Page 99 of Eclipse Born

A flicker of irritation crossed Azrael's perfect face. “What I want,” he said, his voice dropping lower, vibrating with power, “is for you to fulfill your purpose. To become what you were born to be. A weapon.”

A weapon. It was what Zeryth had called me too, what the runes in my bones had been suppressing all these years. Was that truly all I was meant to be?

“I'm not a weapon,” I said, the words feeling hollow even as I spoke them. “I'm a hunter. I protect people.”

“Is that what you believe?” Azrael's voice was almost gentle now. “That you're some kind of hero, fighting the good fight? Look around you, Sean. What has your 'hunting' accomplished? The world burns while Heaven and Hell play their games, and humans suffer and die in the crossfire.”

His words found purchase in the doubts I'd harbored for years, the questions that kept me awake at night. What good were we really doing? For every monster we killed, ten more appeared. For every apocalypse averted, another loomed. It was a losing battle, had always been a losing battle.

But I looked at Cade, bleeding and defiant behind me, and I knew my answer. “Maybe,” I admitted. “But at least I'm fighting for the right side.”

“There are no 'right sides' in this war,” Azrael said, taking another step closer. “Only power and those too weak to seek it.”

His aura pressed against me like a physical weight, making it hard to breathe, to think. The runes in my bones burned hotter, responding to his proximity, to the kinship of power calling to power.

I was vaguely aware of movement to my left. Cassiel, bloodied but not defeated, had pulled himself from the rubble. His wings, visible now even to human eyes, were bent at awkward angles, several primary feathers missing or damaged. But his eyes burned with purpose as he locked his gaze with mine across the temple ruins.

In that moment of silent communication, I understood his plan. I only hoped we'd survive it.

“You're right about one thing,” I told Azrael, keeping his attention on me. “I don't know what I am. Not fully. But I know what I'm not, and that's your lackey.”

Azrael sighed, the sound carrying genuine disappointment. “Then you die here, with the rest of them.”

The energy around his hand flared brighter, building to a crescendo. I braced myself, knowing there was no dodging what was coming, no surviving it.

But in that instant, Cassiel moved. In a burst of speed that belied his injuries, he crossed the temple floor, wings flaring with what remained of his divine light. Before Azrael could redirect his attack, Cassiel seized both Cade and me by the shoulders.

“This isn't your time to die,” he muttered, his voice strained with effort.

I felt the familiar disorienting sensation of angelic teleportation, reality dissolving around us. The last thing I saw was Azrael's face, surprise giving way to fury as we vanished from his grasp.

The world reassembled itself in a chaotic jumble of pain and nausea. We crashed onto the concrete floor of my warehouse,the sudden transition from ancient temple to modern building leaving me disoriented and gasping. The stifling aura of Azrael's presence was gone, but the weight of our failure remained, pressing down on me like a physical burden.

Blood dripped onto the floor beneath me, pattering like rain. My body felt broken, used up, pushed beyond human endurance. But I was alive. We all were, against all odds.

Cassiel had collapsed nearby, his wings no longer visible in this plane of existence, but his injuries just as severe. His breathing was shallow, his normally perfect appearance now disheveled and bloody. The teleportation had clearly taken the last of his strength.

Cade wasn't much better off. He lay sprawled a few feet away, his shirt in tatters, the mark on his chest exposed and still pulsing with faint light. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Unconscious, but alive.

I became aware of another presence in the warehouse. Sterling stood in the doorway to the back room, a first aid kit clutched in one hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, evidence of grief far deeper than I'd expected. When he saw us materialize on the floor, his expression shifted from raw anguish to shock as he took in our condition.

He didn't speak at first, the silence more damning than any accusation. I'd seen Sterling lose hunters before - it came with the territory in our line of work - but never had I seen him like this, as though something fundamental had been torn from him.

His gaze locked on Cassiel, fury overtaking grief. “You,” he said, the single word loaded with accusation. “You made that deal. You gambled with his life.”

Cassiel, weakened as he was, had the decency to look ashamed. “I thought-”

“You thought wrong,” Sterling cut him off, voice like gravel. “And Hawk paid the price.” He set down the first aid kit withcareful control that belied the emotion I could see trembling beneath the surface. “Forty years, we had. Forty years of history you knew nothing about.”

Forty years? Sterling and Hawk hadn't just been hunting partners or friends. The realization must have shown on my face because Sterling's expression hardened.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He was everything to me once. Before the job pulled us apart. Finally found our way back to each other, and now...” His voice broke, and he turned away for a moment to compose himself.

After a long, tense moment, Sterling seemed to forcibly push his personal feelings aside. He moved forward with military precision, kneeling beside Cade first to check his pulse, then his pupils.

“Sterling,” I managed, my voice a rasp that barely carried across the small space between us. “I'm sorry about Hawk. We tried, but...” I swallowed hard, the words sticking in my throat. “We failed. The First Nephilim... he's free.”

Sterling's hands stilled momentarily, then resumed their assessment of my injuries. “I figured that,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Considering you all look like you went ten rounds with a wood chipper and lost.”

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