Armageddon Read Online Free Page A

wave.
    The injured yeti emitted a terrible roar, leading the others in an all-out assault upon them. The monsters were on them in a wave of fur, fangs, and claws, each apparently starving for a feast of fallen angel flesh.
    Mallus had no intention of being a yeti’s meal. The angel soldier lashed out with his fists, shattering bone and rupturing internal workings with every blow. But there was confidence in the way the beasts fought, a self-assurance that showed in the savagery of their attack.
    They seemed to fear nothing.
    Mallus was yanked from the floor by the arm, and before he could react, his yeti captor sank its fangs into his shoulder, tugging at the flesh. The fallen angel screamed in pain, sinking his fingers into the tough, leathery flesh of the vile beast’s face and ripping it from the yeti’s skull. The snow creature released him with a gurgling grunt, while three others charged forward,driven mad by the scent of the angel’s blood.
    Despite his pain, Mallus continued to fight. But the more he lashed out, the more effort they put into trying to bring him down.
    And he feared that it would not be long before they succeeded. Mallus’s own blood streamed from his wounds to mix with that of the dead beings on the sticky floor.
    “I’ve had just about enough of this,” bellowed a voice.
    Mallus looked toward the sound, as a mound of muscular, furred creatures suddenly exploded in a silent flash. Innards, blood, bone, and fur spattered the ceiling and walls like some twisted abstract work of art.
    The yetis atop Mallus froze. Tarshish rose from the remains of the mound, his slacks, checked shirt, and light Windbreaker torn and covered in gore. His eyes glowed.
    There was another flash, and the Malakim’s clothing looked as though he’d just put it on fresh. “That’s better,” he said, admiring himself.
    Survival instinct kicked in, and the yetis that still held Mallus began to back away.
    “Do you want them to escape?” Tarshish asked his companion.
    Mallus looked to the retreating snow beasts. Where was their confidence now? “No,” he said.
    The Malakim raised a hand, passing it through the air as if stirring bathwater. The remaining yetis evaporated into a cloud,raining a coppery mist onto the already gore-covered floor.
    “That was unpleasant,” Tarshish commented.
    “Wasn’t it,” Mallus agreed, gingerly touching his shoulder. He could already feel himself beginning to heal.
    “Why are we here again?” the Malakim asked, as he strode about the ravaged bar. He almost slipped in a puddle of blood and grabbed at a heavy wooden table to steady himself.
    “I was hoping for a quiet moment to collect ourselves,” Mallus answered. “And a chance to acquire some information.”
    “There won’t be any of either, I’m afraid,” Tarshish remarked. “Unless we’re to extract that information from the dead.”
    Mallus was about to agree when he heard a faint wheezing. His gaze met the Malakim’s. They’d both heard it.
    The fallen angel moved carefully toward the bar. A bloodied figure was curled into a tight ball behind it.
    “Over here,” Mallus said, crouching beside the injured form. The man wore a barkeep’s apron, and what little of his flesh wasn’t covered in blood was a strange golden color. Elf, the Malakim thought, somewhat surprised. The elves were a quiet race, usually keeping to themselves in the hidden corners of the world.
    The barkeep had a ghastly wound in his side, leaking what little remained of his life blood onto the cold, wooden floor.
    “He won’t be able to give us anything,” Mallus told Tarshish as the Malakim came around the bar.
    “He still looks alive to me,” Tarshish commented.
    “Not for much longer.”
    “What kind of attitude is that?” Tarshish said, kneeling down beside the elfin barkeep and placing a hand on his head. “If I’d known you were such a quitter, I’d have stayed at the home.”
    Before Mallus could respond, the Malakim’s