Remy was about to turn, to see how close the Hellions were, when the monkey started to shriek in warning. At first Remy saw nothing except Mason’s chair about to pass over the lip and into the back of the van. But then the growl of a Hellion drew his eyes to the roof of the van, and he knew exactly what the monkey had been screaming about.

“Ah, shit,” Remy hissed, pulling the twin daggers from his back pocket.

It happened so quickly. The red-skinned beast dropped down onto the handicapped man, flipping the chair backward and sending Madach flying over the side of the ramp.

The capuchin proved her loyalty to the bitter end, launching herself ferociously at the beast perched upon her master’s chest. The poor little thing didn’t last long, her entire body snatched up and swallowed in the blink of an eye.

I liked that monkey, Remy thought, charging toward Mason. He had liked her better than he had liked Mason even, but the handicapped purveyor of the bizarre at least deserved an attempt at being saved.

Remy screamed as he jammed one of the blades into the side of the monster’s head. He felt the dagger enter the thick, sinewy flesh, hitting against a steellike skull beneath. The creature bellowed, shaking its head furiously to dislodge the troublesome blade. Angered by its pain, it raked its claws down the front of the struggling Mason, tearing away the flesh to expose the handicapped man’s inner workings.

At least his screams were short.

Remy darted forward, jabbing the dagger beneath the Hellion’s jaw, into its throat. As the monster wailed, Remy reached across, retrieving the first blade from the side of its head, and used it again, plunging it deeply into one of the Hell beast’s loathsome yellow eyes.

The beast toppled over thrashing upon the ground, and Remy turned just in time to see the three remaining Hellions attack Byleth.

Remy was glad to see that the time spent in Tartarus had done little to quell the warrior spirit in the fallen angel. Byleth waded into the battle, swinging the axe with deft precision. The Satan proved to the beasts of the pit that he was not an easy meal and would not be brought down screaming.

“Toss those inside,” Remy called as Madach climbed the ramp carrying the transport cases for the remaining Pitiless weapons. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Remy wished that he could be as positive as he sounded. He strode down the ramp, Lucifer’s daggers in hand, to aid his onetime friend and brother who had fallen from grace.

“Who’d have thought after all this time we’d be fighting against a common foe,” Byleth said, swinging his axe into the face of one of the Hellions as it surged to strike.

They didn’t stand a chance against three of the beasts, but if they could provide enough of a distraction, there was a slim chance that they might be able to escape with most of their skin intact.

Remy heard the van engine turn over and immediately pictured a ticking stopwatch inside his brain. There was very little time remaining before they finally grew tired and fell victim to the Hell beasts’ savagery.

The Seraphim was aroused by the smell of death and violence in the air, eager to be called upon. Remy struggled with the idea before deciding what he would do.

“Get ready,” Remy said to Byleth, their eyes fixed on the Hellions. The beasts had dropped to a crouch, their repulsive, skinless bodies trembling in anticipation of their next strike.

“What are we going to—” Byleth began.

Remy let the Seraphim free, screaming as he channeled the power of God through one of the Pitiless blades, aiming a blast of divine fire toward the black limousine across the garage.

The fire snaked through the front grille, the intensity of the heat causing the headlights to shatter, before the hungry flame found the gas tank, instantaneously igniting its contents.

The limousine exploded with a deafening roar, spewing flaming wreckage and liquid fire, distracting the Hellish creations. The monsters spun toward the roar of the explosion.

“Move—now!” Remy yelled, grabbing Byleth by the arm and hauling him up the ramp.

But Remy did not stop there. Another blast of Heavenly power flowed from his still-outstretched arm toward the small collection of sports cars, their security alarms still blaring. They too exploded at the touch of the Seraphim’s might, filling the enclosed space of the garage with even more smoke and fire.

He was running up the ramp, Byleth ahead of him, when he heard the sound. Remy turned his head to find the Hellions scrambling up the ramp after him; his distraction was less effective than planned.

“Go! Go! Go!” he bellowed, pushing Byleth into the back of the van.

Madach put the van in drive, the tires screeching for purchase on the garage floor. Remy lurched forward, falling down hard on the ramp, grabbing to hold on as the van rocketed forward on a collision course with the closed garage gate.

He’d managed to get a foothold, clambering up into the vehicle as it smashed through the garage door out into the cool, spring night. And then it spun violently as Madach slammed on the brakes.

“What’s wrong?” Remy shouted toward the front of the van. He looked back into the garage, through the roiling, oily smoke, to see that the surviving Hellions were clustered together, for some reason not pursuing them.

But how long that would last was anyone’s guess.

“What’s going on?” Remy asked, jumping out from the back of the van.

“Why are we stop—?” he began, only to stop midsentence as he rounded the front of the van and saw them.

The tiny stretch of back alley that ran behind Byleth’s converted church home was blocked by five enormous figures, their features hidden in flowing robes that shifted and moved in a nonexistent wind, shimmering like an oil slick upon the water.

Nomads.

Remy could not help but wonder what had brought them here as he stood with Byleth and Madach in front of the van.

“I’m not too sure that this is the best place to be at the moment,” he said as he watched the powerful form of Suroth move to the front of the gathering.

“The weapons,” the Nomad leader stated with urgency, eyes burning from inside the deep darkness of the hood that hid his angelic features. “Give them to us before all is lost.”

Intimidated by the oppressive power radiating from the fearsome beings, Madach and Byleth cowered in their presence, practically driven to their knees.

“I’m not giving them to anyone,” Byleth hissed. “They belong to me.” The Satan moved toward the back of the van, and Remy reached out, grabbing hold of his arm.

“Not the smartest thing to do right now,” he said.

Byleth fought him for a moment, and then stopped. There were sounds behind them in the alley, low rumbling purrs like the idling of a monster truck. The Hellions had found their way out through the fire- and smoke-filled garage.

“If only there was the time to make you understand,” Suroth said, flowing a little closer, as did the Nomads at his back. There were many more of them now.

“How about you try,” Remy suggested. “Why should we hand over something so potentially dangerous to you? There has to be some good reason.”

The Nomad leader’s smile grew from within the shadows of his hood.

“You of all of them should know, brother,” he said. “For it was this world, nearly brought to its end, that opened our eyes.”

Remy glanced into the side mirror of the van to see one of the Hellions coming closer. He guessed that another was probably coming up on the other side.

Call him dense, but it actually took him a second to figure out what the Nomad leader was talking about. The business with the Angel of Death. He knew that narrowly avoiding the Apocalypse had changed things a bit, but he wasn’t quite sure what the Nomad was getting at.