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“Is the site secured?” asked Nuriel.

  “For the most part, yes.” said the Oracle. “I have a number of Clerical Guards surrounding the avenues near the site and also a handful guarding the home.”

  “I demand to know what is going on here!” yelled the captain. “What is all this about?”

  With a single, fluid motion, Nuriel took the star-metal claymore from her back and cut the man’s head off before returning it to her scabbard. Blood sprayed across the Oracle’s mirror-mask as the captain’s body fell to the ground. From the wall the knights started shouting. She heard swords hiss from their scabbards and the clicks and clacks of bolt-throwers being readied. Behind her, Nuriel heard her army of Sin Eaters and Oracles all draw forth their swords. At her sides, the six Bishops drew their weapons, and they were long, cruel looking swords of black metal that filled the air with the scent of scorched earth.

  Nuriel turned around to address the soldiers on the wall. The sight of so many Sin Eaters and Oracles and the sheer presence of the Bishops had them all pale and shaking. “Lay down your arms and no harm will come to you.” shouted Nuriel.

  Swords and bolt-throwers clanged and clunked as they were tossed to the ground. Nuriel turned back to the Oracle as the knights all came filing down from the wall. “Is the church cleared?”

  The Oracle nodded. “The Priest and the clergy there have been taken care of.”

  “Any Saints here?” asked Nuriel.

  “The four stationed here have already been recalled.” said the Oracle.

  “Good.” said Nuriel. “Have your Clerical Guard escort the city’s soldiers to the church. Have them pack the place. I want all city officials there before the end of the day. I’ll deal with them when everything is over.” She cast her eyes down the wide streets and avenues. She could see curious faces chancing peeks out of curtained windows or peering from half-closed doors. She estimated there were at least six-thousand people in the city, based on its size. This was going to be a very long day. “Then have them start clearing out homes.”

  The Oracle nodded.

  “Did anybody leave the city? Have all gates been secured? Any riverways or tunnels?” asked Nuriel.

  “All gates are closed save this one.” said the Oracle. “To my knowledge nobody has left the city since the incident.”

  “Seal this gate too.” said Nuriel. “Get your Sin Eaters on the walls and keep watch until it’s over.”

  The Oracle nodded.

  Nuriel watched as the Clerical Guard escorted the city’s knights and soldiers away down the avenue. It was a city of large shops, inns and taverns built of brick and mortar, upon avenues of finely laid stone. In the far distance the church’s high steeples could be seen rising above the roofs of shops and homes. Nuriel waited until all of the knights were out of sight, then she turned to one of the Bishops and nodded.

  The crimson specter held its wicked, black sword high and chanted something in a strange language. What it said Nuriel had no idea, but she had been on Convocations enough to know what was coming. When the Bishop had finished, it plunged its sword into the ground, the blade sinking through the flagstone of the street as if it were nothing but soil. A black light spread out like a ripple upon water. It traveled through buildings as it tore across the whole of the city. A moment later and there were sporadic screams, both near and far, coming from the streets and buildings. Across the road a man leapt from a second-story window, wailing maniacally as his body crashed to the ground. Nearby, a woman bolted from a doorway and then collapsed in the street. She curled up into a ball and began trembling and mumbling.

  Fear would now stay any who might otherwise confront them, and Nuriel turned to her army of ghost-white Sin Eaters and Oracles. “Move out!”

  Like a swarm of rats the Sin Eaters flooded into the streets, breaking off into groups. The woman balled up in the road was beset upon by a Sin Eater who plunged its sword into her before turning and moving into the house she came from, and Nuriel heard children scream. All down the avenues doors were kicked in. Shrieks and pained howls filled the air.

  The six Bishops now moved forward, and Nuriel followed with her claymore at the ready. Nuriel’s job was to guard the Bishops and make sure they could perform their task unhindered. Her golden eyes flicked from building to building, alley to alley, watching for anybody who might attack. It was rare to find a man whose bravery could overcome the fear cast by the Bishop’s sword, but it had happened before. As they went down the avenue Nuriel could hear all the screams behind her; the commotion of people gripped by terror as swords were methodically plunged into their bodies, family member by family member.

