Michael: The Mark (Airel Saga Book Four)

Chapter XXI

NWABA HAD ALLOWED THE others to harass and seek and destroy the inconsequential one while he snipped the wings off the Daughter of El who possessed the Sword.

Simply put, he wanted to add the Sword to his arsenal. With that, the Bloodstone, and the other item in the host's pink backpack, he would begin to fulfill his potential.

But first he must procure the weapon, which meant she must die. He adored the fallen domain, how it was brutally animalistic, how there was only the hunter and the hunted. He swept his wings back and lunged forward and down upon her plummeting form.

Just when he was within striking distance, she unsheathed the Sword with a shout.

He extended his talons.

***

IN THE BLINDING AND sudden light of the Sword, I had even more trouble seeing my enemy. All I was able to do was brace for impact and pray the blade would make its mark.

As it approached, all I could see were wings as big as an airplane, wicked talons, and a shriek that filled me with terror. I swung the Sword around, praying it would make contact, that it would telegraph information to me like it had on the side of the road in Oregon. But this time, everything was vague and masked. I couldn't tell for sure what had happened; only that I had cut something and that as a result, Michael and I were sent tumbling out of control.

The next shriek that rent the night sky was delayed, and that told me that I hadn't delivered a deathblow. No, something else had happened. But that didn't matter right now. I was fighting for my life, for our lives. There were so many demons left, circling, that wanted to kill us.

As my mind refocused on our more immediate perils, the Sword disappeared. I tried to call it up again but it was no use. Great.

That's when the last thing She had told me resounded in my head once more. I began frantically searching for the release for the reserve chute.

Desperate, desperate, desperate. I groped, fumbling in the dark as we spun out like a one-winged bird.

I caught a glimpse of the water below. I gasped as I realized how close we were to hitting the surface. It would be bad if we did, at this speed. Water or concrete, it didn't much matter. Both were just as deadly.

We couldn't have been more than five hundred feet above the surface of the sea when my right hand finally found the release. I pulled as fast as I could. There was a great sweeping, rushing sound as the reserve chute deployed into the darkness.

But we were still falling very fast; I could see the waves distinctly now and we were not slowing.

At last, when I felt I could reach out and touch the sea, when I, eyes wide, beheld our end and was powerless to affect it, there was a big pop above us. My limbs were wrenched again and I saw stars.

I reached up to the control handles and pulled them both very hard, flaring the chute.

Our feet kissed the waves; the deep reached up and pulled us in. Down.