Read Online The Fallen 3 by Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online Page A

Geburah nauseous, but their numbers were many, and they did have an uncanny ability to track items of vast supernatural power, even when those objects endeavored to remain hidden.
    Besides, once the instrument was in his hands, their kind would not matter anymore.
    Nothing would matter anymore.
    “We still search,” the mewling creature said, face pressed to the floor of the basement chamber. “And our numbers are great,” the monster continued in an attempt to placate the angel.
    That bothered Geburah as well. Things such as the Corpse Riders should have been wiped from existence as soon as their presence was detected, back when the Powers safeguarded the world, before the coming of the Nephilim, but now …
    The Powers’ leader looked around the chamber and saw how the demonic beasts has assimilated themselves into human society. They had set up their nest in a mortuary, using the corpses that had been handed over to the funeral business for cremation and burial.
    Monsters living right beneath the noses of humanity. It had gone too far, and it made him all the more confident that what he was attempting to do—what the great Verchiel had asked them to do—was the right thing.
    “You will find the instrument for me, yes?” he asked the cowering demon, again touching the tip of his index finger to the creature’s flesh.
    “Yes!” it screamed. “Yes! We will find it.”
    “Our patience grows thin,” Geburah said.
    His brothers had begun to glow, throwing blinding light and intense heat across the room. The cries of the Corpse Riders were like music to Geburah’s ears.
    And if that brought him so much joy, he had to wonder how beautiful it would be when this entire blighted world was screaming.
    O NE W EEK A GO
    Dusty had started to doze, even as the trucker droned on and on. He knew it wasn’t very polite. Jack had been nice enough to offer him a ride from Vermont to Boston, but Dusty was so damn tired he could barely keep his eyes open. The instrument had kept him moving west to east, now south. He hoped he wouldn’t start snoring. If he could at least keep up the appearance that he was listening, it might be okay.
    But the instrument had more visions to show him.
    Eyes closed, the harmonica nestled, warm and pulsing, in his jacket pocket, Dusty learned of its origins.
    And of its dire purpose.
    Jack kept on talking as Dusty’s mind filled with images hecould barely comprehend. He saw the creation of reality from nothing—a flash of brilliance when the Almighty gained consciousness and decided that the darkness would reign no more.
    Dusty saw the creation of what could only have been Heaven, and the winged creatures that the Lord God had brought into existence to help Him with His chore.
    From there it became a blur: he saw the Creator giving birth to the universe—the stars and the planets—and he witnessed the creation of all the life that would swim, slither, crawl, and walk upon the earth.
    Dusty could feel the Creator’s love for this place, and it was this love that led to the creation of the instrument. The Lord God loved His world, and dared not see it tainted.
    There were things that had lived—still lived—in the darkness that had been banished with creation, evil things that would see the Almighty’s world corrupted.
    The Lord of Lords could not bear to think of this, and had fashioned a means to keep the world from falling into the clutches of evil. From deep within His being, the Creator took a portion of His wrath, and from it He fashioned an angel. He called this angel Wormwood. Wormwood would be called upon only in times of darkness and shadow, when the world He so loved was tainted beyond repair.
    And then He fashioned an instrument—a trumpet—to summon this terrible angel … this Abomination of Desolation, for when the horn was blown, it would be too late.The angel would come, and all that existed upon the world would end.
    “So I ate ’em,” a loud voice boomed, awakening