  Nuriel paid the sounds little attention. She had done this enough that it was all routine. In her eight years of personal service to Holy Father she had led Convocations more than a dozen times, and each time it was the same thing: they would enter the city over which the star had fallen and the Bishops would seek something out from within one of the homes. Nobody, save for Sanctuary’s Oracles and Sin Eaters, could be left alive, not even the Priest or the Saints of the city. It didn’t matter if they saw anything or not. Nobody could be left alive at the site of a Convocation. Nobody could take witness that it had ever happened.

  What the Bishops took from these sites nobody really knew, not even Nuriel. She figured it was something to do with the awakening of the Goddess, but didn’t put too much thought into it. She once asked an Oracle what the word ‘convocation’ meant and was told that it was a gathering in answer to a summons. That was the extent of her own curiosity. If Holy Father wanted her to know more, he would tell her. Holy Father trusted Nuriel alone with the Convocations and it was an honor she did not take lightly.

  But despite all the Convocations Nuriel had been party to, this one felt different—somehow more important—because it meant there was just one final chance for the Goddess to awaken from her eternal slumber, lest the world fall to an age of destruction. A Convocation always followed a falling star, and with only a single star remaining in the sky, the next Convocation would be the last, and it would herald the end times. The Bishops were silent and austere beings, but Nuriel thought she could sense a fever within them, as if they felt they could reach out and touch the very end of the world. And they wanted it.

  Yes, this Convocation was different. Things would be changing, for better or worse, very soon. But what scenario was better? For some reason that image of Holy Father holding the fallen Goddess in his arms played across Nuriel’s mind, and she felt her grip tighten on her claymore. What if the Goddess were awakened? Would Holy Father still stand with her alone in the Holy Atrium holding her, or would she be replaced by the Goddess? Would Aeoria find her way into Admael’s arms once again? Nuriel scowled. If the Goddess was awakened, she would take Holy Father away from her.

  A coldness suddenly gripped Nuriel. She found herself again wondering why Holy Father had fallen into a depression, and feared she might have done something to anger him. In her mind she promised him she would do anything to please him; that she would do whatever he asked of her. And then she wondered if she might want the world to end. Holy Father, if the end came, would you hold me as you held the Goddess?

  The avenue with its tall buildings and shops began to give way to smaller homes and narrower streets as Nuriel escorted the Bishops along a route they somehow already knew. Ahead were a pair of Clerical Guard and they parted as Nuriel and the Bishops strode past. Beyond them, at the end of a brick road, stood a modest home of timber and plaster guarded by a dozen Clerical Guard. More Clerical Guard were stationed in the surrounding streets and alleys.

  Nuriel could see the ones stationed in front of the house talking amongst themselves. As Nuriel and the Bishops approached they took notice and came to attention. One of them pointed at the home’s doorway and said, “It’s in there. It’s… It’s a miracle.” From the window there was an eerie, sapphire glow coming through a dr
awn curtain. “What do you mean to do with it?” asked the same guardsman, and Nuriel raised a hand encompassed with golden Caliber light. She couldn’t let the man say anymore; she didn’t want to allow herself to hear anymore. “Is it truly the reborn—”

  Caught in the unseen grasp of Nuriel’s Caliber, the man was lifted off his feet and Nuriel twisted her hand. Like so many twigs his body was broken and he fell to the street, limbs without any structure crumpling in a heap. “Speak nothing!” shouted Nuriel to the others. “Say nothing of what you’ve seen here!”

  “Y-y-yes, Milady.” said one of the other Clerical Guard.

  “Clear all the homes! Leave no building unsearched! Leave nobody alive!” ordered Nuriel. “Move out!”

  The Clerical Guard began to break off into small teams. Three ran up the steps to a home and kicked in the door. There were screams. JINK! The metallic blast of a bolt-thrower resounded from the house. Another scream, this one more intense. JINK! JINK! Blood splattered across the window. The Clerical Guard came from the house and hopped down the stairs and over to the next. The same thing began to play out down every street and alleyway.

