. None of the Reapers had fallen.

Horses ran throughout the battlefield, trampling anyone who was unlucky enough to be in their path. Horns protruded from their foreheads, spiraling to a point. If they didn’t trample an enemy, they impaled them with the horn and threw them aside as they moved along.

A figure strutted through the chaos, a hand lying lazily on the hilt of a sheathed sword. The figure was like a liquid shadow, a ripple of cloth flowing from him. He wore dark steel gauntlets, fingers covered in the dark metal, yet his fingers moved silently. Darkness emanated from him casting shadows among the disorder. His eyes glowed red sending up waves of scarlet smoke.

Another figure came at him sword swinging in what was sure to be a fatal stroke, but quicker than the eye, the shadowed figure side-stepped the attacking angel, seized him by the throat and slammed him to the ground. Light flared as the angel turned to bone then dust, and the light went up the Lich’s arm and into his chest.

The Lich stood back up and continued through the crowd, blade still sheathed. His calmness and smugness were still untarnished until a wave of petrifying fear hit him. Whirling around, he saw a cluster of darkness attacking his army, throwing dismembered bodies to the ground. In the center of the darkness stood a being, swinging chain whips at any and all revenants, striking them down. The being was in black and red jagged armor encrusted with golden symbols. He had horns and a grated helm adding detail to the armor.

Taking several deep, calming breaths, the Lich began walking toward the dark cluster, blade at the ready. His walk was no longer a strut; if the Demon wanted him, the horde of undead soldiers wouldn’t stop it. If the Demon wanted him, he was going out with a fight. This war was going to end with a dead Lord, one way or another.

There was a blinding flash white from the sky, and the Lich saw in the distance a Knight falling, golden armor shining. He could barely get a glimpse before the Knight slammed to the ground, sending a wave of flying bodies in a fury of pieces and light.

The Lich paused; he had not anticipated that this many Lords would come in person, but the blade he held felt secure in his hands. The sword had proved a good-luck charm, and so it was his sword of choice. It had a short blade, barely three feet long, but it was pure adamant and was home to his secret weapon.

The Lich slowly advanced to the other Lords, and they to him. The Knight was closer; about five hundred yards away. So focused on his fellow gods, he didn’t notice the angelic archer until the arrow pierced his left shoulder. The force made him stumble forward, then turn. As he did so, he noticed the lapis lazuli arrow head peeking out from under where his collar bone should have been.

The archer was tall, hooded, and a blue aura emanated from him. His wings were electric blue, his eyes the same. He landed lightly on the ground, shouldered the bow, and drew a long katana. The Lich reached and pulled the arrow from his shoulder without any sign of pain. Three Lords; three nearly immortal, extremely powerful Lords, were walking toward him.

This was going to be fun…

Hearing the pattering of hooves behind him, the Lich dove aside as the razor sharp unicorn horn missed him by a hair. Though he had dodged the horn, he felt the full force of its shoulder ramming into him as the nag rushed past, knocking him to the side. Lightning fast, the unicorn turned and rushed again. Ready this time, the Lich finally unsheathed his sword and with a quick whoosh, the unicorn rushed past, stumbled and fell, golden blood pouring from its flank. With a final screech of pain, its head hit the ground and its breath left its lungs. Seeing the Knight rushing forward with a scream of rage, the Lich went over to the body of the unicorn and ripped off the horn.

Without warning, the unicorn exploded in a whirlwind of pure power. Sword still in hand, the Lich went flying high in the air and hit the ground hard. Thinking that he would refrain from trying to take a unicorn horn as a trophy in future, he got to his feet. The explosion had knocked him away from the other Lords, which wasn’t a bad thing in his mind.

He raised his sword as he saw the Knight rushing toward him, closely followed by the angel and the Demon. They were all in an attack formation, as though it was planned. They were two hundred yards, one hundred, fifty…

The Knight’s blade crossed his own and there was a blinding light from the point of contact. The Knight was forced back, feet digging trenches where his feet were resisting the force. The Lich rushed forward and swung. The Knight raised his shield, which was embossed with a sun and plated in white gold, and attempted to deflect the blow. With another flash of light, the shield shattered and sent the Knight back again as the Lich’s sword made contact.

A chain flew at the Lich and wrapped around his arm. Reacting as though this was expected, the Lich bent his arm and cut through the chain using the immense power of his sword. The chain link shattered and sent a shockwave down to the Demon who was wielding it. With a mere wave of his arm, the Demon deflected the energy away and sent a few dozen undead flying, however a flicker of darkness flew into his face and knocked him to the ground.

