Page 85 of Legacy of Chaos

He crashed into the writhing darkness.

Instant regret.

Every muscle seemed to lock up, his arms and legs hanging uselessly as he flew through the fog like an out-of-control airplane. His wings drooped, every flap feeling like he was flying in some sort of evil Jell-O.

Things clawed at him, a slow-motion attack that made his exposed skin burn with even a mere graze of a slippery tentacle or serrated tooth.

Behind him, Hutriel hissed in pain and cursed the “fiends from Satan’s playground.”

Every breath was agony as if teeny, malevolent bacteria penetrated Gabriel’s lung tissue. Blood dripped from his nose, and his eyes felt like they might be melting. He tried to engage his powers, but the fog absorbed or corrupted the energy of every weapon he summoned. His fireball fizzled at the tips of his fingers. His ice storm created hail that shredded their shriveling wings.

Where the hell was the platform?

There!

Finally, the massive metal structure appeared, and they popped into sweet, non-evil air a few meters from the rig.

Weakened by the struggle to get through the fog, the abrupt change in atmosphere sent Gabriel into an uncontrolled tumble of wings and limbs. He cartwheeled onto the deck and skidded across the grating. Hutriel didn’t fare much better, crash-landing in a heap of feathers next to a metal chest.

Holy…

Through blurry vision, he watched the other angel writhe, his blood dripping between the deck slats. His wings were mangled, the feathers curled and melted, and the right one might be broken. Slices and chunks of flesh had been ripped out in a dozen places.

Gabriel didn’t even want to see how badly he was torn up.

“Hey, assholes!”

Groaning, he looked up to where four armed males had weapons drawn and trained on them.

“Who are you?”

“I need…to speak to…Stryke.” He paused, trying to catch his breath, but his lungs were still burning as if cooking him from the inside. “Tell him…tell him it’s Gabriel.”

One of the guys took off, and Gabriel flopped back onto the platform to let his body start healing. Angels healed quickly, usually instantaneously under the right circumstances. But the more intense the evil, the worse the damage, and longer the injuries took to mend.

Closing his eyes, he felt the sting of wounds as they knitted together and thought his lungs felt a little better. His eyes rolled around under his lids as they healed, and son of a bitch, it hurt.

The muffled sound of footsteps rang out. He sensed someone stopping next to him and opened his eyes.

“Stryke,” he croaked.

Stryke looked down at him, his head cocked. “Never thought I’d ever say I was happy to see an angel.”

“Glad…” He coughed. “Glad I could make your day.”

Stryke jacked his thumb at Hutriel, who had managed to sit up and prop himself against the chest. “Who’s that?”

“Hutriel. He’s here to babysit me.”

Stryke raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. “Let’s get you inside before creatures start climbing onto the platform again.” He signaled his men over.

“Does this fog ever come closer?”

“It has. I’ve got mages holding it back right now.”

Gabriel hoped they were good because if their magic failed while he and Hut were still injured, they’d be too weak to get back through the fog. They could end up falling into the sea,where they’d be torn apart by demonic creatures in an endless, living hell. Some things were worse than death.

Stryke’s men helped them into the platform’s forward office. Cracks spiderwebbed both windows, and buckets had been set out to collect water from leaks in the walls and ceiling.

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