The Cardinal watched as bone-tipped arrows pierced the gray flesh of the roaring Beast. He would have liked to chew nervously on his thumb, instead he settled for scowling in disgust as each bolt went to waste. The Beast shook its head in outrage, causing ears as wide as ship sails to catch in the wind. The creature twisted, swinging its lashing tail through the air, in an attempt to knock back its attackers. It had done this several times since being corralled down the side of the mountain. Backed by water, fronted by arrows, it had nowhere now to retreat. So it spun.

The Beast had nearly made it to the edge of the nearest town before they'd managed to chase it back. Evident by the tangled power lines wrapped tightly around its school bus sized tail. The wires came as divine cattails, reaching with tendrils further than the Beast could, so that each whip came with the sound of crackling.

The Deacons that the Cardinal had placed at the front of the militia began to falter in their courage as the battle began to linger, as the Beast began to roar in pitiful protest. Aided by that fear, the ring around the Beast loosened. Several of the young archers took steps back, glancing at their mentors with looks of hesitancy.

Guttural wails echoed from a mouth behind tree-sized tusks. Soft whimpers came from young tongues beyond the Cardinal's back. That was how the battle began to end itself. For a moment, the Cardinal thought they might really surrender--until one lone dart flew from the cowering children. It struck the blubbery tissue of the Beast's thick hide, accomplishing nothing but spilling a single drop of iron-rich blood on the soil.

He'd seen enough. There was only so long one could witness a cat toy with a mouse before it just became too difficult to stomach.

"Spears!" The Cardinal shouted, competing to be heard over the howling creature. At his orders, replacements slipped effortlessly into formation. Refreshed knights equipped with twelve-foot long skewers took aim, arms suspended in wait for the next command. The Cardinal flung out his fist, pointing at the Beast emphatically--as if any eyes were not already consumed by the hideous monster. "Fire!"

Upon his words, weapons took to the air. Beneath the full moon, and only to himself, the Cardinal might almost admit that he admired the polished white blades. Demons, much like the one they hunted now, could be whittled down into such magnificent weapons. Their bones could shine as well as any diamond. And yet they glittered as briefly as they were beautiful.

The Beast shrieked as the harpoons bore into its unholy flesh, piercing its unbeating heart and pincushioning its' organs. The devil tilted on legs as thick as the telephone poles it had easily crushed, groaning weakly in one final roar. The earth shook as the monster crashed to the dirt.

Arrows and spears shattered in an explosion of wood beneath the hide of the brute. Its limbs kicked, churning dirt into mud made of its own blood. The Cardinal strolled towards the hellion, ignoring the warnings from his men--he knew when a creature had given up the fight, and he could see that now.

The stench of rot filled the air as he drew closer. A corpse that still rasped, and nothing more. In pitiful defiance, the Beast labored for each breath. Making small wheezing gasps from the holes punctured into its throat. Wide white eyes, which had begun to turn red at the edges, rolled in their sockets. The creature seemed in search of something far beyond the forest it had trampled.

The Cardinal drew his longsword from the sheath at his hip. Just as the spears had moments ago, it entranced him. He regarded the Ossein cutlass in wonder. Even after all his years of dedication, it still mystified him. How could something so beautiful be cut from bodies as horrible as the one before him now? The sword shimmered like iron in the twilight, yet it was not--because no knight of the Progeny carried metal.

The Cardinal raised his sword over his head and brought it down across the still gasping throat of the Beast. Blood sprayed from the split in the skin, more iron to soak in the earth. The Beast whined with its last breath.

"What a waste of your final words." The Cardinal scoffed.

He flung the rapier at his hip, spreading the vital fluid of the monster even further across the forest floor. "Have the Deacons harvest new Ossein. Then find the soldier who flew that last arrow and approve them for pilgrimage." the Cardinal did not pause to see if anyone was listening, he already knew they'd hang on to his every order. "Samson, a word."

• • •

The Cardinal wiped the blood from his hands with a rag dipped in warm water. He'd commandeered himself a small pitcher from the vats of holy water in the camp's center. They had enough to spare, and he hated to let the cooling blood collect on his skin.

The Cardinal had ordered the water boiled before the hunt had begun in the dusk hours, knowing that by the time the Beast was fell it would have cooled to a comfortable bath-warm. He scrubbed at the edges of his fingers where the carnage had dried beneath the surface of his nails. He watched in satisfaction as the water mixed with the gore and dissolved it into heatless steam.

From beyond the white cloth walls of his tent, he could hear the grumbling chatter of men disassembling the prize of the hunt. The camp was small, made of only one white tent for the Cardinal and a handful of smaller black tents for Deacons to seek refuge in. The fighting had been won quickly, it always was, and now they settled into the part that the Cardinal suspected would take days of work: harvesting the bounty. The forest had nearly returned to its previously peaceful existence. All that remained of the demonic presence was the screech of bonesaw on bone.

"The tusks will make many new Ossein." Samson consoled.