Dodging another arrow, the Lich parried a strike from the Knight and kicked him hard in the chest, knocking him through the air, but the Knight landed on his feet. With a whoosh of wings, the Lich dived aside from the swinging blade as the angel dived at him, blade swinging widely. Without hesitation, the angel moved in for another strike, and the Lich parried. Before the Lich could counterstrike the angel swung again almost like trying to force the Lich back. The Lich sidestepped and elbowed his opponent hard in the face with enough force to stagger him and let the Lich retreat several steps.

Another chain flew out of nowhere and wrapped around the Lich, pinning his arms to his sides. He felt the cold of the chain squeeze him. The angel took flight high in the sky. The Demon whorled the chain holding the Lich and whipped it, sending a wave down the chain and forcing the Lich high in the air. The angel dived swinging its sword to slice the Lich in two. Out of sheer luck, the Lich’s blade caught the blow, and sent him rocketing to the ground faster than gravity could have ever pulled him. Just before he hit, the Knight rammed him with a shoulder, sending him tumbling across the earth in wave of ash and soot.

The blade had flown out of his hand…

When the Lich stopped rolling and the dust settled, he sprang to his feet. He searched for his blade, panic filling his being. Seeing it a short distance away, he dived. Just before his hand touched the hilt of the magnificent blade, a foot slammed into his back and pinned him forcefully to the ground. Turning his head, he saw a skeletal figure in tattered robes looming over him as it lowered its scythe to his throat. An hour glass hung loosely around its neck.

Corpus, it said in a deep commanding voice. Your time has come, The reaper reached down and grabbed the Lich around the throat and picked him up raising him off the ground. The angel, Knight, and Demon had closed in around them, forming a semicircle. The reaper grabbed the scabbard that was stuck to the Lich’s side and tossed it to the Knight, and then he threw the Lich into the center. The Knight bent down and picked up the Lich’s weapon and sheathed it.

Surrender, Corpus, said the Demon. There is no way out for you, this is your one and only chance to crawl out of this alive. The Lich gazed around, looking for anything he could use to his advantage; he saw nothing.

Last chance, said the Knight, his voice thundered with forceful wrath. Don’t force our hand, surrender, NOW! Without speaking, the Lich continued to search for some way out. Anyway out. The Knight readied his weapon, as did the others. Was there anything he could do? He had lost his weapon, the blade that had slain nations, the blade that was his guide to glory. It was gone. The Lich made his decision…

He raised his fist high and opened his palm. Instantaneously, the dead all around collapsed to the ground, their bodies lifeless once more. Seeing no other way out, he had to surrender. Even though he would be punished, and cruelly, he saw no benefit from dying now, when in future, he could try again, but for now…

…the war was over…

Chapter 1

SPERA

Last Call! a loud voice boomed from down the bar. The tender, a rather large and beefy man, was readying the mugs as a rush of people swarmed the lower bar. At the opposite end sat a young woman with short, shoulder length, snow white hair with strands of brown toward the back. She wore a rather simple outfit, including a leather jacket, jeans, and strap boots. She was sipping from a mug filled to the brim with beer. The bar was like an average tavern; a large bar down one side, several tables in the middle, a couple of pool tables, and booths on the wall opposite the bar. Behind the bar was a large display of drinks both imported and domestically brewed alcohol. The back wall behind the bar was one large mirror giving the illusion that the bar was much bigger than it really was. A large neon sign hung above the bar reading MICKEY’S TAVERN.

An outburst of laughter made her glance up at a small group of staggering men in the mirror. Her crystal blue eyes followed their reflection as they went to a booth and chugged their drinks.

Amazing, she thought, they haven’t drank themselves to death yet.

One of the men looked up and caught her watching them. The girl quickly looked away.

Anything for ya’, Spera? the tender asked with a wide kind grin, offering her another drink. Mickey was a good man, Spera knew, but she also knew that like every other heterosexual guy in this bar he would love to see her drunk, like that could happen…

No, thanks, Mickey, she replied. I’m almost ready to head out, she smiled kindly at him.

Do I need to call you a cab? He asked with concern, You okay to drive? Spera knew he meant well. This was her third beer of the night and she was small for an adult, 5’, 2", so she should get drunk a lot easier than everyone else. Being a nurse, she knew that two beers should put driving out of the question.

I’m fine, thanks though, she smiled at him. Nodding in understanding, he walked down the bar and started collecting tabs.

As she finished her drink, she sensed a movement behind her, and let out a weary sigh as she smelled the man approach her.