  The Bishops strode up to the house the guardsmen had been stationed at. From within Nuriel could hear a baby crying. The Bishops seemed to float up the steps and glide into the house. Through the opened door more of that otherworldly blue light poured out and Nuriel turned her head away. A mother screamed. Nuriel heard a father shouting. And then there was silence but for the wailing of the baby.

  Nuriel waited outside in the street, watching down the avenues as teams of Clerical Guard went from home to home. Throughout the city she could hear screams and bolt-throwers firing. Down the long avenue she had come she could see the white forms of Sin Eaters, their swords and boots leaving trails of crimson upon the flagstone.

  From within the house Nuriel now heard the droning chant of the Bishops spoken in their strange tongue. The baby’s cries intensified into pained howls and Nuriel felt the flesh on her back crawl. From the corner of her eye she could see the sapphire glow in the curtains begin to waver. And then there was silence and the glow was gone, like a candle had been snuffed.

  Nuriel knew it was over and she turned around. Through the windows she could see flames licking up the walls. The Bishops always burned the home before they left. They had the ability to disappear into shadows and would not return via the Celestial Gateway. Whatever their duty here was, it was done. It was now up to Nuriel to see her own duty fulfilled.

  Nuriel watched for a while as the house burned. Flames spread to the neighboring homes but didn’t make it across the street or alleys to any others. She let the roar of the fire and the crack of timbers drown the horrific sounds of the city. After the roof collapsed and the walls fell in on themselves Nuriel turned around. She took the claymore from her back. She strode down the road, her boots chiming on the flagstone. Six Clerical Guardsmen came from a building, their boots leaving bloody tracks down the steps. Nuriel moved in on them. Before they even had time to process what was happening, Nuriel’s claymore carved its way through their ranks in long, sweeping flourishes. Entrails splashed onto the street; limbs and heads fell like rain. Before the bodies could collapse Nuriel was across the street, her sword raised against the next group of unsuspecting Clerical Guard.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  The church was a large, gothic structure at the center of the city, built of gray stone with high buttresses all around. Upon its front was a large clock whose pale face wept streaks of brown rust beneath each of the hours wrought in iron. The hands were in the shape of Aeoria’s Star and were at a quarter-past the hour of seven at night. Slowly, the oaken doors swung outward. Nuriel came out onto the wide steps and her legs quivered, almost giving out on her, and she had to catch herself on the door frame. Her bodysuit and Star-Armor were wet and sticky with blood; her face a mask of red; her golden hair matted with gore. Her arm trembled as she put her claymore back into its scabbard on her back. She stepped forward and collapsed into a sitting position atop the high steps of the church.

  The empty roads were filled with a stillness and silence. There were no more screams; no more bolt-throwers. A warm breeze swept her, carrying with it the scent of blood. The evening’s sun lent its rich light to the wet crimson that painted the streets of the city, but Nuriel hardly saw anything. Her mind was racing, wondering if she dared go back into the church. She sat there alone for many long minutes, contemplating what she had seen and if it were truly a sign from Holy Father. At last she heard the sound of hundreds of boots. From the surrounding streets and alleys poured the Sin Eaters and their Oracles. Where once they were specters in white, they were now a lot colored red.

  An Oracle approached the steps of the church and looked up at Nuriel and she caught her gruesome reflection in its mirror-mask. Behind it an ocean of Sin Eaters choked the streets. “The Convocation is complete.” it spoke.

  Nuriel rocked as she sat. She sniffed. Out of habit she went to tuck her hair behind her ear, but her fingers stuck in their matted, sticky clumps.

  “Saint Nuriel, is there something the matter?” asked the Oracle.

  Nuriel shook her head. “Just tired. This was a big city.” she said, not looking at the Oracle.

  The Oracle nodded slightly. “We shall depart through the Celestial Gateway. Will you accompany us?”

  “I’ll be along in a while.” said Nuriel.

  “Very well.” said the Oracle. It turned and was lost into the crowd.

  Nuriel watched her army depart. It was like a great, bloody serpent slithering away through the street, and when it was gone the road was a sheet of red from their footprints. Alone once more, Nuriel worked up the courage to stand up and go back into the church.