"Something to look forward to then." The Cardinal grunted. "Tell the Deacons to be careful pouring water on those power lines."

"Long dead, I'm sure-" his voice shuttered beneath the Cardinal's glare.

He weighed the challenge of arguing with the Cardinal for a moment before nodding silently. He gestured dismissively at the attendant wiping down the Cardinal's blade. She paused her slow movements and tucked her blood-soaked dry cloth into her pocket before dipping out of the tent to carry along the order. Samson watched until she had completely vanished before he began to speak once more.

"Absalom, if I may," Samson spoke softly and informally, but the Cardinal didn't much care, given the many years he'd known Samson. Besides, his mind was busy puzzling over much greater things, the entire reason for him calling Samson away in the first place. "Someone must say it. . . that was-"

"Where is the Cardinal?" The flap of the tent burst inwards, ushering in the smell of decay on the cold breeze. "Your Eminence!"

"Abraham." The Cardinal dipped his head in polite greeting. "What brings you here? And so late I must add."

The intruder crossed his arms over his broad chest and fit Samson with a withering glare. "What is this? Have you taught him to make jokes now? You should have also equipped him with the ability to read the room."

"I take tardiness rather seriously." The Cardinal protested cooly.

Abraham's eyes fell to the floor. His shoulders stiffened and his spine righted into a soldier-perfect straight. "You may play knight here, old friend, but it is still rush hour in the city and I could not find a cab."

There was a pleasant sort of feeling that came from watching Abraham give into the rigid need to prove himself. The Cardinal nodded his head and Abraham released a breath of relief at his pardon.

"You must also pardon me, Abraham. I would rather joke than give into despair like those knights out there. We are Progeny, I am ashamed to see us so softened." The Cardinal scowled. "The Sect of Saint Francis has failed today as far as I am concerned."

"T-that was a-" Samson choked.

"Knights?" Abraham scoffed, not caring to allow Samson to finish. "I saw no Bishops on those front lines, Absalom! Only boys and girls."

"It was-" Samson tried again.

"-those Deacons have never hunted anything larger than a He-Goat or Ze'ev--few have even imagined the possibility. Angels, not even I thought we would see a crisis of this level! They are lucky to have survived." Abraham continued. "You should not have taken them with you today, Absalom. Have any of them even submitted for pilgrimage? This is a disgrace to our ways."

"I will take your notes on pilgrimage when your last boy petitions for his own, should the Angels ever see him to the day." The Cardinal snarled. Abraham's ebon cheeks seemed to drain of color. His mouth hung open before silently shutting.

"A Behemoth! That was a Behemoth!" Samson finally managed to bark. His words filled the tense silence that had grown from Abraham's stupor. Samson looked twice as pale as the balking man.

"So it was." The Cardinal sighed finally.

Samson widened his eyes until they nearly popped from his head, startled by the Cardinal's apparent apathy. "Absalom, if a Behemoth walks the earth, it can mean only one thing; the gates of Hell have been left ajar. I suspect we all know the culprit."

"Then it is our fault," Abraham whispered, "Absalom, you should not have trusted Jethro Pine to raise the boy properly."

"We can't dwell on the past. It's only a matter of time until the Third Prince fully opens the doors, and then all of Hell's Beasts will be upon us." The Cardinal dismissed. "We have no choice--we have waited long enough. Samson, speak to Jethro. His boy must take his pilgrimage now."

"And of my son?" Abraham pressed. "If you mean to bring about the events of the Prophecy, you'll need cursed blood."

"We'll need your son as well." The Cardinal held no apology in his tone, knowing that his deepest regrets would never be enough. "I understand the sacrifice you stand to make. It will not be easy."

"If that is to be his purpose. . . he will do as the angels decreed." Abraham said hesitantly.

"If it was as simple as just deciding to follow the Prophecy, we would have already claimed our Vestige. How are we to believe that throwing those two together will have any effect at all?" Samson quipped.

"Their fates have already been decided by the angels." The Cardinal said. "There will be a moment in their lives when they create the angelic weapon we require. If we just lead them to the beginning, I believe them to be fully capable of finding the end."

"Abraham," Samson eased. "Is it the end you want for your son?"

"He will do his duty." Abraham nodded solemnly. "He will die for this cause."

"Yes, he will die." Samson agreed bitterly. Abraham turned his head and shut his dark eyes to defend against the harsh stare Samson laid on him. "And of the other boy? If he can not do it; if he can not kill the Third Prince of Hell?"

The Cardinal crossed his canvas tent, listening to the chilling sounds of flesh boiling and bones breaking beneath the teeth of saws. He wrapped his fingers over the hilt of his blood-fed blade and slid it gently back into the sheath at his hip. He turned to face his court with a mask of cold apathy. This was the only way.

"Should he die trying, we'll simply find him again." His words seemed even crueler than the haunting sounds of the harvest. "His soul belongs to the Progeny, until the day he kills Beelzebub. He is ours."

PART ONE : THE SNAKE

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PROLOGUE | PART ONE : THE SNAKE

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