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Before my eyes, the grotesque appendage disintegrated. The sheriff-monster went berserk.

Roger stood next to me, as gray as granite. Calypso turned her wrath on me and puckered her heart-shaped mouth into another kiss. Helpless and angry, not knowing what else to do, I mocked her, “I hope that swarm of files comes back and eats you alive.”

Horror-struck, her eyes grew large, and she looked skyward. The cloud of flies swarming high above dove toward her. The roar of their buzzing became deafening as the horrid insects swarmed to cover every inch of her beautiful body. She screamed and spasmed in pain as they tore into her immortal flesh. Dipping in midair like an airplane encountering turbulence, she plummeted to the ground. Upon contact with the consecrated soil, her skin sizzled; boils erupted on her flesh, emptying rivers of odious puss onto the mass of buzzing flies, and her hair began smoldering. The stench of burned flesh and hair filled the air. Her entire body glowed a bright red, and she burst into flames. The mass of the swarming flies flew down from the heavens, hurling themselves into the fire, and clearing the sky of the flying terrors.

I wasn’t sure what had just happened. It felt exactly like it did when I called the rain into existence at Woodstock. There, my words had changed the weather. Here my words had shaken the earth and cursed an evil Nymph with a pestilence of biblical proportions. Realization and confidence surged through me. I was the prophet. It was about time I started acting like one.

I turned to Roger, extended my hand, and commanded, “Be free of Calypso’s wicked charm.”

The gray stone statue started cracking. Chunks fell off of Roger, setting him free. When they touched the sanctified ground, the rocks melted like snow on a warm day. Roger snapped the book shut and staggered. Before he collapsed, I clumsily caught him and sat him down.

He exhaled an emotional sigh. “Where is that dancing witch?” Roger asked. “She can’t do that and get away with it.”

“She’s gone. We did it,” I replied, knowing that the worst of the battle was yet to come.

I propped Roger up with one hand while holding the talisman with the other. So far, this Talisman of Uriel had proved to be useless. I knew there was some reason the hellish horde wanted it, and they were willing to do anything to get it. I just hadn’t figured out how to unlock whatever power it contained.

“Good work, kid.” The gravelly voice came from his corner of my mind.

“Mr. Dark, it’s about time you showed up.” I sneered. “Afraid of a little skirmish?”

“Arland, I had a skirmish of my own. Calypso pulled me away from you and weakened our connection. I’ve been hiding in the void of purgatory, tending to my wounds and gaining strength enough to bring myself here. I finally make it back and what do I find, but you endangering yourself again. When are you going to learn to run from the battle instead of plunging into the fray? You only have one weapon.”

“That’s the point, Dark. I finally found my weapon,” I retorted.

“Woo-hoo. I’ll never hear the end of it, will I?”

“You didn’t ask what it is,” I said.

“I’ve known ever since Phoenix prophesied over you. It’s your words. You’re the one struggling with the identity crisis, not me. Remember what the evil angel said, ‘…by the word of the prophet…’ I thought he made it perfectly clear.”

“You could have shared that with me,” I complained. “If there’s something you can do to help, do it. If not, shut up.” Instantly silence filled the corner of my mind from where Mr. Dark’s voice came from.

Across the cemetery, Jimmy had tumbled, crashing into stone crosses, monoliths, and headstones behind him. When the Phoenix’s blast ceased, he lay on a pile of drifted dirt and broken stone. As far as I could tell, the intense concussion knocked him a good twenty yards. His armor gave a dim flicker until finally, the light slowly died away.

Phoenix advanced on him, stomping the ground as he approached.

I yelled, “Stop.”

The winged hellion only hesitated. Evidently, my power couldn’t control an angel.

I reached my hand toward him and yelled, “Trip.”

Phoenix stumbled and fell into the sanctified soil. The bare skin around his white linen tabard sizzled. Yellow flames flickered from underneath him and when he pushed himself upright, the side of his thigh not covered by his linen was marred from his belt down with streaks of red scars. For a moment he staggered in confusion.

Without warning, Jimmy’s armor flashed a dazzling blue—even in the light of day, its blinding glow made me shield my eyes and turn away. He scrambled to his feet and took a defensive stance.

I stood near the praying hands monument some ten yards behind Phoenix. Holding the talisman, I looked at it. The thing was doing no one any good in my hand. I judged the distance between Jimmy and me—it had to be at least thirty yards.

Phoenix inhaled, preparing to belt the big guy with another blast.

I yelled, “Jimmy, catch!”

Uncoiling all the power in my cocked arm, I let loose with the longest pass I’d ever thrown. The talisman soared through the air as Jimmy ran my way to make the catch. Phoenix saw what I had done. He flapped his wings and rocketed up to intercept it. The mystic medallion flew past his arms and into Jimmy’s hands.

Upon touching the blue glow, the talisman transformed into a sword. The patterned curling in the flat metal ran throughout the length of its thirty-inch double-edged blade. Ornate wings adorned the guard, and a topaz gem butted into the hilt. Jimmy’s armor glistened brighter than ever, and the sword took on a fiery blue radiance.

Roger yelled, “That’s the fabled Sword of

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