Hey, baby, it was the drunk who had seen her looking at his group. Need a ride? He gave her an overly-exaggerated wink, which included moving the entire half of his face and his whole head in a half nod. He had a wide face, glazed eyes, and a huge beer gut that was at least two feet from his spine. His shirt was soaked with sweat and beer. Spera couldn’t help notice the other drunks watching, wondering if their friend could land one tonight. ‘Drunks…’ she thought wearily.

You’re a little too old for me, she said flatly. Judging by his looks, the man had to be in his late forties. Spera barely looked old enough to drink,

Why’s that? He asked in a baby-talk voice, You know that older men know what they’re doing when it comes to certain, er, aspects. His large, meaty hand reached down and grabbed her thigh, slowly moving upward.

Remove your arm or I will break it, she said calmly, not even looking at the man. She continued to drink from her mug. He didn’t reply, but his hand moved a little faster. Spera sighed, she had warned him…

Spera reached down, grabbed the man’s meaty forearm, just below the wrist, and squeezed. There was a loud crack, and the drunk let out a bellow of agony as he staggered backward, clutching his broken arm. Spera didn’t even turn to see the man as his friends swarmed around him to see what happened. She glanced up at the mirror to see the crowds’ panicked faces as they didn’t know what to do while the handsy drunk on the ground yelled and cursed.

What happened, Jimmy? one of the drunks asked in a daze. The frisky drunk, Jimmy, kept cursing, but two words managed to escape.

That bitch! he yelled looking at Spera, but not getting up from the floor. Two of the drunks got to their feet and made their way toward Spera. Breathing deeply, she set her mug down on the bar so none would spill. One of the drunks put a hand on her shoulder and pulled. Spera went with it, but rather than let the drunk control how fast she turned, she swung around on her stool and kicked him hard in the chest, breaking his ribs and sending him flying into Jimmy and his broken arm. The second drunk tried to throw a punch, but Spera deflected it and used the drunks momentum to slam his head into the bar, knocking him out. She let him slide painfully off the bar, leaving a blood trail from his broken nose.

Swinging back around to the bar, Spera sipped from her mug again as though nothing had interrupted her. Mickey bounced over to the commotion to see the drunks still in agony. Seeing the blood stain on his counter and the two drunks where Spera had left them, he turned to look at Spera, anger in his eyes.

What the hell just happened? he barked.

Spera didn’t blame him for being angry; it had taken him years to open his bar and, of course, he didn’t want it getting a reputation for fighting. Spera took another sip then explained.

I don’t like guys getting frisky with me when I’m trying to enjoy my beer, she said calmly, sipping again. And when I warn them to quit, I expect them to quit. If they don’t, I make sure they don’t do it again. Doesn’t that sound fair? she asked smiling. Mickey’s face lightened, then he smiled.

More than fair, he said. He walked around the bar, grabbed the unconscious drunk and dragged him toward the door, yelling over his shoulder at the others, If I see any of you in this bar again I will break one bone for every step in. Do I make myself clear? he barked as he kicked open the door, lifted the drunk, and threw him a fair distance onto the sidewalk. Spera smiled. She could always count on Mickey.

The massive apartment building loomed over Spera as she drove into the parking corral. There was a gate topped with fleur-de-lis connected to a toll booth with a keypad on the outside to grant access. Spera pulled up to the booth, leaned out the car window, entered the code 092297 into the T-9 keypad, and the gate opened, granting her access.

Level after level of parked cars lay in front of her. Slowly, she drove up several levels, looking for a parking spot. The bad part about living in a large apartment complex was there were so many other people who decided to do the same. Finally, she spotted a space just big enough to fit her Lexus. She carefully pulled in with inches to spare on either side. A large white truck on one side and a cement wall on the other.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, taking the keys out of the ignition, and getting her wallet, she got out of the car. As she neared the elevator, she pressed the automatic lock button on her key chain, and heard her car beep and echo throughout the garage.

The elevator took a moment to arrive; when it did, she walked in and pressed the top button, level 32. The elevator dinged with every floor it passed; 26, 27, 28, 29. Finally, it stopped at her floor. She got out and turned left down the narrow hallway. Her condo was the first door on the right, number 3210; an easy number to remember.

Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she dug in her pockets for her keys, inserted it into the lock, and turned. She heard the tumblers click into place, and she walked in.

Home again, home again, she sighed, her apartment was nice. The door opened right into a sitting room with two sofas and a T.V. on the wall; There were pictures on the wall, from Paris to Moscow, she had been all over Europe and Asia, and was fluent in several languages; Russian, German, Japanese, English, Spanish, and some others. An archway lead into the kitchen, in which you could see from the door the hard polished Oakwood counter tops. A hallway behind the couches led back to the bathrooms and to the bedrooms.

Finally, in