He sliced a line down his chest, down his stomach, carving against the tattoos that were now a far darker blue, as if to signify how much of his power he’d spent. He hissed as the blade bit into his skin, as red blood mingled with the glyphs etched there. I waited, I watched. Nothing happened.
“Just as I thought,” he said, sighing. The Null Dagger clattered as he set it down against the ground. “I suppose the blade’s power isn’t strong enough to sever the mandate of heaven.”
“Don’t,” I murmured. “Don’t understand.”
Sam repositioned himself on the ground, sitting cross-legged, like we somehow had the time to be chatting. I watched as his blood trickled onto the floor, as it seeped into the waist of his jeans.
“That’s how I got here, Dustin. It was a long time ago. A very long time ago. My brothers and I, we were cast out of heaven for
our – proclivities. We enjoyed the company of humans.” He grinned, his gaze going distant. “Women, men, it didn’t matter. Perhaps we enjoyed ourselves a little too much. And that displeased the people upstairs, you understand.”
I said nothing. My clothes, already soaked through with sweat and blood, felt like they were only getting warmer, wetter. I wondered how much longer I could hang on.
“And so we fell, my brothers and I. Grigori, they called us. The Watchers. The fallen. Cast to earth and bound to stone.” He ran his finger through his blood, smearing it across his chest. “And the fullest extent of our power was chained within us. We wanted to be with humans, we were told, so we were made to live as you did. Some of us learned to loosen those chains a little, to reclaim part of our divinity.” The runes on his skin glowed. “But these bindings remain on my body. My sins stay etched on my skin, free for all of heaven and earth to see.”
So that’s what they were. Not just runes, not decorative etchings. The sins of the fallen. When I blinked, trying to focus on the glyphs, my eyes grew heavier. It was getting harder to stay awake.
“So, in sum, your blade could not unbind the tethers that hold back my true strength. I’ve always had a theory, though — that there was an alternate way to release my power. I might be able to unleash it through dying. I might be able to pass it on to someone who can wield it, if only for a short time.”
“How?” I gurgled. “Domicile. Death.”
“Yes,” he said, somehow understanding. “Entities will only truly die outside of their domiciles. It works somewhat differently for us celestials. If we’re slain, we return to heaven, to reform. It may take time – months, years, more – but generally, that’s how it works. As I understand the same appears to be true for certain demons. But mainly angels. Unless, of course, an angel loses his wings. For how would he return to heaven then?”
He shrugged off the rest of his shirt, the blood criss-crossing with his tattoos. Samyaza stretched out his arms, groaning, and then there they were, where they weren’t once before: his wings. They shone as bright as the sun, as if every filament of every feather was made of the finest gold.
“Now, here’s the rub. As grigori – as one of the fallen? I’m not entirely certain how the rules work. I’ve been cast out of heaven, and clearly, I’m not wanted back. But I have my wings, don’t I?” He stroked his chin, talking more to himself than to me. “I wonder if I would regenerate if I died.”
“How?” I muttered. “How would you know?”
Samyaza chuckled. “Only one way to find out.”
What? “No,” I said. “Sam. Don’t.”
Samyaza sighed. “Heaven’s allegations were true. My brothers and I loved humanity too much, and for that we were condemned to earth. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps our affection for mankind was always meant to lead to our downfall. Our demise.”
He raised his hand, gesturing at one of the walls. In my head, Vanitas protested.
“Dust,” he said. “Dust, can you hear me? Something’s happening. He’s pulling me. How is he doing that?”
“Don’t know,” I thought. “Don’t know how.”
Sam curled his fingers, beckoning for Vanitas to come. Even without seeing I could tell how quickly the blade soared through the air. And by how Sam jutted his chest out, I could tell what he meant to do.
“Sam,” I mumbled. “No. Why?”
“Because you have so much more to do, Dustin Graves.” He set his jaw, clenched his fists, then favored me with a smile. “Because your story isn’t over.”
Vanitas thrust at Samyaza full in the chest, spearing him clear through his torso. Sam screamed, a flash of searing blue light bursting from his body. Then he gasped, and slumped to the floor, Vanitas still stuck in his chest. His head hit the ground, his face turned to my own. The life had gone from his eyes. They were blue, like a clear sky. Like heaven.
Samyaza’s corpse shuddered as Vanitas pulled himself free, his blade smeared with the angel’s blood.
“I’m sorry,” Vanitas said. “He asked me to do this.”
“What are you – ” I started to say.
I didn’t get to finish. Vanitas stabbed through my body, his blade thrusting through flesh, through meat. As the sword met the cement underneath me, the star-metal clanged, like a death knell.
Chapter 30