Plague of Angels by John Patrick Kennedy

unable to contain his excitement any longer. His thin scaly snake’s head sat on the body of what looked like a muscle-bound bear, ten times the size of any earthly beast. He was larger than Lucifer himself, and had fought him when the Angels decided to make the demons their slaves. Lucifer had beaten him to the ground and cut him a thousand times, then tossed him into the Hellfire for good measure. Gore had never forgiven him, but became his servant nonetheless.
    Gore growled and convulsed in excitement, as if sensing the carnage that was about to take place. He swatted at a demon next to him, severing its head instantly with his huge black claws. Dark juice and liquid exploded into the air from the demon’s neck. Gore picked up the torso and drank from it, as though the body were a tiny goblet. The rest of the demons cheered wildly. “Gore! Gore! Gore!”
    “Gore,” Lucifer commanded, “Take your brethren and leave! Your kind isn’t needed here.”
    Gore slouched slowly off, his followers straggling behind him. Lucifer noticed a few stragglers, trying to blend into the ranks of dark Angels as though they would go unnoticed.
    He smiled at their stupidity. With a thought, he created a dozen balls of liquid Hellfire in his hand and hurled it at the disobedient demons. The dark Angels laughed as the skin of the demons melted off. The demons screamed until they were no more than a pile of ash and bones. Gore and the others sprinted away.
    Lucifer bared his enormous black wings and flexed them, taking to the air. He sped straight up with all of his unholy might. The wind from his wings funneled down like a tornado, knocking some of the Angels to their knees. Around him, souls were thrown off course to be dashed on the rocks of Hell below, rather than landing in the Lake of Fire.
    High above plain, Lucifer flexed his wings and stopped his ascent. Hovering in mid-air, he looked down on the host. All eyes were on him. He drew his whip from his holster. It had seven tails, each flaming, each with spiked knots down its length, the better for tearing apart the skin of those he scourged.
    He flicked his wrist and the whip cracked loudly enough to be heard across the plains of Hell. The Angels of the legion fell silent, waiting.
    “God’s mortal son has died on Earth,” announced Lucifer. His voice bounced off the blood-drenched walls of Hell. Below him, the Angels cheered again.
    “Silence!” he shouted, cracking the whip again.
    “The rules have changed!” continued Lucifer, his voice carrying clearly to all those around the lake. “Those of you who were above heard God’s command, and know that he drove us all from the face of the earth. “The gates to Earth have been closed! God is hiding the earth from us, that His creations may walk it free of fear of Hell! He has denied us access!”
    A buzz rose around the legion. Angels stretched their powers to test the rift and found it blocked. The buzz turned to anger and cries of frustration.
    “Nyx is alone on Earth!” yelled Lucifer, his words stilling the Angels’ voices. “And she will walk there alone for a thousand years if we do not help her! The Angels of Heaven will stalk her over the earth and destroy her!”
    The buzz of voices rose once more. Lucifer waited until it rose to a crescendo, then shouted over it. “The door will open on this day! And two may go to help her! You will be on Earth for a thousand years. You will be in a world without God, and with Nyx you will become the new gods and give us dominion over the entire world! Stand ready!”
    The Angels muttered and talked amongst themselves. Lucifer ignored them and watched the rift, his whip ready in his hand.
    The world changed, and the rift was ready.
    Lucifer lashed out with his whip, its length stretching impossibly high to the top of the gate between Earth and Hell, and tore a hole into the fabric of reality.
    “The gate is open!” he shouted. “Only the strongest and the fastest will go! Fly