  The nave was a cavernous chamber where hundreds could gather for service, but now it was a disarray of overturned pews amongst the bodies and limbs of dead knights. Blood splattered all the walls and dripped in thick sheets from the stained glass windows. Nuriel had killed them all, and when she was done, Holy Father had sent her a sign. It was magnificent, and she hesitated to look upon it again for fear that it might not be there; that it might have just been a figment of her imagination.

  Nuriel’s heart beat fast as she gathered her courage. She trembled as her eyes scanned up the aisles of the dead, up the blood-soaked steps to the pulpit where the altar stood. And then her eyes found it. It really was there.

  Nuriel scrambled her way toward it, stepping and tripping over the countless bodies. At the foot of the pulpit she slipped on some blood and crawled her way up the steps, leaving bloody handprints as she went. She tossed aside the podium, knocking the hefty bible into the sea of death below, and then crawled like a dog to the altar where she picked herself back up. She staggered to the end of the pulpit and fell to her knees. Silhouetted against a curtain of red silk was a marble statue of Admael. He was holding the fallen Goddess in his arms as he knelt, his eyes staring into her’s.

  Her hand trembling, Nuriel reached to Admael’s face. It was youthful and smooth in that marble, and her fingers left stripes of blood as she stroked them over his cheek. Her chest rose and fell with every breath. Without taking her eyes from Admael’s face, she reached to her side and pulled out her injector. The cold needle pattered against the base of her neck for a moment before she sank it in and pushed down on the plunger. She removed the injector and tossed it aside. Then, using the statue as a prop, she climbed back to her feet.

  “Holy Father, what does this mean? What do you want me to do? Bring me clarity.”

  Nuriel looked at the Goddess as she lay in his arms. She didn’t know if it was the Ev or anger that heated her blood, but her hand balled up. Radiant, white, Caliber light encompassed her fist and she brought it down upon the Goddess’s face. The marble of her neck cracked and her long, flowing hair that acted like little pillars all shattered and the head tumbl
ed away. She brought her fist down upon the Goddess’s chest, shattering away her breasts and arms. She screamed and brought her fist down over and over again until there was nothing left in Admael’s arms.

  And then Nuriel knew what she had to do; she knew what Holy Father wanted. Holy Father wanted her to take the place of the Goddess.

  Nuriel crawled into the statue’s arms. She lay upon the shattered remains of the Goddess and looked up. Holy Father was staring at her. His face was so tender and loving; nothing mattered to him but her. And he was all her’s. It was just the two of them here together. The world could fall apart around them just as it had done for the Goddess, but nothing mattered but each other in this moment.

  Nuriel looked out upon the pews. In her mind the bodies began to burn. Wherever there was blood, it lapped up into licking flames until they surrounded her and Admael. Nuriel looked back up into the eyes of Holy Father. She felt the warmth of the Ev coursing through her body and in her mind it became Admael’s very Caliber. She reached her left arm over his neck and lifted her face to his. She kissed him on the lips, dappling them with red, as her right hand stroked over his cheek. She lay back down in his arms. She stared into his marble eyes, but in her mind they were brilliant and silver, reflecting the flames that engulfed them.

  There was only one star left. The Age of Destruction was coming. Her and Admael would let the world fall apart, just as it had around the Goddess. And then she could be in Admael’s arms. She could lay with him forever.

  — 3 —

  The Ghost

  The Grimwatch’s council room was a large hall with a long, oaken table down its center upon which numerous books and ledgers were sprawled. Through a faceted, glass dome in the ceiling the moon lent its light to the gaslamps on the walls. Etheil sat hunched over a logbook, his black shroud draped over his shoulders. Behind him a mechanical clock on the wall ticked away in the silence. He chewed his bottom lip as his blue eyes scanned over munition entries made by the soldiers of the wall. He drew his finger down a column of handwritten numbers and then paused as he mentally did some math. He blew out a long breath and at the bottom of the column wrote ‘188’, then circled it and underlined it. He leaned back in his chair and brushed his blonde hair from his face and rubbed his eyes. He looked back down at the book and shook his head. “We’re nearly out of everything, Solastron.” he said.