CHAPTER EIGHT
Pira poured over the charts and maps. By all reports, the demons were amassing in the East. Even worse, the latest intelligence pointed to the inconceivable. Kalb had escaped from the Hollows. Repulsing the horde of demons would be difficult, but stuffing the King of Evil himself back into his rightful place would take not only the entire Army of Light, but flawless strategy and all the holy fury her forces could muster as well. A miracle wouldn't hurt either.
At the moment, Pira's faith in miracles was as dead as her creator.
A crimson angel marched to the table and saluted.
"Yes, Clea?"
"The host is assembled, ma'am, and awaiting your address"
Pira decided she could use a break. She straightened, tossed her wings back, and marched to the balcony. She already knew what she was going to say. She'd written her Final Battle speech some time after first being brought into existence and passed countless hours memorizing it. She was quite proud of the work. It was stirring without being melodramatic, sincere while neatly sidestepping gushing sentiment, neither too long nor too short. While she thought all of it to be perfect, she felt the ending was especially perfect.
"..And as you go forth this day, remember always that we are more than divine servants. We are the crimson angels, born of Desaphanus's righteous wrath. Since the dawn of time, we have stood between the universe and chaos, and never have we failed when called upon." At this point, she would raise her Silver Sword and adopt an inspiring pose she had perfected through diligent rehearsal. "As Desaphanus's sword, we shall smite the Fallen defilers and cleanse Wa'suria of every corrupt soul."
The Army of Light would shout a glorious battle cry, and the majestic flock would pour from the Palace gates and soak Wa'suria with the blood of the wicked, which would purify the world. A new age would begin. One of glorious prosperity for all the righteous mortals spared Desaphanus's ire.
Pira smiled to herself. This was how she'd always envisioned the Final Battle. This was the only way it could pass. Desaphanus was dead, but his plan continued. So great was his power, it had to transcend even beyond his death. She wasn't sure if she truly believed that, but she was willing to pretend she did. It gave her a slight boost of confidence. She couldn't show doubt before the army or all would be lost.
She stepped onto the balcony and looked down upon the Army of Light, a force more awesome than any ever assembled. And she was greatly disappointed.
The crimson gathering was a little lean.
"Where are the rest of them?"
Clea slouched ever-so-slightly. "Ma'am?"
Pira was in no mood for games. She shot Clea a hard glare.
"We lost a few, ma'am."
"A few?" Pira guessed a third of the Army was missing.
"Yes, ma'am. When the first traces of the demonic migration were noticed, four phalanxes were dispatched to take care of the problem."
"And?"
Clea's wings drooped. "And we underestimated the strength of the enemy. Faulty intelligence reports, I'm afraid. Due to all the problems." She allowed Pira a moment to absorb the information.
"You'll be pleased to know we had a very good showing, but we've had a few losses."
Pira snarled. "A third of the holy host is more than a few losses."
"If you say so, ma'am."
The servants of Desaphanus could not be truly killed, only unmade for a century or two. A century or two too long, Pira reckoned.
"We're taking volunteers to fill out the ranks," Clea said.
"Wonderful," Pira replied with not a drop of enthusiasm. Ten angels of any other type were not the equal of one crimson warrior.
"Ma'am, would you like to begin?'
Pira looked down upon the diminished host, and her heart sank. A thousand eyes looked back at her, ready for her words of encouragement. A speech was in order, but she wasn't up to delivering her rehearsed one. She clasped her hands behind her back and took a few seconds to compose a new address. It lacked the stirring passion of her previous speech, but it was the best she could come up with.
"Try not to get killed right away."