The air is filled with the screaming Consumed looking for bodies.
Hawk and Cyclone lead the charge back to Flyer with a fierce war cry. They are the first hit with the screaming heads. Instead of trying to avoid them, they charge right into them, getting hit with half a dozen each.
As soon as they land on Hawk and Cyclone, they begin chewing and burrowing into their flesh.
Hawk and Cyclone grab the hair of a couple of heads per hand and yank them off their skin. They swing the heads by the hair and use them to bat away the others. Their hands drip with blood as the Consumed hair cuts into them, but they don’t seem to care.
The other Consumed converge on Hawk and Cyclone.
Four other Watchers zip in and pluck and smash the chewing heads off the two kamikaze Watchers, acting as their support to keep them alive. Meanwhile, the rest of us fly in toward the Pit lord while Hawk and Cyclone distract the Consumed.
Instead of waiting, the Pit lord lets go of Flyer and leaps at us.
His blazing wings sweep the air with flames, looking like he’s shooting toward us in a ball of fire.
His fiery wings make it impossible to come at him from any direction other than head-on. And Raffe and I are directly in front of him.
As the Pit lord swipes his blazing wing at us, a Watcher charges between us, protecting us with his body as he punches the Pit lord. Instead of punching back, the Pit lord grabs him by the throat and closes his wings. For a moment, we can’t see anything but a giant ball of fire as his wings encase the Pit lord and the Watcher.
When he opens his wings again, the Watcher is in flames. His remaining feathers along with every scrap of hair on his body are on fire.
The Pit lord drops him, and the Watcher roars as he falls, landing hard and rolling on the ground, trying to smash the flames out.
The Pit lord comes back for us. Raffe holds his air space while the other Watchers rescue Flyer.
Raffe nods to one of the Watchers who then takes position below us. I’m guessing he’s there to catch me if I fall.
‘Don’t you dare let me go,’ I say.
‘I’m not letting you get burned,’ he says.
The Pit lord charges us in a halo of flames.
Raffe veers down, avoiding the burn.
The Pit lord turns and chases us. I realize that Raffe is reluctant to turn and face him, because that puts me in the flame’s line of fire.
‘Take the sword,’ I say. We haven’t tested out whether Pooky would take him back. But as he zigzags, avoiding the Pit lord’s charge, I decide this isn’t the best time to test it.
Raffe spins in midair. A wall of fire comes at us as the Pit lord sweeps his enormous wings toward us.
I swing my blade as hard as I can. I can feel the surge of excitement coming through the blade as Pooky gets a chance to cut into a Pit lord.
The blade slices through the fire. A piece of the flames cleaves off and tumbles down.
The Pit lord bellows as he watches a part of his wing crash onto the ground, spraying embers everywhere.
He whips his wings frantically, trying to stay up, but his wings are now uneven, and he begins spiraling. Raffe presses our advantage and flies up to him.
I slice at the first thing I can reach. Another piece of the Pit lord’s wing blazes down.
And he tumbles from the sky.
39
As soon as we land, I start sweating from the heat. I can’t help but cover my nose even though it does nothing against the rotten-egg stench.
The Pit lord has landed and rolled. The fire in his wings has sputtered out, leaving dead-looking wings that are burned to leathery husks. He’s bleeding from both wings.
He yells a command, and the hellions and Consumed gather near him. The hellions watch their master fearfully, looking ready to bolt any minute, while the Consumed seem insanely excited at the prospect of bodies.
Watchers land all around us, forming a protective circle.
They have no weapons, and most of them have ugly wounds, some of them severe, but that doesn’t stop them from looking fierce. To my surprise, Beliel is one of them. He stares blindly ahead, ready to battle for Raffe.
I look at our crew and compare them to the Pit lord’s gang. I give us a good chance of beating the Pit lord, assuming none of his friends are heading our way to join the fight.
‘Oh, I miss my blade,’ says Cyclone, looking at mine with longing. ‘The damage we could do here if we’d only been able to keep our swords.’
‘That’s exactly why the swords have to reject us, my brother,’ says Howler. ‘Nobody wants Pit lords wreaking havoc with an army of Fallen armed with their swords.’
‘You may think you’re stronger, Archangel,’ says the Pit lord. ‘But my Pit lord brethren are on their way right now. They all saw us fighting in the sky.’
‘They won’t be here in time to save you,’ says Cyclone.
The Pit lord makes a noise like a thousand snakes slithering over dead leaves. ‘But if you take the time to fight me instead of flying away, the other lords will kill you,’ says the Pit lord. ‘So we have a deadlock.’
He sweeps his burned and sputtering wings forward, then back, as if trying them out. The cut sections bleed all over the ground. ‘I find that I’m in need of a new pair of wings.’
He looks over at Raffe’s wings, which are magnificent beside the Watchers’ mangy ones. ‘Yours are quite nice. A Pit lord with a set of archangel wings would be both respected and feared. There would be much speculation about how he came to possess them. Care to make a deal?’