Chapter 344: Wounding The Creature
Few minutes later
Eamon heard a footstep
Eamon didn’t look up when the footsteps came.
He knew who it was.
Only Gabriel moved like that—like light had learned to walk.
No sound. Just weight. Presence. The air shifted before he even stepped onto the platform.
Eamon wiped the sweat—or whatever it was—from his face. His hands were still stained with memory, fingertips twitching from the last shard.
"You’re early," Eamon muttered, eyes still locked on the forge.
Gabriel said nothing for a while. Just stood there, watching the shards hover in a soft orbit around the forge. Each one shimmered with something that wasn’t holy, but wasn’t mortal either.
"Are they ready?" Gabriel finally asked.
Eamon reached toward the last piece—the white one. The one that hummed too quietly, like it was remembering someone it missed.
"They’re not pretty," Eamon said.
Gabriel tilted his head. "They’re not supposed to be."
Eamon finally looked at him. Gabriel’s face hadn’t changed. Calm. Patient. Eyes like ice reflecting fire.
"You still planning to use them like arrows?"
Gabriel nodded. "Direct contact. Shards must pierce core mass. No other way."
Eamon let out a slow breath. "And you think that’ll work? That it’ll actually kill it?"
Gabriel didn’t blink. "We don’t know."
"Right." Eamon ran a hand through his tied-back hair. "Figured you’d say that."
He reached for the shards. They floated into his palm one by one, humming softly, like they knew their time had come. He offered them to Gabriel.
Gabriel extended both hands and took them carefully. As soon as his fingers touched them, the shards dimmed—just slightly. Like they were holding their breath.
He studied each one. "You named them?"
Eamon shook his head. "No. Names make things smaller."
Gabriel nodded slowly, almost like that mattered more than anything else.
Then he looked up.
"You understand these aren’t tools anymore, right?"
Eamon raised a brow. "What are they, then?"
Gabriel’s voice was quiet. "They’re stories. Burdens. Every time we use one... we become part of what made them."
A long pause.
Eamon gave a bitter laugh. "That why you didn’t want an angel building them?"
"No angel could," Gabriel said. "We wouldn’t survive the process."
He turned toward the edge of the platform. The sky beyond still looked endless, broken in layers of memory and time. The forge behind them dimmed, like it knew its work was done.
"You’ll take them back to Earth, then?" Eamon asked.
Gabriel nodded. "Michael’s already there. Uriel’s preparing the circle. Raphael’s scouting. Azrael’s... quiet."
"Quiet’s bad, isn’t it?"
Gabriel gave the faintest smile. "Always."
Eamon stepped closer, crossing his arms. "And you think you’re ready?"
"No."
He said it so plainly it almost sounded like a joke.
But it wasn’t.
"It’s changing," Gabriel added. "Since the containment. Growing... smarter. Or maybe it always was. And it was just waiting."
Eamon frowned. "Waiting for what?"
Gabriel looked at him.
"You."
That sat heavy in the air.
"...Bullshit," Eamon said after a second.
Gabriel didn’t argue.
He turned and walked toward the edge of the platform, and the sky peeled open. Not like before. No golden silk this time. Just a raw, jagged tear in the world. Bright light poured through it, and behind it—Earth.
The city skyline.
Gray clouds. Rain.
Sirens far off.
Home.
Gabriel looked back once more.
"If we fail—"
Eamon cut him off. "You won’t."
Gabriel studied his face. "You believe that?"
"No," Eamon said, stepping away from the forge. "But if you’re gonna go fight a thing that doesn’t belong to this world, might as well pretend."
A faint smile again. Then Gabriel stepped into the light.
Gone.
And just like that—Eamon was alone again.
He sat on the stone beside the forge. It was cold now. The kind of cold that seeps in when something ends. The tools were silent. The forge didn’t glow.
It had given all it could.
So had he.
He looked at his hands.
They didn’t look like his anymore.
**
Back on Earth, the archangels stood on the rooftop of a hollowed-out cathedral. Rain pattered across broken stone and shattered stained glass. Lightning flashed behind them, crackling against the skyline.
Michael held the circle steady—runes etched into the roof, glowing gold.
Uriel stood beside him, eyes half-closed, whispering old laws. Ancient ones. The kind that hadn’t been spoken since Eden.
Azrael crouched near the edge, watching the horizon.
It was close now.
They could feel it.
Gabriel appeared behind them, stepping from a streak of golden light. His robes were soaked immediately, but he didn’t flinch. He held the shards carefully, tucked in a box shaped like a coffin lid.
Michael turned. "How many?"
"Seven," Gabriel said.
"Only seven?" Raphael asked, voice tight.
Gabriel nodded. "That’s all he survived making."
Michael looked at the box. "Then we make each one count."
Suddenly, the air rippled.
Azrael stood up.
"It’s awake."
Across the city, lights went dark.
One by one.
Then the sound came.
Like wind—but thick, like water churning through bone.
The clouds tore open, not with lightning—but with absence. A shape pushed through them.
Not a creature.
Not even a god.
Just... something wrong.
It didn’t walk. It unfolded.
Tall as a skyscraper. Skin that shifted like oil and rust. Limbs that moved wrong—too many joints, too many fingers. Eyes blinked across its chest and then vanished. Mouths opened in its stomach. Closed again.
And at its core, that same hum—the one from the alley.
It had changed.
Smarter. Sharper.
Hungrier.
Michael raised his sword. "Positions."
The archangels took flight, wings cutting the rain.
Gabriel opened the box.
Each shard hovered—low, quiet.
Like they knew what was waiting.
Raphael reached for the red one.
Uriel took the cold one.
Michael picked the blade of light.
Azrael didn’t pick. The white shard hovered to him on its own.
They didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
They launched.
The sky cracked open with light.
**
Below, people ran. Screamed. News anchors tried to keep up with the chaos. Hunters scrambled to regroup. Witches lit warding spells over buildings. Vampires pulled civilians into shelters.
And in the middle of it—Cain stood on a rooftop, watching the thing crawl through the skyline.
Mabel stood beside him.
"That’s the same one," Cain muttered. "Same damn thing."
Mabel shook her head. "No. That thing grew teeth."
Cain looked up.
Saw the angels rise into the sky.
Shards of light trailing behind them like comets.
He muttered something under his breath.
Mabel raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Cain smirked. "Just wondering how many nukes it would take."
They both knew the answer.
Too many.
Above, Gabriel watched as the first shard struck.
It didn’t cut flesh.
It cut sound.
The creature screamed—but the scream didn’t happen. It bent backward in an impossible way, eyes reappearing, melting, forming again. Its limbs cracked sideways. Then it moved.
Fast.
Azrael barely dodged the counter.
Raphael got hit—sent flying into a building. He crashed through three floors before catching himself.
"Adjust pattern!" Michael called out.
Gabriel aimed another shard. Threw it. It stabbed into the creature’s ribs—and burned.
Not with fire. With memory.
The thing shrieked—images flashing in the rain.
A girl in an alley. A city burning. A child praying to nothing.
It twisted, confused, screaming.
But not dying.
Uriel flew in. Her shard cut deeper—past flesh, into something invisible.
The creature buckled.
Then it opened its chest—literally. A mouth lined with lightless teeth.
And the fight got real.
Michael grit his teeth. "Shards work. But it’s adapting."
Azrael’s eyes narrowed. "They do."
Gabriel glanced up.
Six shards left.
And only one chance.
They’d have to end it fast.
Before the thing learned how to be human.
Before it learned how to want.
The war had just begun.