Read Revelation for Free Online Page B

You’ll do as I say. Are we clear?”
    Dash held his stare a few seconds, then dipped his head briefly. “Sure. No problem.”
    “Good. Get to it. Oh, and Japheth?” Michael called as they turned to leave. Japheth looked back, and Michael grinned. “You’ve got my number, babe. Call me. Ibiza gets so boring this time of year.”
    Michael lounged on the soft black couch and watched them vanish, his feathers twitching.
    Fucking demon scum. This better not be true.
    Rage flashed his ice-blue wings bright, and he grabbed his phone and hurled it at the window, glass splintering in flame. He’d slaughtered so many demons, his dreams were hip deep in blood, drenched in ragged screams. And it never. Ever. Stopped.
    How many times had he throttled evil down to hell? And how many times had he watched it rise again?
    It was enough to fucking tire you out. And after five thousand years, Michael was over it. Let the bloody world end, for all he cared. At least he’d get some rest.
    Briefly, he debated calling Gabe and washing his hands of the whole mess.
You’re the Annunciator, big brother. Go fucking announce this, and let’s get it over with.
    But doubt nagged, and he tugged his ice-blond hair into a thoughtful handful. He’d always told Gabriel that keeping those vials was a goddamn stupid idea. If the demon princes really were hijacking the Apocalypse—twisting Himself’s wrath to their own ends—someone better call the Kid and have himresurrect St. John of Patmos, because there’d be some serious rewriting to do. Funhouse mirror Revelation. Not a pretty sight. Their eventual goal? To pervert the prophecy, of course. Satan’s victory at the End of Days. Hell, quite literally, on earth.
    Well, screw that for a shitty idea. Michael had tangled with too many demons in his time to think he’d get off lightly if the hellmunchers won. He’d be first on Satan’s buttfuck-with-a-pitchfork list if the stinky little weasel ever broke out of prison and stayed out.
    No, letting the demons have it all their own way would never do. And besides, in the good version, Michael got to hack Satan’s guts out at the end. After a few plagues, and so forth, but that was immaterial. The monkeys got the trouble, Michael got the glory.
    And Michael had always craved glory.
    Still, that didn’t mean a deal couldn’t be done to smooth things over for both sides. That was what he’d invented the Tainted Host for. Damning disobedient warrior angels was a waste of good talent. So the Tainted were neither damned nor saved—he just took their souls off them for a while, as incentive. They were no longer bound by heaven’s rules, and there was the added bonus of plausible deniability if they fucked up.
    But Dashiel and his gang remained frustratingly honorable. Even Japheth had turned into a rebellious little snot lately. Still, the Tainted weren’t Michael’s only tools…
    “Zuul,” he called softly. “You can come out now.”
    The creature in the cage snuffled and fawned, big eyes wet. Michael cricked one finger, and the cage door lock sprang open.
    The chained demon—for it was a demon, a sly middle-management hellskank he’d tricked into servitude—crawled out on skinned knees, and flattened its face into the carpet, shiny fins quivering.
    “Get up,” Michael snapped. “And change yourself. You make me puke.”
    It snorted, and changed to human form in a puff of bitter ashes. Crimson-haired boy, pale body slight in loose pants and an open shirt, spiked collar still drawing blood around his neck.
    Zuul inclined his handsome head, dark eyes warm. “Master.”
    “You heard all that?”
    “Yes, Master.” Zuul bowed. Zuul always bowed. He was a demon of pain. He liked humiliating himself.
    Michael tossed him a smile that made him cringe. “And what do you think of it?”
    “Sounds delightful, Master.”
    “You think so.”
    Another bow, a glint of amusement. “Certainly, Master. Or…is Master afraid?”
    Michael backhanded