Free Flaming Dove by Daniel Arenson Page A

slashed their swords, yet more demons descended around them. One demon clawed at her, scratching back the gold on her breastplate, revealing the steel underneath. In midair, Bat El swung her sword, slicing off the demon's head with blazing godlight. The demon's head tumbled to the distant courtyard.
    Bat El glanced around. She felt herself pale, and her heart thudded. There were tens of thousands of these demons, and there—behind them, floating under the ashy swirls—Bat El saw a fallen angel. Beelzebub.
    "Into the fort!" she shouted. The demons were inside already. She couldn't let them take the fort. I've been on Earth for only a few months. I can't let Michael down already.
    She flew through the tower window, but few angels remained to follow. Most were battling demons in the sky, or lay dead upon the ground. We are overrun.
    Inside her chamber, more demons lurked, eyes blazing. Bat El and those few angels with her slashed their swords, forcing their way down the tower staircase. Into the fort's main hall they fought, only to find a thousand demons filling it. The demons had already torn down the tapestries and shredded the towering painting of Michael.
    Beelzebub himself stood in the center of the hall, angel bodies at his feet. Until today, Bat El had never seen the fallen angel, the new ruler of Hell, but she recognized him at once. He looks so much like his brother Michael.
    Of course, Michael had swan wings, and Beelzebub's wings were like those of a bat. A halo lit Michael's head, and Beelzebub sported fangs and claws instead. Michael was a being of light, Beelzebub a creature of darkness. Yet still... Bat El saw the same power in their eyes and stance, their ancient armor, their casual confidence mixed with the jaded weariness of their age and endless war.
    "I think I'll place my new statue here, right in the hall," Beelzebub was saying when he noticed Bat El. His dark eyes locked with hers, and Bat El felt a tremble run through her. Laila used to be his lover, she thought, shivering.
    Beelzebub smiled. "You must be Gabriel's daughter," he said, walking toward her. "You look a lot like him."
    Bat El stood before him, claw marks in her breastplate, demon blood coating her drawn blade. "And you must be Beelzebub," she said and hated that her voice sounded so weak. Michael had left her in charge of this fort, to defend it in God's name, and this was all she could say? If Michael were here, he would have killed Beelzebub on the spot; even Laila might have. Yet she, Bat El, could only stand helpless, sword drawn, no idea what to do next. Guilt filled her. I let Beelzebub take our base. I failed God.
    Beelzebub seemed to read her thoughts. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and Bat El could not even shove him away; his eyes seemed too sympathetic.
    "There is nothing you could have done, sweetheart," he said softly. "Don't feel like you failed my brother. It was his failure for leaving the fort with inadequate defenses. He was so excited to have Laila with him, that he erred. It's not your fault."
    She was alone here, Bat El realized. Those few angels who had entered the fort with her lay dead, sliced open by demon claws. The sounds of battle were fading outside; the ancient Shield Division had cracked and lay shattered across the ruins and beach. Heaven ruled this fort for fifteen years, and it falls in fifteen minutes.
    "Are you going to kill me now?" she asked, and instantly regretted it. It made her sound young and scared. When she landed on Earth a few months ago, Bat El had thought herself a great warrior of God. She now felt callow as a cherub. Beelzebub must think I'm a child.
    Yet if Beelzebub did mock her inwardly, he showed no sign of it. He took a handkerchief from a pouch on his belt and wiped a smear of blood off Bat El's lips; a demon must have bashed her, drawing blood she did not notice in the heat of the battle. Beelzebub's fingers brushed against her cheek, and Bat El hated that she found his touch soft